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 F. Spielhagen's Complete Works. 
 
 Translated from the German. 
 
 JUST PUBLISHED. 
 
 PROBLEMATIC CHARACTERS. 
 
 A Novel. Translated by Prof. SCHK.E .E VKKB. 12^^o. Cloth. S'^m 
 
 II. 
 
 THROUGH NIGHT TO LIGHT. 
 
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Through Night 
 
 TO L I G 1 1 T 
 
 A Novel 
 
 FRIEDRICH SPIELHAGEN 
 
 A uthurs Edilion. 
 
 0^>' 0? 
 
 NKW YORK 
 X E Y P O L D T & li O L T 
 
 1870 
 
 THR 
 
 ^^ 
 
 TJSI7ERSIT7 
 
Through Night To Light 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 FRIEDRICH SPIELHAGEN 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN 
 
 BY 
 
 PROF. SCHELE DE VERE 
 Author's Edition. 
 
 ' Ex fiimo dare lucem cogltat." 
 
 Horace. 
 
 NEW YORK 
 
 LEYPOLDT & HOLT 
 
 1870 
 

 4-1 
 
 oSiL 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1869, by 
 
 LEYPOLDT & HOLT, 
 
 In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the United States for the 
 Southern District of New York. 
 
 STEREOTYPED BY 
 
 DENNIS BRO'S & THORNE, 
 
 AUBURN, N. Y. 
 
w 
 
 Through^^T^ht TO Light. 
 
 Part First. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE sun hung glaring red near the horizon. In 
 the valleys of the mountain ranges dark-blue 
 shadows were gathering, while high on the for- 
 est-crowned tops the warm evening light was still 
 aglow. The trees were gorgeous in their gay autumn 
 liverv, but in this part of the mountain dark forests of 
 sombre evergreens covered the narrow ravines up and 
 down, and all the swelling heights. 
 
 On the turnpike which led in manifold windings 
 towards the main ridge of the mountains, and was lined 
 on both sides with unbroken rows of dwarf fruit-trees, an 
 old-fashioned carriage was slowly making its way. It 
 Avas one of those broad but clumsy vehicles, drawn by 
 two raw-boned, broken-kneed horses, and carefully pro- 
 vided with a huge drag-chain, which are hired in the 
 cities for a few days' excursion into the mountains. 
 The horses lagged, with drooping heads, heavily in their 
 liArness, and labored painfully step by step up the hill, 
 for the road was steep and the carriage heavy. The 
 driver encouraged them from time to time with a friendly 
 Gee, bay ! up, sorrel ! as he Avalked slowly by their side, 
 and the two gentlemen wdio had employed him for some 
 days had gotten out at the foot of the mountain and 
 were leisurely following at some distance behind him. 
 
 They were a couple of young men, evidently belong- 
 ing to the best classes of society, that is, to the middle 
 classes, in which intelligence and culture are now^adays 
 almost exclusively found. They were both tall and 
 showed the slight build and the elasticity belonging to 
 their years. One, the smaller one, whose mouth and 
 cheeks were nearly hid under a close, deep-black beard, 
 
2 Through Night to Light. 
 
 would probably have been thought the more interesting 
 of the two, as his finely-cut features, full of intelligence, 
 Avere sure to please the more careful observer, and yet 
 he was neither as tall nor as handsome as his companion, 
 who at once attracted the eyes of all fair maidens and 
 married women in the towns and villages through Avhich 
 they had passed. 
 
 The two young men had for a time walked on m silence, 
 separated as they were by the whole breadth of the turn- 
 pike, which was here covered with small broken stones, 
 to the despair of horses and foot-passengers. Now, 
 when they had passed the bad places, they approached 
 each other again, and the one with the black beard put 
 his hand in a kindly manner on the other's shoulder and 
 said affectionately: ''Eh /i/>;/, Oswald, why so silent?" 
 " I return your question," replied the latter, turning 
 his beautiful, earnest eyes towards his companion. 
 
 " I enjoy in full draughts the glory of this evening's land- 
 scape," said Doctor Braun; "and enjoyment, you know, 
 is silent, because the very pleasure is business enough, 
 and leaves us no leisure for talking. But tell me, is it 
 not a wonderful country, this Thuringia? Is it not 
 worthy to be the heart of Germany, and thus the heart of 
 the heart of our continent, in fact of the inhabited globe } 
 Stop a moment where vou are ; we have just here a view 
 which would be unique if there were not thousands and 
 thousands like it in these lovely mountains. There is 
 the valley, which we have just left ! you can now follow 
 easily the meandering course of the willow-fringed brook 
 through the meadows. There is the village, a dirty 
 place when seen near by, but now how beautiful it is, 
 half veiled by its gay cloak of trees, and the blue col- 
 umns of smoke, which rise straight up from the chim- 
 neys, and gradually dissolve on the sides of the moun- 
 tains into blue, transparent clouds. And now these 
 beautiful heights with their evergreens ! how they rise 
 one behind the other with their deep coloring. And 
 now, here to our left, the glimpse of the blue mountains 
 which we crossed this morning. And, above all, this 
 marvellously fair sky, clear and deep and unfathomable, 
 like the eye of some one we love. Oh, there is some- 
 
Through Night to Light. 3 
 
 thing divine in these outlines and these lights. They 
 are surely intended to be more than a mere pleasure for 
 the eye, or even a study for the painter : they are 
 meant to comfort us and to admonish us. A glance at 
 the enchanting face of our mother nature puts our wild 
 hearts to sleep, makes us forget the eccentric character 
 of our so-called culture, brings vis back to the first har- 
 mony of our soul, and awakens and revives in us the 
 conviction that everything true, beautiful, and noble, is 
 infinitely simple, and that the well of contentment gushes 
 forth at the bidding of every one who seeks it with 
 pure heart." 
 
 While Doctor Braun had spoken these words in his 
 ixsual animated and impressive manner, Oswald had 
 looked with sad eyes into the far distance. Now, when 
 his companion ceased, he said — an ironical smile play- 
 ing around his lips — 
 
 " Are you quite sure of that .? And suppose it were so, 
 who will blame the unfortunate man whose heart is not 
 pure, Avho is cursed with blindness, and never sees the 
 well of contentment.'' We shall meet one of these unfor- 
 tunate men to-night. If you will open his closed eyes 
 and restore to him the purity of his heart, I will worship 
 you as a god." 
 
 Doctor Braun seemed to be much affected by these 
 w^ords, which had towards the end assumed a passionate 
 tone of bitterness. He w^as silent for a few moments 
 Avhile they ascended the mountain, and then he said, 
 
 " I thought the journey would have calmed you and 
 made you more cheerful, Oswald. I begin to doubt my 
 professional skill when I see that the old dreams are 
 as powerful as ever in you. You seemed to be almost 
 cured of the fatal desire to sit dowm, like Heine's young 
 man, by the sea coast, and to ask the restless waves for 
 an answ^er to the painful old riddles of life, and now " 
 
 " Now I am once more bored with the old complaint ! 
 No, Franz, I will not bring disgrace upon your mental 
 cure and try to find the world as beautiful and reason- 
 able as you do. That was only a recollection of the past. 
 Is it not natural, is it not quite intelligible, that it should 
 turn up just now, when we approach the end of our pil- 
 
4 Through Night to Light. 
 
 grimage, and I am about once more to meet face to face 
 the noble, unfortunate man to whom I owe so much, 
 and that after an interval during which so mvich, so 
 very much, has changed for him and for myself! I have 
 followed your advice faithfully, as well as I could. I 
 have let the past bury the past ; I have practised indus- 
 triously the art of forgetting, and I have sent the very 
 shadows of the departed back to Hades, when they 
 became troublesome. But here comes the form of a liv- 
 ing man who is dead, of a dead man who still lives, and 
 I find neither in my mind nor in my heart the magic 
 words which will lay this spirit, whom I reverence, whom 
 I mourn with tears, like the others." 
 
 " Then let us turn back," said Doctor Braun, Avith 
 great vivacity. " If you do not feel the strength in you 
 to maintain the position which you have yourself chosen, 
 against every objection and every authority, it would be 
 madness to expose yourself to such danger. Let us 
 turn back ; it is time yet." 
 
 " No," said Oswald, " that would be both cowardly 
 and foolish. We do not overcome danger by avoiding it. 
 I must see Berger and speak to him. This interview 
 must be the test of the problem that has occupied us 
 these four weeks. Either I recover myself from my own 
 insanity by seeing this madman, or " 
 
 *' There is no or," cried Franz. " Really, when I hear 
 you talk so, Oswald, I have a great mind to let you 
 starve and thirst till you come again to your senses, or 
 consent to do honor to reason. You are an enigmatical 
 man, a thoroughly problematic character. There are 
 incongruities in your character Avhich I have not yet 
 learnt to explain, in spite of our long intimacy. Nat- 
 ural disposition and education, which jointly make the 
 man, must in your case have been most strangely inter- 
 mingled. I have so far always avoided to speak of your 
 early youth, because I felt a natural reluctance to in- 
 quire after what you evidently did not care to reveal. 
 But my friendship for you is greater than such consid- 
 erations, which are after all of little account between 
 such intimate friends as Ave are. What do you say, 
 Oswald, while the sun is gloriously setting behind those 
 
Through Night to Light. 5 
 
 mountains, and our poor horses are painfully dragging 
 themselves up the hill, you might tell me something 
 about your early years — much or little, as you are dis- 
 posed. Will you do it? " 
 
 " Willingly," replied Oswald. " I also have been think- 
 ing much of my 3-outh in these last days. If one is en- 
 gaged in settling his affairs, as I am now doing, at a 
 certain epoch of one's life, it is almost indispensable to 
 trace that life back to the beginning. It is true you are 
 the first man, and perhaps the only one, Avhom I could 
 permit to look into those dark portions of my existence ; 
 but I will do it." 
 
 " I shall be all the more attentive," replied Doctor 
 Braun. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 *' ^T~^0 begin at the beginning," said Oswald, after a 
 X pause, during which he seemed to have col- 
 lected his thoughts, " I was born in the capital. 
 My father was a teacher of languages, my mother the 
 daughter of a mechanic. You see, therefore, that I have 
 no claims to nobility, and that my hatred against the 
 nobles is the very natural and legitimate hatred of the 
 plebeian against the patrician, of the PariaKagainst the 
 Brahmin. 
 
 " I have never learnt w^hy my father left the capital, 
 and shortly after my birth — I Avas, and remained, the 
 only child of my parents — he went to live in the little 
 
 Pomeranian port W . It is true I never knew much of 
 
 the history of my parents and of all that happened be- 
 fore my birth. I do not even know whether I have any 
 relations on the father's or the mother's side. If there 
 are any, I have never made their acquaintance. 
 
 " My mother also I only recollect dimly, after the 
 manner of a person whom we have seen in a dream. 
 But even now I sonietimes dream of a fair yovmg lady, 
 with great, sweet blue eyes. She says in a soft tone 
 
5 Through Night to Light. 
 
 some woi"ds which I do not understand, but which sound 
 like the music of heaven, and always move me to tears 
 even in my sleep. I know that this lovely creature of 
 my dreams is my mother, for she never changes. She 
 died before I had ended my fourth year. 
 
 " If ever man succeeded in replacing a mother to an 
 orphaned, motherless child, my father solved that prob- 
 lem. When I was a little child, he sang and talked me to 
 sleep ; when I was sick, he watched day and night by 
 the side of my little bed ; he sat by me in the garret win- 
 dow and blew alternately with me bright soap-bubbles 
 from a little clay pipe into the air ; he taught me the 
 alphabet and to make ships from the bark of trees; he 
 made me learn the first Latin w^ords, and taught me to 
 swim and to skate ; he gave me the first lessons in Greek, 
 and in pistol-shooting and fencing. I had no other 
 friend but him, until I Avent to the University." 
 
 "He was a strange, unfathomable man, even so far as 
 his outer appearance was concerned. Imagine a figure 
 of dwarfish size, but exceedingly well proportioned, very 
 agile and active, dressed in winter and summer, early 
 and late, invariably in a worn-out black dress-coat, black 
 shorts, black stockings, and shoes with large buckles, 
 walking in sunshine or rain, always hat in hand, through 
 the streets of the city. Imagine this figure ending in a 
 disproportionately large head, with a well-set brow, bald 
 on the temples, beneath which a pair of sharp eyes sent 
 out flashes of lightning, and a face which, though fine 
 and sharp of outline, either had never known how to 
 laugh or forgotten how to do it for long, long years. 
 This was the figure of my father, the Old Candidate, as 
 
 he was called in W by everybody, even the boys in 
 
 the street, with whom I had many a battle royal, when 
 they dared to laugh at the old gentleman's appearance. 
 
 " The nickname, besides, had no application to my 
 father, if I except the word Old. He had never in his 
 life been a candidate for any office, clerical or political, 
 as far as I know, and, in spite of his enormous erudition, 
 he would not have been fit for any office, for his eccen- 
 tricity and odd disposition would have made it impossi- 
 ble for him to fulfil his duties. 
 
Through Night to Light. 7 
 
 " In later years I have often and often tried in A-ain 
 to find out what bitter experience of life, what sad mis- 
 fortunes, could have changed my father into such an odd 
 character. He was a hypochondriac and a misanthrope 
 at once, Avho avoided most carefully every contact Avith 
 the world, and who, therefore, Avas as carefully let alone 
 by ever\-body else. Those who claimed to be men of 
 refinement and religious convictions called him a cynic 
 because he had emancipated himself from all social obli- 
 gations; and an atheist, because he never appeared at 
 church. The superstitious rabble crossed themselves 
 when they saw him, as if he were standing in nearer re- 
 lations to the Evil One than Avas proper for a good 
 Christian. If he had lived tAvo hundred years sooner, 
 they Avould no doubt have burnt him as a sorcerer or a 
 magician. 
 
 " I must confess, to be candid, that the refined and the 
 unrefined rabble Avere not so far amiss Avhen they attri- 
 buted to my father ideas and notions Avhich are not or- 
 dinarily met Avith in the brains of the majority. He had 
 a supreme contempt for all faith founded merely upon 
 authority, because he felt himself fettered by it in the 
 freedom of his existence ; and an intense hatred for all 
 Avorldly tyranny, because it prevented him from acting 
 freely. He openly declared a republic to be the only 
 form of gOA-ernment under Avhich a man Avho had the 
 x\^\t point dlionneur could Ha'C happily. EA'ery preroga- 
 tive granted to one, to a fcAV, or to the many, Avas to him 
 an injustice, Avhich could only be explained by the inso- 
 lence of the ruler and the coAA^ardice of the ruled. He 
 could see no difference in the end betAveen a flock of 
 sheep driven to the slaughter-house by a stupid serA^ant 
 and a saA'age dog, and a people Avho alloAved themseh'es 
 to be oppressed and ill-treated by a proportionately small 
 number of men. The men, he said, only managed to 
 cover their disgrace Avith bright-colored garments, Avhile 
 the sheep Avere not able to do the same. 
 
 " His special hatred, however, Avas given to the nobility. 
 As soon as he happened to speak of their caste, he had a 
 Avhole dictionary of opprobrious epithets at his command. 
 He never entered the house of a nobleman ; and Avhen- 
 
8 Through Night to Light. 
 
 ever young men of noble birth proposed to take lessons 
 from him, he immediately refused. Once, as Aye Ayere 
 firing at a target — a practice in Ayhich he excelled — he 
 told me that in his youth he had hoped thus to engage 
 himself against a nobleman Ayho had mortally offended 
 him. Unfortunately the man had died before he could 
 carry out his plan. That is the only hint Ayhich I eyer 
 received as to my father's former life. 
 
 " And thus I grew up, exclusively communing with 
 this strange man. The relations between us were as ex- 
 traordinary as he himself Although my father did more 
 for me than generally both parents jointly do for their 
 rhild, and although he apparently lived and suffered 
 only for my sake, I still do not think he really loved me. 
 He Avas a purely spiritual man. Either his heart had 
 receiA^ed, at some time or other, a fatal bloAv from Avhich 
 it had ncA-er recoA'ered, or his sentiments had all CA'apo- 
 rated into mere notions under the influence of his scepti- 
 cism. WhatCA-er he did, he did from a sense of duty, 
 from a conA'iction that it AA^as right ; for, as he said him- 
 self, Justice is higher than LoA'e ; it does all that Love 
 does and a great deal more." 
 
 " More, and yet not quite so much," interrupted Franz. 
 " What Ave do from affection for those Ave love, Ave 
 ought to do for others from a sense of justice; that is, 
 from a conA'iction that the interests of all men are rep- 
 resented in each. LoA^e and Justice stand in the same 
 relation to each other as individual and species. One can 
 not exist Avithout the other, for they need each other mvi- 
 tually. Ju^stice can never teach us all the thousand little 
 acts of tenderness Avhich Ave lavish upon those Ave loA'e, 
 as individual Ioa'C does not aid us any longer Avhen Ave 
 are called upon to help a brotherhood, a nation, or all 
 mankind.*" 
 
 " You may be right," replied OsaamM, " and Avhat you 
 say renders it easier for me to make a confession Avhich 
 I Avas about to make. I honored my father deeply, but 
 I did not love him ; on the contrary, I often experienced, 
 as I only felt clearly in later years, a fear approaching 
 repugnance, Avhen I came in closer contact Avith the 
 strange man. Noav I hardly Avonder at it, since I have 
 
Through Night to Light. 9 
 
 found out that nature probably never produced two 
 beings more radically different than my father and my- 
 self We were as unlike in body as in mind and in 
 inclination. I loved already, as a boy, with perfect 
 passion, everything brilliant and splendid, and whatever 
 is beautiful in nature and the world of men. I was 
 enthusiastically fond of my schoolmates, who rejoiced in 
 the youthful ornaments of golden locks, red cheeks, and 
 bright eyes. I loved to visit in hovises where everything 
 was elegant and in style, after the manner of those days. 
 I attached much importance to my dress, and liked to 
 hear it when women called me a handsome boy. 
 
 " You may imagine how little a young fellow with such 
 wants and such inclinations must have suited, as a com- 
 panion, a misanthropic hypochondriac, whose manner of 
 life he was nevertheless forced to share to a certain de- 
 gree. For although my father allowed me a certain 
 amount of liberty, which was hardly in keeping with his 
 general views, and although he indulged me in my love 
 of fine clothes and the comforts of life to a degree which 
 I have never been able to comprehend, I knew neverthe- 
 less that he was deeply offended by this fondness of 
 mine for a world which he despised. I tried, therefore, 
 very hard, to wean myself from such a life, and suc- 
 ceeded all the more readily in my efforts, as I soon dis- 
 covered in the solitude, which was at first intensely 
 hateful to .me, a source which changes the most desolate 
 desert into a blooming paradise — the Castalian spring 
 of poetry. 
 
 " We lived in a small house built against and upon the 
 city wall. The solitary small window from Avhich my 
 room received its light Avas pierced in the thick wall, so 
 that the whole looked very much more like a prison 
 than anything else; and yet, what marvellously blessed 
 hours I have spent in that room ! From my window I 
 had an unlimited view over the wall and the ramparts 
 of the city — upon smooth ponds, lined with beautiful 
 copses of trees — upon rich meadows, with willows scat- 
 tered over them here and there, far out to the sea, which 
 glittered like a dark-blue ribbon through the green 
 woods. 
 
lo Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Here, at this window, I used to sit on summer eve- 
 nings, when the sun was setting in brilliant splendor, my 
 heart full to overflowing of chaotic sentiments, and my 
 head weaving thoughts as fair and bright, and, alas ! as 
 perishable as soap bubbles ! I remember I often wrote 
 verses in bright summer days and in dark autumn eve- 
 nings, afterwards, while I was sitting in deep meditation 
 over my books, to remind me of the happy days then, 
 which had dropped one by one from the cup of time, 
 bright and brilliant, into the ocean of eternity. 
 
 " But why should I any longer attempt to describe to 
 you these relations to my father, which appear only the 
 more enigmatical to me the more clearly I desire to present 
 them to you. If I ever had felt, as a child, true, hearty 
 love for my father, it grew less and less as I became 
 older and more independent. I had to hide in my heart 
 all the feelings, all the tenderness, which we ordinarily 
 lavish upon our mother and brothers and sisters and 
 friends, for I could not feel any confidence in him who, 
 as matters happened to stand, ought to have stood me in 
 place of all of them. The constant intercourse with a 
 mind so sombre and sceptical gave to my mind a color- 
 ing which was little in harmony with my sanguine and 
 passionate disposition. I was an Epicurean sitting at the 
 feet of a Stoic, a Sybarite on terms of intimacy with a 
 Cynic philosopher. My exuberant fancy dreamed of 
 the most magnificent worlds, which my cool judgment 
 destroyed pitilessly; I exhausted myself in subtle de- 
 vices, while my hot blood was filling my heart to over- 
 flowing ; I sat in my cell and studied dusty old parch- 
 ments, while my adventurous mind was longing for the 
 marvels of the East and for lofty deeds of chivalry. 
 
 "Thus matters continued till I went to the University, 
 when I was nineteen years old. I parted without grief 
 from my father. What he felt at the parting I cannot tell. 
 He spoke to me, when I said good-by, like a philosopher 
 who dismisses his pupil, and recalled to my mind once 
 more all the great principles of his harsh worldly wis- 
 dom. The letters which he wrote to me at regular in- 
 tervals Avere in the same tone. There were not many 
 of them ; for about six months after I had left him I re- 
 
Through Night to Light. il 
 
 ceived a letter from the authorities of my native place, 
 in which they dryly informed me of the death of my 
 father. He had left me a small capital, the fruit of his 
 long and painful saving; it was just enough to support 
 me in a modest way during my university course, and 
 perhaps some little tune beyond that. No will had been 
 lound ; nor had there been any papers, letters, diaries, or 
 anything which might have possibly given me a clue to 
 the former history of my parents. 
 
 " Thus I was standing alone in the world — a young 
 man in years, with the weary mind of an old man. I 
 Avas ftir too old for my fellow-students, who looked to me 
 like children at play ; and yet I was far too young and 
 inexperienced myseff to resist the temptations of a large 
 city, or to wander about in such a Babel without ever 
 and anon losing my way. How could a young man, in 
 Avhom the current of fully youthful life had been so long 
 artificially dammed up, avoid going astray.? I became 
 the hero of many an intrigue, of which I was in my 
 heart thoroughly ashamed, as I ought to have been. I 
 was spoilt by the women, and became the innocent victim 
 of many a heartless coquette. I gathered much expei-i- 
 ence without growing any wiser — the worst thing that 
 can befall a man. And the most remarkable of it all 
 was that I loathed in my heart the enjoyments to which 
 I gave myself up ; that my heart yearned after true love 
 at the very times when I wasted it upon women unworthy 
 of such a gift ; and that I cherished the most extraor- 
 dinary plans for the future, while I squandered my 
 strength in senseless amusements. 
 
 " A friend, who in those days had some influence over 
 me, rescued me from the whirlpool in which I would 
 have perished sooner or later. He advised me to go to 
 Grunwald. I followed his advice. 
 
 " From that moment you know my life, at least in its 
 outlines. You know that I became there acquainted 
 with the unfortunate man whom we are about to visit. 
 You will now also be able to understand why it was 
 utterly impossible for me to resist the charm of Berger's 
 extraordinary character, and how I entangled myself by 
 my intercourse with him only more and more deeply in 
 
12 Through Nig]it to Light. 
 
 the thorns and briars of internal conflicts, which finally- 
 made my heart bleed to death. 
 
 " Berger wished me to go to Grenwitz and to take 
 there a position in a noble family, which suited me about 
 as well as a dove-cot suits a hawk. You have followed 
 me through the great periods of my life there with an 
 observant eye, and at the same time as a philosopher 
 and as a friend. I do not know — and I do not want to 
 know — how much you have seen, how much you have 
 understood, and what may have remained an unex- 
 plained mystery for you. A part of these events I dare 
 not touch vipon ; another part I am in duty bound to 
 leave untouched. When the catastrophe came which 
 you had anticipated, and the frivolous world in which 
 I Avas living, crushed me — then you stood by me as a 
 friend ; you snatched me out of the confusion, and you 
 laid upon yourself a burden Avhich has no doubt made 
 you sigh more than once since. But no ! that cannot 
 be ! You are as clever as you are wise, and as wise as 
 you are kind. Tell me, Franz, what Odysseus was your 
 father, what Penelope has borne you, that Pallas Athena, 
 the goddess of wisdom, has always held you so visibly 
 under her gracious protection .? " 
 
 " I believe everything in my life has happened in the 
 most ordinary way," said Franz, laughing. " I pray you 
 will not think I escaped altogether from either Scylla 
 or Charybdis! I have been, like yourself, on the point 
 of despair. What has saved me is the conviction that 
 the world is, after all, but a Cosmos, in which everybody, 
 be he Avhat he may, has to fill his modest place — a con- 
 viction Avhich came to me first very dimly, then more 
 and more clearly and distinctly, and finally filled my 
 heart with triumphant certainty. This idea has given me 
 that cheerful calmness without which life would in the 
 end become unbearable. I said to myself: This world, 
 of which you know after all but very little, is such an 
 old, solid, and well-finislied edifice that you need not 
 give up the plan on which it was built, even if you 
 should not compreliend it in all its details. This race 
 Df ours, which maybe is intended for as many millions 
 of years as we now know thousands, is such a marvel- 
 
Through Night to Light. 13 
 
 lous and unfathomable problem of creative power that 
 you will never come to an end studyini^ it, if you Averc 
 to live ever so long. Goethe tells us that no man ever 
 possessed art, and I add, no one ever possessed philoso- 
 phy. 
 
 " Starting from this conviction, I determined to find a 
 sense and a meaning in life, and I cannot help saying 
 that my efforts have been crowned with some success. 
 Mistrusting already as a school-boy the results to be ob- 
 tained from mere speculation, I chose a science which 
 reveals to vis the events of our soul, as it were, ad oculos 
 — Medicine. I chose it, besides, because it brings us in 
 its practice advantageously into intimate contact with 
 other men, from Avhom we hold but too generally 
 aloof — whatever may be said in praise of solitude. He 
 who has once understood the solidarity of all human in- 
 terests — that fundamental principle of all moral and 
 political wisdom — knows also that his individual exist- 
 ence is but a drop in the vast stream, and that such a 
 drop has no right to claim absolute independence. It 
 would be different if men fell like ripe fruit from the 
 trees. But we are brought into this world through the 
 agony of a mother, in order to be the most helpless of all 
 created beings, entirely dependent on the faithful care of 
 parents; we are then allowed to grow up, if fate favors 
 us, amid brothers and sisters, in order not only to share 
 with them all the joys of life, but also to obtain them by 
 their assistance ; and, even later, we cannot enjoy any 
 true pleasure, any delight of our heart, except through 
 others and with others. All this teaches us that we are 
 true children of men, the offspring of this earth, with 
 the right and the duty to w^ork out our life here below 
 upon our inheritance side by side with other children of 
 men, our brethren, who have the same rights, and of 
 course also the same duties, as we ourselves. 
 
 " Thus you see, Oswald, the world becomes a Cosmos, 
 and we cease to be mere atoms whirling about in the 
 infinite space without a reasonable government, while no- 
 body knows whence we come and whither we go. The 
 great fault of your life, which it is true you could hardly 
 avoid with such an experience as you had in your young 
 
14 Through Night to Light. 
 
 days, is that you have always lived for yourself only, 
 and never truly for others. Thus you have drifted into 
 a false position, in which you could not be useful to the 
 world, and the world could not be useful to you. Now, 
 all this will be different. You have made the sacrifice 
 from friendship for me, to take a step which I know 
 well — and better now than before — must be very painful 
 to your whole nature. But I am convinced you will 
 bless this step hereafter. The trial year which you 
 mean to devote to the college at Grunwald will be in 
 other respects also a trial year for you. You will see 
 whether you can obtain the hardest of all victories, the 
 victory over yourself — over your own arbitrary, sover- 
 eign will. I wish you were, like myself, engaged to some 
 good, sensible girl, which would compel you to work 
 and compel you to struggle, if not for your own inte- 
 rest, at least for the sake of her who is dearer to you — 
 ten thousand times dearer to you — than your own life, 
 and you would see how easy the battle, how easy the 
 victory would be to you." 
 
 Oswald made no reply. He felt convinced of the 
 trvith of what his companion said, but at the same time 
 he felt painfully ashamed. For the face of truth is stern, 
 and makes him tremble who does not worship it at the 
 cost of every feeling of his own. 
 
 Thus they walked side by side in deep silence, until 
 they reached the top of the mountain, where the car- 
 riage was waiting. They got in again, and now they 
 rolled in a quick trot down hill towards the little town 
 which was lying at their feet in the bosom of a secluded 
 valley, surrounded on all sides by well-wooded hills, and 
 veiled at this moment by the gray evening mists. It 
 was the end of their day's journey, and for Oswald the 
 place of his destination — a watering-place, called Fich- 
 tenan, renowned far and near on account of its charm- 
 ing position, its invigorating baths of spruce leaves, and 
 more recently yet its large and admirably-kept insane 
 asylum, which Doctor Birkenhain, a man of great intel- 
 ligence and large experience in such matters, had 
 founded there a few years ago. 
 
 Oswald's heart was filled with strange sensations as 
 
Through Night to Light. 15 
 
 he saw from the corner in whicli lie was leaning back 
 the rocks and the trees flit by, and felt that every step 
 brought him nearer to the place which had occupied his 
 mind during the last months so persistently and so pain- 
 fully. How unmeaning the name had sounded to him 
 Avhen he first heard it mentioned at Grenwitz as the place 
 where Melitta von Berkow's suifering husband was liv- 
 ing ! Then he did not know Melitta yet, then he did not 
 anticipate that he would a few days later be enchained 
 by the charms of that beautiful woman. Afterwards he 
 had heard her mention the name, though only rarely, 
 and always Avith much reluctance, and in his state of 
 boundless delight the place had assumed for him then 
 very much the meaning with which the owner of a su- 
 perb, brilliant house looks upon a dark room Avhich he 
 does not like to open, and of which he avoids speaking, 
 because years ago a person who Avas dear to him had 
 committed suicide there. Then the time had come when 
 Melitta obeyed Dr. Birkenhain's summons and went to 
 see her dying husband — at last the painful, wretched 
 days, during which he knew she was at Fichtenan by the 
 side of her tmfortunate husband, and when he received 
 from Fichtenan those letters in which every word was 
 a longing kiss. In those days Fichtenan had appeared 
 to him alternately the grave and the cradle of his happi- 
 ness, as he now fancied Berkow's death would remove 
 all impediments in the way of his marrying Melitta, and 
 then again feared the very same event might forever 
 separate him from her. Then came the fatal day, when 
 he found out that the man Avhom he had from the begin- 
 ning looked upon as his most formidable rival was with 
 Melitta ; when malicious tongues had Avhispered the 
 most hateful explanations of this fact in his ear, and he, 
 the unfortunate man, had but too readily listened to these 
 abominable slanders. Alas! he had already then be- 
 trayed his OAvn love by his OAvn acts, and, like a ship- 
 wrecked man, Avho, in order to save himself and his trea- 
 sures, pitilessly pushes his best friend from the frail plank 
 into the ocean, he also had sacrificed Melitta in order to 
 justify his passion for the fair Helen before the tribunal 
 of his OAvn heart ! And finally, to fill the cup to overflow- 
 
1 6 Through Night to Light. 
 
 ing, and to prove as it were to his troubled mind that 
 the whole world was out of joint, and one error more or 
 less did not matter much, the same place must hold the 
 woman he loved so ardently, and who now sought com- 
 fort for the moments she must needs spend at the death- 
 bed of her husband in the arms of an interesting roue, 
 and the highly revered friend and teacher, whose genius, 
 so like a bright blazing torch, had just been extinguished 
 in the deep darkness of insanity ! Only a little later 
 death had robbed him of the boy Avhom he had learnt 
 to love as a brother, and Fate had broken, in a most 
 painful manner, his connection with a great and noble 
 family ; then he had seen his rival wounded unto death 
 by his ball, lying at his feet, and separating him forever 
 by this one deed from the beloved girl, from whom a 
 thovisand other reasons would, even without this, have 
 compelled him to flee. Was it a wonder that he felt as 
 if the whole earth had no more suitable asylum for him 
 than a cell adjoining that of his friend and teacher in 
 Doctor Birkenhain's famous Insane Asylum at Fichtenan. 
 Doctor Braun had originally suggested to him this trip 
 for scientific purposes, but now Oswald had insisted upon 
 starting at once, although the former had endeavored to 
 postpone the visit under one pretext or another for some 
 time, and this for good reasons. He had written to 
 Doctor Birkenhain, without telling Oswald, and asked 
 him to give him a minute description of Berger's case. 
 Doctor Birkenhain had replied, that Berger's insanity 
 consisted exclusively in the fixed idea of the absolute 
 non-existence of all things, but that otherwise he was 
 in full possession of all his mental powers, and woidd 
 have been dismissed from the institution long since but for 
 his own urgent desire to prolong his stay there. Doctor 
 Braun knew perfectly well that under these circumstan- 
 ces a visit to Fichtenan might be extremely dangerous 
 to Oswald's eccentric mind, excited as he was by all that 
 had liappencd of late. The sight of a madman might 
 have restored him to tranquillity; but the intercourse 
 with a hypochondriac, whose genius shone brightly even 
 in Its aberrations, might possibly only tend to confirm 
 him in his extravagant ideas. 
 
Through Night to Light. 17 
 
 ]Moved by this apprclicnsion Doctor Braiin liad post- 
 poned the visit to Fichtenan till the end of their journey, 
 instead of going there at first, as Oswald had wished. He 
 had hoped that the frequent intercourse with other men, 
 the beneficent influence of a journey through a beautiful 
 country, brilliant in all the glory of autumn, would 
 bring Oswald back to calmer and more reasonable views 
 of life, and enable him to meet Berger, if not with the 
 superiority of this calmness, at least without danger for 
 liimself. 
 
 Now Franz saw himself deceived in his hopes. He 
 was by no means pleased with Oswald's excited manner, 
 and would have liked best to turn back, if that had still 
 been possible. He sat casting now and then an anxious 
 glance at Oswald, Avho, throwing himself back in his 
 corner, looked with fixed eyes upon the little town 
 below, and he determined at least to shorten the visit as 
 much as possible, and to prevent his friend's being alone 
 with Berger while they were there together. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE sun had already set for half an hour behind the 
 broad back of the well-wooded hill, which em- 
 braces Fichtenan on the western side, when the 
 carriage left the mountains and rolled down into the 
 plain in which the town is situated. The wearied horses 
 enjoyed the level ground and the easier motion of the 
 carriage, and hastened to meet their good supper of 
 oats. They seemed to gather new strength from the 
 shrill notes of a clarinet which were heard high above 
 the unfailing roll of a big drum, from the midst of a 
 close circle of men, who surrounded on the commons 
 near the town-gate a band of rope-dancers. The road 
 passed close by the place, and as the crowd of curious 
 people had overflowed upon the turnpike, the driver saw 
 himself compelled to drive more slowly, and at last to 
 
i8 Through Night to Light. 
 
 stop altogether, as the people were not willing, in spite 
 of his scolding and cursing, to give up their vantage 
 ground, and persisted in remaining on the spot, from 
 which they could comfortably look down upon the per- 
 formance. 
 
 The good people thought it naturally quite hard to 
 be disturbed just then, as the wandering artists were at 
 that moment engaged in performing their masterpiece, 
 with which they always wound up the evening's work, 
 so as to dismiss the audience with the most favorable 
 impression. 
 
 They had stretched a rope from the little circus to the 
 top of a tall but broad-branched oak-tree which stood 
 upon the common, smaller ropes ran on both sides 
 down to the ground, and were there held fast by stout 
 boys, who had volunteered to perform that service for 
 the sake of High Art. The increased shrillness of the 
 clarinet and the growing thunder of the big drum 
 announced the coming of the great moment when the 
 famous acrobat, Mr. John Cotterby, of Egypt, called the 
 Flying Pigeon, would have the honor to perform, Avith 
 permission of the authorities, his great feat, admired by 
 all the potentates of Asia and Europe, viz., to fetch down 
 a flag fastened to the top of a steeple four hvmdred feet 
 high, on the extraordinary path of a single rope, and 
 moreover walking backwards all the time, a feat Avhich 
 he hoped the nobility and the highly cviltivated public 
 of Fichtenan would not fail duly to appreciate. 
 
 The tower, four hundred feet high, of Avhich the pla- 
 cards at all the street corners had spoken about, had 
 changed, it is true, into an oak of perhaps forty feet 
 height, and the enemies and rivals of the Flying Pigeon 
 — and what great artist is without enemies.'' — insisted up- 
 on it that this change in the programme diminished not 
 only the danger but also the interest of the daring feat. 
 But it was not Mr. John Cotterby 's fault, surely, that 
 the Imperialists had in the Thirty Years' War shot to 
 pieces the steeple of the little church on the public 
 square of Fichtenan, Avhich was then held by the Swedes. 
 Nor was he to be blamed if the paternal government 
 had now for two hundred years determined annually to 
 
Through Night to Light. 19 
 
 rebuild tlic steeple, but never accomplished it yet. 
 What could he do, Mr. John Cotterby, of Egypt, if, for 
 want of better times to come, the church on the square 
 ■was to this day without a steeple .'' Certainly, if the con- 
 science of the Flying Pigeon was as innocent of every 
 other crime as of this, he could perform his great feat, 
 even with the change of the programme, unblushingly 
 before the potentates of Europe and Asia, and the nobility 
 and highly cultivated public of Fichtenan. 
 
 And without blushing — unless the carmine of his 
 rouge should be interpreted to proclaim the redness of 
 his modesty — the Flying Pigeon presented himself now, 
 accompanied by desperate efforts of the clarinet and 
 the big drum, which were at that solemn moment rein- 
 forced by the tinkling of a triangle and the screams of a 
 tuneless fiddle, upon a little scaffolding, hung with 
 soiled linen sheets, to begin his journey heavenward. 
 He was a handsome, well-made man, and quite young; 
 his dark curly hair was confined by a narrow band of 
 brass, and his whole costume consisted of a suit of 
 stockinet which had long lost its first color of innocent 
 Avhite, and a jacket of the same material, to which on 
 the shoulders two wings had been fastened, which, 
 however, had evidently performed such very hard ser- 
 vice that they had lost many a feather on previous occa- 
 sions. 
 
 Encouraging applause greeted the artist and drowned 
 easily the hissing of the opposition ; he bowed gracefully 
 all around, with an air which is only found among 
 circus riders, rope-dancers, and other members of that 
 airy guild, while other mortals in vain endeavor to imi- 
 tate it, and thus to rob them of their exclusive secret. 
 But the applause ceased suddenly, when to the aston- 
 ishment of the whole audience a huge, shapeless figure 
 was seen climbing after the courteous artist upon the 
 platform, and presenting him, after a hearty slap upon 
 the place between the Icarus wings, with a long slip of 
 paper ! The white nightcap, the large blue apron, but 
 above all the enormous, deep-red nose, left no one who 
 was learned in such matters long in doubt as to the 
 nature of the man ; they saw at once in him the owner 
 
20 Through Night to Light. 
 
 of a beer-shop, or something of the kind, and in the paper 
 an unpaid bill. 
 
 The artist would not have been a true artist if he had 
 not been deeply embarrassed by this sudden intrusion 
 of stern reality vipon the bright regions of art. There 
 followed a pretty pantomime ; the Flying Pigeon 
 shrugged his shoulders and pointed at the place in his 
 stockinet where people with trousers of larger dimen- 
 sions indulge in pockets, in order to express his very 
 evident inability to pay, and seemed to implore the 
 landlord with much wringing of hands and plaintive 
 gesticulating to have patience. The latter replied, 
 however, as it seemed, only by making fearful faces 
 and by striking his hand with his closed fist, and thus 
 made it very clear that he was inexorably hard-hearted. 
 
 The highly-cultivated public of Fichtenan and the 
 surrounding country looked upon the scene as a very 
 serious affair, and showed their amazement and deep 
 interest in every feature. Bvit the excitement rose to a 
 painful intensity when next, upon a sign from the red- 
 nosed landlord, two fellows with huge moustaches, in 
 blue coats and black tri-cornered hats, came climbing up 
 on the stage, and filled the hearts of the innocent spec- 
 tators with horror as they raised their arms upon the 
 bidding of injured Justice, and, seizing the unlucky 
 artist with fearful grimaces and gesticulations, bound 
 his impecunious hands behind his winged back. 
 
 And now, at this most painful moment in the earthly 
 career of an artist, it was to be shown that the great 
 god Apollo knows how to lead his saints Avonderfully 
 out of troubles and trials, and to secure to them the well- 
 earned apotheosis, if not in this vale of tears, at least in 
 heavenly regions. 
 
 For, from the thickest of the oak-tree, where the rope 
 had been fastened to a mighty branch, there suddenly 
 appeared the figure of a lovely genius, Avinged like the 
 Mying Pigeon, with a wreath on the hair and a bright 
 banner in the right hand. This was evidently the Hag 
 which Mr. John Cotterby, of Egypt, usually fetched down 
 from a steeple four hundred feet high, and which he 
 saw himself on this day forced, for want of a suitable 
 
Through Night to Light. 21 
 
 tower, to bring down from heaven itself. For was not 
 the winged genius one of the heavenly choirs ? 
 
 When the messenger from Olympus showed himself 
 so opportunely, the servants of earthly Justice and the 
 wine-colored dispenser of abominable beverages were, 
 as in duty bound, seized with sudden terror. They 
 abandoned their victim and fell with all the signs of 
 deep contrition upon their knees, while the Flying 
 Pigeon relieved himself of his fetters and began to as- 
 cend the narrow path that leads to heaven, with all the 
 swiftness and agility which had won such honor for his 
 name and reputation. When he had gone up half-way 
 he knelt down before the heavenl}' apparition, who had 
 beckoned him on with unceasing waving of the flag, rose 
 to his full height and made there, far above the earth 
 and all earthly fear, a gesture towards his conscience- 
 stricken pursuers, which is universally understood upon 
 the earth. Loud applause and cheerful laughter ac- 
 companied the humorous artist up to the very heavens, 
 Avhere the genius handed him the flag, crowned him 
 with the wreath, and then disappeared once more in the 
 branches. Mr. John Cotterby then returned to the 
 stage, where the constables had in the meantime learnt 
 to appreciate the value of the ideal and of the divine 
 nature of art, and now received him with deep bows, 
 while the red-nosed landlord yielded to the impvilse of 
 the moment, and with most praiseworthy repentance 
 tore the enormous bill from end to end, thus giving the 
 spectators a comforting assurance that the Flying 
 Pigeon was, at least for the present, safe against all 
 attacks upon his freedom. 
 
 The performance was at an end. The generous land- 
 lord, who now appeared in the character of manager of 
 the company of artists, alone remained behind on the 
 stage, and in his epilogue promised the nobility and 
 highly-cultivated public of Fichtenan and the surround- 
 ing country on the next day a far more splendid rep- 
 resentation. The audience dispersed very suddenly, 
 for a suspicious ringing of money on tin plates reminded 
 them suddenly of a duty which the ungrateful among 
 the spectators did not hold themselves bound to perform, 
 
22 Through Night to Light. 
 
 while many grateful admirers regretted deeply their 
 inability to prove their gratitude. 
 
 Nevertheless the majority of those unable to pay were 
 still honest enough to allow the unwelcome plate to 
 come quite near to them, and those Avho were not kept 
 by honesty remained from curiosity to find out how the 
 genius who dwelt in the branches of oak-trees might look 
 when seen near by. For it was Apollo's own messenger 
 who deigned to make the collection for the benefit of his 
 children upon earth. 
 
 The cunning director could not have made a better 
 choice. The genius — it was hard to tell whether it was 
 a boy or a girl — had a pair of magnificent brown eyes, 
 which looked with such bewitching modesty and so im- 
 ploringly into every face that the purses opened together 
 with the hearts. Kindly words followed the child every- 
 where, and one or the other of the wxll-to-do citizens 
 seemed to think himself entitled by his gift of a few cents 
 to pinch the brown cheeks ; but the genius appeared by 
 no means disposed to appreciate the caress. 
 
 The driver had been on the point of leaving as soon 
 as the crowd allowed him to pass, but Franz and Os- 
 wald, who had followed the drama of the artist's earthly 
 career and his apotheosis with great interest, and now 
 and then with hearty laughter, ordered him to stop till 
 the genius should have made his way through the dense 
 crowd to the carriage. They had not to Avait long, for 
 a travelling carriage with two gentlemen inside was 
 surely worth more than a dozen of poor citizens of Fich- 
 tenan. 
 
 Franz was looking for some small change in his purse 
 when he was startled by a loud exclamation. 
 
 " What is the matter } " he asked, looking wonderingly 
 up at Oswald, who had jumped up and uttered the cry. 
 
 Oswald did not reply, but leaped with a single bound 
 out of the carriage, and hurried to meet the genius, who 
 no sooner recognized the young man than he dropped the 
 plate with all the silver and copper coins, and fell into 
 his arms. 
 
 " Czika, is it really you ? " 
 
 ** Yes, man with the blue eye," replied the child, eagerly 
 
Through Night to Light. 23 
 
 and affectionately, still hanging on his neck ; but then 
 suddenly tearing herself away and anxiously looking 
 toward the carriage : 
 
 " Is the other one there also ? " 
 
 " No, Czika," said Oswald, knowing very well that the 
 other of whom she spoke was Oldenburg. " But are 
 you quite alone ? " 
 
 " No, mother is with me ; mother does not leave the 
 Czika. Come and help me to collect the money again." 
 And the child stooped down to pick up the coins that 
 Avere half hid in the dust. 
 
 , " Oldenburg's child among rope-dancers," said Os- 
 wald to himself, mechanically obeying the child's injunc- 
 tion and unconscious of what he was doing, kneeling 
 down and picking up here and there the scattered pen- 
 nies. 
 
 The highly-cultivated public thought this meeting of 
 an apparently great personage with a rope-dancer's 
 child, and their warm* embrace, more remarkable than 
 anything they had seen that evening. Young and old 
 they crowded around them, forming a close circle, and 
 apparently determined not to leave the place till they 
 had solved the mystery of this extraordinary meeting. 
 
 Franz, Avho had witnessed the scene from the carriage, 
 had scarcely been less amazed than the crowd. Very 
 soon, however, he recollected the mysterious reports 
 about a gypsy girl which Baron Oldenburg was said to 
 have harbored at his lonely house for several weeks, 
 until she had escaped from him one fine day, and, with 
 that rapidity of combination which is often found in 
 strong heads, he at once concluded that Oswald, who no 
 doubt was in the baron's secret, had recognized the 
 gypsy girl in the beautiful genius. His next thought 
 was to shorten the scene, for Oswald's sake mainly, and 
 in order to diminish as far as possible the sensation 
 which it had already produced. . He jumped, therefore, 
 from the carriage, hastened to Oswald, and said, 
 
 " Let us go on ! At least till the crowd has dispersed." 
 
 At the same moment the director of the company, who 
 had also observed the scene from the stage, on which he 
 had harangued the public, pushed his way through the 
 
24 Through Night to Light. 
 
 assembly. His curiosity to know what was going on, 
 and his indignation at seeing the important business of 
 collection interrupted at the critical moment, had made 
 him forget that he still wore the costume of the red-nosed 
 landlord, and that he, therefore, ought not to have min- 
 gled with the people unless he wished to sacrifice the 
 dignity of his art. Franz was justly afraid that the 
 tragi-comic scene might become decidedly disagreeable 
 if that personage should join them, and therefore antici- 
 pated his questions by meeting him before he came 
 near, and whispering to him in a tone just loud enough 
 to be heard by the bystanders, 
 
 "I am a physician, sir. This young man (pointing 
 over his shoulder at Oswald, who was still kneeling 
 down with Czika) is rather eccentric. You understand. 
 Here is something in compensation for the loss he may 
 have caused you. ' 
 
 The man considered this explanation, Avhich was given 
 in a very solemn manner, perfectly satisfactory, since the 
 possible loss was amply made up by the two silver dol- 
 lars which Franz had slipped into his hand. He smiled 
 cunningly, and said, pulling off his night-cap and bowing 
 low, 
 
 " Understand, understand, your excellency. Only 
 pray get him away quickly, so that the Czika can go on 
 with the collection." 
 
 " Where are you staying.' " inquired Franz. 
 
 " At the Green Hat, your excellency. Your excel- 
 lency will rejoice a poor artist's soul if you will bestow 
 upon him your gracious patronage." 
 
 "Well, Avell," said Franz, and then turning to Os- 
 Avald, who had risen in the meantime, 
 
 " I pray you, Oswald, let us go on now. I know where 
 these people are staying ; you can go and see them some 
 other time.'" 
 
 Oswald, who had recovered from his first overwhelm- 
 ing astonishment at finding Czika in such company, now 
 saw very clearly the extraordinary character of his posi- 
 tion, and knew too well how sensible his friend's advice 
 was to neglect it any longer. 
 
 The Czika had shown the wonderful self-control 
 
Through N'ii^Jit to Light. 25 
 
 ■which this remarkable child never lost but for a few mo- 
 ments, and was going- on with the collection as if nothing 
 had happened. She did not even cast a glance at Oswald 
 as he went back to the carriage, almost forced to do so 
 by Franz. 
 
 The carriage drove off. The Cxowd had quickly seized 
 upon the fable of Oswald's insanity, v.-hich Franz had 
 invented with such admirable presence of mind, and dis- 
 persed all the more rapidly as the increasing coolness 
 of the evening air reminded them forcibly of the warm 
 supper that awaited them in their warm rooms at home. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 r v/as a few hours later. The evening had come com- 
 pletely. The mountains of Fichtenan were wrapped 
 in their double veils of night and mist; on the dark 
 sky a few lonely stars peeped here and there through 
 the drifting clouds. The narrow streets of the little 
 town were deserted ; lights, however, were shining from 
 the windows o:^ the low, simple houses. People were 
 sitting around the stove after their frugal suppers, and 
 the husband told his wife, Avho for good reasons had not 
 been able to venture into a crowd, what Avonderful feats 
 of strength, agility, and skill he had seen outside of the 
 town on the great meadow ; how an insane gentleman 
 had driven up with his physician (who no doubt was 
 bringing him to Doctor Birkenhain's great institution), 
 and how he had embraced tlie pretty gypsy girl, who was 
 going around with the plate, before all the people. The 
 old, half-deaf grandmother, who was nodding in her 
 arm-chair near the stove, and only heard half of what he 
 was saying, remarked, 
 
 " Yes, yes ! gypsies are the devil's children ; everybody 
 knows that. My sainted great-grandfather lent a hand 
 when five of them were burned on the great meadow." 
 
 There was great feasting that night in the Green Plat, 
 2 
 
26 Throtigh Night to Light. 
 
 a low drover's inn near the cjates of the town, and not far 
 from the great meadow. The Green Hat was also the 
 headquarters of all wandering rope-dancers, and there- 
 fore a most attractive place for all lovers of art among 
 the people of Fichtenan. 
 
 The long table in the public room, which was filled 
 with tobacco smokers, could scarcely hold the number 
 of guests, although they were sitting closely enough on 
 the hard benches. At the upper end, especially, the 
 crowd was great, for there the artists sat and drank in 
 the full consciousness of their dignity and the hearty 
 enjoyment of a free treat. The director, Mr. Caspar 
 Schmenckel,from Vienna,presided as a matter of course. 
 He had laid aside all the insignia of the last part he had 
 played, except a few patches of rouge which still adorned 
 his bloated face ; he had taken off his nightcap and the 
 blue-checked apron, together with the pillow with which 
 it was stuffed. He appeared now in the comfortable 
 and elegant costume of a gentleman who has relieved 
 himself of his coat and waistcoat, and who forgets, in 
 the consciousness of his artistic fame and of his broad, 
 richly-embroidered suspenders, that his linen is not of 
 the cleanest. Mr. John Cotterby, of Egypt, who sat on 
 the right hand of his lord and master, had been com- 
 pelled to make a greater alteration in his toilette, espe- 
 icially since the artistic wardrobe boasted only of a sin- 
 gle suit of stockinet, and it was therefore of the utmost 
 importance for him to do all that could be done in 
 order to preserve its delicate whiteness. Mr. John Cot- 
 terby, of Egypt, wore a short, gray coat with green 
 trimmings, and would have looked, all in all, far more 
 like a handsome Tyrolese (which was, by-the-by, his real 
 cliaracter) than the son of the land of mystery through 
 which the Nile rolls its waves, if the narrow brass band 
 which still confined his dark locks, and the broken 
 German which he composed most artistically for the 
 occasion, had not vouched for his mystic descent. 
 There were two other artists sitting a little further down 
 the table ; one a modest, silent, tall man, who took his 
 craft in earnest, and meditated deeply how he might 
 introduce a new feature in his far-famed performance, 
 
Tlvough Night to Light. 27 
 
 the Gigantic Cask ; the other, the clown of the company, 
 a round, odd-looking creature, who made a new grimace 
 at every glass which he drank with a new guest, and 
 thus proved the immense stock of that valuable com- 
 modity which he owned, since this process of touching 
 glasses occurred on an average every five minvites. 
 
 Mr. Caspar Schmenckel, director, etc., had been a fine- 
 looking man until the abundance of his potations had 
 injured the fair symmetry of his person, and he loved to 
 recall the many gallant adventures of which he had 
 been the hero, and in which even great ladies, whose eye 
 had been well pleased with the gigantic proportions of 
 the Hercules, played a prominent part. When Mr. 
 Schmenckel had emptied his third glass he was apt to 
 become eloquent about this heroic age of his life, and to- 
 night he had already more than doubled the mysterious 
 number which loosened the chaste seal on his lips. The 
 young men who pressed around him glass in hand 
 Avould have fared better, probably, as far as their morals 
 Avere concerned, if they had not honored the Green Hat 
 on that particvdar evening with their presence. 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel's fancy was exuberant, and where or- 
 dinary eyes saw but a number of midges dancing in the 
 air, his rolling eye beheld a host of elephants. He cal- 
 culated with incredible boldness upon the credulity of 
 his listeners ; above all he endeavored to surround him- 
 self and the members of his company with a nimbus of 
 adventurous glorv. The accident on the great meadow, 
 which had brought the madman and the Czika into con- 
 tact with each other, was far too useful for such a pur- 
 pose not to be fully employed by Mr. Schmenckel. It 
 is true the gypsy and her child had joined his troop 
 quite accidentally a few days ago, as they were making 
 their Avay across the mountains towards Fichtenan, and 
 Mr. Schmenckel knew as little of their former history 
 as any one in the company ; but his imagination was 
 only the more perfectly free to rove at random, and he 
 invented a magnificent story in order to satisfy the curi- 
 osity of the guests, who continually came back to the 
 beautiful child and the gypsy woman who had appeared 
 as a dancer in the first part of the performance. 
 
28 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Yes, you see," said Director Schmenckel, " that is a 
 very mysterious story, and I should be quite ready to tell 
 you all about it, but it is so very incredible." 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel dived with his red nose into his beer 
 and slowly absorbed the remaining half, while his eyes 
 twinkled with delight as he looked by turns through the 
 swollen lids at one and the other of his friends. 
 
 " Tell us, tell us, Director ! " cried half a dozen voices. 
 
 "Another bumper for the Director!" cried another 
 half dozen. 
 
 "It may be about. ten or twelve years," began Mr. 
 Schmenckel, after having diminished the contents of the 
 new glass to a considerable extent, "when I was making 
 a trip to Egypt " 
 
 When he said Egypt all eyes turned to Mr. John Cot- 
 terby, who leaned back in his chair and smiled mysteri- 
 ously. 
 
 " What were you going to do in Egypt .' " asked a 
 voice. 
 
 "May I tell, Mr. Cotterby.? " asked Mr. Schmenckel. 
 
 " Fideremkankinsavalilaloramei," replied the Egyp- 
 tian, who could not imagine what his lord and master 
 wanted to be allowed to tell. 
 
 "Thanks, Cotterby," said Mr. Schmenckel, "modesty 
 adorns a man, but why should I conceal it that it was 
 on your account I was making that journey ? You must 
 know, gentlemen, that the fame of Mr. Cotterby was in 
 those days filling the whole Orient, and that nobody 
 spoke of anything but the Flying Pigeon. I said to 
 myself: You must induce this man, the greatest artist 
 whom the world ever saw, to join your company, as 
 sure as your name is Caspar Schmenckel. No sooner 
 said than done. I went to Egypt, where I was told Mr. 
 Cotterby was then residing, but Mr. Cotterby was no- 
 where to be found. At last I learnt from an old Dervish 
 who had sold me the talking serpent, which I shall 
 have the honor of exhibiting to-morrow, that Mr. Cot- 
 terby was staying somewhere far away in the desert near 
 the pyramids. May I tell why you did so, Cotterby.? " 
 
 " Framtebaramta ! Tell what you Avish to tell," re- 
 plied the Egyptian, with a generous, modest smile. 
 
Through Night to Light. 29 
 
 " Mr Cottcrby, you must know, had retired for some 
 time into the desert, and sworn a fearful oatli that lie 
 would not again appear in public till he had ascended 
 every one of the pyramids on a rope." 
 
 " What are those pyramids? " inquired a voice. 
 
 " Pyramids ! " said Mr. Schmenckel, dictatorially, " are 
 immense heaps of stone, which the old Egyptians raised 
 in honor of their gods, a thovisand feet high, or more, 
 and so steep that a cat can hardly get to the top. On 
 the top there is a pointed stone pillar, called obelisk ; 
 to this Mr. Cotterby fastened one end of a rope, while 
 the lower end was held by two thousand black slaves of 
 his, and thus he walked up and down, so that those who 
 saw it felt their hair stand on an end. That was the 
 way I found Mr. Cotterby engaged in the desert, and 
 of course I became more anxious than ever to engage 
 him for our company ; but he refused. What was I to 
 do.? I had nothing left but to climb at night to the top 
 of the pyramid at the risk of my life, and next morning, 
 when Mr. Cotterby arrived there, to seize him around 
 the waist and to cry : Either you consent to an engage- 
 ment for three thousand a year, or I send you head 
 over heels down this pyramid, as sure as my name is 
 Caspar Schmenckel. May I tell what you replied, Cot- 
 terby.? " 
 
 The Egyptian nodded assent. 
 
 " If you are Mr. Schmenckel from Vienna," said Mr. 
 Cotterby, " you need not have made such an ado about 
 it. I should have come to you any way to Vienna, as 
 soon as I had done with this pyramid. There is only 
 one Schmenckel, as there is only one Cotterby; both 
 ought to be together, like bread and butter. But that 
 was not exactly what I was going to tell you, gentle- 
 men," said Mr. Schmenckel, emptying his glass and hold- 
 ing it up to the light, as if he wished to convince him- 
 self that there was really nothing left in it. 
 
 " A glass for Director Schmenckel," cried a dozen 
 voices. 
 
 " Thanks ! thanks ! gentlemen ! Your health ! — but 
 how I made the acquaintance of Madame Xenobia — or 
 Kussuk Arnem, as her true name is. But that story is 
 
30 Through Night to Light. 
 
 almost still more incredible, and contains certain epi- 
 sodes which I can only touch upon in the way of deli- 
 cate allusions " 
 
 " Oh, never mind ! Just go on and tell us ! " ex- 
 claimed the listeners, crowding more closely around 
 him. 
 
 " Well, then, I will tell you ! A short time after I had 
 thus secured Mr. Cotterby for my company, I was giv- 
 ing a few representations at Constantinople on the great 
 square before the Sultan's palace. He took uncommon 
 interest in our art, and had given us permission to fasten 
 our rope to the uppermost turret of his palace, upon the 
 flat roof itself Now, you must know that the upper 
 story of this palace contains the rooms of the wives of 
 the Sultan, and on that account it is called the harem. 
 I had always felt the most intense desire to make my 
 way some time or other into such an harem, which 
 otherwise is vxtterly inaccessible to everybody. And 
 now Cotterby had told me that whenever he came by 
 the top story the most beavitiful black eyes in the world 
 were glancing at him through the narrow crevices be- 
 tween the planks, which are nailed over the windows of 
 the harem. What could I do .' I say to Cotterby : ' Cot- 
 terby,' says I, 'you can do anything. Suppose you take 
 me to-morrow in the wheelbarrow, which you carry up 
 and down the rope, and then let me get out on the roof. 
 I must see how things look up there. You can bring 
 me back the same way the day after. Will you do it } ' 
 ' Why not 1 ' says Cotterby, ' if you wish it particularly.' 
 The next day the thing is done. I hide myself in the 
 wheelbarrow. Cotterby carries me vip to the roof; he 
 turns the barrow over and there I am, on the roof, quite 
 alone, for Cotterby had gone back immediately, so as to 
 create no suspicion. Now you may believe it or not as 
 you choose, gentlemen, but I assure you I felt rather pe- 
 culiar in that position. How easily the head of a black 
 guardsman might pop out througli one of the openings 
 in the roof — and then farewell to my sweet life ! But 
 there I was, caught in the trap, and I was determined 
 not to leave again until I had a taste of the bait. While 
 I was still considering what I had better do next, I sud- 
 
• Through Night to Light. 31 
 
 denly hear the rattling of spears and of swords on the 
 staircase which leads up to the roof It was the Sultan 
 himself, who wished to admire Mr. Cotterby from that 
 elevation. I, in my terror, run up to the nearest chim- 
 ney which rose out of the roof, creep into it, and — I had 
 not time to think for a moment — down I go some twenty 
 feet deep — and where do you think, gentlemen, I came 
 out again .' In the fire-place of the bed-room of the Sul- 
 tan's first favorite. But here I must ask the pardon of 
 all the gentlemen present if, to spare the honor of a 
 great lady, I can only assure them that the next twenty- 
 four hours were among the happiest which Caspar 
 Schmenckel has ever enjoyed in this life. On the day 
 following, Cotterby brought, as a matter of precaution, 
 a much larger wheelbarrow, and carried me safely down 
 again. We left Constantinople that very night, and 
 from that moment our company was richer by one great 
 artist, and the harem of the Sultan hgid lost its fairest 
 flower." 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel looked around him triumphantly. 
 He could well be satisfied with the impression which he 
 had made bv his stories on his audience ; they sat there 
 listening witli breathless attention. At that moment a 
 lady came running into the room ; it was the same one 
 who used to sit at the ticket office, and who attended to 
 all the domestic affairs of the company ; she whispered 
 a few words in the director's ear, of which the company 
 only heard one or two, which sounded like " woman — 
 run aAvay." The director did not seem to be pleased 
 with the information. His face darkened perceptibly. 
 He grumbled something about the devil and his luck, 
 and left the table without finishing his glass — a proof 
 that the news he had just received must have been of the 
 utmost importance. 
 
 And the news Avas important, for it amounted to 
 nothing less than that the fair flower, which Mr. Sch- 
 menckel had stolen ten years ago with so much daring 
 and such cunning from the palace of the Lord of the Faith- 
 ful, had been lost again. Alas ! he had allowed her to 
 rest ever since on his broad bosom, he had seen the ten- 
 der bud of the beauteous flower unfold itself under his 
 
32 T/iroiigh N'ig/it to Light. 
 
 watchful care, and now both flower and bud had been 
 torn away by a storm, carried off by the deeply-injured 
 Sultan, or at least they could not be found anywhere in 
 their chamber or in the whole house ! Mamselle Adele 
 had made the discovery as she was about to invite the 
 gypsy to the common supper of the ladies of the com- 
 pany, which was laid in another room. Mamselle Adele, 
 a lady with an abundance of black curls, the genuine- 
 ness of which Avas strongly suspected by envious rivals, 
 a dark face full of energy, and an ever hoarse, rough 
 voice, informed Mr. Schmenckel of her discovery with 
 that gift of the gab and that dramatic power which is 
 given to ladies who are in the habit of addressing the 
 public from the open steps of a wooden booth. The 
 news was soon confirmed by the result of a thorough 
 search of the vholejiouse, in which he himself took the 
 lead ; it fell upon him like a flash of lightning from a 
 clear sky. The e.scape of the gypsy woman was to him 
 what the death of his best lioness and her cub Avould 
 have been to the owner of a menagerie. He lost in the 
 mother and child a capital which had cost him next to 
 nothing, and which yet promised to produce abundant 
 interest — the ornament, the glory, the poetr}'- of his es- 
 tablishment. Even jNIr. John Cotterby, of Egypt, might 
 have been replaced more easily. Flying Pigeons are 
 rare, but after all they can be procured ; but a genius 
 with such eyes, such deep, brown eyes, with such a 
 kindly, serious smile, that could tempt the stingiest 
 green-grocer to lavish profusion, was not to be found 
 again. Mr. Schmenckel Avoidd not have been a man 
 and a director, and above all he would have had to drink, 
 instead of so many glasses of bitter beer, as many gallons 
 of the milk of human kindness, if he had borne such a 
 loss with stoic repose. Mr. Schmenckel was a man, he 
 Avas a director, he had been drinking beer and not milk 
 — and Mr. Schmenckel gave himself up to fearful Avrath. 
 The first explosion fell very naturally upon the bearer 
 of the bad ncAvs, especially as Mr. Schmenckel had had 
 full opportunity during the many years of their intimacy 
 to become aAA^are of the jealous temper of this lady, as 
 Avell as of her other foibles. He accused her in terms 
 
Through Night to Light. t^i 
 
 Avhich onc^ht to be impossible even among- the most in- 
 timate friends, of having compelled the g3'psy by her in- 
 trigues to seek safety in flight. Mamselle Adele, whose 
 temper was naturally not of the gentlest, and who found 
 herself in this case considered guilty when slie was really 
 quite innocent, replied in a tone which betrayed her in- 
 ner excitement but too distinctly. Mr. Schmenckel be- 
 longed to that class of heroic men who, in the conscious- 
 ness of their superiority — especially Avhen they have 
 drunk deep — allow of no contradiction, and whose proud 
 motto in decisive moments is: "Works, not words." 
 Mamselle Adele no sooner felt the heavy hand of her 
 master upon her cheeks than her burning heart burst 
 forth in flames, and her tongue began to ring the alarm- 
 bell with such loudness and shrillness that the guests 
 inside started up from their seats and hurried to the 
 door, apprehending that some dire calamity had taken 
 place in the hall, where the scene between Mr. Schmenc- 
 kel and Mamselle Adele was then under way. 
 
 The sight of so many uninvited and undesirable wit- 
 nesses brought the director, Avho was always anxiously 
 concerned for the good name of his troop, very quickly 
 to his senses ; but the poor lady, who saw her honor 
 thus compromised before a great crowd, was exaspe- 
 rated beyond endurance. So far she had only threatened 
 to let the director feel her nails ; now she added the act 
 to the threat. The highly-cultivated public of Fich- 
 tenan, as far as it had assembled at the Green Hat, were 
 unspeakably shocked when they saw the celebrated 
 artist, the hero of so many adventures, the master of the 
 far-famed pyramid-climber, the robber of the Grand 
 Sultan's own palace, in such a state of suflTering. Mam- 
 selle Adele's attacks did not cease for a moment; they 
 were even carried out with irresistible energy, force, and 
 agility. Some wished to come to the assistance of the 
 defeated general ; others laughed and encouraged her ; 
 still others, men in blue blouses and heavy hob-nailed 
 shoes, who were regular customers at the Green Hat 
 with their wagons and horses, and bore no good-will to 
 the rope-dancers, because they interfered with their 
 accustomed comfort, spoke loud of " rabble," and " turn 
 
 2* 
 
34 Through Night to Light. 
 
 them out," a sentiment which in its turn displeased a 
 few enthusiastic admirers of high art. Angry faces, 
 threatening arms lifted high, and curses loud and many, 
 formed a tableau, which in the twinkling of an eye was 
 changed into another, in which even the landlord of the 
 Green Hat, Avho was leaning against the kitchen door 
 in phlegmatic composure, his pipe between his lips, 
 could no longer distinguish any details. Dense clouds 
 of dust half concealed and half revealed a heap of strug- 
 gling men, rolling to and fro on the floor of the inn, 
 while everybody was striking out with his natural 
 weapon of the fist, or the artificial weapon of a leg of a 
 chair, against his real or imaginary adversary. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 |SWALD had been hospitably provided for in the 
 elegant " Kurhaus " of Fichtenan, but he had not 
 been able to resist the desire to visit little Czika 
 that same evening. He hoped to learn from the Brown 
 Countess how they had become mixed up with such 
 strange company, and at the same time to persuade her 
 either to return to Baron Oldenburg, or at least to give 
 up the child to him. He thought he should be able to 
 accomplish b}' management what the violence of the 
 baron had rendered impossible, and this all the more 
 readily as the Brown Countess seeined to be kindly dis- 
 posed towards him, and little Czika evidently felt more 
 confidence in himself than in the " other," who was her 
 father. And then there was still another feeling besides 
 the personal interest which he felt in the beautiful child 
 and the gypsy, whom he had first met on that eventful 
 afternoon when he was lost in the forest on his way to 
 Melitta, and who, therefore, had in a manner been the 
 instrument to bring him to Melitta, to say nothing of 
 their subseqvient connection with Oldenburg, all of 
 which prompted him to act energetically. He felt the 
 
Through Night to Light. 35 
 
 burden of the gratitude which he owed to Oldenburg 
 for his chivalrous assistance at Bruno's death, and in 
 the duel with Felix. He did not like to be under such 
 obligations to a man against whom he had felt a strong 
 antipathy from the beginning, and whom he had after- 
 wards, in the days of his love of Mclitta, feared as 
 his most dangerous rival — a man whose determined 
 strength of will had something imposing to him in spite 
 of his reluctance to acknowledge it, and whom he yet 
 accused — heaven knows with what justice! — of dupli- 
 city and inconsistency ! — a man who had betrayed him 
 all these days in the most humiliating manner, if the rela- 
 tions between Oldenburg and Melitta were at all like 
 what they were represented to be by the family Barne- 
 witz and other friendly spies and gossips. If he could 
 now succeed in rescuing the child which he had almost 
 given up, and render him the very great service of restor- 
 ing it to him — then the oppressive debt of gratitude was 
 paid, he had acquitted himself of all he owed, and Os- 
 wald Stein had no reason to cast down his eyes before 
 Baron Oldenburg, if fate should ever array them in a 
 hostile manner against each other — and the young ma;n 
 apprehended that such a moment might come. 
 
 These thoughts and feelings filled Oswald's heart as 
 he followed a servant from the Kurhaus through the 
 silent streets of the town towards the Green Hat, where 
 he had been told by Franz he should find the rope- 
 dancers. Franz himself had remained at the Kurhaus, 
 as he was too discreet to intrude upon a secret which 
 was apparently kept from him. For when he had laugh- 
 ingly endeavored to explain to his friend how he had 
 managed to interpret, for the benefit of the crowd, the 
 strange scene with the rope-dancer's child, Oswald had 
 remained perfectly silent, and Franz had seen no other 
 way to explain this reticence than by supposing that 
 his companion was either not willing or not at liberty 
 to give any further explanations about the matter. When 
 Oswald, therefore, remarked it would probably be too 
 late that evening to pay a visit to Berger, he had simply 
 answered : " I think so ! " and refrained from offering his 
 company; when Oswald, after walking up and down in 
 
^6 Through A'ight to Light. 
 
 his room for a quarter of an hour in perfect silence, had 
 at last declared his intention to take a walk in the cool 
 of the evening. Franz adapted himself all the more 
 readily to the fancies of his companion, as he v.-as busily 
 occupied at that moment with his own affairs. He had 
 hoped to find in Fichtenan a letter from his betrothed, 
 but his hopes had not been fulfilled. This disappoint- 
 ment caused him some apprehension, as Sophie gene- 
 rally wrote very punctually, and they had come to 
 Fichtenan several days later than they had originally 
 intended. He consoled himself, however, with the hope 
 that the last mail, which was expected every moment, 
 might yet bring him the much-desired letter. 
 
 in the meantime Oswald arrived at the hospitable 
 shelter of the Green Hat at the very moment when it 
 sent a part of the odd crowd that had assembled there 
 that evening through the open house-door into the 
 street, where the conflict in large masses, as it had been 
 carried on in the hall, changed into a fight between iso- 
 lated groups. For a moment they blazed up, like the 
 remains of an exhausted fire, only to sink the next mo- 
 rhent into utter night for want of fuel. Peace was soon 
 restored, for nobody knew exactly Avhy they had been 
 fighting each other with such rage, and there were quite 
 enough closed eyes and bruised limbs for sucli an in- 
 tangible cause of war. The excitement, it is true, was 
 not allayed, and there was still a good deal of noise, but 
 it was only the long swell of the ocean after theviolenc^e 
 of the storm has been broken. They cursed and swore, 
 they bragged and threatened — but they sat down again 
 and drowned the last remains of hostility in beer. 
 
 Oswald was so anxious about Czika that he had not 
 been so much disgusted with the horrible scene as he 
 wo\dd have been under other circumstances. Fortu- 
 nately he saw neither the child nor Xcnobia in the 
 crowd, but the mere thouglit that they might have been 
 mixed up with such a pandemonium was terrible to him, 
 and he determined to remove them at any hazard. He 
 pushed his way through the noisy figliting crowd, who 
 did not notice him at all, and inquired of the one and the 
 other why they were fighting, and where Xcnobia the 
 
Through Night to Light. 37. 
 
 gypsy was, with her child ? No one had time or inclina- 
 tion to answer his questions, until at last he happened 
 to speak to a young man who looked a little less rowdy- 
 ish than the rest, and who told him that some members 
 of the rope-dancer's troop had run away, a gypsy woman 
 and her daughter, and that this had given rise to a gen- 
 eral fight. He pointed out to him a man who was wiping 
 the blood off his face and speaking with most animated 
 gesticulations, intimating that that was the director, 
 and that he would probably be able to tell him all he 
 desired to know. 
 
 Oswald felt greatly relieved when he heard this. 
 Xenobia and Czika were gone, and it mattered little 
 where they had gone to, so they were free from this 
 association. He considered for a moment whether he 
 had better return without having anything more to do 
 with the rope-dancers ; but the desire to hear more, and 
 to ascertain, perhaps, the place to which the fugitives 
 might have escaped, overcame his reluctance, and he 
 addressed the person who had been pointed out to him 
 as the director. 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel was a man of remarkable elasticity 
 of mind, and h. d readily recovered the imperilled har- 
 mony of his soul after the battle, from which he had 
 come forth covered with honorable wounds. As soon 
 as the first storm of his passions had subsided a little, he 
 generally exhibited a high degree of that philosophic 
 resignation which submits with dignity to the inevitable, 
 and makes every effort to adapt itself to the circum- 
 stances. Since the gypsy woman was gone, all lamenta- 
 tions about his loss would only make him ridiculous, 
 and it became a noble character to forgive and forget. 
 He pretended, therefore, to ignore the whole occurrence, 
 and treated it as something by no means unexpected. 
 "Ingratitude is tlie world's reward — easily won, easily 
 lost — to-day it is I, to-morrow it is another. Let us sit 
 down again, gentlemen. Director Schmenckel is not so 
 easily thrown out of gear. We have other means still in 
 reserve to entertain a highly-honored public, and you 
 shall see that the performance which I shall have the 
 honor to give to-morrow — what does the gentleman 
 
38 Through Night to Light. 
 
 wish? — you wish to speak to me? I am at your service 
 — a director must be always ready." Mr. Schmenckel 
 followed Oswald, who had asked him for a few moments' 
 conversation, very readily, since the circumstance that 
 an elegantly-dressed gentleman came all the way to the 
 Green Hat in order to have an interview with Director 
 Schmenckel, was well calculated to make a sensation. 
 
 *' What does your excellency desire ? " inquired Mr. 
 Schmenckel, when they were in the hall. 
 
 " I should be glad if you would give me some infor- 
 mation about the gypsy woman, who, I am told, has left 
 your company this evening." 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel was startled ; the question sounded 
 suspicious. He availed himself of the light of the lamp 
 before the house — for they had reached the street by this 
 time — to examine Oswald's face more carefully, and he 
 now recognized in him the gentleman whom the Czika 
 had embraced. Mr. Schmenckel knew at once how the 
 matter stood. This young gentleman was an immensely 
 rich lord who had a mania for gypsies, and was in the 
 habit of buying up young gypsy children for his amuse- 
 ment. Mr. Schmenckel reflected that the woman might 
 possibly return, and that the greater his claims were 
 upon her, the higher the price he might ask for the child. 
 
 " Well," he said, in order to gain time for considera- 
 tion, "why would your excellency like to know? " 
 
 " That does not matter," replied Oswald ; " it will suffice 
 for you that I do not mean to leave the man who gives 
 me the information I desire to obtain unrewarded," and 
 he slipped a dollar into Mr. Schmenckel's hand. 
 
 " Thanks, your excellency," replied Mr. Schmenckel, 
 whose suspicions were only confirmed by Oswald's libe- 
 rality, " nevertheless I should like to " 
 
 " But I do not understand why you should hesitate to 
 tell me what little you may possibly know about the 
 woman ?" 
 
 "Well," replied Mr. Schmenckel, "perliaps it is not 
 so very little I know about her. When one has had 
 somebody thirteen years in the company " 
 
 " But I have met the gypsy only this summer at — 
 never mind, not very far from here, and quite alone." 
 
Through Night to Light. 39 
 
 "That may ycrj Avell be," replied the cunning direc- 
 tor; "it is not the first time to-night that Xenobia has 
 run awav, but she has always come back again." 
 
 " Thirteen years ! " said Oswald, who did not think for 
 A moment of doubting the fable; "how old was the 
 child, then, when she came to join you? " 
 
 " How old? " said Mr. Schmcnckel. "Why, your ex- 
 cellency, when she came to us, she had no child. I 
 know that, as a matter of course, ha, ha, ha! " 
 
 " You? " said Oswald, and he shuddered. "You ? " 
 
 "Well! why not? Do I look to your excellency's 
 eye as if a pretty young woman could not possibly 
 fall in love with me; and did not this girl, moreover, 
 take wages from me? I can tell your excellency that I 
 have made very different conquests in my time. Has 
 your excellency ever been in St. Petersburg? There 
 is the Princess — but, after all, I am not at liberty to 
 speak as freely of such a great lady as " 
 
 " In one Avord," said Oswald, scarcely able to restrain 
 himself, "the Czika is your child? " 
 
 " I couldn't swear to that," said jNIr. Schmenckel, smil- 
 ing, " bvit I can take my oath that she might be my child, 
 and that I have always looked vipon her in that light." 
 
 " And you think the gypsy will come back again ? " 
 
 " Oh, your excellency may rely upon that ; she is 
 never as well off as when she stays with me." 
 
 " But why does she run away so often, then ? " 
 
 "Yes, just think of it, your excellency; women are a 
 strange kind of people," said Mr. Schmenckel, philoso- 
 phizing, " and the kinder you are to them, the sooner 
 they will play you some trick or other. There is no 
 truth and no faith among them, and especially these 
 gypsies " 
 
 " Very well," said Oswald, who was overcome Avith 
 disgust, "we will talk about that some other time." 
 
 And he went away quickly. 
 
 Director Schmenckel followed him Avith his eye for 
 awhile, shook his head, put the dollar, which he was still 
 holding in his hand, in his pocket, laughed and returned 
 into the public room, feeling very happy in the pleasant 
 conviction that he had cheated a greenhorn. Within, 
 
40 Through Night to Light. 
 
 peace had in the meantime recovered its sway, and the 
 whole company liad joined in singing the favorite bal- 
 lad: "Blue blooms a blossom." 
 
 While Oswald was receiving this doubtful informa- 
 tion about the true history of poor little Czika from the 
 truth-loving lips of Director Schmenckel, Franz was 
 waiting for his return with painful impatience. The 
 mail had really brought him the long-desired letter from 
 his betrothed, but unfortunately had also confirmed the 
 vague apprehensions which had of late troubled his 
 mind. Sophie wrote in a hand almost illegible from 
 anxiety, that lier father had had a stroke of paralysis, 
 from which the physicians feared the very worst. Her 
 father, she added, was at that moment, several hours 
 after the attack, still speechless and unable to move. If 
 there were any hope for her father, help could only come 
 from Him whom she looked up to with trusting confi- 
 dence and perfect submission. 
 
 Franz had formed his resolution instantly. As the 
 driver who had brought them to this place declared he 
 was unable to go any further, he had at once ordered 
 post-horses, in order to reach the nearest railway station 
 that night. To think of his sweet-love in such bitter 
 need and sorrow — watching and weeping by the sick- 
 bed, perhaps already by the coffin of her father — and he, 
 her comfort and her hope, some four hundred miles 
 away — all this was enough to disturb even so firm a 
 heart as that of Doctor Braun's was under ordinary cir- 
 cumstances. He felt as if the ground was burning 
 under his feet. The few minutes before the carriage 
 could be made ready, seemed to him an eternity. 
 
 At last he heard the horses coming, and Oswald also 
 returned. Franz told him the sad news he had just re- 
 ceived, and what he had determined to do. He begged 
 his friend, in a few parting words, not to prolong his 
 stay at Fichtenan beyond what was absolutely necessary, 
 and above all to be punctually at the appointed time at 
 his post in Grunwald. Oswald had been so thoroughly 
 excited by the many extraordinary occurrences of the 
 last hours that he apparently expected nothing but sur- 
 prises, and thus he received his friend's communications 
 
Through A'ig/ii to Light. 41 
 
 witli an air of indifference. He promised, however, 
 ■what Franz asked of him, as he accompanied him to the 
 carriaj^e. 
 
 "What do you say, Oswald," said Franz, who had 
 already settled himself down in the carriage ; " Come 
 along with me' ! You may find my proposal somewhat ex- 
 traordinary, but the strangest way is often the best way." 
 
 " I cannot do it, Franz," said Oswald. " I cannot 
 leave here without having seen Bergcr, and besides " 
 
 " I know all you can possibly say on that subject," 
 replied Franz, " and I must tell yovi frankly that I have 
 no good reason whatever for making the proposition. 
 But I feel as if I ought not to leave you here alone — as 
 if there was something in the air here that boded you 
 no good. Come with me, Oswald ! " 
 
 " I will follow you as soon as I can." 
 
 " Then farewell ! Go on, driver ! " 
 
 Franz once more pressed Oswald's hand. The car- 
 riage rattled over the vmeven pavement of the little town 
 and disappeared around a corner. 
 
 " What a pity the gentleman had to leave so soon," 
 said Louis, the liead waiter at the Kurhaus, who was 
 standing near Oswald, a napkin under his arm and a 
 pen behind the ear. " A most pleasing gentleman — 
 would you like to have supper now", sir.? You will find 
 very pleasing company in the dining-room, sir." 
 
 Oswald went back into the house. If Franz could 
 have repeated his request at that moment, Oswald would 
 not have refused again to accompany him. For since 
 Franz had left him he felt as if his guardian angel had 
 abandoned him, and as if the air of Fichtenan was really 
 laden with mischief. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ,N the next morning Oswald awoke late from his 
 broken slumbers, which had been much disturbed 
 by strange haunted dreams. Melitta, whom he had 
 so ardently loved but a short time ago, had appeared to 
 
42 Through Night to Light. 
 
 him, her fair, pale face disfigured by sorrow, her brown, 
 gentle eyes overflowing with tears, and looking at him 
 with an expression of ineffable sadness. Thus she had sat 
 by him — her sad, sweet smile on her swelling lips, which 
 he had so often kissed in drunken love ! And Oswald's 
 heart had been overflowing with love and pity. He had 
 forgotten all that had come between her and himself — 
 the bad weeds sown by whispering tongues which had 
 grown up to maturity so suddenly, thanks to the fickle- 
 ness of his own heart ; he had forgotten everything — 
 except the remembrance of those sunny days of inex- 
 pressible happiness. And he had thrown himself at her 
 feet and shed tears, bitter-sweet tears upon her knees, 
 and stammered words of repentance, and implored her 
 forgiveness. Then an icy-cold hand had been laid on 
 his brow, and as he looked up it was no longer Melitta, 
 but Professor Berger; but not the man of the melan- 
 choly humor and the biting satire, who had so often sat 
 opposite to him with his sardonic smile on the mysteri- 
 ous lips when they met at aesthetic teas, but a grue- 
 some mask of wax, motionless and silent. And of a 
 sudden it had begun to quiver and to stir in that cold, 
 rigid face of the mask, as when somebody tries to speak 
 and the tongue refuses to serve him ; then the mask had 
 actually spoken, not in human language, but in a mys- 
 tic idiom, of things half intelligible, half mysterious, of 
 unspeakable, fearful things — awful secrets of another 
 world. 
 
 Oswald had not been able to endure the horror any 
 longer, and his soul had made a desperate effort to rise 
 from the intolerable twilight into the bright light of 
 day. But the light of day had not brought him the right 
 kind of cheerfulness, for the visions of the night still cast 
 their spectral shadows upon the day. Woe to him whose 
 heart is not clear of sin ! Woe to him whose heart con- 
 ceals recollections, which he drives away with a slight 
 frown, when they obtrude upon him in moments of wake- 
 fulness and preparation ! He may well see to it. What 
 dreams are coming to him in his sleep.'' 
 
 Oswald sj3ent the whole forenoon in this painful state 
 of mind. He could not summon courage to undertake 
 
Through Night to Light. 43 
 
 the painful task of going to Doctor Birkcnhain's Asy- 
 lum ; he postponed the visit till the afternoon, and tried 
 to persuade himself tliat he would then be in better hu- 
 mor, and better prepared to stand once more before Ber- 
 ger, i-ACC to face. He went down to take his dinner at 
 the table-d'hote, where he found, in spite of the advanced 
 season, quite a number of persons still, who were either 
 drinking the waters of the place or travelling for their 
 amusement. He sat quietly sipping his wine, and amused 
 himself with listening to the brilliant conversation of 
 some commercial travellers, as it flitted to and fro, touch- 
 ing a thousand subjects, and among them also the es- 
 cape of the gypsy woman and her child, and the " enor- 
 mous row " which had arisen in consequence, disturbing 
 the peace of the Green Hat and the nightly rest of a con- 
 siderable part of the little town. Some of the young 
 gentlemen who had witnessed the exhibition on the great 
 meadow enlightened more recent arrivals as to the 
 beauty of the gypsy, and regretted eloquently the dis- 
 appearance of that " famous person." The little one, 
 also, was represented as a "famous " thing, with really 
 " famous " eyes. An eccentric Englishman, who had 
 been near the stage, they added, had instantly fallen in 
 love with her, and there was no doubt at all but that this 
 Englishman, of whom no one had afterwards seen or 
 heard anything more, had eloped with the gypsy girl. 
 
 Oswald was rather troubled by these authentic reports 
 for the fate of Xenobia and the Czika, and left the table 
 for the purpose of returning to his room. He was nat- 
 urally less than ever disposed now to call upon Berger, 
 and he hnd therefore to make a great effort at last to ring 
 for the waiter, and to inquire of him the way to Doctor 
 Birkenhain's institution. 
 
 " Doctor Birkenhain's asylum, sir ? Quite near by, sir. 
 The best way is through our garden up the hill, then, 
 always turning to the left, on the height along the river, 
 until you come to a large house. That is Doctor Birk- 
 enhain's asylum. You have perhaps a relation of yours 
 there .-* We have many people coming here who have 
 relations at Doctor Birkenhain's. Only this summer 
 there was a lady here from your country, who stayed 
 
44 Through Night to Light. 
 
 several months at the house. Very beautiful lady, sir ; 
 perhaps you may know her ; a Frau von Berkow, with 
 her brother, a Baron Oldenburg — very tall gentleman, 
 with a black beard " 
 
 " Is Baron Oldenburg a brother of that lady? " asked 
 Oswald, not without some reluctance. 
 
 " Wliy, certainly, sir. The gentleman and the lady 
 were at least two weeks here, and always together. But 
 the brother had to leave before the lady's husband died 
 — what a misfortune for such a beautiful lady ! Will 
 you be back in time for supper, sir .' No } But you will 
 certainly stay over night, sir.? Oh, I thought so — of 
 course. Nothing else I can do for you, sir.? How far 
 is it .? Oh, at most, ten minutes' walk. I'll show you tlie 
 way, sir. 
 
 When the loquacious waiter had at last left him, Os- 
 wald walked slowly along the path which followed the 
 slope of the low range of hills. On the left hand prattled 
 merrily a clear mountain brook, rich in trouts, which 
 gave its name to the town, and flowed evenly beneath 
 tall trees. Here and there the water peeped out from 
 between the dense foliage, but only to disappear again, 
 like a playful child that likes to tease. At one point the 
 brook had been stopped and forced to turn the wheels 
 of a mill. The little vagabond did not seem to like tlie 
 delay. It poured its waters wrathfully into the mill-race, 
 shook and struck the buckets with all its might, and then 
 rushed off, foaming and pelting, in angry haste. 
 
 Oswald sat down on the low railing opposite the mill, 
 and looked wearily into the water, as it played and 
 purled, drawing wide circles and pushing wave after 
 wave. He thought of Melitta, how often she had proba- 
 bly come down this way, hanging on the arm of " her 
 brother," and stopping no doubt frequently at this very 
 spot, whose picturesque beauty could not have escaped 
 her attention. 
 
 He felt sad unto death. His feelings boiled within 
 him as the waters did in the mill-race ; his thoughts were 
 whirling around like the foam-bubbles on the surface. 
 Was his hatred to be as blind as his love.? Was there 
 anything wrong and anything right in the world .? — the 
 
Through Night to Light. 45 
 
 world to be a cosmos ? Yes, for him whose glance was 
 content witli skimming the surface, Avherc the wa- 
 ters llowcd merrily over the level ground in the shade 
 of beautiful trees — but also for him who sounded the 
 depths, where all was rushing and roaring chaotically? 
 Up! up! to him, the man of sorrow! He had sounded 
 the dcptlis of life, he shall tell me what he has seen there, 
 what masks and spectres, that he should ever after close 
 his eyes in horror and disgust ! 
 
 Oswald rose and continued his journey; the path be- 
 came steeper until it led to a large building, which lay 
 at a short distance from the highroad on a moderate 
 hill, amid gardens. Surrounded as it was on all sides 
 by high walls, it looked too much like a castle to be a 
 private residence, and yet too much like a prison also 
 for a castle. It was Dr. Birkenhain's asylum. 
 
 Oswald rang the bell by the side of the iron grating, 
 with some palpitation of heart. A window opened in 
 the porter's lodge ; the gate-keeper looked out and asked 
 what he wanted. 
 
 Oswald wished to see Doctor Birkenhain. 
 
 "Do you come by appointment.' " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Your name.' " 
 
 Oswald gave his name. 
 
 The man looked at a table, on which the names of 
 those Avho Avere to be admitted seemed to be written ; 
 then he put his head out again, and said through the 
 small window, 
 
 " Go straight across the court to the main entrance ; 
 there ring again ! " 
 
 The gate opened, and closed again when Oswald had 
 entered. He went across the large court-yard, which 
 was covered with gravel and adorned here and there 
 with groups of trees and shrubberies, towards the 
 house. On a bench under one of the trees sat, amidst a 
 group of several persons, a young man remarkably well 
 dressed. When Osv.-ald passed him he rose very politely, 
 and taking off his hat and making a deep bow, said, 
 
 " I have surely the honor to address the emperor of 
 Fez and Morocco .'' " 
 
46 Through Night to Light. 
 
 As Oswald answered No ! to the strange question, the 
 young man shook his head sadly, and looking at Oswald 
 with a vacant stare, he added, 
 
 " It is very remarkable ! the emperor had promised me 
 solemnly to come for me this summer; and now the 
 summer is nearly gone and the emperor has not come 
 yet. I shall have to wait till next summer. But then he 
 will be here most certainly. Don't you think so .' " 
 
 " I do not doubt it for a moment," replied Oswald. A 
 faint ray of joy flashed across the pale face of the unfor- 
 tunate man. He bowed again, put on his hat, and went 
 back to his seat on the bench. 
 
 Oswald went to the front door, rang the bell, and a 
 servant who appeared at the summons opened the door 
 for him and showed him into a parlor. Then he took 
 his name, and begged him to wait a few moments. Doc- 
 tor Birkenhain would be in directly. 
 
 It was a handsome, lofty apartment. A few excellent 
 oil-paintings hung on the Avails; antique heads and 
 busts stood about on brackets, the Apollo Belvedere, the 
 Zeus of Obricoli, the Ludovisi Juno ; upon the centre- 
 tables lay books and portfolios with engravings. All 
 breathed the highest kind of enjoyment, and nothing 
 reminded the visitor that he was in a house of disease 
 and death. 
 
 After a few minutes the door opened and Doctor Birk- 
 enhain entered. Oswald had of course formed to himself 
 some idea of the man who had recently become so very 
 important to him, and was grievously disappointed when 
 he found that there was not a feature of his portrait in 
 the man before him. He had imagined Doctor Birk- 
 enhain to be a venerable old man, full of dignity and 
 gravity, and now he found himself standing before a 
 man little older than himself — he had surely not passed 
 his thirtieth year — tall and thin, with spare, light-brown 
 hair and carefully-trimmed moustache and beard, a 
 pale face of a sickly, sallow color, a lofty brow, and 
 large light-blue eyes, in which one could instantly see 
 that they were accustomed to read the hearts of men, and 
 whose intense piercing sharpness became after awhile 
 almost unbearable. 
 
Through Night to Light. 47 
 
 Doctor Birkenhain greeted Oswald with due polite- 
 ness, and then expressed his regret that he shoidd have 
 been deprived the pleasure of making Doctor Braun's 
 acquaintance, whom he had wished to congratulate upon 
 having secured to himself a place among the first phy- 
 sicians of Germany by his admirable treatise on typhus. 
 Then he added : 
 
 " I have looked forward to your visit with tlie great- 
 est interest, because I hope great things for Berger from 
 the effect of your meeting with him. I know through 
 Mr. Bemperlein, and also from Berger's own lips, that 
 you are the most intimate friend, and so to say the fa- 
 vorite, of the unfortunate man — that you were so at least 
 before the breaking out of his disease. If anything 
 can succeed in reviving once more the interest in life 
 which has been almost entirely extinguished in Berger, 
 it is love — not the vmiversal love of mankind, which is 
 only another kind of egotism, but the special love for a 
 single individual, with whose joys and sorrows he can 
 heartily sympathize. Love is the most vigorous of all 
 feelings ; it resists annihilation better than any other, 
 and outlives all others. The greatest psychologist who 
 ever lived, and to whom we physicians are deeply in- 
 debted, Shakespeare, makes Lear say to the fool shortly 
 before insanity overwhelms him : ' I have one part in 
 my heart that's sorry yet for thee.' This one part of 
 the heart is the sound part, where the cure must begin, 
 and so it is with Berger. I beg, therefore, you will try 
 to interest Berger by all means in your own fate. Tell 
 him all about your plans and purposes, your hopes and 
 your wishes — about your joys and your sorrows ; speak 
 to him especially of your griefs, if you have any — and 
 you will pardon such an indiscretion in a physician — I 
 think your confidences will be particularly ample in 
 that direction. You smile ! Well, perhaps I am mis- 
 taken, and what I thought I read in your face is the re- 
 sult of mere bodily uneasiness, and not of mental suffer- 
 ing ; but, however that may be, do not conceal from 
 Berger the shady side, and even the night side of your 
 life. On the contrary, complain — and the more impres- 
 sively, the more painfully, you can do that, the better — 
 
48 Through Night to Light. 
 
 only mourn and grieve like a sick man, who longs after 
 health like an imprisoned bird that yearns after free- 
 dom. The sufferings of those we loye are a thousand 
 times more touching to us than our own, and the bur- 
 dens which Berger hardly feels in his own case will 
 appear to him unbearable when he sees it on the shoul- 
 ders of one who is dear to him. For, I repeat it, that is 
 the only way to approach such a man. He is too deep 
 a thinker, too subtle a philosopher, not to be clad in 
 impenetrable armor against all reasoning. If you prove 
 to him the dignity and usefulness of life, he meets yovi 
 with ten arguments which prove the contrary ; and if 
 you split a hair, he splits each half over again. On the 
 other hand, you need not fear that he will involve you, 
 as formerly, in long philosophic discussions. The sci- 
 ence which was once his delight, is now a horror to 
 him ; he will hear nothing of it and see nothing. And 
 now, one thing more : how long do you propose staying 
 in Fichtenan 1 " 
 
 " Four or five days at most." 
 
 " Very well; I was just about to ask you not to ex- 
 tend your visit beyond that. The purpose is to make a 
 deep impression upon Berger ; and after the pleasure he 
 will feel at seeing you again, he must experience the 
 pain of parting so soon. Perhaps Ave may thus lure him 
 back into the Avorld, from which he now turns away in 
 disgust." 
 
 " Has Berger been made aware of my arrival ? " 
 
 "No. I wished to profit even by the surprise. I shall 
 not go with you, so that there maybe nothing to dimin- 
 ish the surprise. You can tell me afterwards how he 
 received you. He generally takes about this time a 
 walk in the mountains, which he occasionally extends 
 into the night. I give him perfect liberty, as any 
 restraint would only be injurious. You know, besides, 
 that his coming here was his own wish and resolution. 
 Go with him when he takes his walk ; heart opens to 
 heart more readily under the great dome of heaven than 
 imder the ceiling of a room." 
 
 "One thing more," continued Doctor Birkenhain,asthey 
 were risinc:. " You will find Berijer mucli changed in 
 
Through Night to Light. 49 
 
 appearance ; try to influence him in that direction also, 
 though of course you will have to use your discretion. 
 Such apparent trifles are of great importance ; a missing 
 glove-button may make a dandy lose his composure, and 
 we have a different temper in our dressing gown and in 
 evening dress. Now let us go, if you like ; I will show 
 you the way to Berger's door. 
 
 The two gentlemen went from the reception room 
 across the hall, with its tessellated floor, up the wide 
 stone steps, through lofty, airy passages. 
 
 They were met by several persons w^hom Oswald 
 would not have taken for patients if Doctor Birkenhain 
 had not told him so ; they gave such sensible answers 
 to the casual questions of the physician. 
 
 " This wing is for the slightly-affected patients," said 
 Doctor Birkenhain; "as it is such fine weather most of 
 them are in the garden or in the court-yard. How do 
 you do, counsellor.'' " 
 
 "Thank you, doctor," replied an exceedingly corpu- 
 lent, good-looking man, whom they met passing with a 
 watering-pot in his hand, " thank you, I should be per- 
 fectly well, if " 
 
 The counsellor cast a glance at Oswald, and then 
 came quite close to the doctor, whispering something in 
 his ear, of Avhich Oswald could only catch the words, 
 "bundle of hay " — "in my side." "Oh, that matters 
 very little," replied Birkenhain, in a tone full of confi- 
 dence, which sounded as if it must have been inspiring 
 to the greatest hypochondriac; "we'll soon settle that." 
 The patient gratefully shook hands with his physician 
 and went on, evidently quite comforted and delighted 
 with the probable victory over his imaginary ailment. 
 
 " I wish Berger's case were as easy as that man's," 
 said Doctor Birkenhain, as they were walking down the 
 long passage ; " but pills and ointments have no effect on 
 his complaint. Here we are ; now you go to the end of 
 the passage, and the last door to the left is Berger's 
 room. I am very curious to hear what you will have to 
 tell me. Will you dine with me to-morrow.'' I shall 
 take great pleasure in presenting you to my wife. At 
 three o'clock. Will you come.'' Au revoir^\\\znV' 
 3 
 
5© Through Night to Light. 
 
 Doctor Birkenhain shook hands with Oswald and went 
 into one of the rooms which they had passed. Oswald 
 went alone to the end of the passage, full of the deep 
 impression which the man who had just left him had 
 made upon him, and at the same time very much trou- 
 bled about the part which he was to play. He was to 
 help Berger to recover his interest in life, and he had 
 himself lost all such interest ! Was he not of all men 
 the least fitted for such a mission 1 And yet he had ac- 
 cepted it ! He must fulfil it ! 
 
 Oswald came to the door which had been pointed out 
 to him. Upon the brown panel was something written 
 in chalk, and evidently in Berger's hand : 
 
 " Lasciate agni sperauza voi ch' entratc.''^ 
 
 Oswald shuddered as he read it. He remained stand- 
 ing undecided before the door, and it was some time be- 
 fore he could make up his mind to knock. He listened 
 if anything was stirring Avithin ; he heard nothing. At 
 last he summoned courage and knocked with a strong 
 hand. As no answer came, he knocked still louder; 
 again no answer. A great fear overcame him ; he hastily 
 opened the door and entered the room. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 |SWALD need not have feared. Berger was sitting 
 in the centre of the darkened room, all the cur- 
 tains being closed, before a table covered with 
 books. He was resting his liead in both hands, and 
 seemed to sleep, for he did not stir even when Oswald 
 stepped up close to the table. Oswald did not dare 
 wake him. He remained standing by the table and looked 
 at the poor sufferer, his eyes filling vmconsciously with 
 tears. What havoc these few months had made with the 
 face once so proud, so full of energy; the dark curling 
 hair was grizzled ; the massive brow, hewn apparently 
 out of the live granite, appeared even more powerful 
 
Through Night to Light. 51 
 
 and imposing-, thanks to the increased baldness at the 
 temples. A full beard, formerly an aversion to Berger, 
 now flowed, silver-gray, from cheek, lips, and chin, so 
 that the end nearly touched the table. His hands, once 
 so plump and carefully kept, had become so thin, so 
 transparent ! And what a costume ! A blue smock- 
 frock, instead of the black coat which was never allowed 
 to show a particle of dust ; a coarse, ill-fitting shirt, in- 
 stead of the fine, dazzling white linen upon which he 
 formerly insisted. On the table a worn-out slouched 
 hat and a stick, which had evidently not long ago 
 formed part of a hedge of thorns, in place of the smooth 
 silk hat from Paris, and the clouded cane with its gold 
 head ! If the outer man could change to such an extent, 
 what a revolution must have taken place in the lowest 
 depths of the sovil ! 
 
 Berger stirred. He raised his head, opened his eyes, 
 and looked at Oswald. His eyes were deep and clear, 
 and looked larger than usual ; he did not start nor be- 
 tray astonishment, Avonder, or fear, at the unexpected 
 sight. 
 
 " I had but just now dreamt of you, Osw^ald," he 
 said, rising, with a low voice, from which all former 
 sharpness and energy seemed to have departed. 
 
 Oswald could restrain himself no longer. He sobbed 
 aloud and threw himself into Berger's arms. Now 
 only, lying on the bosom of this man, he felt all his suf- 
 ferings fully, as he thought ; now only, in the arms of 
 this, man who had endured so much, he fancied he need 
 not be ashamed any longer of the tears which his heart 
 had bled when his eyes refused to weep. 
 
 Berger held him in his arms, as a father holds his son 
 who comes home from a far country in which he has fed 
 with the swine. 
 
 " Weep on," he said, " weep ! Tears relieve a young, 
 overflowing heart. When I was as young as you, I 
 wept as you do ; now my eyes have forgotten how to 
 weep." 
 
 " Berger, dear, dear Berger ! 
 
 " I knew I should see you again. I expected you long 
 ago. I did not think you would stand it so long in the 
 
52 Through Night to Light. 
 
 great desert outside. Weep on ! Tears are the price 
 with which we purchase back again our soul, when we 
 find what a wretched bargain we had made before we 
 knew better. Ere we give up life we have to learn that 
 it is better not to live. Some learn that sooner, others 
 later. Be glad that you are one of those who during 
 the bitterness of the Sansara have already a foretaste of 
 the sweetness of the Nirwana." 
 
 He left Oswald, and took his hat and cane from the 
 table. 
 
 " Come ! " he said. 
 
 Oswald was so deeply moved by this scene that the 
 recollection of Bergcr's odd costume only suggested to 
 him the conviction how utterly impossible it would be 
 to speak to such a man of such things. He would as 
 lief have reminded a mother who was weeping over the 
 body of her child of some defect in her toilet, a bow out 
 of place, or a ribbon which had come loose. 
 
 They passed through the long passages, down the 
 broad stone staircase and out into the court-yard. As 
 they went across the latter, the young man who was sit- 
 ting on the bench came up to them and repeated the 
 question which he had before asked of Oswald : 
 
 " I certainly have the honor to address the Emperor 
 of Fez and Morocco ? " 
 
 " No ! " replied Berger, " The emperor is not coming; 
 you may rely upon it." 
 
 "Is not coming! " repeated the young man; and his 
 pale face became still paler, and his eyes wandered rest- 
 lessly to and fro; "is not coming! how do you know 
 that .? " 
 
 " Because, if he should come it would not be for your 
 happiness, as you imagine, but for your final ruin. Why 
 do you wish him to come .'' To bring you gold, which 
 you will gamble away; and jewels, which you will lav- 
 ish upon your mistresses ; to afford you the means of 
 continuing a life which you ought to thank God on 
 your knees you have escaped from — if you believe in 
 any God t What appears to you a star of promise, is a 
 will-o'-the-wisp from the moors. Do not trust in its 
 glimmer — it lures you hither and thither, and each time 
 
Through Night to Light. 53 
 
 deeper into the moor. Turn resolutely back from it ! 
 I tell you once more, the emperor is not coming ! and 
 it is fortunate for you that he does not come ! " 
 
 "Do you know his majesty so intimately?" stam- 
 mered the young man. 
 
 " Very intimately," said Berger, and a peculiar smile 
 played on his features, " only too intimately. I also was 
 misled by his majesty. You expect from his promise 
 money and lands. I Avas promised — never mind what ; 
 and thus he promises everybody something else, in 
 order to fool and trick everybody. The conviction 
 that his majesty's promises are nothing but wind — that 
 is the beginning of wisdom, and the last conclusion of 
 wisdom into the bargain." 
 
 Berger had uttered the last words with a suddenly- 
 sinking voice, as if he were speaking to himself. He 
 paid no further attention to the young man, who was 
 standing there, hat in hand, with an indescribably sad 
 face. Nor did he seem to notice Oswald, who followed 
 him silently, and most painfully affected by the touching 
 scene. 
 
 Berger apparently felt what was going on in his com- 
 panion's heart, for they had left the gate which was 
 opened to them Avithout delay, and found themselves 
 on the turnpike, which followed first one bank, and then, 
 after crossing the river on a bridge, the opposite bank, 
 rising higher and higher into the mountains. He sud- 
 denly broke his silence and said, 
 
 " You are wondering why I did not treat the poor 
 fellow more tenderly, instead of destroying so rudely his 
 absurd illusions .-^ This apparent cruelty was in reality 
 a great kindness." 
 
 " Who is the unfortunate man 1 " 
 
 " A Count Mattan, from our country. He has spent 
 during the last few years a fortune of half a million in 
 senseless extravagance. Now he hopes for the fabulous 
 emperor, who is to restore to him all his losses .'' " 
 
 " But if your robbing the young man of his last conso- 
 lation should deprive him of the last feeble remnant of 
 sense " 
 
 " You speak like Doctor Birkenhain. It makes me 
 
54 Througn Night to Light. 
 
 laugh to see how these optimists blindly try to arrest 
 the pov/er which drives man irresistibly into destruc- 
 tion, like children who try to stop a river Avith their lit- 
 tle hands. My study here is the observation of this 
 peculiar struggle, which would be grand if it were not 
 so ludicrous. These doctors move in the dark, as if 
 they were playing blindman's buff, and think they have 
 cured the disease when they have gotten rid of the symp- 
 toms. They do not know, they do not even suspect, that 
 life itself is the shoe that pinches, the garment of Nessus 
 which burns our living body — and that to pull off this 
 shoe, to throw away the garment, is not only the best 
 but the only remedy by which we can escape the wretch- 
 edness of existence." 
 
 They had left the highroad and reached a clearing in 
 the forest, which was thickly overgrown with moss and 
 heather. Before them was a view over the tops of pine 
 trees into the plain from which they had ascended, and 
 far into the land of hills ; behind them the forest ex- 
 tended upwards. It was quiet, perfectly quiet, around 
 them. Long white gossamer floated through the thin, 
 clear air. The flowers were gone ; the birds had forgot- 
 ten their songs, the locusts their chirping ; summer itself 
 had died, and nature sat in silent grief by the corpse. 
 Even the avitumnal sunshine had something sad in it, 
 like a widow's smile ; the blue of the sky was sickly, 
 like the tearful eye of a mourner. 
 
 Berger had seated himself on the low stump of a tree, 
 and Oswald lay down close by him on the thick 
 heather. In this silence of the forest, which reminded 
 him so forcibly of the woods of Berkow and Grenwitz, 
 and of the painfully sweet days he had spent there, he 
 felt that irrepressible impulse to speak which at times 
 overcomes us all of a sudden. As the Catholic is moved 
 to whisper his deep-hidden secrets into the ear of the 
 priest, his personified conscience, so Oswald felt im- 
 pelled to confess to the imhappy man by his side, in 
 whom he had ever seen another self, all that he had ex- 
 perienced, tried to obtain, suffered and sinned, during 
 these last eventful, fatal months. He did not think of 
 Doctor Birkenhain's suggestion to interest Berger by 
 
Through Night to Light. 55 
 
 all means at his command in his own fate, and thus to 
 play the part of the physician to his patient. Was he 
 not a very sick patient himself? But, whatever might 
 agitate his heart — the man by his side had suffered 
 worse things ; what he hardly dared confess to himself 
 — the man who Avas Avandering with lowered head in 
 the dark labyrinth of his soul, and could find no way to 
 light, he could hear all, all. And thus he told him, first 
 hesitatingly, then with animation, with passionate ex- 
 citement, all he had to tell : his love of Melitta, his love 
 of Helen, his friendship for Bruno, and how jealousy 
 and sickness of heart had robbed him of the one, and 
 strange circumstances and death of the other. 
 
 Berger had listened in silence, supporting his chin in 
 his hand, and looking with his large eyes fixedly at the 
 distance, without once interrupting Oswald. At last, 
 when the young man wound up with the painful com- 
 plaint " Why did you send me into this troublesome 
 Avorld .' Why did you let me wander about so long in 
 this darkness.' " Berger raised his head, turned his eyes 
 towards him, and said slowly, thoughtfully, 
 
 " Because you had to learn this also ; because, as long 
 as you were with me in Grunwald, you still believed 
 in that great falsehood which we call life; because the 
 pride with which you insisted upon its being a truth 
 had to be broken. I have led you the shortest and safest 
 way to wisdom. I knew you would allow yourself to be 
 dazzled by false splendor ; I knew you would hasten with 
 beating heart, with parched tongue, through the lonely, 
 white sand of the desert, towards the blue lake with the 
 wooded shore, which drew back further and further as 
 you thought you were coming nearer, until you would at 
 last break down, cursing your sufferings and your exist- 
 ence. Be rejoiced ! You have gone through with it ; you 
 have finished your first and hardest course in as many 
 weeks as it took me years. You have opened your eyes 
 and looked at Avhat was there, and behold ! it w^as not 
 good ! The value of life, the purpose of life, has become 
 doubtful to you. You have begun to understand that 
 the assertion of superficial optimists : Life is the pur- 
 pose of life ! is hardly correct — unless one could find 
 
56 Through Night to Light. 
 
 satisfaction in striving after a purpose which can never 
 be accomplished, or wliich, if it be accomplished, is worth 
 nothing. You have seen how indissolubly untruth, stu- 
 pidity, and vulgarity are interwoven Avith truth, honesty, 
 wisdom, and majesty. This knowledge, which only the 
 brutalized slave, grinning under the lash of the driver, 
 receives with indifTerence, but which saddens noble hearts 
 unto death, is the beginning of wisdom, the entrance to 
 the great mystery." 
 
 " And the great mystery.' " 
 
 Berger made no reply ; he looked again with fixed eyes 
 at the distance. Oswald dared not repeat his question. 
 
 Deep silence all around. Silently the light gossamer 
 floated through the clear air ; silently the evening sun- 
 shine wove its golden net around the heather and the 
 dark-green tops of the pine-trees. 
 
 They sat thus speechless side by side — silent and sad, 
 like two children lost in the Avoods. But while the one, 
 who had wound up his life, and who was fearfully in 
 earnest with his contempt of the world, suffered himself 
 to sink deeper and deeper into the abyss of his grief, the 
 young, fresh vitality of the other struggled mightily 
 towards light and air. 
 
 "What is this in me which rouses me at this very 
 moment, when I least expected it, to oppose yovir wis- 
 dom } " he inquired, looking up at Berger. " My reason 
 tells me you are right, but my eye drinks with delight 
 the beauty of this evening landscape ; drinks it down 
 into the heart, and there, in my heart, a voice Avhispers: 
 'The world is so fair, so fair! and even if life makes you 
 suffer bitter things without end, it is still sweet.' Tell 
 me, Berger, did you ever love with all the strength of 
 your heart .•* and can love die, as the summer dies, and 
 the flowers, and the warm sunlight.'' " 
 
 Berger smiled — it was a strange, weird smile. 
 
 " Did I ever love ? " 
 
 He cast down his eyes, and took off with his stick a 
 piece of the thick crust of moss at his feet. 
 
 "What good does it do," he said, "to lift the veil 
 which so many years have spread over the past .-* You 
 see what is below — decay and destruction." 
 
Through Night to Light. 57 
 
 "And yet," he said, after a pause, " it is but right you 
 should learn that also. Hear, then : " 
 
 " It is now thirty years. I was then at your age, but 
 without having made your experiences; clinging to life 
 in full, unbroken strength, and thinking it as sweet and 
 precious as a love of my heart. If ever man was enthu- 
 siastic about liberty and beauty — about all those fair 
 fancies with which we try to beautify our miserable 
 existence here, and to hide its wretched hollowness — if 
 ever man was raving about those bloodless images 
 which we call ideals — I was that man. In my madness 
 I fancied that eternal bliss might be Avon here below 
 already, wherever men were living in a free country. I 
 believed in my native land, and sealed my faith wnth my 
 blood on the battle-fields of Leipzig and Waterloo. I 
 returned full of burning zeal to complete the great 
 work. But before I covxld undertake to heal the wounds 
 which my country had received during the war, I had 
 to think of healing my own wounds. They sent me, 
 when I recovered, to Fichtenan. 
 
 " In those days Fichtenan was not what it is now. 
 There was no Kurhaus then, and no asylum for the in- 
 sane ; nevertheless the town was always full of visitors, 
 for the poetic halo with which the great men of Wei- 
 mar had surrounded these valleys attracted the crowd. 
 I kept aloof, and lived only for my health and my 
 studies. 
 
 " I boarded in the house of an old schoolmaster with 
 whom I had become acquainted, and whose friendship I 
 cultivated because he possessed quite a large library, 
 and books were not so easily accessible then, especially 
 in this remote part of the world. But the old gentleman 
 possessed yet another treasure, besides his library — a 
 most beautiful daughter. The daughter soon became 
 more interesting to me than the library. You asked 
 me if I had ever loved with all my heart. If you had 
 known Leonora, and seen how high and how powerfully 
 my heart then beat, you would not have asked me that 
 question. 
 
 " It was a summer day — a marv^ellously beautiful sum- 
 mer day. We had gone out into the woods after din- 
 3* 
 
58 Through Night to Light. 
 
 ner — a mixed company — young and old. We lay down 
 on the swelling moss in the shade of the pine-trees. 
 How my eye dwelt upon her graceful form as she did 
 the honors of the company with merry modesty ; how 
 my ear drank in the tones of her silvery, sweet voice ! 
 It was the old song of the sirens, which was heard thou- 
 sands and thousands of years ago, and which will yet be 
 heard thousands and thousands of years hence — till the 
 time is fulfilled. 
 
 " After the coffee Ave strolled about in the forest — in 
 groups, by pairs, as accident and inclination brought it 
 about. I had followed Leonora, who was gathering a 
 bunch of wild-flowers. I helped her, although I did not 
 know much of these things, and was often laughed at by 
 the teasing girls on account of my odd selection. She 
 however became more and more silent the deeper we 
 went into the wood and the further we left the others 
 behind. As she became more silent and anxious, I grew 
 more animated and pressing. Her silence and the blush 
 on her cheeks told me what I had long since desired in 
 secret, what I had prayed heaven to grant me, and what 
 I had yet never hoped to obtain. 
 
 " Then we stepped out upon this clearing. The same 
 mountains which are there lying before us looked as blue 
 to us, and the same sun which looks down from heaven 
 now poured a dazzling light lavishly down vipon us. 
 And the golden light shone brightly on her dark, curl- 
 ing hair, and played upon her round, white shoulders ; 
 and here, on this very place, we fell into each other's 
 arms and swore each other eternal love, amid hot kisses 
 and hot tears. 
 
 " The stump on w^hich I am now sitting was then a 
 tall, slender, powerful pine-tree, and I was young and 
 slender, and full of exuberant strength. The tree has 
 been cut down and burnt in the fire ; I — I have become 
 what I am " 
 
 Berger paused and stirred up the moss at his feet with 
 his cane. Oswald looked with reverence at the unfor- 
 tunate man ; but he dared not speak, nor even seize 
 Berger's hand, which Avas listlessly hanging doAvn by his 
 side. Lofty calmness rested on Berger's face ; not a 
 
Through Night to Light. 59 
 
 gesture betrayed what was going on in his heart; but 
 he did not look like one who requires sympathy or ex- 
 pects sympathy. 
 
 " Not at once," he suddenly continued — "the strength 
 within me was great and could only be broken by piece- 
 meal. I spoke, after our return home, to the old gentle- 
 man ; he liked me and was heartily glad to see our 
 affection. A few days later I returned to the University 
 in order to resume my studies, which the war had inter- 
 rupted. I studied with increasing diligence, for my 
 thirst of knowledge was hardly less of an incentive than 
 my desire to be able as soon as possible to carry Leonora 
 home with me as my wife. I therefore went only rarely 
 to Fichtenan, and then stayed only a short time to sun 
 myself in Leonora's love, and to return to my work with 
 new courage and new strength. But I had another lady- 
 love, whom I worshipped with no less ardor — Liberty. 
 I shared that passion with many other noble young men. 
 We did not mean to have shed our blood on the battle- 
 fields in vain ; we were not willing to become the prey 
 of so many jackals and wolves, after we had successfully 
 overcome a lion. But the jackals were on their guard, 
 and the wolves broke in our fold. 
 
 " I had been engaged in teaching for a year ; I had pre- 
 pared everything for the wedding; the day was fixed; 
 I was counting the days and the hours. Suddenly, one 
 night, I was seized in my bed by armed men. My 
 papers were sealed up ; and the next night I slept in a 
 casemate of a fortress. 
 
 " Or, rather, I did not sleep — I was enraged, I was mad- 
 dened ; my hands bled from my efforts to break the 
 bars of my cage. Gradually I consoled myself with the 
 hope that this captivity could not last long, and Leonora 
 — well ! she would bear her hard lot like a heroine. A 
 second Egmont, I saw freedom and my beloved hand in 
 hand. Through night to light ! This battle to victory ! 
 That was the mystic word with which I tried to frighten 
 back the serpent-haired monster. Despair, when it was 
 pressing upon me and about to strike its fangs into my 
 heart. The mystic word had ample time to prove its 
 power. I remained in prison for five years ! 
 
6o Through Night to Light. 
 
 " You may imagine if my faith in the so-called divine 
 nature of the world's government was shaken during 
 this time, which I measured by the beats of my heart, 
 and the drops which fell, one by one, from the damp 
 ceiling of my cell. But, I told you before, my strength 
 was great, and I was sternly determined to live. I had 
 heard, to be sure, in the silent nights which saw me toss- 
 ing restlessly upon my hard couch, the great word that 
 releases us, but I had imderstood it only half, and per- 
 haps not quite half. I had but just begun to spell the 
 letters in my long apprenticeship ; life itself was to be 
 my school, before I should be able to read it fluently. 
 
 " I had scarcely been set free when I hastened to this 
 place — you may imagine Avith what feelings ! In the 
 beginning of my captivity I had received one or two 
 letters from Leonora, in which she conjured me to endure 
 patiently, and to remain faithful, appealing to the God 
 to whom she was hourly sending up her prayers for my 
 release. Her letters liad become rarer, and after about 
 two years none had come any more. That was my great- 
 est sorroAV ; but I always believed that it was the cruelty 
 of my jailors which denied me this consolation, and I 
 ground my teeth and cursed my tormentors. 
 
 " I had done them injustice. 
 
 " It was far in the night when I reached Fichtenan. I 
 drove directly to the familiar house. I jumped from the 
 carriage and pulled the bell. A window was opened 
 up-stairs ; an old woman looked out and asked what I 
 wanted 1 I inquired after the schoolmaster. ' He died 
 three years ago,' was the curt answer. ' And where is 
 his daughter 1 ' ' You must ask the great gentleman 
 who eloped with her three years ago,' said the woman, 
 and shut the window with violence. I stood thunder- 
 struck. Then I laughed aloud ; but I Avas silenced by an 
 intense pain in the heart — for, Oswald, I had loved 
 Leonora. 
 
 " I never knew how I reached the inn. Late in the night 
 I roused the good people from their slumbers by my wild 
 laughing and furious raging. They broke open the door 
 of my room— I was in full delirium. Tlie air of tlie 
 prison had affected my health, and the fearful blow, find- 
 
Through Night to Light. 6i 
 
 ing mc utterly unprepared, had sliakcn the weakened edi- 
 fice to the foundation. I struggled four weeks for my 
 life, but I clung to it fiercely, and Death had to give up 
 its prey. Woe to me ! That death would not have been 
 the ordinary death to me — it would have restored me to 
 life ! If I should die now I would die for ever ! " 
 
 Oswald shuddered. What was the meaning of these 
 mysterious words: "Die forever!" Did they contain 
 that great mystery which was yet hidden from him by a 
 thick %^eil 1 
 
 " My convalescence," continued Berger, " lasted long, 
 for my strength had been utterly exhausted. I crept 
 through the streets of the village, leaning on a stick, 
 and rejoiced to find that I could climb, day by day, a 
 few steps higher, until I succeeded at last in reaching 
 this spot here — the scene of an oath, which I had fancied 
 to be sworn for eternity, and which had passed away 
 with the breath of her lips. I came every day here to 
 weep over my lost happiness, and to quarrel with Heaven 
 \yho lets his sun shine upon the unjust, and hurls his 
 lightnings at the just. For I was, like King Lear, a man 
 more sinned against than sinning. I had meant it well 
 and faithfully with all I had desired and striven after in 
 life. I had loved my native land as a child loves its pa- 
 rents, Avith a simple, believing heart ; and in return it 
 had made me suffer five years in a dungeon. I had 
 loved Leonora with every drop of blood in my heart ; 
 and in return she had betrayed me. Up to that moment 
 I had so lived in the world that I could face all and say : 
 Who can accuse me of a sin.^ — and yet! and yet! I 
 racked my brain to solve the mystery. I had never yet 
 understood fully that life itself is the great sin, from 
 which all other sins flow necessarily, as the stone, once 
 set in motion, must roll inevitably down the precipice. 
 Thus only I gradually comprehended that He cannot be 
 a God of love who created and still creates a world in 
 which the sins of the fathers are punished down to the 
 third and fourth generation — a world, the whole govern- 
 ment of which rests on the fearful Jesuitical principles 
 that the end sanctions the means. So far I had always 
 tried to find out only what was good in the world and 
 
62 Through Night to Light. 
 
 in men ; now my eyes had been opened by sore suffer- 
 ings for the sufferings of my fellow-beings. I now saw 
 how every page of our history bears the record of some 
 fearful deed that makes our hair stand on end, and 
 our blood curdle in our veins; I saw that there is a 
 dark corner in every man's heart which he never dares 
 look into; that no man yet has lived who did not wish 
 once in his life that he had never been born ; I saw that 
 the life of covintless multitudes is nothing more than 
 a desperate struggle for existence ; that sickness and 
 sin, repentance and sorrow, undermine our life most 
 thoroughly and eat their way to the core like Avorms in 
 ripe fruit ; that at best our pleasures are a dance upon 
 graves — that, if life really ever was precious, death, in- 
 exorable death, is forever scoffing and scorning at this 
 precious life. And I looked around on nature, in which 
 poets see an idyll, and I found that it was either dead 
 and insensible, or, when it does feel and sympathize, 
 only repeating the bloody drama of human existence in 
 a ruder and more shocking form. I saw that the dif- 
 ferent races of animals are engaged in fierce, implaca- 
 ble warfare against each other, uninterrupted by a mo- 
 ment's peace, and that their wars are carried on with a 
 cruelty by the side of which even the most refined tor- 
 tures of the Inquisition appear at times very harmless 
 proceedings. 
 
 " And whilst I thus tore the gay rags to pieces, under 
 which cowardice and stupidity try to conceal the 
 wounds and sores of society, there arose in my heart a 
 feeling which I had not known before — hatred. It was 
 only my love in another form, although I tried to per- 
 suade myself that I had forgotten the faithless one ; it 
 was only another expression of my fondness of life, al- 
 though i had fancied that I had forever closed my ac- 
 count with life. When we really give up life, we know 
 nothing more of love or hatred. 
 
 " At that time, however, I did hate. Passionately as I 
 had loved, my whole being was concentrated in the one, 
 burning desire to be revenged. Revenge! revenge! 
 on him ! on her ! — this was the cry of a voice Avithin me, 
 which I covild never silence again. They all knew my 
 
Through Night to Light. 63 
 
 misfortune in Ficlitenan, and felt for me with that cheap 
 sympathy which is composed of delight in scandal and 
 the pleasure we take in the failures of others. They 
 told me, tmasked, all that was known about Leonora's 
 flight. 
 
 " About the time when my letters had first failed to 
 come to me, a young Polish count had arrived in Fich- 
 tenan and taken the rooms in the old schoolmaster's 
 house which I had occupied. Soon the whole town had 
 been full of him, of his beauty and his wealth. They 
 had teased Leonora about her handsome lodger, but she 
 had rebuked all such jests on the part of her young 
 friends with great indignation. Soon, however, they no 
 longer dared to say openly to her what they thought 
 about her relations to the young count, but only whis- 
 pered it about with bated breath that they had been 
 seen together late at night at such and such places, 
 and that the gold chain which she was now wearing 
 had not been in her possession before. And then came 
 a day on which they had no longer whispered, but pro- 
 claimed aloud in the streets, that the schoolmaster's 
 Leonora had eloped the night before with the handsome 
 count, and that her poor old father, a confirmed invalid, 
 had been so deeply affected by the news as to be danger- 
 ously ill. A few days later the old man had really died. 
 Of Leonora nothing had been heard since that night. 
 
 " Fortunately the name of the count was well known, 
 and that was all I desired in order to carry out my plan 
 of revenge. I took what little remained of my fortune 
 and began my travels — first to Warsaw. There the 
 count was very well known ; they described him to me 
 as a profligate young man, who made it the business of 
 his life to sedvice beautiful w^omen. An acquaintance 
 added, that he had seen him about two years before 
 in Venice in company with a beautiful lady, who might 
 have been Leonora from his description. 
 
 " I went to Venice. There also he was w^ell remember- 
 ed ; he had lived there several months and had then moved 
 to Milan. From Milan they sent me to Rome. There 
 I met with a friend of my youth, a painter. He had seen 
 the count and Leonora very frequently, and pitied the 
 
64 Through Night to Light. 
 
 poor girl long before he knew that she had ever been 
 dear to me. He told me that the count had treated her 
 very badly, and laughingly told everybody that no one 
 could do him a more valuable service than by relieving 
 him of this burden. Then the painter hesitated and de- 
 clined to say more. I conjured him to tell me all, as- 
 suring liim that I was prepared to hear the worst. At 
 last he yielded, and told me that after some time the 
 count had really found a successor in the person of a 
 French marquis, or at least a pretended marquis, who 
 had taken Leonora with him to Paris. This had occurred 
 about a year ago. The count was said to be living in 
 Naples. I went to Naples, with my friend the painter. 
 I had told him my purpose to have my revenge. He 
 thought it would be very difficult, since the count was 
 as cunning and brave as he was dissipated and cruel. 
 But when he saw me firmly bent upon my purpose, he 
 offered to accompany me. I accepted the offer ; for the 
 painter had many acquaintances among the great men of 
 the world, and could introduce me into the circles fre- 
 quented by the count, to which I would not otherwise 
 have found access. 
 
 " We reached Naples. The count was still there, the 
 spoilt pet of the women and the horror of fathers and 
 husbands. The painter succeeded without any trouble 
 in introducing me in good society. For some time 
 chance seemed to defeat every effort I made to meet the 
 count at one of the parties where he was expected. At 
 last I met him at a great soiree given by the Russian 
 Minister. I saw him standing in the centre of a group 
 of ladies and gentlemen, and could not deny him the 
 praise of really superb beauty and an almost irresistible 
 charm of manner. I approached the group, with the 
 painter by my side. 
 
 " ' Count,' said the painter, ' Doctor Berger, of Fich- 
 tenan, desires to make your acquaintance ; permit me to 
 present him to you.' 
 
 " At the mention of Fichtenan the count had turned 
 pale, and changed covintenance in such a manner that 
 all the by-standers were struck by it. 
 
 " ' I shall not detain you long, count,' said I, stepping 
 
Through Night to Light. 65 
 
 forward, ' I only desire to learn from you the present 
 place of residence of that young lady whom you carried 
 off from her paternal house three years ago, and whom 
 you finally sold to a French adventurer in Rome.' 
 
 " I said these Avords calmly, slowly, weighing every syl- 
 lable. My voice Avas heard all over the room, for at the 
 first words I uttered everybody had become so silent 
 that you could have heard a pin drop. 
 
 " The count had turned still paler, but he soon recov- 
 ered himself and said : 
 
 " ' And what right have you to ask such a question at 
 a time and a place which vou Iiave chosen marvellously 
 well 1 ' 
 
 " ' I had the misfortune of being engaged to the young 
 lady.' 
 
 " ' And if I decline giving you the information ' 
 
 " * Then I declare you before all these ladies and gen- 
 tlemen to be from head to foot nothing but a vulgar 
 blackguard.' 
 
 " With these words I threw my glove into his face and 
 left the company, after having asked their pardon for the 
 necessity that had forced me to provoke so unpleasant 
 a scene. 
 
 "An insult of this kind could only be wiped out by 
 blood, according to the views of that society in Avhich 
 the count moved. To prevent his pleading too great a 
 disparity in social rank I had taken the precaution of 
 Avearing my officer's uniform; and besides, the Avell- 
 known name of my friend, the painter, secured me 
 against the suspicion of being an unknoAAm adA'enturer. 
 The A'ery favor Avhich the count enjoyed Avith the ladies 
 had, moreoA'er, made him Axry hateful to the men, so 
 that CA'erybody AA^as glad to see him thus publicly ex- 
 posed, and if he had refused to fight me he Avould proba- 
 bly have lost his standing in society. His fcAV friends 
 had, therefore, shrugged their shoulders, and his enemies 
 had smiled Avith delight, Avhen he had left the house 
 soon after my departure, and an hour afterAA^ards I re- 
 ceived a challenge for the folloAving morning. That 
 AA'as all I desired. I AA'as delighted ; and the fcAv hours 
 still Avanting till I should see the seducer of Leonora, 
 
66 Through Night to Light. 
 
 the murderer of my earthly happiness, at the mouth of 
 my pistol, seemed to me an eternity. I could not bear 
 the confinement of my hotel ; I wanted to cool the fever 
 of revenge that burnt in me in the balsamic night air. 
 My friend begged me not to do so, since I might easily 
 take cold during my nightly promenade, as he called it, 
 with an ironical smile. But excited and maddened as I 
 was, I insisted on my purpose, and he accompanied me, 
 but only after having provided daggers for both of us. 
 
 " I was soon to learn how much better the painter knew 
 the character of my enemy and the manners of the peo- 
 ple among whom we happened to be. We had scarcely 
 gone a few hundred yards from the hotel, and were 
 just turning into Toledo street from a narrow lane, when 
 four men suddenly jumped forth from the deep shadow 
 of a house and fell upon us with incredible fury. For- 
 tunately the painter was a man of gigantic strength, 
 and I also had my good arm and presence of mind. 
 The murderers seemed to be surprised by our resistance. 
 After a few moments they took to their heels. I was 
 going to follow them. ' Let them run,' said the painter, 
 wiping his bloody dagger; ' I fear I have scratched one 
 of them rather too deeo. But the fellow was really too 
 zealous to earn the few dollars which the count had 
 given him.' 
 
 " I had lost all desire to continue my walk. We re- 
 turned by the nearest Avay to our hotel, and awaited the 
 appointed hour with impatience. 
 
 " The painter tried to persuade me that I ought not to 
 fight a duel with a man who had resorted to assassina- 
 tion, but should knock him down like a mad dog; but I 
 replied to him that that was exactly what I meant to 
 do, and that the duel was only an empty ceremony. We 
 became quite warm in the discussion. 
 
 " Very unnecessarily so. Morning broke at last ; we 
 were the first on the spot ; no adversary was to be seen. 
 At last, an hour later, the count's second appeared — a 
 young Italian nobleman — pale and overwhelmed with 
 shame. He told us how sorry he was to have kept us 
 waiting so long, but that it was not his fault. The count 
 had left his house late at night, after having arranged 
 
Through Night to Light. 67 
 
 everything with his second, leaving orders for his male- 
 servant not to sit up for him. Since that moment he 
 had not been seen again. It seemed to be highly pro- 
 bable that some accident had befallen him, for of course 
 it would be ridiculous to presume for a moment that a 
 man of the count's high social position should have es- 
 caped by flight from a duel. 
 
 " The painter replied that we could very well afford to 
 wait, and that delay was not defeat. The young noble- 
 man promised to inform us of anything he miglit learn 
 concerning the count's movements. But the count re- 
 mained unseen, and I had at last to take the painter's 
 view, which he had already mentioned on the night of 
 our encounter with the assassins, that the count himself 
 had led the attack, being in all probability the very 
 person whose violence had been most conspicuous, and 
 who had been so severely punished by the strong arm 
 of the painter. Either he had died in consequence of 
 the wound received on that occasion, or, what was more 
 probable, he was only wounded and remained concealed 
 in order to avoid giving an explanation of his condi- 
 tion. Perhaps, also, he wished to escape the investiga- 
 tion of the affair by the police, who showed an unu- 
 sual activity in the matter, as if they had been stimu- 
 lated by the enemies of the count, and at the same time 
 to escape from an adversary who attached such vulgar 
 importance to matters which in his circle were passed 
 over with a slight smile. 
 
 " However this might be, my adversary did not re-ap- 
 pear, and after the strange affair had been for four weeks 
 the favorite topic of conversation all over town — for it 
 had created an enormous sensation — I saw myself com- 
 pelled to leave Naples without having accomplished my 
 purpose. 
 
 " I went by way of Rome — where I took leave of my 
 friend — to Paris. I felt that I had fulfilled my duty 
 only half; the hardest part was yet to be done. I was afraid 
 to meet Leonora again; and yet I wished it almost as 
 earnestly. You will ask how I could take so deep an 
 interest in a person who had so frivolously trifled with 
 my happiness, and who had lost the last rest of respect, 
 
68 Through Night to Light. 
 
 which might have remained alive for her after her elope- 
 ment with the Pole, by running away witli the French- 
 man. But I told you I had loved Leonora with an 
 ardent, demoniacal love, the fire of which had never yet 
 burned out, and which was to burn, alas ! yet long after 
 all was consumed. Besides, I knew that Leonora, 
 however recklessly she might have acted, was in 
 reality not ignoble, but had probably in Rome been 
 forced by a most fearful necessity to leave the man 
 whom she had followed so far from love. I felt that 
 now, if she was still alive, she were also most assuredly 
 wretchedly unhappy. 
 
 " I reached Paris. The city was quite familiar to me, 
 for I had already paid two visits there, in company with a 
 few thousand armed friends. Moreover, I had provided 
 myself in Naples with letters of introduction from the 
 painters and several distinguished Italian and French 
 gentlemen, whose acquaintance I had made there. A 
 few inquiries confirmed at once the painter's original 
 suspicion, that the marquis who had carried off Leonora 
 from Rome was an adventurer. A marquis of that 
 name did not exist, had never existed, at all events not 
 in the Faubourg St. Germain. I had to continue my 
 search in other less aristocratic quarters. 
 
 " A young Frenchman, an author, whose acquaintance 
 I had made years ago, was my faithful companion in all 
 my wanderings. He was a pleasant man, warmly at- 
 tached to myself, and has ever since remained my best 
 friend. I had, of course, told him the whole of my sad 
 story ; and he, who was far superior to me in knowledge 
 of the world, and especially of that little world which 
 makes up Paris, had first suggested to me to carry my 
 investigations into the Quartier Latin, and other still 
 more modest parts of the city. ' Paris,' said the French- 
 man, 'is a place Avhere men and things rarely preserve 
 their original value long; they rise and fall in price 
 with amazing rapidity. During a whole year the poor 
 girl may have passed through very sad changes. If she 
 has not committed suicide — and this is hardly probable, 
 as she would probably have killed herself already in 
 Rome, if she had had the courage to die — she has cer- 
 
Through Night to Light. 69 
 
 tainly sunk very low. I pray you prepare yourself for 
 the very worst.' 
 
 " You may imagine how my heart bled when I heard 
 these words, and felt how true they were likely to be. I 
 felt like a man who is grappling in a lake for the body 
 of his drowned child. 
 
 " One evening, as we were wandering about at hap- 
 hazard through one of the most crowded suburbs, my 
 companion surprised me by asking me : ' Did Leonora 
 have any talent for dancing .'' ' When I told him that 
 she had always been perfect in that art, he said, ' We 
 ought to have thought of that before. How strange that 
 I never thought of asking you before.' He was so taken 
 up with his new idea that he did not deign to answer 
 when I inquired what the art of dancing had to do with 
 our search. He hailed a cab ; we went back into the 
 city. We stopped at one of those dancing-halls which 
 were the less brilliant, perhaps, but certainly not less 
 crowded than nowadays. ' Look around, if you can see 
 Leonora anywhere ! We searched the whole establish- 
 ment; Leonora was not there. 'Then let us go on.' We 
 drove to another dancing-hall, and, when our search 
 was here also fruitless, to a third, and a fourth. All in 
 vain. I was so exhausted by the sad scenes I had wit- 
 nessed, by the dust and the heat which filled these 
 crowded rooms, by the efforts to find one certain person 
 among so many, who were constantly changing from 
 place to place, and by the excitement, the anxiety, and 
 the very fear of finding what I was looking for, that I 
 begged my companion to abandon the search, at least 
 for to-night. ' Only one more locality,' he replied ; ' I 
 have on purpose left it for the last, because the proba- 
 bility of finding her there is strong enough, but also 
 very painful.' ' How so .'' ' 'The establishments which 
 you have seen so far,' replied the Frenchman, ' are after 
 a fashion quite respectable in spite of what is going 
 on there. The visitors are beyond measure reckless, 
 arrogant, frivolous, but after all not exactly vicious. 
 They are students with their ladies, clerks with their 
 grisettes, well-to-do mechanics who want to have a 
 frolic, in company with their girls. The society into 
 
70 Through Night to Light. 
 
 which I am now going to introduce you is far more ele- 
 gant, but not quite so harmless. It is a house frequented 
 mainly by wild young men of rank from the aristocratic 
 quarters of the town, who seek here compensation for 
 the dullness of their own saloons, and by foreigners who 
 come to Paris to ruin their health and to waste their 
 fortune. The fair sex is such as suits these people. 
 You find here the most beautiful, but also the most cor- 
 rupt of women men-catchers, who drive to-day a four-in- 
 hand, and die to-morrow in the hospital — mainly foreign- 
 ers: Creoles, English, Italian, or German girls, who here 
 find countrymen in numbers. Prepare yourself to look 
 for her — I trust in vain — in this pandemonium. 
 
 " We reached the place. Broad marble steps led up- 
 stairs. My heart beat violently ; I could scarcely stand, 
 for something within me told me that I had reached the 
 goal of my wanderings ; that the disfigured, swollen 
 head of the dead body would the next moment rise 
 from the black waters. 
 
 " We entered the brilliantly-lighted-up hall. The or- 
 chestra played bacchantic music, and in bacchantic 
 madness the dancers rushed by each other. The dazz- 
 ling lights, the loud trumpets, the crowds, the heat, the 
 narcotic fragrance of exotics, with which the room was 
 adorned, and the fearful excitement under which I 
 labored, took away my breath. I had to lean for a mo- 
 ment against a pillar, and closed my eyes in order to 
 collect myself As I was standing thus, faint and nearly 
 falling, a voice fell upon my ear which stung me at the 
 first note like an adder. Tlae ear is a faithful monitor ; 
 it never in all this life forgets a voice whose notes have 
 once been sweet and dear to it. It had not deceived 
 me. 
 
