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 THEODORE; 
 
 OKj 
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST, 
 
 IN FOUR VOLUMES. 
 
 VOL. I. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 PEINTEB FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, AND ORMEj 
 PATERNOSTER-ROW. 
 
 1807.
 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 TO 
 
 Her Serene Highness 
 
 THE REIGNING 
 
 DUCHESS OF SAXE-WEIMAR, 
 
 This Trifle is respectfully 
 
 inscribed, in token of 
 Gi^atitude, Ad?niration, 
 
 a7id Esteem.
 
 THEODORE; 
 
 OR, 
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 BOOK FIRST, 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 W^hlch muit serve by way of introduction, for want of 
 abetter. 
 
 IlT has always appeared to me to be a very 
 hard thing upon an author, t!iat custom 
 should require him to place the Preface 
 at the beginning of a book — and conse- 
 quently compel him to give an account 
 of his plan at a time, when it is, at best, 
 in only an embryo state. Not that I 
 mean, in general, to complain of custom, 
 which, on many occasions, is full as use- 
 ful as law, of which it frequently supplies 
 Vol. L b
 
 2 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 the deficiencies ; for what is custom but 
 the result of public opinion ? 
 
 Let us examine the world with an 
 unprejudiced eye, and we shall find, upon 
 the whole, that public opinion is favourable 
 to virtue. 
 
 There is no rule, says the proverb, 
 without an exception ; and, in the pre- 
 sent instance, I readily admit, that there 
 are particular follies and vices, to which 
 fashion gives a temporary sanction ; and 
 which pass, for a time, like adulterated 
 coin, by a kind of conventional sufferance. 
 
 I do not care a pin's point — no, nor 
 the thousandth part of a pin's point, w^ere 
 it capable of so many sub-divisions, what 
 your morose cynics may assert to the con- 
 trary ; but shall persevere in maintaining, 
 that public opinion is usually right. You 
 may smilcjgentle reader, as you undoubtedly 
 willj should you happen to be the author of 
 an unsuccessful play ; or, like some of your 
 fraternity, have written more volumes than 
 ever you read. But I mean precisely what
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 I affirm ; your theorists, and philosophers, 
 with due respect be it spoken, are fre- 
 quently guilty of the grossest mistakes, 
 and are run away with by their imagina- 
 tion, in pursuit of a phantom, which 
 they first adorn with every meretricious 
 charm, and then fall down in ecstasies, 
 like that silly fellow, Pygmalion, to wor- 
 ship the idol of their own creation. The 
 public, however, possesses an ample por- 
 tion of what you gentlemen of refined 
 taste disdainfully call plain common sense; 
 and which, I confess, you are perfectly right 
 to despise, since it is a vulgar commodity, 
 in which you seldom abound. 
 
 Now I, who am proud to rank myself 
 under the banners of those, who had 
 rather be guided by past experience, and 
 that moral sense of rectitude, for which 
 I conclude there is no synonimous term in 
 the neiu French Dictionary, but which may 
 be found in Johnson, under the appellation 
 of conscience, than by any one of those 
 modern discoveries that have puzzled me- 
 B 2
 
 4 THEODOr.E; OR, 
 
 taphysicians for these last twenty years, and 
 will probably do so tor twenty years to come, 
 feel myself bound to conform to established 
 usage, and to lay before my reader, in 
 an introductory chapter, a sketch of my 
 future plan. 
 
 But here arises another question — for 
 there are two ways of explaining a sub- 
 ject — first, l)y telling you what it is, and 
 secondly, by stating what it is not; and 
 the latter of these I shall adopt. 
 
 The reader, then, must not expect to 
 be terrified with miraculous descriptions 
 of ghosts and hobgoblins, which appear, 
 no one knows why ; to do, no one 
 knows what ; and come, no one knows 
 whence ; but which are lugged in, head 
 and shoulders, by every modern drama- 
 tist, and novel writer, for no better reason 
 than because they were employed by Shakes- 
 peare with singular effect. We, on the con- 
 trary, shall confine ourselves to simple facts ; 
 laying it down as an invariable rule, " that 
 we overstep not the modesty of nature.^
 
 TK£ e>;tkusiast. o 
 
 We have no ladies v>ho sleep lor a thou- 
 sand vears, because tlicir father sells him- 
 sdf to the devil — and who v/ake, most 
 opportunely, in the full possession of un- 
 fuJed beautv, t^ niarry a young and ac- 
 complished kniglit.^ iSor does a wife- 
 appear^ some months after her decease,. 
 in the sliape and substance of a chilling 
 breeze, in order to convert an infidel- 
 husband. -J- ^^o, nor is it our intention 
 to ridicule rel:a:ion, — to crimson the cheek 
 of virgin modesty. — nor to poison the 
 public mind with revolutionary tenets, 
 under the prostituted mask of universal 
 pliilanthropv. 
 
 Were I to address mvself to anv of 
 those iHustrious authors, whose woiks 
 travel by iinggon loads to Leipsic fair, 
 I am convinced they v/ould tell me, one 
 and all, tliat rules irere made fur none but 
 vulgar viijids \ and this being once ad- 
 
 * Vide Spies, a celebrated Novelist in Germany. 
 t Vide a paaipblet publi bed at Leipsic, not ia^ 
 
 tbe ninth, but in die nineiceriih Cc?ntr.ry.
 
 6 THEODGKE ; OV., 
 
 mitted, it would be ridiculous to expect, 
 that they sliould be tied by tlie leg, like 
 such a plodding fellow as myself. I hiuve, 
 therefore, nothing to do, but to leave 
 genius to pursue its eccentric course, as 
 _n:iuch like a comet as it can ; and to 
 content myself with ambling on in the 
 beaten track, as soberly and safely as I 
 am able ; and, provided my half-bred Pe- 
 gasus do but outstrip a German postillion, in 
 the sandy roads of Hriuover, I mnv ex- 
 claim, with ecstasv, "How we apples swim.^' 
 " Always harping' upon my daughter," 
 says Polonius — always liarping upon the 
 Germans, may the reader cry, wiih equal 
 propriety; aye, and possibly require an ex- 
 planation into the bargain ; hut so much 
 the worse for liim. if he does — for I am not 
 at present in a humour to give it. No, Sir, 
 you may frovvU as much as you please ; it 
 does not signifv ; I never go out of miy way 
 for any body. Hereafter I m.ay be in a more 
 communicative temper ; that, however, 
 must depend upon circumstances : but
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST, 
 
 if \oii do not like the terms upon which 
 we are to proceed together, the wisest 
 thing that you can possibly do, is to lay 
 down the book at once. 
 
 CHAP. 11. 
 
 Wherein our Hc;o is inuoduced to the reader's acquaintance. 
 
 In a villvige in Swabia, not far from 
 the banks of the Danube, there lived 
 an honest and respectable family, of the 
 name of Rosenthal. The father, who 
 was advanced in years, had long filled 
 the office of bailiff with reputation, and 
 had amassed an easy fortune by his skill 
 in farming. Some few years previous to 
 the commencement of this history, he 
 lost his wife — and since that melancholy 
 event, his time had been divided between 
 the duties of his profession, and the edu- 
 B 4
 
 o THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 cation of his children, of whom three were- 
 sons, and two daughters. 
 
 The youngest son, wdiose name was 
 Theodore, was a lad of a lively disposi- 
 tion, and an active mind, and was expert 
 at every manly exercise. Bv his spirited 
 conduct he acquired so great an ascen- 
 dency over the minds of his youthful 
 companions, that he became the guide 
 and director of all their sports : if they 
 played at soldiers, he was, of course, a 
 general ; and the party which lie com- 
 manded, never fouled to be victorious. 
 When liunting proved their occupation, 
 he regulated their motions vv-^rli the au- 
 thority of a master, and proved, invaria- 
 bly, the most successful sportsman in the 
 field. In' a word, ho was looked up tr;, 
 by his young friends, as a lacl cd sfir^e- 
 rior talents, and every amusement whictx 
 he proposed, was instantly adopted vvith 
 unaninicus conseut. 
 
 Nor was his courage inferior to his 
 agility. Without the smallest hesitation
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST.. y 
 
 he would plunge into the rnpid Danube^ 
 and swim further than any boy in the parish ; 
 or, when a bird's nest was discovered upon 
 a. tree, too high and slender for any one to 
 attempt, Theodore was prepared to climb it, 
 and would skip along the boughs with all 
 the agility of a squirrel. Yet no sooner was 
 his vanity gratified, than humanity again 
 resumed her empire, and whispered to his 
 licart, that he was about to indulge an 
 ungenerous passion, at the expense of 
 every f.ner feeling. Alive to the ten- 
 derest emotions of sensibility, he instantly 
 quitted his prey, delighted equally with the 
 triumph obtained over his more timid 
 comrades, and the sacrifice which he made, 
 to maternal tenderness. 
 
 A disposition like this seemed natu« 
 rally calculated for a military life; and 
 old . Rosenthal accordingly destined The- 
 odore to the profession of arms — hoping, 
 through the interest of some powerful 
 friends, to procure him a commission in the 
 Austrian service. This resolution being 
 B 5.
 
 10 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 once embraced, he became less attentive to 
 his education, appearing more desirous to 
 render him an honest man, than a learned 
 one. With this view he studied to fortify 
 his mind with the important truths of re- 
 ligion — directing his attention to the sacred 
 writings, and particularly to those passages 
 which he thought most likely to make a 
 lasting impression on his memory, and 
 regulate his future actions according to 
 the invariable standard of morality. Thus 
 he gradually planted, in the heart of 
 Theodore, the seeds of probity and de- 
 votion ; — preparing him to perform his 
 allotted part on the grand theatre of 
 life, with an unshaken perseverance in 
 the path of virtue, or to meet adversity, 
 if ever it assailed him, with courage and 
 resignation. 
 
 As he advanced in years, our hero 
 displayed that firmness of character 
 which ever distinguished the German 
 nation ; and which their admirers are 
 wont to dignify with the honourable
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 11 
 
 appellation of perseverance ; though, to 
 an impartial observer of human nature, it 
 sometimes appears under the less amiable 
 form of obstinacy ; — be that, however, 
 as it may, and there is no denying that 
 the extremes of virtue frequently degene- 
 rate into the opposite vices, young Rosen- 
 thal possessed a heart that was feelingly 
 alive to the voice of sensibility — and 
 beheld whatever was great or noble with 
 the lively enthusiasm of a poet. In- 
 deed, from his earliest infancy, he disco- 
 vered a strong predilection for that cap- 
 tivating art ; and would express his feelings 
 in untaught numbers, predictive of no 
 common genius. The same romantic spirit 
 continued to guide him in every other pur- 
 suit. Even in those hours which were set 
 apart for juvenile recreations, he would slip 
 away, unnoticed, from his noisy companions, 
 to wander through the woods and meadows, 
 in search of flowers, which he entwined in 
 fanciful wreaths, as a present to his favo- 
 rite sister. To him, no production of
 
 12 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 nature appeared indilfcreiit. With an 
 eye of curiosity he followed the caterpil- 
 lar through all its changes — or admired 
 the labors of the industrious bee. 
 When fatigued with these solitary ram- 
 bles, he threw himself dow^n upon the 
 mossy bank, where he would watch the 
 chrystalline torrent, foaming and fret- 
 ting over the tufted rock ; — or, reclining 
 beneath the shady oak, he would indulge 
 in soft and melancholy reiiections, lis- 
 tening, in silent ecstasy, to the war- 
 bling choir, which filled the air with mo- 
 dulated notes. Absorbed in contempla- 
 ting the majestic scenery, the hours 
 €tole imperceptibly away, till the length- 
 ening shadows, reminding him that it was 
 time to return, he started up, as awaken- 
 ing from a delightful trance, and with a 
 tear glistening in his eye, stole privately 
 to his mother's grave — where he had 
 planted several of the sweetest flowers, 
 which he cultivated with religious care. 
 Theodore was no stranger to his fa-
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 13 
 
 ther's intentions^ and anticipated, with 
 boyish vanity, the glory which he should 
 acquire, when storming a battery at the 
 head of the grenadiers, or planting a 
 standard upon the walls of Strasbourg. 
 For, like every youth of a warm ima- 
 gination, he was continually building cas- 
 tles in the air, and was prevented by 
 nothing but his ignorance of history, 
 from fancying himself already as great a 
 general as the duke of Marlborough, or 
 prince Eugene. Yet so uncertain is 
 the condition of man, that an event 
 took place, which suddenly changed all his 
 future prospects, by directing his hopes and 
 wishes into a different channel.
 
 ( 14 ) 
 
 CHAP. in. 
 
 All is not Gold that glitters. 
 
 It was on a fine summer evening that 
 Theodore accompanied his father to a 
 neighboaririg convent of capuchins. The 
 weather w^as serene, and delightful ; the 
 trees, adorned with luxuriant foliage, 
 were covered with birds, who filled the 
 air with their tender warblings, while the 
 declining sun gave a melancholy tinge to 
 every surrounding object. 
 
 " You are going, my son," said the 
 elder Rosenthal, " to witness a scene 
 which will have all the charms of no- 
 velty for you; you will make acquaintance 
 with many excellent men — who, con- 
 vinced, from early experience that this 
 world is the abode of misery and sin, 
 have renounced it, with all its dangers,
 
 THEODORE; OR;, THE ENTHUSIAST. 15 
 
 to dedicate themselves entirely to the 
 duties of religion. The character which 
 I have now given you of the monastic 
 state, is common, I trust, to many ; — 
 though no one, I am persuaded, de- 
 serves it better than my venerable friend. 
 Father Anthony. Do not, however, ima- 
 gine that every friar resembles him, lest 
 you should think yourself already in the 
 society of angels." 
 
 Having just reached the summit of 
 the hill, the monastery presented itself 
 to the view, rising majestically amidst a 
 grove of pines, whose lofty tops were 
 gilded by the setting sun. A branch of 
 the Danube flowed through the adja- 
 cent meadow^s, reflecting the vivid colour- 
 ing of the ruddy sky on its glassy sur- 
 face, while a long chain of high and ir- 
 regular mountains, which were seen in 
 the distant horizon, formed a back- 
 ground worthy of the magnificent land- 
 scape. 
 
 Enchanted with this delightful pros-
 
 l6 THEODORE ; 0R> 
 
 peet^ they stopped to contemplate it at 
 leisure. Universal silence prevailed, which 
 was suddenly interrupted by the con- 
 vent bell. — It vibrated to the- heart of 
 Theodore^ exciting emotions that he had 
 never experienced till then. A tear of 
 mingled joy and melancholy started from 
 his eye — his bosom swelled with an 
 involuntary sigh ; yet he uttered not a 
 word ; — but, with a trembling and un- 
 steady step followed his father, as he 
 descended the hill, which led directly 
 to the monastery. 
 
 An aged monk, whose venerable 
 beard was silvered o'er with years, received 
 them at the gate with unaffected hospi- 
 tality, and immediately conducted them 
 to the refectory, where several of the 
 fathers were assembled. They rose as the 
 strangers entered, and invited them to 
 partake of their evening repast. Theodore, 
 and his father, seated themselves without 
 further ceremony — and though the fare 
 was simple, and consisted only of the pro-
 
 THE ENTHTJSIAST. 17 
 
 diice of the convent garden, they found, 
 that a hearty stomach is the best of sauces. 
 
 Theodore was forcibly struck with every 
 thing that he saw ; and felt attracted by 
 a resistless impulse towards men, whose 
 sacred character impressed his imagination 
 with reverential awe. To him they appeared 
 beings of a more elevated order, than any 
 with whom he had hitherto conversed ; for 
 benevolence and resignation were strongly 
 imprinted on every feature, and when they 
 addressed each other, it was in a tone of 
 complacency that aiptivated the heart. — - 
 But he was scarcely master of his feel- 
 ings, when he became liimself the object 
 of their notice. Had he been standing- 
 in the oresence of ang-cls, his respect 
 -and admiration could not have augment- 
 ed. Father Anthony in particular en- 
 c:rossed liis attention, and he alreadv loved 
 Inin with filial affection. For there was 
 a- patriarchal dignity in his manner, blend- 
 ed with the softest expression of chiis- 
 tian philanthropy wl>ich it was impos^
 
 18 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 sible for hypocrisy to counterfeit, and 
 which operated upon tlie hearts of all 
 who approached him with the resistless 
 force of electric attraction. 
 
 '* I am desirous to know/' said Rosenthal, 
 addressing his discourse to an aged monk 
 who sat at the upper end of the table, 
 " how many years you have passed in this 
 convent, for I remember to have seen 
 you here, when 1 was scarce older than 
 Theodore." 
 
 '• It is just sixty years," replied Father 
 Gregory, " since I quitted the world ; and 
 I have never once regretted the change. 
 My life indeed has been a happy onCj ibr 
 I have enjoyed an excelienl consLitation, 
 unimpaired by dissipation, or sickness, 
 and exempt from tliose corroding cares, 
 which are inseparable from the j)ur&uits 
 of ambition. At length, liowever, J per- 
 ceive my end a^ proaching, and anx- 
 iously look forward to that happy moment 
 when my soul shall be released from its 
 terrestrial prison. Often have I assisted
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. IQr 
 
 in burying those who were younger than 
 myself, bat my turn will shortly come, 
 and these, my venerable friends, (looking 
 round with a placid smile) shall ere long 
 conduct me to my eternal home." 
 
 " Heaven forbid ! that we should lose 
 thee yet awhile 1" exclaimed the friars, as 
 if actuated by one common sentiment 
 of attachment, " for thou hast still many 
 enjoyments left." 
 
 The guardian now rose, and joined 
 with Father Anthony in pressing their 
 guests to pass the night at the convent. 
 
 " Vv"e have no beds of down to offer 
 you/' said the good old man, *' but what- 
 ever we have is at your disposal. Let us 
 spend another evening together, for who 
 am say that we shall ever meet again on 
 this side the grave.'* 
 
 This hearty welcome could not be 
 withstood. After vespers, they adjourn- 
 ed to the garden, to enjoy the fragrance 
 of the shrubs, and flowers, which per- 
 fumed the air. Several walks intersecting
 
 '20 
 
 each other at right angles, led to a plrrt- 
 farm, in the midst of which was a foun- 
 tain. It was here, that the friars, two 
 by two, indulged in social converse ; and 
 while some directed their discourse to the 
 joys which await the pious in a better 
 world,, others reverted with secret satis- 
 faction to the occupations, and amuse- 
 ments of their youth, recalling to their 
 recollection the companions of their ten- 
 der years, and consoling their imagina- 
 tion with the delightful prospect of again, 
 beholding, them in those h?ppv mansioi^,, 
 where piety receives an eternal rev/ard. 
 
 It would, however, be deceiving our- 
 selves to imagine that contentment and 
 benevolence are the constant inmates of 
 a monastery. — Every association which 
 consists of beings so imperfect as men, 
 mvisl be exposed to those hatefLii passions, 
 which hold dominion over the human^ 
 heart ; nor are their effects less pernicious,, 
 because their action is confined to a smaller 
 theatre. In a retired alley,, the envious-
 
 THE ENTHTSIAST. 21 
 
 and malignant derived an odious plea- 
 sure from exposing those little weak- 
 nesses to which mortality is subject, even 
 in its most perfect state ; while affliction 
 sought to indulge in sighs and tears, and 
 those tender reeoUections which years of 
 seclusion were unable to efface. For, 
 among the various causes which lead man 
 to abandon the world, devotion is per- 
 haps that which operates least powerfully 
 on the heart. Unmerited misfortune, un- 
 requited service, the cruelty of a parent, 
 the inconstancy of a misti-ess, or the 
 treachery of a friend, induce the far greater 
 number rashly to pronounce the irrevo- 
 cable vow, which, in the calmer hours of 
 returning reason, they never cease to re- 
 gret. In flying from society, they vainly 
 hope to fly from sorrow. But it follows 
 them to the sequestred cell, and becomes 
 the inseparable companion of their solitary 
 meditations, while by the dwindling lamp 
 they wake and pray, or sit upon a sleepless 
 coudi, bathing their pillow with tears*
 
 ( 22 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 The Pious Monk. 
 
 After shewing them every part of the 
 garden. Father Anthony conducted his 
 two friends to a grove of pines, which 
 lay contiguous to the inclosure, and hav- 
 ing seated himself between them on a 
 wooden bench, he addressed them in the 
 following words : 
 
 " I have brought you to my favourite 
 spot, where I hardly ever fail to spend 
 some part of every evening, meditating 
 upon the instability of all human pos- 
 sessions, and recalling to my remembrance 
 the friends of my youth, among whom, 
 you, my dear Rosen thall, are never for- 
 gotten. To you, who are no stranger to
 
 THEODORE *, OR, THE ENTHUSIAST, 23 
 
 my history, I may speak without disguise, 
 for you know that my youth was deeply 
 tinctured with misfortune, and that my 
 trials were many, and severe. For I not 
 only suffered cruelly from the perfidy of 
 others, but had to combat the impetu- 
 osity of my own disorderly passions. 
 
 Yet," continued he, in a broken voice, 
 " my heart has long enjoyed tranquillity, 
 and I now look back upon the tumul- 
 tuous conflicts of youth with sentiments 
 of gratitude, not less lively than those 
 which the mariner experiences, when he 
 contemplates his escape from the storms 
 and perils of the deep. — We are frail 
 creatures at best, and many a bitter pang 
 must we undergo, before we are able to 
 subdue our feelings, and to tear ourselves 
 from recollections, which once were dear. 
 Perhaps there is no other situation, 
 where a similar victory can be obtained. 
 It is alone in the solitude of a cloister, 
 that man is empowered to detach his 
 affections from every earthly tie, fixing
 
 ^4 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 his thoughts with unclouded serenity or» 
 the contemplation of celestial objects. 
 
 ^^ Yet, notwithstanding the flattering 
 picture that I have drawn, I am by no 
 means an advocate for a monastic life ; 
 though I am thoroughly persuaded that 
 the man who performs his duty in that 
 trying situation, prepares for himself 
 eternal happiness in the world to come." 
 Rosenthal, Pardon the interruption, 
 but to me it appears that a life of active 
 benevolence is in general more useful to 
 mankind. 
 
 F. Anihomj, I shall not contest that 
 point, though I can by no means admit 
 that we are inactive members of society. — 
 ^. JThis perhaps you will be ready to allow ; 
 but as Theodore is totally unacquainted 
 with our habits, he shall hear in what 
 n)anner,we spend our time. The occu- 
 pations, of |a^ single day will furnish the 
 history afmy^ whole life. 
 
 In surnm^r; I; rise at four, in winter at 
 six, for such 'are the rules of our order.
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 25 
 
 My first business is to attend matins, 
 and from the chapel I either retire to the 
 garden/ or occapy myself in the library 
 with theological studies. From thence 
 I am again summoned to prayers, and 
 when the service is over we dine. After 
 a frugal repast, the culture of our gar- 
 den affords an innocent recreation to those 
 whose age allov/s them to partake in an 
 occupation, which proves scarce less use- 
 ful to our neighbours than to ourselves. 
 For we are continually trying new expe- 
 riments, w^iich are communicated to the 
 peasants the moment they succeed. After 
 vespers we sup ; and in the evening, 
 if the weather permit, I hasten to this 
 my beloved solitude, to reflect at leisure 
 on the transactions of the day ; and after 
 examining my thoughts and actions with 
 an unbiassed judgment, I resolve to cor- 
 rect in future what I discover to be amiss. 
 
 RoseiithaL You seem to have forgotten 
 one occupation, which I thought common 
 Vol. I. G
 
 20 THEOjDor.L, on, 
 
 to every member of the order. — The 
 coilcctiiig alms for tlie convent. 
 
 F. Anthony. My age would exempt 
 nie from it, according to oar institu- 
 tions, yet I frequently visit the neigh- 
 houring villages ; for, during these walks, 
 opportunities oUen occur of doing good 
 to my fellow creatures, and that has ever 
 been the leading object of my life.— 
 Do not, however, suppose that I under- 
 take this office, which belongs exclu- 
 sively to the junior monks, with a view 
 to persuade the industrious labourer to 
 contribute more liberally than he cau 
 prudently affiord ; though I generally re- 
 turn with an ample store. I have, more- 
 over, the satisfaction of being assured by 
 the grateful donors, that they are repaid 
 tenfold by the instructions which they 
 receive both with regard to their tem-. 
 poral and eternal welfare. — Many tell me 
 that their crops are doubled, since th^y 
 adopted the new system of agriculture, 
 which I first recommended to their notice.
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 2/ 
 
 Others thank me for having reclaimed 
 them from their vicious courses, hy the 
 warmth of my exhortatiOTis, and the de- 
 lightful pictures which I drew of virtue. 
 
 Here the good man's emotions grew 
 too strong to be repressed. He wiped 
 away a tear as it stole down his furrowed 
 cheeky and then continued.- 
 
 I am fearful of tiring you by talking 
 $0 long of my own actions. Do notj 
 Ixlv^'ever, suppose that it proceeds from 
 vanity, for God can witness that so un- 
 worthy a motive never influenced my 
 conduct. Alas ! I am too conscious of 
 my own imperfections to boast of any 
 thing. 
 
 Rosenthal, That is a failing, my vene- 
 rable friend, of which no one will accuse 
 you^ who is at all acquainted with your 
 character ; and few people in this country 
 are strangers to your virtues. Believe 
 me, the peasants are by no means an 
 ungrateful race, as they are represented 
 by those, whose interest it is to paint 
 c2
 
 28 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 them in odious colours. No ; they love 
 you with filial affection, and never utter 
 your name unaccompanied with expres- 
 sions of gratitude. Come, Theodore, 
 repeat to Father Anthony, what you 
 heard our neighbour Blumfeld say the 
 other day. 
 
 Theodore blushed. For he was un- 
 accustomed to speak before strangers, 
 but assuming a little courage, he said, that 
 Blumfeld only expressed the sentiments 
 of the whole country, who regard Father 
 Anthony as an angel, and declare that they 
 feel themselves grow better every time he 
 preaches. 
 
 F. Anthony, (pressing his hands with 
 a look of tenderness.) Indeed I am far from 
 deserving this, for I barely perform my 
 duty. 
 
 He was here interrupted by two friars 
 who were taking their evening walk, and 
 joined for a moment in the conversation. 
 No sooner, however, were they out of 
 hearing, than he proceeded thus.
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 2g 
 
 Those, Rosenthal, are two excellent 
 nnen, and in some measure replace the 
 loss of my valuable friend Father Joseph, 
 severe and painful as it proved. For he 
 was the most perfect of created beings ; 
 a man who, take him all in all, has left 
 no equal on earth. Would to heaven ! 
 that you could have witnessed his last 
 moments. The pious resignation with 
 uliich he breathed his last was truly 
 amiable. It was a termination worthy 
 of so pure a life. — But I must hasten to 
 a conclusion, as the subject is too pain- 
 ful to be longer dwelt upon. Many are 
 the hours which we have spent together 
 on this very bench, w^iile the firmament 
 was illuminated with a thousand stars. 
 Catching fire from the majestic scene, he 
 would discourse with enthusiastic rap- 
 ture on the joys of heaven, describing 
 them in the animating language of poetry. 
 — Yet ought I in justice to regret him, 
 for he is happier now than it is our lot 
 to be in this state of trial. Yet even he, 
 C 3
 
 30 THEODORE ; OR^ 
 
 in his youth, was a prey to worldly pas- 
 sions ; nor was it till after he had embra- 
 ced the monastic state^ tliat he turned 
 his thoughits entirely towards h.caven. 
 
 Rosenthal , Such a destiny is truly ert- 
 viable. 
 
 F. Anthony, Enviable indeed, thoufrh 
 few can hope to attain it. You, n'ly 
 friend, have several sors ; did you never 
 think of educating one of tbem for the 
 ciiurch : It would dravv^ down a blessinor 
 
 o 
 
 on the rest. — What say you, Theodore ? 
 Have you never felt an inclination to 
 dedicate yourself to the service of God. 
 
 The youth, wliose imnirination was 
 captivated by the picture which FntbeF 
 Anthony had drawn, replied with ea^cr- 
 ne-3 in the aiiirmative. A secret vish 
 already, rose in his heart, to dwell k^r 
 ever in so charnjlng a place, and to 
 associate with beinirs oi a siinej'ior order. 
 
 The discerning eye of the experienced 
 monk immediately penetrated his thoughts, 
 and persuaded^ that he should render an
 
 THE EXTHrSIAST. 3t 
 
 essciitiai sn-rvice to the convent, by pro- 
 niring for it a yoath of so amiable a clia- 
 racter, he resolved to cherish this lavonr- 
 ahle di«?position. Taniing, therefore, to 
 his friend, he attempted at once to ob- 
 tain liis conscRt. But the old man pru- 
 dently declined to enter into any positive 
 engagement, affecting to treat his son's 
 inclination in the light of a boyish ca- 
 price, which he would forget as easily as 
 he had taken it up. At the same time, he 
 declared himself ready to comply with his 
 wishes, sliould he continue long in the 
 sanie mind. 
 
 The moon had now risen above the 
 liili, and shone in fiill splendour on the 
 grove of pines. Tins vvas the signal for 
 xhAv return. Ui)on re-entering the gar- 
 den, they found severid of the fnars still 
 conversing round tlie fountain. 
 
 *^ How do vou like our way of life ?" 
 said one of them addressing himself to 
 Theodore, ^^ tor I conclude it is the 
 first time vou ever entered a monastery," 
 c 4
 
 32 TIIEODOilli ; OR^ 
 
 " He is so charmed with it," replied 
 Father Anthony, '• that he has half a 
 mind to embrace it himsehV 
 
 " Most admirable !" exclaimed a third ; 
 '^ nothing can be a stronger proof of his 
 *' good sense." 
 
 " Let him keep this pious resolution," 
 added a fourth, " and it shall be our con- 
 
 " stant study to make him happy." 
 
 They now separated with a fraternal 
 salute, every one endeavouring to capti- 
 vate Theodora by some particular expres- 
 sion of regard. The two guests were 
 conducted to their chambers, where every 
 thing was prepared for their reception.
 
 ( 33 ) 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 The same scene continues. 
 
 Under pretence of being sleepy, old 
 Rosenthal sent away his son, the mo- 
 ment that he entered his room, for he 
 was thoroughly acquainted with his warm 
 and lively imagination, and wished that 
 a night might entervene before they 
 conversed together on what had passed, 
 convinced that the impression of the 
 evening could not be lasting. In this, how- 
 ever, he was mistaken. Theodore was so 
 occupied with his reflections, that he was 
 unable to sleep — and the more he consi- 
 dered the subject, the niorc he vvas per- 
 suaded, that a monastery was the chosen 
 seat of devotion, peace, and benevolence. 
 Giving way to his creative fancy, li? 
 iigured to himself the many happy hours 
 c6
 
 o4 TIIEODOF.E ; OR, 
 
 that he was destined to pass in that 
 blissful retreat, removed from the cares 
 and turmoils of a deceitful world. To 
 him it appeared under the seducing 
 form of a terrestrial paradise, where the 
 elect alone could gain access ; and he 
 anticipated the perfect felicity which lie 
 should iiimself enjoy, when allowed to 
 enter the hallowed precincts. 
 
 Amid these pleasing visions, he at 
 length closed his eyes ; but the events of 
 the day were too deeply imprinted on his 
 imagination for sleep to efface them : he 
 dreamed that the wished-for moment 
 was arrived, when he was lo receive the 
 habit of the order. — The church was 
 illumined with celestial radiance, white 
 descending cherubs, hymning their ma- 
 ker's praise, hovered round him, and 
 ^)kcing a crown of glory on his head, con- 
 ducted him in triumph to the altar. — In 
 the midst of the heavenly choir he 
 beheld his mother, adorned in all the 
 symbols of beatitude : she beckoned to
 
 THE ENTHUSIxVST. 35 
 
 h:m and pointing towards the sky. desig- 
 nated inQ recoiri| ense wliich awaited 
 piety in another world. 
 
 The violence of his emotion awoke 
 him ; lie started ircni his pillow, and 
 runnins: to the window, beheld the sun 
 darting vivid streams of light upon 
 the adjacent meadows, bespangled with 
 silver dew ; the skv-lark fluttered in the 
 air, warbling out tier tributary song to 
 the orient day — while the rest of the 
 feathered songsters joined in chorus. A 
 monk was walking in the garden- — he 
 appeared lost in deep reflection^ and 
 held a crucifix in his folded hands,, upon 
 which his eyes were fixed in holy rapture, 
 then raised to the resplendent firmament. 
 
 A spectacle like this could hardly fail 
 to excite the strongest emotions in a 
 mind like Theodore's. Throwing him- 
 self upon his knees, he prayed with more 
 than common fervor, imploring heaven 
 to render him worthy of the sacrifice 
 which he already meditated. While ab-
 
 3^ THEODOJRE ; OR, 
 
 sorbed in these ideas, his father entered the 
 room. Theodore blushed, and jumping 
 hastily up, turned towards the window 
 to conceal his emotion. 
 
 Rosenthal You appear so much agi- 
 tated, my son, that I cannot help enqui- 
 ring into the cause. Tell me, Theodore, 
 has any thing extraordinary happened ? 
 
 Theodore, Nothing particular. — I was 
 only looking at the tree under which we 
 sat last night, and thinking over all that 
 Father Anthony said. Indeed, it is im- 
 possible for me ever to forget the account 
 he gave of Father Joseph's death. What 
 an excellent man he must have been ! 
 
 Rosenthal. There are few like him ; 
 and I am pleased, that you admire him ; 
 for it is a proof that you admire virtue : 
 But how did you like your quarters last 
 night } Did you sleep as sound as usual ? 
 
 Theodore. Not quite, father. My 
 thoughts were a good deal confused. 
 
 Rosenthal That is natural enough.
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 37 
 
 Theodore, And besides, I had a singular 
 dream. 
 
 Rosenthal. What was it about ? 
 
 Theodore. About the convent and the 
 friars ; — and many things of the same kind. 
 
 Rosenthal. To teli you the truth, I 
 suspected as much ; and for that reason 
 I hastened to you now : your feelings 
 were worked up to the highest pitch, by 
 the interesting conversation of last night ; 
 and it would have been strange indeed, 
 if the agitation of your spirits had pro- 
 duced no effect upon your dreams. 
 
 Theodore. I do not recollect to have 
 ever been so much affected before. 
 
 Rosenthal. Though I said nothing at 
 the time, I plainly saw the change that 
 took place in your ideas: but this is a 
 subject upon which we will talk some 
 other time. Father Anthony has often 
 pressed me to bring you here; but I 
 have hitherto declined the invitation, as 
 I thought your lively disposition by no 
 means suited to a cloister. You could
 
 38 THEODORE; OK, 
 
 not but remark how eagerly he caught 
 at your wordS;, when you expressed an 
 inchnation for a monastic life : the con- 
 versation will^ of course, be renewed to 
 day, so you must be prepared to repeV 
 the attack. 
 
 Theodore, This is just what I dreamed 
 about. 
 
 Rosenihal. If your dream relates to this 
 subject, I should like to hear it. 
 
 Theodore, No sooner had I closed my 
 eyes, than I fancied myself in the midst 
 of a great church, surrounded by friars, 
 andjust going, myself^, to take the habit. 
 All on a sudden the roof opened, and I 
 heard the sweetest music that ever struck 
 my ears. Soon after, my mother ap- 
 peared ; she was sitting upon a shining 
 throne, by the side of the holy virgin, 
 and bid me persevere in my pious reso- 
 lution, for that I should then be certain 
 of joining her. 
 
 Rosenthal. (JValking about in great 
 agitation, far ha had likewise dreavit of
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST, SQ 
 
 his rvife.) That is extraordinary very 
 
 Extraordinary [after a pause,) Am I 
 
 then, Theodore, to consider your inten- 
 tion in a serious light ? 
 
 Theodore. Certainly — provided you ap- 
 prove it. 
 
 Eose7ilhciL A question so important 
 to your future wehV.re requires serious 
 reflection ; for when your choice is once 
 made it will be too late to repent. Thus 
 far, however, I will promise, that you 
 may depend upon my not opposing your 
 wishes, if you continue to prefer a convent. 
 
 Theodore. A thousand thanks, dear 
 father. 
 
 Rosenthal. We will decide upon no- 
 thing hastily ; but I cannot disapprove 
 your plan. Indeed, I have sometimes 
 regretted that none of my children 
 should have shewn an inclination for 
 the church. Charles and William are alrea- 
 dy provided for ; and with respect to you, 
 I have many fears: for, notwithstanding 
 aU mj frtend father Anthony said in
 
 40 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 favor of a cloyster, I never was acquaint- 
 ed with any monk, besides himself, who 
 seemed content with his situation. Ap- 
 pearances, my dear child^ are very deceit- 
 ful, nor is a convent, in reality, what it 
 seems to you. Novelty gives a charm 
 to most things — and in the presence of 
 visitors, the friars put on an air of bene- 
 volence to which their hearts are fre- 
 quently strangers. For, alas ! they are 
 subject to the same frailties with our- 
 selves, and often hate each other as cor- 
 dially, as if they were struggling for 
 wealth, or honors. Yet, after all, I 
 know not what to advise, for to own the 
 truth, the dream staggers me, having had 
 one myself of a similar tendency. 
 
 Theodore. Did you, then, dream of my 
 mother too ? That could hardly happen 
 by chance. — No — heaven, I am certain, 
 approves my choice. Do, father, leave me 
 here, to see how I like the situation. 
 
 Rosenthal. That is impossible — as the 
 capuchins never undertake the care of
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 41 
 
 diilclreii : yet, perhaps, they may invite 
 you to stay for a clay or two ; and if 
 they do, I will readily consent, as you 
 might then judge, whether you can ac- 
 custom yourself to the coarse fare, the 
 rigid discipline, and the unvarying dullness 
 of a monastic life. You will have leisure, 
 also^ to examine your ov/n heart, and to 
 determine, whether you possess a mind 
 strong enough to rt^nounce the pleasures of 
 the world, and to embrace a profession, 
 rigid as that to which the monks of St. 
 Francis are subject. 
 
 Theodore, You are all goodness — — 
 and I can never thank you enough ; 
 only leave me here, and I have no doubt 
 of being happy. 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted 
 by a message, to inform them that 
 breakfast was ready. As Theodore en- 
 tered, the guardian saluted him by the 
 appellation of brotker, a title more flattering 
 to his vanity tlian any that regal favor 
 could have bestowed. Addressing himself.
 
 42 theodoue; 6k, 
 
 next to old Rosenthal, he requested that 
 he would allow hi« son to pass the ensu- 
 ing day with them^ as it was one of tiieir 
 greatest festivals. 
 
 Theodore. (Eagerly,) My father Ivas 
 already consented. 
 
 Rosenthal. That is only conditional!}', 
 and provided you will be no inconvenience. 
 
 F. Gregory. The longer he remains with 
 us, the better, say I; and I trust none of my 
 brethren will be of a different opinion. 
 
 Prior. I perfectly agree with you. In- 
 deedj my old friend, {addressing him- 
 self to Rosenthal) you must not check 
 3-our soii's inclination ; for he seems to 
 have a most holy calling — and from the little 
 that I have seen of l-im, I do not hesitate 
 to pronounce, that he will be a comfort 
 to you, and an hr'nor to our order. You 
 n;ay leave him 1:1 ere as long as you please, 
 and need not doubt hisbeing taken care of. 
 
 Rosenthal. I am perfectly convinced of 
 that ; and since you are so kind as to re- 
 quest it, lie shall certainly remain with 
 you for a few days.
 
 •tllE'E:??THUSlAST. 43 
 
 Rosenthal now rose to take leave- 
 but the friars insisted so strongly upon 
 his staying dinner, that he was forced to 
 Comply. The morning was allotted to 
 visiting every part of the convent^ where 
 fathers Gregory and Anthony promised 
 to attend them. In the library, they 
 found a copious collection of old ser- 
 inons, a complete body of scholastic 
 divinity, with various commentaries, as 
 dull and abstruse as the original works. 
 These, as father Gregory assured our 
 hero, contained every thing that it was 
 requisite for a friar to understand ; add- 
 ing, '' that he hoped Theodore, would one 
 day have them all at his finger's ends.'* 
 
 The youth turned his eyes from shelf 
 to shelf, with an evident mixture of con- 
 fusion and pride; for while he trembled 
 at the consciousness of his own deficiency, 
 he anticipated, with secret delight, the 
 celebrity which awaited him,, when his 
 brain was stocked with such a mass of 
 erudition.
 
 44 THEODOBE ; OR, 
 
 They now descended a dark and wind- 
 ing staircase, which led, by a private en- 
 try, into the church: It was Anthony's 
 turn to speak, and he accordingly dis- 
 played his eloquence in enumerating to 
 the astonished youth, all the wonders 
 which he was destined to behold. With 
 a countenance radiant with joy, he drew 
 out the ponderous drawers, replete with 
 teeth and bones, and scraps of moulder- 
 lug wood, treasures of incalculable va- 
 lue in the estimation of credulity and 
 Theodore. Lost in astonishment, he 
 contemplated the votive pictures, those 
 sacred testimonials of supernaturnal cures. 
 Whichsoever way he looked, objects equally 
 captivating attracted his attention. The 
 walls were covered with waxen or silver 
 hands, and other votive offerings, pre- 
 sented by those who had escaped from 
 some imminent danger, or recovered, un- 
 expectedly, from a violent fit of sickness, in 
 spite of their nurses and physicians, by 
 the miraculous interposition of their patron
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 45 
 
 St. Francis. Every chapel was decomted 
 with its pictures and altars, and bedaubed 
 with figures, representing some wonderful 
 achievement performed by a saint of the 
 order. 
 