 " Close before me, so close that I could have touched 
 her with my hand, stood a girl, talking fast to a hand- 
 some young man ; she was tall and slender, had large, 
 brown eyes, which shone with feverish brightness, and 
 a face far too sharply accented, too much worn out by 
 life for so young a person, but nevertheless still very 
 beautiful — and tliis girl was Leonora. 
 
 " Strange ! when I had first heard her voice my heart 
 
Through Night to Light. 71 
 
 had trembled as at the moment when I stood at nii^ht 
 before the house in Fichtenan, and the old woman called 
 down to me that Leonora had eloped. But after the 
 first spasm I felt calm, quite calm. The chord had been 
 stretched too far, it had broke ; it now uttered not a 
 sound of joy or of grief. I looked down upon Leonora 
 as coldly as if she were a picture on the wall. I heard 
 every word she said to her partner, as we hear words 
 just before we are going to faint — as if they had been 
 spoken at the other end of the hall. I examined her 
 from head to foot, even her costume, with the calm criti- 
 cism of an artist. I noticed that she was roviged, and 
 that her dark eyebrows and lashes were dyed still darker. 
 I noticed that she wore her hair exactly in the same 
 manner in which I had myself once arranged it, after an 
 antique, and as she had ever after worn it as long as I 
 knew her. I heard everything, I saw everything, and 
 yet I heard and saw nothing; for I had no clear percep- 
 tion of what I saw and heard. 
 
 " My companion, who had looked all around the hall 
 in the meantime, now returned to where I stood. ' I have 
 not been able to find any one corresponding to your de- 
 scription,' he said. ' God be thanked ! I breathe more 
 freely ; I should not have liked, for the world, to have 
 found her whom we look for in this place. But, mon 
 Dieu, what is the matter } You look like a corpse ! ' 
 
 " ' I have found her.' 
 
 " ' Where 1 ' 
 
 " ' There ! ' 
 
 " He took his glass and examined Leonorg. for a few 
 moments with most intense interest. She was still per- 
 fectly unconscious of those who were so near to her, 
 and chatted and coquetted with her dancer. 
 
 " Then he shrugged his shoulders with pity and 
 dropped his eye-glass. His face had become very 
 serious. 
 
 " ' Pauvre hoinme ! ' he whispered to himself. 
 
 "The music was breaking forth louder than ever; a 
 new figure began in the Frangaise, and it was Leonora's 
 turn. She had evidently made great progress in her art 
 since the day when I had seen her last dance at a club-ball 
 
72 Through Night to Light. 
 
 in Fichtenan. I can candidly say I Iiave never before or 
 afterwards seen anytliing- more perfect. It was tlie en- 
 chanting gracefulness of a jet-d'eau swaying to and fro 
 in the light breeze, and yet at the same time a passionate 
 rapture, such as we find nowhere else except perhaps 
 among the Zingarellas of Spain or the Ghawazees of 
 Egypt. At one moment it was the soft longing and 
 yearning of gentle and subdued love, at the next mo- 
 ment it was the very soul of passion, trembling in every 
 nerve and vibrating in every muscle, but here as well 
 as there, a beautiful rhythm of marvellously complicated 
 and yet ever harmoniously united movements was never 
 wanting. This dance was a song — a song of love — but 
 not of German love, dreamy, fragrant with the perfume 
 of blooming lime-trees and softened by the pale light 
 of the moon, but of sensuous Oriental love, hot with the 
 burning rays of a Southern sun, and breathing narcotic 
 voluptuousness. And with all that, her features were 
 calm, not a muscle moving, not a trace of that repul- 
 sive, stereotyped smile worn by so many far-famed 
 artists. Only her eyes burnt with uncanny fire, which 
 blazed up brighter with every step, with every motion. 
 Her partner rather walked than danced all the steps re- 
 quired with much elegance, but with a lofty carelessness, 
 as if he looked rather ridiculous in his own eyes while 
 performing the ceremony, and this calm composure 
 seemed to make the passionate w^oman almost desperate, 
 and determined to rouse him from his weary apathy by 
 all the arts of which she was master. Perhaps this was 
 really so ; perhaps it only looked so — at all events this 
 gave to the dance a rich dramatic interest, and afforded 
 the by-standers a most attractive sight. 
 
 "'^//, la belle AUemande ! ' cried an enthusiast near me. 
 
 " ' G/'dfid Dieu, qu'elle est jolie ! ' cried another ; ' bravo, 
 bravo ! ' and he applauded energetically with both hands 
 till all the by-standers followed his example. ' Bravo ! 
 bravo ! Vive la reine Eleonore ! Vive la belle AUemande I ' 
 
 "My friend seized my arm and drew me further back un- 
 der the pillars near which we had been standing. ' Come ! ' 
 he said. ' Where ? ' ' Away from here ! ' ' Never ! * 
 ' Why, it is impossible you can feel rin interest in such 
 
Through Night to Light. 73 
 
 a creature ! "What can you do Avith her ? I tell you 
 she is lost ! irreparably lost ! ' ' We will see that ! ' I 
 murmured. The Frenchman shrugged his shoulders. 
 ' You Germans are a strange people. But, at least, 
 follow my advice. Do not make a scene here ; you 
 would most likely have to fight half a dozen duels. 
 Call upon the girl to-morrow, or whenever you choose. 
 I will find out in a few minutes all about her residence, 
 and whatever else you may want to know.' 
 
 " I saw that his was sensible advice. While he slipped 
 away through the crowd, I threw myself into a chair 
 and rested my head on my hands. Those were terrible 
 moments. My temples were beating, my limbs were 
 trembling — and yet within me all was calm, deadly calm 
 and quiet. And, Oswald, in those moments, Avhile I sat 
 there alone, my face hid in my hands, in silent, unspeak- 
 able sorrow, amid the noisy crowd ; and while mv idol, 
 the beloved of my youth, the woman whom I had wor- 
 shipped in my dark dungeon like a glorious saint, was 
 dancing a few steps from me, after a wicked, voluptuous 
 music, the voluptuous dance of Herodias — in those mo- 
 ments, Oswald, I bid an eternal farewell to happiness, 
 to life. It was then the curtain u^hich had so long con- 
 cealed from me the Great Mystery suddenly parted in 
 the middle, and I stood shuddering at the threshold, 
 which I yet dared not cross, and which I only crossed 
 many, many years afterwards, for then I had not yet 
 drained the cup to the dregs. 
 
 " The dance had come to an end. It became very 
 lively all around me ; laughter and joking, the rustling 
 of rich dresses close to my ear. They took seats at the 
 small tables, to cool their fever with ices and champagne. 
 To my table also came a couple, who either could find 
 no other place vacant, or thought the sleeper was not 
 likely to be a dangerous listener. 
 
 " ' Et vous viaimez, vraiinent Eleonore ? ' said a soft but 
 manly voice. 
 
 " * Oui, Charles ! ' 
 
 ■" ' Z)e tout votre cociir ? ' 
 
 " 'I?e tout vion coeur ! ' 
 
 " I thought what an impression it would make upon 
 4 
 
74 Through Night to Light. 
 
 Leonora if I should suddenly raise my head from the 
 table and say to her : ' Did you not tell me precisely the 
 same thing on the meadow in the forest of Fichtenan?' 
 But I checked myself and listened to the conversation, 
 which continued for some time. At last the gentleman 
 said : 
 
 " ' And when shall I see you again ? ' 
 
 " ' Whenever you wish.' 
 
 " ' What does that mean ? * 
 
 " ' That I am always at home for my friends.' 
 
 " ' And Avhere is at home .'' ' 
 
 " ' Boulevard des Capiicines, JVitmh-o Dix-sept. You have 
 only to inquire after Mademoiselle Eleonore ' 
 
 " ' Or rather la Reiue Eleonore. Adieu, ma reine ! * 
 
 " ' You won't go already .'' ' 
 
 " ' Unfortunately I have to go.' 
 
 " ' Why .? ' 
 
 " ' My betrothed is waiting for me at her mother's, and 
 she will be inconsolable if her faithful shepherd keeps 
 her waiting much longer.' 
 
 " ' You are engaged — oh, poor man ! ' 
 
 " ' I hope, ma reine, you will help me bear my misfor- 
 tune t ' 
 
 " ' JVo!/s verrons.' 
 
 " And the two went off laughing ; Leonora's silk dress 
 struck me as she passed. 
 
 " My companion came back and put his hand on my 
 shoulder. 
 
 " ' I have learnt everything,' he said. 
 
 " ' So have I,' I replied, raising my head. 
 
 " ' How ? ' 
 
 " ' She has told me all herself.' 
 
 " My friend thought I was delirious. ' Come,' he said, 
 'the heat has been too much for you.' 
 
 " You may imagine that I did not sleep much that 
 night. I formed a thousand plans and rejected them 
 again. Only one thing was certain : I must save Leo- 
 nora from this hell. I did not doubt what was my duty 
 for a moment. 
 
 " And yet I rose next morning without having formed 
 a resolution. I was not afraid for myself, for my heart 
 
Through Night to Light. 75 
 
 could not be torn more fearfully than it had been torn 
 the night before. I Avas afraid only for Leonora, that 
 a sudden meeting might hinuiliate her too fearfully, 
 might kill her perhaps. A few days passed, and I found 
 no better plan after all than to go straight to her. My 
 friend shook his head whenever I spoke of my project. 
 'But, mon cher,' he said again and again, 'don't you see 
 that you still love her.?' Was he right .!* I do not 
 know. At all events, this kind of love was very differ- 
 ent from ordinary love, for it knew nothing of humili- 
 ated pride, of mortified vanity — nay, nothing even of 
 the fear to become perhaps even ridiculous, by attempting 
 to save a woman wlio did not at all desire to be saved. 
 
 " When I had at last decided in my own heart, I Avent 
 one forenoon to the house on the Boulevard. The por- 
 ter smiled as he gave his customary reply : ' Oui, mon- 
 sieur., an troisieme !' to my question, if Mademoiselle Ele- 
 onore was living there. But he added : Mademoiselle 
 will hardly be at home for anybody ; she only came 
 home towards daybreak.' 
 
 " I ascended the staircase covered with costly carpets ; 
 in the third story I read on a china plate near a bell- 
 rope : '•Mademoiselle El'eonore de Saint Georges' How 
 many names had the poor girl had, since she had laid 
 aside the honest name of her father } ' 
 
 " I rang the bell. An vigly woman, half waiting-maid, 
 half companion, and looking all the uglier because of 
 the neatness of her dress and the affected respectability 
 of her manner, opened and asked me what I wanted, I 
 wished to see Mademoiselle Eleonore. 
 
 " ' Mademoiselle is indisposed and cannot see anybody 
 to-day.' 
 
 "' But I must see her.' 
 
 " ' Impossible,' said the woman, ' I have just sent for 
 a doctor.' 
 
 " ' But, madame, I am the doctor.' 
 
 " ' Ah, c'est autre chose, entrez, jnonsicur le docteur.' 
 
 " She led me through a small entry into a lofty, stately 
 apartment, furnished with almost princely splendor, and 
 asked me to wait there a few minutes, until her mistress 
 should be able to see me. 
 
•J 6 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " ' Has mademoiselle got up yet ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes ; I shall be back in a moment.' 
 , " She disappeared behind a thick curtain. 
 
 " I remained standing in the centre of the room, and 
 looked upon all the splendor by which I was sur- 
 rounded — the luscious paintings by Watteau and Bou- 
 cher in their broad, gilt frames ; the Chinese pagodas 
 iipon the marble mantelpiece ; the vases and cups of fin- 
 est porcelain, the luxurious divans and sofas — and I felt 
 like the physician who is looking upon the lace cuff of 
 a hand which he is called in to amputate. Had I not 
 come here as a physician 1 Was I not here now under 
 the pretext of being a physician ? 
 
 " The maid returned, and begged me to follow her. 
 She drew back the curtain to let me pass. I entered a 
 half-dark room, covered like all the others with thick, 
 soft carpets, and hung with deep red-silk hangings, the 
 chamber of the mistress of the house, and then through 
 another curtain into a second room, light and bright. 
 Of the furniture of this room I saw nothing ; I saw only 
 the slender, white form which rose when I entered from 
 the divan on which she had been resting, and now ad- 
 vanced a few steps to meet me. And this slender, white 
 form, with the pale, worn-out, beautiful face, in which 
 the large dark eyes shone with almost ghastly brightness 
 — this beautiful being, broken in body and soul, lost for 
 eternity, was my Leonora, whom I had worshipped, and 
 who had once been blooming like a rose in innocence 
 and youth ! 
 
 " ' I have sent for you, doctor,' she said in a low voice. 
 
 " Then she raised her eyes and looked at me. Her 
 lips grew silent ; she stared at me with eyes which 
 seemed to leap forth from their orbits ; then she uttered 
 a piercing cry and fell down, before I or her maid 
 could seize her in our arms. 
 
 " We carried her back to the divan. She was deadly 
 pale and cold ; I thought for a moment the sudden blow 
 might have snapped the frail thread on which her life 
 was hanging. I should have hailed her death as a res- 
 cue from hell, as a mercy from heaven. But soon I be- 
 came convinced that life was not going to let her loose 
 
Through Night to Light. 77 
 
 for some time yet. I knew enough of medicine to re- 
 member what was to be done in such an emergency. 
 While I was busy with the fainting girl, I asked the 
 maid if Leonora was at all subject to such attacks; 
 what was the general state of her health } The woman 
 thought it her duty to drop her assumed respectability 
 before a physician. ' She had been only about six months 
 in the service of mademoiselle. Since then matters had 
 gone down hill very fast indeed. But mademoiselle 
 was really living too fast in all conscience. Dancing 
 every niglit till three or four o'clock in the morning, 
 drinking champagne without stopping — no one could 
 stand that long, least of all a lady of such delicate struc- 
 ture. She was begging mademoiselle every day to 
 abandon svich a life, but she received always the same 
 answer : the sooner it is over the better. And over it 
 will be very soon,' cried the woman ; ' and I shall lose 
 my poor dear mistress, whom I love like my own child, 
 although she does not lead a life such as she ought to 
 lead.' 
 
 " The invalid began to recover. I sent the maid away, 
 ordering her to bviy some salts at the druggist's ; for I 
 did not want to have any witness present when Leonora 
 should fully awake. The old hypocrite had hardly left 
 the room when Leonora once more opened her eyes and 
 looked at me with a confused, incredulous glance. I no- 
 ticed that in proportion as her mind returned her horror at 
 my presence increased anew, and threatened to make her 
 faint a second time. This painful shrinking from one 
 whom she used to meet with open arms was harder to 
 bear than all the rest, and nearly moved me to tears. I 
 felt not a trace of hatred, of Anger, in my heart, not even 
 of contempt — no, nothing but pity, boundless, unspeak- 
 able pity. I do not know what I said — but I must have 
 spoken good, mild words of love and of forgiveness, for 
 her rigid features began gradually to become softer ; 
 her eyes, dilated with horror, filled with tears, and at 
 last she broke out into passionate weeping, hiding her 
 head on my bosom as I was kneeling by her side. It 
 was a terrible weeping; it was as if all the tears of the 
 last years, which she had concealed under laughter and 
 
78 Through Night to Light. 
 
 jests, were breaking forth from their deep, deep cells, 
 and would never cease to flow; and between a sobbing 
 as if her heart were breaking, a crying as if her inner- 
 most soul were pierced by two-edged swords. I have 
 never in all my life, either before or afterwards, wit- 
 nessed anytliing like this fearful breaking forth of re- 
 pentance in a soul stained with sin, but noble by nature. 
 
 " We seemed to have exchanged the parts allotted to 
 us. It looked as if she had been offended, and I Avas the 
 criminal. I exhausted myself in prayers, in implora- 
 tions, to pour soothing oil into her wounds, to calm 
 the terrible grief that was raging with such violence. 
 Gradually I succeeded in calming her after a fashion. 
 She wept, quietly resting her head on one hand, Avhile I 
 spoke to her holding the other hand — how white and 
 slender and transparent her fingers had become ! — spoke 
 to her as a brother would speak to his sister in such a 
 case. I begged her to look upon me as a brother, to 
 confide in me as her best, perhaps her only friend. I 
 conjured by all that was sacred to her, by the meniory 
 of her youth, by the memory of her parents — who were 
 both now resting under the green turf — to tear herself 
 away from this whirlpool which must swallow her up 
 sooner or later, and to follow me. I promised to take 
 her, if she wished it, into a desert — to the very ends of 
 the world — only away, away from this gilded wretched- 
 ness. 
 
 " ' It is too late ; too late ! ' she murmured. ' You are 
 kind, I know ; inexpressibly kind ; but it is too late, too 
 late ! ' 
 
 " I do not know how long this struggle might have 
 lasted if a strange episo&e had not occurred, which 
 decided it to my great astonishment quickly in my 
 favor. 
 
 " While I was yet kneeling at Leonora's side, I sud- 
 denly heard somebody say behind me : ' Alais vraiment, 
 c'est snperbe !' I rose, full of horror. Before me stood 
 a young man elegantly dressed, who examined me 
 through his eye-glass from head to foot and back again, 
 and then repeated : ' Snperbe ! mademoiselle^ I congratu- 
 late you on this new conquest.' 
 
Through Night to Light. 79 
 
 " The young man was one of Leonora's friends, whose 
 lavish liberality had procured for him the privilege of 
 being looked upon by her as her only lover. He knew 
 that Leonora was by no means rigorously faithful to 
 him, and did not mind it much ; but he did not like to 
 meet his rivals at her house, which he had furnished at 
 his own expense, and with princely magnificence. 
 
 " ' I beg you will explain this scene, mademoiselle,' 
 he said, turning to Leonora, in a tone of insulting in- 
 difference, which drove all the blood from my cheeks to 
 the heart. 
 
 " I was opening my lips to give him an insulting 
 answer, when Leonora anticipated me. As soon as she 
 had seen the new comer she had risen, and stood now, 
 pushing me gently back, between him and myself. 
 
 "'This gentleman,' she said, pointing at me, 'has a 
 right to be here.' 
 
 " ' What right .^ ' 
 
 " ' The riglit of one who has been unfortunate enough 
 to love me once.' 
 
 "'Ah, mademoiselle,' replied the young man, smiling 
 ironically, 'the gentleman shares that misfortune with 
 many others.' 
 
 "'Sir,' said I, 'whatever claims you may have upon 
 mademoiselle, I have older claims, and I cannot allow 
 you to insult a lady to whom I was once engaged in my 
 presence.' 
 
 "'Ah,' said the young man; 'you were engaged to 
 mademoiselle. It is not possible ! and now, I dare say, 
 you propose to marry her, after I ' — with a glance at the 
 furniture — 'have had the folly to provide mademoiselle 
 with a trousseau. Very well conceived, upon my word ! ' 
 
 " ' Stop, sir ! ' cried Leonora, rising to her full height, 
 ' enough has been said. You think you can control me, 
 and insult me, because I have accepted your presents. 
 Here, I return you all you have ever given me. There, 
 and there, and there!' and she tore with feverish excite- 
 ment the gold bracelets and all the jewels she wore from 
 her and threw them at the feet of the young man. 
 
 "The passion with which she did this was too deep 
 to be for a moment misinterpreted, and evidently made a 
 
8o Through Night to Light. 
 
 great impression upon the dandy. *I have had enough 
 of this,* he said. 'I shall see you again, mademoiselle; 
 here is my card, sir ! ' and he hastened to leave the room. 
 
 " ' Come ! come ! ' cried Leonora ; ' not another moment 
 will I stay here. Rather at the bottom of the Seine than 
 here ! ' 
 
 " ' I took her at her word. I begged her to change 
 her dress while I wrote in her name a few lines to the 
 Marquis de Saintonges — this was the name of Leonora's 
 lover — and placed the lodging, which he had rented for 
 Leonora, and everything he had ever given her, once 
 more at his disposal. We left the house, handed the 
 keys to the porter, and gave the letter into the hands of ;i 
 messenger, who promised to deliver it immediately, and 
 a few hours afterwards I had settled all my affairs, said 
 farewell to my friends, and the city was several miles 
 behind us. 
 
 " Our journey was for the present not to be a very 
 long one. A few stations beyond Paris, Leonora be- 
 came so unwell, we had to stop in a little town. The 
 physician who was called in was fortunately an able 
 man, and told me that mademoiselle, my sister (for such 
 Leonora appeared to be), Avas threatened with inflamma- 
 tion of the brain. His diagnosis was unfortunately but 
 too correct. The very next day the terrible disease 
 showed itself clearly. The poor sufferer raved in her 
 delirium of the hot orgies in the Jardin aux Lilas and of 
 the cool shades in her native woods, of the Marquis de 
 Saintonges, and other Paris acquaintances, and of my- 
 self, now appearing as her guardian angel, and now as 
 an avenging demon, while I sat by her bedside and 
 meditated on our strange position. During my eager 
 pursuit of Leonora I had followed rather a blind im- 
 pulse than very clear motives, and never, in all my 
 dreams, had it occurred to me that we might be placed in 
 a situation like that in which I now found myself. But 
 amid all my troubles one thought rose high above all 
 doubt : I must never again quit Leonora, if she should 
 recover. 
 
 " After a little while symptoms appeared which gave 
 us hope, and one fine morning the physician brought me 
 
Through Night to Light. 8i 
 
 the news that a crisis had taken place in the disease, and 
 that Leonora was for the present out of danger. ' Never- 
 theless,' he added, with a very serious expression, ' I 
 must not conceal it from you that, according to human 
 calculations, your sister is not destined to survive this 
 attack very long. I apprehend that her lungs are seri- 
 ously affected ; she must have been ill a longtime before 
 I saw her. I do not know your circumstances, and can- 
 not tell, therefore, whether you wuU be able to follow 
 my advice. INIy advice is this : Go with your sister to 
 a southern climate — to Italy ; if you can, to Egypt. In a 
 less genial climate mademoiselle would succumb in a 
 very short time.' 
 
 " My resolution was instantly formed. I had nothing 
 more to win and nothing to lose in Germany, where my 
 political cure was to be completed by a prohibition to 
 teach publicly during the next five years. My means 
 had been nearly consumed during my long wanderings; 
 there was only a small remnant left, but I might spend 
 that sum just as well in Italy as elsewhere ; besides, I 
 hoped to derive abroad some advantages from my knowl- 
 edge of languages; and, finally, I had no choice. I should 
 have rather endured extreme suffering than to omit 
 doing anything that could benefit Leonora. A few da3's 
 later we were on our way to Italy. 
 
 "I settled down a few miles from Genoa, upon the 
 coast of the glorious Mediterranean. I was fortunate 
 enough to obtain a few lessons in the family of a rich 
 Englishman, who had come to the place for the same 
 reasons which brought me there, and thus I was relieved 
 of all anxiety on the score of money All the greater 
 was my anxiety for Leonora. 
 
 " Our flight from Paris had been so sudden, and was 
 for Leonora so entirely the result of a momentary im- 
 pulse — her sickness, following immediately afterwards, 
 had so completely broken down all her energies that 
 she had willingly acceded to all my arrangements, and 
 was only now coming to a clear understanding of our 
 situation — I had not thought of it at first, and became 
 aware of it only now through Leonora's manner towards 
 me — that in this dependence on a man whom she had 
 4* 
 
$2 Through Night to Light. •^ 
 
 shamefully betrayed, and in the constant company of 
 him before whom she would have loved to hide herself 
 in the lowest depth, she suffered probably the severest 
 punishment that could have been inflicted upon a per- 
 son in whom the last spark of honor and self-respect 
 was hot extinguished. Leonora did not hesitate to say 
 so ; but she added, ' the punishment is severe but just ; it 
 was the only way, perhaps, to teach me how grievously 
 I had sinned against you.' While Leonora found thus 
 a soothing comfort for her conscience in her deep repent- 
 ance, I had in my unspeakable sorrow only one very 
 modest consolation : to act towards Leonora as my con- 
 science dictated. I was at liberty to drain the cup of 
 sorrow to the very last drop. That was the fulfilment 
 of all the precious happiness of which I had dreamt so 
 much in the golden days of Fichtenan, and even later 
 in the dark nights of my imprisonment in the fortress ! 
 This pale, feeble form — that walked slowly along the 
 sea-coast in the evening sunlight, hanging on my arm and 
 never lifting up the weary head — she by whose sick-bed 
 I sat watching day after day, when sickness confined 
 her in her room, and in whose broken heart it had 
 become my duty to pour soothing balm, of which I 
 stood so much in need myself — this was the girl whom 
 I had chosen to be my wife, and in whom I had worship- 
 ped, full of bright hopes, the mother of my children. Oh, 
 Oswald ! Oswald ! the most fanatical optimist might have 
 been appalled — the most orthodox soul might have been 
 led to doubt if there were not after all a great deal of 
 truth in Voltaire's assertion, that life was nothing but a 
 inauvaise plaisanterie. 
 
 " And yet it was good for me to pass through this 
 trial also. It was a bitter medicine ; but it cured me 
 thoroughly of that disease which others call joy of ex- 
 istence and pleasure in life. 
 
 " Leonora's humility in bearing her sufferings put me 
 altogether to shame. In proportion as the disease was 
 destroying her bodily form, the original beauty of her 
 soul began to reappear. She had led a sinful life ; 
 when she died, she died like a saint. 
 
 " It was late in the evening. I had carried the poor 
 
Through Night to Light. 83 
 
 sufferer, who Avas specially excited on that day, and 
 anxiovisly yearned after air and light, in my OAyn arms 
 from the fisherman's cottage \yhich \ye occupied, to the 
 edge of the black basaltic rocks which here hang oyer 
 the sea. She was resting on a couch formed of cushions. 
 The sun was setting in resplendent magnificence, and 
 just sinking into the sea. Not a breath stirred the 
 smooth surface of the waters, and the emerald and golden 
 lights Ayhich shone in the sky were purely and calmly 
 reflected below, as in a mirror. Upon the pale face 
 of the patient also fell an enchanting sheen — a rosy lie 
 — the lie with which the sun and life scoff at the night 
 and at death. And in that hour Leonora took leaye of 
 the sun and of life. She told me that she had always 
 loyed me, eyen at that mom^t when yanity and folly 
 had blinded her ; that her wlrole life since that day had 
 been but a continuous effort to drown her remorse. She 
 did not desire to liye, eyen if it Ayere possible that I 
 should eyer loye her again. She felt herself to be un- 
 worthy of being my slaye, much more so of being my 
 wife. She was shuddering at the mere thought. ' Oh 
 neyer, neyer more,' she continued, and her beautiful 
 eyes shone with a supernatural fire, ' neyer upon this 
 earth, where I haye so fearfully sinned against you. But 
 when this desecrated body has crumbled into dust, and 
 the soul has been freed from the fetters that bound it to 
 the dust, then I will hoyer around you, I will wait for 
 you ; and when you come, your soul will kiss my soul, 
 and by that kiss I shall know that all has been atoned 
 for, that all is forgotten and forgiyen.' 
 
 " I told her that I had long since forgiyen her fully, 
 and that I now loyed her with a purer and holier loye 
 than in the days of our happiness. 
 
 " I kissed, weeping, her white hands and her pale lips. 
 
 "'This is our wedding-day,' she whispered — 'poor, 
 poor man.' She sank back upon the cushions. 
 
 " I carried her, quite exhausted, back to the cottage 
 and to her bed. 
 
 " It was the last time. 
 
 " That night Leonora died." 
 
 Berger had risen, and Oswald had followed his ex- 
 
84 Through Night to Light. 
 
 ample. The former was entirely filled with the recollec- 
 tions which had just passed before his mind's eye, clothed 
 by his powerful imagination with all the accuracy and 
 clearness of reality ; the latter thought of nothing but 
 what he had just heard; and thus both hardly noticed 
 the road which led them gradually higher and higher 
 through the dark pine forests. 
 
 Thus they found themselves suddenly upon the bare 
 top of the mountain, which the people of the neighbor- 
 hood call the Lookout, and which is by far the highest 
 all around among all the brothers and sisters. 
 
 The sun had set, but the western sky was still glow- 
 ing in all the splendor of the evening glory, and a faint 
 reflex gave even to the eastern horizon a faint, rosy 
 tinge. Here and there one of the higher mountain-tops, 
 steeped in purple, looked after the parting light of the 
 day; but the larger vallef s were already filled with gray 
 shadows of the evening, and whitish mists floated in the 
 narrower glens. The pine-trees, whose heads rose from 
 below to a level with the travellers' feet, stood calm and 
 rigid, like a breathless multitude in anxious expecta- 
 tion. 
 
 Berger gazed into the glow of the setting sun, rest- 
 ing on his stick, and watching it as every instant some 
 tinge vanished and another turned pale. Oswald's eye 
 hung upon his features, which seemed every moment to 
 become more and more spiritual. Was it the eff'ect of 
 the ghastly light, or merely the expression of Avhat was 
 going on within ,'' Suddenly Berger dropped his cane, 
 spread out his hands as if in prayer, and said : " Mother 
 Night, all-powerful original Night, from whose bosom 
 the creature tears itself away in mad desire to live, only 
 in order to return after long wanderings, penitent and 
 humiliated, to your faithful maternal heart, I hail you, 
 even in this faint, earthly image ! Yon bottomless 
 bourn of oblivion, yon sweet cradle of unbroken rest, 
 how I long for you with my whole heart ! Oh, take it 
 from me, this intolerable burden of life ; spare me the 
 daily returning grief to open these weary eyes to alight 
 which they hate;. take from me this remnant of dust, 
 which weighs me down with its sinfulness, and which 
 
Through Night to Light. 85 
 
 becomes only the more painful as it daily dwindles 
 away! Let it, oh, let it quickly be consumed ! I know 
 I could quickly come to you if I but took a single step 
 beyond the edge of this rock ; but even if my bones 
 were broken into atoms below, my soul would find no 
 rest, for it has still a few drops left in the cup of life; 
 perhaps — who can tell ? — the very bitterest of them all. 
 No ! no ! get thee away from me, Satan, who allurest me 
 down into the abyss ! The abyss is not death; life in all 
 its splendor, is true death. I know thy old tricks; thou 
 didst try them with the carpenter's son of Nazareth ! 
 But he rebuked thee and thy temptations — honor, power, 
 and the favor of women — ail he rejected, in order to 
 hunger, to thirst, and not to have where he might lay 
 his head, to wash off the last remnant of earthly life in 
 the bloody sweat of the night on the Mount of Olives, 
 and in order to die the death of a murderer on the cross 
 at Golgotha! Oh that I could go forth into all the 
 world, to preach the word, the sacred word, that frees 
 us now and forever — the word that leads vis back again 
 to our good, mild, dear Mother Night, whom we have 
 left in order to suffer infernal punishment in the bright 
 sun-glow of life, while our tongue is parched and our 
 temples are beating! The word, the holy, mysterious 
 word, which has become a mere mummery, a derision, 
 and a mockery, in the vain show with which they fancy 
 they serve their God. Forgive them, oh Mother, for 
 they know not what they do ; they would willingly 
 come to you if they had but ears to hear your sweet 
 voice, and eyes to see your mild beauty. I can see your 
 holy face ; its smile fills me with hope and comfort. I 
 can hear your voice ; it whispers, ' wait, wait but a lit- 
 tle while, and you shall sink back into my faithful arms, 
 back to eternal peace.' " 
 
 The rosy hues had vanished from the sky ; gray twi- 
 light was spreading over the valleys, and the evening 
 breeze began to whisper and to murmur in the tops of 
 the pine-trees. 
 
 Oswald was seized with vague terror. He felt as if 
 that mystical night, which Berger had invoked in his 
 strange prayer, was chilling him already with a breath 
 
86 Through Night to Light. 
 
 from the grave — as if the sun had set never to rise again. 
 But this fear was not without a strange admixture of 
 delight. The narcotic fragrance of thoughts of death, 
 which had been borne to him on Berger's ecstatic words, 
 filled his heart, together with the perfume of the heather 
 and the aroma of the pines. 
 
 He thovight of Helen and of Melitta, but not with the 
 restless anxiety of the morning, but in calm melancholy, 
 as we think of the departed whom we have loved. He 
 thought of the troubles and blunders of his gay drama 
 in the chateau of Grenwitz, but it looked to him like a 
 puppet-show for children. He thought of the future, 
 bvit it had no longer any charms for him ; it filled him 
 neither with hope nor Avith fear; it was as if his whole 
 life were withdrawing from without, as if the world were 
 not worthy of so much love or so much hatred. 
 
 Thus he sat, resting his head on his hands, upon a 
 large rock, and looked out into the evening, which was 
 speading its dark wings wider and wider over the 
 heavens. 
 
 A hand was laid on his shoulder. 
 
 " Come ! " said Berger, " let us return to the dead ! " 
 
 They descended from the summit and plunged into 
 the damp darkness of the forest. Berger seemed to 
 know every path and every stone in the mountains. He 
 went on, supporting himself every now and then with 
 his stout cane, at a pace which made it difficult for Os- 
 wald to follow him, though he was considered a good 
 pedestrian. 
 
 Thus they had reached a meadow lying in the very 
 heart of the forest. As they followed the edge of the 
 wood they suddenly saw a light glimmering on the op- 
 posite side. It came from the flame of a pile of briars 
 which had just been kindled. Within the bright circle 
 of the flames two persons were visible — a Avoman, as it 
 seemed, and a child. 
 
 Oswald's sharp eyes confirmed him in a suspicion 
 which had entered his heart at the first glance. 
 
 They were Xenobia and Czika. 
 
 He hastened as fast as he could across the meadow 
 towards the fire, but he had hardly accomplished half 
 
Through Night to Light. 87 
 
 the distance when he sank up to his ankles into the 
 morass. He saw that he could not go any further. He 
 cried as loud as he could: "Xenobia! Czika ! it is I ! 
 Oswald ! " 
 
 But his call had scarcely broken the peace of the 
 silent forest when the fire vanished, and with the fire 
 the two forms he had seen. 
 
 All was quiet — quiet like death. Oswald might have 
 imagined that his fancy had played him a trick. 
 
 " What was the matter.'' " asked Berger, when Oswald 
 joined him again. 
 
 " Did you not see the fire ! " 
 
 " It was a will-o'-the-wisp in the swamp," replied Ber- 
 ger. " Let us go on." 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IT was completely dark when the two wanderers left 
 the last spur of the mountain, and reached the first 
 houses of the village. Oswald, who was for the 
 first time in this region, and whose sense of locality 
 Avas not strongly developed, had of course allowed him- 
 self to be entirely guided by Berger, and had expected 
 that the latter would retvirn by the nearest road to 
 Doctor Birkenhain's asylvim. He w^as, therefore, not a 
 little surprised when he found out that they were ap- 
 proaching the town from the opposite direction. There 
 were the huge wagons laden with bales, there was the 
 wide court-yard with its hospitably open gates, there was 
 the green lamp burning in dismal dimness over the door 
 of the house, and casting a mournful light upon one- 
 half of the leaden hat which had once shone in all the 
 splendor of oil-paint, but which had since passed through 
 many a storm, losing its youthful freshness under the 
 action of wind and weather and rain. There they heard 
 in the low room to the right of the hall, with its four 
 tiny windows and its dim light, the clinking of glasses, 
 
88 Through Night to Light. 
 
 as thirsty guests knocked them impatiently against each 
 other, and the concentrated noise of some twenty male 
 voices, which were by no means delicate, and yet insisted 
 upon being all heard at once. 
 
 It Avould scarcely have needed all these unmistakable 
 signs to convince Oswald that he was near the hospit- 
 able roof of the Green Hat. 
 
 The sudden meeting with the gypsies in the forest had 
 reminded him most forcibly of this whole affair, which 
 Berger's recital had nearly driven from his mind. 
 
 He should have liked much to consult Berger in this 
 matter, as the latter had in former times given him fre- 
 quent opportunities to admire his skill in unravelling 
 intricate situations and problematic characters ; but he 
 was loth to trouble a mind which was constantly seek- 
 ing the truth in the mysterious depths of mysticisms, 
 Avith stories in which Director Schmenckel was playing 
 the most prominent part. 
 
 What was his amazement, therefore, when Berger 
 suddenly stopped at the door of the Green Hat, and 
 said : 
 
 " I am thirsty ; let us go in here for a moment ! " 
 
 " Here .-' " inquired Oswald, Avho shrank from the idea 
 of introducing the dreamy, delicate man, with his horror 
 of the mere odor of tobacco, to such vulgar society. 
 "The company in there is hardly suitable." 
 
 "What does that matter.'" replied Berger. "Are 
 they not the children of men 1 " 
 
 With these words he entered through the open house- 
 door into the halls where yesterday the enthusiastic 
 admirers of art had fought their battle royal with their 
 adversaries, and through the door of the room which 
 was also open into the coffee-room. 
 
 The appearance of the latter was nearly the same as 
 on the previous day, before and after the fight, only that 
 the table at which the artists had their seats was to-day 
 much less sought after by the other guests. The glory 
 of artists is apt to fade quickly in the eyes of men who 
 still feel the smarting of the blows which they have re- 
 ceived a day before on account of this very glory, and 
 who are prosaic enough to recollect the number of 
 
Through Night to Light. 89 
 
 glasses of beer which the artists have drunk at their ex- 
 pense, solely for the purpose of not interfering with 
 the general good-temper of the company. Thus it 
 came about that many who, in their exultation for art, 
 had utterly forgotten their old friends in the blue over- 
 alls and the heavy shoes, to-night joined them once 
 more, and granted to new comers the privilege of listen- 
 ing to Director Schmenckel's long stories, and to pay 
 his long bills. 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel was far too great a philosopher to 
 lose his good humor and his temper on account of this 
 insulting desertion by his friends. His fat face shone as 
 bright as ever — it was redder than usual, even, because its 
 original color appeared still richer and more intense in 
 contrast with a few patches of black which had become 
 indispensable in consequence of his figlit with Mamselle 
 Adele. His swollen eyelids winked at everybody as 
 cunningly as ever, his linen was perhaps a shade less 
 white, but the suspenders had not lost a line of their 
 width, and none of the embroidered roses seemed to have 
 suffered in the least. 
 
 And as rosy as this indispensable part of his wardrobe, 
 was also the temper of the man whose broad bosom it 
 adorned. 
 
 " How do you like the beer, Cotterby .? " he said, lay- 
 ing his broad hand upon the shoulder of the man of the 
 pyramids. 
 
 " Sour!" was the laconic reply; for the hero had re- 
 ceived but meagre applause to-day, since the genius in 
 the oak-tree had not been there to hallow his flight. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " said Mr. Schmenckel, " you are spoilt, Cot- 
 terby. It is of course not as good as you drink it in 
 Egypt, but nevertheless it is good, very good indeed. 
 Your health gentlemen." 
 
 The director put the glass to his lips, but only swal- 
 lowed a moderate quantity, a circumstance which might 
 have convinced the impartial observer of the correctness 
 .of the judgment of the Flying Pigeon, whose beer had 
 not been paid for to-night by enthusiastic admirers of 
 art. 
 
 At that moment Berger and Oswald entered the room 
 
go Through Night to Light. 
 
 and approached a table at Avhich the artists sat, because 
 it had some vacant seats. Mr. Schmenckel's observant 
 eye had scarcely seen the new comers — whom he recog- 
 nized instantly as the insane young count of the day be- 
 fore, and an old gray-bearded fellow of curious appear- 
 ance whom the count had picked up for his amusement 
 after the escape of the gypsies — when he rose from his 
 seat, went up to Oswald, bowed low before him, and said, 
 with a voice which he intended should be distinctly 
 heard all over the room, 
 
 " Ah, your excellency, count, that is nice in you, that 
 you come to call upon a poor artist in his lowly inn. 
 Sit down here by the side of Director Schmenckel ! 
 Move on a little, Cotterby ! That's it ! Now, gentle- 
 men, take your seats; delighted to make your acquaint- 
 ance, old fellow, much honor. Two fresh glasses of 
 beer for the gentlemen, and one for Director Schmenc- 
 kel ! Empty your glass, Cotterby ! So, now bring four 
 glasses ! Who would have thought that we should have 
 such excellent company to-night .'' " and Mr. Schmenc- 
 kel rubbed his hands with delight as Oswald and Ber- 
 ger took seats in his immediate neighborhood. 
 
 " Well, here is the beer — fresh from the cask, my an- 
 gel — well, all the better ! Here gentlemen ! Your health, 
 count, and your health also, old man! Ah! that was 
 the first mouthful I have relished this evening. Odd ! 
 is it not.? Bad company spoils good beer; good com- 
 pany makes bad beer good ! Am a lover of sociability, 
 count. See that you are another. Will you have the 
 kindness to introduce me to the old gentleman .'' Direc- 
 tor Schmenckel likes to know with whom he has to do." 
 
 Oswald glanced at Berger to see what ^impression 
 was made upon him by this company and these sur- 
 roundings, and to judge from that what he had better 
 do for Director Schmenckel. To his astonishment, 
 Berger seemed to listen to the prattle of the rope-dancer 
 with some interest. He had hung his hat upon the back 
 of the chair, placed the cane by his side, and was now 
 leaning with both arms upon the table, exactly like one 
 who does not intend to leave the place very soon 
 again. 
 
Through Night to Light. 91 
 
 " My name is Berger," he answered to the director's 
 question. 
 
 " Professor Berger," added Oswald, with the good 
 intention to make an impression upon Mr. Schmenc- 
 kel by the title, and to put, if possible, a check upon his 
 familiarity. 
 
 " Professor ! " repeated Mr. Schmenckel, with a look 
 at Berger's blue blouse and ill-kept beard. " Ha ! ha ! 
 ha ! Very good ! May I make you acquainted with my 
 friend Cotterby ? Mr. John Cotterby, of Egypt, known 
 as the Flying Pigeon. Mr. Berger, known as Profes- 
 sor! Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 " Shall we go again," inquired Oswald, who was se- 
 riously embarrassed by Mr. Schmenckel's conduct. 
 
 " I think we had better stay a little longer," replied 
 Berger. 
 
 "Your fist, old boy!" said Mr. Schmenckel, seizing 
 Berger's small thin hand and shaking it warmly. " I 
 like you prodigiously. When your tile is losing its 
 glue, and your blouse is going to tatters completely, 
 you must come to me. Director Schmenckel will be de- 
 lighted to receive a man like you as a member of his com- 
 pany. Your beard alone is an ornament for the whole 
 land. You would create a sensation in a pantomime. 
 What did you think of our performance to-day, count } " 
 
 " I was unfortunately unable to see it," replied Oswald, 
 encouraged by a smile upon Berger's lips to continue 
 the strange conversation. 
 
 " Oh, you have lost much, indeed very much," said 
 the director in a tone of sincere regret, shaking his huge 
 head slowly to and fro. " The performance was by far 
 the finest we have given for a long time. Director 
 Schmenckel has convinced everybody that the absence 
 of a few estimable members of his company could in no 
 wise impair the general efficiency of the same. I do 
 not mean myself — although the world-famous Schmenc- 
 kel-play, with three cannon-balls of forty-eight pounds 
 each, has never yet been imitated by anybody in this 
 world, and my fonfaine d'argent,w\ih. ten silver balls, is as 
 yet unequalled. But, gentlemen, you ought to have 
 seen Mr. Cotterby on the trapeze ; I tell you the ring- 
 
92 Through Night to Light. 
 
 tailed apes of the Island of Sumatra are miserable 
 bunglers in comparison — absolutely miserable bunglers ! 
 And then Mr. Stolsenberg with his gigantic cask ! I 
 tell you — come nearer, Stolsenberg. An artist such as 
 you are need not be so very modest, and the count here 
 does not mind another glass of beer, or even several ; 
 he is not like ordinary men. And then Mr. Pierrot, as 
 disloqueur ! — come this way, Pierrot ! Artists ought al- 
 ways to keep to each other. I tell you, count, your 
 penknife is a ramrod in comparison with Mr. Pierrot. 
 I have said it again and again : Pierrot, if we ever should 
 travel by rail together, I mean to pay only for myself; 
 I shall put you in my hat-box. Ha! ha ! ha ! A clever 
 idea ! Is it not, count } But the professor's glass is 
 empty, and by this and that one mine is empty too ! I 
 verily believe that man Stolsenberg has secretly emp- 
 tied my glass, and his own into the bargain ! Yovi had 
 better drink yours too, Pierrot. You will save the pretty 
 waiting-maid some trouble. Here, my angel, live fresh 
 glasses ; but really fresh, my beauty — fresh, like the roses 
 on your cheeks. Fond of pretty women, count .'' — such 
 a pretty child, with brown eyes, dark hair, and a slight, 
 graceful person, like Czika.'' Eh? Just let her grow 
 a few years older and you'll see something; she'll give 
 you pleasure ! " 
 
 " Have you any news about them.? " asked Oswald. 
 
 Mr. Schmicnckel, who had not the remotest idea of 
 what could have become of the two gypsies, but who 
 considered it wrong to destroy all hope of meeting the 
 last object of his mad fancy in the heart of a man who 
 was immensely rich and passionately fond of young 
 gypsy-children, winked cunningly with his swollen eyes, 
 put his fat finger against his nose, and said : " Are not 
 far from here, in the woods — have certain information — 
 can get her when I want her — don't want her, though — 
 women must have time to get over their tantrums — then 
 they come of their own account, and are thoroughly 
 cured of their fancies. Yes, you have to know them well ! 
 Women are troublesome people to deal with, only tliey 
 are all alike — and yet not one is like the other What 
 do you think about that, old boy.? " 
 
Through Night to Light. 93 
 
 " I think you a great philosopher, from whom one 
 might learn a great deal yet," replied Bcrger, looking 
 with a curious smile into Mr. Schmenckel's face. 
 
 " Well, I should think so," said the director, throwing 
 out his capacious chest and resting his hands on his 
 hips. " Mr. Schmenckel, of Vienna, knows where the 
 hare burrows, and the man who wants to lead him astray 
 has to rise early in the morning. But, may I be this or 
 that, it is no wonder after all if I know rather better 
 than others how the world wags ; I have been shaken 
 'about in it, upside and down, round and round and 
 round, like a cork in an empty bottle." 
 
 " An empty bottle," said Berger. " That's a capital 
 comparison ; perfectly correct. How did you get hold 
 of that.' " 
 
 " How I got hold of it .'* " replied the director with an 
 air of .'astonishment. " How I got hold of it .' Proba- 
 bly, because I have an empty glass standing before me. 
 Ha, ha, ha." 
 
 " It looks as if you had not been displeased, so far, with 
 the beverage of life," said Berger, while Mr. Schmenckel 
 made use of the interval, till the new glass of beer could 
 come, to fill his short clay pipe. 
 
 " Well, and why not .'' " replied the director, lighting 
 his pipe at the flame of the tallow candle that stood 
 near him on the table, and disappearing for a few mo- 
 ments from the sight of the by-standers in thick, blue 
 clouds. " Life is a prodigiously funn)' thing for a man 
 who knows what's what, like Caspar Schmenckel, of 
 Vienna. Thanks, my angel ! " 
 
 " I am not your angel, sir," said the girl, snappishly, as 
 she pushed back violently the arm with whicli Mr. 
 Schmenckel had embraced her waist, and casting a 
 stolen glance at Oswald. 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel's only reply to this insulting correc- 
 tion was this : he pressed the five finger-tips of his right 
 hand against his thick lips and cast a kiss after the girl 
 as she slipped out, and then, closing his left eye, winked 
 cunningly with the other at Oswald, who was sitting on 
 the opposite side. 
 
 " Nice girl, your excellency, isn't she .'' Pretends to 
 
94 Through Night to Light. 
 
 eat me up alive, and is head over ears in love with 
 me." 
 
 " You seem to be very successful with ladies," said 
 Oswald, merely in order to say something. 
 
 " Well, can't complain, your excellency," said Mr. 
 Schmenckel, laughing complacently. " Women are like 
 the weather. To-day too hot, and to-morrow too cold ; 
 to-day sunshine, and to-morrow rainy weather. Must 
 take everything as it comes from them, just as from the 
 Great One above." 
 
 " I should think that depended solely upon yovirself," 
 said Berger, whose look dwelt imperturbably upon his 
 jovial companion, as if his mind could not comprehend 
 so remarkable a phenomenon. 
 
 " How so, old fellow ? You think I should let them 
 alone, every one of them .-' Well, old gentleman, that 
 might do very well for you ; but of Caspar Schmenckel, 
 of Vienna, you cannot expect such a thing. The deuce! 
 Leave them alone .'' Why, I had rather be dead and 
 buried ! " 
 
 "That would certainly be the best of all," said Ber- 
 ger. 
 
 " Look here, old gentleman," replied the director, 
 with an effort to be serious, which sat very oddly upon 
 him. " Don't commit such a sin ! I tell you again, 
 life is a mighty good thing, and we must not paint the 
 devil's likeness on the wall. Oh, pshaw ! Why do you 
 let your beer grow stale, and make a face like a tan- 
 ner whose skins have been washed down the stream .? 
 Come, drink a glass with Caspar Schmenckel ! Well, 
 that's right ! Schmenckel is a merry fellow, and likes 
 to be in company with merry fellows. Well, gentle- 
 men, what do you say, shall we have a nice song.'' Cot- 
 terby, you have a voice like a nightingale ! Come, 
 fall in ! Does your excellency know the song of the 
 midges } " 
 
 " No ; but let us hear it." 
 
 " Well, here goes ; Stolsenberg, Pierrot, fall in ! " 
 
 And Mr. Schmenckel took the pipe from his mouth, 
 leaned back in his chair, and began with a tremendous 
 bass voice, while his three friends sang chorus : 
 
Through Night to Light. 95 
 
 " Good morning, fiddler, 
 Why are you so late? 
 Retreating, advancing. 
 The midges are dancing, 
 With the little killekeia 
 With the big cumcum. 
 
 " Then came the women, 
 With scythe and sickle, 
 To keep the midges 
 From dancing like witches, 
 With the little killekeia. 
 With the big cumcum." 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, isn't that a fine song? " cried Mr. 
 Schmenckel, after having finished oft" the remarkable 
 air by pummelling the table with both hands so that the 
 glasses began to dance. 
 
 " Very fine," said Berger ; " do you know any more.'' " 
 
 "Hundreds," replied Mr. Schmenckel, "but Mr. Cot- 
 terby knows the best. Sing us a solo, Cotterby." 
 
 The Egyptian smiled complacently, twisted his small, 
 jet-black moustache, and passed his hand through his 
 dark, well-oiled hair, leaned back in his chair, closed his 
 eyes half, and began in quite a pleasant tenor voice : 
 
 " A peasant had a pretty wife, 
 She loved to stay at home. 
 She begged her husband by her life, 
 To go abroad and roam. 
 Through the grass and through the hay, 
 Through the grass — alas ! 
 Ha, ha, ha ; ha, ha, ha ; hideldeedee ! 
 Hurrah ! hurrah ! 
 To go abroad, and in the grass." 
 
 " Ho, ho, ho ! " laughed the director. " That is a good 
 song — very good. That reminds me of a pretty story, 
 which I will tell if you say so, gentlemen. You can 
 finish the song afterwards, Cotterby." 
 
 The Egyptian seemed to take it rather amiss that he 
 was thus interrupted ; but Mr. Schmenckel did not 
 notice it, or did not choose to notice it. He took a long 
 pull at his glass of beer, and said to the waiting maid, 
 whom the song or the presence of the young, distin- 
 guished stranger had brought back to the table, 
 
96 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " You go a little outside, my angel. The story which 
 Director Schmenckel is going to tell is not made for 
 young girls." 
 
 The pretty girl blushed up to her ears and ran away, 
 looking back for a moment at Oswald. INIr. Schmenckel 
 cleared his voice, leaned over the table, and began with 
 a voice which sounded all the hoarser for his efforts to 
 subdue it : 
 
 " Gentlemen, you know that all thinking men divide 
 women into two classes — such as serve, and such as are 
 served. But love knows no such distinction, for love 
 masters them all. I have myself experienced this very 
 often in life, but it has never become quite so clear to 
 
 me as some " Here Mr. Schmenckel looked almost 
 
 anxiovisly around, to see that no unauthorized ear, espe- 
 cially no female ear, should catch the chronological fact 
 which he was about to mention. " Some twenty years 
 ago, in St. Petersburg. Have any of the gentlemen ever 
 been in St. Petersburg.' " 
 
 They said no. 
 
 " How did you get to St. Petersburg .? " inquired the 
 hopeful son of a citizen of Fichtenan, who had in the 
 meanwhile joined the company. 
 
 " Schmenckel, of Vienna," replied the director, in a 
 dogmatic tone of voice, " has been everywhere. You 
 may expect him, therefore, at any place on earth. St. 
 Petersburg, gentlemen, is a beautiful city, as you may 
 judge from the fact that the palaces of the emperor and 
 of all the great nobles are cut of bkie and white ice, 
 which shines brilliantly in the sun." 
 
 " How can that be," inquired again the man from 
 Fichtenan ; "don't they melt in summer.' " 
 
 " In summer," said Mr. Schmenckel, by no means 
 taken aback ; "in summer.? Why, what are you think- 
 ing of.' I tell you, sir, in St. Petersburg there is no 
 summer. Snow and ice, ice and snow, all the year round, 
 from one New Year's Eve to the next New Year's Eve. 
 You have no idea, in your country here, of such a cold ; 
 the human mind can't conceive it. I tell you, the breath 
 from your mouth falls instantly as snow to the ground, 
 and when two persons have been talking to each other for 
 
Through Night to Light. 97 
 
 some time in the street, a heap is formed between them 
 so high that when they part they have to climb up in 
 order to be able to shake hands. Why, it is so cold 
 there that the milk freezes in the cow ; and when you 
 say : here, give me a glass of beer, or a little mug-full, 
 the Petersburg people say : give me a slice, for the beer 
 freezes into a thick syrup, and is not poured out, but 
 cut into long, thin slices, put upon buttered bread, and 
 eaten in that way." 
 
 "That must be quite uncomfortable," remarked the 
 oldest guest of the Green Hat. 
 
 " Every land has its ways," replied ]Mr. vSchmenckel. 
 
 " But we know that expression, too," said the fat land- 
 lord, who had come up to the table. 
 
 " Well, then, just let me have a slice, my good man," 
 said Mr. Schmenckel, draining his glass and handing it 
 over his shoulder to the landlord, " but Christian measure, 
 if you please ! 
 
 " In one word," continued the director, after he had 
 graciously accepted the applause which his wit received 
 as a tribute due to his superiority, and after trying cau- 
 tiously the contents of the new glass, " in a word, St. 
 Petersburg is a fine city, and when you see how the sun 
 glitters on all the ice palaces, and how the Russians, wrap- 
 ped in their bearskins, drive furiously through the streets 
 in their sleighs with four reindeers abreast, you feel as if 
 your heart was laughing within you with delight, and you 
 must go into the nearest shop to take a good glass of gin. 
 
 " Well, then, we were in St. Petersburg, and liked it 
 mightily. We — that is to say, the famous circus company 
 of my uncle, who was the director, Francis Schmenc- 
 kel, and myself, who had the honor to be engaged as 
 Hercules — I can say that we created a sensation, espe- 
 cially our horses; for the Russians know horses only 
 from hearsay. The emperor alone has two or three 
 shaggy creatures that look like big dogs in his stables. 
 Everybody else, as I said before, drives only reindeer — 
 even the cavalry is mounted in that way ; and I can 
 assure you, gentlemen, that a Russian cuirassier of the 
 guards, mounted on his reindeer stallion, is not so bad 
 a sight after all. 
 5 
 
pS Through Night to Light. 
 
 " We had immense audiences. The emperor and the 
 whole court were every evening at the circus. His 
 majesty applauded so furiously that he had to put on a 
 new pair of white kid gloves every five minutes, because 
 he had torn the others to pieces. During the entire act 
 I had to be on my post at the door of the Imperial box, 
 so tliat I could show his majesty the way behind the 
 scenes and into the stables, where his majesty conde- 
 scended to pat the best animals most graciously on the 
 neck, and to pinch the cheeks of the handsomest ladies 
 in the company, Avith his own hand. But more than 
 anybody else did I enjoy the emperor's favor. I cannot 
 tell exactly why ! I only know that the emperor sent 
 for me to his box the very first night, and said to me 
 before the whole court : ' Mr. Schmenckel, you are not 
 only the strongest but also the handsomest man I have 
 ever seen. Ask a favor!' 'Your majesty,' I replied, 
 bowing gracefull)', 'I ask only for a continuance of 
 your favor, which I esteem above all things else.' 'That 
 you shall have, and patents of nobility into the bargain,' 
 exclaimed his majesty, most enthusiastically. ' Give me 
 your strong hand, Mr. von Schmenckel ; with a company 
 of men like yourself, I would dictate laws to the whole 
 world.' 
 
 " From that moment Ave Avere SAVorn friends. ' Mr. 
 Schmenckel, come this CA'ening and take a cup of cara- 
 A^an tea Avith me ! Will you drink a glass of Avulki punch 
 Avith me to-night, after the performance is over.' dear 
 von Schmenckel. You know, quite cntre nous, perhaps, 
 a fcAV ladies and gentlemen of my court. Will you 
 come .' ' That was the Avay, day by day. 
 
 "Well, gentlemen, Mr. Schmenckel, of Vienna, is not 
 a proud man, but he likes to be in good company " 
 
 Here Mr. Schmenckel made a courteous bow to the by- 
 standers, and continued : 
 
 "And an emperor is, after all, ahvays an emperor, and 
 it is a pleasure, Avhich I Avill not deny, to be on such 
 terms of intimacy Avith such a man. 
 
 " Those Avere famous evenings Avhich I spent, so to say, 
 in the bosom of the imperial family. The gentlemen of 
 the court Avere very pleasant people, and the ladies " 
 
Through Night~to Light. 99 
 
 Mr. Schmenckcl closed his eyes, kissed his hand towards 
 the ceiling, and sent a deep sigh after the winged-messen- 
 ger of his love. "The ladies ! I tell you, gentlemen, he 
 who has not seen the women of Russia, has not seen any 
 women at all. Such hair, such eyes, such figures, such 
 fire ; and if Schmenckcl, of Vienna, was to live four 
 thousand years, he would never forget the winter in St. 
 Petersburg ! 
 
 " The Russian women are beautiful, and vou may feel 
 a little twitch of envy, gentlemen, when I tell you that I 
 had the pick among the fairest of the fair. You may 
 think that sounds like brag, gentlemen, but I cannot 
 help it, it was so. They sent me whole wagon-loads of 
 locks of hair, bouquets and little notes, which always be- 
 gan thus : ' Divine Schmenckcl, or Apollo Schmenckcl,' 
 and always ended thus: ' Meet me at such and such a 
 place, at such and such an hour.' 
 
 " But, as it happens most frequently in such cases, she 
 whose favor I should have valued most highly was not 
 one of my admirers. This was a young and very beau- 
 tiful lady, whom I saw every evening at the circus ; but 
 she always assumed a prodigiously haughty and reserved 
 air, although I invariably made her a special bow when 
 they applauded. 
 
 '" How do you like our ladies.''' the emperor asked 
 me one evening as we were walking, arm-in-arm, up and 
 down the reception room. 
 
 " ' So so ! your majesty,' I replied, for discretion was 
 always Caspar Schmenckel's special gift. 
 
 " ' You are hard to please,' said the emperor. ' How 
 do you like the little Malikowsky } ' 
 
 " ' What name was that .'' ' suddenly asked Berger, 
 who had been sitting immovably, his brow buried in 
 his hand, and who now, for the first time, raised his 
 head. 
 
 " Malikowsky, old gentleman, " repeated Mr. Schmenc- 
 kcl. "Another Russian slice, landlord. With your 
 leave, gentlemen, I'll fill my pipe once more." 
 
 Oswald looked at Berger. He felt as if a strange 
 nervous twitching was agitating his calm, serious fea- 
 tures, and as if the eyes betrayed an unusual excitement 
 
loo Through Night to Light. 
 
 but the next moment Berger had again hid his brow in 
 his hand. Mr. Schmenckel continued his storv : 
 
 " ' The little Malikowsky .? ' I asked. ' Who is she.' ' 
 
 " ' Have you never noticed a lady in black who sits 
 very near the imperial box ? Pale face, large eyes, chin 
 rather long .? ' 
 
 " 'Certainly, your majesty ; but she seems to be a shy 
 bird.' 
 
 " ' Nonsense ! dear Schmenckel ; sheer nonsense ! Be- 
 tween us be it said, the lady once stood in somewhat 
 nearer relations to our house than I liked. We have 
 given her a husband, a Polish nobleman who was ruined ; 
 her reputation was not very good, his is very bad ; he 
 has nothing, she has half a million souls ' " 
 
 "How much is that in Prussian money.''" inquired 
 the fat habitue of the Green Hat, who kept a grocery- 
 store in the town. 
 
 " Five million dollars, twenty-six silver groschen, and 
 fourpence — ' thus they suit each other exactly. When 
 she wants to get rid of him for a time, she sends him to 
 his estates in Poland. Just now he is again on his trav- 
 els. You had better make a conquest of her, and I will 
 say then that Schmenckel, of Vienna, is not only the 
 strongest and the handsomest, but also the luckiest man 
 on earth.' 
 
 " ' Your majesty's wish is my command,' I replied, 
 and went home considering how I could win the heart 
 of the beauty. ' Only by doing something which no 
 man ever yet has been able to do,' I said to myself, and 
 then, gentlemen, it was I invented the famous Schmenc- 
 kel-play, with the three cannon balls of forty-eight 
 pounds each. On the first evening I played with one 
 of them as with a boy's ball — she smiled; on the second 
 I played with two — she clapped her tiny hands ; on the 
 third I played with all three of them — she threw me a 
 bouqviet. I was sure of my success now. But here, 
 gentlemen, I must beg you to excuse me if I follow my 
 invariable custom when a lady is mentioned in my re- 
 collections, and if I only suggest, therefore, in a general 
 way, that the same evening a pretty maid presented her- 
 self at my rooms and asked me to follow her to her 
 
Through Night to Light. loi 
 
 mistress who was dying of love for me. I may add lliat 
 Schmcnckcl, of Vienna, has too good a heart to let any- 
 body die for him, and least of all for love for him, if he 
 can help it, and that the next four weeks belonged to 
 the happiest of his whole life." 
 
 "You are a fortunate man, director," said the native 
 of Fichtenan, who had been for four years secretly in 
 love with the daughter of an alderman, and had already 
 triumphed so far over all obstacles as to have obtained, 
 almost, a kiss from her. 
 
 " As you take it, young man," replied Mr. Schmenckel, 
 with paternal benevolence, " where there is much light, 
 there must also be dark shadows. I ought properly to 
 let my story end here, but I suppose I must finish it 
 for the benefit of such young hot-blooded creatures as 
 you are. Master Miller, and you Cotterby, you abomina- 
 bly fast man, and you Pierrot, the greatest scamp I know. 
 Well, just listen, gentlemen! The pretty maid was not 
 less passionately fond of me than her mistress, for, as I said 
 just now, in that matter of love all the women are alike. 
 What happens, therefore } One fine evening, as I was 
 drinking my cup of tea with the lady — in all honor and 
 propriety, gentlemen, upon my word of honor — some- 
 body suddenly knocks with great violence at the door 
 which leads into the count's apartment, and which 
 was locked from inside. ' Open the door ! open the 
 door ! ' 
 
 " ' Great God, the count ! ' whispered the countess, pale 
 with terror. * Nadeska has betrayed us.' 
 
 " ' Open the door ' — and here followed a fearfid oath — 
 'open the door ! ' 
 
 " ' Well,' said I, ' that's a nice predicament; what's to 
 be done next .'* ' 
 
 "' Schmenckel, you must save me.' 
 
 " ' With pleasure ; but how } ' 
 
 "'I'll slip into my chamber, and Iock the door behind 
 me.' 
 
 " ' Very good ; but what am I to do ? ' 
 
 " ' You have broken into the house, through that win- 
 dow ' — and as she said this she opened the window, 
 took the candelabra with the lights, passed through the 
 
I02 TJu-ough Night to Light. 
 
 second door, locked it, and beg.an to cry as loud as she 
 could — 'Help! Help! Thieves!' 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, just imagine my position, if you 
 can. Before I could collect my five senses the door was 
 broken open, and the count rushed in, holding two pis- 
 tols in his hands, and five men-servants with lights and 
 big sticks behind him." 
 
 " How did the count look } " Berger asked in a low 
 voice, without raising his head. 
 
 " Well, old gentleman, I had not exactly time to look 
 closely at him. I only know that he was a fine-looking, 
 tall man, with a pair of eyes that fairly burnt with fury. 
 ' Ah, I have caught you, rascal .'' ' he cried. Crack ! 
 went a ball past my left ear — crack ! and another ball 
 went past my right ear. Well, gentlemen, that was, after 
 all, a little too strong, and not exactly the way to make 
 Caspar Schmenckel's acquaintance. What could I do.-* 
 I seized the count around the body, and threw him out of 
 the window ; and in, case he should have broken some- 
 thing in falling, I threw one of the servants right after 
 him. The others were frightened and ran away as fast 
 as they could. I ran after them tlirough the other rooms 
 across the hall and down the stairs, and, gentlemen, when 
 I had gotten so far I found the way into the street easily 
 enough by myself. How do you like my story, pro- 
 fessor.'' " and Mr. Schmenckel put his broad hand upon 
 Berger's shoulder. 
 
 Berger raised his head. His face Avas deadly pale, his 
 eyes were rolling fearfully, his gray hair hung down 
 into his face. 
 
 " If you can tell the truth, man," he said, with weird- 
 sounding voice, " answer me ; have you told the truth .'' " 
 
 " I believe the old gentleman has taken a little too 
 much," said Mr. Schmenckel, good-naturedly. 
 
 " Yes, I have drunk too much," cried Berger, gesticu- 
 lating violently with his hands — "too much of the 
 wretched beverage of this miserable life, which is vitterly 
 good for nothing, and the liquor has gotten into my head. 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! " 
 
 It was a terrible laughter ; but the half-drunk visitors 
 thought it highly amusing. 
 
Through Night to Light. 103 
 
 "Oh, ho! the professor is taking to it very kindly," 
 cried Mr. Schmenckel, holding his sides. "Speech! 
 speech ! Let the professor give us a speech ! " 
 
 Oswald had jumped up and stood by Berger's side. 
 He tried in his anxiety to calm the over-excited man, 
 and to persuade him to leave the house. 
 
 Berger paid no attention to him. He stood there, 
 leaning with both his hands upon the table, as Oswald 
 had seen him do so often in his lecture-room. 
 
 " Write, gentlemen," he said, "this is the quintessence 
 of the long syllogism, the parts of which I have just ex- 
 plained to you : 
 
 " I climbed on a pear-tree, 
 I wanted to dig beets, 
 Then have I all my life 
 Eaten no better plums. 
 
 "You will say that this is not a speculative idea, but 
 an old drinking song ; but, gentlemen, in a world where 
 good people are made fun of, and led by the nose by 
 impudent demons — where folly with the fool's cap on 
 the head is ruling supreme, and causes its lofty concep- 
 tions to be executed by stupidity, vulgarity, and bru- 
 tality — there speculation becomes a drinking song, and 
 the idea — the grand, all-sublime idea — why, you are the 
 idea yourselves, gentlemen, rough, vulgar fellows as 
 you are." 
 
 " Oh, ho ! old man, I won't stand that," cried Mr. 
 Schmenckel, who could hardly laugh any longer. 
 
 "Yes indeed, yourself," continued Berger, growing 
 more and more violent. " You, Director Caspar Schmenc- 
 kel, of Vienna, you represent the justice of heaven ! 
 The idea can do nothing without you ; you are the idea, 
 the incarnate idea. I told you life was good for noth- 
 ing, but no — that is saying too much — it is worthy of 
 you. 1 detest you, but I honor you ; I shudder at the 
 sight of you, but I worship you. Come into my arms, 
 that I may measure the depths of this wretchedness, that 
 I may touch with my own hands the incredible." 
 
 "Come to my heart, old boy," cried Mr. Schmenckel, 
 returning the embrace. " You are a trump — a perfect 
 brick; let us be brothers." 
 
I04 Through Night to Light. 
 
 He let go Berger and seized his glass. 
 
 At the same moment Berger fell, pressing his hand 
 upon his heart, with a fearful cry, and fainted away. 
 
 It was a fearful cry indeed — like the cry for help of a 
 drowning man at the instant of sinking — a cry that was 
 heard high above the din in the room, that silenced all 
 the chatting and chaffing, and made the drinkers jump up 
 from their seats in utter consternation. They crowded 
 around the fallen man, and glared with stupid, half- 
 drunken eyes at him, as Oswald tried in vain to raise 
 him from the floor. No one lent a hand to assist the 
 young man. The fright seemed to have paralyzed the 
 crowd. 
 
 "Will nobody help me.'" cried Oswald, supporting 
 the burden of the lifeless body in his arms. 
 
 These words were addressed to Mr. Schmenckel, who 
 until now had been quietly standing near, with open 
 mouth and fixed eyes, his pipe in one hand, the glass 
 of beer in the other. 
 
 Oswald's appeal brought him back to his senses. 
 
 " You are right, count," he said, " we must do some- 
 thing for the old gentleman." 
 
 He put his pipe on the table, took Berger, who was 
 still unconsciovis, from Oswald's arms, lifted him without 
 effort on his shoulder, and carried him out of the room 
 as a lion bears off a dead gazelle. 
 
 Oswald and the landlord followed him. 
 
 " Here, come in here," said the landlord, opening the 
 door of the room on the opposite side of the hall, Avhere 
 more distinguished guests were commonly received. 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel laid the patient on the sofa. 
 
 " The old gentleman had an empty stomach," said Di- 
 rector Schmenckel, whispering his information gravely 
 into Oswald's ear, while the latter was busy about Berger. 
 " Your excellency ought to have made him eat first a 
 good slice of ham with brown bread, and a glass of 
 brandy." 
 
 Berger began to stir. He opened his eyes and looked 
 wonderingly at the by-standers, like somebody who is 
 awaking from a heavy dream. Then he rose fully, with 
 Oswald's assistance, and said in a low voice : 
 
Through Night to Light. 105 
 
 " I thank you, my friends. I liavc given you much 
 trouble. We are dependent one on the other in this 
 life. I hope I shall soon meet you again ; perhaps I 
 may be able then to return you your kindness. Come, 
 Oswald, let us go." 
 
 " Do you feel strong enough.' Had we not better 
 send for a carriage.'' " 
 
 "Oh no! Horses and carriages are not for people 
 like me." 
 
 He went to the door. Suddenly he stopped again. 
 
 " Pay the people what we owe them, Oswald ; we must 
 not remain in anybody's debt on this earth." 
 
 Oswald paid the landlord his bill, including in it, to 
 Mr. Schmenckel's evident satisfaction, all that the rope- 
 dancers had consumed. 
 
 A few moments afterward he and Berger had left the 
 house and were walking slowly through the silent streets 
 of Fichtenan, back to Doctor Birkenhain's asylum. 
 
 Berger observed a silence Avhich Oswald dared not 
 break. The young man reproached himself in secret to 
 have been so imprudent as to have left Berger so long 
 in such company. He ascribed his exaltation mainly to 
 the heat and the drinking of the strong beer, to which 
 he was not accustomed. He had no suspicion of the 
 close connection between Berger's history and the gro- 
 tesque adventures of the circus-director, whose story he 
 had scarcely heard. He only thought of Dr. Birken- 
 hain, and how little he had attended to his suggestions. 
 He vras reflecting whether his presence was not perhaps 
 rather injurious than useful for Berger, and thought of 
 leaving Fichtenan as soon as possible, for his own bene- 
 fit as well as for Berger's. 
 
 Thus they had reached in silence the road which led 
 past the mill to the gateway of Doctor Birkenhain's 
 asylum, when Berger suddenly said : 
 
 '' You must leave us to-night, Oswald! " 
 
 " To-night .' " 
 
 " Rather to-day than to-morrow. You have to go out 
 
 into the desert once more ; I cannot spare you the trial. 
 
 And I, myself — I have to learn much yet, and you cannot 
 
 assist me. It is better for us, therefore, to part. You go 
 
 5* 
 
io6 Through Night to Light. 
 
 your way, and I shall go my way — it is the same road ; 
 and although I am a little ahead of you, you learn 
 quickly and will soon overtake me. Until then, Oswald, 
 farewell ! " 
 
 Berger embraced Oswald and kissed him. 
 
 Oswald was deeply moved. 
 
 " Let me stay with you," he said, his voice half- 
 drowned in tears ; " let me stay with you and never 
 leave you again. I hate the world, I despise the world, 
 as much as you do." 
 
 " I know that," said Berger, " but to despise the world 
 is but the first stage of the three on the road to the 
 Great Mystery." 
 
 " And which is the second stage .-* Mention it, so that 
 I may reach it at once ! 
 
 " To despise one's self." 
 
 "And — the third.? " 
 
 They were standing before the gateway. Berger rang 
 the bell ; the door sprang open. 
 
 " And the third — the last stage } " 
 
 " Despise being despised." 
 
 " And the mystery itself — the Great Mystery "i " 
 
 " He who has passed all three stages knows it and 
 understands it without asking any questions. He who 
 asks about it does not know it, and cannot understand 
 it. Oswald, farewell ; we shall meet again ! " 
 
 Berger pressed Oswald once more to his heart ; then 
 he entered through the gate, which closed immediately 
 upon him. 
 
 Oswald remained standing near the gate, like the 
 beggar who has been refused the refreshing drink for 
 which he has asked ; then he went, with drooping head, 
 back the way he had come with Berger. 
 
 The night was dark ; hardly a star on the murky, 
 cloudy sky ; the poplars by the wayside were whisper- 
 ing to each other ; and the mill-race down below said 
 in its own way : To despise the world — to despise one's 
 self — to despise being despised. 
 
Through Night to Light. 107 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 DURING the time wlien Oswald and Berger had 
 watched the sun from the summit of the Lookout 
 Mountain, as he sank slowly into tlie green ocean 
 of the forest, a guest had arrived at the Kurhaus, whose 
 arrival caused a certain joyous sensation in the hotel. 
 It was a fair young lady, dressed in a dark, remarkably 
 elegant costume, and accompanied by a not less hand- 
 some boy of about twelve years, who looked, however, 
 pale and sickly. With them came an old man, whose 
 gray moustache and military carriage gave him a very 
 marked appearance, and who seemed to be partly a 
 servant and partly a friend of the lady. The lady had 
 spent several weeks in Fichtenan during the summer, 
 though then without the boy, in order to attend her 
 husband, who had been for seven years in Doctor Bir- 
 kenhain's asylum, and who was now dying. Her sad 
 fate, not less than her great gentleness and kindness 
 towards everybody, especially the poor and the sick, had 
 won her the love and admiration of the inhabitants of 
 the little tOAvn to such a degree that even now they 
 Avere blessing, in more than one family, the remembrance 
 of the " good lady " with deep gratitude. 
 
 It did not look as if this time, also, a pleasant purpose 
 had brought the lady to Fichtenan, for she had scarcely 
 been shown by the landlord himself, amid countless bows 
 and scrapings, into the best parlor of the second story, 
 when she sat down to write a few lines to Doctor Bir- 
 kenhain, which the old servant had orders to carry im- 
 mediately to the asylum, a hotel servant showing him 
 the way. In the meantime the boy, who was exceed- 
 ingly tired from the journey, had been put to bed. Two 
 rooms to the left of the parlor had been fitted up for the 
 lady's use, and great regret was expressed that unfor- 
 tunately the room on the right could not at once be 
 added, since it was yet occupied by a gentleman, who, 
 however, would certainly not stay beyond the next 
 morning. 
 
io8 Through Night to Light. 
 
 An hour later Doctor Birkenhain had driven up before 
 the Kurhaus with the old servant by his side ; he had 
 gone up to the lady in her parlor, and had been engaged 
 with her in a long conversation, which could not have 
 been very satisfactory, for Jean, the waiter attached to 
 those rooms, had seen, when he carried the tea-things 
 into the parlor, that the lady had been Aveeping, and Avas 
 trying to wipe her eyes. 
 
 Doctor Birkenhain had, after the conversation was 
 ended, walked up once more to the bed of the boy, Avho 
 was fast asleep, had put his hand on his heart, bent over 
 him, and pressing his ear on the boy's bare breast, listened 
 attentively for some time. Then he raised himself 
 again, carefully covered the sleeper, pushed the abun- 
 dant curly hair from the fair, pale brow, and turning to 
 the lady with a smile on his lips Avhich positively lighted 
 up the stern, serious features of the man, said to her, 
 while she held a light in her hand and looked up to him 
 with the strained expression of painful uncertainty, 
 
 " Calm yourself, madame ; I can, of course, not decide 
 positively, but all that I have seen so far gives me great 
 hope that matters are not half as bad with our little pa- 
 tient there as my colleagues in Grunwald seem to have 
 fancied." 
 
 A beam of joy lighted up the lady's face, and her large 
 eyes filled with tears. 
 
 Doctor Birkenhain took the light from her hand and 
 escorted her back to the parlor. 
 
 " I shall come again to-morrow morning," he said, 
 taking his hat and cane ; " if it comforts you, you can 
 let old Baumann sit up with the boy. But you yourself 
 must go to bed early, and take one of these powders. 
 You are very much exhausted and require rest." 
 
 "Stay another moment, doctor! " said the lady. "I 
 have one more question to ask." 
 
 Her features betrayed great emotion, her bosom rose 
 and sank with agitation ; she seemed to be about to give 
 utterance to a thought which she was unable from great 
 fear to clothe in words. 
 
 Doctor Birkenhain laid down again his hat and cane. 
 
 * Sit down, madame, I pray you ! " he said, sitting down 
 
Through Night to Light. 109 
 
 by her side on the sofa. " I know what you arc about 
 to ask. I have read the question all this evening in your 
 anxious eyes and upon your trembling- lips. You do 
 not believe in tlic disease of the heart, of which the physi- 
 cians at Grunwald have said so much; if you did you 
 would not have come to me, however kindly you may 
 think of my modest knowledge and my experience. 
 You fear the evil is more serious — in fact, that it is a 
 hereditary disease, the first germ, the beginning, of an 
 affection which has already once been so fatal for you. 
 Am I right.'' " 
 
 The lady's answer was a flood of tears, which broke 
 irresistibly from her eyes, like a long pent-up torrent. 
 She pressed, sobbing, her handkerchief upon her face. 
 
 " My dear madame," said the physician, taking her 
 hand in his, " I pray you, I implore you, calm yourself. 
 As far as I can judge from the written reports of mv 
 colleagues, from your own account, and from my obser- 
 vation, there is not the slightest ground for your terri- 
 ble apprehension. Insanity is hereditary, to 136 sure; it 
 descends through many generations, turning up here 
 and there, often after a long interval ; but in your hus- 
 band's family his own case is the very first in the whole 
 history of his family, and consequently for many hun- 
 dred years. And this exceptional case had its own pe- 
 puliar and very sad causes, which could effect only the 
 individual, and could not possibly have any effect upon 
 his descendants. Herr von Berkow was naturally in 
 the enjoyment of very good health, perhaps even supe- 
 rior in his physique to most men ; but remember, I pray, 
 that it is a physician who is speaking now — he had ruined 
 this powerful constitution by dissipation. That which 
 often saves others in his position — the marriage with a 
 chaste, pure being — became in his case his ruin, for he felt 
 his own unworthiness — felt it so deeply that he despaired 
 of ever winning your love or attaining your forgiveness, 
 and therefore abandoned himself hopelessly to that mel- 
 ancholy in which he quickly lost all pleasure in life and 
 all energy of mind. The sins of the father will not be 
 visited on the next generation. If there should really 
 be an affection of the heart, it has as yet made very little 
 
no Through Night to Light. 
 
 progress and can easily be cured, with the aid of Julius's 
 youth and excellent constitution. Therefore I pray you, 
 madame, lay aside all your anxiety ; confide in me ; 
 confide in your good fortune ; the clouds that are hiding 
 your star for a moment will soon disappear." 
 
 " My star .-" " asked the lady, with a melancholy smile ; 
 " my star .' Why, doctor, I fear, if there ever was such a 
 one, it has set long since and forever." 
 
 "That we shall see," said Doctor Birkenhain, rising. 
 " I believe in favorable stars, and above all in your good 
 star. One so fair and so dear and so good as you are 
 must not and shall not be unhappy! Good night! " 
 
 Doctor Birkenhain took the lady's hand, raised it rev- 
 erently to his lips, and left the room. 
 
 She remained sitting after the physician had left her, 
 resting her head in her hand, and sunk in deep medita- 
 tion. 
 
 As in a dream, all the scenes of her life passed before 
 her mind's eye. 
 
 She saw herself a rosy-cheeked, wild child, playing in 
 her father's park with a solemn, awkward boy, whom 
 she at times loved dearly and then again hated bitterly ; 
 who, now haughty and imperious, resisted her caprices, 
 and then, when she was kinder to him, spared no trouble 
 and feared no danger in order to fulfil her childish 
 wishes. She saw herself, a few years later, in company 
 with the same boy and a few other boys and girls, per- 
 form very complicated steps in the large room of her 
 father's chateau, while a poor man accompanied them 
 with the violin, and the grown people, men and women, 
 expressed their delight and overwhelmed the little co- 
 quette with praises and caresses ; and she saw the boy, 
 whose awkwardness she had ridiculed and derided in 
 her exuberance of spirits, sit in a distant corner and weep 
 bitterly. She saw herself again, a few years later, in the 
 fresh brightness of a beauty of sixteen years, courted and 
 admired on all sides, thoughtlessly sipping the sweet, 
 precious beverage from the rose-crowned cup of life 
 with eager thirst; flitting from pleasure to pleasure, as 
 a light-winged butterfly flits from flower to flower, and 
 yet feeling, amid all these blissful enjoyments, in her 
 
Through Night to Light. iii 
 
 heart's deepest depth, a continuous restlessness, which 
 made the golden Present appear gray and colorless in 
 comparison with the bright-colored, glorious Future, 
 which was to fulfil all her plans and all her hopes. 
 She had lost sight of the solemn, awkward boy in those 
 days. What could he have done in the midst of this 
 fairy world, full of brightness and fragrance, in which 
 nightingales sang, and all were playfvd and happy "i 
 But the Future had become the Present, and nothing had 
 been fulfilled of all her promises ; a poisonous dew had 
 fallen upon her bright Howers, and had robbed them of 
 their beauty and their fragrance ; the nightingales had 
 ceased to sing, and the whole spring landscape was con- 
 cealed under a gray, dismal veil — a veil through which 
 now and then fearful scenes became visible — a father 
 kneeling before his daughter and beseeching her by his 
 gray liead, which he must bury in dislionor if she did not 
 comply with his wishes to marry a man whom she does not 
 love, and against whom an instinctive feeling w^arns the 
 pure, innocent maid; a husband who — away, away with 
 these fearful visions, which make the unfortunate woman 
 hide her face with shuddering, even now, after an inter- 
 val of so many years. And then she sees once more the 
 form of the solemn, stubborn boy in the shape of a 
 haughty, cold man, who yet, whenever he meets her, 
 changes his haughtiness into humility, and his coldness 
 into unspeakable kindness and love ; who assists her with 
 counsel, comfort, and help ; who turns aside whatever 
 harm he can avert, and helps her bear it where he can- 
 not prevent it ; who ever tries to take everything upon 
 his own shoulders. And now the thought occurs to her, 
 more and more frequently, that, after all, this man is 
 probably worth more than all her fantastic dreams ; but 
 as yet she cannot, by any effort of her own, abandon all 
 the ideals that once filled her youthful heart. She treats 
 the man as she has treated the boy; she sends him on his 
 travels as she used to send him in the garden, when he 
 was not willing to fall in with her caprices. 
 
 And now come peaceful visions of years spent in the 
 green solitude of her estate, and among them continu- 
 ally re-appearing the forms of a fair, delicate boy and 
 
112 Through Night to Light. 
 
 an old gray-bearded servant in varied and yet always 
 similar situations — peaceful visions, although a certain 
 fragrance of melancholy attaches itself to all their 
 bright perfumes, the effect of unsatisfied longing and 
 vain hopes. She thinks often enough of the man whom 
 she has sent into exile, but no longer with the warm 
 heart, which is in truth ashamed of its ingratitude. 
 Some bitterness has begun to mingle with her feelings 
 towards this man, since he has dared — it happened dvir- 
 ing a journey to Italy — to speak openly of his love for 
 her; since she has rejected him, fancying in her false 
 logic that she was consistent when she only adliered 
 obstinately to a caprice; and since he, proud as he was, 
 had at once accepted her decision, and left the country 
 to travel in Egypt and Nubia. She imagines even that 
 she has begun to hate the companion of her youthful 
 years, the faithful friend who has stood by her in every 
 need and danger; and yet, any one who knows the 
 human heart might have told her that hatred is only 
 the wild brother of the sweet sister love, and indiffer- 
 ence the only really impenetrable armor for a woman's 
 heart. 
 
 And now there appears amid these peaceful scenes 
 the form of a man whose beauty delights her artistic 
 eye, whose gentle kindness lingers around her like the 
 breath of spring, whose longing finds in her own 
 heart, full of vague yearning, an eloquent echo — of 
 a man who in everything seems to be the realization of 
 all her dreams. And as in a dream she accepts his love, 
 returns it with thousand-fold fire ; she will not see the 
 danger, she will not wake, she insists upon being happy 
 once in her life. But morning breaks; it becomes im- 
 possible to keep her eyes closed any longer, and to re- 
 tain the visions of her dream. Her friend has returned, 
 contrary to all expectations, and appears before her, 
 w^arning her, and the very next hour his prophecy has 
 become true. Blow upon blow, misfortune falls upon 
 her. Did he dream of it, when it drove him from the 
 ruins of Karnak to his home in the far North.'' The 
 news of the approaching death of the man whose name 
 she bears summons her away from the arms of him whom 
 
Through Night to Light. 113 
 
 she loves; she hastens to fulfil a duty which is all the 
 more sacred to her because of the blissful happiness that 
 she has enjoyed during the last weeks ; and she returns, 
 her heart full of sweet hopes, and at the same time full 
 of painful anticipations, and she hears and sees that 
 the man to whom she has abandoned herself with 
 boundless love has betrayed lier. And, as if that Avas 
 not enough pvmishment for her short, secret happiness, 
 her only child — that beautiful, lovely boy, who was her 
 delight and her pride — is taken down with a disease 
 which appears to her the beginning of an affection such 
 as she has just seen end in the most fearful manner in 
 the father of that child. 
 
 But this second blow is perhaps a blessing in dis- 
 guise. It stuns her so that she scarcely feels the wovmd 
 in her heart. The love of the woman is swallowed up 
 in the love of the mother. She watches day and night 
 by the bedside of the boy ; she has eyes and ears only 
 for his wants and his wishes ; and as soon as he recovers 
 slightly, she takes a journey to the man in whose expe- 
 rience she has unbounded confidence, and from whose 
 lips she means to hear the sentence, the decision of life 
 or death — no ! a thousand times worse than death itself! 
 And he has spoken ; he has left her some hope ; he has 
 even encouraged her to hope — her boy is going to live ; 
 he will recover; the sins of the father are not to be vis- 
 ited on the' next generation. 
 
 And now that her soul has been relieved of the fear- 
 ful burden — now she thinks for the first time again of 
 her betrayed love. 
 
 Was not this betrayal a just punishment for having 
 cared so much for her own happiness, and so little for 
 that of the boy.'' For having committed treason against 
 her own child ; for was not the love for a man wlio filled 
 her whole heart treason against her child 1 
 
 Here, in this very room, she had during the past sum- 
 mer dreamt so often of a future which was to be real- 
 ized in such a sad present, and now the current of life 
 had floated her back to the same place, almost into the 
 same situation ! Was it not as if Fate wished to give 
 her time to consider before she acted — before she laid her 
 
114 Through Night to Light. 
 
 own happiness, and that of her child, into hands "which 
 were far too feeble to defend such a treasure successfully ? 
 
 Here, in this very room, her friend had warned her 
 against these hands that were grasping with childish 
 eagerness at everything that was great and beautiful, in 
 order to cast it aside again in childish caprice, as if it 
 were worth little. Here, in tl>is very room, he had 
 prophesied to her things which had since come true, 
 Avord by word. 
 
 Here, in this very room, he had spoken to her thus : 
 " And when you lie crushed by this blow, and wish to 
 die, and yet cannot die ; then you will be able to feel 
 what anguish a heart suffers when it sees its love be- 
 trayed and despised; then you will make me amends in 
 your heart, and be sorry for the wrong you have done 
 me." 
 
 Where was he now .'' this faithful, noble friend, Avho 
 — she had often felt it, though never so deeply as at this 
 moment — was wasting his proud strength for her sake 
 in idleness or senseless adventures, as a tree whose heart 
 has been taken out breaks forth in abundant branches 
 and leaves, but never bears fruit again .-' Once more 
 he was wandering restlessly, like the wandering Jew, 
 through the wide, desert world. And, as if he should 
 never call anything his own, the child whom he had 
 loved before he knew her to be his child, had vanished 
 again like a short, fair dream. He had let her go, be- 
 cause his sense of justice told him that he had no claim 
 upon this child, for whom he had done nothing than to 
 call it into existence. Was it really to be his fate to 
 sow love and to reap indifference .-' 
 
 No ! no ! not indifference ; although it might not be 
 love such as he felt, and such as he wished for, but 
 certainly not indifference! Did she not feel hearty 
 friendship, deep, sincere regard for him } Would she 
 not have sacrificed Avhole years of her existence, if by 
 so doing she could have restored his child to him .'' 
 
 Where was he now .'' She had become so accustomed 
 to seeing him by her side, whenever the dark hours of 
 her life were coming, that she missed him sadly now, 
 when he was for the first time absent. And yet, what 
 
Through Night to Light. 115 
 
 right had she to a love which she had refused a hundred 
 times, and whicli she liad so grievously insulted by her 
 love for another man ? 
 
 The fair lady had been so lost in such thoughts that 
 she did not hear a gentle knock at the door. The door 
 opened, and an old, gray-bearded face peeped in. Be- 
 hind the grim, bearded face the form of a tall man was 
 visible. 
 
 " Madame,'" said the moustache, " a good friend who 
 has just arrived wishes to present his respects, if possi- 
 ble yet, this evening." 
 
 "Who is it.''" asked the lady, rising with surprise 
 from her seat. 
 
 The tall gentleman entered. 
 
 "Oldenburg!" cried the lady; "Oldenburg! Is it 
 really you .? " 
 
 "Yes, Melitta! " said the baron, seizing the proffered 
 hand of the lady and carrying it to his lips. " It is I, in 
 person." 
 
 The old man had remained where he stood, rubbing 
 his hands and looking at the two, as they were shaking 
 hands, with an eye full of hope and apprehension. 
 When he saw the unmistakaVjle expression of joyful sur- 
 prise upon the fair face of his beloved mistress, and the 
 tear which glistened in her eye as the baron bent over 
 her hand, his own eyes slowly filled with tears. He left 
 the room with noiseless steps, closed the door very 
 gently, and one who could have observed the old man 
 afterwards — but there was no one there to see him — 
 would have seen how he folded his hands, when he was 
 outside, and murmured an ardent prayer with trembling 
 lips, in his gray beard — a prayer which thanked God 
 for this meeting between his mistress and the only man 
 whom he thought worthy of her, and implored Him to 
 turn everything, oh everything, to the best, in this the 
 
 eleventh hour, by His infinite mercy and kindness. 
 ****** ^* * * * 
 
 When old Baumann had left the room, the baron had, 
 according to his old habit, walked silently up and down 
 the room with long strides, to overcome a feeling which 
 threatened to get the better of his self-control. Melitta 
 
ii6 Through Night to Light. 
 
 had seated herself on the sofa, since her own excitement, 
 which was probably not less strong than Oldenburg's, 
 had deprived her of the power of standing. 
 
 After a few minutes the baron came and took his seat 
 by her side on the sofa, and said with a soft voice, Avhich 
 did not show the slightest trace of the vehemence of his 
 rough manner, 
 
 " And you do not ask, Melitta, av hat has brought me 
 here through night and storm, across these mountains, to 
 this village and this room ? " 
 
 " No ! " replied Melitta, looking full and clear into 
 his eyes; " no ! for I know it without asking." 
 
 " I thank you, Melitta! " 
 
 This was all he answered ; but the whole heart of the 
 man was in these few words. 
 
 " Yes, and even more than that," continvied Melitta. 
 " I was but just thinking of you — of the faithful friend 
 who has as yet always stood by me in the hour of mis- 
 fortune, aiding me by counsel and deed, however I may 
 have rejected his advice and rewarded the sacrifices he 
 has made for my sake with bitter ingratitude. 
 
 " Sacrifices — ingratitude ! " said Oldenburg, and a 
 melancholy smile played around his lips ; " those are 
 words, Melitta, which have no meaning for us — I mean 
 for myself At least they have none now, Avhatever else 
 I may have thought of them in former years. In the 
 end everybody submits to his fate ; and when the cap- 
 tured lion has come to an end with his despair, and sees 
 that his strength can do nothing against the iron bars 
 of his cage, he lies down in the corner and is for the 
 future as gentle as a lamb. But no more of that ; I did 
 not come here to plead for myself, and to renew^ a suit 
 which has already been lost in all the stages of appeal ; 
 I did not come for my sake, but for yours. I was told 
 in Grunwald, where I was on business, that Julius had 
 been attacked by serious sickness, and that you had gone 
 with him to Fichtenan. I feared the Avorst, and followed 
 you at once, travelling day and night, in order to help 
 you as far as I could. Fortunately our apprehensions 
 were unfounded. I have spoken with Birkenhain down- 
 stairs, after he left you. He has completely reassured 
 
Through Night to Light. 117 
 
 me, and thinks you can go back as soon as you feel 
 strong enough. That is all I wished to know; and now, 
 when the purpose of my journey is fulfilled, and I have 
 been able by a lucky accident, thanks to the gods, to see 
 you and to hold your dear hand in mine — God bless 
 you, jNIelitta! and may misfortune — for good fortune 
 has nothing to do with us — not make us meet soon 
 again." 
 
 The baron said these last words with a smiling air, 
 but in his voice there was a secret pain, the pain of a 
 noble heart full of love, which finds no home in all this 
 wide, rich world. 
 
 He had taken Melitta's hand in bidding her farewell, 
 and was about to rise ; but he could not do it, for the 
 hand so dear to him not only returned warmly the pres- 
 sure of his — he felt, at least he thought he felt, that Me- 
 litta would not let him leave her, that she would be 
 pleased to see him stay. 
 
 This was something so new to him that he looked at 
 her, wondering whether it were really possible — whether 
 his presence was for once no punishment to her. 
 
 " You must not go yet," said Melitta, with some pre- 
 cipitancy, while a passing flush colored her pale cheeks 
 for a moment. " I cannot bear to see that, while all the 
 world praises my kindness and every beggar leaves me 
 contented, you alone should look upon me as upon a 
 statue, which never gives and ahvays takes without ever 
 saying Thank you ! You have not told me a word yet 
 about yourself; not a word how and where you have 
 been all this time. You come from a distance of sev- 
 eral thousand miles to look at my Julius, and you mean 
 to go again before I have even been able to ask you if 
 you have had any news of your Czika.' Is that gener- 
 ous.'' Why, it is not even right in you." 
 
 The baron looked at Melitta as she said this, almost 
 frightened. 
 
 " Melitta," he answered, so seriously as to be almost 
 solemn; "it is not right to awaken the desire to live, in 
 a man who is sick unto death. Do not spoil me, from 
 pure pity, Avith a kindness which does not come from 
 the heart ! " 
 
ii8 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Not from the heart ! " repeated Melitta in a low 
 voice. "To be sure I have deserved that reproach; I 
 ought not to complain." 
 
 " I did not mean to reproach you, Melitta." 
 
 " And yet I deserve it. Yes, Oldenburg, I must tell 
 you, or it will oppress my heart beyond endurance. I 
 feel deeply ashamed before you. The burden of grati- 
 tude which you impose upon me weighs me down." 
 
 " A burden, Melitta ! A burden ! By God, I did not 
 wish to lay any burden upon you by the few services I 
 have been able to render you." 
 
 " You will not believe me. I cannot measure and 
 weigh my words as you do. If there is no voice in your 
 heart speaking for me — if you are not willing to listen to 
 me with your heart, then " 
 
 Her voice was drowned in tears. 
 
 " What is this? " said Oldenburg, seizing his head with 
 both his hands. " Am I dreaming .'' Is this my head .-' 
 Are these my hands.? Am I Oldenburg.? Are you 
 Melitta.? You, who are shedding tears, because I, Ol- 
 denburg, do not understand you, or will not understand 
 you.? " 
 
 "You shall understand me," said Melitta, drying her 
 tears, with an impetuosity very unusual in her. " You 
 have seen me so often weak and irresolute in our inter- 
 course, that you do not think me any longer capable of 
 forming a resolution. And yet I have the strength to do 
 so ; and that I have it, I owe to you, Adalbert. During the 
 sickness of my child you have spoken to me, and I have 
 not closed my heart to your voice. I have heard it very 
 distinctly during the long, anxious night hours which 
 I spent watching and weeping by the bedside of my 
 child. Then I have asked my child's pardon with silent, 
 burning tears, that I could ever forget being a mother. 
 Then I have vowed by myself that I would never, never 
 forget it again. Then I have " 
 
 She was silent ; burning sliame flooded her cheeks 
 with deep glowing blushes ; but she made a great effort 
 and said, 
 
 "Then I have abjured a passion which humiliates me in 
 my own eyes, in my child's eyes, and, Adalbert, in 3"Ours." 
 
Through Night to Light. 119 
 
 " Stop, Melitta ! stop ! " cried Oldenburg, rising sud- 
 denly. " You are beside yourself! You are not alone ! 
 You are in the presence of another person — of a man 
 who loves you, Melitta. He does not want to hear what 
 you ought to say to no one but to yourself." 
 
 " Let me finish, Adalbert ! I trust in your goodness, 
 as I trust in your strength. I have not told you all yet ; 
 not even all the vows I have made by the bedside of my 
 sick child. I have often^ thought of your child, then, 
 and that a most terrible fate has robbed you of the love 
 of your child as well as of the love of her whom you 
 love. And then I vowed that, if I cannot make you as 
 happy as you deserve to be ; if much, far too much, has 
 happened which parts you and me forever; I can yet 
 help you bear your fate, as far as in me lies. I will try 
 to reconcile you to life, and live for you as far as I am 
 able." 
 
 Melitta had, while she said these words, risen from the 
 sofa. She stood before him with deep-red cheeks and 
 beaming eyes. 
 
 Oldenburg had heard her with breathless excitement, 
 with an emotion which grew stronger and deeper with 
 every word. His eyes flashed, liis bosom heaved, he 
 pressed his hands upon his heart, which felt as if it would 
 burst with unspeakable bliss. 
 
 When jNIelitta's last word had dropped from her lips 
 he approached her, knelt down before her, and said, with 
 a voice deep and firm, like the sound of an iron shield, 
 
 " And now hear my vow, Melitta ! As surely as I 
 have loved you ever since I can think, as surely as the 
 night of my life has been lighted up but by a single star, 
 as surely as I have wandered about restlessly and aim- 
 lessly in the vast desert of life, only because I despaired 
 that that star could ever shine down upon me benignly 
 — so surely will I, from this moment, strive to attain the 
 highest aim of man with all the power I may possess. 
 I will lay aside all little weaknesses and all my cowardice ; 
 I will try to make up for the time which I have lost in 
 inactivity. And as sure as my heart is at this moment 
 overflowing with a happiness which words cannot de- 
 scribe, so surely will I seek neither rest nor repose till 
 
I20 Through Night to Light. 
 
 you love me as I love you — till you are mine. Do you 
 hear, Melitta — till you are my wife ! " 
 
 He had risen, too. 
 
 "And now, Melitta," he cried, and his words sounded 
 like shouts of joy, " farewell ! I cannot bear it any 
 longer under this roof; the whole, wide world has be- 
 come too narrow for me. Farewell ! farewell ! till we 
 meet again ! " 
 
 He embraced Melitta impetuously, and kissed her on 
 her brow. Then he hastily left the room. 
 
 Melitta had remained standing in the middle of the 
 room, as if she were petrified. She had not had the 
 strength to keep Oldenburg back, nor to return his fare- 
 well. She placed her hand upon her beating temples. 
 
 " What have I done .-' What have I said .'' " she asked 
 herself. And the voice of her heart answered : " Noth- 
 ing you need be ashamed of, before yourself or before 
 your child." 
 
 She hastened into the adjoining room. She bent over 
 the sleeping boy; she kissed him amid burning tears. 
 
 Then she heard the rolling of a carriage, which rapidly 
 drove away from the door of the hotel. 
 
 "That is he! " she said, listening; and then, pressing 
 her face in the cushions, " Farewell ! farewell ! till we 
 meet again ! " 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WHILE this interview between Melitta and Olden- 
 burg Avas taking place at the Kurhaus, and, as by 
 the blow of a charmed Avand, the barriers fell 
 which had seemed to be destined to part two good hearts 
 forever, there had been sitting in the room on the right 
 hand — which " was occupied by a traveller Avho Avould 
 surely not stay beyond the next morning " — this very 
 traveller quite near the door which led from one room 
 to the other, supporting his feverish head with his hands, 
 and suffering in his lacerated heart unspeakable anguisli. 
 
Through Night to Light. 121 
 
 Oswald had returned, on his way from the asylum, 
 along the river, almost as in a dream ; for when he left 
 Berger at the gate of the institution, the parting with 
 him and the last terrible words of the unfortunate man 
 had quite overwhelmed him, and kept him from every 
 effort of thinking calmly. 
 
 His brains and his heart were a perfect chaos, filled 
 with all that he had heard and seen since his arrival in 
 Fichtenan on the preceding evening — with all the im- 
 pressions which he had so suddenly received, all the 
 thoughts that had been stirred up, all the passions that 
 had been unchained. He had a dim presentiment that 
 such a state of mind must in the end lead to insanity, if 
 it were not already itself a kind of insanity. 
 
 Ought he not to turn back and knock at the gate be- 
 hind which Berger had disappeared .'' Was not that 
 house, with its high prison-walls, the best refuge for 
 hearts that were as Aveary of the world as his was 1 Or 
 still better, ought he not to throw himself over the rail- 
 ing into the river below, Avhere it rushed, deep and 
 silent, between the steep, high banks, gliding noiselessly 
 along like a serpent.'' Would he not be sure thus to 
 cool his heated brow forever, and to silence the ham- 
 mering pulsations jn hjs temples for all eternity.'' How 
 could he hope ever to find an issue into rosy light from 
 a labyrinth in which so noble, so lofty a mind as Ber- 
 ger's had lost its way irretrievably .'' Was not Berger 
 far superior to him in strength of mind, as well as in 
 nobility of soul? And yet, and yet — "that I may fully 
 measure the depth of this wretchedness, that I may touch 
 with my own hands the incredible," the poor man had 
 said, when he fell into the arms of the rope-dancer. 
 Was that, then, the last conclusion of wisdom 1 The 
 high-minded idealist saw himself excelled by the rude 
 slave of sensuality in courage of life and joyousness of 
 life! The pupil of Plato acknowledged a drunken 
 clown as his master ! The man who, like the youth of 
 Sais, had striven all his life only after truth, fraternized 
 with a coarse story-teller, a charlatan, who defied all 
 rules, of probability even, and lived merrily and cheer- 
 fully on the credulity of others, as the swallow lives on 
 6 
 
122 Through Night to Light. 
 
 midges. As old Lear in the tempestuous night on the 
 heath tears the royal mantle from his shoulders, so as to 
 have no advantage over poor Tom, the " poor bare-backed 
 animal, whose belly cries for two red herrings," so Ber- 
 ger also had laid aside the philosopher's cloak, that did 
 not warm him half as well as the rope-dancer's bare 
 vulgarity. Berger had learnt from this man that only 
 he can hope to enjoy real happiness who gives up all 
 pretentions to wealth, to honor, and splendor, and who 
 sees neither a punishment nor a disgrace in the con- 
 tempt of the world. Did those men of olden times 
 think differently about it who fed on locusts, and ex- 
 posed their bodies to the heat of the sun and the 
 chill of rains — Indian penitents. Christian anchorites, 
 Hagellants, pillar-saints, and ascetics of every kind 1 Is 
 asceticism not the consistent pursuit of holiness 1 Is not 
 contempt of the world, and of one's self, the consistent 
 effect of asceticism.'' Can we reach the Holiest of 
 Holies — the blissful original state, the sweet Nirwana — 
 unless we first annihilate ourselves, as far as it can be 
 done in life? And is such annihilation possible as long 
 as we continually cling to life and to all that makes life 
 dear to us.' Js it an accident that saints appear odd in 
 the eyes of the multitude, and the company of publi- 
 cans and sinners is the best in the eyes of holy men .-* 
 Yes, indeed ! Berger and Schmenckel, arm in arm ! 
 Was that the solution of the great mystery, the squar- 
 ing of the circle 1 
 
 Oswald could not get rid of the picture, and the ter- 
 rible impression it had made upon him at last brought 
 him back to calmer views. His sense of the beautiful 
 was shocked by the abhorrent garb which that ascetic 
 wisdom had adopted. He agreed with all his heart to 
 join the order of the threefold contempt, but he could 
 not be reconciled to the costvuiie of the order. He 
 thought of himself in the dress in which he had seen 
 Berger — a blue, faded blouse, a coarse slouched hat, a 
 stick cut from a thorn-bush — and he shuddered all over. 
 He thouglit of Doctor Braun, and what he would have 
 said if he liad met him in company with Berger — he who 
 was painfully fastidious about his appearance, and con- 
 
Through Night to Light. 123 
 
 sidered it a fundamental principle, that if Ave wished to 
 remain physically and psychically healthy, we must be 
 careful not to come in contact with bodily or mental 
 uncleanliness. Despise the world! — why not? Despise 
 one's self! I have done that often enough; and, alas, 
 generally for very good reasons. But despise being 
 despised! Never! — rather die! — rather, a thousand 
 times. 
 
 And Avhy die .'' Why not ratlier live .'' Is life so very 
 contemptible.'* Have I not found in Braun a friend of 
 whom I have every reason to be proud .-' Might I not 
 succeed in finding my way out of this labyrinth, if I had 
 such a friend by my side .-* May not much come right 
 again, even if everything does not turn out well .'* Sup- 
 pose I were to make up my mind to abandon this striv- 
 ing after exalted ideals which threaten to ruin my 
 mind .'' If I were to turn back, even at this the eleventh 
 hour, from the way which leads in the end to Doctor 
 Birkenhain's insane asylum .? If I were this very night 
 to leave Fichtenan, where the air is filled with ill luck 
 for me, as Doctor Braun anticipated.'' 
 
 Oswald was standing before the Kurhaus. A carriage 
 which had just arrived was waiting at the "door. In the 
 dining-room, at the end of the long table, two gentle- 
 men were sitting in close conversation. He thought 
 one of them was Doctor Birkenhain. He did not desire 
 in the least to meet the physician, whose wishes with 
 regard to Berger he had so lamentably failed to fulful. 
 He woidd drop him a few lines before leaving, and 
 excuse himself on the score of pressing business and 
 Berger's express desire, for his failure to say good-by 
 in person. 
 
 He went to his room and rang the bell. 
 
 " Is there any mail leaving to-night ? " 
 
 " In half-an-hour, sir." 
 
 " I shall leave by the mail, then. Secure me a seat in 
 the coach, and bring the bill," said Oswald, already busy 
 packing his things. 
 
 "Yes, sir, directly." 
 
 "Yes! yes! I must leave here," murmured Osvv'ald, 
 passionately, strengthening himself more and more in 
 
124 Through Night to Light, 
 
 his resolution. "Away from here before more ill luck 
 befalls me ! " 
 
 "The bill, sir! " said the waiter, coming back again. 
 " Much obliged to you, sir. Need not be in such a 
 hurry, sir; you have twenty-five minutes left ; the office 
 is close by here. Thought you would stay over night, 
 sir. Might have given this room to a lady, sir, if we 
 had known, who has just arrived ; she has taken the 
 parlor next door, and two rooms on the other side. We 
 had to give her those rooms, although they are not good 
 enough for such a grand and beautiful lady." 
 
 The waiter uttered these words in a whisper, which 
 made it clear that the doors of the Kurhaus were not 
 exactly impenetrable to sound. 
 
 "Who is the lady.''" asked Oswald, locking his 
 trunk. 
 
 " A Frau von Berkow ; old customer of ours. Told 
 you this morning about her, sir. Will send the porter 
 directly to carry your trunk to the office. Anything 
 else, sir.''" 
 
 The waiter left the room, waving his napkin in a most 
 graceful manner. Oswald rose. His face was deadly 
 pale. He had to support himself on the table ; his limbs 
 trembled. 
 
 Had he heard right? Melitta here .'' In this house.'' 
 Next door.'' How did she get here.'' What did she 
 come for.? To this place, which had such mournful as- 
 sociations for her .? Was it an accident .'' Was it pur- 
 pose ? Could she have come for his sake .-' Could 
 she have found out the purpose of his journey .'' Was 
 she looking for him ? Had she failed to receive the 
 letter which he wrote to her after Bruno's death, and an 
 hour before his duel with Felix — that letter in which he 
 told her with unfeeling cruelty, though he thought it 
 heroism then, that " his heart was no longer exclusively 
 Jiers, that he did not intend to deceive her and himself, 
 and that he was bidding her — and perhaps life itself — 
 an eternal adieu t " Or had she received it, and I'ead it 
 with the incredulity of a loving heart, which does not 
 comprehend faitlilessness, because it knows itself no 
 other love but true love ? Had she come to tell him 
 
Through JVight to Light. 125 
 
 that she had forgiven him ? — tliat she was still his Me- 
 litta ? If he were to hasten to her and to fall at her feet, 
 would she raise the repentant lover and tell him that 
 all was forgiven and forgotten? — that she had never 
 ceased to love him ? 
 
 He listened to hear if anything was stirring in the 
 adjoining room. He heard nothing — nothing but the 
 beating of his violently-agitated heart. 
 
 She was alone. She waited for his coming. Were 
 the blissful days of Berkow really to return once more ? 
 Was really everything to end well, after all } 
 
 He listened. A door opened. 
 
 Probably a waiter, who has executed an order. 
 
 A deep male voice. The soft notes of a woman's 
 voice. 
 
 The soft voice was Melitta's ! But the other.' 
 
 He listened. The voices rose, became more distinct. 
 
 A convulsive spasm flew across the features of the 
 listener ; a hoarse, unpleasant laugh broke from his 
 lips. The man who was speaking so warmly to Me- 
 litta was Baron Oldenburg. 
 
 The sofa on which the two speakers were sitting, 
 stood close against the door which led from one room 
 to the other. Oswald could not hear everything they 
 said, but why was that necessary .'' The meeting of the 
 two in this remote little town, which had already once 
 before been the scene of their stealthy rendezvous, spoke 
 eloquently enough. He had been right, after all ! The 
 two had after all but made a fool of him ! He had done 
 Melitta no wrong which she had not inflicted on him 
 also. They were quits. 
 
 A knock at the door. 
 
 The porter came to carry the gentleman's trunk to the 
 office. 
 
 " It is high time, sir. The postilion has blown his 
 horn twice." 
 
 Oswald followed the man mechanically down the long 
 passages, out of the house, across the dark street to the 
 coach. 
 
 A minute later and the lieavy coach was rumbling 
 over the pavement. The postilion played a merry 
 
126 Through Night to Light. 
 
 melody in the silent night-air, and Oswald furnished a 
 test to the air : to despise one's self, despise the world, 
 despise being despised. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IT was an early hour of a murky day in autumn. 
 Fogs were brewing in the mountains around Fich- 
 tenan, and hung so low that the traveller on the 
 high road, which makes a steep ascent close behind the 
 village and loses itself in thick woods, could scarcely 
 distinguish the pine-trees on the edge of the forest. 
 
 By the wayside, at a place where two roads crossed 
 each other, sat Xenobia and Czika. Their faithful com- 
 panion on all their wanderings, the little donkey, with 
 the red feathers on his head and the scarlet saddle-cloth 
 on his back, was grazing peacefully in the ditch on tlie 
 short, ill-flavored grass. He did not seem to relish it 
 much ; he shook his head indignantly, as if he wanted 
 to say: I am frugal, but everything has its limits. 
 
 Nor did the gypsy woman and her child seem to enjoy 
 the weather any more. They sat there, each wrapped in 
 a large coarse shawl, silent and motionless, like a couple 
 of Egyptian statues. This attitude, natui-al as it might 
 be to the woman, had something ver}^ uncanny in so 
 young a child as Czika. 
 
 And Xenobia herself was no longer the hearty woman 
 whom Oswald had seen on that afternoon in October 
 in the forest near Berkow. Was it the effect of the 
 weather, or was it sickness and sorrow — but her features 
 had little now of that haughty energy which formerly 
 made them so remarkable. Her brow was furrowed 
 wnth small lines; her eyes had sunk deep into their 
 orbits and did not shine with the same brightness as of 
 old, as she now glanced in the direction from which her 
 sharp ear heard the noise of a carriage coming from 
 Fichtenan. 
 
» Through Night to Light. 127 
 
 " That is not theirs," she said, letting her head sink 
 again. A few minutes later a well-closed travelling 
 carriage, drawn by two horses, appeared rising out of the 
 fog. On the box, by the side of the driver, sat an old man 
 with a long, silver-gray moustache. He turned round 
 continually, to cast a look at the inside of the carriage, 
 and to smile respectfully and yet amicably at the occu- 
 pants — a lady and a boy. 
 
 Thus he had failed to notice the gypsy woman, who 
 had stepped forward as she saw the great lady in the 
 carriage, and asked for alms. What was his amazement, 
 therefore, when he saw that the lady suddenly called to 
 him to stop the horses, exhibiting all the signs of 
 extreme consternation, and that she was standing in 
 the road itself long before the horses could be checked. 
 
 " Isabel, it is you ! and the Czika ! My God, how 
 fortunate ! " cried Melitta, seizing both hands of the 
 gypsy. " Now I shall not let you go again. My God, 
 how very fortunate ! " and the young lady embraced the 
 gypsy woman with tears in her eyes. 
 
 But the latter freed herself almost violently, and step- 
 ping back some little distance she crossed her arms on 
 her bosom and looked at Melitta with a suspicious, 
 almost hostile glance. 
 
 " Do you not know me, Isabel } " said Melitta; " it is I ! 
 Have you forgotten the days at Berkow five years ago ? " 
 That is my Julius, there ! And how tall and how beauti- 
 ful the Czika has grown." 
 
 Julius had jumped out of the carriage ; old Baumann 
 also had climbed down from the box. 
 
 Melitta hastened up to Czika, embraced the child, and 
 kissed and caressed her over and over again. The 
 others spoke to Xenobia, who paid no attention to them, 
 but looked with anxious eyes at Melitta, who now came 
 back to her, holding Czika by the hand. 
 
 " Isabel ! " said Melitta, " you must, really you must, 
 give me the little one. I dare not, I cannot, continue 
 my journey without her." 
 
 "Why will you not leave us as we are.''" said the 
 gypsy. " You are a great lady, fit for the house ; the 
 gypsy is fit only for the forest. You would die in the 
 
128 Through Night to Light. 
 
 forest ; the gj'psy would die in the house. I cannot go 
 with you." 
 
 " Then give me the Czika.^ " 
 
 " Will you give me your boy 1 " 
 
 Melitta did not know what to answer. She felt too 
 deeply that the gypsy woman could not act differently 
 and that she, in her place, would have done the same. 
 And yet could she let the two go out again into the 
 wide world .'' To see Oldenburg's little daughter, whom 
 he yearned after, whom he was searching for everywhere, 
 disappear once more, after an accident such as might 
 never happen again in all her life, has brought her right 
 in her path — she could not bear the thought, and like 
 a child that feels how helpless and friendless it is, she 
 broke into tears. 
 
 The gypsy woman seemed to be touched. She took 
 Melitta's hand and kissed it. 
 
 " You are very kind, I know," she said ; " I know it 
 well. I would rather give you the Czika than anybody 
 else." 
 
 She reflected deeply. Suddenly she took Melitta's 
 hand once more and led her aside. 
 
 *' Do you know," she asked, " who Czika's father is ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " And are you doing what you do for the father's sake, 
 or for your own ? " 
 
 Melitta's cheeks reddened. 
 
 " For the sake of both," she replied, after some hesita- 
 tion. 
 
 " Where are you going to now ? " 
 
 " Home — to Berkow." 
 
 " And are you going to stay there ? " 
 
 " Yes; at least during the Avinter." 
 
 " Then listen to me. I swear to you by the Great Spirit, 
 I will bring you the Czika as soon as I feel that I am to 
 be gathered to my fathers. That may be very soon. 
 More I cannot promise; more I dare not say." 
 
 Melitta felt that she must be satisfied with tliis promise. 
 She knew the character of the Brown Countess too well 
 not to be aware that if she had once formed a resolution, 
 all persuasion was in vain. She re-entered her carriage, 
 
Through Night to Light. 129 
 
 therefore, sadly, after having embraced Xenobia and the 
 child once more, and soon was out of sight. 
 
 The rattling of the wheels and the trot of the horses 
 were no longer heard. The gypsies were stili sitting by 
 the wayside. 
 
 Another carriage came up in the direction of Fich- 
 tenan. One could hear from afar off the cries of the 
 driver, and the clanking of chains which formed part 
 of the harness. 
 
 A few minutes later the wagon appeared out of the 
 mist. It was a huge box — a whole house on four wheels, 
 stuffed up to the roof and high above the roof with 
 chests and boxes, kettle drums and trombones, stage 
 scenery, poles and ladders, and all kinds of kitchen 
 utensils and stage property. The four horses who drew 
 this Noah's Ark had hard Avork of it. 
 
 Before the wagon a number of men were walking on 
 foot — Cotterby, the Egyptian ; the artist of the gigantic 
 cask, Mr. Stolsenberg; and the clown, Pierrot. All 
 these gentlemen Avore gay-colored shawls around the 
 neck, and had short pipes in their mouths. From the 
 open windows of the ark the crying of children was 
 heard, and the scolding voice of Mamselle Adele. Be- 
 hind the wagon followed, apparently in eager conversa- 
 tion, the director, Mr. Schmenckel (also with a bright 
 shawl around the neck and a pipe in his mouth), and a 
 man in a blue blouse, with a heavy stick in his hand, and 
 an old slouched hat on his head. Director Schmenckel 
 had made his acquaintance a few nights before under 
 very peculiar circumstances, in the drinking-hall of the 
 Green Hat ; he had met him since very frequently at 
 the same tavern, and found him quite unexpectedly that 
 morning, ready to join the rope-dancers, just as they 
 were leaving the village. 
 
 When the wagon reached the cross-roads the driver 
 stopped to let the horses breathe. 
 
 The gypsy woman with her child stepped up and was 
 vociferously greeted by the rope-dancers. 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel shook hands with her, and patted the 
 Czika paternally on her brown cheeks. 
 
 " That's right, Xenobia ! here you are, back again ! " 
 6* 
 
130 Through Night to Light. 
 
 he said. " We could, by the great dickens, not get on 
 withovit you at all. Good-by, professor ! Thanks for 
 the escort ! You must turn back here, or you won't find 
 the way to Fichtenan." 
 
 "I'll go a little further with you," replied the man in 
 the blouse. 
 
 " All right ! " said Mr. Schmenckel ; " the further the 
 better. Such a good old brick, like yourself, we do not 
 meet with every day. Is all right in there 1 Well, go 
 on then! " 
 
 The wagon was set in motion. After a few minutes 
 the whole procession — wagon, horses, and men, had been 
 swallowed up by the thick gray fog. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE town of Grunwald played, in days previous to 
 those to which this story belongs, a far more im- 
 portant part than now. It had been an honored 
 member of the great Hanse League, and rivalled Ham- 
 burg, Bremen, and Lvibeck in Avealth and power. Its ships 
 sailed on all the northern seas, and the Grunwald flag was 
 well known even in the ports of Genoa and Venice. The 
 citizens were a broad-shouldered, hard-headed race, 
 strong in their love and their hatred, and thorough in all 
 their ways. They were justly proud of their liberties and 
 their privileges, and trusted implicitly in their secure 
 position, amid the ocean and bottomless swamps, and the 
 high walls and ramparts of the city, but more fully yet in 
 the sword by their side and the brave heart in their bosom. 
 Even in the Thirty Years' War, Grunwald still proved its 
 ancient reputation in fierce battle against the Imperial- 
 ists, and the recollection of the glorious deeds of their 
 forefathers survives to this day in the hearts of the pres- 
 ent inhabitants. 
 
 They must unfortunately fall back upon past glory, 
 for modern times have done little for them in this re- 
 spect. The long and tortuous canals in the great bay 
 
Through A'l'gkt to Light. 131 
 
 on which the town is situated admit only of small 
 vessels of light draught, and navigation nowadays can- 
 not well get along with such ships ; trade has, besides, 
 sought other roads and found other markets, and Grun- 
 ■wald has slowly but steadily sunk from its proud emi- 
 nence, till it has fallen at last to the level of a small 
 provincial town of no account in the great world, as far 
 as political influence and commercial importance are 
 concerned. 
 
 The harbor is filled up now, the ramparts are razed, 
 and the once enormous walls exist only in fragments, 
 and yet there is a melancholy sheen of former greatness 
 about the old Hanse town which attracts the thoughtful 
 traveller, as the mouldy smell of an old parchment 
 charms the book-worm. In spite of all the efforts made 
 by the last generations to give the town a sober, trivial 
 appearance, they have after all not been able to straighten 
 all the crooked narrow streets, and to destroy all the 
 poetry of many an old house, with its narrow, lofty, and 
 richly-adorned gable-end. And above the labyrinth of 
 streets, lanes, and courts, with their half-modern, half- 
 mediaeval character, there tower still the steeples of 
 glorious churches, which are far too grand for the re- 
 duced proportions of Grunwald. But at night, when 
 they cast their gigantic shadows far over the town 
 which sleeps beneath them in the pale moonlight, or in 
 the evening as you approach the harbor from the open 
 sea, and gray mists rising from the water spread over 
 the whole a mysterious veil, the illusion is yet strong, 
 and the effect full of grandeur. 
 
 Justice requires, however, to add that Grunwald can 
 be called insignificant only in comparison wnth former 
 days of great power and surpassing splendor. The 
 town is still of vast importance for the whole province 
 in which it is situated. If her flag no longer waves on 
 every sea, her port is still continually crowded with 
 schooners and sloops, and near her wharves many a 
 larger vessel awaits completion on the stocks. If her 
 walls have been torn to pieces by the artillery of the 
 Imperialists, and her ramparts have been razed by the 
 French, the town is still a fortress, whose commandant 
 
132 Through Night to Light. 
 
 would not sleep quietly unless he had received from all 
 the guards and pOsts the report that all is quiet. If 
 the town has lost her ancient privileges, and no longer 
 enjoys as of old perfect freedom and sovereign independ- 
 ence, she has profitted on the other hand largely by 
 becoming an integral part of a great monarchy. Grun- 
 wald has not only a numerous garrison of infantry and 
 artillery, but is also the seat of the highest court of the 
 province ; and above all, as everybody knows, enjoys a 
 university, although the light shed by this seat of the 
 muses cannot be said to penetrate far into distant lands. 
 GrunAvald is, moreover, the favorite residence of the 
 surrounding nobility, which is particularly rich, and 
 enjoys a very great influence on public life. When the 
 magnificent crops upon their vast domains have been 
 safely hovised, when the trees in their parks lose their 
 foliage in the autumn winds, and the crows migrate from 
 the bare woods to the towns, then all the counts and 
 barons and smaller noblemen also come to Grunwald. 
 From the great island, which lies right opposite the 
 town, and from the whole surrounding country, they 
 come in their lumbering state carriages, all driven four- 
 in-hand, and settle down with children, servants, tutors, 
 and governesses for the whole winter. They own stately 
 houses all over the town, which in summer are easily 
 known by their utter silence, the closed curtains, and the 
 grass growing in idyllic happiness between the flags of 
 their court-yards — far different from the ordinary houses 
 inhabited by ordinary people, who have to pay taxes, 
 enjoy no privileges, and are forced to work summer and 
 winter alike. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 IT is autumn. The fields are bare ; from the linden- 
 trees in the court-yard at Grenwitz the brown 
 leaves are falling in showers. Thick fogs cover the 
 sea, the high shores of the island with their noble beech- 
 
Through Night to Light. 133 
 
 forests, and the low coast of the continent. The towers 
 of Grunwald rise out of the mist like giants of former 
 days, and around the lofty steeples crows and blackbirds 
 are fluttering, having left the unhospitable forests to 
 move to warm cities. 
 
 The sun has set for an hour, and the last blood-red 
 streak, just above the edge of the sea, has turned pale in 
 the shadow of the heavy, low -drifting clouds. The 
 streets of the town have grown silent, and the lamp- 
 lighter is lighting one after the. other the oil lamps, 
 whose dim light is useful only in making the mist still 
 denser and the darkness still darker. He has just done 
 with two unusually large and bright lamps before the 
 entrance-gate to a huge, massive building in one of the 
 streets that lead down to the harbor. It was the first 
 time this year — a proof that the great family which has 
 owned this house for many a generation, and which lives 
 on its estates regularly in summer, and quite frequently 
 in the winter also, has moved into town on that very 
 day. 
 
 Nevertheless the windows of the mansion which look 
 upon the street are still dark. They are, to be sure, 
 rarely seen lighted up, only on solemn occasions, when 
 the family gives one of those stiff evening parties, to 
 Avhich of course only the nobility and the very highest 
 officials in the government service are ever invited. 
 
 Ordinarily these state apartments remain closed, ex- 
 actly like the lofty halls and grand reception-rooms of 
 the hereditary castle in the country, and the family are 
 content to live in the less gorgeous rooms which look 
 upon the rear. The modest, exceedingly unpretending 
 taste of the mistress of the house prefers the latter, all 
 the more as the front rooms can only be heated at 
 great expense, and the woods of the Grenwitz estate, as 
 far as entailed, are rented out at the ludicrously small 
 sum of ten thousand dollars. 
 
 In one of these rooms, which was stately enough, sits 
 the Baroness Grenwitz on a sofa before a round table, 
 on which two wax-candles are burning brightly. She 
 looks as if the last six weeks had added as many years 
 to her age. Her forehead has become narrower and 
 
134 Through Night to Light. 
 
 more angular, the dark hair shows here and there a sil- 
 ver thread, her eyes look larger and more fixed and 
 meaning than ever. Her nephew, ^elix, is lounging in 
 a most comfortable position opposite her, in a large easy- 
 chair, filled with soft cushions. The young man wears 
 his right arm in a sling, and the sickly pallor of his face 
 contrasts strangely with his hair, as carefully parted and 
 curled as ever, and with the whole toilet, which is as per- 
 fect as usual. Between the two stands a table, covered 
 with letters and papers, all of them written in the same 
 handsome handwriting. The baroness and Felix seem 
 just to have finished the perusal of these documents, 
 and to be still too busy with the thoughts which have 
 been suggested by them, to be able to speak. They are 
 brooding in silence over the impression produced on 
 each one, while the monotonous tic-tac of the pendulum 
 of the rococo clock on the mantel-piece is the only 
 noise heard in the room. 
 
 At last the young man breaks the silence. 
 
 "The thing looks more serious than either of us 
 thought," he says, raising himself slightly in his easy- 
 chair, and taking up once more the paper he had been 
 reading last. 
 
 " I still do not believe a word of it," replied the baron- 
 ess. 
 
 " That is saying a good deal, ma tante ! although you 
 have read the whole story in black and white." 
 
 "In Timm's handwriting! In Timm's handwriting! 
 what must the scamp have invented and written up ! " 
 
 " Certainly nothing but what is in the original docu- 
 ments." 
 
 " And why does he not send us the originals } " 
 
 " But, pardon me, ma tante., that is rather a naive ques- 
 tion. To surrender the originals- — that is to say, the 
 weapons which he means to use against us — would be an 
 act of generosity or stupidity such as you cannot possibly 
 expect from my good friend Timm, who is a very sly 
 fox, I assure you. He evidently does not fear to be un- 
 masked, but only to be deceived or over-reached by us, 
 else he would not have made the offer to submit the 
 original papers in the presence of a third party, an 
 
Through Night to Light. 135 
 
 umpire, to our minute examination. No, no, dear aunt ; 
 do not give yourself vip to idle hopes. These letters 
 and papers are really in existence ; you may take poison 
 upon that." 
 
 " What do you say 1 " 
 
 " I mean, you may rely on that. I, for my part, am as 
 fully convinced that this Monsieur Stein is related to 
 the family of Grenwitz as of my own existence, and 
 therefore I hate the man, as one is apt to hate such an 
 interloper of a relative, especially if he happens to be a 
 conceited, vain, puffed-up, impertinent, accursed black- 
 guard, like this scamp of a good-for-nothing fellow." 
 
 This flood of names, little suitable to the place, would 
 under other circumstances have infallibly brought down 
 upon the ex-lieutenant a severe reprimand from his 
 highly moral aunt. At this moment, however, the lady 
 was too busy with other things. 
 
 " But nothing has as yet been proved," she said, with 
 obstinate vehemence, " as long as the identity of that 
 man with the child of that Marie Monbert has not been 
 fully established by the clearest evidence. I grant the 
 thing is probable — it may be plausible even ; neverthe- 
 less we cannot afford to throw away hundreds of dollars 
 for mere probabilities or plausibilities." 
 
 "Hundreds.'" replied Felix, with a contemptuous 
 smile. " You may say thousands ! Timm will not let us 
 slip out of his tight grip so cheaply." 
 
 "You cannot be In earnest.'* " said the baroness, rais- 
 ing her eyebrows, Juno-fashion. " That man will surely 
 not carry his impudence so far as that ! " 
 
 " A^oi/s verro)2s ! " replied the dandy, laconically, and 
 fell back into his easy-chair. 
 
 There tollowed a pause in the conversation of the 
 accomplices, which Felix improved to subject his finger- 
 nails to a minute examination, while the baroness 
 busied herself in arranging the papers on the table ac- 
 cording to their numbers (for they were all methodi- 
 cally numbered). 
 
 "The gentleman keeps us waiting," said the baroness. 
 
 "He pretends to be indifferent," replied Felix. "I 
 know him from of old. Whenever he pretended to be 
 
136 Through Night to Light. 
 
 tired, and to wish to go home, we could be sure that he 
 was determined to break the bank ! " 
 
 At that moment the servant announced : " Mr. Albert 
 Timm desires to pay his respects." 
 
 " Show him in," said the baroness, raising herself up- 
 right, with her accustomed dignity ; but Iier voice was 
 not as firm as usual. 
 
 "For heaven's sake keep your temper, aunt!" said 
 Felix in great haste, while the servant went to show in 
 Timm. " If the rascal sees that our pulse goes faster, 
 he'll pull the screws tighter, and " 
 
 " I am perfectly calm," replied the baroness, although 
 the unusual flush on her cheeks and the quick breathing 
 announced just the contrary. 
 
 Half a minute's intense excitement on the part of the 
 persons in the room and the door opened, admitting 
 Mr. Timm, who walked in rapidly. 
 
 His appearance was, aside from a somewhat more 
 carefully chosen costume of fashionable cut, precisely 
 the same which lingered still in Anna Maria's recollec- 
 tion from last summer : the same white brow, the same 
 smoothly-brushed light hair, the same fresh, rosy cheeks, 
 and the same impertinent smile upon the smooth, hand- 
 some face. If the baroness looked at her favorite, in 
 spite of his unchanged appearance, with very different 
 eyes now, the fault was evidently her own. Mr. Timm 
 was not disposed to allow the cold reception to have 
 the slightest influence on his own warm greetings. 
 
 " Good evening, baroness ! Good evening, baron ! " 
 said Mr. Timm, in his clear, fresh voice, kissing Anna 
 Maria's right hand, which she granted him most reluctant- 
 ly, and heartily shaking Felix's left hand (the other was in 
 the sling). " Delighted, baroness, to see you look so 
 remarkably well — so cheerful too ; and as for you, baron, 
 — well, I may say, considering the circumstances, not 
 so bad ! Permit me to follow your example " ' 
 
 And Mr. Timm moved one of the heavy arm-chairS| 
 which were standing around the table, sat down, and' 
 looked at the two with eyes beaming with insolence and 
 intense delight, as far as one could judge, through his 
 glasses. 
 
Through Night to Light. 137 
 
 " Mighty comfortable ! " he continued, stretching out 
 his legs and patting the arms of the chair with his hands. 
 " And the baron stayed at home ! Must be devilish un- 
 comfortable in the big, damp, old box." 
 
 " The baron had to attend to some very important 
 business," said the baroness, merely to say something. 
 
 "Business!" cried Mr. Timm. "How can anybody 
 trouble himself about business when his business is, like 
 the baron's, not to have any business at all I Incompre- 
 hensible ! " 
 
 " You ought to be able to comprehend that very well, 
 Timm," said Felix, with very perceptible irony ; " other- 
 wise I should not be able to guess why you have troubled 
 yourself about a certain business." 
 
 " A lawsuit is no business," remarked Timm. 
 
 " But it may become one," said Felix. 
 
 " For instance, if one borrows money from the Jews, 
 and sues them afterwards, when they want to be paid, for 
 usury," replied Timm. 
 
 This recollection from the early life of Felix was so 
 little to the taste of the ex-lieutenant that he turned 
 over impatiently in his chair, and said in an audibly irri- 
 tated tone : 
 
 " I think we had better come to the point." 
 
 "With pleasure," said Mr. Timm, drawing up his 
 chair close to the table, with an expression which by no 
 means belied his words. 
 
 " You have been kind enough," began Felix, while 
 the baroness stared with furrowed brow and downcast 
 eyes into her lap, " to send us, at our request, copies of 
 certain letters, and so forth, which you say you have 
 found among the papers of your deceased father." 
 
 " You mean, which you have found, baron ! " 
 
 " Very well, then ; which you have found. We can 
 admit that without committing ourselves, for there is 
 nothing in them all to show how this fabulous son of 
 my uncle Harald can be helped by your aid — as you 
 are good enough to state in your letter — to the inheri- 
 tance he may claim." 
 
 " That depends entirely vipon the point de vue from 
 which you look at the matter," replied Mr, Timm 
 
138 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " And may I beg you Avill inform vis of your own ? " 
 
 " Why not ? It gives me special pleasure to do so. 
 According to my view tlie thing is this : I have here a 
 number of documents and papers, which not only shed a 
 light on the relations once existing between Baron 
 Harald and Mademoiselle Marie Montbert, but which 
 would also, in the hands of an able, practical man (such 
 as any good lawyer would represent), give a certain clue 
 to the subsequent fate of the said Marie Montbert and 
 of her child ; that is to say, of the two persons who ac- 
 cording to the last will of Baron Harald are alone enti- 
 tled to the possession of the estates of Stantow and Baer- 
 walde." 
 
 " What do you call a certain clue, Mr. Timm } " in- 
 quired the baroness. 
 
 " A clue that can be established upon evidence, madame. 
 It can be established that the person to whom I have 
 referred, and in whom I believe I have discovered by a 
 fortunate combination of very remarkable and almost 
 miraculous circumstances the heir in question, bears, in 
 the first place, the same name which Monsieur d'Estein 
 (pray look at letter No. 25) says he intends to assume 
 after the elopement with Marie Montbert. In the second 
 place, it can be established that a man called Stein, and 
 accompanied by a young woman who passed for his wife, 
 and by a child which passed for his son, settled shortly 
 after Baron Harald's death in the town of W ." 
 
 " How do you know that.? " asked Felix. 
 
 " I have been myself to W , and have spoken with 
 
 the old woman in whose house Mr. Stein lived from the 
 'first to the very last day of his residence in that town." 
 
 " Go on ! " 
 
 " In the third place, it is established that this Mr. 
 Stein is the same person who eloped with Marie Mont- 
 bert from Grenwitz, viz.. Monsieur d'Estein, who alone 
 had a right to help the young lady, and who alone was 
 obliged to do so." 
 
 " Why the same person } " 
 
 " Because the man who managed the elopement looked 
 exactly like the man who a few months afterwards set- 
 tled in W ." 
 
Through Night to Light. 139 
 
 " That might not be so easy to prove," cried Felix, 
 with a smile of incredulity. 
 
 " Easier than you think. I have (quite accidentally) 
 discovered the man at whose house Monsieur d'Estein, 
 then already under the name of Stein, stayed a fort- 
 night in order to ascertain the opportunities at Grenwitz, 
 and who afterwards drove in the night of the elopement 
 the couple in his carriage from Grenwitz to that very 
 ferry on which you crossed to-day. This man's name 
 is Clas Wendorf; he lives in Fashwitz, and is well 
 known to everybody (even to the Rev. Mr. Jager) as a 
 perfectly trustworthy man. If this man were to be con- 
 fronted with Mrs. Pahuke in W , the identity of the 
 
 man who eloped with Marie Montbert, viz.. Monsieur 
 
 d'Estein, with the French teacher Stein in W , would 
 
 be established beyond all doubt." 
 
 The baroness and Felix looked at each other, while 
 Timm was making his statement, in a manner which 
 betrayed but too clearly the consternation which the 
 irresistible logic of their enemy produced in their minds. 
 
 " You have made good use of the last four weeks," 
 said Felix. 
 
 "Perhaps so," said Timm, good-humoredly. "The 
 days are getting to be short now. Besides, I had to be 
 exceedingly cautious in making my inqviiries, since I had 
 promised you not to let anybody into the secret until I 
 should have communicated the matter more fully to you, 
 and I meant to keep my promise. Hereafter, when I 
 can go to work without any such precautionary mea- 
 sures, and when I can avail myself of all the assistance 
 which the law affords in such cases, I shall probably be 
 able to do more in four days than I have now done in 
 as many weeks." 
 
 And Mr. Timm rubbed his hands Avith delight. 
 
 " Then you really think of making this ridiculous 
 affair public?" said Anna Maria, in a tone which she 
 meant to be ironical. 
 
 " I do not understand you, madame ! " replied Mr. 
 Timm, with an air of ingenuous simplicity which, 
 in a farce, would have earned him the applause of all 
 the connoisseurs in the pit. 
 
140 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " I mean : do you really intend, contrary to our 
 wishes and intentions, to expose to common gossip and 
 the scoff and scorn of vulgar plebeians, an affair which 
 concerns no one but our own family, and which, more- 
 over, has been forgotten and buried these many years? " 
 
 The applause of the connoisseurs would have be- 
 come louder and louder, as they watched the peculiar 
 expression in Mr. Timm's face. 
 
 " Contrary to your wishes and intentions . . . An 
 affair which concerns no one but your family ... I 
 really have not the advantage of knowing how I am 
 to interpret the lady's words. I find it impossible to 
 believe that a lady who is so universally known for her 
 stern sense of justice as the Baroness Grenwitz should 
 wish anything different from the last will of a dying 
 man, when chance or providence brings it about, when, 
 against all human expectations, that last will can after 
 many years be fulfilled ; I find it impossible to believe 
 that. But what am I saying.' You will laugh at me 
 that I have taken a jest, by which you wished to ridicule 
 my over-great desire to serve you, for a moment in good 
 earnest. Do I not know better than anybody else that 
 I have acted exactly according to your views by pre- 
 serving all the documents, the sacred relics of departed 
 friends, like a precious treasure, and by doing whatever 
 I could do towards securing the property to the right- 
 ful owner .-* Do I not know that your hesitation, your 
 incredulity, your mistrust even, are only the result of 
 your apprehension to awaken in the heart of a fellow- 
 being brilliant expectations, which may not be realized, 
 for, however improbable, it is not absolutely impossible 
 that we may be mistaken. Do I not know that all the 
 parties concerned are of one and the same opinion, and 
 that your husband, whom you have no doubt promptly 
 informed of all the details, is overjoyous to pay off an 
 old debt which fortunately is not yet extinguished by 
 limitation.'' " 
 
 The position of a captured she bear, whom the increas- 
 ing heat of the bars of her cage forces to rise on her hind 
 legs and to dance as gracefully as she can, while she 
 would like nothing better than to break out of her prison 
 
Through Night to Light. 141 
 
 and to tear her adversary to pieces, resemDles exactly 
 that of the baroness as she was now sitting opposite to 
 Mr. Timm. The cruel irony with Av^hich Mr. Timm 
 appealed to that sense of justice and equity of which 
 she had boasted all her life, and of which she after all 
 had nothing but the outward appearance, seized her like 
 a hot iron. Her cold, selfish heart boiled over with in- 
 dignation. Rage and fury filled her soul. She would 
 have liked to strangle Timm, who sat smiling before her 
 — to stab him, poison him. And she could do nothing, 
 nothing, but swallow her wrath, and to say with all the 
 calmness she might command : 
 
 " Mr. Timm, you do not look upon the matter exactly 
 as Ave do ; and it is, of course, quite natural that you, 
 who are standing outside, should also see nothing of it 
 but the outside. Unfortunately I am too tired to-night 
 to explain to you my own views of the affair. I have 
 requested my nephew, Felix, to do it in my place, and I 
 beg you, therefore, to look upon anything he may tell 
 you as if it were coming from myself. I am fully per- 
 suaded that you will find no difficulty in choosing be- 
 tween the good will of the family of Grenwitz and the 
 friendship of a nameless adventurer. Good-by, Mr. 
 Timm ! " 
 
 " Regret infinitely not to be able to have the pleasure 
 of seeing you any longer, baroness," said Mr. Timm, 
 accompanying the baroness to the door ; " hope it is 
 nothing but a passing indisposition, which will soon 
 disappear after a good night's rest. Hope you will rest 
 well, madame ! " 
 
 And Mr. Timm closed the door after the baroness, 
 'came back, sat down in his easy-chair opposite to Felix, 
 put his hands on his knees, and said, in a dry, short manner, 
 jwhich contrasted very strangely with the smooth kind- 
 .ness of his language so far : 
 
 ''Eh Men!'' 
 
 No answer came for some little time. The two men 
 looked for a few seconds at each other with sharp, sus- 
 picious glances, like two combatants v/ho try to find 
 out their weak points — like two tricky gamesters, each 
 one of whom knows how carefully he must watch the 
 
142 Through Night to Light. 
 
 hands of the other, and who yet is not quite sure that he 
 will not be duped. They both remembered, moreover, 
 that there was an old account to settle between them, 
 which dated back from the time when Ensign Baron 
 Grenwitz had treacherously abandoned Ensign Albert 
 Timm in order to save himself (it was a matter of se- 
 curity on a bill), and Felix knew perfectly well that 
 Albert was one of those men who, whenever they can 
 get the law or the right of the stronger on their side, 
 insist upon being paid by their debtors to the very last 
 farthing. 
 
 He had therefore to summon all his skill and self- 
 control, in order to overcome an unpleasant sensation 
 which threatened to master him as he faced his adver- 
 sary, who was armed cap a pie, and utterly without pity. 
 Still he succeeded in assuming a tone of good-natured 
 frankness (which sat very awkwardly upon him) as he 
 said: 
 
 " I think, Timm, we had better treat the whole matter 
 without reservation or trick, like men who know the 
 w^orld and what they are about." 
 
 " If you know as well what you are about as I do, 
 why, then, the whole thing is easily settled," replied Al- 
 bert, dryly. 
 
 " Well, tell me then frankly, what do you ask ? " 
 
 " I am the seller, you are the buyer ; it is your duty 
 first to say distinctly what you wish to buy." 
 
 " We want the originals of those papers on the table, 
 and your word of honor that you will never inform any 
 one, whosoever it be, by writing or by word of mouth, or 
 in any other way, of the discovery which you have made." 
 
 '■'■Bon ! I understand what you want." 
 
 "And what do you ask on your side.? " 
 
 Albert bent over a little, and said in a low but very 
 distinct voice, with his eyes firmly fixed on his adver- 
 sary : 
 
 " Twenty thousand dollars in Prussian current money, 
 payable between now and eight days." 
 
 " The devil ! " cried Felix, jumping up from his chair, 
 in spite of his feebleness, and running around the room. 
 *' Twenty thousand dollars! why, that is a fortune." 
 
Throu<rh Ni^ht to Lhlit. 
 
 143 
 
 Albert shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Two years' interest of the sum represented by the 
 two estates of Stantow and Baerwalde. You must know 
 best, of course, what the legacy is worth to you." 
 
 "But that is atrocious!" cried Felix, still running 
 about in the room; "atrocious ! " 
 
 "Don't holler,. Grenwitz; your people might hear 
 you down in the kitchen. Sit down, if you please, and 
 let lis talk the matter over like men who know the 
 world." 
 
 The unconquerable coolness and the cutting irony 
 with which Albert uttered these words acted like a 
 douche upon Felix's violent agitation. He sat down, 
 and said, in a calmer tone : 
 
 " My aunt will never listen to such a demand." 
 
 " I should be sorry, for your sake, and for your aunt's 
 sake, if you were not to accept my offer. I can only 
 make you both responsible for the consequences." 
 
 " You speak as if it depended on no one but yourself 
 who was to have the two estates !" 
 
 " And on whom else can it depend .' " replied Albert, 
 and his lips seemed to grow thinner, his nose more 
 pointed, and his whole face sharper, as he spoke : " I tell 
 you, I have made the net so close and so strong — leaving 
 only a few meshes open on purpose till I should hear 
 your decision — that I can draw it together at any mo- 
 ment, right over your head, and you may struggle as 
 you may ; it will not break, but you will die. You 
 know, Grenwitz, that I have rather a good head for such 
 things, and you know also that I have no cause to show 
 you the shadow of generosity." 
 
 " Me ! I have no personal interest wliatever in the 
 whole matter." 
 
 "Do you think I am a child, Grenwitz.' Don't you 
 want to marry Miss Helen ? and are not the two estates 
 to be the dower of the young lady .'' " 
 
 "I marry Helen! Who says so.' I don't dream ot 
 it." 
 
 " Well, then, don't marry her ; hand the young beauty 
 over to the man whom you have more reason to hate 
 than all other men — who is even now your favored rival 
 
144 Through Night to Light. 
 
 — at least evil report has it so — and Avho will lose noth- 
 ing, I am sure, in Miss Helen's eyes, if he can present 
 himself a second time as her cousin, and the lawful heir of 
 a very considerable fortune." 
 
 Felix had turned alternately white and red as his ad- 
 versary was inexorably punishing him with these words. 
 His vanity, deeply wounded by the allusion to his fatal 
 encounter with Oswald, writhed like a worm on which 
 somebody has trod. He could not but confess that for 
 the moment Albert was by far the stronger of the two, 
 and that he, who was so proud of his cleverness and 
 adroitness, was utterly helpless in the power of an ad- 
 versary whom he haH in reality always despised. 
 
 " Lower your demands a little, Timm," he said, in a 
 subdued voice. " I must confess it is a matter of the 
 very greatest importance for me to bury the whole aifair 
 in silence, and if it depended on myself alone I might 
 not be unwilling to pay you the sum which you de- 
 mand. But you know my aunt, and you know that she 
 would rather let matters go on to the last point than to 
 make such an enormous sacrifice. I tell you, Timm, it 
 can't be done; upon my word, it can't be done. And 
 what do you want with so much money at once .'' You will 
 lose it in a few unlucky nights at roulette, and then you 
 are poorer than you ever were before. Come, now, I'll 
 make you an offer. We will pay you for one year four 
 hundred dollars a month, and at the end of the year six 
 thousand dollars in a lump." 
 
 "Altogether ten thousand eight hundred dollars," 
 replied Albert. "Won't do; and besides, what security 
 can you give me that all the payments will be made.'' " 
 
 " The documents, which in the mean time you may 
 retain in your possession and which you are not expect- 
 ed to hand over till the six thousand dollars are paid." 
 
 "Well!" said Albert, "it is not much; but among 
 good friends we ought not to insist too strictly. I ac- 
 cept." 
 
 " Let us make it out in writing." 
 
 " Why.? If we do not wish to keep our word, we'll 
 break it, anyhow ; and besides, a paper of that kind 
 might, if it should fall into the hands of the wrong per- 
 
Through Night to Light. 145 
 
 son, commit the family of Grenwitz more seriously than 
 they would like, and would, after all, but put one more 
 Weapon in my hands. You se^ I am perfectly candid." 
 
 " Bon! " said Felix. " Do you want the first four hun- 
 dred at once? " 
 
 " I should think so." 
 
 Felix rose, took one of the lights, and went to a 
 bureau which was standing back in the room, opened 
 a drawer, took a few packages of bank-notes from it and 
 placed them on the table before Albert. 
 
 " Covmt them ! " 
 
 " It is not necessary," said Albert, slipping the parcel 
 into his pocket ; " your aunt never makes a mist-ake in 
 counting. Well, Grenwitz, that matter is nicely ar- 
 ranged ; now let us have a bottle of wine upon it — I 
 have talked so much I am quite thirsty. If you permit 
 me I will ring the bell." 
 
 " Pray do so ! " 
 
 Felix ordered the servant who came to bring a bottle 
 of Hock and two glasses. 
 
 Felix was rather pleased to see that Albert was in bet- 
 ter humor ; he had another question to ask yet, which 
 no one could answer as well as he could. 
 
 " You have seen, Timm," he said, filling the glasses, 
 " that I have met you half Avay, as far as I could. One 
 service is worth another. Will you do me a favor .'' " 
 
 " Let us hear." 
 
 "Then tell me, how is little Marguerite.''" 
 
 " What interest have you in her.' " 
 
 " Well, I do have an interest in her." 
 
 "And why do you think I know anything about 
 her .' " 
 
 " Because I have observed you both at Grenwitz, and 
 besides — well, for divers other reasons." 
 
 " For instance .'' " 
 
 " I will be frank with you. From sheer ennui I had 
 begun at Grenwitz already to pay her some attentions, 
 and afterwards, during my sickness, I saw still more of 
 the little thing, till it ended in my thinking the girl 
 really very charming and prodigiously attractive. But 
 she pretended to be so very reserved that I suspected 
 7 
 
146 Through Night to Light. 
 
 at once she had a serious attachment. Now I cannot 
 think of any one else who could have been in my way 
 but yourself." 
 
 " Very complimentary," said Albert. " I am, indeed, 
 as good as engaged to the young lady." 
 
 " But, Timm, are you going to run into your ruin 
 with your eyes open .? You and a wife ! and worse than 
 that, a poor wife ! — what has become of your former 
 principles ? Upon my word, I should not have thought 
 you could be so mad." 
 
 " Nor I, myself," replied Albert, emptying his glass 
 and filling it again. 
 
 " Are you in love with the girl } " 
 
 " There you ask me more than I know myself." 
 
 " Look here, Timm, I will make you an offer. We 
 are, it seems, in the way of speculating. Let me have 
 the girl^and I assume the three hundred dollars which 
 you have borrowed from the poor little thing." 
 
 "Who says so.?" said Albert, furiously. 
 
 "Your fury just now, for one; besides that, however, 
 little Louisa, Helen's maid, and my own man's lady love, 
 who happened to see it, when Marguerite gave you the 
 money in the park at Grenwitz." 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Albert, who could not repress his 
 anger at this inconvenient exposure. 
 
 " Don't be angry ! " said Felix; "rather be glad that 
 you find somebody who is willing to relieve you of this 
 troublesome burden. What do you say.?" 
 
 " We will talk about that another time," said Albert, 
 rising and taking his hat. "Farewell, Grenwitz." 
 
 " Good-by, Timm ! Be reasonable, and come and see 
 your old comrade as soon as you can." 
 
 The worthy pair shook hands, and Albert went away 
 rapidly. Hisface was darker than when became. Either 
 the second part of the conversation had not been to his 
 taste, or he thought it good policy to assume an air of 
 being offended. Felix, who knew him pretty well from 
 former days, was disposed to take the Litter view. 
 
Through Night to Light. 147 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ABOUT the same time, and while these transactions 
 Avere going on in the Grenwitz mansion, a young 
 man was impatiently walking up and down in 
 front of a large house in one of the suburbs of Grun- 
 wald. His impatience looked very much like that of an 
 honest lover who is waiting on a cool autumn evening 
 in a dense fog for the lady of his heart, whom he has 
 orders to call for "punctually at seven, but be sure to be 
 punctual," to see her home from a little party, and whom 
 he sees at half-past seven sitting near the brightly- 
 lighted-up window, engaged in most lively conversation. 
 It may be he sees really her whom he loves; it maybe 
 the shadow belongs to a very different person. ■-• 
 
 The young man is Doctor Braun; the house before 
 which he patrols, Leporello-fashion, is the famous board- 
 ing-school of Miss Bear ; and the young lady for whom 
 he is waiting is his betrothed Sophie, the only child of 
 the privy councillor and professor. Doctor Roban, a 
 physician of great renown in Grunwald, and a distin- 
 guished member of the university. 
 
 " What a vague idea of time even the cleverest of 
 women have!" murmured Franz, pulling out his watch 
 and looking at it by the faint light of a badly-burning 
 cigar; "it is a psychological fact which I must treat of 
 one of these days in a monograph." 
 
 He throws away the short end of his cigar, which 
 threatened to singe his moustache, and looks once more 
 up at the lighted-up window. 
 
 " Heaven be thanked, they are getting ready ! Dark 
 shadows are flitting to and fro near the curtains ! Now 
 for the cloak, and the bonnet — a kiss to say good-by — 
 then a little bit of a chat of ten minutes about the next 
 place of meeting — then another farewell kiss. The win- 
 dow is looking darker ; there is a light in the hall ; now 
 a final discussion on the steps — enfiii!" 
 
 "Do you come at last, ma viignonne7" said Doctor 
 Braun, greeting the slight maidenly form who had come 
 
148 Through Night to Light. 
 
 out of the house, and now hastened with light steps 
 across the little garden which divided the house from 
 the street, to the iron gate. 
 
 " Poor Franz ! You have not been waiting for me," 
 answers the girl, affectionately leaning on the arm of 
 her betrothed. 
 
 " Oh, not at all ! Nothing to speak of! Half an hour 
 or so ! " 
 
 " I really did not know it was so late. The time 
 passed so quickly, although the whole party consisted 
 only of two persons. Can you guess who they were .'' " 
 
 " Yourself, probably, for one." 
 
 " Very well — and the other.? " 
 
 "Helen Grenwitz." 
 
 " Exactly ! She sends you her best regards. Only 
 think, she will probably stay with the Great Bear, 
 although her friends are coming to town for the winter, 
 if they have not already come to-day. That will be a 
 fine subject for gossip. Poor Helen ! I pity her with 
 all my heart ! " 
 
 "Why.?" 
 
 " How can you ask .? Is it not bad enough that the 
 whole town will ask why a girl of sixteen — no, sixteen 
 and a half — should be sent back to school when she has 
 hardly been four weeks at home .? And as long as the 
 Grenwitz family was not living in town, there might 
 have been some explanation ; but now — oh, I think it is 
 abominable. People must think of her — I don't know 
 what ; and it is not so much to be wondered at if they 
 connect Helen in some way or other with the duel fought 
 by her cousin and your amiable friend, Stein." 
 
 "And what says Miss Helen.? " 
 
 " Nothing ! You know how she is. She never speaks 
 of family matters ; at most she occasionally mentions 
 her father, whom she seems to love most tenderly. She 
 is quiet and serious; but not exactly sad." 
 
 " I believe she is much too proud ever to be really 
 sad." 
 
 " How so .? " 
 
 " Sadness is a passive disposition ; the disposition of 
 one who sees that he cannot struggle with fate, and 
 
Through Night to Light. 149 
 
 therefore submits to endure it as well as he cart. But 
 there are cliaracters which resist as long as it is possi- 
 ble, and when nothing more can be done, instead of lay- 
 ing down their arms, break them to pieces and throw 
 them fiercely at the victor's feet." 
 
 Sophie came up closer to her betrothed and said, after 
 a pause : 
 
 " I am not one of those characters, Franz. I am not 
 too proud to be sad ; I have been very often sad these 
 last days. I was sad when you left us with Doctor 
 Stein, although at that time I had no particular reason 
 for being so. But since then, when papa was taken sick 
 and I sat by his bedside, and my greatest anxiety — next 
 to that about papa's life — was whether you had received 
 my letter . . . You might have travelled on and on, and 
 my heart was all the time breaking with longing for 
 you ! You went to see him, I am sure, before you came 
 to call for me at Miss Bear's." 
 
 " Of course ! He is better. I begged him to lie down, 
 but he insisted upon sitting up till we should come 
 back." 
 
 " And I have wasted so much time ! Let us go faster ! " 
 
 " A few minutes, more or less, do not matter ; and be- 
 sides, I should like to speak with you definitely about 
 our future. We must at last make an end to this pro- 
 visional state, which is pleasant to no one — not to God 
 — I mean Nature — nor to man — and is daily becoming 
 more oppressive. An unmarried man is a fish ; but an 
 engaged man is neither fish nor flesh. When two people 
 are in their own heart and conscience man and wife 
 through their mutual love, they ought to be man and 
 wife also in the Avorld, before men, provided circum- 
 stances admit of their marr\ung. Now, that is the case 
 with us. We have enough for our support, and for the 
 present we need no more ; whatever else may be neces- 
 sary Avill come. In short, shall we have our wedding 
 day four weeks from to-day.' " 
 
 " But, Franz, I have not finished half of my trous- 
 seau ! " 
 
 " Then we'll marry with half a trousseau." 
 
 " And what will papa say.? You know how very hard 
 
150 Through Night to Light. 
 
 it is for him to let me go from him ; and shall I just now 
 ask such a sacrifice from him, when he needs me more 
 than ever ? I have not the courage to propose it to 
 him." 
 
 " But I have it ; your father knows that I am not less 
 anxious for your happiness than he is, and he is far too 
 sensible not to see that my plan is the best. Come, my 
 darling, don't hang your head. To-day four weeks vre 
 are man and wife." 
 
 " Ah, Franz ! I Avish it could be so. Bvit I fear, I fear, 
 Heaven does not mean it so well with us ! " 
 
 " Why not .-* Heaven means it well with all who have 
 the courage to determine upon their own happiness. For, 
 how says the poet : ' In our bosom are the stars of our 
 fate.' " 
 
 The haste with which Franz pressed her had a very 
 good motive in the illness of her father. Franz, as a 
 physician, knew best that the life of the excellent man 
 was hanging on a very slender thread. He had rallied 
 quickly enough from a stroke of apoplexy, which had 
 attacked him a fortnight ago, but several bad symptoms 
 announced that another attack was not improbable, and 
 with his nervous, very delicately-organized system, this 
 was likely to be fatal. But if the father died before his 
 daughter had been married, the poor girl would have 
 been placed in a very painful position, as her mother 
 had been dead for many years, and she had neither 
 brothers and sisters nor any near relations. The world 
 with its prejudices would have hardly been willing to 
 admit that under such circumstances her only home 
 should be in the house of the man whom she loved, but 
 would have been inconceivably shocked if the daughter 
 had married " before the shoes were worn out in which 
 she had followed her father's funeral." The whole city 
 would have broken out in one cry of indignation against 
 such a fearful crime against decency and propriety. 
 
 Sophie loved her father with a love which bordered 
 upon enthusiasm, little as enthusiasm generally formed 
 a part of her clear and sensible character, which shrank 
 iuLitinctively from all exaggeration. And the father was 
 well worthy of such love. 
 
Through Night to Light. 151 
 
 The privy councillor, Roban, was a man of rare dis- 
 tinction in many respects. As a man of science he 
 stood very high ; he was considered the very first pa- 
 thologist in Germany. But a remarkable versatility of 
 mind enabled him to gather, outside of the studies which 
 his profession required, information upon the most va- 
 ried fields of knowledge, and to attain to a high degree 
 of perfection in more than one of the arts. In the 
 morning he would take his pupils, hour after hour, from 
 bed to bed in the hospital, and open to them views into 
 the innermost workings of nature. Then again he would 
 wander for long hours from house to house, soothing 
 here a suft'erer's pains, comforting others, and exhorting 
 them to patient endurance. And yet in the evening, 
 when a circle of intimate friends were gathered under 
 his hospitable roof, he would be ready to take an active 
 part in an animated conversation about art, literature, 
 or politics, or perhaps take his favorite instrument, the 
 violoncello, between his knees, and delight even the best 
 cultivated ears by his correct and yet deeply-felt playing 
 in a quickly-improvised quartette. 
 
 Where there are lights there must be shadows, and 
 where there are shadows there is never a lack of people 
 who take pleasure in painting everything in the darkest 
 and blackest of colors. Thus it was with the little foibles 
 of the excellent man, which his rivals and enemies sub- 
 jected to pitiless criticism. Some declared he was a 
 charlatan, who understood his business tolerably well, 
 but the necessary bragging and boasting about it still 
 better ; others declared his bon-mots Avere better than 
 his prescriptions, and a good story more welcome to him 
 than the most famous case in his practice. Still others 
 said that the essence of his nature was a restless vanity, 
 whch induced him to try all the arts and to play the 
 Maecenas for all travelling artists and spoilt men of 
 genius. Still others — so-called practical men, who laid 
 no claim to any opinion in matters of art and science, 
 but who demanded in return that everybody should 
 comply with their standard of morality — shook their 
 heads when people spoke of the councillor's hospitality, 
 and said : " If everybody would sweep the dust before 
 
152 Through Night to Light. 
 
 his own door, many things would be seen that are hid- 
 den now ; and if certain folks would remember the old 
 saying : ' Save in time and you'll have in need,' they 
 would be better off than they were." 
 
 Of all these reproaches none really affected the dis- 
 tinguished professor, except the last. Money was to 
 him what it is to Saladin in Lessing's great drama, 
 Nathan: " the most trifling of trifles; " he looked upon it, 
 as Saladin did, as "perfectly superfluous when he had it," 
 much as he appreciated the necessity of being provided 
 with it whenever he was reminded of it by his liberality, 
 his generosity, and his intense antipathy against all bar- 
 gaining and all haggling. If he had lived economically 
 he might have become a very rich man, for his income 
 was considerable ; but Mammon would not stay in his 
 hands, which were ever open to all who Avere poor and 
 suffering. He never could force himself to accept money 
 from the hard hand of a mechanic, even if the sum had 
 been ever so small. " It is bad enough," he used to say, 
 "that Nature has not wisdom enough to allow only 
 such people to be sick as have leisure and money 
 enough for it ; but for the poor, sickness itself is a pun- 
 ishment severe enough, not to sentence them moreover 
 into the payment of costs." Thus it happened to him very 
 often that he poured the golden reward he had earned 
 by his attention and his skill in the palace of rich Sin- 
 bad a few minutes later into the open hand of poor 
 Hinbad, and reached home with a lighter purse than he 
 had carried out. 
 
 His house also was an expensive one, although the 
 whole family consisted but of himself and his daughter. 
 A nature as richly endowed and as productive as his own 
 was not made to be content with meagre fare and thin 
 beer ; he was fond of rich, savory dishes and fiery old 
 wines ; above all he loved to share the pleasures of his 
 table with others who were as willing to be pleased as 
 he himself with the good things of this world, and es- 
 pecially with one of the best among the good — a pleasant 
 table-talk. 
 
 All this might have been accomplished without caus- 
 ing a deficit in the budget of the privv councillor, if 
 
Through Night to Light. 153 
 
 a careful, sensible housewife had managed the whole, 
 and spent what was coming in properly and economi- 
 cally. His wife, however, an exceedingly amiable, in- 
 telligent woman, died the second year after their mar- 
 riage; and her husband, who had loved her above all 
 things, covild not summon resolution to fill the place 
 in his heart which death, inexorable death, had made 
 vacant, and to give a stepmother to his daughter, in 
 whom he soon concentrated all his affections. He re- 
 membered too well the old saying, apiid novercam qiieri ! 
 He had seen the fairy tale of Cinderella repeat itself in 
 too many families. Thus he left his child in the hands 
 of nurses and governesses whom he paid magnificently, 
 and sent her, when she was old enough, to Miss Bear's 
 boarding-school, in case anything should have been for- 
 gotten in her outward polish or her inner cultvire. In 
 the meantime he kept a kind of bachelor's hall, which 
 soon became a very costly life, owing to the thievish- 
 ness of his servants and the incapacity of a housekeeper 
 in whom he placed implicit confidence. He comforted 
 himself, however, whenever Mrs. Bartsch had forced him 
 into a very uncomfortable discussion about credit and 
 debt, with the prospect of the time when his daughter 
 could relieve him of all this mishre, and of the answer 
 to the question : what shall ,we have for dinner, etc., 
 which ought not to be allowed to trouble a good Chris- 
 tian's peace of mind. 
 
 The time came at last, but Miss Sophie's return to the 
 paternal home did not exactly mend matters. Sophie 
 was too young and too inexperienced to see the cause 
 of the evil and to reform the abuses, w^hich were deeply 
 rooted after so many years' toleration. Mrs. Bartsch, 
 who could not adapt herself at all to the new regime, 
 was dismissed, it is true; but — as the doctor said, "the 
 bad one is gone, the bad ones have stayed" — the ser- 
 vants stole just as before, and the privy councillor did 
 not know yet " what in all the world could have become 
 of the miserable money.'' " As it could not well be oth- 
 erwise under such circumstances, the accounts agreed 
 less and less every year, and instead of saying, " I must 
 learn to be more economical hereafter," he only said, " I 
 9* 
 
154 Through Night to Light. 
 
 must work harder." He felt himself yet in the full 
 vigor of his strength. He saw before him yet long years 
 of energetic activity, during which he might make up 
 what had been so long neglected. 
 
 But it was not to be so, and the beautiful fruit-bearing 
 tree, in whose broad, hospitable shade so many who suf- 
 fered from the burning heat of life sought shelter and 
 refreshment, and found it too, was to be irreparably in- 
 jured by a flash of lightning which fell from a clear 
 sky. Like wildfire the news flew one morning all over 
 town that Privy Councillor Roban had had a stroke of 
 paralysis over night, and was now laid up without 
 hope. People told it one to another with grave faces, 
 and said it would be an irreparable loss to science, es- 
 pecially as far as the university was concerned, which 
 had had in Roban its only really great man since Ber- 
 ger had become insane. But of all who suffered by the 
 loss, the poor were most seriously threatened, since they 
 lost in the privy councillor their generous friend and 
 protector. For many and many a day one might have 
 seen old women dragging themselves painfully along on 
 crutches, men so old and feeble that they had to be led by 
 a boy, young pale mothers with a baby in their bosom — 
 all sitting on the steps of the house, bathed in tears, and 
 asking every one who came out whether things were 
 not going a little better with the privy councillor, or 
 whether there was really no hope at all that the good 
 old gentleman would recover.? 
 
 In the meantime the patient Avas lying in that terrible 
 state which is neither night nor day, but a painful twi- 
 light, Avhen the sun is about to set, and the darkness is 
 rising full of threatenings on all sides. For a long time 
 it remained uncertain Avliether life or death would be the 
 end, and when at last the cruel conflict was decided in 
 favor of life, death only yielded after having marked his 
 victim unmistakably forever. One might even have 
 said, that he had taken all the reality away with it, and 
 left only the shadow of existence. 
 
 To-day was the first time that the privy councillor 
 had risen for a few hours; they had rolled him in his 
 large easy-chair from his bed-chamber, before the fire- 
 
Through Night to Light. ' 155 
 
 place in the sitting-room. He had insisted upon it that 
 his daughter, who since the beginning of his sickness 
 had scarcely left his bed, shoidd go out to her little 
 party; and he had dismissed his son-in-law, "who had 
 taken his practice provisionally in hand and came to 
 see him every evening — for he wished to be alone. He 
 felt the necessity of availing himself of the first hour in 
 which the pressure on his brain was less overwhelming, 
 for the purpose of thinking over his situation. As a pliy- 
 sician, he would probably have warned his patient against 
 such an injurious excitement; but now he was physi- 
 cian and patient at once, and made the experience in 
 himself that the physician may very often demand cer- 
 tain things which the patient is unable to do with the 
 best will in the world. 
 
 Poor, unfortunate man ; doubly and trebly poor, be- 
 cause you have been doubly and trebly rich and happy 
 before, in the fulness of your mental and physical 
 strength, in the elasticity of your sanguine temper, nay 
 even in the easy humor whicla bore you like a bird high 
 over the greatest difficulties ! Where is now your restless 
 activity, Avhich formerly made it impossible for you to 
 sit still in one and the same place for any length of time, 
 which induced you even at table frequently to change 
 your place among your guests.' Where is your sharp, 
 penetrating mind, which used to solve the hardest prob- 
 lems as in play.? Where your brilliant fancy, which 
 threw even upon every-day occurrences a bewitching 
 light } Where, above all, your Olympian cheerfulness, 
 which made it so easy for you not to be angry or ex- 
 cited, but alloAved you to fight at most with a humorous 
 smile and satirical wit against the misery and wretch- 
 edness of life, against the stupidity and vulgarity of men } 
 Where are the thousand arguments with which you often 
 nearly overwhelmed the pessimist views of your friend 
 Berger, when you tried to persuade him that this 
 earth was by no means a vale of tears from the rising 
 to the setting of the sun, but a wide, fair landscape, in 
 which hill and dale, waste deserts and Elysian fields al- 
 ternated very wisely, and that in most cases man was 
 not only at liberty but even commanded" to avoid the one 
 
156 Through Night to Light. 
 
 and to enjoy the other? Have you all at once changed 
 your views ? Has a brutal blow of fate suddenly reduced 
 you in the discussion to an absic7-dum ? Has the pres- 
 sure which weighs on your brain and paralyzes the 
 elasticity of your mind transformed you all of a sudden 
 from an optimist into a pessimist, so that you see the 
 world and your own situation in dark colors, as you are 
 counting the beats of your pulse mechanically, and sit 
 there, rolled in a ball in your easy-chair, glaring in dull 
 thoughts at the dying embers of the fire-place ? 
 
 And indeed there were reasons w^hy it was hard for 
 the privy councillor to drive away the gray shadowy 
 form of care, as it pressed more and more closely upon 
 him the darker the room grew.. He who had himself 
 observed so many similar cases, could least of all dis- 
 guise from himself how precarious his physical condi- 
 tion was. He knew but too well that he was doomed 
 to be henceforth a cripple in body and mind, that he 
 was only a pensioner on life, and that death might come 
 at any moment to collect the debt which was long since 
 due. And yet, much as he was attached to life, this was 
 his least sorrow. The physician did not struggle against 
 omnipotent fate, whigh had never yet granted him one 
 of its victims ; the pupil of Epicure knew that joy and 
 grief, delight and suffering, are inseparably interwoven 
 in our life. But what made his heart particularly heavy, 
 was the thought of his inability to arrange his circum- 
 stances, that he should have to leave life a bankrupt, and 
 that after all he should have to rob his creditors of their 
 rights by his death. Had he not always referred them 
 to the future, and now the future refused to accept the 
 draft ; now the credulous man was to be denied credit 
 at the very bank on whose credit he had so implicitly 
 relied. 
 
 The unfortunate man sighed, hiding his deep-bowed 
 head in his hands. 
 
 And his daughter, his darling daughter ! Where was 
 now the hope he had cherished to endow her with a for- 
 tune which was forever to free the spoilt, tender child 
 from all the vulgar cares of life .'* which was to afford 
 her the means always to enjoy a comfortable existence, 
 
Through Night to Light. 157 
 
 such as alone seemed to be suitable for the character of 
 the young girl ? Now he could not only leave her no 
 fortune — no ! but not even an honest, stainless name ! 
 
 She liad no idea of the painful pecuniary situation 
 of her father. He never had the courage to trouble her 
 childlike mind with cares which he tried to keep from 
 himself as long as he could. She took it for granted that 
 her father was, if not a rich man, at least well-to-do, 
 and that she could enjoy the simple comforts by which 
 she was surrounded with a clear conscience. 
 
 And was she the only one who labored under this 
 illusion, and whom he had allowed to remain blind from 
 fear of an explanation } Did not his friends think the 
 same.? Above all, the youngest and dearest of his 
 friends, the man who had won his daughter's heart, and 
 whom he himself loved with hearty, paternal love ; who 
 deserved such friendship, such love, by his upright, noble 
 bearing, by his ability and his goodness ; what would 
 he say, what would he do, if he should learn what sooner 
 or later he would have to learn — nay, what the father of 
 his future wife was under such circumstances bound to 
 tell him without further delay, if he did not mean to 
 renounce all claims to be considered an honest man } 
 
 The privy councillor pressed his trembling hands 
 upon his eyes and groaned loud, like one who is suffer- 
 ing cruel torture. 
 
 And suddenly he felt soft arms embracing him, and a 
 girl's voice asked anxiously: " Papa, dearest papa, you 
 are surely sick again ; " and the kindly, firm voice of a 
 man who had taken his hand to feel the pulse, and who 
 now said : " You have stayed up too long ! we must try 
 and get you into bed again." 
 
 These voices, these words, fell like a mild, refreshing 
 rain falling upon a sunburnt plant, upon the heart of 
 the poor man, who was so sick in body and soul. He 
 put his arms around the slender waist of his daughter 
 and drew her to his heart in a long, silent embrace. 
 He could have wept, but he was ashamed. Sophie asked 
 again and again if he felt worse. Franz, who had 
 ordered lights to be brought in, begged more and more 
 urgently that he should not risk what had been so pain- 
 
j^g Through Night to Light. 
 
 f.n, gained ^t^:;^:^ TQ^^^^^^'^^ 
 
 les^ness' he exdtcmenl of his patient, considered | 
 lessnebb, mu v, ^nchps and cave a nod to nis 
 
 °"-^ wLTif trrS-^^^" t?'s ^eat^;nTlilng 
 chair close to tire privy councillor s sea ana taK „ 
 
 •^'I'jrt 'r "^s;Td\he%ri"T °oStr-a„"?now he 
 roorrd'neS; people, -"i'h"-': "S • XTh'e S 
 
 he ext^ected an answer from Franz. •^^^'^ ^'!, >':" ,^, ^,_ 
 BH^c:S-Sra^=nr^:nc^n^.?:S 
 
 has made ,ne 1-si.ate so long Ijf-^^ts"!? to "fave to 
 nmnication to you. «"' '' '^. ''^ ,!,\j. to impoverish a 
 afflict a man whom we love, to na\e to lu j. 
 
Through Night to Light. 159 
 
 man whom wc would like to load with all the world can 
 give." 
 
 He paused, and tried to draw his hands from those of 
 the young man, as if the revelation he had just made had 
 interrupted and ended their friendship. But Franz 
 moved nearer to the sufferer and said, looking at him 
 with his clear, truthful, bright eyes : 
 
 " I have let you finish, my dear sir; and now let me 
 have my say. Suppose a man were to give the friend 
 he loves best an unspeakably valuable treasure, a trea- 
 sure which the other values so mvich that he could not 
 live without it, and he were then to say to this friend, 
 ' My dear, while I was guarding this treasure I had not 
 the time, as you may readily imagine, to attend Avith 
 proper care to the management and settlement of all 
 my other aflTairs. There are a few creditors who wnsh 
 to be paid, and who must be paid. Will you take that 
 upon yourself .-^ You are younger and stronger, and 
 have no objection to business.' Suppose, I say, the 
 giver should speak thus to him who receives, and the 
 latter were to answer : ' The treasure Avhich is to make 
 me immeasurably rich for all time to come I am ready 
 to take, but as to your other affairs you can see how 
 you can manage them yourself. I will have nothing to 
 do with them.' Would you not justly look upon a man 
 who could give such an answer as a monster of heart- 
 lessness, as a horrible instance of ingratitude .'' Exactly 
 such is the relation in which we stand to each other. 
 You are the generous donor ; I am the man who re- 
 ceives the costly gift — the immeasurably precious treasure 
 itself is my own Sophie. Between us there can be no 
 longer any question of mine and thine ; what I have 
 is yours, for you are to me all in all — my friend, my 
 teacher, and my father. What I have amounts to about 
 ten or eleven thousand dollars, left me by an aunt whom 
 I have never seen in my life, and they are entirely at 
 your disposal. I know that this sum Avill not suffice 
 to free you from all responsibilities. But it will be a 
 relief to you, a help ; and I beg, I conjure you to make 
 any use of it you may choose. No, my dear sir, don't 
 shake your head ! You can't help it. You owe it to me, 
 
i6o Through Night to Light. 
 
 to Sophie, to yourself, not to refuse me. And then, 1 
 am not going to asl<; you to do tliis favor without asking 
 one for myself in return. We have never yet agreed 
 upon the day for our wedding. We were afraid to speak 
 of it, because w^e feared you would refuse, or at least give 
 your consent only with reluctance. Now I have become 
 bold, and ask neither for Flanders nor for liberty to think, 
 Oh, King Philip, but for your permission to make your 
 daughter, Doiia Sophie, my wife, this day four weeks. 
 Look! there she is herself ! Kneel down, darling, and 
 thank your lord and father for his kindness. He con- 
 sents to our marriage this day four weeks." 
 
 Sophie, who had entered the room during the last 
 words spoken by Franz, hastened to her father. 
 
 " Good, dear papa ! dearest darling of a papa ! " she 
 cried, embracing the privy councillor and kissing him 
 tenderly on brow and lip. The privy councillor was 
 deeply moved. His trembling lips tried in vain to 
 utter a word ; his tear-flooded eyes turned now towards 
 his daughter, who was kneeling before him, and now 
 towards the noble man, who stood by his side leaning 
 over him and looking at him with tenderness. His 
 mind, weakened by his sickness, could not at once over- 
 come the chaos of conflicting thoughts, but in his heart 
 he heard a voice assuring him that he could die now in 
 peace. 
 
 Franz, who had his reasons for fearing that the violent 
 emotion might change the condition of the patient for 
 the worse, hastened to make an end to the scene. He 
 rang the bell and asked the servant to help him carry 
 his master to his room. The privy councillor suff'ered 
 them to do as they chose. Franz and the servant rolled 
 the chair to the door of the adjoining room, which had 
 been opened by Sophie, lifted it over the sill, and closed 
 the door behind them, while Sophie remained alone in 
 the sitting-room. 
 
 After a few minutes Franz returned. He was moved 
 as Sophie had never yet seen him ; but she saw also that 
 his emotion was not painful. His eyes shone briglitly, 
 his step was elastic like that of a conqueror, and his 
 voice, generally rather sharp, sounded softer and fuller, 
 
Through Night to Light. i6i 
 
 as he said, folding his betrothed almost violently in his 
 arms, 
 
 " Rejoice, my girl ; all goes well, excellently well. I 
 have Avon your father's consent by gentle means and 
 harsh means. Did I not tell you we should be man and 
 wife four weeks hence.'' Did I not tell you, 'In our 
 heart are the stars of our fate ? ' Oh, I feel a whole 
 heaven in my heart ! dear, dear Sophie ! " 
 
 " Dear, dear Franz ! " 
 
 And the lovers held each other embraced in that bliss 
 for which the ordinary language of earth-born men has 
 no words. 
 
 Then, when the torrent of glorious feelings had so- 
 bered down to greater quiet, they walked up and down 
 in the room, arm in arm, and their voices grew low like 
 their steps on the carpet, and what they whispered to 
 each other was sweet and cozy, like the dim rosy light 
 of the lamp under its veil, and yet as hot and as glowing 
 as the coals shining through the light covering of ashes 
 in the fire-place. 
 
 It was a lovely pair, the two lovers ; and Zeus of 
 Obricoli, whose lordly face with the god-like brow be- 
 neath the ambrosiacal curls that shade Olympus, looked 
 majestically down upon them from a niche in the wall, 
 must have enjoyed the sight as they Avalked again and 
 again past his bust, although neither the young man nor 
 the girl could lay claim to a beauty exactly classic. 
 Their tall forms were too lithe for that, wanting in the vo- 
 luptuous fulness of the Grecian ideal ; their faces, full of 
 expression, were wanting in that architectural regu- 
 larity, that indelible antique harmony, which knows no 
 struggle, at least no struggle that excites the soul to its 
 innermost depths. 
 
 Sophie Roban had, if you examined her strictly, noth- 
 ing that could be called beauty, except a graceful, deli- 
 cate figure, though connoisseurs would have objected 
 to her arms as too thin, and a pair of large, soft, deep- 
 blue eyes, of which connoisseur and ignoramus spoke 
 with equal delight. Her mouth is rather large, and it 
 is fortunate for her that her teeth, which are in conse- 
 quence seen very frequently, are, if not literally " two 
 
1 62 Through Night to Light. 
 
 rows of pearls," at least beautifully white and regular. 
 The cheeks are round and full, the nose belongs to no 
 special category. The best feature of the whole is, prob- 
 ably, next to the large blue eyes, the abundance of chest- 
 nut-brown hair, which forms a frame of soft waves for 
 the somewhat low but smooth and most intelligent 
 brow, and is very artlessly but tastefully arranged. So- 
 phie is so tall that Franz, who is above medium size, 
 scarcely rises a head's length above her — a proof, as 
 Sophie says, that she has some claims to be covinted 
 among Jean Paul's " lofty beings," an opinion which 
 Franz is by no means disposed to accept. He sa5'S, on 
 the contrary, that she falls short, if not in everything, 
 yet in much of that great honor, especially in that exu- 
 berance in thought and sentiment which the author re- 
 quires for "lofty beings," and of which Sophie has not a 
 trace, unless it be when she plays on the piano, and the 
 genius of Beethoven, her favorite composer, lends her 
 soul the wings which are otherwise wanting. Franz 
 mentions besides, in his diagnosis of his betrothed, a 
 certain cool sobriety of view^s and jvidgments, a kind of 
 shyness to go beyond her own self, and a mistrust of 
 all who do not possess this shyness and are too ready to 
 sing their own praises or their own complaints, with- 
 out inquiring whether the gods have given them a tal- 
 ent for stating what they suffer or not. Sophie, on the 
 contrary, is disposed to be very quiet in moments of 
 great enjoyment or great sorrow, on which account 
 Franz prefers classing her with Jean Paul's " silent 
 children of heaven." Besides, he attributes to Sophie 
 the following qualities and peculiarities, all of which are 
 more or less imcompatible with the character of " lofty 
 beings." She is particularly fond, he says, of canary 
 birds, dogs, tree-frogs, rabbits, horses, and even of don- 
 keys, which evidently shows a predilection for Dutch pic- 
 tures of still life ; she betrays a highly improper indif- 
 ference for literature, unworthy of the daughter of a 
 man of science, and the betrothed of a man who may 
 possibly yet become famous in the world; she will not 
 condescend to use a dictionary, even in cases of neces- 
 sity, Avhen she reads French or English authors ; and ns 
 
Through Night to Light. 163 
 
 to the productions of her mother tongue, her indiffer- 
 ence is so great that she has actually dared to fall fast 
 asleep when Franz has been reading to her aloud the 
 most beautiful chapters from Goethe's Truth and Fiction 
 or his Italian Journey. Then she has a decided fancy 
 for putting on her hat on one side, and to catch her dress 
 when walking out in all the thorn-bushes by the wayside, 
 both of which habits indicate a dreamy, twilight life, ut- 
 terly incompatible with the manner of " lofty beings." 
 She is even svispected of clairvoyance, for she had 
 actually once told her maid, when she was dressing her 
 for a ball and wanted a pin, that there was one lying way 
 back in the parlor under the fourth chair from the win- 
 dow. 
 
 The conversation of the two lovers had gradually 
 approached this topic of the little weaknesses of his be- 
 trothed, which Franz was apt to play upon in countless 
 variations. He had a talent to jest gracefully, and to 
 conceal the sober face of a well-meaning preceptor under 
 the smiling mask of a good-natured but ironical critic. 
 Sophie, who was not fond of ample explanations, felt 
 grateful to her lover for this mode of instructing her, 
 and Franz adopted this method all the more readily as 
 it gave him an opportunity to admire the cleverness and 
 the wit with which Sophie knew how to defend herself 
 against his insidious attacks, and to deny her faults, or 
 even to pretend that they were in reality nothing but 
 very lovable virtues. 
 
 They were so deeply engaged in their now serious 
 and now sober conversation, which was occasionally 
 interrupted by a half-suppressed laugh or a stolen kiss, 
 that a person who was in the habit of coming every day 
 at this hour to the privy councillor's house, and of enter- 
 ing unannounced, had to knock three times at the door 
 before they answered with an unisonous " Come in ! " 
 
164 Through Night to Light. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 "A~^OOD evening, most honored friends and be- 
 VJ trothed," said he, as he entered the room ; " do I 
 disturb your devotions? " 
 
 " Good evening, Bemperlein," replied Sophie, loosen- 
 ing Franz's hold and cordially offering her hand to the 
 little man, who came with careful steps to her side ; "you 
 are just in time to protect me against this arch-scorner." 
 
 "Good evening, Bemperlein," said Franz; "you are 
 just in time to help me in my efforts to convince this 
 obstinate sinner." 
 
 " Before I can do the one, and not the other," replied 
 Mr. Bemperlein, drawing off his gloves and folding them 
 up carefully, " I beg leave to inquire, as in duty bound, 
 after the privy councillor's health." 
 
 " He is much better," replied Franz. 
 
 " I hoped so from your joyous disposition," said Bem- 
 perlein ; " well, I am delighted. Then we can at least 
 take our supper to-night without feeling as if every 
 morsel would stick in our throats from sheer melancholy 
 and mourning, as has been the case for the last fortnight. 
 Advocem supper; is it ready. Miss Sophie? I — who am 
 not lucky enough to be able to satisfy my hunger with 
 the ambrosia of confidential talk, and to quench my 
 thirst with the nectar of love — I feel an unmistakable 
 longing after earthly food and drink." 
 
 " I believe supper has been on the table for half an 
 hour," said Sophie; " I had forgotten all about it." 
 
 " Then let us lose no more time," said Bemperlein, 
 offering Sophie his arm, and leading her the familiar 
 way into the adjoining room, where supper was regu- 
 larly laid out. 
 
 Miss Sophie and Mr. Bemperlein were great friends. 
 The excellent man had at every epoch of his life found 
 somebody to whom he could offer his devotion and his 
 love. When he had come over to settle in Grunwald, 
 he had felt for a few days unspeakably lonely and 
 wretched. Unable to live in solitude, and full of child- 
 
Through Night to Light. 165 
 
 like trust, he had no sooner been introduced into the 
 house of Privy Councillor Roban than he had poured 
 out his complaints into the willing ear of Miss Sophie, 
 whose large blue eyes encouraged him wonderfully. 
 Sophie had not only listened to the little, lively man, 
 who opened his whole heart to her with Homeric ndlvetfi, 
 as if he could not help doing so ; but after following him 
 with great attention to his last words ; " that is all 
 over now ! over, and forever ! " she had given him her 
 hand with most cordial kindness, saying : "You must 
 come and see us very often, Mr. Bemperlein, Papa is 
 very fond of you and so am I. We'll try if we cannot 
 make some amends to you for the loss of BerkoAV." 
 
 It was a strange friendship that bound the two to 
 each other. Sophie, although twelve years younger 
 than Bemperlein, was the admonishing, reproving, di- 
 recting mentor, and he the obedient, attentive, and docile 
 Telemachus. She had aided him in arranging the 
 modest lodgings which he had rented at some little 
 distance from the privy covincillor's house, and she 
 made with him, and sometimes without him, the neces- 
 sary purchases. Her attention went even beyond that. 
 She trained him, after a fashion, for his entrance into so- 
 cietv, for there was much to be done. She made him 
 aware that it was not exactly the thing to hold gentle- 
 men with whom he conversed continually by a coat- 
 button, or to turn his back persistently upon ladies by 
 whose side he had found his seat at table, however tedi- 
 ous they might appear in his eyes. " You must not do 
 this, Bemperlein ! You must stop doing that, Bemper- 
 lein ! " the young lady continually said to him, and the 
 good-natured man obeyed her implicitly, and was but 
 too happy and proud if she said another time, " Bem- 
 perlein, that was well done ! You played quite the cav- 
 alier to-night, Bemperlein ! " 
 
 Bemperlein was soon even fonder of Miss Roban than 
 he had been of Frau von Berkow. The latter remained, 
 with all her kindness and goodness, after all, the great 
 lady, the benefactress, the mistress; and the impression 
 she had made upon him when he, a poor, bashful, awk- 
 ward candidate for the ministry, had arrived one sum- 
 
1 66 Through Night to Light. 
 
 mer afternoon at Berkow, and been presented by old 
 Baumann to the great lady, had never been wholly effaced 
 in the seven long years which he had spent at her house. 
 But Sophie was not grand ; she laughed as heartily as 
 any one of them ; she looked at him so trustingly with 
 her big, blue eyes; she made no pretensions; you could 
 speak to her as to an equal, you could love her like a 
 brother, without being all the time filled w4th awe and 
 reverence. 
 
 And such paternal love Bemperlein felt for the hearty 
 girl. Even if she had not been already engaged, it would 
 never have occurred to him to fall in love with her. But 
 to sympathize with all that interested her ; to declare that 
 her betrothed, whose acquaintance he made soon after- 
 wards, was the most amiable and excellent of men ; to 
 render her any service which he could read in her eyes, 
 and, when the privy councillor was ill, to watch with 
 her till Franz shovdd come back, day and night, with 
 womanly patience and tenderness, by the bedside of the 
 sufferer ; and now, when he heard that the latter was 
 better, to rejoice like a child to whom a father is re- 
 stored, and to conceal this joy under a hundred innocent 
 tricks and teasings — that was in the power of the ex- 
 candidate of divinity and actual student of philosophy, 
 
 Mr. Anastasius Bemperlein. 
 
 % -v.- * * * * 
 
 " I fear the potatoes are cold, " said Sophie, raising 
 "the cover off the dish. 
 
 " Then they have exactly the temperature of this fish," 
 said Franz, presenting her his dish. 
 
 " Or of this sauce," said Bemperlein, handing her the 
 sauce-dish from the other side. 
 
 Sophie shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 "Nothing is eaten quite as warm as it is cooked, gen- 
 tlemen. I must know that best, as future housewife ! " 
 
 " For we are to be married in four weeks from to-day, 
 Bemperlein," said Franz ; " that is to say, if your dress- 
 coat, which you have intended to order ever since you 
 first came to Grunvvald, can be ready by that time, Bem- 
 perlein, otherwise it cannot be." 
 
 " The coat shall be ready ! The coat shall be ready ! " 
 
Thfoi/gh Alight to Light 167 
 
 cried Mr. Bemperlein ; " even if I have myself to cut it 
 out, to sew it, and to press it." 
 
 "That would make a nice coat, Bemperlein." 
 
 " Not so bad, perhaps, as you think. At all events it 
 would not be the first dress-coat I have made with my 
 own hands." 
 
 " Impossible, Bemperlein ! " cried Franz, with amaze- 
 ment. 
 * " As I tell you. It is a long time since, to be sure — 
 perhaps fifteen years; and I was, during that Robinson 
 Crusoe period of my life, much more inventive and 
 industrious than I am now ; but still I do not think I 
 should find it impossible even now." 
 
 " But how did you come to make such a funny experi- 
 ment? " 
 
 " Through the author of all inventions — necessity. 
 You know, Miss Sophie, that I belong to those of God's 
 children, or rather did belong, for now I have been pro- 
 moted to another class, to whom the heavenly kingdom 
 is promised, because they call nothing their own upon 
 earth. This compelled me, when I left the Elysian 
 fields of my native village and came to this town, to 
 lead a life like a cicade, and to avoid all unnecessary 
 expenses. Thvis it occurred to me also, after long and 
 painful meditation, that it might be feasible, even in 
 this century of ink-consumption, to manufacture my 
 own clothes, like Eumaeus of old, the god-like keeper 
 of swine. No sooner thought than done. I had formed 
 a great intimacy with a boy — his name was Christian 
 Sweetmilk, the son of the old tailor Sweetmilk in Long 
 street — who was to be a tailor and wished to be a doc- 
 tor. We made a covenant that I should teach him every 
 evening, when papa Sweetmilk's stentorian voice an- 
 nounced the closing of the shop, his Latin and Greek 
 grammar ; while he in return should instruct me in 
 the use of the needle and the goose. Our studies were 
 carried on with equal secrecy and industry, for I had 
 good reason to fear the jibes of my school-mates, and 
 he the never-missing yard-stick of his father and mas- 
 ter. Oh ! those vv^ere precious hours which we thus spent 
 together, hours never to be forgotten again ! I can see 
 
1 68 Through Night to Light. 
 
 us still sitting by the light of a miserable train-oil lamp 
 in our diminutive garret, on an autumn evening like 
 this to-day, when the rain was pattering down upon th& 
 tiles right over our heads, and the gutter was overflow- 
 ing, and the owls and rooks in the steeple of St. Nicho- 
 las were crowing and croaking. We were not cold, 
 however, although there was no fire burning in the 
 little cast-iron stove, for the sacred flame of friendship 
 warmed the blood in our veins with a gentle glow, and 
 I was sewing till the thread smoked, and he was learning 
 his grammar till his head smoked ; and when I had fin- 
 ished a seam in masterly style, and he could tell his 
 typto^ typteis without a mistake, we fell into each other's 
 arms and envied no king on his throne in all his splen- 
 dor." 
 
 Mr. Bemperlein paused and looked deeply moved into 
 his glass. 
 
 " Hurrah for old times ! " said Franz. 
 
 " Hurrah for the new ones, too ! " replied Bemperlein, 
 touching glasses with the betrothed. 
 
 " But how about the dress-coat, Bemperlein .'* " asked 
 Sophie. " I hope it was not the coat in which you were 
 confirmed.? " 
 
 " You have guessed it, fair lady ; it was my confirma- 
 tion coat. The time for the ceremony was drawing near. 
 A merchant, to whose children I had given lessons in 
 reading and writing, and at whose table I dined every 
 Friday gratis, had presented me with the cloth for a 
 dress-coat. The good man even told me to have it 
 made at the tailor's ,at his expense. But I thought it 
 would be abusing his goodness if I should avail myself 
 of that offer too, and I asked his permission to have the 
 coat made by my own tailor. Well, you may imagine 
 who '• my own tailor ' was. But alas ! Papa Sweetmilk 
 had found out our ' abominable tricks,' as he called the 
 sacred hours devoted to friendship and hard work, in 
 his vulgar language. He had discovered the Greek 
 grammar, which Christian used to throw quickly into 
 'hell,' the place of remnants and rags, when the Boeo- 
 tian father suddenly entered, and the effect of this fatal 
 discovery was, that he first used up his yard-stick on the 
 
Through Night to Light. 169 
 
 shoulders of the attic youth, and then ordered him per- 
 emptorily to give up all intercourse with me hereafter, 
 under penalty of being immediately and permanently 
 banished from the paternal house, and of being disin- 
 herited besides. My faithful friend told me of the fear- 
 ful sentence, weeping bitterly, as I met him the next 
 day at the corner of the street. ' But I will not submit 
 any longer to such tyranny,' he cried, flourishing a pair 
 of trousers, which he was ordered to carry to one of his 
 father's customers, with more energy than grace. 'This 
 one more slavish service I will render (and he struck 
 the dishevelled inexpressibles with his closed fist in wild 
 fury) and then I will go into the wide, wide world. Will 
 you go with me .-* ' It took me some time to quiet the 
 boy. I knew that nothing pained him more than the 
 thought that he would now be unable to help me with 
 my dress-coat. I reminded him of the command- 
 ment, that we must honor father and mother, if we wish 
 to live long in the land which the Lord our God has 
 given us. I told him his father Avould probably give 
 way after a while ; and as for the dress-coat, I promised 
 him that the pupil should do credit to his master. 
 Christian shook his head sadly. ' You can't do it, Anas- 
 tasius,' he said; 'you will not get it done, even if you 
 had any idea how to cut it out.' ' What will you bet, 
 Christian.? ' I cried. 'You shall see me to-day week at 
 thie confirmation in church, wearing the coat I have 
 made without your assistance, and you shall have to 
 confess that it fits me well. If I win, you shall give me 
 your bird ; if you win, I'll give you the Odyssey, Heyne's 
 edition. What do you say.'' ' Done! ' said Christian, 
 laughing, in spite of his troubles. ' I ought not to bet, 
 because you are sure to lose, but since you will have it 
 so, let it be so.' " 
 
 " Well, and who won the wager.? " asked Sophie, full 
 of interest. 
 
 " On the following Sunday, at St. Nicholas," said Mr. 
 Bemperlein, and his voice trembled, and the glasses in 
 his spectacles were dim, " on the following Svmday I 
 was kneeling amid a number of youths before the altar, 
 and the music of the organ was floating through the vast 
 8 
 
lyo Through Night to Light. 
 
 edifice, and the minister proclaimed God's blessing over 
 us; but I heard nothing of all that. I only looked up 
 to the gallery, to a boy with long, brown hair and brown 
 eyes, who kissed his hand to me, and whose dear face 
 was beaming Avith pride and joy that his friend ihould 
 look so well, contrary to all his expectations. When my 
 turn came that ' the Lord might bless me and preser\'e 
 me and let His countenance shine upon me,' he folded 
 his hands piously and prayed for me earnestly with bent 
 head." 
 
 Bemperlein pavised again. He had taken off his 
 glasses, which had become dimmer and dimmer, and was 
 now rubbing them bright again with his silk handker- 
 chief. 
 
 " And what has become of Christian.'' " asked Franz. 
 
 •' He is now professor of ancient languages in one of 
 the best lyceums in Belgium ; his grammar of the Doric 
 poets is considered a most valuable work for philolo- 
 gists. I had a letter from him day before yesterday, six- 
 teen pages long." 
 
 " And what has become of the dress-coat .' " asked So- 
 phie. 
 
 " It hangs still, as a valued memento of former days, 
 in my wardrobe," replied Bemperlein, replacing his 
 spectacles, and looking with a smile at Sophie ; " and 
 what is more than that, it still fits me so well that I can 
 present myself in it at any time, if my gracious lady 
 should entertain any doubts as to the truthfulness of this 
 veracious story." 
 
 " Will you do me a favor, Bemperlein .' " said Sophie, 
 with unusual seriousness, offering him her hand. 
 
 "Anything!" said Bemperlein, enthusiastically, and 
 seizing tlie girl's hand. 
 
 "Then don't order a new dress-coat for my wedding, 
 but come in the old one, which has become very dear to 
 me through your touching story." 
 
 " Are you in earnest .'' " 
 
 " Can you doubt it 1 " 
 
 " Well, then," said Mr. Bemperlein, kissing Sophie's 
 hand reverently, " I will be at your wedding in the coat 
 which I have made myself for my confirmation." 
 
Through Night to Light. 171 
 
 The little company finished their cold supper and 
 then went back to the cosy sitting-room, Avhere Sopliie 
 made tea, while Franz went to inquire after the privy 
 councillor. He returned with the welcome news that 
 papa was, for the first time since the beginning of 
 his sickness, lying in quiet, refreshing sleep, and that 
 the servant who was watching by his bedside said 
 " he had fallen asleep almost immediately after hav- 
 ing murmured a few unintelligible words, with folded 
 hands." 
 
 Franz assured them that the recovery would now pro- 
 gress with rapid strides, and that he felt very little doubt 
 any more of a perfect restoration. Sophie embraced 
 and kissed him as a reward fortius good news, and Bem- 
 perlein vowed he would hereafter acknowledge a fifth 
 most profane evangelist, besides the four in the Bible — 
 namely, a St. Franciscus. 
 
 They were sitting around the fire-place. The steam 
 of the tea-kettle and the smoke of the cigars which the 
 gentlemen had lighted, rose in clouds up to the Olympic 
 Zeus, who now became a comfortable Zeus Xenius. 
 Franz was in a peculiarly elated humor, which Sophie 
 placed on the ground of the favorable turn in her 
 father's disease, but which had a very diflFerent reason. 
 It was the nervous excitement which overcomes even 
 the bravest before the beginning of a battle ; for Franz 
 felt and knew that to-day the battle of life had com- 
 menced for him in good earnest. He had assumed most 
 serious obligations, which might have incalculable con- 
 sequences for his own future and for Sophie's future. 
 The very heaviest responsibility was henceforth resting 
 on his shoulders. He saw of a sudden the ocean, on 
 which the vessel which contained their joint fortunes 
 was sailing, filled with most dangerous reefs, which it 
 would require an always clear head, an always bold 
 heart, and an always steady hand to clear successfully. 
 Sophie did not suspect what her betrothed was then ex- 
 periencing; she began, with Bemperlein's aid, to draw a 
 picture of the future — a little paradise, full of peace and 
 comfort, quiet' and sunshine. 
 
 "You must get married too, Bcmperlein," she cried. 
 
172 
 
 Through Nhht to Lizht. 
 
 "With the greatest pleasure," replied Mr. Bemperlein. 
 "if you Avill find the main thing." 
 
 " What is that ? " 
 
 " A girl who is willing to love me, and whom I can 
 love." 
 
 " I'll pick you out one, Bemperlein. I know your 
 taste, and I know exactly what the future Mrs. Bemper- 
 lein must be like." 
 
 " I am rather curious to hear," said Mr. Bemperlein, 
 comfortably ensconcing himself in his chair. 
 
 " In the first place," said Sophie, " as regards the ex- 
 terior — for you do attach some importance to appear- 
 ances, Bemperlein, do you not.-" " 
 
 " Certainly," said Bemperlein, eagerly. 
 
 " Well, then, your future wife must not be tall." 
 
 " Why not .? " 
 
 " Because you arc not a giant yourself, Bemperlein ; 
 and, you know, like and like ... I therefore submit 
 that she ought to be delicate and well made, a nice lit- 
 tle figure, with dark hair and dark eyes, clever, active, 
 gay, and mobile. Are you content.'' " 
 
 " Hem ! " said Mr. Bemperlein. " Not so bad ! not so 
 bad ! Go on ! " 
 
 " Then, as regards fortune ; she must not be rich. You 
 know why." 
 
 " Because I would not know what to do with the 
 money." 
 
 " Exactly so. Am I right? " 
 
 " Perfectly. But now tell me why said lady must 
 necessarily have brown hair and brown eyes.? " 
 
 " As far as I recollect, I have only spoken of dark 
 hair and dark eyes ; but if you have a decided prefer- 
 ence for brown, Bemperlein " 
 
 "Preference.?" said Bemperlein, almost anxiously. 
 " I have a preference ! What do you mean .? " 
 
 " Bemperlein, you blush ! That is a very suspicious 
 sign. Do not you think so too, Franz .? " 
 
 " Very suspicious," replied Franz. " I propose that 
 the accused be examined most rigorously, and persuaded 
 by every available means to make an opeif and full con- 
 fession." 
 
Through Night to Light. 173 
 
 "Yes, he must confess! he shall confess!" cried the 
 overjoyous girl, clapping her hands; "he shall give an 
 account of that treacherous redness on his cheeks. Ac- 
 cused ! I ask you, upon your conscience, do you know a 
 lady with brown hair and brown eyes? " 
 
 "But how can you ask me that, Miss Sophie?" re- 
 plied Mr. Bemperlein, blushing deeper than before. 
 
 " Let your words be Yea, yea! or Nay, nay ! accused, 
 and nothing else ! " 
 
 " Well then, I have ! " said Bemperlein, laughing. 
 
 "And when you spoke of brown hair and brown eyes, 
 did you think of this lady ? " 
 
 " Yes ! " replied Bemperlein, after some hesitation. 
 
 " Now we have him ! He has thought of her ! He has 
 thought of her ! " cried Miss Sophie, and laughed with 
 delight. 
 
 " But who is she ? " asked Franz. 
 
 " We shall learn that presently. Accused ! does she 
 live in this city? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Franz, take that down : she lives in the city. Ac- 
 cused ! do you see her frequently? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then, have you seen her to-day ? " 
 
 " But, Miss So " 
 
 " No subterfuges ! Have you seen her to-day ? " 
 
 " Well, I see I shall fare better by confessing every- 
 thing at once," said Mr. Bemperlein, who in spite of all 
 his efforts to appear unconcerned had become more and 
 more embarrassed. " Hear, then, oh severe judge, and 
 you, grave assistant judge, with your diabolic smile, the 
 strange story which has happened to me to-day, and 
 which seems to be specially intended to lead me from 
 one trouble to another." 
 
 "Tell us, Bemperlein ; tell us! " cried Sophie. "Tho 
 affair begins to look romantic." 
 
 " Well, then, you know. Miss Sophie, that the Gren- 
 witz family has come to town to-day." 
 
 " We are aware of that. Go on, accused ! " 
 
 " But you do not know that the baroness wrote to me 
 immediately after her arrival, and asked me to call on 
 
174 Through Night to Light. 
 
 her in the course of the day. She said she had to 
 confer with me on a matter of the utmost importance." 
 
 " The affairs of the baroness are always of the utmost 
 importance," said Franz. 
 
 " That I knew ; and therefore I did not exactly hasten 
 to pay my visit. Towards evening, however, just before 
 I came here, I went to the house." 
 
 " Well, and what was the great trifle .? " 
 
 " I never found it out, for I was not fortunate enough 
 to be admitted. In the house-door I met Mr. Timm, who 
 was in such a hurry that he nearly ran over me, and 
 he had barely time to say to me ' What on earth are you 
 doing here, Bemperlein .'' ' In the ante-chamber to which 
 the servant had shown me I found Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite." 
 
 " Has she brown eyes, Bemperlein .-• " 
 
 " She has brown eyes, Miss Sophie ; very fine brown 
 eyes ; which appeared to me at that moment all the 
 brighter as they were filled with tears." 
 
 " Oh," said Miss Sophie, unconsciously dropping her 
 gay tone ; " why so ? " 
 
 " Do I know it } I had entered Avithout knocking, as 
 I did not expect there would be anybody inside. When 
 I came in, the young lady, who had been sitting with 
 her head on a table and sobbing, jumped up and did 
 her best to hide her tears. When I asked if I could see 
 the baroness, she replied that she would go and see. 
 But she did not gOs at least not beyond the nearest door, 
 where she stopped and again broke out into tears. You 
 may imagine hoAV embarrassed I was. I cannot see 
 anybody weep, much less so young, poor, and helpless 
 a creature as Mademoiselle Marguerite. I went up to 
 her, took her hand — upon my word I could not help it 
 — and said — what else could I say.? — 'why do you cry, 
 Mademoiselle } ' Her tears flowed only the faster. I 
 repeated my question again and again. ^ J'e si/is si mal- 
 heiircitse !' was all she could utter amid her sobs. That 
 was all I heard. I pitied the poor child, with all my 
 heart. I asked if I could help her. She shook her 
 head. I tried to comfort her, and said whatever can be 
 said in such a state of things. Gradually she calmed 
 
Through Night to Light. 175 
 
 down, dried her eyes, pressed my hand, and said, * Ohy 
 que vous ttes ban ! ' Then she stepped out at the door, 
 I was as wise as before. After a few minutes there 
 came, in her place, Baron Felix, to tell me that his aunt 
 was exceedingly sorry not to be able to see me to-night. 
 She was too much fatigued from the journey. I might 
 call again in the morning. As Baron Felix also seemed 
 to be in a great hurry, I took my leave very quickly. 
 When I was in the door he called after me, ' Apropos, 
 Mr. Bemperlein, do you happen to know when Doctor 
 Stein will be back again ? ' 'I believe in a few days,' I 
 replied, and left. There you have my romantic story." 
 
 " Whicli is full of suggestions," said Franz. "For in- 
 stance, I should like to know myself when Oswald will 
 be back. He ought to be here by this time." 
 
 At that moment a maid came in, to hand him a card. 
 
 "Is the gentleman still there.-*" asked Franz, rising 
 quickly. 
 
 " No, sir. He asked if you were alone ? I told him, 
 * No, Mr. Bemperlein was in the room.' Then he said he 
 would call again, and left." 
 
 "Who was it? " asked Sophie. 
 
 " Oswald ! " replied Franz. " What a pity ! I should 
 have liked to have seen him." 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 OSWALD had reached Grunwald a few hours ago. 
 The early autumn evening was coming on apace, 
 as he approached the old town on the turnpike — 
 for this part of the Prussian Vendee was then not yet in 
 possession of a railway. The high towers rose dimly 
 like Ossian's giant bodies in the floating gray mist; 
 mists hung low upon the meadows between the cause- 
 way and the sea, and mists hovered over the wide waters 
 between the island and the firm land. 
 
 Oswald wrapped himself, shivering, more closely in 
 
176 Through A'ight io Light. 
 
 his cloak, and fell back in the corner of the coupe. 
 What was he to do in Grunwald ? What did he want 
 in Grunwald ? He did not know it himself. Even the 
 low trees by the wayside, bent by the northeast storms, 
 Avhich slipped by in wearying monotony as he drove on, 
 did not know it ; the raw-boned stage horses, dripping 
 with wet and trotting mechanically along with drooping 
 heads, did not know it ; even the old, bearded guard, 
 who was pulling out the list of passengers for the hun- 
 dredth time, from sheer weariness, and was conning it 
 over once more, even he did not know it. Nobody 
 knew it, unless it was the crow, which had delayed too 
 long in the woods and was now flying lonely and sadly 
 above the stage-coach towards town, and vanished in the 
 mist. And the trees danced by, more like spectres than 
 ever; and the horses shook more impatiently the heavy 
 collars, and the mist rolled up in closer and darker 
 masses, and through the close and dark mist a few lights 
 become visible ; and now the coach rolls across the 
 drawbridge, through the narrow town-gate, into the 
 narrow, ill-paved, tortuous street, and stops before the 
 post-oflice. The sudden quiet after many hours' shaking, 
 jolting, and rattling, is indescribably sweet for one who 
 reaches the end of his journey, but indescribably painful 
 for him whose journey has no end, or for whom the end 
 is not the desired goal. He wovdd rather the jolting, 
 shaking, and rattling should begin once more and carry 
 him further and further away from all men into eternal 
 night. 
 
 But he is now in a civilized city among civilized men, 
 Avho have no sympathy with eccentricities of any kind, 
 and who hold to the opinion that a gentleman who ar- 
 rives in Grunwald by the express stage-coach at the 
 appointed hour, half-past seven o'clock, is bound to give 
 the guard a fee, to ask him respectfully to pick out from 
 the other boxes and trunks his own trunk and hat-box, 
 marked in legible letters with a " Doctor Stein, passen- 
 ger for Grunwald," and then to send these things by a 
 porter to the Hotel St. Petersburg. Here Doctor Stein 
 thought he would be kindly remembered from the time 
 when he studied and passed his examination here under 
 
Through Night to Light. 177 
 
 the auspices of Professor Bcrgcr, and used to drink 
 many a bottle of wine at said hotel in company with the 
 latter; but now nobody knew him, for the old landlord 
 had died several months ago, and the new landlord had 
 engaged new waiters. 
 
 This had the effect that the clerk looked upon him 
 as a stranger in the fullest sense of the word, and treated 
 him as such, presenting to him at once the large book 
 in which he was to enter his name. "Mr. Drostein.? 
 Thank you ! , . . Doctor O. Stein .? Ah ! I beg pardon ; 
 thought it was all one name. Are you going to honor 
 us with your presence for any length of time, sir.'' No.'* 
 Much life in town just now : theatre, horse-fair, stvi- 
 dent's ball. . . . Doctor Bruno } Know him very well, 
 practices in the house since the privy councillor has 
 been paralyzed. Was here to-day. . . Where he lives.'' 
 Quite near here. Post street, second house on the right, 
 close by the privy councillor's. Are you going to order 
 supper, sir.' No appetite.'' sorry to hear it! Very fine 
 fresh oysters ! Natives ! Anything else .'' water to drink .'' 
 Pitcher of water 1 Directly, sir, you shall have it at 
 once! " 
 
 An uncomfortable-looking room ; two lighted candles 
 on the table before the sofa; a trunk on a low trestle; a 
 hat-box on the chair close by ; all around silence, when 
 the step of the waiter is no longer heard in the long, 
 narrow passage. Oswald did not think the situation 
 calculated to cheer up a melancholy man. He made 
 haste to leave the room and the house. 
 
 It had been his first intention to call on Franz, the 
 only one in Grunwald from whom he could be sure of 
 receiving a hearty welcome — a friend's reception ; but 
 he soon abandoned the plan and wandered aimless and 
 purposeless through the streets. He had never felt at 
 home in Grunwald ; but yet he had not found the town 
 looking so utterly strange to him, even in the first days 
 of his former residence here. Was it only the effect of 
 his melancholy humor .'' Was it the dark, misty evening f 
 He did not recognize the streets — the squares through 
 which he used to walk so often ; and when he thought 
 he recalled one or the other feature, it was only like 
 
178 Through Night to Light. 
 
 something seen in a dream, wliere we confound the near 
 and the far chaotically in some great unknown distance. 
 At last he found himself in one of the streets leading 
 down to the harbor. Here he was more at home, for 
 the harbor with its crowd of boats and ships, its smell 
 of the sea and of tar, its monotonous sailors' songs, and 
 its ceaseless hammering and knocking and sawing, had 
 ever been his favorite part of the town, and the almost 
 daily end of his walks. 
 
 But to-night everything was deserted and death-like, 
 even in this the only lively portion of the old Hanse 
 town, every other part of which looked as if it had been 
 fast asleep for centuries, and was at best murmuring in 
 a half dream something about its past glory and power. 
 Here and there a light was visible through a cabin Avin- 
 dow, now and then a dog barked on the deck of a vessel, 
 or a sailor's hoarse call was heard ; otherv>'ise all was 
 silence and darkness. 
 
 He walked upon the wharf that stretched far into the 
 sea, and along which vessel lay by vessel, out to the 
 uttermost point. Here he stood for some time, sunk in 
 silent meditation, and looked with folded arms out into 
 the darkness which rested on the waters, and listened to 
 the low, monotonous splashing of the waves which were 
 all the time kissing and caressing the massive blocks of 
 the breakwater. Was this his dearly-beloved sea, on 
 which his dreams and his hopes had so often taken 
 wings in company with countless gulls .'' Was this the 
 dark abyss, in which his hopes and dreams had been 
 irretrievably swallowed up for all eternity, like the 
 treasure of a shipwrecked vessel } 
 
 Beyond, on the other side of the black waste of 
 waters, lay the island, so near and yet so far off, like the 
 time which he had spent there — the short span of time 
 that held all he had ever known of happiness and peace 
 in this life. A ferry-boat, which came from the island 
 across, sailed close by the outer end of the wharf on 
 which he was standing. He heard the measured dip of 
 the heavy oars as they struck the waters, and the peculiar 
 low screeching which they cause as they rub against 
 the gunwale ; he heard the confused voices of the pas- 
 
Through Night to Light. 179 
 
 sengers ; he could even, as they came nearer, distinguish 
 single words ; he thought he heard Helen's name. Per- 
 haps it was only an illusion, or an echo in his own 
 heart; but it struck him with peculiar force, and all of a 
 sudden a desire overcame him to seek out the house 
 where, as he knew, the fair maid was staying at the 
 time. 
 
 He went back into the town ; he crossed the market- 
 place. He stopped before the house where Berger had 
 lived. There was no light in the windows. He could 
 see by the light of a street-lamp that the green blinds 
 were closed, as in a house whose owner had died. From 
 the steeple of St. Nicholas the solemn music of a choral 
 was heard, in w^hich, according to an ancient custom, 
 Grunwald bids every evening at nine o'clock farewell 
 to the day that has gone by. Ordinarily the organist 
 only sends four men up to sing ; but on days when a 
 citizen of distinction has been gathered to his fathers, he 
 sends half, or the whole of the choir, according to the 
 desire of the survivors, who wish to give an expression 
 to their grief in this extraordinary manner. To-day 
 all the voices were fully represented — the deceased 
 must have been a man of very uncommon importance. 
 
 Oswald listened till the last note had died away. He 
 thought of death, and the Great Mystery which the grave 
 does not solve, but makes only darker, and how happy 
 the men are, after all, who find their trust in believing in 
 a Saviour and a Redeemer. 
 
 The long-drawn summons of the sentinel before the 
 main-guard awaked him from his dreams. The squeak- 
 ing voice of a youthful hero gave the command : " Carry 
 arms ! Ground arms ! Helmets off for prayer ! " Piety 
 by order — effusions of heart, according to the paragraph 
 of the regulations ! In a well ordered state everything 
 must go by rule. 
 
 " Why," said Oswald to himself, while he was walking 
 towards the town-gate, " why are you not a pedant among 
 pedants, since fate does not permit you to be a Roman 
 among Romans.? Why do you kick against the pricks 
 to which all the cattle patiently submit.'' You might be 
 as well off as the others. After all, it may not be so bad 
 
i8o Through Night to Light. 
 
 a thing to sit, as Berger used to call it, in the easy-chair 
 of an office ; the night-cap of a sinecure may protect one 
 against many an attack of rheumatism— rthe effect of a 
 draught in this windy outside world; and he who has a 
 virtuous wife lives twice as long; and when he is com- 
 pelled to die, like everybody else, they play and sing 
 from the steeple, that the whole town hears it and prays 
 for the peace of his soul." 
 
 Above him it rustled in the tall trees with which the 
 street was lined that led to the suburb and to Miss 
 Bear's boarding-school. The evening breeze has torn 
 the dense veil of fog, and the crescent of the increasing 
 moon was dancing through the clouds in their spectral 
 flight. A horseman galloped past him towards town. 
 The horse snorted ; sparks flew. A moment later, and 
 the noise was scarcely audible, and soon ceased alto- 
 gether. "-Somebody, I dare say, who rides for the doc- 
 tor ; a husband, perhaps, whose wife is taken ill ; a father, 
 whose son is lying on his death-bed." Oswald thought 
 of the night when Bruno died, and of his fearful ride 
 across the heath from Grenwitz to Fashwitz. If Bruno 
 had only lived I Oswald thought everything would have 
 happened differently then. It seemed to him as if the 
 death of the boy alone had made him so miserably poor — 
 as if he could have challenged a world in arms, with him 
 by his side. With him and good fortune ! no sacrifice 
 would have been too great for Bruno's sake ; not even 
 the sacrifice of his love for Helen. He would have wil- 
 lingly and cheerfully given the fair girl to Bruno — but to 
 him alone, in the world. Given } What had he to give 
 — he the beggar .? 
 
 Now he was standing before the house he had come 
 to see, and supported himself against the iron railing 
 of the garden. There was not a window lighted up in 
 the whole house. The inmates had probably all retired 
 to rest. He thought of the summer nights when he had 
 stood looking by the hour at the open window with the 
 curtains lowered, from which the music of a piano was 
 wafted to him through the soft, silent air; and liours 
 afterwards, long after the light had vanished behind the 
 red curtains and the music had ceased, and he had still 
 
Through Night to Light. i8i 
 
 wandered up and down between the flower-beds and 
 under the tall beech-trees, sometimes till the first purple 
 streak of morning-dawn appeared on the eastern hori- 
 zon, and the birds in the thick bushes began dreamily to 
 twitter above him. 
 
 A breath of wind rushed through the two tall poplar- 
 trees on both sides of the lofty portal and whispered 
 mysteriously in the dry leaves, a window-shutter flap- 
 ped in the house, a dog in a neighboring house began 
 to bark. 
 
 Oswald shivered as if he had a fever. The momentary 
 excitement after his long journey in the stage-coach had 
 passed away; he felt tired and sick. He buttoned up 
 his overcoat and turned to go back into the city. A car- 
 riage came rapidly towards him. A horseman with a 
 lantern in his hand galloped before it — probably the 
 same who before had galloped madly through the dark 
 night into town. 
 
 Could it be Doctor Braun, who was going away 1 
 The thought that he might possibly not find his friend at 
 home, awakened in Oswald the desire to see him and to 
 talk to him. In a few minutes — for the distances in 
 Grunwald are not considerable — he stood before the 
 house which the Avaiter ha-d tolcf-him was Doctor Braun's 
 house. The girl who opened the door said her master 
 was at the privy councillor's, adding that he spent all 
 his evenings there. Here Oswald was told that Bem- 
 perlein was in the sitting-room — Bemperlein, the only 
 one, with the exception of old Baumann, who knew his 
 relations to Frau von Berkow — the only one whom he 
 feared to meet ; whose reproachful glance, in case he 
 should not yet have been informed of the most recent 
 events, must be painful to him. 
 
 He only remembered, when he was in the street again, 
 that his going away in such a manner must have ap- 
 peared extraordinary, if not ridiculous. This disturbed 
 him and made him feel worse than before. He would 
 have liked best to hide himself in the lowest depth of 
 the earth ; to forget in sleep the misery of life. In sleep.'' 
 Why not in wine, when sleep is not to be had .'' " The 
 best of life is but intoxication," says Byron ; and there, 
 
1 82 Through Night to Light. 
 
 where a solitary lamp shines dimly between two stone 
 pillars, is the entrance to the cellars of the old city hall. 
 Down the long, broad staircase with the low steps, down 
 into the bowels of the earth, where nobody cares for sen- 
 timents that make the heart heavy, and for thoughts 
 that confuse the head ! 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE city cellars of Grunwald cannot rival those of 
 Bremen, but nevertheless they are very respecta- 
 ble cellars. The low, spacious vaults stretch far 
 under the city hall, and extend even below the market- 
 place, on which it is situated. There are rooms enough 
 that have in former days serv^ed as drinking rooms of 
 every size, and may even to-day be used for larger and 
 smaller companies, but what is most needed is wanting 
 — the guests. The good old times, when Grunwald 
 was wealthy and powerfu.l, are no longer. Those who 
 built these vaults and filled them with ringing of cups, 
 with songs of cheerful converse — the honorable sober- 
 minded burgesses with their broad shoulders, their 
 full, well-trimmed beards, and the broad-swords by their 
 sides — they sleep, all of them, sound, good sleep in the 
 old graveyards, or under the huge slabs of stone with 
 which the churches are paved, if they were members of 
 the council, or otherwise great men, and there " await a 
 blissful resurrection." Their grandchildren crowd to- 
 gether in dark, narrow chambers, and drink stale brown 
 beer, instead of fiery, golden wine; many a one, whose 
 ancestor went down these steps day by day, whenever 
 the rosy summer evening was lying on the high gable 
 roofs, or the storms of Avinter were careering through 
 the dark, narrow streets, hardly knows how it looks 
 down there in the city cellars. 
 
 Nevertheless they do not seem to be entirely deserted 
 by the good people of Grunwald. The dim little lamp 
 
Through Night to Light. 183 
 
 at the entrance burns night after night — often far into the 
 small hours, sometimes till daybreak — and the solemn 
 citizen who has been belated at some Christening feast 
 or other great festivity, and now Avalks home with wife 
 and daughter in the silent night through the deserted 
 streets, and past the city cellars, often sees a dim light 
 shine through the unwashed windows, and hears per- 
 haps low confused voices, which seem to rise from the 
 bowels of the earth and make an uncanny impression 
 at that hour and in that place. 
 
 But there are no gnomes carrying on their wicked 
 doings below there, only gay companions, jovial, or at 
 least not very pedantic fellows, who can fully appreciate 
 the value of a good glass of wine, taken from a good 
 cask, and enjoyed in good society. There are men who 
 do not relish all of life so very heartily that they 
 should not at times desire to wash the dusty, unpleasant 
 taste down with a glass of wine ; others who have nei- 
 ther chick nor child at home, and get tired at night 
 among their silent books; still others who, wearied of 
 the monotony of married life, Avant to have a merry 
 night for once; and still others, who have quite accident- 
 ally found their way down the broad cellar-steps, and 
 cannot very well get up again a few hours later, how- 
 ever broad the steps may be. There are young profes- 
 sional men, artists, actors — if there happen to be any 
 in town — young literati, now and then a farmer from 
 the neighborhood, or an official — these make the main 
 ingredients of the public which is apt to assemble every 
 evening in the great vault to the left of the entrance, 
 and sometimes, when they wish to be still more exclu- 
 sive, in a smaller room on the other side of the build- 
 ing. 
 
 Oswald knew the place very well from his former 
 residence here, although he had never reached the dig- 
 nity of an habitue. He had been occasionally at the 
 cellars with Berger, without taking much notice of the 
 rest of the company that might be there. Thus the 
 damp, cool air, filled with the peculiar odor of marvel- 
 lously-ancient walls, and the fragrance of last year's wine, 
 greeted him pleasantly, and he found without much 
 
184 Through Night to Light. 
 
 trouble the way to the low door which opened into the 
 drinking-hall. 
 
 Except the waiter, there happened to be at that mo- 
 ment nobody in the long, vaulted, and badly-lighted 
 room, but a single guest, who sat Avith his back to the 
 door, and did not allow himself to be disturbed in the least 
 by Oswald's entrance. He was pleasantly engaged in 
 discussing fresh oysters, and Oswald, who had taken his 
 seat not far from him at one of the small round tables, 
 noticed with some astonishment what a mountain of 
 shells the indefatigable worker had already accumulat- 
 ed. And yet he did not look tired. At least he leaned 
 only now and then back in his chair, in order to sip 
 with evident satisfaction a glass of wine, and then re- 
 newed his labors with a zeal which certainly spoke as 
 eloquently for the good quality of the oysters as for the 
 excellency of the digestive powers of the consumer. 
 
 The last shell was dropping from the mountain, and 
 the last drops were flowing from the bottle into the glass. 
 
 *' Sic transit gloria mundi," said the man; " nevertheless, 
 we can easily renew this gloria. Carole, bring another 
 dozen of these excellent dwellers in the deep, and half 
 a bottle of this most praiseworthy hock." 
 
 Oswald listened. The voice was familiar to him ; it 
 reminded him of by-gone, happy days. That fresh, clear 
 voice had refreshed and encouraged him more than once, 
 as the wind does the prisoner blowing in through the 
 open windows of his prison ; it did not fail to-day to have 
 the usual effect on his darkened mind. Of all men this 
 Avas the one whose company was by far the most wel- 
 come to-night. 
 
 He rose, therefore, approached him, and greeted him 
 with unusual animation. 
 
 " Ah, dottore, dottore I" exclaimed the oyster-cater, rising 
 at once and seizing the proffered hand. " You here .'' 
 Well, that is a most sensible notion of our stupid friend's 
 accident. Carole, a whole bottle instead of half a bot- 
 tle, and several dozen oysters instead of one." 
 
 " Am I really at this moment a persona grata to you, 
 Timm.' " said Oswald, taking a seat by Albert's side. 
 
 '■^ Persona grata! at this moment! " cried Albert Timm. 
 
Through Night to Light. 185 
 
 " Don Oswaldo ! Don Oswaldo ! I have missed you 
 sadly, upon my word, ever since we parted at Grenwitz, 
 and I am as delighted as a snow-bird to see you here again. 
 Where on earth have you been hiding all this time ? I 
 have inquired of everybody. Since when are you back .-'" 
 
 "Three hours ago." 
 
 " And, of course, you are hungry and thirsty, just as 
 you w^ere when you left the stage-coach ; at least you 
 look so. Carole, Carole ! Why does the fellow not 
 come.' At last! Here, doltore, is food for a sound 
 stomach, and drink for a sick heart ! Here's your health ! 
 Welcome in Grunwald ! " 
 
 And Mr. Timm'sface smiled so kindly as he said these 
 kind words that it would have looked like blackest in- 
 gratitude to doubt the sincerity of his sentiments. 
 
 Oswald at least was most pleasantly affected by this 
 cordial reception of a man whose friendship he had 
 never tried to win, whose amiable frankness he had often 
 metAvith repulsive coldness, and he felt this all the more 
 deeply as he had suffered a few moments before acutely 
 from a sense of loneliness in the world. 
 
 " One service deserves another, Timm," he said, while 
 the latter was filling the glasses again. " I can tell you 
 that I am heartily glad to have met you the very first 
 night I spend again in this town. Let us have another 
 glass ! Here's our good friendship ! " 
 
 " With pleasure ! " cried Mr. Timm, heartily grasping 
 Oswald's proffered hand. " We will hold together hon- 
 estly. Heaven knows this wretched old -fogy place 
 does not have an abundance of men with whom one can 
 hold together, or like to do it. But this league of two 
 noble souls ought to be celebrated in a nobler beverage. 
 Carole ! A bottle of champagne — clicquot and frappe 
 — else, by the bones of my fathers, the lightning of my 
 wrath falls upon your bald pate. And now come, dottore 
 fnio, tell us something of your wanderings ; or, rather, tell 
 us that some other time ; and let me know, first of all, for 
 that is most interesting to me, has Fame told us falsely 
 in making a most wonderful mixture of great and small 
 things of the last scenes of your farce, your drama, or 
 your tragedy at Grenwitz } " 
 
1 86 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Before I can answer that," said Oswald, whom the 
 oysters, the wine, Timm's company, and the whole at- 
 mosphere, were gradually putting into better humor, 
 " I must know what it is Fame has reported." 
 
 " Do you really wish to know? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Well, there were two readings ; but you must not 
 blame me. Stein, if I touch a sore place in your heart 
 without knowing." 
 
 " But, Timm, do you think I am a child 1 " 
 
 " In some respects all men are children, and remain 
 children, doltore, and you are no exception to the rule. 
 Whatever flatters our self-love, goes down as easily as a 
 rich oyster; whatever hurts our vanity, tastes like worm- 
 wood and quinine. Eh Men ! Some say you had favored 
 an understanding between Bruno — what a pity, by the 
 way, the poor boy had to bite the grass so young ! — and 
 Miss Helen ; that Felix had come to you to hold you to 
 an account about this in the name of the parents ; that 
 this had led to a difficulty between you, which had ended 
 in a scuffle ; that Felix had slipped, in his endeavor to 
 turn you out of the house, and that he had broken his 
 right — some say his left — arm, once; some say twice." 
 
 "The accursed rascal," murmured Oswald, between 
 his teeth, hastily throwing an empty oyster-shell to the 
 others. 
 
 " Did I not tell you I might annoy you, Oswald "i 
 Come, don't be a child, and wash your anger down in a 
 glass of this famous wine. The other reading is not 
 half so bitter." 
 
 " Let us hear!" 
 
 " According to this variation it was not the pupil, 
 but the teacher, whom the young lady looked upon with 
 favor; and the broken arm of the baron was not the 
 effect of a fall, but of a pistol ball, which was applied to 
 his aforesaid extremity in the presence of witnesses, and 
 according to all the rules of art." 
 
 " Well, and which reading do you prefer.? " 
 
 " Of course the latter, my brave Knight of La Mancha. 
 Here, Oswald — nobody hears us in these halls, sacred to 
 friendship and love — fill your glass and drink ! Drink it 
 
Through Night to Light. 187 
 
 to the last drop of silvery foani ! Her health! — the 
 health of the only one, the sweet, the fair, the beautiful 
 one, with the blueish-black hair and the dark sea-deep 
 eyes ! Drink ! I say, by the bones of the eleven thou- 
 sand virgins at Cologne ! Drink ! How, noble Don, 
 are you ashamed to confess the lady of your overflow- 
 ing heart? and to deny her before me — me, the wise 
 Merlin, who can hear the grass grow and the eyes sigh? 
 Have I not heard the sighing of yovir beautiful eyes in 
 those sunny days which are no more, when you and she, 
 two children of a rare kind, played innocently under 
 the rose-bushes and thought that no one saw you, not 
 even the Creator of heaven and earth who gave you the 
 warm breath with which you playfully whispered to 
 each other the sweet mysteries of love ? And did I not 
 hear how serpents' tongues hissed around you ? Did I 
 not see with what intense hatred basilisk eyes glared 
 at you ? Oh, I have seen and heard all that, and I knew 
 before that it would come thus, but I said nothing; for 
 speech is silver, but silence is gold, and he who meddles 
 with love affairs would do better to go and sit down in 
 a bed of nettles." 
 
 " Tell me, Timm, have you — have you seen her since 
 she has come to Grunwald ? " 
 
 " I have seen her, my master ! — not once, but many 
 times, by the side of other fair beauties, among whom 
 she looked like the rose of Sharon amid dandelions, 
 gliding over the pavement of Grunwald, through dis- 
 mal streets; and the paving-stones in the streets and the 
 bricks in the houses received speech, and they spoke and 
 sang : Blessed art thou among women ! " 
 
 "She is at Miss Bear's house, is she not?" Oswald 
 asked, w^ho thought it would be folly to try and conceal 
 his attachment from a man of such sharp observation 
 as Albert. 
 
 "Yes, she is at the She Bear's — this pearl of an argus- 
 eyed female. There she dwells, and sits at the window 
 and sees the clouds drift over the tops of the poplars; and 
 if you pass by there at noon, between twelve and one, 
 you can see her sit there yourself, as I have seen her 
 every time I have passed there at that hour. And 
 
t88 Through Night to Light. 
 
 always she raised her beautiful eyes, and always she 
 looked at me inquiringly: Can you bring me no news 
 of him — of him, the only man I love dearly? Why, 
 Oswald, I — a prosy old fogy — I speak in verses when- 
 ever I think of the maid; and you, who are a poet, mean 
 to deny that you love her with all your heart, with all 
 your soul, with all your mind ? Fie upon you ; you do 
 not deserve that I take so much trouble about you — that 
 I have thought of you these last weeks more frequently 
 than you have done during the whole time. But in- 
 gratitude is the reward of the world, and — Carole, 
 another bottle ! — I shall hereafter not trouble myself 
 about you and your fate any further." 
 
 Timm rested his head in his hand, as Oswald had 
 been doing these last ten minutes. A pause followed, 
 while bald-headed Charles placed a new bottle of cham- 
 pagne into the wine-cooler, turned it round a few times 
 in the ice, and then left them again as noiselessly as he 
 had come. 
 
 This sudden transition from exuberant hilarity into 
 such melancholy silence, in an elastic nature like Sur- 
 veyor Timm's, was somewhat too sudden to be perfectly 
 natural. Oswald, however, was too busy with his own 
 thoughts to notice this. He thought Timm was sincere, 
 and he was flattered by the lively interest which he had 
 excited in a man whom he had heretofore looked upon 
 as altogether frivolous and selfish. He filled his own 
 glass and Albert's from the new bottle, and said, 
 
 " I am not ungrateful, Timm ; I am really not so ; and 
 least of all in this case. And if I have heretofore not 
 put full faith in your friendship, it was only because I 
 felt how little I had deserved it. Let us have another 
 glass together ! You know you must not be exacting 
 with a melancholy man like myself! " 
 
 " Well, I should think I knew that," said Timm, with 
 his usual merry laugh, pushing back the long fair hair 
 that had fallen down upon his forehead, and emptying 
 his glass at a single draught. And I have often won- 
 dered how a man like yourself, who has a right to 
 enjoy life more than any one else, can look upon the 
 world in a way which seems only fit for sick canary 
 
Through Night to Light. 189 
 
 birds and like invalids. I should say nothing if you 
 had never commenced to enjoy it from mere bashful- 
 ness, or if you had wasted your strength in enjoyment ; 
 but as neither the one nor the other is evidently the 
 case with you — as you are not an enthusiastic saint nor 
 a worn-out roue — as you suffer neither of an exuberance 
 of strength nor of too great weakness, I really cannot 
 tell what is the matter with you, except one thing." 
 
 " And what is that ? " 
 
 Mr. Timm rested his elbows on the table, and the 
 smooth face in his white hands, and smiled craftily at 
 Oswald. 
 
 " And that is — what, Timm .'' " 
 
 " Ten thousand dollars annual income." 
 
 Oswald laughed. 
 
 "A very prosaic remedy for contempt of the world." 
 
 " But a very radical one, and in your case infallible." 
 
 " Why exactly in my case .-* " 
 
 Timm filled the glasses once more, lighted a fresh 
 cigar, and said : 
 
 "Heine, you know, divides men in two classes: fat 
 Grecians and lean Nazarenes. I have found this distinc- 
 tion as acute as true. The former believe in Our Lady 
 of Melos, the latter worship the Virgin Dolorosa. The 
 former enjoy the good things of life in cheerful happi- 
 ness; the latter prefer a grumbling resignation and 
 meditative asceticism. In order that both classes should 
 be right, that the Grecians should be able to live well 
 and the Nazarenes pray well, the former must have an 
 abundance of money, and the latter must be poor, very 
 poor indeed." 
 
 " Before you go on with your exposition, Timm, tell me 
 first to which of the two classes you belong yourself" 
 
 " To both, or to neither of the two, as you choose. I have 
 the good digestion, the sound teeth, the fine perception 
 — in a word, the desire and the capacity to enjoy which 
 belongs to the Grecians; but I have also the tenacity 
 and frugality necessary to the Nazarenes for the practice 
 of their peculiar virtues. I have the invaluable talent 
 of the camel to be able to thirst a long time without 
 losing heart or appetite; on the contrary, abstinence 
 
ipo Through Night to Light. 
 
 only serves in my case to sharpen the appetite and to 
 season the next drink more attractively. When I have 
 travelled through the desert, and — as just now, for in- 
 stance — the branches of mimosas and the fans of palm- 
 trees wave over me, and the icy-cold well — as just now, 
 for instance, from the bottle — I meant to say, from the 
 rock — foams and purls — then I bend my long camel's 
 neck and drink and drink and drink, and bless the 
 dry, brown desert which has led me to such a delicious 
 well." 
 
 And Mr. Timm poured down a full glass of cham- 
 pagne with the hasty eagerness of a traveller whose 
 tongue is glued to the palate. 
 
 Oswald watched the exulting companion who sat 
 opposite to him with a peculiar sense of pleasure, not 
 unmixed with envy. How sharp and bold, and yet how 
 fine and intelligent, were the features in this smooth, al- 
 most boyish face ! How Avell that haughty supercilious- 
 ness suited him, wliich played around his delicate nos- 
 trils and curved the sharply-accented red lips ! How the 
 words flew from these lips, swift as feathered arrows, 
 each one of which hits the bull's-eye ! What a sovereign 
 contempt for mere phrases, for any kind of ornament, 
 for all those rags with which hypocrites and fools try to 
 cover their nakedness! How eloquent the whole bear- 
 ing of the man, his head thrown boldly back, as he blew 
 the smoke of his cigar from him, or as he took the bottle- 
 from the cooler, shook it, and filled again and again his 
 empty glass to overflowing ! How light the burden of 
 life seemed to be to this man, light as to the lion who 
 leaps with the colt in his teeth swiftly over hedges and 
 ditches ! 
 
 Oswald was not inclined at that moment to cast a 
 glance into the bottomless abyss of selfishness which 
 lay concealed under the surface of this humor, dancing 
 about in merry waves. The time and the place were 
 not favorable to such an analysis. He felt down here, 
 in this deep, quiet cellar, with its dim, mysterious light 
 of two small candles, as if he were thousands of miles 
 away from the rest of the world. He had come here to 
 drink himself into oblivion ; he had succeeded in his 
 
Through Night to Light. 191 
 
 wishes. His brow was all aglow, as he followed the 
 example of his companion and poured down glass after 
 glass. He had not felt so free and so happy for a long 
 time as he did at that moment. 
 
 "As for you, now, noble knight," continued Timm, 
 " you are a Grecian, without the means of being so at 
 all times, and without the gift of simply transferring 
 the time during which you cannot be so to the account 
 of the future. Instead of doing that, you play the Naz- 
 arene, and feel just as happy during the time as the 
 eagle whose wings and claws have been clipped, and 
 who wears a chain around his foot. The exuberant 
 strength which you cannot employ outwardly, turns 
 within and checks the normal growth of your nature, 
 which has once for all been intended for enjoyment. 
 This is not the first time I call your attention to this 
 contradiction in you. Do you recollect what I told you 
 already at Grenwitz "i You hate the nobles, you hate the 
 rich, you hate the powerful, because the ten fingers of your 
 hands itch with a desire to be noble and rich and pow- 
 erful yourself Do not talk to me of your moral hum- 
 bug of the nobility of mind, the wealth of a pure heart, 
 and the power of truth ! All that is mere stuff for those 
 who know what merchandise is sold in the market of 
 life. Pshaw ! what has a man like you to do with pov- 
 erty — a man of your youth, your charms, your pretty 
 face — for, by heaven, Oswald, you are a handsome fellow, 
 a man whom the women embrace without his asking, 
 a man of thoroughly aristocratic tastes and tendencies ! 
 It is simply ridiculous! You ought not to be a poor 
 schoolmaster, but a wealthy baron, like those Grenwitz' 
 people with whom, by the way, you have a most striking 
 resemblance; then you could enjoy life, and afterwards 
 blow out your brains with some show of reason ; then 
 you could marry the fair Helen ; could do, in a word, or 
 not do whatever you liked ! That is why I say again : you 
 want an income of ten thousand dollars. I wish I could 
 get it for you, I would do it, and were I to take them I 
 know not where." 
 
 " I really believe you were capable of doing it, Timm." 
 " Why not .'' And if it were only from curiosity to see 
 
192 Through Night to Light. 
 
 how you would act in such a case towards your old 
 friend." 
 
 " I would do with the mammon, you may rest assured 
 of that, as I did when I was a boy with the cherries peo- 
 ple gave me — I would share it with my friends." 
 
 Albert looked fixedly at Oswald, as he said these 
 words with flushed cheek and raised voice. Suddenly 
 he said, as if awaking from a dream : 
 
 "I am a curious fellow, Oswald; as sceptical as a 
 heathen, and yet as fond of all sorts of omens as an old 
 woman. As I was sitting here alone eating my oysters, 
 I said to myself: you happen to have a few dollars in 
 your pocket and you would like to spend them with a 
 friend. And then there occurred to me, as to Wallenstein, 
 the question : who of all those whom I meet here eve- 
 ning after evening meant it best and most honestly } and 
 that it should be the one who would first enter at the 
 door. But, strange enough, contrary to all the customs 
 of the place, not one of them came. Instead of that, you 
 came — you, of whom I had not thought at all. Oswald, 
 I do not know how you think about such matters, and it 
 may be that my request will offend you, but I should 
 like to drink with you to our future, our intimate friend- 
 ship. What do you say.'* " 
 
 " With all my heart ! " cried Oswald. " There is just 
 one more glass for each of us in the bottle." 
 
 " And no one shall ever drink again out of this glass ! " 
 cried Albert, and threw the empty glass on the floor. 
 
 Oswald did the same ; but the noise of the breaking 
 glasses sounded shrill and painful to his ear, like the 
 laughter of delighted demons. 
 
 Bald Charles, who had sat behind his counter at the 
 other end of the hall, nodding, started up when he heard 
 the noise, and came gliding up, drunk with sleep, think- 
 ing they had called him. 
 
 "How is it, Oswald," cried Timm; "I think we had 
 better have another bottle. We sliall not meet again 
 as young as we are now." 
 
 "No," said Oswald; "let us be content. My head 
 burns. And I have to call, to-morrow, on Tom, Dick, 
 and Harry. Wliat is to pay } " 
 
Through Night to Light. 193 
 
 " Stop ! " cried Mr. Timm, holding Oswald's arm. 
 " ]Mine is the helmet, and it belongs to me ! Carole, if 
 you accept a red cent from this gentleman, I break 
 this empty bottle on your bald skull! Come! Make 
 yourself paid out of this rag for to-night and for the last 
 nights ; and what remains over, why you can buy your- 
 self on the way a wig with it, my Carole ! " 
 
 With these words Timm had drawn a twenty-five dol- 
 lar note from a bulky parcel which he took from his 
 coat-pocket, and handed it to the waiter, who seemed to 
 be not a little astonished at this sudden wealth in the 
 hands of one of his very worst customers. At least he 
 grinned in a very peculiar manner as he took the note, 
 while Mr. Timm put back the package with an air of 
 perfect indifference, and tilting his hat on his head, sang : 
 
 " I am the last of guests to-night, 
 Come show me out of the house ! 
 And we wish each other good-night, 
 I take a kiss from my little mouse ! " 
 
 They were standing outside in the street. The mist 
 had disappeared entirely, and the moon was shining 
 brightly on the dark sky. The lamps had gone out, and 
 deep shadows alternated with broad streaks of light in 
 the narrow streets between the high gable-ends. A 
 watchman standing at the corner with his long spear 
 and antediluvian horn, called out the twelfth hour. 
 Nothing else was to be seen in the death-like streets 
 through which Oswald and Albert were now walking 
 home, arm in arm, as it became such good and intimate 
 friends : Oswald unusually heated and excited, Albert 
 as cool and fresh as if he had been drinking nothing 
 but water in the city cellars at Grunwald. They talked 
 over the members of the town council and of the college 
 on whom Oswald had to wait the next day, and Oswald's 
 career at the college especially, which Albert declared 
 Avas a fabulous idea, such as no one could have conceived 
 but a Knight of La Mancha. Thus they reached the door 
 of the hotel, then they wished each other good-night. 
 Oswald went in ; Albert lounged down the main street, 
 his hands in his trousers. But suddenly he stopped and 
 seemed to meditate for a while. Then he turned into 
 
194 Through Night to Light. 
 
 a by-street and vanished in a labyrinth of lanes and 
 courts, formed by rheumatic little cottages, whose exte- 
 rior did not belie the reputation enjoyed by this part 
 of the town. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 THE official dwelling of the rector of the college, 
 Doctor Moritz Clemens, was shining to-night in 
 unwonted splendor. They had not only re- 
 moved the covers from all the sofas, sofa-cushions, and 
 chairs, in the best room and the sitting-room, so that 
 the luxurious light of two lamps and half a dozen 
 stearine candles poured in floods over the displayed 
 magnificence ; but even the rector's study, on one side, 
 and the sitting-room and chamber of the two daughters, 
 on the other side, had been changed into salons by remov- 
 ing the writing-table in the one, and the beds in the 
 other, while each was lighted up with a lamp and three 
 candles. The aromatic fragrance which always rises 
 when incense is strewn on the hot-plate of the stove, 
 perfumed all the rooms, and sufficed in itself to produce 
 a festive excitement in every well-regulated mind. 
 
 The Clemens family is in grand gala, and awaits the 
 guests who are to come. The Clemens family consists 
 of four persons : father, mother, and two grown daugh- 
 ters. Rector Clemens is a man of fifty years, who must 
 have been very handsome in his youth, and who may 
 still pass for very good-looking. He wears his curly 
 brown hair very long, and, contrary to all fashion, his 
 collar turned down d la Byron over a loosely-tied hand- 
 kerchief, which gives him, in connection with a some- 
 what vague softness of his features, an ideal, not to say 
 an effeminate expression. He is fully conscious of the 
 soft character of his appearance, and does all he can to 
 heighten the effect. His speech is soft, his voice is soft, 
 his movements are soft. "I am called Clemens, and I 
 try to do honor to my name," he is accustomed to say, 
 
Through Night to Light. 195 
 
 modestly, whenever anybody compliments him on the 
 " perfect humanity " of his manner and his appearance. 
 " Humanity " is his pet word. The learned world knows 
 him as the author of a moral philosophical work, 
 " Purification of Man towards Perfect Humanity; " and 
 the public at large through his dramatic poem, " John 
 at Patmos," which has appeared in a second edition in 
 the bookstores of the University of Grunwald, and bears 
 the motto, ^^ Homo sum, nih'd humani mihi alienum puto.'' 
 
 Mrs. Rector Clemens is, at least in her outward ap- 
 pearance, a perfect contrast to her husband. Her figvire 
 rises far beyond the ordinary size, and is broad and 
 strong. The features of her face are proportionately 
 heavy and massive ; her voice is a tolerably deep bass, and 
 her movements and manners remind you forcibly of a 
 vessel rolling in a trough of the sea. She is indeed the 
 daughter of a captain of a mail steamer, and has made in 
 her young days twice the voyage to the Indies. It is 
 hard to understand why her etherealizing husband with 
 his enthusiasm for Hogarth's line of beauty, should have 
 chosen her above all others, and the only explanation is 
 to be found in that mysterious affinity which unites the 
 strong and the weak, the stern and the gentle. The con- 
 trast between the two characters, however, does not ap- 
 pear quite so striking upon closer observation. The 
 husband has succeeded in lending short w^ngs to the 
 somewhat clumsy psyche of his wife. He has talked to 
 her so much about true humanity, that she is determined 
 to become aesthetic in spite of her colossal size, and to be 
 refined in spite of her defective education. She reads a 
 good deal, although she does not understand it all ; and 
 she is the founder and manager of a dramatic club, al- 
 though she has never been able to distinguish very clearly 
 between a dative and an accusative. 
 
 The two Misses Clemens are eighteen and nineteen 
 years old, and enjoy the beautiful old German names of 
 Thurnelda and Fredegunda. The latter resembles her 
 mother, Thurnelda her father, but the difference in charac- 
 ter, which the common longing after humanity has nearly 
 effaced in the parents, is still very perceptible in the 
 daughters. They quarrel very frequently, are almost 
 
196 Through Night to Light. 
 
 always of different opinions, and resemble each other 
 only in one point — the very high opinion they entertain 
 of themselves. 
 
 " It seems to me our dear guests keep us waiting 
 rather long," said Rector Clemens, looking at his watch 
 for the twelfth time in the last twelve minutes, as he 
 nervously walked up and down in the room. 
 
 " I cannot comprehend why the good people don't 
 come," said Mrs. Rector Clemens, sitting down for a 
 moment on the sofa and wiping her heated brow with 
 her handkerchief. " I had asked Doctor Stein expressly 
 to be sure to come before seven, because I wanted to 
 read his part over with him." 
 
 "Will he be able to read the Captain ?" said Miss 
 Fredegunda Clemens from the adjoining room, where 
 she was busy with her dress before a mirror. 
 
 " He'll read it at least as well as Broadfoot," replied 
 Miss Thurnelda in an irritated tone. 
 
 " But, children, surely you are not going to quarrel 
 now," said the mother, trying to appease them. 
 
 " Fredegunda cannot stop teasing me," said Thurnelda. 
 
 " And you are always trying to be better than every- 
 body else," said Fredegunda, appearing in the door. 
 
 " For heaven's sake, children, I pray you, keep quiet," 
 cries Doctor Clemens, with imploring voice, raising 
 his hands as if in prayer ; " I hear somebody in the 
 passage." 
 
 The door was really opened at that moment by a maid, 
 and in walk Professor Snellius, Mrs. Professor Snellius, 
 and Miss Ida Snellius. 
 
 The broken peace of the Clemens family is immedi- 
 ately restored. They receive the new-comers as heartily 
 as people who have worl'ced their way to genuine hu- 
 manity are apt to welcome their friends. 
 
 Professor Snellius, teacher of the first form and cor- 
 rector, a man of some forty years, aspired, like Rector 
 Clemens, and perhaps even more energetically, to the 
 ideal, and was perhaps even more favored in these efforts 
 by his outward appearance. While the beauty of Rector 
 Clemens had something vague about it, the character 
 imprinted on the clear features of Professor Snellius Avas 
 
Through Night to Light. 197 
 
 unmistakable; even the most maliciovis critic could not 
 have denied that he bore a more than passing resemblance 
 to his favorite poet, Schiller. His admirers found in him 
 the same boldly-curved nose, with the electric spasms 
 around the nostrils, the same earnestness, the same maj- 
 esty, the same tall form, which, however, was not dressed 
 in ideal costume, bvit yielded so far to the demands 
 of the time as to submit to a plain black suit, in which 
 the painful neatness is interrupted only by the spotless 
 white of a somewhat tight cravat. Professor Snellius 
 is a pedagogue in the fullest sense of the word. His 
 erudition is literally overwhelming. He teaches all the 
 modern languages, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, Sanscrit, and 
 is not quite unacquainted even with Chinese, which he 
 reads in his leisure hours. He is enthusiastic about the 
 young and his vocation as a teacher of the young. He 
 has proclaimed his views on this most important task, 
 and his propositions how to solve its problems in the 
 best manner, in his voluminous work : " History of Edu- 
 cation among the West Asiatic Nations prior to the 
 times of Rhamses the Great." The motto of this work, 
 and at the same time the professor's own motto, is: 
 " Through struggle to victory ! " Professor Snellius looks 
 soberly upon life, and stammers a little whenever he 
 becomes excited, as very frequently happens to him, 
 about the want of ideal enthusiasm in his pupils, or 
 about any other of his favorite subjects. 
 
 Mrs. Professor Snellius is a little lady who would be 
 insignificant if she were not the wife of such a very 
 great scholar. Miss Ida Snellius is an exceedingly tail 
 and exceedingly awkward girl of sixteen, who looks 
 marvellously like her father, and has the reputation of 
 having inherited largely tlae erudition of her father. 
 She likes to converse with highly-educated gentlemen — 
 with others she does not speak at all^ — of comparative 
 philology, and of Wilhelm von Humboldt, and is re- 
 ported to have read through the twelve volumes of her 
 father's famous work. This report, however, is so mon- 
 strous, that its truth may well be doubted. 
 
 The long-drawn salutations between the families 
 Clemens and Snellius had not yet come to an end, when 
 
ipS Through Night to Light. 
 
 the door opened once more to admit Dr. Kubel with 
 wife and daughter. Kubel teaches the third form, and is 
 a round, jovial little man, with a smoothly-shaven face, 
 and white, well-kept hands — so round and so jovial that 
 our days no longer produce the like, and tliat theyAvere 
 found only in the peaceful, stagnant waters of the period 
 from the Congress of Vienna to the year 1848, in out- 
 of-the-way colleges and other quiet districts of quiet Ger- 
 many. His voice is loud and squeaking, and reminds 
 you, as the figure of the man himself did, of the harmless 
 dwellers of morasses. His erudition is not remarka- 
 ble. Scoffers maintain that his only merit as a philolo, 
 gist consists in his having a very pretty daughter. Mary 
 Kubel is indeed a very pretty, brown-eyed girl, ever 
 cheerful and ready to laugh, who is unspeakably des- 
 pised by the Misses Snellius and Clernens ; by the for- 
 mer because she has once confounded Alexander and 
 William von Humboldt ; and by the latter because she 
 has no idea of reading dramatic compositions. To-day 
 she especially roused the indignation of Thurnelda and 
 Fredegunda, because she arrived at the same time with 
 the two doctors, Winimer and Broadfoot, and therefore 
 has the appearance of having them in her train. Now 
 Thurnelda and Fredegunda are accustomed to claim the 
 attentions of these two gentlemen as their own exclu- 
 sive right, and that not without reason, for Mr. Wini- 
 mer wears now for about six months a lock of Thur- 
 nelda's hair near his heart, and exhibits it in sentimental 
 moments to his intimate friends, threatening them with 
 fearful disgrace if they should ever, ever betray him ; and 
 Mr. Broadfoot has lost at least a dozen philippines, and, 
 as some say, with them his heart, to Fredegunda, during 
 the six months since he received his appointment at the 
 college. Doctor Winimer is a slender young man of 
 medium size, whose tact in the intercourse with the fair 
 sex is a proverb among his colleagues, and who is al- 
 ways in more or less nervous excitement — tlianks, no 
 doubt, to the many delicate relations in which he stands, 
 and of which he speaks in mysterious terms. Doctor 
 Broadfoot is a gentleman whom a stranger might take 
 for a butcher, and who is the continual butt of his 
 
Through Night to Light. 199 
 
 friends, on account of his enormous hands and feet, and 
 his ordinary manners. 
 
 " Now, our club is nearly assembled," says Rector 
 Clemens, rubbing his hands softly and raising his voice 
 moderately. " Our dear guests alone have not come 
 yet." 
 
 "Our guests, dear coIlcgaV says Professor Snellius. 
 " I thought the question was in the singularis of 
 hospcs ? " 
 
 '■'■ Minime !'' smiled the rector. "I have prepared a 
 dual, yes, I may say a plural of surprises for you to-night, 
 gentlemen and ladies. There will be two new guests 
 here, besides our new colleague, of whom I expect great 
 things for our social intercourse. Can you guess who 
 they are 1 " 
 
 " But, Moritz, it was to be a surprise ! " says Mrs. 
 Clemens, in a reproachful tone. 
 
 " I think, my dear, it is better to prepare the club 
 beforehand. Is it not our wish to receive the persons 
 in question, not only as our guests for to-night, but to 
 win them permanently over for our little club; and 
 for that purpose, you know, we must have the con- 
 sent of all the members, according to the regulations 
 which you have prepared yourself." 
 
 " Who is it, rector.? " asked Doctor Winimer. "You 
 torture us." 
 
 " A gentleman whose name has a good sound in the 
 republic of letters, and a lady who will be of special 
 interest for you, Collega Winimer, in your capacity as lyric 
 poet .? " 
 
 "A lady.-* " cried Mr. Winimer, passing his hand 
 through his carefully-arranged hair, his pride and his 
 ornament, a gesture for which he receives his punish- 
 ment immediately in a reproving glance from the lady 
 whose lock he wears upon his heart. 
 
 "Yes; a lady, a highly-gifted lyric talent." 
 
 " No doubt, Primula ; I mean Mrs. Professor Jager ! " 
 cries Mr. Winimer. 
 
 " You have guessed it ; the poetess of the * Cornflowers ' 
 
 nd the interpreter of the fragments of Chrysophilos, 
 
 will appear to-night as stars, and, we hope, be willing to 
 
200 Through Night to Light. 
 
 accept a permanent engagement hereafter," said Rector 
 Clemens, with his softest smile. 
 
 A long-drawn, unisonous "Ah!" of astonishment, 
 testified to the interest felt by the company in this 
 announcement. 
 
 " I had another reason, besides, why I invited Mr. and 
 Mrs. Jager to-night," continues the rector; "it was, so 
 to say, a consideration of humanity for our new col- 
 league, Doctor Stein. He is an entire stranger in our 
 circle, and seems to be remarkably shy, embarrassed, 
 and little accustomed to move in larger circles. Mr. 
 and Mrs. Jager, he told me himself this morning, are 
 old acquaintances of his — from the time when he was a 
 tutor, I believe — and he will no doubt be glad to meet 
 to-night among so many strange or nearly strange faces, 
 at least a few old friends." 
 
 " This delicate attention does you honor, coHcga,'" 
 says Professor Snellius, pressing the rector's hand, and 
 displaying in the act the elegiac feature near the nos- 
 trils. 
 
 " But I think, Mrs. Clemens, the parts have all been 
 distributed," says Doctor Winimer, who is to read" 
 " Max," and is all the more opposed to any change 
 of programme, as his beloved Thurnelda reads the 
 "Thekla," and he has spent four weeks' arduous study 
 upon learning his part. 
 
 " I have given Doctor Stein the Captain, who was not 
 yet given out," says Mrs. Clemens, in the tone of one 
 not accustomed to contradiction, and allows no opposi- 
 tion. " That is a very nice part, and he can show to-night 
 whether he can read or not. I should have liked, to be 
 sure, to read it over with him, but he must look out for 
 himself now. As to Mr. and Mrs. Jager, I have given 
 them the Devereux and MacDonald, who were still va- 
 cant." 
 
 " But, my dear Mrs. Clemens," squeaked Doctor Kubel, 
 "do you really think those parts are quite suitable for 
 our new friends at their first debut } " 
 
 " Why not, dear doctor.?" asks the manager, with a 
 frown of impatience. 
 
 " I only think they will hardly like it particularly to 
 
Through Night to Light. 201 
 
 make their first appearance among us as murderers," says 
 Doctor Kubel. 
 
 The lady manager, whose brow has become darker 
 and darker as her jocose guest speaks, is about to reply, 
 but is prevented from doing so, for the door opens at 
 that moment in order to admit Mr. and Mrs. Professor 
 (ex-pastor) Jager into the room. 
 
 The noble pair have not left the " lowly roof" and the 
 "country fields " behind them without a change which 
 might possibly escape the careless observer, but which 
 the sharper eye would at once discern in many a charac- 
 teristic symptom. Professor Jager knows but too well 
 the use which the mask of humility, of modesty, and un- 
 pretending simplicity has rendered Pastor Jager, to lay 
 it aside now when he has barely reached half of his am- 
 bitious end. He has only aired it a little, and he who 
 has eyes to see, can at times very clearly discern under- 
 neath, his true face, marked with the double impress of 
 the scholar's conceit and the priest's pride. Mrs. Jager 
 affords the same sight, only translated into childish and 
 foolish words. The author of the " Cornflowers " has the 
 air of a person who expects every moment an effusion 
 of, overwhelming praise, and is quite determined to de- 
 precate it. If the appearance of the professor reminds 
 one of the well-known wolf in sheep's clothes, and one 
 cannot very well feel quite safe in his neighborhood, his 
 wife's appearance recalls the familiar crow, who thought 
 herself Juno's owm bird, and it requires an effort to re 
 main serious. The change in the outward appearance 
 is less perceptible ; the interpreter of Chrysophilos has 
 exchanged his plain glasses in horn with a pair of gold 
 spectacles, and Primula wears in her golden hair a few 
 artistic imitations of those blue flowers that have fur- 
 nished her with a title for her poems. Both hold in 
 their hands a copy of Wallenstein, full of joyous antici- 
 pations, hoping to carry off the honors of the evening 
 by their masterly declamation, and without the most re- 
 mote suspicion of the mortal insult which is to be in- 
 flicted upon their pride during the next ten minutes. 
 
 Full of hope and free of suspicion they enter the 
 room, welcome the " highly-honored landlord and land- 
 9* 
 
202 Through Night to Light. 
 
 lady," and greet the younger gentlemen of the college, 
 who are formally introduced. This is the first large 
 party at which they appear since their triumphant 
 return to Grunwald. Rector Clemens is known for the 
 intelligent and interesting company he has at his house; 
 he surpasses in this the other professors of the univer- 
 sity even, unless it be Privy Councillor Roban, Avhose 
 parties, however, do not consume half as much poetical 
 sentiment. Mr. and Mrs. Jager are determined that this 
 circle shall soon be only the nebular preparation for the 
 brilliant light of their own superiority. 
 
 " Ah ! my worthy friend," says Professor Jager, after 
 having saluted Clemens and Snellius, to Doctor Kubel, 
 under whom he has been sitting as pupil, pressing the 
 fat, white hands with great warmth ; " how delighted I am 
 to meet you, my highly esteemed teacher, and to see you 
 in such excellent health ! Indeed, one might say of you 
 as of Wallenstein, that the swift years have passed over 
 your brown hair without leaving a trace. Indeed, 
 indeed, 7ncns sana in co-pore sano. I learnt that from you, 
 but you have practised what you taught. Doctor Wini- 
 mer, I rejoice exceedingly to make your personal 
 acquaintance; both myself and my wife have known 
 you long and held you dear, through your charming 
 * Mayflowers.' Permit me to present you to my wife ; 
 I should like to see the Cornflowers and the Mayflowers 
 bound vip in a bouquet, ha, ha, ha ! Doctor Broadfoot, 
 I am happy to meet a man of science, of your great merit. 
 Your admirable monographs on Origens and Eusebius 
 have rendered me essential service in writing my Frag- 
 ments. I am glad to be able, at last, to thank you in 
 person." 
 
 While Professor Jager was thus making the round, 
 winding snake-like through the circle of the gentlemen. 
 Primula flitted sylph-like through the circle of ladies. 
 She had, like the "maiden from afar," a gift for every 
 one. She pays a compliment to the elder ladies. She 
 envies Thurnelda and Fredegunda their " charming, 
 highly-poetical " names; she congratulates Ida Snellius 
 on her progress in Portuguese, and pats Mary Kubel 
 on the blushing cheeks and calls her a dear, sweet child. 
 
Through Night to Light. 203 
 
 " But our colleague comes really a little too late," says 
 Rector Clemens, looking at his watch. "I think, Au- 
 gusta, we might have tea." 
 
 " Whom do you expect, my dear sir .? " asks Professor 
 Jager of the rector. 
 
 " Whose foot did not yet cross this threshold .'' " asks 
 Primula, who is full of reminiscences of Wallenstein, 
 of the lady manager. 
 
 At the very moment, when the professor and his wife 
 are about to answer these questions, the door opens and 
 Oswald's tall form appears in the frame. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 WHEN the last comer at a party enters the room 
 at last, he always excites a certain sensation in 
 the assembled company, especially when, as was 
 here the case, the arrival of the guest has been looked 
 for with some curiosity. Oswald was a perfect stran- 
 ger to the whole circle. His only acquaintance was 
 the rector, with whom he had officially met. The other 
 gentlemen and ladies, belonging to the college, he had 
 perhaps seen now and then in company during his 
 former residence in Grunwald, but without noticing 
 them or being noticed by them. When he had paid his 
 visits during the day, he had found nobody at home 
 except the Kubel family. The gentlemen were curious 
 to see their new colleague, the older ladies the young 
 man who might possibly become one of these days 
 their son-in-law, and the young ladies the new acquisi- 
 tion for their social meetings — all were ready to exam- 
 ine him and to criticize. Thus there followed a pause 
 in the merry conversation, as he entered, and he had to 
 encounter the eyes of the whole company. 
 
 Undismayed by this cross-fire of glances, Oswald ap- 
 proached Mrs. Clemens, kissed her hand, excused his 
 late arrival, and begged her to present him to the other 
 
204 Through Night to Light. 
 
 ladies, whom he was not yet fortunate enough to know. 
 After this ceremony had been performed in due form, he 
 begged the rector in like manner to make him acquainted 
 with the gentlemen ; then he turned again to the ladies 
 to pay a few compliments to his hostess, and at last to 
 Primula, who immediately entered upon a lively con- 
 versation with marked eagerness. Primula had taken 
 Oswald from the first moment into her poetic heart, on 
 account of his " fair, chevalieresque, and truly romantic 
 appearance," as she called it, and all the admonitions of 
 her husband had not been able permanently to arrest 
 the current of her sympathetic sentiments. She had, to 
 be sure, paid due respect in the country to existing cir- 
 cumstances, and dropped the fallen greatness, but she 
 had determined in her heart to follow the impulse of 
 her soul freely whenever she should be able to let her 
 captive psyche fly with untrammelled wings. That mo- 
 ment had come now ; she greeted Oswald, who had be- 
 come more interesting than ever to her through his " ex- 
 ceedingly romantic catastrophe at Castle Grenwitz," 
 with the double warmth of friendship and of admiration. 
 Oswald, however, who was determined, if possible, to 
 make himself acceptable to all the ladies, could not be 
 kept long by all the charms of the poetess ; he talked 
 seriously with the elderly ladies, he teased the younger 
 ones, and after ten minutes he seemed to have accom- 
 plished his end. 
 
 In the meantime he had been carefully watched by the 
 gentlemen, who had gathered around Professor Jager. 
 The interpreter of the fragments of Chrysophilos hated 
 Oswald with a very hearty hatred. Oswald had never 
 paid the vain man the attention which he claimed, and 
 had even treated him with undisguised contempt, es- 
 pecially during the latter part of his stay at Grenwitz. 
 Professor Jager had never forgotten the insult offered 
 to Pastor Jager, and waited only for a suitable occasion 
 to pay off the long accumulated debt. He was, how- 
 ever, far too clever and too cowardly to come out with 
 it openly, as the gentlemen of the college now questioned 
 him about Oswald, whom he declared he knew perfectly. 
 He contented himself with mysterious hints, as : "a 
 
Through Night to Light. 205 
 
 young man, about whom much might be said — you will 
 see yourselves, gentlemen — I only hope he has grown 
 more prudent in the meantime ; hem ! hem ! You know 
 he is one of Berger's pet pupils. Well, Berger is a re- 
 markable man, a brilliant man ; but he is at the asylum 
 in Fichtenan, and we see once more that 'all is not gold 
 that glitters;' hem ! hem ! " These and similar words fell 
 like poisonous malaria vipon the harmless souls of the 
 schoolmen. 
 
 " If we had known that, collega! " said Rector Clemens 
 secretly to Professor Snellius. 
 
 Professor Snellius shrugged his shoulders, and re- 
 plied, 
 
 " I hope much from the advantages he will have in 
 his intercourse with us. The acquai ntance of really well- 
 bred, learned " 
 
 " Truly humane," supplied the rector. 
 
 " Truly humane men," continued the professor, " is 
 the best training for genuine culture and erudition " 
 
 "And humanity," supplied the rector. 
 
 " What do you think of our new colleague, Winimer .? " 
 asked Doctor Broadfoot, who had noticed with great 
 disgust how merrily Miss Fredegunda, who generally 
 distinguished herself by a certain morose reserve, was 
 now chatting and laughing with Oswald. 
 
 " I believe the gentleman is a great dandy," replied 
 Mr. Winimer, passing his hand through his hair. " He 
 has a way of bending over ladies in their chairs which 
 is downright intolerable. I am afraid we shall never 
 be good friends." 
 
 "But that is too bad," cried Mr. Broadfoot, and ad- 
 vanced with the intention to interrupt the conversation 
 between Oswald and Fredegunda, but he lost his cour- 
 age on the way; and in order to mask the unsuccessful 
 attack, he took a cup of tea from the waiter which a 
 maid presented to him, and then, cup in hand, he re- 
 mained standing in the centre of the room, the picture 
 of helpless embarrassment. 
 
 He was fortunately soon relieved by the question of 
 the lady manager, whether they should now begin the 
 reading of Wallenstein — the original purpose of their 
 
2o6 Through Night to Light. 
 
 meeting — and the invitation to follow her into the ad- 
 joining room. 
 
 " In which part will you, madame, give us an exam- 
 ple ? " asked Oswald. " But why do I ask ? There is 
 in Wallenstein only one part for you, as in this company 
 there is but one lady fit for that part — yourself! " 
 
 " You are jesting," said the poetess, tapping him gently 
 on the arm with the book which she was holding in her 
 hand ; " why should I have any privilege .' " 
 
 " But, surely, there can be but one opinion about this — 
 that the most poetical character in the piece ought to be 
 represented by the most poetical character in the com- 
 pany ; and again, there can be but one opinion as to who 
 that is." 
 
 " And who — ha ! I will try to overcome my childish 
 bashfulness — who could that be 1 " asked Primula, with 
 melting voice, raising her eyes in sweet anticipation to 
 Oswald. 
 
 " Permit me for a moment the copy you are holding 
 in your hand. Thanks ! I see there is a mark. Let us 
 see where it is. ' Act Third. — Scene First. — Countess 
 Terzky: Thebla, Fraulein von Neubrunn.' Thebla un- 
 der-scored. I thank you, Thebla! " 
 
 " That is an accident," cried the blushing poetess, 
 pressing the book, which Oswald handed back to her 
 with an ironical bow, to her bosom. I swear it to you 
 by the nine Muses, it is an accident." 
 
 " And I swear by father Apollo himself, and by all the 
 other Olympians besides, that I believe in no accident, 
 at least only in the most fortunate accident which has 
 led me to-night once more into the company of — may I 
 venture to say so — of a friend." 
 
 " If you may say so ! " cried the poetess, tenderly press- 
 ing Oswald's arm with her own ; " if you may say so ! 
 Oh believe me, Mr. Stein, I have been your friend ever 
 since you put your foot on our humble threshold ; I 
 have always taken your part when prosaic minds, Avith-* 
 out reverence for the Great and the Beautiful " 
 
 Primula was forced to arrest the overflowing waters of 
 her tenderness, which Oswald had called forth so sud- 
 denly by his coarse flattery ; for at that moment they had 
 
Through Night to Light. 207 
 
 reached the adjoining room, where a part of the company 
 were already seated around the long table, which was 
 covered with a white cloth, and lighted up with two 
 lamps and two candles. At the upper end stood Mrs. 
 Rector Clemens, the founder and manager of the " Dra- 
 matic Club," looking at her company like a herd at his 
 flock, and appointing to the still homeless guests their 
 seats, gesticulating fiercely with her arms, and letting 
 her deep voice out more fully than seemed absolutely, 
 necessary. 
 
 " Sit down by Fredegunda, Doctor Broadfoot. Will 
 you take a seat by my daughter Thurnelda, Doctor 
 Stein 1 Mrs. Jager, you will please take a seat by Pro- 
 fessor Snellius. Professor Jager, you by Mrs. Kubel. 
 Well, now we are all seated." 
 
 Mrs. Manager seized a bell, which stood before her 
 on the table, and began to ring it for half a minute with 
 all the energy of a president of a parliament who wishes 
 to drown the mad voices of a few hundred furious rep- 
 resentatives of the people. As the absolute silence 
 reigning in the whole assembly furnished no pretext for 
 this display of energetic efforts, Mrs. Manager at last 
 put the bell down on the table, and seized instead a 
 sheet of paper, on which, as on a theatre bill, the parts 
 in the piece and the names of the company were ar- 
 ranged in dovible columns. 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen ! " she said, examining the 
 faces of the audience, as they looked up to her, with sat- 
 isfaction. " You know that we have chosen at our last 
 sitting " Wallenstein's Death " for this meeting with uni- 
 versal acclimatization ; I meant to say, acclamation. As 
 unfortunately the piece has more parts than we have 
 members, I have been forced to leave out several which 
 did not appear to me essential. But even then there re- 
 mained a few which I could not well fill, and which 
 would have remained blank if some of our dear guests 
 who give us the pleasure of their company to-night had 
 not put it into my power to complete the bill to the 
 general satisfaction of all, I hope. Although most of 
 you already know which part has been allotted to them. 
 I will for the sake of regularity, and especially for the 
 
208 
 
 Through Night to Light. 
 
 benefit of our dear guests, read the whole list from 
 the beginning once more. Listen tlien, I pray, atten- 
 tively ! " 
 
 Mrs. Manager cleared her voice and read, amid the at- 
 tentive silence of the company : 
 
 Wallenstein, 
 
 Octavio Piccolomini, 
 
 Neva Piccolomini, 
 
 Terzky, 
 
 Illo, 
 
 Butler, 
 
 Gordon, 
 
 Seni, 
 
 Duchess, 
 
 Countess Terzky 
 
 Thekla, . 
 
 Fraulein Neubrunn, 
 
 Swedish Captain, 
 
 Devereux, 
 
 Rector Clemens. 
 
 Professor Snellius. 
 
 Doctor Winimer. 
 
 Fredegunda Clemens. 
 
 Doctor Kubel. 
 
 Doctor Broadfoot. 
 
 Mrs. Kubel. 
 
 Miss Ida Snellius. 
 
 Mrs. Snellius. 
 
 Myself. 
 
 Thurnelda Clemens. 
 
 Marie Kubel. 
 
 Doctor Stein. 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Jager. 
 MacDonald, [ Captains in Wallenstein's army. 
 Oswald, who had been not a little amused by this 
 original distribution, had to bite his lips not to laugh 
 loud, when he saw the foolish faces made by the last- 
 named persons as they heard their names coupled so 
 intimately with the names of the murderers of the hero. 
 Professor Jager drew down the corners of his mouth 
 lower than Oswald had ever seen them ; and Primula, 
 who had turned as w^hite as the lace collar on her pale- 
 yellow dress, seemed to be on the point of breaking 
 into tears. 
 
 That was, then, the triumph which she had hoped for 
 from this night ! Was this the hospitable house of dear 
 friends, who were so proud of their perfect humanity.-' 
 or was it a blood-dripping cave of brutal Troglodytes ? 
 Was he the interpreter of the fragments of Chrysophilos, 
 or was he not t Was she the famous avithor of the 
 " Cornflowers," or was she not .'' And no cry of indigna- 
 tion broke forth from the throats of all who had heard 
 with their own ears this desecration of names so re- 
 nowned in science and in art ! 
 
 The professor and his wife looked at each other across 
 
Through Night to Light. 209 
 
 the tabic Avith eyes in which an attentive observer might 
 have read these and other questions; then they glanced 
 around the company at the table to see what impression 
 such blasphemy must needs have produced upon the 
 audience. But no one seemed to think any harm about 
 this disgraceful insult to scientific and poetic fame ; no 
 one, with the exception perhaps of fat Doctor Kubel, 
 who replied to an interrogative glance of the professor 
 with a friendly grin, and Oswald, who stealthily pressed 
 Primula's hand under the table as a sign of his sym- 
 pathy, for Primula sat on his left, while Thurnelda was 
 his right-hand neighbor. Otherwise nobody troubled 
 himself about the insulted sufferers ; each one Avas busy 
 only with his own part, and the impression he hoped to 
 make upon the others, and all awaited now the signal 
 for beginning. The lady manager gave it at once, with 
 the same grace and the same noise with which, in a mena- 
 gerie, the docile elephant rings the bell for dinner, and 
 the bear or the monkey for supper. 
 
 Mrs. Clemens presented next, in a neat little speech 
 to Miss Ida Snellius, the offer to "come down, as day 
 was breaking and Mars in the ascendant," whereupon 
 the young lady begged her to " let her observe Venus 
 first, that was just rising and shining in the east like a 
 sun," but her voice was so indistinct as to be almost 
 inaudible, either from the great remoteness of the astron- 
 omer or from the embarrassment of the performer. 
 
 The rest corresponded with this interesting begin- 
 ning, and they inflicted upon the unlucky drama all the 
 horrors which art-loving ladies and gentlemen are apt 
 to practice when they assemble for the purpose of read- 
 ing a drama with " distributed parts," as they call it. 
 Rector Clemens changed Wallenstein into the gentle 
 member of a Moravian brotherhood ; Professor Snellius, 
 the clever, intriguing Octavio, into a wooden pedant ; 
 Doctor Winimer howled and groaned as the noble son 
 of an ignoble father, so that unspeakable horror befell 
 every heart; and Doctor Kubel seemed to take Illo 
 for Chamisso's washerwoman ; while Doctor Broadfoot 
 read silent Butler's words as if he had been a charlatan 
 dentist at a fair. Countess Terzky became one of Pap- 
 
210 Through Night to Light. 
 
 penheine's Cuirassiers; and Thekla, in the hands of Miss 
 Thurnelda, a love-sick seamstress. 
 
 And with all that, there was a holy zeal animating 
 them all and inducing them to turn over the leaves long 
 before their turn came again, and thus to produce a con- 
 tinuous rustling; and with all that, an unvarnished en- 
 thusiasm which rewarded the performances of some, as 
 those of Doctor Winimer ; and with all that an unselfish 
 modesty with which less gifted members, like Marie Ku- 
 bel, submitted to correction on the part of Rector Clem- 
 ens, who enjoyed, by the regulations of the club, the 
 privilege of interrupting the reader and of pointing out 
 to him or to her the mistakes made in reciting. 
 
 Oswald enjoyed this Babylonian confusion, this nib- 
 bling of mice at the club of Hercules, until gradually 
 disgust overcame him, and even the sight of Mr. and 
 Mrs. Jager was no longer able to cause him to laugh 
 heartily. The professor sat, lost in his large easy-chair, 
 immovable, the corners of his mouth drawn down so low 
 that its otitline presented the form of a horse-shoe, Avhile 
 he looked with his small, green eyes over the frame of his 
 large, round spectacles at his wife, his fellow-sufferer, 
 his companion in his disgrace. The conduct of the 
 poetess was, of course, far more striking, as might have 
 been expected from so eccentric a character. Now she 
 would throw herself back in her chair with crossed arms 
 and fix her eyes on the ceiling, and now she would lean for- 
 ward and support her head, with the golden hair and the 
 wreath of blue cornflowers, in her hands. Then again 
 she smiled a smile of supreme contempt, or she yawned 
 as if overcome by intolerable ennui. Oswald was very 
 curious to see what she would do when her turn came, 
 for she had whispered to him at the beginning, in fever- 
 ish excitement, " I will not read ; rely vipon it, I will not 
 read ! " 
 
 However, his curi'orsity was not to be so easily satisfied, 
 for after Mr. Winimer had declared himself at the end 
 of the third act, with a final effort of all his voice, " ready 
 to die," Mrs. Clemens once more began to ring with all 
 her might, and gave thus the signal for a long pause, 
 which, according to § 25 of the statutes, occurred in a 
 
Through Night to Light. 2 1 1 
 
 drama of five acts invariably after the third act, and in 
 a piece of four acts after the second, and during Avhich, 
 according to § 26, wine and cake were handed round. 
 
 In order to comply with the tenor of these paragraphs, 
 the company left the table and returned to the sitting 
 room in the highly excited condition in which people 
 come from a finished artistic performance. They sat, 
 and stood about, with glasses in their hands, and talked 
 of the piece and the declamation. They all agreed that 
 Doctor Winimer had this time, as always, surpassed 
 them all, and that Miss Marie Kubel had not yet spoken 
 loud enough, although, generally speaking, she might be 
 said to have made some progress. The gentlemen gave 
 each other marks, as they did with their school-boys, 
 and of course all received the highest number. The 
 ladies spoke of the sublime poet, of the chaste nobility 
 of his verses. Miss Ida Snellius insisted that Schiller 
 reminded her frequently of Euripides, whereupon the 
 circle fell into a learned discussion, in Avhich the words 
 Sophocles, Goethe, Schiller, Aristophanes, ^Eschylus, 
 Euripides, Don Carlos, Odipus upon Colonos, and 
 Wallenstein, Avere tossed to and fro like snow-flakes. 
 
 Oswald looked for the author of the " Cornflowers," 
 whom he had lost sight of since the beginning of the 
 game. He found her in a window-recess of the second 
 room (otherwise the chaste bed-chamber of the two 
 Misses Clemens), whispering eagerly to her husband. 
 He was about to withdraw modestly so as not to disturb 
 the tete-d-tete, but Primula rose as soon as she saw him, 
 seized his hand and drew him into the recess. 
 
 " Speak low," said Primula, with the hollow voice of 
 a ghost. 
 