 Having examined every corner with 
 that strong expression of admiration 
 which is the natural effect of inexpe- 
 rience, they came, at length, to the sta- 
 tue of St. Anthony of Padua, which was 
 purposely reserved for the last: not, 
 indeed, on account of any peculiar ex- 
 cellence which it possessed as a work of 
 art, (for it was made by a country car- 
 penter) but out of respect for the au- 
 gust personage whose fame it was meant 
 to perpetuate. The saint was dressed in 
 the habit of a capuchin, over which he 
 wore a breast-plate; in his right hand 
 he held a standard, in his left the 
 staff of the order. Perceiving astonish- 
 ment to be legibly imprinted on the 
 countenance of our hero, while he exa- 
 mined this singular medley of devotion
 
 4.6 THE OD ORE ; OR, 
 
 and war, father Anthony undertook to 
 elucidate the mystery, by giving a short* 
 compcndiiim of his namesake's life. To 
 him, and his auditors, tliis story ap- 
 peared one of the most interesting that 
 they ever heard ; but as the reader will 
 probably be of a different opinion, we 
 Vv'ili leave the recital of his numerous 
 adventures to the Spanish Jesuit, Don 
 Lopes de Pedrilla, and content ourselves 
 with explaining the reason why he wore 
 so uncommon a garb. For this purpose 
 we shall employ the exact words w^ith 
 which the pious monk concluded his 
 long discourse. 
 
 " You look surprised, my young friend," 
 said he, " and it is no wonder you 
 do so, to behold a person so eminent 
 for every christian virtue, adorned with 
 the emblems of slaughter ; bat they are 
 intended to commemorate one of the 
 most meritorious actions of his life : 
 For in that very habit did he head the 
 Spanish troops; and, assisted by a celes-
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 4/ 
 
 tial army, composed entirely of martyrs, 
 from our own order, exterminated the 
 Moors in a bloody battle, without the loss 
 of a single man." 
 
 Having concluded his panegyric, of 
 which the reader may believe just as 
 much, or as little as he chuses, he opened 
 the door of a gloomy ceil, the pavement 
 of which was entirely covered with huge 
 piles of crutches. '^ These,'* cried he, 
 with a triumphant air, '- are incontesti- 
 ble proofs of our sanctity ! The maimed 
 and the lame came here to be cured, 
 uimble to walk without support ; but 
 having recovered the use of their limbs, 
 through our intercessions, they returned 
 home on foot, leaving their crutches be- 
 hind to attest the miracle.'* 
 
 Theodore contemplated the scene with 
 increasing wonder and veneration, to- 
 wards a class of beings, whom piety ex- 
 alted so far above the common level of 
 mankind. What glory ! what pleasure J 
 should he himself receive, when, by fast-
 
 48 THEODOEI- ; OR, 
 
 ing and prayer, be should be enabled to 
 perform such meiitorious acts. By these 
 reflections bis imagination was worked 
 up to the highest pitch of entbiisiasni — 
 and at that very moment, he would have 
 marched to the stake with as much reso- 
 lution as the m^osfc intrepid martyr of 
 them all. To his deluded fancy, the 
 world appeared undeserving a single 
 thought; and he looked down upon it 
 with pity and contempt, as the wretched 
 abode of misery and vice. To such 
 a distance from all terrestrial objects did 
 the enchanting vision transport him, 
 that had all the wealth and dignities of 
 the earth been laid at his feet, he would 
 have spurned them from him with dis- 
 dain^ like another Diogenes. 
 
 From the chapel they retired to the 
 cells of the two monks, where every 
 thing, that he met with, was in perfect 
 unison with his feelings. In his estima- 
 tion, the little crucifix, the oaken bed- 
 stead, covered with a few handfuls of
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 4g 
 
 Straw, the deal stool, and the death's 
 head, which lay upon a three-legged 
 tahle, were treasures more precious than 
 the choicest pearls of Arabia. — For the 
 latter he regarded in no other light, than 
 as the ornaments of vice, or the price of 
 seduction ; while the former were the 
 appranage of those chosen few, whom pro- 
 vidence had predestined to eternal felicity. 
 
 During dinner, which, out of compli 
 ment to the strangers, was served in 
 the garden, nothing was omitted, on 
 the part of the monks, that seemed 
 likely to captivate our hero. Towards 
 each other they behaved with cordiality 
 and respect — related various anecdotes 
 concerning a monastic life ; — spoke con- 
 temptuously of the world, and all its 
 boasted allurements — and declared that 
 day to be the happiest of their existence, 
 when they renounced its illicit pleasure?, 
 to consecrate their souls to solitude and 
 devotion. Enchanted with the societv 
 of such angelic beings, Theodore pro- 
 
 Vol. L d
 
 50 TilEODORB ; OK. 
 
 inised to make choice of tlieir convent 
 for his future residence — while they, on 
 their part, undertook to recommend him to 
 an excelleiit seminary, vvh.ere he might pro- 
 secute his studies without much expense 
 to his familv. 
 
 CHAP. VL 
 
 An aflTtcting p'ctuir, wl. ether m, or out of a cioiitor. 
 
 A mixed sensation of pleasure and 
 pain divided okl RosenthaFs tli oughts, as 
 he walked home in the evening. For 
 though lie looked forward with secret 
 satisfaction to the time, when a child of 
 his should consummate the meritorious 
 sacrifice, \\hicli our hero meditated, h^ 
 could hardly persuade himself that a 
 youth of so lively and aspiring a genius 
 -'ii formed for seclusion. Nor was he 
 ais^leased at the idea of having it in his
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 51 
 
 power to act more liberally towards his 
 other children, by providing for the youn- 
 gest at so easy a rate. 
 
 Upon his return, he informed his family 
 of their brother's intention. Their sen- 
 timents, upon this occasion, w'ere widely 
 different, and such as might be expected 
 from their opposite characters. His el- 
 dest son, Charles, who was of an interes- 
 ted temper, and always looked to the 
 main chance, warmly applauded Theo- 
 dore's resolution, affecting to consider it 
 as an indubitable proof of sagacity and 
 virtue. Not so Theresa. Her tender heart 
 was deeply wounded. Yet, though she sin- 
 cerely grieved for her brother's delusion, 
 she ventured not openly toexpress her dis 
 approbation. 
 
 Meanwhile Theodore had little time 
 for reflection, as he was surrounded by 
 men, who studied equally to amuse bun 
 and to keep up the illusion which they 
 iiad created. After supper, they conduct- 
 ed him to the cell of a sick brother.
 
 52 THEODORE ; OK, 
 
 who was hastening to his grave; more 
 through ripeness of years, than disease, 
 like a fuU-hlown rose which drops, leaf 
 after leaf, though no breeze be stirring 
 to give it motion. 
 
 The dying man still breathed ; but was 
 scarcely able to articulate. Before him 
 lay a chaplet, a breviary, and a crucifix ; 
 upon the latter of which his eyes were 
 fixed with the strongest expression of 
 resignation. In the window stood an 
 earthen jar, containing a few faded 
 flowers ; and near it were two empty 
 phials ; while, in the corner of the cell, an 
 expiring lamp cast a dim, and unsteady 
 light. The sick friar was supported by 
 two of his brethren, with whom he 
 occasionally conversed in a low and fault- 
 tering voice. No loud emotions of grief 
 disturbed the awful silence, for they all 
 submitted with equal calmness to the 
 irrevocable decree. This awful scene 
 recalled to our hero's memory the last 
 sad moments of his departed mother,
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 53 
 
 and he burst into a flood of tears. Fa- 
 tlier Anthony observed his emotion, and 
 attributing it to the natural sensibility of 
 his disposition, led him instantly away. 
 
 Theodore was no sooner alone, than 
 he threw himself on his bed, giving 
 way to a torrent of the most gloomy 
 ideas. His slumbers w^ere short and bro- 
 ken, partaking of the confusion of his 
 waking thoughts. Being utterly unable 
 to sleep, he dressed himself, at an early 
 hour, and hastening on tip-toe to the 
 sick man's cell, he tapped gently at 
 the door, but no one answered, though 
 he distinctly heard the sound of voices. 
 For some moments he hesitated what to 
 do, in doubt whether he ought to enter 
 or to return again to his own room. By de- 
 grees, however, he assumed more courage, 
 and opening the door as softly as possi- 
 ble, the first thing that caught his atten- 
 tion was Father Anthony kneeling, and 
 supporting the languid head of his dying 
 friend, while he prayed with the utmost 
 D 3
 
 34 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 fervour. Another moTik stood near 
 him, assisting in the charitable office, 
 while the expiring saint articitlated at 
 intervals some pious ejaculation, and 
 when from weakness he was incapable 
 of speaking, his lips still moved. Lift- 
 ing up his eyes, at length, towards heaven, 
 he grasped the hands of his two atten- 
 dants with more than comnion emotion, 
 pressed them tenderly to his heart, and 
 exdaiming, in broken accents, " have 
 '-'' niercy Jesu 1" closed his eves for ever. 
 Dnrin.'j: some minutes an avvful silence 
 p-revailed. till Fatlier Anthonv, over- 
 coming his grief, cried out in the ful- 
 ne s of faith. '• Thy mercy, O God, 
 is m,anifested in all thy dispensations, 
 V. hethicr thou givest breath or takest it 
 away ! His sufferings,'' [casting a look 
 of saiisfaction npon the inanimate body) 
 are terminated, and he is now with his 
 fellow saints. May our end be like his f 
 He now tlu'evv a sheet over the deceased, 
 and retired, attended by his two compa- 
 nions.
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 55. 
 
 Tb.is scene made a deep impression upon 
 the mind of Theodore, who hastened to 
 the garden, and reclining upon a soUtary 
 bench, gave a loose to his wanderingfancy — 
 while hosts of angels, and crowns of glory, 
 swam bc^fore him in a waking dream. 
 
 In tlis temper of mind he might 
 have continued for hoars, had he not 
 been summoned to the chapel, to be pre- 
 sent at the ceremony which was about to 
 be performed in honor of the patron 
 saint. The church was decorated to the 
 best advantage that the poverty of the 
 order would allow. — Wreaths of flowers 
 were fancifully disposed round every altar, 
 before which the officiating priests, enve- 
 loped HI clouds of incense, performed their 
 sacred functions ; — while the vaulted roofs 
 reoounded with hvmns of praise and thanks- 
 giving. The >>olemn organ rolled i^s sono- 
 rous ncvcs mrough the resounding aisles, 
 while the soul of i heodore swelled with 
 ecstacy, and regarding himseh"" already as 
 a member of the order, he looked back 
 D 4
 
 aO THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 upon the world as upon a stormy sea, 
 which he renounced for ever. 
 
 The service being now concludedj they 
 adjourned to the refectory ; but the fes- 
 tivity of the day was sadly clouded by 
 the recent loss which they had sustained. 
 
 The virtues of the deceased formed the 
 leading topic of conversation — and as 
 the monks enumerated ail his amiable 
 qualities, every eye was cast down in me- 
 lancholy dejection; every bosom heaved 
 an involuntary sigh. 
 
 Theodore, who regarded the general 
 sorrow to be equally a proof of the me- 
 rit of the deceased, and c{ the liarmony 
 that reigned throughout the whole so- 
 ciety, grew every hour more enamoured 
 of a monastic life. Finding himself alone 
 with Father Anthony, in the even- 
 ing, he communicated to him the re- 
 sult of his refiections, and v;as highly 
 applauded for the sagacity of his choice : 
 As a still farther encouragement, father- 
 Anthony lent him the life of St. Francis,
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. bj 
 
 earnestly recommending to him the 
 study of such holy legends, which he 
 assured him were founded upon the best 
 authenticated facts, and consequently de- 
 served implicit belief. These exhorta- 
 tions were accompanied by a scientific 
 discussion upon the miracles of modern 
 times, in which the pious father, in con- 
 formity to the practice of the Romish 
 church, attempted to prove, by irrefragable 
 arguments, that St. Francis and St. An- 
 thony, were endowed with prerogatives 
 little inferior to those which the apostles 
 possessed ; and that their supernatural 
 cures having been established by the 
 decrees of councils, and the bulls ot 
 popes, were entitled to equal faith with 
 any passage in the gospel. 
 
 Though this was a doctrine to which 
 our hero had hitherto been little accus- 
 tomed, yet it could hardly be expected, 
 that he should doubt the truth of an 
 assertion, delivered by so profound a di- 
 D 5
 
 68 THEODORE ; OK, 
 
 vine, and with all the dogmatical pre- 
 sumption of theology. 
 
 Nor was the style of the author by 
 any means calculated to destroy this illu- 
 sion. On the contrary, it worked upon 
 his feelings to such a degree, that he 
 identified all St. Francis's adventures with 
 his own. For the first time he wished 
 for riches, that, like him, he might dis- 
 tribute them to the poor. He already 
 saw himself charged with an important 
 mission, and traversing the sandy de- 
 serts of Africa, for the holy purpose of 
 converting infidels to the christian faith. 
 In idea, he was already surrounded by the 
 savage tribes, v^^ho, together with the 
 wildest monsters of those inhospitable 
 regions, had yielded to the magic charm 
 of his persuasive tongue. 
 
 There is nothing that occupies the 
 mind so delightfully as the chimerical 
 visions of enthusiasm. With giant steps 
 the imagination strides from conquest 
 to conquest, overcoming every obstacle
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 5Q 
 
 that impedes its progress, with superna- 
 tural facility, and looking down with pity 
 on those degenerate animals who crawl 
 through life by the comm.on road. With 
 insatiable curiosity he devoured, page 
 after page, totally forgetting that he was 
 the inhabitant of a planet, in which food 
 and raiment, are as necessary to the pre- 
 servation of existence, as the vicissi- 
 tudes of day and night — or the pe- 
 riodical returns of summer and winter 
 are to the progress of vegetation, and 
 the well-being of the whole machine. 
 In the midst, however, of this pleasinf 
 reverie he was interrupted by the apptz 
 ance of his aged friend, who invited hit 
 to partake in his evening walk.
 
 (6or 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 An Evening Walk. 
 
 As they proceeded towards one of the 
 neighbouring villages, their conversation 
 was frequently disturbed by crowds of 
 people, who flocked from every field to 
 receive a blessing from the holy man, 
 and to offer him in return whatever their 
 humble habitation afforded. 
 
 Upon entering the hamlet, a woman 
 rushed out of the first house, witli 
 streaming eyes, and dishevelled hair; she 
 had been beaten, she said, by her hus- 
 band, in the most brutal n.anner, and 
 thought her life in danger, unless the 
 good father would be kind enough to 
 interpose. — Ever ready to perform a 
 charitable office, father Anthony fol- 
 lowed her into the cottage, where he
 
 THEODORE ', OR, THE ENTHUSIAST. 6l 
 
 found the peasant leaning against ^ win- 
 dow, wild with rage, and wiping away 
 the blood that streamed down his purple 
 cheek. Behind him stood a little boy, 
 crying as if his heart would burst ; — . 
 while a girl, about fourteen, was also in 
 tears ; but they appeared to be rather 
 those of anger than of grief; and this 
 was literally the case, since her father 
 had struck her a severe blow, for presu- 
 ming to interfere in the quarrel. 
 
 Michael, for that was the peasant's 
 name, seemed much confused at seeino- 
 the friar, and taking of his cap, endea- 
 voured to assume an air of composure. 
 
 F. Anthony. Hey day ! what's the mat- 
 ter here? You look sadly out of sorts, 
 and your face is covered with blood. Do you 
 call this christian-like behaviour, to beat 
 a poor helpless woman, in the manner you 
 have done your wife ? 
 
 Michael, I'm sartain, as how, she did 
 enow to anger a saint ; if vour reverence 
 did but know all. Didn't you begin 
 first, Joan }
 
 6l THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 " No" vociferated the woman, in a 
 loud and resolute tone, '• you struck 
 first — I'll be sworn to't/' 
 
 F. Anthonij. {Seating himself) Let one 
 speak at a time — and as you appear to 
 be heated, Michael, your wife shall begin. 
 
 Joan. Why then, an't please your re- 
 verence, as I was standing at the door, 
 a poor Lutheran soldier came begging 
 for a little drink ; saying as how he had 
 been ill for several months ; — and was 
 discharged beca\T3C he was no longer fit 
 for service. Poor fellow 1 he went on 
 crutches, and locked so piteously. it 
 made one's heart ache to see him. He 
 told me as how he had nothing i>^^ cheer 
 his soul sin morning ; and ihe t] uth is, 
 that he did qua e, and shake most sadly. 
 So away runs I, and letches h^m a morsel 
 of our bread, and a draught of beer ; 
 and God knows that I gave it with a 
 hearty will , for I always remembers 
 what your reverence said in the pulpit, 
 that what one gioes to the poor, is given
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 63 
 
 to the Lord, And thof he isn t a true 
 christian, he's a fellow creature for all 
 that ; and one shouldn't let him perish 
 through want. So just then comes my 
 man, in a furious passion, and calls him 
 a heretic — and a rascal — and asks what 
 business he had here. * Why you won t 
 be so cruel/ cries I, ' as not to let the poor 
 wretch Cctt his crust in peace ?' 'A fine 
 story, truly,' says Michael, ' to feed the 
 ungodly with my earnings ; the devil 
 fetch him, and you too, for you're always 
 hankering after these dogs, you are.' 
 And then he began for to curse and 
 swear in a most terrible manner. To be 
 sure I grew a little warm, too, and gave 
 him his own — telling him that a here- 
 tic was a man as w^ell as another ;— aye, 
 and a christian to boot, that's what he was. 
 Upon this, he fell upon me like one be- 
 side himself, striking me several blows 
 on the head — and Ood knows how it 
 might have ended, hadn t my Poll, there, 
 run between us, and got a good drubbmg
 
 64 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 for her pains. Just then, I sees your 
 reverence a coming, and away runs I to 
 meet you. 
 
 F. Anthony. Is this so, Michael ? 
 
 Michael. I can t say but 'tis. And 
 now w^e shall see who's right, and if I 
 didn't act as every true christian ought. 
 
 F. Anthony. 1 hope not ; for it was a 
 most uncharitable action. Do you, then, 
 want to be told that a heretic is a man, 
 like you, or me ? and are we not com- 
 manded in scripture to do good to all 
 men ? Whatever our religion may be, 
 we are all equally descended from Adam, 
 and they who are children of the same 
 parents, must necessarily be brothers and 
 sisters. 
 
 Michael. That's true, to be sure. A 
 man's brother is his brother, thof he be 
 a Jew, or a Lutheran. — But 
 
 F. Anthony. You would say, I suppose, 
 that a heretic does not love God so well as 
 we do ; but stiil God loves them, and pities 
 them for their blindness. Does not the
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 65 
 
 iLui siiine as bright upon yonder village, 
 though inhabited by Lutherans, as it does 
 upon this, where the true religion prevails ? 
 Do you ever remember the time when it 
 rained here, while their fields were burnt up ; 
 or that the liail spared your apple-trees, 
 when it ruined their's ? Are their harvests 
 less abundant ? Is their bread less white ? 
 Certainly not — for Providence provides for 
 all our wants with equal care. 
 
 I will tell you a story, Michael ; It is 
 taken from the Bible, and will seiTe to 
 convince you that a heretic may be a good 
 man. The benevolent monk now related 
 the parable of the Samaritan — and having 
 concluded it, added, you see that a virtuous 
 action may be performed by men of all 
 persuasions. 
 
 Michael felt the full force of this argu- 
 ment, and seemed much ashamed of his 
 own behaviour, which he now regarded, for 
 the first time, as contrary to the precepts 
 of the gospel. Father Anthony perceived 
 the change, and, delighted at the effect
 
 66 
 
 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 vv'hich his exhortations had produced, de- 
 termined to follow 11!) the blow. 
 
 F. Antlwrnj. Yet how differently did yoa 
 act. Not content with refusing assistance to 
 a fellow creature, in distress, you ill-treated 
 your poor wife — for no other reason, than 
 because she is better, and more humane than 
 yourself. But I am perfectly acquainted 
 with your feelings, and know from whence 
 your fault proceeded. Your heart is hard- 
 ened by the love of gain, and is incapable 
 of a benevolent sentiment. Fie, for shame ; 
 you are no christian, Michael, nor can you 
 ever hope to reach heaven, while you con- 
 tinue to go on as you do. 
 
 This last reproof was too much for the 
 poor fellow to bear. He burst into a fiood 
 of tears, sobbing out, " Indeed it is too 
 true ; but Fm a warm, man, and - -'hen one's 
 passion once gets the upper liand" — - — 
 
 F.Anthony. You are sorry, I perceive, 
 for what has happened, and that goes a great 
 way toward? amending a fault. Depend 
 upon it, that if you seriously repent, and
 
 THK ENTHUSIAST. 6/ 
 
 resolve to grow better in future, God will 
 assist yuu, as he always does those who 
 try to correct themselves. Now, take your 
 wife bv the hand, and let this be the end of 
 your quarrel. 
 
 Michael. Here, Joan, here's my hand ; — 
 so let's be friends again, and live in peace. 
 I can't but own, that I've been to blame ; 
 but forgive and forget, as his reverence says ; 
 and another time you shall be kind to every 
 one you please. 
 
 Joan was now completely satisfied, and 
 throvvmg her arms round her husband's 
 neck, she kisjed him affectionately. A 
 good understanding being now restored, 
 the whole family was occupied in filling the 
 friar's basket Wxlh every sort of provision 
 thr.t their little cott-age could lurnish.
 
 (68 ) 
 
 CHAP. VIII. 
 
 In which it appears, that the means of doing good are 
 never wanting to a benevolent heart. 
 
 The good father, having some business 
 to transact with a neighbouring farmer, 
 proceeded directly to his house. Upon 
 entering the garden, he saw his son leaning 
 against the pales, in a pensive attitude. As 
 he passed, the youth bowed respectfully, 
 but said not a word. Father Anthony was 
 struck with thisbehaviour, and suspected that 
 something must havegone amiss, as he had 
 been particularly kind to the lad upon va- 
 rious occasions, and never saw him without 
 receiving a thousand marks of gratitude 
 and affection. 
 
 At the door of the house they met the 
 farmer himself, who instantly conducted 
 them into a little parlor, and requesting
 
 theoeohe; OR, the enthusiast. 6g 
 
 them to be seated, quitted the room^ pro- 
 mising to return in a few minutes — which 
 he did, laden with cold meat and wine. 
 
 Farmer, I have lone; been wishino; for an 
 opportunity of speaking with your reve- 
 rence, for I have something that lies heavy 
 at my heart — and your reverence is so wise, 
 and so good withal, that I am certain you 
 will give me the best of counsel. Well, 
 tbcn, as I was saying, it is my misfortune 
 to have a most ungracious son ; and, what 
 is worse, he is my only child, and as comely 
 a youth, though I say it, as ever stepped 
 on leather ; but, as bad luck would have it, 
 I sends him to school, and has him taught, I 
 don't know how many fine things — and so 
 he thinks himself wiser than his parents. 
 Look you here now. Til be wtiipped if he 
 hasn't been hankering a whole twelvemonth 
 after neighbour Jordan's wench, thof she 
 hasn't a florin in the world. Now I'd a 
 bride in my head for him, whose pockets 
 are well lined, but he wont hear of her 
 for all that.
 
 70 THEODORE ; OR,. 
 
 Let ine see: why it is just three weeks 
 yesterday, since I caught them together 
 in the church-yard, when he thought 
 his mother and me in hed ; but I gave it 
 him well, that's what I did ; and my dame, 
 too, didn't spare him, but told him what a 
 mean spirit he had, for to go to marry a 
 wench, who had nothing to shew except a 
 pretty face ; while he had sheep and cows, 
 and land ; a)e, and plenty of money too 
 into the bargain. But he didn't seem to 
 heed what she said a pin's point; so I 
 upp'd and said, that if he valued our 
 blessing, he must never speak to the girl 
 again ; for, it he did, I would turn him 
 out of doors. 
 
 This made him t ake on m.ost deplo- 
 rably^ — and he swore he'd rather die, than 
 be untrue to his promise, thof he were no 
 mere than a farmers son. To be sure this 
 put me into a wotmdy passion ; so I thrust 
 him clear out of the house, bidding him 
 never set his foot across the threshold 
 again, till he knew his duty to his parents
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 7 i- 
 
 better. This, I thought, would have set- 
 tled the matter at once ; but, to my great 
 surprise, it did no sort of good, for away 
 walks my gentleman, as proud and as sul- 
 len as a prince. For some days, he wan- 
 dered roLind the premises, like one beside 
 himself, neither eating nor drinking, nor 
 speaking to any living soul, but passing the 
 night in the cold air, under our windows. 
 The neighbours, too, told me, they often 
 saw him weep most bitterly ; but 1 didn't 
 mind that^ for this is always the case when 
 a silly youth takes it into his iiead to fall in 
 love. 
 
 F. Aniftony. But what is your objection 
 to the girl .'* 
 
 Farmer, Objection enow, I think: wh} 
 she's as poor as Job ! But your reverence 
 hasn't heard all yet. In a few days he re- 
 turned to work, as if nothing had hap- 
 pened. Howsomever, I smelt a rat, as one 
 may say, and kept a good look out. So> 
 one night, the devil fetch him ! (God for- 
 give me for swearing so) he sets off again.
 
 72 THEODORE, OR, 
 
 No sooner did I find that he was gone, than 
 up I gets and goes in search of him ; and 
 what do you think, father ? why I met him 
 at the corner of yonder lane, with the 
 wench, herself, leaning upon his arm. I 
 do not deny that this made me quite mad ; 
 so taking this little twig here (Jlourishing 
 a stout oaken sapling that he held in his 
 hand) I laid it on pretty handsomely : for 
 he'd nothing to say in his defence, except, 
 that he had tried all he could to get the 
 better of his love, and was convinced that 
 it was all in vain. 
 
 ' It mattered not Vvhat he suffered,' he 
 said ; ' but he was resolved nev^ to give 
 up Maria ; because she would break her 
 heart if he did." 
 
 Tm afraid that T used a great many bad 
 words, for It was more than flesh could 
 endure ; so I left him at last, ordering him to 
 come to me in the morning. Thof I went 
 to bed again, I couldn't sleep a wink, but be- 
 gan quarrelling with my wife, who seemed 
 inclined to take his part. As soon as 'twa«
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 73 
 
 day, I called him, and told him of the 
 curse which heaven has laid upon un- 
 dutiful children ; and vowed, moreover, 
 that I'd be as obstinate as he ; and so, if 
 he couldn't make up his mind to obey with- 
 out further to do, he had best quit the 
 house at once, as I should never look upon 
 him any more as my son. 
 
 " He replied, that he was much grieved 
 to displease me, but that it was impossible 
 for him to yield — for that there was not 
 such a lass in the whole country, either for 
 virtue, industry, or piety. For his own 
 part, said the silly lad, he didn't want 
 money- — but would have enow of that for 
 'em both ; and, therefore, if I would not 
 consent to his marrying her, he would go 
 and enlist for a soldier. 
 
 " This, an please your reverence, was a 
 heavy blow ; my heart bled at the thought 
 of his being shot in two by a cannon ball ; 
 for, to confess the truth, he is, in all other 
 respects, as dutiful a child as ever lived. 
 So there sits my dame, crying and sobbing 
 Vol. I. s
 
 74 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 all the live-long day — for she is certahi he 
 will be killed in the wars. Now, thinks 
 I, if I could be so fortunate to get a sight 
 of your reverence, and that your reverence 
 would be so kind as to talk over the matter 
 with the lad, perhaps you might bring hini 
 to reason. 
 
 F, Anthony. You know, Francis, that I 
 always speak my mind ; and I must ac- 
 cordingly tell you, that you have acted very 
 imprudently, not to use a harsher tenn. 
 You say that you love your son — why then 
 do you refuse to make him happy ? His at- 
 tachment to the maid must be strong in- 
 deed, since he prefers quitting his parents to 
 giving her up. God has prospered your 
 industry, and you are a rich man, Francis ; 
 why, then, should you wish your son to 
 marry a woman whom he can never love? 
 Riches, believe me, are not alone sufficient 
 for the happiness of man ; and I have seen 
 many a couple, who came together, from 
 motives of avarice, live no better than 
 cat and dog. 
 
 Your son is an honest, and industrious
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 7 O 
 
 youth ;-»-and Maria, as you yourself are 
 forced to acknowledge, has no defect 
 whatsoever but poverty. Is that a proper 
 reason for opposing their union ? Is this the 
 conduct of a prudent or aiFectionate pa- 
 rent ? Fie upon it, Francis ; I am ashamed 
 of you, and must give you up. Indeed I 
 had a better opinion of your principles : 
 but I perceive that you grow covetous as 
 you grow old ; and avarice, you may be 
 assured, is one of the worst of sins. I will 
 certainly speak to your son, since you de- 
 sire it ; though I have little expectation, that 
 any arguments of mine will induce him to 
 change his resolution. But before I un- 
 dertake the commission, you must engage 
 to consent to his marriage, if, after hear- 
 ing what he has to say, it shall appear 
 to me to be essential to his future happi- 
 ness. 
 
 Farmer, Well, then, so let it be, in 
 God's name ; for your reverence under- 
 stands these here things far better than I 
 do. Here, Anne, send James to me. 
 
 E 2
 
 7(^ theodoue ; or, 
 
 F, Anthonij* You agree then to the 
 terms ? 
 
 Farmer, I shall never dispute what your 
 reverence advises ; of that I am certain. 
 \^ ell, he comes already, as I live. Here, 
 James, {addressing his son, as he entered the 
 room) here's father Anthony has something 
 to say to you ; but don't hold down your 
 head, and look so sheepish, boy ; he means 
 you no harm, you may be sure. 
 
 F, Anthony, I am told, James, that you 
 keep company with a young woman in the 
 village. 
 
 James. I can't deny it, please your re- 
 verence. 
 
 F, Anthony, I am informed, too, that 
 you refuse to give her up, though your pa- 
 rents object to your marrying her. 
 
 James, (with tears in his eyes) Indeed, 
 indeed. Sir, I could sooner part with my 
 life. I have struggled hard to get the bet- 
 ter of love, but it is stronger than I am — 
 and has such a hold upon my heart, that 
 strive how I will, I am unable to shake it off.
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 7/ 
 
 For INIaria is tlie best of girls, your re- 
 verence, and I have sworn to be true to 
 her — nor could I forsake her now, without 
 killing her downright ; so that's the long 
 and short of the matter. 
 
 jp. jinihonij. You hear, Franci?, what 
 your son says * so nov.' reply if you can. 
 
 Francis. By all the saints, your reverence 
 knows me better than I know m\self. I 
 can't withstand it any longer, indeed I can't, 
 Plere, James, give me your hand; shalt 
 have Maria at last — so let's think no more 
 of tlie past. There's not another man in 
 all Bavaria could have turned me so ; but 
 father Aiithony has got a key to every man's 
 heart. What, hast lost thy tongue, James, 
 that thou sayest not a word to his reve- 
 rence — but standest for all the world like a 
 statute, as thof thou wert robbed of the 
 sweetheart .'' 
 
 James. Why, to tell you the truth, fa- 
 ther, I'm so overjoyed, I've no longer the 
 power to speak. 
 
 //7/e. God be praised for all his mercies ! 
 E 3
 
 78 THEODORE; Olt, 
 
 but more particularly for having sent tliis 
 good man to visit us to day. Your reverence 
 has done a miracle to serve us : without you, 
 my poor dear boy would have been killed 
 by a cannon ball — and then Vm certain as 
 how I should have followed him to the 
 grave. 
 
 James, {throiving his arms roimd his 
 
 another s neck) Your blessing ! Father's 
 
 consent 1 Maria mine ! This is too 
 
 much for man to bear ! 
 
 With these words he rushed out of the 
 room in violent agitation, while Theodore 
 followed him with his eyes, not a little as- 
 tonished at all that he had heard ; for he 
 was r^s yet unable to conceive, what secret 
 charm this same Maria could possess, 
 v\hich was sufficiently potent to induce a 
 viituous, and well-educated youth, to op- 
 pose his parent's inclination. 
 
 The old farmer felt more satisfied with 
 himself than he had done for a long time ; 
 and filling a bumper, drank to the health of 
 father Anthony and the young couple. Tlie
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 79 
 
 good monk, who was called upon to pledge 
 him, was too highly gratified with the suc- 
 cess of his ne2;otiation, not to do it with a 
 willing heart. Enchanted nt contemplating 
 the happiness which his benevolent spirit 
 liad diffused around, he commended Frnn- 
 cis, in the warmest terms, for the generosity 
 of his behaviour ; convinced, that praise, 
 when judiciously bestowed, is one of the 
 most powerful incentives to virtue. Ke 
 further promised to be present at the nup- 
 tial ceremonv, and even to nerform it him- 
 self, if he could obtain permission from the 
 parish priest. 
 
 The friar and his young friend now di- 
 rected their steps towards the convent. 
 The former delighted to reflect, that in the 
 course of a single day, two such opportu- 
 nities had been afforded him of being use- 
 ful to his fcilow men ; while the latter, 
 looked up to hi> venerable companion with 
 increasing scritiments of reverence and af- 
 fection. For he regarded him as the cho- 
 sen delegate of a benevolent Creator, com 
 e4
 
 fiO TKEODORE ; OR, 
 
 missioned to dispense his blessings within 
 a limited circle ; while the strong expres- 
 sion of philanthropy, which beamed from 
 his aged countenance, t.;eemedj in the eyes 
 of tlie enraptured youth, to resemble the 
 sun, when sinking to repose^ after it had 
 warmed and cheered the heart of ir^an, in 
 its diurnal course. 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 A Funeral. 
 
 The next nioi nirg being destined by the 
 friars ibr the iniennent of their dej^artcd 
 bro her, they asseinbled in his cell at an 
 early hour, having previously adoriicd it 
 with i]c>v:cy>, Tlie cofiin was borne by 
 six of the itinior rrunJ-s. the seniors 
 k'lUnving in awful s^k-ncc, carrying lighted 
 torcbes va their h:Mids. and ehnnting Uut 
 7nis(:rcre m ^(.'le^nii choiue. . liaving placed
 
 IfiE EOTHfuSIASt. 81 
 
 the corpse before the principal altar, the 
 organ sounded a mournful symphony, 
 while every voice and heart united in the 
 funeral anthem. No sooner had the music 
 ceased, than the pall being drawn aside, and 
 the body sprinkled with holy water, it was 
 conveyed to a gloomy vault destined for 
 tlie reception of the dead. Completely 
 dressed in the habit of the order, the de- 
 ceased was deposited by the side of one of 
 his dearest friends, who had preceded him 
 in the race of eternity — while the rest of 
 the community, kneeling around him, 
 prayed with the profoundest devotion. 
 
 During this awful ceremony, father Gre- 
 gory gazed upon the deceased with a look 
 expressive of the tenderest affection ; yet, 
 though deeply afflicted, he was unable to 
 weep, for age had dried up the sources of 
 his tears. At length, a sigh bursting from 
 his swollen bosom, he seemed relieved ; and 
 raising his eyes towards heaven with a tran- 
 quil smile, as if he had already obtained the 
 long wished-for triumph over mortality, he 
 M 5
 
 82 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 appeared lost in contemplation of that 
 eternal reward which awaits a life of virtue. 
 
 Oppressed by a series of melancholy re- 
 flections, Theodore retired to his chamber, 
 for he felt that society would serve only to 
 interrupt the train of thought in which he 
 was desirous to indulge. For some minutes 
 he leaned against the window, in a pensive 
 attitude, totally unconscious of the scene 
 before him ; when, suddenly starting from 
 his reverie, he beheld the sun bursting 
 in full effulgence from amidst the dis- 
 persing clouds, while the illuminated sum- 
 mits of the distant Alps rose in majestic 
 dignity out of the vast and gloomy expanse. 
 This glorious spectacle gave at once a dif- 
 ferent turn to his ideas, recalling them 
 from the dreary regions of chaos and night, 
 to the contemplation of the Divinity, in his 
 sublimest character, as the creator and pre- 
 server of all animated beings. 
 
 These meditations were soon interrupt- 
 ed by a summons to the refectory. During 
 dingier, the conversation turned entirely
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 83 
 
 Upon the excellent qualities of the deceased ; 
 every one present being eager to relate 
 some little anecdote in his praise. Though 
 they all might sen^e as irrefragable proofs 
 of the soundness of his understanding, 
 and the purity of his heart, we will con- 
 tent ourselves with selecting the following 
 incident, as it was particularly in unison 
 with Theodore's feelings. 
 
 '^ My acquaintance with our inestimable 
 friend," said father Gregory, ^* commenced 
 at an early period of life, when we were 
 fellow students at Ingolstadt. His favorite 
 sciences were mathematics and astronomy, 
 in which few of the professors had made 
 so great a progress. At his father's death, 
 he inherited a small collection of books, and 
 some valuable instrnments, which tended 
 greatly to facilitate the study, and iQ which 
 he occasionally added, by the strictest 
 economy in every other expense. In his 
 estimation, no treasures could be so valuable 
 as these, since they affordtid him both 
 amusement and instruction ; for he would
 
 S4 'f HEOBOBi!; ; 6^, 
 
 spend wliole days in abstruse calculations 
 over bis books, and whole nights in 
 examining the planets tlirough his telescope. 
 Indeed, so great was the ardor wilh which 
 he cultivated both these branches of science, 
 that I think there can be little doubt of his 
 having attained to a distinguished place 
 among the literati of Germany, had he not 
 been prompted by his affectionate heart to 
 sacrifice inclination at the shrine of 
 duty. 
 
 While yet at college, he received a letter 
 from his mother, acquainting him that she 
 had not only lost the vvhc\le of her little 
 property by the failure of a mercantile house, 
 but had contracted considerable debts on 
 account of her younger son, an idle and 
 dissipated youth, who had lately entered 
 into the Prussian service. For some days 
 father Martin seemed absorbed in me- 
 lancholy refiectioUvS, shunning all society, 
 as if he had been occupied in the solution 
 of some difficblt problem. Not meeting 
 him as usual, I inquired after him, and learnt
 
 THE EXTHUSIAST. 85" 
 
 that he was gone to Augsbourg, upcfii 
 urgent business. Upon his arrival there, as 
 he afterwards told me, he went directly to 
 the Jesuits college, and desired to speak 
 with the rector. Being introduced, in due 
 form, he produced a catalogue of his books 
 and instruments, oiFering to dispose of them 
 upon very moderate terms. Perceiving 
 that he was determined to sell them at any 
 rate, the rector took advantage of his dis- 
 tress to purchase the collection for half its 
 intrinsic value, and even refused to leave 
 him two little volumes, which were in- 
 dispensably necessary for the prosecution 
 of his studies, thouo;h he promised solemnly 
 to return them, the moment he was enabled 
 to replace the loss. But the Jesuits are a 
 hard-hearted race, and are attentive to 
 nothing but their worldly interests. From 
 the pulpit, indeed, they inculcate charity 
 with such well-acted sensibility, that one is 
 tempted to believe them the most 
 benevolent of beings; but bring them to 
 the test, and you immediately discover
 
 86 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 that their religion consists alone in pompous 
 phrases ; and so alas ! did onr poor brotlier 
 find it: for they not only treated him with 
 a degree of indifference, which bordered 
 upon contempt, but declared that they 
 would consider the agreement as void, 
 unless he instantly delivered up every article 
 in the inventory. 
 
 *' To this my unhappy friend was compelled 
 to submit; and received the money with as 
 much delight as if it had been a present sent 
 him from above. Upon his return to the uni- 
 versity, I was highly gratified to find him as 
 cheerful and happy as ever. Indeed, such 
 was the command which he possessed over 
 his feelings, that he packed up the instru- 
 ments with as much tranquillity, as if the 
 sacrifice had not cost him the smallest re- 
 gret ; but when he came to the two favorite 
 books, I saw the big tear standing in his 
 eye; he took them in his hand, and gazed 
 upon them with an expression of sensibility, 
 which shewed that he was separating from 
 a beloved friend. Having contemplated
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 87 
 
 them for some moments with emotion, 
 he pressed them to his lips, exclaiming in 
 the bitterness of grief," farewell ye dear 
 companions of my youth ; you have been 
 long the consolation of my life, but ive must 
 part at length, to meet no more. With 
 these words, he put them into the case, 
 nailed on the lid, and having sent it away, 
 seemed to forget his loss, in reflecting upon 
 the many comforts which he was about to 
 procure for his aged mother. 
 
 " The good woman was much delighted 
 with this uncommon proof of her son's 
 attachment, and expressed her feelings in 
 an affecting letter, which I found among 
 his papers. You see that it is torn in many 
 places, and that several words are effaced ; 
 for he constantly carried it in his bosom, 
 and frequently watered it with his tears. 
 Yet enough is left to shew, that she had a 
 tender heart, and was sensible of the virtues 
 of so excellent a son, whom she regarded 
 as a blessing sent her by Providence to com- 
 pensate for every affliction."
 
 88 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 The whole company appeared greatly 
 interested with this little ancedote, and ex- 
 pressed their admiration by their tears; 
 when father Gregory, after allowing them 
 sufficient time to indulge their feelings, 
 continued thus. 
 