 "What is the matter.'" asked Oswald, in the same 
 tone. 
 
 " You shall tell me whether I ought to read ! " breathed 
 Primula; " Jager has no sensibility for such a disgrace." 
 
 " Oh ! yes, dearest Augusta," whispered the professor; 
 " but I should like to avoid a scene ; I pray you, darling, 
 what will the people say when — oh, I cannot think of 
 it." 
 
 " I should be disposed to agree with the professor," 
 
212 Through Night to Light. 
 
 said Oswald. "I do not see how you can be saved after 
 being once entrapped into this lion's den." 
 
 " Is the author of the * Cornflowers ' a murderer — a 
 wretched assassin 1 " whined Primula. " Never, never ! " 
 
 " It is disgraceful," chimed in Oswald ; " but the inter- 
 preter of Chrysophilos is in the same position, and you 
 see he bears his hard fate with dignity." 
 
 A pressure of the hand from the professor rewarded 
 Oswald for this flattery. 
 
 " Oh, you men have no feelings for insults," sobbed 
 Primula. " Well, I will try, but if " 
 
 The stormy ringing of the president's bell from the 
 adjoining room cut Primula short. She stepped ahead 
 of the two gentlemen with the air of one who has 
 formed a resolution, happen what may. 
 
 " Now it will soon be our turn," said Doctor Winimer, 
 as they took their seats under continued ringing of 
 bells, to Oswald ; " don't be afraid, and read bravely on. 
 Even if you do not do very well the first time, it will 
 be better the second time, and practice makes the mas- 
 ter." 
 
 " Whom I admire and revere in you," replied Oswald, 
 bowing. 
 
 " Well, well," said Doctor Winimer, rubbing his 
 hair, with a smile ; " it might be better. To be sure, 
 when I recently heard Hottei, who is probably the best 
 reader in Germany, the old saying Atich' is sono pittore 
 came at once into my mind." 
 
 " I believe it," said Oswald. 
 
 The bell ceased to ring, and Doctor Broadfoot, as Col- 
 onel Butler, raised his voice, and cried so that the win- 
 dows rattled : 
 
 " He is inside. Fate led him hither." 
 
 The murderous night at Castle Egu progressed now 
 rapidly from scene to scene. Oswald was so curious 
 about the manner in which Primula would take her fate, 
 especially since he had seen her excitement grow apace 
 as the fatal moment approached, that he could hear the 
 words of FrLiulein Nevibrunn, " The Swedish captain is 
 here," without excitement. He actually asked Princess 
 Thekla, Thurnelda, quite coolly, and Avithout the slight- 
 
Through Night to Light. 213 
 
 est palpitation of his heart, to pardon him for his " rash, 
 inconsiderate words." Nor did he notice the uncalled- 
 for warmth of feeling with which Miss Clemens recited 
 the words : 
 
 " A fatal chance has made you, 
 A stranger, quickly my familiar friend," 
 
 although her tone made Doctor Winimer feel bitter 
 pangs in his heart. Miss Fredegunda looked most^ sig- 
 nificantly at her Doctor Broadfoot. He did not notice 
 the murmured applause which followed his recital of 
 the death of the cavalry-colonel ; and the following scenes 
 also passed unnoticed, till at last the fatal net encloses 
 Wallenstein altogether in its meshes, and dark Colonel 
 Butler distributes, in the secrecy of his rooms, the parts 
 to be taken by the murderers. Already Major Ge- 
 raldine has hurried off with his bloody commission, and 
 — now the moment comes, when (on the stage) the cur- 
 tain parts and the grim captains Devereux and Mac- 
 Donald present themselves in collar and tall riding-boots, 
 and long swords at their side, before the commander of 
 their regiment. 
 
 " What is she going to do ?" thought Oswald, as he 
 saw the face of the sufferer turn pale and red by turns ; 
 '■ she is not going to read." 
 
 But Primula overcame the noble indignation Avhich 
 made her heart swell, cleared her voice, and said, with the 
 soft voice of a saint who surrenders himself into the 
 hands of the executioners : 
 
 " Here we are, general ! " 
 
 The lady manager, who thought the accent ought to 
 have been upon the word 7c/^, because there were two 
 murderers, availed herself of the right conferred on her 
 by § 73 of the regulations, and said : 
 
 " Here we are, general ! " 
 
 That was too much. The string was overstrained ; it 
 snapped asunder ; the insulted poetess rose, closed her 
 book with a jerk, and said with pale lips : 
 
 " I am sorry if I disturb the company by my declara- 
 tion that I am unable to read any more. But as I — 
 
214 Through Night to Light. 
 
 can — not even — read a part — which — I must force — 
 myself — violently — to read — " 
 
 She could say no more, but fell back into her chair 
 and broke into convulsive weeping. 
 
 The consternation which this scene produced in the 
 harmless company could not have been greater. They 
 rose suddenly from their seats ; they crowded around 
 the sobbing poetess; they asked one another what was 
 the matter with Mrs. Jager.? and the professor if his 
 wife was subject to such attacks.? Nobody suspected 
 the true cause of her condition, which the gentlemen 
 tried to remedy by persuasion, and the ladies by Cologne 
 water. But Primula would accept neither the one nor 
 the other. She rose after a few seconds from her chair, 
 declared decidedly to be obliged to go home, and went 
 out hanging on the arm of her husband, who had made 
 a very foolish face during the whole scene, without say- 
 ing good-by to any one. 
 
 At the moment when the company, extremely sur- 
 prised by the disappearance of such honored guests, 
 were still standing about in the sittiiig-room and dis- 
 cussing the facts, a letter was handed to Oswald, which, 
 as the parlor-maid said, " a young man had brought, 
 who was waiting for an answer." 
 
 Oswald opened the note, which contained only the 
 words : 
 
 " Make haste and come away. I am waiting below. — 
 Timm." 
 
 Oswald did not neglect such an admirable pretext to 
 escape from a company which became every moment 
 more and more intolerable to him. He said he had re- 
 ceived news which required him to return home in- 
 stantly. The next moment he had joined Timm in the 
 street. 
 
 " Heaven be thanked that I could get away," he cried, 
 seizing Timm, who was delighted to see him, by the arm, 
 and dragging him with him. 
 
 "Thought so," said Mr. Timm, "thought you were 
 suffering infernal pains ; meant to help you, poor fel- 
 low. Come, let us wash down the learned dust which 
 you have swallowed, with a bottle of golden wine." 
 
Through Night to Light. 215 
 
 Book Second. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE Boarding-School for Young Ladies," in the 
 suburbs of Grunwald, Avas not exactly a house 
 of correction for young girls who were incor- 
 rigible at home, as the students of Grunwald and other 
 wicked people maintained ; nor was the principal of the 
 institution, Miss Amelia Bear — known as the She Bear 
 — altogether the female dragon which malicious tongues 
 represented her to be. It is true, no one could deny 
 that during the day the curtains were almost invariably 
 down in the windows looking upon the street, and that 
 after nine o'clock in the evening no light was to be seen 
 in the whole house. The boarders were never seen in 
 public, except in solemn procession, walking two and 
 two, and with a teacher at the head and a teacher at the 
 end ; no letter passed the threshold of the house, going 
 out or coming in, which was not first subjected to a close 
 scrutiny in Miss Bear's study, and stamped there, so to 
 say, with the official seal ; but these and similar regula- 
 tions are either common to all " boarding-schools for 
 young ladies," or there was, in certain cases, a special 
 reason for them. The institution was intended for the 
 "higher classes," whose female offspring was covmted 
 upon for its support ; this meant almost exclusively the 
 high nobility of the district, as the daughters of persons 
 not noble rarely sought admission, and still more rarely 
 found admission. Now it happens that young ladies of 
 rank born and bred in the country, and enjoying the 
 twofold privileges of country life and an exceptional 
 social position, accustomed to manage from their twelfth 
 year their ponies with the skill of circus-riders, and at 
 
2i6 Through Night to Light. 
 
 thirteen often more familiar with the humbugs of 
 society than other girls ever become-that such girls 
 are not to be treated as leniently as other daughters of 
 Eve They are used to the society of busy idlers as 
 their only male companions: young land-owners, otti- 
 cers on furlough, and other men of frequently very 
 loose morals; and great is the danger, therefore that 
 this inborn and inbred sovereign haughtiness may bloom 
 forth abundantly, and bear equivocal fruit, unless they 
 are restrained in time and with method. 
 
 This was the excuse which Miss Bear s friends made for 
 the draconic laws of her institution ; she was the respon- 
 sible keeper of this precious but fragile ware, and who 
 could wonder at the stern glance of her once perhaps 
 beautiful eyes, and the crowd of wrinkles on her brow 
 which seemed to deepen and to multiply every year ? Like 
 so many among us, she was what she W'as, not because she 
 wished to be so, but because she was forced to be so It 
 was her vocation to look stern^ and to frown, as it is the 
 vocation of others to smile forever and to wear as 
 Imooth a face as they can produce But as the greates 
 psychologist of our day has taught us that one may 
 smile and smile forever, and yet be a very great rascal 
 so it is also possible to look like a chief ^^^q^f \tor, and 
 vet to have a truly womanly, gentle, and kindly heart. 
 
 Miss Amelia Bear was the living proof ot such a pos- 
 sibility Miss Amelia Bear had had a very hard time 
 of it all her life-long. She was the poor daughter of a 
 poor village minister, and began at fourteen her thorny 
 Lreer as a governess in noble country families. In 
 those days she was very pretty, and therefore exj30sed 
 to many temptations; but her prudence and ler dp er- 
 ness had helped her to escape from all dangeis, till she 
 was old enough to be left alone, and to procure tor her- 
 self a kind of independence by establishing a school 
 upon the savings of long years and the presents she had 
 occasionally received. Her honorable character was 
 known to everybody; and tliis, and the experience she 
 had -ained in the field of education, justified such an 
 enterprise, while her numerous relations to "ohle ;xmi- 
 lies promised almost certain success. She prefeired the 
 
Through Night to Light. 217 
 
 nobility, because the nobility preferred her ; and she hesi- 
 tated to accept girls of other families, because she was 
 sure to lose or not to receive for one such boarder six 
 from the nobility. 
 
 Nevertheless she gave up the principle whenever a 
 special case seemed to require an exception from the 
 rule. Thus it had been with Sophie Roban. The privy 
 councillor was the physician of the institution, and Miss 
 Bear was under great obligations to him. Even her noble 
 patrons, therefore, understood perfectlv why she could 
 not well refuse the widowed privy councillor, when he 
 asked her to take for a few years a mother's place to his 
 orphaned child. 
 
 Her relation to Sophie Roban was the best proof of 
 the exaggeration which had given rise to so many fables 
 about the dragon nature of Miss Bear. She had become 
 a real mother to the motherless girl ; she had guarded 
 and protected her against every bodily and mental dan- 
 ger, not in order to earn her compensation honestly 
 nor for the sake of the reputation of her school, but 
 because she loved the girl with her whole heart, as if 
 she had been her own. Malicious people went so far as 
 to say that she had not only raised but also spoiled the 
 girl and it could not be denied that Sophie— little 
 Sophie, as the She Bear said— could dare what no other 
 boarder, not even Emily von Breesen, who was at the 
 same time there, and who passed for absolutely untama- 
 ble, would ever have ventured to do. Sophie could 
 interrupt Miss Bear in the most violent philippic 
 against any wrong-doer who had done something espe- 
 cially horrible, e. g., cutting round holes in the curtains 
 lor the purpose of peeping at the people who passed bv 
 the house, and could fall upon her neck and say : Miss 
 Mai, Miss Mai, I would not be so very ano-ry if I were 
 you ! Sophie could at all times freely enter her studv 
 —that mysterious adytum to which the youno- ladies 
 came with fear and trembling, and where the dispatches 
 to their parents were prepared, and all their letters, com- 
 ing and going, were subjected to rigorous scrutiny' 
 bophie could do what she chose. 
 
 These relations between teacher and pupil had ripened 
 
2i8 Through Night to Light. 
 
 into a friendship of a peculiar nature after Sophie had 
 left the school and become the presiding- officer of her 
 father's house. Miss Bear appreciated Sophie's good 
 judgment, and did not disdain to consult the lady, young 
 as she was, in critical cases; and what is more, she almost 
 always followed the advice w^aich her young friend 
 gave, more in play than in good earnest, but always 
 with perfect simplicity and impartiality. Such a case 
 had occurred a few weeks ago, when the Baroness 
 Grenwitz had expressed a wish to send her daughter 
 Helen back for some time to the institution to finish her 
 studies, especially in the sciences. Now such a step was 
 remarkable enough in itself, as Miss Helen was coming 
 straight from a Avell-known, superior school, in which 
 she had spent four years ; but it became still more em- 
 barrassing by the circumstance that the instructions 
 which Miss Bear received from the baroness on one side, 
 and from the baron on the other, differed essentially as to 
 the degree of freedom to be granted the young lady. If 
 Miss Bear obeyed the written instructions of the baron- 
 ess, Helen was to be kept as a state prisoner, under 
 latch and key ; if she followed the requests made orally 
 by the baron, when he brought, himself, his daughter to 
 Grunwald, the young lady was to be left in absolute 
 liberty. As both methods of education were equally 
 incompatible with the system adopted in the school, 
 Miss Bear was in great embarrassment, and turned, in 
 her dilemma, to her young friend, to receive from her 
 advice in this mysterious atfair. 
 
 Fortunately Sophie had heard much from her be- 
 trothed about the state of things at Grenwitz, and what 
 he had not explained she readily divined by the talent 
 peculiar to all women of delicate feelings. 
 
 " They tried to marry Helen to a man unworthy of 
 her," sai'd the young lady, as she met her motherly friend 
 soon after Helen's arrival in the mysterious adytum of 
 her study, in order to confer with her about the Gren- 
 witz affair, " and Helen has very properly refused to con- 
 sent. In return, they have banished her for a time from 
 her paternal home. You will surely not increase the 
 hardship by being unnecessarily severe against the poor 
 
Through Night to Light. 219 
 
 girl ? Surely, Miss Mai, that would not be like you. 
 bo what the father says : treat Helen not as a pupil — 
 for that, she is too old ; treat her as a young girl who 
 has taken refuge with you from a tyrannical mother who 
 ill-treats her, and from a father who is too weak to pro- 
 tect her. For that is, as far as I can see, the truth of the 
 case." 
 
 When Sophie said so, she did, of course, not suspect 
 Oswald's love for Helen, and Helen's love for Oswald, 
 which, if known to her, would probably have made 
 her speak somewhat differently ; and afterwards, when 
 Franz's reports about the catastrophe at Grenwitz, and 
 many a word spoken by Helen herself, made her see 
 more clearly this all-important point, she still did not 
 change her advice, because she looked upon it as treason 
 against a friend to tell others a secret of which she her- 
 self Avas not yet fully convinced. Helen, moreover, had 
 become her friend in the meantime ; at least she was 
 most devotedly attached to the pretty girl, although she 
 had reasons to doubt whether Helen, in her haughty 
 pride and reserve, returned her love. It was mainly 
 their common enthusiastic love for music which had 
 brought the two young ladies so closely together. They 
 soon found, not only that they shared this enthusiasm, 
 but that they complemented each other in their knov/l- 
 edge of music as well as in their powers of execution. 
 Sophie was the more learned ; the mysteries of Thorough 
 Bass — for Helen, a book with seven seals — were open to 
 her ; but Helen felt and appreciated music more fully. 
 In comparison with Sophie, Helen was, on the other 
 hand, a mere scholar on the piano, but she had a rich 
 alto voice, as extensive as well trained, while Sophie 
 said of herself that she had not a note in her throat. 
 
 Thus the two young ladies could play and sing by 
 the hour, either in Helen's room at the institute, or more 
 frequently in Sophie's parlor, without ever getting tired. 
 Helen insisted that nobody had ever accompanied her 
 as well as Sophie ; and Sophie, that nothing had ever 
 afforded her a greater musical enjoyment than Helen's 
 sweet, melodious voice, full of deep feeling. 
 
 But, strange enough, although their souls met in the 
 
2 20 Through Night to Light. 
 
 realm of music as kindred souls, and gave each other a 
 sister's kiss, their tongues became silent as soon as they 
 attempted to approach each other in human speech. 
 Their conversation stopped frequently, and they had to 
 turn again to music in order to fill a pause which threat- 
 ened to become painful. Sometimes Sophie thought 
 Helen was making a violent effort to break the charm 
 which bound her in silence, but she never went in such 
 moments beyond the first stammered sounds of intimacy, 
 and the very next moment saw the young girl longing 
 for friendship changed into the haughty lady of the 
 world, calm in her self-satisfied repose, and unapproach- 
 able. 
 
 " She is a marble statue," said Sophie to her father, 
 " in spite of her black hair, and her dark, brilliant eyes. 
 You cannot get near to her. I believe she is secretly an 
 Undine." 
 
 The privy councillor laughed. 
 
 " You may not be altogether wrong," he said; "for if 
 the two entirely different elements, air and water, har- 
 bor also entirely different creatures, which cannot have 
 real communion with each other, it is perfectly logical 
 that different moral atmospheres, like that in which the 
 nobles live and that in which we live, must also produce 
 morally different beings, who can never become real 
 friends with heart and soul. Have you formed any 
 friendship, during the time you spent at Miss Bear's 
 school, which has lasted beyond those years 1 " 
 
 " Yes, papa, with Miss Bear herself," answered Sophie, 
 laughing. 
 
 " There you see," said the privy councillor, with his 
 satirical smile, " one can become good friends with she 
 bears even, but not with Undines." 
 
 Sophie was too young yet to be able to share the sus- 
 picions suggested to her father by his long life and am- 
 ple experience. She explained Helen's reserve by her 
 innate or acquired shyness to come out of herself, and 
 forgave her this shyness all tlie more readily as she was 
 not quite free of it herself She was herself generally 
 looked upon as stern and cold, and many people de- 
 clared openly that " she was not at all like other girls." 
 
Through Night to Light. 221 
 
 " She cannot help it," she would say to herself, " and we 
 ought not to expect to gather figs from thorn bushes. 
 Helen would be just the same to you if the Robans had 
 been barons at the time of Charlemagne." 
 
 This view did greater honor to Sophie's head than to 
 her worldly prudence, and she would have perhaps be- 
 come a convert to her father's views, " that Undines can 
 at least be intimate with Undines," if she had been able 
 to look over Helen's shoulder on the afternoon of the 
 third day after Oswald's arrival in Grunwald. Helen 
 was writing to her friend. Miss Mary Burton (an Un- 
 dine beyond doubt, for she belonged to an old and noble 
 English family), and the delicate gold pen was flying 
 fast over the paper. 
 
 Helen wrote : 
 
 " This is the first time for a long, long time, dearest 
 Mary, that I have the heart to answer your letters — for 
 there is qviite a pile lying before me. But I could not 
 get the courage to write to you, wko have now entered 
 the great world, and have been presented at court — who 
 are engaged, and about to become the wife of an English 
 peer. That I, Helen von Grenwitz, to whom you pro- 
 phesied such a brilliant future, have been sent back 
 to boarding-school! sent to boarding-school, like a 
 naughty girl ; sent to boarding-school, like a gosling 
 from the country ! You wonder ; you smile incredu- 
 lously ; you lisp your ' It is impossible! ' and when you 
 find at last that you have to believe my repeated assur- 
 ances, you seize me with both your hands and cry : 'but, 
 for God's sake, what does it mean.' what can it be.?' 
 and you force me to tell you the whole story from the 
 beginning. Well, I see no possibility to escape from 
 the punishment, but you will find it natural that I 
 shorten the pain as much as I can. 
 
 " Therefore, in short, if not for good : 
 
 " The relations with my mother, which I wrote to you 
 before were so satisfactory, became worse and worse in 
 consequence of my decided refusal to accept Felix as 
 my husband, until an open rupture, which I had long 
 seen coming, was inevitable. I have borne myself in the 
 whole affair as I thought I owed it to myself and to you. 
 
222 Through Night to Light. 
 
 It was a fierce battle, I assure you. To oppose my 
 mother requires courage, and my father supported me 
 but fetbl}', for he is feeble. Well! the battle is over ; 
 the dead are buried, and the wounds begin to heal. Yes, 
 Mary! the dead. My Bruno, my pride, my knight, sans 
 peur et sans reproche, my brother, my friend, my darling 
 Bruno, is no more ! He died fighting for me, and has 
 breathed the last of his young, heroic soul in a kiss upon 
 my lips. The fierce grief about this loss — for I only 
 knew what he had been to me when I had him no longer 
 — made me dull and indifferent to everything and every- 
 body around me. As this boy loved me, no one on 
 earth ever can and will love me again. I was light and 
 air to him ; I was meat and drink to him ; I was waking 
 and sleeping — I was life itself to him. How often have 
 I laughed at him when he told me so, with glowing 
 cheeks and bright eyes and trembling lips ! And I said, 
 'Come, Bruno, none of your extravagancies! none of 
 your fables! you are a little fool!' Now I would give 
 many a year of my life if I could but hear it once more 
 from his proud lips. A suspicion, wliich I cannot shake 
 off, tells me that I would have found in Bruno and 
 with Bruno all the happiness that this earth can afford; 
 and that in losing him I have lost every prospect of 
 happiness here below. You smile ; you think : a boy ! 
 but I tell you, you did not know Bruno. 
 
 " Do not ask me to repeat everything in detail. I can- 
 not do it. My heart is too full. The remembrance of 
 my lost pet does not leave me for a moment, and I 
 should like nothing better than to lay down my pen and 
 to cry to my heart's content. Tell me, Mary, is it really 
 our fate, as we have so often told each other in sad 
 hours, to go through life imsatisfied, without joy, 
 without happiness, Avithout the hope that the future at 
 least may bring us the fulfilment of our wishes.'* Is 
 fortune ever to appear to us only as a fata 7norgana — 
 charming in its beauty and treacherously fiecting.'' Or 
 is it ever to present itself only in a shape whicli, however 
 great the inner value may be, offends our delicacy — our 
 prejudices, if you choose to call them so } Your lot, to 
 be sure, it seems, is to be different. In the same circles 
 
Through Night to Light. 223 
 
 to which you belong, by birth and training-, you have 
 found the man who would have been dear to your heart 
 even if your judgment should not have approved of the 
 choice of your heart. A man, a hero, a lord! Happy, 
 thrice happy you are to have found one to wliom you 
 have to look up, proud as you are ! Smile with your 
 aristocratic curve of the lip upon — your friend at the 
 boarding-school ! 
 
 " It is true, I am very comfortable at this boarding- 
 school. They treat me, not as a pupil, but as a guest, and 
 I am sincerely grateful to the principal, a Miss Bear, for 
 her goodness, and tke delicate consideration with which 
 she treats me, as if she knew all. Perhaps she does 
 know all. Such events, in families like ours, are not apt 
 to remain unknown. Have I not myself learnt much 
 about my own engagement only several weeks after- 
 wards, and not from my father, with whom I have cor- 
 responded all the time, and who has even come to see 
 me several times from Grenwitz (my mother, who I am 
 told is here in Grunwald, has broken off" all intercourse 
 with me), but from a young lady, a Miss Sophie Roban, 
 a former boarder here, whose acquaintance I have made, 
 and with whom I have even formed a kind of friendship. 
 She is engaged to our physician at Grenwitz, Avho has 
 recently settled here, and thus her news seems to be reli- 
 able. She told me what had occurred after my depar- 
 ture from Grenwitz, and what papa had carefully kept 
 from me ; that the young man, of whom I wrote you al- 
 ready last summer, our tutor. Doctor Stein, has become 
 my knight and my avenger, inasmuch, at least, as he 
 has fought a duel with Felix, and given my great cousin 
 a lesson which he will probably not forget very soon, as 
 I learn from the same authority. I cannot tell you how 
 strangely this news has affected me. At first — I may 
 confess to you — my pride was offended that my name 
 should be coupled in the world with the name of a man 
 like Mr. Stein ; that a stranger, a hireling, should have 
 assumed responsibilities for me, as if he were a relative, 
 and my equal in rank. But then I thought of the old 
 saying, 'that if the people were silent the stones would 
 speak ; ' I remembered that a brother could not have 
 
2 24 Through Night to Light. 
 
 behaved more brotherly, nor a knight more chivalrously, 
 toward me than this man had done from the first mo- 
 ment. I recalled, above all, that this man was my Bru- 
 no's dearest friend, and I forgot my pride, and felt, not 
 without wondering at myself, that I could be grateful 
 to this man for his great kindness and affection without 
 feeling, as I generally do, that this gratitude w^eighs 
 upon me as a burden. Nay, even more, I felt the desire 
 to see him, who was abroad, once more, in order to 
 thank him in person, and when I saw him to-day, quite 
 unexpectedly, pass by the window at which I was sitting, 
 I felt — you will laugh at me, Mary — I felt that as I re- 
 turned his bow the blood rushed into my face. When 
 he had gone by I could not help following him with my 
 eye, and then I leaned back in the Avindowand wept bit- 
 ter tears over the memory of Bruno, which the appear- 
 ance of Stein had suddenly and powerfully revived in 
 my mind. I wish I could speak to him undisturbed. 
 
 " But I must break off here. I hear Miss Roban, who 
 comes to play with me, and Miss Bear, in the next 
 room." 
 
 Helen rose to meet the two ladies, who had entered 
 the room upon her entrez ! Sophie Roban passed Miss 
 Bear and embraced Helen, with an affectionate haste 
 which contrasted somewhat with the calm and dignified 
 carriage of the young aristocrat. 
 
 " I have really longed to see you, Helen ! Why have 
 you not come to see me since the other night, when you 
 promised to call again .? Miss Mai has not put her veto 
 upon it .'' " 
 
 " Point du tout!" replied Miss Bear, pushing her glasses 
 on the top of her head, in order to look more freely at 
 the large, friendly blue eyes of her favorite. " You 
 know, little Sophie, that Helen is perfectly free to dis- 
 pose of her time. But that was not what I came for, 
 dear Helen ! Here is a letter for yovi ; one of your ser- 
 vants brought it ; I suppose it is from your father 7 " 
 
 Helen took the letter with a slight acknowledgment, 
 cast a glance at the direction, and said : " Yes, indeed; 
 from my father ! " and put it on her portefeuille, which 
 she had closed when the two ladies entered. 
 
Throuzh Ni^ht to Liz/it. 
 
 225 
 
 " I will not interrupt you any longer," said Miss Bear. 
 '' Little Sophie comes to carry you home with her. Shall 
 I send a servant for you.' — and when .'' " 
 
 " You are surely coming, Helen ? " said Sophie, who had 
 taken a seat on the stool before the piano, and was look- 
 ing at a collection of music. " I have received some 
 beautiful new songs. A splendid one by Schumann ; 
 we must look at it together." 
 
 " With all my heart," replied Helen. "But I cannot 
 well stay long, because I must finish a letter for England 
 to-night, so that I can send it oif to-morrow morning. 
 I am much obliged to you. Miss Bear, for the servant; 
 but I shall be back before dark." 
 
 " As you like it, dear Helen," said Miss Mai, kissing 
 first Helen very lightly on the forehead, and then So- 
 phie Roban very heartily; " adieu, mes en/ants." 
 
 And Miss Bear slipped her spectacles down again 
 upon her nose, wrinkled up her brow in imposing sever- 
 ity, and rustled back to her sanctum, from which Sophie 
 had unearthed her a few minutes before. 
 
 " How is your father to-day.' " asked Helen. 
 
 " Thanks," replied Sophie, still looking at the collec- 
 tion of music ; " he is much better ; he has stayed up 
 to-day a couple of hours longer. But now read your 
 letter, Helen, and then get ready. We must go." 
 
 " Directly," said Helen, opening her letter, while So- 
 phie was reading the music. A few moments later she 
 looked up and found Helen holding the letter in one 
 hand, which hung down, while her head rested in the 
 other, and she was evidently deep in thought. The 
 long lashes concealed the bright eyes, and the dark eye- 
 brows were contracted as if iri indignation. 
 
 " What is the matter ? " cried Sophie, hastily closing 
 the book and putting it down on the piano. " Have 
 you had bad news 1 " 
 
 " Oh no.' " replied Helen, who had gathered herself up 
 at the first sound of Sophie's voice, and tried to smile. 
 " Oh no ! Papa will be here to-morrow, that is all ! " 
 
 "To stay?" • 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 " And you— Helen .' " 
 
226 Through Night to Light. 
 
 "I was just thinking: about that. My father leaves 
 the choice to me, but " 
 
 The young girl pavised, and assumed the same half- 
 thoughtful, half-wrathful expression of face. She seemed 
 to have forgotten Sophie's presence. All of a sudden 
 she asked, her eyes still cast down, 
 
 " Would you, if you had been insulted, be the first to 
 offer the hand for reconciliation .-' " 
 
 Sophie was seriously embarrassed bv this question, 
 the meaning of which she could easily divine. Helen 
 had never spoken to her about her affairs, not even in 
 allusions. She was not to know anything of them, 
 therefore, and yet it did not suit Helen's candor, and 
 her friendship for Helen, to affect an ignorance and an 
 indifference which were not real. 
 
 " That depends," she replied, after a short pause, " on. 
 what the offence was, and above all, who was the offend- 
 ing person ! " 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " There are offences, I think, which only become such 
 by our own making, and offenders who can never be 
 such — who ought never to be such — I mean persons 
 who stand so near to us, with whom we are so closely 
 united by nature, that it would be unnatural, if " 
 
 " They hated us," interrupted Helen, quickly. , " But 
 if such a case jdid occur: if those hated each other for 
 once, who ought to love each other; if they persecuted 
 and warred against each other, who ought to support, 
 help, and bear one another — how then } " Helen had 
 risen ; her face was all aglow ; her eyes sparkled ; her 
 hands were firmly closed — the image of a person rejoic- 
 ing in combat and prepared for victory or death, but 
 never for surrender. 
 
 " I do not know," replied Sophie, affecting a calmness 
 which she did not possess ; " I only know that I for my 
 part could never be placed in such a position. I could 
 never liate brother or sister, much less father or mother 
 who gave me life, happen what would. Are they not — 
 myself.? And how can one hate one's own self.'' " 
 
 " Are you quite so sure of that .'' " answered Helen. 
 " How do you know it .-' You never had brother or sister ; 
 
Through Night to Light. 227 
 
 yovir mother died very early ; your father has, as you 
 told me yourself, always overwhelmed you with un- 
 bovmded affection ; but I — I have other " 
 
 Helen probably felt that if she added another word 
 she would not be able to keep up her reserve hereafter, 
 and broke off with a suddenness which showed the re- 
 markable control this young creature had already ob- 
 tained over herself. 
 
 " But we are losing time," she said, with a totally 
 changed air, tone, and carriage, " and about most unprof- 
 itable things. Come, we must hurry to get back to our 
 music! " 
 
 It was not the first time that Helen had thus suddenly 
 given a new turn to a conversation that threatened 
 to become too intimate. Sophie had to submit to it, 
 although she was pained by this want of confidence, and 
 especially as she felt how Helen was entirely left alone, 
 and what a blessing it would have been to her to be able 
 to pour out her overburdened heart into the sympathiz- 
 ing bosom of a true friend. She did not feel offended, 
 therefore, by Helen's haughty reserve ; on the con- 
 trary, she was more than ever resolved rather to make 
 her way slowly and stealthily into Helen's confidence, 
 than to return pride for pride and reticence for reti- 
 cence. 
 
 There -was to be more than one occasion offered her 
 to-day. 
 
 They had been playing and singing at Sophie's house, 
 almost without interruption, until it began to grow dark 
 in the large room, which was in the lower story. They 
 paused because they could not see very well any longer, 
 and were walking up and down in the room, arm in arm, 
 while the effect of the music was still vibrating in their 
 hearts, and even Helen's proud heart felt milder and 
 softer. She had been forcibly reminded of the death of 
 her favorite by one of Robert Schumann's beautiful 
 songs, which filled her with sweet pain. The sad, 
 mournful words, with the sad, plaintive melody? contin- 
 ued in her ear — 
 
 " Thy face, alas ! so fair and dear, 
 I saw it in my dreams quite near; 
 
2 28 Through Night to Light. 
 
 It was so angel-like, so sweet, 
 
 And yet with pain and grief replete. 
 
 The lips alone, they are still red. 
 
 But soon they also will be pale and dead." 
 
 She thought of the night when Baron Oldenburg had 
 led her from the midst of the dancers to Bruno's dying 
 bed ; she saw again how at her entrance the boy's eye 
 flamed up in his deadly-pale face. 
 
 "The lips alone, they are still red. 
 But soon they also will be pale and dead," 
 
 she murmured, as if she were speaking to herself. 
 
 " This song seems to have made as great an impres- 
 sion upon you as upon Doctor Stein," said Sophie. 
 
 " Upon whom .-' " cried Helen, suddenly aroused from 
 her dreams. 
 
 " Upon Doctor Stein ! your Doctor Stein ! " replied 
 Sophie, as indifferently as if she had never given a 
 thought to the relations which might possibly exist be- 
 tween Oswald and Helen. 
 
 " When did you see him .? " asked Helen again, in her 
 ordinary calmly-grand manner. 
 
 " Last night, here ; for the first time. He had been two 
 days in town without having seen Franz. Yesterday 
 Franz met him accidentally in the street, and brought 
 him home with him. Otherwise Ave should probably 
 have had to wait a long time for his visit." 
 
 " How so .'' " 
 
 " Well, it did not look as if the visit gave him particu- 
 lar pleasure. Still I can hardly judge of that fairly, as 
 yesterday was the first time I ever saw him. But to tell 
 the truth, he looked to me as if nothing in the world 
 was likely to give him much pleasure. Franz says it is 
 not so at all, but he admitted that Mr. Stein had ciianged 
 remarkably in the short time during which they had 
 not seen each other. How Avas he when you knew 
 him .? " 
 
 Sophie thought she felt that Helen's heart was beat- 
 ing higher, as she asked this very harmless question. 
 Yet she did not show any excitement in her voice, as she 
 answered : 
 
 " I have seldom seen Mr. Stein except in company, 
 
Through Night to Light. 229 
 
 and, you know, there we have very little opportunity to 
 see men as they really are. lie looked to mc generally 
 very grave, almost sad, reserved, and silent, especially 
 during the last weeks. But the state of things in my 
 family at that time Avas such as to produce very natur- 
 ally such an effect. How was he yesterday.? " 
 
 " That is difficult to say for one who is as little of a 
 psychologist as I am," replied Sophie, determined to tell 
 the truth, even if it should hurt Helen. " He looked to 
 me gay, almost exuberant, but not cheerful ; talkative, 
 but not communicative ; witty, but not entertaining; in 
 one Avord, a combination of striking contrasts, which 
 produced a very painful impression on me, because I 
 love, above all, what is clear, easily intelligible and sim- 
 ple. I was especially shocked at the manner in which 
 he spoke about his position here and his vocation in life. 
 He seemed to look upon everything as mere play. He 
 gave us a sketch of a party to which he had been invited 
 at Mr. Clemens's house, and poured a perfect flood of 
 irony and sarcasm on the poor people. He described 
 his solemn installation at the college, which had taken 
 place that morning, and represented the whole as a scene 
 in a puppet-show. Franz tells me he has something of 
 Doctor Faust in his nature; to me he looked rather 
 like Mephistopheles. Nor did I think him so very hand- 
 some, as Franz had represented him. He looked pale 
 and haggard, as if he were sick, or had not slept for sev- 
 eral nights. His large eyes had an expression weird and 
 ghost-like. I had all the time to think of the lines : ' It 
 is written on his brow, that he can make no vow of 
 faithful love ' — or however the verse may be." 
 
 " Then he must indeed have changed very much," 
 said Helen. 
 
 The tone in which the young girl said these woi"ds 
 was so very sad, that Sophie regretted having been car- 
 ried away by the secret antipathy she felt in her heart 
 against Stein, and perhaps still more by a desire to pro- 
 voke Helen by violent contradiction, and thus to punish 
 her for her reserve. 
 
 "Still, "she said, to sooth the wound; "still, this is 
 not to be my final judgment about Doctor Stein; it is 
 
230 Through Night to Light. 
 
 nothing but a first impression. I shall probably think 
 differently about him when I see him more frequently. 
 Franz is so very fond of him, and, you know, we girls 
 when we are engaged are apt to be jealous. But I just 
 remember, he may be here every moment ! " she cried, 
 interrupting herself. 
 
 " Who .? " said Helen, " Oswald t " 
 
 " I had really quite forgotten it. Thoughtless girl 
 that I am ! " 
 
 " What is it } " 
 
 " Stein and Franz had agreed to hear a lecture by 
 Professor Benseler together. And Franz has gone 
 directly after dinner to see a patient of father's In the 
 country. I was to have sent word to Stein. I wonder 
 if it is time yet.i* " 
 
 " It is half-past five now," said Helen, stepping to the 
 window to look at her watch. " It is almost dark and I 
 must make haste to get home." 
 
 At that moment there came a knock at the door. 
 
 "There he is! " cried the two young ladies unisono, 
 trembling like a couple of deer when a shot is fired in 
 the woods. 
 
 Another knock. 
 
 " What shall we do ? " whispered Helen, who seemed 
 to have lost all her self-control. 
 
 " Of course we must say : ' Walk in ! ' What else can 
 we do .'' " replied Sophie, laughing involuntarily. " Walk 
 in!" 
 
 The person who entered was probably unable to 
 recognize the ladies in the half-dark room ; he remained 
 standing near the door, as if he hesitated. 
 
 "Come nearer, doctor," said Sophie, holding Helen's 
 hands. " I must ask your pardon for receiving you in 
 the dark ; but we will have light directly." 
 
 Oswald had approached her as she said these words, 
 and had bowed to the ladies. Evidently he had not yet 
 recognized Helen, who stood aside, looking towards the 
 window. 
 
 " I have to ask pardon," he said, " for I fear I have in- 
 terrupted the ladies. But as I found nobody in the 
 hall " 
 
Through Nig hi to Light. 231 
 
 Suddenly he stopped ; the blood rushed to his heart. 
 He shuddered all over. Was not the silent figure by 
 Miss Roban, Helen .? He approached a little nearer. 
 There was no doubt; that head whose outline she had so 
 often admired almost reverently, could belong to no 
 one but Helen . . . He hardly heard it as Sophie said : 
 " You do not recognize Friiulein von Grenwitz ; I vcill 
 go myself to order lights." He heard the door close 
 behind Miss Roban ; he only knew that he was alone 
 with her. He knelt down before her and seized her 
 hand to cover it with burning kisses. 
 
 The surprise and the darkness favored Oswald's bold- 
 ness. Helen trembled so violently that she could not 
 prevent him ; she had barely strength enough to say : 
 
 " For God's sake, Oswald, get up ! I pray you, get 
 up ! " 
 
 It was high time, for at that moment Sophie returned, 
 followed by a servant who brought a lamp. 
 
 Oswald succeeded in checking his emotion. Helen 
 turned to the window, under the pretext that the sudden 
 light was dazzling her eyes, and looked down upon the 
 street, while Sophie explained Franz's absence. 
 
 " Then I will not deprive the ladies for another mo- 
 ment of the enjoyment of a friendly chat," said Osjvald, 
 bowing to take leave. 
 
 "Why, Doctor," said Sophie, gayly, "are you such a 
 foe to friendly chats that your presence must need make 
 an end to them ? You ought rather to sit down and do 
 credit to Franz, who calls you the most entertaining 
 companion he knows. Come, Helen, take a seat here 
 by the fire-place. Miss Mai will not cry too bitterly if 
 you stay a little longer." 
 
 Oswald had just been about to accept the offered seat; 
 but when he heard that Helen possibly might not stay, 
 he contented himself with a silent bow, to acknowledge 
 Sophie's invitation. 
 
 " Thanks, dear Sophie," said Helen, turning round 
 from the window, "but I must really go — another time." 
 
 She had apparently regained her usual calmness ; 
 only a very acute observer might have noticed in the 
 >ieeper red of her cheeks the last trace of past emotion, 
 
^32 Through Night to Light. 
 
 and in her cast-down eyes the desire to conceal the lat- 
 ter from observation. 
 
 Oswald, who was looking around for the means to 
 retain Helen a few moments longer, saw the piano open, 
 and music lying upon the desk. He took up the first 
 piece he found; it was Robert Schumann's composi- 
 tion. 
 
 " Oh pray,, pray, Miss Helen," he said, "if you have a 
 minute to spare, sing this song. It deserves to be sung 
 by you ! " 
 
 "We have just sung it over," said Sophie; "it is 
 really very fine, and Fraulein von Grenwitz sings it 
 beautifully. Will you sing it, dear Helen .? " 
 
 If there was a question of music, no one was more 
 eager than Sophie. Taking Helen's consent, therefore, 
 for granted, she had placed the music on the stand, 
 taken her seat on the edge of the piano-stool, as she 
 liked to do, and was looking expectingly at Helen, while 
 she played a few bars of a prelude. 
 
 Thus Helen saw herself forced to lay aside her hat, 
 which she was already holding in her hand, and to step 
 up to the piano, although she felt at that moment little 
 disposed to sing, since her young, full heart was still 
 trembling under the effect of the passionate scene which 
 had just taken place. 
 
 Oswald stood a few steps off", leaning with folded arms 
 against the mantelpiece, his eyes fixed immovably on 
 the two slender forms. And, indeed, the sight was such 
 as to arrest his attention ; a more charming one could 
 hardly have been found. 
 
 One might have doubted at that moment which of 
 the two was — not the more beautiful, for Helen was in- 
 disputably the fairer — but the more interesting. The 
 harmony of most lovely features, the velvety softness of 
 a dark complexion, and the bluish blackness of her rich 
 hair — all this spoke in favor of Helen, and seemed to 
 raise her to inapproachable heights of beauty ; but the 
 expression in Sophie's face as she sat there, given up to 
 her music, now bending over the keys, and coaxing out, 
 as It were, tne sort notes, and now looking up as if she 
 was following the escaping sounds in the air, would 
 
Through Night to Light. 233 
 
 have been ample compensation for him \\\\o finds the 
 greatest beauty in the most spiritual expression. As a 
 favorable glance of sunlight may often pour over a land- 
 scape, which has no charms of its own, a marvellous 
 beauty, so the noble, art-loving soul of the girl lighted 
 up and made brilliant her face, which was far from 
 being really beautiful. There was something of Bee- 
 thoven's nature in it — the meteoric light which the freed 
 spirit of man casts through the vast night of sensuality 
 into the unbounded regions of eternal lightness. And, 
 strangely enough, in the same measure in which music 
 heightened the expression in Sophie's face, it softened the 
 harshness in Helen's energetic beauty, by giving her 
 proud features a mildness which they never showed in 
 ordinary life. The harmony of sweet notes awakened 
 there the slumbering genius, and put here the demon 
 of pride and ambition to sleep, so that the poetic excite- 
 ment benefitted both, though in quite opposite ways. 
 
 So it seemed to Oswald, while his eyes rested on the 
 charming picture of the two girls at the piano. Helen 
 seemed to him almost a stranger; he had to become 
 once more familiar with her beauty ; and yet, it did not 
 make the same overwhelming impression upon him as 
 before. He ascribed this partly to the unaccustomed 
 surroundings, partly to the attractive form of Sophie, 
 which interrupted him in his devotion. He did not know 
 that since he had seen Helen last, the mirror of his soul 
 had become dim, and was no longer able to reflect a 
 pure image purely. In vain he tried to catch a glance 
 from Helen. If Sophie was so entirely given up to her 
 music that she had really forgotten his presence, 
 Helen seemed at least to be in the same state of mind. 
 She did not raise her eyes from the music. Oswald 
 rejoiced at it. He concluded from it that his stormy 
 greeting was, if not forgiven, still also not yet for- 
 gotten. 
 
 They had drifted, as is apt to happen in such cases, 
 from one song into a second, and from that into a third 
 and fourth. But suddenly Helen declared she must go 
 home now. Oswald, who thought that of course a serv- 
 ant from the institute was waiting outside, was just 
 
234 Through Night to Light. 
 
 considering how he should manage to ask her permis- 
 sion to see her home, wlien Sophie's question : "but you 
 cannot go home alone?" relieved him of his trouble. 
 What was more natural than that he should make his 
 bow and politely offer his arm to Friiulein von Gren- 
 witz, and that Friiulein von Grenwitz should accept it 
 with a haughty bend of her head ! 
 
 Sophie was just buttoning the young lady's velvet 
 cloak, and tying a white fichu around her neck, " that 
 your voice may not come to harm, Helen ! " and Oswald 
 was standing, hat in hand, by her side, when the door 
 opened, before any one had heard a knock, and in 
 walked Mr. Bemperlein. 
 
 Oswald, who was standing with his back to the door, 
 only became aware of Bemperlein's presence when he 
 heard Sophie's greeting : " How do you do, Bemperly .? " 
 and turned round to see the new comer. At the same 
 moment Bemperlein recognized Oswald. 
 
 They had not seen each other since that night in 
 which Bemperlein had come to carry Melitta to Fichte- 
 nan and surprised the lovers in the park. They had then 
 parted in cordial friendship ; and now, after so many 
 weeks, when they saw each other again, neither offered 
 his hand to the other, neither greeted the other with a 
 smile, nor with a hearty word of kindness. Their whole 
 Avelcome consisted in a formal bow a.nd a few indifferent 
 phrases, so that Sophie, who had thought Oswald and 
 Bemperlein were intimate friends, was not a little sur- 
 prised and did not exactly know what she ought to do 
 in such an unforeseen case. However, the embarrassing 
 situation was not to last long ; for Sophie had scarcely 
 introduced Mr. Bemperlein to Friiulein von Grenwitz — 
 who either did not recollect the tutor, whom she yet had 
 often enough seen at Berkow, or did not choose to ac- 
 knowledge it in words — when Helen and Oswald left 
 the room. Sophie went as far as the door with them, 
 while Bemperlein remained standing near the fire-place, 
 his hands on his back, and his eyes rigidly fixed upon 
 the ground. 
 
 It was almost night when Helen and Oswald found 
 themselves in the ill-lighted street. 
 
Through Night to Light. 235 
 
 " "What way shall we go ? " asked Oswald. 
 
 " I thought there was but one way? " 
 
 " Oh no ! " we might go the way by the ramparts. It 
 is nearer and more pleasant walking there than on the 
 rough pavement." 
 
 " As you like it ! " 
 
 " Will you take my arm now ? " 
 
 It was the first time Oswald had had an opportunity 
 to take Helen's arm. He took pains not to shorten the 
 pleasure of walking arm in arm with the girl he loved 
 through the dark night. The way he had proposed 
 Avas not only much longer, but also much darker. It 
 led between the walls of the city and the ramparts of 
 the fortress — a pleasant walk in summer and by day, 
 but very unattractive on a dark autumn evening. 
 
 " It is darker than I thought," said Oswald, when they 
 had left the damp gate in the city wall, where the last 
 lamp was burning, and had reached the ramparts ; " had 
 we better turn back } " 
 
 " Not on my account ; I like it quite well so." 
 
 " At least, please wrap yourself up well in your cloak ; 
 the wind is blowing very keen from the sea, and the air 
 is damp and cold." 
 
 They went on for a few moments in silence. The dry 
 leaves of the trees, with which the walk was covered, 
 rustled under their feet ; plaintive sounds were heard 
 in the air ; it sounded like the groaning and sighing of 
 a shivering patient. 
 
 " How must it look now in the Grenwitz park ? " 
 asked Oswald. 
 
 " I was just thinking of it," replied Helen. 
 
 " I wish I could be there at this moment ! " 
 
 " What would you do there ? " 
 
 " I would saunter through the familiar walks, between 
 the yew-hedges in the garden below, and under the 
 beech-trees on the wall above, and talk with the slender 
 crescent of the moon, as it dances in the clouds, and 
 with the night-wind as it blows through the branches 
 and around the castle, of the blissful hours that are no 
 more, and can return no more." 
 
 "Then you like to think of Grenwitz," 
 
236 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Why should I not ? Have I not spent the happiest 
 days of all my joyless life there ? What do I care now 
 for all the bitter drops that fell into the cup of intoxicat- 
 ing sweetness ? I know nothing any more of them. I 
 feel as if I had lived then for the first and last time of 
 my life, and as if I had since died together with the 
 flowers in the garden and with the sunlight that was 
 playing in the morning on the dewy branches and scat- 
 tering strange shadows on the paths. Happy he whose 
 life really came to an end with that precious summer." 
 
 " Happy indeed ! " whispered Helen. 
 
 " Yes, happy ! He enjoyed for an hour the sight of 
 what was most beautiful, most glorious to him, and then 
 he passed away like the rosy breath of morning in the 
 rays of the much-beloved sun. He was relieved of the 
 burden of the oppressive heat and the stifling dvist of 
 noon. He needed not cover himself shuddering against 
 the sharp evening wind ; he did not see the beautiful, 
 gay world sink into weird darkness. Pardon me, I 
 pray. Miss Helen ; this is the second time to-night I 
 am carried away by the recollection of my departed dar- 
 ling. But I cannot tell you how strangely the sight of 
 you and your presence recalls to me his memory. The 
 scarred wounds bleed afresh, and the dry eyes begin to 
 weep once more." 
 
 " Is it not so with me too .'' " said Helen, and her voice 
 trembled. 
 
 " Then you loved him too .'' But no, I did not mean 
 to ask you that. How could you help loving him — fair 
 and brave, good and marvellously lovely as he was, and 
 when he loved you so ! loved you inexpressibly ! Oh, 
 Miss Helen, do you really know how dearly he loved 
 you.''- Do you know that he loved you unto death — that 
 he loved you more than his own life.'' " 
 
 " I know it," said Helen, in a whisper. 
 
 " More than his life," continued Oswald, passionately; 
 " beyond death. It was on his last day, a few hours be- 
 fore his death, that he showed me a medallion with a 
 lock of your hair, which he wore in his bosom, and beg- 
 ged me to place it in his grave by his side. I was not 
 able to fulfil his wish. You know that I left the castle 
 
Through Night to Light. 237 
 
 the next morning, not knowing whether I should ever 
 put my foot inside again, whether I should be allowed 
 to watch over my departed darling till his last mo- 
 ment. I could not bear tlie terrible thought that the 
 precious jewel might fall into profane hands ; I took it, 
 therefore, with the intention to hand it to you, who 
 alone have a legitimate claim to it. I still have it in 
 my keeping. When do you desire me to send it to 
 you .'' " 
 
 They had passed through the gate of the fortress, and 
 were now walking down a street in the suburb, beneath 
 tall, whispering poplar-trees. Oswald tried to read 
 Helen's face by the uncertain light of the moon, which 
 was just peeping out from behind drifting clouds. She 
 looked pale and deeply moved. Her arm rested more 
 firmly on his arm, when she replied, after a pause, 
 
 " Is the medallion very dear to you.-* " 
 
 " Can you ask me.-" " 
 
 " No, no ! do not misunderstand me; I am not insen- 
 sible; not ungrateful for love and friendship. Keep the 
 medallion ! Keep it in memory of your — of our dar- 
 ling ! " 
 
 " Only in memory of him } It is your hair, Miss 
 Helen ; and only in memory of him .'' " 
 
 " And — of me ! " 
 
 Oswald took the small hand which was resting on his 
 arm and carried it to his lips. 
 
 " You make me very proud and happy," he said. " I 
 have done nothing to deserve so great a favor ; but 
 then, on the other hand, would grace be grace if it could 
 be deserved.'' " 
 
 " You are overwhelming me with your modesty. You 
 wish me to thank you for all your kindness, as I ought 
 to thank you, and yet am not able to do. You have al- 
 ways been very kind to me ; you stood by me when even 
 my nearest relatives rose against me, and at the very 
 last " 
 
 " I did nothing but what I would do again at the peril 
 of my life. But here we are at Miss Bear's house. Is 
 the gate locked? " 
 
 "No." 
 
238 ^ Through Night to Light. 
 
 They went through the small garden up to the house- 
 door. Oswald rang the bell. 
 
 " Shall I see you again .'' " 
 
 " I go often to Doctor Rohan's ! " 
 
 The door was unlocked from within. 
 
 " Good-night ! " 
 
 " Good-night ! " 
 
 Oswald seized Helen's hand and pressed it passion- 
 ately to his lips. 
 
 The door opened. 
 
 " Till next time ! " whispered Oswald. 
 
 " Till next time ! " replied Helen, in a still lower tone. 
 
 Oswald thought she mentioned his name also. The 
 next instant she had disappeared in the house. 
 
 Oswald went back into the town in a state of excite- 
 ment which was by no means altogether joyous. Pure, 
 chaste joy could no longer enter his heart — as little as 
 we are able to play a correct air upon an instrument out 
 of tune. 
 
 Thus he reached town. Where Market street opens 
 upon the square all the Avindows were brilliantly lighted 
 up in the corner house, carriage after carriage drove up 
 to the door, dressed-up ladies and gentlemen stepped 
 out and disappeared under the lofty portal. When Os- 
 wald, walking close to the house, had come immediately 
 in front of the door, another carriage was driving up. 
 The driver checked the fiery horses too violently, and 
 the servant, who- was just jumping down from the box, 
 was thrown violently upon the ground. He gathered 
 himself up immediately, but the pain was probably too 
 great — he remained immovable, as if stunned. Oswald, 
 who had seen that there was only a lady in the coupe, 
 who had already risen, expecting the door to be opened, 
 seized the bolt, opened the door, and offered his hand to 
 the lady, who, placing her hand in the well-fitting white 
 glove unsuspiciovisly upon his arm, came down in a 
 cloud of tulle and laces. 
 
 At that moment the light from the interior of the 
 house fell brightly upon the lady and Oswald, and the 
 former uttered a cry, remaining motionless, and staring 
 at Oswald with Avide, open eyes. 
 
Through JVight to Light. 239 
 
 A deep blusli overspread her face, her eyes flamed 
 up — was it love or was it hatred, who knows ? Her lips 
 trembled ; evidently she had been overcome with sur- 
 prise. 
 
 The poor servant, who came limping vip, hat in hand, 
 broke the charm. 
 
 " Pardon me, my lady " 
 
 Oswald's face showed an ironical smile. 
 
 " I congratulate you, my iady," he said, offering his 
 hand to escort her up the steps. 
 
 Oswald felt the slender fingers grasping his arm very 
 firmly. 
 
 " Was it not your will .'' " she whispered. And now he 
 knew that the great gray eyes had flowed up with love, 
 and not with hatred. " Many thanks ! Let me see you 
 soon. I promise you Cloten will receive you well! " 
 
 They had reached the last step. 
 
 Oswald bowed. 
 
 " Then I shall see you again .'' " 
 
 " I will come ! " 
 
 The young lady entered the house. Oswald went 
 down the steps, past the lame servant, who was still 
 rubbing his knees, and looked wonderingly at his im- 
 provised colleague. 
 
 Oswald laughed aloud as he went on : " Emily Brce- 
 sen — Frau von Cloten ! And merely because I would 
 have it so ! And if I should not wish it to be so any 
 longer — w^hat then } " 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 DURING the next eight days the last crows had 
 come to town from the woods, and moved into 
 their winter quarters in the steeples; likewise, it 
 was reported in well-informed circles, that of the noble 
 families who used to spend their winter in Grunvvald, 
 not one of importance had remained in the country. 
 
240 Through Night to Light. 
 
 The increased animation which filled the otherwise quiet 
 streets, proved this sufficiently. At the theatre, the front 
 boxes, which were exclusively reserved for the nobility, 
 now overflowed every night. The good citizens of Grun- 
 wald were often frightened out of their first sleep by the 
 noise of furiously-driven carriages, and twelve hours 
 afterwards the same carnages came thundering back 
 again through the streets, when the disturbers of their 
 nightly rest had slept long enough, and felt an irre- 
 pressible desire to see each other again after so long an 
 interval, and to exchange their views about the inter- 
 esting events of the last ball — how often young Count 
 Grieben had danced with the youngest Miss Nadelitz, 
 and what a strange head-dress the Baroness Renrien 
 had worn. 
 
 Last night there had been a great ball at Count 
 Grieben's; and to-morrow was to be a great party 
 at the Grenwitz mansion, the first they had given this 
 season. As the local etiquette required that the in- 
 vited guests should call on their host before the party, 
 as well as after it, visits had to be paid to-day at both 
 houses. The rolling of carriages had, therefore, no end 
 tc-day. 
 
 When visitors were expected in larger numbers, the 
 large reception-rooms of the Grenwitz mansion, which 
 fronted upon the street, laid aside their reserve and 
 opened their doors to all comers. So it was to-day. A 
 dozen visitors had been there ; another dozen Avere ex- 
 pected. Just now there was a pause. It so happened 
 that only the baron and the baroness were sitting in the 
 parlor. 
 
 Any one who should have observed them just now, 
 as they were escorting Mrs. Nadelitz and her three 
 daughters with smiles and compliments to the parlor 
 door, and who should have seen them after the door 
 had been closed, would have been greatly astonished at 
 their altered appearance. The old gentleman sank 
 with an air of thorough weariness into his easy-chair, 
 and Anna Maria sat down opposite to him on a sofa, 
 with a face from which all smiles had vanished to give 
 way to clouds of deepest indignation. There liad cvi- 
 
Through Kight to Light. 241 
 
 dently been a scene between the two before the last 
 visitors came, such as is not unusual in regular family- 
 dramas, and the question was now, simplv, which of the 
 two was to resume first the interrupted dialogue. 
 
 In former days this would have evidently been the 
 privilege of Anna Maria, who enjoyed strife, and felt 
 sure of victory. But strangely enough, husband and 
 wife seemed recently to have exchanged parts. The 
 baron was almost transformed since Bruno's death and 
 Helen's departure from home. Formerly good-natured, 
 yielding, and peaceful, he had become sensitive, grum- 
 bling, and obstinate. This change might have been in 
 part the effect of his bad state of health and his decline, 
 which had become very perceptible in the last weeks ; 
 but sometimes it looked as if the cause was a deeper 
 one — as if the recent events had roused the old gentle- 
 man from his lethargy, and shown him many things 
 and many persons in a very different light from that in 
 which he had seen them before. He who had formerly 
 hardly taken a glass of water without first consulting 
 his Anna Maria, suddenly began to act for himself, even 
 to think for himself, and to have positive views of his 
 own, which he maintained with that obstinacy and per- 
 tinacity which is often observed in weak minds. He 
 had had attacks of this obstinacy in former years also, 
 but now the sporadic occurrences seemed to have 
 changed into a chronic disease. People are apt to say 
 of somebody who acts in an extraordinary manner, "he 
 won't live long; " and if there is any reason for this as- 
 sertion, the days of the baron must have been num- 
 bered. Perhaps this was really so, and the baron sus- 
 pected it secretly, so that he made unheard-of efforts of 
 his mind and his will, exactly as old, very sedate canary- 
 birds are apt to hop about and to flutter with nervous 
 violence a few minutes before composing themselves to 
 sleep. 
 
 Such a nervous violence characterized the manner in 
 which the old gentleman, now taking a pinch from his 
 gold snuff-box, closed the top, and then said, as if Anna 
 Maria had given him the cue just then, and not already, 
 half an hour ago : 
 
242 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Stay ! Everything must have an end ; ^ye cannot 
 leave Helen forever at Miss Bear's." 
 
 " I am not accustomed," replied Anna Maria, taking- 
 up her embroidering — she liked to be found busy at work 
 when visitors came — " I am not accustomed to say one 
 thing to-day and to-morrow another thing. Others may 
 think differently about it. We would make ourselves 
 ridiculous before the whole world if we were to take 
 Helen back after four weeks." 
 
 " It is nearly six weeks," growled the baron. 
 
 " Four or six, that makes no difference." 
 
 " It does for me. I am an old man ; I may die to-mor- 
 row." 
 
 " You have said so these ten years." 
 
 " If I have said so for ten years," replied the baron, 
 deeply offended by the indifference which lay in the 
 words of his wife, " it is because I have not had a well 
 day for ten years ; and one of these days the morning 
 will break when I am no more, and that is why I 
 should like to have my daughter near me again as 
 soon as possible." 
 
 " And of your son you say nothing ; you do not 
 mind whether Malte is well or unwell. And yet it is 
 Malte in whom all our hopes are centring. You 
 ought to thank God that you have a son who can in- 
 herit the estate ; instead of that it is Helen, and all the 
 time Helen, whom you consider as all-important." 
 
 " I thank God that I have a son, and I thank you that 
 you have given me a son ; not because he is my heir, 
 but because he is my flesh and blood, whom I can love, 
 as I love my daughter also. As to the estate, you know 
 my views about that. I abhor entails, which only serve 
 to create discord in the family." 
 
 The b^ron took a pinch, evidently in order to be 
 calm ; but the remedy seemed this time to have the 
 opposite effect, for he continued, after this interruption, 
 with increasing violence : 
 
 " Why did you want to marry your daughter absolutely 
 to Felix } Because Felix may possibly one of these days 
 inherit the entail ! Why is Felix your special protege.^ 
 Because he may possibly inherit the entail ! Why must 
 
Through Night to Light. 243 
 
 I have Felix in my house, whom I cannot bear, and do 
 without Helen, whom I love? Because Felix may in- 
 herit the entail ! " 
 
 " Don't repeat yourself so often, dear Grenwitz," said 
 Anna Maria in a quiet tone, which did not harmonize at 
 all with the deep-red spots on her cheeks and the pierc- 
 ing sharpness of her large gray eyes, " and do not excite 
 yourself unnecessarily so much, your cough will return 
 directly. It matters very little how you think about 
 entailed estates. You cannot change them, God be 
 thanked. But as for me, you must permit me to think 
 differently about it, and to do in that direction what I 
 think is my duty. If you have no duties to fulfil to 
 your children, I have. If you are willing to give your 
 daughter to the first adventurer who wants her, or 
 whom she wants — you need not stamp impatiently with 
 your sick foot ; and you will spill the snuff on the carpet 
 if you knock your box so violently on the arm of the 
 chair. I say, if it is indifferent to you Avhom Helen 
 marries, it is not so to me. I have advocated the mar- 
 riage with Felix, not from obstinacy, which I leave to 
 others, but because I thought it was a good match, the 
 best which a girl without fortune could make. You 
 can see how little obstinate I am when you consider 
 that I am no longer in favor of the match since 
 Felix's accident, since the doctor thinks he is consump- 
 tive. On the contrary, as soon as it is well ascertained 
 that Felix wont live long, I shall be one of the first 
 to drop him, especially as he will leave nothing but 
 debts." 
 
 The old gentleman seemed to be by no means pleased 
 with this exhibition of cold-blooded egotism. He had 
 a kind of dim perception — not the first of its kind — that 
 his highly moral wife might possibly have a very bad 
 heart, and he sighed. It is bitter to have to give up in 
 the evening of life an illusion whicli we have indulged 
 in for a quarter of a century. 
 
 He fell into silent meditation. What it was that had 
 occupied his thoughts, he showed in the first words tliat 
 fell from him. After a pause, during which Anna Maria 
 had been busy at her work, in nervous silence : 
 
244 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " At least, be kind to her to-morrow when she comes 
 to see us." 
 
 " I have always known what my duty is," replied the 
 baroness, looking up from- her work and raising her eye- 
 brows. " I shall know it in this case also." 
 
 The baron apparently did not feel quite reassured by 
 her words ; but before he could find words to express 
 his apprehension, the servant opened the door and an- 
 nounced, "Baron and Baroness Barnewitz." 
 
 The two entered the room. 
 
 Baron Barnewitz and his wife had only come to town 
 the day before. Baron Barnewitz was a great hunter 
 before the Lord, and did not like to leave his dogs and 
 his horses. He had not come much into the parlor since 
 the hunting season had opened, and he still bore the 
 traces of his last fox-hunt. His shoulders and his red 
 beard looked still broader, and his voice was louder and 
 hoarser than usual. Hortense Barnewitz, on the con- 
 trary, was a shade paler and lighter than in the summer, 
 and looked a great deal more wearied and fatigued. 
 Her lips were thinner, and her blue eyes had become 
 sharper. She evidently began to find life, all in all, un- 
 profitable, especially since last night. She had been sadly 
 neglected at the ball for the sake of younger and more 
 attractive ladies. 
 
 " Oh, at last we have the pleasure! " said Anna Maria, 
 rising to meet her guests, with the stereotyped gracious 
 smile which she always held ready for such occasions. 
 
 "Entirely our own pleasure, madame," cried the fox- 
 hunter, kissing the thin hand of the baroness ; "entirely 
 our own. By God, could not come sooner. Arrived 
 yesterday at noon ; last night at Grieben's. Pity you 
 were not there; famous, I tell you; had almost as much 
 fun as at the last hunt. My wife was tired ; had no 
 encouragement. People are always tired wlien no en- 
 couragement. Ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 "You must pardon Karl's way of talking," said Hor- 
 tense, taking a seat by the baroness on the sofa ; " he has 
 lived the last six weeks almost exclusively with grooms 
 and huntsmen." 
 
 " And with you, my darling! ha, ha, ha ! " laughed the 
 
Through Night to Light. 245 
 
 gallant husband. " Well, Hortense needn't take it amiss. 
 Husbands, wife, can afford a joke, eh? " 
 
 " How do things look at home ? " asked Anna Maria, 
 trying to give a more interesting turn to the conversation. 
 
 "Oh, so so!" said Baron Barnewitz. "The winter 
 wheat is generally doing very Avell ; here and there the 
 mice have done some harm. The summer was too hot. I 
 think the rain will do us some good now. Apropos of rain, 
 Grenwitz ! we must settle that question about the 
 ditches, else we shall all of us be drowned one of these 
 days. I have talked about it to Oldenburg, a few days 
 ago. He belongs to our district, with his estate at 
 Cona. He thought, too, the thing would have to be 
 done this fall." 
 
 " Why, does the baron nowadays take an interest in 
 farming? That is something entirely new," said Anna 
 Maria. 
 
 " Entirely new, madame," affirmed Baron Barnewitz ; 
 "the very last news, ha, ha, ha! since his return from 
 his travels ; that is to say, about a fortnight. I think he 
 will be crazy next." 
 
 " Or marry your cousin Melitta," said the baroness, 
 smiling. 
 
 " Perhaps that would be the same thing," suggested 
 Hortense. 
 
 " But, dear Hortense, you ought not to be so satiri- 
 cal," said the baroness, threatening the satirical blonde 
 with her uplifted finger jestingly. 
 
 " Are jealous ; you are jealous ! " cried Baron Barne- 
 witz. " You have always envied her her beaux, because 
 she has one for every finger." 
 
 " It is a great art to be attended by gentlemen, if one 
 leaves no means of coquetry unused," said Hortense, 
 dropping hdr cloak far enough to show her white shoul- 
 ders. 
 
 " Well, it is not quite as bad as that," replied her hus- 
 band. 
 
 Hortense shrugged her white shoulders. 
 
 "Bad is a relative idea. Melitta has given so much 
 ground for gossip in her life that people are not so very 
 strict with her." 
 
246 Through Night to Light. 
 
 "But that might be the case with Baron Oldenburg 
 too," said Anna Maria. 
 
 "Possibly," said Hortense. "I do not know Baron 
 Oldenburg well enough " 
 
 The fox-hunter saw himself compelled to pull out his 
 handkerchief, and to blow his nose furiously. 
 
 " Not well enough," repeated Hortense, who proba- 
 bly discovered some connection between her words and 
 the violent blowing of her husband's nose ; " but, if he 
 can get over Melitta's last affair, he must, indeed, be very 
 tolerant." 
 
 "Last affair!" said moral Anna Maria, raising her 
 eyebrows; "why, I had not heard of anything ! " 
 
 " Gossip, madame, gossip ! " said Barnew»itz, who re- 
 membered that Melitta was his first cousin, and that he 
 had, as a boy of seventeen, worshipped the beautiful 
 girl of twelve. " Nothing but the gossip of a set of old 
 women." 
 
 " Old women often have very useful, sharp eyes," re- 
 marked Hortense, examining attentively the stucco or- 
 naments of the ceiling. 
 
 " You make me very curious," said Anna Maria, sit- 
 ting down comfortably in tho sofa-corner. 
 
 " It is nonsense, madame, I assure you," said Barne- 
 witz, angrily. " A couple of old women from our vil- 
 lage, who were stealing wood at night in the Berkow 
 forest — at least I cannot see how else they could have 
 been there — say that Melitta has had secret interviews 
 in her little forest cottage with — Heaven knows whom ! " 
 
 " Why, that is quite a piquant story," said Anna 
 Maria. 
 
 " Yes ; and what makes it still more piquant," said 
 Hortense, her eyes still busy at the ceiling, " is this: that 
 the Heaven knows who always came by the road from 
 Grenwitz, and always went back again the same way!" 
 
 Anna Maria's eyes opened as wide as they possibly 
 could when she heard this statement. 
 
 " When is that reported to have taken place 1 " she 
 asked, with severity. " I will not hope " 
 
 " Oh, do not trouble yourself about it," interrupted 
 Hortense ; " Felix came much later. It was aDout the 
 
Through Night to Light. 247 
 
 time when we gave our first ball, and Oldenburg, who 
 was assigning the guests their seats at table with Karl, 
 made my cousin go to table with Doctor Stein, and 
 carried him afterwards home in his own carriage. It 
 was a touching attention, though not without its comical 
 side in this case ; as well as the warmth with which 
 Oldenburg afterwards took Mr. Stein's part when your 
 nephew, Felix, had that unpleasant affair with him. 
 Oh, it is too amusing ! But nobody can accuse my 
 cousin that she does not know how to make friends 
 of her friends." 
 
 The old baron had listened to this interesting conver- 
 sation in perfect silence, and apparently with utter in- 
 difference. All the more surprising was the vehemence 
 Avith which he now said, shaking his gray head indig- 
 nantly, 
 
 " Frau von Berkow is a dear lady, whom I esteem ; 
 Baron Oldenburg is a man of honor ; I have always 
 known him as such, and have had quite recently occa- 
 sion to see it again in some very important business I 
 had with him. I am sorry, my friends, to hear you 
 speak of them in this hard and unfeeling manner — very 
 sorry! very sorry!" 
 
 And the old man trembled so violently with deep 
 emotion that he could hardly carry the pinch he held 
 between his fingers to his nose. 
 
 Baron Barnewitz nodded his head, as if he wished to 
 say : The old gentleman is not so far out. But Hortense 
 was not in the humor to accept the correction patiently. 
 
 " Don't trouble yourself about that, my dear baron," 
 she replied scornfully; "you know that the name of 
 this Mr. Stein has elsewhere also obtained quite a ce- 
 lebrity in the annals of the past summer. The more 
 frequently it is, therefore, coupled with my cousin, why, 
 all the more rarely can it be put in connection with the 
 names of other ladies." 
 
 It was fortunate for the old gentleman that he did 
 not understand this allusion to Ilclen, since it had never 
 occurred to him in the most remote way that his 
 daughter could have been the cause of the duel between 
 Felix and Oswald. 
 
248 Through Night to Light. 
 
 In the meantime Hortense seemed to feel that she had 
 probably gone too far. She hastened, therefore, to say 
 that it was quite late already, and she was just about to 
 rise in order to take leave when more visitors were an- 
 nounced, which compelled her to stay. No one was to 
 say of Hortense Barnewitz that she had fled before a 
 rival. But such a rival w^as, in more than one respect, 
 Emily Cloten, who now rushed in ahead of her hus- 
 band. 
 
 Emily had been married a fortnight. She had pre- 
 ferred not to make any other wedding tour than from 
 the estate of her parents, where the wedding had taken 
 place, to Grunwald. She did not wish to miss the be- 
 ginning of the season. She longed to appear at once 
 on the stage of her future triumphs, in order to prevent 
 any possible competition. Emily Breesen did not want 
 to have become F"rau von Cloten for nothing — the wife 
 of a man to whom she had engaged herself in a fit of 
 jealousy — whom she had married from pure caprice. 
 
 The success which she had obtained at the first balls 
 of the season fulfilled her boldest expectations. She 
 saw all the men at her feet, and the consciousness of 
 the power of her charms furnished an excellent relief 
 for her coquettish beauties. The certainty of victory 
 beamed from her large, almond-shaped gray eyes; the 
 certainty of victory played around lier rather large but 
 well-shaped mouth, with its dazzling white teeth; the 
 certainty of victory peeped stealthily from the dimples 
 in her rosy cheeks; the certainty of victory even pro- 
 claimed itself in the rustling of her long silk dresses 
 and the nodding of the white ostrich-feather on her 
 black-velvet hat, from under which the luxuriant brown 
 hair overflowed in all directions. 
 
 Baron Cloten, on his side, seemed to have found out 
 that the sublime good fortune of being the husband of 
 so brilliant a lady was somewhat equivocal. There was 
 around his eyes a faint expression like that of a turkey-hen 
 who has for weeks been dreaming and boasting of the 
 hoped-for happiness to promenade in the poultry -yard at 
 the head of a number of young, respectable turkeys, and 
 who suddenly sees her brood swim on the pond in the 
 
Through Night to Light. 249 
 
 shape of wild, disrespectful ducklings. Those who had 
 known him before could not help noticing that he 
 twisted his blond moustache less frequently, and that 
 his voice sounded by no means as self-complacent as 
 formerly. Perhaps he was all the more disconcerted as 
 he had unexpectedly and without any desire of his own 
 met his lady-love, whom he had faithlessly and somewhat 
 cowardly abandoned ; while on the other hand, this very 
 circumstance seemed visibly to increase the good humor 
 of his young wife. She had the pleasing consciousness 
 of having totally eclipsed Hortense last night, and she 
 now enjoyed the sight of her rival most heartily. Of 
 course she greeted her with all the signs of most cordial 
 friendship, and asked her with deep sympathy whether 
 the night's rest had relieved her of her headache of last 
 night. 
 
 " What a pity, dear Barnewitz, that your migraine 
 compelled you to leave before the cotillon. I assure 
 you, it was the most lovely cotillon I have ever danced. 
 Prince Waldenberg — you know I led the cotillon with 
 Prince \yaldenberg ; Max Grieben had begged us to do 
 so — knew a number of the newest figures, as they dance 
 them at the court balls in Berlin. I tell you such a 
 cotillon was never danced yet in Grunwald. Was it 
 not charming, Arthur.'" 
 
 " Oh certainly, certainly .' " rattled the obedient hus- 
 band, who had been condemned to dance with a poor, 
 hunchbacked countess ; " I assure you, it was divine ; 
 upon my word, divine !" 
 
 " I thought the company, to tell the truth, was rather 
 mixed," said Hortense, who looked a few degrees more 
 blas'ee since Emily had come ; " I counted hot less than 
 four — say four — artillery officers who were not noble." 
 
 "Why, that is very likely," said Emily, "although I 
 had no time to count them. I have even danced with 
 one of them — Jones, or Smith, or whatever his name was 
 — and, by tlie way, he waltzed as magnificently as I 
 could wish." 
 
 " But, dear Emily, might you not have escaped that.-' " 
 said Hortense, drawing up her cloak. 
 
 " Precisely the same question which Prince Walden- 
 II* 
 
250 Through Night to Light. 
 
 berg asked. ' Your Highness,' I replied, ' I am no enthusi- 
 ast about the artillery ; but, after all, I Avould rather dance 
 with a man who is not noble than not to dance at all.' " 
 
 This allusion to a misfortune which had twice oc- 
 cured to Hortense last night, put the poor lady in such 
 an excited state that the rouge on her cheeks became 
 quite useless. She was just about to commit the folly 
 of betraying by a violent answer how deep the venomous 
 arrow shot by Emily had wounded her, when the servant 
 announced " Professor and Mrs. Jager." 
 
 The man was so well trained that he did not, as 
 usually, admit the persons he announced at once into 
 the parlor, but closed the door behind him and remained 
 standing there bolt upright, waiting for further orders. 
 
 " You will excuse me, my friends," said Anna Maria, 
 apologizing, and turning to the company present, " if I 
 receive the professor and his wife. The good people 
 have always shown themselves loyal, and quite aware of 
 their social position. I think it is our duty to encour- 
 age such people." 
 
 Upon a sign of his mistress the servant went out, and 
 there appeared the man of the Fragment and the poetess, 
 making deep bows and courtesies, which were returned 
 with a gentle nod by the noble company. Only the old 
 baron rose, shook hands with them, and bade them wel- 
 come in his cordial, unvarnished manner. 
 
 If Primula, who looked somewhat shyly from under 
 the cornflowers on her bonnet, seemed to stand rather 
 in need of some such encouragement, the editor of Chry- 
 sophilos evidently could very well do without it. Hu- 
 mility, it is true, spoke from his small eyes, Avhich 
 squinted suspiciously above the golden rim of his spec- 
 tacles as he approached with bent back ; modesty, it is 
 true, smiled from the unpleasant lines which marked 
 the large mouth with its low-drawn corners ; but they 
 were the humility and the modesty of a cat rubbing 
 her back against the foot of the ladder which leads to 
 the garret where the fat pigeons are cooing. He went 
 up to the baroness, kissed repeatedly her graciously- 
 extended hand, bowed low to the other two ladies, not 
 quite so low to the gentlemen, seated himself after some 
 
Through Night to Light. 251 
 
 hesitation on the edge of a chair which stood rather 
 outside of the circle, and waited, his head slightly on 
 one side, till somebody should feel disposed to honor 
 him witli a question. 
 
 The conversation of the company turned on a most in- 
 teresting subject, the person of his Highness, First Lieu- 
 tenant Prince Waldenberg, who had been ordered a few 
 weeks ago from his regiment of the Guards at the Cap- 
 ital to the line regiment Avhich was in garrison at 
 Grunwald, and who had of course, from his first appear- 
 ance, become the lion of> the whole country nobility 
 now residing in town. 
 
 " Only I should like to know why he has been ordered 
 here," said Cloten. " Felix, with whom I talked it over 
 yesterday — apropos^ it is very well, madame, you make 
 him keep his room ; he looks really very badly — Felix 
 thinks the prince has probably had another duel ; they 
 sav he is the most passionate man in the world." 
 
 " Why, Arthur ! " said Emily. " You talk as if passion 
 were a crime. I wish some people I know had a little 
 more of it." 
 
 " Are not the Waldenbergs of Slavonic descent } " 
 asked Hortense. " It seems to me the prince looks like 
 a Mongolian." 
 
 " Oh ! you have not seen him near, my dearest Barne- 
 witz," said Emily ; " he is one of the handsomest men I 
 have ever seen, and he dances divinely." 
 
 " I believe the Waldenbergs are originally a Polish 
 family," said Anna Maria. 
 
 " Not at all, madame," cried Cloten ; " pure Germanic, 
 upon honor, pure Germanic." 
 
 " I am sure Professor Jager can tell us something 
 more about that," said the baroness, turning with a gra- 
 cious smile towards the man of science. 
 
 " Indeed, my gracious lady," said the latter, glad to 
 have found an opportunity for the display of his knowl- 
 edge ; " indeed, I have always taken special pleasure, 
 while pursuing my historical studies, to trace out the 
 genealogies of noble families, and thus it happens that 
 I have given special attention to the history of the Wal- 
 denberg family, which is in many respects a most inter- 
 
252 Through Night to Light. 
 
 esting one. The Waldenbergs were, if you will excuse 
 me for correcting your remarks, of purely German de- 
 scent. They came originally from Franconia, and only 
 went to Prussia with the German knights. Afterwards, 
 it is true, they have largely intermarried with noble Po- 
 lish families, and hence they own still large estates in the 
 Lausitz, where the family estate lies, and in Russian Po- 
 land. The present prince, also, has both Slavonic and 
 Germanic blood in his veins. His mother, the Princess 
 Stephanie Letbus, of the house of Wartenberg, mar- 
 ried in eighteen hundred and twenty-two, in St. Peters- 
 burg, where she has lived from her early youth — I men- 
 tioned before that part of their possessions are in Rus- 
 sia — a Count Constantin Malikowsky, the last scion 
 of a once very rich and powerful Polish family, who 
 is now, however, quite reduced. The Emperor Alexan- 
 der, who, as they say, was under obligations to both fami- 
 lies " (here the professor ventured upon a stealthy smile 
 to the young princess, who was lady in waiting to the em- 
 press and exceedingly beautiful, and to the count whose 
 family had been mainly ruined by Russian confiscations), 
 *' has the credit of having made the match. Such influ- 
 ence was perhaps necessary, because the reputation of 
 the count was — I trust you will pardon the veracity of 
 a conscientious historian — was, how shall I call it, some- 
 what doubtful. Young noblemen must sow their wild 
 oats, we all know that; but Count Malikowsky had prob- 
 ably carried the matter a little too far. However that 
 may be, the offspring of this marriage of Count Con- 
 stantin Malikowsky with the Princess Stephanie Letbus 
 is the prince, who at first was in the Russian service ; but 
 when with the last Prince Waldenberg the male succes- 
 sion in the family came to an end, and the estates lapsed 
 back to the crown, the King of Prussia as a special favor 
 declared him qualified to succeed, and he entered our 
 service as Prince Count Malikowsky Waldenberg. His 
 lull name is, as you may possibly not know yet, Ria- 
 mund Grcgorius Stephan, Prince Count Malikowsky 
 Waldenberg, hereditary lord of Letbus." 
 
 The company had followed the genealogical lecture 
 of the learned professor with the same attention with 
 
Through Night to Light. 253 
 
 which a company of ordinary crows miglit listen to the 
 report of an owl about the descent of a rare raven who 
 measures four yards from tip to tip. The devout silence 
 was suddenlv interrupted by the voice of the servant, 
 who opened the door with nervous haste and called out, 
 " His Highness, Prince Waldenberg! " 
 
 The nervous servant seemed to have clectrilied the 
 whole company in the room. A moment later and they 
 all stood straight up before their chairs, anxiously look- 
 ing at the door, through whose wide-open frame the 
 prince was entering so quickly that Anna Maria was 
 not able to make the three steps to meet him Avhich eti- 
 quette required, but had only time for one and a half 
 
 " You have had the kindness, madame," said the 
 prince in excellent French, slightly bending over the 
 hand of the baroness, " to anticipate my wishes by your 
 invitation, before I had an opportunity to make myself 
 worthy of such an attention. Permit me to try to make 
 amends for my neglect." 
 
 " An effort, mon prince,'' answered Anna Maria, with 
 her sweetest smile, also in French, " which in a gentle- 
 man like yourself is sure of success. I regret exceed- 
 ingly that, rarely as we are from home, an unfortunate 
 accident should have caused us the other day to be ab- 
 sent just when you thought of honoring us with a visit. 
 Permit me to present you to my friends : the baron, my 
 husband ; Baron and Baroness Barnewitz ; Baron and 
 Baroness Cloten." 
 
 " I have already the honor," said the prince, smiling. 
 
 "Professor Jager, an excellent scholar, and a friend 
 of our house; Mrs. Jager, a lady whose poetical talent 
 deserves encouragement." 
 
 The prince bowed to each one of the persons presented 
 — even to the last-mentioned, which made quite a sensa- 
 tion — with the same dignity and courtesy, and gave the 
 signal to sit down by choosing himself a seat by Anna 
 Maria on an easy-chair. 
 
 During this long salutation those who had not known 
 the prince before had an opportunity to study his out- 
 ward appearance. His was a Herculean form, calculated 
 to impress a professional boxer forcibly, and to create 
 
^54 Through Night to Light. 
 
 a sensation in a circus, dressed up as an athlete ; but for 
 ordinary life was, perhaps, a little too large. Upon 
 the large, powerful body, whose height was in full har- 
 mony with the breadth of the shoulders and the mag- 
 nificent chest, there was set a head more angular than 
 round, covered all over with short, curling black hair, 
 and firmly resting upon a heck which looked too short 
 for the size of the head. The features of the face corre- 
 sponded with the whole. The brow was low and straight, 
 the eyes of bright darkness but small, and apparently 
 still further reduced in size by the heavy eyelids with 
 their dark lashes. The nose as well as the thick lips 
 were somewhat protruding. A beard, thicker and 
 blacker than the hair on the head, covered the cheeks 
 and the upper lip. The chin alone, shaved smooth, in 
 military style, was the energetic base of this energetic 
 face. Taken all in all, the assertion made by Hortense 
 that the prince looked like a Mongolian agreed as little 
 with the reality as Emily's judgment that he was strik- 
 ingly handsome. Nevertheless, the whole was a far too 
 striking individuality and too full of character to be 
 called plain, even if the strict rules of ideal beauty were 
 not all observed. A physiognomist would in vain have 
 looked for ideal qualities of any kind in the face of the 
 prince, but he would have discovered, in return, a most 
 energetic, powerful will; and, perhaps, if he had exam- 
 ined carefully, a boundless pride, which slept with open 
 eyes behind the mask, like a lion behind the bars of his 
 cage, and could be roused by a mere nothing. 
 
 The prince wore the simple uniform of the regiment 
 in garrison in Grunwald, but the two decorations on his 
 breast — a small cross set in diamonds, probably Russian; 
 and the order of the Blue Falcon of the second class, 
 with crossed swords — proved abundantly that he was a 
 man whose importance was great, aside from epaulet 
 and sword-knot. 
 
 Anna Maria treated her great guest with a distinction 
 corresponding fully with this higher mystical impor- 
 tance, which was only revealed to the profane eye by 
 the awe-inspiring sparkling of the diamonds. It was 
 this that caused the modest silence into which Barnewitz 
 
Through Night to Light. 255 
 
 and Cloten had fallen since his arrival ; the coquetry 
 with which Hortense and Clotilde tried to attract his 
 attention, and the embarrassment of the author of the 
 fragments and the poetess, who had a vague impression 
 that they were more than superfluous in this most noble 
 company, and yet did not dare to rise from their seats 
 and to go away. The prince and the baroness at first 
 kept up the conversation alone, until Hortense suc- 
 ceeded in wedging in a casual remark, and thus to ob- 
 tain the word to the great annoyance of Emily, who 
 had to leave her adversary in the undisturbed enjoy- 
 ment of this triumph, as she spoke French but imper- 
 fectly, and was hardly able to follow the rapid utter- 
 ance of her rival. Hortense, who knew Emily's weak 
 point, carried her malice so far as to turn round to her 
 continually with a " qiten ditcs — voiis^ chtre ainih ? N'esi 
 cc pns, Emilie7 " and to force her in this way to reply in 
 a manner which might be clever in spirit but was very 
 imperfect in form. Any one who could have noticed 
 the intense delight with which Hortense enjoyed her 
 triumph over her adversary would have been compelled 
 to acknowledge that even malice has its moments of 
 happiness. The delight, however, became almost too 
 great to be borne, when at last the prince hardly noticed 
 Emily any longer, and gave himself up entirely to the 
 charm of Hortense's amusing conversation. 
 
 Emily, however, was far too frivolous and too bold to 
 lose her good humor at once, because of such a momen- 
 tary defeat. The prince was not to her taste, although 
 she had before praised him in order to annoy her rival ; 
 and if he did not choose to speak German to her, as he 
 had done the night before, he might leave it alone. 
 Emily played with her beaux as a trifling child plays 
 with its dolls ; it was utterly indifi"erent to her whether 
 she broke the head of one, or the other fell into the 
 water ; she felt it only when one of her favorite dolls — 
 and she had occasionally, for the sake of variety, one 
 that she overwhelmed with caresses and kisses — was 
 not willing to be tender to her and to return her affec- 
 tion. Oswald had been such a favorite, but cold, des- 
 perately cold doll for her. She might have married 
 
256 Through Night to Light. 
 
 him and become his faithful Avife '\^ he had belonged to 
 the same circles in which she lived — at least her fancy 
 represented it to her as possible in dreamy hours — but 
 now she was Baroness Cloten, and then — what did it 
 matter to her? Was she not handsome and young, and 
 ten times cleverer than her foolish husband with his 
 everlasting " upon honor ! " and " divine ! " Why will 
 foolish men marry clever and handsome young wives, 
 especially when these wives have a fondness for fancies 
 brighter than the dull gray of actual life ? Are the wives 
 to be blamed in such cases if they go their own way, 
 which is sometimes so narrow and dark that virtue and 
 honor, the faithful companions of good wives, are lost 
 by the way ? 
 
 Emily Cloten had been watching the whole time for 
 an opportunity to enter into conversation with Mrs. 
 Jager, who, she suspected, might be able to give her 
 some news about Oswald, whom she had not seen again 
 since the night before. She availed herself, therefore, 
 of the favorable moment when the prince was speaking 
 to the baroness and Hortense, and the baron to the 
 reverend gentleman, in order to inquire of Primula 
 about " that young man Avho was tutor at Grenwitz 
 last summer — Fels, I think, or Rock, or Stein, or what- 
 ever his name was — since a friend of hers was in need of 
 a teacher." Emily was not mistaken; Primula could 
 give her all information about Mr. Stein — "not Fels, al- 
 though he has a heart like the poet's hero, Felsenfest ; 
 not Rock, although he towers like a rock above all 
 men " — as the enthusiastic poetess added warmly. He 
 called nearly every day, she said (Oswald had been there 
 once) ; he was like a member of the family, and as truly 
 united with her in warm friendship as in their common 
 aspirations. "Excelsior!" She did not think, how- 
 ever, Oswald would just now accept such a position, as 
 he was " suffering in the dull bonds of a school," but 
 she would mention to him the offer. 
 
 " Perhaps you had better not say anything," said 
 Emily, after a short meditation. "You know Mr. Stein 
 — how could I forget the name — did not leave our cir- 
 cle in perfect harmony. He might reject the offer at 
 
Through Night to Light. 257 
 
 once, if it came to him in that way. Could you not — 
 how shall we manage it? — yes! that's the way! Could 
 you not arrange it so, my dear Mrs. Jager, that I should 
 meet him at your house as if by mere chance? I have 
 long since desired to see the table on which the author 
 of the ' Cornflowers ' composes her beautiful poems." 
 
 " You overwhelm me with your kindness," cried Pri- 
 mula ! " I can only say with Zeus at the distribution 
 of the gifts of the earth : if you really wish to enter my 
 lowly hut, as often as you come it shall be open to you. 
 Shall we say day after to-morrow, at seven? " 
 
 " That will suit me exactly," said Emily. 
 
 Emily had given herself so completely to this inter- 
 esting conversation that her husband had to remind her 
 of the intended breaking up of the company. The 
 prince had risen; the others had followed his example. 
 
 '■'Madame,'' said the prince, '^ jai T honncur " — the word 
 died on his lips, for he saw in the large mirror before 
 him the form of a marvellously beautiful girl who had 
 suddenly entered the room without being announced 
 by the servant. He turned round almost frightened, and 
 stepped aside, with a low bow, to make room for the 
 young lady, who vrent up to the baroness. The young 
 lady was Helen Grenwitz. 
 
 Her appearance here was unexpected by all except 
 the baron and the baroness, and surprised and inter- 
 ested each one in his own way. The prince, who saw 
 her now for the first time, was the only one who knew 
 nothing of the difficulties in the family ; the others had 
 discussed the Grenwitz catastrophe for weeks with 
 great zeal and vast ingenuity in all directions, and as 
 Helen had thus been the common topic of conversation, 
 this first meeting of mother and daughter was therefore 
 to them all a most attractive scene. But if they had ex- 
 pected anything extraordinary they were doomed to 
 disappointment. The baron, to be sure, showed some 
 emotion as he rose to meet Helen and to kiss her brow, 
 but mother and daughter met with courteous coldness, 
 which furnislicd little food for the curiosity and thirst 
 for scandal of the assembly, ready as they were to notice 
 every gesture, and to treasure up every word. 
 
258 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Ah, good-day, my dear child," said the baroness, in 
 French, kissing Helen likewise on her forehead, but very 
 lightly. " You come just in time. Permit me, mon prince^ 
 to present my daughter, Helen — His Highness, Prince 
 Waldenberg, my child, the most recent as well as the 
 most brilliant acquisition for our society." 
 
 Helen returned the low bow of the prince, apparently 
 not dazzled by his high rank and his imposing appear- 
 ance, and then turned to Emily Cloten, who welcomed 
 her most heartily. Emily's sharp eyes had not failed to 
 observe the impression which Helen's startling beauty 
 had produced on the prince. Let the prince admire 
 whom he pleased, so Hortense lost her triumph ! 
 
 " Oh, how nice ! " she cried, embracing Helen, " that you 
 show yourself at last. I was coming to see you soon ; 
 we have to tell each other a whole world." And she 
 seized her friend by both hands and drew her aside a 
 few steps, so as to be able to say to her : " Look, the 
 prince is done, totalcment done! He does not take his 
 black eyes oif you for an instant ! If you want him, I'll 
 let you have him. He dances beautifully, but he is not 
 my genre. Encourage him a little ; it annoys the Barne- 
 Avitz fearfully Just think, the old coquette still wants 
 to play her part, although she has now to paint even her 
 veins blue, and last night remained twice without a 
 partner ! How do you like the She Bear ? Apropos, 
 have you heard anything of Oswald Stein ? I shall 
 never forget that evening at your house ! We came too 
 late with our warning, but he pulled through beauti- 
 fully. Even Arthur says he acted like a perfect gentle- 
 man. Don't turn round, the prince is coming this way. 
 He no doubt wants to secure the first waltz for to- 
 morrow." 
 
 Emily's cunning had guessed right. The prince had 
 really, while keeping up a conversation with the baron- 
 ess, looked incessantly at Helen, and had been so absent 
 in his answers that one could easily see his thoughts 
 were elsewhere. Suddenly he interrupted a brilliant 
 sentence of Anna Maria's by asking whether there would 
 be dancing to-morrow, and whether he might be al- 
 lowed to ask Friiulein von Grenwitz to keep him a 
 
Through Night to Light. 259 
 
 dance?" When both questions had been answered with 
 a gracious " J/<7/V oia\ //lonscigncur !" he approached the 
 two ladies with a bow. 
 
 " I beg pardon," he said in German, " if I interrupt 
 the ladies in an interesting conversation; but I cannot 
 leave without having made an effort to secure a dance 
 for to-morrow. May I hope, madame } May I have the 
 honor, INIiss Helen.'" 
 
 The madame and the miss had the goodness to grant 
 the prince's request, and his highness left with a haste 
 w^hich clearly showed that nothing had kept him so 
 long but the accomplishment of this important task. 
 
 The departure of his highness was a signal for the 
 other company, who had been Avaiting for it to go like- 
 wise, to the great satisfaction of coachmen and servants 
 in the street below, who began to be as impatient as the 
 horses. 
 
 The carriages had rolled away. The reception-rooms 
 were once more empty ; only the baron and the baroness 
 remained, for the two Clotens had taken Helen in their 
 carriage; the interrupted dialogue might have been re- 
 sumed. But it was not done. The old gentleman felt 
 too tired, and Anna Maria began to look in an entirely 
 new light upon the question whether Helen should re- 
 main at the boarding-school or not.'* For about ten 
 minutes ago the thought had suddenly entered her mind 
 that it might, after all, be wiser to be reconciled to 
 her daughter, who had at least as much prospect as any 
 other young lady, and probably more, to become Prin- 
 cess of Waldenberg, Malikowsky, Countess of Letbus. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A MAN who is to be married in a few weeks finds 
 it usually very hard, even in ordinary cases, to 
 do equal justice to his professional duties and to 
 his duties as a betrothed. But in the case of Franz this 
 
26o 
 
 Through Nisht to Li?ht. 
 
 dilemma, insuperable to many persons, was Dcrhaps the 
 easiest part of his task, although he had an abundance 
 of business as one of the representatives of the privy 
 councillor in his medical practice (another part had been 
 assumed by one of his colleagues). But more difficult 
 by far than these duties were the troubles arising from 
 his effort to arrange the extremely complicated money 
 matters of his future father-in-law. It appeared gradu- 
 ally that the debts of the privy councillor would not 
 be so overwhelming, if it should be feasible to collect 
 the sums which Avere due him on all sides. But this 
 was in most cases highly improbable. The debtors of 
 the privy councillor generally lived in garrets and cel- 
 lars ; they were the lame and the crippled, the infirm 
 and the invalid, often widows and orphans, as often 
 also unworthy people, who had wretchedly abused the 
 well-known liberality of the privy councillor. What 
 enormous and, alas ! what useless eiforts this man had 
 made to fill the Danaids' tub of the poor ! with what 
 zeal he had made himself poor in order to overcome the 
 poverty around him, like the fabled pelican, who feeds 
 his young with his own blood. What embarrassments 
 he had wilfully assumed, in order to relieve others from 
 the same troubles ! How often he had given up his 
 own sleep that his neighbor might sleep ! How he had 
 borrowed money at usurious interest in order to pay 
 the debts of others. How he had entered into the most 
 hazardous speculations, of which he knew nothing, but 
 which must succeed and return a hundred per cent, if 
 you believed the originators, but which of course never 
 did succeed, and overwhelmed the good-natured and cred- 
 ulous privy councillor with new indebtedness — only to 
 help others on in their own business! 
 
 It would have been a difficult task for the most expe- 
 rienced lawyer to find his way through this vast mass 
 of more or less complicated questions, and to decide in 
 each case what was to be done for the moment, and 
 what for the future ; how much more for Franz, who 
 had no experience in such matters of business. But 
 love lent him miraculous power, and sharpened his 
 natural delicacy in his peculiar relations to his father- 
 
Through Night to Light. 261 
 
 in-law, which called upon him continvially to encourage, 
 to appease, and to persuade. " I should not hesitate a 
 moment," he would say, "to jump after you into the 
 water, if I saw you were in danger of drowning, and 
 you and everybody who should see it would think it 
 perfectly natural. Now you are in a danger which to 
 many people appears more formidable even than drown- 
 ing — for many escape it only by rushing into eternity — 
 and I risk for your sake not my life, which you could not 
 give me back, but a few thousand dollars, which you 
 can pay me back at any time, when, as it seems highly 
 probable, your health is completely restored, and which, 
 even if the worst should happen, it would not make me 
 unhappy to lose." 
 
 In this way Franz tried to help his father-in-law 
 through many a sad hour, in which the sense of his dis- 
 ease and the consciousness of his position weighed too 
 heavily on his soul. Franz hoped that the excellent 
 constitution of the man would do the rest. The privy 
 councillor had indeed hardly gained the conviction that 
 — thanks to the able and energetic help of his son-in-law 
 — no dishonor could be attached to his name, even if he 
 were to die now, than he laid aside all thoughts of death 
 and determined to get well as soon as he could. " Not 
 quite well," he said, "for that I can never be again; but 
 half well, or two-thirds well — just well enough to be able 
 to bring the hay, which is now lying fresh on the 
 meadow, dry into the barn. I feel it, there are a few 
 evening hours left me yet ; I mean to make good use of 
 therfi. You shall not spend your money upon me, and 
 into the bargain sacrifice your future prospects for my 
 sake." 
 
 Unfortunately this sacrifice had already been made. 
 
 Just at this time it happened that a famous professor 
 of the imiversity in the capital had seen a monograph 
 on typhus, published by Franz during the summer, and 
 had then been reminded that Franz had formerly been 
 one of his most talented pupils, for Franz had pur- 
 sued his studies for three years in the capital. He wrote 
 to Franz congratulating him on his work, " which gave 
 excellent evidence of his sharp acumen, as of his as- 
 
262 Through Night to Light. 
 
 tounding erudition, rare in so young a man. But," 
 continued the letter, "while thanking you in the name 
 of science for your book, I beg leave at the same time 
 to make you a proposition, which 1 hope you will con- 
 sider promptly and seriously. Next Easter the place of 
 first assistant in the great hospital here will be vacant. 
 I know among our younger men of eminence none to 
 whom I would entrust this place as readily as to you." 
 The great man then spoke at length of the advanta- 
 ges which Franz would secure by accepting this posi- 
 tion, and concluded with the words : " You see this is a 
 prospect as favorable as you will ever have. I am, as 
 you know, a very cool judge of men and things ; and as 
 matters stand now in our university, you cannot fail, if 
 you wish, to obtain in a few years the appointment as 
 fidl professor. I am convinced that my friend Roban, 
 to whom I beg you will give my kindest regards, will 
 look at the matter in the same light. Consult him, and 
 let me hear from you as soon as you can." 
 
 Franz had answered, but Avithout having consulted 
 his father-in-law. He had declined the offer, though he 
 was fully alive to the advantages it held out. The career 
 which w-as opened to him was one of great attractions 
 to a man of science, and promised in the end to satisfy 
 even the most insatiable ambition ; yet it did not appear 
 to be lucrative for some years to come, but, on the con- 
 trary, to require at least a small independent fortune, 
 which Franz did no longer possess. He had placed 
 himself by his generosity in the disagreeable position to 
 have to move into a new house before it is finished or 
 dry — an embarrassment in which many honest men find 
 themselves ; or, to speak more clearly, to have to look 
 to money-earning at a time when he needed money to 
 spend on his full preparation for his profession. And 
 for such a purpose Grunwald and his position as son- 
 in-law of the most prominent physician of the place 
 were peculiarly well adapted. Therefore — farewell thou 
 golden toy of a life overflowing with mental enjoyment 
 and high aspirations ! 
 
 " Away, thou dream, so bright and golden, 
 But life and love are not yet lost." 
 
Through Night to Light. 263 
 
 Thus Franz consoled himself while he made this 
 great sacrifice of his ambition and his hopes for the sake 
 of those he loved, and his only great care was now to 
 keep this sacrifice a secret from those beloved ones, es- 
 pecially from his betrothed. 
 
 This care seemed to be unnecessary. Sophie found 
 an explanation for the clouds which darkened Franz's 
 brow when he thought himself unobserved, in the over- 
 whelming burden of his professional duties ; and for his 
 frequent and long interviews with her father, in the na- 
 ture of his practice. Since the condition of her father 
 no longer filled her with apprehensions, the happy cheer- 
 fulness of Sophie had fully reappeared. She worked 
 hard at her trousseau, and complained to Franz of the 
 confusion which the care for so many and so varied things 
 produced in her head. How much would a knowledge 
 of the transactions that took place between Franz and 
 her father have interfered with the happiness which she 
 enjoyed in these days, as she labored to build her little 
 nest like a merry bird full of song and playful flutter- 
 ings, if she had known that the money with which 
 she paid her long bills so cheerfully had come from the 
 purse of her betrothed.' She had easily consoled her- 
 self as to the grief arising from her inability to get ready 
 by the day on which Franz insisted with very unusual 
 pertinacity; she had even openly confessed that she had 
 never looked upon it as such a very great misfortune to 
 have to begin her housekeeping with a few dozen nap- 
 kins, towels, etc., which were not yet hemmed, or marked 
 in full. 
 
 Nothing, therefore, was more painful to Sophie in 
 these days of excitement and great pressure than that 
 the familiar circle could not, as usually, assemble at 
 night around the fire-place in the sitting-room. The 
 father, although able to sit up daily a little longer, had 
 yet to retire quite early ; Franz was often down town 
 till far in the night, or he had to study in his rooms ; 
 even " the third in the league," the old student, as he 
 called himself, Bcmperlcin, alias Bemperlv, did not show 
 himself nowadays, and Sophie had at last deemed it 
 her duty to inquire for him at his lodging, thinking 
 
264 Through Night to Light. 
 
 that he might be sick, and that Franz had kept it secret 
 from her so as to cause her no apprehension. But she 
 found the old student in his laboratory, in the midst of 
 phials, retorts, boxes, and instruments — looking, if not 
 like Faust, at least like Faust's famulus — at all events 
 very busy and industrious, but evidently not in danger 
 of life from sickness. Bemperlein excused himself on the 
 score of his work — a very complicated chemical analysis, 
 which must not be interrupted. How could Sophie think 
 he had taken anything amiss? — he, and take amiss! and 
 from Sophie ! — really, the analysis alone was to blame, 
 and as an evidence of it he promised to come that very 
 night and stay as long as ever. 
 
 Sophie's eves, though a little near-sighted, were yet very 
 well able to see things near by, and thus she had not 
 failed to notice a certain veil of embarrassment which 
 hung over Bemperlein's honest face, while he blamed 
 the troublesome analysis. As the young lady was slowly 
 walking homeward, and thought what might be the real 
 reason why Bemperlein had stayed away, she came, 
 just as she was turning around a corner, upon a gentle- 
 man who came hurriedly from the opposite direction. 
 
 " Pardon ! " said the gentleman, lifting his hat and 
 hurrying on. 
 
 It was Oswald Stein. He had evidently not recog- 
 nized Sophie. 
 
 This unexpected meeting gave a new direction to So- 
 phie's thoughts. She remembered now that Bemperlein 
 had not been at her house since he had met Oswald 
 there, who was just about to leave with Helen ; that the 
 meeting of the two gentlemen had been very cold, 
 strangely cold, and that Bemperlein had given evasive 
 answers to all their questions about the relations in 
 which he stood to Oswald. Was it Oswald, who had 
 since spent several evenings there, once in company with 
 Helen Grenwitz, who had frightened away Bemperlein .? 
 Was Bemperlein jealous } 
 
 As Sophie knew nothing of Bemperlein's former 
 relations to Oswald, she could of course hardly expect 
 to guess rightly. The truth lay somewhere else. 
 
 When Auastasius Bemperlein was no longer willing 
 
Through Night to Light. 265 
 
 to shake hands -with a man whom he had once esteemed 
 liighlv and loved heartily, one might rest assured that a 
 goodly portion of strong poison must have been mixed 
 with his milk of human kindness. Anastasius Bemper- 
 Icin had fully trusted Oswald Stein. He had seen the 
 life and happiness of those he loved best in his hand 
 without fear, and he had overcome all his apprehensions 
 about a vmion formed so suddenly and resting on the 
 unsafe basis of entirely different social positions. He 
 had said to himself, " All this is idle nonsense in com- 
 parison with the invaluable price of true love. Is not 
 love stronger than faith and hope ; how can it fail to be 
 stronger than foolish prejudices 1 " He had reached a 
 point where he had seen in the union' of Melitta and 
 Oswald a triumph of pure humanity over the barbarism 
 of civilization, and victory of truth over falsehood. 
 
 But onlv upon such a lofty basis was such a union 
 justifiable and possible. If one or the other sank below 
 the level, both were lost. Bemperlein had known Frau 
 von Berkow for seven years ; he knew that her heart 
 was true and good. Bemperlein had known Oswald 
 for as many weeks, and he thought Oswald was worthy 
 of hef. He thought so because he had no choice ; 
 because to doubt would have seemed to him to insult 
 his much-beloved friend. 
 
 And yet such doubts had made their way to his heart, 
 slowly, silently, as in our dreams a fearful monster 
 drags itself towards us and we try in vain to escape. 
 He had struggled against these doubts vintil he could 
 struggle no longer. 
 
 Melitta had returned from her second journey to 
 Fichtenan, on which Bemperlein had in vain offered to 
 accompany her ; but after a few hours' stay at Grun- 
 wald she had gone on with Julius to Berkow, without 
 sending for Bemperlein. The latter did not hear of her 
 having been there except through old Baumann, who 
 had remained behind to arrange Julius's things, and to 
 execute some other commissions. Bemperlein had 
 never spoken to the old man about Oswald. This time 
 the latter began himself. Ilotold him that Oswald had 
 been at Fichtenan when the^were there, that he had 
 12 
 
 ifTjirlVEBSITY]) 
 
266 Through Night to Light. 
 
 learnt from the waiter that his mistress was at the hotel, 
 but had left again without calling on her. Here he 
 paused, evidently in order to hear what Bemperlein 
 would say about this piece of news. But when Bem- 
 perlein said nothing but " so so ! " " indeed ! " the old 
 man could no longer control himself, and poured out 
 his full heart, and with it the full cup of his wrath over 
 Oswald. 
 
 " He had never trusted the fine gentleman from the 
 first moment, and now he thought it as clear as light 
 that the scamp had deceived his mistress infamously. 
 He had spoken himself to his mistress about it, with all 
 deference — for he knew he was nothing but a servant, 
 and knew his place — but also very seriously, for he had 
 carried her about as a child in his arms, and had always 
 loved her tenderly; and she had always confessed to 
 him on all such occasions, not entirely and not by halves, 
 but sufficiently full for him, who knew her as well as his 
 own hand. And then he had had a great desire to 
 shoot the fine ge^ntleman who had played his mistress 
 such a mean trick, like a mad dog; and little had been 
 wanting one night on the heath between Grenwitz and 
 Fashwitz. But now he thanked God that he had held 
 his arm and saved him from such a crime, especially as 
 he has allowed it to happen that the story did not break 
 the good lady's heart, but opened her eyes and showed 
 her the way in which alone she can find happiness on 
 earth." Which this way was the old man had not said, 
 but had risen and marched straight out of the room, as 
 if he wished to make all further questions utterly im- 
 possible. 
 
 It may easily be imagined how much this conversa- 
 tion, which confirmed his worst fears, had alfected Bem- 
 perlein ; and what impression it must have made upon 
 him, when he came, quite full of these sensations, to 
 Doctor Rohan's house, and the first man who met him 
 there was Oswald. 
 
 This meeting had been so painful to him, and a possi- 
 ble repetition seemed to him so intolerable, that it took 
 him a whole week to recover from his fright; and that 
 he would perhaps never have recovered entirely if 
 
Through Night to Light. 267 
 
 Sophie had not come and made an end to his indecision. 
 Poor Bemperlein ! He had longed to see his fair friend 
 so much ! He had to tell her matters of such importance 
 — of amazing importance for Anastasius Bemperlein. 
 
 Fortunately Sophie was alone when he appeared an 
 hour later in her sitting-room. Franz had just left, 
 promising to be back later. Sophie was surprised by 
 Bemperlein's repeated question: " But there will be no 
 other visitor to-night .-' " and she naturally connected 
 these questions with her suspicions about the causes of 
 Bemperlein's absence. As it was not her nature to keep 
 a thing long to herself, she said, after watching Bemper- 
 lein for a time in silence as he was continually stirring 
 the fire with a poker, 
 
 " Was not the true reason, Bemperly, why you have 
 not been here for a whole week, that you did not wish 
 to meet Oswald Stein here .'' " 
 
 " Who says so 1 " asked Bemperlein, pausing in his 
 occupation, quite frightened. 
 
 " A question is no answer," replied Sophie. "Out 
 with it, Bemperly ! It does not pay to attempt keeping 
 secrets in your intercourse with such clever people as I 
 am. I know everything." 
 
 "What do you know.''" exclaimed Bemperlein, in 
 great excitement, and jumping up from his chair. 
 
 " Why, Bemperly ! " said Sophie, " you forget all con- 
 sideration for my nerves. You frighten me out of 
 my wits, standing there with the red-hot poker in your 
 hands like the man in Shakespeare. Compose your- 
 self, I pray you ! I know nothing at all. But you 
 would really do me a favor, if — pray sit down again and 
 put the poker down ! — well ! if you would tell me in all 
 peacefulness and friendship what is the matter with 
 you, for the more I look at you the more change I see 
 in you." 
 
 " Miss Sophie," replied Bemperlein, " you know we 
 cannot always be quite open, even with our most inti- 
 mate friends — and there is no one in the wide world 
 I would trust rather than you — because our secrets are 
 in many cases not our own, but are shared by others, 
 and have to be kept sacred for their sake." 
 
268 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Why, Bemperly ! " said Sophie, " you surely do not 
 think I want to pry into your secrets ! I am neither 
 so impertinent nor so curious. Let us drop the matter 
 and talk of something else ! " 
 
 " No, no," exclaimed Bemperlein, eagerly, " let us 
 speak of it ! You do not know how I have longed to 
 talk with you — about — certain things — certain persons — 
 who " 
 
 Mr. Bemperlein had once more seized the poker, which 
 had not yet cooled off, and stirred the coals more as- 
 siduously than ever. Sophie shook her head as she 
 watched his doing so. It occurred to her that Bemper- 
 lein might have made too great exertions in his chem- 
 ical analysis, and that his mind might have been some- 
 what injured. 
 
 " As for my not coming here," continvied Bemperlein, 
 of a sudden, " you were quite right. I stayed away be- 
 cause I did not wish to meet Oswald Stein here." 
 
 " But," said Sophie, " Franz told me you and Oswald 
 Stein had be6n very good friends. How did you fall 
 out .? " 
 
 " How ? " said Mr. Bemperlein. " Why, Miss Sophie, 
 that is exactly what I cannot tell you, much as I would 
 like to tell you. Would you be friends with somebody, 
 or rather would you not try in every way to avoid meet- 
 ing somebody, who had mortally offended a third per 
 son whom you love and revere.'* " 
 
 " Certainly," replied Sophie, " for then he would have 
 oflTended myself But are you quite sure that that is so 1 
 Have you heard both parties 1 As for myself, I am not 
 so enchanted with Mr. Stein ; or, to tell the truth, I dis- 
 like him the more the oftener I see him ; but Franz, who 
 'is very clever, and a capital judge of men, is quite 
 enthusiastic about him. How could that be if Stein 
 were a bad man 1 " 
 
 " I did not say he was bad," replied Bemperlein, work- 
 ing hard at a big lump of coal; "bad is a very relative 
 idea, and what I call acting badly, Mr. Stein calls, per- 
 haps, only acting thoughtlessly, in a cavalier manner, or 
 some such name. But I call it acting badly, if a 
 man " 
 
Through Night to Light. 269 
 
 Here Bemperlein interrupted himself, and poked more 
 violently at the coal than ever. 
 
 "How would you call it, for instance — I do not speak 
 now of Mr. Stein — if a man were to promise marriage 
 to a poor dependent girl, without parents, without 
 friends, who has not a soul in this wide, wide world to 
 protect her, who has believed his oaths and is Avilling to 
 follow him, and who then finds herself sold and betrayed 
 to a — Oh it is rascally, it is atrocious !" 
 
 " But, for Heaven's sake, Oswald surely has not " 
 
 " I told you I am not speaking now of Mr. Stein. 
 There are more cavaliers of the sort in this world, and 
 they look as much one like the other as one viper looks 
 like another viper." 
 
 " My dear Bemperly, I pray you put the poker down ; 
 I can really stand it no longer. Take this cushion, if 
 you must absolutely have something in your hand." 
 
 " Thanks," said ^emperlein, putting down the poker, 
 and seizing the cushion ; and then, holding it like a baby 
 in his arms, sinking into deep silence. 
 
 Sophie began now in good earnest to be troubled 
 about Bemperlein's excited condition. But what was 
 her terror when Bemperlein suddenly jumped up, let 
 the cushion in his arm fall on the ground, knelt down 
 on it with both knees, seized one of her hands in his 
 own, and bowing low before her, groaned in most pite- 
 ous tones: "Oh ! Miss Sophie, Miss Sophie! " 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Bemperly," exclaimed the young 
 lady, " get up ! If anybody saw you — saw us I " 
 
 " Let me kneel," murmured Mr. Bemperlein. " I 
 must tell you ; and I cannot tell you if you look at me 
 with your big eyes, or if you were to laugh " 
 
 Sophie at first did not know whether she should 
 laugh or cry at this unexpected declaration of love. 
 For Bemperlein's sake she could have cried ; but for 
 her own person, she could hardly help laughing aloud. 
 
 " Bemperly," she said, " Bemperly, compose yourself; 
 think of wliat you are saying, of what you are doing." 
 
 " I know," murmured Bemperlein. " I have told my- 
 self so a hundred and a thousand times. At my age — " 
 
 " Leaving that aside," said Sophie, in whom the incli- 
 
270 Through Night to Light. 
 
 nation to laugh gradually became too strong, " how can 
 you, Franz's best friend, and — at least I have looked 
 upon you in that light until now — my best friend " 
 
 " I shall remain your friend ; I shall remain Franz's 
 friend," cried Bemperlein with great animation. " Love 
 and friendship shall both find room in my heart ; they 
 shall become only the purer, the deeper, the holier, the 
 one through the other." 
 
 " But, Bemperly, how do you reconcile it with such 
 a lofty Platonic love to lie on your knees like a Don 
 Carlos.? If Franz should at this moment come in at the 
 door " 
 
 " And if he came," cried Bemperlein, jumping up, 
 " ' // ny a que le premier pas qui coute.' I feel, now that I 
 have spoken — that I have spoken to you — the courage 
 to tell it to all the world. Franz will approve of my 
 choice when he knows her as I know her." 
 
 " As you know me .? " 
 
 "And you also will approve of it," cried Bemperlein, 
 utterly unmindful of her interruption, and waving the 
 cushion like a flag in the air; " you will be a friend and 
 a sister to the poor girl ; you jvill do it for my sake, be- 
 cause I love you and esteem you so xerj much ; you will 
 do it for her sake, for you may believe me. Miss Sophie, 
 she deserves it." 
 
 " But whom do you mean, Bemperly .' " 
 
 " I thought you knew long since," said Bemperlein, 
 suddenly, half frightened ; and then he added in a very 
 low voice : " Marguerite Martin, the governess at Gren- 
 witz ! " 
 
 Fortunately, Bemperlein's excitement was too great 
 to allow him to observe the confusion created by this 
 announcement in Sophie's mind. The knot was cut 
 most unexpectedly. She had been so near committing 
 a great folly by suspecting her friend of another great 
 folly ! And yet she was not quite free from a little dis- 
 appointment that she was not the exclusive idol of Bem- 
 perlein ! Such a feeling could of course only pass for 
 an instant through Sophie's heart as a light breeze curls 
 the mirror-like surface of a deep lake only in passing, 
 and before Bemperlein had quite recovered his equa- 
 
Through Night to Light. 271 
 
 nimity she was again wholly the sympathizing, prudent 
 friend for whom Bemperlein had been longing in the 
 anguish of his heart. 
 
 As to the fact that Bemperlein, quiet, old-maidish 
 Bemperlein, had been seized with a passion — that did 
 not surprise her so much. Her main apprehension was, 
 that the modest, unsuspecting man, who in spite of his 
 "thirty years was utterly inexperienced, might have fallen 
 into the net of a coquette ; and this fear was all the more 
 serious as she had heard the brown eyes of Marguerite 
 spoken of more than once in connection with events 
 which seemed to confiim her suspicion. Her first ques- 
 tion was, therefore, 
 
 " Do you really know Mademoiselle ^Marguerite, Bem- 
 perlein .'' I mean, do you know that she is a good girl ; 
 that she has a good heart ; in one word, that she is 
 worthy of my good Bemperlein .'" 
 
 " She worthy of me .'' " cried Bemperlein, most enthu- 
 siastically. 
 
 " You mean to say, that I am worthy of her .' " 
 
 " I wanted to say exactly what I said. I, your best friend 
 — for that privilege I am not willing to give up yet — I 
 have the right and the duty to be strict, and to examine 
 before I say : Yes and Amen." 
 
 " Oh, Miss Sophie, I assure you my Marguerite is an 
 angel." 
 
 " Your Marguerite .'' Why, look at the lion-hearted 
 Bemperlein .^ Has it come to that already 1 But, jesting 
 apart, Bemperly ! what do you know of the angelic 
 character of your Marguerite .-' I mean of that angelic 
 nature which is perceptible to other mortals also .-• 
 Come, sit down here by me quietly, before the fire, and 
 tell me the whole thing from the beginning. Here, take 
 your cushion again, but please leave the poker where 
 it is! " 
 
 In spite of the trifling words, Sophie's voice sounded so 
 faithful and good, and her large blue eyes looked so full of 
 sympathy and kindness, that Bemperlein was not in the 
 least afraid now to let the dear girl look into the holiest 
 of his heart, and to tell her everything, which he did not 
 even dare to think of but with trembling ! 
 
272 Through Night to Light. 
 
 "Yoii remember, Miss Sophie," he began, "that I told 
 you and Franz recently how I went to the Gren witz House 
 in order to find out what the baroness, who had sent for 
 me, wanted of me. I told you also that I found Mad- 
 emoiselle Marguerite in the ante-room, and the remarka- 
 ble scene which there took place ; but I did not tell vou, 
 and I have not let anybody see yet, the deep impression 
 which that scene had made on me. A man who has- 
 grown up in great poverty, as I have, and who has had to 
 struggle hard with cares and troubles, learns to under- 
 stand thoroughly what it means to be helpless and for- 
 saken. You will understand, therefore, what I mean, 
 when I say that such a man, when he sees others suffer, 
 feels and thinks very differently from those who have 
 never been in such a position. Th.i.t was the reason why 
 I could not get rid of the sight of the poor, forsaken girl 
 in tears. I saw her continually before me as she was 
 standing near the door which led to the rooms of the baro- 
 ness sobbing and pressing her little hands upon her eyes, 
 while the bright tears were slipping through the slender 
 fingers. I heard continually the words : ' OJi, je siiis si 
 malheureuse^' and I worried myself to find out why the 
 poor girl should be so unhappy; for I could have 
 sworn that there mvxst have been another cause than 
 the mere sense of dependence, or the pain of having 
 been once more vmjustly scolded. 
 
 " This troubled me so much that I could not sleep all 
 night long, and the next day it seemed to me an eternity 
 before the time came when I Avas to wait on the baroness. 
 At last it struck two o'clock. I went to the house and 
 was admitted at once. The baroness Avas alone in her 
 room. She was uncommonly gracious, inquired after 
 Frau von Berkow, asked how I liked Grunwald, if I 
 had much to do, and at last came out with her request. 
 She could not make up her mind, she said, to send Malte 
 to college, for reasons which she mentioned, but which 
 were so foolish that I will not repeat them here ; but 
 she was as little inclined to try anotlicr tutor after the 
 sad experiences which she had made. The lady, tliere- 
 fore, decided to have him tauglit at home by private 
 tutors, who must, of course, be tried men of well-known 
 
Through Night to Light. 273 
 
 principles, and — now we came to tlic point — would I, 
 whom she esteemed most highly, aid her in her work, 
 and give her son, daily, one or two lessons in ancient 
 languages! Now you may imagine, Miss Sophie, that 
 I would have refused under other circumstances without 
 hesitation ; becavise, setting every other consideration 
 aside, I could employ my time much better than by 
 sacrificing it for th'e sake of a stupid boy, whom I never 
 could bear ; but I considered that this might give me an 
 opportunity to meet poor Marguerite more frequently, 
 and as this was my most ardent wish, the offer of the 
 baroness seemed to me a sign from on high, and I ac- 
 cepted it at once." 
 
 "Bravo, Bemperly! " said Sophie; "I see you have, 
 after all, more talent for a little innocent intrigue than 
 I expected." 
 
 " Oh, it comes still better," replied Bemperlein, smil- 
 ing; " you will marvel at my talent. In the course of 
 the conversation the baroness spoke also of French les- 
 sons, and mentioned how inconvenient it was to have to 
 engage a French teacher, although she had a French 
 woman in the house, because she had little confidence in 
 mademoiselle's grammatical knowledge. I said at once 
 — I do not know yet how I gathered courage to do so — 
 that I was sure mademoiselle would very quickly learn 
 grammar, and be able to teach it hereafter, if she had 
 been carried once through a regular course of grammar. 
 My time, I told her, was fully occupied ; but half an hour 
 every day — the baroness did not let me finish, and ac- 
 cepted my offer at once. The very next day the lessons 
 were to begin." 
 
 " When did you have that interview with the baroness.'' " 
 
 " Yesterday was a week, on the same day on which I 
 had come home very full of this interview, and of another 
 which I had had on my return home with — with — I must 
 not tell you, Miss Sophie, with whom — when I hastened 
 to you. I found Mr Stein here." 
 
 Bemperlein paused; his face darkened once more, and 
 he took hold again of the poker. 
 
 Sophie took it quietly out of his hand, placed it further 
 away, and said : 
 12* 
 
2 74 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " You were excited that evening, and did not stay 
 long. Does the other interview with tlie great un]<:nown 
 stand in any connection witla yovir story? " 
 
 " Not directly," replied Bemperlein, seizing once more 
 the cushion, " only, inasmuch as it increased my interest 
 in poor Marguerite, to whom — and afterwards my sus- 
 picions have been most remarkably confirmed — some- 
 thing similar might have happened ; but never mind 
 that ! Next day, then, I began my lessons. The lesson 
 with that boy, Malte, was soon over. I was left alone in 
 the room, and waited for my fair pupil ; I can tell you. 
 Miss Sophie, my heart beat ! Why, I could not tell my- 
 self. I only know that I felt all of a sudden as if I were a 
 very bad man. I had never yet in all my life played come- 
 dy; and these lessons in grammar were, after all, noth- 
 ing but comedy. I had a great mind to run away ; but 
 as that could not very well be done, I could only pull 
 up my collar, make a bow before the mirror, and say 
 with my best accent : '■Ah., ban jour, Mademoiselle, comment 
 vous, portez-vous .' ' As I repeated the question a third 
 time — and this time to my complete satisfaction — the 
 lady came into the room, a book in her hand, and I was 
 so much confused by the fear she might have seen me 
 before the mirror that I blushed all over, and stammered 
 something, Avhich might possibly have been French, but 
 which certainly was very foolish, for Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite smiled and said something of bonte and enseigner. 
 Next I only know that we were sitting opposite each 
 other, and that we were turning over the leaves withovit 
 saying a word — what else can I tell you. Miss Sophie.? 
 What is best and most necessary I can, after all, not tell 
 you. I have been with Marguerite now for a week 
 daily, quite alone, during a whole hour. We have not 
 studied grammar ; at least, we never read beyond the 
 first pages; but, in return, she has opened to me the book 
 of her life, and I have been allowed to read it, word by 
 word, from the first to the last page. I tell yovi, INIiss 
 Sophie, there is not a bad word in it, and not a page of 
 which she need be ashamed. She has had to fight her 
 way through the world, poor tiling — much worse tlian 
 I ! Her parents died so early that she has never known 
 
Through Night to Light. 275 
 
 them ; brothers and sisters or near relations she never 
 had, except a wicked aunt, who made her life a hell, un- 
 til at fourteen she fell among strangers, who at least did 
 not beat her like her wretched aunt. Alas ! Miss Sophie, 
 if I were to tell you what the poor thing has suffered, 
 you would say: 'Such things are impossible,' and your 
 heart would overflow with sympathy as mine did." 
 
 Mr. Bemperlein paused because his emotion was too 
 deep. Sophie took his hand and said, " Good Bemper- 
 ly ! " Bemperlein returned the pressure warmly, and 
 continued, after having cleared his voice repeatedly to 
 hide his emotion : 
 
 " She kept nothing from me ; not even that she has 
 of late had a connection with a bad man (I repeat, Miss 
 Sophie, that I am not speaking of Mr. Stein) — with a 
 man who has cheated her most egregiously, and who 
 wished to hand her over to a notorious scapegrace. But 
 that is such a mean, low story that I would rather not 
 speak of it, even if I had not promised Marguerite never 
 to mention the person in question to any one, whoever 
 it be. And now," concluded Bemperlein, taking both 
 of Sophie's hands in his own, " what do you say, now 
 you know all.? " 
 
 Sophie was somewhat embarrassed by the sudden 
 question. She had formed a picture of Marguerite from 
 casual remarks made by Helen, Oswald, and her be- 
 trothed, which was by no means flattering for the young 
 lady ; and even Bemperlein's account was not calculated 
 to remove her prejudice completely. She was pained 
 to have to hurt the feelings of the poor man, whose kind 
 face was turned towards her with an excited, anxious 
 expression, as if life and death depended on her decision, 
 and yet she could and would not prevaricate, and an 
 answer she must give. She assumed, therefore, a charm- 
 ing air of wisdom, shaking her head gently and thought- 
 fully, 
 
 " Love is a curious thing, Bemperly. I have often 
 reflected on it since the time that I have learnt to know 
 Franz and to love him. There are sensations which are 
 very praiseworthy in themselves, but they are not love, 
 and we must be careful not to mistake them for love. 
 
276 Through Night to Light. 
 
 And the nobler the heart the more easily it falls into the 
 danger of committing such an error, just as the most 
 trustful people are always the readiest to take false 
 money instead of good money. I, for instance, never 
 failed to find a false coin in my purse upon returning 
 from market, if there was a false piece in the Avhole 
 crowd. Now, there is no sensation which looks so 
 much like love, and which deceives so readily a noble 
 heart, as sympathy. Might it not be, Bemperly " — 
 and here the young lady put her hand upon Bemper- 
 lein's hand — " that, as your interest for Miss Marguerite 
 first arose from sympathy, it may to this moment not 
 be the genuine love, but only sympathy .'' " 
 
 Bemperlein's face had been growing longer with every 
 word of this long exposition. He had expected a very 
 different welcome for his news here. Almost despairing, 
 he asked, therefore, 
 
 " But, Miss Sophie, how do you distinguish sympathy 
 from love.'' Is not the love of our neighbor, the purest 
 form of love, identical with sympathy } " 
 
 "The love of the neighbor .-* " replied Sophie; "yes! 
 but not that love of which we are speaking — the love 
 which we must feel if we wish to marry somebody — 
 the love, for instance, Avhich I feel for Franz, and which 
 Franz feels for me. That is something very different, 
 quite different," — and the young philosopher nodded 
 thovightfully her wise head. 
 
 " But what is it then ? " cried Bemperlein, desperately. 
 " How can we find out if Ave really love ? " 
 
 " That is very difficult," replied Sophie ; " yet it is also 
 very easy. For instance; have you always simply wished 
 to transfer Miss Marguerite from her dependent position 
 to a better one, to shelter her, to protect her against all 
 trouble and danger; or have you sometimes desired " 
 
 Here the philosopher hesitated and blushed. 
 
 " Well ? " asked Bemperlein, eagerly. 
 
 " To give her a kiss ! " said Sophie, determined to clear 
 the matter up, even at the risk of being thought indis- 
 creet. 
 
 " If that is all," said Bemperlein, triumphantly, "I can 
 answer that question with Yes ! " 
 
Through Night to Light. 277 
 
 " Bravo, Bemperly ! And have you given her a kiss ? " 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Have you confessed your love to her ? " 
 
 "No! " 
 
 " How do you know, then, that she loves you too ? " 
 
 "I don't know that." 
 
 The gradually decreasing certainty of these negations 
 was so comical that Sophie could hardly keep from 
 laughing. 
 
 "But, Bemperly," she cried, "how will you find that 
 out ? " 
 
 "I Avill ask her! " replied Bemperlein, resolutely. 
 
 "• Very Avell ! And if she says No } " 
 
 " She cannot say so ; she will not say so ; " cried Bem- 
 perlein, pale with emotion. " I have never thought of 
 it, but that would be terrible. I — I thought it would 
 be so beautiful if she should become my wife and I 
 could work for her, and I could love her and she should 
 love me back again ! For I must love somebody with 
 my whole heart, and I must feel that somebody loves 
 me with the whole heart, or I am the most wretched 
 of men in the world. Oh, Miss Sophie! surely, surely, 
 Marguerite will not say No ! " 
 
 His voice trembled and his eyes filled with tears. The 
 kind-hearted girl was hardly less deeply moved. The 
 passionate feeling of Bemperlein had touched a sympa- 
 thetic chord in her heart. She felt suddenly under an 
 obligation to protect the youthful love of her thirty- 
 year-old pupil with all her power. 
 
 " What do you say, Bemperly ? " she said, very deci- 
 dedly. " We can soon find out. Bring Marguerite 
 here ! " 
 
 Bemperlein breathed freely again. 
 
 "May I, really.? " 
 
 " Of course. I cannot very well rail on her, because 
 that would attract attention ; but she can come here 
 without its being noticed. Just tell her I should like to 
 make her acquaintance. If she loves you, she will come 
 soon enough ; and if we once have her here, the rest 
 will follow of course. Yes, yes," continued the young 
 lady, clapping her hands with delight, " that is the way ! 
 
278 Through Night to Light. 
 
 that is the way ! And when we are good friends, then 
 we have another plan — oh, Bemperly, another plan — if 
 you knew what — but no, no ! — you must not know yet — 
 nor must Franz know. Hush, there he is. Not a word, 
 Bemperly, oi our secret! " 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 FELIX had changed sadly in these days, and it looked 
 almost as if his last appearance as a star in Gren- 
 witz, which had been such a ^mentable failure, 
 should also be his last performance in the salons where 
 he had so often shone brilliantly. The wound which 
 he had received in his duel with Oswald, though in 
 itself not dangerous, had thoroughly undermined his 
 Avhole system, already weakened by a wild, profligate 
 life, just as a house in which the timber is affected with 
 dry rot will be in danger of tumbling down at any 
 time, if but one of the joists be removed. The ball had 
 not injured any of the vital parts, and he had had the 
 best of medical advice, and yet the wound would not 
 heal. And when it began at last to look a little better, 
 very grave symptoms of pulmonary disease in an ad- 
 vanced stage had suddenly shown themselves. The 
 physicians who were called in shook their heads, spoke 
 of the necessity of a change of air, and a longer resi- 
 dence in a southern climate. 
 
 But Felix refused to see what was very clear to all 
 others. Those little scars.? — why, I have been spotted 
 very differently before. That little fever.? — ridiculous; 
 I have felt worse many a morning after a wild night. 
 My lungs ? — nonsense ! What does that old wig, Bal- 
 thasar, know of my lungs ? I don't believe in wise wigs. 
 Felix Grenwitz Avont die so easily ! 
 
 Perhaps it was a desire to confirm himself in this 
 conviction which made the bon vivant attempt to suc- 
 ceed in the part of a lover as soon as he was allowed to 
 
 I 
 
Through Night to Light. 279 
 
 leave his room again after several weeks' confinement 
 with a diet of medicine and mucilage. He had looked 
 upon neat, pretty, blue-eyed Madeline, as soon as he had 
 seen her, as a rose-bud which it might be worth his 
 while to gather, and he would have made some efforts 
 in that direction long since if Albert had not, for very 
 good reasons, dissuaded him earnestly. Besides, he had 
 then not given up the hope of winning the fair Helen, 
 and liis eyes had been captivated for a time by her ex- 
 ceedingly pretty maid, Louisa. Now, when those hopes 
 were gone, he found in the monotony of his convales- 
 cence the necessary leisure and ample opportunity to 
 turn his attention towards little Marguerite. Felix 
 Grenwitz knew only two classes of women : pretty 
 women and ugly women; any other division, virtuous 
 women and others, he did not admit. He did not believe 
 in female virtue ; he had never met with it ; at most, ca- 
 price, coquettish cunning, and the art to enhance the 
 value of the merchandise so as to induce the buyer to 
 pay the highest price. Hence Felix Grenwitz did not 
 believe that Marguerite was virtuous, and this all the less 
 as this experienced man soon discovered that " Mamselle " 
 had carried on a love affair with Mr. Surveyor Timm 
 Avhile the masters were at the watering place. Timm 
 thought about women just as he did himself, as Felix 
 knew perfectly well ; he had therefore won the game 
 even before beginning it. Could Felix Grenwitz fail 
 where Albert Timm had succeeded .'' Nevertheless, there 
 was another item in the bill which he had overlooked, and 
 the Don Giovanni was not a little surprised, therefore, 
 Avhen he failed after all. Little Marguerite had a soft 
 heart, thirsting after love, and she had so small a share 
 of love alloted her in life ! Hence Albert Timm had 
 been able to overcome the heart of the girl, but not her 
 virtue. For little Marguerite was proud — proud as poor 
 beings are who have been enslaved and ill-treated from 
 childhood up without losing their native nobility, and 
 whose only defence against the contempt of the world 
 lies in their self-respect. She would have sacrificed for 
 her lover the whole of her hard-earned little fortune, 
 but nothina: else. If Albert could not succeed who 
 
28o Through Night to Light. 
 
 really loved her, Felix must of course fail, for she de- 
 tested him. And yet he was not fastidious in the means 
 he employed. He presented Albert to her in the dark- 
 est colors; he laughed at the poor girl, that she had al- 
 lowed herself to be cheated by a man who wanted 
 nothing but her few hundred dollars; a man who for 
 money would do anything, and who would yet gamble 
 away in a single night all the money he might have se- 
 cured by fair means or by fovil means. He effected by 
 this description, which was unfortunately not untrue in 
 its main features, nothing but that the little one said 
 with flaming eyes and deep-red cheeks in her broken 
 German: "And if Monsieur Albert is really a bad man, 
 you are not any better by a hair. Monsieur le Baroti ! " 
 Poor child ! she was soon to become fully aware that 
 Monsieur Albert and Monsieur le Baron were really of pre- 
 cisely the same value ! She had been in the adjoining 
 room when Felix and Albert Timm had been holding 
 their conversation, and she had felt as if she ought to 
 sink into the ground for shame and indignation when 
 she heard how the two gentlemen bargained so uncere- 
 moniously for her virtue, as if they had bargained for a 
 horse. To dispel every doubt as to what she had only 
 half understood, she had managed to meet Mr. Timm 
 when he left the baron in the ante-room. Here she had 
 asked him, hot-blooded as she was, about the matter, 
 and received an answer which caused her to be bathed 
 in tears, when Mr. Bemperlein came in a few minutes 
 later. 
 
 Felix, however, was content to have driven off his 
 most dangerous rival, and did not pursue his advantage 
 for the present. The whole affair had become too se- 
 rious for his taste for one thing, and then another 
 business was just now claiming his whole attention. 
 His health had become so much worse during the last 
 days that even his frivolity could no longer make him 
 blind to the imminence of actual danger. The wounds, 
 but half healed, opened once more ; a slow fever under- 
 mined his nervous system by day and by niglit, and he 
 had hardly fallen asleep when a hacking cough waked 
 him from dreams so fearful that even sleeplessness 
 
Through Night to Light. 281 
 
 seemed a benefit in comparison. The anxiety about his 
 health was increased by other cares which he had for- 
 merly treated yery lightly, but which now had a sad 
 eflfect upon hi^ hypochondriac temper, and confused 
 and troubled him sorely. People would crowd into his 
 bed-chamber who would not be refused admittance by 
 his servants — people with odd faces and remarkably 
 soiled linen, who had no sooner succeeded in making 
 their way to his bed-side than they opened large pocket- 
 books and presented the baron with a little bit of a note 
 " for two hundred or three hundred dollars — a mere trifle 
 for the baron." 
 
 Perhaps the baron avouM haye been able to redeem 
 these ominous papers if he had been what he had hoped 
 to be when he adorned them with his signature : the ac- 
 knowledged affianced of Helen, and the son-in-law of 
 the richest landowner of the proyince. But unfortu- 
 nately he was neither the one nor the other, had no 
 prospect of becoming such, and could therefore not be 
 very much astonished if the baroness was less gracious 
 every time she met one of these suspicious person- 
 ages. It had been diff'erent a few weeks ago, when the 
 sun of his invincible power of charming was still in the 
 zenith. Felix knew perfectly Avell that his aunt was so 
 liberal only, in spite of her natural disposition, because 
 she knew him to be in possession of a grave family 
 secret. But even this last tie, which could be replaced 
 by no other, was hanging on a single thread. 
 
 For he could not doubt that it was only the fear of 
 " the stupid honesty of the baron " — the identical words of 
 his amiable wife — which kept her from bringing matters 
 to a crisis in lier conflict with Albert Timm, and Felix 
 was by no means quite sure whether even this fear was 
 likely to induce her to assent to the bargain which he 
 had made with Albert in her name. He had, therefore, 
 not dared yet to tell her the full amount for which he 
 had purchased Albert's silence. 
 
 His timidity in the whole business had a very good 
 motive in his critical situation. He had to keep his 
 aunt in the best possible humor in order to obtain from 
 her the sums he required for his personal wants. It 
 
282 Through Night to Light. 
 
 would be time enough hereafter to enlighten her on 
 the subject of Timm's demand. Felix hated Oswald in- 
 tensely, and it would have been intolerable to him to see 
 the hated man obtain possession of the large fortune 
 with Albert's aid, and perhaps after awhile also of Helen's 
 hand ; but all that had to give way for the present to 
 the imperative necessities of his position. 
 
 This was the condition of things when the baroness 
 came on the morning after the party, where Felix of 
 course had not been able to be present, to pay the 
 patient a visit, after having been ceremoniously an- 
 nounced. Felix was wrapped up in a large dressing 
 gown, and sat shivering close to the stove. His big eyes, 
 once so supercilious, and now glassy and staring, and 
 the sickly, well-defined red spot on his lean cheeks, bore 
 Avitness to the rapid progress which the disease had 
 made during the last days. He rose, somewhat aston- 
 ished at such a visit at so unusual an hour, half from his 
 chair, and offered-his aunt his thin, feverish hand. 
 
 '■'■ Bon jour y ma ta7ite ! must I say, so early or so late? 
 for you have been dancing till very recently. I heard 
 the bass violin all the way down to my room here : brm ! 
 brm ! brm ! until it nearly made me crazy ; and if you 
 had not cured me of cursing, my dear aunt, I could have 
 wished the accursed creature who made all the tantrum 
 down to the deepest place in " 
 
 " I hope your health is not worse to-day than your 
 cursing," said Anna Maria, smiling. She settled down 
 in an arm-chair before the patient, and took out some 
 work as an evidence that she intended to pay a long 
 visit. " But seriously speaking, dear Felix, I have been 
 sorry for you, and I have come to ask your pardon for 
 the interruption." 
 
 " Why, you are prodigiously gracious to-day, 7na 
 tante ! " 
 
 " I thought I always was so," replied Anna Maria ; 
 " only there are people who will never be persuaded of it." 
 
 " I am not one of them, dear aunt." 
 
 " I know it, Felix ; and I trust you will acknowledge 
 that I have always done for you whatever Avas in my 
 power." 
 
Through Night to Light. 283 
 
 "Yes indeed; yes indeed!" murmured Felix, reflecting 
 whether this was a favorable moment to mention to his 
 aunt a little affair in which he was involved — now nearly 
 three months — with a certain Mr. Wolfson, of the firm 
 of Wolfson, Reinike & Co., and which had to be settled 
 in a few days. 
 
 " The company — who, however, broke up punctually 
 at a quarter past two, dear Felix — seemed to enjoy them- 
 selves very much," continvied the baroness, "and I was 
 heartily sorry that you could not be there. It is really 
 high time you should report yourself well again." 
 
 " God knows ! " sighed the patient, impatiently tossing 
 about in his arm-chair, " I am turning a perfect hypo- 
 chondriac in this hole. But tell me something about 
 yesterday. Who was there .'' " 
 
 " Oh, not a great many ; you know I do not like very 
 large parties : Grieben, Nadlitz, Barnewitz, Cloten " 
 
 " That is not a bad arrangement of names," said Fe- 
 lix. " Did not Hortense and Clotilde scratch each other's 
 eyes out } " 
 
 " Oh, no ! they are the best friends in the world ; and 
 besides, yesterday they had no reason to dispute each 
 other the palm, as that had been decided before by the 
 unanimous judgment of the whole company." 
 
 " Oh, indeed ! And who was this bird Phoenix.? " 
 
 " Your cousin, dear Felix," said the baroness, count- 
 ing the stitches in hftr work ; " she looked really mag- 
 nificent last night. I was quite surprised myself; but 
 she was universally admired." 
 
 Felix listened attentively. To hear Helen praised by 
 her mother was such a new air that he did not tru^t his 
 ears. 
 
 " It looks as if the last weeks — five, six, seven — had, 
 after all, had a very happy effect upon her. She has — 
 eight, nine, ten — lost a good deal of her haughtiness ; 
 the Countess Grieben congratulated me on her modest, 
 truly womanly manners." 
 
 "Pardon me, dear aunt," said Felix, most bitterly; 
 " but I can hardly rejoice as much as you at this favora- 
 ble change. I wish it had taken place a few weeks be- 
 fore. Perhaps I should then not be lying here helpless, 
 
284 Through Night to Light. 
 
 like a horse who has been hamstrung;" and he struck 
 the arm of his chair violently with his sound hand. 
 
 " I know you have some reason to complain of Helen," 
 said the baroness ; " but hatred and revenge are very un- 
 christian feelings, especially between relatives, whom 
 nature has ordained for mutual love." 
 
 "Oh, certainly," interrupted Felix. "You are per- 
 fectly right, dear aunt ! Our whole plan was built 
 upon that supposition. What a pity, though, that Miss 
 Helen did not care at all for this Christian love for our 
 relatives ! " 
 
 " You are bitter, Felix ; and, as I said before, I admit 
 that you wa>' complain. But let us talk now of the mat- 
 ter that brought me here so early in the morning. The 
 state of your health, dear Felix, causes me so great con- 
 cern that I have been thinking of it all last night, and 
 now I have formed a plan. You mvxst start, and as 
 soon as possible, on your trip to Italy." 
 
 Felix was destined to-day to pass from one astonish- 
 ment into another. The physicians had advised this trip 
 urgently for a fortnight ; Anna Maria had opposed it as 
 strenuously, because neither Felix, as she thought, nor 
 she herself could at that moment afford to provide the 
 necessary means. All of a sudden these means were 
 forthcoming ! All who knew the consistency of the 
 baroness must have known that only a very extraordin- 
 ary reason could have produced so sudden a change in 
 her views. 
 
 What this reason was Felix did not learn in the fur- 
 ther course of the conversation. He did not care par- 
 ticularly to know it. The last days and nights, full of 
 pain, had broken his spirit ; the frivolous haughtiness 
 which he had so far boastingly exhibited had given 
 way to mournful nervousness, in which but one thought 
 remained uppermost — the desire to be well again at any 
 cost. For this great purpose any means were welcome. 
 If his aunt was willing to furnish the means for his 
 travels, which he knew were indispensable for his recov- 
 ery, well ! — and all the better, the more she gave ! Why 
 she gave — why she gave now, after having declared it 
 only a few days before utterly impossible to raise the 
 
Through Night to Light. 285 
 
 means — what did he care for that ? No more than a 
 man who is in danger of drowning inqviires from whence 
 the saving log comes swimming down to which he 
 clings at the very last moment. 
 
 When the baroness rose an hour later and folded up 
 her work, the Italian journey was a settled matter. 
 Felix was, if his condition did not grow worse, to start 
 in a few days. " You know, dear Felix," said Anna 
 Maria, " I am in favor of doing promptly what has to be 
 done. And here there is danger in delay ; besides, I 
 should forever reproach myself bitterly if I had not 
 done whatever was in my feeble power to avert this 
 threatening danger from you." 
 
 She offered him kindly her bony hand, and Felix 
 kissed it reverently. Anna Maria then left the room. 
 
 " The old dragon," grumbled Felix, sinking back 
 exhausted ; " what can have gotten into her head to 
 make her all of a sudden so liberal.? How lucky I did 
 not tell her how much that rascal Timm is asking for ! 
 She will have to hear it one of these days; but not 
 before I am down in Italy. Oh ! my arm ! I must sub- 
 mit to a regular cure; and, after all, every man is his own 
 nearest neighbor." 
 
 " The foolish fellow," thought Anna Maria, as she 
 slowly walked back to her room through the long pas- 
 sages ; '' it is hard that I have to go to such fearful ex- 
 pense after having paid so much for him already. But 
 it cannot be helped. He must leave the house, and this 
 is the most respectable and the least noisy way to get 
 rid of him." 
 
 The explanation of the generosity of the baroness was 
 very simple. The ambitious thought that her daughter 
 had at least as much prospect to become the wife of 
 the prince as any other lady, had been so much encour- 
 aged last night during the party that it had grown up 
 into a well-built plan. The prince had distinguished 
 Helen in the most ilattering manner. He had not only, 
 against all rules, danced twice with her, but he had, 
 besides, borrowed her from her regular dancer as often 
 as an opportunity offered ; he had led her to supper, and 
 during the whole evening not lost sight of her for a 
 
286 Through Night to Light. 
 
 moment ; he had, finally, spoken in the most exalted 
 terms of the incomparable beavity of the young baroness 
 to the Countess Grieben, who had reported his words 
 five minutes later to the baroness. All this was the more 
 striking as the cool reserve with which that grand seig- 
 neur generally received all the homage offered him by 
 the provincial nobility had already become proverbial. 
 What was poor Felix in comparison with this proud 
 eagle ? ^A poor crow, plucked bare by misfortune and 
 countless creditors. And especially now since the 
 physicians began to shake their heads ominously, and 
 when the baroness asked them upon their consciences, 
 answered : they would give the young baron six months, 
 unless a miracle took place ! What was Felix when he 
 ceased to be the presumptive heir to the entailed estates .'' 
 Nothing! — less than nothing; a very expensive pen- 
 sioner on the bounty of the family, whose only merit was 
 that he would in all probability not draw that pension 
 long ! No, no ! That sun had set in mist and fogs ; 
 now a more brilliant, a more powerful sun must give its 
 light. It was worth while to become the mother-in-law 
 of His Highness Prince Waldenberg. Then the obsti- 
 nate, intolerably obstinate old husband might die to-day 
 or to-morrow, and the executors were welcome to add 
 the revenues from the estates, which now belonged to 
 her, to the principal. She had laid aside enough, thanks 
 to her wise economy ; and then there was the very re- 
 spectable sum of Harald's legacy, which that impudent 
 fellow, Timm, would no longer dare to trouble her 
 .about. And suppose even that the baron should leave 
 Helen the greater part of his fortune, which seemed 
 very probable, the gratitude of a princely son-in-law to 
 whom she had given so beautiful a wife, and of a daughter 
 to whom she had given a princely husband, was in itself 
 a capital that must bring ample interest. 
 
 Strange ! from the moment in which this brilliant per- 
 spective had opened for Helen she had nO longer felt 
 any resentment against the rebellious child. Even her 
 pride, of which she had so bitterly complained, now ap- 
 peared to her eyes as a merit in the girl. Was not this 
 very haughtiness, together with the beauty which it 
 
Through Night to Light. 287 
 
 served to bring out more strikingly, that feature which 
 had evidently decided the prince to give the preference 
 to her daughter over other young ladies like that very 
 beautiful but blonde and sentimental Miss Nadelitz, and 
 even over pretty, coquettish Emily Cloten, and graceful, 
 intriguing Hortense Barnewitz ? The baroness actually 
 felt, ever since two days ago, some affection for her 
 daughter — her beautiful, brilliant daughter — who had by 
 her prudent management the bright dazzling prospect of 
 becoming Princess Waldenberg-Malikowsky, Countess 
 of Letbus ! 
 
 Tlie first step towards this lofty goal was of course 
 a full reconciliation with Helen. The catastrophe at 
 Grenwitz had taught her to respect an adversary who 
 was able to act with so much firmness in spite of her 
 youth. , Henceforth she would see "if she could not suc- 
 ceed better with love and kindness ; and how could she 
 better prove this love and kindness than by recalling 
 the disobedient and yet cherished child from her banish- 
 ment back again (if only Felix would go quickly !) to 
 the paternal house, to the dear parents who impatiently 
 expected their beloved daughter! She had immediately 
 begun this great work of reconciliation; this very day 
 she hoped to finish the preliminaries. 
 
 It was a late hour on that day. The windows in Miss 
 Bear's boarding-school had been darkened for two 
 hours, except one which looked upon the garden in 
 the rear. He who could have watched this window 
 from the garden, or from the public park which ad- 
 joined the garden — and there was really a young man 
 leaning against the trunk of a beech-tree whose eyes 
 were incessantly directed through the dense darkness 
 towards the lighted window — might have seen that the 
 light came from a lamp which was standing quite near 
 it on an escritoire, and that the occupant of the room 
 was sitting at the escritoire writing or reading ; it could 
 not be distinguished. 
 
 The occupant of the room was Helen Grenwitz. She 
 was writing eagerly, with burning cheeks, as young la- 
 dies who have no confidant but a friend hundreds of 
 miles away are apt to write : 
 
2 88 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " You quiet, prudent girl, with your quiet, prudent blue 
 eyes ! Ah, who could pass through life as you do, ever 
 true to one's self. Who could have your peace of soul, 
 in which everything is reflected, as in a deep still lake, 
 in clear colors and sharp outlines ! Whatever you think 
 right to-day, you think so to-morrow ; what you like 
 to-day, you will not dislike to-morrow. The standard 
 by which you measure men is unchangeably the same, 
 though severe ; he who does not come up to it is not 
 your equal in your mind, and you treat him accordingly, 
 to-morrow as to-day, and every other day, with that mild 
 kindness for which I have so often envied you. With 
 me, alas ! everything is diff'erent — so very different ! My 
 heart is a storm-tossed ocean, and the images of life 
 tremble in it, changing and restless, and troubling me 
 like so many spectres. On the surface, to be sure — well, 
 there all is apparently calm ; at least people say so, and 
 I feel so ; but down below ! — there it seethes and boils ; 
 there are wishes growing up which I dare scarcely con- 
 fess to myself; there thoughts are rising that frighten me ; 
 there a longing is forever blooming — a longing of which 
 I have often told you, and alas! never in words equal 
 to what I really feel, and which you always sent back 
 into the realm of dreams,' Is it possible that you were 
 right .'' that the passion which is glowing within me 
 is never to be cooled .? that the voice which often calls 
 from the depth of my soul in every still night, as just 
 now, full of complaint, of yearning, of despair — that 
 this voice is never to find an echo .'' My brow is burn- 
 ing, my eyes are blinded, my heart beats impatiently ! 
 What do you want, restless, wild heart! — Love.' Yes! 
 Power, and honor, and distinction.? Yes! But how, if 
 you cannot have all at once; if you must sacrifice the 
 one or the other! — how then .? Which are you willing 
 to give up.? Love.? No! High rank.? No! Oh no ! 
 .... Well then ! beat on restless and unsatisfied, and 
 trouble me without pity, till this hand and this head shall 
 be tired of counting your feverish pulsations! 
 
 " I see you looking at me expectantly, with your soft, 
 blue eyes ; I see your lips trembling with the question : 
 What is the matter, dearest.? Oh, dearest darling, w« 
 
Through Night to Light. 28q 
 
 are to tell me ! For some time now, I do not know my- 
 self any longer. 
 
 " I wrote you that I saw Mr. S. accidentally from 
 mv window, and that I wished very much to see him 
 alone. My wish was to be fulfilled the same day. I 
 met him at Miss R's, and as my servant did not come 
 for me he accompanied me home. We had a conversa- 
 tion on the way which affected me deeply, as it turned 
 on Bruno, and I had, at last, an opportunity of thanking 
 Mr. S., as I had so long desired to do. I was deeply 
 moved when he took leave of me at the door. The 
 charm which this man has always had for me, and which 
 I can only shake off when I do not see or hear anything 
 of him, had become once more all-powerful in his pres- 
 ence. I felt it ; and yet, just on that account — you know 
 me — I did not avoid seeing him again, although I might 
 easily have done so. 
 
 " Two evenings later I met him again, also at Miss R's. 
 This time the servant was behind us as we went home, 
 but as we spoke French — Mr. S. speaks it beautifully ; 
 he told me he was half French by descent — our conver- 
 sation was as free as if we had been alone. What the 
 two days' absence had set right, two hours' intercourse 
 destroyed again, and I found out to my great humilia- 
 tion — and I write it with blushing cheeks — that the feel- 
 ing which overcomes me when he is near is stronger 
 than my pride. Not that he is so imposing by his lofty 
 mind or by his male strength ! Far from it. He does 
 not resemble the ideal which I bear in my heart of the 
 hero whom I might love; but there is something in the 
 tone of his voice, in the glance of his large blue eyes, in 
 his whole manner, which touches me unspeakably. 
 And then — I mean to be candid with you — I know that 
 he loves me, and, as it cannot be otherwise under the 
 circumstances, loves me without hope, and that makes 
 him dear to me, like the dagger with the bright Damas- 
 cus blade and the golden handle which I found, a girl 
 of twelve, in the armory at Grenwitz, and which I then 
 took as a precious treasure to my room, and never have 
 allowed to pass away again into other hands. I know 
 — Oswald and the dagger — both belong to me; to me 
 13 
 
290 Through Night to Light. 
 
 alone. It is so exquisitely sweet to be able to call 
 something one's own of which nobody else knows any- 
 thing, nobody suspects anything, and which is still sui'e 
 to stand by us, and to assist us in extremity, when all oth- 
 ers shall have abandoned us. Whenever I see Oswald's 
 eyes fixed upon me I feel as if I were drawing the dag- 
 ger half-way from the sheath and saw the blade glitter 
 in the sunlight. 
 
 " But there is danger in this glittering. How often 
 have I drawn out the weapon entirely, and, placing the 
 sharp point upon my heart, said to myself: a slight 
 pressure and you are no more ! And there is danger 
 in the presence of this man ; a word from him, and he 
 has ceased to live for me ; and if I were weak enough to 
 reply — I dare not think of it ; I dare not think how 
 near I have already been standing to the abyss. 
 
 " I have determined not to go any more to Miss R's, 
 and I have carried out my determination. Day before 
 yesterda}^ towards evening, when I Avas alone in the 
 garden — the others were walking out as usually with 
 Miss Bear as leader — I heard the roaring of the sea so 
 distinctly that I felt an invincible desire to see my fa- 
 vorite element once more eye to eye. Our garden adjoins 
 a public park which' extends down to the sea-shore. It 
 belongs to the city, and is, T am told, a popular prome- 
 nade in the summer. In autumn, however, and es- 
 pecially in the evening, when it is damp and cool, I had 
 never seen anybody in the wide avenues under the tall 
 trees. I opened, therefore, the gate, which was not 
 locked, and went into the park. It was darker there 
 than in the garden ; the evening breeze was sighing in 
 the bare branches of the mighty beech-trees ; the sea 
 roared grandly. Beneath my feet the dry leaves were 
 rustling; overhead two crows Afere cawing, unable to 
 find rest on the storm-tossed branches. I wrapped my- 
 self closer in my shawl and went on. The darkness was 
 coming on apace, and the cool, damp breath of the 
 woods and the sea brought their old cliarm to bear 
 upon me, as I had felt it so often in early childhood. I 
 felt no fear; the happiness to be for once perfectly alone 
 with myself and my thoughts — alone amid such sur- 
 
Through Night to Light. 291 
 
 roundings, which entirely harmonized with my state of 
 mind — did not allow such feelings to rise in me. I went 
 on and on, as in a dream, till I came to the end of the ave- 
 nue. There a small open square, almost entirely over- 
 shadowed by tall trees, looks in one direction towards 
 the sea, which breaks almost directly upon the moderately 
 high but steep shore. An iron railing runs along the 
 edge. There are benches here for the tired visitor, and 
 for all who wish to enjoy the coolness of the place and the 
 view over the sea. I was leaning on the railing and look- 
 ing out upon the dark waste of waters, bright in its way 
 amid the darkness, and I saw wave follow wave without 
 rest and breaking into foam upon the smooth pebbles of 
 the narrow beach. The thunder, which drowned every 
 other noise, was like a nursery song for my stormy 
 heart, and lulled me to dream wonderfully of happi- 
 ness deep and boundless, like the deep, boundless sea, on 
 whose fading horizon my eyes were hanging, and — would 
 happiness else have any charms for me .'' — of fearful 
 mysteries and unforeseen dangers. 
 
 " Suddenly a voice fell upon my ear from quite near 
 by. I rose from my stooping position, and Mr. S. was 
 standing before me. 
 
 " ' I beg your pardon,' he said, ' if I interrupt you in 
 pleasant dreams ; but the accident Avhich made me find 
 you here at this hour is too remarkable to be looked 
 upon as nothing more than a mere accident.' 
 
 " I was so surprised and frightened by this sudden 
 meeting — and I suddenly saw how very improper the 
 step was — that I replied coldly and sharply : 
 
 " 'How do you mean, fcir.^ I hope it is really an acci- 
 dent only which procures me at this moment the plea- 
 sure of your company } ' 
 
 *' He stepped back a step. 
 
 "' Pardon me. Miss Helen,' he said, ' I did not know 
 you objected to my presence.' 
 
 " He bowed, and went away. 
 
 " The tone in which he had uttered these words cut 
 me to the heart. When he was a few yards ofl", I could 
 not bear it any longer. I called his name. The next 
 moment he was again by my side. 
 
292 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " * Mr. S.,' I said, ' I beg your pardon. I was frightened. 
 I did not know what I was saying.' 
 
 " ' No, no ! ' he replied. ' You were quite right. It is 
 not an accident which has made us meet here. At least 
 not on my side. I saw you enter the park ; I followed 
 you ; I did not lose sight of you for an instant.' 
 
 " ' And do you often come here .'' ' I inquired, as we be- 
 gan to walk back the dark avenue. 
 
 " * Yes,' he replied; ' the unhappy find in darkness and 
 solitude their most suitable companions.' 
 
 " I did not have the courage to ask him why he was 
 unhappy ; we went on side by side in deep silence. I 
 hastened my steps, for the old charm was creeping over 
 me and I was determined to escape. A few minutes 
 brought us to the iron gate which leads from the gar- 
 den into the park. Among the shrubbery and under the 
 tall trees it was quite dark. My heart beat as if it would 
 burst. I was determined, should it cost me my life, to 
 reject his love, if he should begin to speak of love ; and 
 still I wished him to speak ; I was angry because he did 
 not speak. The few seconds seemed to be an eternity — 
 an eternity of fear and hope. We were standing at the 
 door. Oswald opened it. I thanked him, and wished 
 him good-night. He only answered by a silent bow. 
 When the door fell behind me into the lock I started 
 like a prisoner who hears the door of his cell close be- 
 hind him which parts him forever from life. At first I 
 felt like stretching my hand after him throvigli the grat- 
 ins: and telling- him — I know not what ; but I checked 
 myself and went, without looking back, rapidly up to 
 the house ; and when I had reached my room I threw 
 myself on the sofa, and I wept bitterly, bitterly — as I had 
 never wept before in my life — as I did not think Helen 
 Grenwitz would ever be able to weep ! 
 
 " But then I rose and swore I would overcome this 
 weakness, which was so humiliating, at any risk and ex- 
 pense. My pride, I felt it, is my only property — the 
 bright weapon which makes me, when I hold it in my 
 hand, the equal of any adversary, even of my mother! 
 I thought with trembling of the moment when I siiould 
 feel humiliated before myself after having humiliated 
 
Through Night to Light. 293 
 
 myself before others ; when I should no longer be able 
 to look boldly into her cold, stern eyes. I knew — I 
 knew with absolute certainty — that that moment would 
 be the last of my life. 
 
 " And thus I went to bed ; but sleep would not come. 
 I was lying there, my hands crossed on my bosom, and 
 I repeated to myself over and over again what I had 
 sworn ; and whenever my heart became heavy — ah, so 
 heavy! from an unspeakable sense of wretchedness — 
 then I put the point of my dagger upon my disobedient, 
 rebellious heart, and it became quiet again and hum- 
 ble ! It felt, so to say, that it had no hope of vic- 
 tory in a battle between pride and love. At last* I fell 
 asleep and dreamed I was reconciled to my mother. 
 She covered me with kisses and with jewels; but the 
 kisses were icy, and the jewels chilled me to the marrow 
 of my bones. Yet I suffered it to be done, and she took 
 me by the hand and led me through dark passages into 
 the brilliantly-lighted interior of a church which was 
 full of people. The eyes of all these people were fixed 
 upon me. Then it was suddenly no longer my mother 
 who held my hand, but a tall, strange man in a uniform 
 dazzling with gold and diamonds. I could not see his 
 face, for he held it always aside. Thus we approached 
 the altar; a priest was standing on the steps. The organ 
 sounded, and song filled the high vaults. Above the priest 
 hung a large wooden crucifix, such as we have hang- 
 ing in the chapel at Grenwitz, which always filled me 
 with horror when I was a child. The same horror over- 
 came me now ; for while the priest was speaking, the im- 
 age was continually shaking its head; and when I exam- 
 ined it more accurately it bore Oswald's features, but 
 disfigured and deadly pale, and in the side of the body 
 my dagger was sticking up to the hilt, and black drops 
 of blood were trickling down one by one. Then it 
 opened its lips and cried aloud — a fearful, yelling cry — 
 and the cry scattered the crowd, the vaults came down 
 with a crash, and the man by my side changed into a 
 skeleton. I tried in vain to escape from its hold. It 
 seized me with its bony arms and went down with me 
 into dark depths — faster, faster, till I awoke with horror ! 
 
294 Through Night to Light. 
 
 The dismal autumn morning was looking into my room, 
 but I thought I still heard the trumpets, and it took me 
 some time before I could make out that they were the 
 melancholy strains of a military band which escorted a 
 funeral past our house to the graveyard near by. 
 
 " I tried to smile at my ridiculous dream, and I suc- 
 ceeded ; because I 7(;'/7/tv/ it ; becausel was determined not 
 to allow empty fancies of an excited imagination to in- 
 fluence my decision. Besides, I could now, when I was 
 calm again, readily explain liow the dream had come 
 about. The night before I had seen Oswald take leave 
 of me, suffering greatly ; on this very day I was to meet 
 my mother once more after a long, long interval. My 
 father had brought about this interview. He wished me 
 . to be at a party which they proposed to give, and I 
 could not refuse my good father this request-. 
 
 " I went there in the morning at the time for visiting. 
 The meeting was less painful than I had expected. I 
 found fortunately a crowd of visitors there — the Clotens, 
 Barnewitz, etc. ; also an officer — a Prince Waldenberg — ■ 
 •a remarkably stately, proud man, but not handsome. He 
 had, of course, introduced himself to me, and asked me 
 to give him a waltz for the next night. Soon afterwards 
 the visitors left, and I also. Emily Cloten — I have often 
 written to you about her — congratulated me, as she 
 drove me back to my boarding-school in her carriage, 
 on my 'conquest.' I told her I had no fondness for 
 conquests which were so easily made. ' Chaume a son 
 goiit,' she answered, laughing. * I, for my part, think that 
 what we do not catch on the wing is not worth catching. 
 My motto is always : rasnour ou la vie. It is true I am 
 a swallow, and live on midges. Royal eagles, like your- 
 self, must have nobler prey : a prey which at need can 
 defend itself. The princely quarry is too proud for me, 
 I confess. But for you — c'est autre chose. Like and like, 
 you know.' 
 
 " The frivolous words of the talkative woman had 
 roused my curiosity. I resolved to examine the prince 
 more closely during the party. In the humor in wliich 
 I was I liked the idea of measuring my pride against 
 the pride of another. Had I not sworn never again to 
 
Through Night to Light. 295 
 
 admit softer feelings to my heart? Thus it was a kind 
 of comfort to me that there were other people in the 
 world who thought about it as I did. 
 
 " My mother received me on the evening of the next 
 day with a kindness which, to say the least, I had not 
 deserved. It was evidently her intention to show me 
 that she intended a genuine reconciliation. She kissed 
 my forehead, took me by the hand and led me to the 
 ladies, who likewise overwhelmed me with civility. It 
 looked as if tlie Avhole festivity was arranged only for 
 my sake, as if I was the centre of the whole. Wherever 
 I sat or stood I had a circle of gentlemen and ladies 
 around me, like a queen. 
 
 " It was the first time since I had left Grenwitz that 
 I could again move among my equals in fine, well-, 
 lighted rooms. I felt, more clearly than I had ever felt 
 it before, that this was the only sphere in which I could 
 move freely, that this was the only air I could breathe 
 with comfort ; in fine, that I was born to rule and not to 
 serve. It seemed to me all of a sudden not so very dif- 
 ficult after all to keep thevowAvhich I had burnt in that 
 night into my heart with glowing tears. I only smiled 
 at the fancies of a girl at boarding-school. And with a 
 smile I received the homage which was profusely laid 
 at my feet. 
 
 " Among those around me was also Prince Walden- 
 berg. I needed not inquire after his family and circum- 
 stances. Ever}'body was eager to furnish me with in- 
 formation. He is a native of Russia, and immensely 
 rich. His mother's estates — she is Princess Letbus — 
 lie in various parts of Russia; he is Prince Waldenberg 
 through his mother, who comes of that family. Since 
 he has succeeded to the estates, he has left the Russian 
 service for our service. His father is a Count Mali- 
 kowsky. Both parents are still alive, and he is their 
 only child. You see, dear Mary, here appears in my 
 letters for the first time a real grandee, who is the equal 
 of your dukes and marquises; and I was thinking of 
 you, while the prince's black eyes, however far he was 
 from me, were all the time looking at me, whether I 
 would see an encouraging smile in your eyes if you 
 
296 Through Night to Light. 
 
 were here, and you would say, ' He is worthy of you ! ' I 
 hoped you would, for the appearance and the manner 
 of the prince is as lofty as his rank. I noticed with 
 heartfelt shame how sorry our own young men looked 
 by his side, and how they all tried in vain to copy his 
 way of walking and his carriage. He spoke several 
 times very eagerly with me. One of his sayings I re- 
 member, because it came from my own heart. I asked 
 him why he, who has thousands and thousands of serfs, 
 was serving ir? the army like our young noblemen, who 
 had nothing in the world but their sword .? ' Because I 
 am too proud,' he replied, 'to Avish to rule where I am 
 not fully entitled to rule.' 'How so, highness?' 'I 
 am not sovereign ; my ancestors were sovereign ; I have 
 to pay for the weakness of my ancestors.' ' Would you 
 not have given up the sovereignty.-' ' ' Never,' he said, 
 and this was the only time that I saw a kind of genuine 
 emotion in his cold, proud face ; ' never ! a thousand 
 times rather my life. But,' he added after a sliort pause, 
 ' I know somebody who also would rather die than be 
 humbled.' 'And who can that be.'' 'You yourself, 
 Miss Helen.' 
 
 " The party did not end till late at night. Papa sent 
 me home in our carriage. Mamma promised to return 
 my visit the next day ; that was to-day. She really came 
 this forenoon. She was again exceedingly kind, paid me 
 many compliments about my conduct last night, and 
 expressed her desire to have me back again at the house, 
 just as my father also wishes it. However, she left it 
 entirely to me, whether I would come back at all, and 
 when. ' You did not exactly have your free will when 
 you went away,' she said ; ' I want, therefore, at least to 
 be perfectly sure that your coming back is quite volun- 
 tary.' 
 
 " ' And cousin Felix .' ' ' He leaves in a few days for 
 Italy. I shall of course not expect you to stay with him 
 under the same roof 
 
 " Certainly, even if my mother does not mean it hon- 
 estly, she has at least found" the right way to my heart. 
 I am half decided to do what she and papa want me to 
 do." 
 
Through Night to Light. 297 
 
 The young girl had, as it Avill happen, felt all the 
 changes of her own heart which she described in her 
 letter, once more in their full strength, The torment- 
 ing conflict between love and ambition, the desire to 
 read clearly her own heart, had put the pen into her 
 hand, and she had at last obtained in the process of 
 writing that peace which had been so far from her when 
 she began her letter. 
 
 She was leaning back in her chair with folded arms, 
 and was looking fixedly before her as in a dream. She 
 listened mechanically to the modulations of the night- 
 wind in the poplar-trees before the window, through 
 which she heard occasionally the low thunder of the ocean 
 as it dashed against the shore. This music recalled to 
 her the earliest recollections of her childhood, and with 
 them very different sensations from those of which she 
 had been writing. Suddenly she started and listened 
 breathlessly towards the window. Through the mourn- 
 ful sounds of the wind she heard the singing of a soft, 
 deep voice. At first she fancied it was a trick of her ex- 
 cited imagination, but as she listened more attentively, 
 she distinguished the words. The voice sang : 
 
 " Thy face, alas ! so fair and dear, 
 I saw it in my dreams quite near. 
 It was so angel-like, so sweet, 
 And yet with pain and grief replete, 
 The lips alone, they are still red. 
 But soon they will be pale snd dead." 
 
 Then the wind became louder again and silenced 
 the voice ; then it began once more distinctly : 
 
 " The lips alone, they are still red, 
 But soon they will be pale and dead." 
 
 Helen trembled in all her limbs. She knew the 
 singer could not look up into the lighted room ; but 
 she felt as if his eyes — his blue dreamy eyes — were rest- 
 ing on her. She dared not move, she hardly dared to 
 breathe. Once more, but at a greater distance now, 
 scarcely to be distinguished, he sang : 
 
 " The lips alone, they are still red. 
 But soon they will be pale and dead.* 
 
 Helen thought of the image in her dream, the pale 
 13* 
 
298 Through Night to Light. 
 
 crucified one, who shook his head so sadly when the 
 priest was saying the blessing; and she thought of the 
 dagger which had been thrust into his 5ide up to the 
 golden hilt, and of the drops of blood Avhich slowly 
 trickled down, and she pressed, shuddering, her face in 
 her hands. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 FROM the moment when an accident had thrown into 
 Albert Timm's hand that famous package of faded 
 letters, bound up with red-silk ribbon, and long 
 hid in the archives of Grenwitz, the lucky finder had 
 not rested till he had found out, if not all, at least most 
 of the threads of the secret web which he had so unex- 
 pectedly touched ; then he had set to work making a 
 good stout tissue of it. The work had not been easy. 
 He had been forced to use all his ingenuity and all his 
 inventive power, and finally, when the decisive moment 
 occurred in the interview with Felix and the baroness, 
 all his coolness and boldness. But the venture had suc- 
 ceeded. The captured quarry was struggling in the 
 meshes, and the excellent huntsman rejoiced at it. No 
 sportsman could blame him for his joy. Now farewell 
 to labor and trouble ! Welcome, sweet leisure, Avhich 
 would allow him to rest after his work! Four hundred 
 dollars a month for a whole year, and then, " after so 
 many sorrows," a few thousand dollars extra. Albert 
 Timm would not have been the contented redskin he 
 was, if he had not left it with unbovinded confidence to 
 the Great Spirit to care hereafter mercifully for his red 
 child. 
 
 Nevertheless, Albert Timm was too good a sportsman, 
 in spite of all his modesty, not to know the old rule, 
 that one must always have "two strings to the bow." 
 Albert Timm had a second string to his bow, and the 
 manner in which he had twisted this string according to 
 all the rules of his art out of innocent sheep-sinews, 
 
Through Night to Light. 299 
 
 was so odd that the artist himself could not help laugh- 
 ing heartily whenever he thought of the story. Or was 
 it perhaps not odd at all, that the man whose the booty 
 legally was, not only never svispected it, but actually 
 had been good-natured and stupid enough to become 
 the intimate friend of the poacher. Not odd at all 
 that Albert Timm, feeling the first four hundred dollars, 
 hard-earned money, in his pocket, and sitting in the city 
 cellar of Grunwald to drink his own health and a 
 happy issue of all his plans, should have used the lupus 
 infabuia, Mr. Oswald Stein, and thus been able to treat 
 him with champagne and oysters, for which he paid with 
 the very money out of which he had cheated him. He 
 Avho did not think this remarkably odd or witty, as Al- 
 bert Timm called it, had doubtless no eye for comical 
 combinations, such as accident from time to time shakes 
 together in the kaleidoscope of life. 
 
 Partly to enjoy the comedy and partly for the sake 
 of a " second string," Albert Timm had met his old ac- 
 quaintance from Grenwitz with open arms, and had 
 even carried the fun so far as to offer to become his inti- 
 mate friend. He calculated thus : It cannot be a bad 
 speculation in any case to be the friend of this disin- 
 herited knight. If the Grenwitz keep their word and 
 pay punctually — good ; then it is a beautiful evidence 
 of your good heart, to let part of the abundance drop 
 into the lap of the knight who has unconsciously pro- 
 cured it for you. If Anna Maria (he thought he was 
 sure of Felix) wishes to break the contract, or if an un- 
 foreseen accident relieves you of your promise, still 
 better ; then your disinterested friendship for the knight 
 whose claims you then boldly advocate, gives you the 
 strongest claim upon his gratitude — in dollars. 
 
 Thus or nearly thus, the first sketch of his outline had 
 been formed, when Albert met Stein that night in the 
 city cellar. Since that time he had employed his leis- 
 ure hours (and he had now an abundance) to fill up the 
 sketch, and he was so much pleased with his new plan, 
 that he was already considering whether it would not 
 be better, after all, to overthrow the legitimate ruling 
 dynasty, and to proclaim Oswald as the pretender. 
 
300 Through Night to Light. 
 
 However, to act suddenly is not the manner of Indians; 
 and to throw away muddy water before you have clear 
 water, is folly. Albert found upon thoughtful reflection 
 that Oswald was not quite ripe yet for the part which 
 he meant him to play. Oswald was an enthusiast, and 
 enthusiasts have all kinds of odd notions in their heads. 
 For instance : " Property is theft," or " the true beggars 
 are the true kings," and so forth. Might he not take 
 up one of these odd notions at the very moment when 
 he ought to have acted promptly.'' It is true be found 
 Oswald greatly changed since he had seen him last. 
 He seemed to have laid aside his dreamy sentimentality, 
 and to be filled with a concealed restlessness, which 
 broke forth now in extravagant merriment, and now in 
 savage, ironical bitterness. But who can ever judge 
 rightly of problematic characters .'' A remnant of the 
 old ideology was no doubt still there, and that had first 
 to be driven out thoroughly. Faust, just escaped from 
 his cell, must find it impossible to return ; he must be 
 taught to relish gay life ; and how could he have found 
 a better teacher in this noble art than in the past grand 
 master of all merry fellows, the invincible Albert Timm, 
 whose very sight was a laughing protest against all old 
 fogyism. And then there was a will-o'-the-wisp with 
 which the knight, wandering helplessly in the labyrinth 
 of his passions, could be led far into the morass, from 
 where there was no escape. This will-o'-the-wisp was 
 love; his love for a certain great and rich lady, for 
 whose sake it was well worth while to leave the straight 
 road; a love which the knight had in the meantime con- 
 fessed to his friend, and which the friend fanned in a 
 way which would have done honor to the cleverest 
 marinelli. When the knight was once lured far enough 
 to make the return impossible, when he had been turned 
 round and round till he knew no longer where his 
 head was, then the moment had come when he might 
 go up to him and say : Honored knight, what will you 
 give your Pyladcs if he enables you to possess all the 
 glorious things which heretofore have been mere phan- 
 toms seen in voluptuous dreams, in tangible reality .'* 
 Unfortunately Oswald spared him much of the ti-ouble. 
 
Through Night to Light. 301 
 
 He was at that time unhappier and less self-relying than 
 he had ever been before. Berg^er's doctrine of contempt 
 was a bad seed, which had fallen upon soil only too fer- 
 tile. And since Oswald thought he had been betrayed 
 by Melitta, in order to be able the more readily to 
 betray her himself, he had irrevocably lost the better 
 part of his self-respect. It did not avail him that he 
 charged all the blame of the rupture with Melitta upon 
 her, that he called her a heartless coquette, wlio had be- 
 trayed him disgracefully, and who now laughed at the 
 poor victim (how many were there in all.'') in the arms 
 of her lover. There was a voice continually whisper- 
 ing to him, which he could not silence, and which re- 
 peated again and again: You lie, you lie; a woman 
 with such deep, loving eyes is not heartless ; a woman 
 capable of such love is not a coquette ; a woman with 
 such noble thoughts and feelings does not betray the 
 man whose happiness she knows is in herself alone. 
 
 But even his love for Helen was but a faint reflex of 
 that heavenly, pure flame which had lighted up his heart 
 like the moon in a dark night during the time of his 
 love for Melitta. There was in this love much of that 
 weird, consuming fire of an eager devouring passion 
 which knows no holy reverence for its idol. 
 
 To all this must be added, that he felt indescribably 
 unhappy in his position. His duties at the college were 
 repugnant to him, when he had hardly begun them. 
 The virtues required by the exceedingly difficult voca- 
 tion of a teacher: industry, perseverance, patience, self- 
 denial, he had practised little in his life. The close air 
 of the class-room, and the noise of a crowd of merry boys 
 were a torment for his over-wrought nerves. And then 
 his colleagues ! this Rector Clemens, overflowing with 
 a false humanity; this stiff, wooden Professor Snellius; 
 this Doctor Kubcl, combining easy comfort with so- 
 called wit ; tliese lions of learning, Winimer and Broad- 
 foot. Gulliver meeting, on his famous travels, with 
 the man-like, and therefore so very hideous Yahoos, 
 could not feel a greater aversion for them than Oswald 
 did for those people with whom his position brought 
 him in daily contact. And these Yahoos were exceed- 
 
302 , Through Night to Light. 
 
 ingly obliging and familiar; they seemed to have no 
 suspicion of their ugliness ; they overwhelmed the new 
 comer with all possible kindnesses ; they invited him 
 again and again to evenings at whist, and evenings at ten- 
 pins, aesthetic teas, and dramatic readings ! They did not 
 seem to mind at all his reserve, his chilling coldness ; on 
 the contrary, they saw in it the awkwardness of a young 
 man who has not moved much in good company, and 
 must be encouraged. Even the ladies seemed to be full 
 of this notion, especially Mrs. Rector Clemens, who de- 
 clared openly her intention to take the shy young man, 
 who was standing so sadly alone in the world, under her 
 wings, and who had already begun to carry out her 
 threat. " I like you, dear Stein ! " said the energetic 
 lady ; " you have conquered my heart, and gained by 
 your reading of the 'Captain' a place in our dramatic 
 club. I consider it my duty to polish the younger col- 
 leagues. True humanity can only be acquired in in- 
 tercourse with refined ladies. For what says the poet: 
 ' If you wish to know what is proper, ask noble ladies ! ' 
 Look at our colleague, Winimer ! You have no idea 
 what a bashful, awkward man he was two 3^ears ago 
 when he first came here, and what a charming young 
 man I have made of him ! Well, with help from above, 
 I shall probably do as well with you." 
 
 Oswald overlooked, of course, the natural bonhom- 
 mie which prompted this and similar little speeches, 
 and only saw the ridiculous form, at w^iich he laughed 
 mercilessly with Timm, whose company he sought reg- 
 ularly after these inflictions. 
 
 But there was in Grunwald, besides the fair manager 
 of the dramatic club, yet another lady who thought she 
 had an older and better right to humanize the young 
 scapegrace, and who was the less willing to yield her 
 part to a rival, as she had elsewhere also been mortally 
 offended by her in her most sacred feelings. 
 
 This lady was the authoress of the " Cornflowers." 
 
 Primula still trembled whenever she thought of the 
 terrible evening on which she had been expected to be- 
 come the murdei'cr of a great general and hero, and her 
 only consolation was that so far from reading the part 
 
Through Night to Light. 303 
 
 allotted her she had scarcely commenced it. But, how- 
 ever that might be, her hatred and her contempt for the 
 people who had treated her with such indignity re- 
 mained the same. She declared that an unexpected 
 meeting with Mrs. Rector Clemens might have the most 
 disastrous consequences for her health. She carried, 
 even at first, the precaution so far that she never went 
 out without sending her husband some twenty or thirty 
 yards ahead, so that he could warn her in time of the 
 probable approach of the " Gorgon's head;" and al- 
 though this extreme nerv'ousness gradually subsided, 
 the mere mention of her adversary's name continued 
 still to cause her immediately great and painful emotion. 
 But Primula's enterprising spirit did not rest long 
 content with such an apparently passive resistance. Her. 
 adversary, and not she alone, but her whole kin and her 
 whole circle, must not merely be despised in silence ; 
 they must be positively humiliated. She must be cut 
 to the heart, or, as the poetess called it in maniadic pas- 
 sionateness, " the flaming firebrand must be hurled upon 
 her own hearth." This, however, could be done in no 
 other Avay than by exploding the dramatic club by es- 
 tablishing another club in opposition, Avhich should 
 contain, under Primula's direction, all the intelligence 
 of Grunwald, and eclipse the club of the schoolmasters 
 as completely as the moon eclipse.s a fixed star of first 
 magnitude. To preside over such a club at Grunwald 
 had long been Primula's favorite dream when she was 
 still wandering in the evening twilight by the side of 
 the Fragmentist through the fields of Fashwitz, winding 
 a wreath of blue cyanesfor herself in sweet anticipation 
 of the triumphs which she was to celebrate hereafter. 
 She had thought this dream near its fulfilment when 
 she crossed the threshold of the reception rooms in Rec- 
 tor Clemens's house, her Wallenstein in her hand, and the 
 part of Thekla word by word in her head. She had ex- 
 pected that evening to be the hour of her triumph. Was 
 it not to be foreseen — or, more correctly speaking, was 
 it not a matter of course — that as soon as she. Primula, 
 had read the first lines, an immense storm of applause 
 would break out ; that the men would beat upon their 
 
304 Through Night to Light. 
 
 shields (or books), and men and women would exclaim 
 as with one accord : 
 
 " Hail, thiice hail, to the proud ligiit 
 That makes our darkness bright ! 
 Oh, poetess of lofty mien, 
 Be thou hereafter our queen ! 
 Oh, don't deny this prayer of ours, 
 Great author of ' Cornflowers ! ' " 
 
 For this was the Paean which the authoress had herself 
 composed for the occasion. 
 
 Now she saw clearly that she had chosen the wrong 
 road. The scales had fallen from her eyes. What had 
 she, the thoughtful weaver of cornflower-wreaths, to do 
 with the conflict of tragic passions ; she, the poetess of 
 the famous Ode to the Mole that she found dead by the 
 wayside, and to the May-bug that lay on its back, in a 
 dramatic club.? A lyric club it ought to be ; and to es- 
 tablish such a lyric club in open and explicit opposi- 
 tion to the dramatic club at Rector Clemens's house was 
 the thought which, as the poetess sang in her own words, 
 " was rushing through her soul like a mighty tempest 
 in spring, calling forth a thousand germs irresistibly, 
 and yet overthrowing everything in its path." Who 
 could resist such inspiration ? 
 
 Surely not the author of the Fragments, who was filled 
 with like ambition, and who had been most deeply of- 
 fended in his vanity by the conduct of the schoolmen. 
 He became the first pupil of the prophetess. 
 
 But a prophetess and one pupil make no congrega- 
 tion ; and husband and wife, however clever they my be, 
 do not make a club when they sit at the tea-table. The 
 first condition of their success was, therefore, that pro- 
 phetess and pupil should go forth as fishers of men ; that 
 is to say, of members of the new club. The task was 
 not so easy. Professor Jager knew comparatively little 
 of Grunwald society, which he had only seen at a dis- 
 tance when he was a poor student there. His wife, on 
 the other hand, a native of the town, the seventh daugh- 
 ter of Superintendent Doctor Darkling, knew of course 
 the society well ; but the society knew her also as a bug- 
 bear of fright and disgust, on account of her eccentricities, 
 
Through Night to Light. 305 
 
 long before Jagcr, then a candidate for holy orders, had 
 courted her, and at last upon his appointment to the 
 curacy of Fashwitz had carried her home under his lowly 
 roof Although the prophetess, therefore, stood at the 
 shore and cast out Jier nets day after day, and from 
 morning till night, she had as yet caught but few fish. 
 This would have been extremely painful for a sensitive 
 poetess if her favorite Oswald had not been among the 
 few captives. 
 
 His conduct on that evening had won him Priir.ula's 
 heart, a large slice of which he possessed already before, 
 and to a certain degree also the heart of the Fragment- 
 ist. Both had urgently requested him not to forget the 
 "hospitable friends of Argos in the plains of tlie Sea- 
 mander," and Oswald had accepted the invitation In a 
 fit of malicious curiosity. He had vied during the visit 
 with the professor and the professor's wife in sarcasms 
 against the schoolmen and their wives, and had at last, 
 when Primula revealed to him her plan of a club, en- 
 tered into her views with the greatest enthusiasm. He 
 had promised to interest the surveyor, Mr. Albert 
 Timm, whom everybody in Grunwald knew as a very 
 clever man, for the plan, and the poetess had in reward 
 fur such a happy thought embraced him before the eyes 
 of her husband. 
 
 Since that visit not a day had elapsed on which a 
 poetical epistle written by Primula had not reached 
 Oswald. She inquired anxiously after the success of 
 his efforts — little notes which Oswald carefully keot, 
 and then read at night, of course without mentioning 
 names, in the city cellar before the " Rats' Nest." This 
 was the name of a secret society which held every eve- 
 ning its sessions in the above-mentioned rooms, and to 
 which Oswald had the honor to belong as honorary 
 member. His reading invariably provoked a Homeric 
 laughter on the part of the assembled rats. 
 
 It was the day after the party at the Grenwitz house, 
 when the professor's servant Lebrecht brought him once 
 more one of these poetical inquiries, written on pink 
 paper. This time, however, it seemed to be of special 
 importance, for Lebrecht, a pale young man of fifteen 
 
•306 Through Night to Light. 
 
 years, who had been a few moments ago an orphan boy, 
 and still looked more than half-starved, remained stand- 
 ing near the door and said, with his hollow, orphan- 
 house voice, " An answer is requested." Upon the en- 
 velope, also^ in one of the corners, the letters A. a. i. r. 
 were written daintily, surrounded by a wreath of for- 
 get-me-nots. The note was of course in verses, and ran 
 thus: 
 
 TO A YOUNG EAGLE FLYING THROUGH THE CLOUDS. 
 
 The proud young eagle, 
 
 Why does he stay so far, 
 Amid gray crows and rooks, 
 
 He my life's only star >. 
 
 Oh, how I love to see 
 
 The dark-brown eagle's hair 
 On your dear noble head, 
 
 With the blue eye pair. 
 
 Know not what was done ! 
 
 Oh glorious conquest ! 
 When in thy eyes I looked, 
 
 Was lost fore'er my rest. 
 
 But to the stars he soars, 
 
 He prizes naught below, 
 That I, poor Primula, 
 
 Am naught to him, I know ! 
 
 Oswald read the verses twice and a third time with- 
 out understanding what answer could be expected to 
 such nonsense, until he discovered far down in the cor- 
 ner a microscopic '■'' toiirnez s'il vans plait." He turned 
 the leaf over, and there, on the other side, he read : 
 
 " Dear O. : I must needs descend to prose. I was yes- 
 terday in most noble company, about whom I can tell 
 you much if you will listen. This evening a lady is 
 coming to see me (a member of the same society) who 
 has very distinctly intimated her desire to meet you at 
 my house, and who has something to communicate to 
 you which may possibly be decisive for your future hap- 
 piness* It is true I should be deeply grieved to lose you, 
 but my friendship for the young eagle (see page i) is as 
 
Through Night to Light. 307 
 
 pure as the element which he beats with his mighty 
 wings. Will you call at seven o'clock on 
 
 " Your servant, Primula." 
 
 A joyful fear fell upon Oswald. Who else could this 
 be but Helen .'' It is true the step was a bold one, but 
 what is it that love does not dare ? He threw with rapid 
 pen a few lines on the paper and gave it to Lebrecht, 
 with the direction to be sure and not to lose the note, an 
 admonition which seemed to be but too well justified 
 by the exceedingly stupid appearance of the orphan boy. 
 
 The hours which had to pass till the evening came 
 seemed to him to creep slowly. Misfortune would have 
 it, besides, that he had to give two lessons that after- 
 noon, and to an upper class, where the pupils disliked 
 him particularly on account of his partiality. There 
 was no lack, therefore, of annoyances and tricks, espe- 
 cially as their young teacher seemed to be in worse 
 humor than usually, and Oswald allowed himself to be 
 carried away by his passionate anger — a scene which 
 restored quiet in the frightened class, but which caused 
 him greater annoyance than anything else. 
 
 Wrath and disgust in his heart, he left the college. 
 Not far from there he met Franz. No meeting could 
 have been more inconvenient to him just then. He had 
 cultivated the friendship of this excellent man very 
 little ; he had hardly been two or three times at Doctor 
 Rohan's house, and generally with a hope of not finding 
 Franz there. He knew that such conduct towards a 
 man to whom he was deeply indebted laid him open to 
 the charge of gross ingratitude, but he preferred that to 
 the sense of humiliation which he always felt when the 
 grave eyes of his friend were resting upon him. 
 
 " How are yovi, Oswald .'* " said Franz, crossing over 
 from the other side of the street and cordially shaking 
 hands with him. " You must be desperately busy that 
 we see so little of you." 
 
 "Not exactly," replied Oswald; "but what little I 
 have to do is all the more disagreeable." 
 
 " How so 1 " 
 
 " That school ! A single hour in the wretched tread- 
 mill spoils my temper for the other twenty-three hours 
 
3o8 Through Night to Light. 
 
 of the day. Rather a sweeper in the streets than a 
 teacher." 
 
 " I knew beforehand the thing would not suit you," 
 said Franz, with his kindly, warm smile ; " but, Oswald, 
 you know habit is a great thing ; and then, pray, con- 
 sider, every profession requires self-denial and sacrifices, 
 even the sweeper's profession. Good-by, Oswald ; I 
 have to call here. Do, pray, come and see us soon : I 
 have something important to tell you." 
 
 Franz entered the house of his patient, and Oswald 
 walked on. 
 
 " Self-denial — sacrifices ! " he murmured ; " that sounds 
 very beautiful from the lips of one who is happy in his 
 vocation. There is nothing more intensely disagreeable 
 than to be lectured in such general phrases, which suit 
 our position about as well as a blow upon the eye. 
 Timm is right : Franz is a tiresome pedant." 
 
 Involuntarily he turned into the street that led to his 
 friend's lodgings. Albert lived under the shadow of the 
 church of St. Bridget, in the house of the sexton, Toby 
 Goodheart, a man who stood in the odor of very special 
 sanctity, so that nobody could comprehend why the very 
 unholy tenant should have chosen such a landlord, and 
 still less how the two had been able to get along so 
 well for many years. 
 
 Albert was at home. He was lying on a sofa, read- 
 ing. The fragrance of a fine Havana cigar filled the 
 room which formed a suitable frame for the occupant in 
 its reckless disorder. 
 
 "Ah, here you are, ^ Pompci, meoriim prime sodalium,' " 
 he said, throwing down his book as Oswald entered, and 
 rising. " I was just thinking of you, and wondering 
 whether you like Horace as much when you interpret 
 him from your desk to your boys as I enjoy him here 
 on my sofa with a good cigar between my teeth. Isn't 
 he a famous fellow .'' I always think of him as a small 
 man with a bald head, a promise of a paunch, bright 
 black eyes and large kissable lips, who lounges, his 
 hands crossed behind him, through the streets of Rome, 
 casting sheep's eyes at a pretty girl on his left and Hing- 
 ing a sarcasm at a citizen on his right, and whose whole 
 
Through Night to Light. 309 
 
 moral code is contained in the words : * Hurrah for 
 Falernian wine and pretty girls ! To live without them 
 is not worth while! ' Am I right ?" 
 
 " I rather think you are." 
 
 " Oh heayens ! What a sepulchral yoice ! What is the 
 matter now ? Have you a note to take up ?" 
 
 " This wretched college !" 
 
 " Oh, is that all ? Send it to the Evil One, who has in- 
 vented them all !" 
 
 "■'Mais il faut vivre,' ^s the tailor told M. de Talley- 
 rand." 
 
 " ' Je lien vois pas la n'e cessite,' as M. de Talleyrand re- 
 plied ; at least not the necessity to live as you do." 
 
 " How shall I then live .' I have about three hundred 
 dollars; when they are at an end — and that may be 
 very soon — I must either work or make an end of myself 
 too ! " 
 
 " Don't be such a fool! A man like you, who has a 
 thousand ways to make his fortune ! " 
 
 " For instance .-' " 
 
 " For instance, by marrying the little Grenwitz, who 
 seems to me to wish nothing more eagerly." 
 
 " That is easier said than done." 
 
 " Perhaps not, if you take the right road." 
 
 " And which is that ? " 
 
 " Force them to give you the girl, whether they will 
 or not." 
 
 " What do you mean by your riddle .'' " 
 
 "You are very hard of comprehension to-day." 
 
 Albert leaned back in his sofa-corner and blew, as he 
 loved to do, ring after ring in the air. Oswald was 
 absorbed in thought. He considered whether he ought 
 to confide to Timm the secret of the rendezvous to 
 which he had been invited for to-night. At last he said, 
 almost against his own conviction, 
 
 " I received a curious note from Primula to-day ; I 
 should like to see if you can make more of it than I 
 can." 
 
 " Let us hear," replied Albert, lost in admiration of a 
 huge blue ring which he had just accomplished. 
 
 Oswald read him the address to the young eagle, and 
 
3IO Through Night to Light. 
 
 the mysterious postscript. Albert started up from the 
 sofa. 
 
 " Oswald, you are tlie .luckiest dog alive ! " he cried. 
 " Why, the thing is evident. The young lady can be 
 nobody else but the little Grenwitz. The girl has in- 
 deed ten times more sense and pluck than her chaste 
 lover, who understands so little of the great art of seiz- 
 ing fortune by the hem of her garment. In good 
 earnest, Oswald, the cards have been dealt so well for 
 you, it could not be better. Of course, it will not be 
 quite so easy to take the fortress. The Jager has evi- 
 dently said more than she was authorized to say ; but 
 never mind that — you have the outworks, and if you do 
 not get on soon it is your own fault. When are you to 
 be at Primula's house .'' " 
 
 " At seven." 
 
 " It is five now ; we have two hours time. Come, let 
 us consider the plan of operation with the help of a 
 good glass of wine. Charles the Bald has an excellent 
 hock, and you must drink of that bravely, so that you 
 may show yourself strong and hearty in your enterprise 
 and permit no trace of sickly hesitation to be seen. 
 Come ! " 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PRIMULA was sitting in her study before a table 
 covered with new books, magazines, and papers. 
 The door was open towards the reception-room, 
 which was also lighted up. She had just finished a 
 longer poem, which had to be sent this very evening to 
 the editor of a literary journal, in the " correspondence " 
 of which the following notice had appeared three times 
 already: " P. V. in Gr. Great and gifted friend: — We 
 await the promised MS. impatiently.'''' There it was now, 
 the promised MS., written with the heart's blood of the 
 poetess! She had but just placed the last dot over the 
 last i, and already it was to be sent away into the wide 
 
Through Night to Light. 311 
 
 heartless world, before he who had inspired all these 
 glowing stanza had ever seen a line of the poem ! If he 
 would only come early, so that she might read him at 
 least a few stanzas before that young Baroness Cloten 
 came, in whose presence that would of course be im- 
 possible ! 
 
 There, listen ! Was not that a ring at the bell ? The 
 door is open below ... A deep male voice ... It is he ! 
 it is he ! Thanks be to you, oh gracious gods ! 
 
 Primula blushed, cast a glance at the mirror that was 
 hanging over her writing-table and pushed the fair 
 curls from her blushing face, seized a pen and began — 
 although there was no ink in the pen — to scribble with 
 nervous eagerness on a blank sheet. 
 
 " Do I interrupt you .'' " asked the deep voice, close to 
 her ear. 
 
 " Why, great heavens ! " exclaimed the poetess, cast- 
 ing away the pen ; " is it you, Oswald .'' I had not heard 
 you come at all." 
 
 " You were kind enough, madame, to tell me in the 
 most charming note that I have ever read " 
 
 " You flatterer ! If you praise thus the simple lines 
 of this morning, what will you say of these verses which 
 I have written this evening with glowing brow and 
 beating heart, thinking of no one but yourself.'' I must 
 read you at least the beginning. She will not be' here 
 so soon ; perhaps not at all." 
 
 " But who is it .'' " 
 
 " Pray, take a seat. It has to go to the post-office in 
 half an hour. Listen ! What do you think of this origi- 
 nal metre, which seems to be worthy of our Freilizrath .'' 
 The title is, ' The lion at the Cape.' " 
 
 The once unchained Castalian well was ' not to be 
 checked. Oswald had to submit to his hard fate and 
 allow himself to be flooded by a genuine deluge of 
 wretched verses. Suddenly the door-bell rang again. 
 The sound seemed to be but a signal for the poetess to 
 read with double and treble rapidity, while she laid her 
 hand upon her hearer's arm, as if to prevent him from 
 escaping. There were only about thirty stanzas yet to 
 be read, when a silk dress was heard rustling in the ad- 
 
312 Through Night to Light. 
 
 joining room, and suddenly the graceful figure of Emily 
 Cloten was standing in the open door which led to the 
 reception-room. 
 
 "I do not interrupt, I hope?" asked the young lady, 
 with a half shy and half bold glance at Oswald; "I'd 
 rather go away again." 
 
 " Oh no, no !" replied Primula, in a melancholy tone, 
 putting down the MS. and rising; " not at all ! I was 
 just reading to my young friend Stein a few stanzas of 
 a poem. Why, it is nearly half-past seven, and the papers 
 must be at the post-office by eight! Dear Baroness 
 Cloten, dear Mr. Stein, excuse me for the hundredth part 
 of an instant. Stay here in the sitting-room, and I will 
 be back as soon as I have sent off the parcel !" 
 
 The excited poetess pushed her guests unceremoni- 
 ously into the next room, whispering at the same time 
 to Oswald : " What a pity ! Only a poet can feel it ! 
 The last verses were by far the finest." 
 
 She dropped the curtain, partly to be undisturbed and 
 partly not to disturb her friends, and Oswald and Emily 
 stood gazing at each other — Oswald speechless from 
 astonisiiment at this strange and imexpected solution 
 of the mystery, and Emily also silent and embarrassed 
 in spite of her boldness and cleverness, but only for an 
 instant. Immediately afterwards she raised her droop- 
 ing lashes, smiled at Oswald from the corners of her 
 large, gray eyes, and said hurriedly and in a whisper: 
 
 " You surely do not think it an accident which has 
 brought us together here .''" 
 
 " I hardly know what to believe," replied Oswald, un- 
 consciously assuming the same hurried and secret tone. 
 
 "Then Mrs. Jager has not told you yet.-'" 
 
 "What.'" 
 
 " I made her believe I had a commission, to ask you 
 if you would accept a place in the house of some 
 friends of mine ; of course, there is not a word of truth 
 in it. I only came " 
 
 A glance from her bright eyes and a quiver of the 
 charming mouth filled quite eloquently the pause wliicli 
 the young lady made in her speech. Oswald was still 
 unable to adapt himself at once to the situation. He 
 
Through Night to Light. 313 
 
 had expected Helen, he found Emily — Emily, whose en- 
 clianting, coquettish beauty reminded him so forcibly 
 of some of the most delightful and yet most painful 
 scenes in the confused drama of his life — Emily, whom he 
 had intended to meet with a tragic resolve of resignation ! 
 And now he was expected of a sudden to play the part 
 of a lover! He felt a very decided conviction that he 
 must give the young lady some answer or other, but 
 the varied sensations which he experienced overcame 
 him so entirely that he in vain sought for words. 
 
 " Why did yot not call, as you promised the other 
 day? " continued Emily, somewhat disheartened by this 
 silence of her knight, in the tone of a spoilt child who 
 cannot get the toy she desires, and who therefore is on 
 the point of breaking into tears. Is it right not to com- 
 ply with the request — the harmless request — of a lady, 
 and thus compel her to take a step which she can 
 hardly excuse to herself, much less to the judgment of 
 the world 1 " 
 
 Oswald stepped back unconsciously, and replied in a 
 half serious half ironical tone : " It seems, madame, to be 
 my fate to embarrass you always by my plebeian want 
 of knightly gallantry." 
 
 He had hardly uttered these words Avhen he would 
 have given a Avorld to take them back. Emily's lovely 
 face, which had until now beamed with rosy smiles, 
 became deadly pale. Her large eyes grew still larger 
 and rigid, like the eyes of one who has to suffer an in- 
 tense physical or psychical pain ; her pale lips trem- 
 bled convulsively, as if she wished to say something and 
 could not find the strength to do so. Her whole body 
 trembled, and she grasped the back of a chair. He had 
 not meant to wound her so deeply. Oswald was 
 ashamed of his cruelty, especially as he was by no 
 means so much in earnest with the Catonic severity 
 which he had displayed. He went up to Emily; he 
 seized her hand and held it, although she made a feeble 
 effort to draw it away ; he conjured her in passionate 
 words to forgive him ; he swore he repented of what he 
 had said ; his heart was sick, his head confused, his lips 
 often said what his head and his heart did not wish to 
 14 
 
314 Through Night to Light. 
 
 be said ; she ought to give him time to recover and to 
 justify himself before l:iis own heart and before her." 
 
 Emily's pain seemed to be somewhat soothed by these 
 words, and perhaps still more by the tone of deep feel- 
 ing in which they were uttered. She had seated herself 
 in the chair on the back of which her little hand was 
 still trembling; her tears began to flow abundantly ; she 
 permitted Oswald, who was bending over her, to kiss 
 her hand while he continued to implore her forgiveness 
 for his insanity — as he called it — in low words, which 
 became every moment more passionate and more ten- 
 der. Her sobs subsided, like the sobbing of a little girl 
 who feels at last that the doll which she was refused 
 is laid in her arms amid kisses and caresses. Both 
 Oswald as well as Emily seemed to have entirely for- 
 gotten that they were in a strange house, where the 
 very next moment might prepare for them most serious 
 embarrassment, and they were fortunate indeed that an 
 unexpected and most ludicrous accident recalled them 
 to their ordinary prudence, which they had completely 
 lost in the intoxicating joy of the first blending of heart 
 and heart. 
 
 Suddenly a cry — a yell — was heard in the adjoining 
 room, and Oswald and Emily started in horror, both 
 thinking almost instinctively that the poetess was 
 wrapped in flames, and on the point of death. The first 
 glance as they drew aside the curtain taught them, 
 however, that the poetess was not in any danger of her 
 life, and as they approached more closely they saw 
 what had happened. Primula had given herself up so 
 completely to the admiration of a successful stanza 
 which had received at the last moment and by the inser- 
 tion of an indescribably pathetic epithet a most marvel- 
 lous additional charm, that she had committed a mis- 
 take, such as will happen to great minds, and to them 
 most easily of all. She had intended to take up the 
 sand-box, and she had taken the inkstand and poured 
 its copious contents to the last drop over her manu- 
 script, and thence in a black cascade over the whole 
 breadth of her yellow-silk dress ! And there she was 
 standing now — the cruelly ill-treated sufferer — silent 
 
Through Night to Light. 315 
 
 after the first anguish had forced her to utter that cry- 
 raising her sadly inked hands and her watery blue eyes 
 overflowing with tears to the ceiling, as if she wished 
 to call upon father Apollo himself to be a witness of the 
 terrible fate that had befallen one of his most favored 
 children. Oswald and Emily could hardly restrain their 
 laughter ; but all their efforts to preserve their compo- 
 sure became useless in an instant, when the poetess in 
 tragic grief pressed both her hands upon her face, and a 
 moment afterwards stood before them covered with ter- 
 rible paint, like the wildest warrior of the wildest tribe 
 of Indians. 
 
 " Do not laugh, my friends," said the offended lady, 
 with gentle voice ; " it does not become the friends of 
 persecuted genius to belong to that sad world which 
 loves to blacken " 
 
 Emily, who was always quite as ready to laugh im- 
 moderately as to weep bitterly, could not resist any 
 longer. She threw herself into an arm-chair and laughed 
 till her eyes filled with tears. 
 
 *' Baroness Cloten ! " said Primula, with dignity, " I 
 must say that your manner has something very offensiv^e 
 for delicately-strung minds like mine; " then turning to 
 Oswald, in the tone of Caesar dying : " Oswald, I have 
 not deserved this ! " and she turned to leave the room. 
 
 "Dearest, best Mrs. Jager," cried Emily, rising and 
 stepping in her way ; " I beg a thousand, thousand par- 
 dons; but, pray, see yourself if it is possible for any 
 one to keep from laughing ! " 
 
 And she pushed Primula gently towards the pier- 
 glass, before which the poetess was in the habit of seek- 
 ing inspiration from her own muse-like appearance. 
 But now it was the work of a moment to look, to utter 
 a piercing cry, as if she had beheld a gorgon-head, and 
 then, without further warning, to fall fainting into 
 Oswald's arms, who was fortunately standing behind 
 her. 
 
 " Pray ring for the maid," said Oswald, carrying the 
 poor lady to the sofa. 
 
 Upon Emily's furious ringing Primula's maid ap- 
 peared at once, but the poetess had recovered so far as 
 
3i6 Through Night to Light. 
 
 to be able to open her eyes partly and to say with feeble 
 voice to Oswald and Emily : " I thank you, my friends ! 
 You had a right to laugh, du sublime an ridicule il ny a 
 quuiipas. But now leave me! Leave an unfortunate 
 being, forced to bear her terrible fate in silence and 
 solitude. Not a word ! Not a word ! Leave me ! " 
 
 What was to be done ? They had to obey a request 
 made in such positive terms. Five minutes afterwards 
 Emily and Oswald had been shown down the stairs by 
 sleepy Lebrecht and were standing in the street. 
 
 '•'•Mais, man Dicu ! " said Emily ; " I never thought of 
 it ! I have ordered my carriage an hour later ! " 
 
 " Then there will be nothing left for you but to 
 accept my arm and to walk home on foot." 
 
 Emily gave her arm to Oswald, and thus they walked 
 for some time in silence side by side. 
 
 It was a very dark, still evening. The autumn winds 
 had bared the trees completely, and were resting now 
 they had done their work. Winter Avas standing at the 
 gate, but was delaying yet a little while before he 
 knocked with his frozen hand. The streets were ex- 
 ceedingly dark, as the lamps had not been lighted for 
 astronomical reasons. It was, therefore, but natural 
 that Emily was pressing more closely on Oswald's arm, 
 who seemed to know the way perfectly well. 
 
 " Do you know where we live ? " she asked. 
 
 " In Southtown, I think ? " It was the same suburb 
 in which Miss Bear's boarding-school was situated. 
 
 " Yes. It is a long way ! " 
 
 " All the better ! " 
 
 A gentle pressure of her round arm rewarded Oswald 
 for the compliment. 
 
 They had reached the town gate, walking rapidly but 
 saying little to each other. As soon as they Avere out- 
 side the town they began to walk more slowly, as if by 
 concert. Oswald felt that the young beauty who hung 
 on his arm was in his power — that it depended on him 
 to make her happy — in her sense of the word, at least. 
 The virtuous impulse which he had felt just now, and 
 which had been produced partly by the pride of self-re- 
 spect, had long since passed away. Emily's coquettish 
 
Through Night to Light. 317 
 
 charms, whose power he had already once felt over- 
 whelming in the window-niche at Barnewitz, had not 
 failed to have their effect upon his wavering but ex- 
 tremely susceptible nature ; and if he even thought at 
 that moment of the greater beauty of Helen, and of what 
 he called his true love, for which he had sacrificed so 
 much — alas ! so much ! — this served after all only to make 
 the sweetness of a stolen and half-forbidden passion all 
 the more intoxicating. 
 
 " Are you still angry, Emily ? " he said, with the most 
 insinuating tone of his sweet, deep voice. 
 
 " I — and angry 1 " replied Emily, and she came up 
 closer and closer to her companion ; " can we be angry 
 where we would love, love always, love inexpressibly, 
 and " 
 
 " And what, sweetest ? " 
 
 "■ Perhaps be loved a little in return ! " 
 
 The words sounded so childlike, good, and true, that 
 Oswald could not understand how he had ever been able 
 to reject the love of this most charming creature. 
 
 " And yet," he said, " you were once angry with me; 
 and you had cause ! I swear it by that heaven which was 
 then looking down upon us with its golden stars ! How 
 shall I make amends, oh sweet one ! for what — oh ! I 
 cannot bear to think of that night at the ball at Gren- 
 witz ! " 
 
 " Really ! " replied Emily, merrily ; " oh, then it is all 
 right again. Then I will not be sorry for anything that 
 has happened since." 
 
 " For what has happened since ! " IF/iaf has hap- 
 pened.-' " 
 
 " How can you ask ? Am I not Baroness Cloten .-* And 
 why am I that.-* Only because you would none of my 
 love ! Oh, Oswald, I cannot tell you what a tumult 
 there was in my heart that night after I had left you. 
 My heart was breaking ; I could have cried aloud ; I 
 could have thrown myself down on the ground; I could 
 have died. And yet I sent Cloten to my aunt to ask 
 her for my hand. How I could do it .'' You do not know 
 women, if you ask that. Cloten, or any one ; I did not 
 care who, at that moment I had only the one thought 
 
3i8 Through Night to Light. 
 
 — to be avenged on you by making myself as wretched as 
 I possibly could, so that you should have my unhappiness 
 on 3'our conscience, and I might be able to say to you 
 one of these days : You would have it so." 
 
 " This one of these days has come sooner than you 
 probably expected. I would cheerfully give many years 
 of my life — I would willingly die on the spot — if I could 
 by so doing make you free again ; as free as you were 
 when we met for the first time at Barnewitz." 
 
 " What could I do with my freedom if I were to lose 
 you } " replied Emily, tenderly and teasingly. " No, 
 no, Oswald ; ten thousand times rather just as it is now. 
 If you will love me a little " 
 
 " Can you doubt it .'' " 
 
 " Perhaps ; but, never mind ; only a little, and I am 
 satisfied. I can bear being called Baroness Cloten ; I 
 can bear your loving another one " 
 
 "Another! " 
 
 "Yes, sir; another one; Avho certainly is very beau- 
 tiful, but as proud as beautiful ; and who, you may rest 
 assured, would not hesitate to sacrifice her love to her 
 pride, if she can ever love really, which I doubt. Oh, 
 Oswald, T wish you had seen her last night ! I know 
 people call me coquettish, and I may be so when I have 
 a chance of making a fool of a man ; but then I do it 
 merrily, and not by casting down my eyes prudishly, as 
 Helen does. I can tell you I was angry against her last 
 night for your sake. I thought : there is the poor man 
 dying for love for you ; and here are you, the lady of his 
 hearF, and you allow yourself to be courted to your 
 heart's content, and by whom .'' By the essence of all 
 foolish conceit that was ever put into a handsome uni- 
 form ; by the king of all ball-heroes in varnished boots 
 and well-fitting kid-gloves ; by the fashion-model of 
 our young dandies, who try in vain to imitate him in 
 the way he holds his head and snarls out his JVon Af a' a;», 
 01/ i Ala moiselle ! " 
 
 " And who is this hero ? " asked Oswald, laugliing, in 
 a way which did not sound quite natural. 
 
 A Prince Waldenberg — Waldenberg-Malikowsky- 
 Letbus." 
 
Through Night to Light. 319 
 
 " Ibi he not a dark-haired man, as long- as his name, 
 with a face like a melancholy bulldog ? " 
 
 " That's the man. Handsome, he is not ; witty, he is 
 not ; good, he is probably also not exactly ; but what 
 does it matter ? The prospect of becoming Princess 
 Waldenberg-Malikowsky-Letbus, and to be the owner 
 of a few hundred thousand souls — the prince is a Russian 
 — covers the heartlessness of the future husband with 
 a pleasant veil, and one can gracefully drop the dark 
 silken lashes and smile." 
 
 While Emily was thus acting upon the principle that 
 in war and in love all means are fair, and invoked the 
 demon of jealousy to come to her aid, they had come 
 quite near to Miss Bear's house, as their way lay in that 
 direction. Emily paused and started, for suddenly a 
 gigantic figure, wrapped in a large cloak, detached it- 
 self from the dark shadow of the poplar-trees at the 
 garden-gate, where it had probably been standing for 
 some time, and passed them slowly. 
 
 " Quand OH park du loup" said Emily ; " if it had been 
 less dark we would have had an interesting encounter." 
 
 This meeting the prince at this hour and at this place 
 was a confirmation of Emily's words which could not 
 well be stronger. The drop of jealousy which had fallen 
 into Oswald's heart set his blood on fire, and brought him 
 with great suddenness to the same state of despair in 
 which Emily had been on that night when she was re- 
 jected by Oswald, and with wrath against him and 
 jealousy of Helen in her heart, went to become Cloten's 
 betrothed. The only difference was, that Emily had 
 never loved the man in whose arms she threw herself, 
 while Oswald had been from the first moment deeply 
 impressed with the lovely woman who was now hang- 
 ing so temptingly on his arm. 
 
 " Here we are ! " said Emily, when they had reached a 
 villa which lay on the same side of the road. Between 
 the villa and the next house a lane, which Oswald knew 
 perfectly well, led straight down to the park. 
 
 " Have you the courage to walk a little further with 
 me into the park .'' " whispered Oswald into her ear, as 
 they stopped. 
 
320 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Why not ? " answered Emily, still lower. 
 
 But her courage could not be very great, after all 
 for as they went on between the two houses and then 
 down a verv steep hill, which led by means of a short 
 wooden bridge into the park, her heartbeat as if it Avould 
 burst ; and when they at last fovmd themselves under 
 the tall trees, and the night-Avind blew dull through the 
 leafless branches, she hesitated," and said : 
 
 " It is very dark here." 
 
 " Then you are, after all, afraid, darling ! " replied 
 Oswald, bending his face so low that his breath touched 
 her cheek. 
 
 " Not by your side, and should we go to face death ! " 
 
 Emily hung around Oswald's neck ; the lips, which 
 did not meet for the first time to-day, touched each 
 other in one long, burning kiss. 
 
 They walked up and down the avenue. They did not 
 mind that they could not see the trunks of the trees at a 
 few paces distance — that the cold breath of the sea blew 
 on them ; the darker it was, the further they felt removed 
 from the world, which must not know anything of their 
 love; and the colder it was, the more frequently w^ould 
 he wrap the warm shawl around her — the more closely 
 could she press to his bosom, to his arms. The whole 
 fire of passion which was burning in Emily's heart 
 flared up in wild flames. She kissed his hands, she 
 kissed his lips, she laughed, she cried, she was beside 
 herself !, " Oh, take me with you, Oswald ! wherever you 
 Avant — to the end of the world — where no one knows us, 
 no one blames our love ! I do not care for riches and 
 for rank. I have not learnt to work, but I will learn it 
 with pleasure for your sake. You laugh; you do not be- 
 lieve me. Oh, try me ! Make me your slave ; I do not 
 complain, if I can only be near you ! And, Oswald, 
 when you do not love me any more, then tell me frankly ; 
 or no ! rather tell me not ! take, Avithout saying a word 
 — take a dagger and thrust it in my heart ; and then, when 
 all is over, allow me, for pity's sake, the imspeakable 
 bliss of breathing my last in a kiss on your lips! " 
 
 Thus spoke the passionate woman amid kisses and 
 caresses — now jubilant, now melancholy, now in broken, 
 
Through Night to Light. 321 
 
 stammering' words, and now in winged words of elo- 
 quence, like a young little bird that would like to sing 
 forth all that is in its beating bosom at once, and yet 
 cannot accomplish more than a soft twittering, and now 
 and then a clear note. 
 
 She could not understand why Oswald refused to pay 
 her to-morrow a visit before all the world, and hence- 
 forth to show himself at her house whenever she saw 
 company. She fancied such intercourse would be per- 
 fectly charming. " Cloten is often absent for half the 
 day. When you are once introduced at our house we 
 can spend the most lovely hours together undisturbed." 
 
 " Never ! " 
 
 " Why never } You do not want to see me 1 " 
 
 " I should like nothing better ; but the question is : 
 Can I do it ? But how can I return into your society, 
 after leaving in the manner in which I did .-* It has al- 
 ways been my principle never again to put a foot across 
 the threshold of a house where I have been once insulted, 
 purposely or accidentally ; for what has been done once 
 may be done again. And if it is not done confidence and 
 intimacy must needs be gone, and they never return as 
 little as innocence." 
 
 " But why do you mind the others .'* Those I do not 
 wish to see and to notice, I never do see or notice." 
 
 "You can do that; but don't you see that that is ut- 
 terly impossible in my case .'' Or do you think Baron 
 Barnewitz, young Grieben, or whoever else belongs to 
 that clique, would leave me unnoticed and unobserved ? " 
 
 " They shall not come to our house ; not one of them 
 shall come. I will receive nobody ; and those whom I 
 receive, I will receive so that they will not call again ! " 
 
 " My dear child, those are all pretty bubbles, which 
 Avould burst at the very first breath of reality. And if 
 you were really to enter the lists against your society 
 for my sake — where after all you would be infallibly 
 worsted — would your husband make the same sacrifice 
 for the sake of a man whom he certainly does not love, 
 and has good reason not to love.'' " 
 
 " Arthur does whatever I wish ; I can ask Arthur to 
 do anything." 
 
322 Through Night to Light. 
 
 "And if he were such a fool," said Oswald, violently, 
 " I will not play this blind-man's-buflf. If yovir husband 
 really loves you, so much the worse for you and me and 
 him. I know that you women possess in such cases the 
 marvellous power of not letting the right hand know 
 what the left hand does, but we men are made differently ; 
 at least I am. I do not talk to you of moral scruples, 
 which we manage at needs to overcome when we 
 thoroughly despise the man whose confidence we abuse ; 
 but I should suffer unspeakable anguish, for which all 
 the delights of love would be no compensation, if I saw 
 Avith my own eyes how the man whom I despise was 
 placing his arm in coarse familiarity around your waist; 
 if I were to leave you and knew that you — oh, I cannot, 
 I will not speak of what I do not dare to think." 
 
 Emily threw herself, sobbing, into Oswald's arms. " Oh, 
 let me always stay with you ! let me always stay with 
 you ! let me never go back to my house ! I will not see 
 him again ! he shall never again touch my hand. I 
 have never loved him, you know ! Oh, Oswald, have pity 
 on me! let me not suffer so terribly for something I did, 
 after all, but from passionate love for you ! " 
 
 " Poor, unhappy child," whispered Oswald, pressing 
 her tenderly to his heart, " poor unhappy child ; and 
 unhappy through me ! That is the bitterest part ! Emily, 
 sweet one, dear one, don't cry so ! Your sobbing tears 
 ray heart. Leave the man who has already made you so 
 unhappy, and who can do nothing but make you still 
 unhappier. Forget that you ever saw him ! Go back 
 to your husband ! You will not be happy with him ; but 
 who is happy in this world .'' You will get accustomed 
 to him, as man gets accustomed to everything at last. 
 And thus the stream of life will roll on quietly, a little 
 stormy perhaps in the beginning, but gradually more 
 slowly and lazily, until it falls finally into the Dead Sea 
 of stolid resignation. Oh God ! oh God ! Come, Emily, 
 it is of no avail to pity one another. The night is cold ; 
 your hair, your clothes, are as wet from the falling mist 
 as your face from your tears. You must go home." 
 
 He placed his arm around her waist, and led her back 
 the way they had come. Emily suffered it all. Her 
 
Through Night to Light. 323 
 
 suppressed sobbing ceased after a while; she seemed to 
 comprehend the helplessness of her situation. But sud- 
 denly, when they had reached the bridge which led out 
 of the park, she stopped, seized both of Oswald's hands, 
 and said with a low firm voice : 
 
 " I have considered it, and it is so. I will not live 
 without you henceforth, since I know how glorious life 
 is with you. If you cannot love me, I conjure you by 
 all that is sacred to you, tell me. I will not say a word 
 in reply — not a word. I will not cry — not complain. 
 You shall not be troubled by me. I know what I shall 
 do then." 
 
 "Emily!" 
 
 " No — let me finish. I tell you I will not live without 
 you. If you do not love me, it must be a matter of in- 
 difference to you what becomes of me. But if you love 
 me, then you must feel that we must be united in one 
 way or another. How that can be done, I do not see it 
 yet ; but I shall reflect upon it and you will reflect upon 
 it, and we will find a way. Now tell me : Do you love 
 me ? or do you not love me .'' " 
 
 " I love you ! " said Oswald ; and he really believed at 
 that moment what he was saying. 
 
 Emily threw herself into his arms. " And I love you, 
 Oswald, as Avoman never loved you before — as woman 
 never will love you again on earth. And now," she 
 continued in a calmer tone, while they were walking on 
 slowly, " let us consider our position. For the present, 
 I see, things must remain as they are ; but I must see 
 you from time to time or I shall become insane. Here 
 in the city, where a thousand eyes are watching vis, that 
 is difficult ; but I have another plan. Over there in 
 Ferrytown [this was a little village on the coast just op- 
 posite Grunwald, where the ferry-boats landed], an old 
 nurse of mine is living, who is devoted to me. She is a 
 Avidow, and has an only son of my own age, who would 
 go through fire and water for me. She is an invalid ; 
 I send her every day something, and often call on her ; 
 hence nobody will notice it if I go to see her again. 
 Her son is a hand on the ferry-boat, which belongs to 
 her, and he will carry us safely and secretly over and 
 
324 Through Night to Light. 
 
 back again. In a few weeks, perhaps in a few days, the 
 ice will hold, and then the thing will be much simpler. 
 If we do not before. . . . What do you say, Oswald.-' " 
 
 "The plan is a good one," said Oswald, "especially 
 because I see nothing better. When shall we carry it 
 out.? " 
 
 " To-morrow, if you choose." 
 
 "When.?" 
 
 "At five o'clock in the afternoon. You know we 
 must not cross at the same time. I will go earlier. You 
 follow me when it is darker. We will arrange about 
 the return. The house of Mr. Lemberg — do not forget 
 the name — is the last on the right hand near the shore. 
 Oh, Oswald ! Oswald 1 \ Think of the happiness of being 
 with you for hours and hours and no one to disturb 
 us ! ; But now, my Oswald, go ! You must not be seen 
 with me. I must be alone when I get home. Fare- 
 Avell — farewell till to-morrow." 
 
 The slender figure of Emily had reached the gate of 
 the villa without being seen. Oswald heard the bell ; 
 the gate was opened and closed again ; Oswald was 
 alone. 
 
 He was alone ; alone with a heart in which it was 
 dark like the dark night which covered the cold, lifeless 
 earth as with a black shroud. Not a star of hope in 
 the heavens, and none in his soul ; dark, all dark from 
 sunrise to sunset. He could not fix his thoughts upon 
 any point except the one that he would like to die — that 
 it would be fortunate for him if his life could come to 
 an end— for him and for others. Did not misfortune 
 follow his footsteps 1 Was it not his fate to carry con- 
 fusion and sorrow wherever he went ? And this last 
 bond, which bound him irrevocably, if he would not 
 prove himself faithless as — as what .? — as he had always 
 been! Melitta! Helen! Emily! — what had Emily that 
 the others did not have, except that she happened to be 
 the last ? 
 
 Thus he wandered about in the park, down to the shore 
 and back again, and once more to the sea-shore and back 
 again, driven about by the furies of his own conscience. 
 The damp cold air penetrated through his clothes, he 
 
Through Night to Light. 325 
 
 did not mind it ; he hurt himself against the dripping 
 tree, lie scratched his hand against the thorn-bushes, he 
 did not feel it. Murmuring curses against providence, 
 against mankind, against himself, he drank in full 
 draughts from the cup of sorrow which a man prepares 
 for himself in his folly against the will of the gods and 
 the counsel of fate. 
 
 At last he found himself — he knew not how — before 
 the garden-gate of Miss Bear's boarding-school. There 
 was light in one of the windows — Helen's window. It 
 was the first light he had seen for hours, and he felt as 
 if a star was once more shining down into the night of 
 his heart. Comfort and hope he knew that star could 
 not bring him, but it softened his despair into sorrow. 
 He fell into that humor in which man rises from the 
 chaos of his own passions, looks full of painful pity at the 
 careworn features of his genius, and feels the sorrows of 
 the world in his own sorrow. He thought not of him- 
 self; he thought of the Son of Man, as he raised his 
 voice, gathering his strength once more, and walking on 
 the road towards town, and sang : 
 
 " Thy face, alas ! so fair and dear, 
 I saw it in my dreams quite near. 
 It was so angel-like, so sweet, 
 And yet with pain and grief replete. 
 The lips alone, they are still red. 
 But soon they will be pale and dead." 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A FEW days later a little company was assembled 
 in the sitting-room of Privy Councillor Rohan's 
 house. It consisted of the privy councillor him- 
 self, his daughter, Franz, and a young lady Avho had 
 been brought there by Mr. Bcmperlein : Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite Martin. They had had supper, after waiting 
 a whole* hour for Mr. Bemperlein. Now they were sit- 
 ting around the fire-place. Upon a table near Sophie, 
 
326 Through Night to Light. 
 
 where usually the tea-things were placed, stood to-day a 
 small tureen, from which the young lady filled at rare 
 intervals one or the other's glass. The conversation 
 was not particularly animated; a veil of melancholy 
 seemed to hang over them all. No stranger would have 
 guessed that this silent melancholy company was cele- 
 brating what is ordinarily looked upon as a festive occa- 
 sion — the eve of the wedding-day. 
 
 And yet this was the case. To-morrow in the fore- 
 noon the young couple were to be married in the church 
 of the university by Doctor Black, and then an hour 
 later they Avere to leave for the capital, where Franz had 
 important business. 
 
 For at the eleventh hour before the wedding a great 
 change had taken place in the plans which Franz had 
 formed for the future. The sacrifice which he had wished 
 to make in all quietness and secret, for the peace and the 
 happiness of the family, had not been accepted. When 
 he wrote his friend in the capital that he was compelled 
 to decline the offered place as assistant physician in the 
 great hospital, he thought the matter was settled. But 
 his friend was not the man to abandon so easily a plan 
 to which he had become attached. He wrote again, and 
 — Franz had not anticipated this — he wrote to his father- 
 in-law also. Thus the privy councillor learnt what, 
 according to Franz's plans, was to have remained a se- 
 cret forever. He fell from the clouds ; but his decision 
 was formed instantly with all his former energy. When 
 Franz called on him half an hour afterwards he re- 
 ceived him with the letter in his hand. At this decisive 
 moment Roban found himself once more in the posses- 
 sion of all his original strength of mind and eloquence. 
 
 " Do you not see, dearest Franz," he said, " that this 
 enormous sacrifice, which you make for my sake Avith a 
 light mind, and, like all men born of woman, with a 
 heavy heart, overwhelms me by its greatness, and anni- 
 hilates me, so to say, morally 1 You have sacrificed 
 your fortune for me. I do not underrate that, I am sure ; 
 but many a father has done that cheerfully for his son, 
 why should not for once a son do that for his* father.? 
 But when you refuse this place you sacrifice something 
 
Through Night to Light. 327 
 
 which can no longer be counted and valued. You sacri- 
 fice yovir whole future. You sacrifice the ambition that 
 fills the every noble, manly heart, to reach the highest 
 degree of perfection in the profession to which it be- 
 longs ; but more than that, you sacrifice also what you 
 have no right to dispose of — your duty towards your 
 fellow-men. To whom much is given, of him much is 
 expected and much demanded. You will find in the 
 great city a sphere of action such as a Caesar would 
 envy, if a Caesar could ever comprehend in what the true 
 control over men consists. You will be there, in reality, 
 Avhat the flatterers in Rome called a Nero and a Helio- 
 gabalus : decus et ddiciolae generis humani — an ornament 
 and a delight of mankind ; for you will make the blind 
 see, the lame walk, and those who are buried under the 
 burden of their sufferings rise from the death-bed. And 
 pupils, filled with enthusiasm by your words and your 
 Avorks, will go forth to every land, and thus your useful- 
 ness Avill extend infinitely, as that of every truly good 
 and great man is sure to extend. What you can do in 
 Grunwald, others can do also. What you can do there, 
 few others can do ; and it is right and proper that every 
 soldier in the great army of progress should march in 
 his own appointed place in the ranks. 
 
 " And now, setting aside these inner and moral mo- 
 tives, which bind you to answer to your friend's sum- 
 mons with an obedient Here ! the actual circumstances 
 also are more in favor of the step than against it. I 
 know very avcU what motives you had for your refusal, 
 but — pardon me, Franz, if I speak candidly — have you 
 not perhaps underrated my strength, even if you did 
 not overestimate your own } I am what the world calls 
 a candidate for death ; death has marked me already as 
 his own, in order to hit me all the more certainly the 
 next time, but the next time need not come so very 
 soon. If you do not object to it peremptorily, I esti- 
 mate my probable life yet some four or five years, per- 
 haps even longer. During that time I shall hold my 
 lectures and visit my patients as before, and if I cannot 
 do it all by myself I shall choose an assistant, who will 
 not be so dangerous a rival as my excellent son-in-law, 
 
328 Through Night to Light. 
 
 whom they already begin to prefer to myself. Seriously, 
 Franz, we are here in each other's way. And when the 
 question is, after all, how to make money, why then it is 
 better you go to the east and shear your sheep there, 
 and I do my shearing in the west." 
 
 Franz was not quite convinced by these arguments, 
 but he felt that the privy councillor could not well act 
 differently as a man of honor. So he went to his be- 
 trothed and told her he had received an offer to go to 
 the capital. What did she say to that.'' 
 
 " Whether you ought to accept the call," replied So- 
 phie, after a short reflection, " that I must leave of course 
 to you and to papa to decide ; for I do not understand 
 that. But if it must be done, I shall certainly not say 
 No ! When do we leave ? " 
 
 " I must be there at least at Christmas, but I have to 
 go at once for a few days, in order to reconnoitre." 
 
 " Then I will go with you. You shall gee that I am 
 not so unpractical as you think." 
 
 One would have thought Sophie cold and unfeeling, 
 from hearing her speak so calmy, almost coolly, of a 
 plan which was decisive for her and Franz's future, and 
 which separated her, if carried out, perhaps forever from 
 her native town and her paternal home, from her friends 
 and acquaintances, and from a thousand familiar habits. 
 And yet she suffered unspeakably from the thought 
 that she should have to leave her father, whom she loved 
 so dearly and who loved her so devotedly. But she 
 knew that he would adhere in the hour of decision to 
 the principles which he had inculcated in his daughter, 
 and that he should expect the same firmness from her. 
 It was a hard struggle which these two noble hearts had 
 to endure that night which followed the evening on 
 which Franz had decided to leave Grunwald ; a strug- 
 gle such as every son of man has to go through once or 
 twice — and alas ! in many cases again and again — in his 
 life ; a struggle during which the perspiration runs in 
 big drops from the pain-furrowed brow, and the suffer- 
 ing heart prays : Father, if it be possible, let this cup 
 pass by me ! But when on the next morning father and 
 daughter embraced each other without saying a word. 
 
Through Night to Light. 329 
 
 and held each other a long, long time, their eyes might 
 gently overflow, but their brows were clear and their 
 hearts sang heavenly melodies. 
 
 From that moment Sophie gave her whole mind to the 
 one great purpose to arrange everything in the house 
 so that her father might at least not miss the accustomed 
 comfort when she should leave him. Especially was she 
 anxious to find a person of her own sex, who could fill 
 her place at table and in the evening, and assume the 
 general direction of domestic affairs. Her choice was 
 soon made. Bemperlein had brought, upon Sophie's 
 express desire. Mademoiselle Marguerite the very day 
 after that memorable conversation before the fire-place, 
 to the privy councillor's house. Sophie had been much 
 pleased with the pretty, black-eyed French woman, and 
 congratulated Bemperlein sincerely on his selection. 
 Then already it had occurred to Sophie, that Marguerite 
 might, after her own marriage, manage her father's 
 household. Now she hastened to carry out this plan. 
 The father, upon Avhom the " little lacerta,"as he called 
 the slim, slight figure, had made a very favorable im- 
 pression, thought the plan " not so bad ; " Franz " ap- 
 proved," and as for Bemperlein, it was a matter of 
 course, that he adopted it with enthusiasm. He being 
 the most suitable person for the purpose, was therefore 
 deputed to sound Marguerite about her own views ; and 
 with such a fine diplomat as Anastasius Bemperlein, it 
 was not surprising that his most delicate mission was 
 crowned with the most brilliant success. Marguerite de- 
 clared that she was willing to accept the proffered honor 
 de tout son coeur^ as soon as she was released from her pres- 
 ent engagement. Nothing, therefore, was now wanting 
 but to obtain the gracious dismissal of the Demoiselle 
 Marguerite Martin from the position as subject to Baron 
 Grenwitz. This was more readily accomplished, to 
 everybody's surprise, than had been expected. The 
 bright, sharp eyes of the governess had long been a seri- 
 ous inconvenience to the baroness, especially since many 
 things had happened in her hovise, and were still hap- 
 pening, which could not bear very close examination. 
 Besides, she had always had the principle that it was 
 
330 Through Night to Light. 
 
 better to change her servants at certain intervals, since 
 she thought she had found out by experience tliat " new 
 brooms sweep well," and Marguerite had been allowed 
 to remain long beyond the ordinary term. She gave 
 her, therefore, willingly the desired covg'e, and permitted 
 her even in consideration of the peculiar circumstances, 
 to go after a few days at once to the privy councillor's 
 house. It was a matter of course that Marguerite had 
 to sacrifice a quarter's salary, " in consideration of the 
 serious inconvenience and evident pecuniary loss which 
 her sudden departure caused the baroness," for the 
 young " person" who had served the baroness during 
 five years with indefatigable zeal, had, after all, done 
 nothing but her bounden duty. 
 
 Thus Marguerite had become a member of the privy 
 councillor's family, and could of course not fail to be 
 present to-night at the great solemnity in the family 
 circle. 
 
 She was, moreover, the only one who could keep up 
 the conversation to-night without great effort. She 
 tried, to be sure, to adapt herself as well as she could 
 to the solemn aspect of things, and not to offend the feel- 
 ings of the others by her own cheerfulness, but her in- 
 nate vivacity did not allow her to be silent for any 
 length of time, and every moment she broke out into a 
 " dites^ moi done, mademoiselle, savez vous me dire, monsieur le 
 docteur? " like a merry little canary bird who begins to 
 sing loud and joyously again after the first fright has 
 passed away when it finds its cage buried in darkness. 
 
 " But I should really like to know where in all the 
 Avorld Bemperlein can be to-night," said Sophie, look- 
 ing at her watch ; " he promised to be here by eight, and 
 now it is half-past ten." 
 
 " Perhaps Miss Marguerite can explain the matter," 
 said the privy councillor. 
 
 '■'■ Aloi pas du tout ! " replied Marguerite, glad to have a 
 chance to say something. " I have not seen him since 
 last night. I am almost afraid he is sick ; he has looked 
 quite excited and nerve ux for some days." 
 
 " I was to-day at his lodgings," said Franz. 
 
 " Well ? " inquired Sophie. 
 
Through Night to Light. 331 
 
 " Well, just think, I did not see the odd fellow at all. 
 He called through the closed door that he could not see 
 me; he had an important chemical investigation to 
 carry on, and could not leave it for an instant." 
 
 " I hope nothing has happened ? " said Sophie. " Had 
 you not better go to his house and see, Franz .? " 
 
 " Very well ! " replied Franz, emptying his glass and 
 rising. 
 
 At the same moment, however, there was heard sup- 
 pressed laughing in the hall, where the servants seemed 
 to be assembled. The door opened and a strangely ac- 
 coutred personage entered. Two huge goose-wings 
 fastened to the shoulders and a bow in the hand, with 
 the requisite quiver and arrows on the shoulder, together 
 with a wreath on the head, proclaimed him undoubtedly 
 as Amor, although the spectacles on his nose hardly 
 agreed with the proverbial blindness of the god of love, 
 nor the black evening costume with the classic sim- 
 plicity on which the Son of Venus generally presents 
 himself 
 
 This strange figure approached the company with 
 graceful steps, remained standing at a respectful dis- 
 tance, bowed and spoke : 
 
 " Most highly honored, happy pair, most worthy 
 father of the bride and most darling demoiselle : 
 
 " I am — to see it is not hard — 
 The great god Amor. 
 Where'er my flames burn in a heart, 
 There I am, rich or poor. 
 Whoever hears my arrows rattle, 
 Forsakes the hope of doing battle; 
 The arrow sent from my good bow, 
 Strikes great and small and high and low. 
 And who is wounded by my hand, 
 Drops conquer'd on the sand. 
 I now will show you of my art, 
 A sample, which will make you start." 
 
 Here Amor took with great solemnity an arrow from 
 his quiver, saying : Do not fear, ladies and gentlemen, 
 the string is loose, and the arrows have, as you will please 
 notice, huge India-rubber balls instead of points. There- 
 upon he placed the harmless arrow on the harmless bow, 
 
332 Through Night to Light. 
 
 and aimed it at Sophie, Avho caught it cleverly in her 
 hand and pressed it with comic pathos to her heart. 
 The same proceeding was repeated with Franz, except 
 that it hit him on the head. After Amor had thus demon- 
 strated that he was not idly threatening, he continued, 
 
 " Now two have been dispatched, 
 And all their peace is gone ; 
 It can be clearly seen 
 That they're forever done. 
 They know no rest and no repose, 
 If snow comes down, or blooms the rose. 
 Until the parson makes them one, 
 And they are altogether gone. 
 Then fare thee well, paternal home, 
 I must through all the world now roam ! 
 Then fare thee well, oh father dear, 
 We never shall again be here ! 
 Then fare ye well, oh friends of ours, 
 Who were our joy at all good hours ! 
 Then fare ye well, good people all, 
 I have to follow another call ! 
 To-morrow, with the evening star, 
 I shall be gone, oh ever so far !" 
 
 The last words Amor uttered with deeply-moved voice. 
 The faces of the company around th? fire-place, which 
 had at first beamed with merriment, had become graver 
 and graver, and through the half-opened door, around 
 which the servants were crowding, suppressed sobs were 
 heard. 
 
 " Take a glass of our brewing, Bemperly," said Sophie, 
 offering Amor a glass. 
 
 " Your health. Miss Sophie," replied Amor, emptying 
 the glass at one gulp. " But now, sit down again ; I 
 have not done yet." 
 
 Amor stepped back again, rattled his quiver as if to 
 convince himself that there were some arrows left, and 
 then said : 
 
 " So fierce, as you have just now seen, 
 Are Amor's arrows sharp and keen. 
 Yet does at times he find it hard, 
 When SHE keeps anxious watch and ward, 
 The good young god is full of zeal — " 
 
 At these words he glanced adoringly at mademois- 
 elle— 
 
Through Night to Light. 333 
 
 " But she thinks not of woe or weal, 
 When he offender love then speaks, 
 ' I do not understand ! ' she shrieks." 
 
 This allusion, quite intelligible to all present, called 
 forth a universal smile, which changed into loud laugh- 
 ter when Mademoiselle Marguerite, who had hardly 
 understood a single word of all that Amor had said, but 
 who clearly saw from the laughter of her friends that 
 something particularly witty had been uttered, turned 
 round to Sophie and asked aloud : " I do not understand, 
 quest ce quil dit? " 
 
 Amor was clever enough to fall in with his own 
 hearty laugh ; but immediately he continued with 
 greater gravity than before : 
 
 " Then comes the youth in greatest haste 
 And begs of me, who am Amor chaste, 
 * With sharpest arrow hit, I pray. 
 That wicked girl, so that she may — ' " 
 
 With these words Amor laid his hand upon his heart : 
 
 " ' Hereafter know how one does feel 
 When one does love her with true zeal.' 
 And I replied : * my dear good boy, 
 I help you forthwith with this toy. 
 The sharpest arrow that is here, 
 I'll shoot it at her from quite near, 
 Whoever feels this sharp, good dart. 
 With love will burn deep in his heart.' " 
 
 Amor showed the arrow which he had taken from the 
 quiver while reciting the last words. To the India-rub- 
 ber ball a slip of paper was fastened on which some- 
 thing was written, though it could not be read at such 
 a distance. He aimed at Mademoiselle Marguerite and 
 called out with a loud voice, 
 
 " ' If that's not good to awaken love. 
 Tell me what better is, my dear sweet dove ? ' " 
 
 The arrow flew from the bow into Mademoiselle Mar- 
 guerite's lap. But Amor did not wait for the results of 
 his heroic deed ; he turned his back, adorned with the 
 goose wings, and hurried out, followed by the loud 
 laughter of the company. 
 
 " What is on the paper, Marguerite ? " 
 
334 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " You must let us see the paper, mademoiselle ! " 
 
 " Of course ! " cried Sophie, Franz, and the privy- 
 councillor, who was highly amused by Bemperlein's 
 unexpected dramatic farce. But Marguerite had hardly 
 cast a glance at the paper, than her expressive face was 
 covered with deep blushes. She tore off the paper hur- 
 riedly and threw it into the fire-place. But Sophie, who 
 had anticipated this, pushed the paper aside before the 
 flames could seize it, snatched it up and called out, " I 
 have it ! I have it!" Marguerite wanted to take the 
 precious document from her, but Sophie ran away with 
 it. Marguerite followed her, while Franz and the privy 
 councillor laughed heartily at the efforts of the little 
 Lacerte to reach up to the raised arm of Sophie, who 
 was head and shoulders higher. In their haste the 
 young ladies rushed at the door just as Bemperlein, who 
 had in the meantime laid aside his Olympian attributes, 
 was coming back, and thus it happened that Marguerite, 
 unable to check her rapid course, ran right into his 
 arms. 
 
 " Behold the sacred power of the god ! " exclaimed 
 Sophie, as she saw this, exulting. " Here, Marguerite, 
 is your paper. I do not care to see now what was writ- 
 ten on the prescription, since I have seen the effect." 
 
 With these words she made a deep courtesy and 
 handed Marguerite the paper, who hid it hurriedly iu 
 her bosom. 
 
 " That was well done, Bemperly," said the young lady 
 in her exuberance of merriment. " I must embrace you 
 for it." 
 
 Hereupon she seized the blusliing god of love by the 
 shoulders and gave him a hearty kiss on the brow. 
 
 " I call you to be my witness, privy councillor," said 
 Bemperlein, " that the ladies are fighting who is to have 
 me, without my making the slightest advances, and that 
 if Franz challenges me, I am not bound to give him sat- 
 isfaction." 
 
 Bemperlein had brought new spirit into the company, 
 and henceforth laughter and merriment were the order 
 of the day. The good humor of the circle rose in pro- 
 portion as the level sank in the punch-bowl. Only 
 
Through Night to Light. 335 
 
 Marguerite was more quiet than before ; but the joke 
 had been carried quite far enough, and they did not 
 tease her any more ; they pretended even not to notice 
 her, when she left her seat near the fire-place and began 
 to walk up and down in the room, evidently buried in 
 thought. Franz, Sophie, and the privy councillor were 
 soon engaged in weighty family matters, and did not 
 observe, therefore, that Bemperlein also had risen qui- 
 etly, and joining Marguerite, had commenced a conver- 
 sation in a low tone with her, which soon became so 
 interesting that they had to adjourn to the deep bay- 
 window, where the broad folds of a heavy curtain pro- 
 tected them safely against the glances of the company. 
 Unfortunately, however, the stuff of which the curtains 
 were made was not thick enough to break all the sound- 
 waves completely, and thus it happened that after the 
 lapse of perhaps five minutes those near the fire were 
 suddenly startled by a noise which came from the win- 
 dow, and evidently arose from the sudden parting of the 
 lips of two people, after they had rested upon each other 
 for some time. 
 
 The origin of this very remarkable sound was the 
 following: 
 
 The happy couple had — quite accidentally — wandered 
 off into the bay-window ; Mademoiselle Marguerite had 
 at once desired to turn back again, but Bemperlein, bold 
 as a lion, had seized her hand and said most impres- 
 sively : 
 
 " Have you read what was on the paper "i " 
 
 Marguerite had read it, of course, but she would not 
 have been a little Lacerte if she had not answered the 
 direct question by saying: " JVon monsieur T 
 
 " May I then tell you what it was.'* " 
 
 The little Lacerte began thereupon to tremble a little, 
 not daring to say yes or no ; Mr. Anastasius Bemperlein, 
 however, interpreting her silence and her trembling in 
 his favor, placed his arm around the slender waist of the 
 little Lacerte, and whispered : '■^Mademoiselle Marguerite 
 Martin^ je vous aime de tout mon coeur? " 
 
 As she only trembled the more after this loyal decla- 
 ration, and yet did not make any effort to escape from 
 
2;^6 Through Night to Light. 
 
 the arms of her knight, he said in a still lower and more 
 iijipressive voice : 
 
 " Marguerite ! do answer ! Do j-ou love me ? Yes, 
 or no? " 
 
 As Marguerite had answered this question with a very- 
 faint " Old ! " there was nothing left to do, for a man so 
 perfectly at home in love affairs as Mr. Anastasius Bem- 
 perlein was, but to hold the lady more firmly in his 
 arms and to press a loud-sounding kiss upon her unre- 
 sisting lips. 
 
 And this kiss Avas the noise which suddenly started the 
 company at the fire-place. They looked at each other in 
 silence. The privy councillor smiled ; but Franz and 
 Sophie, who had not quite so much self-control, broke 
 out into loud laughter. 
 
 " Oh, mon Dieu ! " exclaimed the little Laccrte, slipping, 
 full of terror, out of the arms of her knight. 
 
 "Be quiet!" replied the knight. " They must learn 
 it anyhow," said he, and seized the little lady by the hand, 
 drew back the curtain, stepped, like the page in Schil- 
 ler's Diver, " bold and brave " before his friends, and 
 spoke : 
 
 " My friends, I have tlie inexpressible pleasure of 
 presenting to you my dear betrothed, Miss Marguerite 
 Martin ! " 
 
 As Bemperlein had initiated Sophie, under the seal of 
 secrecy, into his secret, and as the latter had communi- 
 cated it under the same seal to Franz, and to her father, 
 nobody could exactly be said to be much surprised, es- 
 pecially after the scene with Amor and the kiss in the 
 bay-window. For all that the congratulations were 
 none the less hearty. The men shook hands cordially, 
 Sophie kissed Marguerite with more feeling than she 
 usually showed, and it was some time before the stirred- 
 up waves of deep emotion subsided again and left the 
 surface once more calm and clear. 
 
 " We must authenticate such an event by a correspond- 
 ing solemnity," said the privy councillor, who rang tlie 
 bell, and ordered the servant who came in to bring up 
 the last of twelve bottles of " Johannisberg Cabinet," 
 which a sovereign once had presented to him after hav- 
 
Through Night to Light. 337 
 
 ing been saved by the skill of the physician. And when 
 tlie noble wine was sparkling in the glasses, he said : 
 
 " My dear ones ! In the hour of joy we can easily 
 speak of past sorrow, and, therefore, I propose to place 
 the merry, pretty picture before us in a dark frame, which 
 will make its bright colors appear all the more beautiful. 
 While I was lying these last days helpless on my sick- 
 bed — I, whose office and duty it is to help wherever I can 
 help — a word has constantly corae back to me, a plain- 
 tive, tearful word, which once the poor Roman plebeians, 
 overwhelmed with hard service, cried out before the pa- 
 tricians : ' Sine missione nascimur ! ' — that means, you girls, 
 ' We are born to have no leave of absence ! ' You do 
 not care whether our strength is used up in the endless 
 wars which you carry on in the name of our country, 
 but for your own good profit and advantage only ; or 
 whether our lands lie fallow and our wives and children 
 are dying in misery. To arms ! to arms ! you call from 
 year's end to year's end ; and we have to serve from 
 year's end to year's end : * sine missione nascimur I ' " 
 
 The privy councillor drank from his glass and contin- 
 lied, with deeply-moved voice : 
 
 " We also, we — the children of this nineteenth century 
 — are born to have no leave of absence. The enormous 
 tasks given us in science, in politics, in every depart- 
 ment of human activity, claim from childhood up all 
 our powers and consume thern entirely. To arms! to 
 arms! This is the unceasing cry which summons us 
 also, whether our arms are the pen or the brush, the 
 plough or the hammer, the compass or the lancet. And 
 work — inexorable, imperious work — what does it care 
 for the workman } — whether his temples are beating with 
 fever, whether his brain is overwrought to insanity, or 
 his limbs are trembling from exhaustion — work doL'S 
 not mind it. It rewards him with poverty, sickness, and 
 suffering, and demands of the ill-treated, the oppressed, 
 the labors of Hercules. Yes, my friends, we also are 
 plebeians in the service of work as those Roman plebe- 
 ians in the service of war, and we can complain with 
 them and say, '■sine missione nasci/nur.' 
 
 " And yet, I asked myselfi how is it possible that we, 
 15 
 
338 Through Night to Light. 
 
 weaklings and degenerate offspring as we are, can accom- 
 plish deeds by the side of which those of Hercules and 
 other heroes appear like the play of pigmies ? That our 
 times, so often reproached on account of the prevail- 
 ing laxity and indifference, nevertheless is like a trem- 
 bling mountain, which produces not a ridiculous mouse, 
 but snorting stearn-engines, gigantic works of indus-« 
 try and triumphs of inventive genius of every kind? 
 It is possible only by the complete change which has 
 taken place in the relative position of men. Then, 
 work and conflict were in the hands of a few heroes, 
 while the masses were following in idleness and lazi- 
 ness Avith loud cries. Now the individual, however 
 great he may be, counts for little ; the whole strength 
 of our day lies in the masses, which are pressing for- 
 ward in close columns, slowly but irresistibly, in the 
 path of progress. This is not yet clearly seen by many. 
 Rulers, princes, and princes' servants, who have a dim 
 apprehension of the matter, would like to bring back 
 the olden times for the sake of their brutal selfishness 
 and their frivolous vanity — the times when the individual 
 was everything and the masses nothing ; but it is all in 
 vain. The army of progress, endowed with the death- 
 defying instinct of the migratory lemur, marches on in 
 long, unnumbered lines, shoulder to shoulder, each man 
 stepping in the footsteps of the man before him, and 
 wheil here and there a vacant space occurs the lines are 
 closed up again in an instant. 
 
 " And this thought, my friends, which I tried to see 
 clearly before my mind's eye, had something marvel- 
 lously soothing for me. I thought, what does it matter 
 whether you break down to-day or to-morrow.'* Be- 
 hind you follows a younger and stronger soldier w-ho 
 will at once step over you, fill your place, and accom- 
 plish with the very arms which fall from your releasing 
 grasp greater things than you could ever have done." 
 
 As he said these words, the privy councillor pressed 
 his son-in-law's hand; but Sophie, who liad long strug- 
 gled with lier tears, threw herself sobbing in her father's 
 arms. 
 
 - No, no, my child," said her father, stroking her soft 
 
Through Night to Light. 339 
 
 hair lovingly. " You must not crj' ; I wanted to prove 
 to you, and to you all, that we must not weep and wail, 
 but rejoice at it, that we are invincible and immortal in 
 others and through others. Yes, it is a beautiful and a 
 true saying, which I read to-day in Freiligrath's Confes- 
 sion of Faith : ' On the tree of mankind blossom blooms 
 by blossom.' I see all around me budding and bloom- 
 ing; a whole spring of mankind in miniature. How 
 long will it be before these buds and blossoms will 
 change into glorious flowers, and ripen to luscious fruit.'' 
 Will I live to see it i* I Avish to do so, I hope so ; but 
 even if it should not be so — if I should not be permitted 
 to see your children at my knee — well, then, you dear 
 ones, sorrow must follow joy as joy follows sorrow ; 
 where blossom is to crowd upon blossom, there the dry 
 w^ood must be cut out and thrown into the oven ; and if 
 we must part, we had better part, if not cheerfully, at 
 least bravely." 
 
 While the privy councillor had been speaking, a dull 
 sound of steps and the confused noise of suppressed 
 voices had been heard before the windows in the street. 
 Then all had been silent again ; and as the privy coun- 
 cillor said his last words there arose suddenly, in the 
 magnificent tones of an immense choius of men's voices, 
 gentle like the spring breezes, and yet mighty like a 
 thunderstorm, the song : 
 
 " It is decreed in God's own council 
 That thou must part 
 From all that's dearest to the heart ; 
 Altho' in all this world the hardest is 
 To human heart 
 From those we love for e'er to part ! " 
 
 Those in the room were startled as if a voice from on 
 high were speaking to them. Sophie leaned sobbing on 
 her father's breast; the eyes of the men were brimful of 
 tears ; Marguerite even, although she did not understand 
 a word, was yet so excited that she pressed her hand- 
 kerchief to her face and wept aloud. 
 
 Then all rose and went to the bay-window. Below, 
 in the very wide street, and forming a large semicircle 
 marked out by bright lamps, stood the singers — members 
 
340 Through Night to Light. 
 
 of the Mechanics' Club, which the privy councillor had 
 founded years ag'o, and whose president Franz had been 
 during the last weeks. Further out an immense multi- 
 tude, head to head — men and women, citizens, stu- 
 dents, poor people — all pell-mell, silent, motionless, as 
 in a church. 
 
 And higher rose the mighty sounds : 
 
 " But you must understand me right, 
 When men do part, they say with might, 
 Till we meet again ! 
 Till we meet again ! " 
 
 The music passed away ; the lamps were extinguished. 
 Quietly as they had come the crowds went away. It 
 was dark again in the street ; but in the hearts of those 
 who were standing up-stairs in the bay-window, hold- 
 ing each -.'other in close embrace, it was bright, like a 
 sunny morning in May. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE great woods of Berkow are leafless. Where 
 formerly birds were singing in the green twi- 
 light, and beetles and midges humming drowsily, 
 there the cold autumnal winds are now whistling through 
 the bare branches ; and where dry leaves are yet hanging 
 on old oak-trees, they no longer whisper to each other 
 lovingly as in the beautiful summer time, but rustle 
 weird and woefully. Only the evergreens look as if the 
 season could do them no harm ; but their fine foliage 
 also is darker, and they look now, when all around is 
 bare, blacker and more dismal than ever. 
 
 Rough autumn has blown through the thick yew- 
 hedge and into the garden behind the castle, has swept 
 the flowers from tlie whole parterre, and filled the trim 
 walks with withered wet leaves. On the terrace, under 
 the broad branching pine-tree, the favorite place of the 
 mistress of the house, the little round table with the 
 
Through Night to Light. 341 
 
 marble slab is still standing, because it is deeply rooted 
 in the ground, but the green benches and chairs have 
 been carried into the garden-house. 
 
 The open place before the house, which is divided oft" 
 by a railing from the farm-buildings, looks melancholy. 
 The shutters on this side of the house are almost al- 
 ways closed, and are only now and then opened by a 
 wrinkled old hand, whereupon often, as just now for 
 instance, the wrinkled old face that belongs to the hand, 
 \vith its icy gray moustache, looks out for a few minutes 
 to watch a wagon heavily laden with wood, which four 
 powerful horses can hardly drag through the deep mud 
 at the side entrance to the yard between two barns, 
 where even in summer the passage is often quite dan- 
 gerous. The old man contracts his brows angrily as he 
 sees the servant whip the horses furiously, amid calls 
 and cries and curses. He grumbles something about 
 infamous fellow ! in his gray beard ; but he no longer 
 raises his voice to give vent to a powerful oath or so, as 
 he used to do; for after all it is not the servant's fault, 
 but the tenant's, who has not been prevailed upon these 
 five years to mend the road. This tenant is every Avay 
 a vessel of wrath for the old man. He keeps his cattle 
 in bad order ; he is cruel to his hands; in the third place 
 he knows, according to the old man's notions, nothing 
 of farming ; and, finally, he has a red nose, and is always 
 hoarse, two peculiarities attributed to brandy, and equally 
 disgusting to the old man's eyes and ears. And, above 
 all, the terrible prospect of never losing sight of this man 
 for the whole of his life (for his term has twenty years 
 more to rim, and the old man is not going to live so 
 long) ; to have to drag him along, so to say, till his blessed 
 end, like the abominable ball which the old man received 
 in his leg on the battle-field of Waterloo, and which is 
 still there to this hour — no, worse than this ball, for 
 that only hurts in spring and in fall, and whenever the 
 weather is not as it ought to be. But this rascal of a 
 tenant — and the old man abandoned his thoughts to this 
 unprofitable and inexhaustible subject, fixing his eyes 
 all the while upon the bleaching bones of a buzzard 
 which he had shot many years ago, and which (as a 
 
342 Through Night to Light. 
 
 solemn warning to all evil-doers in the air and on the 
 ground) had been nailed to the barn-door, until the 
 voice of a boy, who has just come from the garden and 
 is looking around the ya,rd, comes up to his ear : 
 
 " Hallo ! Baumann ! " 
 
 At the sound of this voice the face of the old man 
 clears up, as when a ray of sunlight passes over a rough 
 Alpine landscape. It is the same voice, at least the 
 same tone of voice, which has warmed the old man's 
 heart now for a quarter of a century and longer. He 
 rests both his elbows on the window-sill and looks down 
 upon the handsome uplifted face of the boy with the 
 light-brown, hearty eyes. 
 
 " What is the matter, young gentleman? " 
 
 " Wont you take a ride with me, Baumann ? " 
 
 The old man casts a glance of inquiry at the sky, 
 where dark, heavy clouds are hanging low, looks down 
 again, and says : 
 
 " It looks threatening, sir. I think we shall have rain, 
 and perhaps snow, in half an hour ; that is more than 
 vraisemblable. 
 
 " Why, Baumann, you always have something to say," 
 says the handsome boy, grumbling; "the pony is get- 
 ting stiff from standing so long, and I should like so 
 much to take a ride." 
 
 " Well, well," says the old man ; " we were only yes- 
 terday all the Avay to Cona." 
 
 " That is a great thing ! Three miles ! And the doc- 
 tor says I ought to ride every day." 
 
 " Oh, if the doctor says so, I presume we must do it," 
 replied Baumann, who has only been waiting for a good 
 pretext to give way without dishonor. " I will just 
 open the windows in the parlor here, and then I'll come 
 down. In the meantime go ask the baroness, and say 
 good-by to her." 
 
 " Yes; but make haste." 
 
 "Well, well," says the old man, and his gray head 
 disappears from the window. 
 
 The boy hurries back into the house, but his mother is 
 not to be found in the "garden-room," where she com- 
 monly sits; nor in the "red-room" adjoining, to which 
 
Through Night to Light. 343 
 
 she retires Avhen she wishes to be alone. The boy 
 hurries from the garden-room — leaving the door, of 
 course, wide open — into the garden, and down the long 
 walk between the clipped yews of the terrace. As he 
 does not find the mother here, and yet is in such a very 
 great hurry, he considers whether he has not done all that 
 could be done. He hesitates for a moment, and is just 
 about to turn back, when it occurs to him that Baumann 
 is sure to ask him, sometime during their ride : Young 
 gentleman, did you say good-by to the baroness } and 
 that he would be ashamed to have to say. No ! He 
 jumps with one leap down the steps which lead to the 
 terrace and runs deeper into the garden, calling out 
 from time to time : " Mamma ! Mamma !" 
 
 "Here!" replies suddenly a female voice quite near; 
 and as he turns quickly rovmd a bush, which has been 
 so well sheltered by old linden-trees that it has almost 
 all its leaves yet, he nearly rushes into his mother's 
 arms : 
 
 " What is the matter, wild one } " says Melitta, placing 
 her hands upon the boy's shoulders. 
 
 " We are going to ride out," says the boy, who is in 
 such a hurry that he can hardly speak. 
 
 " But the sky looks very threatening." 
 
 " Oh, Baumann says — no, Baumann says the same. 
 But I am so anxious to ride ! Please, dear mamma, 
 please!" 
 
 " If it were not so late," said Melitta, looking at her 
 watch, " I should like to go with you." 
 
 " Oh pray, mamma, do that another time. You would 
 have to change your dress, and then it may really com- 
 mence snowing, and then we can't go at all." 
 
 " You may be right," replied Melitta, unconsciously 
 smiling at the boy's naive egotism. " Then make haste 
 and get away. But put on an overcoat." 
 
 She kisses the boy on his red lips, and the boy runs 
 away delighted. Five m.inutcs later old Baumann has 
 himself saddled the boy's pony — he never allows the 
 grooms to saddle either the pony or Melitta's horse — 
 and the two gallop out of the main gate into the bare 
 fields. 
 
344 Through Night to Light. 
 
 When the boy had left her, Melitta resumed her walk 
 in the avenues between the cunningly-trimmed hedges 
 of beech-trees and the yew-pyramids. They were the 
 same avenues tlirough which she had walked on a beau- 
 tiful summer afternoon Avhen the sun was sending down 
 red rays through the green foliage above upon the 
 flower-beds in all their splendor, arm in arm with Os- 
 wald ! How the scene had changed since then ! Where 
 are the red rays of the sun now ? where the green 
 leaves ? and where the bright flowers ? Is this the 
 same earth that exhaled a soft, balsamic breath, like the 
 kiss of a loved one ? the same earth which shone in its 
 wedding garment ? which embraced the high sky like a 
 bride in the light of countless stars ? And she, herself — 
 she had changed almost as much ; but in her, summer has 
 not changed into winter. She has altered, but surely 
 not for the worse. 
 
 As she now turns round, having reached the end of 
 the long walk, and is coming up again in the pale light 
 of the autumnal evening, she can be better seen than 
 before. How graceful and light her step is! How 
 delicately slender her figure appears as she now draws 
 the silk shawl closer around her sloping shoulders and 
 wraps it around her arms ! How prettily the black 
 fichu which she has tied over her head, fastening it 
 under the chin, frames the lovely oval of her fair face ! 
 And how much more clearly the expression of good- 
 ness of heart, which always made the handsome face so 
 attractive, strikes the observer now ! And yet the soft 
 brown eyes look so much graver ! the charming mouth, 
 whose red lips formerly looked as if they were made 
 only to kiss and to laugh, now is firm and resolute. It 
 looks as if the beautiful and noble psyclie of the woman 
 had freed itself of all that formerly held it in chains, 
 and was now free from the mists of sensual thoughts, 
 lighting up the sweet, kindly face in all its nobility and 
 beauty as the chaste light of the moon lights up a soft, 
 warm summer night. 
 
 What is she thinking of as she now comes slowly 
 down the walk, her eyes fixed upon the ground.-' First 
 of all, probably, of her son, who is recovering his full, 
 
Through Night to Light. 345 
 
 rosy cheeks, and growing up so strong and so hearty, 
 just as Doctor Birkenhain has predicted. She has writ- 
 ten to Doctor Birkenhain to-day to congratulate him 
 and herself on the fulfilment of his prophecy. Then as 
 she passes a little niche in the hedge where a low bench 
 is still leaning against a small table — it must have es- 
 caped the eyes of old Baumann — she stops for a moment. 
 On this bench she sat on that eventful summer afternoon 
 with Oswald, when they had watched two white butter- 
 flies who were hovering on their delicate wings over the 
 flower forests of the parterre and caught each other and 
 chased each other and then rose into the blue ether, em- 
 bracing each other, then parting again to flutter hither 
 and thither into the green wilderness. " Will those 
 butterflies ever meet again in life 1 " she had asked Os- 
 wald; and he had answered: "That may happen, but 
 whether they meet with the same delight, that is an- 
 other question." She had not seen Oswald again since 
 the first night when she left for Fichtenan. If she should 
 meet him again ! She started at the idea, for she felt that 
 she wished it. Had she not loved him very, very much ? 
 Had she not been unspeakably happy with him ? But 
 no ! Prudence and pride commanded her to forget the 
 faithless man who knew only how to conquer but not 
 how to preserve his conquests. 
 
 She crossed her hands more firmly across her bosom, 
 and her face looked almost dark, as she went on; but 
 soon it brightened up again, and now she laughs to her- 
 self. What is it.'' She cannot help it. She must think 
 of the expression in Oldenburg's face as she said the 
 other night, when the weather was so terrible and he 
 was just rising to say good-by and to ride home, "Had 
 you not better stay over night, Adalbert ? " and he had 
 cast one sharp glance at her, and then refused the invi- 
 tation Avith a certain haste and embarrassment. Olden- 
 burg, whose morality was constantly decried so bitterly; 
 who had the reputation of having had countless liaisons 
 daiigcreuses in his life; so carefully anxious, so tenderly 
 concerned, for the good repute of a widow ! Why did 
 he treat her so differently from all other women, of 
 whom he got tired so soon.!* Will he come to-night .'' 
 15* 
 
346 Through Night to Light. 
 
 The hour has passed at which the hoof of his Almansor 
 is commonly heard on the pavement of the yard. The 
 young widow looks anxiously up to the dark clouds, 
 which are threatening more and more, and from which 
 now a few scattered snow-flakes begin to drop silently, 
 the first of the season, but melting in a few moments on 
 the black ground. If Julius only would not ride too far ! 
 But old Baumann is with him, and that ought to be 
 enough for the most anxious heart. Perhaps they have 
 gone over to Cona and will return with Oldenburg, who 
 has forgotten the hour over his books. They will be 
 half-frozen Avhen they come ; it would be better to get 
 tea ready for them. 
 
 Melitta hastened back to the house and ordered sup- 
 per, and sent for the lamp, for it is quite dark now, and 
 she would like to look a little at Oldenburg's diary. 
 He had read to her not long ago some of his notes 
 about his travels in Egypt, and as he could not finish 
 them that night he had left the book and asked her to read 
 it for herself; and as she laughingly reminded him of 
 the danger of letting a lady read his diary, he had replied : 
 " In that book, as in my heart, there in nothing that you 
 may not know." On the contrary, he had desired she 
 should read it all; he did not wish to appear better or 
 differently from what he was. That was speaking 
 boldly ; and, Melitta soon became convinced, acting 
 boldly. For there were strange things recorded in 
 these sketches, thrown off with a daring hand. Here 
 the traveller's glance had rested on the voluptuous 
 charms of dancing Ghawazels. There half-naked In- 
 dian women are standing by the shore turning the 
 creaking wheel of the Sauia in the burning heat of the 
 sun. There, on the market-place of Asyut, black slaves 
 are crouching, who had but yesterday come down from 
 Darfoor on the large Nile boats. But amid all these 
 sketches not one single trait of frivolous sensuality ! 
 He describes the dancing of these children of the 
 Sun with the calm words of a professional critic. He 
 curses when he sees the poor women at the waterworks, 
 the tyrannical government which forces even helpless 
 women to work for cruel taxes, and on the slave-market 
 
Through Night to Light. 347 
 
 at As)'ut his heart is heavy with grief that man should 
 permit the image of God to sink to the level of a brute, 
 or even below ! " Sorrow ! sorrow ! " he cries ; " such 
 as man cannot imagine — and the most sorrowful is that 
 when we see such degradation we begin to despair of 
 man himself, for we cannot help acknowledging to our- 
 selves that beneath the civilized sentiments that shine 
 on the surface, deep down in the darkness of our heart 
 the same fearful passions are slumbering, Avhich here 
 crop out in all their shameless nakedness, merely be- 
 cause they may do so with impunity under this burning 
 sun." And thus he shows everywhere the deep, serious 
 mind with which the traveller observes the manners of 
 men abroad. The same deep love with which he ever 
 makes the cause of himianity his own, so that it seems 
 altogether incomprehensible how this man could ever 
 be looked upon as an eccentric oddity and a frivolous 
 rom. There is no lack even of statistical tables, reflections 
 on political economy, and other evidences of a mind not 
 only bold and deep, but also learned and most industri- 
 ous. And between these are verses, especially on the first 
 pages of the diary, which are evidently of a much earlier 
 date than the sketches from Egypt ; at least this is clear to 
 those who, like the fair reader that night, are sufficiently 
 familiar with the author's life to recollect the different 
 events which have occasioned one or the other poem. 
 
 Thus she recalls perfectly well how the baron, then a 
 youth of perhaps nineteen, once walked with a young 
 lady who was then perhaps fifteen, in the woods, after 
 they had just eaten a philippine at table. He was to 
 lose who first forgot to say fypense when he took any- 
 thing from the hand of the other. She had cunningly 
 made a most beautiful bouquet, and when the young 
 man admired the flowers, she had said with a bashful 
 smile, " Would you like to have it, Adalbert.'' " And 
 when he, blushing at the unexpected favor, had taken 
 the bouquet without saying a word, she had clapped her 
 hands and cried out, '•'■ J'y pense ! fypense! I thought 
 you would lose it ! " That was a long time ago, and the 
 ink with which the poem was written had faded consid- 
 erably. The poem ran thus : 
 
348 Through Night to Light. 
 
 j'y pense. 
 
 I know a little maid — 
 
 J'y pense ! 
 With eyes deep brown and staid — 
 
 J'y PENSE ! 
 Her hair in brown curls fell, 
 Her laugh was like a silver bell — 
 
 J'y pense ! 
 
 It was a summer's day — 
 
 J'V PENSE ! 
 
 The wood in shadows lay— 
 
 J'y pense ! 
 I took the flowers from your hand, 
 You laughed at me, the dreamer, and, 
 
 J'v PENSE ! j'y pense ! 
 
 Oh, I forgot the word, 
 
 J'y PENSE ! 
 Now sung by every chord, 
 
 J'y PENSE ! 
 It takes my happiness and rest. 
 Oh, maiden say and be ye blessed, 
 
 J'r PENSE ! 
 
 Not all poems are as naive and full of hope as this, 
 but they are all addressed to the same person. 
 
 Later, the poems become rarer and make way for 
 philosophical and political rellections. Only on one of 
 the last pages there was written in a very bold hand, as 
 if the sovil of the writer had burnt with hope and love 
 while he was writing the lines : 
 
 Yes, thou art mine ! I have aroused to life 
 
 Thy fair but cold and pallid face divine. 
 
 I gave thee life, and thuo thou art now mine ! 
 
 And I am thine ! For all my mournful strife 
 Would but be wandering in a wilderness 
 Without thee, therefore I am thine ! 
 
 The lady Avas leaning back in her chair, let her hands 
 fall into her lap, and looked for a time fixedly before 
 her, absorbed in deep thought. Arc these last verses 
 true .? " I gave thee life, and thus thou art now mine !" 
 I owe him more than I can tell ; he lias sown the golden 
 seed of varied knowledge in my young mind ; and if I 
 
Through Night to Light. 349 
 
 can look higher than most of my sex, if I have an inter- 
 est in art and science, if I have a heart for tlie sick and the 
 suffering — it is all his work. And who has ever faith- 
 fully stood by me in the strife of life, when no one else 
 troubled himself about me ? He, and always he ! And 
 yet, if I thus live through him only, do I therefore really 
 belong to him ? Melitta rested her head on her hands 
 in order to be able the better to puzzle out this enigma, 
 which, after all, the heart only can solve, and not the 
 head. She does not succeed, therefore, any better now 
 than before, and this only is clear to her, that Oldenburg 
 has never been so near to her heart, and has never been 
 so dear to her as now. But now for the reverse of the 
 medal. "Therefore I am thine! " To be sure he has 
 told me so a thousand times by words and by acts, but 
 — but — is this love, which dates back to the first years of 
 his boyhood, which, he says, he has carried within him 
 through all the changes of his eventful life } is it more 
 than an illusion, such as is not uncommon in fanciful 
 men — one of those fixed ideas in which very obstinate 
 minds take delight .'' Is it not, perhaps, the love of a Don 
 Quixote, who seeks refuge in it when he is offended by 
 the fearful prose of everyday life, so repugnant to the 
 nature of a great and noble heart ? Is it not but too 
 probable that this mirage may look charming at a dis- 
 tance, but would quickly dissolve, when seen near by, 
 into ethereal vapor.'' 
 
 What can I be to him ? Has he not nobler ends to live 
 for than to make a woman happy } Can so restless a 
 mind ever restrict itself to the narrow limits of a family 
 circle .' May not what he now aims at as his highest hap- 
 piness, soon become to him an intolerable chain.' 
 
 Melitta sighs as she comes to this hard knot in her 
 tissue. She has mechanically opened the book once 
 more, and as she turns over the leaves she comes to a 
 place which she has not noticed before : 
 
 " They say love is a mere luxury for men, but a neces- 
 sity for women ; a passez cl temps for the former, a life's 
 end for the latter. But often is it just the reverse ! 
 How often do idle, unoccupied women (I speak only of 
 the wealthier classes) look upon love as a mere article 
 
35° Through Night to Light. 
 
 of luxury with so many others, while to the active in- 
 dustrious husband it is a pure refreshing element, which 
 gives him ever new courage and ever new strength ! 
 To the laborer (and after all every man is a laborer, 
 from the president of a cabinet to the president's boot- 
 maker) — to the laborer, night is the reward of day, as 
 Virgil says beautifully. And to this must be added : 
 A woman, especially a beautiful woman, is overwhelm- 
 ed with attentions from childhood up ; wherever she 
 goes, a hundred hands are ready to serve her. She is 
 always surrounded by a whole court of flatterers and 
 admirers. Is it not very natural that like all the great 
 of the earth, she is likely to have her head turned .'' that 
 the worship of a single one cannot count for much Avith 
 her .'' that love loses its value because of the abundance 
 of the supply ! But man ! if he is not exceptionally a 
 prince, they no not make much ceremony with him in 
 life. At school, at the university, he may, if luck favors 
 him, have so-called friends who help him to bear exis- 
 tence ; but he has no sooner entered upon actual life, 
 than the host of friends is gone and forever, and he 
 stands alone ; he must bear alone his sorrows, his neces- 
 sities, and what is almost as bad, his joys. Society 
 opens for him ; but when } — after he has succeeded; and 
 until then 1 — till then he has to journey along a weary, 
 dusty road, without shade and without resting-place, 
 which robs him of the best part of his life's strength, and 
 his life's joy. But if he succeeds, he is chastised with 
 scorpions, if he was before chastised with whips. Even 
 his friends become now his rivals ; and he finds himself 
 reduced to lean on his own strength, his own courage, 
 facing a world in arms, a world without pity, delighting 
 in his failures, and at best indifferent. And oh ! what 
 bliss, if now, in this fearful crowd, a soft warm hand 
 seizes his own, and a dear voice says to him, * Be strong! 
 persevere ! if all abandon you, I will not abandon you ; 
 if others are envious of your triumphs, they will make 
 me unspeakably happy; and if you fail in your work 
 and they scoff and scorn yovi, or if yovi succeed and they 
 pass you with cold indifference, then you shall rest 
 your weary head on this bosom, then I will cool your 
 
Through Night to Light. 351 
 
 feverish brow with my kisses, I will pour the precious 
 balm of good, compassionate, comforting words into 
 your poor, torn heart.' Oh, thrice happy man ; now let 
 the world do its worst, you tremble not, you fear not ! 
 In your wife's love you have the point of Archimedes, 
 from which you can move a world. 
 
 " And tlius I have found more than one man in my life 
 who was attached to his wife with a love which was 
 simply unbounded, which burnt with the steady light 
 of the north star, unchangeable, through the night of 
 his life. And certainly, when we find in history an Ar- 
 nold Winkelried, who defied death and made an open- 
 ing for freedom with his body — did he do it for free- 
 dom's sake.? Yes! For his country's sake .' Yes! But 
 above all, he did it for the sake of wife and children, 
 who were to him more than freedom and country and 
 life itself" 
 
 Melitta let the book drop into her lap and looked 
 thoughtfully down ; then she puts it again on the table, 
 rises and takes an album from a bureau, with which she 
 sits down once more at the table. In the album there 
 are pencil sketches, and sketches in charcoal and sepia, 
 of landscapes and portraits, etc. She has not had 
 the album in her hands since last summer, and she has 
 not taken it out now to draw or to paint. She searches 
 till she comes to a loose leaf, upon which the profile of a 
 man is lightly sketched in bold outlines. In the corner 
 are the letters A. V. O., and the date, July, 1844. The 
 leaf has not come loose of itself; it has evidently been 
 torn out. What unnecessary trouble we give ourselves 
 by indulging in a moment's caprice ! now the detached 
 leaf has to be carefully glued upon another ! Well ! it 
 looks quite well again ; but alas ! there the name and 
 the date have been cut off. What is to be done .'' name 
 and date must be upon every sketch. The young widow 
 takes a pencil and writes : Adalbert von Oldenburg ; 
 the 22 November, 1847 ; then she closes the album, puts 
 it back in the bureau, and goes to the window. 
 
 It has become nearly dark, and instead of single flakes 
 as before, the snow is falling pretty thick ; nor does it 
 melt now on the ground, but has already spread a thin, 
 
352 Through Night to Light. 
 
 white cover over the lawn. Melitta begins to be troub- 
 led about the long absence of Julius. Perhaps he has 
 had after all an accident ; or perhaps it was the old man. 
 She reproaches herself for having allowed the boy to 
 ride out so late; she is angry at Baumann, that he at 
 least has not been more prudent. And Oldenburg, too, 
 is not coming. If he were here she would ask him to 
 ride out and meet the two. How cheerfully he would 
 doit! 
 
 She goes, seriously troubled, to the dining-room, to 
 the right of the garden-room, from the windows of 
 which she can see for a short distance the road which 
 leads through the wood past Grenwitz to Cona. The 
 snow is now falling so fast that she can hardly recog- 
 nize any more the edge of the spruce forest, although it 
 is only a few hundred yards off. She opens the window 
 and leans far out, unmindful of the flakes which fall on 
 her dark hair and melt on her brow. Was not that a 
 horse's hoof.'' There they are coming out of the for- 
 est, one, two, three dark figures: Oldenburg, the old 
 man, and between them Julius; Almansor and Brown- 
 locks in full trot, the pony between them at full gallop 
 so as to keep up. Melitta waves her handkerchief and 
 calls out, and Julius answers with a hearty Holloa ! and 
 whips the pony across the neck, whereupon the pony 
 shakes his shaggy head indignantly and begins to race 
 so furiously that he finally beats his long-legged rivals, 
 after all, by the length of his own nose. 
 
 The horsemen leap from their saddles. Julius runs 
 up to the window and calls : " I was the first, after all, 
 mamma ! " 
 
 " Yes," says mamrria, " only make haste and come in, 
 and tell Uncle Oldenburg not to busy himself so long 
 with Almansor's saddle." 
 
Through Night to Light. 353 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IT was after tea. Julius had gone to bed. Old Bau- 
 mann had removed the tea-things, and then gone 
 out, casting a benevolent glance at his mistress and 
 her visitor. Melitta and Oldenburg were alone in the 
 "red-room." 
 
 " Now tell me candidly, Adalbert, why you are so out 
 of humor to-day," said Melitta, who sat on the sofa, 
 while the baron was slowly walking up and down the 
 room, as Avas his habit. 
 
 " I am not out of humor." 
 
 " Well then, troubled.' " 
 
 " That perhaps. I had a letter this afternoon from 
 Birkenhain." 
 
 " That is strange. I have just been Avriting to him 
 this afternoon." 
 
 " Have you heard from him lately .'' " said Oldenburg, 
 pausing in his walk and looking friendly at Melitta. 
 