 " Though our sainted brother never 
 suffered himself to utter a single com- 
 plaint, it was impossible for any one to 
 live constantly with him, and not to remark 
 hov/ deeply he was affected with his loss. 
 Upon entering this convent, he ransacked 
 the library in hopes of meeting with some 
 mathematical works. But alas ! his re- 
 searches were vain ; for theology, as you 
 all know, is the only science in which it 
 abounds. Nor did he feel the want of 
 astronomical instruments less severely. 
 While he examined the constellations with 
 his naked eye, I have frequently heard him 
 lament that he could no longer continue his 
 observations, with the accuracy which was 
 requisite for success. Yet, instantly re- 
 collecting himself, he would give a different
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. SQ 
 
 turn to the conversation, as if he feared 
 that it might lead to recollections, which he 
 dreaded to renew. Once, too, I took 
 occasion to commend liis filial piety. He 
 would not, however, allow me to continue, 
 but stopped me short, observing, with a 
 faultering voice, that friendship rendered 
 me partial, for that he had done no more 
 than dutv commanded." 
 
 The eood man havincr concluded his 
 narrative, tlie wliole societv testified their 
 admiration by the warmtrst sentiments of 
 applause ; when father Anthony, regarding 
 our li.^ro with a look of interest, expressed 
 a hojjc that he niigiit one dav replace their 
 departed friend ; a wish in which his brethren 
 uiiaiiitnously joined, llieodore blushed 
 deej)ly, casting his eyes upon the ground ; 
 vet his vanitv was 2:ratifit^d with this well- 
 tim.ed j)raise, and he secretly resolved to 
 becomj a saiiU, and deserve it. 
 
 His mind uas new worked up to the 
 higb.est pi4:ch of enrhusiasm, v/hieh father 
 Aathony nodcing, led him into the garden.
 
 go THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 and having left him for a while to his pri- 
 vate meditations, at length addressed him 
 thus : — 
 
 " I perceive, my young friend, that the 
 story which you have just heared has made 
 a deep impression on your mind. I et it 
 serve as a model for your future conduct, 
 and excite your emulation in the pursuit of 
 virtue. At your age the heart is alive to 
 every elevated sentiment, and feels all that 
 is sublime and beautiful in a stronger degree 
 than it will hereafter do, when deadened by 
 a more intimate acquaintance with the 
 frailties and vices of mankind. Hence the 
 impressions which we receive in the spring 
 of life, are seldom durable ; on the contrary, 
 the good resolutions that an ir;;.tinc- 
 tive love of virtue rarely fails to exc:te, 
 vanish like the morning vapor before the 
 dawning day. As years roll rapidly away, 
 the soul ofm.an is less animated ry lively 
 perceptions, but his ideas are less liable to 
 fluctuate, and when he em.braces a moral 
 course, from the conviction that it is the
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. pl 
 
 only road which leads to real haplncss, he 
 is steady in the pursuit. 
 
 These reflections I regard as a necessar 
 preparation for what I am about to sa} 
 YoLir father will return to fetch you in u 
 few days, before which time, it will be 
 proper to determine upon your future plans, 
 in order that your studies may be directed 
 accordingly. I would therefore recommend 
 to you to examine your own heart 
 attentively, that you may not emibrace a 
 profession to the duties of which you are 
 unable to conform. Tell me then, my dear 
 child, do you believe yourself capable of 
 being contented in a state of poverty and 
 gecl'jsion ? 
 
 Theodore, I do not doubt it. 
 
 F, Anthony, Do you possess that com- 
 mand over your passions, which is required 
 in a man, who takes a vow of chastity, and 
 resolves to be faithful to it ? 
 
 Th.eodore. (in the si?nj llcitT/ of his hearty 
 for he as vet hneiu as little about the lan- 
 guage of the jxiss Ions y as about that of the
 
 §2 THEODOEE ; OR, 
 
 Greeks) Why should I be incapable of sub- 
 mitting to \vbat so many thousands bear 
 with patience ? 
 
 F. Anthony, Hitherto^ yon liave viewed 
 our situation on the favorable side alone. 
 Do not, however, deceive yourself. The 
 Hfe of a Franciscan friar is a life of wTetch- 
 edness, unless sweetened by the prospect of 
 a future reward. Ke is not encouraged, 
 like the rest of mankind, by the smiles and 
 approbation of his fe.'llow m.en, but is either 
 a total stranger to the world, or is known 
 only to be treated with contempt. 
 
 Theodore, The hope of doing good, will, 
 I trust, support ix.e under every trial. My 
 choice is made ; and if my father consents, 
 I am persuaded thr.t I shall never repent it. 
 
 F. Anthony. I sincerely congratulate 
 you upon your decision, for it is a convincing 
 proof of a virtuous heart. Your s, my son,, 
 mav be truly said to be a saint-like calling; 
 with such a disposition you can never tail 
 to be useful to your fellow creatures, and 
 the conviction that vou are so, as you
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 93 
 
 justly obseiTC, will support you under 
 every affliction to which man is exposed 
 in this transitory state. 
 
 In this strain did the pious monk proceed, 
 till the arrival of Old Rosenthal interrupted 
 the conversation. Theodore no sooner 
 perceived his father, than running eagerly 
 towards him, he embraced him with the 
 tenderest regard; while father Anthony 
 taking him by the hand, congratulated 
 him upon possessing so excellent a son. 
 
 " You can form no idea," said the good 
 man, " of the pleasure which his company 
 has afforded me. His principles do equal 
 honor to himself and you; nor have I 
 a doubt that his future conduct in life will 
 amply repay you for all your pains." 
 
 Theodore. Do, dear father, allow me to 
 follow my inclination, and put on the habit 
 as soon as possible ; for I never before 
 passed so many happy days. 
 
 Old Rosenthal, I promised that you 
 should decide for yourself, and you will 
 ever find me as good as my word. At
 
 94 THEODORE, OR, 
 
 present, however, you must return home, 
 as Theresa grows impatient to see you, and 
 is grieved at the thought of your abandon- 
 ing the world. 
 
 Theodore. I imagined that she loved 
 me too well, to grieve at any thing which 
 is so much for my good. 
 
 Rosenthal, You mistake her motives; 
 for were she convinced that a convent 
 would make you happy, she would rejoice 
 as much as any one at your choice. 
 
 Theodore. That is chiefly my concern, 
 and when we talk over the subject together, 
 I hope to convince her of it. 
 
 Dinner being now served, they adjourned 
 to the refectory, where Rosenthal was in 
 raptures at the praises which were lavished 
 on his favorite son, who was now treated 
 by the w^hole fraternity as a future member 
 of the order. The system to be pursued 
 with respect to his education came next 
 under consideration ; and the guardian 
 promised to write to the rector of the se- 
 minary at Gunzburg, to request that 
 Theodore might be immediately admitted
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST4 95 
 
 HS a pupil ; — while another friar engaged 
 to recommend him to his hrother, who was 
 one of the professors. 
 
 Thus every thing being settled to their 
 mutual satisfaction, Rosenthal took leave 
 of his friends, and, accompanied by his son, 
 prepared to depart. The latter appeared 
 much dejected at quitting the monastery ; 
 for so enchanted was he with the caresses 
 and flattery of the friars, that when he 
 passed the gates, he seemed in idea to have 
 been banished from paradise. His grief 
 however was not a little mitigated by the 
 permission to carry home a ponderous 
 folio of miraculous legends, relative to the 
 most celebrated saints of the order. 
 
 Father Anthony accompanied them to 
 the top of the hill ; and the conversation 
 naturally turned upon our hero's prospects, 
 and the plan of study that it would be re- 
 quisite to adopt. Although it was by no 
 means common for a mendicant friar to 
 receive a litera»-"»'i^'^.^€atJon, yet Rosenthal 
 determined to send Theodore to the uni-
 
 Q6 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 versity, as he was convinced that a taste for 
 letters affords an inexhaustible source of 
 amusement in every station of life, and 
 would serve to alleviate many an irksome 
 hour. Besides, should circumstances here- 
 after induce him to change his mind, he 
 would be the better qualified for any other 
 profession. 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 A Family Picture. 
 
 Our hero now gave his father an exact 
 account of every thing that happened during 
 his short absence ; and he expressed him- 
 self with a degree of enthusiasm that plainly 
 showed how strong was the impression 
 which he had received. Yet, though warmly 
 prejudiced in favor .^^ jlj his new ac- 
 quaintances, father Anthony had clearly
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 97 
 
 the preference, whom he regarded as 
 approaching nearer to his visionary ideas of 
 perfection, than any other aiDong the sons 
 of men. The visit to the neighbouring 
 village had particularly charmed him, and 
 he dwelt upon the minutest circumstances 
 with expressions of delight that were highly 
 gratifying to his fathers heart; who, en- 
 chanted with the amiable picture which 
 Theodore drew of his venerable friend, 
 could not refrain from recommending him 
 as his future model, adding, " If you tread 
 in his steps, my son, I shall have reason to 
 bless the hour when I carried you to Pful- 
 lendorf." 
 
 Scarce had they traversed the wood, 
 before they perceived Theresa and William at 
 a little distance. Theodore sprang foi*ward 
 to embrace his sister, which he did with 
 unusual tenderness, for he never before had 
 been separated from his family for so long a 
 time, 
 
 Theresa was the picture of health, and 
 might have served as a model for the youth- 
 
 VOL. L F
 
 C;o THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 ful Hebe. Her cheeks were rosy, round, 
 and dimpled ; her eyes of the darkest blue ; 
 and her auburne locks fell in luxuriant 
 ringlets on her lovely bosom. Her figure 
 was of the middle size ; but, on account of 
 the natural serenity of her disposition, and a 
 constitution unimpaired by midnight revels, 
 or fashionable quacks, inclined a little to 
 what the French call embonpoint, but for 
 which our language affords no appropriate 
 term. Her conversation was gay and 
 agreeable ; yet, though varied by the poig- 
 nant sallies of a lively imagination, it was 
 ever confined within the bounds of propriety, 
 and served equally to display the soundness 
 of her understanding, and the purity of her 
 heart. Gaiety was her constant companion; 
 in so much, that in days of paganism, she 
 might have lx?en worshipped as the goddess 
 of innocent mirth. When any thing par- 
 ticularly pleased her — nor was any one more 
 easy to please — slic would laugh with her 
 whole soul, without being conscious that 
 >she was in any respect offending against
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. Q^ 
 
 tlie strictest rules of good breeding. For 
 she had never heard of Lord Chesterfield^ 
 and consequently never sought after graces 
 more attractive than those which nature 
 bestowed with so liberal a hand. Yet she 
 was by no means incapable of serious re- 
 flection ; and when sitting at her harpsi- 
 cord, her sprightly notes would gradually 
 sink into a melancholy strain. — The 
 natural activity of her mind rendered her 
 a decided enemy to indolence, as well as to 
 those useless occupations, which pass under 
 the name of employment in fashionable life. 
 vShe was never idle even for a moment ; and 
 was a perfect mistress of all country business. 
 In the spring, she planted the flowers, 
 pruned the trees, and superintended the 
 labors of the farm. In summer, she 
 overlooked the mowers, and haymakers; 
 provided their meals, distributed their liquor, 
 and conversed with them in a tone of good- 
 humour that rendered her the idol of all 
 around her. In the autumn, the harvest 
 and orchard occupied her in their turn ; but 
 F 2
 
 100 THEODORE ; 01?, 
 
 in the winter, her whole attention was de- 
 voted to the internal management of the 
 family. Yet, however bdsicd in domestic 
 arrangements, or crossed by any of those 
 little vexations which peevishness magnifies 
 into real calamities, her cheerfulness never 
 forsook her; at one moment, she hummed 
 a sprightly tune, at another, practised a 
 favorite dance, or sported playfully with one 
 of her brot tiers. 
 
 We have already given the reader a little 
 insight into the character of Charles, the 
 eldest of them. Nor is it possible to paint 
 it in stronger colors, than by adding that, in 
 most respects, it was the very reverse of his 
 sister's. Proud, mterested, and overbearing, 
 he w^as totally indifferent to the feelings of 
 others, provided he could gratify that odious 
 passion of egotism, which forms the cha- 
 racteristic of the present age ; and which 
 has done more real mischief in the world, 
 than all the wars which ambition, or vanity, 
 have ever waged. Willian<,whowas two years 
 yoqnger, was cold, phlegmatic, and indolent.
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 101 
 
 In his opinionj nothing appeared to be worth 
 an exertion, and he would have remained 
 for ev^er in the exact situation in which Pro- 
 vidence placed him, unless he had been as 
 fortunate as Dan^, to have riches rain into 
 his lap. 
 
 Dispositions so different from that of 
 Theresa were little calculated to conciliate 
 her affection, yet she behaved towards 
 them both with kindness, and frequently 
 indulged their little weaknesses, when she 
 could do it without sacrificing any important 
 duty. Eat Theodore was the brother of 
 her heart ; from his childhood he had been 
 her play-fellow; and as he grew up, they be- 
 came inseparable; rambling together in the 
 neighboring forest, and equally delighted 
 with the simple beauties of nature. 
 
 The only interruption that had taken 
 place in this early intimacy, was during the 
 space of two years, v/hen Tlieresa was sent 
 for her education to a convent at Augsburg. 
 At her return home, she would fain have 
 taught him music, but as he never 
 f3
 
 1.02 THEODORE, Oft, 
 
 would allow himself time to le'^ru the 
 notes, she was forced to abandon the 
 attempt. Desirous, however, of giving 
 him a taste for books, she read with him 
 several of the best modern authors ; and 
 this course of study tended equally to im- 
 prove her brother's understanding, and her 
 own ; while in proportion as his talents 
 were gradually developed, her affection 
 towards him increased. 
 
 Theresa had a younger sister, whose 
 name was Rachael, but who was totally 
 unlike her both in person and manner. 
 Though by no means favored by n{;Lture, 
 she was as vain of her figure, as if she had 
 been adorned with every grace that poetry at- 
 tributes to the goddess of love ; and thought 
 a freckled skin, red hair, and a turned up 
 nose, the very quintessence of female beauty. 
 Her thoughts, too, were continually occu- 
 pied in setting off these boasted charms 
 to the greatest advantage : and when she 
 was lucky enough to astonish her less 
 elegant neighbours, by retailing some worn-
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 103 
 
 out fashion, which had passed through all 
 ranks and gradations of coquetry, from 
 the petite maitresse at Paris to the attendant 
 upon the attendant of an attendant at the 
 court of Bavaria, she was as vain and de- 
 lighted as Venus, when she obtained the 
 fatal apple from Priam's all-accomplished 
 son. 
 
 Fortunately, however, for Theresa's com- 
 fort, Rachael spent the greater part of her 
 time with an aunt at Munich, where she 
 annually laid in a fresh stock of affectation, 
 for the amusement and admiration of her 
 country acquaintance. Her chief ac- 
 complishments consisted in singing a fev/ 
 French airs, which she disfigured by the 
 guttural pronunciation of a German; and 
 her conversation was made up entirely of 
 unmeaning phrases, all borrowed from the 
 waiting woman of a lady of quality. Her 
 father therefore readily consented to her 
 being absent as long as she pleased : nor 
 did she ever visit her native village, 
 without disturbing the peace of the family. 
 F 4
 
 104 THEODORE; OR, THE ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 Theresa, however, was the person against 
 whom lier sarcastic sneers were principally 
 direclecl, for in spite of self-conceit she was 
 tlie constant object of her envy, though 
 ^fle affected to treat her as a poor ignorant 
 rustic, who was weak enough to prefer the 
 ease and quiet of a country life to the bril- 
 liant amusements of a great and populous 
 city. Theresa*s partiality for retirement was 
 not, however, the result of ignorance ; for 
 she had passed some months with her aunt, 
 immediately upon quitting the convent; 
 but so far from being captivated Vvith the 
 gay scene, she returned with renovated 
 delight to her favorite occupations at home. 
 From that period she took upon herself the 
 entire managem^ent of her father's house, 
 endeavouring, by every possible attention, to 
 render his declining }ears serene and com- 
 ibrtable ; while on his side, he repaid her 
 affection with equal tenderness, always 
 treating her with unbounded confidence, 
 and entrusting her with the direction of his 
 most important concerns.
 
 ( 105 ) 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 In which Theresa appears in a most amiable light. 
 
 Theresa was so overjoyed at the sight 
 of her brother^ that she forgot for a while all 
 those gloomy ideas which the thought of a 
 cloister had excited ; and as they walked 
 hand in hand towards the house^ she related 
 every little incident that had occurred 
 during his short absence; nor end she fail to 
 inquire how he had passed his time at 
 Pfullendorf. Theodore was delighted at 
 the question, for it afforded him an oppor- 
 tunity of expatiating upon the subject 
 which was nearest his heart. With enthu- 
 siastic rapture he dwelled upon the various 
 proofs of kindness which every member of 
 the society had given him ; spoke with 
 ecstacy and admiration of their piety and 
 
 F 5
 
 106 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 benevolence, and concluded by assuring her 
 that he was unalterably fixed upon taking 
 the habit of St. Francis. Persuaded that 
 ridicule was the surest cure for caprice, 
 Theresa affected to treat his plan as the re- 
 sult of delusion, which a few days' reflection 
 must efface ; but when she found that her 
 father had given his consent, and that her 
 brother was actually going to the seminary 
 at Gunzburg, she began to be seriously 
 alarmed ; and secretly resolved to exert all 
 lier influence; in order, if possible, to un- 
 deceive him, before he was suffered to 
 consummate a sacrifice, that must render 
 him miserable for ever. 
 
 "Well, and what say you to my scheme? 
 Said Theodore, addressing himself to 
 William ? 
 
 JVilliam, 'Tis as good as any other, I 
 think; for I do not see but that a man may 
 live as quietly in a convent, as any where 
 else. 
 
 0. Rosenthal Tranquillity is the only 
 thing that William attends to ; though it
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 107 
 
 might be better for him if he had a little 
 of Theodore's activity. For before a man 
 tliinks of sitting down to enjoy repose, it 
 is fit he should do something to earn 
 it. Idle, however^ as you are, I conclude 
 you have cast up the accounts which I left 
 with you this morning. 
 
 JVilliam, I beg your pardon, but I 
 quite forgot it. To-morrow, however, you 
 may depend upon my being more exact. 
 
 0. RosenthaL I wish that you would 
 never lose sight of the old proverb, never 
 io put off" till to-morrow, any thing luhick 
 may te done to-day. There are few lessons 
 more useful for a young man than this, or 
 more calculated to advance him in the 
 world. 
 
 '^ I hope," continued he, turning to 
 Theresa, " that you have something good 
 for our supper, as a capuchin convent was 
 never remarkable for excellent fare.'' 
 
 Theresa. Thinking you might be hungry 
 after your walk, I ordered chickens and 
 asparagus. Will that do?
 
 108 TttEOCORE ; OE, 
 
 0. Rosenthah 'Tis a supper for a prince; 
 but you are ever attentive to what I like. 
 
 Theodore now retired to his chamber, to 
 deposit his book in a place of security. 
 Charles was writing as he entered, and 
 negligently turning his head, no sooner saw 
 it was Theodore than he resumed his em- 
 ployment without uttering a word. But 
 whether the business which occupied him 
 was of so urgent a nature as to absorb his 
 whole thoughts, or whether he felt totally 
 indifferent to his brother's concerns, is a 
 problem which the reader must solve. 
 
 Supper being served, and all his children 
 assembled, the old man bad Theresa seat 
 herself by his side. With her accustomed 
 sweetness she obeyed, though not with her 
 accustomed gaiety For her spirits were 
 depressed upon Ther:)dore's account, 
 whose melancholy destiny swam before 
 her eyes, like a stormy cloud, floating in a 
 clear sky ; and as he sat opposite to her at 
 table, she frequently cast upon him a look 
 expressive of the finest sensibility. 
 
 Charles, on the contrary, spoke in rap-
 
 TrtE ENTHUSIAST. lOQ 
 
 tures of his brother s resolution, omitting 
 no argument that could tend to awaken his 
 vanity, and engage it as an auxiliary in the 
 cause of devotion. For he had already 
 computed, with the nicest precision, all the 
 advantages arising from Theodore's plan. 
 His praises, however, were so artfully be- 
 stowed, that it required a deeper knowledge 
 of tne human heart than fell to the share 
 of this virtuous family, to have stripped off 
 the mask, and displayed the hypocrite in his 
 real colors ; while William ate his leg of 
 a chicken in perfect composure, contenting 
 himself with occasionally throwing m a sim- 
 ple aliirmative, by way of convincing the 
 company that he was not asleep. 
 
 T-MUgh they retired to rest at an early 
 ho'u% iheresa was unable to close her eyes. 
 A thousand frightful imv^ges presented 
 themselves to her disordered fancy, Vvhile 
 the awful stillness of the night served 
 to increase her melancholy . That Theodore 
 must Ir miserable in a state of seclusion, 
 she could not for a moment doubt ; yet she
 
 110 THEODORE ; Oilj 
 
 plainly perceived that his romantic fancy 
 was worked up to the highest pitch, and 
 knew that when he once embraced a reso- 
 lution, his elevated notions of manly dig- 
 nity would naturally encourage him to 
 persevere. 
 
 Tormented by reflections of this nature, 
 she rose an hour sooner than common, and 
 when, according to custom, she carried 
 breakfast to her father, the agitation of her 
 mind was visible in every feature. With 
 hasty steps she walked about the room, 
 twisted up a letter that lay upon the desk to 
 light his pipe before he had tasted the coffee, 
 now looked out of the window, now returned 
 to the table, and all without a rational motive. 
 The uneasiness, under which she labored, 
 escaped not her father's notice, though he 
 waited in silence for an explanation ; but 
 she was denied the power of utterance ; 
 though burning with impatience to begin. 
 Hoping to breathe more freely in the open 
 air, she hurried out of the room on some 
 trifling pretext, but came back full as sud-
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. Ill 
 
 denly as she went ; again she approached 
 the table, took a chair, and drawing it 
 sofdy towards her father's, ventured toask^ 
 in a faultering voice, "if it were really true, 
 that Theodore was to quit them so soon?" 
 ^' Perfectly so/' replied her father, 
 " though I do not wonder that you should 
 feel surprised at my deciding thus hastily 
 upon an affair of such infinite importance. 
 But I have already told you, how much 
 your brother was delighted with the con- 
 vent, and how earnestly I was exhorted by 
 the pious fathers not to oppose an in* 
 clination, so ^nanifestly inspired from 
 above." 
 
 Theresa. Permit me to observe, that 
 Theodore is as- yet an absolute stranger to 
 the world, and hardly knows whether he 
 likes it or not. 
 
 0. Rosenthal. Depend upon it, he is not 
 50 unsteady as you believe him. Indeed, 
 I hardly ever knew him abandon a re- 
 solution, which he once embraced with 
 firmness.
 
 1 1 2 THEODOnE ; OR, 
 
 Theresa. Of that T am too well con- 
 vinced, and it is this persuasion which prin- 
 cipally alarms me, for he is at present in a 
 state of delirium. Yet what must his feel- 
 ings be, when coming to his senses, he 
 shall discover, that he has been cruelly per- 
 mitted to throw away all the comforts and 
 happiness of his life? 
 
 0. Rv.<enthaL This, indeed, deserves 
 attention. Yet I do not see how it was 
 possible for me to have acted otherwise, 
 when the question was put to me as a mat- 
 ter of conscience. All that I could do, was. 
 to procure him leisure for serious reflection j 
 and it was with this intention, that I con- 
 sented to leave him at Pfullendorf ; for I 
 felt persuaded that his love of independence 
 could not fail to r'i' '. usthim with a mo- 
 nastic life. Butunfortunately every thinghas 
 turned out contrarv to my expectations, and 
 the very means whu h I employed to make 
 him dislike the profession, serves only ta 
 increase his inclmation towards it. Yet 
 after all, it is a provision for life, and by
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 1 13 
 
 complying with his wishes, I shall be en- 
 abled to provide the better for my other 
 children. Consider, therefore, that in 
 opposing Theodore's vocation, yoa are ge- 
 nerously combating against your own in- 
 terest. 
 
 Theresa, God forbid, that I should ever 
 be influenced by so base a motive. 
 
 0. Rosenthal, Do not suppose that I 
 suspect you of it. For I am perfectly ac- 
 quainted with the generosity of your temper, 
 atid love you for it the more. At presePit, 
 however, you may make yourself easy, for 
 several years must necessarily pass before 
 Theodore will be of an age to take the 
 vows. He must indeed go directly to 
 Gunzburg; but that determmes nothing, 
 except that he will receive a more liberal 
 education, than could possibly be given 
 him at home. In the mean time, you will 
 have frequent opportunities of conversing 
 with him, for he will constantly visit us 
 during the vacations ; and I leave you at 
 perfect liberty to mak.e use of every ar-
 
 114 THEODOJEIE ; OR, THE ENTHUSIAST. 
 
 gument, that you think best calculated to 
 undeceive him. Heaven forbid that I 
 should ever controi^l the wishes of my chil- 
 dren, upon a point whei*e their future wel- 
 fare is so nearly concerned. 
 
 Theresa, I shall certainly avail my- 
 self of your permission ; for were I to sufter 
 him in silence to throw away every prospect 
 of happiness, I should expose myself here- 
 after to the bitterest reproaches. 
 
 Theresa now left her father with a 
 lighter heart than she came ; but, not\^ iih- 
 standlng her impatience, she found no op- 
 portunity, during the v/hole of the day, of 
 speaking with Theodore alone, as William 
 kept them company in the morning, and in 
 the evening they had visitors to tea.
 
 ( U5 ) 
 
 CHAP. xir. 
 
 Koncare so blind as those wliowlll not see. 
 
 Theresa was socager to try her rhetorical 
 powers, that she rose as soon as it was light; 
 and, hastening to her brother's chamber, 
 found him already drest, and sitting at his 
 desk with a pondei'ous folio before him. 
 
 " Good morning, reverend father," said 
 she with a smile, " may I presume to mquire 
 into your present occupation? 
 
 Theodore, I was reading the life of St. 
 Francis. 
 
 Theresa, Some capuchin friar, I sup- 
 pose. 
 
 Theodore, A most holy man, and the 
 founder of our order. 
 
 Theresa. 'Tis strange that I should 
 never have heard of him before; yet to
 
 Il6 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 confess tlie truths this is the first of our 
 acquaintance. 
 
 Theodore. So much the worse for 
 you; — but as that is the case, I would ad- 
 vise you to begin his Hfe immediately, for 
 nothing can be more entertainiug, or more 
 edifying than his adventures. 
 
 Theresa. As I have no great taste for 
 books of this kind, I hope I may go to hea- 
 ven without it. 
 
 Theodore, I am sorry, Theresa^ that 
 ycu should treat a subject of this nature 
 with levity ; and one, beside-, that it is im- 
 possible for you to understand. 
 
 Theresa. Many thanks, most learned 
 doctor, for that compliment. 
 
 Theodore. (Recollecting himself.) Par- 
 don me, my dear sister, if I answered you 
 peevishly ; but, to be sincere, I was so deep- 
 ly interested in the book, that I scarcely 
 knew what I said. 
 
 Theresa. It is not in my nature to be 
 angry with any one, and least of all with 
 you, — Indeed, Theodore, you have no idea
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. IJ/ 
 
 how tenderly I love you, or you would never 
 think of leaving us. Yet after all, I can 
 scarcely persuade myself, that you seriously 
 intend it. Believe me, you would act 
 more prudently to follow my advice, and 
 continue to be a citizen of the world ; which, 
 with all its defects, is a more eligible abode 
 than a monastery. 
 
 Theodore. That depends entirely upon 
 opinion. It is too late, however, now to 
 argue the point, since my resolution is un- 
 alterably taken. 
 
 Theresa. The resolution, I fear, is a 
 rash one. — Nay, do not look so grave, for 
 what I say proceeds entirely from the 
 warmth of my affection ; besides, I speak 
 from personal experience, and have been 
 myself a witness of the misery attending 
 a monastic life. When first I entered the 
 convent, every thing wore so pleasing 
 an aspect, that I almost believed myself, 
 transported into a terrestrial paradise, 
 where all was harmony and love. In 
 my presence, the nuns accosted each
 
 118 THEODORE; OR^ 
 
 other in the language of friendship, and 
 with the tender appellation of sisters. For 
 some time, I thought their attachment sin- 
 cere, and almost envied the happiness which 
 they enjoyed. Observation, however, at 
 length convinced me that I had been cruelly 
 misled ; for the restraint,which the arrival of 
 a new^ boarder never fails to impose, w^oreofF 
 by degrees, w^hen they gradually resumed 
 their accustomed habits. Disputes fre- 
 quently arose, and were supported on both 
 sides with indecent warmth. Whenever 
 they met, sneers, reproaches, and even the 
 bitterest invectives passed between them, 
 and plainly shewed, that these devoted 
 virgins were liable to every malignant pas- 
 sion which disturbs the repose of man- 
 kind. 
 
 Theodore. I dont dispute that all this 
 niay be exactly the case in a nunnery ; but I 
 fancy it is different with us. 
 
 Theresa. Beware of deceiving yourself ; 
 for you may rest assured that the human 
 heart is much the same in both sexes ; and
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. IIQ 
 
 though I am acquainted only with a female 
 convent, I fear that you will not discover 
 more real harmony, among those whom, at 
 present, you consider as saints. For my 
 own part, I am persuaded, that there would 
 not be a nun in the world, were she pre- 
 viously acquainted with the hardships which 
 she is destined to undergo. At present, you 
 look upon a monastery as the abode of 
 tranquillity and content ; but I know it to 
 be that of wretchedness and despair.— -It 
 is indeed a melancholy sight to witness all 
 that passes within its gloomy walls ; to sec 
 women, at an age when youth and beauty 
 would have rendered them the ornaments 
 of society, gradually sinking into an un- 
 timely grave, the victims of ambition, 
 avarice, or disappointed love. My heart 
 bled to behold tliem, amid the most sacred 
 duties of religion, raising their eyes towards 
 lieaven in desponding woe, as if to implore 
 a speedv release from all their sufFering*. 
 Believe me, Theodore, the human mind is 
 iiearlv the &ame in everv situation. Neither
 
 120 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 the cowl, nor veil, can subdue its feelings,. 
 or make it insensible to the cry of nature. 
 Remember too that the vow is irrevocable, 
 and dissolves at once every tender tie by 
 which man is united to man. 
 
 Theodore, I see that you are prejudiced, 
 and view the subject in its most unfavorable 
 light. 
 
 Theresa, Depend upon it, the picture 
 is not exaggerated, as you may judge from 
 the following anecdote : 
 
 ^^ A young lady, a little older than my- 
 self, made me her confidant; and, even 
 at this distance of time, I never recollect 
 her story without shedding a tributary tear. 
 She bore an illustrious name ; but as the 
 family estate had been gradually impaired, 
 she could expect but little from her 
 parents. Near the place of her residence 
 lived an intimate friend of her father*s, 
 whose fortune was considerable, and whose 
 descent was scarce inferior to her own. 
 His eldest son^ a youth possessing every ex- 
 ternal accomplishment, that can captivate a
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 12 J 
 
 female, and all those solid virtues wliich 
 engage esteem, soon grew sensible of her 
 attractions, and their attachment became 
 durable as their lives. Though his parents 
 at first opposed his inclination, they were 
 ultimately induced to consent, by the full 
 conviction that the happiness of both de- 
 pended entirely upon their union. 
 
 " A day was fixed for their marriage r 
 )ut at the very moment when their felicity 
 appeared secure, an event took place w4iicli 
 cast a permanent cloud over all their pros- 
 pects. Baron Z , the father of this ac- 
 complished youth, was seized with a fever, 
 which carried him off in a few davs, and ne- 
 cessarily obliged my unhappy friend to post- 
 pone his marriage for some time. Mean- 
 while, a war breaking out between Austria 
 and Prussia, the regiment in which x\dolphu3 
 served, received orders to join the army ; 
 when his mother, availing herself of this 
 pretext, persuaded them both to consent to 
 a second delay, and to wait till the end of 
 the campaign. 
 
 Vol. I. «
 
 132 THEODORE ; OK, 
 
 ^^ Having yielded to a proposal, the pru- 
 dence of wliich it was difficult to contest, 
 they separated with the strongest assur- 
 ances of inviolable faith, mutually promis- 
 ing to acquaint each other with every 
 thing that happened. The correspon- 
 dence was accordingly carried on, for some 
 time, with the greatest regularity — while 
 every letter that arrived, brought fresh 
 protestations of the warmest affection. — 
 But, to the distress and astonishment of 
 my unhappy friend, a sudden silence en- 
 sued, on the side of her lover, v\ ithout any 
 reason whatsoever being assigned. Week 
 after week, she waited in a state of the 
 most anxious suspense ; but still no intel- 
 telligence came. Her uneasiness hourly 
 increased, till, bting no longer able to 
 support tbic conflict, she was seized with a 
 dangerous icver, and lay, for several days, in 
 a state of delirium, calling incessantly 
 upon her lover's name, and upbraiding him 
 with cruelty ibr having abandoned her in so 
 barbarous a manner. At length, U>e na^
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 123 
 
 tural strePxgth of her constitution prevailing, 
 when the first symptoms she gave of re- 
 turning reason, was to enquire if any 
 letter had arrived. Apprehensive of a re- 
 lapse if they disclosed the truth, her 
 friends had recourse to artifice, telling her 
 that Adolphus was prevented from writing 
 by a wound which he had received on the 
 rip;ht arm ; but that the accounts were so 
 favorable, that they hoped shortly to in- 
 form her of his perfect recovery. 
 
 This fiction produced the desired effect, 
 and her convalescence now became so 
 rapid, that she was soon able to leave her 
 room, and was even permitted to go out, 
 with no attendant except her maid. Taking 
 advantage of this circumstance, she or- 
 dered the coachman to drive to the house 
 
 of baroness Z , being determined, 
 
 to speak herself to Adolphus's mo- 
 ther, that she might learn from her 
 every particular of the case. As she 
 was entering the garden, she met madame 
 Z — — . and, leaping out of the carriage, 
 G 2
 
 i-24- THEODORE ; OP, 
 
 exclailiiedj with all the eagerness of im- 
 patient love, ' Is he recovered!' Is he reco^ 
 vered r' ' About ichom do you inquire, ma- 
 dam F replied the baroness, with an air of 
 distant civility, that would have petrified 
 Eliza, had she been capable of reflection. 
 ^ Your son! Mij Adolphus T resumed my 
 unfortunate friend, almost breathless with 
 suspense ; ' ivho else should occupy my 
 thoughts P' 
 
 ^' 'Your Ado Iphus, Aladam/' rejoined the 
 unfeeling woman ; ^ by calling him your's / 
 "^ear you are still ignorant of the change 
 that has taken place in his situation, and 
 that my son has not informed you of hi$ 
 
 marrias:e with ' ' Marrias^e !^ exclaimed 
 
 the WK tched victim, and fell senseless into 
 the arms of her attendant. In this state 
 she was convex ed home ; when springing 
 out of the carriage, with a frantic motion, 
 she ran towards her room, crying aloud, 
 ' Ah me, he is married; he is married T 
 
 *' Attracted by Her shrieks^ her mother
 
 THE Enthusiast. 125 
 
 hastened to her assistance ; she was put lo 
 bed ; appeared wild and disordered : her 
 fever returned, and during many days, her 
 life was despaired of: nor was it till after 
 several weeks that she was restored to sor- 
 row and the world. Her spirits, however, 
 had received so severe a shock, that her 
 peace of mind v/as destroyed for ever ; and 
 at times she sunk into a torpid state of insen- 
 sibility, which seemed to threaten a total de- 
 rangement of intellect. Deserted by the only 
 being that could have made her happy, 
 every object became equally indifferent. 
 Resolving to dedicate the sad remains of 
 a hopeless life, to prayer and seclusion, 
 she retired int-o the convent, w4iere I aftcr- 
 terwards met her, and took the veil. Yet, 
 in renouncing the world, she was still 
 unable to forget its afPiictions ; nor could 
 she ever hear the name of lier lover 
 wilh'-'Ut falling into an agony of grief. 
 
 " Scarce had she cousi'T/matcJ the cruel 
 sacrifice, wlien Adolnhus returncfi, faithful 
 and tbnd as ever. Upon inquirmg after his 
 G 3
 
 ^lG THEODOKE ; OU, 
 
 Eliza, and being informed that slic was in 
 .'1 neighbquring cQnvent, he Hew to the 
 grate : the meeting-was highly pathetic ; yet 
 before a thorough explanation had taken 
 place she fainted = away, and continued so 
 long in that alarming state, that he was 
 compelled to leave her without obtaining 
 any fiuther intelligence. Too soon, how- 
 ever, for his future repose, he discovered the 
 fatal truth ; — discovered that his mother 
 had intercepted his letters, and spread a 
 report of his marriage, from interested mo- 
 tives, having a more advantageous connec- 
 tion in view. Deprived of reason, he mounted 
 his horse, and riding directly to his own 
 house, rushed into his m.other s apartment^ 
 v;ith a wild and frantic air, and, after up- 
 braiding her in the severest terms for her 
 barbarity, plunged his sword into her bosom^, 
 in a paroxysm of fury. 
 
 " He instantly disappeared, and has ne- 
 ver more been heard of. Once, indeed, he 
 is supposed to have been seen in the con- 
 V?^pt garden, as a man v^as observed, by
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. l^TjT 
 
 moon-llght, kneeling near the window of 
 niy then dying friend ; but perceiving that 
 he was watched, he hurried away, in ap- 
 parent disorder, and escaped over the 
 waU. 
 
 " Eliza's sorrows were now hastening 
 to a close ; though she still lingered 
 for several montlis. From the moment 
 of my arrival at the convent, she dis- 
 tinguished inc by various marks of kind- 
 ness; and never appeared so much at ease, 
 as when 1 was with her. A few days before 
 her death, .she summoned resolution to dis- 
 close her melancholy tale, which she con- 
 cluded wiih the following exhortation : 
 
 " Whatever may be the trials which 
 yon are destined to undergo," said sh.e, 
 " never, my beloved friend, be persuaded 
 to take the veil; for there is no calamity 
 inciHenval to human nature, which may 
 not be alleviated by the hand of time, or 
 the consoling cares of sympathetic friend- 
 ship." 
 
 ^* From that hour I hardly ever quitted 
 G4
 
 i'28 THEODORE ; or^ 
 
 lier cell ; but saw her expire like a lamp, when 
 ail its oil is consumed; ejaculating, with 
 her departing breath, a prayer for him who 
 so entirely engrossed every faculty of her 
 soul. Have inercij on him, all pitying God? 
 ¥/ere the last words she uttered." 
 
 1 heresa wiped aw^ay a tear as she con- 
 cluded, and observing that her brother was 
 deeply affected, continued thus : 
 
 '* Do not imacrine that stories of this 
 kind arc rare. Could you examii^e the 
 liearts of those who inhabit a monaster}^, 
 you would find that devotion is seldom the 
 motive which determined their choice. 
 Tlie selfish views of parents or relations^ — 
 the inhuman decisions of family pride, — 
 the perjured vov/s of an inconstant lover, — 
 or the precipitate resolves of unfounded 
 jealousy, — such are the usual causes that 
 people convents, and render them the living 
 scpulclires of miserv and despair." 
 
 Theodore. I have always heard that 
 woman want that firmness of character 
 Avhich is requisite in trying situations : and
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 129 
 
 the picture you have drawn, serves only to 
 coniinn it. Men, however, 
 
 Theresa. (' inter ruptijig him. J Are just 
 the same, and liable to the same or greater 
 failin2:s. You are in danger, I fear, of be- 
 coming the victim of a foolish pride ; but 
 in what does your boasted superiority con- 
 sist ? Are you not subject to the same 
 weaknesses that we are ? Do not the 
 same tender sentiments excite your sympa- 
 thy ; — the same tumultuous passions trou- 
 ble your repose ? Nay, more, I am inclined 
 to suspect the situation of a friar is more 
 wretched even than that of a nun ; as 
 he is less accustomed to controhl his in- 
 clinations. From their earliest infancy 
 women are taught obedience, and habit- 
 uated to a life of seclui^ion ; while men enjoy 
 a greater degree of liberty than is con- 
 sistent with our habits and education. 
 
 Theodore. You cannot deny that a 
 monk possesses many advantages of which 
 a nun is deprived; for while the latter is 
 G 5
 
 130 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 wholly secluded from society, the former is 
 permitted occasionally to visit his friends. 
 
 Theresa, These, I confess^ are valuable 
 privileges ; but less so, perhaps, than you 
 imagine. Does a misfortune cease to be a 
 misfortune, because others are more 
 wretched than ourselves? The oath whicli 
 you are compelled to take is exactly 
 similar to ours. We both promise implicit 
 obedience to the rules of the order; em- 
 bracing poverty, and rejecting every com- 
 fort that Providence designed for tl e hap- 
 piness of man. We both equally renounce 
 every blessing of social intercource, counter- 
 acting the great end for which we were 
 created, and depriving ourselves of the 
 dearest, and most affectionate of ties. 
 
 For what purpose do you suppose 
 that you were endowed with liberty, except 
 to make a wise and rational use of it ? 
 Were men gifted v/ith intellectual powers, 
 with understandings to conceive, and energy 
 to execute, the noblest enterprizes, for no 
 better end than to live idly on earth, sup- 
 ported by the charity of their fellow m.en ?
 