 " No; why .>" 
 
 "Hem!" 
 
 " Is that an answer } " 
 
 " Certainlv, and a very significative one. Hem ! means 
 a good deal." 
 
 " In this case, for instance .'' " 
 
 " Do you know that we were in all probability at the 
 same time in Fichtenan when Czika and Xenobia as 
 well as Oswald were all there, and we never knew it.'' " 
 
 Melitta blushed deeply, and did not at once know 
 what answer to give. Oldenburg, however, did not give 
 her time to reply, but drew Birkenhain's letter from his 
 pocket, sat down by the table, opposite Melitta, and 
 said : 
 
 " You see, Birkenhain writes, after having informed 
 me, at my request, of Jvilius's state of health — 'Julius 
 must be spared all studying till New Year' — as follows : 
 
 " ' You have so often and so kindly inquired in your 
 letters after Professor Berger, dear baron, that it will 
 interest vou to hear again of this extraordinary man, 
 
354 Tnyough Night to Light. 
 
 especially after having made his personal acquaintance 
 here at my house last summer. You may recollect from 
 what he told you in your conversations with him, that 
 his insanity belongs to the class of philosophical aber- 
 rations, and that he defended his fixed idea of the abso- 
 lute non-existence of all things — or rather the great 
 original Naught as he called it — with all the erudition 
 and all the ingenuity which he possesses in so large a 
 degree. My hope to be able to restore this distinguished 
 man in a short time, was unfortunately ill-founded, and 
 I confess that the method which I pursued in his case 
 was, perhaps, not the correct one. I intended to arouse in 
 him, by seclusion, withdrawal of books, etc., a sensation 
 of weariness and loneliness, and through these a desire 
 to see company, to exchange thoughts ; in one word, a 
 fondness for life. But I had immensely underrated the 
 fund of inner life which was at the disposal of my patient. 
 He could have lived for years on the treasures of his 
 mind, and the only effect of my efforts was, that he gave 
 himself up more fully than ever to his bottomless, orig- 
 inal Naught. Nevertheless, I still hoped for some im- 
 provement, a reaction which I thought could not fail 
 to arise in so vigorous a mind as Berger's. About that 
 t^me — I think it was the very day on which you and 
 Frau von Berkow were here, and I forgot to tell you in 
 the hurry in which you were, anything about these mat- 
 ters which interested me deeply — a visitor, who had an- 
 nounced to me his desire to see Professor Berger, came 
 very apropos. This was a young man called Doctor 
 Stein ' " — Oldenburg did not look up as he came to the 
 name — " ' of whom a colleague in GrunAvald, with whom 
 he was travelling, had told me that he had been Berger's 
 favorite and most intimate friend. I hoped the very 
 best results from this visit — a hope which I mvist confess 
 was considerably weakened when I made the acquaint- 
 ance of this Doctor Stein. I found him a remarkably 
 handsome, distinguished-looking man, who, however, in 
 spite of evidently rare talents and thorough cultivation, 
 seemed to be completely at odds with tlie world and him- 
 self, as we find this to be the case, unfortunately, but too 
 freauently, more or less, in our most gifted men, thanks 
 
Through Night to Light. 355 
 
 to the inactive, thoughtless times in which wc live. I 
 ought to have been able to tell myself, if I had maturely 
 reflected, that Berger would not have attached himself 
 so heartily to this man just before the breaking out of 
 his insanity, if he had not also been a hypochondriac. 
 But here he was, and the thing could not be helped 
 now ; besides, I had given Doctor Stein very precise 
 instructions before I allowed him to see Berger, and 
 awaited now with great interest the result of this inter- 
 view, at which I was on purpose not present. The re- 
 sult was strange indeed. 
 
 " ' When I returned from my interview with you and 
 Frau von Berkow, I went at once to my patient, who 
 had in the meantime taken a walk at my request. He 
 had been to the woods in company with his visitor. 
 
 " ' At the first glance I felt convinced that something 
 extraordinary had happened to him. He was walking 
 up and down in great excitement. As soon as he saw 
 me he paused and said : " Wliat do you think of a theory, 
 doctor, which has not yet been tried practically } " " Not 
 much ! " I replied ; " but why do you ask ? " " Oh, a 
 thought occurred to me to-night, which lies so near, so 
 near, that I cannot understand why it never occurred 
 to me before." I asked him to explain. " I cannot do 
 that now," he said, " but I will certainly do it as soon as 
 I am able." I had to be content with his promise, for it 
 was useless for me to press him further. I hoped to 
 learn more about it from Doctor Stein. He had left the 
 same night, "on account of pressing business," as he wrote 
 me the next day in a little note from one of the nearest 
 stations. What had happened between him and Berger 
 remained a secret for me ; I only learnt from others 
 that they had been seen that night in a waggoner's inn, 
 where they had been eating and drinking with rope- 
 dancers, who happened to be in the place, and who had 
 created quite a sensation there, less by their tricks 
 than ' " — Oldenburg's voice began to tremble a little — 
 " ' by a beautiful gypsy woman with a still more beautiful 
 child. Berger was very quiet and taciturn the whole of 
 the next day. I left him quite to himself, for I did not 
 wish in any way to interfere with the crisis which was 
 
356 Through Night to Light. 
 
 evidently taking place. He had from the beginning- 
 be-en free to go and come as he chose. It did not strike the 
 waiters, therefore, nor the gate-keeper, as strange, when 
 he went out of the asylum at seven o'clock in the morn- 
 ing of the seventh day — it was the day on which Frau von 
 B. left. But this time he did not return during the day 
 nor at night, as he usually did, nor on the following day. 
 He had disappeared. 
 
 " ' You can easily imagine what I felt when this oc- 
 curred. Although the search which I immediately or- 
 dered, and which was carried out with great energy and 
 circumspection, had no result, I was firmly convinced 
 that Berger had not attempted his life. He had too 
 often spoken most impressively against this way "of 
 tying the Gordian knot still more firmly," as he called 
 it. A letter written by him, wdiich I received shortly 
 afterwards, and which bore the post-maik of a small 
 northern town, proved to my great joy that I had not 
 been mistaken. In this letter the strange man asked 
 my pardon if he should have caused me a few disagree- 
 able days by his stealthy departure from Fichtenan ; he 
 had not known, he said, how else he could have carried 
 out the thought which he had mentioned to me. He 
 had joined, for the moment, a party consisting of " good 
 people, but bad musicians," for the very purpose of 
 carrying out that thought, and the thought itself w-as 
 this : that he could not put his asceticism, the practi- 
 cal side of his theory of the non-existence of life, to a sat- 
 isfactory test within the four walls of his room, or in 
 solitude generally, but only in the wude world, and es- 
 pecially amid the lower classes of society, to w-hich he 
 had now descended for the purpose. He begged me, if 
 I felt any interest for him, not to interrupt him in his 
 experiment, and promised to inform me at the proper 
 time of the result of his expedition, which promised to 
 be very favorable.' " 
 
 Oldenburg folded up Birkenhain's letter, after having 
 read so fiir, and looked at Melitta. 
 
 " How is it, Melitta } " he said ; " you were several days 
 in Fichtenan, I know; did you also hear people talk of 
 this beautiful gypsy woman and her child, who must 
 
Through Night to Light. 357 
 
 have been Xenobia and Czika, if I am not altogether 
 mistaken ?" 
 
 " More than that," replied Melitta; " it Avas Xenobia 
 and Czika, and I saw them and spoke to them." 
 
 Oldenburg rested his head on his hand. " You did! " 
 he murmured ; " and you — why did you not tell me.'" 
 
 " Because I feared to renew your sorrow about the lost 
 one ; because — listen to me, Adalbert, I will tell you. I 
 would have told you long ago if I had had the courage." 
 And she told Oldenburg of her meeting with the Brown 
 Countess in the Fichtenan forest, how she had tried to 
 persuade the gypsy to come with her, and how she had 
 been grieved when she found all her persuasions and 
 her prayers unavailing; and, finally, how she had re- 
 ceived from Xenobia the promise to bring her the child 
 if she should ever change her mind, and how she, 
 Melitta, was firmly convinced that this would happen 
 sooner or later. 
 
 As the young widow told him all this, the tears were 
 running down her cheeks, and her voice trembled with 
 deep emotion. 
 
 Oldenburg rose and silently kissed her hand, then 
 he strode eagerly up and down the room, while Melitta 
 continued to tell him how she had, shortly before her 
 encounter with the gypsy, overtaken the wagon of the 
 rope-dancer, and that she now recollected having seen 
 among them a man in a blue blouse whom she had 
 then taken for a peasant, but who she now knew must 
 have been Professor Bcrger. "There is no doubt," she 
 said, " that 'the good people and bad musicians,' of 
 whom Berger speaks in his letter to Birkenhain, were 
 none else but those very rope-dancers, whom he had 
 joined, and with whom he has wandered to Northern 
 Germany, as the letter says. Perhaps he is even now in 
 our neighborhood. If Birkenhain had mentioned the 
 name of the place, I would suggest to you to go there at 
 once and to try what you can to bring Xenobia and 
 Czika back with you ; as it is, however, it would only 
 be a wild-goose chase, from which you would return 
 disappointed in your hopes, out of humor and out of 
 health. I advise vou, therefore, to write to Birkenhain, 
 
358 Through Night to Light. 
 
 and to await his answer before you undertake anything. 
 I ought to add, candidly, that I consider it best, all in 
 all, to leave the unravelling of this strange complica- 
 tion confidingly to the future. Xenobia has a thousand 
 ways and means to escape from you if she chooses ; her 
 resolution to return to us and to surrender Czika to us 
 must be the work of her own free will." 
 
 " If you think that waiting is the best I can do in this 
 case, why do you advise me then to do just the oppo- 
 site .? " 
 
 " Because I fear you will find it impossible to sit still 
 after you have once more found a trace of the lost one ; 
 because I know that you yearn to see your child; be- 
 cause I know that the resignation to which you have 
 now condemned yourself is unnatural ; and, finally " 
 
 " Finally .? " 
 
 " Because, if I advise you to do nothing for the re- 
 covery of Czika it might look as if I did not wish you 
 such happiness, and for all the world I would not have 
 you suspect me for a moment of such heartlessness." 
 
 " The human heart is a strange thing," said Oldenburg, 
 after having continued his promenade through the room 
 for a little while. " Can you believe it, Melitta, that I 
 could now almost wish you would show less readiness 
 to restore to me my child, and the woman to whom I 
 owe her.? " 
 
 " Impossible, Adalbert ! " 
 
 " And yet it is so. I have made up my mind to be 
 always unreservedly candid towards you, as you are 
 towards me ; at least to try to be so ; and therefore I can 
 keep nothing from you. Formerly, when you seemed to 
 be beyond my reach as far as the stars in heaven, I often 
 longed for other human hearts to warm me, and to let 
 me feel by their pulsations that everything around me 
 was not as dead as I felt ; or I threw myself into wild ex- 
 cesses and neck-breaking adventures, in order to feel at 
 least that I was still living. But now all that has sud- 
 denly changed. Since there has come to me the faintest 
 ray of hope that you may yet once upon a time consent 
 to be mine, the world has recovered all its youthful 
 beauty in my eyes ; but now I should also like to see 
 
Through Night to Light. 359 
 
 the fountain from which I have drunk this water of 
 youth, free of all admixture and undimmed. As you 
 are all in all to me, so I should like to be all to you ; to see 
 you have no other desire than to be loved — loved more 
 and more — as I have no other desire than to love you, 
 more and more. What is the rest of the world to vis ? 
 I have forgotten it ; it does not exist for me any more ! " 
 
 Melitta had let this storm of passion rush over her 
 Avith bowed head. When Oldenburg paused she took 
 the diary, which lay open before her on the table, turned 
 over a few leaves, and said : 
 
 " Man strives according to his nature after the general 
 and infinite ; in woman, who stands in every respect 
 nearer to nature, the characteristic feature of every be- 
 ing, self-love, is much more distinctly marked. Man 
 represents the centrifugal power of the moral world; 
 woman the centripetal power. If the former had the 
 government, the world would soon be in the clouds al- 
 together ; if woman ruled, we should never rise above 
 the top of the wheat-blades that nod over the lark's nest 
 in the furrow. The way to reconcile the two tendencies 
 is love. When he loves a beautiful woman, man learns 
 that he is not merely a denizen of the spiritual world ; 
 and when a woman loves a noble man, she learns that 
 there are higher interests than those of the domestic 
 hearth. They must complement each other ; she must 
 remind him that mankind is made up of men ; he must 
 teach even the most gifted among us first to spell and 
 then to read fluently the great words of our day : ' Lib- 
 erty and Fraternity.' " 
 
 She closed the book and glanced up at Oldenburg, 
 who stood at a little distance from her, his arms crossed 
 on his bosom. 
 
 " You were right not to let me become faithless to my 
 own convictions," he said; "and I should like to know 
 but this one thing — whether your zeal to convert me is 
 quite pure, or whether the priestess is not anxious to 
 direct the eyes of the sinner to the idol itself, because 
 their longing glances directed at her begin to be a bur- 
 den to her.' " 
 
 " Oldenburg ! " 
 
360 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Yes, Melitta, I must say it or it will crush my heart. 
 You know how dearly, how unspeakably, I love you. 
 The wish to possess you is all-powerful in me. I have 
 nourished it so long that it fills my whole being, and all 
 my life is concentrated in it. Without you I am noth- 
 ing. With you I defy a world in arms. I know very 
 well that we ought to do right for the sake of the right, 
 and that he who asks for reward has already his reward. 
 But I am not a saint. I am a man, with all the weak- 
 nesses and passions of a man, which rise over him and 
 threaten to drown him like a raging sea, if the dear, the 
 beloved hand is not stretched out to save him. Melitta, 
 say that you will be mine, and my deeds shall not fall 
 below my words." 
 
 Oldenburg had remained standing at the same place, 
 in the same position. As in his carriage, so in the tone 
 of his voice there was rather a tone of command than of 
 prayer. That man would not have knelt down before 
 a dozen rifles, nor have suffered his eyes to be bandaged. 
 
 Melitta felt this ; but his pride did not offend her this 
 time as it had often done before. She answered in an 
 almost humble tone : 
 
 " Do not let us act rashly, Adalbert ! You know how 
 dear you are to me, and- that must for the present con- 
 tent you. See, Adalbert, this letter comes just in time 
 to remind us of our duty. You must recover your 
 child. I should not enjoy a single hour of my life if 
 I were to fear that your love for myself had extin- 
 guished in your heart its most sacred sentiment. And, 
 Adalbert, think also of this ; I am willing to believe it : 
 You do not love any longer the woman who once in- 
 flamed the passion of the inexperienced youth ; but she 
 is the mother of your child ! What will you say to your 
 Czika, if she asks you why another person than the 
 poor woman whom she calls mother is the wife of her 
 father ? " 
 
 " Where did you meet Oswald Stein the last time since 
 you saw him in Fichtenan } " 
 
 Oldenburg said these few words slowly and with with- 
 ering scorn. 
 
 Melitta turned scarlet. • A spark of the evil oassion 
 
Through Night to Light. 361 
 
 of offended pride which raj^cd in Oldenburg's heart set 
 'her own on fire, and kindled the spirit of opposition 
 \\-hich had been so often already fatal to botli. 
 
 " Who tells you that I saw him at all in Fichtenan ? " 
 " I only thought so. Perhaps you kept this encounter 
 from me as you did with the others." 
 " And if I had seen him in Fichtenan.? " 
 "That would be what I had expected." 
 " And if I had seen him since quite frequently .'' " 
 " That would only prove to me that my coming here 
 is as improper for myself as it must be inconvenient to 
 you." 
 
 Oldenburg went across the room and took his riding- 
 whip and gloves from the console under the mirror. As 
 he came back again to Melitta he stopped, and said : 
 " Good-night, Melitta ! " " Good-night ! " replied the 
 proud woman, without raising her eyes. He waited for 
 a moment, and for another moment, whether she would 
 look at him or say a word — but in vain. Not a word, 
 not a sigh, rose from his crushed heart ; he went to 
 the door, opened it gently, and closed it as noiselessly 
 again. 
 
 jNIelitta started. She hastened to the door; but in- 
 stead of opening it she only leaned with uplifted arms 
 against it and wept passionately. " I knew it would 
 come thus," she murmured. " Poor, poor Adalbert ! " 
 
 Suddenly she heard a horse's foot-fall close by the 
 Avindow. She ran from the door to the window and 
 opened it, she leaned far out and cried " Adalbert ! Adal- 
 bert ! " but the storm that drove the icy snow-Hakes in 
 her face swept away her voice, and the black shadow 
 of horse and rider, which was but just now gliding 
 noiselessly over the white plain and through the gray 
 night, was at the next moment no longer to be distin- 
 guished. 
 
362 Through Night to Light. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WINTER has come during the night to the island, 
 and still the snow-storm rages ; and the countless 
 flakes, swept down by its swift wings from north- 
 ern lands, fall thick upon roofs and trees, upon meadows 
 and fields; and one who looked for a time into the dark- 
 ling air, from which the white stars are dropping for- 
 ever, felt as if he were rising upward with moderate 
 rapidity — up and up, into the gray boundless space. 
 
 Oldenburg seemed to-day to enjoy the melancholy 
 sight to his heart's content. He is standing by the win- 
 dow in his study at the Solitude, and looks fixedly at 
 the sea, or rather at the snow-filled air, for of the sea 
 little or nothing can be seen to-day. He has been 
 standing there many hours to-day, and scarcely noticed 
 his Herrmann, who comes and goes wuth mournful mien, 
 and packs several large trunks which stand open about 
 the room, filling them with clothes and linen and books. 
 The good servant's good wife, Thurnelda, also the com- 
 fortable, fat housekeeper, has repeatedly bustled into the 
 room under some pretext or other, and once actually 
 dared to ask her master if he would not come to dinner. 
 But he had only replied, 
 
 " Very well, my good woman." 
 
 Since then several hours have elapsed. The baron 
 had intended to leave directly after dinner, but he had 
 not ordered the horses yet. He can hardly hope that 
 the weather will clear up, for the store-houses of snow 
 seem to be inexhaustible ; and besides, it would be the 
 first time that he allows the bad weather to keep him 
 from carrying out his purpose. Moreover, if he had 
 intended to reach the ferry before night, noon would 
 have been the very latest hour at which to start. He is 
 probably not very much pressed to go. Perhaps he is 
 rather pleased to see tiie snovv-btorm, as it gives him an 
 excuse from without; or it may be he expects some im- 
 portant news, for he has repeatedly asked during the 
 day, " Has nobody been here.'* " And every time when 
 
Through Night to Light. 2)^t^ 
 
 his old Herrmann has been compelled to answer, ac- 
 cording to the truth, " No, sir! " he has turned again to 
 the window and continued to drum upon the panes with 
 his fingers. 
 
 It does not look very probable now that anybody- 
 should come. The muddy-red streak far down on the 
 horizon shows that the sun, which has been invisible all 
 day long, is sinking into the sea. A fierce blow, shaking 
 the windows and racing with a howl and a grOan around 
 the house and through the high tops of the pine-trees, 
 tears the snow-filled air asunder, and the infinite waste of 
 gray waters, with their foam-crested waves, spreads out 
 in fearful solemnity before the glance of the solitary 
 man. He opens the door and steps out on the balcony ; 
 he leans upon the railing through whose iron bars the 
 wind is whistling in shrill notes. He does not cast a 
 look at the tall chalk-clifts which stretch far out to the 
 right and the left, and which now, with the stern forests 
 they bear on their rugged brow, shine in the setting sun 
 for a moment in blood-red colors. He looks fixedly 
 down, where, a hundred feet below him, the wild ocean 
 lashes the huge blocks of rock on the shore with grim 
 thunder. The white spray rises at times in eddies, 
 driven up by the fierce wind between sharp edges of the 
 steep walls, till it reaches him and fills his hair and 
 beard with icy-cold drops. But he does not mind it. 
 In his soul there rages a wilder and stormier tempest 
 than without. He feels as if he were utterly alone in 
 this desert of a world — as if upon this desert an eternal 
 night were gradually sinking down, and as if he were 
 condemned to live on in this eternal darkness. 
 
 It serves you right ! he murmured. Why did you 
 let yourself be led by the nose once more, when you 
 ought to have known perfectly well how it would end } 
 And yet ! She was so sweet, so kind all these days ; she 
 has never been so before. Could I close my ear to the 
 siren-song that never sounded nearer or dearer to me.-* 
 Siren-song — that it is ! What do women know of the 
 true love which men feel in their hearts .^ All is ca- 
 price with them — idle play and vanity. A pair of blue 
 eyes, a smooth tongue, and courteous ways, and you 
 i6 
 
364 Through Night to Light. 
 
 have the doll that pleases good little children. They 
 do not ask whether the little doll has a heart in her 
 bosom, or brains in her head. On the contrary, that 
 might be inconvenient, tedious ; that would not suit the 
 nursery. 
 
 Well, let it be, then ! Let me lay aside the fool's cap 
 forever and for aye! As the evening twilight darkens 
 yonder on the rocks, I Avill wipe off this rosy illusion 
 from my soul and grow rough like the wintry sea ; and 
 as nobody loves me, I will love nobody in return. I 
 will go through life lonely, as that snowbird is winging 
 his way through the pathless air, and not even ask 
 whether he has prepared for himself a sheltering nest 
 under some overhanging cliff on the coast. 
 
 " That you will not do ! You are a man ; and a man 
 is a great deal more than the birds under the heavens." 
 
 Oldenburg turned round in amazement, to see who it 
 was that could have spoken these words in such a calm, 
 firm tone. Close behind him stood old Baumann. 
 
 " I come," said the old man, answering Oldenburg's 
 anxiously inquiring looks, " by order of Frau von Ber- 
 kow." 
 
 " What is it } " said Oldenburg, his blood rushing 
 madly to his* heart ; " speak out ! Frau von Berkow is 
 ill, is she.'' " 
 
 " Not Frau von Berkow," replied Baumann ; " another 
 woman, who has come about an hour ago to our house, 
 with a child, and who wishes to see the baron once more 
 before her death, which seems not to be very far off." 
 
 " A woman — with a child ! " It fell like a veil from the 
 baron's eye. 
 
 "Come ! " he said. 
 
 Melitta's sleigh, with two powerful bays, was standing 
 before the door of tlie Solitude. The men got in ; Old- 
 enburg took the reins and the whip from the hands of 
 the servant, who sat behind, and off they went at full 
 gallop through the dark pine-woods ; out of the woods 
 into the level land, which gradually falls off towards 
 Fashwitz, and into the wide snow plain, witli its distant 
 gray horizon, and a few scarcely-perceptible trees and 
 cottages here and there, thickly covered with snow. 
 
Through Night to Light. 365 
 
 The road also was nearly hid, and even the track made 
 by the sleigh in coming had long been effaced by the 
 storm. It required all of Oldenburg's familiarity with 
 the country, and all of his skill in driving, to be able to 
 race as he did through this wilderness, up hill and down 
 hill, between bottomless morasses on both sides. Not a 
 word was spoken on the way, and half an hour later the 
 sleigh with the steaming horses was standing before the 
 door of the great house at Berkow. 
 
 They went into the house. 
 
 " Will you please, sir, step into the garden-room .? " 
 said old Baumann. 
 
 He went in first. A lamp was lighted on the table, 
 and in the grate a fire on the point of going out. The 
 old man screwed up the lamp, kindled the fire afresh, 
 and then disappeared through the door which led into 
 the red-room. 
 
 Oldenburg was standing before the fire-place, warm- 
 ing his cold hands. A thousand confused thoughts 
 filled his mind at once ; he walked up and down the 
 room a few times, and then stood again before the fire. 
 
 " Melitta was right," he said to himself " Before this 
 wrong is atoned for, I cannot expect any happiness. 
 And how can I make atonement .'' Is it not the curse 
 of an evil deed that it brings forth more and more evil 
 deeds.' It was the shadow of to-day which fell upon 
 our souls yesterday in anticipation. How stupid I was, 
 how blinded by passion, that I did not understand the 
 warning ! Yes, she has an older, a holier right ; and woe 
 is me if I were to disregard this right ! It would rise 
 ever and again and testify against me ! But it is terrible 
 that the Furies should follow us even into the temple 
 where we desire to purify ourselves of our guilt — even 
 into the sacred shrine which holds our whole happiness !" 
 
 The rustling of a lady's dress behind him made him 
 start. He turned round, and there stood Melitta, pale 
 and serious, her sweet, fair eyes shining with the traces 
 of recent tears. 
 
 " Melitta," said Oldenburg, offering her both hands, 
 " can you forgive me .'" 
 
 " I have nothing to forgive, Adalbert," she replied. 
 
366 Through Night' to Light. 
 
 placing her hands in his; " let us bear in patience what 
 must be borne." 
 
 They looked silently into each other's eyes for a mo- 
 ment. 
 
 " There is still much between us," said Oldenburg, 
 sadly. " I cannot see to the bottom of your heart." 
 
 " That is why we must bear in patience," said Melitta. 
 
 Oldenburg let go her hands. 
 
 " How is she .'' " 
 
 " She is very feeble : in a state between sleeping and 
 waking, but she knows me ; and she has asked for you 
 several times." 
 
 " Is Czika with her .? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " May I see her } " 
 
 " Let me first go in alone. I shall be back directly." 
 
 After a few minutes, during which Oldenburg had 
 walked up and down in the room, his arms crossed on 
 his breast and his eyes fixed on the ground, Melitta re- 
 appeared in the door. 
 
 " Come I " 
 
 Oldenburg followed her through the red-room into a 
 half-dark room — Melitta's chamber. It was the first 
 time in his life that he saw it ; and, as she led him by the 
 hand to the door, the thought passed through his head, 
 what a strange circumstance it was that admitted him to 
 this room. At the door on the opposite side Melitta 
 stopped, and whispered : " She is in there." 
 
 They went in. It was a large, very magnificent apart- 
 ment, filled with rococo furniture, which belonged to 
 the guest-chambers of the great house. Heavy cur- 
 tains of yellow silk darkened the windows, the sofa 
 and the chairs were covered with the same material, and 
 the light of the fire that was burning in the grate was 
 reflected here and there by the highly-polished floor of 
 inlaid wood. The mantel-piece was supported by two 
 little amors, and on it stood an ormolu clock, represent- 
 i'lg the entrance to a grotto, guarded by genii and but- 
 tcriiies, from which a man with a scythe came forth 
 wlienever the hour struck. Paintings in the taste of the 
 rococo period, full of sheep, shepherds, and sheoherd- 
 
Through Night to Light. 367 
 
 esses, adorned the room, in heavy gilt frames. A mas- 
 sive lustre with glass crystals hung from the ceiling, and 
 played in the fitful light which filled the room in all the 
 colors of the rainbow. And in the midst of all this 
 splendor, in an immense tent-bed, the. silk curtains of 
 which were drawn back, lay upon snowy pillows a poor 
 woman, sick unto death, who had first seen the light of 
 the stars in distant Hungary behind a hedge, and who 
 had spent her nights through all her life in barns and 
 stables, and still more frequently under the open sky, on 
 the heath, or in the woods, beneath the lofty vaults of 
 ancient beech-trees. Her large eyes, shining with fever- 
 ishness, Avandered restlessly over all the costly objects 
 that surrounded her, and ever and anon remained fixed 
 for a while on her child, as if this were the only point 
 where her troubled spirit could rest in peace. Czika 
 was standing by her bed, dressed in the fantastic gay 
 costume which she commonly wore, even outside of the 
 stage, in the interest of art. Her beautiful face looked 
 more serious and careworn than usual. She did not 
 take her eyes from her mother. She showed evidently 
 that she knew perfectly well what all this meant ; that 
 she saw death in the yellow hue of her mother's brown 
 cheeks, in the pallor of her red lips, and in the cold 
 drops of perspiration which were bedewing her pain- 
 fully-corrugated brow. 
 
 Near a small table, close by the bed, stood old Bau- 
 mann. He was very busy preparing a cooling drink, 
 and he hardly looked up from his occupation when Me- 
 litta and Oldenburg very quietly entered the room. 
 
 But the sharp ear of the sick woman had heard them. 
 A faint smile of satisfaction passed over her wrinkled 
 face. She beckoned them to her. 
 
 As they approached the bed, Czika came to stand 
 between them. This seemed to please Xenobia. Her 
 smile became brighter, then it vanished, and she said, in 
 broken Xjerman : 
 
 " Put your hands on Czika's head." 
 
 Oldenburg and Melitta did so. Oldenburg's hand 
 trembled as it touched the soft hair on the fair young 
 head. 
 
368 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " And give me the other hand! " 
 
 Xcnobia took their hands, and when she saw the 
 chain formed in this manner, she murmured something 
 which the others did not understand, and which might 
 have been a curse or a blessing, or both, for the expres- 
 sion of her face changed at every word. 
 
 Then she said : 
 
 " Swear that you will not abandon the Czika ! " 
 
 *' We swear ! " said Oldenburg; while Melitta, unable 
 to utter 1 word, only moved her lips. 
 
 Xenobia let go their hands, in order to cross her own 
 hands on her bosom. 
 
 " Now leave Xenobia alone," she said, in a very low 
 tone of voice ; " only Czika is to stay, and the old 
 man." 
 
 Oldenburg and Melitta looked at each other, and then 
 at the old man, who came up with the cooling drink. 
 He nodded his venerable gray head, as if he meant to 
 say : " Do what she asks." 
 
 Oldenburg did not dare refuse. He took Melitta's 
 hand and led her out of the room. The clock on the 
 mantel-piece began to strike. The man with the scythe 
 was slowly coming out of his cave. 
 
 They went back into the garden-room. Neither said 
 a word. Oldenbvirg threw himself into an arm-chair 
 near the fire, and glared with troubled looks at the coals. 
 Suddenly he felt Melitta's hand on his shoulder. 
 
 " Adalbert ! " 
 
 He looked up at her with a questioning look. 
 
 " You will not leave, I am sure.-* " 
 
 " If you wish it — no ! " 
 
 " And you will wait in patience till — you can see the 
 bottom of my heart.? " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " Give me your hand on it." 
 
 Oldenburg pressed her hand to his face ; she felt his 
 tears flowing. She bent down and kissed liis brow. 
 Then she sat down on the other side of the fire and fell 
 into deep thought. 
 
 The bells of a sleigh interrupted the silence. It was 
 Doctor Balthasar. While the old gentleman Avas warm- 
 
Through Night to Light. 369 
 
 ing his hands by the fire, Oldenburg told him what was 
 the matter. 
 
 " Hem ! hem ! " said Doctor Balthasar. " Know all : 
 tubercles in the lungs — travelling in this weather — 
 can't recover. Hem ! hem ! Where is she t — let us have 
 a look at her." 
 
 As the three were turning round to leave the room, 
 the door opened, and old Baumann, with Czika by his 
 side, entered. 
 
 " You are too late ! " he said to Doctor Balthasar. 
 
 Melitta, sobbing aloud, drew Czika to her heart. 
 
 " Hem ! hem ! " said Doctor Balthasar ; " the old story 
 — always call me when all is over — hem ! hem! Let us 
 have a look at her." 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 TWO men from the village have, under old Bau- 
 mann's superintendence, removed the snow in 
 the park of Berkow at a place close to the edge 
 of the beech forest, and where in summer a beautiful 
 view may be had over the meadow, which slopes gradu- 
 ally down to the garden and the castle. They have dug 
 a grave there in the black earth, and in the deep grave 
 the gypsy woman sleeps now the deep, eternal sleep, 
 weary from her restless wandering through this check- 
 ered, restless life, which has brought her so little hap- 
 piness. 
 
 When the weather cleared up, a few days later, and 
 the store-houses filled with snow seemed to have been 
 emptied for a time, and when it had been possible to 
 clear the walks through the garden and the park down 
 to the forest itself, Melitta might often be seen, with 
 Julius and Czika by her side, Avalking down to the 
 grave of the gypsy, which is now marked by a large 
 block of granite, bearing simply the name of Xenobia on 
 its one smoothly-polished side. Melitta is almost always 
 16* 
 
37° Through Night to Light. 
 
 holding the brown child by the hand, and speaks more 
 frequently to her than to her son, who in his turn waits 
 on the child with almost chivalrous tenderness. " When 
 the roads are a little better I will drive you in my 
 sleigh, Czika. Oh, I have a beautiful sleigh; I'll show 
 it to you when we get back. And we will go out quite 
 alone. The pony knows me better than any one else ; I 
 have only to clack my tongue, and off he goes like light- 
 ning ; and when I say : Brr, Pony ! he stands as quiet as 
 a lamb. Don't you think, mamma, I can go out quite 
 alone with Czika.-' " 
 
 " If Czika is willing to go with you, why not 1 " 
 
 Czika's dark face had brightened up a little while 
 Julius was speaking, but now a cloud was passing over 
 it once more. 
 
 " Czika would like to have Hamet back again," she 
 said, looking with her gazelle eyes into the far distance. 
 
 "Who is Hamet, Czika.? " inquired Julius. 
 
 " Hamet .'' Hamet is Czika's donkey ! " 
 
 " Pshaw ; a donkey!" cries the boy, curving his upper 
 lip contemptuously ; but a glance from his mother's eye 
 makes a sudden blush of shame to rise on his cheek. 
 
 " Where is your donkey, Czika ? " he asks, with kindly 
 sympathy. 
 
 " Hamet is dead. Mother and I buried him in the 
 forest." 
 
 " Why, that's a pity. Well, never mind, Czika ; I will 
 buy you another one. You know, mamma, Mr. Griebe- 
 now, the gamekeeper at Fashwitz, has a big donkey, 
 with such immense ears. Oh, Czika ! the pony always 
 shies when we meet him. But that does not matter. He 
 must get accustomed to it, or else " — and Julius threat- 
 ened him with his switch — " I'll soon teach him better. 
 Wont you, mamma, wont you let me go over with Bau- 
 mann and buy the donkey .-' Griebenow has offered him 
 to me several times. Wont you, dear mamma.?" 
 
 "Certainly," said Melitta; "and his name shall be 
 Hamet." 
 
 "Oh that is beautiful," cried Julius; "and tlicn we 
 can ride out, all three of us. You on Bella, I on the 
 pony, and Czika on Hamet ; and then — but no, I am 
 
Through Night to Light. ^ji 
 
 afraid Hamet wont be able to keep up with us !" he in- 
 terrupts himself, and looks very grave and sober. 
 
 "Then we will so slowly." 
 
 "Well, to be sure, we can do that. We will ride very 
 slowly, Czika; I should not like you to have a fall for 
 anything in the world." 
 
 Thus the boy prattles on ; and Melitta is delighted to 
 see that his prattling and his cheerful ways have some 
 effect upon Czika. She thinks of the time when the 
 Brown Countess first came to Berkow, and how she had 
 wished even then, long before she had any suspicion that 
 the girl could be Oldenburg's child, to keep her, and to 
 bring her up with her Julius; and how strangely her 
 wish had now come to be fulfilled. And then her 
 thoughts are wandering into the future, and of the pos- 
 sible time when she may call these children "our chil- 
 dren." And when they get to the granite block, and she 
 has placed a wreath of immortelles on it, she takes the 
 two children in her arms and kisses them, and says : " My 
 children, my dear dear children ! " 
 
 Melitta was all day busy with Czika ; and if Julius had 
 not been himself so devoted to the pretty little girl he 
 might well have become jealous. Czika even sleeps 
 with his mother, and mamma puts her to bed herself every 
 evening — or, rather, puts her on her couch, for Czika's 
 bed consists as yet only of a few blankets spread on the 
 ground, for she has declared, in her own grave and sol- 
 emn way: "Czika will die if you put her into a bed." 
 The little one retires very early — generally as soon as it 
 is dark out-doors ; so that Oldenburg, who comes over at 
 that time from Cona, does not find her any more in the 
 sitting-room. He has occasionally gone with Melitta 
 and stood by her couch, but he does not do it any more, 
 as the child has a very light sleep, and the slightest noise 
 wakes her up. He is content now to hear from Melitta 
 that " their daughter " is doing well, that she has been 
 out walking or riding with " their children," and that 
 "their Czika " has called her to-day "mother," for the 
 first time. 
 
 " I fear I shall never hear her call me father," says 
 Oldenburg, sadly. 
 
372 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " We must be patient, Adalbert," replies Melitta. 
 
 Hermann has taken more pleasure in unpacking his 
 master's trunks than in packing them on that melan- 
 choly day. Oldenburg thinks no longer of leaving, since 
 Melitta has asked him to stay, and the house at Berkow 
 holds everything that is dear to his heart. Every day 
 towards dark his sleigh jingles its bells in the court- 
 yard of Berkow, and the young widow often appears on 
 the threshold to welcome her daily visitor. Since the 
 evening on w^aich his child had been restored to him, 
 Oldenburg has become more cheerful than he has ever 
 been. He seems to have taken to heart Melitta's words 
 — that it would be best to bear in patience w^iat must 
 be borne. He knows perfectly well what the beloved 
 one had meant; he knows why she cannot yet look 
 straight into his eyes with her own dear, sweet eyes. 
 He is sorry it should be so ; but he, who knows 
 Melitta's noble soul better than anybody else, would 
 have wondered most if it had been otherwise. Melitta 
 no longer loves the man who has conquered her heart 
 in an unguarded hour and in a storm of passion, but the 
 wound which the joy and the sorrow of this love has 
 inflicted on her heart is still bleeding, and here also 
 time must do what reasoning cannot accomplish. The 
 peculiar situation in which Oldenburg stands to Melitta 
 is no doubt of great influence, for the time, on his whole 
 manner of thinking and of feeling. He has laid aside 
 the plans for the improvement of the world, which he 
 formerly cherished, as impracticable, since he has found 
 that he will have need of all his patience, prudence, and 
 caution to steer the vessel that bears his own fortune safely 
 into port. He is all the more interested now in the man- 
 agement of his estates, and follows the politics of the day 
 with unwearied interest. He regrets, when the repre- 
 sentatives of his province hold tlicir annual meeting, that 
 he has dreamt away on the banks of the Nile the time 
 which he owed to his country. Now it seems to him more 
 important to discover new sources of public prosperity 
 than those of tlie Nile. He perceives in his solitude 
 the first traces of that revolution whicli is not only 
 threatening in France, but which will unchain at the 
 
Through Night to Light. 373 
 
 first outbreak the fearful thunderstorm tliat is now hang- 
 ing gloomily over his own country. 
 
 Melitta takes a lively interest in all his hopes and 
 fears, his wislies and plans, even in his impatience for 
 the speedy coming of the hour which he feels must 
 come. She understands it perfectly well that he wants 
 to go to Paris in order to exchange his new views with 
 his old friends there. He knows that this time she does 
 not wish him away, but only thinks of himself, and on 
 this account he decides to go. 
 
 Shortly before he leaves, Czika, who has become 
 somewhat more communicative, tells him a remarkable 
 circumstance. After Paris has been several times men- 
 tioned in her presence, the child suddenly begins to 
 speak of an old man who had accompanied them for a 
 long time, and who had at last brought them to this very 
 place. Not far from the gates of Berkow, she says, he 
 turned back. That man also had intended to go to 
 Paris. They press the child, and at last there remains 
 no doubt that the old man of whom she speaks was 
 Berger. Who can tell why he left those whom he had so 
 tenderly befriended almost at the threshold of the house .' 
 Who can tell what the strange man wants in Paris.? 
 Perhaps he is anxiovis to put his shoulder to the wheel 
 and help them when help is needed ; or, it may be, he will 
 only convince himself that the restless mountain of revo- 
 lution is once more to give birth to — nought ! 
 
 Still, Oldenburg is startled by the news. He has 
 made Berger's acquaintance in Fichtenan, when he was 
 there on a visit to Melitta. He had then had many a 
 philosophical and political conversation with the shrewd, 
 enthusiastic man, in which the word Revolution was 
 mentioned quite frequently. 
 
 "The musty odor of casemates, and the foul air of a 
 state where the police is supreme, which I have been 
 compelled to breathe all my life, have made me what 
 people call crazy," the professor had once said ; " I feel as 
 if nothing but a breathful of free air in my own country 
 would ever lift the burden that lies here," and with 
 these words he had repeatedly pointed at his breast. 
 
 "A breathful of free air in his country!" repeated 
 
374 ThroKgh Night to Light. 
 
 Oldenburg, as he packed his trunks ; " yes, indeed ! thai 
 would ease us all, every one of us, wonderfully ! " 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE baroness had with her own tenacity held on to 
 her plan to make her daughter Princess Walden- 
 berg. She had spared no trouble, nay — what was 
 much more in her case — no expense, and had spent an 
 immense amount of hypocritical friendship and love, 
 many smooth words, and still smoother compliments, in 
 order to fulfil the duty of an affectionate mother towards 
 her daughter. 
 
 She had conquered the ground foot by foot. In the 
 first place, Felix, who had once enjoyed all her favor, 
 and who was now fallen so low, had been compelled to 
 leave the field, and to take his trip to Nice, according to 
 the directions of the physicians. Felix had gone quite 
 willingly. He had nothing more to gain in Grunwald, 
 and nothing to lose but the last faint hope of recovery. 
 Flis existence in Italy had been secured for several years 
 by his generous aunt, who knew perfectly well that he 
 had only a few months more to live. He had arranged 
 all his affairs, and spoken candidly to his aunt about 
 everything except that one unpleasant story about 
 Timm. He left Anna Maria under the pleasant impres- 
 sion that the impertinent young man had been intimi- 
 dated by him, and that he had been satisfied with a few 
 hundred dollars. Felix, of course, did not desire to 
 spoil his aunt's good humor by touching this sore point, 
 and thus to ruin his own prospects. He thought he 
 could arrange such matters much better in writing, and 
 "when she sees that the thing cannot be helped, she will 
 submit to it." Thus he left the house, followed by the 
 sincere good wishes of his uncle, and bedewed with the 
 tears of his aunt. 
 
 " Heaven be thanked, he is gone ! " thought the 
 
Through Night to Light. 375 
 
 baroness, as she returned to her room through the as- 
 sembled servants, pressing her handkerchief upon her 
 eves; " now for Helen to come back, and — the rest will 
 follow." 
 
 On the same day she paid a visit to the boarding 
 school, and had first a long conversation with Miss Bear. 
 The baroness was very tender to-day. She had just said 
 farewell to a beloved relative Avhose fate oppressed her 
 heart, and who went probably for a long time, perhaps 
 forever — here the handkerchief performed its duty once 
 more. Her heart was consequently deeply distressed. 
 "Ah, believe me, my dear Miss Bear," she said; "it is 
 hard to have to part in such a way with a young man 
 whom 1 have loved like my own son ; to have to see his 
 youthful vigor cruelly broken, and with it all the fond 
 hopes which had been cherished for his future. And 
 poor Helen, also, will feel the blow sadly ; for, if I am 
 not altogether mistaken, a tender attachment had begun 
 to bud between the two relatives, whom Heaven itself 
 seemed to have formed for each other. An aversion which 
 was at first concealed, as it happens often enovxgh, by an 
 apparent aversion, and that so successfully that I myself 
 was deceived for a time, and — quite entre nous^ dear Miss 
 Bear — felt quite angry against the poor child. Now " — 
 and the handkerchief goes once more to the eyes — " now, 
 I know better. But all the greater is my desire to have 
 my dear child back again. Would you take it amiss, my 
 dear Miss Bear, if I were to carry off the precious jewel 
 so soon again, after having entrusted it to your kind and 
 prudent hands.' " 
 
 The She Bear had too much sense not to perceive the 
 contradiction in the former and the present manner of 
 the baroness. She received, therefore, the confidence of 
 the great ladv with great reserve, and only asked whether 
 Helen was to return to the paternal home at once, or 
 only at a later time. 
 
 " I think we had better leave that to the dear child," 
 replied Anna Maria, still afraid of a possible refusal 
 on Helen's part. "I know she likes to be here; and, 
 besides, I should not like to interfere in any way with 
 her studies, her plans, and even her fancies. Helen 
 
376 Through Night to Light. 
 
 knows my wishes. For the present, therefore, I would 
 only ask you, dear Miss Bear, to use your influence over 
 my child in my favor — in favor of a poor woman who 
 is sorely afflicted by a grievous loss." 
 
 Anna Maria had scarcely left the institute when Miss 
 Bear went up to Helen to communicate to her the con- 
 versation she had just had. She had taken off her gold 
 spectacles for that purpose ; she had smoothed down the 
 official wrinkles on her brow, and carried up with her as 
 much kindly feeling as a sober, pedantic She Bear can 
 possibly feel for a fair young girl who, in her opinion, 
 has been badly treated by her mother. 
 
 " Let us be candid with each other, dear Helen," said 
 Miss Bear, taking the slender white hand of the young 
 lady familiarly into her own bony hands. " My dear 
 Sophie, who has just written to me, and who sends you 
 much love, has informed me at the beginning of our 
 acquaintance of certain facts which helped me to under- 
 stand what would otherwise be inexplicable in the con- 
 duct of your mother. You need not blush, my dear 
 child ; not a word has been said that could injure you 
 in my eyes ; on the contrary, Sophie and myself have 
 only pitied you heartily, that you should have so much 
 to suffer while you are still so young. We looked upon 
 your removal from your father's house as upon a kind 
 of banishment, and we thought at the same time you 
 might find a desirable asylum here. If this is so, and 
 if you still look upon it in that light, pray say so. It is 
 not my way to create discord, especially between mother 
 and daughter, but as matters are, I do not think it can 
 be wrong in me to choose what side I like best." 
 
 The She Bear paused. Helen seemed to be more af- 
 fected than she generally showed, but her self-control 
 did not fail her even now. Almost cheerfully she said, 
 
 " You are very kind. Miss Bear; kinder indeed than 
 I deserve ; but your friendly interest in me has probably 
 made my mother's conduct appear in too unfavorable a 
 light to you. We have, for a time, stood in somewhat 
 d(;cided opposition to each other ; but I hope mamma 
 has forgotten it all as completely as I have. You know 
 how fond I am of your house, and how much I like to 
 
Through Night to Light. 377 
 
 be here ; but if my mother really wishes me to return, as 
 it seems she does, I should consider it my duty to obey 
 her wishes, without asking whether it agrees with my 
 own wishes or not." 
 
 Tlie She Bear was by no means particularly pleased 
 with this answer. She had opened her heart to the 
 young girl ; she had, to a certain extent, committed 
 herself in order to win Helen's confidence; and now, 
 instead of confidence, instead of frankness, she met noth- 
 ing but reserve and diplomatic prudence ! The good 
 old ladv felt deeply hurt, and left the room with pain 
 at her heart, after having skilfully led the conversation 
 into another channel. 
 
 The baroness had shown by lier conduct to-day that 
 she knew the heart of her daughter, at least in one di- 
 rection. It flattered Helen's pride that her mother 
 should not even venture to come with her request di- 
 rectly to lier, but prefer hiding behind Miss Bear. She 
 had decided, on the evening on which she wrote to Mary 
 Burton, that she would return to her father's house. 
 While she was describing the triumphs she had enjoyed 
 in the salons of her mother, and the homage that had 
 been offered her on all sides, she had felt a delight 
 which, to call it by its proper name, was nothing else 
 but the sweet sense of gratified vanity after deep humi- 
 liation. Helen's friendship for Mary Burton by no 
 means excluded envy — for such are the friendships of 
 girls; and Miss Burton had, it must be confessed, done 
 all she could do to fan the .fire of this evil passion in 
 her friend's heart. The young English girl had no 
 sooner returned to her country from the boarding-school 
 in Hamburg than slie had made a great match, marrying 
 one of the most eligible men in all England. Helen 
 recollected very well how the romance which had come 
 so suddenly to a happy end had first commenced. She 
 and Mary, then girls of fourteen, had made a trip to 
 Heligoland in company with the principal of the school 
 and half a dozen other girls from Hamburg, and on this 
 occasion they had gone on board a British man-of-war, 
 lying at anchor there. The officers had, of course, re- 
 ceived their charming visitors with the greatest courtesy, 
 
378 Through Night to Light. 
 
 and after refreshments had been offered, they had wound 
 up with an exceedingly pleasant little ball on the main 
 deck. The captain of the frigate, a handsome young 
 man, with a dark sunburnt complexion, had especially 
 attracted the attention of the young ladies^ and would 
 have been still more popular with them all if he had 
 not so signally distinguished his countrywoman, Mary 
 Burton. The consequence was that Miss Mary Burton 
 was henceforth incessantly teased about the handsome 
 captain, until at last the trip to Heligoland and all that 
 belonged to it was forgotten amid new and more stir- 
 ring events. But two persons had never forgotten it, 
 and these two were the captain and Miss Mary Burton. 
 When the yoimg lady returned to England, three years 
 later, one of the first persons she met at the house of a 
 relative, a great lady in town, was Captain Crawley, who 
 now, since his father and elder brother had died, was 
 Lord Crawley and the owner of a magnificent property. 
 A week later the fashionable world was surprised by the 
 marriage of his lordship with Miss Mary Burton, a young 
 lady utterly unknown before. But no one was more 
 painfully struck by this news than Helen Grenwitz. 
 She had been Mary's most intimate friend ; she had al- 
 ways been seen with her, spoken of with her ; but, and 
 this was the bitter thing, she had always been considered 
 the prettiest by far and the most striking, and nobody 
 had acquiesced more readily in this decision than Mary 
 in her modesty. Mary worshipped her brilliant friend ; 
 Helen Grenwitz was in her eyes an inapproachable beau 
 ideal; she invariably submitted to her better judgment ; 
 and when the two girls built their castles in the air for 
 the future, Mary built magnificent palaces for Helen, 
 and contented herself Avith a thatched cottage by the 
 side of a purling brook. Helen had accepted this wor- 
 ship as a princess accepts the attentions of her ladies in 
 waiting. Mary had told her so often that she was the 
 most beautiful, the most charming of the two — Helen 
 would have been a marvel of nature if, with her pride 
 and self-sufficiency, she had been able to resist the effects 
 of this affectionate worship. 
 
 And now it was this humble friend who made such a 
 
Through Night to Light. 379 
 
 brilliant match, which raised her at once to the very 
 highest rank in society, and actually brought her in con- 
 nection with more than one sovereign family, while she 
 — Helen dared not think it out. But now, when an op- 
 portunity offered to escape from this humiliating posi- 
 tion ; now, when even her proud mother condescended 
 to proffer a request which she did not dare present in 
 person ; now there could be no doubt any longer as to 
 what she ought to do; and Miss Bear, who offered her 
 with troublesome kindness an asylum at her institute, 
 simply did not know how matters stood at that moment. 
 
 When Miss Bear had left her, Helen walked up and 
 down in her room with folded arms. At last she 
 stepped to the window and gazed into the autumnal 
 evening. On the sky, heavy dark clouds were drifting 
 slowly ; below them light-gray little clouds passed with 
 the swiftness of arrows. The almost bare branches of 
 the slender poplar-trees rocked to and fro in the sharp 
 wind which hissed and whistled through the few leaves, 
 while a crow came flapping her wings, sat for a few mo- 
 ments on the topmost branch of one of the trees, rock- 
 ing restlessly to and fro, cawed as if the inhospitable 
 treatment was too provoking, and flew away again. 
 Helen opened the window. The cool, damp breath of 
 evening brought her the sharp odor of mouldering 
 leaves. The poplars in the garden rustled louder, and 
 the tall beeches in the park waved ghastly, and every 
 now and then the low roar of the waves of the sea 
 came in monotonous intervals far inland. 
 
 She looked out; she did not mind the damp air which 
 in an instant covered her black hair with a dewy veil ; 
 she only stared more perseveringly into the evening as 
 it grew darker every moment. Strange visions passed 
 through her mind. Proud palaces rose by the side of 
 blue lakes, in which dark forests were reflected; and 
 from the palace came a merry hunting train with horn 
 and bugle ; and at the head of the long procession rode 
 a lady on a small horse by the side of a man who negli- 
 gently curbed his fiery black liorse and never turned 
 his dark face from the young lady by his side; and all, 
 as far as the eye could reach — castle and lake and forests 
 
380 Through Night to Light. 
 
 and fields, which spread down, down along the lake, 
 and far, far into the country — all belonged to the young 
 lady and her husband, the knight on the proud horse. 
 And then castle and forests and fields sank into the lake, 
 and the lake grew into a sea which beat high up against 
 the white chalk-cliffs with their crown of lofty beech 
 forests ; and up there on the high bank, in the glow of 
 the setting sun, stood the same young lady who had 
 been riding on the small graceful horse by the side of a 
 man who was not the cavalier on the black horse, and 
 they looked both out upon the glorious sight as the sun 
 sank in the swelling masses of waves; and as they stood 
 and looked, they folded their hands like praying children, 
 and looked at each other with eyes full of love and over- 
 flowing with tears. 
 
 The wind rushed Avildly through the poplars, and the 
 young girl started up from her reveries. She cast a 
 glance at the dim twilight that was hovering over the 
 park. Two figures — a man and a woman — were passing 
 the open space between the bosquets, walking arm in 
 arm. It Avas only an instant, but the sharp eye of the 
 young girl had recognized them both ; at least she 
 thought she had recognized them. A feeling such as 
 she had never yet experienced overcame her. She 
 must be sure that she had seen correctly — that Oswald 
 S^:ein had really met Emily Cloten at this hour here in 
 this place. The next moment she had wrapped herself 
 up in a shawl, put on a hat with a close veil, and had 
 hurried down the stairs which led into the garden, 
 and was now standing at the gate that led from the 
 garden into the park. All of a sudden her courage left 
 her. She was ashamed of an impulse that had misled 
 her, and made her take so unwomanly a step, of which 
 she heartily repented. She was just about to turn back 
 again, when the two figures once more came up the 
 avenue which led past the garden gate. She hid behind 
 one of the pillars of the gate, so as not to be seen ; but 
 a single glance at the two had convinced her that she 
 had not been mistaken before. There was no doubt : 
 it was Oswald and Emily who were passing her, lost in 
 secret, anxious conversation. Helen's heart beat as if it 
 
Through Night to Light. 381 
 
 would burst. She understood now why Emily asked her 
 the other day if she had any news of Oswald Stein ; she 
 understood now Emily's anxiety at the ball at Grenwitz, 
 when Cloten and the other young noblemen were loudly 
 threatening Oswald . . . Fooled then ! and fooled by 
 whom ? By a man who could not resist Emily Cloten. 
 Helen crept back to her room, threw aside hat and 
 shawl, and now it was settled that she would return to 
 her parents. 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PRINCE WALDENBERG had not been able to find 
 anything to interest him in Grunwald until he had 
 become acquainted with Helen Grenwitz. He 
 could not exactly say that he was tired of it, or that the 
 town and the people had been particularly unpleasant 
 to him, for he scarcely knew such a state of mind ; at 
 least he never showed any symptoms of weariness or 
 disgust. His stern, rigid face never betrayed pleasure 
 or annoyance; it looked as if his features had been frozen, 
 for all time to come, in the northern climate in Avhich 
 the prince was born, and as if they could not thaw in 
 the glow of love or of hatred. And it was really so, to 
 a certain extent. The ordinary sensations of common 
 mortals were not capable of that sublime self-conscious- 
 ness which was given to him. He could not laugh at 
 the wittiest anecdote, nor could he look disgvisted at a 
 stupidity. His servants never heard a bad word from 
 him ; he never showed childish wrath before his soldiers. 
 Nevertheless the men trembled before him, and even 
 the general did not inspire half as much respect as First- 
 Lieutenant Prince Waldenberg ; for the servants knew 
 that their master never scolded, but dismissed them upon 
 the slightest neglect, and the men had terrible stories to 
 tell about him in the guardhouse and in the barracks. 
 The rumor was that the prince had the unpleasant habit, 
 if a soldier showed the faintest sign of insubordination, 
 
382 Through Night to Light. 
 
 of killing him on the spot — a habit which he had quite 
 recently indulged in at the capital, and which had led to 
 his being detached from the Guards and sent to a line 
 regiment in garrison at Grunwald. The story was 
 probably a myth, like so many others ; the prince had 
 been sent to Grunwald in order to study fortification 
 and coast and harbor defence, and other useful branches, 
 in preparation for the high position to which he was en- 
 titled, if not by his military genius, at all events by his 
 high rank ; but the myth proved how the common people, 
 who have a very keen eye for, the virtues and the faults 
 of the higher classes, thought about First-Lieutenant 
 Prince Waldenberg. The officers, however, seemed also 
 to treat him on their part with some misgivings, and 
 certainly with great circumspection. No one presumed 
 to speak to him at the mess-table, or at night at the club, 
 or wherever else they happened to meet, in that cordial 
 tone which is generally used between comrades. On the 
 contrary, they rather avoided him, and, when that was 
 not possible, they confined their words to what was in- 
 dispensable ; especially the captain of the company to 
 which the prince was attached — a gentleman like a ball, 
 who barely reached up to the shoulder of his lieutenant, 
 and who felt probably all the smaller by his side as he 
 was not even noble. It was most amusing to hear 
 Captain Miller at drill exclaim, in almost piteous tones, 
 " First-Lieutenant Prince Waldenberg will have the 
 kindness to step forward — a mere thought!" and even 
 the old, gray-headed sergeant could hardly keep from 
 smiling. 
 
 The prince was thus very much left to his own com- 
 pany, even at the evening parties, which he occasionally 
 frequented. He met here again his comrades, who had 
 already avoided him at parade, and a lot of old and 
 young country gentlemen, whose talk about tillage and 
 cattle-raising could not exactly interest him much who 
 had more estates than they had acres of land, and more 
 shepherds than they had sheep. As for the ladies — why 
 there were some very pleasant ones among them, like 
 the beautiful Misses Frederika, Nathalie and Gabriella 
 Nadelitz, Hortense Barnewitz, a trilic passec but all the 
 
Through Night to Light. 383 
 
 more clever and interesting, Emily Cloten as piquante 
 as she was coquettish — but they were either not to the 
 taste of his highness, or the prince was altogether inac- 
 cessible to the charms of the fair sex. For a time, at 
 least, it seemed as if he were not disposed to pay special 
 attention to any one of these ladies. 
 
 But no sooner had the prince seen the beautiful Helen 
 Grenwitz in the salons of her mother than the rumor 
 began to spread — nobody knew how — that his highness 
 was very much pleased with beautiful Helen Gren- 
 witz, and that an engagement was not very far off. The 
 report continued to live, and was even confirmed by nu- 
 merous details, the discovery of which did great honor 
 to the ingenuity of the before-mentioned lovers of gos- 
 sip and watchers of features. The Countess Grieben 
 knew positively that the prince was spending every 
 evening at the Grenwitz mansion ; others had it that 
 he passed the institute of Miss Bear's daily after dress- 
 parade, on his superb Tcherkessian stallion ; and still 
 others, that he was frequently seen at night walking 
 up and down for hours before the house, concealed 
 in a large cloak. Hortense Barnewitz whispered into 
 Countess Stilow's ear: "Now I know why poor Felix 
 had so suddenly to go to Italy ; " and the Countess Stilow 
 whispered in reply: " You'll see, dear Hortense; it will 
 not be a week before Helen, who seemed to be banished 
 forever, will be back again." 
 
 A smile of satisfaction lighted up all faces when the 
 prophecy of the toothless Countess Stilow was actually 
 fulfilled, and Helen Grenwitz exchanged her modest 
 little room in Miss Bear's boarding-school for the stately 
 rooms of the Grenwitz mansion. 
 
 It was strange, however, that the old baron, who had 
 so urgently desired this ste.p before, should now seem 
 to be least pleased with it of all. The old gentleman 
 had of late become exceedingly capricious, obstinate, 
 and violent, so that one hardly recognized in him the 
 kind good-natured man of former days, and everybody 
 pitied and admired poor Anna Maria, who bore her cross 
 with truly Christian patience and forbearance. 
 
 " Ah, you may believe me, dear Helen," the excellent 
 
384 Through Night to Light. 
 
 old lady said to her daugh*:er on the first evening after 
 her return, as they were sitting on the sofa in the recep- 
 tion-room, and after the baron had left the room to re- 
 tire ; " it is very difficult now to get along with your 
 father, and I need your kind support more than ever. 
 Malte is too young, and I fear too heartless, to put any 
 confidence in him. I am so long accustomed to bear 
 all alone that I can hardly realize the happiness of 
 having a friend and a confidante." And the good lady 
 shed tears while she was gathering up her work in 
 order to follow her husband. 
 
 The relations between mother and daughter seemed 
 indeed to promise a better understanding for the future. 
 It was not in the nature of either of them to be particu- 
 larly affectionate. They treated each other as adversaries 
 who have mutually tried their strength and found out 
 that they had better be friends again. 
 
 After Anna Maria had thus taken the second step to- 
 ward the attainment of her end she pursued her plan with 
 greater security. She had every reason to be pleased 
 with the results. Prince Waldenberg came almost 
 every evening ; and as he did not play cards, and it could 
 not well be presumed that he found many charms in 
 the conversation with Count and Countess Grieben, 
 who were near neighbors, and also came very frequently 
 to play a game with the baron and the baroness, the 
 magnet could be none other than Helen, with whom, 
 indeed, he spent the whole of his time. 
 
 Anna Maria took care that the prince and Helen 
 should not be disturbed more than was unavoidable ; 
 and as in these circles the older people had no other 
 way of spending time than in playing cards, and young 
 people were but rarely invited, the task Avas not very 
 difficult. The prince and Helen spent long hours alone 
 in the little boudoir by the side of the large room with 
 three windows, where the card-tables were placed, at 
 least until supper was announced, and even then they 
 were generally again left very nearly to themselves, as 
 the others liad to discuss the different games that had 
 been played. 
 
 It was most creditable for the conversational powers 
 
Through Night to Light. 3 85 
 
 of the prince that the young lady, witii her pretentions, 
 was yet never tired of these interviews. And yet, what 
 he said could not be called interesting, exactly ; at all 
 events the manner in which he said it was not so. He 
 was never heard to speak in that animated and quick 
 manner which is peculiar to young people (and the 
 prince was very young yet, perhaps twenty-four), espe- 
 cially when they speak of favorite topics, or are excited 
 by opposition. It was always the same monotonous ut- 
 terance, as if the words were men and the sentences sec- 
 tions, and they were all marching about, carefully keep- 
 ing pace. It was significative, also, that the prince pre- 
 ferred speaking French, a language which has naturally 
 such a logical rhythm, although he spoke German as well 
 and as fluently. It was perhaps due to this fact — that 
 the conversation was almost exclusively carried on in a 
 foreign idiom — that Helen felt the strange character of 
 his mind so much less. For the prince was, after all, in 
 his appearance, and not less so in his manner of think- 
 ing and feeling, more of a Russian than of a German. 
 All the memories of his childhood and youth, with the 
 only exception of the short time which he had spent in 
 France, and more recently in Germany, were Russian. 
 He had been page at the court of the Emperor Nicholas, 
 and the daily sight of this magnificent monarch, with 
 whom he was even said to share certain peculiarities of 
 figure and carriage, had probably not been without 
 influence on the character of the young prince. He had 
 received a purely military education among the cadets 
 of the Michailow palace, the same palace whose vast 
 apartments witnessed in that fearful night the murder 
 of an emperor, when the wife of Paul I., frightened by 
 the low sound of a number of voices and clanking of 
 arms, snatched the young Princes Nicholas and Michael 
 from their beds and hastened with them through tlie 
 long suit of rooms to the emperor's apartments, when 
 icy Count Pahlen met her, carried her almost forcibly 
 back to her rooms, and locking the door carefully, said : 
 " Restez tra/iqiiilic, madanic; il ny a pas de danger pour voiis." 
 The prince had quite a number of similar stories, and 
 they did not fail to have their eff'ect upon the mind of 
 17 
 
386 Through Night to Light. 
 
 the fanciful girl. It was a new version of the adven- 
 tures with which the warlike Moor filled the heart of 
 the daughter of the Venetian patrician. Desdemona 
 also shuddered at the blood flowing in streams, through 
 his accounts, but the hero appeared only the more mar- 
 vellovis ; and although Helen often felt an icy breath 
 rising from these palace souvenirs of the Russian page, 
 she was none the less captivated and ensnared by the 
 secrecy and the horrors that surrounded them with an 
 irresistible charm. She dreamt of a life in comparison 
 with which the life she was now leading appeared very 
 pitiful and mean. She saw herself a lady in waiting at 
 a court where beauty and cleverness are all-powerful ; 
 she fancied herself the soul of grand enterprises, as 
 the confidante of generals and statesmen ; and then she 
 started from her reveries and looked at the calm, dark 
 face of the giant who had rocked her to sleep with his 
 strange stories, and she asked herself whether she would 
 ever venture to enter, on his hand, those lofty regions 
 towards which she was drawn by the ardent wishes of 
 her proud, ambitious heart. 
 
 The prince must have been particularly interested in 
 winning the young girl's confidence, for he laid aside 
 the cool reserve with which he treated all others when 
 he was alone with her. He even spoke of his family 
 with the greatest frankness. He told her that, as for his 
 parents, he only knew his mother really, because he saw 
 his father but very rarely. His mother was living in 
 St. Petersburg, where her influence at court was still 
 very great, although an incurable affection had sadly 
 disfigured the once surpassingly beautiful woman, and 
 made her a melancholy enthusiast. His father, Count 
 Malikovvsky, he said, was spending most of his time in 
 travelling and at watering-places, as he was still passion- 
 ately fond of the pleasures of life in spite of his age and 
 his delicate health, and thus could combine at these Spas 
 pleasure and profit. He, the prince, had, properly 
 speaking, nothing to do with his father. They ex- 
 changed short letters with each other once or twice a 
 year, on special occasions ; he had seen his father the 
 last time at the capital, when he was swearing his oath 
 
Through Night to Light. 38? 
 
 of allegiance to the king, and he had been shocked by 
 the sad appearance of the old gentleman, which the lat- 
 ter had tried in vain to conceal by the subtlest arts of 
 the toilette. The count and the princess harmonized 
 very little, as their characters were so utterly different. 
 The count went once a year to St. Petersburg, appeared 
 at court, showed himself once or twice at the Letbus 
 House, and disappeared again, in order to send friendly 
 greetings for another year from Hamburg, Baden-Baden, 
 Pyrmont, etc. 
 
 Nor did the prince conceal his views on other sub- 
 jects. He had evidently thought much about matters 
 which are usually of no interest to young men of his 
 rank ; but as he was far from being brilliant, and as he 
 looked upon everything from the unchangeable stand- 
 point of the officer and the aristocrat, his views and 
 thoughts were all more or less stiff and wooden, as if they 
 had been so many well-drilled recruits. 
 
 Of his profession he thought very highly. 
 
 " I consider the soldier's profession," he said, " not 
 only the noblest, but also the most useful ; the noblest, 
 because here alone every faculty of man is roused and 
 developed; the most useful, because it is the only secu- 
 rity for all the other professions, which cannot exist 
 without it. If the peasant wishes to raise his cabbages, 
 if the mechanic wants to sit quietly in his work-shop, 
 the artist in his atelier, and the scholar in his study — 
 they must all thank the soldier, who for their sake stands 
 guard at the town-gate, patrols tlie streets at night, dis- 
 perses noisy revellers, and fights the enemy when he 
 threatens the country. Compared with this profession, 
 all others are low and vulgar. And that it is beyond 
 doubt the highest and noblest, is proved by the fact that 
 the rulers of the earth adopt its costume for their daily 
 wear, or at least for all solemn occasions. Therefore 
 I think that nobles alone ought to be officers. And I 
 think it a deplorable mistake that, of late, others also 
 have been admitted to our ranks, for which the penalty 
 will have to be paid sooner or later." 
 
 " But do you really think that all who are not nobles 
 are unfit for this profession.' " asked Helen. 
 
388 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Certainly," replied the prince, with energy. " Sport 
 and war ought to be reserved for the nobility, not be- 
 cause those who are not noble cannot also fire a gun 
 or wield a sword, but because they cannot do it in the 
 right spirit. Nor is this mere theory ; the question has 
 its practical side also. The spirit of innovation, of in- 
 solent disobedience to the order of things as ordained 
 by God, is everywhere stirring. In our state they have 
 most unfortunately attempted to keep it down by gentle 
 means and by concessions. I believe that sternness and 
 severity alone can check this spirit. We are sure of the 
 men who have been for three years under our control 
 and influence; but we are not sure of the officer who is not 
 noble. Send a platoon under a Lieutenant Smith, or 
 Jones, against a rebellious mob, and ten to one he will 
 see among the mob a brother Smith, or a cousin Jones, 
 and therefore hesitate to give the command Fire ! at 
 the right moment. Take your officers from the nobility, 
 and only from the nobility, and such a thing cannot 
 happen ; and you can quell the rising of a whole town 
 like Grunwald with a single battalion." 
 
 The prince spoke with great energy and strong con- 
 demnation of the concessions which the king had made 
 that spring to the liberal party, and to the spirit of the 
 times generally, by convoking a legislative assembly of 
 the whole people. 
 
 " I do not see," he said, "where this is to end. If the 
 king does not wish — and I believe he really does not wish 
 — that a sheet of paper, which they call a constitution, 
 should rise between him and the people, according to 
 which he is forced to govern, whether he will or not, 
 then he ought not to have conjured up even the shadow 
 of a constitution. The shadow is soon followed by the 
 substance. I confess that I am disgusted by the patience 
 of the king, while these fellows cry so loud ; and that I 
 have long doubted whether I could honorably serve a 
 monarch who thus misjudges the duty of a king ' by the 
 grace of God.' " 
 
 When the prince was thus judging things by the stand- 
 ard of his Russian ideas of absolute government, it some- 
 times happened that there arose in Helen's naturally 
 
Through Night to Light. 389 
 
 good and affectionate heart a repugnance, not vinmixed 
 with terror, towards one who could utter sucli inhuman 
 thoughts in cold blood. At other times she would have 
 shrunk from tlie fearful consequences of such principles, 
 but now she was too deeply irritated by the wound which 
 Oswald's treacliery had inflicted on her proud heart, and, 
 as is the case with violent dispositions, she had hastened 
 from one extreme to the other. Helen hated Oswald. 
 She wept tears of indignation and of shame when she 
 thought how dear this man had been to her, and how 
 near she had been to the danger of showing him her love 
 for him. The treachery itself was no longer doubtful 
 to her mind. Emily's manner had changed so strikingly 
 of late that even outsiders had noticed it. The young 
 lady who had formerly found happiness only in the 
 Avildest turmoil of pleasure, now avoided society as much 
 as she had formerly sought it ; and when she could not 
 escape from invitations to her former circles, she seemed 
 to have only scoffing and scorn for all she had admired 
 in other days. She declared that the officers were stu- 
 pid, dancing a childish amusement, and a masked ball 
 the height of absurdity. She treated the ladies with 
 undisguised irony, and the men with open contempt, 
 especially her husband, who did not know what to make 
 of the strange change, and only discovered gradually 
 the one fact, that of all the many foolish things which 
 Albert Cloten had done in his time, the making of an 
 accomplished coquette, like the " divine Emily Breesen," 
 his Avife, was beyond all doubt the most foolish. Most 
 people laughed, and said : " It is a whim of the little 
 woman's; she will soon come right again." Others, who 
 were less harmless, said : "There is something behind 
 that ! When a young woman treats the wdiole world, 
 not excluding her husband, en canaille, she does so only 
 for the sake of a man who is himself her whole world." 
 But they racked their brains in vain to find out who the 
 lucky man could be. Some guessed it was young Count 
 Grieben, who had formerly courted her; others. Baron 
 Sylow ; still others, even Prince Waldenbcrg; and only 
 Helen Grenwitz knew that they were all mistaken, and 
 that the object of Emily's love was not to be-met jyith 
 
39° Through Night to Light. 
 
 in the aristocratic circles of tlie Faubourg St. Germain 
 of Grunwald. 
 
 If Anna Maria had known what an admirable ally 
 she had at that moment for the execution of her plan 
 in Oswald Stein, she would probably have been less dis- 
 pleased with this excessively objectionable and danger- 
 ous young man. At all events, it seemed as if the rela- 
 tions between Helen and the prince were gradually as- 
 suming the desired shape. She considered it at least a 
 good sign that Helen expressed no desire to improve 
 the conversation in the boudoir next to the card-room 
 by inviting other young men to take part in it, and that 
 she did not frown contemptuously when she (Anna Ma- 
 ria) recently ventured to say : " That would be a son- 
 in-law to my heart," but quietly let the dark lashes 
 droop upon the gently-blushing cheeks. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ANY one who had seen Oswald Stein and Albert 
 Timm sitting every night beliind their bottle, in 
 the city cellar of Grunwald, both full of jokes 
 and jests and merry tales, would have been convinced 
 that both of them lived fully up to the motto of the il- 
 lustrious club of " the Rats," to Avhich they had the 
 honor to belong. They evidently enjoyed life; and yet 
 this was true only of Albert Timm, who had seriously 
 adopted the first and sole article of faith of the secret 
 society : " Live as thou wilt desire to have feasted when 
 thou diest," and made it the principle of his existence. 
 For Oswald, on the contrary, this wild life was but a 
 means to stifle within him the incessant, painful longing 
 after a nobler model of life. The memory of all " that 
 had once been his " sounded like the notes of an vEolian 
 harp into the wild allegro of his present life. His en- 
 thusi':Lstic youth, when rosy clouds edged the horizon, 
 and behind them lay a mysterious, wonderful future; 
 
Through Night to Light. 391 
 
 his days of supreme happiness at Grenwitz, where the 
 old legend of the paradise seemed to be repeated for 
 him ; his friendly intimacy with great and at least good 
 men ; — whither had all this flown ? His youth was gone 
 forever, with all the sweet rosy dreams Of youth. Of 
 the paradise, nothing was left but the bitter taste of the 
 fruit from the tree of knowledge : that fickleness of 
 heart and true love can never go hand in hand ; and his 
 friends ? . . . . With Berger he had paHed, and probably 
 forever, at the gate of the insane asylum ; in Olden- 
 burg he now hated a rival, and the rich aristocrat, the 
 favorite of fortune, who easily overcame all impediments 
 that exhausted the full strength of others. Franz, who 
 had stood by him like a brother in the most embarrass- 
 ing moments of his life, he had treated with black 
 ingratitude; and in vain did he try to excuse himself on 
 the ground that he could not possibly have continued 
 to be the friend of a character which, in its self-poised 
 calmness and dispassionate seriousness, was so entirely 
 different from his own. From Bemperlein, the good, 
 harmless, honorable man, who had met him with the 
 offer of his enthusiastic friendship, he was separated by 
 the consciousness that he had mortally offended him 
 through her whom he worshipped, so that when he met 
 him in the street he was apt to look to the other side 
 in his painful embarrassment. 
 
 And what had he gained in return for so much lost 
 happiness .? The few rare moments which Oswald gave 
 to serious thoughts on his present situation were unsat- 
 isfactory enough. His position in the college was 
 almost untenable, and yet he had occupied it scarcely 
 three months. The whole " humanity " of the rector, 
 Clemens, was not sufficient to cover with the cloak of 
 charity the great and the small vices which Oswald 
 had committed in his official capacity; and Mrs. Clem- 
 ens declared before the assembled dramatic club, with 
 regard to the same unfortunate yovmg man, that " she 
 had cherished a serpent in her bosom." And the worthy 
 lady had good reason to complain. She had met Os- 
 wald with a three-fold friendship : as the mother of two 
 marriageable daughters, as the wife of his superior, and 
 
392 Through Night to Light. 
 
 as the president of the dramatic club, and she had been 
 deeply offended in all these capacities. Oswald had 
 not only failed to return the bashful attachment which 
 had begun to germinate in the hearts of Thurnelda and 
 Fredegunda, but he had called these victims of his 
 caprice before a numerous company " little goslings, 
 who wanted nothing but the plumage to be perfect." 
 Ah, it had all been didy and faithfully reported ! He 
 had compared the* fair president, the wife of his presid- 
 ing officer, with an old turkey hen, Avho was so proud 
 of the goslings she had hatched that her empty head 
 was utterly turned; and, finally, he had not only ceased 
 to frequent the dramatic club, after reading there three 
 times amid general applause, but he had passed over, 
 with flags flying, so to say, into the hostile fcamp, and 
 had become an active member of the lyric club which 
 had rapidly risen under Mrs. Jager's direction to a splen- 
 dor unheard of in the annals of the dramatic club. Cer- 
 tainly, if Oswald had felt no other misdeed but this on 
 his conscience, the cloud of dark discontent which was 
 continually hanging on his brow would have seemed 
 natural enough. 
 
 But Oswald had to answer for more than this faith- 
 lessness. His connection with Emily Cloten, which he 
 had so suddenly begun, partly from caprice and partly 
 from real attachment, now weighed upon his soul like a 
 heavy burden, especially since the reckless, passionate 
 temper of the young lady threatened to betray their se- 
 cret at every moment. Emily no sooner felt sure of 
 Oswald's affections than she thought she could throw 
 down the gauntlet to the whole world. " To love you, 
 and to be loved by you, is my sole wish and will — 
 everything else is utterly indifl'crent to me," she said; 
 and she acted accordingly. Was she to bridle her inor- 
 dinate desires, now that her heart for the first time knew 
 clearly what it was about .'' And she loved Oswald Avitli 
 the whole passion of a naturally most tender, aff"ection- 
 ate heart, and witii the wh(;le recklessness of a woman 
 who had all her life looked upon the world only as a 
 football of her sovereign pleasure. It was in vain that 
 Oswald reminded her of the duties of his position — of 
 
Through Night to Light. 393 
 
 the difficulties arising^ from his narrow circumstances, 
 " I cannot conceive how you can hesitate between the 
 weariness you feel in teaching your boys and the delight 
 we feel in each other's company. Why don't you give 
 vip the stupid college, and live only for me ? " " But, my 
 dear child, I am already living almost alone for you ; 
 and if matters continue so much longer, Rector Clemens 
 Avill not only consent to my leaving the college, but de- 
 sire that I should only live for you." "Oh, wouldn't 
 that be splendid!" cried Emily, clasping her hands; 
 " then we could carry out my pet wish, and go to Paris, 
 where there are no stupid people watching every step 
 we take." Oswald shrugged his shoulders. " And what 
 are we to live on in Paris .'' " Emily made a long face ; 
 but the next moment she was laughing again, and said : 
 " Oh, that comes by itself, if we are once there." 
 
 The desire to get away from Grunwald, where indeed 
 her position was every moment liable to be exposed, had 
 of late become a fixed idea with Emily, and she returned 
 constantly to the danger they were running. She wanted 
 to enjoy Oswald's love without interruption, and not to 
 pay for every half-hour spent stealthily in his company 
 with long days of care and anxiety. So far they had 
 met either in Primula's boudoir, on in Ferry'town at 
 the house of Emily's old nurse, Mrs. Lemberg, which 
 they could easily reach as long as the ice held that cov- 
 ered the bay between the island and the continent. 
 Primula had been initiated into the secret after Emily's 
 recklessness had once led to a most ridiculous scene of 
 discovery, and it was characteristic that the author of 
 the " Cornflowers " had soon overcome her first feeling 
 of jealousy, and henceforth looked upon this *' union of 
 loving souls " as extremely romantic, and found that the 
 lovers in their helplessness, threatened by an unloving 
 world, were highly pitiable, and she herself, as the pro- 
 tector of such an " heroic passion," worthy of all admi- 
 ration ! She dreamt herself more and more into the part 
 she was playing, and the subscribers to the " Daffodils," 
 for whose " album " Primula Veris was now writing her 
 poems, were forced to read long pages about " the 
 twisted thread of love ; the silent, secret doings of secret 
 17* 
 
394 Through Night to Light. 
 
 love, shunning the light of day; " and especially of the 
 '• chaste guardian of the faithful love." She even warned 
 her readers not to imagine that the latter was " the 
 moon — the pale virgin," but hinted very explicitly at the 
 meaning. 
 
 Primula also favored Emily's plan. " Flee, my chil- 
 dren," she said, " from this rude Cimmerian sky to milder 
 skies, away from these wild Cyclopes and soulless ich- 
 thyophagi ! Amid snow and ice even the blue cyane 
 cannot thrive, much less the red rose of wild love." 
 
 Oswald was not so blinded that he should not have 
 seen the insanity of the project, but partly he was 
 pleased with the adventurous nature of the plan, and 
 partly he was dazzled by the hope of thus ridding him- 
 self at one blow of all the troubles that beset him, no 
 matter what the blow might cost. Finally, his attach- 
 ment for Emily had grown from a mere w'him into a 
 full passion, which did not exactly warm his heart but 
 influenced his imagination, and which he did not care 
 to combat very earnestly because it afforded him a kind 
 of excuse for his fickleness. He began to reflect seri- 
 ously on the plan for an elopement, especially as the 
 little remnant of his fortune was rapidly disappearing, 
 owing to the life he was now leading, and he saw, there- 
 fore, that he would have to do quickly whatever was to 
 be done. 
 
 Oswald would have liked to consult his friend Albert 
 on this embarrassing subject, but he no longer ventured 
 to speak to him about Emily. At first he had now and 
 then dropped a word about his last romance, and Albert 
 was one of those clever men who need be told only half 
 a word to be at home in the most complicated affiair. 
 He had never troubled Oswald with curious questions, 
 and yet knew how to draw from him very quickly nearly 
 all he desired to hear. He knew that Oswald had se- 
 cret meetings at Mrs. Jager's house, and across in Fer- 
 rytown ; he knew who the young, thoughtless woman 
 was, and he was yet by no means misled when Oswald 
 suddenly ceased speaking of Emily. He only con- 
 cluded that matters had entered that stage where silence 
 becomes a duty. 
 
Through Night to Light. 395 
 
 Timm had not exactly desired that matters should go 
 quite so far. Timm did not object to Oswald's reviving 
 his taste for an aristocratic mode of life by an affair 
 with a great lady, and to his becoming thus more and 
 more anxious for larger means; but he did not desire 
 that this should turn into a serious attachment, which 
 might lead no one could tell where, and which, above 
 all, threatened to become fatal to Oswald's romantic 
 passion for Helen. For it was upon this love that Timm 
 had based his whole plan. If Oswald could not be in- 
 duced by any other means to enter into a lawsuit with 
 the Grenwitz family for the legacy, then the hope to 
 wun Helen was to prevail upon him. Thus it was why 
 Helen must not be lost for Oswald, nor Oswald for 
 Helen. And even this might now happen. Albert, 
 whose eyes were everywhere, had not failed to learn 
 that Prince Waldenberg was daily at the Grenwitz man- 
 sion ; he had discovered, besides, other suspicious evi- 
 dences of the favorable progress of the new relations 
 between Helen and the prince ; as, for instance, magni- 
 ficent bouquets ordered at the first florist's establishment 
 by the prince, which were " to be sent that night to 
 Grenwitz House." Since the snow was firm, and the 
 Jeufiesse dorkewzs devising sleighing parties in all possi- 
 ble directions of the compass, he had, moreover, repeat- 
 edly seen Helen by the side of the prince in a magnifi- 
 cent sleigh, Avhose costly coverings, with the three horses 
 harnessed abreast after Russian fashion, pointed it out 
 as the property of his highness. He had as frequently 
 warned Oswald against so dangerous a rival, but the 
 latter had only given evasive answers. This state of 
 things displeased Albert altogether, and he considered 
 how he might, to use his own words, " get the cart into 
 a new track." 
 
 He had not reappeared for some time at Grenwitz 
 House. Felix had sent him, before leaving, four hun- 
 dred dollars in advance for the m(5nth of November, 
 taking it from his travelling money, and requesting him 
 at the same time to address himself hereafter, " in all 
 business matters," directly to his aunt, the baroness. 
 Albert had as yet not availed himself of this permission, 
 
396 Through Night to Light. 
 
 as it was difficult even for him to spend four hundred 
 dollars a month in the modest town of Grunwald ; and 
 he had, besides, been specially successful at faro of late. 
 Nevertheless, he proposed to pay his visit very soon, and 
 to avail himself of the opportunity for a better examina- 
 tion of the whole situation. 
 
 It happened in these same days that Albert received 
 one evening, just as he was going out, a letter by the 
 town mail, which put him into such bad humor that he 
 gave v;p his original intention to attend an extraordin- 
 ary meeting of " the Rats " in the city cellar, and 
 instead, paid a visit to his landlord — the sexton, Toby 
 Goodheart — the man who had filled all the little crooked 
 streets and lanes around St. Bridget's with the odor of 
 his holy manner of life. 
 
 Mr. Toby Goodheart was a bachelor, because he was 
 too ugly to obtain a wife ; as he said himself, because 
 his heaven-aspiring mind did not condescend to such 
 worldly thoughts as his admirers insisted upon believ- 
 ing. But neither the one nor the other could be the 
 true reason, for Mr. Toby was not ugly, but a very 
 good-looking man of some forty years, whose high fore- 
 head, bald at the temples, gave him a most god-fearing 
 expression. Nor was Mr. Toby really so very god- 
 fearing, unless his piety consisted in the solemn manner 
 with which he stepped, Sunday after Sunday and year 
 after year, dressed in his shiny-black dress-coat, black 
 trousers, and a long flowing black gown fastened to the 
 collar, through the church, pushing his velvet bag by 
 means of a long pole under the noses of the "devout 
 listeners." That Mr. Toby was in reality a son of 
 Belial was known to but very few men in Grunwald, 
 where the excellent man had now been living for 
 twenty years — perhaps only to one single man, and that 
 was the occupant of the two best rooms in the sexton's 
 official dwelling: Mr. Albert Timm, surveyor. 
 
 Mr. Toby had dr(5pped his mask in an evil hour, Avhen 
 the spirit of his much-beloved grog was stronger in him 
 than the spirit of lies, and shown his true face to Mr. 
 Timm, the "famous fellow." Mr. Toby Goodheart and 
 Mr. Albert Timm had since that hour formed the closest 
 
Through Night to Light. 397 
 
 intimacy, a friendship -which was cemented and secured 
 in its firmness and duration by a remarkable community 
 of fondness for women, wine, and dice, and the common 
 possession of delicate secrets. 
 
 Albert Timm entered the little room behind the par- 
 lor, where his landlord used to sit, with his hat on his 
 head, and found the excellent man engaged in the 
 pleasant occupation of preparing a glass of his favorite 
 beverage. 
 
 "You may make one for me too," said Albert, throw- 
 ing his hat upon a chair and himself into the corner of 
 the well-padded sofa. 
 
 " As heretofore, Albert mine .'' " asked the obliging 
 landlord, taking another tumbler and spoon from the 
 cupboard and placing it on the table by the side of the 
 smoking tea-kettle. 
 
 " Rather a little more than less," was the mysterious 
 reply. 
 
 While Mr. Toby was brewing the hot drink accord- 
 ing to this prescription, Albert was gazing at the tips of 
 his boots. 
 
 " You are not in good humor to-night, Albert mine ! " 
 said Toby, looking up from his occupation. 
 
 " It would be a lie to say the contrary ! " 
 
 " What's the matter .'' Has little Louisa caught you 1 " 
 
 " Little Louisa may be " 
 
 " Or have they sent you a little note, which you had 
 conveniently forgotten ? " 
 
 "Something of the kind! " 
 
 "Well, what is it.-*" asked Toby, placing the grog 
 he had mixed for Albert upon the table and stirring 
 it busily. "There, take a mouthful, and then speak 
 out ! " 
 
 Albert took the tumbler, tasted, to see if it was neither 
 too hot nor too cold, neither too sweet nor too bitter, 
 neither too strong nor too weak, and when he had gained 
 the conviction that it came fully up to his standard, he 
 emptied it at one draught more than half. 
 
 " It goes down easily to-night," said Toby, good na- 
 turedly. " Try it again." 
 
 "You recollect that I commenced last summer at 
 
398 Through Night to Light. 
 
 Grenwitz a foolish sort of a thing with a little black-eyed 
 witch of a French girl ? " continued Timm. 
 
 " I know," said Toby, smiling cunningly ; " I know 
 what's the matter now." 
 
 " No, you don't. The little thing was as shy as a wild- 
 duck. In other respects, to be sure, she was as stupid, 
 too, for you know she lent me, poor as I was, three hun- 
 dred dollars, which she had put into the savings bank." 
 
 "That was noble in her." 
 
 " But now she wants them back." 
 
 " Did you give her a note 1 " 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " Why, then, you have only to say that you know noth- 
 ing about it, and it's all right. Selah ! " 
 
 " That is not so easy. She has great friends, with 
 whom I should not like to have trouble." 
 
 "Why not.? " 
 
 " Did I not tell you that Marguerite is no longer with 
 the Grenwitz people .'' " 
 
 " Not a word. Where is she.'* " 
 
 " At Privy Councillor Rohan's." 
 
 " How did she get there .'' " 
 
 " I believe through Bemperlein, the candidate for the 
 university, forsooth ; the hypocrite who, I am told, is now 
 the privy councillor's right hand, and as others say en- 
 gaged to my pet of other days." 
 
 " Much good may it do him ! " said Toby. " But who 
 has dunned you .-' " 
 
 " The old privy councillor himself; look ! " — and here 
 Albert drew from his pocket the letter he had received 
 half an hour ago. " The old sinner writes, 'Dear sir! 
 As Miss Marguerite, who now does me the honor,' etc., 
 etc., ' tells me,' etc. ' As the relations which formerly may 
 have existed between yourself and the young lady are 
 now entirely and forever broken off — you know best 
 why — you will tinderstand that you cannot, as a man 
 of honor, keep a moment longer a sum of money which 
 was placed at your disposal under very different cir- 
 cumstances. Finally, I beg leave to say that the young 
 lady feels a very natural inclination to leave the matter 
 untouched, but that I learnt accidentally from members 
 
Through Night to Light. 399 
 
 of the Grenwitz family that Miss Martin liad been ena- 
 bled to save a little capital while staying with that 
 family, and that this led me to question the young lady 
 on the subject, and to insist vipon being told,' etc. ' Of 
 course, I must consider it my duty,' etc., etc. Well, what 
 do you say of that .'' " asked Albert, crushing the letter 
 and stuffing it angrily into his pocket. 
 
 " That is a bad thing," replied the honorable Toby, 
 scratching his grizzly head. " The privy councillor is 
 a man of high standing in the town, especially since he 
 has paid his debts — heaven knows how ; so that you can- 
 not enter the lists against him. I am afraid you will 
 have to pay." 
 
 " So am I," replied Albert. " That cursed gossip, the 
 baroness ! It is malice in her ; but she shall pay for it. 
 I'll put the thumbscrews on her, till " 
 
 Albert paused, and poured the rest of the drink down 
 his throat. 
 
 " Look here, Albert mine," said Toby; "how are you 
 standing with the baroness .'' I hope, Albert mine, my 
 boy, you have got all the lots of money which you have 
 made such an unusual show of, of late, in an honest way .?" 
 
 " What do you mean } " 
 
 " Well, the baroness is not so bad yet, and " 
 
 " Nonsense. That old vixen ! I am not so low yet." 
 
 " Then tell me ; how did you get the money.'' " 
 
 " First tell me what you mean by your mysterious 
 allusions to the power you have over the Grenwitz 
 family, and let me hear it all." 
 
 " Will you then tell me where the money comes 
 from .'' " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well ! But let us first brew another tumbler, and 
 then we can begin our stories. But look here ; honor 
 bright, Albert mine ; honor bright, and no prattling! " 
 
 " One crow does not peck at another! " said Albert. 
 
 Mr. Toby nodded smilingly his venerable head, mixed 
 the grog with artistic care, unbuttoned his black satin 
 waistcoat, leaned back in his chair, and said, 
 
 " I have not always lived in Grunwald ; and I have 
 not always been sexton at St. Bridget's." 
 
40O Through Night to Light. 
 
 " I know ! The capital has the undisputed honor to 
 call you her own ; and whose sexton you were before 
 you became St. Bridget's own sexton, the gentleman in 
 black will probably know best." 
 
 Toby Goodheart seemed to take this as a high com- 
 pliment. He smiled contentedly, and sipped his grog 
 with evident delight. 
 
 " Don't be coarse, Albert mine, or I cannot go on," 
 he said. " My father was a servant ; and I was, from 
 tender infancy, intended for the same profession. You 
 may judge what remarkable talents I had for my voca- 
 tion, when I tell you that I had had twenty masters 
 before I was twenty years old. About this time it oc- 
 curred to me how much more pleasant it would be to 
 be my own master ; and as I had laid by a considerable 
 little sum during the time of my service," — here the 
 honorable Toby smiled with his left eye and the left 
 corner of his mouth — " I had capital enough to open a 
 house of entertainment." 
 
 " Nice entertainment, I dare say, you gave," said Al- 
 bert. 
 
 " Yes, indeed !" replied Toby, adding another lump of 
 sugar to his grog; "at least the fair sex was abundantly 
 represented in my nice little business. I made it a 
 principle to have only female waiters, and so the " Cafe 
 Goodheart " was well frequented. I had at least six or 
 eight young ladies to do the honors of my house." 
 
 Albert Timm seemed to listen to these statistics with 
 much delight. He leaned back in the corner of the sofa 
 and broke out into a loud laugh, while the honorable 
 Toby again only smiled — but this time, for the sake of 
 change, with the right eye and the right corner of the 
 mouth. 
 
 "Hush, hush, Albert mine!" he said; "the people 
 might hear us in the street. How can a prudent youth 
 like yourself ever laugh aloud .'' I have never in all 
 my life done more than smile, and I have succeeded 
 pretty well. But never mind that. The young ladies 
 were, of course, always very pretty ; and I can say that, 
 of all my colleagues, I managed to get the prettiest. 
 But I must also confess that this was not so much due 
 
Through Night to Light. 401 
 
 to my own good taste as to the discrimination and clev- 
 erness of a lady with whom I had once upon a time 
 stood in tender relations, when we were both in service, 
 and who was still a friend and a partner in business. 
 This lady, called Rose Pape, was in her way a very re- 
 markable woman, with a marvellous talent for business." 
 
 " I can imagine what kind of business that was," said 
 Albert. 
 
 " You can imagine no such thing, young man," re- 
 plied Toby. " Mrs. Rose Pape was an excellent lady, 
 whose society was not only sought after by the most 
 respectable ladies, but also paid for with large sums of 
 money, and whose night-bell was well known in the 
 whole thickly-settled neighborhood in which she lived. 
 But Mrs. Rose Pape took not only a warm interest in 
 young Avives, but very consistently, also, in those who 
 might become such ; and thus she had as extensive an ac- 
 quaintance among the pretty chambermaids and seam- 
 stresses as among the wives of high officials and rich 
 merchants. 
 
 " One fine day, now, Mrs. Rose came to see me, and 
 told me that an immensely rich baron of her acquaint- 
 ance had fallen desperately in love with a pretty girl, 
 and had charged her. Rose, to help him, without regard 
 to expense. She had already formed a plan, but she was 
 in need of a valet of special abilities in order to carry 
 out her superb conception. She added that there was a 
 lot of money to be made in the business, and asked me 
 to join her. 
 
 " It so happened that just at that time the police had 
 found occasion to interfere with the management of my 
 cafe, and I was afraid of unpleasant consequences ; I 
 seized, therefore, with eagerness the opportunity of leav- 
 ing the capital for a time in such good company. Twenty- 
 four hours later I was on my way, accompanying the 
 young lady in question, and riding in the comfortable 
 carriage of my new master, who was going to — well, 
 guess, Albert mine, where he was going.? " 
 
 " How can I know .'' But you were surely not going 
 to give me the complete history of your life .'' I thought 
 you were going to tell me how you got to Grenwitz," 
 
402 Through Night to Light. 
 
 said Albert, who had been busy with his own affairs, and 
 had not listened very attentively. 
 
 " Why, you hear, we are on the way to Grenwitz," 
 said Toby, glancing at Albert from the corner of his left 
 eye across the rim of his tumbler ; " for my new master 
 was Baron Grenwitz, and the end of our journey was 
 Castle Grenwitz, where you were last summer." 
 
 An Indian, who on his pursuit has discovered his 
 enemy's track in the grass of the prairie, cannot exert 
 himself more powerfully, with all his senses, than Albert 
 did as soon as he heard the last words. He had in- 
 stantly recognized in Toby Goodheart the valet who had 
 played so ambiguous a part in the story of Mother 
 Glaus ; but he did not betray by a word or gesture the 
 importance of this discovery, but asked, with well- 
 feigned indifference, 
 
 " The old baron .? Upon my word ! I should not have 
 expected such things from the old boy ! " 
 
 " Not the present baron, but his cousin, of the older 
 line — Baron Harald ; or Wild Harald, as he is still called 
 by those who have known him. I tell you, Albert mine, 
 it was a merry life we were leading at Castle Grenwitz 
 in the year of the Lord eighteen hundred and twenty- 
 two. Wine and women in abundance ! and with all that 
 we played comedy — well, it was equal to the best thing 
 I have ever seen on the stage. Just imagine : my good 
 friend. Rose " 
 
 " She was there, too .-* " 
 
 " Certainly ! Did I not tell you the baron had en- 
 gaged her to play his great-aunt .'' " 
 
 " His what.'' " 
 
 Toby smiled — this time Avith both eyes and both cor- 
 ners of the mouth. 
 
 " She played the great-aunt of the baron, with wig 
 and crutch : because that foolish thing, Marie — Marie 
 Montbert was the name of the little monkey ; and as 
 pretty a girl she was as I have ever seen with these eyes 
 of mine — I have never seen the like of her. What was I 
 going to say 1 Yes ! Marie had made a conditio sine (jiia 
 non, as we scholars say, that an old lady of the baron's 
 family should be at the castle, if she was to come there. 
 
Through Night to Light. 403 
 
 Well, now we had an elderly lady, a famous elderly lady, 
 eh! Albert mine, eh?" and the honorable Toby tit- 
 tered, and poked Albert most cordially in the side. 
 
 "Well, and how did the matter end? " asked Albert, 
 who did not want to hear the part of the story which he 
 knew. 
 
 " Why, 1 did not see it end ; for we, Rose and I, ran 
 away sometime before. To tell the truth, we were afraid 
 the whole story might upset ; for Marie had many 
 friends in the city, who might make a great noise about 
 it, and get us all, especially Rose and myself, into serious 
 trouble. So Ave slipped off one fine morning, or rather 
 one fine night, without taking leave, but requesting 
 various things which happened to fall into our hands 
 to keep us company in going away with us. Here in 
 Grun wald we parted, or rather we were separated. For I 
 was taken so sick — probably in consequence of the high 
 living we had enjoyed at Grenwitz — that I could not go 
 on, and had to be carried to the hospital. What I then 
 thought was a great misfortune, turned out afterwards to 
 be the most fortunate thing ; for the late Dean Dark- 
 ling, the father of Mrs. Professor Jager, who was then 
 chaplain to the hospital, fell in love Avith my modest 
 smiles, and insisted, as soon as I was well again, upon 
 my entering his service. Well ! from the servant of a 
 minister to the sexton of his church, it is but a step ! " 
 and Mr. Toby sipped comfortably the remainder of his 
 grog. 
 
 " And did you ever hear anything more of your friend 
 Mrs. Rose ? " 
 
 " She is living at the capital, and carries on her busi- 
 ness Avith double entry, and more profitably than eA'er. 
 If you ever go up to tOAvn, Albert mine, you must not 
 forget to call on her. She lives at the corner of Ger- 
 trude and Rose streets, third story." 
 
 " I am going to take that doAvn at once," said Albert, 
 entering the address in liis note-book. "But Avhat has 
 become of Marie, or Avhatever the stupid thing's name 
 was ? " 
 
 " Well, that is a curious story. Shortly after Ave had 
 left, there really did come one of her friends, a Mr, 
 
404 Through Night to Light. 
 
 d'Estein, and stole her away from the baron, who was so 
 furious at the whole story that he died soon after from 
 sheer anger. But the most curious part of the whole 
 is this : Just imagine ! Rose has hardly taken up her 
 business again, when the bell wakes her one fine night, 
 and who do you think wants her? The same Mr. d'Es- 
 tein ! and for whom.'' for the same Marie, who is in need 
 of a midwife !" 
 
 " Impossible!" cried Albert, forgetting for a moment 
 his assumed indifference. 
 
 " As I tell you. Rose wrote to me at once, and I 
 could have killed myself laughing at the fun of the 
 thing. First, she is great aunt; and then — ha! ha! ha! " 
 Toby was so very much amused at the thing that he 
 could not help laughing aloud, contrary to all his prin- 
 ciples. 
 
 " Ha, ha, ha ! " chimed in Albert. " Very good ! Ha, 
 ha, ha ! Perhaps Mrs. Rose knows also what became of 
 the child .? " 
 
 " Maybe," replied Toby ; " but I rather think she does 
 not want to know anything about it. Otherwise she 
 would no doubt have presented herself at that time 
 when Baron Harald offered in all the newspapers a 
 very liberal reward for any information concerning 
 Marie's present residence, etc. I think she was afraid 
 of the consequences, and has done as I have done — kept 
 her counsel . for twenty odd years, till the grass has 
 grown over the whole affair. Well, but now, Albert 
 mine, it is your turn to tell me how you have managed 
 to be such a rich man of late.' " 
 
 " Upon my word ! I just remember I must attend the 
 meeting of the Rats to-night ! " cried Albert, starting 
 up. "Why, this is foundation-day! Good-by, Toby; 
 another time. I cannot stay, upon my word ! " 
 
 And Albert put on liis hat and hurried off, paying no 
 attention to tlie grumbling of his friend and hospitable 
 landlord, the honorable Toby Goodheart, who at once 
 went to work drowning his anger in his favorite bever- 
 age — a plan in which he succeeded so well that the 
 watchman, Avho was sent about midnight to fetch the 
 key of the vestry, had to knock half an hour before Mr. 
 
Through Night to Light. 405 
 
 Toby could disentangle himself from between the legs 
 of the table, under which he had fallen after his sixth 
 tumbler. * 
 
 Book Third. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 " ^ I *^HE season " had not been as brilliant in Grunwald 
 X for many a year as it was this winter. It seemed 
 as if the people were already feeling the first 
 breath of coming spring, and as if they could not make 
 enough of the little time that was still remaining. Party 
 followed party, and Heaven alone could tell how the old 
 gentlemen and ladies could stand the incessant whist and 
 the young people the incessant dancing ; and how all of 
 them could find pleasure in meeting night after night pre- 
 cisely the same company, for the circle which was thus 
 kept in constant commotion was quite limited, and con- 
 sisted of perhaps twenty or twenty-five families, includ- 
 ing the highest military and civil officials, the family of the 
 commandant of the fortress, Grunwald, his excellency 
 von Bostelmann,and that of the president of the province, 
 von Fitzewitz, etc. It may have been that the small- 
 ness of the circle favored to a certain extent the stupid 
 delight with which these select fashionables were con- 
 tinually turning around themselves, although everybody 
 knew everything about everybody else, or thought at 
 least he knew or wanted to know it, so that there was 
 never a lack of topics for gossip. 
 
 Each week had a special topic of its own, however, 
 which was discussed with much animation. During the 
 last but one, the strange conduct of Emily Cloten had fur- 
 nished the favorite subject. There had, of course, been 
 two parties — one in favor of the young lady, and another 
 
4o6 Through Night to Light. 
 
 in favor of her husband. The former claimed that 
 Emily had become crazy because of Arthur's faithless- 
 ness; the latter insisted upon it that, on the contrary, 
 Arthur had been made crazy by his wife's faithlessness, 
 and was, in this state of mind, seeking consolation in 
 the arms of his former favorite, Hortense Barnewitz. 
 Emily's friends seemed to be sure of success, for the young 
 lady — was it from caprice, or from better reasons ? — re- 
 appeared suddenly in society, and began to play her for- 
 mer part as a reckless coquette more zealously than 
 ever, utterly ignoring all that had occurred in the mean- 
 time. 
 
 Thus the spies, cheated out of this scandal, as it seemed, 
 were compelled to turn their sharp eyes during the 
 present week upon the relations between Prince Wal- 
 denberg and Helen Grenwitz, which had been already 
 canvassed by everybody, and which yet, far from being 
 exhausted, had only become more and more interesting, 
 for it Avas believed that during the last few days these 
 relations had assumed a definite form. 
 
 The spies had seen correctly. Since yesterday Helen 
 was engaged to His Highness, Prince Raimund Walden- 
 berg, Count of Malikowsky, hereditary Lord of Letbus. 
 
 For the present only in secret, since much time was 
 required before all the preliminaries of an alliance be- 
 tween the princely family of Waldenberg and the most 
 noble family of Grenwitz could be satisfactorily settled. 
 Besides, the public announcement of the engagement 
 was to take place in the capital, to which the prince Avas 
 to return soon after New Year in order to join his regi- 
 ment again, and where the prince's parents had prom- 
 ised to meet him, the mother from St. Petersburg, the 
 father from Paris. 
 
 The baroness had, then, attained the goal of her wishes, 
 and her exulting joy at lier success amply compensated 
 her for all the humiliations and disappointments, for all 
 the sleepless nights, full of care and anxiety, of the past 
 months. She carried her head as high as ever. Did she 
 not owe all the successes she had ever had in life to her- 
 self alone, and so also this last one.'' Did she not owe it 
 solely to lier own prudence, moderation, and discretion, 
 
Through Night to Light. 407 
 
 that she, the simple nobleman's daughter, who had no 
 fortune whatever, had become Baroness Grenwitz and 
 mother-in-law of Prince Waldenberg ? Had she not had 
 to struggle through all her life, not only with circum- 
 stances, but also with those who stood nearest to her ; 
 with her weak husband, who had no energy and no 
 sense for great comprehensive plans, and with her 
 haughty, self-willed daughter ? Had she not been forced 
 to think and care for them all ; to compel them almost 
 to accept their good fortune? Truly, if these people 
 were not grateful for their happiness, which they owed 
 to her alone — well, it was not her fault ! 
 
 Were they grateful? Any one but the baroness 
 would have doubted it. The happy ones showed little 
 of joy and elation in their features ; on the contrary, 
 since the decisive word had been spoken, a veil of em- 
 barrassment, if not of annoyance, seemed to have fallen 
 upon their faces. The prince's dark countenance looked 
 a shade darker, and his black eyes rested often with a 
 strange, inexplicable meaning upon the fair, haughty 
 features of his betrothed, who walked about in startling 
 silence, very pale, and looking much more like a marble 
 bride than like a happy girl. Still, those who chose 
 need not have looked far for an explanation. The deep 
 melancholy seemed to be justified by anxiety for the 
 father, who had long been an invalid, and who had sud- 
 denly been taken seriously ill. 
 
 In the night which followed the day of the betrothal 
 the old gentleman had had an attack of his old complaint, 
 the gout, and the physicians who were called in de- 
 clared at once that, this time, they could not answer for 
 the result. From that moment Helen had been chained 
 to her father's sick-bed, especially as the latter would 
 allow no one else to be near him, to hand him his medi- 
 cine and to smooth his pillow. 
 
 The early winter evening had come already. The 
 streets were covered with deep snow and perfectly si- 
 lent ; only now and then the jingling of bells interrupted 
 the stillness. No one happened to be near the patient 
 but Helen. She was sitting near the bed, holding lier 
 father's withered hand, trembling with feverish excite- 
 
4o8 Through Night to Light. 
 
 ment, in her own soft hands, and trying, as well as she 
 could, to soothe the increasing restlessness of the patient. 
 
 " Where is mother ? " he asked, suddenly. 
 
 " She has gone to her room." 
 
 " And your — and the prince .'' " 
 
 " I asked him to take a walk." 
 
 " Raise my head a little ! — that's it ! Now give me 
 both your hands ! " 
 
 The patient paused a few moments, and then he spoke 
 with great clearness and decision, so that it was evident 
 he had long contemplated what he was about to say and 
 turned it over in his enfeebled mind. 
 
 " My dear child ! It is a good thing to be rich, when 
 he who is rich has also a good heart ; but I believe it is 
 very rare to find the two together, or to see them stay 
 together. And to be clever is also a good thing, but 
 without a good heart it is worth little. 
 
 " Look here, dear child ! Your mother and I — we have 
 lived together eighteen years, and, next to God, I have 
 loved and honored vour mother more than all things. 
 I think she has taken pains to love me back again, and 
 I do not blame her if she has not succeeded. No, not 
 her, only myself. I ought to have taken a wife who was 
 more suitable to my age and to my ways ; but I was vain 
 and proud, and I wanted a handsome, stately, and clever 
 wife, such as the world admires, and your mother was 
 handsome, stately, and clever ; far too pretty and too 
 clever for me, an insignificant, simple man, who never 
 was made for the great world. I felt it, therefore, all 
 the time in my heart that I was not the man to make 
 your mother happy ; but she never let me know it dis- 
 tinctly until quite recently." 
 
 The old man bowed his gray head sadly, and re- 
 peated : 
 
 "Quite recently — when she wanted you to marry your 
 cousin Felix, and I could not say Yes ! and amen ! to it 
 • — then I saw very clearly that we thought and felt in the 
 most important and most sacred tilings so very differ- 
 ently; and whether I was right or she, that docs not 
 matter now; but, my dear child, it is a bad thing when 
 those Avhc) ought to love each other cannot do it — a 
 
Through Night to Light. 409 
 
 bad thing, my dear cliild, wliich may easily break a 
 heart ! " 
 
 And as the old man spoke these words the tears were 
 rolling down his pale, wrinkled cheeks. 
 
 Helen sat there, silent and pale. Her hands trembled. 
 Her father's words had apparently touched her to the 
 heart. 
 
 " Therefore," continued the baron, after a short pause, 
 " it has always been my principle, that parents ought not 
 to interfere Avith the affections of their children, but 
 only to pray to God that He would lead their hearts to 
 choose well. Thus I have left you your choice, then and 
 now. Then yovi could not decide ; now you have decided. 
 I cannot conceal it from you that I cannot understand 
 the prince, and that I wish your future husband were 
 less grand and less rich ; but, as it is, I hope God will 
 turn it to the best. You are a good, clever girl, and I 
 think you cannot have chosen thoughtlessly, or from 
 mere ambition ; no ! no ! not thoughtlessly, nor from am- 
 bition, for you are my good, clever girl ! " repeated the 
 old man, as Helen, unable to control her emotion any 
 longer, hid her beautiful head on his bosom, and gave 
 way to a passionate fit of weeping. 
 
 " What is the matter, girl .'' " he said, frightened by this 
 sudden vehemence ; and then, as if a flash of lightning 
 had lighted up for an instant the dark places in his 
 daughter's heart, " For God's sake, child, you have not 
 let your eyes be dazzled by Mammon ! You do not 
 love the prince 1 You have not followed the voice of 
 your heart, which warned you against the stern dark 
 man, but the counsels of your mother.? Oh, my child ! 
 my unfortunate child ! My fears, then, were not ground- 
 less ! But it is time yet to turn back. I will speak 
 myself with the prince ; I will speak with him at once ; 
 he will have pity on a poor old man, who is sick unto 
 death." 
 
 And he raised himself with spasmodic efforts in his 
 bed. 
 
 It was a terrible struggle which was raging in Helen's 
 heart while the baron said these words. Was theie 
 really a way yet out of this horrible labyrinth, in which 
 
4IO Through Night to Light. 
 
 she had lost herself? Could the step, the fatal step, be 
 retraced ? At what price ? At the price of seeing her 
 pride humbled ! Her proud betrothed was to have pity ! 
 Pity with her poor old father! Pity with herself! 
 Never . . . Never! " 
 
 " No, no, no ! " she cried, seizing both of her father's 
 hands. " You are mistaken, father ! I am not unhappy ! 
 I have not been dazzled and tempted ! I — I love the prince 
 — I shall love him — I will try to love him — I will " 
 
 She could not continue ; her throat was closed by a 
 spasm ; her pale lips moved, but were unable to shape the 
 words with which she uttered her own sentence of death. 
 
 "Oh, great God!" prayed the old man, "enlighten 
 my child's heart! Child! child! Do not let your father 
 leave this world with such a terrible doubt on his mind ! 
 Oh, if I could but tell you all as I feel it. Ah, this 
 pain ! My God ... My ... " 
 
 The sufferer fell back on his pillow. 
 
 Helen held him in her arms. 
 
 "Papa! dear papa! I will do all you ask; for I will tell 
 the prince — great God ! what is that "i " 
 
 The hands of the old man began to tremble ; cold 
 perspiration bedewed his brow. 
 
 It was Death ! Helen saw it with horror, and no 
 help at hand — no help ! She rushed to the bell and 
 pulled, but the bell-rope remained in her hand. Then 
 she rushed back to the bed, but the cold hands trembled 
 no longer : the rolling eyes were fixed. Whatever help 
 might come now, it came too late ; and Helen threw 
 herself, sobbing aloud, upon the body of the kind old 
 man, whose brave and true heart had beaten to the last 
 moment so warmly for her, and now stood still forever. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WHILE death was settling, up-stairs, life's account by 
 a single dash, the question of credit and debit 
 had been most actively discussed down-stairs in 
 the apartments of the baroness. 
 
Through Night to Light. 41 1 
 
 The baroness's whole life was given up to this great 
 question, and she had naturally a sharp eye for "all that 
 was going on upon the market. Her husband's death, 
 which she was expecting as a certainty, was likely to 
 change her position entirely, but on the Avhole she was 
 not displeased with the prospect. It is true, her savings 
 from the revenues of the entailed estates, which had so 
 far benefitted herself and Helen, and which, after the 
 baron's death, had to be carried to the principal till 
 Malte came of age, would be lost ; but the sum total of 
 these savings amounted already to nearly a hundred 
 thousand dollars, all invested in first-class securities — a 
 sum small enough, in comparison with the whole estate, 
 but quite sufficient if the two farms belonging to Har- 
 ald's bequest were added. 
 
 She had apparently arranged everything to her satis- 
 faction, and if Grenwitz should really die now, why . . . 
 
 At that moment a letter was brought in. " From 
 Felix ! " she said, in a low voice, and casting a glance at 
 the direction ; and then she stepped to the window to 
 read the letter. 
 
 It was a short note, evidently written with pain by the 
 trembling hand of a sick man, and ran thus : 
 
 " Dear Aunt : I have been in such a wretched state for 
 some days, that when this letter reaches you I may possi- 
 bly have ceased to exist, if this way of living, amid pain 
 and misery, which is fast coming to an end, can be called 
 an existence. But whatever may come of it, it is high 
 time for me to enlighten you on the subject of the * 
 * * affair. * * * has not been satisfied, as I told 
 you. He has a right to demand four hundred dollars a 
 month till the claim to Uncle Harald's legacy expires 
 by prescription, and besides six hundred dollars, if he 
 keeps silent until then. You will do better to pay the 
 fellow, if you do not wish him to get you into no end 
 of trouble. I have sent him his four hundred for the 
 month of November before I left Greenwood. I am 
 exhausted. 
 
 " Yours faithfully, Felix. 
 
 " P.S. — If you love me, I pray you will let my rascally 
 creditors wait a little longer. Moses Hirsch has a note 
 
412 Through Night to Light. 
 
 of mine for one thousand dollars. Offer him two hun- 
 dred for it; he will still make fifty per cent." 
 
 The baroness came back from the window, went to 
 the fire-place, laid the note carefully on the burning coal, 
 and waited till the flames had seized and consumed it. 
 Then she walked slowly up and down in the room, 
 which began to grow dark. This twilight was most fa- 
 vorable for a face which was downright disfigured by 
 anger. She murmured curses against Felix, against 
 Albert, against Oswald, through her teeth. " Not a 
 farthing the scamp shall have! Not a red cent! I'll 
 send for him and tell him so to his face ; and, besides, I'll 
 warn him not to say a word . . . What is it } " she in- 
 terrupted her monologue, as the servant once more en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 " Mr. Timm desires to wait upon you on business." 
 
 Anna Maria started. This unexpected call of the 
 young man looked like a threat. All of a sudden she 
 lost all desire to tell Mr. Timm to his face that he need 
 not expect a red cent from her. 
 
 " Tell Mr. Timm I regret not to be able to see him ; 
 the baron has been taken ill very suddenly." 
 
 " I have told him so ; but he said he must see you on 
 very important business, and would detain you but for 
 a moment." 
 
 " Well, show him in ; but — you had better bring lights; 
 and — John, stay in the next room, in case I should want 
 you." 
 
 " Yes, ma'am." 
 
 The servant immediately ushered in Albert Timm, and 
 then went out, closing the door behind him. 
 
 " Good-day ; or rather, good-evening," said the young 
 man, approaching the baroness apparently with an air 
 of perfect unconcern ; " I beg ten thousand pardons if 
 I interrupt you. The old gentleman is sick, they tell 
 me! I hope it is not much. I should liave gone away 
 again, but I have to inform you of an important discov- 
 ery I have made in the affair — you know — which admits 
 of no delay. Shall we sit down in the meantime.'' Al- 
 low me! " 
 
 And Mr. Albert Timm pushed an arm-chair towards 
 
Through Night to Light. 413 
 
 the baroness, and the next moment was comfortably- 
 seated himself. 
 
 Anna Maria had not quite decided yet in her mind 
 how she should treat the young man. But she felt very 
 clearly that it would not be very easy to get the better 
 of him. She sat down, therefore, in the seat he offered 
 her, and said, in her most solemn tones : 
 
 " You will excuse me if I beg you to be as brief as 
 possible ; the sad state of things here, which the servant 
 has mentioned to you " 
 
 "Pray, pray!" said Albert; "exactly my purpose. 
 Only two words and I have done. The thing is this : I 
 have learnt quite accidentally — for it is wonderful what a 
 great part accident plays in the whole matter — I have 
 learnt that two persons who were in Baron Grenwitz's 
 service at the time when Miss Marie Montbert was at 
 Grenwitz, are still alive. They were honored by Baron 
 Grenwitz with his special confidence ; and, for instance, 
 initiated into the whole story of the elopement. Now 
 they are quite ready, I dare say, to appear as witnesses 
 in a suit which might possibly arise out of the ques- 
 tion of the legacy. The evidence of these two per- 
 sons would be all the more weighty as they are both 
 persons of excellent standing in society, and enjoy the 
 confidence of a large circle of friends and acquaint- 
 ances. One of them is sexton here in town — a man 
 who is universally respected; the other — a woman — 
 lives in the capital, and is, in spite of her advanced 
 age, still actively engaged in her profession, which, by 
 the way, is that of a superior nurse. If I had ever had 
 any doubt that the young man in question is really — 
 that is, legally — the son of the late Baron Harald, my 
 doubts would have been completely removed by this 
 last discovery; and I am sure, baroness, you will agree 
 with me." 
 
 If anything else besides Felix's letter had been needed 
 to kindle in Anna Maria's heart the flame of wrath, it 
 was the manner in which Albert Timm was presenting 
 to her the topic which she so bitterly hated. Neverthe- 
 less she answered with a calmness which she observed 
 strictly in all matters of business. 
 
414 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " May I beg to know, Mr. Timm, why you honor me 
 with this communication ? " 
 
 " Certainly, baroness ; certainly. That is what I came 
 for. You know that a bird in hand is worth a great 
 deal more than a bird on a tree, and that a man who 
 sells his property for less than its value is entitled to 
 the name of a fool. Now you know under what condi- 
 tions I have promised Baron Felix to keep my counsel 
 with regard to that legacy " 
 
 " Pardon me if I interrupt you, Mr. Timm. I know 
 nothing of such conditions. I directed my nephew to 
 pay you a certain sum, solely for the purpose of getting 
 rid of you ; and my nephew assured me, shortly before 
 he left us, that the matter was finally settled. I must 
 therefore beg you will please not return to matters fully 
 settled; and excuse me if I cannot see you any longer." 
 
 The baroness was on the point of rising, when Albert 
 said, in a most decided and incisive manner : " Pray, 
 keep your seat for a moment longer, baroness ! " She 
 obeyed his request, half wondering and half frightened. 
 
 " I am tired of being played with in this manner," 
 continued Albert, in the same tone. " If Baron Felix has 
 not told you the arrangement on which we agreed, he 
 was afraid of you, or he had a purpose of his own. After 
 all, it does not matter much whether you know the for- 
 mer agreement ; for I have come for the very purpose 
 of telling you that, after what I have recently discovered, 
 I am no longer disposed to let you off so cheap. I now 
 demand nothing less than thirty thousand dollars, paya- 
 ble within the next fortnight, and request that you will 
 with like candor tell me whether you are ready to pay 
 or not ? " 
 
 " This impudence exceeds all bounds," said Anna 
 Maria, rising from her seat and seizing the bell, which 
 was standing by her on the table. 
 
 " Let that thing alone," said Albert, coolly ; " that bell 
 might cost you pretty dear. Consider well what you 
 are about to do ! If we cease to be good friends we 
 become mortal enemies, and you may rest assured 
 Albert Timm gives no quarter. Once more : Are you 
 willing to pay or not .? " 
 
Through Alight to Light. 415 
 
 At that moment the door opened. The servant en- 
 tered with two lighted candelabra, and close behind him 
 came the prince. The servant placed the lights on the 
 table and went out ; the prince had come up half-way 
 before he became aware that the baroness was not 
 alone ! 
 
 " Ah ! pardon, madame," he said. " I thought the ser- 
 vant said you were alone. Do you wish me to leave 
 you alone.' " 
 
 " By no means, prince," replied Anna Maria. " I have 
 nothing more to say to this young man." And she made 
 a motion with her hand, as if she wished to intimate to 
 Albert that he was dismissed. 
 
 Mr. Albert Timm wagged his hat, which he held in 
 both hands behind his back, and said with imperturbable 
 indiflTerence, putting one foot a little forward : 
 
 " It seems, baroness, you wish me to repeat my last 
 question in the presence of this gentleman ! " 
 
 " Who is the young man .-' " asked the prince, some- 
 what astonished at Albert's manner and the excited 
 state of the baroness. 
 
 " A man," replied the latter, " who has annoyed us for 
 some time with impudent demands for money, under the 
 pretext of possessing certain pretended family secrets. 
 I am afraid I shall have to invoke the assistance of the 
 police to get rid of him." 
 
 The prince looked at Albert from the height of his 
 lofty figure, ^yent slowly towards the table, took the lit- 
 tle silver bell, and touched it. 
 
 The servant entered immediately. 
 
 " Show this man out ! " said the prince. 
 
 The servant was so amazed by this order that he did 
 not trust his own ears. He looked, with a face full of 
 embarrassment, first at the prince and then at Mr. Al- 
 bert Timm, who was still standing quietly there, Avag- 
 ging his hat after the manner of a dog's tail, and again 
 from Mr. Albert Timm to the prince. 
 
 " Did you hear me.? " said the latter, contracting his 
 brows in a threatening manner. 
 
 The servant came a step nearer to Timm. 
 
 " My good friend, I will spare you the alternative 
 
41 6 Through Night to Light. 
 
 either to have your nose knocked into your face or to be 
 dismissed from the army," said Albert, good-naturedly, 
 "and prefer, on that account, to go myself As for you, 
 baroness, we shall see each other again shortly, but upon 
 a different footing ; and as for you, young ma?i, I should 
 like to advise you hereafter not to meddle with matters 
 which do not concern you in the least, in spite of the 
 great airs you are giving yourself." 
 
 The prince made a motion towards his left side. For- 
 tunately he had left his sword in the hall. Albert 
 did not wait for any further measures on the part of the 
 lion he had roused, but made an ironical bow and left 
 the room. 
 
 The prince, who had never in his life been treated in 
 this way, looked aghast ; the baroness cast down her eyes. 
 
 "That could not have happened at home, in Russia," 
 said the prince. 
 
 " I regret," said the baroness, " that accident should 
 have made you witness so unpleasant an occurrence." 
 
 At the same moment the servant re-entered the room, 
 deadly pale, and cried, breathlessly : 
 
 " Oh, ma'am ! come quickly! The baron is dying!" 
 
 " Ohj mon Dieu .'" exclaimed the baroness, and seemed 
 on the point of fainting. 
 
 "Compose yourself, madame! compose yourself!" 
 said the prince. " Bear what has to be borne. Will you 
 take my arm ? Ho, there ! show us the way !" 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ABOUT the same hour — perhaps a little earlier — 
 two gentlemen displayed at the billiard-table, in 
 the restaurant near the main guard-house on the 
 square, that industry which is so becoming to busy 
 idlers. The two gentlemen who met at this favorite 
 lounging place of the Jeunesse dor'ee of Grunwald, were 
 Cloten and Barnewitz. The former, who excelled in all 
 
Through Night to Light. 417 
 
 the arts which required a sure eye and a steady hand, 
 and no head work, had beaten his adversary in every 
 game, and hence the young man Avas in excellent humor, 
 while the other was nearly angry. 
 
 " Another game, Barnewitz ? " asked Cloten, triumph- 
 antly, after having finished the twelfth with a brilliant 
 carom. 
 
 " Thank you ; no ! " said Barnewitz, throwing his cue 
 on the billiard-table ; " am not in the right humor for it 
 to-day. I cannot play well anyhow in this miserable 
 twilight ! " 
 
 "We can have the lamps lit." 
 
 "No, thank you ! Another day! We can play quits 
 to-morrow." 
 
 Cloten now laid down his cue also, stepped before the 
 looking-glass and twisted his blonde moustache, while 
 Barnewitz threw himself upon the sofa and yawned. 
 
 " It is wretchedly tedious here," he said ; " don't know 
 how on earth to kill the whole afternoon !" 
 
 " Let us take a walk." 
 
 " It is too abominably cold." 
 
 "A game at piquet } " 
 
 "Too tiresome." 
 
 " A bottle of claret ? " 
 
 "Well, that's better." 
 
 " Waiter ! a bottle of pechon and a light." 
 
 The waiter brought what was ordered. Cloten threw 
 himself into an arm-chair opposite to Barnewitz, and 
 stretched out his legs. 
 
 "Well.?" 
 
 " Well ! " 
 
 *■' Don't you know anything.? " 
 
 « No ! Do you ? " 
 
 "No! " 
 
 After this exchange of bright thoughts there followed, 
 as a matter of course, a pause of exhaustion, and the 
 ship of conversation remained for a quarter of an hour 
 stranded on a sandbank, while the two men smoked 
 their cigars and sipped their wine. 
 
 Cloten and Barnewitz had been apparently excellent 
 friends ever since their terrible collision in summer, but 
 18* 
 
41 8 Through Night to Light. 
 
 in reality they liad watched each other with unbroken 
 distrust. It is true, the distrust was but too well 
 founded in this case. Hortense Barnewitz had no sooner 
 come to Grunwald than she cast out her net — experi- 
 enced fisher of men as she was — after her old lover, and 
 Cloten had at that time already discovered that happiness 
 in the arms of his former lady-love Avas far more at- 
 tractive than the honor of being the husband of tlie 
 most fashionable lady in town. Barnewitz, on the other 
 hand, gave the noble couple ample opportunity for 
 meeting ; for he threw himself, at Grunwald, head fore- 
 most into a vortex of amusements, of which there was 
 no lack there for a rich nobleman who cared more for 
 quantity than for quality. Nevertheless, he was as much 
 the victim of jealousy now as before, and he was there- 
 fore highly pleased to see, what all others saw as well, 
 that Emily treated her husband like a school-boy, and 
 had evidently found a worthier object for her loving 
 heart. 
 
 Barnewitz had long wished for an hour when he might 
 inform Cloten under the mask of friendship of the re- 
 ports which filled the town about him and his wife. 
 The day before he had accidentally heard of some new 
 scandal, and to-day Cloten's superiority at billiards had 
 greatly annoyed him. After thinking the matter over 
 for some time, therefore, he exploded : 
 
 " How is your wife, Cloten V 
 
 " Thanks ! Pretty well ; how so } " replied Cloten, not 
 a little astonished at the brusque question. 
 
 " Well, I suppose it is permitted to inquire after your 
 wife ! Or, do you allow no questions to be asked V 
 
 " Certainly; but what do you mean.?" 
 
 " Because she has been so very charming these last 
 days." 
 
 " Is that so very uncommon.?" asked Cloten, slightly 
 embarrassed, and torturing his moustache. 
 
 " Yes ; for she had just before treated everybody, 
 yourself included, so very badly, that one could not help 
 wondering at the sudden change. At all events, I was 
 not the only one to notice it ; the whole world is full of 
 it." 
 
Through Night to Light. /\ig 
 
 " The whole world ought to pull its own nose," said 
 Cloten ; and his hand trembled with annoyance as he 
 filled his glass. 
 
 " Certainly; but they don't do it." 
 
 " the whole world !" 
 
 " Certainly ; if you wish it. But if you would rather 
 talk about something else ; — I only thought that, as your 
 oldest friend, it was my duty to call your attention to 
 certain things." 
 
 " Well, then, come ; out with your story," said Cloten, 
 with nervous vehemence. " What is it ? Out with it I" 
 
 '* I shall take good care not to say anything more, if 
 the first word puts you into such a state." 
 
 " I am not in any state," said Cloten; and to prove it, 
 he dashed his glass upon the table, so that the foot broke 
 to pieces and the wine flooded the marble top. 
 
 " You are a queer fellow," said Barnewitz. " Wait 
 till you have cause to get angry. What does it amount 
 to .-• They say that you are not exactly Darby and Joan ; 
 that your wife has her own way ; that you quarrel occa- 
 sionally so that the servants hear it in the kitchen, and 
 the like." 
 
 " Who says so ? " 
 
 " The whole world ! " 
 
 " And you believe it ? " 
 
 Barnewitz shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 "I shouldn't like to hurt your feelings, Arthur; but I 
 cannot deny it that the way your wife acts looks very 
 suspicious to me. I should not wonder, and no one in 
 our circle would wonder, if she had some little liaison, 
 and I rather think I know the person." 
 
 " I insist upon it that you tell me all you know," 
 said Cloten, with great pathos. 
 
 " Do you recollect the party at my house last sum- 
 mer .-" But of course you do, for we came near killing 
 each other on that occasion. Ha, ha, ha ! Well, on that 
 evening already your wife began to flirt with that con- 
 founded fool — that Doctor Stein — in a way which struck 
 everybody, and me too. But I had totally forgotten the 
 whole affair till I was reminded of it yesterday. You 
 recollect I had left Stilow's because, to tell the truth, 
 
420 Through Night to Light. 
 
 the wine was too bad, and I was very thirsty. I found 
 my way to the city cellars, where the company is low 
 enough but the wine excellent. There were a dozen 
 people — authors, actors, and such stuff — sitting round a 
 table and drinking; among them our old friend Timm, 
 the surveyor, who talked very big. I sat down at some 
 distance, ordered a few dozen oysters and a bottle of 
 champagne, and listened, because I could not help lis- 
 tening. They talked, heaven knows what stuff. I did 
 not understand a word, and was just thinking what a 
 lot of sheep they all were, and my eyes were beginning 
 to be heavy, when I suddenly heard somebody men- 
 tion your name, or rather your wife's name. Of course, 
 I was wide awake in a moment. ' Who is she .'' ' asked 
 somebody. * A wonderful creature,' said Timm. 'Well, 
 and friend Stein is in love with her.' 'That's it!' 
 'What a fellow — that man Stein!' ' How did he get 
 hold of her } ' ' Oh, that is a long story ! ' said Timm ; 
 and then they put their heads together and talked so 
 low that I could not hear the rest. At all events they 
 laughed like madmen, and I had a great mind to pitch 
 a few bottles at their heads." 
 
 " Why didn't you do it .'' " asked Cloten, angrily. 
 
 " I do not like to get into trouble in a strange estab- 
 lishment ; I have had to pay for it often enough," re- 
 plied the philosophic nobleman, pouring the rest of the 
 bottle into his glass. 
 
 Then followed a pause, after which Cloten cried out 
 with much vehemence : " I don't believe a word of it." 
 
 Barnewitz shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " That's the best for you to do." 
 
 " Don't say so ! I won't have it ! " exclaimed Cloten, 
 furiously. 
 
 " I only say what the world says," replied Barnewitz, 
 sipping his wine leisurely. 
 
 " And you think the world says nothing about you } " 
 asked Cloten, ironically. 
 
 "What do they say about me?" cried Barnewitz, 
 
 starting up. " the fellow who dares say a word; 
 
 and I think you, of all men, ought to be most careful 
 not to open your mouth." 
 
Through Night to Light. 421 
 
 " Careful or not, I don't see why I sliould not talk as 
 well as you." 
 
 " What ! a fellow like you ? " said Barnewitz, thrust- 
 ing his hands into his pockets with an air of contempt. 
 " I suppose you think you are w^onderfully successful 
 with the sex 1 " 
 
 Who knows what serious consequences might have 
 arisen from this Avord-combat if the door of the billiard- 
 room had not opened just then to admit Professor 
 Jager, who crept in cautiously, after having first recon- 
 noitred the room through his round glasses. 
 
 Professor Jager's appearance was never specially in- 
 viting, but on this evening there was something peculi- 
 arly unpleasant about the man's pale face. His stereo- 
 typed smile, and the drooping corners of the mouth, 
 contrasted with his effort to give an air of solemnity to his 
 forehead, and to look as melancholy as possible through 
 his spectacles, so that he appeared on the whole not un- 
 like a black torn cat who glides purring and with raised 
 back around a person's leg, preparing to scratch his 
 hands the next moment furiously. 
 
 Thus he drew near to the two noblemen, made a very 
 low bow, and said : 
 
 " I beg ten thousand pardons if I am disturbing the 
 entente cordiale of two bosom friends, but " 
 
 " Come here, professor," said Barnewitz, who wel- 
 comed the interruption; "join us in a glass of pichon. 
 Waiter ! another " 
 
 " Pray, don't ; many thanks. Regret infinitely that I 
 should have interrupted you in your cozy talk ; but I 
 heard at your house, Baron Cloten, that I should find 
 you here, and a matter of importance which I had to 
 communicate " 
 
 "Don't mind me, gentlemen," said Barnewitz. "I'll 
 go into the reading-room till you have done." 
 
 " Pray, pray ; I have only two words " 
 
 " Well, all right. Call me when you have done ! " 
 
 With these words Barnewitz went into the adjoining 
 room, where he rested his elbows on the table and his 
 head on his hands, and then plunged into the mysteries 
 of the Grunwald official journal. 
 
422 Through Night to Light. 
 
 He had no sooner left them than Professor Jager 
 turned to Cloten and said, whispering mysteriously : 
 
 " Baron Cloten, I have to tell you something that will 
 frighten you." 
 
 Cloten turned pale and stepped back. His first thought 
 was that his stables had be'en burnt, and Arabella 
 and Macdonald, his two thoroughbreds, had perished in 
 the flames. The professor did not leave him long in 
 this terrible uncertainty; but with a low, spectral voice, 
 and drawing the corners of his mouth so low down that 
 they seemed to meet under the chin, he said : " Your 
 wife " 
 
 " Ha!" cried Cloten. " What is it.? What has hap- 
 pened.''" 
 
 " I don't know," replied Jager, " but I fear for the 
 worst. Look at this paper [he searched his pockets and 
 produced a folded-up piece of paper]. I found it just 
 now on my wife's writing-table. But before T read to 
 you what is on the paper you must swear you will never 
 tell from whom you have heard it." 
 
 " I'll swear anything you want," said Cloten, with 
 nervous excitement. " What is the matter with the 
 paper.? " 
 
 *' Directly, directly ! First, let me tell you that for 
 some weeks now your wife and mine have become great 
 friends, an intimacy which from the beginning has puz- 
 zled me sorely. Their meetings, I was told, had a purely 
 poetical purpose — you know my wife is president of the 
 Lyric Club — but I was struck by the fact that a third 
 person appeared there always, or at least very frequently, 
 a person against whom I have ever felt an unconquera- 
 ble aversion. This person is " 
 
 "Doctor Stein! I know I Go on," said Cloten, breath- 
 lessly. 
 
 " You know ! — ah, indeed !" replied the professor, with 
 a Mephistophelian smile, which gleamed unpleasantly 
 behind his glasses. " Oh, well ; then the hardest part of 
 my task has been performed by others. Well, sir, if 
 you know it already I will not detain you by telling 
 you how the first spark of suspicion fell into my simple 
 soul ; how subsequent observations fanned this into a 
 
Through Night to Light. 423 
 
 bright flame, which threatened to consume this heart of 
 mine, that only beats for the welfare of my brethren [here 
 the professor laid his hand Avith its black glove on the 
 left side]. I dared not forbid my wife all intercourse 
 with the person in question. You know, sir, poetic 
 minds are apt to be eccentric, and the aesthetic stand- 
 point from which " 
 
 " But I pray you, professor, come to the point," said 
 Cloten, who was standing upon coals. "What was on 
 the paper? " 
 
 " Why, you see," said Jager, opening the paper, " it is 
 the rough sketch of a poem, which I found quite wet yet 
 on my wife's bureau ; the servant told me she had just 
 left the house to pay a visit. Shall I read it to you.^ " 
 
 " Yes; in the devil's name!" cried Cloten, who hardly 
 knew what he was saying. 
 
 Professor Jager arranged his spectacles carefully on 
 his nose, drew the light somewhat nearer, and read, in a 
 half-loud, rattling voice, while the young nobleman was 
 looking over his shoulder : " ' Grunwald, December 10, 
 1847.' You see the date corresponds exactly. 
 
 ' FOR THE ALBUM OF AN ESCAPING PRISONER. 
 
 ' You flee ! — by the light of the twinkling stars, 
 In rapturous flight through Cimmerian night ; 
 You flee ! and alas I would break all the bars, 
 I, who have watched over you day and night ! 
 But terrible bonds have forged me a chain, 
 Which ever in bondage will here me retain. 
 You flee ! — and I stay in Cimmerian night.' 
 
 " You see this poetical eccentricity of a soul generally 
 chaste and full of affection," said the professor, who had 
 read the last lines with a somewhat unsteady voice. 
 
 " Go on ! go on ! " urged Cloten, whose sufferings 
 made him indifferent to the sufferings of others. 
 
 The professor continued : 
 
 " ' You flee ! and the icicles glitter so bright, 
 The hoofs now thunder on quivering ice, 
 You are not frightened by terrible night. 
 You follow the lurings of glorious price. 
 You flee ! and you do what is proper and right ! 
 Why should you remain with a wretched wight 
 A puppet of wood on a couch of ice ?'" 
 
42 4 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " That is meant for me ! " said Cloten, furiously, grind- 
 ing his teeth. 
 
 " Certainly, certainly ! " said the professor ; "but lis- 
 ten : 
 
 " ' You flee ! and yonder on rockiest strand, 
 In nurse's familiar house by the sea, 
 There falls in a moment the hampering band 
 That bound you before, and there is he ! 
 There love in a thousand fiery brooks, 
 Breaks forth in caresses and tenderest looks 
 In Nurse's familiar house by the sea. 
 
 " ' You flee ! and alas 'tis not to the port, 
 
 Where spies are no more nor watching eyes ! 
 Oh flee to the safe, to the only resort. 
 Where wait for you milder and happier skies ! 
 Oh flee to the banks of the beautiful Seine, 
 Where love is at freedom, amain ! amain ! 
 And free from society's hateful lies !' " 
 
 The professor folded up the paper again, pocketed it, 
 and said : 
 
 " This poem troubled me sorely, for I know the way 
 my wife makes her poems. She takes the subject from 
 actual life. But I was much more startled yet, when I 
 went on using a husband's right and examined the 
 papers that were scattered all over her table. I found 
 this little note [here the professor put his hand in his 
 waistcoat pocket]. Do you know the hand-wx'iting. 
 Baron Cloten .? " 
 
 " That is my wife's hand," cried the young nobleman, 
 casting a glance at the paper. " What does she say .-' Let 
 me see! 'AH remains as agreed upon, dear Primula. 
 Everything is ready. We meet at Mrs. Lemberg's. To- 
 morrow at this hour a world divides us. Shall I be 
 able to embrace you once more } I shall be at home at 
 three. I should like to see you so much, but — can you 
 venture to come without rousing suspicion .'' I leave 
 the matter to you. Good-by, good-by, dearest ! Free 
 to-day ! Oh, I can hardly conceive such happiness ! 
 Good-by — a thousand farewells ! ' By the Almighty ! " 
 cried the happy husband, crumpling up the paper and 
 pushing it into his pocket. "Now I see it all ! I never 
 could understand why she was all the time going to see 
 
Through Night to Light. 425 
 
 that old woman in Ferrytown ! But I'll spoil the fun; 
 I'll " 
 
 As the happy man did not exactly know Avhat he was 
 going to do, he broke down, and walked up and down, 
 like a man suffering with a furious toothache. 
 
 Professor Jager looked at him, his head inclined on 
 his right shoulder, and folding his hands in sympathetic 
 emotion ; but he had the air of an ear-owl, gazing with 
 big, staring eyes at a poor foolish bird that has been 
 caught in a snare. 
 