 THE EXTHrSIAST. 131 
 
 Theodore, You argue forcibly ; and I 
 never before considered the subject in this 
 point of view. Bat you certainly fail into 
 an unpardonable error, Vv'hen you repre- 
 sent a monk as a useless being : you are 
 acquainted with father Antony's character, 
 and I fancy would be puzzled to find ano- 
 ther man in the whole country, who does 
 half so much good to mankind. 
 
 Theresa. Such men would be equally 
 useful in every station, and I will not go 
 far for an example. Few individuals are 
 more bv'loved, or more respected, tlian my 
 father ; and few deserve it more. By his 
 timely interference he reconciles disputes, 
 preventing law-suits, and maintaining har- 
 mony among his neiglibours. By his 
 prudential management he. collects the 
 taxes, without distressing the poor. Bles- 
 sed too, with a numerous familv, he 
 has educated us all in the purest princi- 
 ples of viniie ; and though he may leave 
 us m a condition of humble mediocrity, 
 he will leave us the blessing of heaven.
 
 132 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 Theodore. No one can be more sensible 
 of our father's merit than I am ; or more 
 grateful to Providence for being born the 
 son of so excellent a parent. With re- 
 spect to myself^ however, the case is dif- 
 ferent, and I feel thoroughly persuaded, 
 that I could never be so useful to mankind, 
 nor so happy myself, as by going into a 
 cloister. 
 
 Theresa. Upon that point we differ, 
 brother ; for no one was ever less calculated 
 for a life of indolence and seclusion. Is 
 it possible that a lad of your active disposi- 
 tion, can be contented with counting beads, 
 and muttering ave marias, in a gloomy 
 cell, with no better society than a death's 
 head, or a set of dull, prosing, superanu- 
 ated beings, wlio could have nothing to 
 hope for from that world, which offers such 
 deiiglitful prospects to youth, and health. 
 Depend upon it, this will never suit you, 
 v;ho are wretched if confined to the house 
 for a single day. Reflect, my dear Theodore, 
 what you are about to nndeitake, before you
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 133 
 
 bury yourself in an eternal prison^ from 
 which nothing but death can release you. 
 
 Yet, should your inclination be irrevo- 
 cably fixed upon the church, the condition 
 of a secular priest, is surely the most eligi- 
 ble of the two. We will go this very 
 evening to visit our excellent pastor. His 
 is a life of active benevolence, and subjec ts 
 him to fewer privations than the riy:id duties 
 of a cloister. Promise me, Theodore^ 
 continued she, with a smile, while the big 
 tear glistened in her eye ; premise me I 
 conjure you, to rel^ect seriously upon what 
 I have said, and to determine on nothing 
 hastily. 
 
 Theodore could resist no longer but 
 falling on iiis bister's neck, he burst ir.toa 
 flood of tears, assunng her ni the most 
 affectionate terms, that he would consider 
 the subject again, and again, before he 
 came to a final decisir>n. Plaving thanked 
 her for the kind interest which she too'v m 
 lis future welfare, he requested to be left 
 ^one, that he might collect his scattered
 
 134 THEODOKE ; OR, 
 
 thoughts. Thercha leachiy indulf^ed hlnij 
 but in so doing, she displayed more of 
 tenderness, than of pr* derce^ for there 
 was a resistless eloquence in her tears, 
 against which the ^e*:lings of her brother 
 could with difficulty corr^bat : so that had 
 she persevered m her solicitations a little 
 longer, it is mo'-e th:in probable, his heart 
 would liave yielded, even though his reason 
 had reninined ufiConquered. 
 
 No sooner did our hero find himself 
 alone, than he walked abcait in violent 
 agitation, perfectly irresolute on v/hat to 
 determine. For this last conversation had 
 awakened ideas which had never occurred 
 beiore. 
 
 *' What is to be done ?" exclaimed he, 
 throvv'ing himself into a chair. " 1 he hap- 
 pir.ess of the best and kindest of sister's 
 depends entirely upon ihe ch.oice v/hicii I 
 shdl make. And can I consent to make 
 her wretched ?" 
 
 At this critical moment, the ^'^e of St. 
 Francis, which lay Ow his dcSi.; prestnied
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 135 
 
 itself to his view. Theresa's arguments 
 were instantly forgotten, while the honors 
 of niart}rdom forced themselves upon his 
 imagination in all tl>eir fanaiic charms. 
 It was in vain that affection pleaded in fa- 
 vour of Theresa ; a stronger passion had 
 taken possession of his soul, which was 
 now completely occupied by the visions of 
 enthusiasm. 
 
 *' Should I yield to the prejudices of my 
 sister," cried he wth vehemence, '' what 
 would father'Anthony think of his apos- 
 tate son ? It is too late to change ; and all 
 that I can now do is, to engage not to tiike 
 any decisive step for two yenrs to come." 
 
 Having pleased himself with this decision^ 
 he hastened to impart it to his sister, who 
 being unable to obtain any farther conces- 
 sions, was obliged to be satisfied with the 
 promise.
 
 ( 136) 
 
 CHAP. xm. 
 
 The frood Shepherd. 
 
 The moment that dinner was over, 
 Theresa and Theodore sal out for the 
 pnsonage, where they were received with 
 th? greatest cordiality by the worthy priest. 
 Ka- .pg patted Theresa on the shoulder, 
 with all the familiarity of friendship, and 
 offered her everything his humble dv.elling 
 CO old afford, he inquired how soon her 
 brother was to leave his family ; and being 
 told, he had only a iew days to stay ; 
 *' May God bless you, my \ oung friend,'' 
 said the good man, ^- and render you a 
 comfort to your aged father." 
 
 This opening appearing favorable to 
 Tlieresa, she determined not to let it 
 escape.
 
 TIIRODORE; on, THE ENTHUSIAST. 137 
 
 " We have had a violent contest this 
 morning," said she, " my dear sir, for I 
 have been attempting to engage my bro- 
 ther, in case he should chuse an ecclesiasti- 
 cal life, to take orders, and endeavour to 
 procure a living in this neighbourhood; 
 for I can never persuade myself that he 
 was formed for a cloister." 
 
 Priest, I confess, my dear child, that 
 I think like yoii, though it is a delicate 
 subject to couch upon. The monks, you 
 know, are seldom our friends ; and 
 would not be sorry to find an occa^^ion of 
 censuring my motiv^es, should I be sup- 
 posed to hav-" influenced your brother's 
 choice. It is true, I have only a few years 
 more to live, but I should wish to pn-s them 
 in charity with all r.iankind. BesideS;, if 
 a man performs his duty conscientiously, it 
 is of little consequence what habit he 
 wears. 
 
 There arc, without doubt, many esti- 
 mable characters among the religious orders. 
 Men of deep erudition, unaffected piety,
 
 138 THEODORE; OR^ 
 
 and unblemisbecl conduct. But these 
 are also to be found, at least in equal 
 numbers, among ilie secular clergy. 
 
 Theresa, This is exactly what I said 
 to my brother, and I rejoice to perceive 
 my opinion confirmed by such excellent 
 authority. 
 
 " Alas my child," continued the wor- 
 thy ecclesiastic, addressing himselt' more 
 particularly to Theresa, " this is, at best, 
 a world of sorrow, and happy is the mnn 
 who is summoned hence, if he be prepared 
 to quit it as a christian ought. Since 
 I last saw you, I have received a melan- 
 choly account of some of my nearest 
 relations. My poor brother is at length 
 released, and no one rema-ns, except 
 myself, to talie care of his children. It 
 was ever my inteniion to divide between 
 themrnyrttle savings, at my death ; but they 
 must now be employed in their education. 
 If I can only make them honest m.en, 
 they will have litde reason to complain, for
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST, 139 
 
 they will then be assured of the protection 
 of heaven. God never forsakes the vir- 
 tuous ; and of tliis I have convincing 
 proofs in my own family. My father was 
 a man of unquestionable probity, and 
 made his way in the world, by diligence 
 and application. At his death he left iive 
 sons, all placed in reputable professions. 
 I am novv' the only survivor, though by far 
 the weakest of them all. I too, should 
 have gone long since, had it not been for 
 the moderation aiid regularity with which I 
 have lived Believe me, children, there are no 
 physicians like temperance and exercise ; — 
 never lose sight of that maxim, and your 
 age will prove no less happy than mine. 
 Thank licaven ! I enjoy a sound con- 
 stitution, and can look back upon my 
 eaithlv pilo^rimaa-e v/ithout resfret. 
 
 My time, I hope, has not been unprofit- 
 ably spent. My parishioners, for the most 
 part, are an industrious set of people, and 
 I seldom hear of any excesses being com- 
 mitted. When I first came among them^
 
 140 THEODOKE ; OR, 
 
 this was not exactly the case ; but you may 
 now pass the public house on a holy day, 
 without being shocked by an oath, or 
 seeing a single person in a state of intoxi- 
 cation. 
 
 Well, here comes the coffee ; for it is 
 right to conform a little to the manners of 
 the age. When I was young, indeed, w^e 
 were satisfied with the produce of our own 
 soil ; — but r;ow, alas ! luxury has crept 
 into every rank. However, order and 
 mo'leration is my motto ; and that is 
 what I most adm^ire in the monastic insti- 
 tutions. — Every thing there proceeds like 
 clock-work. — But I have forgotten to en- 
 quire after my wor^hy friend, fatht^r An- 
 thony ; he is a person, whom everv one 
 must esteem, for his steps n.ay be traced by 
 acts of Leniliceiice. 
 
 Theodore. He is indeed a saint upon 
 earth, and I am Iv p]n' to say, that a few 
 day-^ ago I left him in perfect heriith. 
 
 Priest. Nobjdy knows him better than 
 I do ; for we were at college togetiier, and
 
 THE EXTHUSIAST. 14 
 
 have lived ever since in habits of friendship 
 Before you go home, Theresa, you must 
 take a turn in my garden, where I have 
 been making some little improvements. 
 
 With the most amiable diffidence she 
 gave him her hand ; and as they walked 
 amid the beds of flowers, the good man 
 thus resumed his discourse, while he point- 
 ed to the fruit-trees, which were covered 
 with the most luxuriant bloom. " The 
 beauties of nature, my children, are not 
 to be numbered. — Every season has its 
 peculiar charms, yet none, in my opinion, 
 so many as the spring. Examine those 
 hyacinths : — a florist might possibly de- 
 spise them, because they possess not thaC 
 miser-like quality of being rare ; but in 
 my estimation, they are the most beautiful 
 of flowers, for they v.-ere planted and cul- 
 tivated with my own hands. It is thus with 
 the Divinity, who takes an interest in every 
 thing that he formed, from man, who is 
 represented to be the image of his Creator, 
 down to the minutest reptile which crawls
 
 142 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 ill the dast. What consolation can be so 
 great as to reflect, that God is present 
 every where, and is the constant witness 
 of our most secret thoughts. — It is at such 
 moments as those, that man is confounded 
 by the sentiment of his own insignificance. 
 Such, at least, is tlie feeling which I ex- 
 perience, when I reflect, that all the boast- 
 ed faculties of the human mind, are insufti- 
 cient even to express our gratitude for the 
 numberless blessings which w^e daily enjoy. 
 By indulging these ideas, in their fhllest ex- 
 tent, I seem to approach more nearly to 
 his infinite perfections, than it were pos- 
 sible to do, by the slow and mechanical 
 operations of reason, or calculation. For 
 all demonstrations m^ust be cold and un- 
 satisfactory, when compared with the testi- 
 monvof the heart.'' 
 
 The good man had been carried away by 
 the unrestrained effusions of piety, into a 
 style too elevated for the common tone of 
 conversation. Desirous of correcting the 
 error, he paused a while, and catching, as
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST.. 143 
 
 was ever his custom, a fresh topic from the 
 first object which presented itself to his view, 
 he thus continued, 
 
 ^' Look there, Theresa^ did you ever 
 see a finer crop of potatoes ? It is with pride 
 that I shew them :: — Yes, I am more vain 
 of them than even of my hyacinths, 
 since it was I who introduced them first 
 into this parish, and a most excellent re- 
 source do they afibrd to the poor, when 
 corn is dear. How bounteous is Providence, 
 my children, who enables man, by promot- 
 ing objects of general utility, to do so 
 much good at so cheap a rate/' 
 
 Theodore, That speech reminds me of 
 father Anthony, whose greatest pleasure 
 it is to instruct the peasants, in the best 
 methods of agriculture. 
 
 Priest. Heaven will reward him for 
 it. A good ecclesiastic is bound to take^ 
 care of the body, as well as of the soul ; 
 or he performs but Iialf his daty. Indeed, 
 to me it appears a more useful lesson to 
 -explain to the farmer a new, and mors pr.o-
 
 141 THEODORE ; OK, 
 
 ductive system of husbandry, than to in- 
 terpret abstruse and difficult texts, which 
 have puzzled theologians, ever since the 
 time of the Athanarian controversy." 
 
 Just then a blooming child came skip- 
 ping along the walk at a few paces from 
 them. Theresa was struck with its beauty, 
 and inquired to whom it belonged. 
 
 Priest. It is the daughter of one of 
 my parishioners, and frequently comes to 
 play with me; for I know nothing so de- 
 lightful as the innocent prattle of a child. 
 ijvery word that it utters is the voice of 
 nature. 
 
 Taking the little girl in his arms, he 
 kissed her tenderly, giving her a small piece 
 of gingerbread, some of w4]ich he always 
 carried in his pocket for that purpose; and 
 then setting her down again, she tripped 
 away, as fast and as merrily as she came. 
 
 Theresa and Theodore were equally 
 charmed with tlie strong expression oi 
 benevolence displayed in the countenance 
 of their venerable friend, nor could the fonr
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 145 
 
 mer refrain from expressing her regret that 
 he had no children of his own. 
 
 The good man could hardly stifle a sigh, 
 as he thus replied. " Celibacy, my child, is 
 an essential duty of our profession, though 
 I am inclined to believe that it might be 
 better for the world, if it had never been 
 enjoined. — Yet, after all, children are at 
 best but uncertain blessings, since the most 
 virtuous education frequently fails. Situated 
 as I am, I regard the children of my neigh-* 
 hours as my own, and thus endeavour to 
 compensate for the sacrifice which my owa 
 vocation imposes." 
 
 Theresa listened attentively, for she 
 never conversed with him without growing 
 wiser, or better, from his instructions ; 
 while, by her sprightly sallies, and just ob- 
 serv^ations, she exhilarated his latter days. 
 No one, indeed, ever possessed, in a more 
 eminent degree, the rare and enviable qua- 
 lity of accomodating herself to the tempers 
 and characters of those with whom she 
 lived. With the old and formal, she was 
 Vol, I. H
 
 146 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 serious and attentiv^e ; but lively and play- 
 ful with the gay. Yet she never deviated, 
 even in the most trifling instance, from 
 those excellent principles, which she had 
 laid down as rules for her conduct through 
 life. For to please, with her, was only a 
 secondary consideration ; the primary one 
 was to deserve it. 
 
 CHAP. XIV. 
 
 A Parting SccnCi 
 
 The scene they had just witnessed, was too 
 much rn unison with Theresa's feel- 
 ings for her not to draw a comparison be- 
 tween the secular, ^nd regular clergy, which 
 proved much in favor of the former. 
 
 '*' What," said she, " as they crossed 
 the adjoining meadow," can be more 
 enviable than the life of that valuable man?
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 147 
 
 It is a coiiStant scene of active benevolence. 
 Whensoever he appears, he is accompanied 
 by the prayers and benedictions of all he 
 meets ; not a moment of his time is wasted 
 in selfish gratifications. He is constantly 
 employed indiffasing blessings, and is happy 
 himself in the happiness which he occa- 
 sions. By his timely interposition, he puts 
 an end to quarrels, before they proceed too 
 far for prudential counsel to avail. To the 
 sick he is a physician ; — never failing to pro- 
 vide the medicines which he recommends. 
 And while his piety instructs the ignorant, 
 his purse is ever open to the poor. In a 
 word, by his unremitting attention to the 
 wants and weaknesses of his fellow creatures, 
 he has united the whole parish into one 
 family, of which he is the father, and the 
 guide. This, my dear Theodore, is a 
 character which commands universal 
 respect, and such a man should I wish to 
 see you, if you prefer the pulpit to the 
 sword, 
 
 Theodore. Father Anthony resembles 
 H 2
 
 148 TfiEODOIlE; OR, 
 
 jour friend in most respec's, and him havr 
 I chosen for my model. At all events, I 
 have promised to decide upon nothing 
 for two years to come, and many things may 
 happen in that space, which neither you nor 
 I can foresee. 
 
 Theresa, In this case, I will endeavour 
 to make m.yself easy, and trust to Providence 
 for the event. 
 
 From this time, Theresa's anxiety began 
 gradually to abate, for she could not help 
 flattering herself that serious reflection, 
 maturer judgment, and a more extensive 
 acqu.iintance with the world, would do more 
 towards conquermg lier brother's prepos- 
 session, than any arguments which enlight- 
 ened reason could en-»ploy. 
 
 To the idea, however, of separating 
 from him she was not so easily reconciled, 
 though the dr«y was rapidly approaching, 
 and her father had alieady received a letter 
 from Guns: nrg, assuring him, that his son 
 might depend upon meeting with every
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 1^9 
 
 iudulo-ence which the rules of the senii- 
 nary would allow. 
 
 Though much affected at the thought of 
 quitting his paternal roof, Theodore was 
 in some measure consoled by the prospect 
 of the literary honors which he was about 
 to acquire, and the figure which he should 
 thus be enabled to make, at some future 
 period, in the pulpit. 
 
 Charles secretly rejoiced at his brother's 
 departure, for his envious heart beheld, not 
 without many a bitter pang, the superior 
 talents of Theodore, nor the preference 
 which was deservedly given him by the 
 whole family. While all events were. so 
 perfectly indifferent to the inanimate Wil- 
 liam, that he hardly knew wliether his bro- 
 ther was to leave theni or not. 
 
 But as the fatal hour drev/ nigh, our 
 hero's spirits began visiblv to decline ; and 
 during the whole of the day preceding his 
 journey, he appeared dejected and melan- 
 choly. As the evening came on he counted 
 every hour; while the awful sound, vibra-
 
 3 50 THEODOKE ; OR, 
 
 ting through the tranquil air, was, to bim, 
 like the stroke of deaUi. He v.as con- 
 stantly at Theresa's elbow — but his looks 
 alone spoke the feelings of his soul ; for he 
 flattered himself to inipose upon her dis- 
 cerning eye, if lie abstained from querulous 
 grief; yet how was it pojssible for a counte- 
 nance to deceivcj which never, till then, 
 had expressed a sentiment tliat came not 
 directly from llic heart. 
 
 Theodore arose at break of day, for his 
 mmd was too much disturbed to allow liim 
 to sleep. Scarce was he drest wiien 1 he- 
 resa entered the room. Her clietks were 
 pile — her eyes red, and swollen. Falling 
 upon his neck, she presented him with a 
 little purse, which she had worked herself, 
 sobbing out, in broken accents, " you will 
 keep this for iny sake," Scarce had she 
 uttered this short sentence, when Theodore 
 was summoned to attend his father. He 
 found him alone, and greatly agitated. The 
 good man embraced him with unusual ten- 
 derness, and exhorting him, in the strongest 
 terms, never to deviate from those virtuous
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 151 
 
 principles which had been instilled into his 
 mind from his earliest youth ; he concluded 
 thus : 
 
 " Let your behaviour, my son, be priv 
 dent, regular, modest, and upright. Con- 
 duct yourself with humility towards your 
 superiors, and with gentleness towards all 
 mankind : but, above ail, beware of tar- 
 nishing that unsullied reputation of inte- 
 grity, which is the most valuable legacy 
 that I can bequeath you ; and one that I 
 would not barter for all the wealth and titles 
 in the world. 
 
 '• Here," continued he, putting a few 
 ducats into the hand of his son," is a trifle 
 for your private expenses. It is all that my 
 moderate circumstances will allow, but if 
 managed with economy, it will go farther 
 than you may imagine. While it shall 
 please God to spare my life, you may depend 
 upon my providing for all your necessary 
 wants, but more I cannot do. Yet you 
 must consider, my dear child, that every 
 thing in this world is precarious, nor can 
 H 4
 
 152 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 any one say, how soon he may be called 
 away." 
 
 Theodore was unable any longer to 
 restrain his tears, but sobbed aloud. 
 Taking him gently by the hand, and look- 
 ing at him w^th increased sensibility, his 
 father thus resumed ; 
 
 " I mean not to distress you, Theodore; 
 but it is the duty of man to be prepared for 
 every change. By continually reflecting 
 upon the uncertainty of all human events, 
 you will learn the necessity of doing some- 
 thing for your own support ; and you will 
 tluis acquire a spirit of independence, which 
 v.ill render you superior to the attacks of 
 fortune. This is the best advice that I 
 en n give you. — And now, my son. firewelll 
 forget not my parting w^ords, and may 
 the blessing of Providence attend you.'' 
 
 He now pressed our hero to his bosom, 
 while the big tear rolled down his cheek. 
 This was the second time tliat Theodore 
 had seen his father weep ; the first was at 
 his mother's funeral. KecolleetinghimseUi
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 153 
 
 however, after a few minutes, he led his son 
 into the parlour, where Charles and Theresa 
 were waiting breakfast ; for no human 
 niotive could have induced William to 
 forego one hour of sleep. 
 
 The meeting was a silent one, since none 
 except Charles possessed the power of ut- 
 terance ; and he even thought it decorous 
 to put on the semblance of sorrow, although 
 iiis heart and countenance were so com- 
 pletely at variance, that he acted his part 
 rather awkwardly. Theresa poured out 
 the coffee without venturing once to raise 
 her eyes; yet she. now and then stole a look 
 at Theodore, which filled them afresh with 
 4:ears. At times too she pressed his hand 
 vvith the strongest expression of grief. 
 Meanwhile her father stood leaning against 
 a window\ wMich commanded a view of the 
 yard, v\diere the horses were putting to an 
 old carriage, which liad served the bailiff 
 and his family for many a year. 
 
 Theodore g:zed alternately at him and 
 Theresa, in mute affiiction ; every look 
 
 H 5
 
 351 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 appearing to be the lasL; and though he 
 exerted all his fortitude to conceal his 
 sorrow, it burst forth, at intervals, in loud 
 and convulsive sobs. 
 
 At length old Rosenthal broke the 
 mcurnful silence, by observing that the 
 chaise was ready. This intelligence ope- 
 rated like a clap of thunder. — Theodore 
 started from his chair— he seized his hat? 
 and holding it in such a manner as to hide 
 his face, remained for some moments in a 
 state of motionless despair. Theresa was 
 no longer mistress of her feelings, but 
 hurried out of the room, lest she should 
 betray her emotions. 
 
 Desirous of putting an end to this 
 afflicting scene, the old man took Theo- 
 dore by the hand, and said in a faultering 
 voice, " Recollect yourself, and be a man. 
 This is indeed a trying moment ; but de- 
 lay only serves to increase our pain. 
 
 Once more, farewell ! Remember the in- 
 structions I gave you this morning. — And 
 ^ay God, in his mercy, preserve you !"
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 155 
 
 He could add no more, but rushed out 
 of the parlor : — Theodore followed ; and 
 meeting his sister at the door, she caught 
 him in her arms, pressing him to her 
 bosom, with a look of the tenderest sen- 
 sibility. Theodore was incapable of speak- 
 ing ; — and perceiving his resolution fail, 
 he snatched himself from her embrace, 
 and threw himself mto the carriage, which 
 immediately drove away.
 
 ( 1^6 ) 
 
 BOOK THE SECOND, 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 In which the author condescends to afford some farther 
 iaformation, concerning the nature of this work. 
 
 Perhaps my chapter upon dissertations 
 and episodes^ would have come more pro- 
 perly here. But it is so convenient a 
 circumstance for an author, to have another 
 subject ready, to which he may recur at 
 pleasure, that I shall lay it aside for some 
 pressing occasion. Besides, I now feel in 
 ^ more communicative humour, than I did 
 at the beginning of the first book ; and 
 were I to balk my inclination at present^ 
 who knows that it might ever return. 
 
 Whenever Voltaire was inclined to bor- 
 row some striking beauty from our immor- 
 tal Shakespeare, which he has done in many 
 of his most celebrated plays^ he was
 
 THEODORE; OR, THE ENTHUSIAST. 157 
 
 prompted by vanity to act a most unge- 
 nerous part. — For he never omitted, in a 
 preliminary discourse, to abuse the tragedy 
 from which he was about to pilfer : — and of 
 this the reader may easily convince himself, 
 by referring to the prefaces of Zaire, 
 Semiramis, and La mart de Ccesar, 
 
 Though I am far from agreeing with the 
 
 king of Prussia, that the philosopher of 
 
 Ferney is the greatest genius of modern 
 
 times, (for tobelie\ e him capable o( seriously 
 
 prefering the Henriade to the Iliad, is to 
 
 suppose him equally destitute of judgment 
 
 and taste) yet there are many of Voltaire's 
 
 works which I greatly admire, though I 
 
 have no hesitation in saying, that had they 
 
 been reduced, by the editor, to a third of 
 
 their present bulk, it would have been 
 
 better both for him and the world. Yet, 
 
 however great may be liis merit as a writer, 
 
 as a man he had unpardonable faults, and 
 
 behaved as disingenuously towards our 
 
 immortal bard, as towards most of the 
 
 booksellers whom he em})loyed. To the 
 
 spirit and perspicuity of his style^ the
 
 158 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 elegance of his diction, and the brilliant 
 effusions of his wit, happy indeed is the 
 author who can attain; though if he be 
 blest with one generous feeling he will 
 scorn to enrich himself at the expense of 
 another, without deigning to acknowledge 
 the obligation. 
 
 It is hardly possible for the reader to 
 have travelled so long in m} company, with- 
 out discovering that the characters and 
 manners of the dramatis persons are Ger- 
 man, as well as their names. This, possibly, 
 may have led him to suspect, that the 
 ENTHUSIAST is translated from one of 
 those multifariovis productions, in which 
 the Leipsic fair abounds. Had I cleared up 
 this point in the introductory chapter, I 
 should have deprived the reader of the sa- 
 tisfaction of displaying his judgment in 
 conjectural criticisms ; — and a very great 
 satisfaction it is. For I feel no reluctance 
 to declare, that the materials are entirely of 
 German groivth. 
 
 There is, however^ another question,
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 159 
 
 which the reader may not so easily 
 decide ; for unless he be more acquainted 
 with German literature, and the appro- 
 priate idiom of his mother tongue, than I 
 suspect the generality of novel readers to be, 
 he will still be puzzled to decide, whether 
 this is a translation, or not. 
 
 To convey an adequate idea of the 
 beauties of any work of taste, no literal 
 version can, in my opinion, suffice. With 
 the truth of this principle, Pope was too well 
 acquainted to attempt a verbal translation 
 of Homer. He aimed at a nobler task, and 
 one more worthy of his transcendant ge- 
 nius. Instead of following his illustrious 
 model line by line, as some of the Ger- 
 mans have done,* or endeavouring to 
 explain the critical meaning of every am- 
 biguous phrase with the laborious dulness 
 of a Dutch commentator, he contented 
 himself with composing a poem, of which 
 
 * Voss, and others.
 
 l60 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 the Grecian bard might have been proud_> 
 had he written in the English tongue. 
 
 Highly, however, as I esteem the Homer 
 of Pope, I stili think it ini'erior to his imi- 
 tations of Horace ; for he th-re seems to 
 me to have rivalled the Roman satirist, and 
 to have transfused into his nacive language 
 all the elegant taste, the vivacious spirit, the 
 solid sense, and the attic salt, v/hich adorn 
 the writings of his accomplished model. 
 
 The rule which I have ventured to lay 
 down as applicable to poetry, will hold 
 equally good with respect to other works of 
 genius and invention. Every tongue has 
 •its peculiar idiom ; so that many expres- 
 sions, which may be forcible and harmoni- 
 ous in one language, sound, uncouth, and 
 barbarous in another. Hence the patient 
 garretteer, who, vv^th the aid of grammars 
 and dictionaries, shall render verbatim tlie 
 most beautifid production of the foreign 
 press, wil' probably do little credit either to 
 himself or his original. 
 
 For my own part, I can conceive no task
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. l6l 
 
 to be more dull and fatiguing than that of 
 a translator. In undertaking to convey to 
 the English reader some idea of a novel 
 which was published about the same pe- 
 riod with Werter^ and has been frequently 
 compared to it in point of pathos^ I have 
 contented myself with following tlie gene- 
 ral outlines of tlie story ; not as a servile 
 copist, bat as Sir Joshua Reynolds imitated 
 Guido, in his celebrated picture of the 
 Nativky; for I consider no alterations as 
 misplaced^ which can give either animatioa 
 or interest to the work. 
 
 CHAP. II. 
 
 In whitli many new characters are introduced. 
 
 Theodoue had proceeded full half a league 
 on his journey, before he recovered the 
 ])owers of reflection ; when the sun, burst- 
 ing from behind a cloudj in all its radiance,
 
 l62 
 
 THEODORE; OH, 
 
 roused him suddenly from his reverie. The 
 morning was serene and ruddy; but the 
 cheerful features of the surrounding country 
 formed a striking contrast with the melan- 
 choly feelings of his own mind. At any 
 other moment, a scene like this w^ould have 
 filled him with the strongest emotions of 
 delight ; but it' now produced a contrary 
 effect — every object appearing like a be- 
 loved friend, from whom he was destined to 
 separate, perhaps, forever. With a look of in- 
 effable regret, he took a farewell gaze at the 
 steeple of his parish church ; and instantly 
 the wortiiy priest, and his beloved Theresa, 
 and their conversations in the arbour, with 
 all the mutual assurances of inviolate 
 affection, came rushing to his thoughts, 
 and forced the tears in torrents from his 
 eyes. Raising them again, he caught a 
 glimpse of his favorite convent, em.bosomed 
 in a gloomy grove, and his fancy imme- 
 diately assumed a different tone. It was 
 no longer the deep tint of sorrow that 
 shaded his brow. His features glistened
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST, 
 
 163 
 
 with anticipated triumphs ; while the spirit 
 of enthusiasm displayed before him the 
 glorious rewards of piety and perservance. 
 Thus recovering by degrees his wonted 
 serenily, he enjoyed all the charms of ro- 
 mantic nature, with the ardor and vivacity 
 which were habitual to his character. 
 
 The chaise proceeded slov/ly through 
 tlie heavy sands ; but the mind of Theodore 
 was too much occupied with chimeras of its 
 own creation to attend to such trivial con- 
 cerns, when he was suddenly disturbed by 
 a female voice imploring charity, in the most 
 piteous accents. 
 
 '' God bless you, good woman 1" said 
 Theodore, whose heart was ever alive to 
 the distress of others, " for you seem to be 
 sadly afflicted." 
 
 *' Alas,** my good master,'* replied the 
 disconsolate wretch, as distinctly as sobs 
 would permit,'* I have been turned out of 
 my house, this blessed day, with these three 
 helpless children to provide for."
 
 l64 
 
 THEODORE; OE, 
 
 " How so ?" rejoined the compassionate 
 youth. 
 
 " Alas ! Sir, we were born to be unfor- 
 tunate. My poor husband was driven by 
 despair to kill a stag, which for these many 
 weeks has broken down our fence, and eat 
 up our corn. So the cruel-hearted men 
 carried him off to prison this morning, and 
 I am certain as how I shall never set eyes 
 on him again." 
 
 Theodore's tender bosom melted at the 
 tale of woe, and putting his hand into his 
 pocket he instinctively gave her a crown. 
 Convinced that he had been mistaken, and 
 could never intend to present her with so 
 large a sum, the honest creature ran after 
 liim, in order to clear up the error; nor 
 was she satisfied that the money was 
 honestly her own, till he had nodded an 
 assent with a captivating smile, and ordered 
 the postillion to drive on. 
 
 This little adventure furnished ample 
 matter for serious meditation, during the 
 rest of the journev :— nor could he con-
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. l6o 
 
 s'lder the subject without deeply regretting 
 that, by the established rules of society, 
 the comforts and subsistence of the great- 
 er number were thus barbarously sacrificed 
 to the sports and recreations of a few. 
 
 " Is it then impossible," cried he in a 
 transport of indignation, '^ in the present 
 state of the world, that equal justice 
 should prevail ? And m.ust an industrious 
 flimily be reduced to beggary, and deprived 
 of all those little blessings which they so 
 dearly earn by the sweat of their brow^, 
 lest an unfeeling noble should lose his diver- 
 sion even for a single day? — Could this have 
 been the intention of Providence in crea- 
 ting man ? — Can such a system be consist- 
 ent with its gracious design ?" 
 
 From this short specimen, it is easy 
 to infer that our hero's acquaintance with 
 the institutions of civil society, w^as no 
 less confined than the circle in which he 
 had hitherto moved; — for he ignorantly 
 supposed that in framing those regulations, 
 which are ostensibly destined to guard
 
 }66 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 the property of men, impartial justice had 
 presided, tracing the sacred code with an 
 unbiassed pen. Nor could he persuade 
 himself, till harsh conviction impressed the 
 fatal truth, that in an age of improvement, 
 when the voice of reason proclaimed the 
 rights and dignity of every created being, 
 it should be the melancholy lot of thou- 
 sands to pine and suffer through the ca- 
 price and folly of the great. 
 
 Having now ascended a hill, he obtained 
 a view of Gunzburg, w4iich stood on a 
 little eminence, near the banks of the 
 Danube. With a mixt sensation of ap- 
 prehension and delight, he contemplated 
 the spot of his future residence, which he 
 fondly regarded as the seat of learning, 
 and every useful art. As he crossed a 
 bridge, which led to the gates, he met two 
 friars, attended by three or four young men, 
 who were nearly of his own age. By their 
 habit he knew the former to be of the 
 Philippine order, and bowed respectfully, 
 as he passed : — His salute was graciously
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 16/ 
 
 returned, to the surprise and joy of our 
 hero, who could scarcely believe that such 
 eminent persons should deign to notice so 
 insignificant a being as himself. 
 
 With trembling step, Theodore was 
 conducted to the rector's apartment, whom 
 he found in company with several of the 
 professors, by all of whom he w^as received 
 with the most flattering assurances of re- 
 gard. The youth was so confused, that 
 he scarcely knew what he did, notwith- 
 standing the encouragement which he met 
 with ; nor was he a little relieved, when he 
 obtained permission to retire to his cham- 
 ber, where he was introduced to the ac- 
 quaintance of a brother student, whose 
 room he was destined to share. 
 
 Kreutzner treated our hero with the 
 greatest cordiality, and assisted in arran- 
 ging his little property. — This task, how- 
 ever, was postponed, till he had written a 
 few lines to his father and Theresa, in- 
 forming them of his safe arrival ; and of 
 the flattering reception which he had ex-
 
 1(58 
 
 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 perienced. — His thoughts, however, wer(? 
 'soon diverted to another object, by the en- 
 trance of the monk, whom he met on tlie 
 bridge, and who, to his great satisfaction, 
 proved to be no other than father Philip. 
 This excellent man, as the reader may 
 possibly recollect, had a brother in the 
 convent at PfuUendorf, who had recom- 
 mended Theodore, in the most pressing 
 terms, to his particular care. Father Phi- 
 lip, who was still in the prime of life, had 
 an open and interesting countenance, 
 which inspired confidence, and bespoke 
 the generous sentiments of a noble and 
 virtuous heart. Though totally exempt 
 from those contracted feelings which de- 
 grade the mind, and, by inspiring erroneous 
 opinions of the Divinty, lead to the nar- 
 row principles of bigotry ; — he was a firm 
 believer in all the important tenets of re- 
 ligion, and rigidly practised the elevated 
 lesson, which, by his situation, he was 
 called upon to teach. 
 
 Father Philip appeared, at first sight, to
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 1 6() 
 
 be greatly prejudiced in our hero's favofc 
 Taking him afTectlonately by the hand, he 
 assured him of his friendship, and ready 
 assistance, if he would only place a proper 
 confidence in him. He then proceeded to 
 makevarious inquiries respecting his family, 
 and took such an ap pare n't interest in all his 
 concerns, that Theodore began ah eady to 
 converse, without any restraint. McanwhilC;, 
 Kreutzner let slip no opportunity of throw- 
 ing in a word ; but the professor paid little 
 attention to his reniarks ; so that if our 
 liero had been better acquainted with the 
 world, he would have discovered that 
 his new acquaintance was by no mcaiis a 
 favorite with father Philip. 
 
 The bell now summoned them to din- 
 ner. — ^The company consisted of the profes- 
 sors and students : the former of whom 
 were eight in number ; the latter, twenty- 
 six. The conversation was lively, instruc- 
 tive, and unembarrassed by the pedantic 
 frov/n of authority. For it was the Vvish 
 -of the superiors to conciliate affection. 
 
 Vol. I. I
 
 i70 theodojik; oi{, 
 
 rallier than to inspire awe. Hence ever\ 
 one enjoyed the unrestrained |)rivilege of 
 expres'^ing iiis sentiments with freedom, 
 pro/ided it was done with decency, and 
 good humor. 
 
 The haughty demeanor of father Barna- 
 bas fonned the only exception to this gene- 
 ral rule, as he exercised tlie prerogatives of 
 power, with full as little attention to the com- 
 forts, or feelings of others, a>v li he had been 
 accustomed , from his cradle, to <: ■e.-^ t : ic sway : 
 Without deigning to reflect \\,i< v. il.r con- 
 sequences, he contradicted the i)p n (jus c.f 
 everyone whospoke,and maintained liisov, n 
 in a dictatorial tone, which plainly shewcii 
 how highlv he estimated his own abilities. 
 
 Tlie students were in general modest, 
 diffident, and well- behaved ; but Steinfeld 
 particularly attracted onr hero's notice. 
 Steinfeld was a young nvdu of noble fami- 
 ly, about two years older than himself. 
 His eyes were large and animated ; — his 
 hair light and luxuriant. — Intelligence
 
 TH E K NTH U S I A S T . 1 7 i 
 
 and sensibility beamed in cvcrv feature, bul: 
 the latter predominated, and gave to his 
 expressive countenance a tinge of melan- 
 choly. As the youtlis sat opposite to eacli 
 other at table, their looks frequently met, and 
 they instantly read in each other's face, 
 that they were destined by nature to be 
 friends. 
 
 CHAP. III. 
 
 Tlicic is no enemy so dan^trous as an ii^.siduous friei^d. 
 
 As Theodore had never received a re- 
 gular education, he was placed, of course, 
 at the bottom of the school, in order that 
 he might acquire a competent knowledge 
 of the latin grammar, before he proceeded 
 to more serious studies. Though tliis was 
 a little mortifying to a lad of his talents 
 and spirit, yet so well satisfied he was 
 with the treatment he received, that 
 I 2
 
 \7'1 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 he submitted to every thing without a 
 murmur. 
 
 Few of the religious orders have ren- 
 dered more essential service to the world, 
 than that of the Philippines. — Tiie plan 
 adopted by them, for the instruction of 
 youth, is founded on the most rational 
 principles, and sanctioned by the expe- 
 rience of ages. E\ery means have been 
 employed, which seemed best adapted to 
 inculcate virtue, to stimulate ambition in the 
 pursuit of knowledge. — The Jesuits, on the 
 contrary, were impelled alone by worldly 
 motives. They aimed at subjugating the 
 minds of men, and, provided that object 
 were attained, they were totally indiffe- 
 rent as to the methods. 
 
 Circumstances having rendered Kreutz- 
 ner the almost constant companion of 
 Theodore; he omitted nt) opportunity of cul- 
 tivating his friendship; for he soon perceived, 
 that by working upon his artless and un- 
 suspecting temper, he might obtain a com- 
 plete ascendancy over his mind. But in
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 3 73 
 
 order to accomplish this scheme with greater 
 Ijcslity, it was requisite, not only to engage 
 him in illicit pursuits, but also to prevent 
 his forming a closer intimacy with Stein- 
 feld. Tliis plan being arranged, they no 
 sooner returned from their evening walk, 
 than he produced a pack of cards, offering 
 to play with his new acquaintance^ at 
 whatever game he those. Aware that this 
 was contrary to the rules of prudence, 
 if not to those of the institution, our hero 
 positively refused. Kreutzner ridiculed his 
 scruples ; but perceiving that this was to no 
 purpose, he changed the whole system of 
 attack, commending him warmly for his 
 excellent principles, and assuring him that 
 he had no other view in making the pro- 
 posal, than to try how far they were ge- 
 nuine. P'or a night, or tuo, therefore, 
 he contented himself with serious con- 
 Vfjrsation, upon moral topic>, thus gradu- 
 ally extending liis inhuence, till he wai 
 at length enabled to carry his point. The 
 stake indeed, was k)\v, but fortune, as 
 I 3
 
 J 74 THEODOBE ; 0% 
 
 usual, decided in favor of tlie most ex- 
 perienced gamester. 
 
 By his talents and assiduity, Theodore 
 soop, established himself in the p:ood opinion 
 of his masters, who were delighted, at 
 finding a youth so eapjible of doing credit to 
 their instructions. Daring liis leisure 
 hours, he improved hi'^- understanding by 
 reading the ablest authors in has own lan- 
 guage, which father Pliilip lent him, di- 
 recting his inquiries to the noblest objects, 
 with the attention of a fond and discerning 
 parent. From him also, Theodore imbibed 
 his nrst ideas of theology, v.hich was taught 
 upon the most rational grounds that the. 
 catholic tenets would admit. For the en- 
 lightened monk possessed too much pene- 
 tration not to discover that true, piety nuist 
 be the same in every sect, since it is 
 founded upon the immutable basis of reason 
 and morality. 
 