 " You may believe me, my dear sir," he said; " I am 
 heartily sorry for the whole thing ; and I assure you 1 
 would have kept it all to myself if I did not think it was 
 the good shepherd's duty to snatch the lamb from the 
 jaws of the Avolf. For this man is a raving wolf. I 
 found him out at first sight, but they would not believe 
 me. Now they see it clear enough. Only this morning 
 Doctor Black, one of the trustees of the college, came to 
 see me, and to tell me that Doctor Clemens had called 
 for an official inquiry into the conduct of the terrible man, 
 which could not fail to end in his dismissal — his dismissal 
 in disgrace. And while I was still considering how we 
 could best make it known to all the world that he was 
 a wolf in sheep's clothes, chance came to my aid and 
 caused these papers to fall into my hands, which prove 
 clearly that the worst that was reported about this 
 man was not as bad yet as the truth. I knew at once 
 what my duty was. Certain that my wife would never 
 hear of the exposure to which I had been morally 
 forced, and relying on the discretion of a nobleman, I 
 hastened " 
 
 " I must consult Barnewitz," said Cloten, suddenly ; 
 and he made a motion as if he were going into the room 
 where Barnewitz was waiting. 
 
 " For God's sake, my dear sir," cried the frightened 
 professor, " are you going to ruin me } Consider, I 
 pray, you have solemnly promised not to expose Mrs. 
 Jager " 
 
 "Nonsense!" said Cloten; "you surely would not 
 have me go into such a serious matter alone. Barne- 
 witz ! " 
 
426 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " said the latter, looking up from 
 his paper. 
 
 " Just come this way ! I have something important 
 to tell you." 
 
 Barnewitz came, and Cloten told him rapidly what 
 the matter Avas, while the professor stood by, rubbing 
 his hands, in great embarrassment. 
 
 " It cannot be doubted," continued Cloten. " I must 
 tell you frankly I had my suspicions ; but, to be sure, I did 
 not guess that rascal — that man Stein . . . But I see it 
 all now. I knew she was going over to Ferrytown again 
 to-day ; and now I remember she said, contrary to her 
 usual way, she would not be back before night. And 
 then you saw last night — oh, no doubt it is all sol 
 What am I to do "i What ought I to do V And the 
 young man struck his forehead with his closed fist. 
 
 " What ought you to do .'' " said Barnewitz. " Let her 
 run ! " 
 
 " Pardon me," said the professor ; " that would cause 
 an unheard-of scandal, which even now, I think, can only 
 be prevented by very energetic measures." 
 
 " The professor is right," said Cloten ; " we must not 
 let them get off; but I cannot alone. Will you help me, 
 Barnewitz } " 
 
 " Avec p/aisir," replied Barnewitz. " I never could 
 bear the fellow ! " 
 
 " But pericu/um in mora, gentlemen. You must go to 
 work at once ! " chimed in the professor. 
 
 " Well, we will," said Cloten. " Come, Barnewitz ; 
 I'll tell you on the way what I think we had better do. 
 The professor will accompany us part of the way." 
 
 "With pleasure; with great pleasure!" replied the 
 professor. " To be sure, my time is very limited now ; 
 very limited. Ah — here is the door ; I pray, after you, 
 gentlemen ! " 
 
 And the three gentlemen hastily left the restaurant. 
 
Through Night to Light. 427 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE broad sheet of ice between the firm land and 
 the island had been for many a week an immense 
 bridge. People no longer thought of it that 
 they were walking on frozen water, and that the hoofs 
 of the horses were ringing so loud because they were 
 trotting over a vast abyss. What fear they might feel 
 was easily dispersed as they looked at the gigantic blocks 
 of ice which the fishermen had placed as warning-posts 
 around the large holes cut for the fish, provided they 
 did not carelessly drive or walk right into them, which 
 was not likely, at least in the daytime. And as long as 
 the slanting rays of the sun shone on the bright ice, 
 which covered the sound for miles and miles east and 
 west of the town, there Avere crowds of pedestrians to 
 be seen among numerous sleighs, which were often 
 drawn by two and not unfrequently even by four horses. 
 But when the sun had set and the mists were thicken- 
 ing, the moving black thread which connected by day 
 the town with the little village of Ferrytown became 
 thinner and thinner. The fishermen, who have been out 
 fishing miles away, come in on their low sledges ; or, 
 standing upright on their sleighs, and pushing them 
 with a long iron-shod pole, they sweep by, one by one, 
 drifting with marvellous swiftness through the gray 
 fog, like ghosts of the desert, like spirits from the north- 
 ern regions. And now lights are seen on both sides of 
 the sound : a few on the island, many more on the side 
 of the town ; now the stars also, which until now have 
 peeped stealthily here and there only through the dark 
 evening sky, begin to sparkle and shine in groups, so 
 that the eye cannot see enough of their great splendor. 
 But no one minds them. The moving black thread is 
 no longer seen ; only here and there a belated wanderer, 
 who hastens his steps, although knowing full well that 
 nothing can happen to him if he but follows the path ; 
 or a sleigh, one of those small, light one-horse sleighs, 
 which are fitted up in vast numbers during winter by 
 
428 Through Night to Light. 
 
 fishermen and ferrymen in order to serve the restless 
 public. 
 
 Such a sleigh was just trotting past through the dim 
 twilight as night was sinking lower and lower every 
 moment, and fogs and mists began to cover the fields of 
 ice. There was but a single passenger sitting in the 
 sleigh by the side of the driver ; he had a fur cap drawn 
 low over his face, and the collar of his cloak Avas drawn 
 up high. 
 
 As long as they were meeting near the harbor sleighs 
 and foot-passengers on their return, not a word was said 
 by passenger or driver; but when they rode out on the 
 wild desert of ice, when the lights in town were looking 
 him, and the trot of the crop-eared hack was sounding 
 loud and clear, the gentleman raised himself in his cor- 
 ner and said : 
 
 "All in order, Claus.'" 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the handsome youth, turning half 
 round on his seat. 
 
 " Have you heard from your cousin .?" 
 
 " I saw him yesterday myself He will be on the strand 
 near Barow punctually at five. He has his two best 
 horses. They will trot with you until to-morrow at the 
 same hour." 
 
 " That is more than I want, if you know the track to 
 Barow .''" 
 
 " If I know it .' I drive it every day. But I should 
 not advise any one who does not know it as well as I 
 do to drive aside." 
 
 "Why not.?" 
 
 " The Barow people have cut hole upon hole into the 
 ice; and where they stop the Ferrytown holes begin. 
 You see nothing but blue water on your right and on 
 your left. Cheer up. Fox !" 
 
 The crop-eared horse went faster, and the two men re- 
 lapsed into silence. Both listened carefully, but with 
 very different feelings. Claus Lemberg enjoyed the ad- 
 venture, because it stirred up his strong nerves most 
 delightfully, and brought out his cunning and his cour- 
 age, the two qualities which he was proudest of in his 
 whole nature. The other man looked at it more thought- 
 
Through Night to Light. 429 
 
 fully. He knew he was taking a step which he could 
 never retrace, a step which was to decide not only his 
 own fate — that mattered little — but also the fate of 
 another being, a woman, who had won a right to his 
 love by her own sacrificing love, a woman who had 
 given up rank and riches, and every advantage which 
 her birth and her social position gave her, for the sole 
 purpose of being his, and who now was waiting for him 
 in anxiety and anguish on yonder shore, from which 
 the lights began to beckon to him. His heart was natu- 
 rally full of anxious care. He had broken off the bridge 
 behind him ; he was hastening toward a future as black 
 as the night by which he was surrounded, but by no 
 means lighted up by as many bright, sparkling stars. 
 But no matter — the die is cast ; he cannot go back. For- 
 ward then, forward ! What is that .'' A sleigh coming 
 behind us.'* 
 
 Oswald raised himself and listened, but Claus's sharp 
 ears had already discovered the direction from which 
 the sound came. 
 
 " It is a two-horse sleigh from over yonder," he said, 
 turning a little to the right. " They have fine horses ; 
 they'll be here directly." 
 
 Almost at the same moment they saw the sleigh — a 
 da^rk mass, which slipped through the darkness like a 
 flash of lightning. As they passed each other the dri- 
 ver checked the horses a moment, and a voice asked : 
 
 " This is the track, isn't it 1 " 
 
 " Straight ahead.' " was Claus's reply. 
 
 Then again the same voice : 
 
 '' The ice is strong enougli for two horses ? " 
 
 " Oh, for four ! " replied Clans. 
 
 " Thanks ! " 
 
 " Welcome ! " 
 
 And the sleigh moved on swiftly again. 
 
 "Strange!" murmured Oswald; "I thought I heard 
 Oldenburg's voice. What strange tricks our fancy can 
 play us ! " 
 
 The rest of the journey to Ferrytown was accom- 
 plished in silence. They reached it in a few minutes. 
 Lights were shining in the houses up on the bluffs. Be- 
 
43° Throtigh Night to Light. 
 
 low, near the ferry, where an inn was standing, there 
 was much life; the windows were bright; music was 
 heard ; sleighs were standing before the door. 
 
 Claus stopped ; Oswald got out. 
 
 " I'll drive along the beach as far as our house," said 
 Claus, "and wait for you there. But make haste. In 
 half an hour the moon rises, and then they can see us 
 two miles on the ice." 
 
 " Don't be afraid. We shall not keep you waiting." 
 
 Oswald went past the inn, up the steep village street; 
 then he turned to the right and hastened along the low 
 cottages, which there line the beach, until he came to 
 the last of the row. Through a crack in the shutters 
 which protected the low window there came a faint ray 
 of light. Oswald gave three measured knocks against 
 the shutter. Immediately the door was opened cau- 
 tiously. Oswald slipped in. In the hall he was met by 
 an old woman of tall stature and large frame, holding a 
 light in her hand ; by her side stood a frail, youthful per- 
 son, who fell into Oswald's arms as he entered. 
 
 " At last ! at last ! " 
 
 " At last ! Emily .? Why, I come by the minute ! " 
 
 " Maybe ! I am nearly dead with impatience." 
 
 " Is everything ready .'' " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Did anybody see you when you left .'' " 
 
 " No one, except Jager's wife ; she insisted upon 
 coming with me. I could not get rid of her. She is 
 in the room there." 
 
 " The fool ! " 
 
 "Don't scold her. We owe her much; be kind to her!" 
 
 " She will show our enemies the way." 
 
 " I am not afraid of that. Cloten is quite unsuspi- 
 cious. I told him I would not be back till night. 
 Come in ! " 
 
 Emily drew Oswald into the little low room, where 
 Primula was standing by a table, making tea. As soon 
 as she saw Oswald she rushed into his arms. 
 
 "Oswald!" she cried, "this is the last moment! A 
 cup of tea, some rum, and you must go ! Be brave and 
 firm ! " 
 
Through Night to Light. 431 
 
 " Time is precious," said Oswald, disengaging him- 
 self from Primula's embrace. " We must go, Emily." 
 
 " Not without having drained this cup," said Primula, 
 pouring the tea into a cup. " You know, Oswald, it is 
 cold without, and in the night air we shiver ; even we 
 immortal gods." 
 
 Primula's effort to be jocular was a failure; tears 
 drowned her voice, she sat down on a settee, pressed 
 her hand on her face, and sobbed. But a moment and 
 she jumped up again. 
 
 "No womanly weakness, Primula," she cried; "we 
 must be strong now. Drink, friends, drink ; and then 
 out into the dark night and the star-crowned life! " 
 
 "Come, Oswald," said Emily, who stood there ready 
 for the journey ; " Mrs. Jager is right ; a cup of tea will 
 do no harm, and a few minutes more or less can make 
 no difference." 
 
 " I wish we were off," said Oswald, taking the cup she 
 was offering him from her hand. 
 
 He had hardly uttered these words when somebody 
 knocked violently against the shutter. 
 
 All looked frightened at each other. 
 
 " Hallo ! " cried a voice. 
 
 "For heaven's sake! That is Arthur!" said Emily. 
 " We are lost." 
 
 " Farewell, my friends ! " cried Primula, and dashed 
 into the adjoining chamber, after having in vain tried to 
 break open the door of a huge wardrobe. 
 
 " Hush ! " said the old woman. " We are not so easily 
 caught here in Ferrytown. Not a word ! " 
 
 She went to the window and said, " Who is there } " 
 
 " Is the Baroness Cloten here .'' I have important news 
 for her." 
 
 The old woman turned round and whispered, 
 
 " Make haste and get away ; I will try to keep him 
 here. What do you want of her ? " 
 
 Oswald and Emily did not hear the reply. They 
 slipped stealthily, holding each other's hand, through 
 the hall to the back door, which opened upon the sea. 
 A flight of steps led down to the beach. Below was the 
 sleigh. Once in the sleigh they were safe. 
 
432 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Stay behind me," said Oswald when they came to 
 the door. 
 
 The door was closed by an iron clasp. Oswald 
 opened it cautiously. Everything was quiet. The 
 wintry sky looked down with its bright stars. 
 
 " There is nobody here," whispered Oswald. " Come !" 
 
 They had no sooner stepped out than the door was 
 closed violently and with a bang, evidently by somebody 
 who had been standing behind it, who now, as if to cut 
 off the retreat of the fugitives, was leaning against it 
 with his broad shoulders. 
 
 In such moments the mind acts promptly, and Oswald 
 recognized instantly by the aid of the starlight and the 
 sheen of the snow that the broad-shouldered form before 
 him was that of Baron Barnewitz. 
 
 " We are betrayed," he whispered ; " but they shall pay 
 for it. Quick Emily, step into the sleigh ; I'll follow." 
 
 "But not just now!" said Barnewitz, leaping upon 
 Oswald, and seizing him by the shoulders with both 
 hands. 
 
 Oswald tore himself away, and jumping back a litile 
 distance, so as to have elbow-room, he seized one of the 
 iron-shod pikes which the fishermen use in propelling 
 their sleds, and of which several Avere standing in tlie 
 corner. He struck his adversary with it so terrible a 
 blow that the latter, in spite of his gigantic size and 
 enormous strength, fell down without uttering a sound. 
 
 In an instant Oswald had overtaken Emily, and put- 
 ting his arm around her waist he bore her down the 
 steep steps. 
 
 Below, on the snow of the narrow beach, stood the 
 sleigh. 
 
 He put Emily in and followed her. 
 
 " We are betrayed, Glaus," he said ; " drive fast. It is 
 a matter of life and death." 
 
 Clans clacked his tongue and the crop-cared hack went 
 off. 
 
 " Thought so ! " said Claus, turning half round. " A 
 minute ago a slcigli came and stopped not a hundred 
 yards from here. I saw two men get out and climb up 
 the bluff. I was just going to follow them and to warn 
 
ThfQugh Night to Light. 433 
 
 you, when yovi were coming' out at the door. Now it's all 
 right. I should like to see the horses that can overtake 
 Claus Lemberg and his Fox." 
 
 " Vou might soon have that satisfaction," said Oswald, 
 who had been looking behind; "there they are coming. 
 It seems these bulls do not fall at one blow, and want to 
 make the acquaintance of a bullet. Where is the box I 
 gave you, Claus .' " 
 
 " Just behind you, in the straw." 
 
 Oswald opened the box, took one of the two pistols 
 that were in it, and cocked it. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, Oswald, what are you going to 
 do .'' " said Emily, who had not uttered a word since 
 they were in the sleigh. 
 
 " Slioot down the first man who dares touch you." 
 
 "Oh, God! oh, God! " 
 
 " For whom do you tremble ; for me .'' or for him ? 
 You have time yet. He will forgive you, I am sure, if 
 you turn back now ; — perhaps lecture you a little in 
 Barnewitz's presence." 
 
 " How can you talk so 1 I turn back .' Rather dead 
 at the bottom of the sea! " 
 
 " That may come too," murmured Oswald. 
 
 Oswald thought the crop-eared hack, however swiftly 
 he cut with his rough-shod shoes into the ice, could cer- 
 tainly not long keep up the speed so as to escape from 
 the two thoroughbreds before the sleigh of his pursuers. 
 He had a start of a few thousand yards, but that could 
 not avail much, as the distance from Ferrytown to the 
 village of Barow was over a mile. There they were to 
 find another sleigh, provided by one of Claus's cousins, 
 who was overseer on one of the Breesen estates, and ready 
 to do and to risk anything in the world for jNIiss Emily. 
 
 " Once more, Emily: Avhat do you want me to do if 
 they overtake us.'' " asked Oswald, bending down to the 
 little woman, who sat there silently, wrapped up in her 
 furs. 
 
 " Defend yourself like a man ! " 
 
 " And if I succumb .'' " 
 
 "Then I jump into the first air-hole we meet with ! 
 Better at the bottom of the sea than in his power! " 
 19 
 
434 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Are you quite sure? " 
 
 " As sure as I live, and as I love you." 
 
 Oswald bent down and kissed the beautiful, pale face. 
 
 *' Now it is all right," he said ; " now come what may." 
 Those were terrible minutes, and the gloomy surround- 
 ings only heightened the impressive character of the 
 situation. All was perfectly silent around them ; noth- 
 ing was heard but the ceaseless striking of hoofs on the 
 ringing ice, and that peculiar sound, resembling a long- 
 drawn sigh, which is produced when an object moves 
 with great rapidity over a plain of ice. As far as the 
 eye reached nothing but the fearful solitude of a plain 
 covered with a thin layer of snow, and the dark night 
 lowering over it like a leaden cover. Even the stars 
 were now hid by a light, drizzling fog, and yet it began 
 to be lighter and lighter every moment. A reddish streak 
 on the gray sky announced the rising moon. The sleigh 
 of the pursuers could already be seen more distinctly, 
 like a great black spot, which grew every instant greater 
 and blacker as the light on the sky grew brighter. 
 
 Only a few minutes had passed since they had left 
 Ferrytown, but they appeared to Oswald an eternity. 
 He looked ahead for the shore, but nothing could be seen 
 yet; he looked behind at the pursuers, and the great 
 black spot had again grown larger and blacker. 
 
 " We can't do it, Glaus," said Oswald. 
 
 "What will you bet, sir.?" replied Claus. "I will 
 eat Fox alive if he does not win. Why, sir, there is no 
 such horse to be found far and near. We are some 
 twenty sleigh-owners in Ferrytown, and thirty over in 
 Grunwald, and all of us have good horses in our sleighs, 
 but Fox beats them all. Eh, Fox } " 
 
 And, as if Fox had been cheered by the praise of his 
 master, he shook his cropped mane, and cut with his 
 sharp hoofs faster and faster into the clear ice. 
 
 " But those are uncommon horses." 
 
 Claus laughed. 
 
 " And that's exactly wh}' I don't trouble myself They 
 can't stand it; and then they are afraid of the air-holes. 
 In a few minutes you will see they will fall behind, or I 
 will eat Fox alive." 
 
Thyough Night to Light. 435 
 
 Perhaps Fox was afraid of the terrible fate with which 
 he was threatened if he should allow himself to be over- 
 taken, and made desperate efforts ; perhaps Cloten's 
 horses began really to be tried by this unusual chase on 
 the smooth ice, or to be frightened by the black water 
 of the air-holes ; at all events, Claus's prophecy began 
 to become true almost as soon as he had uttered it. Al- 
 though it was dawning brighter and brighter on the 
 horizon, the black spot became perceptibly smaller and 
 less distinct ; and when at last the full moon rose over 
 the gray edge of the ice, and poured her pale light over 
 the vast level plain, the black spot was no longer to be 
 seen on the white surface. 
 
 " Well, didn't I tell you 1 " asked Claus, turning 
 round and showing his white teeth, "that there isn't a 
 horse that can overtake Fox .'' Up, Fox ! " 
 
 Claus had turned round towards his horse. On, on 
 they flew, with the swiftness of an arrow, over the low 
 thundering abyss, past the weird glittering of waters, 
 on which the pale moon cast an uncanny sheen. The 
 icy north wind whistled around their ears as it swept 
 mournfully and plaintively over the snow-covered fields. 
 Oswald and Emily held each other in close embrace. 
 Glad to have escaped the danger, they enjoyed the bliss 
 of a love whose sweet flowers they were gathering on 
 the brink of a fearful abyss, and willingly forgot for a 
 few moments how deep that abyss was, and how full of 
 unspeakable horrors. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IT was March. On the twenty-fourth of February the 
 Republic had been proclaimed in France. The 
 grand event spread its effect in concentric circles 
 over the whole of the civilized earth. The capital, also, 
 had been excited, and a feverish agitation prevailed for 
 a few days already in all circles of society — a kind of 
 
436 Through Night to Light. 
 
 confusion, of nervous trembling, such as befalls men 
 when they are suddenly roused from deep sleep by a 
 dazzling light, and do not know exactly where to find 
 their head ; and at the same time they feel a secret hor- 
 ror of the night in Avhich they have so long slept an un- 
 natural sleep — a confused idea that, after all, the golden 
 light of the sun is a very precious thing ; a hopeful ex- 
 pectant stretching and moving in all their limbs, so that 
 the watchmen, who have kept and guarded the gigantic 
 sleeper in his dreams, become anxious to begin to con- 
 verse with each other. " We will have to put him in iron 
 chains," they whisper, "or he may actually rise ; and 
 then, woe unto us ! " 
 
 There was. a lively time one fine bright evening at 
 the " Booths," the principal resort of respectable citizens, 
 who were in the habit of amusing themselves here on 
 Sunday afternoons with wife and child by enjoying a 
 mixture of music, beer, and sausages ; but any one who 
 had at all followed the events of the last days in the 
 great city might have doubted for a moment whether 
 this was a political meeting or a popular entertainment. 
 Perhaps it meant both. Work, that strict task-master, 
 had been cheated out of an hour only ; and the sim- 
 ple fact that such masses were here assembled, which 
 no police constable Avould readily dare interrupt or 
 trouble, aroused in the assembled crowds a sense of ex- 
 uberant self-respect, a very unusual festive excitement. 
 Then the blue sky of early spring looked so lovely; the 
 slender, leafless branches and twigs of the trees in the 
 park were so clearly defined against the clear back- 
 ground, and the evening sun was shining warm and 
 hopeful down upon the thousands who crowded the vast 
 open space between the coffee-houses and the river on 
 one side, and the park on the other side. The pressure 
 was especially great near the wooden stand on the edge 
 of the park, which was ordinarily occupied by a band, 
 but from whence to-day a very novel kind of music was 
 heard — a music which was so strange to the people, and 
 perhaps on that account far more attractive than all tlie 
 waltzes of Larmer or Strauss. Further off, towards the 
 coffee-houses, where the speakers could no longer be 
 
Through Night to Light. 437 
 
 heard distinctly, people seemed to be merrier. Here 
 the waiters could scarcely hurry up as many glasses 
 of the favorite white beer as thirsty gullets were clam- 
 oring for, Itinerant venders offered rolls and sau- 
 sages, half-grown boys praised their cigars with gos- 
 ling voices, and even jugglers and acrobats played their 
 tricks. 
 
 Two men were slowly making their way arm in arm 
 through the heaving crowd. Their appearance was sig- 
 nally different from that of the mass of the people, 
 Avhich consisted, mainly of men, especially young men, 
 of the lower classes. One of the two was very tall and 
 thin; his gray eyes looked so keen and bright from un- 
 der the heavy brows, and around the well-shaped straight 
 nose tliere was so much life and meaning, that one could 
 very easily supply the lower part of the face, which was 
 completely covered with a close black beard. His car- 
 riage was careless, like that of a man who is too busy 
 with his thoughts to lay much stress upon external forms; 
 and his clothes, which were made after the last fashion, 
 and of the very best material, hung so easily and com- 
 fortably on his spare form that one could easily see the 
 owner believed in the doctrine that clothes were made 
 for men, and not men for clothes. The appearance of 
 his companion was perhaps even rnore striking. He 
 was nearly a head shorter than his tall friend, bvit much 
 broader in the shoulders. And yet he stooped like a 
 man who has spent half of his life in reading books. His 
 large well-shaped brow, and his deep, meek, dreamy 
 eyes, also bespoke the scholar, the thinker. His hair, 
 which he wore rather long, was already nearly gray, and 
 so were the bushy eyebrows, and the beard, which flowed 
 in abundant masses from cheeks, lips, and chin, down to 
 his waist. He glanced restlessly at the crowd, and com- 
 municated his observations to his companion with a pas- 
 sionate energy, which characterized his whole manner; 
 the other simply smiling, nodded his head, or replied in 
 a few short words to the point. 
 
 " Well, how do you like it .''" asked the man of the 
 broad shoulders. 
 
 " Not so badly," replied the tall one. 
 
438 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " But do you think this people will ever dare venture 
 upon a revolution?" 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 " Look at these stupid faces, listen to these miserable 
 jokes with which they try to drown their instinct of the 
 grave nature of the situation, and the painful feeling of 
 their own insignificance. See how the people, at the very 
 hour when they hear liberty and justice eloquently dis- 
 cussed, still have time and relish for panan et Hrcenses, 
 and you see enough to smother the last spark of hope 
 that these men will ever talk of freedom, much less fight 
 for it." 
 
 " You are still a pessimist, Berger ! and in spite of the 
 golden sunlight which at last shines once more after so 
 many dark years of your life." 
 
 " It is this very sunlight which fills my heart with such 
 impatience. During the gray winter days we think it 
 quite natural that the trees raise their bare branches to 
 the sky; but when the first balmy air of spring plays 
 around us, and the sky is blue once more, we long to see 
 the green ocean of leaves twittering and rustling in the 
 breeze ; and above all, when the winter has been so 
 long and so hard that it has taken all our strength from 
 us, and we have no right to hope to live into summer ! " 
 
 " The dead travel fast ! You have seen that in 
 Paris." 
 
 " At that moment a man approached them who had 
 for some time looked at the two gentlemen as if he did 
 not quite trust his own eyes, and said to Berger, 
 
 " Is this really you, professor? " 
 
 " Why, see there ! my old friend ! " replied Berger, let- 
 ting go Oldenburg's arm, and offering his hand to the 
 new-comer. " How did you get here ? " 
 
 " Alas ! " said the man, " that is a sad story. If you 
 will come with me a little way — I would rather speak to 
 you alone." 
 
 " Excuse me a moment," said Berger to Oldenburg, 
 and went aside with the man. 
 
 Oldenburg looked at the latter not without astonish- 
 ment. His was a powerful bod}-, with a broad, well- 
 developed chest and long arms, while the head appeared 
 
Through Night to Light. 439 
 
 not less massive. In the coarse, bloated features one 
 might read, by the side of much good-nature, and jovial 
 humor also, not a little cunning, but of perfectly harmless 
 nature. To judge by his appearance the man was not 
 exactly well-to-do. His gray felt hat had evidently seen 
 many a stormy day before it had been reduced to its 
 forlorn condition. The black velvet coat, very shabby, 
 and covered with rusty-looking frogs, had evidently 
 seen better days ; so also the large linen trousers, the 
 color of which was not easily distinguished, and the 
 boots, which began to burst in a threatening manner. 
 A red-silk handkerchief, boldly twisted around the sun- 
 burnt, muscular neck, completed the expression of re- 
 duced artistic merit which the whole person bore in all 
 its features. 
 
 Berger spoke a few minutes earnestly with the man; 
 then they went a little further aside, and Oldenburg's 
 sharp eye saw how Berger pulled out his purse and 
 pressed a few pieces of money in the hands of the 
 stranger. Then they separated ; the man disappeared in 
 the crowd, the professor came back. 
 
 " Who Avas that strange person.?" 
 
 " A man of whom I have often spoken to you : Di- 
 rector Caspar Schmenckel, of Vienna." 
 
 " Ah ! " exclaimed Oldenburg; " why did you not tell 
 me so at once." I should like to make the acquaintance 
 of a man with whom Czika has lived so long." 
 
 " He will call upon us in a few days. The poor man 
 is in despair since Xenobia and Czika have left him; he 
 has met with nothing but misfortune. First, his clown 
 died ; then his first artist ran away; and the others he has 
 been compelled to dismiss on account of chronic want 
 of money. Now he lounges about in all the inns o*f the 
 city, and gives performances on his own account." 
 
 " We must take care of him," said Oldenburg. " He 
 has treated Czika well, and I am under obligations to 
 him. Besides, he seems to be a good fellow. 13ut let us 
 go home. The thing here comes to nothing, as I ex- 
 pected, at least for to-day." 
 
 As the two friends were leaving, a young man had 
 just gone up on the stand and demanded to speak. He 
 
44° Through Night to Light. 
 
 was of a coarse, thick-set figure, but the handsome, well- 
 shaved face was fall of life and cleverness; and as he 
 now took off his hat, brushed his long light hair from 
 his white, well-shaped forehead, he looked more like a 
 precocious boy who has put on spectacles for fun, than 
 like a man who has a right to address thousands. If 
 the finely-cut features had something aristocratic, his 
 more than modest costume placed him far from the 
 privileged classes. His voice was peculiarly high and 
 sharp and clear, and when he became more animated 
 it sounded somewhat like the clang of a trumpet, so that 
 it could be heard all over the large square to the furthest 
 corner. 
 
 " Gentlemen," he said, and a smile of irony played 
 around his lips, "what would you say of a man who has 
 a pointed arrow in his quiver, and the strongest bow to 
 shoot that arrow ; and who, nevertheless, is good-natured 
 enough to send the sharp arrow, not by means of the 
 strong bow, but with his feeble hand 1 Well, gentle- 
 men, we are exactly like that foolish man. The arrow 
 in the quiver is the petition with the nine articles, as 
 we modestly call the just demands of a nation ; the 
 deputation chosen from among us, which is to present 
 the address to-morrow to the king, is the feeble hand. 
 How far will it send the arrow .•* To the threshold of 
 the king's palace — no further ! I tell you, gentlemen, 
 the feeble hand of the deputation will in vain knock at 
 the gate. His majesty will be graciously pleased to 
 refuse accepting our petition, and the deputation will 
 return Avithout having accomplished anything." 
 
 When the orator had finished the phrase, raising his 
 voice very high, a murmur passed through the assembly 
 not unlike a violent gust of wind that sweeps over the 
 sea. A few cried "bravo ! " among them the gentleman 
 in the shabby velvet coat, who had pushed his way close 
 to the platform, and wlio had listened to tlie speaker 
 with great delight, which he tried to express by nods, 
 grunts, and more violent applause. The majority, how- 
 ever, was evidently opposed to energetic measures. For 
 one who cried bravo, there were a hundred who shook 
 their heads and whispered their misgivings. 
 
Through Night to Light. 441 
 
 The young man was not intimidated by these signs 
 of dissatisfaction. He repeated with great emphasis, 
 
 " The deputation will return without having accom- 
 plished anything ! And it serves us right. Why do 
 we use the hand, when the bow lies idle in the grasp, close 
 by us } Do you want to know Avho the bow is .? We 
 are the bow ; I mean the whole assembly. If we went 
 four, five, or six thousand, as many as we are here, in 
 close phalanx, and carried the petition, our speaker 
 ahead, up to the palace, I should like to see the gates 
 that would not open, the menials who would refuse to 
 admit us, the chamberlain who would dare to say : Gen- 
 tlemen, his majesty is at tea, and cannot see you." 
 
 " Bravo ! bravo ! " cried the gentleman in the velvet 
 coat, and clapping his hands furiously But the crowd was 
 not at all pleased with this humorous way of treating so 
 serious a matter. They hissed and whistled and cried 
 from all sides. It was only with great difficulty that 
 the president, a man in a broad-brimmed hat and with 
 a long beard, who looked somewhat like an author, 
 could restore peace by repeatedly knocking with his 
 cane on the table. The orator, quite unconcerned, gath- 
 ered the whole strength of his clear voice, and trumpeted 
 down upon the assembly : 
 
 " I have not offered the resolution to proceed in a 
 body to the palace because I expected it to be adopted, 
 but simply in order to show you what manner of men 
 you are. Pioneers of freedom, my predecessor called 
 you. Yes, indeed ! Freedom will be much benefited by 
 you, if you are not even now able to rouse yourself 
 from the sleepy confidence in which you have rested 
 these thirty years " 
 
 Whatever else the young man said could not be 
 heard, for the last words had brought down the storm 
 which had been brewing for some time. " Down with 
 him ! " cried those who stood nearest ; " Knock him 
 down ! " those at a distance. 
 
 It is not improbable that the last threat would have 
 
 been carried out by the insulted men if the powerful 
 
 man in the velvet coat had not embraced the orator 
 
 enthusiastically as soon as he came down from the plat- 
 
 iq* 
 
442 Through Night to Light. 
 
 Form, declaring himself thus openly his friend and pro- 
 tector. No one seemed to desire engaging in a fight 
 with a man of such herculean build ; at least they 
 allowed the two to leave the assembly unmolested, in 
 spite of the striking minority in which they had found 
 themselves. 
 
 The new friends turned into one of the avenues which 
 lead near the stand from the open space of the " Booths " 
 into the park. As soon as they were alone the man in 
 the velvet coat once more shook hands with the young 
 man of the light hair, and said, with great cordiality, 
 
 " I am exceedingly delighted to make the acquaint- 
 ance of such a capital fellow." 
 
 " So am I ! So am I ! " replied the young man, ex- 
 amining his admirer with a quick, sharp glance from 
 his blue eyes, and pushing his spectacles with his finger 
 higher up on his nose in order to be the better able to 
 do so. " With whom have I the honor 1 " 
 
 The gentleman in the velvet coat stepped back, threw 
 his chest out, lifted his much-tried hat, and said, 
 
 " I am Director Caspar Schmenckel, from Vienna." 
 
 "Ah," replied the other, lightly; "glad to make your 
 acquaintance. My name is Timm, Albert Timm." 
 
 " You are not an artist .'' " said Mr. Schmenckel, con- 
 fidentially. 
 
 " How so .'' " asked Mr. Timm, evasively. 
 
 Director Schmenckel imitated the gesture of one who 
 throws a very heavy object with both hands straight 
 up in the air, in order to let it fall again upon the neck. 
 
 "Aha! " said Mr. Timm, who quickly understood in 
 which region of the fine arts the director had been 
 gathering his laurels ; " pardon me that I was not per- 
 sonally acquainted with a man of your distinction ; but 
 I have only been here a few days." 
 
 " Well, I thought so," replied Mr. Schmenckel, as 
 they proceeded arm in arm. "You are a noble fellow; 
 very different from these poor creatures hereabouts. 
 You speak as you think ; as you feel in your heart. Cas- 
 par Schmenckel likes such fellows, and if he can be of 
 any service to you say the word and it's done." 
 
 " Much obliged, director. Delighted to have the 
 
Through Night to Light. 443 
 
 honor of your acquaintance. I presume you are per- 
 forming here in the capital with your troupe ? " 
 
 "Performing? — Hem! hem!" said Mr. Schmenckel, 
 clearing his throat. " To tell the truth, you do not see 
 Director Schmenckel just now /// floribus. I have been 
 compelled by many reasons to disband my old troupe, 
 and I am just now engaged in forming a new one — a 
 task which has its difficulties, as you may imagine. In 
 the meantime " 
 
 "You are living in private .-* " 
 
 " In a certain way, yes ; that is to say, I perform from 
 time to time before a few friends ; but, you know, only 
 to keep my hand in, that is all." 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " Thus I am in a certain way engaged to perform 
 to-night in a very noble locality, where I meet the very 
 best society ; and if you will do me the honor " 
 
 "You are very kind." 
 
 "You will find very nice people there; perfectly free 
 and easy; all of them democrats to the core, although 
 they drink prodigiously little water, I should think. 
 Ha, ha, ha ! I have been a daily guest at the ' Dismal 
 Hole ' ever since the winter began, and yet I have never 
 liked it so well as since we have gotten a new landlady. 
 She has been there about a week." 
 
 "Indeed! " 
 
 " I shall be proud to make you acquainted with her. 
 Mrs. Rose Pape is a model of a woman." 
 
 " What did you say .? " suddenly asked Mr. Timm, with 
 great animation. 
 
 " I said Mrs. Rose Pape is a capital woman." 
 
 " Did you not say she had taken the business quite 
 lately 1 " 
 
 " Yes ; for she used to be a midwife. The French 
 revolution has made her an innkeeper." 
 
 " That is original." 
 
 "Isn't it.' But then Mrs. Rose is an original, too. 
 She has a wonderful knack for business; and when the 
 trouble commenced in Paris, she said: 'Now golden 
 days are coming for beer-houses with female waiters! ' 
 The next day she had rented the ' Dismal Hole.' " 
 
444 ThrougJi Night to Light. 
 
 " I am exceedingly anxious to n:iake the acquaintance 
 of the excellent lady." 
 
 During this conversation the friends had followed 
 little frequented paths in the park, and were now near 
 the magnificent gate which leads on this side straight 
 from the park into the city. The crowd at the Booths 
 must have dissolved immediately after they had left it, 
 for the head of an immense procession coming from that 
 direction had just reached the gate. Here they met 
 the crowd that were still coming from the city into the 
 park. It could not be avoided ; the crowds met and 
 filled the narrow passages of the great gate immedi- 
 ately before the guard-house, where a company of sol- 
 diers was standing with arms grounded. The people 
 gazed and wondered at the unusual sight. Others 
 pushed their way up to see what was the matter. In an 
 instant the guard-house was surrounded by hundreds of 
 men standing in a semi-circle, which was steadily grow- 
 ing smaller and smaller. The captain in command of 
 the company, a tall officer with a savage expression in 
 his sharply-marked features, cast furious glances at the 
 multitude, but did not deign to say a word. It was 
 easy to see what was going on in his soul. Suddenly 
 he gave an order with an angrily-shrill voice : '' Atten- 
 tion ! Eyes right! Shoulder arms ! Attention! Load!" 
 
 The ramrods rattled, and in an instant the order was 
 obeyed. 
 
 It had been intended as a warning merely for the 
 crowd ; but, as it will happen in such cases, it produced 
 exactly the opposite effect to what had been intended. 
 Those who stood nearest could not move back, and 
 those behind had only become more curious to know 
 what the noise of the ramrods meant. A fatal encoun- 
 ter between the soldiers and the people seemed una- 
 voidable. 
 
 Just then a tall man pushed his way between the idlers 
 and walked up to the captain. 
 
 " Allow me to say a word to you." 
 
 " What do you want.'' " 
 
 " My name is Oldenburg. I have the honor to ad- 
 dress Count Grieben.'' " 
 
Through Night to Light. 445 
 
 The officer touched his helmet to salute. " Glad to 
 see you as^ain, baron, after so many years. Come in 
 time; shall be compelled to fire upon the rabble." 
 
 " It was to prevent that that I begged leave to intro- 
 duce myself. You have a simple and infallible means 
 to induce these people to move on, and thus to pre- 
 vent an irreparable calamity." 
 
 " What is that.^ " 
 
 " Let your men retire into the guard-house." 
 
 " What are you thinking of ! to make such a con- 
 cession to the rabble .'' Besides, it is against orders." 
 
 " Then summon the people, at least, to go home." 
 
 " I have no desire to open negotiations with the cra- 
 piile." 
 
 " Will you permit me to do so 1 " 
 
 " As you like," replied the officer, leaving Olden- 
 burg with cold politeness. 
 
 Oldenburg advanced a few steps towards the close 
 semi-circle and said, speaking as loud as he could, 
 
 " Gentlemen, you are in some danger if you remain 
 standing here. Many of you have been in the army, and 
 know that the soldier has to obey orders, and no ques- 
 tions allowed. Don't, therefore, force your fellow-citi- 
 zens, who are here under arms, to turn against you. 
 Let us avail ourselves of our right to go wliere we choose 
 to go. It is. a bore to remain standing so long on the 
 same spot." 
 
 " He is right," said a square-shouldered citizen from 
 the head of the crowd. "I will begin to scatter off! " 
 
 The people laughed. And as the shrill voice of a 
 cigar-dealer began to sing, " Move slowly, slowly, good 
 Austrians, now ! " the dense crowd gradually got into 
 motion, especially as at that moment cries and other 
 poises arose in a different direction and attracted the 
 curious among them. 
 
 Some distance higher up the Lindens — for Unter den 
 Linden is the name of tlie superb street which leads 
 from the gate to the palace — a collision had taken place 
 between the people and one of tlie numerous patrols 
 who liad been marching up and down for some hours 
 now between the palace and the gate. Unfortunately 
 
446 Through Night td Light. 
 
 there had been no Oldenburg here to interfere and pre- 
 vent the mischief. The commander of the patrol — a 
 second detachment was marching on a level on the op- 
 posite side of the street — was an officer of gigantic stat- 
 ure, whose dark, threatening mein announced the firm 
 determination to punish the slightest resistance instantly 
 and without mercy. Everybody had so timidly given 
 way before him, as he marched down at the head of his 
 men, that he seemed to be justified in smiling contempt- 
 uously whenever such an event occurred. But now he 
 came to a place where a narrow but much frequented 
 side street opened upon the Lindens. This passage was 
 crammed full of people, who wanted to see what was 
 going on in the main street. From the Lindens others 
 came who wished to go down that passage. Thus an 
 immense mass of people had been crowded together here, 
 and the confusion, great as it was, became still more 
 awkward, when the patrol marched straight down upon 
 them. 
 
 " Make way ! " ordered the officer, marching into the 
 crowd without looking right or left. 
 
 Those who stood nearest gave way to the side, but 
 others pressed back upon them. A short confusion 
 arose, during which the officer was cut off" from his men. 
 
 "Make way!-" repeated the officer, in still harsher 
 tones. 
 
 "Make way yourself!" cried a young man in the 
 crowd. 
 
 He had no sooner uttered the words than the officei 
 rushed upon him, seized him by the collar and tossed 
 him, by a slight effort of his powerful arm, into the 
 midst of his men, saying : 
 
 " Arrest the rascal ! " 
 
 The soldiers seized the young man, who tried in vain 
 to free himself 
 
 " Knock the dog down if he resists ! " cried the officer. 
 
 Who knows but the soldiers would have done his 
 bidding if at that moment Mr. Schmcnckel had not 
 suddenly appeared before the officer, crying out : 
 
 " Let the man go, your excellency, or ten thou- 
 sand " 
 
Through Night to Light. 447 
 
 The officer of the Life Guards and the man of the 
 people stood a few moments opposite each other, both 
 of them men of gigantic size, surprisingly alike in their 
 tall figure, their full chest and ample shovdders, with 
 long, muscular arms ; yes, as they stared at each other 
 with fierce passion, there was some resemblance even in 
 the massive, coarse features. 
 
 But it was only a moment during which they stood 
 thus; at the next moment the officer had hit the man 
 with all his strength upon his chest in order to gain 
 room to draw his sword. But he might as well have 
 moved a rock from its place as the man in the velvet- 
 coat. Tlie blow sounded dull on the broad chest — that 
 was all; but at the same time the man extended his 
 powerful arms, seized the officer around the waist, lifted 
 him sheer from the ground, and threw him with such 
 violence against the soldiers, wlio had their hands full 
 in holding the young man, that officer, men, and pris- 
 oner all roiled together in a heap. 
 
 " Hurrah ! " cried the delighted crowd, admiring the 
 display of physical strength. " Hurrah ! At them ! 
 Down vv'ith the soldiers! " 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel probably did not expect much as- 
 sistance from the courage of the crowd. He drew the 
 prisoner with one great effort from out of the confused 
 heap of men, and before the officer could regain his 
 feet both had disappeared in the crowd, who readily 
 opened to let them pass. 
 
 It was liigh time, for the two detachments had been 
 able in the meantime to break through the crowd and 
 to unite their forces. 
 
 The officer started up and ordered with a voice 
 shrieking with rage: "To the left! March! March! 
 Lower bayonets ! Charge ! " 
 
 " Hurrah ! hurrah ! " cried the soldiers, pressing with 
 lowered bayonets into the crowd. The people scattered, 
 crying and howling. 
 
448 Through Night to Light. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WHILE such scenes were taking place, Unter den 
 Linden and the inhabitants of the adjoining 
 streets felt a feverish excitement, so that the 
 crowd scattered at the mere sight of an approaching 
 force, merely however to reassemble at another momen- 
 tarily safe point, and arrests were made in large numbers. 
 The inhabitants of distant parts of the city dwelt in 
 profound peace, utterly ignorant of what was going on 
 elsewhere, and enjoying the calm monotony of an idyllic 
 country village. 
 
 In a small one-story house in one of these quiet streets, 
 which derived, from a garden before the door and a 
 slight iron railing between the garden and the gate, some- 
 what of the appearance of a villa, there sat just before sun- 
 set two persons in eager conversation. A little aquarium 
 with gold-fish stood near the Avindow, a bright cage 
 with canary bird hung between the curtains, and flowers 
 were seen all about in pots and in vases, so that everything 
 bespoke the presence of a lady, although the inevitable 
 work-stand was not to be seen. The man was not exactly 
 young, although even the bald places at the temples 
 would hardly have justified any one from calling him 
 old ; the lady Avas much younger. They conversed 
 eagerly, like two good friends who have not seen each 
 other for months, while in the interval events have hap- 
 pened of the greatest importance for both, which indeed 
 may be said to have inaugurated a new epoch in their 
 lives. 
 
 " And Franz is perfectly satisfied with his position 
 here.? " 
 
 " Perfectly ! How pa would have been delighted, if 
 he " 
 
 The young lady did not end the sentence, but turned 
 towards the window and busied herself with the flowers. 
 The gentleman looked at her kindly through the glasses 
 he wore, and after a while he laid his hand lightly on her 
 arm and said : 
 
ThroHgJi Night to Light. 449 
 
 " You must not only appear firm, mv dear friend ; you 
 must be so ; — you, the daughter of such a father ! " 
 
 " You are right, Bemperly ; I will try to be as firm 
 and as reasonable as I look. But now let us speak of 
 something else. ^Vhat does Marguerite say to our new 
 plan ? " 
 
 " She is delighted — or chaniiee, as she says. But I think 
 it is less because our position will be better — although, 
 quite critre nous, a married student is a very remarkably 
 amphibious creature — as because she will be able to be 
 near you again. You do not know what an impression 
 you have made on ma petite feiiunc." 
 
 " She is so kind-hearted ! And I have done so little 
 for her ; been able to do so little for her ! I have, properly 
 speaking, done nothing but tease her. Even that last 
 evening — you recollect Bemperlcin, when you appeared 
 as author — when you kissed each other in the bay-win- 
 dow, when we drank the old hock, and pa afterwards 
 held his grand speech, the last I ever heard from his 
 lips. Now only I know what it was that moved him 
 so deeply. He took leave of us, not only for the mo- 
 ment, but forever." 
 
 Sophie tried to master the emotion which threatened 
 to overcome her, and then she continued : 
 
 " I have done so little for Marguerite, and she has done 
 so much for me ! Do you know, Bemperlein, that I 
 Avas weak enough to become quite jealous of the little 
 one when I saw, in papa's letters, how very fond he was 
 of her, and how he disliked the idea of your getting 
 married even more than our own marriage .'' " 
 
 " And yet it was only by his assistance that we were 
 able to marry ; at least Marguerite is indebted to him 
 alone for her trousseau and the furnishing of our house, 
 both of which would otherwise have been almost out of 
 the question. You know, I am sure, what I mean ! " 
 
 " The Timm affair ! Marguerite wrote me about it. 
 \Vhat amazed me most was, tliat Timm should have re- 
 turned the money so promptly." 
 
 " We were all astonished ; no one more so than I, who 
 knew best how overwhelmed he was with debts — a fact 
 which led me to dissuade your father earnestly from 
 
45 o Thrmigh Night to Light. 
 
 making a useless effort. The whole affair has caused 
 me, e}itre nous, a good deal of heart-ache ; and little 
 reason as I have to like Mr. Timm, I have still been 
 quite sorry when I heard soon afterwards of his being 
 sent to jail. He was unable, it seems, to pay a note 
 long since due, and perhaps only because he had paid 
 us. For all I know, he is a prisoner still." 
 
 "What!" said Sophie, "has my old admirer really 
 come to that at last .''" 
 
 " Your old admirer V 
 
 " Yes; don't you know it ? I went to the same danc- 
 ing master as Timm ; and I can well say that I liked him 
 best of all with whom I talked or danced. He is an 
 extremely clever man, and can be most agreeable when 
 he chooses to be so. I am sincerely sorry that he should 
 manage his great talents so very badly. He resembles 
 in that respect " 
 
 " Oswald Stein, you mean. \Vell, say on. I have 
 fortunately mastered the feeling of bitterness which 
 used to overcome me in Grunwald every time I heard 
 the name mentioned. He does not exist any longer, as 
 far as I am concerned, especially after his last adven- 
 tures." 
 
 " That is hardly right, Bemperly. You know I never 
 liked Stein particularly; but since you all rise in arms 
 against him, and since even Franz, who used to excuse 
 him so long, begins to chime in, I have a great inclina- 
 tion to take his part." 
 
 " Of course," said Bemperlein, with a slight touch of 
 bitterness ; " that is the old story. Women like a man 
 the better, the worse he is. Even my Marguerite, who 
 generally cannot bear him, breathed the other day a 
 paiivre homme in her softest notes! Paitvre homme ! T 
 should like to know what sensible man would think so 
 of him. If a man rushes madly through life, acting not 
 upon principle but upon impulse; if he must needs 
 gratify all his caprices, and if he meets with difiicultics 
 breaks out in furious anger ; if, instead of loving his 
 neighbor like himself, he runs away by night with his 
 neighbor's wife — they say of him, with tears of sympa- 
 thy in their fair eyes : Pauvre homme ! " 
 
Through Nizht to Lkhf. 
 
 451 
 
 " Bravo, Bemperl)'," cried Sophie, almost with her old 
 cheerfulness ; " bravo! You could not preach better if 
 you were yourself the happy neighbor ! But tell me, 
 has no one heard anything yet of the reckless couple ? " 
 
 " As far as I know, no one ? The earth seems to have 
 swallowed them up." 
 
 " But how does the unlucky husband bear his mis- 
 fortune ? " 
 
 " Ah," said Bemperlein, almost angrily, " it is not 
 worth while to sympathize with that class of people. 
 They deserve nothing better, and reap what they sow. 
 Just think, Miss Sophie — I meant to say Airs. Sophie — 
 this man, this Cloten, who, Avhen Stein had ran away 
 Avith Ills wife, behaved himself as if he never cared to 
 see the sun shine any more, not only found comfort in a 
 very short time, but has inflicted the same injury on his 
 neighbor's house that he himself suffered. Baron Barne- 
 witz, Frau von Berkow's cousin — the one with the red 
 beard, you know, and the broad shoulders. Oh, you 
 must have seen him. No .'' Well, it does not matter — 
 eh bien. Baron Barnewitz comes home the other day at 
 an unseasonable hour and finds — so gossip has it — the 
 door to his wife's room locked, suspects mischief, breaks 
 a window, pulls out the whole sash, rushes into the room 
 and catches Baron Cloten, whom his wife is just push- 
 ing out at another door ! Then follows an explanation ; 
 and the result is that Hortense has gone to Italy, and 
 Baron Cloten, after keeping his bed for a week, has re- 
 tired to his estates without taking leave of anybody." 
 
 " What a treasure trove that must have been for the 
 good gossips of Grunwald ! " 
 
 " You may believe it ; almost as great as when Helen 
 Grcnwitz became engaged to Prince Waldenberg." 
 
 " How is tliat ? " 
 
 " As far as I know, the solemn betrothal — I mean the 
 official ceremony — is to be celebrated here in the city in 
 a few days. Anna Maria told me recently that Helen 
 would be here at the beginning of March." 
 
 " Then you are still keeping up your relations with 
 the family.'' " 
 
 " I could not well find an excuse for giving up the 
 
452 Through Night to Light. 
 
 lessons. Anna Maria honored me all the time with her 
 special favor; and, besides, I have recently become better 
 reconciled with her ways. I believe we have wronged 
 her in many points. She has her very objectionable 
 sides, no doubt; but, if we wish to be just, we must ac- 
 knowledge also that her position is a very peculiar one. 
 If she procures Helen a rich husband, she does after all 
 only what every mother in her position would do like- 
 wise. And her circumstances are by no means as bril- 
 liant as they think. Since her husband's death she has 
 nothing but a comparatively small annuity and the in- 
 come from what she may have saved, but the whole 
 amounts to very little in comparison with her former 
 revenue. And if Malte should follow his cousin Felix's 
 example, and die of consumption, she would lose even 
 that — and the poor fellow looks shocking; he is nothing 
 but skin and bones." 
 
 " Ah," said Sophie ; " why, then Helen's marriage is 
 almost a kind of necessity in the meaning of these peo- 
 ple, although I am convinced it must be a very sad ne- 
 cessity for Helen." 
 
 "Why.?" 
 
 " I will tell you in confidence. I think she had given 
 her heart to somebody else when she accepted the 
 prince. Would to God she had been less reserved to- 
 wards me, perhaps it would all have come differently." 
 
 " Don't believe that ! The girl has a kind of obsti- 
 nate pride that no man can bend, perhaps not even fate. 
 She will allow no one an absolute control over her de- 
 cisions." 
 
 " Tell me, Bemperly, what is tlie truth of this report, 
 that your Frau von Berkovv and Baron Oldenburg are 
 living on very intimate terms with each other.? " asked 
 Sophie, after a short pause. 
 
 " Nothing ; nothing at all ! " said Bemperlein, very 
 earnestly. " I should like to know what people have to 
 do with that. There is an old friendship between them, 
 which dates back to the years when they were children. 
 That is all. Then they are neighbors, and must needs 
 see each other frequently — is not that perfectly nat- 
 ural .? Why could not they marry each other if they 
 
Through Night to Light. 453 
 
 liked it ? Instead of that the baron goes to Paris, and 
 leaves her, amid snow and ice, quite alone at Berkow. 
 Does not that show as clear as daylight that there is no 
 question of love between them? — or it must be a strange 
 kind of love." 
 
 At that moment Sophie started with joy. She had 
 caught a glimpse of a tall, elegant man with a black 
 beard, who was hastily passing the window. 
 
 " There is Franz ! " cried the young wife, her large 
 blue eyes' brightening up and her cheeks blushing a 
 deep red. " Hide yourself, Bemperly ! " 
 
 "But where.'*" said Mr. Bemperlein, looking around 
 in the room. 
 
 " There, behind the curtain ! Hold it together in 
 the middle, so that it cannot open — thus! " 
 
 The bell was rung. Immediately afterwards the door 
 of the room opened, and Franz entered with rapid 
 steps. 
 
 " Has not Bemperlein come 1 " 
 
 " Do you see him anywhere.'' " 
 
 Franz, it is true, did not see Mr. Anastasius Bemper- 
 lein, but upon a chair a gentleman's hat; and, besides, the 
 folds of tlie heavy curtain arranged in a manner which 
 very clearly betrayed the efforts of a hand to hold them 
 together. 
 
 So he said : 
 
 " That man Bemperlein is, after all, an utterly unre- 
 liable, frivolous, unconscionable whipper-snapper ; a 
 man without faith, without principle ; a quack, whom I 
 have regretted over and over again to have recom- 
 mended to Mr. Planke as director of his chemical manu- 
 factory, so that he has actually engaged him with a 
 salary of a thousand a year and five per cent, of the 
 clear receipts. He is a perfect Don Giovanni of a Bem- 
 perlein, who has secret interviews with the wives of his 
 friends, hides himself when they return behind curtains, 
 and is stupid enough to leave his hat in the middle of 
 the room. A harlequin of a Bemperlein " 
 
 " Stop ! " said that gentleman, opening the curtain. 
 " I am found out ! " 
 
 The two friends embraced with great cordiality. 
 
454 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Do you know whom I have just seen ? " asked Franz, 
 after the most important questions had been fully an 
 swered. 
 
 "Well ? " cried Bemperlein and Sophie. 
 
 "Baron Oldenburg and Frau von Berkow." 
 
 "Impossible ! " exclaimed Bemperlein, casting an em- 
 barrassed look at Sophie, and receiving in return a tri- 
 umphant smile. 
 
 "As I tell yovi. I met them arm in arm near the pal- 
 ace. Frau von Berkow has given me her address and 
 asked me to call on her. There ! Broad street, No. 54. 
 She has furnished lodgings. This, and the circumstance 
 that she has her children with her, make me believe 
 that she has come here for some time. I told her we 
 were expecting Bemperlein to-day, and she seemed to 
 be very glad to hear it. Baron Oldenburg also sends 
 his best regards, and wants you to know that he has re- 
 turned only yesterday from Paris, in company with 
 Professor Berger. You know, I suppose, that the two 
 met in Paris and witnessed the whole revolution .' They 
 are staying at the Hotel de Russie Unter den Linden. 
 I have advised Frau von Berkow, if she has not very 
 pressing business here, to leave the city, because we shall 
 in all probability have very troublesome times soon. 
 Albert street is full of people, swarming to and fro like 
 an ant-hill in uproar. Aids and orderlies are galloping 
 through the streets at full speed. At the corner of Al- 
 bert and Bear streets they had actually guns in position. 
 Under the Linden, they say, thei^e has actually been a 
 collision, and an officer of the guards is said to have 
 been brutally ill-treated by the mob. Some said it was 
 Prince Waldenberg. The excitement was so great that 
 the people left the grand opera, although they were giv- 
 ing a new ballet, soon after the beginning of the per- 
 formance. In Fisher street the mob has attacked a gun- 
 shop, and an acquaintance of mine saw in Gold street 
 the beginning of a barricade. In one word, the city is 
 in a state of feverish excitement, and therefore, little 
 wife, you had better bring out your tea, instead of stand- 
 ing there with your mouth wide open and swallowing 
 the horrible news." 
 
Through Night to Light. 455 
 
 Sophie fell upon her husband's neck, pressed a kiss 
 on his lips, and went out to order supper. The two 
 friends sat down on the sofa and discussed their own 
 and public affairs with that seriousness and thorough- 
 ness which becomes wise men. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE " Dismal Hole " was one of those suspicious 
 places to which respectable people never resort, 
 even after a long and dusty walk, when some 
 refreshment seems to be needed. Young men, perhaps, 
 who have less virtue than desire to enjoy life, and whom 
 the spirit of mischief has led far from their accustomed 
 haunts, occasionally drift into its sombre halls, and find 
 next morning their head aching furiously, and their 
 mind filled with confused but by no means pleasant 
 reminiscences of the night. Nevertheless the "Dismal 
 Hole " was found in a by-street of a very fashionable 
 quarter of the city, and very modest in the day. It shone 
 forth at night by means of a blood-red lamp, which 
 looked up and down the street invitingly until the sun 
 came and extinguished it. During all these hours it 
 seemed to be irresistibly attractive to many people ; 
 at least it was almost always crowded with customers. 
 Thus it was on this evening also. There was scarcely 
 a vacant chair in the four or five large rooms which 
 formed the " Dismal Hole." Eliza, Bertha, and Pauline, 
 the three pretty waiters, had their hands full in bring- 
 ing the beer to each thirsty guest, and in giving him 
 time to pinch their cheeks, or at least to say a civil word. 
 These confidential interviews, short as they Avere, no 
 doubt interfered somewhat with business, but what 
 could be done .'' Thirsty gentlemen, belonging to a 
 certain class of society, insist upon holding the pretty 
 hand that brings them the mug of beer, though it may 
 be slightly moistened with foam, a little while in their 
 
456 Through Night to Light. 
 
 own; and in this case such a desire was all the more 
 justifiable, as the three girls were really very pretty, and 
 did all honor to the good taste of the landlady of the 
 " Dismal Hole." 
 
 Mrs. Rosalie Pape was a lady of fifty or more, who 
 struck you at first sight by her enormous size. It was 
 only after more careful examination that you noticed 
 the coarseness of the features, which were half hid in 
 fat, and the short and square fingers of the plump' white 
 hands ; and only the experienced observer could dis- 
 cover that the brown hair which adorned abundantly 
 the head of the matron could not possibly be her own, and 
 that the small, bright blue eyes, in spite of the apparent 
 kindliness of the broad mouth, had a sharp and at times 
 even a downright wicked and dangerous expression. 
 
 The guests at the " Dismal Hole," however, were not 
 the men to make such observations. In their eyes Rosa- 
 lie was a charming, splendid woman, under whose 
 management the fame of the place was spreading far 
 and near, and they were delighted when the good lady 
 left her place behind the bar and made a tour through 
 the whole basement. Here she Avould familiarly clap 
 an acquaintance on the shoulder, or welcome a new- 
 comer ; there she would graciously accept the praise of 
 her beer, or try to disarm a critic by putting his glass to 
 her own lips and taking a pull of which a sergeant need 
 not have been ashamed. 
 
 Thus she had just now approached two men who 
 were sitting alone in a corner, and putting their heads 
 close together whispered so eagerly that it was evident 
 the topic of their conversation must have been of the 
 greatest importance. 
 
 " Well, little Schmenckel, how do .' " said Mrs. Rosalie, 
 putting her fat hand upon the broad shoulders of the 
 strong gentleman in the velvet coat ; " it seems to me 
 you look rather warm. Do not drink too much, or you 
 will not be able to show oft" well afterwards. You have 
 a large audience to-night." 
 
 " I fear I wont be able to do much to-night," said the 
 director, with stammering tongue, his face flushed and 
 bloated almost painfully. 
 
Through Night to Light. 457 
 
 " But, Schmcnckel, you promised ! " replied Mrs. Rose, 
 and her eyes did not look very kindly at him. " One 
 good turn deserves another, you know." 
 
 "My friend Schmcnckel will consider it," said the 
 other gentleman, a man with light hair, and wearing 
 spectacles for his sharp blue eyes; "he happens just 
 now to be somewhat excited by an encounter he has had 
 an hour ago Unter den Linden. However, I am par- 
 ticularly delighted, madame, to have found out your 
 new address through Mr. Schmcnckel. I had been look- 
 ing for you all over town for two days, and all in vain." 
 
 Mrs. Rose Pape cast a glance at the speaker. There 
 was something in his whole appearance, and in his way 
 of speaking, which attracted her. 
 
 " With whom have I the honor 1 " she said. 
 
 " All on my side ! Will you favor us with your company 
 for a few moments.'' " said the young man, offering Mrs. 
 Rosalie the third yet vacant chair near the little table. 
 " My name is Albert Timm, from Grunwald. I have a 
 letter of introduction to you from an old friend, who 
 sends his kindest regards. May I be permitted to place 
 the document in those beautiful hands ? " And Mr. 
 Timm handed the lady an unsealed letter, which he had 
 drawn from a very shabby pocket-book. 
 
 Mrs. Rosalie seemed to be a little embarrassed by this 
 communication. She cast one more searching glance 
 at the stranger, looked all around the room to see that 
 she was unobserved, opened the note, turned ralf-round 
 to get the benefit of the gas-light, and read : 
 
 " Dear Rose : The bearer is a very good friend of mine, 
 whom you can trust unconditionally. He will tell you 
 something about that matter at Grenwitz that will make 
 you open your eyes wide. If you and Jeremiah will 
 help him, we can, I am sure, help a certain gentleman 
 to his inheritance, and make a prodigious profit out of 
 it ourselves. Good-by ! I hope you arc well ; and I 
 hope the same of your still warmly attached T. G." 
 
 " You know the hand-writing.' " asked Mr. Timm of 
 the good lady, who, after reading the letter twice, and 
 folding it up carefully to put it in her pocket, had been 
 looking at him for some time with suspicious glances. 
 20 
 
458 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " It seems to me the hand-writing is familiar," she 
 said. 
 
 " Well, for the present that is the main point. As for 
 the rest, I will tell you more at the proper time. I hope 
 you will grant me, to-night, the favor and the honor of 
 a confidential talk. I am sure we shall be the best 
 friends in the world by to-morrow." 
 
 There was a confidence and self-assurance in the man- 
 ner of the young man which decidedly imposed on Mrs. 
 Rosalie, however nicer people might have been shocked 
 by the air of vulgar impertinence with which it Avas fla- 
 vored. She returned the familiar pressure of Timm's 
 hand and rose, as just at that moment one of the three 
 Hebes came to say that she was wanted at the bar. 
 
 Mr. Timm turned once more to Director Caspar 
 Schmenckel, from Vienna, who was so drunk or so ab- 
 sorbed in his thoughts that he had paid little or no at- 
 tention to the conversation between his friend and Mrs. 
 Rosalie, and then he said : 
 
 " I don't see how you can be doubtful a moment. I 
 tell you, as you were thus facing each other I was struck 
 by the likeness, although I had little leisure at that time 
 to make observations. I grant the accident is marvel- 
 lous which has brought you together once more after so 
 many years, at an hour and at a place where you perhaps 
 least expected ever to meet. But what does that amount 
 to .'' I have a great respect for Master Accident, for he 
 has helped me over and over again out of many a pre- 
 dicament when all cleverness and wisdom were at fault. 
 And this accident is too famous not to be somctliing 
 more than a mere accident. And what is the great 
 wonder, after all .'' You court, twenty -tAvo years ago, a 
 frivolous lady, and you succeed. When the husband re- 
 turns, and finds you under suspicious circumstances, 
 you pitch him out of the window. The lady never has 
 had but one child, and the age of that child agrees to the 
 day. You were in St. Petersburg, you tell me, in Sep- 
 tember, eighteen hundred and twenty-five, and the prince 
 was born in May, twenty-six " 
 
 " How do you know all that.^" asked Mr. Schmenc- 
 kel, and shook his head incredulously. 
 
 I 
 
Through Night to Light. 459 
 
 " I tell you, my man, I know it! That is enough for 
 you. And suppose the fellow is not your son, then " 
 
 "But why shouldn't he be my son?" cried Mr. 
 Schmenckel, striking the table with his gigantic hand. 
 " Do I look as if I was not worth having children .? " 
 
 Mr. Timm took off his spectacles, wiped the glasses 
 carefully, put them on again, looked laughingly at Di- 
 rector Caspar Schmenckel's flushed face, and said good- 
 naturedly : 
 
 " Look here, old man, you are a funny old creatvire. 
 First, I talk till I lose my breath to prove to you that 
 yovi are the father of this hopeful youth ; and then, when 
 I merely assume it might not be so, you become disa- 
 greeable, and look as if you were going to beat me. I 
 only meant to say this : Suppose the man is not your 
 son, then; that also does not matter much. We can only 
 try. We can ask if the princess remembers a certain 
 evening at St. Petersburg, and so forth, and so forth. 
 I'll wager my head against an empty pumpkin we 
 frighten her out of her wits, and the roubles come tum- 
 bling down into our lap." 
 
 " But wont they hand us over to the police } " asked 
 Mr. Schmenckel, shaking his head thoughtfully. 
 
 " Pshaw I They will be glad if no one else hears of 
 it. There is no better ally for people like us than a 
 bad conscience. I tell you I have some experience in 
 that department." 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel reflected so deeply on the grave 
 matter that, what with the mental eftbrt, and perhaps 
 also with too much beer, his head began to glow. Sud- 
 denly a thought occurred to him which might throw 
 some light, if not upon the matter itself, at least upon 
 the character of his new friend. 
 
 " But," he said, " what, after all, is the whole story to 
 you ? " 
 
 " Fie, director," replied Timm, with great indignation. 
 " I should not have expected such a question from you ! 
 Did you not save me from the paws of the soldiers ! 
 Does not one hand wash the other ? Is there no such 
 thing in the world as gratitude ? If you insist abso- 
 lutely upon being a poor devil for the rest of your life, 
 
460 Through Night to Light. 
 
 instead of living in your own house with an annuity of 
 a few thousand roubles, and of driving your own car- 
 riage, I liave notliing to say to it ! I beg your pardon 
 for having troubled you with all these things. Come, 
 let VIS talk of something else ! " 
 
 " Now, come, don't fly off at such a pace! " cried Mr. 
 Schmenckel, anxiously. " I don't dream of taking any- 
 thing amiss, especially if you want to make me the 
 father of a live prince. But that I should have such a 
 grand son, and that I should have whipped him so unmer- 
 cifully the very first time I ever set eyes on him, that is 
 surely amazing enough. If Caspar Schmenckel were 
 to tell anybody else so he would not be believed." 
 
 " I do not see," said Timm, " why that is any more 
 amazing than that I must be the only one of the thou- 
 sands in the park to run right into the arms of the 
 prince ; that I alone happen to know him from former 
 times ; that I remember his name, mention it to you, and 
 thus call up in your mind a remembrance Avhich helps 
 us to make this important discovery. I can assure you 
 I was at first quite as much amazed as you are ; but such 
 things, thank God, do not last long with me." 
 
 Mr. Timm threw himself back in his chair and picked 
 his teeth. Mr. Schmenckel looked with infinite aston- 
 ishment, not unmixed Avith fear, at the man whom even 
 such an extraordinary event could not move from 
 habitual coolness. Mr. Schmenckel was not the man to 
 reflect deeply on the relations in which he stood to this 
 man ; but still, he had an indistinct feeling about it. 
 As he was looking at him thus, he felt a decided in- 
 clination to give the young man a hearty drubbing, or 
 to punish him in some other way for his superiority, 
 as an elephant sometimes may dream of the pleasure 
 he would enjoy if he could hurl his Carnac on the 
 ground and trample upOn him with his feet for a few 
 minutes. 
 
 It was a few hours later. In the " Dismal Hole," 
 where they had had very lively times — tlie excitement 
 was intense everywhere ; beer Avas drunk by the cask, 
 and speeches were made without number and without 
 end — only a few guests had remained. They sat scat- 
 
Through Night to Light. 461 
 
 tered about, in groups of three and four persons, mostly 
 people of rather peculiar appearance, such as are only 
 seen in large cities, and there also rarely or never in 
 the day-time and on the streets. Men in shabby, often 
 fantastic costumes, with dissipated and yet attractive 
 features, and with eyes which now blazed up in wild 
 passion, and now gloated stolidly on vacancy — strange 
 figures, who tell the knowing eye without opening their 
 lips long stories of proud plans and childish deeds, of 
 great talents and still greater recklessness, of lofty pride 
 and low disgrace, of senseless dissipation and gnawing 
 hunger, of incredible efforts condemned to end like the 
 labors of Sisyphus, and of an ambition leading only 
 to the sufferings of Tantalus, until efforts and ambition 
 and every virtue, nay, every- good instinct, is drowned 
 in the morass of apathetic indifference. 
 
 But these groups also gradually disappeared ; one 
 light after another was put out by the poor girls, who 
 had for the last hour been nodding here and there in the 
 corners, their pretty faces buried in their round arms ; 
 and at last there was nobody left but Mr. Schmenckel, 
 who was asleep, drunk, on one of the sofas, and two 
 other gentlemen who were sitting with the landlady 
 around one of the small tables over a bottle of cham- 
 pagne. One of these men was Albert Timm, from Grun- 
 wald ; the other was a man of middle age, who had only 
 come about an hour ago, and whom Mrs. Rose had in- 
 troduced to Mr. Timm as the brother of his landlord in 
 Grunwald, Mr. Jeremiah Goodheart. From his clothes 
 and his whole general appearance he might have been 
 taken for a modest citizen in tolerably good circum- 
 stances ; a grocer, perhaps, or a tobacco dealer ; but in 
 his small eyes, overshadowed by heavy eyebrows, there 
 was something that seemed to indicate that the occupa- 
 tion of the man was not quite so harmless, or at least 
 had not always been quite so harmless. 
 
 The three persons had been conversing very eagerly, 
 and Mr. Timm now summed up what had been said. 
 
 " Then there are two questions," he said. " First we 
 must get a peep at the baptismal register at St. Mary's ; 
 or, better still, obtain a certified copy of the entry; and, 
 
462 Through Night to Light. 
 
 secondly, we must find the principal personage in this 
 comedy — I mean Mr. Oswald Stein." 
 
 " But how do you know he is to be here.''" asked the 
 man with the odd eyes. 
 
 " I do not know it ; I only presume so. He wrote me 
 a week ago from Paris that he could not support him- 
 self any longer there, and that he must try to reach 
 home before his money was at an end. It seems to me, 
 beyond all doubt, that he must have come here, where 
 he had literary engagements already when he was a stu- 
 dent here, and wdiere he has therefore the best prospect 
 of finding some means of support for himself and his 
 sweet one. Only I do not think he will appear under 
 his true name, so as not to expose himself to disagreea- 
 ble encounters with the relations of the Baroness Clo- 
 ten, who, I know, are still after him, and would very 
 soon find him out here. This might therefore be the 
 more difficult task of the two, unless accident, my faith- 
 ful old ally, should again come to my assistance." 
 
 " That item you may quietly leave in the hands of my 
 friend here," said Mrs. Rosalie, familiarly placing her 
 hand on the head of the man with the odd eyes ; " and 
 now, gentlemen, I believe it is time we should part. To- 
 morrow is another day. Yes ; but what shall we do with 
 the big fellow there on the sofa, who has been drinking 
 for twelve to-day.^" 
 
 "We shall have to carry him home, if you, fair lady, 
 have not perhaps a snug little place for him somewhere," 
 replied Mr. Timm, with a look full of meaning. 
 
 " You scamp ! " said the lady, pinching Mr. Timm's 
 cheeks. " I will have to stop you." 
 
 " I hope so — with a kiss." 
 
 " You scamp, you ! " said the lady, evidently not un- 
 willing to try the experiment. 
 
 Mr. Timm seemed to be afraid of it, for he suddenly 
 turned to Mr. Schmenckel and began to shake him, first 
 gently, then more vigorously, and at last as hard as he 
 could. 
 
 " Uff"! " groaned the giant, half asleep yet ; " let me 
 go, I'll manage the boy." 
 
 " What will he do 1 " asked the man with the odd eyes. 
 
Through IVighi to Light. 463 
 
 " Oh, he is talking in his sleep," said Mr. Timm ; 
 give me a glass of water, Lizzie ; I believe that will wake 
 him up." 
 
 At last the colossus stood upright, but not without 
 swaying to and fro like a lighthouse in a storm. Still 
 he could stand on his feet now, and, as Mr. Goodheart 
 happened to know wdiere he lived, the task to carry him 
 home seemed to be feasible. INIr. Timm seized him by 
 one arm, the man with the odd eyes by the other arm, 
 and thus they managed to lift him up to the cellar door 
 and into the street. 
 
 The night was as dark as a night can be when there are 
 no stars visible. The wind was sweeping mournfully 
 through the deserted streets and threatened to extin- 
 guish the few gas-lights that w^ere still burning. Mr. 
 Schmenckel recovered in the fresh air somewhat, and 
 embraced his companions tenderly ; then he vowed them 
 eternal friendship, and promised each of them a hundred 
 thousand roubles as soon as it should be fully estab- 
 lished that Prince Waldenberg, whom he had whipped 
 that day under the Lindens, was really his own son. 
 Thus they reached the street, then the house, and at last 
 even the little bed -room in which Director Caspar 
 Schmenckel, from Vienna, was residing for the present. 
 Mr. Schmenckel sank down upon his modest couch, and 
 his two companions left him, but not until Mr. Jei'e- 
 miah had pulled out a dark-lantern from his pocket and 
 gone about, to Mr. Timm's great astonishment, examin- 
 ing every corner of the room. What he found was not 
 much : iron balls, brass balls, sticks and staves of all 
 kinds, drums and trumpets, odds and ends, all in fearful 
 disorder. 
 
 " Now you must fill the measure of your kindness," 
 said Timm, wdien they were in the street again, " and 
 tell me my way home. I live " 
 
 " White Horse, Falcon street. No. 43, back room," in- 
 terrupted Mr. Jeremiah Goodheart, closing his lantern 
 and putting it back into his pocket. 
 
 " Arc you the devil.' " cried Mr. Timm, nervously re- 
 treating a step. " How can you know where I live ; I 
 have told nobody." 
 
464 Through Night to Light. 
 
 '• Do you think so eloquent a speaker at the great 
 meeting at the Booths can long remain unknown to 
 us?" said Mr. Goodheart. 
 
 " To us? To whom? " asked Timm. 
 ' " Never mind that. Anyhow, I would advise you to 
 deliver your speaking exercises rather within the four 
 walls of your house, especially for the sake of our little 
 affair, which might be sadly interfered wuth if, for in- 
 stance, you should go to jail." 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Timm; "do you think I covet the 
 glory of a political martyr? I have given the good 
 people a speech because I like to talk ; and secondly, be- 
 cause I was angry at the fools." 
 
 " All the better," said the other, dryly. 
 
 As they were passing vmder a gas-light Timm cast a 
 glance at his companion, and all of a sudden he under- 
 stood the enigmatical appearance of the man, and the 
 " us" which he had used. 
 
 " Excuse me, Mr. Goodheart," he said. " I think I 
 have heard your brother say that you are a highly-valued 
 member of the Secret Police. Is that so? " 
 
 The man with the odd eyes smiled. 
 
 " You are a cunning fox," he said, " and have a keen 
 scent. My brother, to be sure, did not tell you any such 
 thing, for he knows nothing about it ; now did Rosalie 
 tell you, for she knows it, but she has her reasons not to 
 speak of it ; consequently " 
 
 " The evil one must have told me," interrupted Timm, 
 quite restored to his former sense of security by this 
 proof of his ingenuity. " I think I might have made a 
 good detective." 
 
 "That might depend on yourself alone." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 The man with the odd eyes did not answer his ques- 
 tion, but said, as they had reached a corner of the street : 
 
 " That is your way. I shall call at eleven o'clock. 
 Then we will talk the matter over more fully." 
 
 The two men parted. Their footsteps were heard for 
 a while down the lonely streets, while the gray twilight 
 was slowly rising over the house-tops. 
 
Through Night to Light. 465 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IN a fine room of a large private hotel in Broad street 
 there sat on one of the next days Melitta and Baron 
 Oldenburg. A lamp was burning on the table ; 
 lighted wax-candles were standing on the mantel-piece 
 and on the consoles. Frau von Berkow expected other 
 visitors that night, and Oldenburg had only availed 
 himself of the privilege of an old friend to come before 
 the appointed time. 
 
 " It seems to me you are very silent to-night, Adal- 
 bert," said Melitta, putting her work on the table and 
 turning with a kindly smile to Oldenburg. I talk to 
 you of the children, hov/ hearty the boy has grown, and 
 bow pretty Czika looks in her fashionable dresses, and 
 you look — well, how do you look ? " 
 
 " Like the knight of the mournful countenance, most 
 probably; at least I feel so, from head to foot; " replied 
 Oldenburg, rising and walking up and down in the 
 room. 
 
 " Not exactly ! " said Melitta. " I thought, on the con- 
 trary, you looked very well in your brown paletot." 
 
 " Jesting apart, Melitta, I am quite sad to-night." 
 
 " That is a pretty compliment for me, who have made 
 the long trip from my home-nest to this tedious city 
 only for your sake — you hear, sir, only in order to give 
 you what I thought would be a pleasant surprise to 
 you ; bringing you the children too. F'or your sake, I 
 say ; so that we might see and talk unobserved. For this 
 reason only I have taken rooms here at a private hotel, 
 like a farmer's wife ; and now, in return for all this ap- 
 parently Avasted goodness and love, I am told : You 
 might as well have remained at home ! " 
 
 "Do you believe it, Melitta.' That thought has oc- 
 curred to me really more than once, yesterday and to- 
 day ! " 
 
 " That is hard ! " said Melitta, and her face showed 
 that she did not exactly know whether she ought to 
 take Oldenburg's words as a jest or in earnest. 
 20* 
 
466 Through Night to Light. 
 
 The baron did not leave her long in uncertainty. He 
 sat down again by her, seized her hand, and said : 
 
 " My dear Melitta, my words may sound hard, but I 
 ask you yourself, if I, as a man, must not think and feel 
 so. I need not assure you, I hope, that I am heartily 
 grateful to you for your kindness, for you know that ; 
 or, at least, you ought to know it. Even that you do 
 not mind evil tongues for my sake I do not count for 
 so much, since I know how little the judgment of the 
 world is worth; I have despised it all my life. There 
 is something else which prevents my enjoying your 
 presence here heartily, and I will tell you what that is. 
 Look, Melitta: it is natural to man to wish to work and 
 to care for her whom he loves ; more than that, he likes 
 to see the beloved one in a certain way dependent on 
 him; I mean on his strength, his courage, his wisdom. 
 Many a warm affection has died out simply because it 
 was impossible to arrange matters in this way, and 
 many an affection is even now fading away for the same 
 reason. Thus it is with my love for you. As matters 
 stand I can only live for you, care and work for you, in 
 trifles ; but not at every hour, every minute, as I must 
 do, if I am to be happy. In the country, where we, as 
 neighbors, could often spend half of a day together, 
 without being observed and watched, it was easier; and 
 yet, even there, the feeling of my uselessness was so 
 painful to me that I was grateful for the political storm 
 which drove me to Paris, where I could at least imagine 
 that nothing parted vis but distance. But here, in a 
 large city, the painful feeling overcomes me; it looks to 
 me as if the moment at which we meet had been ex- 
 pressly chosen to show that the relations between us are 
 unnatural and false. We are standing here on a vol- 
 cano, which may break out every moment. The soil is 
 trembling under our feet, and before many days are 
 passed we shall have seen unheard-of things. I am not 
 afraid of the end ; on the contrary, I desire a decision, 
 for it is necessary and will do us good. But in order 
 to stand firm in days when our people are going to be 
 in trouble and in danger, in order to be a man in the 
 full sense of the word, I must have peace within mc, 
 
Through Night to Light. 467 
 
 and that I cannot have as long as we stand thus. I 
 shall have no peace, Melitta, till you are mine, till we 
 are one ; till I know that I speak and act and fight, and, 
 if it must be, die for wife and child ! Melitta ! in your 
 own name, in my name, in all our names, I ask you: 
 Will you be at last my wife, after I have served you for 
 more years than Jacob served for Rachel ? " 
 
 The baron's voice trembled, although he evidently 
 made a great effort to speak as calmly and as convinc- 
 ingly as he could. He had bent over Melitta, who held 
 her beautiful head bowed low ; when he paused she 
 looked up, and showed Oldenburg her pale, tear-flooded 
 face. She said in a low voice : 
 
 "Would to God, Adalbert — for your sake, for my 
 sake, for all our sakes — I could answer you Yes ! " 
 
 " Why can you not do it .' " 
 
 " You know ! " 
 
 " But, Melitta, is the memory of the man whom you 
 cannot possibly love any longer, and of whom you say 
 yourself that you do not love him any longer, to part 
 us forever.? Have you not paid the penalty of your 
 wrong — if wrong it was to follow the impulse of a free 
 heart — with a thousand tears ? Are you not now to 
 me what you have always been ? And, if there must be 
 a reckoning between us, have you not to forgive and for- 
 get far more in me than I in you 1 Is it reasonable to 
 sacrifice the wife to a rigorous moral law, which the 
 husband does not consider binding .>' Who has made that 
 unwise law.'' Not I; nor you. Why then should you 
 and I obey it .'' I tell you, the day of freedom, which is 
 now dawning, will blow all such self-imposed laws to 
 the four winds, and with them all the ordinances devised 
 by a dark monkish disposition to fetter nature and to 
 torment our hearts." 
 
 " Whenever that day comes — and when it comes for 
 me," replied Melitta, " I will greet it with joy. If it is 
 a mere notion which prevents me from falling into your 
 arms and from saying : Take me ; I am yours, now and 
 forever ! — have pity with me, it makes me suffer as 
 much as yourself. But Adalbert, I am a woman ; and 
 a woman can wait and hope for the day of release, but 
 
468 Through Night to Light. 
 
 she cannot fight for it. And until that day comes, until 
 I feel as free as I must be in order to be yours in honor, 
 things must remain as they are now." 
 
 Melitta had said this with a low and sad but yet 
 firm voice, and Oldenburg felt that it would be cruel to 
 press her further. He took her hand, kissed it, and said, 
 
 " Never mind, Melitta ! I am patient. I know that 
 you do not make me suffer from obstinacy. That is 
 enough for me. And then the day of release which 
 you wait for, and which we fight for, must come sooner 
 or later." 
 
 At that moment old Baumann knocked and entered 
 to announce the expected visitors. Melitta passed her 
 handkerchief over her face, while Oldenburg advanced 
 to greet Sophie, who entered with her husband and Bem- 
 perlein by her side. 
 
 Melitta and Sophie met to-night for the first time, but 
 the meeting was free from all ceremonious formality. 
 The two ladies had heard so much of each other (es- 
 pecially Sophie of Melitta) that they knew each other 
 down to the smallest details of their outward appearance, 
 and then it was natural to both of them to lay aside all 
 restraint when they felt a sympathetic attraction. Never- 
 theless they looked at each other with much interest as 
 they shook hands and exchanged the first words. So- 
 phie noticed that Melitta appeared much milder and 
 gentler than she had expected from the great lady ; and 
 Melitta observed, on the other hand, that Sophie did not 
 look half as serious and thoughtful as Bemperlein had 
 made her believe of the clever and highly educated 
 daughter of the privy councillor. Sophie saw also Ba- 
 ron Oldenburg for the first time, and she cast from her 
 seat on the sofa many a trying glance at the tall man 
 in black, who stood in the centre of the room talking to 
 the two gentlemen. He also had never seen her before, 
 and, on his part, observed carefully the two ladies. It 
 struck him that iDOth had an abundance of soft, curling 
 hair, and in that feature, as well as in the cut of their 
 large, expressive eyes, a certain resemblance like two 
 roses, of which one, the darker and fuller, has entirely 
 opened its calyx, while the other lighter one is but just 
 
Through Night to Light. 469 
 
 unfolding the delicately-colored leaves to the light of 
 day. 
 
 As a matter of course, Sophie was especially curious 
 to see how Oldenburg and Melitta would behave towards 
 each other, for, in spite of Bemperlein's assurances she 
 had persisted in believing that there were close relations 
 between them. But jNIelitta was too much of a lady of 
 the great world, and Oldenburg had too much self-con- 
 trol, to show anything more than a tone of perfect 
 politeness and mutual esteem. 
 
 There was no lack of topics for conversation in those 
 days of great excitement, when feverish restlessness had 
 seized on all minds, because all felt, more or less, the 
 shadow of the coming events. Franz was not a politician, 
 properly speaking. His fondness for the Fine Arts, which 
 at first threatened to divide his strength, and then the 
 study of his great science and which gave him finally peace 
 and satisfaction, had left him little time for politics. 
 But he was liberal in all respects, and besides, his pro- 
 fession had given him frequent opportunities to become 
 acquainted with the wants of the people themselves, and 
 an insight which had convinced him of the necessity of 
 an entire change of social relations. He was not quite 
 as clear about the doctrine that this could not be done 
 without first changing the political forms of the state, 
 especially because his eye was more busy with details 
 than with the whole. " I am at heart a Republican," he 
 was wont to say, " but I have no desire to hear a Re- 
 public proclaimed, because I do not believe that that 
 would help us essentially as long as the evil is not taken 
 hold of at the root. But I see the root of the evil in the 
 dark superstitions which reverse nature and change 
 men from free citizens of this earth into helots of a su- 
 pernatural world." 
 
 Franz expressed himself in this sense to-night also to 
 Oldenburg, but he found him a decided adversary. 
 
 " I believe, doctor," said the latter, " that you attach 
 too little importance to the results obtained by a well- 
 ordered commonwealth — res publica, ladies, the Romans 
 used to call it — and to the difference between a sensible 
 and an unwise form of government. I wish you could 
 
47© Through Night to Light. 
 
 have heard the discussions I have had with Professoi 
 Berger, speaking of the sad character of a time which 
 produces hardly anytlaing else but problematic charac- 
 ters." 
 
 " Where is the professor ?" asked Bemperlein. " I had 
 half promised Mrs. Braun that she should meet her 
 father's old friend." 
 
 " I cannot tell you," said Melitta ; " do you know, Old- 
 enburg.-'" 
 
 " No ; I lost him at the meeting at the Booths from 
 my arm, and could not find him again in the crowd. I 
 am quite sure, howe-v^r, that he will yet come." 
 
 " Problematic characters ! " repeated Franz, who had 
 been so absorbed in his thoughts that he had not heard 
 the last words. " Do you know, baron, that when I 
 heard that expression of Goethe's the first time it was in 
 connection with your name, and from the lips of a man 
 who was once very dear to me, and in whom you also, 
 as far as I know, once took a very lively interest } You 
 need not beat the devil's tattoo on the table, Bemper- 
 lein ; I know that you, who are generally as gentle as a 
 lamb, have talked yourself into a most unchristian ha- 
 tred against Oswald Stein, and I only mention our 
 former friend because he, as well as his teacher, Berger, 
 appeared to me always as a type of such problematic 
 characters." 
 
 As Franz had not the least suspicion of Oswald's former 
 relations to Melitta, to Oldenburg, and to Bemperlein, he 
 did not notice the blush which suddenly spread over 
 Melitta's cheeks so that she bent low over her work in 
 order to conceal it ; and the vehemence with which Bem- 
 perlein exclaimed : " I should think, Franz, that man 
 does not deserve being mentioned here," only excited 
 his opposition. 
 
 "Do you too think so, baron.?" he said, turning to 
 Oldenburg ; would you relentlessly condemn a man 
 whose greatest misfortune it probably was to have been 
 born in these days .?" 
 
 " No," said Oldenburg, calmly and solemnly; " I have 
 not yet forgotten the old word, that we must not judge 
 if we do not wish to be judged. I have always sin- 
 
Through Nisht to Li^ht. 
 
 471 
 
 cerely admired the brilliant talents which nature had 
 lavished upon that man, and I have as sincerely re- 
 gretted that a mind so richly endowed should, like a 
 luxuriant tree, bear only sterile blossoms, which can 
 produce no frait whatever." 
 
 While Oldenburg spoke thus his eyes had been steadily 
 fixed on Melitta, who had raised her face once more 
 and now looked as eagerly up to him as if she wished 
 to read him to the bottom of his soul. Franz was still 
 too warmly interested in Oswald to be really satisfied 
 by Oldenburg's words. He replied, therefore, in his 
 earnest, hearty manner : 
 
 " I was sure you would judge Stein fairly. I have 
 heard Stein himself quote you too often not to know 
 how fully you understood the peculiar condition of his 
 mind, and your intimacy with Berger was a guaranty 
 for me that you are a physician for the sick, and not 
 for the healthy, who, Bemperlein, need no physician. 
 Berger and Stein are two characters strikingly alike 
 in talents and temper. How else could they have formed 
 so close a friendship, with their great difference in age .' — 
 a friendship which, I fear, has contributed more than any- 
 thing else to develop in Oswald those eccentricities which 
 sooner or later must lead him to insanity or suicide." 
 
 " But don't you see, Franz," said Bemperlein, who 
 was always particularly tenacious in matters connected 
 with Oswald, " that Bergec has successfully rid himself 
 of the alp of his disease, Avhich was evidently more 
 bodily than mental, and has thus shown that there is a 
 very different energy in him from Stein } " 
 
 ^' Do not praise the day before the evening comes ! " 
 replied Franz. " I desire, of course, as anxiously as either 
 of you, the complete recovery of Professor Berger ; but 
 I am bound to say, as a medical man, that I do not con- 
 sider a relapse yet out of question. And if I am not 
 mistaken, Bemperlein, you mentioned only last night 
 that my father-in-law had expressed himself in the same 
 manner.^ " 
 
 " But would not that be fearful ? " said Melitta. 
 
 " I do not say, madame, that it Avill be so ; I only say 
 it may be so." 
 
472 Through Night to Light, 
 
 " Have you lately noticed anything peculiar in Ber- 
 ger? " asked Melitta, turning to Oldenburg. 
 
 " Yes !" said the latter, after some hesitation. " I can- 
 not deny that his manner has seemed to me lately much 
 more excited than before. Since the revolution in Feb- 
 ruary, in which, you know, he took an active part, he 
 seems to be undermined by a kind of feverish impati- 
 ence, which often reminds me of the restlessness of a 
 lion who walks growling up and down behind the bars 
 of his cage. Minutes seem to grow into hours to him, 
 and hours into days. I have told him in vain that the 
 history of great ideas counts only by thousands of years. 
 ' I have no time,' is his invariable answer. ' If you had, 
 like myself, wandered forty years through the desert, 
 you would comprehend the longing of the weary pil- 
 grim to breathe at last the air of the promised land. 
 This delaying and deferring, this hesitating and halt- 
 ing, will cause me to despair.' But, gentlemen, what is 
 that.?" 
 
 All listened. From afar off there came a low but 
 steady sound, louder than the rattling of carriages. 
 
 "That is the beating to arms! " said Oldenburg, and 
 his cheeks flushed up. " I know the sound ; I heard it 
 just so on the evening of the twenty-third of February, 
 along the Boulevard des Capucins." 
 
 Oldenburg had hardly said these words, and they were 
 all rising to go to the window, when the door was hastily 
 opened, and a man rushed in, whom they found it diffi- 
 cult to recognize as Berger. His long gray hair hving 
 in matted locks around his head ; his face and beard were 
 covered with blood, which seemed to come from a wound 
 in his forehead ; his coat was torn to pieces, as if sharp 
 instruments had cut and pierced it in different places. 
 His eyes were glowing, his breath came with an effort, 
 as he stepped close up to the table and, gazing at the 
 company, said, in a hoarse voice, 
 
 " Up ! up ! You sit and talk, while without your 
 brothers and your sisters are murdered ! Up ! up ! 
 With these our bare hands we will turn aside their bayo- 
 nets and strangle these executioners." 
 
 " He is fainting," cried Franz, seizing Berger, who had 
 
 I 
 
Through Night to Light. 473 
 
 already while he "was yet speaking begun to sway to and 
 fro, and now broke down completely. 
 
 The men ran up and carried their fainting friend to a 
 sofa. 
 
 " Some cologne, madame," said Franz ; " thank you. 
 Do not be afraid; it amounts to nothing this time, but I 
 fear for the future." 
 
 They all stood around the patient, Avhose breathing 
 became more quiet in proportion as the beating of the 
 drums became more subdued in the streets. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHILE the small company in Frau von Berkow's 
 rooms in the second story had been so suddenly 
 and so terribly startled, there was a young lady 
 sitting quietly in a room a story higher, who had only 
 arrived at the house a few hovirs before with her hus- 
 band (at least they took the young man who had accom- 
 panied her to be her husband). ' As the luggage was 
 marked " Paris," and the gentleman had spoken French 
 to the lady, the people of the ho'use took it for granted 
 that they were French, especially as the hotel was al- 
 ways full of French travellers. Mrs. Captain Black, the 
 owner of the hotel, had herself shown the strangers to 
 their rooms, and as the young lady seemed to be tired 
 and suffering, she had asked her very kindly if she could 
 do anything for madame.'' The young man (the young 
 lady did not open her lips) had asked her to send up 
 some tea, but declined all other assistance. Soon after- 
 wards the young man had left the house. 
 
 He had not been gone five minutes when a cab, which 
 had been waiting at a little distance up the street ever 
 since the strangers had arrived, drove up to the house. 
 A young man stepped out and asked the porter if a 
 gentleman and a lady who had arrived from Paris per- 
 haps a quarter of an hour ago were at home.'' when the 
 
474 Through NigJit to Light. 
 
 porter replied that the gentleman had just left, remark- 
 ing he would be back in an hour, but that madame was, 
 as far as he knew, in her rooms. The young man asked 
 him to show him up at once. The porter — a man of 
 great experience — saw that the young man, who evi- 
 dently belonged to the higher classes of society, was in 
 a state of great excitement; and as nine o'clock at night 
 did not seem to him the most suitable hour for visiting 
 a lady who, besides, was alone in her room, he replied 
 that he did not think the lady could be seen now. Would 
 not the gentleman be pleased to call again to-morrow 
 morning.'' 
 
 " I am in a great hurry," said the young man ; " I — I 
 must see the young lady — on family business. Will 
 you be good enough to inquire if she receives company, 
 and carry this — this card .'' " he added, after some reflec- 
 tion. 
 
 With these words he took a small card-case from his 
 pocket and gave the porter a card. It had on it the 
 name of Adolphus Baron Breesen. 
 
 The young man's hand trembled so violently as he 
 gave him the card, and his face looked so pale and dis- 
 turbed, that the porter was more convinced than ever 
 that all was not right, and that the interview of the new- 
 comer with the French Lady was probably possible only 
 at the expense of the gentleman who had gone out. 
 
 " Why, I forgot," he said ; " there is the key 1 They 
 are both out." 
 
 The young man still held the case in his hand. 
 
 " I am sure," he said, drawing a gold-piece from a 
 side pocket and slipping it into the porter's hand, "that 
 the lady is at home, and that she will receive me Avhen 
 she sees the card." 
 
 The porter was an honest man, but he had a large 
 family, and to-morrow the school-money for his two eld- 
 est children was due. 
 
 " Third story, second door in the passage, on the left," 
 he said, grumbling. 
 
 The young man did not wait for more. lie ran up, 
 taking three steps at once, and knocked at the door. 
 
 ^'- Entrez! " answered a low voice. 
 
Through Night to Light. 475 
 
 When her companion had left her, to take a stroll 
 through the streets, the young lady had remained 
 seated where she was, immoveable, her head supported 
 in one of her hands, and the other hanging listlessly 
 by her side. The light of the two wax candles on 
 the table fell bright upon her face. The face was evi- 
 dently a lovely one when it beamed with joy and exu- 
 berant spirits, as it Avas wont to do ; but now it was 
 pale, and disfigured by much weeping. The large gray 
 eyes stared fixedly at the ground, the beautifully arched 
 brows were painfully contracted, and the lips closed 
 firmly. Mechanically she said '■'•Entrez!" w'hen the 
 waiter knocked to bring tea ; she did not even look up 
 while he set the things upon the table ; and he had to 
 ask twice if she had any more orders before she an- 
 swered a short " No ! " She had totally forgotten that 
 he had been there as soon as the door closed behind 
 him, and when another knock came she said, quite as 
 mechanically as before, '■'■ Entrez ! " 
 
 "Emily! " 
 
 The young lady started up wnth a cry, and stared with 
 wide-open eyes at the young man w^io stood before her, 
 as if she had been suddenly roused from a deep sleep 
 and did not know whether she were still in a dream or 
 saw what was real before her. 
 
 " Emily ! " the young man said once more, and opened 
 his arms. 
 
 "Adolphus!" she cried, and threw herself on his 
 breast. 
 
 The two held each other embraced as they had done 
 in the days of their childhood when the brother came 
 home during vacations, and the sister had gone to meet 
 him at the "park gate. 
 
 But the days of childhood's innocence were long past. 
 Emily tore herself from her brother's arms, and cried, 
 stretching out her hands as if to keep him away from 
 her, 
 
 " Where do you come from .-' What do you want 
 here.' " 
 
 " Can you ask that, Emily ? " he replied, sadly ; " What 
 I want here ? You ! Where I come from ? From Paris ; 
 
476 Through Night to Light. 
 
 where I have searched for you months and months; Avhere 
 I found a trace of you at last, just as you were leaving 
 town, and from whence I have followed you from town 
 to town, from hotel to hotel, without ever succeeding 
 in finding you alone. Not that I am afraid of him ! " 
 said the young man, unconsciously drawing himself up 
 proudly to his full height, " but I wanted to speak to 
 you kindly and gently, and I knew I should not be able 
 to do that in his presence." 
 
 Adolphus approached his sister to seize her hand. 
 She stepped back. 
 
 " What do you want of me .'' " she murmured. 
 
 "Emily!" he said, sadly ; "is that your old love.'' 
 Emily ! child ! come to yourself! What else can I want 
 of you than to free you of these chains, which must have 
 long since become intolerable to you ! Oh, do not say 
 no! I see it in your eyes, I see it in your dear, pale face, 
 that you are very unhappy ! Emily, sister ! darling sister ! 
 come with me ! By our old father, who is dying for grief 
 and sorrow ; by the memory of our sainted mother ; by 
 all you hold sacred, I beseech you, come with me! " 
 
 Emily had thrown herself into a corner of the sofa, 
 sobbing and hiding her face in her hands. Adolphus 
 knelt down before her. He took both of her hands in 
 his own; he kissed her brow and hair and eyes; he spoke 
 to her with that eloquence which even the simplest of 
 men find when their heart is full of true love. He told 
 her that he did not mean to carry her back to her hus- 
 band, whom he could not respect, and whom she had 
 married against his wishes ; that she should not even 
 return home if she did not wish it ; that he would take 
 her to Italy — anywhere. He tried every chord in her 
 soul which he thought would vibrate under his touch, 
 but for a long time it was all in vain. 
 
 " I cannot leave him ! " slie repeated over and over 
 again, amid tears and sobs. 
 
 "But, for Heaven's sake, Emily!." cried the young 
 man, " is it possible that such a folly can last so long } 
 Is it possible that you still love this man .? " 
 
 " Yes; yes! I love him ; love him better than I ever 
 did before ! " 
 
Through Night to Light. 477 
 
 Adolphus started up and paced the room for some 
 time. Then he came once more to Emily and said, 
 
 "I must believe it, since you say so; but Emily, upon 
 your honor — for it is your honor now which is at stake — 
 answer me this question : Are you as sure of his love ? " 
 
 Emily's only answer was more violent sobs; and cry- 
 ing bitterly, she shook her head. 
 
 " Oh God ! " said Adolphus bitterly ; " have you fallen 
 so loAV that you follow a man who no longer loves 
 you .'' to Avhom you are a burden .? who would give much 
 to get rid of you again } Is this my proud sister .? 
 Well, well ! I shall have to break my coat of arms, and 
 to cast down my eyes before every wretched creature in 
 the streets, and take it in silence if anybody calls me 
 a coward ! " 
 
 The young man beat his forehead with his hand, and 
 tears of wrath and shame filled his eyes. 
 
 Emily started up from the sofa. 
 
 " Come ! " she said hurriedly. " Come ! You are 
 right ! I am a burden to him. He will be glad to get 
 rid of me. Come ! " 
 
 " God be thanked ! " said Adolphus. 
 
 "Let us go this instant! " cried Emily, following up 
 her resolve of the moment in her usual passionate man- 
 ner. " I do not wish to see him again. I will write to 
 him " 
 
 " Yes, yes ! " said Adolphus. " Here is a leaf from 
 my pocket-book ; pen and ink are here. Write to him, 
 but just a few words." 
 
 Emily sat down at the table; but she had only written 
 a few words when she broke out once more in violent 
 weeping. 
 
 " Oh God ! Oh God ! " she said, dropping her pen ; 
 " I cannot do it." 
 
 " Let me do it," said Adolphus, taking the pen ; " I 
 will do it. In the meantime get your cloak ; I shall be 
 done in a moment." 
 
 While Emily was getting ready, Adolphus wrote rap- 
 idly a few lines. He was not generally very expert in 
 such things, but now the words came, as it were, by 
 themselves. 
 
478 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Are you ready? " 
 
 " Yes ! " 
 
 They went down. No one met them. 
 
 Adolphus gave the porter the keys to the rooms. 
 
 " Tell the gentleman, when he comes home, the lady 
 had gone out and would probably not come back again.' 
 
 Adolphus had put Emily into a cab. 
 
 The cab drove up with unusual rapidity. 
 
 " Hem ! " murmured the porter, as he hung the key to 
 No. 36 again on its hook on the board ; " I thought 
 at once it would be so. Well, I cannot keep the people 
 if they must needs runaway." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IN William street, the real Faubourg St. Germain of 
 the great city, Prince Waldenberg's head steward 
 had bought shortly before New Year one of the 
 largest and finest town mansions, the owner of which 
 had recently died. The prince himself, who came soon 
 afterwards from Grunwald, had superintended the inner 
 arrangements, and pushed them so rapidly, in spite of 
 the magnificent style in which they were carried on, 
 that he could move in with his numerous household 
 before the end of January already. He took one wing 
 for himself; the other wing remained unoccupied, as 
 he did not wish to anticipate the desires and the good 
 taste of his betrothed, who was to leave Grunwald with 
 her mother in the beginning of the month and to come 
 to Berlin. The upper story, however, was full of work- 
 men and upholsterers. Here his mother, the princess, 
 was to stay and to receive company. 
 
 He was gratified to see this part of the house also 
 fully furnished and ready for her reception when he lett 
 the town on the first of March for the harbor of Stettin, 
 where the steamer from St. Petersburg was expected in 
 a day or two. At the same time his steward had engaged 
 
Through Night to Light. 479 
 
 a suite of rooms at the Hotel de Russie, Unter den Lin- 
 den, for his father, Count Malikowsky, wlio was expected 
 from Munich. 
 
 It was the same evening- on which the above men- 
 tioned events had taken place in the furnished lodgings 
 in Broad street. 
 
 In one of the magnificent rooms of the Hotel Wal- 
 denberg, in a Avell-padded easy-chair, which had been 
 moved quite close up to the bright fire burning in the 
 fire-place, the Princess Letbus was reclining. The 
 prince stood by her, bending his tall form down to her, 
 as if to spare his mother even the trouble of speaking 
 loud. As the fire was blazing up brighter, so that bril- 
 liant flashes of liglit fell upon the two figures, the group 
 with its background of tall mirrors and costly pictures 
 would have formed a superb subject for tlie hand of a 
 modern Rembrandt. It would not have been easy to 
 find two more striking representatives of frail womanly 
 beauty and overpowering male strength than the forms 
 of mother and son. While the latter, with his broad 
 shoulders and long muscular arms, looked as if he were 
 made to perform the labors of Hercules, the lady, sitting 
 bent and drooping, and wrapped up in costly furs in spite 
 of the blazing fire, might have suggested that even the 
 weight of a fly could have been troublesome to her. 
 Nor was there any resemblance to be traced in the fea- 
 tures. Although the lips were languid and the cheeks 
 faded; and although the brow of the lady, who could 
 hardly be over forty, looked narrow between the sunken 
 temples and beneath the dark hair with its numerous 
 silver threads, the connoisseur could still see that these 
 lips and these cheeks must have once been of surpassing 
 beauty, and that the hair once upon a time furnished 
 a frame of glorious curls around a blooming face of 
 marvellous perfection. Tlie large black eyes were very 
 beautiful still, when she raised her long silken eye-lashes, 
 which she ordinarily held drooping, and a deeper emo- 
 tion brouglit back for a moment the fire which had shone 
 in them in days gone by, with too great lavishness, per- 
 haps, and fatal danger. There could have been no 
 stronger contrast with this soft melting beauty than the 
 
480 Through Night to Light. 
 
 low forehead of the prince, half hid under thick, crisp 
 curly hair, which stood in perfect harmony with the 
 coarse though energetic lines of his face. And yet in 
 spite of this thorough difference in their physical na- 
 tures, mother and son felt for each other a tender affec- 
 tion, which in the former almost rose to enthusiasm, and 
 in the latter formed almost the only sentiment wliich 
 acted as a counterpoise to his boundless pride, and the 
 prevailing passion of his energetic but unintelligent 
 mind. 
 
 " Good-by, dear mamma," said the prince, bending 
 still lower, and carrying his mother's feeble hand to his 
 lips. " It is time for me to go, if I do not mean to be too 
 late at the station ; the train will be in." 
 
 " Adieu, my dear son," replied the princess. " Wel- 
 come your betrothed in my name. Tell her she will 
 find a second mother here. Has the count consented to 
 be present w^hen the ladies come .''" 
 
 " Yes, dear mamma." 
 
 " Well, then, my dear son, go with God ; and may He 
 bless your going out and coming in ! " 
 
 She breathed a kiss on the brow of the prince, who 
 then arose and noiselessly stepped on the thick carpet 
 to the door. 
 
 The princess remained deeply imbedded in her easy- 
 chair after her son had left her. There were evidently 
 no pleasant thoughts passing through her mind at that 
 moment, for her features became darker and darker, and 
 the black eyes stared more fixedly than ever at the blaze 
 in the fire-place, so that they shone like weird fires in 
 the flickering liglit, and contrasted almost painfully 
 with the pale face. At last a shudder seemed to pass 
 over her and to rouse her ; she rang the tiny silver bell 
 that stood close by her on the little buhl table. 
 
 Immediately her first waiting-woman, Nadeska, en- 
 tered the room. 
 
 Nadeska was a serf, who had grown up with the prin- 
 cess, and gradually made herself indispensable to her 
 mistress by her pliant submission, and especially by her 
 perfect skill in carrying on all kinds of intrigue. The 
 princess had, in her somewhat stormy youth, required 
 
Through Night to Light. 481 
 
 the assistance of such a person ; and when she became 
 afterwards , a devotee, being sick in body and soul, she 
 was not disposed to dismiss a servant who had always 
 been near her person, and knew, tlierefore, all her se- 
 crets in their minutest detail. And, besides, Nadeska 
 had always been faithful to her, and even made many a 
 sacrifice for her. Only once, in one of the most serious 
 difficulties to which the princess had been exposed by 
 her evil inclinations, had she suspected her of having 
 played false. But Nadeska had sworn by all the saints 
 of the almanac; and as there was no evidence against 
 her, her mistress had at last received her back again in 
 her favor. 
 
 " What does your grace desire ? " asked Nadeska, in 
 a tone of voice which betrayed, through all its deep 
 respectfulness, a certain familiarity. 
 
 " Have the candles lit in the rooms, Nadeska; and. you 
 hear, let all the servants be called together to receive the 
 ladies in the great hall. Whom will }"Ou give them for 
 their personal attendants t " 
 
 " I thought Katinka, Mademoiselle Virginie ; and, 
 among the German girls, Mary and Louisa." 
 
 " Very well. You will receive the ladies yourself at 
 the door, and show them to their rooms." 
 
 " Has your grace any other orders .-* " 
 
 " No, Nadeska." 
 
 The woman courtesied and went to the door. When 
 she was quite near it, the princess called her back. She 
 came again to her chair. 
 
 " Did you notice the count this morning, Nadeska ? " 
 
 " Yes, your grace." 
 
 " Did you observe anything particular ? " 
 
 " He looked more dandyish, and was rouged more 
 than formerly." 
 
 " Nothing else .' " 
 
 "No! " 
 
 " Nadeska, I am terribly afraid he is plotting against us." 
 
 " You have always feared so, your grace, every time 
 the prince has come to see you ; and you are especially 
 afraid now, because you were positive he would not ac- 
 cept the invitation of the prince." 
 21 
 
482 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Well, does it not look like mockery that he is com- 
 ing? What does he want here ? But that is not all. He 
 asked me yesterday again for an enormous sum of 
 money." 
 
 " Which I hope you gave him." 
 
 *' No, Nadeska ; my patience is exhausted, as well as 
 my exchequer. Michail tells me he cannot procure the 
 money." 
 
 " He must get it. Consider how much is at stake ! " 
 
 " But this tyranny is intolerable ! " cried the princess, 
 and her large black eyes shone in the reflex of the fire 
 like burning coals. 
 
 Nadeska shrugged her shoulders. 
 
 " What can you do .-' You know the count hates you 
 as much as the prince. If he does not indulge his hate, 
 and if he does not utter the single word which would 
 part mother and son forever, it is not from fear of the 
 disgrace — when has the count ever minded disgrace .'' — 
 but from fear of poverty, which he hates still more. Let 
 him find out to-day that his silence is to be no longer 
 profitable to him, and to-morrow he will speak ! " 
 
 The princess knew that her confidante was perfectly 
 right, and she groaned like a tortured prisoner, pressing 
 her thin hands upon each other. 
 
 "Oh, Nadeska! Nadeska!" she whined; "why did 
 the count come home at that unlucky moment ! Why 
 did you leave your post at that very hour, which was the 
 decisive hour 'i If I had only had five minutes' warning 
 the count would have found me alone, and with all ihe 
 suspicions he might have, there would have been no 
 more evidence then tlian at any previous time." 
 
 Nadeska was standing by the side of her mistress and 
 a little back of her. This enabled her to make a scorn- 
 ful face before she replied, 
 
 " Your grace will pardon me, but this time there was 
 evidence, even without the sudden coming of the count. 
 It was certainly an ugly accident tliat the birth of the 
 prince took place just nine months after a strange man 
 had thrown his father out of the window of his own bed- 
 room ! " 
 
 The remembrance of this tracfi-comic accident dis- 
 
Through Night to Light. 483 
 
 pelled for a moment the melancholy of the princess. 
 The half-ludicrous, half-horrible scenes of that mad night 
 passed very clearly before her mind's eye, and the image 
 of the hero of the night — the man of the people, whom 
 she, the high-born princess, had honored so highly — re- 
 appeared to her as he had appeared then, the beau ideal 
 of exuberant \igor and manhood. 
 
 " I wonder if he is still alive .' " she asked, quite lost 
 in her recollection. 
 
 " Who, your grace? " asked Xadeska, who knew per- 
 fectly Avell of whom her mistress was thinking. 
 
 The princess made no reply, and Nadeska began noise- 
 lessly to light the candles in all the rooms. Gradually 
 a voluptuous twilight spread over the salon in which 
 the princess was, which grew brighter and brighter 
 without losing its soft characters, for all the lights were 
 burning in rosy shades. This was the only light which 
 the irritable nerves of the princess could endure ; and 
 even during the day, which generally only began for 
 her in the afternoon, the windows were invariably dark- 
 ened with rosy curtains. Scoffers maintained that the 
 princess avoided a bright light merely because her faded 
 features and injured complexion could not well be ex- 
 posed to bright day-light. 
 
 Nadeska had just lighted the last candle when the 
 maid on duty slipped into the room and whispered 
 something into her ear, for no message was brought 
 directly to the princess. 
 
 " What is it, Nadeska ? " asked the latter. 
 
 " The count wishes to see you," replied her confidante. 
 
 The princess trembled. 
 
 " What can he want.'* " she said. " He ought to be at 
 the railway station." 
 
 " He probably mistook the hour." 
 
 " Maybe! Let him come ; but stay in the room." 
 
 Upon a nod from Nadeska the maid went out, after 
 waiting humbly at the door. Immediately a gentleman 
 entered rapidly. 
 
 He was a tall, slender man, dressed with exquisite 
 taste, who looked at the first glance as if he might be 
 twenty-five, and grew older and older the longer one 
 
484 Throtigh Night to Light. 
 
 looked at him, until at last one was disposed to think 
 him sixty years old. This required, however, a very 
 careful examination, as his mask was finished down to the 
 minutest details. His black hair and brows, his curly 
 beard, his snow-white teeth, his round shoulders and 
 full hips, were triumphs of art ; and if his valet had been 
 able to give a little .lustre to his eyes, to calm the par- 
 alytic trembling- of his hands, and to remove the bad, 
 tiny wrinkles which lay like diminutive snakes around 
 his eyes. Count Ladislavis Malikowsky might still have 
 been a dangerous man for women, at least for a certain 
 class. He had been irresistible when a young man ; 
 but now nothing was left him of his youth but an insa- 
 tiate desire for enjoyment, and a reckless profligacy, 
 which went hand in hand with ^ the cool, calculating 
 prudence of old age. 
 
 This disgusting caricature of youth approached the 
 princess, kissed lier hand courteously, and said, while 
 sinking carefully into one of tlie arm-chairs before the 
 fire : 
 
 " You Avonder, Alexandrina, that I do not appear with 
 the others " 
 
 "Indeed I do." 
 
 " Do not think it a want of consideration for the be- 
 trothed of my son" — the count uttered the last word 
 with a peculiar accent, and never without showing his 
 false, white teeth — " on the contrary, it is the very in- 
 terest I take in the welfare of the young couple wliich 
 brings me here, I may say, out of breath. A discovery 
 which I have made — but, Alexandrina, may I beg that 
 that person may leave the room ; my communication is 
 strictly confidential," whispered the count, bending over 
 towards the princess. 
 
 " Leave us alone, Nadeska ; but stay in the ante-room," 
 said the princess. 
 
 " Alexandrina," said the covmt, when Nadeska liad 
 gone into the adjoining room to place her ear to the 
 key-hole, "you were not disposed yesterday to help me 
 in ray embarrassment. I have lost heavily at cards, and 
 my exchequer is exhausted. Well I might have been 
 offended by your refusal, especially considering the pe- 
 
Through Night to Light. 485 
 
 culiar relations existing between us. But for my person 
 I know how to do with little, and I should not- like, for 
 anything in the world, to be troublesome to you, or to 
 my son [here the white teeth actually shone]. I am all 
 the more sorry, therefore, to have to appeal once more 
 to you, not for myself in this case, but for one who has 
 stronger claims than I have." 
 
 " I am not so fortunate as to guess even the meaning 
 of your Avords," replied the princess, sinking back into 
 her cliair with half-closed eyes. 
 
 " Perhaps," said the count, drawing from his coat- 
 pocket a letter, which lie opened slowly, as his hands 
 were tightly encased in close-fitting kid-gloves — " per- 
 haps this letter, which was handed me half an hour ago 
 by a young man, may give you the desired explanation. 
 Permit me to read it to you." 
 
 The count did not wait for an answer, but adjusted 
 his gold eye-glasses on his nose, and read, glancing 
 every now and then over the paper at the princess : 
 
 " Most noble count : — At a moment when his high- 
 ness. Prince Waldenberg, is bringing home his fair 
 betrothed, the Baroness Helen Grenwitz, to present her 
 to his mother, the princess, it cannot be but desirable 
 that all the members of the family should be united by 
 that harmony without which even less important fes- 
 tivities are often very sadly interrupted. You yourself, 
 most noble count, have set an example, when you kindly 
 dropped a veil over certain events which took place in 
 the night, from the 21st to the 2 2d November, 1820, in 
 the Letbus mansion in St. Petersburg. I should like to 
 follow your example, if circumstances permitted. But 
 I have no alternative, and see myself compelled to pre- 
 sent my business personally to you, or to trouble certain 
 persons with it, who have special reasons for keeping 
 certain matters a secret from his highness the prince. I 
 beg leave, therefore, to address myself to his excellency, 
 Count Malikowsky, as the most suitable person for an 
 arrangement, with the request that immediately fifty 
 thousand roubles in silver be paid me by his bankers in 
 town; if not, I shall see myself compelled to present my 
 request in person to his highness the prince. 
 
486 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " In the meanwhile (which I beg to limit to eight days 
 from to-day) I remain, etc., etc., etc., 
 
 "Director Caspar Schmenckel, from Vienna. 
 
 " P.S. — If you should prefer to negotiate directly with 
 me, I may be found every evening after 7 o'clock in the 
 'Dismal Hole,' Gertrude street, No. 15. The same." 
 
 " Well, what do you say, Alexandrina.' " snarled the 
 count, letting his eye-glass drop, and putting the letter 
 back in his pocket. 
 
 '' That the whole thing is a poor invention of yours." 
 
 " C(^;/7w^;;/.? " exclaimed the count, with an astonish- 
 ment which was not affected in this case. 
 
 " Do you really think, sir," said the princess, trem- 
 bling with rage and secret fear, " there is a particle of 
 truth in the whole thing, and that I would be caught in 
 such an ill-made snare.' That I do not see what it all 
 means.-* That you have only thought of this impudent 
 invention because I am unwilling to waste the rest of 
 my fortune upon your mad dissipation } " 
 
 "Really, Alexandrina. Hearing you speak so, one 
 might actually believe your conscience was as clean as 
 my gloves. Why, you are blinded by anger, my dearest ! 
 Please observe, this letter contains things of which I 
 have no idea, nor can have an idea, e. g., the name of the 
 good man in question. You know I have never been 
 so happy as to hear yet whose blood flows in the veins 
 of my son" (the count's teeth were glittering in a per- 
 fectly frightful manner) ; " and besides, you have an in- 
 fallible means to ascertain the genuineness of this let- 
 ter. Send for the writer ! Twenty-one years will hardly 
 have changed him so much that you should not recog- 
 nize him." 
 
 " You think I am not going to do that .'' You are 
 mistaken. I insist upon your bringing me this man of 
 straw, with whom you wish to frighten me. Give mc 
 the letter." 
 
 " Arec le plus grand plaisir!'' replied the count. 
 *' There ! But, Alexandrina, I hope the interview will 
 take place in my presence, or I shall not be able to con- 
 tain myself for jealousy." 
 
 "Devil!" 
 
Through Night to Light. 487 
 
 *' Oh, my angel r Do you call the man so to whom 
 you owe so much? " 
 
 "Owe so much ? to you? I, who have picked you up 
 from the gutter ? " 
 
 " But I have given you my good name." 
 
 " Good name ! A name dragged through every mean 
 vice, and every blackest sin " 
 
 " And )-et good enough foi- the friend and " 
 
 " Have a care ! " 
 
 " Why ? The heavens are high, and the czar is afar off. 
 But you are quite right in demanding that too much im- 
 portance should not be attached to this connection. 
 The Avhole world knows pretty well that, in some re- 
 spects, no rank or position came amiss to you." 
 
 " That goes, too far. I " 
 
 " Keep quiet, ma chhre ! I hear a carriage coming. 
 No doubt, our dear ones. We must give them an ex- 
 ample of conjugal love." 
 
 ****** 
 
 It was perhaps two hours later. Helen was wander- 
 ing restlessly up and down in her superb room. Na- 
 deska had left her, and the baroness, fatigued by the 
 journey, had retired to her chamber. Helen could not 
 sleep. Her soul was oppressed by an indescribable 
 anxiety, which was all the more painful because so 
 vague. She felt in the midst of all the splendor by 
 which she was surrounded like a child in an enchanted 
 castle, where in every corner into which the light does 
 not penetrate fully, and behind every silk curtain gently 
 waving in a current of air, some unspeakable horror 
 might be lurking. Was this the realization of her 
 proudest hopes ? She could not get rid of the impression 
 made upon her by her reception in the salon of the prin- 
 cess. She still felt her icy-cold lips on her forehead ; she 
 still saw the repulsive, impudent smile of tlie count and 
 the dark frown of the prince. It was an uncomfort- 
 able spirit that dwelt in this house. And she had sur- 
 rendered Jierself to this spirit; she had sacrificed to 
 it her freedom, her young girl's dreams, her future! 
 And Vvhat was she to gain in return ! High rank, 
 great wealth — how little all that seemed to her at this 
 
488 Through Night to Light. 
 
 moment! How willingly she would have given it all 
 up for the mere shadow of the unspeakable happiness 
 she had enjoyed last svimmer, when she stepped from 
 her cool apartments into the golden morning light of 
 the park, and slowly sauntered about between the bright 
 flowers, expecting at every turn around a shrub or a bos- 
 quet to meet Oswald ! How far, how irrecoverably far, 
 this was lying behind her ! As far as the paradise of 
 her childisli years, which no longing of ours, no return 
 of spring, can bring back to us ! She was quite sur- 
 prised, herself, that all her thoughts were wandering 
 back to-day to Grenwitz ; that a thousand little scenes, 
 which she thought she had long forgotten, came back to 
 her now : a walk with Bruno and Oswald through 
 the fields when the evening sun was hanging low, like a 
 "huge ball of fire, near the horizon, and bright lights 
 were playing fitfully over the golden grain, while the 
 larks were jubilant high above them in the deep blue of 
 the heavens. And again, one hot afternoon, when she 
 had f lUen asleep on a bench in a shady avenue in the 
 garden, tired by the monotonous humming and whiz- 
 zing of insects, she awoke at the moment when some- 
 body — it was Bruno — was placing a wreath of dark-red 
 roses on her head, while a few steps from them, some- 
 body else — it was Oswald — was peeping from behind 
 a tree. And ever it was Bruno and Oswald who gave 
 life to the idyllic picture — Elysian forms in Elysian 
 fields. Oh, were not both dead? Helen had sulfered 
 indescribably when Oswald's elopement with Emily 
 had become the common gossip of Grunwald; for only 
 now, Avhen a whole world parted him from her, she felt 
 how dear this man had been to her. She tried, it is 
 true, to master her passion and to be reconciled to her 
 fate, which she had after all brought upon herself. 
 But she caught herself only too frequently comparing 
 her betrothed with Oswald, a comparison which invaria- 
 bly resulted in the conviction that the former lacked 
 everything which had made Oswald so attractive : tlie 
 graceful, elegant carriage, tlie bright and yet so tender 
 eyes, the deep voice with its gentle music, the ever- 
 changing and ever-interesting expression of his lace. 
 
Through Night to Light. 489 
 
 She had never felt as deeply as this evenins^ how little 
 her heart had to say to her betrothed. She recollected 
 with a shudder that when the drums had beat in the 
 streets, when the war of the excited multitude had been 
 heard from afar, and the prince had started up to hasten 
 to his post, she had felt only that this gave her a good 
 opportunity to retire to her rooms. 
 
 And the poor girl's heart grew heavier and her eyes 
 dimmer. She tliought she was thoroughly wretched ; 
 she pitied herself that she was so alone and had no one 
 to share her sorrow. But had she not prepared her iso- 
 lation herself .'' Had she not repelled good people, who 
 had come to her with open hearts, by her cool politeness ? 
 How she now wished for good old Miss Bear ; for clever, 
 cordial Sophie Roban ! But was not Sophie in town } 
 Might she not look up the friend whom she had so 
 sadly neglected during the last days in Grunwald .'' 
 Helen clung to this thought, while she hid her beavitiful 
 face in the silken cushions; — proud Helen ! who looked 
 as if she could go on her path, lonely, like a bright 
 star, unconcerned about the doings of poor men far 
 down in their humble huts ! 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE excitement in town grew daily. In vain were 
 troops massed by whole brigades, and held ready 
 day and night in their barracks ; in vain every 
 assembly Avas dispersed with the bayonet, and the loud- 
 est criers arrested. Every day brought new and more 
 serious disturbances. The assemblages of the people, 
 especially on tlie large public squares hear the palace, 
 became more formidable ; the threatening cries and 
 whistlings and cheers of the masses were heard more 
 frequently ; and the soldiers, maddened by their incessant 
 duties, could less and less resist the terribly provoking 
 irritation. Paving stones on one side, and drawn 
 21* 
 
49© Through Night to Light. 
 
 swords on the other, encountered each other daily and 
 hourly. The number of more or less seriously wounded 
 persons which were carried to the public hospitals had 
 become considerable. The last evening had been espe- 
 cially fearful. A detachment of cuirassiers of the guards, 
 galloping forward with loose reins and drawn swords, 
 had driven a large crowd of people into one of the 
 smaller streets that opened upon the square near the 
 palace, and at the other end a picket of dragoons pre- 
 vented escape. There ensued a scene of fearful confu- 
 sion and consternation in the crowd, thus hemmed in on 
 both sides, while the men were forcing their horses 
 pitilessly into the thickest, striking right and left with 
 their heavy swords. The howl of anguish of women 
 and children, mingled with the cries of rage of the men, 
 and the curses of the soldiers, while imprecations and 
 threats came down from the windows of the houses, 
 where peaceful men were frightened at their quiet 
 work. The commotion quickly spread further and fur- 
 ther, and even in remote parts of the city groups were 
 formed in the streets, when the report came that the im- 
 perial city on the Danube, generally looked upon as 
 thoughtless and frivolous, had had a complete revolution, 
 and that the oldest master of diplomacy, the cunning 
 ruler of a whole generation of men, had at last been 
 driven from the scene of his triumphs. A thousand 
 cheers arose when the good news was proclaimed, and 
 the great results which a month before would have been 
 looked upon as impossible, were made known in detail. 
 They asked one another why they should submit any 
 longer to misrule and ill-treatment by a privileged 
 caste, if it required but a firm resolve to establish free- 
 dom and equality among them. 
 
 While thus even the most indifferent were gradually 
 drawn into the whirlpool of the revolution, one man sat 
 in apathetic calmness in his room, unconcerned about 
 what was going on around him. 
 
 When Oswald returned the night before, after wan- 
 dering aimlessly through the crowded streets, and found 
 his room empty and Emily's letter on the table, he had 
 laughed out so loud that an old lady who had been 
 
Through Night to Light. 491 
 
 living next door for twelve years was frightened out of 
 her first slumbers. Then he had thrown himself on the 
 sofa. He was too wearied and exhausted to be able to 
 sleep. But after a while he started up with a cry. He 
 had dreamt that he was walking with Emily arm in arm 
 by the side of a precipice, whispering of love and caress- 
 ing her hand, and suddenly she had fallen away from 
 his side down into the deep, from rock to rock into 
 fearfid abysses, from which now cries for help and 
 groans of anguish were rising up to him. Oswald tried 
 in vain to shake off the horrible image ; it had imprinted 
 itself too deeply on his over-excited mind. He Avould 
 have sought rest and oblivion in sleep, but he felt no 
 longer tired. A thousand thoughts and images were 
 chasing each other wildly through his head, and he 
 found himself unable to lay the weird ghosts. He could 
 only look on. Scenes of former days ran into events of 
 recent date, and the fat gentleman who had been in 
 their coupe from the last station suddenly changed into 
 the public crier of his native town, whose big bell he 
 had followed often as a boy. 
 
 Oswald made a violent effort to rouse himself He 
 rang the bell and ordered the fire to be rekindled. 
 Then he sat down before the blaze and recalled the first 
 evenings at Paris, as they were sitting in their modest 
 lodgings in the fifth story of a house in the Quartier 
 Latin before the fire-place, and congratulated each other 
 that at last they were "at home." They had tried to 
 make each other forget their troubles and anxieties by 
 jesting and caressing, and forming a hundred bright 
 plans for the future. But the golden, hopeful future 
 had become a dark, comfortless present; the jests had 
 ceased, and the caresses had become colder and colder. 
 And then came evenings when Oswald came home out of 
 sorts and out of temper, having in vain called upon pub- 
 lishers who " could not avail themselves of" his manu- 
 scripts; when he found Emily in tears, and had to tell 
 himself that he and he only was responsible for these 
 tears. Then came wretched scenes, when regret at 
 their own folly sought concealment under reproaches 
 and accusations of fickleness and heartlessness, and the 
 
492 Through Night to Light. 
 
 tender little flower of love was ruthlessly trodden under 
 foot in the fierce encounter. And yet it had always been 
 Emilv who, good-natured and light-hearted as she was, 
 and full of tender love for Oswald, had offered her hand 
 to make peace. " I do not reproach you," she had often 
 said ; " I should be perfectly happy if I could but see 
 you happy. But to see you unhappy, and unhappy 
 through my fault, that makes me wretched." Had she 
 spoken the truth 1 Oswald had then doubted it ; now 
 an inner voice told him that it was so, and that she 
 would never have left him if he had not driv^en her 
 from him. He took the letter he had found on the table 
 and stared at the " Dear, dear Oswald ! " written by 
 Emily's trembling hand, and then marked out by another 
 hand, and the two stains on the paper — the trace of tears 
 she had wept at parting with him. Oswald dropped 
 the letter into the fire, and groaned aloud as he saw how 
 eagerly it seized the paper and consumed it, and the hot 
 draft carried away the black ashes. So there was an 
 end of that also. 
 
 And as he sat staring into the smouldering embers, his 
 head resting in his hand, the fever spirits began their 
 mad dance once more. Faces of marvellous beauty 
 looked at him Avith large, loving eyes, and then changed 
 in a moment into grinning negro grimaces ; Rector 
 Clemens and Professor Snellius came walking solemnly 
 in grave converse and broke it off abruptly to dance a 
 wild Mazurka ; Melitta, Helen, and Emily floated by on 
 a rosy cloud which changed into dismal rain, and the 
 three witches of Macbeth were shaking their snaky locks. 
 Thus the whole wearisome night passed away. When 
 twilight began to peep in at the windows tiie spirits 
 grew paler and paler. Oswald opened a window and let 
 the cool morning air plfty around liis heated temples. This 
 refreshed him somewliat. But as tiie streets began to be- 
 come more lively he closed the window again and let 
 down the curtains ; he wanted to see and to hear noth- 
 ing of life, for he hated life. 
 
 Emily's escape had hardly been noticed in the house. 
 The only one who knew more about it, the porter, felt 
 no disposition to speak about it, as he was not quite sure 
 
Through Night to Light. 493 
 
 of his own share in the matter. It was thought, there- 
 fore, that the lady had not been tlie gentleman's wife, as 
 was first believed, but his sister, and that the other gen- 
 tleman who had come for her had been her husband. 
 The times, moreover, were too eventful to leave much 
 room for such small matters. 
 
 Such were Mrs. Captain Black's ideas when she called 
 next day at noon on Oswald, after the custom of the 
 house. For it was the lady's notion that she ought to 
 inquire in person after the welfare and the wishes of 
 those of her guests who seemed to propose staying there 
 for some time. This was partlv a matter of courtesy 
 with her, and partly prompted by her good old heart. 
 She had a twofold interest in Oswald. The young man's 
 appearance, the expression of his eyes, and the tone of 
 his voice, had struck her, and reminded her wonderfully 
 of long by-gone days, and of a person whom she had 
 loved tenderly and whose loss she had never yet been 
 able to forget. Then the young man came direct from 
 France, from where that unfortunate young friend had 
 also come, and where she had probably died. It is true 
 the poor girl had never given a sign of life, and it was 
 highly improbable therefore that she was still alive, but 
 that did not keep Mrs. Black from feeling glad whenever 
 a Frenchman came to her house, as it looked like another 
 chance to hear something of the poor girl. 
 
 Tiie good old lady was, therefore, not a little aston- , 
 ished and grieved when she saw how pale and haggard 
 Oswald looked this morning, a mere shadow of the 
 stately young man of last night. He had had a bad 
 night to be sure. It must have been a very bad night 
 to pull down a young man so grievously. Should she 
 send for the doctor .'* No .'' But a cup of strong beef 
 tea with an q^^ stirred in ? Queh dites v-oiis. Monsieur 7 
 The good old lady tripped away to attend to the beef 
 tea herself, as no one else could make it as well. And 
 while she was busy about it she shook her gray head 
 again and again, because Monsieur Oswald — the stranger 
 had given that name — spoke German so very well, and 
 looked so very sick and unhappy, and yet had some re- 
 semblance to the lost one. Her eyes filled with tears, 
 
494 Through Night to Light. 
 
 and she decided to ask him about the cause of his grief 
 at the risk of being considered indiscreet. 
 
 With this desire she entered Oswald's room once 
 more and found the young man in the same position in 
 which she had left him. He was sitting on the sofa, his 
 arms crossed on his bosom, his eyes staring fixedly at 
 an old French engraving, in which Andromeda was 
 represented chained to the rock and guarded by a 
 dragon, while Perseus was coming through the air to 
 her rescue, wdth the gorgon's head in his hand. He 
 had noticed the picture in the early twilight, and long 
 tried to find out in the imperfect light what it could 
 mean, till at last, as day broke, he found it out. The 
 engraving Avas extravagant, as most pictures of that 
 epoch. Andromeda was rather too small, a mere child 
 in comparison with the very tall and slender hero, who 
 was just putting one foot on the rock and preparing to 
 strike a blow at the monster, which opened its huge 
 mouth wide and stared at him with basilisk eyes. Still, 
 it was not without merit in the conception, nor without 
 delicacy in the execution. The spark of hope which 
 appeared in the girl's eves and the whole of her childish, 
 beautiful features, and the heroic indignation in the face 
 of the youth, were well rendered ; while the landscape 
 — a lonely rock in the boundless ocean, with the sun 
 rising above the horizon and the first rays trembling on 
 the waves up to the rock — showed something of Claude 
 Lorrain's cheerful vigor and grandeur. Oswald had 
 looked at the picture again and again with a feeling of 
 painful sadness. The beautiful meaning of the ancient 
 myth — that bold courage carries the happy possessor 
 with god-like wings over land and sea, that the hero over- 
 comes danger by a mere glance, and finally that for 
 him alone there blooms the sweet flower of love and 
 beauty on the rude rock in the vast inhospitable ocean 
 of life — all this had reminded the dreamer painfully of 
 what he also had already called his own of love and 
 beauty ; but only, alas ! to lose it in a short time and 
 forever, forever! 
 
 Even now — when Mrs. Black at his request took a 
 seat on the sofa, and told him all she knew about the 
 
Through Night to Light. 495 
 
 excitement in the city, the bloody scenes which had 
 taken place last night quite near by, in Brother street, 
 the large assemblies of people Unter den Linden, and 
 the sad times in which everything seemed to be turned 
 upside down — even now Oswald could not take his eyes 
 from the picture. The old lady noticed it and said : 
 
 " Yes ! It Avas just so twenty-five years ago ! It used 
 to belong to a countryman of yours, a dear old gentle- 
 man who has lived here many years, and whom I loved 
 like a brother. The picture is here, but he " 
 
 She sighed so grievously that Oswald, whom his own 
 sorrow had not made insensible to the sorrows of others, 
 asked her kindly : 
 
 " He died, the old gentleman, did he.''" 
 
 '' I do not know," replied the old lady. " He went into 
 the wide world in order to save a girl whom I had 
 brought up as my own cliild ; a sweet, lovely creature ; 
 but he did not come back, and she did not come back, 
 and I grieve over my loss, although it is now nearly 
 twenty-five years old. Have you, monsieur — ah ! it is 
 foolish in me to ask, but after all nothing is impossible 
 in this world — have you, monsieur, ever heard anything 
 of a Mademoiselle Marie Montbert and a Monsieur 
 d'Estein.'* " 
 
 The old lady had asked the question so often, and re- 
 ceived so often nothing but a curt: Non madame ! in 
 reply, that she scarcely noticed Oswald's regretful shake 
 of the head, and continued with animation : 
 
 " Ah, I knew it was so ! No one ever heard of them. 
 The world is so large, and there are so many people in 
 it ! And in this great world and this multitude of people 
 how soon are two unhappy beings forgotten ! " 
 
 The manner of the old lady was, with all her ingen- 
 uousness, so refined and dignified; tlie deep-sunk eyes, 
 still full of expression, looked so gentle and kind; and 
 her voice had such a true, good sound, that Oswald felt 
 strangely moved, and begged her with cordial warmth to 
 tell him something more about the two persons whose un- 
 happy fate she deplored so painfully after so long a time. 
 
 Mrs. Black smoothed her black -silk apron, and told 
 him in simple words a simple, touching story. 
 
496 Through Night to Light. 
 
 Hqr husband, a brave but -wild and reckless man, had 
 compelled her for years before he lost his life on the 
 battle-field of Waterloo to provide for her ov/n support. 
 She had taken lodgings in the rear part of the building 
 ■which she now owned, and rented out the larger part of 
 the rooms to single gentlemen. She had always tried to 
 keep up pleasant relations with her " foster-children," 
 but with none of them had she been on as friendly a 
 footing as with a certain Monsieur d'Estein, a descend- 
 ant of French refugees, who supported himself by giv- 
 ing lessons in the tongue of his ancestors. Monsieur 
 d'Estein was an old bachelor of kind heart but very 
 eccentric, who had fallen out with the whole world, and 
 yet shared his last mouthful of bread with any one who 
 asked him for it. He had his own ideas about every- 
 thing, and brooded constantly over plans how to over- 
 throw the whole world, while he led all the time a most 
 simple, harmless life. 
 
 Monsieur d'Estein had been living with her several 
 years and had become a warm friend of hers, who lis- 
 tened patiently to all her complaints about hard times 
 and domestic troubles, when one fine day a Colonel 
 Montbert, of the French army, came and called on his 
 relation, Monseiur d'Estein. The colonel was under 
 orders for Russia — it was in 181 2 — and he was accom- 
 panied by a little daughter of eight, a lovely child, whom 
 the father loved tenderly, and perhaps all the more ten- 
 derly as she stood perfectly alone in the world, and had 
 no one on earth to love and protect her except her 
 father. Until now she had followed the colonel in 
 all his campaigns, but the brave old soldier trembled at 
 the idea of exposing his only treasure to the dangers of 
 a winter campaign, the results of which he might even 
 then have anticipated. As he had been in Berlin in 
 1807, and had then made Monseiur d'Estein's acquaint- 
 ance, he came now once nioi-e to ask him to take care 
 of Marie till he returned; and if he should not return, 
 there were the family papers, and a large sum of money 
 in gold and bills of exchange; and tlie friends looked 
 at each other and shook hands. The colonel kissed his 
 little girl, promised to bring her a sleigh with two rein- 
 
Through JVight to Light. 497 
 
 deer from Russia, kissed her once more, cried : Adieu, 
 ma chcrc ! Adieu, via petite ! mounted his horse and was 
 gone. 
 
 Colonel Montbert never fulfdlcd his promise about 
 the sleigh and the reindeer. His little girl waited and 
 waited for the sleigh and the father till she was a tall 
 young lady, but sleigh and father never came. 
 
 Marie had grown up a tall, fair girl, so beautiful 
 that the whole neighborhood called her, unanimously, 
 pretty ^Nlarie. She was a good girl to», with a good 
 heart, that could be merry with the joyous and weep 
 Avith the sorrowful. Her only fault was an over-active 
 imagination, a fondness of strange extraordinary things 
 — an inheritance from her father, the French colonel of 
 cavalry, whose adventurous, fantastic disposition Mon- 
 sieur d'Estein said approached very near to insanity. 
 
 This peculiarity of the girl caused much anxiety to 
 Monsieur d'Estein and to Mrs. Black, but especially to 
 the former, whose plain, straight-forward mind was ut- 
 terly averse to everything irrational or fantastic. " The 
 girl ought to have no time for dreams," he used to say ; 
 " she must learn to think and to act. She ought to have 
 a counterpoise to her gay dream-world in the prosaic 
 reality of life. No man ought to live in castles in the 
 air." Accordinig to these views he sketched out a plan 
 of education for little Marie, with which Mrs. Black 
 never could fully agree, in spite of the unbounded re- 
 spect she had for Monsieur d'Estein's intelligence and 
 cliaracter. Marie was to dress in the simplest way, like 
 the children of humble mechanics ; she was to learn 
 every kind of domestic labor : and when she was grown 
 up Monsieur d'Estein carried his oddity so far that he 
 sent her to a respectable milliner. " One could never 
 know how that might become useful to her in after life." 
 Mrs. Black shook her head, but she could not be angry 
 at tlie old gentleman's odd notions when she saw how 
 well he meant it, and especially how successful he was. 
 For the girl grew brigiiter and fairer every day, and 
 looked, in her simple calico dress and her plain straw 
 bonnet, as refined and as distinguished as the greatest 
 lady in the land. 
 
498 Through Night to Light. 
 
 Mrs. Black was proud of the girl. She had never had 
 any children of her own, but she felt as if she could never 
 have loved one of her own better. And was she not the 
 child's mother 1 Had she not watched over her in health, 
 and nursed her in sickness 1 And was the girl not as 
 fondly attached to her as a daughter could be to a 
 mother .' Mrs. Black was almost jealous of this love 
 (she had had so little love in her life) and did not like it 
 that Marie had not evidently more confidence in her than 
 in her adopted -father. But the latter was, for his part, 
 not less jealous. Mrs. Black even sometimes suspected 
 that monsieur was cherishing very different feelings for 
 his beautiful neice, as he called her, from those of an 
 uncle for his neice, and that his system of education, 
 Avhich confined Marie very strictly to the house, might 
 have been prompted by other than pedagogic considera- 
 tions. Monsieur was at that time only forty years old. 
 It was the mere shadow of a suspicion, but subsequent 
 events gave it strength. 
 
 One evening — it was a Sunday — monsieur returned 
 from his promenade with Marie very much out of tem- 
 per. Marie also looked excited, and showed traces of 
 tears in her beautiful eyes. She went to bed as soon as 
 supper was over, and Mrs. Black begged monsieur to 
 tell her what had happened, till he at last consented. 
 
 Marie and he had been walking up and down in the 
 long avenues of the public park, chatting cozily with 
 each other, and had then gone into one of the public 
 gardens, there to order some refreshments for Marie and 
 himself. They had just taken their seats at a table 
 when two gentlemen, who had before been sitting at a 
 distance, had come and taken seats near them. Mon- 
 sieur, who turned his back to them, had not noticed 
 them, and only became aware of their presence when he 
 saw Marie, who was talking to him, cast half-curious, 
 half-embarrassed glances at somebody behind him. He 
 turned round to see what was the matter. At the same 
 moment one of the gentlemen approached tlieir table. 
 He was a remarkably handsome man — monsieur could 
 not deny that, in spite of his irritation — a lofty, noble 
 figure, a superb head, a fine though somewhat ex- 
 
Through Night to Light. 499 
 
 haiisted face, large deep-blue eyes, with a haughty and 
 yet kindly expression. He lifted his hat and in very 
 good French — monsieur and Marie had as usualh- con- 
 versed in Fi-ench — he asked leave for himself and his 
 companion to join their company. Monsieur was the 
 most courteous man in the world, but he said there 
 had been something in the manner of the distinguished 
 stranger which had filled him instantly with a violent 
 aversion against him, and he had therefore replied 
 dryly and curtly that he and mademoiselle preferred re- 
 maining alone. Thereupon a slight altercation between 
 him and the stranger had taken place, which ended in 
 his rising and leaving the garden Avith Marie, pursued 
 by the scornful laugh of the two gentlemen. From 
 that evening Marie showed a decided change in her 
 whole manner. Formerly gay and cheerful, she now 
 hung her head, turned pale and red by turns, was at one 
 time immoderately merry and at anoiher time wretch- 
 edly sad. Neither Mrs. IBlack noi monsieur knew what 
 to make of it. Misfortune would have it that monsieur 
 must be taken sick just then, so that Mrs. Black had to 
 spend nearly her whole time in his room nursing him, 
 and Marie consequently was left much to herself 
 Formerly monsieur had regularly gone for her to the 
 place where she learnt her profession ; now she had to 
 come home alone. What happened to her during these 
 days, into what snares she had fallen, Mrs. Black never 
 found it out. But one morning, when she came to wake 
 the poor girl, she found the room empty, and a little 
 note on the table, in which the unfortunate child stated 
 that irresistible reasons, Avhich she could not now explain, 
 compelled her to leave town ; that she begged her bene- 
 factors with tears in her eyes to forgive her if she re- 
 warded them for their great love with apparent ingrati- 
 tude, and that she hoped to God the day would come, 
 and come soon, on Avhich all this sorrow would be 
 changed into joy. 
 
 That day had never come, but the poor lady had suffered 
 more and more. Monsieur had nearly lost liis senses 
 when he heard of Marie's escape, and had sworn a fear- 
 ful oath that he would not rest an hour till he had res- 
 
500 Through Night to Light. 
 
 cued Marie from her miserable seducer and personally 
 avenged himself on the man. Monsieur was the man 
 to keep his word. The little weakly body harbored an 
 energetic soul. This became evident now, when a ruth- 
 less hand had cruelly destroyed the happiness of his 
 life. For Mrs. Black could now no longer doubt that 
 the strange man had loved the lost one with all that in- 
 tense passionatenes^w'hich is so often found in such re- 
 served, eccentric characters. He carried on his search 
 with restless activity. Success crowned his efforts. He 
 found traces. Where they led him 1 He said nothing 
 about it, but observed tlie strictest silence upon the 
 whole affair, even to his friend, Mrs. Black. He packed 
 his trunks as if for a long journey, tore himself from 
 her, promising to send her news in a week — and now 
 twenty-five years had passed, and Mrs. Black was still 
 waiting for a fulfilment of that promise. . . . 
 
 The old lady had so completely abandoned herself to 
 her own recollections that she had forgotten her first 
 intention to inquire after Oswald's troubles. She was 
 only reminded of this when she noticed how pale the 
 young stranger's face had become during her recital. 
 
 " But you are really worse than I thought, dear sir," 
 she said. " Your hand is burning hot, and — pardon an 
 old lady — your forehead also is hot. Let me send for 
 my physician ! " 
 
 " I beg you will not do it," said Oswald, making a vio- 
 lent effort. " I must tell you : I have not slept a mo- 
 ment all last night, probably from over-fatigue during 
 my long jovirney." 
 
 " Then you ought at least to lie down for a few hours," 
 begged the old lady. " I know very well young people 
 cannot do without sleep like us old people." 
 
 " I mean to do it," replied Oswald, as Mrs. Black rose. 
 " You'll see a few hours' sleep will set it all right again." 
 
 " God grant it ! " said the old lady, cordially pressing 
 Oswald's hand once more. " Pray, pray, no ceremony! 
 I will inquire again a few hours hence." 
 
 Wluit liad he been told just now.? At the very first 
 words of the old lady he had no longer doubted tliat 
 this was the continuation of the story which mother 
 
Through Night to Light. 501 
 
 Claus had told him in Grcnwitz that evening when he 
 and Timm had sought shelter in her hut. All the details 
 agreed. Just as the old lady had described the strange 
 gentleman, the portrait of Baron Harald looked now, 
 out of its broad gold frame ; and had not the beautiful 
 poor girl, whom he had so sadly ill-treated, borne the 
 name of Marie d'Estein, like the adopted daughter of 
 Monsieur d'Estein } 
 
 But that was not the reason why his blood froze in his 
 veins and his limbs shook as in violent fever. It was 
 another terrible fear, which rose with demoniac power 
 from the lowest depths of his soul. Was it the work of 
 fever spirits — was it incipient insanity — which changed 
 in his inflamed imagination Monsieur d'Estein, the ec- 
 centric teacher of languages, into his father, the strange 
 old man .' and the beautiful daughter of the French col- 
 onel into the lovely young woman with the sweet eyes, 
 around whose knees he once used to play during bright 
 summer mornings in the cosy garden behind the town 
 wall, while the white butterflies were fluttering about 
 the blue larkspur .'' 
 
 And mad tlioughts chased each other once more in 
 wild haste. Old, long forgotten thoughts awoke and 
 answered clearly from long ago; strange doubts, that 
 had troubled him as a boy and as a youth, came again, 
 and said : There is the solution ! So much that he had 
 never been able to explain in his life became of a sud- 
 den quite clear to him. It had not been pure fancy, 
 then, which made Mother Claus see in his face contin- 
 vially Baron Oscar's features, "who fell with Wodan; " 
 nor mere humor, when Timm declared, " You have the 
 very face of the Grenwitz barons ! " 
 
 Oswald darted up and went to the mirror. A deadly 
 pale face with strange, wild eyes stared at him there. 
 " See there ! The evil spirit not laid yet ! It has not 
 had victims enough yet ! Must there be many more 
 sacrifices .-* Can a vampire die of his own venomous 
 glance.' A bullet.' Eh! a bullet, nicely driven in at 
 the temples — that might make an end to the gruesome 
 story ! But what will bring death really — a death from 
 which the soul can never awake aerain.' " 
 
502 Through Night to Light. 
 
 Oswald uttered a fierce cry. A hand seized his arm, 
 and over the shoulder of his image in the mirror he saw 
 a distorted face grinning at him. 
 
 " Oho! " said Albert Timm. "Are you going on the 
 stage, dottore, that you stand before the looking-glass 
 and rehearse monologues which might frighten an hon- 
 est man out of his wits ? Let me look at you in the 
 light .'' Upon my word, you have a strange look about 
 you. Little Emily, eh } You ought to be glad she is 
 gone, before she made you a mere shadow of your 
 shadow ! You see, I know everything ; and I know a 
 good deal more ; and I am going to tell you something 
 that will make you wish to live again, you inelancholy 
 Prince of Denmark ! But before I tell you, send for a 
 bottle of port wine or something ; I am as dry as a salted 
 cod this morning." 
 
 Mr. Timm, as usual, did not wait for Oswald's an- 
 swer, but rang the bell and ordered port wine and 
 caviaze. "None in the house? Go to the Dismal 
 Hole, just around the corner, my man, quite near by. 
 Give Mr. Albert Timm's respects to Mrs. Rose Pape, 
 and come back in a trice, curly-headed youth ! " 
 
 Mr. Timm's statement, that he had taken nothing that 
 morning, was evidently untrue. He diffused a remark- 
 able smell of liquor around him ; his face was very red, 
 and his eyes less bright than usual. Possibly he might 
 have sat up all night ; his whole appearance made it 
 probable. His linen was less tidy than ordinarily, and 
 the brown overcoat had evidently made the acquaintance 
 of numerous whitewashed walls and stained tables. jNIr. 
 Timm's circumstances had not improved since Oswald 
 had seen him last. 
 
 He did not deny it ; on tlie contrary he raised, unasked, 
 the veil from the unattractive picture of the last months. 
 
 " Ill-luck has pursued me step by step," he said, throw- 
 ing himself on the sofa and stretching his legs. "At the 
 very time when I made the discovery which I am 
 going to tell you as soon as the wine comes, you dis- 
 appeared from Grunwald, leaving not a trace. The 
 next day the police caught us at faro, and — I was banker 
 — confiscated all I had — several hundred dollars — which 
 
Through Night to Light. 503 
 
 I needed sorely, since on the following day a bill of 
 mine became due. I could not pay it, of course. The 
 horrid manikan, to whom I owed the money, had me 
 put in prison, and there I have been till about a week 
 ago. How I got out.-* My landlord, the old scamp, at 
 last bethought himself of going to Moses and threaten- 
 ing him with certain stories — well, never mind that ! 
 Here I am, a free man once more, and here comes the 
 wine and the oysters. Come, Oswald, fill your glass ! 
 Hurrah for the brave ! Man ! I tell you I am beside 
 myself at having found you out so soon. I was prepared 
 for a long hunt. And now I am going to tell you a 
 story that will make you jump out of your skin. Yes, 
 out of you skin ! For you will have to lay aside the 
 whole miserable creature you are now and put on an 
 entirely new man, whom I have made ready for you, 
 without any merit or claim of your own, but from pure 
 friendship on my part. And now another glass and I'll 
 begin!" Mr. Timm pushed the plate with the oyster- 
 shells, which he had quickly piled up, from him, and 
 swallowed a full glass ; filled it again, drew a bundle of 
 papers from his pocket, laid them on the table before 
 him, leaned his head on both arms, and with a loud hearty 
 laugh at Oswald, he said: 
 
 " What will you give me, mon che?; if I change you 
 from a poor fellow into the son and heir of a great 
 baron, with a rental of ten or twelve thousand a year ? 
 But I see you are already nearly overcome. I do not 
 mean to harass you any longer. Listen !" 
 
 There are moments in our soul's life when the over- 
 wrought brain looks upon the most extraordinary, the 
 most fantastic events, as ordinary and quite natural oc- 
 currences. Thus it was now with Oswald. That Timm 
 brought him the confirmation of his suspicions, that he 
 proved to him in black and white that he had not 
 dreamt, that he transformed a wild fancy into a legal, 
 well-authenticated document — all this appeared quite 
 natural to Oswald. There were Marie Montbert's fiimily 
 papers. Her real name was that of her mother, Marie 
 Herzog, who had found her way to Paris, there to meet 
 Colonel Montbert. And Oswald knew that his mother's 
 
504 ■ Through Night to Light. 
 
 family name was Herzog. There was a copy of the 
 church-register, obtained by Timm's indefatigable ac- 
 tivity and mysterious connections, which proved the 
 marriage performed at St. Mary's between M. d'Estein 
 alias Stein, and IMarie Elizabeth Herzog. And then the 
 baptismal certificate: On the 22 December, 1S23, a son 
 was born unto Amadeus Stein and his wedded wife, Marie 
 Herzog, who in holy baptism received the name of 
 Oswald. There Avere the letters which Baron Harald 
 had written to Marie during his residence in town in 
 the spring of 1823 ; there Marie's letters to the baron ; a 
 letter written by M. d'Estein to Marie during the sum- 
 mer of .the same year, in which he tells her that he has 
 at last discovered her hiding-place at Grenwitz, and 
 beseeches her by the salvation of her soul, to follow 
 him when all shall be prepared for her flight, etc. 
 
 " You see," said Timm, " it is all right and complete, 
 and you can trace every thread of this curiously com- 
 plicated affair from beginning to end. The identity of 
 the persons can be established by documents and by wit- 
 nesses alike, for the evidence of Rose Pape alone would 
 upset every argument on the adversary's side. She 
 knew your mother and was present at your birth and at 
 your baptism. The woman, it is true, is not willing just 
 now to appear in court and to testify to facts which 
 make her appear in an unfavorable light ; but money 
 makes the devil dance, and Mrs. Rose will speak out if 
 she is well paid. That is no trouble, therefore. My 
 only fear is that you .have not energy enough for such 
 a thing. I must tell you frankly, I thought at first it 
 might not be wise to tell you anything at all about it, 
 you have such very absurd notions about many things, 
 and so I dropped the old baroness a hint or two, but she 
 did not receive them very graciously, and " 
 
 " In a word," said Oswald, and he turned still paler 
 than he had been before, " you wished to sell your dis- 
 covery to the baroness, and she did not pay you the 
 price you demanded." 
 
 " Hear ! hear ! " said Albert, with sincere admiration. 
 " You develop there a talent for business which I did not 
 expect. Well, take it for granted it was as you guess; 
 
Through Night to Light. 505 
 
 that will not prevent you from making proper use of 
 your claims. But, dearest periculum in mora ! if you 
 wish to become not only the nephew of the baroness, 
 but also her son-in-law, you must make haste. Things 
 have come about which I foretold you last w^inter. 
 Helen is engaged to Prince Waldenberg, and the en- 
 gagement is to be made public in a few days here in 
 town. Anna Maria arrived last night, and stays at 
 Prince Waldenberg's house with the Princess Letbus, 
 the mother of his highness.. Now I have already dug 
 a superb mine underground, in order to create a useful 
 confusion in the enemy's camp, and we can begin the 
 attack. I am as sure as of my own life that Helen has 
 no fancy for the prince, and that she would say No ! 
 even at the last moment, if she knew that you are her 
 cousin, and that she can recover the fortune she loses by 
 the discovery, by marrying you. But she will not 
 believe anybody who would tell her of the whole affair, 
 except one man, and that man is — yourself. Oswald, 
 consider the stake ! One single bold step, and the 
 girl whom you love — don't deny it ! — whom you love 
 madly, is yours. A fortune such as you never dreamt 
 of is yours. You will have at once all that others 
 spend a lifetime to gain; all that they would unhesita- 
 tingly risk their very life for ! Surprise works wonders ! 
 Drive to the prince's house in William street ; ask to see 
 the young baroness ; tell her, if it must be, in her moth- 
 er's presence, not that you want to marry her — for that 
 will come as a matter of course — but that you have 
 made this discovery under such and such peculiar cir- 
 cumstances ; and I will eat my own head if the girl 
 does not fall upon your neck and let the prince go 
 when he chooses." 
 
 Albert was prepared to see Oswald at first reject this 
 adventurous plan altogether; for, suitable as it was for 
 a man of Timm's character, and capable as he was of 
 carrying it out boldl}', he knew Oswald's hesitating 
 disposition. His most sanguine hope was to find it ac- 
 cepted after a long discussion. Great therefore Avas his 
 joyful surprise when Oswald, who had not said a word 
 during the whole long explanation, now rose and said : 
 
 22 
 
$o6 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " You are right. There is but one way. I must go 
 myself, and at once ! " 
 
 "Brother!" cried Timm, jumping up and enthusias- 
 tically embracing Oswald ; " that is the most sensible 
 word you have ever spoken in your life." 
 
 Oswald shook himself free, with a shudder which 
 Timm did not notice in his great excitement. 
 
 " Leave me alone now ! " he said. "You see how 'very 
 much I am surprised and shocked by your revelation. 
 I must collect myself for the interview." 
 
 "For Heaven's sake; only no new scruples! " cried 
 Timni. " Fresh fish is good fish ! I am afraid, if I leave 
 you, you wull discover a thousand Buts ! " 
 
 " I promise you upon my word I wull goto her Avithin 
 an hour. I suppose you can leave me the papers 1 
 They might be necessary if the baroness makes opposi- 
 tion." 
 
 Timm cast a malignant, suspicious glance at Oswald. 
 He did not like to give up the papers. If OswalcJ 
 should play false; if — but there was not time to consider 
 long ; and there was something in Oswald's manner 
 which made him shrink from making objections, a de- 
 cisive firmness in the firmly-closed pale lips, a dismal 
 fire in his large eyes. Timm had never seen him thus. 
 It was no longer the old, fickle Oswald Stein ; it was 
 Baron Harald's son who was standing before him. 
 
 " Well," he said, " do as you please. I see you are 
 determined to go the whole length ! But, Oswald, if 
 the enterprise succeeds, and I cannot doubt now but it 
 must succeed, do not forget the man who has furnished 
 you the means." 
 
 "You may be sure," said Oswald, with a strange smile, 
 " that, as far as material advantages are concerned, you 
 shall not fare worse in the matter than myself" 
 '' This promise moved the generous Timm so deeply 
 that he was much inclined to embrace Oswald once 
 more. But the latter made a gesture which looked not 
 unlike disgust, but wliicJi failed to have any effect upon 
 Timm. He only laughed, and said: "Well, I see )'ou 
 are learning your part. I will not detain you any 
 longer. Good-by, Oswald ! Play your part well. It 
 
Through Night to Light. 507 
 
 is three o'clock now. At four I will come again and in- 
 quire how you have succeeded. Adieu till then." 
 
 Oswald paced the room slowly after Timm had left 
 him. Then he went up to the engraving, and looked at 
 it long and anxiously. " It is too late ! " he murmured. 
 " I cannot save her ; I cannot set her free from the rock 
 to which fate has chained her. But I will see her once 
 more, and clear my memory of the disgrace with which 
 this blackguard, no doubt, has loaded me. She shall 
 not believe that I could use such unfair means. Who 
 knows how far this man has used my name in order to 
 attain his end." 
 
 He stepped to the table and arranged and folded up 
 the papers. Then he began to dress himself for the 
 proposed interview. It took him some time. He felt 
 as if he were benumbed in all his limbs, and had to sit 
 down more than once to let an attack of vertigo pass 
 off. At last he was ready. He put the papers in his 
 pocket and left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 AT the same time a carriage drove rapidly through 
 the deserted street in which Doctor Braun lived, 
 and many faces appeared at the windows to see 
 what it was. It was an elegant coach, with two high- 
 bred horses, and a large coat-of-arms on the doors. On 
 the box, by the side of the coachman, a servant in gor- 
 geous livery was seated. The coach stopped before 
 Doctor Braun's house, the servant jumped down to open 
 the door, and a young lady stepped out. She Avalked 
 rapidly through the little garden up to the door. 
 
 " Is Mrs. Braun at home } " 
 
 " I do not know," replied the maid, casting a shy 
 glance at the velvet cloak and the charming white bon- 
 net of the lady. " I will see." 
 
 " You need not go," said Sophie, who suddenly ap- 
 
5o8 Through Night to Light. 
 
 peared, adorned with a long kitchen apron ; " here I 
 am." 
 
 With these words she hastened with open arms towards 
 the lady, who, for her part, drew back the white veil and 
 flew into her arms. 
 
 " Dearest Helen ! " 
 
 " Dearest Sophie ! " 
 
 Sophie drew her friend into the room, helped her to 
 unbutton her cloak with trembling hands, took off her 
 bonnet, and seizing her with both hands, she said : 
 
 " Well, now let me look at you in broad day-light, you 
 darling ; beautiful as usual, wondrously beautiful ! But 
 you look pale and haggard, it seems to me. Can I do 
 anything for you 1 You see I have been at work in the 
 kitchen." 
 
 Helen smiled. It was a melancholy smile, which 
 made her dark eyes look still darker. 
 
 " I thank you, Sophie ! I only wished to refresh my- 
 self by seeing you. Ah ! you do not know how I have 
 longed for you ! " 
 
 Sophie was deeply touched by thisixnusual expression 
 of Helen's feelings. But she was even more deeply 
 touched by the sad tone of voice in wliich Helen said 
 she had longed to see her. Such a confession, wliich 
 the boarder at Miss Bear's institute would have been 
 too proud ever to have made, was still stranger in the 
 betrothed of Prince Waldenberg. 
 
 All this passed through Sophie's mind while she held 
 Helen's hands in her own and looked deeper and deeper 
 into her dark eyes. 
 
 " Poor Helen ! " The words escaped her ; she hardly 
 knew what she was saying. 
 
 But the low, sympathetic words awakened in Helen's 
 heart all the painful feelings which had kept her from 
 sleeping during the night, so that she scarcely had 
 more than an hour's rest near morning. Pity for her- 
 self, such as she had never known before, overcame her, 
 tears filled her eyes, and she threw herself into Sophie's 
 arms, hiding her beautiful pale face on her friend's 
 bosom. 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, dearest Helen ! what is the mat- 
 
Through Night to Light. 509 
 
 ter?" said Sophie, now seriously concerned. " I have 
 never seen you so ; I never thought I should see you so ; 
 and that now, when I thought your whole life was full 
 of joy and glory ! " 
 
 " Did you really think so ? " asked Helen, raising her- 
 self and looking at Sophie fixedly with her large sor- 
 rowful eyes. 
 
 Sophie cast down her own before this look. She did 
 not wish to say No ; and she was too honest to say Yes. 
 But she never hesitated long. Now or never was the 
 moment to tell Helen all she had had on her heart for 
 so long a time. 
 
 " Helen ! " she said, looking vip frankly and calmly 
 with her deep blue eyes ; " I cannot feign and will not 
 feign for any one, and least of all for you whom I love 
 dearly. Come, sweetheart, sit down by me on the sofa 
 here, and let us talk like two sisters ; and let us be sisters, 
 if never again, at least for this hour. If you did not 
 wish me to speak candidly to you, I think you would 
 have hardly come to me, vvdien you have so many bright- 
 er and greater friends. Am I right.-' " 
 
 " Go on ! " said Helen, as if it were comfort and con- 
 solation merely to hear the voice of her friend. 
 
 " You ask me," continued Sophie, gathering courage 
 as she spoke, " whether I really thought you were happy. 
 I do not. You do not look like a happy woman. Your 
 beautiful, pale fiice says No, even if your tongue should 
 say Yes. I have often read in your face — I have read 
 there long, long stories of which your lips did not say a 
 word, and I will tell you what I read. Shall I do it.'' " 
 
 " Go on ! " said Helen. 
 
 " I read on your brow that your mind is not satisfied 
 with anything except what is great and extraordinary, 
 and even not always with that ; and I have read in your 
 wondrously-beautiful eyes that your heart longs for love 
 as much as human heart can wish for it. Thus, there 
 has always been a struggle between your mind and your 
 heart. You wish to rule and to love at the same time, 
 and that cannot be done. Helen ! love, true love — and 
 there is no other love — must be humble ; it bears all 
 things and believes all things; it wants only to be one 
 
5IO Through Night to Light. 
 
 with the person loved, one in joy and one in sorrow. 
 Look, sweetheart ! such love has fallen to my share, and 
 therefore I know what I say. Franz and I have but one 
 will : he wants to do what is right, and so do I ; and even 
 if our views ever should be apart, our hearts are always 
 united. All joys are doubly great, and all sorrows are 
 diminished by half I felt that when m^y dear papa 
 died. What would have become of me if Franz had not 
 been there.'* " 
 
 "I had no one when my father died ! " Helen said, 
 sadly. 
 
 " I know it, darling ; and often, when I thought how 
 lonely you were, and how you did not have a soul to 
 whom you could pour out your grief, I have thrown my- 
 self on Franz's bosom, who many a time could not im- 
 agine what brought me to him so suddenlv and so pas- 
 sionately. You stand alone, even now when you are 
 on the point of being married ; and what is a thousand 
 times worse, you are quite sure in your heart that it will 
 always be so — that your husband will never be your 
 friend, your brother, your beloved, before whom your 
 soul lies open and clear, like a crystal-clear mountain 
 lake, into which the sun looks brightly down to the very 
 bottom." 
 
 " Never ! never ! " whispered Helen. 
 
 "I knew it," said Sophie, sadly; "but, Helen, if it is 
 bad enough for you to marry the prince without loving 
 him, it is still worse to become his wife while you are 
 cherishing in your heart the image of another man." 
 
 Deep blushes flew over Helen's face as Sophie said 
 these words in a firm voice, and at the same time looked 
 at her so gravely and reproachfully with her large blue 
 eyes. 
 
 " No, darling; don't be ashamed of having loved him. 
 That is not what I blame you for. He is a man of un- 
 common attraction, and gifted by nature with all that 
 can charm woman. I do not even blame you for loving 
 him still. Who can cast aside true love so promptly .'' 
 But, Helen, since it is so, do not marry the prince ! 
 You ought not to do it from respect for yourself, from 
 respect for him, if he deserves respect." 
 
Through NizJtt to Li^Jit. 
 
 511 
 
 " It is too late! " said Helen, hiding her face in her 
 hands. 
 
 " Never too late ! " exclaimed Sophie, passionately, 
 and showing how deeply her heart was moved. " It is 
 never too late to confess a mistake which must make 
 you and him unspeakably unhappy. Do not misunder- 
 stand me, Helen ! I do not speak in favor of that man 
 who, if he ever really deserved your love, has long since 
 forfeited all claim to it. I never was a friend of his ; his 
 so-called brilliant qualities never attracted me, because 
 they were not founded upon goodness of heart ; and, in 
 my eyes, good old Bemperlein stands immeasurably 
 higher than Oswald Stein. But, because he is not 
 worthy of you, must you therefore marry a man for 
 whom your heart feels nothing, however estimable he 
 may otherwise be .-' Are there no other men in the world 
 but Oswald and the prince } Oh, Helen ! I wish I had 
 tlie tongue of angels to touch your heart, so that you 
 might humbly bow before the truth, and esteem all the 
 splendor of the world as nothing in comparison with 
 the happiness you would find in being true to yourself! " 
 
 Helen shuddered as if really one of the heavenly hosts 
 were speaking to her. 
 
 " Oh, you are so good ! " she said. " I wish I Avere like 
 you." 
 
 " You can be so, if you but choose." 
 
 "But how can I escape.'' I have pledged my word ! 
 I cannot take it back ! " 
 
 " Speak openly to the prince ! " said Sophie, who 
 thought such a remedy quite simple and natural. 
 
 " Rather die ! '' murmured Helen. 
 
 At that moment there came a knock at the door. The 
 servant appeared with a note in his hand. 
 
 " A special messenger, ma'am, on horseback, with a 
 note from the baroness." • 
 
 Helen seized the note hastily. 
 
 " From mamma ! " 
 
 She cast a glance at it and trembled. 
 
 "What is it, Helen .? " 
 
 " Mamma has just heard from Grenwitz, that brother 
 has been taken very ill. She must go back immediately ! " 
 
512 Through NigJbt to Light. 
 
 " Poor girl ! " said Sophie. " How pale and frightened 
 you look ! Shall I go with you ? " 
 
 " No, no ! " said Helen. " You stay ! I must go alone. 
 Good-by, dearest Sophie ! Good-by ! " 
 
 Helen tore herself from Sophie's arms. 
 
 Sophie accompanied her to the carriage. She held 
 her friend's hand firmly in her own, and said : " Let me 
 hear from you, Helen ! And, Helen, \vhatever you do, 
 follow the voice of your warm heart ; it is a better coun- 
 sellor than your cold intellect ! " 
 
 " I wall do so,", said Helen, already in the carriage ; 
 "you may rely upon it, I will do so. Good-by !" 
 
 The servant closed the door; the carriage dashed off. 
 Sophie followed it with the eye till it had turned the 
 nearest corner, then she went slowly back to the house, 
 her lovely face bent thoughtfully to the ground. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 IN a room in the second story of the Hotel de Russie, 
 Unter den Linden, Berger was closeted that same 
 afternoon with Director Schmenckel. They had 
 had a long interview, and Mr. Schmenckel was just ris- 
 ing to say good-by. Berger rose likewise. 
 
 '' You know exactly w'hat you have to say.?" 
 
 "I should think so," replied Mr. Schmenckel, and 
 cleared his throat. 
 
 " Had we better go over it once more .'" 
 
 " Might do no harm," replied Mr. Schmenckel. 
 
 " You will say, then, that you are sorry to have caused 
 the princess so much trouble. You, yourself, would 
 never have thought of it; but that man — how did you call 
 him ? " 
 
 "Timm ! " 
 
 '• had led you on ! Now you had found out that 
 
 such proceedings were not worthy of an lionest man, and 
 that you promised the princess, upon your honor, never 
 
Through Night to Light. 513 
 
 to let another word of that whole affair escape your 
 lips." 
 
 " My lips ! " repeated Mr. Schmenckel, like a school- 
 boy who repeats a lesson the teacher tells him to say 
 after him. 
 
 " And as for that man, Timm, you will tell the prin- 
 cess not to trouble herself about him ; but, if he should 
 come and ask for money, to have him turned out of the 
 house by the servants. As you do not intend to support 
 him in any way, he cannot expect to make much out of 
 the story. Do you have it all well in your head now 1 " 
 
 " I think it will do," said Mr. Schmenckel, meditatively. 
 
 " And, above all, you will accept no money from the 
 princess, neither much nor little. Don't forget that; do 
 you hear } " 
 
 " All right ! " said the director, putting his hat on his 
 head with a great show of resolution. " Adieu, profes- 
 sor!" 
 
 " Adieu ! " said Berger, shaking hands. " Go and be- 
 come once more the honest, upright man you have been 
 heretofore." 
 
 " And now," said Berger to himself, when the door 
 had closed after Schmenckel; "now the moment has 
 come to pay an old debt." He went to a bureau and 
 took from a drawer a small box of ebony and a medal- 
 lion. Then he left the room and went down the pas- 
 sage till he came to a door, before which he stopped, lis- 
 tening for a moment. The key was in the key-hole. 
 Berger noiselessly drew it out and knocked. 
 
 " Eiitrez ! " cried a sslirill voice. 
 
 Berger entered. 
 
 The man he came to see stood with his back to the 
 door, before a looking-glass, busy finishing his toilet. 
 He turned round, thinking it was. a waiter. The new 
 comer cast a rapid look around the room, locked the 
 door quickly and noiselessly fi'om within, and then went 
 to the middle of the room. 
 
 " What do you want ? " asked Count Malikowsky, still 
 busy with his cravat. 
 
 " My name is Berger. I have already told you what I 
 want." 
 
 00* 
 
514 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " If you have any demand upon me you can speak to 
 my valet. I do not trouble myself with such things." 
 
 " I know very well," said Berger, without changing a 
 feature, " that Count Malikowsky likes best to have de- 
 mands which are presented to him in person attended 
 to by others, even by assassins, if needs be ; but this 
 time. I trust he will make an exception." 
 
 With these words he approached the round table in 
 the centre of the room, placed the little box on it, and 
 took from the box the two pistols which it contained. 
 
 The count had witnessed these proceedings with an 
 amazement which made him for a time speechless and 
 motionless. The sight of the pistols, however, brought 
 him to his senses again. With a rapidity which one 
 would not have thought possible at his age he hastened 
 to the door. 
 
 Berger stepped in his way, the pistols in his hand. 
 
 " One more effort to escape," he said, " one sound, and 
 yoii die like a dog! Stand over there, on the other side 
 of the table ; so ! " 
 
 "The man is mad! " murmured the count, obeying 
 Berger's command and trembling in all his limbs. 
 
 " Maybe! " said Berger, with an uncomfortable laugh; 
 *' but if I am mad it is your fault, count. You do not 
 know me .? " 
 
 "No; indeed, I do not! " 
 
 " Maybe I have changed slightly since I last had 
 the equivocal honor of meeting you. I will assist your 
 memory. Do you know this .'' " 
 
 He opened the medallion and held it towards the count 
 across the table. The count took his gold eye-glass and 
 looked at the miniature. It was a well-painted portrait 
 of a marvellously beautiful, brown-eyed girl, in the cos- 
 tume of the year 1820. 
 
 " Leonora ! " cried the count, starting back. 
 
 " Yes ; Leonora ! " repeated Berger, closing the medal- 
 lion again and putting it away. " And now I hope you 
 will know who I am, and what the account is which we 
 have to settle." 
 
 The count had turned pale even under his rouge; his 
 false teeth rattled ; he had to sit down in an arm-chair 
 
Through Night to Light. 515 
 
 which stood near the table, as he could not stand any 
 longer. 
 
 Berger seemed to enjoy the wretched sight. 
 
 " How the coward trembles ! " he said. " How the mean 
 heart in the hollow bosom knocks against the ribs for 
 the sake of a useless bit of life ! Miserable coward ! 
 You can seduce girls, but you cannot face a man ! Here, 
 take this pistol and end a life full of disgrace by an hon- 
 orable death ! " 
 
 "I cannot do it," whined the count; "have pity on 
 me ! You see, I am an old man ; my hands tremble 
 from gout ; I cannot hold a pen, much less a pistol, 
 steady ! " 
 
 " Is that so T' asked Berger; " are you really nothing 
 but a whitewashed grave 1 Why, then, it would be 
 harder punishment to let you live!" 
 
 Berger bowed his head and thought a moment. 
 
 *' Be it so!" he said. He put the pistols back in the 
 box. The count breathed freely. 
 
 " I have longed for this hour these thirty years. I 
 thought revenge would be wondrously sweet ; but the 
 cup in which it is offered to me is too disgusting. I do 
 not want it." 
 
 Berger had said this as if speaking to himself. Now 
 he raised his lids, fixed his piercing eyes on the count, who 
 was still trembling in the corner of his chair, and said: 
 
 " I have done v/-ith you. I will leave you your mis- 
 erable life, but under one condition : You will leave 
 town in an hour, and never appear again in Germany. 
 I do not want a blackguard like you to breathe German 
 air." 
 
 " As you wish it ! as you wish it ! " said the count. " I 
 shall be glad to get out of the wretched country." 
 
 Berger put the box in his pocket. Suddenly wild tu- 
 mult was heard in the street. Berger was instantly at 
 the window. Crowds of people — men, women, and chil- 
 dren — were rushing down the broad streets. " We are 
 betrayed! They fire at us ! To arms! To arms!" 
 
 " To arms ! To arms !" cried Berger, raising his arms 
 on high in wild joyousness. "At last! at last! Thanks, 
 Great Spirit !" 
 
5i6 Through Night to Light. 
 
 He turned away from the window, seized the count, 
 whom curiosity had roused from his terror, by the 
 breast, and shaking him with perfect fury, he cried : 
 
 "Do you hear, coward? to arms! A whole nation 
 calls to arms ! Women and children ! Now all the old 
 debts shall be paid that you and the like of you have 
 contracted for the last thirty years I" 
 
 He pushed the half-dead man contemptuously from 
 him, opened the door, and rushed out. 
 
 He ran against an officer, who was just about to 
 enter. 
 
 It was Prince Waldenberg. 
 
 " Pardon me, father, if I cannot keep my promise to 
 accompany you to the princess," said the prince, out of 
 breath ; " but you hear the rebellion is out again. I 
 expect every moment to hear the drums beat." 
 
 The count was still quite beside himself from the en- 
 counter with Berger. He stared at the prince with a 
 pale, disturbed countenance. 
 
 " What is the matter, father? " asked the prince, who 
 now only noticed the change in his appearance. 
 
 " Go to the devil with your father, sir," cried the 
 count, in whom the wild hatred he had cherished for so 
 many years against his wife's son at last broke out into 
 full fury. " I am not your father. I do not choose to 
 be your father. If you wish to see your father go to 
 your mother. You will find him there ! " 
 
 "What do you mean, father? " said the prince, fearing 
 the count had become insane. 
 
 "Father!" mimicked the count, scornfully. "De- 
 lightful ! Charming ! But I am tired of the farce. 
 You can all go to the devil ! " 
 
 He rang the bell. 
 
 " My carriage ; do you hear? " he cried, as the Avaiter 
 came. Then turning to the prince, " Will you go now, 
 sir, or not ? " 
 
 The prince looked at the count like a man who does 
 not know whether he shall believe his own ears and 
 eyes or not. Suddenly he seemed to have formed a 
 resolution. He cast one more look at the count, who 
 was running about like a madman, and left the room. 
 
Through Night to Light. 517 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MR. SCIIMENCKEL walked slowly down the Lin- 
 den to William street. He had crossed his arms 
 behind and pressed his hat low down on his 
 brow. ' People made way for him, for he stared fixedly 
 at the pavement, and continually murmured unintelligi- 
 ble words through his teeth. But Mr. Schmenckel was 
 neitlier drunk nor mad ; he was only a little excited, and 
 repeated the lesson which Berger had taught him. It was 
 a hard task ; but Mr. Schmenckel felt that he was only 
 doing his duty if he broke up the plot into which he had 
 been entrapped by the cunning of Mr. Timm. How fortu- 
 nate that he had revealed it all to the professor in his 
 great anxiety! How that man talked! Why, he had 
 frightened him out of his wits ! Schmenckel had always 
 said that the professor was a man of very special gifts. 
 And that the Czika turned out to be a baron's daughter, 
 that was no wonder to Director Schmenckel, of Vienna. 
 She had such wonderful eyes, that girl, and he had always 
 treated her well ; it was not so strange, therefore, that 
 the baron should have offered old Caspar Schmenckel 
 a place as steward on one of his estates. No ; Caspar 
 Schmenckel, from Vienna, need not try to obtain money 
 by foul means. Caspar Schmenckel could hold his head 
 high again and 
 
 " Why on earth, old man, are you coming only now .'' " 
 said suddenly a very sharp voice near him. " You ought 
 to have done with your visit by this time ! " 
 
 It was Mr. Timm who had uttered these angry words. 
 He had been patrolling up and down William street, in 
 the neighborhood of the Waldenberg mansion, in order 
 to hear the result of Oswald's interview with the Baro- 
 ness Grenwitz. He thought Director Schmenckel was 
 by this time on his way to the Dismal Hole, where they 
 had appointed to meet in case they should miss each 
 other in the street. Timm had had his reasons for send- 
 ing Schmenckel an hour sooner than Oswald to the 
 house. If Oswald's interview with the baroness was to 
 
Ci8 Through Night to Light. 
 
 be successful, the baroness must first have read a certain 
 letter; and in order to make the letter effective, Schmenc- 
 kel must first have had a conference with the princess. 
 In Mr. Timm's exquisite plans each measure fitted into 
 the other as in the works of a watch. Mr. Timm had, 
 therefore, good reasons for being very indignant at Mr. 
 Schmenckel's dereliction. 
 
 " It is enough to drive one mad," he continued, in his 
 irritation. " I cannot leave you alone for a moment 
 but you commit a stupid blunder." 
 
 " Oh ! not so rude, my friend ! " replied Mr. Schmenc- 
 kel, feeling in his virtuous purposes quite able to cope 
 with the serpent-wisdom of his accomplice, " or I'll be- 
 come personal too ! " 
 
 Mr. Timm saw that he had gone too far. 
 
 " Well, well ! " he said, gently ; " between friends no 
 offence ought to be taken. Only make haste now to go 
 in. All may come out right yet. You have seen the 
 count this morning .'' " 
 
 " No ! " growled Mr. Schmenckel. 
 
 "But why on earth haven't you seen him?" ex- 
 claimed Timm, whose indignation was roused once more. 
 
 " Because I did not choose ! " said Schmenckel, de- 
 fiantly. " Because I do not Avant to have anything more 
 to do with you anyway ! " 
 
 " Ah ! " said Timm ; " you would like to raise the 
 treasure by yourself.'' I have burnt my fingers to draw 
 the chestnuts out of the fire for you, eh } No, my dear 
 sir, we are not quite such fools. He who wants to be 
 paid must work." 
 
 " I do not Avant a farthing of that wretched money! " 
 cried Schmenckel. " I am going to tell the princess 
 that I am an honest fellow, and that she need not trouble 
 herself any further." 
 
 *' Are you piping in that way "i " asked Timm. " You 
 mean to betray me a little, do you ? Have a care, man ; 
 you might have to pay dear for the fun ! " 
 
 " I shaJl do what I like," said Schmenckel, assuming 
 a very determined air, and walking off with long strides. 
 
 " You shall not enter that house ! " cried Timm, and 
 seized Schmenckel by the arm. 
 
Through Night to Light. 519 
 
 Schmenckel's reply to this challenge was a blow, 
 which hurled Mr. Timm very unpleasantly across the 
 sidewalk against the wall. The next moment the great 
 portal had closed behind Mr. Schmenckel. 
 
 The little altercation Avith Mr. Timm had put him in 
 a kind of heroic ecstasy well suited for the interview 
 he was about to have. Thus it happened that he was 
 not abashed by the gorgeous livery of the servants, nor 
 by the splendor of the rooms through which he was led. 
 But his courage failed him and his heart sank when the 
 servant stopped at a door and whispered : " Her grace 
 is in there ; go in ^A-ithout knocking ; she expects you." 
 Mr. Schmenckel passed his hand through his thick hair, 
 cleared his voice, held his hat firmly under his left arm, 
 and entered cautiously. 
 
 A rosy twilight received him, and in the rosy twilight 
 he noticed two women, one of whom was seated in an 
 arm-chair near the bright fire that was burning there in 
 spite of the warm weather, while the other stood a little 
 sideways behind the chair. Both of them examined 
 him as he approached with eager curiosity. His recep- 
 tion caused him to shorten his steps more and more 
 till he suddenly came to a stop half way between the 
 door and the fire-place. 
 
 " Come nearer, my friend," said the lady who was 
 standing behind the chair. 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel advanced a few inches and came 
 again to a stop, quite determined this time not to ap- 
 proach nearer to those formidable eyes. 
 
 " You are the man who wrote to Count Malikowsky 
 day before yesterday .? " asked the lady behind the 
 chair. 
 
 "Yes, your grace." Mr. Schmenckel felt as if these 
 words, which he no doubt had uttered himself, had been 
 spoken by some one else at the other end of the large 
 apartment. This was by no means calculated to bring 
 back the heroic frame of mind which the rosy twilight 
 and the bright eyes had so seriously damaged. He 
 blushed all over, and cleared his voice in order to con- 
 vince himself that it was really he himself who was 
 speaking to the ladies. 
 
520 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Your name is Schmenckel ? " asked the lady behind 
 the chair. 
 
 " Yes, your grace. " 
 
 " And you were in St. Petersburg twenty-four years 
 ago .? " 
 
 " Yes, your grace." 
 
 " And you visited at Letbus House "i " 
 
 " Yes, your grace." 
 
 " Do you recognize nie ? " 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel fixed his eyes, which had been rest- 
 ing upon everything in the room except the two ladies, 
 on the speaker, and said, after a short reflection, 
 
 " I should think so ; although I should not like to 
 swear to it. If it was not such a very long time since, 
 I should say you were the Nadeska, the chambermaid 
 of the princess, who was all the time bringing me notes 
 and rose bouquets into the Black Bear." 
 
 Nadeska bent over her mistress and whispered a few 
 words into her ear, to which the latter replied in the 
 same tone. Then Nadeska left the room. 
 
 " Wont you sit down, Mr. Schmenckel ? " said the 
 princess, as soon as they were alone. 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel seated himself on the outer edge of 
 an arm-chair. 
 
 " Do you recognize me also ? " asked the lady. 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel bowed, placing his hand on his heart. 
 
 " Why did you not come to me directly 7 " the prin- 
 cess continued in a tone of gentle reproach. " Why did 
 you take the count into your confidence ? Have I ever 
 been ungenerous towards you. Was it my fault if our 
 last meeting ended as it did ? " 
 
 Mr. Schmenckel was about to reply, but the princess 
 continued. 
 
 " If I had known that you were still living, and where 
 you were living, I would have provided for you liber- 
 ally ; and I am still willing to do so. But one condition 
 I must make: you must have nothing to do with the 
 count ; and, above all things, you must never dare come 
 near the prince. If you will comply with these condi- 
 tions you may ask what you choose, and if Alexandrina 
 Letbus is able to do it it shall be done ! " 
 
Through Night to Light. • 521 
 
 The princess extended imploringly her thin, trans- 
 parent hand ; her black eyes filled with tears ; the rosy 
 twilight gave a spiritual beauty to her pale but still 
 beautiful features. Mr. Schmenckel had a susceptible 
 heart in his bosom, and the humility of the great lady 
 moved him deeply. 
 
 " Let me say a word now, too, your grace," he said. 
 " I am not the scoundrel you make me out. I should 
 never have dreamt, your grace, of writing a letter to 
 the count, if I had not been persuaded to do so by an 
 awfully bad man. Timm is his name. I never knew at 
 all that Caspar Schmenckel, of Vienna, had such a great 
 lord for his son. But that man Timm said to me : No 
 harm in beating about the bush ; no harm in that ! 
 Then he wrote the letter, and carried it himself to the 
 count. The count came the same evening to the Dis- 
 mal Hole to see me, and told me he was very glad if I 
 could make life a little hard to you, Mrs. Princess. But 
 he said I must not say a word to the prince, or there 
 would be an end to the fun. And then, says he, it is too 
 much what you ask ; a fourth of it is enough. And he 
 told me to talk it over with your grace and then he 
 would pay me the money this forenoon at his hotel. 
 Now, your grace, you may believe it or not, as you 
 choose, but Caspar Schmenckel, from Vienna, is an hon- 
 est fellow, and don't like to do any harm to anybody, 
 least of all to a beautiful lady who has once upon a 
 time been very kind to poor Caspar. And when your 
 grace sent for me, and let me know that you wanted to 
 see me yourself, I said : Caspar, says I, go to the prin- 
 cess and tell her so and so, and she must not trouble 
 herself about it any more ; Caspar Schmenckel will 
 never come near her in all his life. And as for the money, 
 I tell your grace, not a penny do I want to touch of it, 
 not if it were to turn into pure gold on the spot. And 
 so, your grace — princess, good-by to you ! And if we 
 don't see each other again you must remain well, and 
 don't you trouble yourself any more about Caspar 
 Schmenckel ; he'll never do you any harm. I kiss your 
 hand, your grace ! " 
 
 With these words he rose and made his best bow. 
 
522 Through Night to Light. 
 
 The princess was very much touched. 
 
 " Good fellow," she said, with trembling voice. 
 
 Her eyes dwelt with pleasure upon the herculean 
 proportions of the man who w^as the father of her son. 
 The extraordinary resemblance between them, in figure 
 as well as in face, filled her with mournful satisfaction. 
 She thought of the days when this man, a lion in 
 strength and agility, had conquered not her heart but 
 her imagination. But at the same moment a sudden 
 fear overcame her lest her son should find his father 
 here — lest her son with his pride and his passionate 
 temper should ever discover that this juggler, this rope- 
 dancer, was the father of Prince Waldenberg. 
 
 " You must go ! " she said, hurriedly. " Here," — she 
 took a superb ring from her finger, in which the dia- 
 monds shone in all the colors of the rainbow as they 
 caught the light of the fire — " here ; no words, take it ! 
 I have Avorn it long, long ago, even then when Nadeska 
 first brought you to me; take it as a keepsake from 
 Alexandrina Letbus ! But now go, go ! " 
 
 She touched the silver bell. Nadeskjl entered. 
 
 " Show him out ! Mind that no one see you ! " 
 
 Nadeska took Mr. Schmenckel, Avho would have 
 liked to have said something, but was too confused and 
 embarrassed to find words, and led him through a secret 
 door which led near the fire-place into a narrow passage, 
 and then through a private staircase into the court- 
 yard. 
 
 The princess sank exhausted back into the cushions 
 of her easy-chair, and hid her eyes behind her hand. 
 She did not notice that a heavy curtain on the right 
 hand from the fire-place, which had been moving several 
 times during her conversation with Mr. Schmenckel, 
 now opened and admitted the prince. She only heard 
 him when he was close by her. She opened her eyes, 
 and at the same moment- she uttered a piercing shriek 
 — his unexpected appearance and a single glance at his 
 pale, disturbed face told her that he had heard all. 
 
 " Mercy, Raimund ! Mercy ! " she cried, raising her 
 folded hands in agony towards him. 
 
 Raimund's broad chest was heaving as if it were 
 
Through Night to Light. 523 
 
 struggUnc^ with an overwhelming burden, and his voice 
 sounded like a hoarse death-rattle, as he now said, point- 
 ing with the finger at the door through which Schmenc- 
 kel had left, 
 
 " Was that man who has just left you my father ? " 
 
 " Mercy, Raimund ! Mercy ! Are you going to kill 
 your mother? " 
 
 " Better you had never borne me than this ! " 
 
 The powerful man trembled as if violent fever Avere 
 shaking him ; a groan broke from his breast which re- 
 sounded fearfully through the gorgeous apartment. 
 
 " By all the saints, Raimund, hear me, 1 beseech you ! 
 I will tell you all!" 
 
 " I need not hear any more. I know too much al- 
 ready. The count called me a bastard \ I thought he 
 Avas mad ! He called me by my right name." 
 
 He put his hand to his side — he had laid aside his 
 sword in the ante-room. His eyes looked searchingly 
 around as if looking for a weapon. His mother under- 
 stood him. 
 
 " Raimund, Raimund, what are you going to do .''" 
 
 " Make an end of it as soon as possible !" 
 
 "No man will ever know " 
 
 " J^F/// know .'' Who does not know it. ^ Nadeska! the 
 count! this man! Are my rank, my honor, my fortune 
 to depend on the whim of a chambermaid, the discretion 
 of a heartless roue, and the silence of a rope-dancer.-* 
 Am I to wait till the people in the street " 
 
 " I will kill every man who knows it ! They shall die 
 — they shall all die, if you but remain my own." 
 
 "And if they were to die, and if no one knew but you 
 and I — yes, mother, if you were dead and the secret 
 were buried in my bosom, I should not think it safe 
 even there ; I should hide myself and my disgrace in the 
 lowest depths of the earth." 
 
 The princess covered her pale face with her thin hands. 
 But this was not the moment to abandon herself to idle 
 grief. She knew her son's character too well not to be 
 aware that it was a question of life and death. 
 
 " Raimund," she said, starting up again, "you do not 
 kill yourself only ; you kill me too! You arc myall, 
 
 // ^ 
 
 
524 Through Night to Light. 
 
 my sun, and my light ! I never had another child but 
 you. You do not know what it is to have a child and 
 to love it, especially when one is as unhappy as I have 
 been! I never loved the count. I could not have loved 
 a roue who has wasted his fortune and his health in 
 abominable profligacy. I became his wife because — be- 
 cause the czar would have it so. And I was so young at 
 that time, and so frivolous and thoughtless, grown up in 
 all the splendor and luxury of the most splendid and 
 most luxurious court on earth ! I was not a faithful wife 
 — nor was the count a faithful husband. It mattered 
 little to him ; but he wished to get a hold on me in order 
 to force me to provide for his mad expenditures. He 
 had long watched me — till at last, I do not know yet by 
 what unlucky accident or by whose treachery, he dis- 
 covered my secret. From that moment my life has 
 been a perpetual torture ; I have grown old before my 
 time. I never had anything but you and your love to 
 warm my heart in this icy-cold Avorld. If you rob me 
 of that also, I must succumb. Raimund, is this your 
 gratitude for all my love.? " 
 
 The son had listened to his mother's cunning words, 
 which interwove truth and fiction so skilfully, with an 
 air as black as a wall of thunder-laden clouds. 
 
 " Show me the possibility to live," he replied, " and I 
 will live. As it is, I cannot live. I cannot endure the 
 consciousness that my blood is no better than that 
 which flows in the veins of my groom." 
 
 "Am I not your mother.? " 
 
 *' Is that low person not my father } " 
 
 " Yes, Raimund, he is, and to him you owe your proud 
 strength ; to him you owe it, if all men look weaklings 
 by your side. Would you rather be the count's son and 
 inherit his wretched feebleness, his poisoned blood.? 
 And do you fancy that in our veins no other blood flows 
 but noble blood ? — that your case is the only one in 
 which a degenerate race has been renewed by an admix- 
 ture of sound but humble blood ? Shall I tell you a 
 few anecdotes of our own circles.? And do you think it 
 is different in higher and the very highest families .? " 
 
 The princess rose lightly from her chair and wliis- 
 
Through Night to Light. 525 
 
 pered something in her son's ear. But he shook grinnly 
 his head. 
 
 " Is it thus with us.? " he said. " Then we had better 
 break our swords to pieces, and drag our coats-of-arms 
 through tlie mire. I have kept my honor unsullied; 
 I have no sin on mv conscience, but I must atone for 
 the sins of others, before it rises higher and higher, and 
 I get deeper and deeper into the mire. Do you know 
 that the man with whom I had some days ago a per- 
 sonal encounter Unter den Linden, was this very man! " 
 The prince pointed at the door through which Mr. 
 Schmenckel had made his way out. " Do you know that 
 I escaped but by a hair's breadth staining my sword 
 with the blood of him who is my father 1 No ! no ! 
 The measure is full to overflowing ! " 
 
 " And Helen .? " 
 
 The prince shuddered. 
 
 The princess saw how deep that arrow had entered. 
 A gleam of hope appeared to her ; she thought she 
 might after all be victorious in this conflict. 
 
 "Are you going to destroy your greatest happiness.' 
 will you make this angel also wretched .'' will you hu- 
 miliate yourself before her, the proud beauty .' Impos- 
 sible ! You cannot mean it. You are bound to life 
 with chains of steel and with chains of roses. You can 
 break the former, you dare not break these." 
 
 " It is in vain," said the prince ; " all your words can- 
 not remove this terrible burden ! " He placed his haijd 
 on his breast. " From here farewell ! " 
 
 He turned to go. 
 
 "Raimund!" screamed the princess, rising suddenly 
 from her chair and clinging to her son, " what do you 
 mean to do .'' " 
 
 " Nothing mean, be sure," he said, trying to disen- 
 gage himself gently from her arms. " Farewell ! " 
 
 " Go then, barbarian, and murder — " She could not 
 finish; the terrible excitement of these last two scenes 
 was too much for her suffering nerves ; she sank faint- 
 ing upcm her chair. 
 
 At that moment Nadeska came back. A glance at 
 the scene in the room told her what had happened. 
 
526 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " You will kill the poor lady," she said, hastening to 
 assist her fainting mistress. "And why all this? It 
 will never be known." 
 
 The prince laughed. It was a fearful laugh. 
 
 " Do you think so, Nadeska .'' " he said. " But suppose 
 you talked in your dreams .? Or have you sold your 
 dreams also to the princess V 
 
 He beat his forehead with his closed fist and rushed 
 out. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AS the prince hurried through the ante-room, like 
 Orestes driven by the furies, he met the Baroness 
 Grenwitz, who came to take leave of the princess. 
 He thought he would sink into the ground for shame, 
 as she looked fixedly into his eyes. She said something 
 to him, but he did not hear what it was. His ears were 
 ringing with strange sounds. He uttered an inarticu- 
 late sound, which was to represent an apology. Then 
 he rushed out. 
 
 The baroness followed him with a sombre, suspicious 
 look. 
 
 Anna Maria had not had a happy moment since she 
 had entered the house. The reception last night had 
 touched her to the quick. The constrained manner of 
 the prince, the unprofitable eff"orts of the princess to 
 give to the interview a more cordial tone, the thinly- 
 veiled irony of the count, who ridiculed every affection- 
 ate word — all this had filled her with sad apprehensions 
 for Helen's future. She had passed the night without 
 sleep, thinking over the riddle, and again and again she 
 had come to the conclusion that the princess must have 
 been faithless to her husband at some time in her life, 
 and that the count thus had an iron hold on her. Per- 
 haps the striking want of resemblance between father 
 and son might have contributed to such a conclusion. 
 Thus she had risen late in very bad humor, and with 
 
Through Night to Light. 527 
 
 a violent nervous headaclie, and was rather pleased io 
 learn that Miss Helen had driven out to visit her friend, 
 Sophie. Helen had scarcely left the house when two 
 letters were brought in, one from Grunwald, the other 
 from the city itself She opened the one from Grun- 
 wald first. The news of Malte's illness filled her with 
 consternation. She had always trembled for his life, 
 from childhood up ; were her fears to be realized now .'' 
 And if Make should die — oh that God in His great 
 mercy would prevent that 1 — the whole entailed estate 
 went, now that Felix also was no more, to a Captain 
 Grenwitz, the son of her former husband's first cousin, 
 a beggar, whom she had never liked, and who had al- 
 ways looked like a hungry pike eagerly snapping at the 
 estate. He was henceforth to be master at Grenwitz.? 
 Why, after all, she would have preferred to find out that 
 Oswald Stein was really Harald's legitimate son. 
 
 Mechanically she opened the second letter. It was 
 from Albert Timm and ran thus : 
 
 " Madame : — After our last interview you will not be 
 surprised if I now use ^he weapons against you, which I 
 until then had been using /<?;- you. Mr. Stein has been 
 fully informed. Before the year is out — you may rely 
 on it — he is master of Stantow and Baerwalde, and you 
 will, besides, have to pay the back interest for twenty- 
 four years. This is simple ruin for you. I might rub 
 my hands with delight at your discomfiture ; but Albert 
 Timm is a good-natured fellow and offers you a piece 
 of good advice in return for your ingratitude. Make 
 your peace with Mr. Stein before it is too late ! Better 
 a small sacrifice than an entire loss. I send your ad- 
 versary to you ; receive him kindly, and if you are wise 
 give him the hand of your daughter, who loves him 
 madly. The princely match is anyhow at an end, con- 
 sidering that the prince is not the son of a count, but of 
 a rope-dancer, and the matter is in such a position that 
 the whole world will soon enjoy the grand scandal. 
 But I must resist your desire to hear the full explana- 
 tion of this interesting affair, which you might disre- 
 gard as you disregarded certain other explanations of 
 mine. Perhaps you may change your mind after the 
 
«2 8 Through Night to Light. 
 
 interview with Mr. Stein, and become convinced of the 
 sincere friendship with which I have the honor, etc., etc." 
 
 At any other time tlie baroness would have looked 
 upon this letter merely as a renewed effort on the part 
 of Mr. Timm to regain his lost position ; but this morn- 
 ing her mind was so disturbed that the letter and every- 
 thing else appeared to her in quite a new light. Was not, 
 after all, everything and anything possible in this false 
 world.'' It was evident that this Mr. Timm knew more 
 than most people, and at all events the persistence with 
 which he adhered to his statements was very remarkable. 
 Even Felix in his last letter had admitted the fact ! 
 
 The usual energy of the baroness gradually gave way 
 under the heavy pressure. And now Helen, whom she 
 had sent for, was not coming back ; and in an hour 
 the train would start by which alone she could reach 
 Grunwald next day ! Her trunks were not packed, the 
 question whether Helen should accompany her or stay 
 had not been decided, and she had yet to take leave of 
 the princess and the prince. But that, at all events, 
 could be done in Helen's absence ! Necessity released 
 her from the rules of etiquette ; and, besides, the princess 
 herself had asked her the night before to come unan- 
 nounced to her rooms. 
 
 Thus Anna Maria left her rooms and went hastily 
 down the long passages and through the ante-rooms 
 which led to the apartments of the princess, when sud- 
 denly the prince rushed out, evidently in a high state 
 of excitement, and passed her without saying a word. 
 
 " That is strange ! " said the baroness. The door opened 
 again suddenly, and Nadeska rushed out with terror in 
 her face. 
 
 " Where is the princess } " asked the baroness. 
 
 " In there. She is unweil. No one is coming to an- 
 swer the bell. I am going to look for the servants." 
 
 " Do so ! " said the baroness. '* I will stay in the 
 meantime with the princess." 
 
 Nadcskadid not look as if she liked the arrangement, 
 but she dared not prevent the baroness from entering. 
 She hurried away, while Anna Maria stepped into the 
 rosy twilight of the apartments of the princess. 
 
Through Night to Light. 529 
 
 She was still lying in the arm-chair near the fire. 
 Her half-closed eyes and the convulsive movements of 
 her hands showed that she had not quite recovered yet 
 from a fit of fainting. 
 
 " Give me back my son, Nadeska ! " she murmured. 
 *' He must not wrestle with that Hercules ; the father is 
 stronger than the son. You see ! you see ! how he takes 
 him around the waist and lifts him up. He will throw 
 him down, here at my feet. " There, there " 
 
 The unfortunate woman broke out in hysterics, mixed 
 with a horrible laugh. Between times she raved : 
 
 " Don't let the count know ! The count will tell the 
 baroness ! The baroness will tell her beautiful daughter, 
 and then she wont take the rope-dancer's son ! There 
 he comes, his head cut open, and " 
 
 A fearful cry broke from the bosom of the sufferer. 
 She started up, and stared with haggard looks at the 
 baroness. Immediately she sank back once more, faint- 
 ing anew. Nadeska came in with a couple of Russian 
 maids. She seemed to be anxious to get the baroness 
 out of the way. 
 
 "The princess has these attacks quite often," she said, 
 in her smooth, humble manner, while the servants took 
 up the fainting lady and carried her into her bed-room, 
 " She must be left alone in such cases ; the presence of 
 strangers makes it only Avorse." 
 
 " I am not going to disturb her, my dear," said the 
 baroness, coldly ; " especially as I have to leave in an 
 hour. I shall write a few lines to her grace." 
 
 " What does tliat mean .'' " said Nadeska. " Does she 
 also know more than slie ought to know.-* " 
 
 The baroness returned to her rooms in a state of in- 
 describable excitement. What was that she had seen 
 and heard ? The wild expression in the prince's face, the 
 confused speeches of the princess, the suspicious man- 
 ner of the waiting woman, who evidently knew all 
 about the family drama — what was she to think of it .>* 
 What ought she to do ? It was perhaps the first time in 
 her life that the clever, sensible woman was utterly at 
 a loss. But was not the ground giving way under her 
 feet.'', Was the indestructible pillars of her success not 
 23 
 
530 Through Night to Light. 
 
 snapping suddenly like a bruised reed? The prince a 
 rope-dancer's son ! A family secret anxiously guarded 
 for twenty-odd years, suddenly proclaimed in the streets 
 and on the house-tops ! Her son, the legitimate heir to 
 the immense estate, sick unto death ! An unknown scion 
 of a former OAvner, rising unexpectedly from obscurity, 
 a lost will in his right hand, which made him owmer of 
 a fortune that the baroness had all her life regarded 
 as her own ! And what would Helen say ? How her 
 pride would suffer when she learnt that the diamonds 
 of the princely crown were nothing but vile glass, 
 unfit for the lowest of the low ! 
 
 A carriage came dashing into the court-yard. It was 
 Helen. The heart of the baroness beat as if the deci- 
 sive, moment was only now approaching. A few anxious 
 moments and the beautiful daughter came, pale and dis- 
 tressed, into the room, and threw herself into her mother's 
 arms with a passionate vehemence which contrasted 
 most strangely with her usual reserve and coldness. 
 
 " God be thanked you are back ! " said Anna Maria. 
 " I must go ; I wanted to ask you if you will go with me ! " 
 
 " Can you ask me .'' " cried Helen. " I should stay 
 here, and without you .'' " 
 
 " Then you do not feel happy here, Helen } " 
 
 " No, no ! I do not love the prince ! I have never 
 loved him ! " And Helen hid her face on her mother's 
 bosom. 
 
 The baroness Avas much surprised. Helen's words, 
 and even more the tone in which she said them, and 
 her whole strange, passionate manner, suddenly gave 
 her an utterly new insight into her daughter's charac- 
 ter. She had a dim perception that large portions of 
 her inner life had so far been utterly unknown to her, 
 and that all her cleverness, of which she was so proud, 
 had not enabled her to see clearly in her own daugh- 
 ter's heart. 
 
 " Why did you give your promise then.? " she asked. 
 
 " I cannot tell. I was — I did not know what I was 
 doing. But now I do know it. I cannot marry the 
 prince ; he must give me back my word. If you insist 
 upon the marriage I shall die ! " 
 
Through Night to Light. 531 
 
 "And if I do not insist ? " 
 
 It was now Helen's turn to be surprised. She looked 
 at the baroness with wondering eyes. 
 
 "As I say, my dear child, I have made certain discov- 
 eries this morning- which have startled me, to say the 
 least, very much, and which have brought me the con- 
 viction that we have proceeded in this whole matter 
 with a want of caution which might possibly have been 
 quite disastrous to us all." 
 
 " I do not understand you, mamma ! '.' said Helen. 
 
 " Well, it is hard to understand," said Anna Maria, 
 plaintively. " I hardly know where my head is. I am 
 perfectly miserable ! " 
 
 And the baroness threw herself into a chair as if she 
 were broken-hearted, and commenced weeping bitterly, 
 
 Helen had never seen her mother weep. The un- 
 usual sight touched her deeply. She knelt down by 
 her, and tried to console her with kind, soothing words. 
 But it was all in vain. 
 
 " It is not that alone, though that is bad enough," 
 sobbed Anna Maria ; " but we also are threatened with 
 a similar exposure," and under the pressure of a mo- 
 ment, yielding to the natural impulse of all helpless 
 sufferers to cling to others at any hazard, she told 
 Helen in a few words all about Oswald's claims on her 
 fortune, and that if these claims should be legally estab- 
 lished she and her daughter alike would be beggars. 
 
 Helen had listened to her in breathless excitement. 
 Her color came and went continually, her eyes were 
 fixed on her mother, her hand held her mother's hands 
 with a firm grasp. 
 
 " Beggars ! you say ? Better so and a clear conscience 
 than in abundance and fainting with anxiety ! Come, 
 mamma, I am not afraid of poverty ! You have often told 
 me how poor you were before you Avere married to papa. 
 Why should I be better off .'' I do not see that being 
 rich has made you happy, or papa ; he told me so in his last 
 hour. I have seen it with my own eyes how much 
 happier people are who have nothing but their affec- 
 tion, who rely on nothing but their own strength. I 
 have strength; I can and will work for you, if it must be 
 
532 Through Night to Light. 
 
 so. But now let us go away from here. You are sick and 
 weary; your hand is icy cold, and your forehead is 
 burning; stay, do not get up. I will pack your things; 
 you need not trouble yourself; I shall be down in five 
 minutes." 
 
 "No," said the baroness, "let me do that. Mary can 
 help me. You can do something else for me. We can- 
 not well leave without writing a few words of farewell 
 to the princess, as she is too unwell to see us, and we 
 are in such a hurry. Sit down and write a few lines, 
 kindly and politely, but neither more nor less than 
 what is indispensable." 
 
 " I will do so," said Helen, sitting down at her escri- 
 toire, while her mother went into the adjoining room. 
 
 Helen had just taken up her pen when she heard a 
 noise behind her which made her look up. In the mid- 
 dle of the room stood Oswald, deadly pale, his large 
 eyes, brilliant with fever, fixed upon her. Helen was 
 so terrified that she could not speak nor move. She 
 thought for a moment it was an apparition. 
 
 Oswald seemed to guess so. 
 
 " It is really I ! " he said. " Pardon me for my abrupt 
 appearance. I asked for the baroness ; they showed me 
 in here." 
 
 " I will call my mother," said Helen, rising. 
 
 " I pray, stay," said Oswald; "I pray you! I have 
 only two words to say. I would rather say them to you 
 than to the baroness." 
 
 There was something so solemn in Oswald's manner 
 and tone of voice that Helen had not the heart to refuse 
 his request. 
 
 " Will you sit down 1 " she said, sinking herself into a 
 chair and pointing at another chair near her. 
 
 Oswald sat down. 
 
 " 1 do not know, Miss Helen, if your mother has 
 spoken to you of certain intrigues by which she has been 
 troubled of late, and which originate mainly with a cer- 
 tain Mr. Timm ? " • 
 
 " I have just this morning heard of it for the first 
 time." 
 
 " That was my own fate. And this is what brings me 
 
Through Night to Light. 533 
 
 here. I cannot bear the thought ; I believe I could not 
 die quietly if I thought that you believed me capable of 
 employing such vile means against you. Will you 
 please tell the baroness so? " 
 
 " I will. " 
 
 " And tell her also, I pray, and believe yourself, how 
 bitterly I regret that you have been troubled with such 
 a matter." 
 
 *ilt was nothing but an invention of Mr. Timm ! " 
 
 "No, Miss Helen!" said Oswald, with a sorrowful 
 smile. " I presume it is more than that. I am only too 
 much afraid it is the real truth, and that is the second 
 reason why you see me here." 
 
 " You surely do not imagine we would refuse to ac- 
 knowledge legitimate claims against us ? " 
 
 " That case will never arise. I have no desire to make 
 such claims. I should never have done so, under any 
 circumstances; and least of all now." 
 
 He cast a look around him. The splendor of the 
 apartment reminded him forcibly of the house in which 
 he was. 
 
 " Least of all now ! " he repeated. " Here are the 
 papers which prove this most unfortunate of all stories, 
 I desire the baroness to take them and to keep them, so 
 as to be secure at all times against that man's machina- 
 tions." 
 
 He placed the documents and papers which Timm 
 had brought him a few hours before upon Helen's es- 
 critoire, and bowed to take leave. 
 
 " One moment, sir ! " said Helen, rising likewise. " Do 
 you imagine my mother will accept such a gift } Who 
 has given you the right to think so little of us "> " 
 
 " I think. Miss Helen, your pride misleads you in this 
 instance. There is evidently no one whom this whole 
 matter concerns except myself, and I desire to be relieved 
 of an unpleasant suspicion. It was hardly necessary to 
 remind me that a few hundred thousand dollars, more 
 or less, mattered little to the mother of the owner of 
 Grenwitz, and to the betrothed of Prince Waldenberg." 
 
 " Circumstances ought not to affect our duties," re- 
 plied the young girl, rising to her full height and curv- 
 
534 Through Night to Light. 
 
 ing her lips contemptuously ; " and you need not believe 
 that I am so indifferent to your claims because I am 
 proud of our wealth and our rank. We are at this very 
 moment on the point of leaving for Grenwitz, where 
 my brother is lying dangerously ill; and there, on my 
 escritoire, lies the beginning of a letter in which the 
 princess will be told that I shall never be her son's 
 wife." 
 
 Helen's dark eyes were sliining brightly ; thehotbl()od 
 gave greater depth to the red on her cheeks. Oswald 
 had never seen her so beavitiful, so marvellously beauti- 
 ful. And this at the moment when he had already in 
 his heart bid farewell to life, which had no longer any 
 charms for him. Just now this glorious beauty, this 
 highest beau-ideal of his wildest dreams, must present 
 herself to him, not at an inapproachable distance, but 
 within reach attainable to his bold desires — to his firm 
 willj perhaps ! Why did she tell him that she would 
 never marry the prince ? And wliy did she tell it in such 
 a defiant tone, if she did not mean to humble him — the 
 weak, hesitating, fickle man — by the strength of her will, 
 by the promptness with which she abandoned all this 
 splendor, merely in order to remain true to herself? 
 
 These thoughts passed swiftly through Oswald's mind, 
 which worked all the faster as he had been so long 
 sleepless and feverish. He knew that she would never 
 have told him all this if she had not loved him at some 
 time or other ; if she did not perhaps still love him ; and 
 yet he knew with absolute certainty that they were 
 separated from each other irretrievably by all that had 
 happened. There was therefore no bitterness, but deep 
 sadness in his voice, as he fixed his eyes immoveably 
 upon the heavenly beauty before him and said, slowly : 
 
 " Let us not sadden one another still more by violent, 
 bitter words ! Who knows whether we sliall ever speak 
 to each other again 1 I feel like a dying man, and what 
 I am going to say I do not say for myself, but from an 
 earnest desire to state the truth. Helen, I have loved 
 you from the hour when I saw you first in the park at 
 Grenwitz ! I have never forgotten that moment. I 
 know that you also would have loved me if I had but 
 
Through Night to Light. 535 
 
 been true to myself; you might have become my own. 
 But when I forsook myself you also forsook me, and 
 now there is an abyss between us over which there is 
 no bridge. And what seemed to be about to bring us 
 together — the discovery of this morning — only parts us 
 forever. I feel it clearly. You will never be disposed 
 to accept a gift, as you call it; and I would rather burn 
 my right hand than stretch it out after the inheritance 
 of a man who has made my mother the most wretched 
 of women. There is no peace possible between us, even 
 if everything else were as it ought to be. And now, 
 Helen, before we part — probably forever — one more 
 request: give me your hand across that gulf which parts 
 us, as a token that I am forgiven ! " 
 
 Helen laid her hand in Oswald's hand. 
 
 Thus they stood and looked deep into each other's 
 eyes ; and as they so looked they saw all the golden 
 summer mornings in the past at Grenwitz under the 
 whispering trees, and all the purple-glowing evenings 
 in the green beech woods near the sea-shore — and then 
 they saw nothing more, for a close veil of tears hid the 
 enchanting images. 
 
 " Farewell, Helen ! " 
 
 " Farewell, Oswald ! " 
 
 " Forever! " 
 
 " Forever ! " 
 
 Oswald did not take the beloved one in his arms; a 
 feeling of holy reverence kept him back. He felt it, the 
 time for repentance which was granted to him was too 
 short, and swearing new vows which he felt no strength 
 to keep was not making amends for so many broken 
 vows. 
 
 He let the hand go which he had held in his own, and 
 — the next moment Helen was alone. 
 
 She was still standing so, her eyes fixed on the door 
 through which Oswald had disappeared, when the bar- 
 oness came back to the room. 
 
 " It is high time, Helen," she said ; " the carriage is 
 waiting. Are you ready .'' " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What papers are those on the escritoire? " 
 
536 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Did he not take them again ? " 
 
 " Who ? " 
 
 " Oswald." 
 
 " Has he been here ? What did he want ? " 
 
 " He came to say good-by. Take those papers, 
 mother. He brought tliem to you." 
 
 " Helen, you look pale ; and you have been crying ! 
 What does- that mean .? Do you love that man .' Must 
 I lose my last child then } " 
 
 " Be calm, mamma. I shall not leave you in our mis- 
 fortune. There is the letter to the princess. One mo- 
 ment, mother." 
 
 She sat down- and wrote in great haste a few lines. 
 
 " Well, that is done ! I am free once more ! Come, 
 mamma ; I will show you that I have still strength and 
 courage enough for life. Come ! " 
 
 And she drew the baroness, who willingly yielded 
 herself up to her daughter's superior energy, Avith her 
 out of the room. 
 
 A minute later the two ladies had left Waldenberg 
 House, and half an hour afterwards the train carried 
 them away from the city. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 AS Oswald hurried down the street, scarcely know- 
 ing what he was doing, he felt suddenly some 
 one seize him by the arm. 
 It was Mr. Timm. 
 
 After his encounter with Mr. Schmenckel INIr. Timm 
 had been compelled to abandon his post of observation 
 near the princess's house in order to go into the court- 
 yard of one of the adjoining houses, and there wash 
 off the blood which the director's weighty fist had 
 drawn from mouth and nose. Timm was as angry as 
 he had ever been in his life. It was the rage of the 
 hunter when he sees a wild beast tearing his cunningly- 
 
Through Night to Light. 537 
 
 woven nets and escaping from his most ingenious trap. 
 Tlris booby of a Schmenckel, with his stupid honesty ! 
 How he had worked at the man to dazzle him witla 
 golden prospects ; and now! It was enough to turn a 
 man's brain ! The glorious fortune all lost ! And 
 why ? For nothing but a fit of honesty ! And if Os- 
 wald, too, should be such a fool ! These blockheads can 
 never be left alone for a moment ! And just now the 
 bleeding will not stop ! What enormous strength that 
 fellow has ! 
 
 Thus it came that the martyr of stupid honesty saw 
 neither Mr. Schmenckel nor the prince leave the house, 
 nor Oswald go in, and he was now also but just in time 
 to overtake the latter as he was rather running than 
 walking down the- street. 
 
 "Hallo! sir! " 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "Well, laskjw^ that!" 
 
 " Is that you ? " 
 
 " "\yho else 1 How did it go .? Did the old one give 
 in promptly .'' " And he was about to slip his arm famil- 
 iarly in Oswald's arm ; but Oswald stepped back. 
 
 " Don't touch me ! " he said, " or I beat your brains 
 out!" 
 
 "Oh ho!" said Timm, giving way ; "is he, too, crazy.'' " 
 
 " Wretch ! " cried Oswald. " You wretch ! who make 
 vulgarity your profession, and speculate on vice. Let 
 me never find you again in my way, or you wiU repent 
 it! " 
 
 He left Timm, who had first turned ashy pale and 
 then broken out into loud laughter, and hurried away. 
 He did not mind where his feet carried him ! He went 
 as in a dream, and what he saw and heard appeared to 
 him only like dreamy images : curious, terrified faces 
 of women and children in doors and windows; dense 
 crowds of men, who seemed to tell each other fearful 
 things with wild gestures and loud exclamations ; run- 
 ning and shouting, yelling and whistling on all sides, 
 and between the mournful ring of alarm-bells from all 
 the steeples. Then, as Oswald left the aristocratic por- 
 tion of the town further and further behind him, a new 
 
538 Through Night to Light. 
 
 sound mingled with the others : a very peculiar rattling 
 noise, and a low thundering, which made the very 
 houses tremble. 
 
 But all this did not rouse him from his waking dream. 
 The sorrow for his ruined happiness had made him blind 
 and deaf to the sorrow of a w:hole ill-treated nation. 
 Suddenly a ghastly spectacle startled him. From one of 
 the side streets a young man came running out, who 
 cried : " Treason ! treason ! They are firing at us !" The 
 young man's blouse w^as torn and covered with blood ; 
 his face was pale, his hair dishevelled ; he staggered like 
 a drunken man, and suddenly he fell down right before 
 Oswald. Oswald raised him up, and in an instant a 
 crowed of men and women were around them. " He is 
 dying ! " cried the men. "A curse upon the execution- 
 ers ! " The women shrieked. One cried out: "Take 
 him ; don't you see the gentleman can hardly stand him- 
 self ! " A man took the dying youth from Oswald's 
 arms. Suddenly Oswald felt some one touch him. He 
 turned around and saw Berger. Oswald's soul had 
 during the last hovirs been so overwhelmed with 
 strange, exceptional events and sensations that he was 
 prepared even for the most extraordinary occurrences. 
 And if there was a man in this world whom he wished 
 to see just then it was his friend and teacher, the com- 
 panion of his fate. Oswald did not ask him how ? and 
 whence .'* He threw himself into Berger's arms. 
 
 " Glad you are there," said the other, hurriedly ; 
 " come ! let the dead bury the dead. We must work and 
 be doing as long as it is day! " 
 
 They hastened off together. 
 
 With every step they came nearer to the crater of the 
 revolution w^hich had broken out a few hours before. In 
 this part of the city barricades were going up, built by 
 a thousand brave and skilful hands, and manned by 
 death-defying men and boys, mostly belonging to the 
 lower classes of the people. These improvised fortresses 
 did not inspire much hope of being able to resist long, 
 for they consisted mostly of one, or at best of several, 
 heavy wagons, torn-ofF planks, andother similar objects, 
 hastily piled up together, while the arms of the small 
 
Through Night to Light. 539 
 
 garrison were generally only rusty old swords, pikes, 
 guns without locks, and similar instruments. 
 
 Berger stopped here and there giving advice, encour- 
 aging others, and calling with liis deep, sonorous voice: 
 "To arms ! to the barricades ! " But whenever Oswald 
 offered to lay hand on the work himself he kept him 
 from it. 
 
 " Not here," he said ; " these are only our outposts, 
 which must be given up quickly. No barricade can be 
 defended successfully in this straight, wide street. The 
 gross of the revolution is further back." 
 
 Thus they came to Broad street, near Mrs. Black's 
 private hotel. 
 
 The hotel was a corner house, and a narrow by-street 
 led past its side into Brother street. In the narrow 
 alley was the Dismal Hole. Here the excitement was 
 intense. From the great square, near the palace, platoon 
 firing was heard, and quite a cannonade ; but no trace 
 of barricades was yet to be seen. 
 
 " Are these men mad .'' " cried Berger. " If they do not 
 mean to throw up fortifications here, where will they 
 do it } " 
 
 On the steps of the hotel, surrounded by a crowd, 
 stood a gentleman in a white cravat who spoke eagerly 
 to :he people : " His majesty has been pleased to re- 
 ceive the deputation." "Away with your majesty!" 
 cried an angry voice. " His majesty is pleased to shoot 
 his faithful subjects and to receive them with grape- 
 shot! " cried another voice. "Gentlemen!" shrieked 
 the orator, " do not give way to feelings of hatred and 
 revenge. His majesty consents to withdraw the troops 
 as soon as you lay down your arms." " And as soon as 
 we offer our throats to the knife! " cried a tremendous 
 voice, and a man suddenly stood by the side of the ora- 
 tor in the white cravat. 
 
 It was Berger. His gray hair was hanging wildly 
 around his uncovered head ; his eyes were burning as 
 if the revolution itself had taken his form and voice. 
 " Will," he continued, " you hesitate, and fear, and nego- 
 tiate, while your brethren are murdered in the next 
 street.'' Are you ever going on trusting, you trusting, 
 
54° Through Night to Light. 
 
 deceived, cheated people ? You will gain nothing but 
 what you conquer, arms in hand ; you will have no lib- 
 erty which you do not purchase with your blood. Do 
 not chaffer and bargain any longer, but give the high 
 price — your life's blood! — for the precious boon ! — for 
 liberty ! To arms ! To arms ! " 
 
 "To arms ! To arms ! " It resounded with the voice 
 of thunder on all sides. " Victory or death ! To arms!" 
 
 The unarmed hands rose , as if to swear, into the air. 
 
 Berger had hurried down the steps. They surrounded 
 him ; they pressed his hands. Some asked him to "take 
 the matter in hand ; " a leader they must have. 
 
 ■ Berger looked around. Suddenly he rushed towards 
 a tall, thin gentleman who was pushing his way through 
 the crowd. 
 
 " There is your man ! " he cried, taking the tall stran- 
 ger by the hand. 
 
 " He must be our leader. Step up there, Oldenburg, 
 and speak to them only a few words. You understand 
 that better than anybody else ! " 
 
 Oldenburg was on the porch. 
 
 " Gentlemen ! " he said, raising his hat ; " let us follow 
 the fashion of the day and build a barricade. I have 
 practiced the art a fortnight ago for a little while in the 
 streets of Paris. If you will make use of my experi- 
 ence for want of a better man, I am heartily at your ser- 
 vice. I am ready to build with you, to fight with you, 
 to conquer with you, and, if it must be, to die with you ! " 
 
 The iron ring in Oldenburg's voi-ce, his easy and yet 
 so persuasive manner of speaking, had a charm which 
 the crowd could not resist. It flashed like an electric 
 shock through all hearts. 
 
 " You shall be our leader ! " they cried on all sides. 
 " Let the black-beard be our captain ! " 
 
 " Well, then," said Oldenburg, raising his voice ; " every 
 man to the barricade ! " 
 
 The magic word brought about incredible activity. 
 The confused, helpless mass suddenly came to order. 
 In all minds but one thought seemed to be uppermost — 
 to build a barricade — and all hands were busy at the one 
 common work. 
 
Through Night to Light. 541 
 
 " We must be done in ten minutes !" said Oldenburg, 
 " or we might just as well not have commenced at all." 
 
 Oldenburg's marvellous coolness and quickness, his 
 sharp eye and his firm decision, did honor to his place 
 as leader. He seemed to be everywhere at once, and his 
 clear, loud voice was heard at all points. Here they 
 tore up the pavement as he commanded ; there they 
 raised the large slabs of the sidewalk to arm the sides 
 of the upturned wagons, which had to serve as bulwarks 
 here, as well as in all places where time is pressing. 
 Doors taken from their hinges, planks bridging over 
 gutters, bags filled with sand, completed the strength of 
 this structure, which rose Avith a rapidity proportionate 
 to the feverish excitement that beat in all hearts. Every 
 muscle, every sinew, Avas strained to the utmost ; boys 
 were carrying loads which ordinarily a man would have 
 considered heavy ; men Avho only knew how to use a pen 
 suddenly seemed to be endowed with muscles of steel. 
 Above all, however, a man in a Avorn-out velvet coat sig- 
 nalized himself by exploits in comparison with which 
 all the rest seemed to be but the work of pigmies. 
 Wherever anything was to be lifted or to be dragged 
 which no one could master, they called laughingly for 
 " Hercules" — the popular voice had given him the name 
 after the first five minutes — and Hercules ran up, 
 stretched out his mighty arms, or leaned his broad 
 shoulders against it, and the immoveable mass seemed of 
 a sudden to become a mere trifle. 
 
 " Bravo, Mr. Schmenckel ! " said Oldenburg, patting 
 the giant on the back ; " but spare your strength ; we 
 shall need it all." 
 
 " PshaAV, your excellenc)', baron !" replied Mr. 
 Schmenckel, wiping the perspiration from his face 
 with his sleeve ; "that is not anything." 
 
 " Hercules, here ! " some one called. 
 
 "Coming! "' replied Mr. Schmenckel, and hurried to 
 where he was wanted. 
 
 " Now we want the best ! " murmured Oldenburg, look- 
 ing at Avhat had been done and casting an inquiring 
 glance at the roofs of the houses on both sides of the 
 barricade, where men were busy taking off the slates 
 
542 Through Night to Light. 
 
 and tiles as he had directed. If Berger does not bring 
 arms all our work is for nothing." 
 
 Just then Berger came with five or six young men. 
 Each of them had a rifle. Others were dragging along 
 a large bag filled with ammunition. 
 
 Berger, who had anticipated the revolution for several 
 days and made his preparations in his mind, knew all 
 the gunsmiths and shops where arms were kept in the 
 whole neighborhood. He had taken possession of the 
 nearest. A shout of joy arose when the little troop 
 reached the barricade. Soon after an old fowling-piece 
 and a rusty gun with an old-fashioned flint-lock were 
 brought up, and last of all four pistols from the lodgings 
 of a couple of officers which had been luckily discov- 
 ered. The arms were at once distributed, and every 
 man had his post assigned him. Every armed man had 
 another man by him to load. In the kitchen, in the 
 basement of an adjoining house, bullets were cast under 
 the direction of an old one-eyed man who was an old 
 soldier; and boys, merry storm-petrels of every barri- 
 cade-fight, were appointed to carry the balls to the de- 
 fenders. 
 
 The quarter of an hour which Oldenburg had allowed 
 as the longest time that could be given to the erection 
 of the barricade was out, and the very next moment 
 showed how accurately he had calculated. The rifles 
 had but just been loaded and the men had taken their 
 places when a battalion of infantry came marching up 
 the street. A major rode at the head. He ordered 
 " Halt ! " at some distance from the barricade, and rode 
 up alone till within a few yards. He was an old, gray- 
 haired soldier with a good-natured face, who evidently 
 did not like the duty he had to fulfil. His voice 
 sounded wavering, and trembled a little as he raised it 
 as high as he could, and said, 
 
 " You, there ! I must get through here with my men ; 
 and if you do not take that thing there out of my way 
 willingly, I shall have to use force. I should be sorry, 
 for your sake, to have to do so." 
 
 Oldenburg appeared on the barricade. 
 
 " In the name of these men ! " he said, raising his hat 
 
Through Night to Light. 543 
 
 politely to the major, "I declare that we are determined 
 to stand by each other, and to hold this barricade as long 
 as we can ! " 
 
 Oldenburg's appearance and his words evidently made 
 an impression on the old soldier. 
 
 " You are the leader of these men ? " 
 
 " I have that honor." 
 
 " You seem to be an intelligent man. Then you must 
 seQ that that thing there is of no avail, and that your 
 few charges cannot possibly do you any good. Pull 
 that thing down; it is all right." 
 
 " I am sorry I cannot comply with your request, and 
 must adhere to my resolution." 
 
 " Well, then," said the major, more annoyed than angry, 
 "you will all go to the devil." 
 
 With these words he turned his horse and galloped 
 back to his men. 
 
 Oldenburg was glad when the conversation was at an 
 end. His quick eye had showed him that the kindly 
 words of the major had not failed to make an impression 
 on the crowd, and that more than one looked undecided 
 and doubtful. In a mass of people enthusiasm effer- 
 vesces quickly. He turned round and said : 
 
 " If there is one among you who had rather live for 
 country and liberty than die for them, he had better 
 say so now. It is time yet ! " 
 
 The men stood motionless and silent. Many a heart 
 no doubt beat painfully, but every one felt that the die 
 was cast, and that it would be disgraceful treason to 
 turn back now. 
 
 The drums beat on the opposite side, and the terrible 
 summons drove every hesitation out of their hearts. 
 
 Oldenburg cried, with a voice which drowned the 
 rattling of the drums like loud trumpet-sound : " Every 
 man to his post ! Not a shot before I give the signi 
 Not a stone must move ! " 
 
 Oldenburg remained standing on the top of the bai»- 
 ricade and saw the column approaching at quick-step ; 
 in the centre the drummers, and the major, who com- 
 manded with his^sepulchral voice, 
 
 "Battalion! Halt! Aim! Fire!" 
 
544 Through Night to Light. 
 
 The flash came ; the balls hailed upon the barricade 
 and the walls of the houses. 
 
 " Shoulder arms ! March ! " 
 
 " Hurrah ! " cried the men, rushing with charged 
 bayonets upon the barricade. 
 
 " Hurrah ! " cried Oldenburg, still standing on the 
 barricade and waving his hat. 
 
 And the rifles of the little garrison gave fire, and the 
 stones came down rattling from the roofs upon the heads 
 of the unlucky soldiers ; and when the smoke and the 
 dust slowly blew away, the company which had come 
 up in military regularity was seen running away in 
 wild flight, and before them a riderless horse, and be- 
 tween them little groups of three or four men who car- 
 ried dead or wounded men on litters beyond the reach 
 of the barricade. 
 
 Of the men of the people only one had been wounded, 
 and not by a hostile ball ; the old, rusty flint-lock had 
 burst at the first discharge, and a piece of it had struck 
 the head of one of the marksmen. This accident only 
 increased the good humor of the company. They cried 
 hurrah ! they congratulated each other, they laughed, 
 they joked, and everybody was in the best of humor. 
 
 There was perhaps but one man behind the barricade 
 who did not share the general joy, and this man was 
 Oldenburg. He was as fully convinced as any one that 
 fight they must, but he doubted a happy issue. He had 
 been in Paris during the month of February ; he had 
 fought there ; and he could not but see the difference. 
 There he had seen a people fully conscious of the weak- 
 ness of the government against which they rose, and 
 clearly vmderstanding the whole situation ; here he 
 found nothing but uncertainty, divided opinions, and 
 doubts. But the genius of mankind does not always 
 require a clear, perfect understanding in its defenders ; 
 a vague impulse, a dim perception even, leads often 
 to glorious deeds. These harmless men, knowing little 
 of politics, and quite willing to rest content with very 
 small concessions, might be figliting only against the 
 brutal rule of a single caste, and not far the free repub- 
 lic of the future ; but great eflTects could not fail to be 
 
Through Night to Light. 545 
 
 obtained even here, and he who cuts off a diseased limb 
 may by it save the whole body. 
 
 Thus Oldenburg tried to console himself for the fears 
 with which the appearance of this revolution had in- 
 spired him. He had been on the square near the palace 
 when the fatal two shots fell which were destined to be 
 the signal for the explosion, and when the troops had 
 made their first attack en masse against the unarmed 
 multitude. He and other good men had in vain tried 
 to stop the shedding of blood; they had pushed their 
 way through the soldiers at the risk of their lives in or- 
 der to explain to the commanding officer the madness 
 of such a butchery. But all they had heard in reply 
 was open scorn, and at best rude orders to mind their 
 own business. When Oldenburg saw that he could not 
 be of any use in this way, and that matters had come to 
 a crisis, he had tried to reach Melitta's lodgings in 
 Broad street to place her and the children in safety. But 
 he had been compelled to make a wide circuit, for the 
 troops had already taken possession of all the approaches 
 from the side of the palace, and he barely escaped more 
 than once being arrested. Thus it happened that he 
 reached the hotel only at the moment when the people 
 were deliberating whether they should offer resistance 
 or not. Oldenburg took only time to inquire at the 
 hotel after Melitta, where he heard to his delight that 
 she and the children had gone early in the morning 
 already to Doctor Braun's, who lived in a remote suburb, 
 to which the emeute Avas not likely to extend. Then he 
 had thrown himself heart and soul into the torrent of 
 the revoiution. 
 
 And now he stood, after the first attack had been suc- 
 cessfully repulsed, with crossed arms on the barricade, 
 in a sheltered position, from which he could overlook at 
 once the movements of the enemy and the 5pace behind 
 the barricade, anxiously awaiting the return of Berger, 
 whom he had sent out with a patrol to procure if possi- 
 ble more ammunition, and to establish a communica- 
 tion with the nearest barricades. For so far the rising 
 was without any organization ; no concerted plan to pro- 
 duce united efforts; every barricade was fighting by it- 
 
546 Through Night to Light. 
 
 self. Besides, day-light began to fade away, and night, 
 although it might leave the troops in doubt as to the 
 strength of the enemy, also tended to increase the con- 
 fusion on the side of the people, which is always an ele- 
 ment of weakness in popular risings. Berger returned 
 soon afterwards, bringing a few more guns but no com- 
 fort. The adjoining streets, he reported, were also bar- 
 ricaded ; but the barricades were badly constructed, and 
 held by too few men, especially the nearest one, in 
 Brother street. 
 
 " I do not think they can hold it long," he added, 
 **and then we are lost, because the troops can flank 
 us here through this narrow alley " — and he pointed to 
 Gertrude street, which passed by the hotel and led from 
 Broad street into Brother street. " We must necessarily 
 stop up that street also and occupy it, which can easily 
 be done. I have directed Oswald and Schmenckel to 
 do it at once." 
 
 " Whom .? " inquired Oldenburg, who had no suspi- 
 cion that Oswald could be here, and thought he had 
 misunderstood Berger. 
 
 But he had not time to wait for Berger's reply, for at 
 that moment the drums beat once more, and the second 
 company came up to storm the barricade. This time the 
 major on his white horse was not there. The old man, 
 who had been dangerously wounded in the head by a ball, 
 was on his way to the hospital. 
 
 The second attack was more serious, although no 
 more successful than the first. The captain in command 
 gave the order to fire three times in rapid succession, 
 and then rushed his men with great violence i^on the 
 barricade. But as Oldenburg and his men had again 
 reserved their fire till the last moment, the loss was 
 very great for the attacking party ; upon whom, more- 
 over, such a storm of bullets, tiles, and stones rained 
 down from the adjoining houses that they once more 
 retreated, carrying their dead and wounded with them. 
 
 But this time the men of the people also had their losses. 
 A young man who had imprudently exposed himself 
 was shot through the breast and died instantly, wliile 
 another had his arm shattered by a ricochet ball. 
 
Through Night to Light. 547 
 
 Thus the men of the barricade had had their blood 
 baptism, and now only they felt as if they were indissol- 
 ubly bound to the cause of the revolution. Men who 
 had seen each other to-day for the first time shook 
 hands and pledged themselves not to leave each other 
 till death should part them forever. Women, who or- 
 dinarily went out of their way to avoid meeting com- 
 mon people, now went about among the fighting men 
 and distributed bread and wine. Among these gentle 
 Samaritans one was especially remarkable by her stately 
 appearance and her venerable gray hairs. It was Mrs. 
 Black, who found ample opportunity to-night to gratify 
 her passion for feeding the hungry and nursing the 
 sick. 
 
 Oldenburg now suggested what he had learnt in Paris to 
 be eminently useful under such circumstances : that lights 
 should be placed in all the windows which looked upon 
 the barricade, so as to improvise a brilliant illumination, 
 to which the full-moon, shining bright and clear on the 
 blue sky, contributed generously. It was a strange con- 
 trast : the sacred peace high up in the heavenly regions, 
 and down here a city raging in the fever of revolution, 
 where the howling of alarm-bells and the thunder of 
 cannon, the rattling of small arms and the mad cries of 
 the combatants, were horribly mingled with each other. 
 And to make the appalling scene still more so, low, hot 
 clouds of smoke came now floating slowly over the roofs 
 of the houses. Fire had broken out at several places at 
 once ; the city was threatened with a universal conflagra- 
 tion I Who had time to-night to help and to save 1 
 
 Oldenburg looked for Berger but could not see him 
 anywhere. He wanted to ask what he had meant when 
 he spoke of Oswald, for he now recollected having 
 caught a glimpse of a man who had reminded him some- 
 what of Oswald Stein. But just then loud cries were 
 heard from Gertrude street, and a few shots fell. Olden- 
 burg, fearing the troops might have taken the barricade 
 in Brother street and were pushing on through Ger- 
 trude street, rapidly collected a handful of men and with 
 them rushed down into that street. Here had been a 
 sr "prise in contemplation, and the danger had only been 
 
548 Through Night to Light. 
 
 averted by Schmenckel's giant strength and by the heroic 
 bravery of Berger and Oswald. 
 
 Oswald had joined the barricade-builders in Gertrude 
 street in order to avoid Oldenburg, whom he had seen 
 to his great surprise first on the steps of the hotel in the 
 midst of the excited crowd, and then as captain on top 
 of the barricade. He felt it impossible to meet just now 
 the man whom he had at one time revered as a superior 
 being, and at another time hated as his bitterest enemy. 
 He did not wish to renew the contest between such feel- 
 ings in his own heart ; he was so weary, weary unto 
 death! The excitement around him felt to him like a 
 song rocking him to sleep with his weary sick heart, 
 and when he heard the first bullets Avhistle around him 
 during the attack upon the barricade where he then 
 was, his only thought w^as : Oh, that one of them were 
 intended for me ! 
 
 He said so much to Berger, as they were sitting on 
 the barricade in Gertrude street to rest for a moment 
 from their exhausting efforts. 
 
 " No," replied Berger ; " that is not right. Death it- 
 self does not pay our bills; it only tears them, without 
 paying them, and throws the fragments at the feet of 
 the creditor. But death in the cause of liberty ! — it pays 
 them all." 
 
 He seized Oswald's hand, looking around anxiously 
 to see that no one could hear them. 
 
 " I am afraid of life, Oswald ! Death is a fearful 
 asylum, in which one may awake again ! Suicide is 
 such a death to me, Oswald. If that were not so I 
 should long since have died by my own hand. For it 
 is easier to die, in order to escape from ourselves, than 
 to live for others. I have found that out. I have drunk 
 the bitter cup, and the dregs are very bitter. Oswald! 
 at first I had courage enough, and lived bravely; but 
 after six months of such life my courage is gone and 
 my strength exhausted. My nerves cannot bear it any 
 longer. That is why I feel so joyfully this day, on which 
 the people have at last shaken off their disgracefid apa- 
 thy to rise in might. If I could die to-day for this 
 people, whom now for the first time in my life I find 
 
Through Night to Light. 549 
 
 not to be contemptible any more — Oswald ! it would be 
 such a good fortune as I had never expected. And 
 then," he continued, after a pause, " another piece of 
 good fortune has befallen me to-day. I have met again 
 my oldest enemy, whom I hated most bitterly, and my 
 youngest and most beloved friend." 
 
 He pressed Oswald's hand, who said, smiling: 
 
 " Found your oldest enemy .? was that fortunate .'' " 
 
 Berger told Oswald in a few words of his meeting 
 with Count Malikowsky that morning, and that Schmenc- 
 kel, who had helped them gloriously in building up 
 the barricade, was Prince Waldenberg's father. " The 
 low-born man the father of a prince, the prince the son 
 of a low-born man — that would make a nice novel," he 
 said with a grim smile. 
 
 " Perhaps 1 can give you a companion-story to yours," 
 answered Oswald; and he informed Berger of tlie discov- 
 eries he had made that day with regard to his own birth. 
 
 " That is strange!" said Berger; " ver)- strange ! And 
 did you not tell me you loved Helen .? " 
 
 " More than my life !" 
 
 " And you refused all that splendor to remain faithful 
 to your old flag.-* " 
 
 Oswald shook his head. 
 
 "No, Berger!" he said; "I am not good and great 
 enough for that, as you think in your goodness and 
 greatness. She could never be mirje. Too many things 
 had happened that could never be forgiven and forgot- 
 ten. I had preferred others to her, and she had preferred 
 another man to me. That Prince Waldenberg was her 
 betrothed." 
 
 " Why do you say was .?" 
 f " Because I found them leaving town. She had recol- 
 lected at the last moment that she had a heart in her 
 bosom whose longing not all the riches of the world 
 could satisfy." 
 
 " Strange ! strange !" murmured Berger. " You, both 
 of you: the baron's son who makes common cause with 
 the people, and the low-born man's son who sits among 
 princes, are rivals for the favor of the same lady ! And 
 she rejects you because she has no suspicion of your 
 
550 Through Night to Light. 
 
 noble birth, and she accepts the prince because she 
 thinks that the same blood flows in his veins, of which 
 he is so proud ! What a pity the world does not know 
 this and must not know it! They might possibly find 
 out then what the difference is between noble blood and 
 common blood !" 
 
 " You, at all events, do not seem to value the differ- 
 ence quite as much as formerly. I can remember the 
 time when you thought it morally impossible to be 
 the friend of a nobleman." 
 
 "You allude to my friendship Avith Oldenburg," said 
 Berger, calmly. " I tell you, Oswald, if there ever was a 
 man who deserved to be loved and honored, Oldenburg 
 is that man. If any man could ever have reconciled me 
 with the world, Oldenburg would have been that man. 
 If I ever could humble myself before any man and ac- 
 knowledge him to be my lord and master, that man is 
 Oldenburg. I know you hate him because the woman 
 whom you have forsaken thinks more of him than of the 
 whole world. That is not fair, Oswald. Oldenburg 
 has also spoken of you like a friend. I should be very 
 happy, Oswald, if you coidd be reconciled with each 
 other before I leave you forever." 
 
 " My turn comes first ! " said Oswald. " Do you know 
 what you once told me in Grunwald } ' You will die be- 
 fore me,' you said, 'for the Big Serpent is tough of life, 
 and you are too soft, far too gentle for this hard world.' " 
 
 "That was long ago. This last year has made the Big 
 Serpent dull and feeble. But what is that.? " 
 
 A noise, coming from a low restaurant with steps 
 leading up from the basement, made both men jump up 
 from their seats. They seized their arms and hurried, 
 followed by other men of the same barricade, to the 
 place, where now several shots were fired. These were 
 the same shots which Oldenburg had heard when he was 
 roused from his effort to seek rest on his barricade in 
 Broad street. 
 
Through Night to Light. 551 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 ALBERT TIMM had stopped, after his violent al- 
 tercation with Oswald, looking after his faithless 
 friend and laughing so loud and so bitterly that 
 the passers-by had looked at him in surprise. Then he 
 had hurried away in another direction, murmuring vio- 
 lent words, gnashing his teeth, and shaking his hands at 
 imaginary enemies. Albert Timm was savage, and from 
 his point of view he had reason to be furious. He was 
 in a desperate position. The debts he had left behind 
 him in Grunwald and elsewhere were not particularly 
 pressing — he was great in bearing such burdens ! — but 
 the small sum he had brought with him to town was at 
 an end ; and even if that could be borne, all his bright 
 prospects for a brilliant future had been suddenly blown 
 to the winds and burst like a many-colored soap bubble. 
 Cursing the world and himself, he had thus Avalked 
 through several streets before he reached that part of 
 town where the rising was general. He delighted in it 
 not because he had any sympathy with the cause of the 
 people or liberty, but because he felt instinctively that 
 in such times, where all is turned upside down, he — the 
 man without a home, the adventurer — could lose nothing, 
 and possibly gain much. This tliought restored to him 
 his full elasticity. He hurrahed merrily with the crowd, 
 he chimed in with the cry : To arms ! to arms ! and had 
 real pleasure in finding the excitement growing apace 
 as he came nearer the place of his destination, the Dis- 
 mal Hole. Thus he reached Broad street just at the 
 moment when Oswald and Berger approached it from 
 the other side. He noticed both, also Mr. Schmenckel, 
 who had come by appointment to have an interview with 
 Berger. By no means desirous to be seen by his ene- 
 mies he slipped aside, and was about to creep into Ger- 
 trude street when some one seized hold of his coat. 
 When he looked around he found himself face to face 
 with his friend and patron, Jeremy Goodheart. 
 
 " Well, how did matters go .'' " asked the detectire, 
 
552 Through Night to Light. 
 
 who had in the meantime become Timm's friend, and 
 was fully initiated in his intrigues. 
 
 "All up!" sighed Timm, angrily. "Lost my labor 
 and my trouble ! All up ! I could roast the two ras- 
 cals ! " He pointed at Oswald and Schmenckel. 
 
 " Hem, hem ! " said the policeman. " You must tell me 
 that at leisure. Come to Rose ; but let us first hear what 
 the mad professor has to say." 
 
 " Do you know him.? " asked Timm. 
 
 "Hush! We know him. Deceived people ! — all right! 
 To arms! — excellent! Just wait! — we'll catch you! 
 And there comes the tall baron, who makes such revolu- 
 tionary speeches at the election meetings ! Why, there 
 is the whole nest of them ! — build barricades ! — hurrah ! 
 Bravo ! — hurrah ! All men to the barricades ! Hurrah ! " 
 cried the detective, and waved his hat with admirably- 
 feigned enthusiasm. Then he seized Timm by the arm 
 and said : ■" Now we must get away quickly or the fel- 
 lows will shut us up here with their barricade." 
 
 The two companions crept down Gertrude street and 
 disappeared in the Dismal Hole. 
 
 Mrs. Rose Pape received them with unusual cordiality. 
 
 " Well, darlings, do you come with full purses .? Have 
 you got it, eh .? " 
 
 "Hush! " said the detective, "and bring us beer; we 
 can't stop." 
 
 "Without telling me how the 1 " said the worthy 
 
 matron indignantly, and made with her thumb and her 
 forefinger the motion of counting money. 
 
 Mr. Timm shrugged his shoulders in reply, and pulled 
 out the empty pockets of his trousers. 
 
 Mrs. Pape was of choleric nature, and the failure of 
 such magnificent expectations filled her with just in- 
 dignation, to which she gave vent in a flood of oaths and 
 vile invectives, some of which were aimed at the detec- 
 tive. " But I will pay Schmenckel, with his big paunch," 
 she said. " Let him come here again and liave no money 
 to pay for his beer ; I'll show him home, the old rascal ! " 
 
 At that moment the firing was heard as the troops 
 charged the barricade in Broad street; and almost im- 
 mediately afterwards a great noise was heard at the 
 
Through Night to Light. 553 
 
 windows. They began building tlie barricade which 
 was to close up Gertrude strpet. The detective and 
 Timm, who looked stealthily out at the window, saw 
 Oswald, Berger, Schmenckel, and other men, hard at 
 work. They withdrew, following their landlady to the 
 remoter depths of the basement. 
 
 " That is a charming trap," said the detective. " We 
 are hemmed in on all sides, and if they find us here the 
 rascals will kill us." 
 
 " It is not quite so bad as that," said the woman. " I 
 can get you out safely. Come along." 
 
 She led the two men through the last room and a 
 hidden door down a few steps into a deep cellar, which 
 Avas used as a store-room. On the wall a thin little 
 gas-flame was burning. The woman screwed it up. 
 
 " Now," she said, "you go through that door ! " — she 
 pointed out an iron door on the opposite side ; " then 
 you get into a narrow court-yard ; keep to the left, and 
 thus you can get through my brewer's house into 
 Brother street. Good-by ! " 
 
 " Is it always open } " asked Timm, when he found 
 the iron door was not locked. 
 
 "Only to-day," replied Rose; "we expect more beer 
 that way. The fellows are like sponges to-day." 
 
 When the two gentlemen had safely passed through 
 the door, the little court-yard, and the brewery, into the 
 space above the barricade in Brother street, they stopped 
 and looked at each other. The same thought was upper- 
 most in the mind of both. 
 
 " What a mouse-trap this would be ! " said Timm. 
 
 " If you will lend a hand," said the detective, " you 
 can make sure of the president. We want people like 
 you. I have already spoken about you to the old 
 man." 
 
 "And that would avenge us, too, on the rascals." 
 
 " The thing is not free from danger, though," said the 
 policeman. 
 
 " Faint heart never won fair lady," said Timm. " I 
 confess I like the idea of catching my good friends in 
 this funny way. If you do not choose to undertake it 
 I'll do it alone." 
 24 
 
554 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Well, then, come ! " said the detective. " We'll see 
 if the military are disposed to look at it as we do." 
 
 And the two men advanced boldly upon the colonel, 
 
 who was waiting on horseback at some little distance 
 
 surrounded by his officers, and furious at the obstinate 
 
 resistance of the two barricades in Broad street and 
 
 Gertrude street, which he had been ordered to take by 
 
 storm. 
 
 ****** 
 
 When Mrs. Rose had helped her friends out and 
 returned to the public rooms she found there Mr. 
 Schmenckel, with ten or twelve other men from the bar- 
 ricades, who wished to refresh themselves after their 
 fatigue. They were mostly old customers of the locality, 
 the same men with long beards and dishevelled locks 
 who had been in the habit of meeting here to condemn 
 the " rotten condition of the state," the " hateful police," 
 and the "brutalized soldiery." Mr. Schmenckel had 
 always been highly respected by these people, and now, 
 when they had seen that he could not only speak boldly 
 but also act courageously, he became the hero of the day. 
 
 Under these circumstances Mrs. Rose deemed it more 
 prudent not to carry out her resolution, and to leave 
 the waiting upon the barricade men to pretty Lisbeth 
 while she herself took her accustomed seat at the bar. 
 
 Pretty Lisbeth was very fond of Mr. Schmenckel, 
 whose gallantry was universal. She had overheard 
 part of the conversation between her mistress, Timm, 
 and Goodheart, and their leaving through the back-door 
 had roused her suspicions. She thought she ought to 
 tell her admirer what she had seen, especially as she 
 liked to show him what a false pussy-cat Mrs. Rose was 
 • — a fact of which she had often tried to convince him in 
 vain. Schmenckel at once appreciated the importance 
 of her communications. If there was a door in the 
 basement which led into Brother street, and if Timm and 
 Goodheart, whom Schmenckel by no means trusted, 
 knew this door, then it was most assuredly very expe- 
 dient to see if that door was carefully locked. 
 
 Schmenckel let Lisbeth go, and told the men at his 
 table what he had heard. They all were of opinion that 
 
Through Night to Light. 555 
 
 a reconroissance ought to be made at once. But at the 
 very moment when the men took up their arms and 
 turned to the door which led into the store-room in 
 question, the door was opened from the otlier side and 
 a troop of soldiers rushed in, Albert Timm and the 
 detective in their midst. 
 
 The sudden appearance of the shining helmets and 
 guns, and the firing which began instantly, though for- 
 tunately quite at random, filled some of the barricade 
 men with such terror that they rushed helter skelter 
 up the steps and fled into the sft-eet. Here they were 
 met by Oswald^nd Berger, who had been attracted by 
 the firing, and now came to Schmenckel's assistance, 
 who had until now alone contended with the soldiers. 
 
 Schmenckel had seized one of the guns which had 
 just been fruitlessly discharged, and attacked the inva- 
 ders, first with the butt end, and when this was broken 
 with the iron barrel, so powerfully that two or three 
 were lying disabled on the floor, and the others were re- 
 tiring panic-struck through the back door. There, 
 however, they met their advancing comrades, and this 
 caused a fearful confusion, especially as Oswald, Berger, 
 Schmenckel, and the other men, wdio had recovered from 
 their surprise, now also pressed down into the half- 
 lighted rooms and engaged in a terrible conflict. 
 
 The attacking party was perhaps half as strong again 
 as their enemies, and better armed ; but these advantages 
 were offset by Berger's and Oswald's impetuous valor, 
 and the gigantic strength of Schm.enckel. The power- 
 ful man wielded his terrible weapon indefatigably, and 
 not a blow fell in vain upon the- heads of the unfortu- 
 nate soldiers. Thus he cut his way to the door which 
 led into tlie court-yard, at which he met several escap- 
 ing soldiers, while others were eagerly crowding after 
 them. And now he had attained his end. Seizing with 
 his irresistible arms a few of the men hemmed in be- 
 tween the door and the door-frame, and pulling them 
 down into the store-room, he closed the heavy iron 
 door, pushed the strong iron bar across, leaned his 
 broad back against it, and cried, whirling his gun-barrel 
 in a circle around him, 
 
556 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " Now we have gotten our sheep together, professor ! 
 No one can get out or in any more. Caspar Schmenc- 
 kel will see to that." 
 
 The horror had reached its crisis. In the narrow 
 badly-lighted room, under-ground and reeking with 
 mould and blood, men fought like wild beasts. The 
 soldiers defended themselves desperately ; but as their 
 friends could only thunder at the inner door Avithout 
 coming to their assistance, the result was not long 
 doubtful. The butchery, however, might have contin- 
 ued for some time if Oldenburg had not come down 
 with part of his men from the barricade.* He threatened 
 to shoot down instantly every man who should not at once 
 lay down his arms. The soldiers, deprived of all hope of 
 succor, surrendered, and entered one by one from the 
 lower room into the drinking saloon, where they were 
 disarmed. The poor fellows presented a piteous sight. 
 There was not one of them who was not seriously 
 wounded. Their bright uniforms in rags, out of breath, 
 pale with fright and exhaustion, stained with blood and 
 dust and dirt — thus they stood there surrounded by the 
 barricade men, who likewise bore the marks of a severe 
 conflict. But the low cellar contained greater horrors 
 than these. When lights were brought two bodies were 
 seen lying lifeless in their blood, a soldier and a civilian. 
 The soldier had in his wild flight thrown himself upon 
 his own bayonet, which pierced him through and 
 through, and no doubt had killed him instantly. The 
 civilian had received a terrible cut across the head. He 
 was still groaning as they carried him up stairs, but he 
 also died in a few minutes. At first they thought it was 
 one of the barricade men, but no one knew him. Os- 
 wald also approached the table on which he had been 
 laid, and after having examined the distorted counte- 
 nance for a moment, he saw to his indescribable horror 
 that tlae stiff bleeding corpse was all that remained of 
 the merry Andrew, the inexhaustible clown and punster, 
 his good companion of so many a wild night, the same 
 man from whom he had parted in anger and hatred a 
 few hours afro — Albert Timm. 
 
Through Night to Light. 557 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 DURING the next hour a pause occurred in the 
 fight near the barricade in Broad street. The 
 regiment of the line, which had charged it five 
 times in vain, had been reinforced by several battalions 
 of the Guards who had been fighting in King street, 
 and successfully taken several barricades. These troops 
 followed different tactics; they did not advance in close 
 columns, but in small detachments on both sides of the 
 street, as mucli as possible under cover, and keeping 
 apart till they could form once more close before the 
 barricade. But if their losses were smaller, their suc- 
 cess was by no means greater. The besieged systemati- 
 cally saved their fire till the last moment, and then 
 fired so coolly at the right moment, that the position 
 seemed to be simply impregnable. In fact the firing on 
 the part of the troops had ceased for some time, and the 
 men behind the barricade could rest awhile. 
 
 They needed it sadly. Mostly entirely exhausted, 
 blackened with powder, all more or less dangerously 
 wounded, they sat and lay about in small groups, 
 strangely lighted up by the red light of the watch-fires 
 that had been kindled in the middle of the street, by the 
 white glare of the candles in the windows, and the pale 
 rays of the full moon, which was still gliding gently 
 and silently through the blue ether above. Amid the 
 groups of fighting men, women and girls were seen 
 bringing provisions from the neighboring houses. There 
 was no lack of beer, and wine even, and it looked as if 
 here and there too much had been distributed. At least 
 every now and then sudden shouts and yells were 
 heard from one or the other group, after which the 
 deep silence became all the more oppressive. Upon a 
 cask which formed part of the barricade sat Oldenburg ; 
 his long legs were hanging down, and he blew thick 
 clouds of smoke from his cigar. His air was that of a 
 man who has assumed a serious responsibility and is de- 
 termined to carry out what he has undertaken. He did 
 not doubt for a moment that the barricade would be 
 
558 Through Night to Light. 
 
 taken, and that he would fall at the head of his men ; but 
 this was the last thing; he thought of. To die in a good 
 cause had no terrors for him. Oldenburg actually fan- 
 cied he felt a faint desire for death in his heart. Had 
 he not seen how the sweet hope of at last calling Me- 
 litta his own had been recently put off once more, and 
 further than ever.' He could not blame her that the 
 memory of her fondness for Oswald Avas weighing her 
 down like an Alp, and made it impossible to her to 
 raise her eyes boldly to a better and more faithful man; 
 but the very fact that he could not but honor her for the 
 feeling Avhich parted them made him so very hopeless 
 and helpless. He had often and often repeated to him- 
 self the word that Melitta spoke so touchingly when- 
 ever she saw him sorrowful: Patience! But in vain ! 
 He was consumed by impatience, by his inability to do 
 anything else for his happiness than to fold his hands 
 in his lap and to Avait with trusting heart for something 
 vague and uncertain. 
 
 Just then the revolution had broken out and Olden- 
 burg breathed more freely, as thousands Avith him. 
 Everyone had borne some intolerable burden, which he 
 now hoped to shake off. Oldenburg Avas glad that JNIe- 
 litta Avas not present. He had at the \'ery beginning 
 sent her Avord through old Baumann to stay at her safe 
 place of refuge. When he sent the old man to her he 
 thought in his heart : We meet again happier or never 
 more! He noAV only Avished for Oswald to fight by his 
 side for liberty and for Melitta. The issue might then be 
 an ordeal, and Melitta croAvn the victorious survivor. 
 
 And his Avish Avas fulfilled. For an hour Oswald had 
 been fighting by his side like a man Avho prefers death 
 to life. Wherever a defective part of the barricade had 
 to be repaired under the fire of the enemy, wherever 
 danger Avas most threatening, there Oswald Avas sure to 
 be ; and as Oldenburg also chose the most exposed po- 
 sitions, the tAvo men Avere constantly side by side. But 
 as soon as the danger Avas over Oswald withdrew, and 
 Oldenburg did not follow him as his Avithdrawing Avas 
 evidently intentional. And yet the noble man Avas 
 anxious, noAV that every hour miglit be their last, to tell 
 
Through Night to Light. 559 
 
 his former friend that they ought to forget the past and 
 join the hands that were on botli sides engaged in a 
 great and holy cause. 
 
 Oldenburg's eyes followed Oswald, as he went to his 
 post, at some little distance from him, and stood there, 
 rifle in hand, near Berger, by the watch-fire. In the 
 changeful light their forms now stood forth brightly, 
 and now were lost in the dark shade. This lent them some- 
 thing strange, almost supernatural. Oldenburg could 
 not help thinking of the spirits who beckon to the ferry- 
 man on the banks of the Acheron. 
 
 He rose and went up to them. 
 
 "What do you think, gentlemen," he said; "are we 
 going- to be left alone long .-* " 
 
 "I believe," said Oswald, "they are either short of 
 ammunition or they have sent for reinforcements." 
 
 " I think that is more likely. What do you think, 
 Berger.'* " 
 
 Berger had been standing there, his arms crossed, and 
 his large eyes fixed immoveably upon the flames. Sud- 
 den-ly he stretched out his hands and said, in a hollow, 
 spectre-like tone of voice, 
 
 " Listen ! They are coming ! The earth trembles 
 beneath them ! How they whip their horses, who are 
 tired dragging more and more weapons against the 
 people ! Now they alight ! And now they cram the 
 iron mouths full to bursting. We will " 
 
 " Berger! " said Oldenburg, placing his hand on his 
 arm. 
 
 Berger started like one who is suddenly roused from 
 a heavy dream. He looked around in confusion. 
 
 " What is it.'' " he asked, staring at Oldenburg. 
 
 " You are exhausted by excessive efforts, Berger. 
 Lie down for an hour. I will have you called when you 
 are needed." 
 
 " Exhausted .'' " said Berger, relapsing into his dreamy 
 state. " Yes ; exhausted unto death. But that is why 
 an hour is not enough ; when I go to sleep, it must be 
 an eternal sleep." 
 
 At that moment Schmenckel stepped up, who had 
 been on guard upon the barricade, and said, 
 
560 Through Night to Light. 
 
 " There is something very peculiar going on. I be- 
 lieve they are going to give us artillery now." 
 
 Berger started up. 
 
 " Did I not tell you.? " he cried. " The decisive hour 
 has come. Up! up! you brave men; all of you ! One 
 more merry dance with the weird fairies of life, and 
 then to unbroken rest in the cool night of death. Up ! 
 up ! " 
 
 At this call some of the men rose from their resting- 
 places near the fire, seized their arms, and hastened with 
 Berger to their posts. Others remained where they 
 were and laughed at the false alarm. But they also 
 were quickly enough upon their feet when an explosion 
 came which shook the houses to their foundations, and 
 grape and canister came rattling against the barricade 
 and the faces of the houses. 
 
 "Now they are in earnest," said Oldenburg, turning 
 to Oswald. But the place where Oswald had been 
 standing was empty. 
 
 " He avoids me," said Oldenburg, sadly, "and yet my 
 conscience is quiet. I have no reproach to make to my- 
 self as far as he is concerned." 
 
 He hastened to the barricade, where the captain's 
 presence was more needed than ever. 
 
 The first gun, which had opened the dance, "was now 
 joined by three more, and the thunder came almost un- 
 interruptedly, and with it the iron hail. There was no 
 doubt they wanted to make a break in the barricade, 
 and then charge once more with better result. Olden- 
 burg, not wishing to expose the lives of his men unne- 
 cessarily, had given orders that they should keep as 
 much as possible under cover, and not return the fire 
 of the enemy, but save every shot for the moment of 
 the charge itself He had also doubled the number of 
 men with stones on the house-tops. Finally he chose 
 from among the men who had shown most bravery a 
 select corps, which was to fall upon the attacking party 
 and engage them till the others should have had time 
 to seek shelter behind the barricades in the adjoining 
 streets. 
 
 Oldenburg had just given his directions when the 
 
Through Night to Light. 561 
 
 battery opened a most terrific fire and then suddenly 
 became silent. 
 
 One moment all was perfectly still. 
 
 Perfectly still, and then the iron clang of twenty 
 drums beating the charge. And with every beat the 
 column drew nearer, a living wall, apparently irresistible 
 in its approach. 
 
 Not a sound on the barricade. Up on the roofs 
 stand men and boys, with heavy stones in their hands ; 
 in the windows of the houses, and near the openings in 
 the barricade, the marksmen are watching, with their 
 rifles close to the eye. 
 
 And the drums beat and the living wall comes nearer. 
 Already one can distinguish the handsome uniform of 
 the Guards ; one can see the beardless faces of the men, 
 and the black-bearded countenance of the gigantic offi- 
 cer who leads the attack. And now the officer gives a 
 command, drowned in the beating of the drums ; and as 
 he waves his bright sword the men cheer, and with 
 three hurrahs they rush forward. But before they 
 reach the barricade twenty rifles are discharged, and 
 hundreds of stones are hurled down from above upon 
 the living wall, and it wavers and trembles like a huge 
 wave in the ocean which dashes its foam-crested waters 
 against a rocky coast. 
 
 Nevertheless it rolls on, and now it breaks against 
 the barricade. The officer pulls out huge pieces. No- 
 thing, it seems, can resist his gigantic strength. But 
 suddenly a man in a worn-out velvet coat, who wields 
 as his only weapon a rifle-barrel without the stock, 
 leaps down and faces the officer. When the officer sees 
 the man he starts back as if struck by lightning, and 
 roars to his men : " Halt! Halt! " 
 
 They halt. 
 
 The men of the barricade avail themselves of this 
 pause and fire once more. The officer falls dead, face 
 foremost; with him half a dozen men fall, more or less 
 dangerously wounded. A panic seizes the troops. 
 The officers try in vain to lead them to the attack. 
 
 The barricade is safe once more ; they cheer again 
 and again ; they embrace each other with tears of joy 
 
562 Through Night to Light. 
 
 in their eyes. But they have paid dearly for their vic- 
 tory. While part of the men repair the barricade, 
 which is half destroyed, another part is busy with the 
 dead and wounded. The man in the velvet coat 
 brings up the corpse of a man, who has fought like a 
 hero in the front rank, and who has fallen by his side, 
 pierced with the enemy's bayonets. 
 
 Oldenburg comes up to help them. 
 
 " Is he dead .-'" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 They place him on the ground near one of the fires. 
 The pale face is so quiet, so peaceful, and a gentle, happy 
 smile plays about the pale lips. 
 
 Oldenburg looks over to Oswald, who is kneeling on 
 the other side of the body. He is startled. The young 
 man's countenance is as pale as that of the dead man, 
 and his eyes glare like those of a madman. 
 
 " Great God, Oswald ! are you wounded ?" 
 
 " I am afraid I am," replies Oswald, and sinks down 
 by the side of Berger's body. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE sun has risen twice since the night of the bar- 
 ricades. A wondrously beautiful spring clay is 
 shining upon the immense city. The splendid 
 palaces show their noble outlines clearly against the 
 bright sky, while their mighty columns and richly- 
 adorned friezes are bathed in the golden morning sun. 
 And so there are bathing in the same golden morning 
 sun thousands and thousands of happy men who wan- 
 der in endless crowds through the city. All the pil- 
 grims feel like pious pilgrims who have long painfully 
 wandered through desert wastes and over rough moun- 
 tains to the sacred image of Our Lady, and at last they 
 behold the Holy One, and she smiles upon them for- 
 giveness of their sins, and peace and joy and hearty 
 
Through Night to Light. 563 
 
 confidence. Now they go back to their homes, silent 
 and full of emotion, or loud in pious songs, praising the 
 Holy One who has done wondrously for them. . . . 
 
 " Poor, gullible people ! As if all the saints of the 
 almanac could help you if you do not help yourself — 
 as if the sins of a generation could be atoned for in a 
 single night — as if a diseased state could be cured in a 
 day ! You are willing to forget and to forgive those 
 who have never, never forgiven you anything, and who 
 will never forget that you have sinned against them as 
 they look upon it. Your houses still show the traces 
 of the fratricidal struggle. Your roofs, from which in 
 your despair you hurled stones upon the heads of your 
 enemies, are still uncovered. The pavements which you 
 tore up to form a wall against reckless tyranny, have 
 not yet been replaced. The dead even, who shed their 
 blood for you, have not yet been buried. The wounded 
 — the mortally wounded, are still waiting on their sorrow- 
 ful couch for the hour of release " 
 
 It was Oldenburg who spoke these Avords to himself 
 as he stood in one of the windows of the hotel, and 
 looked down upon the people who now merrily swarmed 
 over the place where two days ago a huge barricade 
 had been erected ; where men had fought with bitter 
 hatred and gallant bravery ; where many a noble patriot 
 had breathed his last. 
 
 Two of these victims were in the hotel." 
 
 •Below,, a few feet only above the pavement on which 
 joyous crowds were thronging, a pale man was lying 
 in his coffin, from whose face a gray beard was flowing 
 in ample locks over a deep wound, from which night 
 before last his heart's blood has escaped. 
 
 And in the same room, on his bed of sorrow, lay a 
 young man who had been mortally wounded by the side 
 of the gray-haired enthusiast, and whose powerful, 
 youthful strength had so far struggled fearfully with 
 pitiless death, causing him unspeakable suffering. 
 
 After the charge in which Berger fell and Oswald re- 
 ceived his fatal wound, the troops had not renewed the- 
 attack ; partly because the position was really held to be 
 impregnable, partly because hesitation prevailed among 
 
564 Through Night to Light. 
 
 the ruling spirits, and partly because the death of Prince 
 Waldenberg, who had led the last charge with almost 
 rapturous bravery and had fallen in the attack, had dis- 
 heartened the men, so that the leaders dreaded a second 
 failure. They had contented themselves with an occa- 
 sional fire at the barricade; and at last, towards five 
 o'clock, the last shot had been fired, 
 
 Oldenburg had stood by his post till he was certain 
 that no new attack was to be expected, and that the 
 troops had received orders to retreat. Only then he had 
 called Schmenckel, who had stood by him like a true 
 squire through the whole fight, and they had left the 
 partially abandoned barricade the last of them all. 
 
 Schmenckel had told Oldenburg that same night, with 
 big tears rolling down his cheeks, that the officer who had 
 fallen before their eyes, had been his son. Oldenburg 
 had been greatly surprised when he heard the somewhat 
 confused account which honest Caspar Schmenckel gave 
 of his life, and especially the events of the last days 
 — the plot of poor Albert Timm, whose body had been 
 carried to the hospital — of brave Jeremy Goodheart, who 
 had led the surprise in the Dismal Hole, and who had 
 been the first to escape — the interviews between Count 
 Malikowsky and the Princess Letbus, and the manner in 
 which Albert Timm had boasted he could transform 
 Oswald Stein at any moment into a Baron Grenwitz. 
 
 Oldenburg knew the world, and especially the higher 
 regions mentioned in Schmenckel's story, too Avell to 
 doubt for a moment that the events he narrated were 
 possible or even plausible. 
 
 Did Oswald know his own history > But after all that 
 was now perfectly immaterial. Death was not likely to 
 make anv difference between the son of Baron Harald 
 and the son of Mr. Stein, teacher of languages; and 
 Oswald was no longer his own, he belonged to death. 
 
 That had been ascertained an hour after he had been 
 wounded. About that time medical aid had been pro- 
 cured; Doctor Braun arrived in company with Mclitta. 
 The latter had still been with Sophie when old 
 Baumann brought the news of the conflict and that 
 Oldenbursr was in command at the barricade in Broa ' 
 
Through Night to Light 565 
 
 street. Melitta had at once decided to join Oldenburg, 
 and Sophie saw very well that Franz could not stay at 
 home, when so many thousands were risking their lives, 
 and therefore said nothing when he declared his inten- 
 tion to accompany Melitta. Old Baumann and Bemper- 
 lein, who were also present, were to stay with Sophie to 
 guard her and the children. 
 
 Melitta and Franz found much difficulty in making 
 their way, and it was only after several hours wander- 
 ing, and often at the peril of their lives, that they reached 
 Broad street. 
 
 To see his beloved there, was, however, ample com- 
 pensation to Oldenburg for all he had endured. Me- 
 litta embraced and kissed him amid tears, in Braun's 
 presence ; she clung to his arm and could not let him 
 go again. She had trembled for his life, and was all joy 
 now to find him again, blackened with powder but in 
 the full glory of his manhood, till he whispered in her 
 ear that Oswald was lying, mortally wounded, in one 
 of the rooms of the hotel. Then Melitta had with- 
 drawn her arm from his, and had said — pale and dis- 
 tressed, but not overcome — that she would attend to the 
 poor man, as it was 'her duty. 
 
 Since then a day and a night had passed — an eternity 
 for those who watched by the bedside of the patient. 
 The wounded man suffered indescribable agony. He 
 ■would now rise madly, so that it required all of Schmenc- 
 kel's gigantic strength to put him back in his bed, and 
 now describe volubly all the fearful images which 
 crowded his overwrought brain. He who in life was so 
 reserved, had thus revealed the secret of his birth, a reve- 
 lation which perfectly overwhelmed Mrs. Black, and 
 made her bitterly regret her long-continued longing for 
 Marie, which was so sadly gratified by the sight of 
 Marie's son — on his death-bed. The old lady, however, 
 remitted none of her tender cares; she was ever busy; 
 and if for moments nothing could be done, she folded 
 her hands and prayed Heaven to save the son of her 
 darling daughter. 
 
 But that had been from the beginning a hopeless 
 wish. Franz had immediately pronounced Oswald's 
 
566 Through Night to Light. 
 
 wound fatal, and given him one or at best two days' 
 life. It is possible, however, he added, that he may re- 
 cover his consciousness once more before he dies. 
 
 Melitta looked forward to that moment with great 
 sadness. She now knew that she loved Oswald only as 
 an unfortunate brother. Oswald had not once men- 
 tioned her name in all his wanderings; he had only 
 spoken of a dear, sweet woman, against whom he had 
 sinned grievously, and who could never forgive him for 
 what he had done. This recollection had each time 
 brought bitter tears to his eyes, and Melitta had wiped 
 them from his face and wished she could tell him that 
 she had long since forgiven him all. 
 
 Then the wounded man had groaned so loud that Ol- 
 denburg turned quickly from the window and stepped 
 up to the bed where Melitta was sitting. But the groan 
 had not been one of pain ; it was the deep breathing 
 of a breath which had been relieved of an unbearable 
 burden. What Franz hadbeen foretold had happened 
 now — the pain had left him, and with it the last hope 
 of life. 
 
 As long as the pain of the torn intestines had raged 
 within him the mind of the poor sufferer had been sunk 
 in an abyss of horror, amid hideous masks that stared at 
 him through hollow eyes, amid monsters that tore him 
 with their sharp teeth, and dead men who glided by 
 wrapped in their winding Sheets, and displaying as they 
 turned some sweet faces that had been dear to him. 
 And the abyss had grown still darker — he had been 
 driven through narrow crevices, pursued by demoniac 
 howls which re-echoed fearfully from the bare rocky 
 walls, and the hot breath of hell all around him. Then 
 he heard a voice calling, Oswald ! Oswald ! And at the 
 silvery sound of this dear soft voice all the masks and 
 monsters had vanished and the howling of demons had 
 ceased. The hot, narrow passages widened into lofty, 
 airy halls which began to sway gently to and fro, so 
 that there were no longer arches of stone but the majes- 
 tic tops of venerable, giant trees, with merrily singing 
 birds skipping tlirough tlic green foliage, and here and 
 there golden rays of the sun. And again the voice called 
 
Through Night to Light. 567 
 
 Oswald ! Oswald ! and he flew towards the sound, 
 through the dark shady woods, over mossy ground, 
 through which silvery veins of water were playing. 
 And it grew lighter and lighter around him ; his eye saw 
 beyond the cool twilight, which felt so sweet and pleas- 
 ant to him, a land full of blooming life, of golden har- 
 vests, and smiling sunshine. And as his eye eagerly 
 drew in the unaccustomed sight there came floating 
 over the flowery fields and the ripening wheat-fields two 
 lofty, beautiful forms. At first he did not know them, 
 but as they came nearer he recognized both. They 
 were Oldenburg and Melitta ; and he stretched out his 
 arms towards them and said : " You dear and good ones ! 
 can you forgive me .''" 
 
 Then they bent over him, and he felt their kisses on 
 his lips. He would have wept aloud with blissful de- 
 light, but he could not. Sweet weariness flowed through 
 his limbs. He wanted to open his eyes, but a dear warm 
 hand softly closed them ; the land of harvests and sun- 
 shine faded away, the lofty forms floated back into soft 
 mists, the woods sounded louder, he was drawn back 
 again into the cool twilight, and then it was night — 
 
 aboriginal, eternal night. 
 
 ****** 
 
 And once more the spring sun has risen twice, and 
 once more the immense city wears a festive air ; but the 
 color of this solemnity is that of mourning, for the feast 
 they celebrate is the feast of the dead. 
 
 Black banners are waving from the towers and para- 
 pets of the royal palace ; mourning crape is floating 
 from all the windows ; crape is seen on the bonnets of 
 ladies and on the hats of men, on the arms of countless 
 numbers, who are all making tlieir way towards the 
 beautiful open square in the heart of the city, where, 
 amid temples bathed in the rays of tiie noon-day sun, 
 the coffins of all the victims of that night of terror are 
 standing on a huge platform. One hundred and eighty- 
 seven coffins, some containing women and children, 
 innocent flowers, that fell under the pitiless scythe when 
 the grim mowers of the bloody harvest were reaping tlie 
 field on which the seed of liberty was to have ripened. 
 
568 Through Night to Light. 
 
 And even this did not complete the bloody harvest. The 
 hospitals, as well as numberless private houses, had be- 
 sides their wounded men, many of whom were never to 
 see the golden day of freedom. 
 
 And now the bells begin to toll solemnly on all the 
 steeples — the same bells wliich in the night of the bar- 
 ricade had rang the alarm. 
 
 The church ceremonies are ended. The procession is 
 in motion. A procession such as that city had never 
 seen; such as the world's history perhaps never recorded. 
 
 In endless length the coffins with their rich loads of 
 flowers are borne on the shoulders of citizens, and twen- 
 ty thousand men of every age and every rank form the 
 escort. On every coffin is a paper with the name of the 
 deceased. Unmeaning names ! Who was Oswald Stein } 
 Who was Eberhard Wolfgang Berger.'' 
 
 What is there in a name .'' What matters it who they 
 were in life .'' what they did and suffered, blundered and 
 sinned, desired and failed to achieve "i All desires are 
 crowned, all sins are expiated, by their dying for free- 
 dom. This was felt by the hundred thousands who 
 stood on both sides of the streets through which the pro- 
 cession moved, reverently baring their heads before every 
 coffin. 
 
 And thus the endless procession moves slowly in silent, 
 solemn stillness to its destination, a high hill at one of 
 the gates of the city, where the men of the barricades 
 have on the day before dug out an immense square hole. 
 The procession enters the cutting. The bearers quietly 
 set down the coffins and move on, and so the others, till 
 the whole procession has passed out again. 
 
 And the thousands are standing around in solemn 
 silence. Guns are fired and a whole nation prays at the 
 graves of its martyrs. 
 
 For whom .'' 
 
 For the dead .'' 
 
 They need their pious wishes no longer in their cool 
 resting places, in their eternal sleep. 
 
 But tlie living.? 
 
 Their lot is not worse, but harder. They must work 
 and be useful in the hot dust of every day's life, without 
 
Throuzh Ni^ht to Lizht. 
 
 569 
 
 rest or repose, for tyranny never sleeps. They must 
 Avork and watch, lest the night come once more in wliich 
 the brave feel sad and the wicked delight ; that night full 
 of romantic masks and fantastic spectres ; that night so 
 poor in sound, strong men, and so rich in problematic 
 characters ; that long, wretched night, out of which 
 only the thunderstorm of revolution can lead through 
 a bloody dawn to freedom and to light. 
 
 fUHIVBRSITT 
 
 THE END. 
 
I 
 
 12 
 
 I 
 
i 
 
-3 ^ 
 
 20 
 
CQ3l37bb'=13 
 
 This vcj-umc preserved 
 with funding trom the 
 National Endcv?ment for 
 the Hamanities, 1990.