 But as it is our intention to give a his- 
 tory of -Theodore's heart, and not of his 
 imderstanding, we shall dwell no longer on
 
 THM K N' THUS r AST. 17^ 
 
 his scicntiiic pursuits, hut hasten to objects 
 more concUicive to that purpose. 
 
 It was ail estabhihc'ci custom in these- 
 iriiiiary, pubhcly to read thiC rules of thic 
 iuytitution to every pupil, upon his acU 
 mission ; after whxh he was called upon 
 to su?;scribe his iianic in token of obedience 
 to them. Our hicro being summoned 
 before the rector iov this purpose, could 
 hardly conceal his eniotion, upon linding 
 that they contained the strictest prohibition 
 against Qvciy species of gaining. Happy, 
 liowever, in liaving hitherto escaped detec- 
 tion, he secretly resolved to repair tlie past 
 by the most rigid attention in future. 
 
 For several days he persevered in this 
 laudable resolution, in spite of in treaties, 
 or ridicule. Kreutzner was endowed Vv-itli 
 too acute a mind not to perceive that 
 [)e was daily losing ground in Tlieodore's 
 opinion, by the levity with which he treated 
 the most serious subjects, aiid deteripdned 
 accordingly to correct nis error. Again 
 he assumed an air ot" gravity, retailed out 
 J 4
 
 » /^ TIIEODOIIK ; OR, 
 
 HiOral sentences, with n methodislica! clnnvl, 
 ^iiid his prayers with oil the affected z-al of 
 tkvpocrisy, and threw his ciirda into tlie fire, 
 with the positive assevenition never ygnin 
 to transgress the hounds of duty. Tiiis 
 stidden cliange^ however siiFpicnoiis, j)ro- 
 duced the desired efieet. For Hieoclore 
 was the child of nature, and so thorougi ily 
 iinac(]uainted vv'ith the artifices of man- 
 kind, that he fondly believed the hearts of 
 others to be as open and hc;nest as his own. 
 Avv'are of this amiable weakness, his 
 insiduous friend resolved, by one decisive 
 stroke, to confirni his ascendency for ever. 
 Slaving prepared his features for the oc- 
 casion, he entered one evening, with a de- 
 j<^ted countenance, and throwing himself 
 carelessly into a chair, held a handkerchief 
 to his eyes, as if desirous to conceal his 
 tears. Theodore, as he expected, inquired 
 cinxiouslv into the cause, and after repeatedly 
 pressing him upon the subject, was told, 
 with a deep sigh, lliat it proceeded from 
 excess of sensibility.
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST-. 177 
 
 *' I have just been witness to a scene/ 
 said the consummate hypocrite, ** which 
 cxcittrs my tenderest sympathy. A poor 
 wiJow, with hve helpless children, applied 
 to me 'br relief. I attended her to lie/ 
 wreiched dwelling; I heard the halt-famished 
 babit^s cry piteously for food, which their 
 indigent mother was unable to procure; and, 
 to coin]>lete my distress, I had scarce any 
 ilnvAr to ":iv€ them. God knows how I 
 ilv^n regretted my past extravagance, which 
 iias deprived me of the purest consolation 
 tiuiL a human being can experience, that of 
 paiministering comfort to aftiiction." 
 
 The heart of Theodore was ever alive at 
 the call of charity. He took out a crown 
 from his little stock, requesting to con- 
 tribute his mice to the poor widov/s relief. 
 Kreuizner received the money with a pro- • 
 fusion of thanks, and having extolkd his 
 friv lid's humanity to the skies, spent it at 
 the t..vcrn, as he had done his own. 
 
 Thus was the noble youth led on, by ar- 
 ifice:- he most dangerous of any to a 
 I 5
 
 17B THEODORA; OK3 
 
 virtuous mind, till his insiduons compa- 
 nion usurped an empire almost despotic 
 over his thoughts and actions. He read 
 his letters* dictated the answers, some- 
 times adding a postcript of his own, in the 
 most fulsome strain of panegyric on his 
 friend, or the most disgusting flattery to- 
 wards Theresa. Her understanding, how- 
 ever, was superior to w^hat the cunning 
 youth supposed, who had formed his cal- 
 culations from the standard of her brother's 
 credulity. After replying to Kreutzner with 
 studied reserve, she thought it right to 
 give the follovv'ing caution to her brother : 
 
 " To judge from your own account, I 
 ought to rejoice at your meeting with so 
 many friends ; but Kreutzner's letters are 
 far from pleasing me, because I distrust his 
 sincerity. The many flattering compli- 
 ments which he addresses to me, with 
 whose merits or failings he is totally unac- 
 quainted, prevent my receiving the satis- 
 faction, which I should otherwise do_, from 
 the praises so liberally iDcstowed on you.
 
 IHE KNTHUSIAST. 179 
 
 Truth, as yoa well know, is my darling 
 virtue; — and, among the catalogue of 
 vices, there is none that I despise so much 
 as hypocrisy. On the contrary, I am de- 
 lighted with the character which you draw 
 of father Philip, and of young haron 
 Steinfeld ; the latter appears a most amiable 
 youth, and 1 recommend you strongly to 
 cultivate his acquaintance as much as pos- 
 sible." 
 
 The perusal of this letter awakened 
 doubts in the mind of Theodore ; but they 
 were scon efraced by the sententious phrases 
 of hypocrisy. 
 
 Father Philip also observed, with deep 
 regret, the alteration which had taken place 
 in our hero's behavior, and resolved to 
 warn him of his danger. Conscious of 
 having neglected both him and. Steinfeld, 
 Theodore was overwhelmed w^ith confusion, 
 and defended himself, accordingly, in a very 
 awkward manner, alledging, in excuse, that 
 he had been more than commonly occupied 
 in his studies, and had spent the few
 
 380 TKEODOP.E ; OR, 
 
 m-oiTients lie could spare from them. In 
 serious conversation with Kreutzner. 
 
 *'■ Though I know no harm of Kreutz- 
 ner,'' said the penetrating monk, ** he is 
 by no means a favorite of mine. When I 
 speak to him, he has ahvays a simper at 
 command, and scarcely ever looks me in the 
 face. These are unfavorable symptoms, 
 and betray meaness, servihty, and cunning. 
 Besides, he is so officiously polite, that I 
 feel inclined to suspect him of some inte- 
 rested design. For at his time of life, there 
 is no charm so captivating as that of na- 
 ture, nor any character so becoming as 
 that honest bluntness^, which is the ap- 
 propriate virtue of our nation." 
 
 " What is your opinion, Stcinfeld.^" 
 continued he, addressing himself to the 
 baron, who had just joined them, *' for you 
 see more of Kreutzner than I do." 
 
 ** To speak freely," replied the honest 
 youth," I must confess that he is a person 
 of whom I could never make a friend; and 
 the following anecdote will in some measure 
 account for my dislike. We were walking
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 181 
 
 the Other evening with several of our fellow 
 students, when a poor, ragged boy applied 
 lo us for relief. Unfortunately I had left 
 rr.v purse at home ; but I promised to give 
 him something; another time. With this 
 he was satisfied, and would have gone away 
 had not Kreutzner drawn him on by repeated 
 questions, till we got to the river; when, 
 imexpeetedly turning round, he knocked 
 the poor lad's hat into the water, and ran 
 away laughing lieartilv at his ow^n wit. 
 This at once decided my opinion of 
 Kreutzner, and I secretly resolved to avoid 
 dl further intimacv with him." 
 
 " You see, Theodore,'' resumed father 
 Philip, " that my prejudice was not un- 
 just, and I therefore seriously advise you to 
 be upon your guard." 
 
 For some time, this conversation pro- 
 duced the desired effect. Theodore grew 
 more reserved in his behaviour towards 
 Kreutzner, and more assiduous in his visits 
 to father Philip. This excellent man had 
 a natural taste for the tine arts, which he
 
 182 
 
 cultivated studiously ; — and^ as he quickly 
 perceived that our hero's genius was capa- 
 ble ot the highest attainments, he in- 
 structed him in the first principles of 
 drawing and music, for both of which he 
 discovered a strong predilection. Steinfeld 
 also,, was a tolerable performer on the 
 violin, and Theodore was so delighted 
 with that instrument, that his progress 
 was uncommonly rapid ; so that after a 
 few lessons he was able to accompany his 
 friend. This simiiiarity of taste could not 
 have failed to cement a lasting intimacy 
 between them, had not Kreutzner again 
 had recourse to artifice, in order to pre- 
 vent an union so destructive of his future 
 plajis. 
 
 Convinced that the only method to 
 succeed, was to weaken Theodore's con- 
 fidence in his new friends, he directed his 
 batteries accordingly. 
 
 " Did you/' inquired he with a signifi- 
 cant look, as they rose from the table,
 
 THE EN'THUSIAST. 183 
 
 " remark anything particular^ to-day at 
 dinner, in father Philip's behaviour ?'' 
 
 Theodore. Nothing particular: he was 
 good humored, attentive, and entertaining 
 as usual. 
 
 Kreutzner. Hum ! Attentive, and 
 entertaining 1 How blind some folks 
 are. 
 
 Theodore. I really do not comprehend 
 you. 
 
 Kreutzner. I have avast mind then to 
 leave you in your ignorance. Perh'aps it 
 would be kinder to do it-^— and.yet I hate to 
 see any one so cursedly duped. 
 Theodore. Duped ! . 
 Kreutzner. Yes, duped ; for I can 
 give it no milder term. — But you will never 
 know who is really your friend, till it is too 
 late to make the discovery. 
 
 Theodore. No great penetration re- 
 quired to discover that, I believe. 
 
 Kreutzner, You think then, I see, 
 that father Philip, and that little hypocrite,
 
 184 THEODORE ; OR^ 
 
 Steiufcki, are so fond of yoii as tliey pre- 
 tend to be ? 
 
 I'heodore. Most certainly I do ; — for 
 wtjat interest could they have in deceiving 
 me ? 
 
 Kreutznet. No accounting for peo[)]e's 
 motives ; they are best known to them- 
 selves ; all I presunne to judge of, are facts. 
 But what I see, I see. 
 
 Theodore. Pray explain yourself a lit- 
 tle more clearly ; for I do not yet under- 
 stand the drift of these insinuations. 
 
 Kreiitzncr, ITou did'nt then observe 
 how Steinfeld and father Philip winked at 
 each other, while in the fulness of your 
 hearty yon were praising the v;rtucs, 
 and benevolence of your village paster ? 
 But tiiis is not the first time that I have 
 caught them hoaxing you. — Indeed, you 
 hardly ever open your mouth, without 
 their making signs to each other, as if 
 theironly object was to discover something 
 ridiculous in all you utter.
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 185 
 
 Theodore, Impossible ! you must be 
 iiiistaken. 
 
 Kreutzner, I was mistaken too, I sup- 
 pose, in what I overheard no longer ago 
 than yesterday. 
 
 Theodore, ( IVith apparent emotion) 
 Overheard ! 
 
 Kreutzner, Yes, to the full as distinctly 
 as I now hear you. As I was passing 
 father Philip*s door, my attention was at- 
 tracted by loud peals of laughter. Sup- 
 posing you to be of the party, and having 
 something particular to say to you, I was just 
 going to turn the lock, when hearing your 
 name, I stopped, and listened attentively at 
 the key- hole. — Judge of my surprize and 
 indignation, when I discovered that t'nese 
 admirable friends were amusing them5elves 
 entirely at your expense. 
 
 ' Here's a specimen of Ro^^enlhaTs execu- 
 iio'iy' cried Steinfeld, scraj)ing his fiddle^ till 
 he set my teeth on edge, and then bursting 
 into a loud laugh, as if he had said the 
 wittiest thino; in the world.
 
 idO THEODORE; OR, 
 
 * ^-Ind now J or hi^ singing,'' adds the 
 odious monk, squeaking out a few dis- 
 cordant notes, not mucii unlike those of a 
 screech owl ;~And then they laughed 
 again as if their sides would split. 
 
 *' This put me into such a fury that I couul 
 hardly contain myself; however, u[X)n se> 
 €Ond thoughts, I deemed it more prudent 
 to retire, determining to seize the earliest 
 opportunity of acquainting you with their 
 duplicity." 
 
 Theodore's vanity was not a little mor- 
 tified at this intelligence ; for the praise, 
 which had been so deservedly bestowed on 
 his rapid progress in music, had excited in 
 his breast no contemptible idea of his own 
 skill. Kreutzuer read his thoughts, and 
 resolving to confirm the nrst impression, 
 thus continued: — 
 
 '' In spite of all their pretensions, you 
 may rest assured that they have nothing 
 in view but their own interest. This, 
 however, is no uncommon trick with the 
 monk, who is as shrewd a fellow as any
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST, 18/ 
 
 in the college, and knnw8 perfectly well 
 on which side his bread is buttered. By 
 flattering his pnpilsj ho gets many a pre- 
 sent from their friends,~Why how do you 
 imagine he came by so numerous a library? 
 for when he arrived here, he was as poor as 
 a rat, and had not a Look besides \m bre- 
 viary. Aye, aye-; leave him alone for that; 
 he 11 always make hay while the Bun shines. 
 " And now for Stemfeld, whom you 
 may possibly suppose to be above doing a 
 dirty action, becayse he's the son of a ba- 
 ron. Had he the means of living credit- 
 ably, he might, probably^ be as good as 
 his neighbours; but his father is such a mi- 
 serly dug, that he is reduced to. support 
 himself by his wits, I dare say, too, that 
 he has persuaded you to look on him as a 
 saint:, but, depend upon, it, he loves a 
 pretty girl full as well as another; and 
 many an evening does he slip out, when 
 you think him occupied in iiis studies, 
 while father Philip winks at his irregula- 
 rities.
 
 188 THEODORE; OK, 
 
 ** Well, what ST^y you to tliis? All 
 16 not gold that glitters, my fr'u.'iicl, as 
 you will hereafter discover, when you are 
 better acquainted with the world/' 
 
 Theodore was so enraged, to think that 
 he had been thus cruelly deceived by those 
 whom he regarded as his wannest friends, 
 that, in the first ebullitions of passion, he 
 declared his resolution of going instantly to 
 Steinfeldj and demanding an explanation of 
 his conduct. Alarmed at a step which at 
 oncewould have defeated all his future pro- 
 jects, Kreutzner determined to prevent it, 
 at any rate. 
 
 With a look of reproach he, therefore, 
 sternly asked, " If treatment like this, 
 was a proper return for his kindness ; I 
 have warned you,'' continued he, '^ with 
 froternal regard, against the snares which 
 are laid for your inexperience, and you are 
 about to expose n^e to tlic malice of a man, 
 who, by his intrigues and cunning, has ac- 
 quired an influence, almost uiibounded, 
 dver tiie whole fratcj-nit)-. I sliall make no
 
 THE EXTHUSIAST. 189 
 
 furtlier comment upon such behaviour, but 
 leave the decison to your own feelings.'* 
 
 This rebuke was conclusive. Tlieodore 
 was silenced, and Kreutzner triumplied in 
 fwll security. 
 
 CHAP. fV. 
 
 There is no Monitor iikt EKpcrieixc 
 
 Theodore was scarce less surprized than 
 afflicted at the mortilVing discovery he 
 had made; yet the more he considered the 
 subject, the more he was convinced that it 
 was true ; for the plot was so artfully laid, 
 that manv little incidents combined to give 
 an appearance of veracity to the charge. 
 Father Philip was naturally fond of a joke, 
 and would frequently jest with the students, 
 in their hours of recreation ; but Stein- 
 kk\ being a favorite, hi^ observations w^as
 
 U)0 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 oftener addressed to him than to any of 
 his comrades ; — and it was this circum- 
 stance that so completely imposed upon 
 our hero. He now became attentive to all 
 their motions, and never saw them in close 
 conversation without concluding himself 
 to be the object of their satire. While 
 observing, that all their admonitions were 
 thrown avvav, thev, on their side, grew 
 more reserved in their behaviour towards 
 liim, hoping tliat some fortunate accident 
 might open his eyes, in time to save him 
 from perdition. 
 
 Father Fliilip, liowever, still kept a 
 watchful eyeover all his actions, and beheld, 
 with regret, tlie rapid strides which he daily 
 made in the path of di:'sipation. Theodore 
 becam.e negligent in his studies, and addict- 
 ed to expensive arnuscn'ients. In company 
 with a fev/ unprincipled young men, he 
 frequented public houses, learned to gamic, 
 to drink, and to talk with levity on the 
 most sacred subjects. Kreutzner, indeed, 
 attempted, more tlian once, to persuade
 
 THE EXTHU3IAST. l^l 
 
 him to partake of tlie licentious irolics of 
 the night ; but in this, hccoulci never suc- 
 ceed, though he consented to connive at 
 his friend's irregularities, and to assist in 
 deceiving the masters. ^^But fortunately for 
 our hero, the fault was too ofren repealed 
 to escape detection ; and Kreutzner bci\'i^ 
 watched, was caught at the moment wirjn 
 he was entering the seminarv bv a private 
 window, the bars of Vvliich Ijc had removed. 
 This offence was of so grave a cast, that 
 expulsion could not fail to ensue, and sen- 
 tence was pronounced accordingly. 
 
 Kreutzner, who knew the severity of his 
 father's temper, began now to be seriously 
 alarmed, and falling on his knees, conjured 
 his judges to mitigate the rigor of the 
 law. To this they at length consented ; 
 and were upon the point of inflicting some 
 milder punishment, when one of tlie ser- 
 vants entered with a bundle of books, which 
 had been found concealed in the culprit's 
 chamber, and ^^ere known to be the pro- 
 perty of father Philip. All hopes of p-ai -
 
 ig'2 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 don were now destroyed ; and a letter wxi? 
 dispatched to Kreutzner's father, acquaint- 
 ing- him with the whole transaction, and 
 requesting that he would send immediately 
 for his son. 
 
 The intimacy which subsisted between 
 Tlieodore and the offender, would have ex- 
 j.'jxsedthe fonner to many difficulties — but 
 he had so far gained the good will of his 
 superiors, that they agreed to treat him 
 with the greatest lenity, in consideration of 
 his want of experience. So that after a se- 
 rious exhortation, to be m.oi * circumspect in 
 future, he was again restored to favor. This 
 generous behaviour made a deeper impres- 
 sion on his mind, than the most rigorous 
 chastisement could have done. With hor- 
 ror and amazement, lie contemplated tlie 
 danger which threatened iiim, and felt 
 grateful to Providence for having escaped, 
 while his heart was uneontaminated^ and 
 liis reputation unimpeached. For some 
 time he appeared more difRdent than usual ; 
 scarce venturing to raise his eyes, lest tie
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. ] 93 
 
 should read his own condemnation in the 
 reproachful looks of his more virtuous 
 comrades. 
 
 Ahsorhed in these mortifying reflections, 
 he shut himself up in his room^ in full per- 
 suasion that he was become an object of 
 contempt to the whole community. This 
 amiable contrition did not escape the vigi- 
 lance of father Philip ; but It£ w^as con- 
 vinced the lesson would be more efficacious, 
 if the penitent were left, for a few days, to 
 chew the cud of repentance in solitude. 
 
 One evening, however, as our hero was 
 meditating upon his own misconduct, the 
 door suddenly opened, and Steinfeld entered, 
 Theodore started at the sight of a youth, 
 whose kindness he had so ill-requited. 
 He felt embarrassed and unable to speak. 
 Steinfeld pitied his situation ; and in a tone 
 highly calculated to inspire confidence, in- 
 quired if he interrupted his studies? Adding, 
 for if this were the case he would postpone 
 his visit till a more convenient opportu- 
 nity. 
 
 Vol. L k
 
 iQ-l theodoke; ok, 
 
 Theodore. Pray sit down, for I nuist 
 
 always be happy to see you though I 
 
 Httle expected that pleasure or I should 
 
 have put my room into better order. 
 
 Steinfeld. Why so ceremonious, Theo- 
 dore, with your friends ? 
 
 Theodore, And can you still call yourself 
 so ? 
 
 Steinfeld. From my heart I can. Here 
 is my hand, and let us henceforth forget 
 what is past. 
 
 Theodore. Generous Steinfeld 1 How 
 can I ever deserve this goodness ? 
 
 Steinfeld. Do not undervalue your own 
 merit. It is true, you have been imposed 
 on, but every one is liable to error; and- 
 although you neglected us for a while, nei- 
 ther father Philip, nor I, ever ceased to 
 esteem you. 
 
 Theodore. Father Philip, too ; gracious 
 heaven ! how can I express my grati- 
 tude towards that excellent man ? 
 
 Steinfeld. By acting, as you cannot fail to 
 do^ if you listen to his advice.
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 1 g5 
 
 Theodore. Believe me, Steinfeld, my 
 heart is not depraved, however culpable my 
 actions may appear ; and if you can over- 
 look mv past misconduct, it shall be the 
 study of my life to regain your good opinion. 
 
 With tears of affection they now em- 
 braced ; yet, delighted as our hero felt at 
 the recovery of so valuablea friend, his hap- 
 piness was not complete till he was assured 
 of forgiveness from father Philip's month. 
 
 This momentary disgrace produced a 
 permanent effect on the character of Theo- 
 dore. His principles became more fixed 
 and steady ; — his behaviour more firm and 
 manly. His understanding also daily im- 
 proved, under the parental guidance of his 
 excellent tutor, who not only supplied him 
 with the works of the most esteemed au- 
 thors, but taught him the important lesson 
 of applying the wisdom of others to his 
 own advantage. Nor was his intimacy 
 with Steinfeld scarce less beneficial ; who, 
 though not what is usually called a lively 
 ctjmpanion, possessed an acute and pene- 
 K 2
 
 1q6 theodoue ; OR, 
 
 trating judgment — a generous, though sus- 
 ceptible temper — a heart capable of the 
 warmest affections — and an admiration for 
 whatever was sublime and beautiful, that 
 bordered upon enthusiasm. 
 
 But to return to Kreutzner, of whom 
 we are about to take a final leave. For 
 some days he remained a close prisoner, 
 till a friend of his father's arrived. Before 
 his departure^ he earnestly solicited an in- 
 terview with Theodore, but that was posi- 
 tively refused ; yet the amiable youth sent 
 him a trifling present, towards liquidating 
 his debtSj as he heard that he was treated by 
 his own family with unrelenting severity. 
 
 From subsequent accounts, it appears 
 that his father's resentment was implacable. 
 Desirous of removing so worthless a son 
 from all communication with his other 
 children, he procured him a subaltern's 
 commission in an Austrian regiment, which 
 was at that time in garrison in Hungary ; — 
 convinced, that he would either be restored 
 to a proper sense of honor, by the rigid dis- 

 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. ig7 
 
 clpline of a military life, or if he proved 
 incorrigible, would fall an early victim 
 to his licentious pleasures in that unhealthy 
 climate. 
 
 CHAP. V. 
 
 In which the reader becomes acquainted with a German baron. 
 
 Being once more restored to his own good 
 opinion, as well as to the favor of his real 
 friends, Theodore ventured to renew his 
 correspondence with Theresa, which had 
 been sadly neglected of late. In the 
 fulness of his heart, he made ample con- 
 fession of all his errors, without attempting 
 the smallest palliation ; — convinced that 
 she would be more inclined to pity than 
 to condemn him. But no expressions 
 appeared strong enough to paint the feel- 
 ings of his heart; when he spoke of his 
 k3
 
 198 THEODORE ; ORj 
 
 obligations towards those ^vhom he re- 
 garded as his gaardian angels. 
 
 Theresa's answer was such as might be 
 expected from so fond and indulgent a 
 friend. After congratulating her brother 
 upon his fortunate escape, she continued 
 thus : 
 
 " I love the worthy professor, and his 
 amiable pupil, with a sisterly affection : 
 how truly generous w^as their behaviour 
 towards you. The interesting account 
 which you ^live of vour reconciliaiiou with 
 Steiufeld, drew^ tears from my eyes ; and I 
 now flatter myself, that you will become 
 every day more worthy of his esteem. 
 
 *^ liachacl has spent the last month at 
 home. You know that I never love to 
 complain, or I could relate a thousand little 
 incidents to sl.iew how much pains she takes 
 to render herself disagreeable to the whole 
 family, and particularly tome. Fortunately, 
 iiowever, her visit is drawing towards a 
 conclusion ; and I am persuaded, that we
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. IQQ 
 
 both look forward to the day of separation 
 with equal pleasure. 
 
 '^ Charles is on the point of marriage 
 with the only daughter of the bailiff of 
 Deilingen. I believe you never saw her ; 
 nor am I much acquainted with her myself. 
 But I am told she is both rich and covetous ; 
 and experience convinces me that it is im- 
 possible to be long in her company without 
 discovering, that she looks upon herself as 
 superior to the rest of her neighbours, 
 because her fortune is greater than theirs. 
 Her manner, too, is so stan:h and formal, 
 that she almost forces me to blush at my 
 own levity." 
 
 '^ From my soul I pity Charles. For 
 though I am convinced that her fortune is 
 his only inducement, yet I fear he will 
 hereafter repent the bargain, and find out 
 that afBuence may be purchased too dearhv 
 Were I a man, I would chuse a woman of 
 sense and feeling, who was capable of 
 becoming m.y constant companion, my 
 counsellor, and my friend. For I never 
 K.4
 
 200 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 heard of that union proving happy, which 
 was founded on interest, and not on es- 
 teem. 
 
 ^^ Several Prussian officers are arrived in 
 the neighbouring villages, where they are 
 prisoners on their parole. They frequently 
 call here, but the only one whom I like is 
 major Nordbeim. He is a w^orthy and 
 amiable man, lias seen a good deal of the 
 world, and been severely wounded in diffe- 
 rent battles. His manners are soft and in- 
 teresting; liis understanding refined and 
 cultivated, and his principles uncorrupted, 
 though he was educated in a camp. He is 
 passionately fond of reading, and possesses 
 many of our best modern authors ; a few 
 of which he has recommended to me. I 
 am delighted with Gellert's fables, and 
 Rabener's satires; the latter of whom paints 
 the follies of his countrymen in the most 
 striking colors. He likewise lent me 
 another poem, but the style is so difficult, 
 that I have hitherto made very little pro- 
 gress; but the major assures me, that I
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST 201 
 
 shall be amply repaid for all my trouble. It is 
 called the Messiah^ and is written by a cele- 
 brated poet, whose name I do not recollect. 
 
 " The major is perfectly acquainted with 
 every thing that relates to you, and disap- 
 proves your plans entirely. He thinks, 
 like me, that you were never intended for a 
 monk, but wishes you to embrace a military 
 life, and to serve with him under the im- 
 mortal Frederic." 
 
 Theodore was so charmed with his sister's 
 letter, that he communicated it instantly to 
 Steinfeld, who, equally pleased v/ith the sim.- 
 plicity of the st\ le, could talk oi nothing 
 but Theresa. No topic could be half so in- 
 teresting to our hero, who described her in 
 such bewitching colors, that the young 
 baron already entertained a strong pre- 
 possession in her favor. 
 
 Being led by the turn of conversation to 
 the tranquil pleasures of domestic life, Stein- 
 feld could not conceal the regret which he. 
 felt on his friend's account. 
 K 5
 
 202 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 " Theodore,'' said he with more than 
 usual warmth, '^ I cannot ex{)ress how 
 much I pity you, for depriving yourself of 
 the only permanent bliss this world can 
 afford. 
 
 • " What felicity, my friend, can equal 
 that of the married state, when minds are in 
 unison with each other. You speak of 
 your sister with so much warmth: and 
 affection, appreciating the perfections of the 
 female character, with such sensibility and 
 discernment, that I tremble for you, should 
 you meet with a wom.an who resembles 
 Theresa. Your heart is formied for all the 
 ■finest sympathies of which human nature is 
 susceptible. Whatever is elevated or beau- 
 tiful, captivates and inflames it. These,, 
 you may rest assured, are not qualities cal- 
 culated for a cell; nor did heaven endow 
 you v.ith them, that you might shut your 
 bosom against a passion, which scatters 
 roses in our rugged path, softening and re- 
 fming the human mind, till it assumes its 
 most perfect form.. Let me intreat yoU;,.
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 203 
 
 therefore, again and again to consider the 
 sacrifice which you are about to make, while 
 it isscill in your power to retract." 
 
 Theodore, I allow there is much weight 
 in what you say, though you certainly view 
 the subject in an unfavorable light. Believe 
 me, I am far from undervaluing the com- 
 forts of the marriage state, but, at the same 
 time, I feel that there are more roads than, 
 one, which lead to happiness, and every 
 man, therefore, ought to chusethat which 
 is best suited to his particular taste.. 
 
 Sleinfeld. Though. I am an advocate 
 for matrimony ,^ I speak rather from the 
 experience of others, than from my. own. 
 observation, 
 
 Theodore. From tliis I conjecture that 
 your father and moiiicr did not live happily 
 together. 
 
 Sleinfeld.. That is indeed a melancholv 
 subject, and awake!?s the most painful re- 
 collection. Hitherto I have entiisiecl the 
 secret to no one ; but from yuu I will 
 hide nothing, being convmced that I may 
 rely on your discretion.
 
 204 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 Theodore nodded an assent, and his 
 friend continued. 
 
 " I am concerned that my father's cha- 
 racter is by no means calculated to inspire 
 respect. Educated in a camp, he con- 
 tracted a taste for dissipation, which nothing 
 could correct." 
 
 " My mother, who was descended from 
 an ancient family in the Palatinate, was 
 married young. Often have I heard my 
 father relate the history of his courtship, 
 which was as follows. Meeting my mother 
 accidentally at her father's country house, 
 w4ien serving with the Imperialists on the 
 Rhine, he was captivated with her person, 
 and determined instantly to propose. 
 Comrade, said he, to the old baron, as they 
 w^ere setting over the bottle, you wiist give 
 me your daughter for a ivife. — With all my 
 heart, was the answer; and you may tale 
 h^r as soon as you please, 
 
 '• Thus every thing was settled before 
 my mother's consent was asked. TlKnigli 
 it is probable she would not have objected;
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 205 
 
 for as her fortune was small, and her lifo 
 uncomfortable^ any change of situation ap- 
 peared desirable. Besides, as my father 
 was passionately in love, she flattered her- 
 self to be instrumental in working a reform. 
 For some time she succeeded^ even be- 
 yond her fondest expectations ; immediately 
 after their marriage, they retired to 
 Steinfeld-Castle, where they lived as com- 
 fortably as persons of such different tempers 
 could be expected to do. At the conclu- 
 sion of the war, my father Vv'as visited by 
 several of his military companions, ^^'ho 
 rallied him upon his reformation, attributing 
 it to the influence of petticoat government. 
 Unable to resist their jokes, he returned to 
 his ancient habits, and our house became 
 tlic seat of riot, debauchery, and gaming; 
 while the general tone of conversation was 
 such as no modest ear could endure. 
 
 " At first, my mother submitted to her 
 situation without a murmur, and omitted no 
 effort to reclaim him. Often have I known 
 her retire to weep in our nursery^ while the
 
 206 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 castle surounded with licentious revelry. 
 Her resignation, however, served only to 
 render my father more incautious in h\s 
 behaviour^ till, gradually throwing aside all 
 decency and restraint^ he introduced into 
 the house a woman of profligate morals, 
 with whom he had been formerly connec- 
 ted. In a short time, she assumed the 
 entire management of the flimily, prcsioing 
 publicly at table, while my poor motlier was 
 compelled to confine herself to lier own 
 apartment. This, however, was not 
 suthcient to satisfy her rival, who sought 
 every opportunity of insulting her, mj&Uh:i.!g 
 her childrea before lier face, and even 
 'teaching my sisters improper songs, at an 
 dge when they were incapable o[ under- 
 standing the true meaning of v^liat they 
 uttered. 
 
 "This, indeed^ was too much for my roor 
 nnothertobear; every tender feelmg revolted 
 at the idea of exposing her unprotected 
 daughters to inevitable ruin ; and in-order to 
 t>ave themj she retired to a small estate of
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 20/ 
 
 iny father's, where she devoted all her time 
 and study to tiie education of her children. 
 It was there that vny mother s . .i tues shone 
 forth in their full lustre, and drew upon her 
 the admiration of all who knew her. For 
 while a highly-cultivated mmd enabled her 
 to shine in the most polished society, the 
 natural benevolence of her heart rende. -tI 
 her the idol of the poor^ who never petitioned 
 in vain for relief.. 
 
 ^' Alas: my friend! it is impossible for 
 ine to contemplate her memory witiiOut the 
 liveliest emotions of gratitude ; for from her 
 I imbibed the noblest priiiCiples of morality 
 and religion. This little crucihx was hjr's ; 
 and never, while I exist, will I part frcin it. 
 Often have I seen her bathe it in tca-s. 
 Often has she knelt before it, while sur- 
 rounded by her four children, she prayed 
 for my father's conversion, and. our fucare 
 welfare. 
 
 " As we advanced in years, she was as- 
 sisted in our education bv a j oung m.an of 
 extensive knowledge, and excellent princi-
 
 203 THEODORE ; on, 
 
 pies, to whom I chiefly owe the httle pro- 
 gress that I have made in Hterature." 
 
 Here Steinfeld paused. The remem- 
 brance of the ensuing scene was too pain- 
 ful for his feelings, and he wiped away the 
 starting^ tear. Theodore observed him in 
 melancholy silence, while by a natural 
 coincidence of ideas, the image of his own 
 mother presented itself to his though ts> 
 adorned with every virtue that filial piety 
 could impart. But while liis lively fancy 
 was thus rapidly wandering through the' 
 visionary regions of imagination, he was re- 
 called to the contemplation of real distress, 
 by the continued narrative of his friend. 
 
 " My mother," resumed the affectionate 
 youth, with a deep sigh, '^died of a decline. 
 Her illness was long, and painful ; yet she 
 supported it with a degree of resignation, 
 which christian piety alone could inspire. 
 But let mehasten to conclude this afflicting 
 scene. In her last moments, she called us 
 to her. I saw the smile of satisfaction 
 beam on her pallid countenance, while she
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 20^ 
 
 thanked our excellent tutor for his attention 
 towards us^ and recommended us warmly to 
 his protection. She then gave us her part- 
 ingblessing, exhorting us to persevere^ with 
 unshaken constancy, in the path of virtue ; 
 that when summoned away by the divine 
 decree^ we might resign our breath with the 
 welcome conviction of eternal bliss. 
 
 " From this melancholy period, I resi- 
 ded with my uncle at Munich^ till within 
 these last too years, when I was placed 
 here. My younger brother has an ap- 
 pointment at the electoral court, where my 
 eldest sister is advantageously married. 
 But alas ! my other sister is less fortunate. 
 She lives with my father, at Steinfeld Castle, 
 and though educated by my mother in the 
 strictest principles, I tremble for her, ex- 
 posed as she constantly is to the contagious 
 example of vice. You now, my dear Theo- 
 dore, are acquainted with all the events of 
 my life, and I am confident that I may 
 rely on your discretion as firmly as on my 
 own."
 
 5210 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 Theodore, after assuring Ills friend 
 that lie liad nothing to fear, ajid ex- 
 pressing the warm interest whieh he 
 took in all his concerns, could not re- 
 frain from enquiring into his future 
 plans. 
 
 Steinfeld replied, that the love of re- 
 tirement would, in all probability, in- 
 duce him to prefer a country life, as he 
 would thus be enabled to pursue his 
 studies in uninterrupted tranquiliity, and 
 left to the enjoyment of that indepen- 
 dence, w^hich he prized beyond every 
 earthly blessing. 
 
 CKAP. VL 
 
 Which is one of the shortest in the Book. 
 
 The entrance of father Plilllp put an end 
 to this interesting conversation: as the 
 evening v/as delightful, he proposed a
 
 TTI E E-VTII L' S I A ST. 211 
 
 walk, desiring them totake tlieir pencils^ 
 and paper, in order to amuse tliemselves 
 witli sketching some of the beautiful 
 scenery, in which the banks of the Da.- 
 nube abound. Having reached an ele- 
 vated spot, which commanded the river 
 for many miles, they seated themselves 
 on the grass, at a little distance from each 
 other. The scene was animated and pic- 
 turesque. The stream was covered v/ith 
 vessels of different dimensions. Some 
 of which w^ere laden with merchandize; 
 while others, solely devoted to amuse- 
 ment, were filled with iovial bands, who 
 made the shore re-echo with their loud 
 tumultuous song, and the mingled crash 
 of every noisy instrument. Herds of 
 cattle grazed on the sloping meadow, in- 
 terspersed with groupes of children, more 
 faucifully disposed than art could pla.ce 
 them. In a word, every object com- 
 bined to excite the enthusiasm of a pain- 
 ter, and to o-ive varictv and animation to 
 liis dcsi<j:n.
 
 212 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 The two friends engaged in different 
 occupations; for, while Steinfeld copied 
 the magnificent remains of a dismantled 
 castle, the once proud seat of feudal des- 
 potism, Theodore was emplo3^ed in read- 
 ing one of Virgifs Eclogues, in praise 
 of a pastoral life. A shrill, and sudden 
 shriek roused them from their studies. 
 It came from the ri> er, and was the cry 
 of despair; uttered by a poor, helpless 
 boy, who had ventured beyond his 
 depth. 
 
 Theodore and his friend started up, 
 and rushing down the hill together, made 
 directly towards the spot, from whence 
 the scream proceeded. The bank being 
 slippery, Steinfeld fell, but his compa- 
 nion, unrestrained by fear, leaped into 
 the rapid current, and seizing the child 
 by the hair, dragged it to the shore, 
 just as Frederic was ' preparing to follow 
 him. Scarcely was he landed, when a 
 woman came running towards them with 
 a frantic air. It was the mother of the
 
 THE EXT^IUSIAST. ij 1 J 
 
 boy. who had been informed by her 
 younger son of his brother's danger. 
 
 ''Where is he? Avhere is he?" ex- 
 claimed she, staring wildly around, 
 *'■ Where is my child? my darling?" 
 Overwhelmed with despair, she seemed 
 upon the point of plunging into the 
 stream, when she was suddenly stopped 
 by the deho-htful crv of." Mother! 
 mother!'' Transported at the well-known 
 accents, she turned quickly round ; she 
 saw her child alive; she caught him in 
 her arms, and pressed him to her bosom, 
 in an ecstasy of joy, too powerful for 
 utterance. At length, having recovered 
 the use of speech, she eagerly inquired, 
 by what means he had escaped. The boy 
 was not sufficiently himself to reply, and 
 no one answering, she looked about with 
 an inquisitive eye, in search of the gene- 
 rous mortal, to whom she was indebted 
 for the salvation of her son ; for her 
 heart overflowed with gratitude and love. 
 
 " There stands the youth/' said fa-
 
 21 i THEODORE; OR^ 
 
 tiicr Philip, pointing to our hero, '' who 
 saved your child." 
 
 '^ G[}d bless him, a thousand and a 
 tlionsaiid times !'' exclaimed the woman, 
 in '-s, tone of the tenderest sensibihty. 
 '' Had poor little Joe been drowned, 
 what w^oiild have become of me? for 
 with all his fieaks and pranks, 'tis as 
 tender a hearted child as e\ er crawled. 
 Lord help iiim! wliy lie hasnt a dry 
 tlnead about Vin. Tlie young gentle- 
 man too is in a iine pickle, that's wlial 
 lie is. But heaven Vvill reward him for 
 it, though I can't. For I am a poor 
 w^idow, and have nothing to live on be- 
 sides my earnings. Yet, what signifies 
 that, since Joe is safe." 
 
 In this strain, the good v/oman would 
 have continued for hours, had not fatlier 
 Phihp put an end to the conversation by 
 wishing her a good evening. The two 
 young men, as they walked away, sli]7- 
 ped a pliece of money into her hand, ex-
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. CI.) 
 
 hortiiig lier to keep a more watchful eye 
 orer her children in tuture. 
 
 Theodore ohserving that Stcinfeld's 
 face was scratched, inquired the cause, 
 and was told that it was occasioned by 
 the fall, 
 
 '^ You would not, I trust," said the 
 professor, "■ have been rash enough to 
 jump into th.e river, for I never under- 
 stood that 3'ou could swim." 
 
 " Not very well," replied the youth, 
 a little confused at the question, " but 
 at such a moment, who can think of 
 themselves ?" 
 
 Father Philip was too much pleased 
 with the motive, to expatiate upon the 
 imprudence of the acticm; but, turn- 
 ing to Theodore, said, '' Let us hurry 
 home, as fast as we can, lest you should 
 catch cold from your wet clothes." 
 
 " Never think of me;" cried our hero, 
 •' the pleasure which I feel will keep me 
 w-arm." 
 
 " You are a gallant fellow," resumed,.
 
 216' 
 
 his tutor, patting him gently on the 
 shoulder. " When you are clrest, I shall 
 expect you in my chamhers, where ^\'e 
 will drink a glass of Rhenish to your 
 success in the world. Xo-^^^orrow, I will 
 finish my landscape, and you and Fre- 
 deric shall figure in the groupe. Stein- 
 feld shall copy it for you, and I will pre- 
 serve the original to my latest hour, as a 
 pleasing memorial of your heroism." 
 
 CHAP. VII. 
 
 Specimens of Baronial Education. 
 
 Congeniality of temper, and confomi- 
 ity of taste, had now ceniented an in- 
 timacy between Steinfeld and Theodore, 
 which proved as durable a^ their lives. 
 The education of the former, as was 
 before observed, was much more culti- 
 vated than that of our hero j but he took
 
 THE EXTHUSIAST. 21/ 
 
 infinite pleasure in imparting to his 
 friend whatever he knew> and making 
 him a partner in every acquirement. 
 This contributed essentially to Theo- 
 dore's improvement; as scarce a moment 
 Vv'as suffered to pass in idleness, or dissi- 
 pation; those hours being devoted to 
 drawing, or music, which were not ai^ 
 lotted to more serious studies. 
 
 Amid these pleasing occupations, the 
 days and weeks rolled imperceptibly 
 avv'ay, till one morning a letter was de- 
 livered to Frederic, written in a cliarac- 
 ter almost illegible, but ^v hich, after mi- 
 nute inspection, he found subscribed with 
 his father's name. The youth was so 
 little accustomed to any marks of pa- 
 rental affection, that he was at a loss to 
 conceive v/hat motive could have produced 
 so extraordinary a change. But, to 
 discover this, was no ea§y task, 
 since it required much patience, and per- 
 severance, to decypher the ill-sp.elt scrawl. 
 
 Vol. L "^ I.
 
 218 THEODORE; or, 
 
 which was conceived in the following 
 terms ; 
 
 *' MY TROO soy, 
 " I tell thee, yungster, that thou 
 must cum soone to the old karsel. 'Why 
 zounds, lad, thy father hasn't zeen thee 
 this many a da^^e. There's rear huntinge 
 in these hear partes. Staggcs, and bores, 
 in plentie ; and as for heares and par- 
 trigges, why dye zee, they springe up 
 like musherrunes at evry steppe. Cum 
 then, and shalt haf thy belley fulle of 
 sporte ; and wee shall zee what sorte of 
 stuffe beest mead off, you younge dog. 
 Leaf me aloan for that. I knows whats 
 what, as well as the beast of em. Canst 
 slioote I hope. If not, why thou'rt no 
 beater than the sun of a whure, and not 
 wurth theenken bout. Maist bringe a 
 comrad or too with thee, boy. No lac 
 of progge hear, nor of licker eether. No 
 man's sellers be better stokkt, thof I 
 say't. Cum for the holledais; but rite
 
 - THE ENTHUSIAST. 219 
 
 fears t, and I'll zend thee the chinke, if 
 thou wantz any. Cant zay more now. 
 It gifs me the hed ake. For ill be d — d 
 if rfG written zo much thees dussen 
 yeers. So, as zed before, I'm ure troo 
 and honorebel vather, 
 
 '^ Otho Steinfeld.'* 
 
 Frederic instantly communicated this 
 extraordinary epistle to his friend, in- 
 treating that he would accompany him 
 to Steinfeld Castle, as he felt unable, 
 alone, to encounter the many un- 
 pleasant scenes which awaited him 
 there. Theodore having consented, 
 an answer was returned, to inform the 
 baron, that the vacation w^ould commence 
 in a few weeks, when Frederic would be 
 ready to obey his simimons, and w^ould, 
 in consequence of his permission, take 
 the liberty of bringing a friend. 
 
 It was usual, m the autumn, for the 
 
 students to perform a play, and Steinfeld 
 
 was already occupied in studying his 
 
 part. Theodore was not yet an actor, but 
 
 L 2
 
 220 TttEODORi.., on, 
 
 executed a solo on the violin with great 
 a])plause. Indeed, the whole piece went 
 off with universal approbation, as pieces 
 generally do w^hich are exhibited in 
 pri\'ate societies. For when plaudits are 
 the only gratification required, it is hard 
 if they are not bestowed with a liberal 
 hand. 
 
 The day at length arrived for their 
 departure, and a groom was sent to fetch 
 them. Althoucli the two friends were 
 resolved to make their visit a short 
 one tiicy took a few books with 
 them, among which their favorite, Vngil, 
 was not forgotten. As he put them into 
 the saddle-bags, Jacob could not refrain 
 from asking, w^hat they meant to do 
 with so much useless lumber, assuring 
 them that his master, though by far the 
 richest gentleman in tiie wdiole country, 
 had not a single book, except the 
 Sportsmmis Dictionary^ and the Complete 
 Farrier. 
 
 Jacob was^ v,hdt is usually called,
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 2C1 
 
 a facetious fellow ; lie had lived Avitli the 
 bciion from a child, who would often 
 send for him to drink a bottle for want 
 of a better companion. He was there- 
 fore disappointed to find that his jokes 
 were not equally relished by his young 
 master, and failed to excite even a single 
 smile. No sooner had his horses finished 
 their corn, than he proposed to set out, 
 saying, that no time was to be lost, as 
 the road was bad, and lay, for the most 
 part, over uncultivated heaths. 
 
 Though Jacob regarded a book as an 
 unnecessary incumbrance, he entertained 
 very different ideas of a gun; and had 
 brought one Avith him, in case the young- 
 baron should partake of all his father's 
 exalted tastes ; but perceiving his amuse- 
 ments to be of a more vulgar cast, he jog- 
 ged gently on, secretly regretting that the 
 illustrious house of Steinfeld was likely 
 to be degraded in its degenerate heir." 
 
 ''Blood and thunder!" exclaimed he, 
 when a covey of partridges sprung under 
 L 3
 
 225 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 his feet,'' what an ass am I to have 
 left Ponto at home ! How master would 
 have capered at seeing a bag of game 
 from aii}^ manor but his own. But one 
 alway/s forgets, what one ought most to 
 remember." 
 
 The youths were too deeply engaged 
 in discourse, to attend to Jacob's com- 
 plaints. They had not, however, pro- 
 ceeded far before they were alarmed with 
 the report of a gun, close behind them, 
 and looking back, saw the groom leap 
 hastily from his horse, and dash into an 
 adjoining thicket. Immediately after 
 they heard the sound of voices, accom- 
 panied by a volley of oaths ; and riding 
 up to the spot, found Jacob holding tlie 
 leg of a stag in one hand, and a drawn 
 hanger in the other ; while a man, who 
 from liis dress appeared to be a game- 
 keeper, was warmly disputing the 
 prize. 
 
 '' VV hat's the matter Jacob?'' cried 
 Frederic.
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. ^3 
 
 '-' EnoWj your honour, I thing, to put 
 a more peaceable man in a passion. 
 \Vhy, there's that rascal tliere wants to 
 take away my gam.e, which is mine by 
 riglit ; aye, and by law too, for 1 shot it 
 witli my own gun." 
 
 *' But where did you shoot it, you 
 pilfering dog," repued his antagonist, 
 half choaked with rage. 
 
 " No more a pilfering dog than your- 
 self," retorted Jacob, more incensed than 
 ever at the accusation. " What? do you 
 take me for a poacher? Do you see 
 whose livery I wears? Axe master there, 
 if I bean't a keeper as Vvell as yourself; 
 aye, and to a better gentleman too than 
 your master, I'll be bound for't, that's 
 what I am." 
 
 " What cares I whose keeper 3'ou be," 
 resumed the other ; " Let every cock 
 keep to his own dunghill, says I. For 
 whoever shoots a stag upon master's 
 estate, ought to be d — d for't, aye and 
 hanged too, that's what he should." 
 L 4
 
 224 Tl!EODOR£; o^, 
 
 How far the qiianel rniglit have pro- 
 ceeded we cannot decide, had not Stein- 
 feld interfered. But, upon mentioning 
 his name, aiid giving the keeper half a 
 crown, all differences were adjusted, and 
 Jacob suffered to depart, though, to his 
 extreme niortiiication, without carrying 
 elf even a horn, in token of his exploit. 
 
 Nothing Viiateriai occurred till they 
 reached a villr^c, where the heroics 
 were t^ cait. As they stopped at 
 a neat looking ale-house they sav\^ a 
 O'owd of } eople a.ssembled before tb.e 
 door, in order, as they were told, to 
 celebrate a wedding. They immediately 
 entered tl;e house, and proceeding up 
 stairs, Avere attracted, by the sound of 
 instruivent?, to a room, were several of 
 the rustic party were dancing. The 
 music instantly ceased, while an awkward 
 look of restraint overspread every coun- 
 tenan- e ; but Steinfeld no sooner perceived 
 i :, than walkingup to the bridegroom, he 
 requested pennission to take a dance
 
 THE ENTilUSIAST. 22J 
 
 with the bride, while Theodorej in con- 
 fonnity to his friend's example, chose 
 a rosy-checked girl for his partner. 
 
 This well-timed condescension restored 
 conviviality. An air of triumph appeared 
 on tJic countenances of the happy 
 females, who were honored with the 
 hands of the two strangers ; as they re- 
 garded this to be a convincing proof of 
 superior charjns ; while their less-favored 
 companions betrayed evident marks of 
 disappointment and envy, endeavoring, 
 by every possible art, to captivate the 
 attention of the young students. They 
 both were much amused with a scene, 
 which shewed that coquetry was confined 
 to no rank, nor station of life, but that 
 it is a legacy entailed by Eve upon her 
 descendants for ever ; though it assum.es 
 a variety of different shades, in .propor- 
 tion as sense, and education, refine the 
 manners, and correct the taste ,• or as 
 untutored nature suffers every passion to 
 prevail in its original deformity. 
 L 5
 
 226 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 While engaged in reflections, by no 
 means flattering to the female character, 
 they were suddenly interrupted by the 
 village pedagogue, who, hearing that two 
 students were arrived from Gunzburg, 
 was unwiUing to lose the opportunity of 
 displaying his erudition in the eyes of 
 men so well calculated to appreciate 
 its extent. 
 
 With many an awkward scrape, and 
 ill-turned compliment, he introduced 
 himself to their notice, and then began 
 an harangue, which he had composed in 
 haste as he hurried from his cottage to 
 the inn, and which consisted orthreads 
 and scraps of literature, gleaned from 
 various abridgements of rhetoric, phi- 
 losophy, and logic, that had accidently 
 fallen into his hands ; and which were 
 patched together with as little attention 
 to harmony or taste, as the tessulated 
 structure of a harlequin's coat. The 
 solemn smile of satisfaction that sat on 
 the pedant's brow, while he interspersed
 
 THE EXTHUSIAST. 2^7 
 
 his discourse with latin words, lugged 
 in by he-id and shoulders, without the 
 smallest regard either to grammar, 
 quantity, or .-.ense, >vas too much for the 
 youths to encounter, and feeling an 
 irresistable propensity to laugh, they 
 hurried out of the room, while the 
 philologist accompanied them with his 
 scientiiic remarks, till they mounted their 
 horses, and then, with the profoundest 
 reverence, took his leave. 
 
 Scarce were they out of hearing, when 
 turning tow^ards liis less enlightened 
 neighours, he said, with a significant 
 air, *' Aye, aye, those be young men of 
 the right sort ; true scholars let me tell 
 you. Talk to them in Latin, Greek, or 
 Hebrew, they are always at home, 
 in omnibus aliquis, in totum nihil. You see 
 my friends, w^hat a fine thing it is to be 
 born a literati." 
 
 Amazed at tlie depth of his erudition, 
 one of the company ventured to inquire the 
 meamng of tliose <>utlandish words. De-
 
 228 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 lighted at an opportunity of iiiipTessiiig 
 his auditors with a still higher idea of his 
 wisdoii), the son of science informed him 
 that it was a Greek sentence taken out of 
 the iEneides of a celebrated poet called 
 Sisro, who lived some centuries before 
 the deluge, and the meaning of it was, 
 that laming alone formed the true distinc- 
 tion between man and man. 
 
 *' Yet," continued he, pompously strut- 
 ting as he spoke, "what signilies laming 
 m a hole like this, wliere it is all thrown 
 away upon such clodpoles as you are. 
 jBut what avails it to complain ? Oportet 
 as the philosopher says ; that is, a man 
 must submit to his fate, Som.e folks are 
 luckier than some, and while one man 
 makes a fortune by his wits, hic^ hoc, kujus 
 qui, quorum quos, which is as much as to 
 say, like the Greek historian, another may 
 drudge through life in poverty and oh- 
 Bcurityy 
 
 Being now at the end of his tether, he 
 stalked av>^ay with a solemn and stately
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. QQQ 
 
 ])ace, leaving the whole assembly in deep 
 amazement, that one small head should be 
 capable of containing such a prodigi- 
 ous quantity of kno^vledge. 
 
 CHAP. VIIL 
 
 What can ennoble knaves, or fools, or cowards ? 
 Not all the noble blood, of all the Howards. 
 
 Our two friends w^re scarce arrived 
 in sight of the castle, when they were 
 saluted by the discordant notes of 
 spaniels, hounds, and pointers, which 
 came yelping out to meet them. Theo- 
 dore expressed his surprize that any man 
 should encumber himself with such a 
 number of useless animals, when the 
 food, which thev consumed, would be 
 sufficient for the maintenance of half a 
 dozen poor f milies. Frederic replied, 
 that his astonishment would increase,
 
 230 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 when he was better acquainted with the 
 estabhshment ; as these were only a few 
 favorites, which enjoyed the privilege of 
 sleeping upon the chairs, or in the soft 
 lap of Mademoiselle Cunegonde. 
 
 Though they had entered tlie court 
 yard, no servant as yet appeared, but all 
 was still and stately. However, after 
 waiting a few minutes, and ringing 
 loudly at the bell, a smart damsel came 
 skipping down the steps, and throwing 
 her arms round Frederic's neck, exclaim- 
 ed, with an air of surprise, 
 
 *^Lord! now, and is this brother here? 
 By jingo, he's so grown, I should never 
 have known him, had I met him any 
 v/here else." Having said this, she 
 turned lightly upon her heel, and led the 
 way in the house. 
 
 Scarce had they entered tlie great hall, 
 which was filled with nets, guns, fishing- 
 tackle, and the other paraphernalia of 
 a sporting life, than stopping short, 
 she cried,
 
 THE EXTHUSIAST. 231 
 
 *'Odds Bobs! but I forgot to tell you, 
 that you must be off Lgain presently, 
 though I suppose you'll like a snap 
 first." 
 
 Frederic's countenance betrayed evi- 
 dent signs of embarrassment at this 
 strange reception, while he inquired^ 
 with some hesitation, where his father 
 was. 
 
 ^* Why where should he be," answered 
 Sybilla, '' but shooting r One of our keep- 
 ers tracked a boar yesterday in the forest, 
 so father has been after him ever since 
 t'was light. I didn't see him this mor- 
 ning myself, but he left word for you, 
 and that there gentleman, to follow him 
 as soon as you came. Here are your 
 guns, and pouches, all ready to charge. 
 
 This fine silver one is for you, Fred. 
 and t'other for Mr. what d'ye call-him 
 there." 
 
 "His name is Rosenthal," said Stein- 
 feld, with a look that shewed the im- 
 pression which her flippancy had already
 
 S32! THEODORE; oe, 
 
 made. Unconscious, however, of any 
 impropriety she pulled them along. 
 ^^Corne come," cried she," there's cold 
 ham and rhenish in the next room, and 
 your bellies cry cupboard, I'll war- 
 rant." 
 
 This intelligence was far from dis- 
 pleasing, though conveyed in so rude a 
 dialect ; and they accordingly sat down 
 with a hearty appetite, while Sibylla 
 capered about the room, sometimes 
 giving her brother an affectionate squeeze 
 by the hand ; then patting Theodore on 
 the back w^ith an Amazonian force, tinder 
 which a modern beau would have shrunk, 
 telling him, *' she hoped he would soon 
 shake off a little of his timidity, and 
 that they should be better acquainted 'by 
 and by." 
 
 Scarcely had she allowed them to 
 swallow a few mouthfuls, before 
 she reminded them that her father 
 would grow impatient ; and when they 
 were actually preparing to depart, she
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. Q.S3 
 
 ran lierself into the stiible, brought out 
 the horses, held one for her brother to 
 mount, and the moment he was seated, 
 gave the animal so hard a smack that it 
 galloped away, wliile she burst into a 
 loud lauo'h at her own ino-enuity. 
 
 " My sister is a w^ild girl," said Frede- 
 ric, as they rode out of the yard," but 
 you must make many allowances for her 
 want of experience. Bciieye me, her 
 behavior was widely dilierent, when she 
 enjoyed the advantage of a mother's in- 
 struction. — But what alas! can be ex- 
 pected from her, in her present situation. 
 Yet, still, I do not despair, for I know 
 her heart to be good." 
 
 Amid these sad reflections they reached 
 the forest, where they found the baron 
 leaning against a tree, w ith a gun in his 
 hand. The moment they were In sight, 
 he made signs for them to dismount, and 
 pointed to the spot where they were, to 
 be stationed. This w^as ail the notice 
 which he took of either, though Theo-
 
 ^'34 
 
 clore was a perfect stranger, and Frede- 
 ric had npt seen him for several years. 
 But his mind was so entirely engrossed 
 with the sport, that it could find room 
 for Ro other sensation. 
 
 The loud crash of the hounds soon 
 announced that game was on foot. The 
 boar crossed the riding where Theodore 
 stood ; he levelled his gun, and the 
 savage animal fell dead at his feet. 
 Overjoyed at the sight, the baron quitted 
 his post, and hobbling towards the suc- 
 cessful youth, embraced him with a 
 vehemence that almost forced him to 
 
 crv out. 
 
 >/ 
 
 "A four tusked one, by G — d!'' ex- 
 chimed the baron, capering forjoy, '^ and 
 hit directly in the eye. Fil be d — d if 
 there's a man m the whole country could 
 have done it cleaner. By my soul, Fred, has 
 brought the devil of a shot. God send I 
 may's t be like him thyself, and then I'll 
 match you against any two in the electa-
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. ^35 
 
 rate, for a cool liundred ; and I says done 
 first. Zounds ! man, why I wants to see 
 what stuff bees't made of Bone enow 
 seemingly. Stands well upon his legs, 
 and shews blood too." — Body of me, 
 what a hug*e beast it is," turning again to 
 the boar ; '' could almost find in my heart 
 to be angry that any one should have 
 killed him besides myself. Hey, Fred, 
 what makes thee look so chop-fallen. 
 Never make a sportsman with that woful 
 phiz — Want a glass or two to set thee a 
 g'oing I zee — Shall have it, boy, shall 
 have it." 
 
 So saying, he took Theodore under one 
 arm, and his son under the other, and 
 stalked towards the spot where Cune- 
 gnnde ^^-as sitting, surrounded by bottles, 
 gla.sses, and various kinds of cold pro- 
 vision. Being arrived in that lady's 
 presence, the baron presented his young 
 friends to her, crying out as lie patted our 
 heraon tlie back, *' Here, Poll, here's a 
 fello\vTor you, worth a hundred of your
 
 236 Theodore; or, 
 
 country louts. And t other is my wliclp. 
 A chip of the old block, d—miric. Come, 
 a low bow, sirrah, to Mademoiselle Cune- 
 gT)nde. There's not a bonnier iass in all 
 Germany. And now give us a bumper, 
 Poll, for I'm as dry as dust. Here's hunt- 
 ing and war, my boys. They're the only 
 trades for a gentleman. Here, Miehael, 
 Stephen, Joshua, bring your horns this 
 way, you dogs. 
 
 *^ Covie rouse brother Sportsmen^ &c. &c,'^ 
 
 As the Baron swallowed a glass be- 
 tween e\-ery stanza, and continued sing- 
 ing for a considerable time, he was in 
 high glee before he had done, and turn- 
 ing to his dulcinea, proposed to her to 
 take a dance with her new friends. — 
 Though Theodore felt little gratified with 
 the intended honor, he was satisfied no 
 excuse would avail, and putting on the 
 best face he could, began v/altzing round 
 an oak with his fat companion. For, to 
 confess the truth, Mademoiselle Cune-
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 23/ 
 
 gonde was not of that description of females 
 whom Zeuxes would have selected as models 
 for his Venus ; nor did she leave behind 
 her any of those ambrosial sweets which, 
 according to Virgil^ marked the passage of 
 the queen of love. Her charms were en- 
 tirely of a different cast, and bore a greater 
 affinity to the more terrene graces of 
 those aquatic divinities, whose office it is 
 to distribute turbots and mackarei on 
 the slimy banks of the Tiiames. 
 
 Cunegonde was so charmed with the 
 figure and agility of her young partner, 
 that she felt not a little mortified when her 
 gouty lover took his place. For she was a 
 lady of that accommodating temper, that 
 putting youth and activity quite out of the 
 question, which operated most powerfully 
 in our hero's favor, she at all times preferred 
 a stranger as the object of her attentions — 
 and that for no other reason, than be- 
 cause she had never known him before. 
 
 The baron's gout, however, soon remind- 
 ing him that he was no longer of an age to
 
 238 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 dance, and the sun being already on the 
 dechne, preparations were made to depart. 
 But when they had mounted their horses, 
 old Steinfeld, finding that he could keep 
 his seat, felt an inclination for another 
 bottle, and proposed, accordingly, that they 
 should call upon a neighbour in their way 
 home. The baron being accustomed to 
 exercise despotic sway in his own family, 
 no one ventured to remonstrate on the 
 lateness of the hour, or the badness of the 
 roads, and the cavalcade proceeded in pro- 
 per order. 
 
 CHAP. IX. 
 
 More anecdotes of high life. 
 
 As they approached the walls of Seilberg 
 Castle, their ears were assailed by the 
 boisterous sounds of revelry, which the 
 baron considered as no unfavourable omen,
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 23^ 
 
 since it proved that the company were still 
 at table, and in a humour to be as merry as 
 he could wish. Stopping at the great 
 gate, he scrambled off his horse, as well as 
 he could, and reeling into the parlor, was 
 hailed by the votaries of Bacchus with 
 many a hearty cheer. His companions 
 following, he presented his son and Theo- 
 dore to the noble guests, and then recounted 
 the exploits of the day with a look of ex- 
 ultation and triumph. The latter was the 
 hero of his tale ; and he spoke of him in such 
 terms of admiration, that he was already 
 treated with as much respect, as if he had 
 been covered with orders, and keys. 
 
 At the upper end of the table sat the 
 master of the house, a man in the decline 
 of life, smarting severely for the irregula- 
 rities of his youth. — Yet even that best of 
 monitors, experience, was thrown away 
 upon him ; — for though his feet were 
 wrapped up in flannel, and he was severely 
 pinched by that great enemy of intempe- 
 rance, the gout, he bid defiance to pain^
 
 240 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 and d — — g reflection, for a troublesome 
 jade, swallowed bumper after bumper, 
 with as little consideration, as if he had 
 never felt a twitch from his cradle. 
 
 On his right was placed his nephew, 
 baron Krieble, who had been formerly a 
 lieutenant of hussars, and still preserved 
 his whiskers and uniform as memorials of 
 his youthful achievements. Few of the 
 German nobility could drink more bottles 
 at a sitting, or smoke more pipes in a day ; 
 but, then, these were his most shining ac- 
 complishments, as his education had been 
 left solely to nature and his groom — and 
 consisted in learning the important sciences 
 which we have just enumerated. His ignor- 
 ance, however, gave little offence to any one, 
 since he seldom opened his mouth, unless 
 it were to sv/allow a bumper. 
 
 Below him sat baron Kraus, a long, lank, 
 loose made bachelor, whose grey hair, and 
 wrinkled forehead, shewed that he was 
 approaching fast to the grand climacteric. 
 Though possessing no essential qualities to
 
 I 
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 24 i 
 
 attract esteem, nor a fortune to compen- 
 sate for the want of talents, this gentle- 
 man proved a welcome visitor at every cas- 
 tle. For he was blessed with that enviable 
 versatility of temper, which enabled him, 
 like the chameleon^ to assimilate the shades 
 and colour of his own character to those of 
 the surrounding objects. He was, besides, 
 of that pliant disposition, that he never had 
 a wiiV of his own ; or, what comes exactly 
 to the sanlJ^ thing, took care to conceal it, 
 whensover it .^i^ie in contact with the in- 
 clinations of those ^vi:io.?i it was his interest 
 to please. By directing all hiV "^^^^^^^ ^^* 
 cording to this gen:-al principle, he aJ-' 
 quired the reputation of a good-natured 
 fellow, and had always abed at every body^s 
 house, and a place at every body's table ; 
 both of vhich were extremely convenient 
 circunjstances, since he had neither house 
 nor table of his own. In return, he made 
 fiimself as useful as hecojld ; was at every 
 one's back ; — rang the bell ; — called the 
 carriage ;— made up the fire ;-~and per- 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 242 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 formed a variety of other little offices, 
 which few are ambitious to undertake. 
 His complaisarxe, too, was extended to 
 more important miatters ; for he would 
 drink with the husband, talk scandal with 
 the wife, and was equally ready for any 
 other service, to which his limited faculties 
 could extend. Yet^ so happily w^as he ad- 
 dapted to his station in the world, that, not- 
 withstanding this excessive civility^ he en- 
 tertained very adequate notior.s of his own 
 consequence, as might er^sily be inferred 
 from his behavior tO'vVards persons of 
 inferior r^n'i. No man was more scru- 
 pulously exact in appreciating the proper 
 degree of respect that was due to birth, 
 and fortune, nor regulated his bows and 
 compliments with greater precision ; yet he 
 knew equally well that those .distinctions 
 belonged exclusively to the higher classes, 
 and that to treat a peasant, or mechanic, 
 with common civil ity^ would be to prove 
 himself ignorant of the usages of high life. 
 This, indeed, was a maxim to which no man
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 243 
 
 adhered more pertinaciously ; for though he 
 was ever prepared to brave heat, or cold ; 
 raiu; or snow ; in order to e:!C3cute the com- 
 mands of any lady, or gentleman, who 
 could reckon sixteen quarters in their 
 escutcheon, yet, towards those of meaner 
 extraction, he assumed full as much coii se- 
 quential dignity, as if he had sprung in a 
 direct line from the illustrious Witikind 
 himself. 
 
 The last, though certainly not the least, 
 in his own estimation, was baron Silberling, 
 who, from his dress and appearance, seemed 
 better calculated for the meridian of a court 
 than for the boisterous pleasures of the 
 field ; and such, in reality, was his destina- 
 tion; as he had the honor — and a most 
 exalted one he thought it — of being cham- 
 berlain to the elector of Bavaria 
 
 No sooner had Frederic and Theodore 
 
 taken their seats, than their attention was 
 
 part c iLirly attracted by the spruce figure 
 
 beforj them, which appeared as much mis- 
 
 placed in the company of sportsmen, as an 
 M 2
 
 244 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 Italian greyhound in a kennel of Irish mas- 
 tiffs. Every thing about him formed a strik- 
 ing contrast with the surrounding objects. 
 His person was delicate, his manners 
 feminine, and when he spoke, it was in a 
 tone as soft and tremulous, as if he had 
 been really conscious of the nonsense 
 he uttered. His toilette, too, w^as equally 
 studied ; though he was in what he called, an 
 equipage de chasss, which consisted of a 
 green coat, laced with gold, and a wide 
 embroidered belt for his couteau de chasse 5 
 while, to give a more sylvan air to the 
 w^hole, his hair was negligently tied with a 
 pearl -coloured ribbon, and hung in artifi- 
 cial ringlets dow^n his back. 
 
 The rei^d'^r will probably be anxious to 
 learn the inducement which brought this 
 accompiisned beau to Seilberg Castle; 
 wherf* thehab^'s and occupations accorded 
 so little with his own. But to confess the 
 truth, there was a lady in the case. Ma- 
 demoiselle de Hothberg, baron Seilberg's 
 niece, who was one of the richest heiresses
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 245 
 
 in Bavaria, resided chiefly with her uncle, 
 and to her, or to her property, the 
 amiable Silberling deigned to pay his 
 addresses. 
 
 Having swallowed a few glasses by way 
 of fortifying his stomach against the 
 evening air, baron Steinfeld recollected that 
 he had never yet inquired either the name or 
 family of his son's friend. With his 
 usual bluntness he, therefore, indulged his 
 curiosity the very moment that the idea 
 occurred — and, addressing Frederic in a 
 stentorian voice^ he said^ 
 
 '' Come, Fred, now i inih'k on% ' lets 
 hear something about your companion 
 there, for all I knows of um is, that he's a 
 confounded good shut, and that proves him 
 to be of the true breed. 
 
 Theodore, who had attended to the 
 question, modestly replied, " That his 
 name was Rosenthal, and that his father 
 was bailiff of Dallenberg.'' 
 
 This unexpected discovery causrd a 
 visible change in the muscles of every 
 M 3
 
 240 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 countenance ; each noble personage draw- 
 ing his chair a little further from the 
 honest youth, for fear of being contaminated 
 by the pestilential touch of a plebeian. 
 Yet still they remained silent ; and, pro- 
 bably, for the best of reasons, because 
 they knew not what to say. At length, 
 however, the officious Kraus, with a sneer 
 of contempt, exclaimed, 
 
 '' In our company, and not a gentleman ?" 
 Theodore, No, Sir ; my father is a man 
 of integrity, and that is the only title he 
 has to be proud of. 
 
 "Xjra asteu^eLdr'A Danitt s son— tis nn- 
 possible ; no, no, I smell a rat. Curse me, 
 if your father wasn't noble, whatever your 
 mother might pretend to the conti'ary. 
 Come, boy, never blush, we shall all like 
 you the more for't ; better be a gentleman's 
 bastard, than the legitimate son of a pea- 
 sant, d — me. 
 
 At this moment. Mademoiselle de Hoch- 
 berg entered, followed by Silberling, who 
 had slipped away, unnoticed, to pay his court
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 247 
 
 to the lady. But the charms of this 
 modern Adonis having no attractions for 
 her, she preferred joining the company, 
 noisy and disagreeable as it was^ to a tete 
 a tete with the beau. 
 
 Mademoiselle de Hochberg was generally 
 called a handsome woman, as her features 
 were regular, and well proportioned, her 
 figure tall and majestic. Yet, though byn) 
 means deficient in understanding, and a 
 perfect mistress of all those little accom- 
 plishments, which form the basis of polite 
 education, she wanted that expression of 
 sensibility, which gives to beauty its most 
 powerful attraction. Her behavior towards 
 Silberling, however, plainly shewed that 
 she possessed both penetration to discover 
 his real character, and sense to despise it. 
 For though he placed himself close at her 
 elbow, and exerted all his efforts to captivate 
 her attention, she evidently preferred the 
 conversation of the two strangers ; and 
 behaved towards Frederic with a marked 
 M 4
 
 24S THEODORE; OR, 
 
 attention which might have flattered the 
 vanity of any other youth. 
 
 Prepossessed as he appeared in his own 
 favor, and dull as his intellects were, this 
 distinguished preference could not entirely 
 escape the observation of Siiberling. Again 
 and again he examined his person in the 
 glass, cast his eyes upon his elegant attire, 
 admired the nice symmetry of his leg, and 
 having drawn such inferences from the 
 scrutiny, as vanity prompted, the result was, 
 that he sincerelv pitied Constantia for her 
 want of task. Not so the impression that 
 her behavior made upon the two old gen- 
 tlemen, who were both equally desirous of 
 nniting their estates, by the imion of 
 Frederic with tlie intended heiress of 
 Seilberg Casde. 
 
 Rosenthal's name being accidentally 
 mentioned, Constantia inquired, if he was 
 related to Theresa Kosenthal, with whom she 
 had been intimately acquainted, during her 
 residence in a convent at Munich; apd 
 being informed that she was his sister, she
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 24Q 
 
 spoTce of her in the most affectionate 
 terms. 
 
 Meanwhile the glass went merrily round, 
 and the old gentlemen were half seas over; 
 while Kraus was pohtely occupied in 
 amusing Cunegonde^ w^ho, though not of 
 noble extraction, had raised herself to a level 
 with the rest of the company, by her con- 
 n ction with a person of baron Steinfeld's 
 rank. 
 
 Being thwarted in every attempt to cap- 
 tivate the heiress, Silberling at length gave 
 up the point in disgust, directing his dis- 
 course to the lieutenant of hussars, with 
 whom he was dispiiting upon his favorite 
 topic, — the splendor and elegance of the 
 German courts. Baron Krieble, who was 
 born in the Palatin^ite, maintained that the 
 society of Manheim was by far the most 
 brilliant he had ever frequented. And 
 this was literal!) the case, for he had 
 seen but little, though, like most men of 
 confined understandings, he drew a false 
 conclusion from premises that were true, 
 M 5
 
 250 
 
 inferring that, because he had met with 
 nothing superior to the court of Manheim, 
 nothing superior did actually exist. 
 
 Silberling, on the contrary, insisted, 
 that his master, the Elector of Bavaria, 
 was a much greater Prince, and Munich 
 a much finer city. That the theatre was 
 more magnificent, the palace larger, the 
 pictures more select, and, lastly, what he 
 esteemed the highest merit of all, that 
 the Chamberlains were more sumptaously 
 drest. 
 
 ^' By the Lord Harry!" exclaimed old 
 Steinfeldjwho had listened to the latter part 
 of the conversation, "he's right. There's 
 not a Prince in all Germany can compare 
 with our Elector; for, in my time he had 
 three hundred couple of hounds, and such 
 a stable of hunters, that it did one's 
 heart good to zee 'em." 
 
 This, unfortunately, w^as a subject with 
 which ti^e beau was less conversant than 
 with that of embroidery. He, therciore, 
 contented himself, with signifying liis
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. iiO 1 
 
 approbation by a low bow. But the Ba- 
 ron having once entered upon his favor- 
 ite topic, continued to descant, with his 
 w^onted eloquence, upon the best methods 
 of breaking pointers, breeding hounds, 
 and various other subjects equally inte- 
 resting and profound. In all of which 
 our hero took a part, and displayed so 
 much intelligence, that he astonished 
 those experienced connoisseurs. Xo lon- 
 ger able to contain himself, the old Baron 
 started up in an ecstacy. 
 
 '' Odds my life !" cried he, ^' 'tis a glo- 
 rious lad, and must have had a gentle- 
 man for his vather. Vvliy, there's my 
 lout there, sits biting his nails, tho'f 
 we're talking about things would in- 
 spire a clod. And all this comes of giv- 
 ing him a lamed education.'' 
 
 Constancia v.as visibly hiu't at the 
 Baron's brutality, while Sill^enrng secret- 
 ly exulted, in hopes that it would lower 
 his rival in the lady's estimation. But in 
 this he was mistaken, since che patience
 
 252 
 
 which Frederic displayed, served still to 
 increase her admiration. 
 
 Tlie night being far advanced, Ciinc- 
 gonde ventured to remind the Baron, 
 that it was time to depart; but it was 
 not till after repeated hints that he could 
 be prevailed on to quit his elbow 
 chair. The moon shone bright as they 
 mounted their horses ; but the old gen- 
 tleman had made so free with his neigh- 
 bour's hock, that he would never have 
 reached the saddle without the aid of his 
 servants, who, knowing his foible, took 
 care, upon such occasions, to be a little 
 more temperate than their master. His 
 horse too, which had been long accus- 
 tomed to find its way without the as- 
 sistance of a rider, trotted gently on,^ 
 while the Baron swang from side to side 
 with the tremulous motion of a pendu- 
 lum. Fortunateh^ however, no acci- 
 dent happened, and they reached the 
 castle, just as the great clock struck 
 twelve, so completely exhausted with fa-
 
 THJE ENTHUSIAST. 253 
 
 tigue, that they hurried instantly to 
 tl^eir chambers. 
 
 CHAP. X. 
 
 The same subject continued. 
 
 At an early hour, they were awakened by 
 the Baron, who, vociferating loudly at 
 the door, informed them, that the morn- 
 ing was fine, the horses saddled, and the 
 breakfast waiting. Dressing, therefore, 
 with the utmost expedition, they hur- 
 ried down, and found hhn surrounded 
 by dogs, with a bottle of brandy before 
 him. Pouring out three large glasses, 
 he insisted positively upon their pledging 
 him, swearing, that a dram in the morn- 
 ing, was the life and soul of a sportsman. 
 "Bravo! my lads," cried the old gentle- 
 man; '* I zees as how I shall make some- 
 thing of you at last. So light yourpipes^
 
 954 
 
 and be off." The- youths would fain have 
 excused themselves, but the Baron was 
 peremptory, and would admit of no 
 
 apology, saying, " these are tlie d d 
 
 fopperies you learn by living in towns, 
 but 'twon't go down with us country 
 volk." 
 
 The game being plenty, they had ex- 
 cellent sport. Frederic scarcely missed a 
 bird, and his father began already to 
 look upon him with a favourable eye, as 
 no unworthy descendant of the house 
 of Steinfeld, swearing, " that during 
 thirty generations, there had never been 
 one of the family,, who wasn't a famous 
 shot." 
 
 Having filled their bags at an early 
 hour, they were returning home, when 
 they accidentally passed a poor woman 
 with tvv'o cliildren, gathering simples in 
 a field. The Baron's pointers possessing, 
 like Hugo Kraus, an instinctive aver- 
 sion for poverty, one of them flew at the 
 youngest child, a chubby boy, about five
 
 THE ENTHUSIx\ST. 2oD 
 
 years old, when his mother running to 
 his assistance, beat off the animal with a 
 stick. Such an insult offered to a favor- 
 ite dog, what feudal despot could en- 
 dure ? And in this respect, at least, Barcn 
 Steinfeld was as deeply versed in all the 
 rights and privileges of his order, as the 
 profoundest Civilian in Germany; being 
 accustomed to consider his horses and his 
 hounds as animals of a superior species 
 to his vassals. Or, more properly speak- 
 ing, he considered the one in the iiglit 
 of children, and the other he never con- 
 sidered at ail. 
 
 In order, therefore, to punish her in- 
 solence, he uncounled two other do<i's, 
 vowing that he wouldn't budge, till they 
 had made a dinner of the brats. Shocked 
 at this horrid act of barbarity, our two 
 friends ran to her relief, and drove away 
 the dogs in spite of the tin eats and 
 curses of the ferocious Baron. The poor 
 Avoman, now thinking herself secure, 
 could no longer restrain lier feelings, but
 
 ^56 
 
 gave vent to her passion in the coarsest 
 abuse. 
 
 No words can paint the rage which 
 distorted every feature of the Baron's 
 countenance, when assailed by every re- 
 proachful term which vulgar resentment 
 could suggest. He St imped. Pie raved. 
 His purple cheeks burnt with a deeper 
 tint. His eyes started with ra : e. While 
 his few grey hairs rose like the quills of 
 the bristling poFcupine. With a tremen- 
 dous oath, he levelled his gun at her 
 breast, and was upon the point of draw- 
 ino* the trimmer, when Theodore dartino* 
 forward, struck his hand, by vvdiich means 
 the shot went over her head. 
 
 The Baron stormed more violently than 
 ever, and attempted to re-load his piece, 
 when Frederic coming u]), and taking 
 hold of the other arm, 
 
 ^* Pardon me. Sir," said he^ *' but I 
 cannot suffer you to commit an action, 
 which would embitter every moment of 
 your life."
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 257 
 
 *' Let mc go," exclaimed the Baron, 
 *' for, ril be d — d if I slioald think any 
 more of kiUing such a bitch as that, than 
 I should of shooting a fox." 
 
 Perceiving, however, that it was in 
 vain to kick, or scold, or svrear, the Ba- 
 ron by degrees grew more tractable, and 
 promised, if they would let him gOj to do 
 no injury to the hag, as he called her. To 
 this they consented, upon his surrender- 
 ing up his gun; but no sooner had he 
 obtained his liberty, than all his ideas of 
 vengeance recurred ; so that nothing 
 would satisfy him, but sending the old 
 devil to prison, for having ruffled his 
 quiet temper. 
 
 The Baron was of so resolute a dispo- 
 sition, that the youths were convinced no 
 intercessions v/ould avail, and fearing, by 
 their opposition, to irritate him still fur- 
 ther, they suffered the poor wretch to be 
 conducted to a dungeon, where the feudal 
 vassals were confined. Having secured 
 the offender, the haughty noble sat down
 
 258 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 to dinner, with as good an appetite, as if 
 the whole morning had been devoted to 
 acts of benevolence. Not so his son 
 and Theodore. For the foinier had been 
 taught, by his excellent mother, to con- 
 sider man as the equal of man, and to 
 look upon the gifts of fortune as a sa- 
 cred trust, for which he would one day 
 be called to an account. While the lat- 
 ter was placed, by Providence, in a station 
 to which pride was of course a stranger , 
 nor did he ever regret his humble lot, 
 except v\ hen it deprived him of the pow^ey 
 of administering comfort to virtuous in- 
 digence. 
 
 With feelings like these, it was impos- 
 sible for them to remain tranquil specta- 
 tors of such injustice, and they both 
 had already formed plans to redress it. 
 Theodore, however, took tlie surest me- 
 thod, and by flattering the vanity of Cu- 
 negonde, engaged her influence in their 
 favour. But whether she was actuated 
 solely by motives of humanity, or by the
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 259 
 
 wish of obliging so handsome a youth, 
 we leave the reader to judge. Yet, what- 
 ever the principle, the effect was precisely 
 the same, since she pleaded the cause with 
 so much energy, that the haughty tyrant 
 relented, and before he had emptied his 
 third bottle, consented to release the wo- 
 man, on her paying a moderate fine. 
 
 Being now in high spirits, he entered 
 into conversation with his young guests, 
 as if nothing had happened to discom- 
 pose him. Having nearly exhausted his 
 usual topics of hunting and war, and 
 told his two favourite stories about sack- 
 ing a nunnery, with his hussars, in S\va- 
 bia, and the immense quantity of game 
 which he killed, one memorable day in 
 Bohemia, he enquired of Theodore, what 
 profession he intended to follow, as he 
 conceived that of idleness to belong ex- 
 clusively to the privileged orders. 
 
 Theodore. ]\Iy intention, Sir, is to be- 
 come a friar.
 
 ^60 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 Baron. A friar! wliy zoinuls, mall, you 
 cant be such an ass surely ? 
 
 Theodore, Such is seriously my inten- 
 tion, Sir, as your son can witness. 
 
 Baron, Why then d — me, if you ar n't 
 as great a ninny as he. I never could 
 endure a monk for the life of me. They're 
 all such a canting, beggarly crew. Why, 
 what the devil has such a fellow as thou 
 art, to do with a lousy cowl ? 
 
 Theodore, My duty, to serve God, and 
 be useful to my fellow-creatures. 
 
 Baron, All cant and palaver, by jingo! 
 Hate 'em all from my souL Black or 
 brown, friar or priest ; never saw one that 
 was good for any thing. Once among 
 'em myself Sent by vather to the Je- 
 suits at Auo-sburo-. Wanted to teach me 
 some outlandish lingo. 'T would n't do. 
 Too much sense to throw away my time 
 m such a manner. Needed none of their 
 latin to be a soldier. It a gentleman can 
 read and write, 'tis all he's occasion fgr; 
 and if he can't why he hires somebody
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 261 
 
 to do it for him; so that's the long and 
 short of the matter. A hussar's life, my 
 hoySy is the thing. All fne and smoke 
 when we scour the country. By the lord 
 liarr}', it did one's heart good to zee 
 how those lubberly monks would take to 
 their heels, when we came among 'em. 
 But there's no fun like a nunnery. Shall 
 never forget, nor they either I fancy, 
 when we beat up their quarters near Heil- 
 bron. AYa-sn't one of 'em, I dare zay, but 
 had twins. So, as I was zaying, a nun 
 may do well enow in war time. But for 
 a lad like thee, to thirik of a cloyster, 'tis 
 downright madness by the lord." 
 
 The conversation was here interrupted 
 by the appearance of the elegant Silber- 
 ling, who, by an extraordinary effort, had 
 ventured out, though the clouds were 
 heavy, and threatened rain. But curio- 
 sity for once got the better of deli- 
 cacy, as he was desirous of discoverins: 
 what impression Constantia had made on 
 the heart of Frederic,
 
 262 THEODORE; on, 
 
 '' Bring another bottle,'' cried the Ba- 
 ron, as tlie courtier bowed at the door. 
 *' Giad to see aou, friend. Come, come, 
 man, sit dov» n. No ceremony here. ' 
 
 -' Yonr most devoted slave," resumed 
 the beau, wiping his forehead v, ith a cam- 
 bric handkerchief. " 'Tis vastly warm 
 to-day." 
 
 Baron. Tlien fill a bumper man. There's 
 no better hock in the whole country. 
 
 Silherling. I in ti eat you, Sir, to excuse 
 me. AVine always puts me into a fever, 
 but with your permission I will ring for 
 a olass of lemonade. 
 
 Baron. No such liquor in my house ; 
 ])ut if you like a bowl of punch, shall 
 
 hav't. 
 
 Silherling. Puncli, my good Sir, in- 
 fallibly gives me the head ache. Besides, 
 I m so heated' y ith riding, that I shall 
 positively expire y ithout some refreshing 
 beverage. 
 
 Baron. Looke now, when a man- 
 sweats, there's notliing like a pint of
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 2G3 
 
 cherry-bounce. Here, Sybilla, fetch 
 us a bottle of the best. 
 
 Silherl'mg. For lieaven sake ! do not 
 name it. It would absolutely set my in- 
 testines in a blaze. 
 
 Baron Never mind your intestines. 
 'T'will o'ive vou a fillip, and that's 
 what vou wants. It sio-uilies nothing- 
 making faces, man, for by G — d you 
 shall pledge me in a bumper, to the health 
 of Constantia Hochbero-. 
 
 o 
 
 Silherling. There's no resisting that. 
 (drinks.) 
 
 Baron. No heeltraps here, come, swal- 
 low it down, my boy ; seldom meet w^ith 
 nicer stuir. 
 
 Sillwrling. Very excellent for those 
 who can bear strong liquors. But my 
 nerves, are exquisitely delicate. 
 
 Bar 071. D — mn your nerves ; another 
 glass will set 'em to rights, and then 
 will have a bottle or two of Burgundy, 
 by way of a cooler. 
 
 Silberling was so alarmed at the idea^
 
 264 THEODORE; or, 
 
 that he rose to take leave. But the 
 baron pulled him back in his rough way, 
 saying, " cant part with you yet. Must 
 have sonic talk first d'ye zee. Well, how 
 fares my old friend to day ? suffering 
 mehap for last, night's bout. Egad, has 
 been a jolly dog in his time. No man 
 loved a wench, or a bottle better. But 
 now he smarts for't. 'Tis a d — d thing- 
 master Silberiing, that one can't indulge 
 a little, without these plaguy twitches to 
 remind one of one's frolics. But pa- 
 tience, and a glass of tokay, are the best 
 doctors. 
 
 Silberiing. The baron is much as you 
 left him, and most devotedly your's. 
 
 Baron. Rather his niece was, let me 
 tell you. V/ell, and now let's hear a 
 little more about Munich. In my time, 
 the Elector had the finest hounds of 
 any prince in Christendom. 
 
 Silherliiig. I before had the honor of 
 telling you that I never attend the 
 (phace. The fatigue is too much fov m»y
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 265 
 
 weak constitution. But I can assure you 
 that in all other respects, the court is 
 imcommoniy brilhant. No theatre in 
 Germany can boast of better singers, and 
 the Maestro de Capella is one of the most 
 celebrated in all Europe ; I wish you 
 could liear liiiu perform, as his execution 
 is ravishing. ■ 
 
 Baron. More than I do, by G — d. 
 Always hated your scrapers of catgut. 
 Why a man may keep a stable full of 
 liunters for what he pays one of those 
 useless scoundrels for setting his teeth 
 an edge. For my part, I knows no 
 music like that of a horn, and a pack of 
 hounds in full cry. 
 
 Silberling. No disputing tastes, Sir. 
 But if I may be permitted to dilicr, I 
 must confess that a concert is to me a 
 source of incifable delight. It elevates 
 the feelings, and transports the soul to 
 heaven. 
 
 Baron. Rather not be transported there 
 so soon. V/ish to have a little more 
 
 Vol. I. N
 
 £66 
 
 OR, 
 
 shooting first, if its the same thing to 
 vou, Master Silberhno-. 
 
 Silberling. Everyman, it is true, is not 
 born a connoisseur ; and I feel grateful to 
 Providence for having distinguished me 
 so particularly. But as you seem much 
 interested about Munich, permit me to 
 inquire how long it is since you were 
 there, and who were the most celebrated 
 virtuosi in your time. 
 
 Baron. Never troubled myself about 
 that sort. Ehsy virtue, man, was my 
 game ; and I d^re swear there wasn't *a 
 girl upon tlie town, that I wasn't ac- 
 quainted with. Brave doings in those 
 days. Was a crtptain of Hussars, fine 
 a regiment as e\Tr scourVl a country. 
 Warm Vv'ork upon the Rhine. Brought 
 down many a Frenchman, myself. 
 Could hit a pin's point with a pistol. 
 Got shot in the thigh ; and while I was 
 tied by the leg, became aciiuainted with 
 my wife's father. W'as hampered for life. 
 Never known a happy hour since.
 
 THE EXTIIUSIAST. 9.67 
 
 Silherling. D'honneur most surprizing 
 adventures. Tis quite a pity they should 
 be lost to the world. 
 
 Baron, llio'ht enouo'h. Could make 
 a book of *em myself, and a d — d enter- 
 tainino* one too. But my head won't do 
 for those there sort of thins^s. Never 
 idle enow to write. Zounds, man, if we 
 havn t let the bottle stand still all this 
 while. Here's a bumper to hunting and 
 war, and a fig for all your virtuous os. 
 
 Silberling now turning to young Stein- 
 feld, wlio had hitherto remained silent, 
 asked, if he was intended for a court ; ad- 
 ding, that if that was his vocation, he did 
 not hesitate to pronounce his advance- 
 ment rapid. 
 
 Frederic. At present, my destination is 
 uncertain ; but were I at liberty to fol- 
 low my inclination, I should prefer a life 
 of retirement. 
 
 Silberling. l^res extraordinaire. Indeed, 
 I could never comprehend that it is 
 possible for a man of fashion to pass 
 y 2
 
 268 THEODORE; or, 
 
 liis time any wliere, except in the beau 
 ononde. 
 
 Frederic. No man who has a taste for 
 reading, can e\-er be at a loss for employ- 
 ment. 
 
 Baron. For hunting, you mean, booby. 
 I never could bear a bookworm ; and 
 tho'f you seldom zees a better built man 
 than I, I'll be d — d if I could ever larn 
 my A, B, C. But what matters tha,t, for 
 rii shoot with any fellow in Bavaria, for a 
 thousand ducats, and I zays done, first. 
 Yet that lad there, has no more taste for 
 sporting, than his grandmother. He takes 
 too much after his uncle, at JMunich, for 
 me to make any thing of em. 
 
 Silberling. His uncle. Sir. iVIay I pre- 
 sume to inquire his name. 
 
 Baron. The privy counsellor, Steinfeld, 
 and my hop.iiil brother. 
 
 Silherling. A most respectable gentle- 
 man indeed. 
 
 Baron. To zav the truth, I believe he's 
 a good sort of a bodv, for all the world
 
 THE EXTilUSIAST. ^69 
 
 zays as mucli, if lie didivt ii-iuldie away 
 all his time with hooks. .I'red. hiO\ve\ er, 
 must do as his uncle pleases, for he has 
 got a mint of money to leave him. 
 
 Sybilla had hstened attentively to all 
 that was said, and finding the conversa- 
 tion turn upon the amusements of a 
 court, felt eager to put in a word ; and 
 accordingly caught at the first opportu- 
 nity which was offered. 
 
 " Why chuck," cried her father, " what 
 makes thcc look so gluinpy ? When tliere's 
 that fine gentleman there just come from 
 court and can tell thee all aborit it. 
 
 Silterlhig (bowing.) The young lady, 
 I flatter myself, will excuse thi^ (lis habi He, 
 but I was nor prepared for the honor of 
 her company. 
 
 Sijbilia. Lord, what need of com.pli- 
 meuts. Never sees any one half so 
 jimmy here. Gay doings at ?vlunich, I 
 warrant. Often wishes I Vv as there, and 
 father promises I shiill go to sister wlien 
 i"m a little older.
 
 S70 THEODORE; OK, 
 
 Do you know si^^ter? she married 
 Baron Eiiler. 
 
 Silberling, I have the lionor to be ad- 
 mitted to her iritiniatc society, and a very 
 distinguislied lionor it is, for slie is the 
 quintessence of taste and fashion, and 
 gives balls and concerts for ever. 
 
 Syhilla, Does she? IIov/ happy shall I 
 feel to make one at c'ni 
 
 Silherling. Not more so, ]\Iadam, tlian 
 we all shall be to see you. Your ap- 
 pearance Vr'iil give a fresh lustre to every 
 fete,, where you will shine one of the 
 brirfitest constellations. 
 
 Sybilla chuckled at the idea of shining 
 like a constellation, though she didn't 
 quite understand what it meant; and 
 being little accustomed to flattery, re- 
 garded the beau with a look of admi- 
 ration, which rendered him more vain 
 than ever. Having once broken the ice, 
 she now engrossed the Vv-holc conver- 
 sation, and through tlie oddity of her 
 questions, and the naivete of her remarks, 
 frequently embarrassed the punctilious
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 271 
 
 courtier. Upon the whole, however, he 
 was dehghted with his visit, and returned 
 home in the highest good humor, and m 
 fall persuasion that, in spite of her neg- 
 lected education, he had never before 
 met w^ith a young lady possest of such 
 exquisite penetration, or so much natura,! 
 taste. 
 
 CHAP. XI. 
 
 Every man finds someLhing to be proud of. 
 
 Scarce had Silberling quitted the 
 house, when Frederic slipped aw^ay un- 
 perceived, and hastening to the pea- 
 sant's cottage, gave him the money that 
 was requisite to release his wife, but 
 with tlie strictest injunction never 
 to mention his name. Overwhelmed 
 with gratitude and joy, the poor fellow 
 was unable to express his thanks any 
 ■ N 4
 
 272 'ftlEODORE; ORj 
 
 ollieivvise than by tears. At lengtli lie 
 exclaimed, with fervor, *' May heaven 
 preserve your iionor for tlie sake of the 
 poor ! for you are tlie veiy image of 3 our 
 lady mother, and seem to be blest with 
 all iier virtues." 
 
 No compliment could have been more 
 grateful to the feeling heart, of this gene- 
 rous youth, than the praise thus artlessly 
 bestow ed on her, a^ liom he regarded ^s 
 the pattern of every female excellence. 
 Vvith emotions, to which pride and luxury 
 must be ever strangers, he hurried home, 
 w here he heard that liis father was gone 
 \o bed wldi a sudden attack of the 
 gout. Upon entering the parlor, he 
 found Theodore tete-a-tete with Cune- 
 gonde. The former appeared delighted 
 at his presence; but as he never explained 
 tlie reason, we have only vague con- 
 jectures to oti'cr. Possibly th^ lady's con- 
 versation was not classical enough to 
 please him, or, from a natural propensity 
 to freedomi, she might have been upon tlie 
 point of disclosing some family secrets,
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 273 
 
 which our hero was desirous should remain 
 concealed. Her countenance, however, 
 betrayed a different eniotion, and it v/as 
 easy to perceive that she was a good deal 
 out of liumour at the intcrrnption, and 
 made repeated attempts to send the intru- 
 tler av/ay, by telling him that his forlicr 
 would be glad to see him. But it fre- 
 quently is the lot of canning lor its 
 artifices to turn to its own disadvantage, 
 as Cunegonde now experienced to her 
 cost. For immediately upon Frederic's 
 rising to depart, his friend followed him, 
 under pretence of having letters to write. 
 
 No sooner v/ere they alone, than Theo- 
 dore gave vent to his feelings. 
 
 *' Pardon m.e," said he, '' if I am 
 unable any longer to disguise my senti- 
 ments, but every thing which I have 
 seen, since my arrival here, makes me 
 grateful ro Providence for being placed 
 in a situation, where the claims of hu- 
 manity can never be forgi^tten. You, 
 indeed, form, an exception to the general 
 N 5
 
 £74 theobore; or, 
 
 rule, but then you were educated to be a 
 man, and I am persuaded will never for- 
 feit that honorable title." 
 
 ^'Alas!" replied Frederic, with a sigh, 
 ** there is too much truth in your remark. 
 The education of our nobility is in gene- 
 ral defective, and the consequence is, 
 that our courts are filled with such con- 
 temptible animals as Silberling, while 
 our castles are inhabited by feudal despots, 
 scarce less savage tlian the animals they 
 destroy.'' 
 
 Though the baron's fit was a slight 
 one, yet it prevented him from rising at 
 his usual hour, so that when the friends 
 cam.e dovv n to breakfast, not a soul VvT^s 
 stirring in the house. This,: however, was 
 a circumstance that excited little regret, 
 as Virgil afforded them more rational 
 amusement, than any inmate of the 
 castle. They were already far advanced 
 in one of the Geoigics, when the baron 
 unexpectedly entered. 
 
 " What the devil are vou about?" cried
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 9,75 
 
 he with a look of contempt. ^'No read 
 ing in my house, let me tell you, boys. 
 Other fish to fry." And with these words 
 ^the book flew out of the window. 
 
 With a person so obstinately ignorant, 
 all arguments, except one, must necessarily 
 fail, and to that our hero had recourse. 
 
 Theodore. Whatever may be your pre- 
 judices, Sir, against books in general, that 
 w^hich we were readino- has a claim to 
 your favor, since it treats of those noble 
 subjects, hunting, agriculture, and war. 
 
 Baron. Does it so? Why in that there 
 **tase, the thing, do you zee, is widely 
 different. Here, Stephen, pick it up 
 directly. I once had a book of this kind 
 myself, and a plagiiy useful one it was, as 
 it told all about the rain, and the sun- 
 shine ; and when it would freeze, and 
 when it would thavv^ ; in short, every 
 thing that a gentleman w^ ants to know. 
 So lilarned it by rote, and then gave it 
 my keeper. 
 
 By this time Stephen w^as returned
 
 £7^ THEODORE; OR, 
 
 with the Virgil. The b ron having exa- 
 mined it on all sides without comprehend- 
 ing a syllable, asked in what outlandish 
 lingo it was written? And being told 
 that it was in latin, sagaciously observed, 
 that he never before imagined that such 
 important matters were treated of in any 
 language except the German. ** What a 
 cursed misfortune," added he, '' that this 
 d — d gout should keep me at home to 
 day. But you shant lose your time, lads, 
 for all that. No, no, I'll shew you 
 something that's better worth looking at, 
 than all the books in Bavaria." 
 
 Breakfast being finished, he according- 
 ly conducted them to see the wonders 
 contained in the castle. The iirst room, 
 wdiere he led them, was that wliich he 
 called the Armory ; the walls of which 
 were covered with weapons of different 
 descriptions. Pikes, Halberts, Swords, 
 and Helmets, were curiously intcrmixt 
 Vv^ith the pliant cross-bow, and the pon- 
 drous arquebuse. Nor was any imple-
 
 THE EXTHUSIAST. 2/7 
 
 meiit wanting, that could tend to tlie 
 destruction of those unfortunate animals, 
 vvliich it is the favorite employment of a 
 feudai nohle to destroy. 
 
 *^ Here my, boys," cried the baron, with 
 an exulting air, ** here's a sight that a 
 prince might be proud of. I've some 
 where or other got the history of ail 
 the old fellows, whom these here spears 
 and shields belonged to. Famous knights 
 they were ; b-it never could remember 
 such sort of tilings myself. T'was the 
 chaplain's business, not mine, when I 
 had one. Eut the old codner died one 
 day, and so I never thought of replacing 
 him. There was a good deal tlicugh 
 about one Annibal and Charlemaicrn, and 
 Julus Siezeher, how they fought in the 
 holy wars. By jingo it did one's heart 
 good, to hear about e'm. Though my 
 sports of another guess sort. Here's the 
 fellow piece to tliat I shot with yester- 
 day. Never misses. Hit a sparrow in 
 the eye at sixty yards. Well, and what
 
 278 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 zay you to this broad sword, Fred. Such 
 a callico carcase as thiue could never 
 bear the weight of it. But they were 
 sturdy dogs in those times. Cost me 
 a mint of money altogether ; but then, 
 indeed, there's some sense in these here sort 
 of tilings, Avhile that hnical uncle of 
 yours, ril be bound fort, has thrown 
 away twice as much in mere trash and 
 rubbish." 
 
 Thinking it necessary to acquiesce in 
 all his assertions, Frederic from time to 
 time threw in a solitary monosyllable 
 expressive of assent, which w^as all that 
 the baron required, who was incommo- 
 ded with none of that troublesome 
 modesty, that renders a man diffident 
 of his own opinion. On the contrary, 
 he was so accustomed to the company 
 of flatterers, and dependents, that 
 no scruples of that kind ever inva- 
 ded his breast ; and howTver igno- 
 rant he might be of the topics about 
 ^vhich he conversed, his ipse dixit ,
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 279 
 
 like the laws of the Medes and Persians, 
 was subject neither to revision, nor 
 controul. 
 
 Having now allowed his companions 
 ample leisure to exercise all their facul- 
 ties of admiration, he hobbled down 
 stairs, and being arrived in the great 
 hall, pointed with an air of triumph to 
 the numerous trophies which decorated 
 its walls. Let not the reader, however, 
 suppose, that these consisted in the 
 spoils of vanquished heroes, in standards 
 captured, or in prizes won. No ; they 
 Vv^re not the proud memorials of feudal 
 prowess, obtained in days of chival- 
 rous adventure, at the expense of many 
 a perilous toil. But they had a still 
 dearer claim to his aftection, ibr they 
 were lastino; monuments of his own 
 achievements. To every pair of stags 
 horns (for such in fact they were) belong- 
 ed its appropriate tale. And never 
 did valorous knight, from the days of 
 the formidable Roland, to those of the
 
 £80 Theodore; or, 
 
 d'juglity lierOj whom Cervantes celebrates, 
 recount his achentures to an astonisli- 
 ed damsel, or an obsequious squire, witli 
 more real vanity and dehght. 
 
 From the scene of liis victories to tlie 
 companions of them, the transition was 
 natural, and they accordingly adjourned 
 to the kennel. It vv^as there that the 
 baron's eloquence rekindled afresh, vvhile 
 he describtd the pedigrees and perfor- 
 mances of his fellow brutes. 
 
 The theme was inexhaustible, and his 
 tono:ue, when once set in miotion, was 
 not unlike the stream, v/hich according 
 to Horace. 
 
 Lahitur, et lahetur in omme vohbilis 
 ccviim. 
 
 So that the conversation might have 
 continued for hours, had it not been 
 interrupted by the appearance of baron 
 Kraus, wlio cam.e jogging up to the 
 kennel door, on an old, lean, foundered 
 mare. Having alighted, with that 
 agility and grace for which he w^as so
 
 THE EX'MIUSTAST. ^Sl 
 
 eminently distingMiished, he set Ills wig to 
 rigii:.., \\ iped his loreliend with a snutiy 
 rag, that might have parsed eitlier for a 
 handkerchief* or a horse-cloth, and put- 
 tii::goii one of his most recommendatory 
 simpers, amiounced the arrival of the 
 wiiole party from Seiiberg castle, tlmt 
 very evening, to tea. 
 
 *' Never came at a better tim.e," cried 
 tlie baron. " Am tied bv the leo- and 
 Vv ant something to pass av/ay an. hour.'' 
 
 So saying, lie ordered wine to be 
 brought, and seating himself upon a 
 bin in the stable, remained laughing and 
 drinking till dinner was served, when 
 tliey adjourned to the eating-room, to 
 drink and laugh in a miore com.fortable 
 place.
 
 ( 282 ) 
 
 CHAP. XII. 
 
 A Country Visit. 
 
 The Baron made so free with the bottle^ 
 that he was scarce able to walk when tlie 
 company arrived. Nor was Hugo in a 
 much better plight, whose spirits being- 
 more than commonly elevated by the in- 
 vigorating draughts, the prominent 
 charms of Cunegonde attracted his eye. 
 With every glass she acquired additional 
 beauties, while he stammered out compli- 
 ment after compliment, comparing her to 
 Cleopatra, Helen, and Joan of Arc, and 
 all the goddesses of antiquity. 
 
 Had any of his senses remained in a 
 perfect state, he would lietve easily dis- 
 covered how feeble v/as the impression 
 which he made. Not that the lady was 
 overburthened with anv of those nio-^ard
 
 THEODORE; OR, THE ENTHUSIAST. 283 
 
 icelings, ^vliicb, under the title of con- 
 stancy, led so many of her sex, in days of 
 yore, to hoard up their charms, like an 
 unprofitable treasure, for the exclusive 
 happiness of one. On the contrary, few 
 females were blessed with more unbound- 
 ed liberality. For so comprehensive was 
 her benevolence, and so unlimited the 
 sphere of her charity, that it is matter of 
 doubt, whether a single instance can be 
 produced, of her ever having behaved 
 with cruelty towards any man whom 
 nature had not designated as an object of 
 aversion. But to youth and beauty, iitrr 
 heart was melting as the softest wax, 
 wlien warmed by an Italian sun. Un- 
 luckily, however, for the gallant Hugo, 
 his features displayed none of those se- 
 ducing qualities, which were calculated 
 to interest the philanthropic fair; for 
 without possessing the penetration of 
 Lavater, it was easy to read in his coun- 
 tenance all the malevolent passions that 
 rankled in his breast. Besides, innocence is
 
 S84 THEODORE; or,; 
 
 said to be a shield of virtue, and tlie 
 iimoccnce of Theodore was close 
 at the elbow of the beleagured Cune- 
 gbiide; and operated fidi as power- 
 fiiiiy as a triple coat of mail. 
 
 It is probable, however, that no rebuffs 
 would have discorniited the persevering 
 Kraus, had not the sound of a carriage 
 put a period to his attack. Frederic ran 
 hasrily to the door to recei\e the com- 
 pany. Cunegonde adjusted her tucker, 
 which was a little deranoed in the scuf- 
 fie. While the Baron reeled into the 
 di'av.'ino- rocm, Vv'iih the assistance of two 
 of his domestics. 
 
 When Frederic reached the hall door, 
 he found tlie spruce bilberling already 
 prepared to oft'er his white-gloved hand 
 to the fair Constantia, as slie alighted. 
 But to his extreme mortification, she 
 stepped lightly out of the coach, and 
 taking young SteinfeUfs arm, tripped 
 nimbly np the steps, without deining 
 even to notice the disconsolate beau. 
 Such treatment as this, not Job himself
 
 THE EXTHLSIAST. 28 J 
 
 could have endured ; nor will tlie reader 
 refuse his pity to the (hsappointed cour- 
 tier, when he is tokl tliat he had spent 
 full three hours at his toilette, and was 
 attired in a suit of hlac silk, with all the 
 proper appendages of a bag and sword. 
 
 ''Have I then lost my time?" muttered 
 the indignant fop ? as he entered tlie house ; 
 and this reflection struck hnn the more, 
 because it was the first time that he had 
 ever felt conscious of sue]] a loss. For his 
 waking hours being divided into two un- 
 equal portions, of whicli the larger was 
 devoted to adorning his person, and tlie 
 lesser employed in exhibiting it to pub- 
 lic view, he never knew what it was to 
 waste a moment. And as he scarce ever 
 read, and never wrote, unless it were a 
 billet doux, his days glided impercepribly 
 away in an easy current, as smooth and 
 sweet as a pot of pomatum. The case, 
 however, was diiferent now. He had 
 stolen an hour from sleep, which he es- 
 teemed the mo-,t agreeable of all occu-
 
 286 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 pations, because it spared him tlie tronble 
 of thinking. Yet, in spite of the com- 
 bined exertion of himself and his valet 
 de chmnhrey Constantia had she\^'n so 
 httle discernment as to prefer an unpow- 
 dered student to the most accomphshed 
 petite maitre in Germany. 
 
 Having now reached the drawing- 
 room, he composed his ruffled features 
 into a pkicid smile, and after sahitingthe 
 company wdth studied respect, seated 
 himself by the side of Sybilla. The old 
 Barons shook hands with the cordiality 
 of men who are decided enemies to forms, 
 and having mutually complained of the 
 gout, began once more to discuss the fro- 
 hcs of their youth. These afforded an 
 inexhaustible fund for conversation, 
 wdiensoever they met, though they had 
 been acquainted for more than thirty 
 years, and scarcely ever talked upon any 
 other subject. Yet such is the force of 
 habit, that frequent repetition made 
 them entirely forget that many of their
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 287 
 
 adventures, though highly comical, were 
 hy no means calculated for every com- 
 pany. Constantia, however, had not yet 
 acquired the same indifference, and per- 
 ceiving v\diat was about to follow, pro- 
 posed a turn in the garden. Taking Fre- 
 deric by the arm, she entered into con- 
 versation with the unrestrained freedom 
 of an old acquaintance, complaining of 
 the disagreeable manner in which she 
 passed her time at Seilberg castle. " Yet," 
 added she, '' the evil is increased of late, 
 since even the vulgar jests of my uncle's 
 friends are less offensive than the insipid 
 foppery of that puppy Silberling." 
 
 Theodore. Has he been lono* at Seil- 
 berg castle? 
 
 Constantia. About a fortnight, if I 
 reckon by tlie common mode of com- 
 puting time; but, if I consult m}^ feel- 
 ings, it appears an age. 
 
 Frederic. No attractions but those of 
 the lady Constantia, could have detained 
 him so lon£>' in the countrv. 
 
 I
 
 288 THEODORE; 'OR, 
 
 Constuntia. V/itliOiit attempting to 
 penetrate the motive cf his visit, I will 
 content myself with assuring you that, 
 if such he he plan, it is, indeed, a hope- 
 less one. 
 
 Theodore. Poor Silherlino:, 
 
 Constantia. Take my word for't, he is, 
 no object of pity, as nothing can lower 
 him in his own estimation. 
 
 Frederic. Yciy severe, lady Constantia, 
 indeed ; I might add cruel, considering 
 it is for you he renounces all the charniS 
 of i: court. 
 
 monstantia. Do you then imagine that 
 a court possesses so many attractions. 
 
 Frederic. For me, I confess, it would 
 have few, hut — • 
 
 Constantia, [Interrupting him.) To a 
 female heart, they would be irresistible. 
 Is that what you were going to sa\- ? 
 ] Frederic. Not exactly. Though to 
 confess the truth, I have m.et with few 
 of your sex, who were fond of the 
 country.
 
 TilE EXTHUSIAST. 2S9 
 
 Constantia. You will allow me, I hope, 
 to plead an exception. 
 
 Frederic, Are voii then seriously an 
 
 ■.' *i 
 
 admirer of rural life. 
 
 Constantia, ^lost seriously. For to a 
 mind untainted with the follies of tlie 
 world, it affords a constant source of 
 amusement. Indeed, were I to figure to 
 myself a state of perfect felicity, it 
 would he that of tw^o persons attached 
 to each other by the tenderest ties, and 
 living in peace and retirement. Don't 
 you think, Baron, (looking tenderly at 
 Steinfeld) that such an existence would 
 render this earth a paradise. 
 
 Frederic. I have no doubt that it 
 might to many people, 
 
 Constantia. That is evading the ques- 
 tion. 
 
 Frederic. Believe me, madam, I did 
 not mean to do it, for there is no vir 
 tue that I prize more highly than sin- 
 cerity. 
 
 Constantia. Then tell me honestly, if 
 
 Vol. le o
 
 2<)0 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 you could not, yourself, be complctelv 
 happy in such a situation. 
 
 Frederic. I have never considered the 
 subject with the attention it merits. 
 
 ^onstantia. How cold and indifferent. 
 
 Yet } our countenance tells me that 
 
 you are not always equally insensible. 
 You perceive, baron, that I am some- 
 thing of a ph> siognomist. At least, so 
 I persuade myself; and, in the present 
 mstance, should be sorry to prove mis- 
 taken. 
 
 Frederic. Pardon me. Lady Constan- 
 tia, but I am totally at a loss to com- 
 prehend you. 
 
 Constanda. That can proceed alone 
 fjom voluntary dullness. 
 
 Having said this, she turned hastily 
 away, and hurried towards the house in 
 visible emotion ; while Steinfeld walked 
 leisurely the other way. Theodore was 
 quite lost in astonishment at the scene 
 before him, and stood debating with 
 himself, whether to follow the lady, or to 
 join his friend. This question, however,
 
 THE EXTIIUSIAST. 291 
 
 was speedily deciilcd by Constantia her- 
 self, wlio, perceiving Theodore alone, - 
 returned. Desirous of av^oidirig all in- 
 quiries respecting the cause of her hasty 
 departure, she asked a thousand ques- 
 tions about Theresa, and expressed her 
 regret that they had been separated so 
 long. Frederic was by this time near 
 them. Constantia blushed, and anxious 
 to conceal her embarrassment, stammered 
 out, '' that she hoped he had forgiven 
 her?" 
 
 Frederic looked surprized at the ques- 
 tion, and hesitating how to reply, she 
 thus continued, 
 
 " Believe me, I would not intention- 
 ally otfend you, but I inherit a warm 
 temper, and cannot always controul it, as 
 I ouglit. 
 
 Frederic. You are unjust to yourself, 
 madam ; for 1 crai have no reason to be 
 r)irended. 
 
 Constantia. Well then, let us forgive 
 and forget. It is not in my nature to be 
 o 2
 
 292 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 angry long, though I fear I am too 
 easily ruftled. 
 
 Theodore. These, lady Constantia, are 
 amiable traits. 
 
 Constantia. You are always kind, Mr. 
 Rosenthal. 
 
 Constantia paused for a moment; then, 
 turning again to Steinfeld, inquired how 
 long he meant to stay at Steinfeld Castle. 
 
 Frederic. Our time is extremely li- 
 mited. 
 
 Constantia. Short, however, as it m.ay 
 be, I hope to have tlie pleasure of seeing 
 you again before you leave it. 
 
 Frederic, (ivith studied coolness.) — ■ 
 Although the wish which you express 
 is highly flattering both to my friend, 
 and me, I fear we must postpone that 
 pleasure to some future opportunity, as 
 we are under the necessity of returning 
 to Gunzburg, the day after to-morrow at 
 furthest. 
 
 Constantia felt too much piqued at 
 this indifference to conceal her feelings, 
 yet she replied with an air of dignity,
 
 THE EXTHUSIAST. 2p3 
 
 *' I am much obliged to you, Sir. This 
 is just as flattering as the rest. Tlieii, 
 turning away, she walked towards 
 the house, being followed by the t^vo 
 friends. 
 
 Upon entering the drawing-room, they 
 found Siiberling exposed to the joint 
 attack of Cunegoiide and Kraus. For 
 tlie former, in spite of all her philan- 
 thropy, was not of a tem.per to admit 
 of neutralit}^ but treated as an enemy 
 every one who failed to declare himself 
 her friend. Or, in other words, the man 
 who refused to listen to her advances, 
 was sure to become the object of her re- 
 sentment. Now the unfortunate beau had 
 been puzzling his brain, in order to be 
 revenged on Constantia, for her neglect, 
 and had devised a plan no less novel than 
 ingenious. And this was no other 
 than to make love to Sybilia, who was 
 so charmed with her conquest, that she 
 knew not hov/ to smile and simper 
 enough. Not such the impression which 
 o 3
 
 -94 tiieoeoke; or, 
 
 it made on Cunegonde, who regarded the 
 attention paid to any other woman, whx-n 
 siie was present, as an unpardonable in- 
 sult to lieiself ; and, accordingly, deter- 
 mined to punish the oiiender, l>y ovcr- 
 wheiming him with her wit, since she 
 could not overwhelm him with her charms. 
 In this unequal contest was Silberling 
 engaged when, to his great mortilication, 
 Gonstantia entered. A\ iliingly would he 
 have given his best pair of point ruffies 
 to have avoided an encounter so luimi- 
 liating to a maPx of his rank and preten- 
 sions. This escaped not the observation 
 of his fair antagonist, who instantly re- 
 doiiblcd the charge, and, firing battery 
 after battery npon the discomfited fop, 
 would soon have driven him from the 
 field, had he not been most opportunely 
 relieved by a t^ritch of the gout; not, in- 
 deed, in his own toe, but in that of 
 baron Sell berg. This generous ally came 
 unexpectedly to his succour, at the mo- 
 ment he was on the point of capitu- 
 latini;-. Or, in other \\ oids. the baroi\
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 295 
 
 jumped lip with an oath, and liobbling^ 
 to the door as fast his iame legs would 
 carry him, called out to his companions 
 to follow. The summons was obeyed 
 with alacrity; and such was Silberling's 
 eagerness to fly from the clutches of the 
 triumphvant heroine, that he scarce allow- 
 ed himself time to bow to the company, 
 and even forgot to offer his hand to 
 Constantia. 
 
 CHAP. XIII. 
 
 In which Frederic converses more like an Enthusiast than a 
 Philosopher. 
 
 Theopore was so surprised at his friend's 
 behaviour to Constantia, that the mo- 
 ment they were alone, he began the fol- 
 lowiuir conversation: 
 
 Theodore. I observed, with amazement, 
 that you treated Lady Constantia with 
 o 4
 
 296 THEODORE ; OR^ 
 
 a degree of coldness almost bordeiing- 
 upon incivility, though in every look 
 iWid expression she betrayed the most 
 fiatteiing partiality towards you, 
 
 i'lederic. Supposing that should have 
 been my motive. 
 
 Theodore. A most extraordinary one 
 tn.dy. 
 
 Frederic, You do not comprehend it 
 then. 
 
 Iheodoie, Certainly not. For you 
 cannot surely deny that she possesses 
 many attractions. 
 
 Frederic. Yet still I feel no sort of 
 inclination to fall in love with her. 
 
 Theodore. To nie the connection 
 appears every way desirable. 
 
 Frederic. In the opinion of the world 
 it would it undoubtedly appear so. But 
 before I make up my mind to marry, I 
 must feel more for a woman, that I can 
 ever feel for Constantia. Being convin- 
 ced of this, I no sooner discovered her
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 2^7 
 
 partiality towards me, than I resolved rather 
 to incur the censure of ill-breeding, than to 
 run the risk of encouraging an inclination, 
 which I shall never be able to return. 
 
 Theodore, Nothing can be more honor^ 
 able than this. 
 
 Frederic. When the happiness of ano- 
 ther is at stake, it is impossible to act with 
 too much circumspection ; and depraved, 
 indeed, must be that mans feelings, who, 
 for the sake of gratifying a despicable 
 vanity, can wantonly sacrifice an innocent 
 heart. 
 
 Theodore, These sentiments are worthy 
 of my friend, and I sincerely wish they 
 w^ere more generally adopted. However, 
 allow me to ask, how it can be possible for 
 ^'ovi to behold, with indifference, a woman 
 possessing e\ery recommendation, which 
 beauty, rank, or fortvme, can give. 
 
 Fredrric. For various reasons ; but, 
 among others, a secret presentiment whis- 
 pers to my heart, that she is not the person 
 d-esigned by Providence to make roe happy, 
 o 5
 
 2Q8 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 For there exists no sympathy of soul be- 
 tween us. This idea I confess to be a ro- 
 mantic one — yet I cannot divest myself of 
 the persuasion, that there are beings formed 
 for each other's bliss, whose union is pre- 
 determined above. Nor am I less convinced 
 that Constantia is not the person whom I 
 am destined to love. When^she is present, 
 her conversation diverts me ; — but when 
 absent, she never occupies my thoughts. 
 Her character, too, is altogether artificial ; 
 and she frequently fails of her object, by 
 appearing over studious to please. Besides, 
 there is a degree of forwardness in her be- 
 haviour not entirely consistent with my no- 
 tions of propriety, and, consequently, not 
 such as I should approve of in a wife. In 
 order to become durable, love must be 
 founded on esteem. Now, with respect 
 to Constantia, she can have had no oppor- 
 tunity of making herself acquainted either 
 with my principles, or my disposition ; and, 
 consequently, has no ground to justify this 
 hasty attachment. Under such circum-
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 299 
 
 stances^ the declaration of her sentiments 
 was, by far, too explicit to accord with my 
 notions of delicacy. There is a natural 
 pride and decorum belongmg to the female 
 character, which, independently of the 
 usages of polished life, should enable them 
 to act with becoming dignity in every situa- 
 tion. This is totally distinct from artifice, 
 and ranks high among the minor virtues. 
 No man can value an open, ingenuous tem- 
 per, more than I do, or prize more highly, 
 that enchanting gaiety which is natural to 
 innocence and youth. These, Theodore, 
 are qualities which I should suppose your 
 sister to possess, in an eminent degree, and 
 I leive you to determine their value. 
 
 Theodora, Great allowance onght to be 
 made for the situation in which Mademoi- 
 selle dc H< chberg is placed. The company 
 she frequents is little calculated to purify the 
 niind, or to inculcate lessons of delicacy. 
 
 Ff-edcrl::, All thai is pcrr'cctly true ; but 
 still you must admit, that public opinion 
 has established certain rules, which no wo-
 
 300 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 man can trangress with impunity. Yet I 
 will own to you, that it was not without 
 some violence to my feelings, that I per- 
 sisted in the conduct which honor taught 
 me to pursue. 
 
 Theodore. Your embarrassment did not 
 escape me, although I was then ignorant of 
 the cause. But while I applaud your reso- 
 lution, permit me to inquire how it has been 
 possible for you to acquire such an intimate 
 knowledge of the female character, with 
 so little experience of the world ? 
 
 Frederic. It is to my uncle that I owe 
 it, whose kindness towards me is unbounded. 
 Believe me, Theodore, he has few equals 
 in this world, either fyr the qualities of the 
 head, or for those of the heart. To an 
 acute and vigorous vmdeJstanding, he unites 
 every acquirement that books, or observa- 
 t^ion, can give ; while his whole life is dedi- 
 cated to acts of benevolence. Such is the 
 man whom my father ndieitles, because his 
 amusements are those of a rational being. 
 Indeed, my friend, it is necessary for us
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 301 
 
 to quit this abode of dissipation. After 
 what has passed, it would be awkward for 
 me to meet Cunstantia again : but my fa- 
 ther's conduct affords a more urgent motive; 
 for every hour must lower iiim in my es- 
 teem, while I witness his disorderly life. 
 
 To this our hero readily assented, and it 
 was accordmgly agreed to signify their in- 
 tentions next morning to the baron, and to 
 endeavour to obtain his permission for their 
 departure on the following day. 
 
 CHAP. XIV, 
 
 The Wolf in Sheep's clothing. 
 
 The baron finding himself unable to quit 
 his bed, sent for his son and Theodore at 
 an early hour, and thus accosted them : 
 
 " Zee here, what a wretched dog I am ; 
 unable to wag a limb. Pity one cant look 
 forward a little in one's youth : shou'dn't
 
 30'2 THEODORE ; OR, 
 
 then be lying here like an useless log. 
 But who the devil can think of gout or 
 rheumatics, when he's hale and hearty as a 
 buck. Mark me, Fred, beware of the 
 wenches, I zay ; 'tis the best advice I can 
 give thee ; all thy poor father's aches and 
 
 twitches come from them, and be d d to 
 
 em. But there's no putting old heads upon 
 young shoulders, and worse is the luck on't. 
 Well, it signifies nought complaining, so 
 hght my pipe, boy, and well try what a 
 wh'ift] or two, may do towards cheering my 
 spirits a little.'' 
 
 It w^as no easy matter to raise the ba- 
 ron, in order for him to make the experi- 
 ment. A thoi'.sand wry faces, accompanied 
 by groans and imprecatk)ns, were the in- 
 evitable consequence; and so cicute were the 
 pains he endured, that, notwithstanding his 
 contempt for vice, 1 heodore was unable 
 to restrain a sigh. The baron was struck 
 with the sudden alteration of his counte- 
 nance, and the moment he was tolerably at 
 ease, addressed him thus :
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 303 
 
 " Why, youngster, what makes thee 
 look as dismal, as if thou stoodst at the 
 foot of the gallows, or was tortured like 
 me with the gout ? A good thought, by 
 jingo," cried he, recollecting himself, ** the 
 parson shall zay a mass or two, extraordi- 
 nary, to day ; who knows but it might help 
 the soul ; and, at any rate, it can do no 
 harm to the body. By G — d, old Formal 
 shall try. Send to him, Fred, and let him 
 set about it directly, for time tarries for no 
 man, as the saying is.*' 
 
 A servant being instantly dispatched to 
 the priest, the baron continued : 
 
 " And now, my lads, for a hint or two ; 
 as to hunting and shooting, were I to live 
 over again, why I'd have my belly full of 
 em ; but if you follow the wenches^, as I 
 have done, you may live^ do you zee, to 
 repent it. Flowever, what's done is done ; 
 and neither fasting nor praying can mend it. 
 Can't budge to day. But, by the lord Harry, 
 we'll make the whole country riog again, if 
 lean get about to-morrow."
 
 304 THEODORE ; OF, 
 
 Frederic, I fear, Sir, that will be im- 
 possible for us to prolong our stay. To- 
 morrow we are expected at Gunzburg. 
 
 Baron. Expected? D — nie,if IsliouldiVt 
 like to zee, who has the impudence to ex- 
 pect a son of mine, when lie's come to 
 shoot with his vather. 
 
 Frederic. The lectures begin again on 
 Monday. 
 
 Baron. A fine pass things are come to, 
 when a man would be lecturing upon any 
 thing besides hunting. Shan't part with 
 you yet tliough ; shan't leave me now I'm 
 such a cripple, and can't shift for myself. — 
 Wont be so hard-hearted sure ? 
 
 Frederic assured him that the rector had 
 positively enjoined them to return ; and 
 that they could not disobey, without incur- 
 ing some public mark of disgrace. 
 
 Baron. The devil fetch all pedagogi^.es, 
 zays I; always punishing, or scolding: the 
 finest fellow in the world would beconie no 
 better than a logger- head in such hands. 
 Have heard of larning making a man mad,
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 305 
 
 but never knew an V one jrtt common sense 
 by't vet. Was there ever a brave soldier, 
 or a good shot, brought up in a convent, 
 let em answer that if they can ? D — me, if I 
 coulchi't larn yon more in six months, than 
 all the professors in Germany ; aye, and 
 \mcle into the bargain, in as many years. 
 
 Convinced that it was to no purpose to 
 pres> the matter further, Frederic dropped 
 the subject for the present, and his father 
 growing easier towards noon, he was car- 
 ried down to dinner. Scarce had they taken 
 their seats, when the parish priest entered 
 with a submissive bow. 
 
 ** Just come in pudding time, parson,'' 
 cried the baron, •' but you fellows have 
 famous noses ; can smell a sirloin at a 
 league distance. Always get something 
 wlien I*m laid by the heels, my old boy. 
 An honest dog, Fred, as any of his frater- 
 nity; nomanlovesabumperbetter , give him 
 liquor enough, and he'll never fiin; h at a 
 jest. None of your mealy mouthed-ones, let 
 me tell vou."
 
 !06 
 
 THEODORE : OR. 
 
 Durijip; this fuittcring culoguim, which 
 wi:s lYilIy confinneci by a protuberant bt-lly, 
 and a carbiincled face, the priest had 
 se.ited hirrs.4f at the bottom of the table, 
 and after stroking down his band, and 
 twisting his napkin into the fourth button 
 hole of a greasy coat, he was actually 
 catting an enormus slice of the inside of the 
 sirloin. 
 
 Baron. Well parson, I'm glad to zee 
 thee, though I'm not going this bout. 
 
 Priest. It gives me great pleasure 
 to hear your honor say so. But I was 
 afraid it was otherwise, as I understood 
 your honor wanted a little of my spiritual 
 aid. 
 
 Earon. Heaven be praised, it isn't 
 come to that yet. Time enough to think 
 of another v/orkl, when a body's done with 
 this. 
 
 Priest. Very true, your honor, very 
 true. (Stuffing a vioiisirous piece oj ceef 
 into his mouthy ivhich scarce allowed linn the 
 power to articulate.)
 
 IHE ENTHrSIA8T. 30/ 
 
 Harofi. You and I, my old boy, may 
 sdll have many a jolly pet-to. We!!, and 
 liow fares your clierry. diet ked Dolly? You 
 parsons nopdize all the smart wenches in 
 the country. 
 
 Priest. Nothing bat scandal, yoor 
 honor, believe me; (and as he uttered 
 these words, he stroked his prominent 
 stomach, which was now distended beyond 
 its usual dimensions) chastity and ab- 
 stinence are duties imposed upon our pro- 
 fession. 
 
 Baron. Imposed, or not, 111 be swcmti 
 that none of ye follow them. Come, roan, 
 I'll bet you a third of your tithes, that ymVe 
 started fresh game sin last we met," 
 
 Priest. I dont rightly understand your 
 honor. 
 
 Baron. I) — n it. man, never put on 
 such a dismal Sundav face. There's no 
 one here will blab. No, no, these lads 
 know what's what, better than to look for 
 continence under a gowTi. That there 
 chap in blue, is my hopeful heir, and tother's
 
 308 THEoroKE ; oi^, 
 
 a devilish fme feliow: and though he means 
 to be one of your kidno-y, he'll be just such 
 a jolly dog as yourself. — But hast no news 
 to amuse a sick man with? They tell me 
 parson Adderling s cook has got rid of her 
 dropsy. 
 
 Priest, The world, your honor, will 
 tattle. 
 
 Baron. Aye, aye, keep to that. Its the 
 true hugo of a churchman. None but 
 yourselves can escape with purgatory, while 
 us pt:K>r devils must go to hell in a lump. — 
 Fill a bumper, man. Here's the parson's 
 toast — Increase and muUip y. Why body 
 o'me, the army would want recruits, if 
 twere not for you blaok coats. — Well, tell 
 me now, didst pray lustil) for me this 
 morning? Send my gout to the devil, and 
 I'll give the credit for all tne rest. — Come, 
 never let the bottle stand Suffered mar- 
 tyrdom all day ; but, by the lord Harry, 
 we'll have a jovial night on't, shant us? 
 
 The priest accepted the challenge, and no 
 sooner was he heated with wine, than he
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 30Q 
 
 threw all decorum aside, swallowing bottle 
 after bottle, till he fell senseless under the 
 table, and then was tumbled into the stable 
 upon a truss of straw, and there left to 
 recover hi a senses. 
 
 Long, however, before that time, our 
 friends had quitted the room, unable to 
 endure the disgusting spectacle, and 
 shocked to behold a minister of the gospel 
 degrading himself below the lowest of the 
 brute creation. Having drawn a coiupa- 
 rlson betv.een this despicable wretch, and 
 the good vicar of Windenheirn, Theodore 
 observed, with his usual sagacity, 
 
 " That while men of this description were 
 suffered to disgrace the ecclesiastical cha- 
 racter, it was no wonder that religion itself 
 should be brought into disrepute ; since the 
 ignorant vulgar are too apt to estimate the 
 merits of the doctrine acx:ording to the 
 actions of those by whom it is taught. 
 Upon this account," added he, ^' I sincerely 
 regret, that the scriptures are not more ge- 
 -nerallv studied. Nor could I ever discover
 
 310 
 
 any satisfactory reason for concealing a book 
 which contains the most important rules of 
 human conduct; and is adapted to every 
 capacity, and every situation. Alas! it 
 grieves me to think how many souls may 
 be irretrievably lost by the pernicious ex- 
 ample of such a fellow as that, whom we 
 left with your father. No, not for the 
 worth of worlds would I hav6 his sins 
 to answer for." 
 
 CHAP. XV. 
 
 The progress of study. 
 
 The plentiful libations offered to the god- 
 dess of health did not contribute much to 
 the baron's recovery, so that in the morning 
 he appeared as helpless as a child, when they 
 came to take their leave. 
 
 " Good bye, Fred.'' said he with an 
 appearance of tenderness, that astonished
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 3 1 I 
 
 his son, and wiping his eyes with a corner 
 of the sheet; "goodbye, zince it must 
 be so. Il's some comfort to me, t' have 
 zeen you growing up an honest fellow, and 
 able to handle a gun. Make thyself master 
 of that, and a fig for all other studies. 
 Keep aloof from the wenches, or thou'it 
 never thrive, boy, and ren}ember thy old 
 vather, and all his aches. So now good 
 bye once more, for I've zaid my zay. As 
 for thee, Rosenthal, thou'rt as tine a lad as 
 I ever zet eyes on, and its a burning shame, 
 thou shoulds't throw thyself away, as thou 
 meanest to do. Wish thou wert better 
 born, and I'd give thee Sybilla. But that 
 can't be, worse luck's on't. 
 
 Shaking them heartily by the hand, he 
 bad them adieu ; having first obliged them 
 to swallow a large glass of cherry brandy, 
 by way of keeping the cold out of their 
 stomachs. 
 
 Either the earliness of the hour, or some 
 other reason equally valid, kept the lovely 
 Cunegonde in bed. But neither she, nor
 
 3l2 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 the butler appeared : and this was com-' 
 monly the case, when the baron happened 
 to be confined. Sybilla, however, was 
 more alert^ and took leave of her brother 
 with many a tear. 
 
 Theodore, upon his return to the semi- 
 nary, redoubled his attention to every 
 branch of literature, and his diligence was 
 rewarded by the most flattering commen- 
 dations. Among the various authors 
 which he read, none pleased him more 
 than Caesar. In him he admired the most 
 consummate general that the world has ever 
 produced. Yet it was impossible for a 
 heart, so enthusiastic as Theodore's in the 
 cause of virtue, to esteem the man, whose 
 insatiable ambition could never rest, till he 
 had destroyed the liberties of Rome. For 
 as yet he was incapable of those philo- 
 sophical combinations which weigh, in the 
 scale of reason, the interests of mankind. 
 Led away by an ardent imagination, he 
 never dreamt that the degenerate Romans 
 were ripe for slavery, and that it was po
 
 I 
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 313 
 
 longer in the days of Julius a struggle for 
 freedom, but an interested contention for 
 the choice of a master. 
 
 Nor could he suppress his astonishment 
 at discovering, in the character of the 
 ancient Gauls, a striking resemblance with 
 that of the modern French. The same 
 spirit of rashness dictated their measures, 
 the same spirit of inconstancy presided 
 over their execution. A passion for inno- 
 vation, bordering upon insanity, hurried 
 them, on from experiment to experiment, 
 through a fatal series of errors. While 
 the far greater part of their chimerical pro- 
 jects were neither suggested by the dic- 
 tates of political sagacity, nor enforced by 
 the imperious necessity of the moment; but 
 v/ere deliberately undertaken from the love 
 of change, and the desperate resolution of 
 reali-iiig impossibilities. Another striking 
 instance of similitude was to be found in that 
 innate propensity towards slavery, which, in 
 spite of periodical struggles for a free con- 
 stitution, and the declamatory violence of 
 Vol. I. p
 
 314 
 
 designing demagogues, invariably led them, 
 when the transient ferment subsided, to kiss, 
 with servile baseness, the foot of their 
 oppressor. 
 
 On the other hand, his enthusiasm was 
 excited by the manly virtues of the ancient 
 Germans, by their persevering attachment 
 to republican institutions, and by the sim- 
 plicity of their manners, resembling those 
 of the patriarchal age. In a word, no cir- 
 cumstance escaped his observation, which 
 tended to illustrate the complex history of 
 the human mind ; and the remarks, which 
 he occasionally made, afforded ample matter 
 for conversation, during the evening visits 
 to father Philip. 
 
 When animated by the subject before 
 him, Theodore would fancy himself declaim- 
 ing, in the Roman forum, against the 
 jawless enterprizes of ambition, or defending 
 the rights of mankind, when menaced by 
 a dangerous, and daring triumvirate. 
 Thus his knowledge gradually expanded ; 
 ""nd, whi^e his mind acquired a more manly
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 315 
 
 tone, his heart beat warmer in the cause of 
 humanity. Nor were his inquiries circum- 
 scribed to classical learning, or historical 
 researches; but a considerable portion of 
 his time was daily allotted to that particiilar 
 science, for which he was more immediately 
 designed; and as the truths of religion 
 were progressively revealed, he appeared 
 more deeply penetrated with its important 
 precepts, and more firmly attached to every 
 moral duty. 
 
 It was the peculiar province of father 
 John to superintend that branch of educa- 
 tion, and he executed his office with the 
 enlightened prudence of a liberal mind. 
 For while he instructed his pupils in the 
 purest principles of Christianity, he passed 
 overall those metaphysical subtilties, whicli, 
 by entangling the understanding in the 
 perplexing labyrinth of bold conjecture, serve 
 rather to confuse the intellect, than to pu- 
 rify the heart. 
 
 During the hours allotted to recreatic-i, 
 
 Theodore was never separated from Steinfeld, 
 V 2
 
 3iO THEODORE ; or, 
 
 with whom he frequent!}' went to visit a 
 fellow student, whose name was Werner, 
 and whose family resided in the town. 
 His father, a wealthy merchant, indulged 
 him in every reasonable expense ; and 
 when any of his acquaintance accom- 
 panied him home, he gave them a hos- 
 pitable w^elcome. — His library, too, was open 
 to them, though most of his books were 
 magnificently bound, that being the de- 
 partment of literature for which he had the 
 greatest taste. The masters, also, w^ere 
 frequently invited to splendid dinners, and, 
 as few of them were indifferent to good 
 €heer, they secured to themselves many a 
 dainty meal, by the encomiums which they 
 lavished on the son : — Not that young 
 Werner was undeserving commendation, 
 for he was a youth of promising talents, of 
 an elevated ambition, and indefatigable in 
 every laudable pursuit. 
 
 Of this, however, the father was no 
 very competent judge ; but as it was the 
 fashion of tlie day to frequent literary
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 31/ 
 
 coteries, he frequently assembled all those 
 who were mobt distinguished for classical 
 taste, though he felt a little awkward in their 
 company, and placed in a situation, not 
 much unlike that of the Bourgeios Gentil' 
 hoinme, who had talked prose all his life, 
 witliout once beina: conscious that he did 
 so. But no sooner had he discovered that 
 the inside of a book was the most valuable 
 part, than he set to reading with all his 
 might ; and having heard that it was pro- 
 per for a man to form some arrangement in 
 the prosecution of his studies, he deter- 
 mined, after much serious reflection, to 
 read by the slielf. For this purpose, he 
 began with the duodecimos, supposing 
 them to be the easiest, because they were 
 the smallest, and was proceeding regularly 
 through the octavos and quartos, hoping 
 ultimatelv to arrive at the summit of human 
 science, in the ponderous folio. With 
 indefatigable perseverance, and indiscrimi- 
 nate zeal, he waded through volume after 
 p 3 
 
 I
 
 3 IS THEODOEE ; OR^ THE ENTHUSIAST, 
 
 volume, always counting the pages as he 
 advanced, and estimating his improvement, 
 as lie did his fortune, by the common 
 rules of arithmetic. His wife, or daugh- 
 ter, were seldom permitted to enter his 
 library, for so streiiuously was lie attached 
 to ancient prejudices, that nothing could 
 persuade him to think women capable of 
 any science, except tiiat of cookery. 
 
 As no books of philosophy encumbered^ 
 his Siielves, he was a perfect stranger to 
 ail modern discoveries, and had no notion 
 Wiiatever of the natural equality of man, but 
 paid the same foolish respect to rank and 
 titles, as v/as done by the generality of the 
 world, before it was enlightened by the 
 luminous theories of France. To Stein- 
 fcid he therefore shewed every possible at- 
 tention, on account of his birth : and 
 Theodore, being i.he friend of a baron, was 
 d emed not un'.vorlhv his notice.
 
 ( 3J0 ) 
 
 CHAP. XVI. 
 
 This '5 the old magpie, and the iight. 
 And t'other se: up for nought but spite. 
 
 A FEW days after his return from Sieinfeld 
 Castle, Theodore received the following 
 letter from his sister : — * 
 
 " I was delighted, my dear brother, with 
 the account yoii gave of your expedi- 
 tion. Yes, from my heart, I pity your 
 friend, for having; a father so unworthy of 
 his virtues ; yet the manner in which he 
 conducted himself, in so trying a situation, 
 serves still to increase my admiration and 
 esteem. I wish you could contrive to pass 
 some part of the next vacation with us, and 
 that the baron could be prevailed on to 
 accompany you. 1 ray tell him so, with 
 my best wishes — and assure him, that my 
 f;Either will be happy in an opportunity of 
 p 4
 
 320 THEODOKE ; OR, 
 
 testifying his gratitude for all his kiudacss 
 towards you. 
 
 ^* I inclose a draft from iny father for 
 the amount of your half year's expenses. 
 Thank God he continues well, and is full as 
 cheerful as you ever remember him. 
 Charles is to be married in about a fort- 
 night ; and since Priseilla is destined to 
 become my sister, I v/ill say nothing to her 
 disadvantage. They have taken a house 
 within lialf a mile of us. Immediately 
 after the wedding, Rachael will return to 
 Munich ; — so that I shall have nothing, 
 then, to interrupt my studies : she is at pre- 
 sent v/ith our new sister ; they are sworn 
 friends, but I much doubt its lasting. 
 Major Nordheim calls frequently ; he has 
 shewn me a miniature of his future bride, 
 and I am certain, from the expression of her 
 countenance, that she is a person I must 
 love, if ever we nieet. 
 
 '^ I have just finished the Messiah, the 
 second time ; it is a wonderful work, and 
 seems to raise us above the world. — It cost
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 321 
 
 me a good deal of trouble, at first, as the 
 style is rather cbecure ; — bat it has amply 
 repaid me for all my pains. 
 
 " Your's_, ever affect I onately, 
 
 " T. R." 
 
 Notwithstanding the variety of occupa- 
 tions in which our hero was eno^ao-ed, his 
 predilection for a monastic life still remained 
 unimpaired ; and he would walk as many 
 miles to hear a celebrated preacher, as most 
 youths^ of his age, would have done to a 
 ball. Having prevailed one day upon Fre- 
 deric to accompany him, he set out for a 
 neighbouring convent, where a famous 
 orator was to mount the pulpit ; but his 
 talents having been greatly over-rated, they 
 were both much disappointed, as his lan- 
 guage was pompous and inflated, his ideas 
 confused, and his metaphors extravagant — 
 while the whole discourse presented so 
 ridiculous a mixture of fable^ and truths 
 p 5
 
 3'2'2 THEODORE; 0% 
 
 that it was better calculated to excite mirth 
 than to inspire devotion. 
 
 The service being over, they took a turn 
 in the garden^ where they soon fell into 
 conversation with a monk. To a member 
 of one of the religious orders, no quality is 
 so sure a recommendation as that spirit of 
 enthusiasm, which induces a man to re- 
 nounce the world. Theodore, therefore, 
 \yas received with the most courteous civi- 
 lity, nnd invited to spend an early day at the 
 convent. 
 
 Being desirous of captivating the inex- 
 perienced youth, by a display of those 
 Gomforts, to which the mendicant friars 
 are strangers, the prior prepared a sump- 
 i^cus repast, and produced his choicest 
 wines. During dinner, he artfully turned 
 the conve rsation upon the many advantages 
 of a monastic life, and after expatiating 
 upon the subject with all the rhetoric he 
 was master of, he addressed our hero in the 
 following terms: 
 
 ** It is impossible, my young friend, for
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 323 
 
 any pe^rson, who entertains an adequate 
 idea of iiis religious duties, not to applaud 
 yo'ir pious res lu on of dedictating your 
 life to the service of God. So much 
 sense, and devotion, at so early an age, 
 cannot fail to interest me sincerely in your 
 future welfare, and such are the motives 
 which activate my conduct in what I am 
 going to say. For I cannot conceal from 
 you m\ sornnv and surprise, that you should 
 bury your talents in a napkin. 
 
 ^' Of ail the religious institutions, there 
 is none so poor, or so contemptible as that 
 of St. Francis. Their whole existence is a 
 constant state of suffering and privation. 
 They are every where treated with con« 
 tumely; and admitted into no society but 
 that of the lower classes, being fit to asso- 
 ciate with none but beggars. While we, 
 who are subjeci to ihe more liberal rules of 
 S: Qi^nedict, enjoy ease, affluence, and 
 wo iitiy consideration. To day yon have 
 had a specimen of our habitual comforts, 
 ana before you kav^i us, you shaH visit our
 
 324 THEODOKE ; on, 
 
 treasury, the richness of which will astonish 
 vou. The capuchins, on the contrary, are 
 supported by charity, having nothing which 
 they can call their own. Reflect, young 
 man, how degrading an employment it is 
 for a person of an elevated genius to be 
 continually begging from door to door, 
 oftentimes extorting a penurious subsistence 
 from those, whose poverty can ill afford to 
 give it. 
 
 " Such is their wTctched destiny. 
 While w^e are exempt from care. Every 
 thing is at our disposal, w^hich can ren- 
 der life a blessing ; for Providence has 
 lavished on us its most precious gifts, 
 and deservedly too, let me tell you, since 
 w^e justly earn them by renouncing the 
 world. 
 
 " I am informed, my young friend, you 
 have a taste for letters. It is a meritorious 
 pursuit, and I applaud you for it. Besides, 
 if properly directed, as it could not fail of 
 being here, it may lead to the highest dig- 
 nities of the church. But all these pros-
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 325 
 
 pccts^ flattering as they appear, are at once 
 destroyed, if you assume the habit of St. 
 Francis. Our order possesses many vahiable 
 hbrarics, and men of distinguished emi- 
 nence in all the branches of science, while the 
 capuchins are an ignorant, beggarly crew, 
 destitute of every means to improve' the 
 understanding, or refine the taste. A few 
 barbarous sermons, and dull commentaries 
 upon theological questions, form the whole 
 of their collections, and from trash like that 
 there is nothing to be learnt. 
 
 '•' Consider also, the nature of their dis- 
 cipline, which reduces man to the condition 
 of a slave, blunting the noblest energies of 
 the soul, and leaving him no earthly em- 
 ployment, except abstinence and prayer. As 
 yet, my son, you are at perfect liberty to 
 chuse, and I would recom.m.end to you to 
 weigh the subject maturely. Among them, 
 you can look for nothing but suffering and 
 contempt ; but wnih us, you may enjoy 
 every comfort this world can afford." 
 
 Theodore had been so little accustomed
 
 326 THEODOBE ; 0T^, 
 
 to weigh the duties of religion in the sciiie 
 of sensuality^ that he was scarce able to 
 conceal his astonishment. No sooner^ 
 however, had he recollected his ideas, than 
 he modestly replied, " That he no longer 
 considered himself at liberty to retract, for 
 that his word wiis absolutely pledged to the 
 capuchins," adding, " that in renouncing 
 the world it had never once entered into his 
 thoughts to secure to himself the good 
 things of the present life/' 
 
 The fet prior laughed at his scruples, for 
 he had no relish whatever for that text of 
 scripture which asserts that " it is better to 
 enter a house of mourning, than a house 
 of festivity." On the contrary, he iiad 
 the art to convert, into the habitation of 
 pleasure, a place originally designed for con- 
 tinence and devotion. Perceivinsc, how- 
 ever, that his adm^onitions were likely to be 
 thrown away, he quitted the table with a 
 contemptuous sneer, when Theodore, not 
 a little displeased at finding himself treated 
 like a weak enthusiast^ for preferring duty
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 32/ 
 
 to ease, returned to the seminary with very 
 different feelings from those with which he 
 had left it. 
 
 Till now he had persuaded himself that 
 all the base and malignant passions, were 
 banished from the walls of a cloister. For 
 how could he suspect, inexperienced as he 
 was in the arts of hypocrisy, that the calcu- 
 lations of interest, and the love of affluence, 
 a good cook, and a well- stocked cellar, were, 
 perhaps, the most efficacious motives that 
 tempted man to em.brace a profession, w^hich 
 was avowedly that of poverty and privation. 
 This d scovery broke upon his mind like a 
 flash of light, which suddenly dissipates the 
 surrounding gloom, and displays to the 
 affrighted traveller, demons, and spectres, 
 and phantasmas dire. From this fatal 
 moment, all the ideal purity with w^hich 
 his heated imagination adorned the preten- 
 ded votaries of religious seclusion, began 
 gradually to decline, though he sometimes 
 flattered himself, that his favorite convent 
 formed an honorable exception to the
 
 328 THEODORE; or, 
 
 prevailing state of monastic corruption, 
 and that every patriarchal virtue had 
 sought a refuge at Pfuilendorf. 
 
 CHAP. XVII. 
 
 The triumph of Superstition. 
 
 Frederic observed, with pleasure, the 
 sudden change that had taken place in 
 liis friend's ideas, and omitted no oppor- 
 tunity of throwing out such casual re- 
 flections, as appeared most likely to aug- 
 ment his doubts. But so deeply engra- 
 ven- was the first impression, that it was 
 not easily effaced, however circumstances 
 might occur to shake his resolution. 
 
 Every office of religion afforded him 
 the highest gratification ; but as yet he 
 had never seen a nun take the veil ; this 
 ceremony J however, was about to be per- 
 formed in a ncigiiboring convent, and
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 3'29 
 
 he accordingly resolved to be present. 
 The youth, tliC rank, the bcaiUy of the 
 victim, attracted crowds of specta- 
 tors, and, accompanied by Frederic, he 
 entered the chapel, just as tlie awful cere- 
 mony was about to be^'in. In all the o-aw- 
 Ciy splendor of bridal attire, the devoted 
 virgin stood before the altar. Her counte- 
 nance displayed the calm serenity of un- 
 suspecting innocence, when for the last 
 time she embraced her friends, and re- 
 lations, relinquishing the world, and all its 
 allurements. Having prostrated herself 
 in the dust, and received from the 
 bishop the mysterious ring, as the conse- 
 crated bride of Christ, she retired for 
 a few minutes to be despoiled of her 
 gay and showy robe, but soon returned, 
 decorated Vv'ith the mournful symbols of 
 a living death. The myrtle wreath vv'as 
 now stripped from her brow, the luxu- 
 riant tresses were severed from her head, 
 and she appeared in the coarse garb of 
 celibacy and sorrov.'". Nor v/as she in-
 
 330 tiieolore; or, 
 
 sensible to tlie chano-e, for htr coimte- 
 naiice seemed no less altered than her 
 dress. The adiuiration of an applauding 
 audience had hitherto upheld her cou- 
 rage, but the claims of nature at length 
 asserted their right. That cheek, which 
 vied so lately with the blushing rose, 
 was covered u'ith tlie pearly hue of 
 death, and as the iron a-rate closed solemn- 
 ly, to separate her for ever from all 
 the ties and endearments of social affec- 
 tion, Frederic, wlio was free from the 
 illusions of his friend, persuaded him- 
 self that he read in her expressive fea- 
 tures the mournful language of despair. 
 Her farewell look penetrated to his soul, 
 nor did he recover his wonted serenity for 
 many days ; and so entirely was he en- 
 grossed with the idea, that he wroi:c the 
 following stanzas : 
 
 On rich Iberia's spicy coast. 
 
 So fam'd in bigot days. 
 Full many a maid, her parents' boast, 
 
 ^Yithdrawi3 tVom public gnze.
 
 THE ENTHLSIAST. 331 
 
 While priests extol, in hymns divine, 
 The triumph faith has gain'd, — 
 
 The virgin snatch'd from Hymen's shrinej 
 The spouse for heav'n obtain'd. 
 
 As droops the rose, sweet April's pride. 
 
 When frost has nipt its bioom. 
 So droops the consecrated r^iaid. 
 
 Pent in a living tomb. 
 
 Her auburn tresses careless spread. 
 
 That costly pearls entwine. 
 Shorn from Lucinda's lovely head, 
 
 Adoni her patron's shrine. 
 
 The purple robe her form conceal'd. 
 
 And fell in decent pride, 
 TI)f gauze transparent, which reveal'd 
 
 The charms 'twas meant to hide. 
 
 The dian:onds sparkling on her brow. 
 
 Less vivid than her eye. 
 The flow'ry uTeath, all prostrate novv'. 
 
 Before the altar lie. 
 
 I schang'd far these, the mystic veil, 
 
 The solemn, sad attire, 
 The beads to count o'er lamps so pale, 
 
 1- he prayers at midnight choir.
 
 '33^2 tjieobore; or, 
 
 Thero.^eat blush of henllh no more. 
 
 Her glowing cheek shall die, 
 How chang'd that face we lov'd before. 
 
 How sunk that once bright eye. 
 
 Mistaken maid ! in vain you feel 
 
 New hopes, new wi.-hes rise. 
 Since bigotry's destructive zeal 
 
 The pow'r to bless denies. 
 
 Th' endearing names of mother— wife- 
 Shall never charm your ear ; 
 Those tender ties of social life. 
 That sweeten ev'ry care. 
 
 Mistaken maid ! to think that he 
 
 Reproves the nuptial flame, 
 V/ho form'd our hearts, and left them free^ 
 
 To follow Nature's claim. 
 
 Can he, whose attributes divine. 
 
 Are mercy, love, and grace. 
 Consent to blot his fair design. 
 
 His first great law eiFace ? 
 
 The tumult of contending passions 
 produced such disorder in our hero's 
 mind, that Father Philip and Frederic 
 equally endeavored to lead his attention to
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 333 
 
 other pursuits. The former recommend- 
 ing to him the study of history, the 
 latter attempting to (h-aw liim from re- 
 tirement, to partake of the amusement of 
 society. But all was ineffectual; the 
 long winter evenings left him abundant 
 leisure to indulge in his gloomy reve- 
 ries, whiile an enthusiastic fancy, trans- 
 porting him be3-ond the hmits of this 
 sublunary world, embodied visions of 
 seraphic bliss, with wdiich he sometimes 
 conversed, as with real substances. 
 Even the company of his friends grew 
 irksome to liim, and if tliey ventured at 
 any time to ridicule these romantic 
 flights, he instantly quitted them witli 
 visible marks of displeasure. 
 
 How long this dehrium miglit have 
 lasted, it is not easy to ascertain, had not 
 a letter arrived from 1 heresa, which, by 
 directing his curiosity to a different 
 object, awakened new, and k\ss painful 
 sensations. After oivino; a concise ac-
 
 fjj4 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 count of domestic occurrences, the 
 amiable girl continued thus: 
 
 '' I can scarcely think, or talk of any 
 thing except Klopstock. The Messiah 
 aifords me fresh pleasure every day ; 
 for never do I sufier a day to pass with- 
 out reading some passages from that 
 wonderful poem. The author seems per- 
 fectly conversant with the spiritual 
 world, since he paints his angels, not 
 such as our gross conception represents 
 them, but in colors suitable to their 
 divine origin. Let me recommend to 
 you to procure this book immediately, 
 and to lay aside all other studies, till you 
 knoT^^ it by heart. Major Nordheim has 
 given me a copy, but tenderly as I love 
 you, I cannot send you mine, for it 
 would be depriving myself of the 
 greatest pleasure of my life. 
 
 Theodore's curiosity was raised so high 
 by his sister's commendations, that he 
 instantly sent for the poem, and de- 
 voured it with the eagerness which was
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 335 
 
 natural to his character. It was some 
 time, however, before he couicl accustom 
 himself to tlie language of the northern 
 bard, which is totally different from that 
 of every modern author. But this diih- 
 culty being surmounted, he was so en- 
 raptured with the sublimity of the sub- 
 ject, the boldness of the conception, and 
 the dio'nity of the stvle, that he ex- 
 pressed his admiration in the following 
 lines : 
 
 Thanks! thousand thanks! prophetic bard. 
 Who sing'st inspir'd of heav'n-born truth ! 
 
 Thanks ! thousand thanks ! thy due reward 
 From artless, unassuming youth. 
 
 Who tunes like thee, the hallow'd lays^ 
 
 While seraphs to thy song attend ; 
 Who knows, like thee, the soul to raise. 
 
 To cleanse the thoughts, the heart to mend ? 
 
 Hymning the blest Messiah's fate. 
 His trials, patience, faith, and love ; 
 
 Thou lead'st us through this dreary state^ 
 To realms of purest bliss above.
 
 336 
 
 Whatj though in Fame's bright robe array'd 
 Thy genius soars on wings of truth,. 
 
 Scorn not this humble tribute paid, 
 Bv artless, unassumino; vouth. 
 
 CHAP, xvin. 
 
 In which the reader forms an interesting acquaintance. 
 
 It is still a custom in many of the ca- 
 tholic countries, during the holy week, 
 to commemorate the suiTerings of the 
 Saviour of mankind, hy a popular pro- 
 cession ; which frequently converts that 
 awful ceremony into a scene of riot and 
 disorder. For while some of the actors 
 affect to expiate their past offences, by 
 the severity with which they scourge 
 their naked backs, their grimaces, when 
 smarting under the lash, never fails to 
 excite a ludicrous sensation in the minds 
 of the spectators.
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 337 
 
 Theodore was filled with indig*nation 
 at so disgusting a sight, nor coidd he 
 conceal his astonishment, that there 
 should exist men weak enough to suppose 
 it a meritorious action to torture them- 
 selves with theatrical rigor, and to imitate 
 the sufferings of their Redeemer, with- 
 out attempting to imitate his life. His 
 anger, too, was excited at the indecent 
 mockery made of an event, the most im- 
 portant of any in the hiistory of man. 
 Nor was he less offended at the indeco- 
 rous behaviour of the giddy crowd, who, 
 at the very moment when they w^ere 
 atoning for their transgressions, by the 
 voluntary effusion of their blood, were 
 forming plans for opening a new score, by 
 passing the evening in drunkenness and 
 debaucheiy. 
 
 As the procession passed, a protestant, 
 who was present, neglected to kneel, and 
 immediately a general murmur arose, 
 which was accompanied with a cry of 
 indignation from almost every mouth of 
 
 Vol. L q
 
 338 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 '* Down with the heretic ! Down with 
 the heretic !" Assailed on all sides with 
 imprecations, or blows, the poor wretch 
 had scarce a hope of escaping, when 
 Theodore gallantly stepped forward to his 
 succor, and, by a happy mixture of firmness 
 and intreaties, suspended the vengeance 
 of the angry populace, till the unhappy 
 victim was safe. 
 
 Our hero's conduct, upon this occasion, 
 became the common topic of conver- 
 sation throughout the seminary, where 
 his superior merit had excited the envy 
 of the ignorant and the idle. By them 
 this action was artfully attributed to a 
 philosophical indifference for religion, 
 though, in fact, it proceeded from the 
 noblest motives of humanity; and this 
 accusation was secretly countenanced by 
 father Barnabas, who was the declared 
 enemy of father Philip and toleration. 
 The latter, however, supported his 
 favorite with all his influence, exhorting 
 him to despise the unfounded calumny,
 
 THE EyxIIUSIAST. 339 
 
 and tli'js shew himself superior to the 
 attack. 
 
 To him and Steinfeld that excellent 
 man devoted his leisure hours, which 
 were spent either in the examination of 
 literary (|uestions, or in reading the hest 
 of the Germ.an poets; among which they 
 Avere particularly charmed with Kleist's 
 beautiful poem upon Springs recommended 
 by Theresa in the following: words : 
 
 '^ Next to Kiopstock I admire Kleist, 
 who served in the same regiment with 
 our friend the m.aior. Nordheim, who 
 loved him like a brother, speaks of his 
 courage anct iiumanity in the warmest 
 tcrm.s. Kleist fell by his side, covered 
 with glory. From the field of battle he 
 Vvas convey^^o Frankfort upbrj^t^the 
 Oder, where he^ lingered a few lE^^.^'in 
 exquisite tal-furf*^ afttended by his fri^d^^ 
 v»ho was fakcQ prisoner in the same actioa^. 
 The paS^cCand resignation, with which 
 he subinTtted to his fate, appear to me 
 beyond the reach of praise. Nordheim 
 0.2
 
 S40 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 lias his portrait in miniature, and I per- 
 suade myself, that I can trace^ in hi.s ex- 
 pressive features, the elevation and sen- 
 sibility \vhich characterise his Vvorks. 
 What nobleness and sinipUcity lie dis- 
 plays in the following lines, written only 
 a few days previous to his dea t li : 
 
 'Careless of iife, resign 'd to fall 
 
 When destiny, or honor call. 
 Pardon, kind heav'n, if I pret^er 
 ^{eroic fnnie, though bought by deatli. 
 To many a long, insipkl year 
 Of common, dull, inglorious breath. 
 
 See the dreud fiend approach, with threat'niiig eye, 
 
 J go — prepar'd to conquer, or to die, 
 
 '' Another of the Prussian officers lent 
 me a collection of pastoral sonnets, which 
 were not only Written in an affected 
 style, but contained many passages far 
 too indelicate for female inspection. I 
 therefore returned them immediately, 
 shxdccd to find, that there exist per- 
 sons so depraved as delibcra.tely to re- 
 commend a svstem of vice, lliat the
 
 THE ENTHUSIAST. 341 
 
 violence of our passions may plead in ex- 
 cuse of many failings, it is a consolation 
 to luiman weakness to believe ; but cor- 
 rupt indeed must be that man's princi- 
 ples, who can pervert his talents to the 
 insidious purpose of seducing innocence, 
 by the bewitching language of poetry, 
 or disguising immorality under the capti- 
 vatinoform of fashionable refinement." 
 
 By his unremitting assiduity, Theodore 
 was now arrived at that part of the 
 school, in wliich rhetoric and composi- 
 tion were taught, and over which the pe- 
 dantic Barnabas presided. He now, for 
 the first time, had an opportunity of judg- 
 ing, how discouraging it is for a youth 
 of genius to be exposed to the caprice 
 and petulance of a conceited pedagogue, 
 who imagines science exclusively to con- 
 sist in the knowledge of the dead lan- 
 guages, instead of considering language 
 in- its true light, as the key to science. 
 
 It is true that no rules can form either a 
 poet or an orator. All that the ablest 
 Q 3
 
 342 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 master can arri\'e at, is to elucidate 
 the beauties of Demosthenes and Cicero, 
 of Homer and Virgil ; but he must leave 
 to genius and application to effect the 
 rest. This, however, is a task to whicli 
 the talents of fevr professional teachers 
 are adequate, for taste is a rare and valu- 
 able commodity, the result of experience 
 and observation, happily digested in an 
 elegant mind, and to which it is as rare 
 for the plodding commentator to attain, 
 as for the sluggish ox, while he paces 
 slowly along the heavy furrow, to curvet 
 and caper like the managed charger. 
 
 Tlie time was now approaching for the 
 performance of the annual drama, and the 
 ^thalie of Racine, was selected for tliat 
 purpose. The part of Joas was allotted 
 to Theodore, that of Joad to Steinfeld, 
 while Werner was pitched upon to per- 
 sonate the heroine. The three friends ap- 
 peared to great advantage in their re- 
 spective characters, and wTre crowned
 
 THE EXTIIUSIAST. 343 
 
 vrith the applauses that might have been 
 due to a Garrick. 
 
 Werner's father o-ave a splendid 
 supper after the play, of whieh his 
 wife and daughter were for onee permit- 
 ted to partake. The form.er was a 
 phiin, unaffected, bustling vx^oman, per- 
 fectly conversant in the manajrement 
 of a family, and wise enough not to be 
 above it. Her understanding was natu- 
 rally strong, though it remained exactly 
 in the same state that Providence had 
 fL:)rmed it, unchanQcd, and untainted bv 
 fashionable accomplisliments. With the 
 warnith and sincerity cf an open heart, she 
 delivered her sentiments as they arose, al- 
 though frequently checked by her hus- 
 band with the chilling frown of disap- 
 probation. For notwithstanding her 
 remarks were for the most part just, yet 
 as they were those of unsophisticated 
 nature, he judged them erroneous, and 
 for this simple reason — because they 
 differed from his ov/n.
 
 344 THEODORE; OR, 
 
 Sophia, their cUaigliter, was cast by na- 
 ture ill her most dehcate mould. Her 
 eyes, of the darkest bhie, were expressive 
 of the miklest sensibiiity, nor was it 
 possible to behold them, without envying- 
 the felicity of that favored mortal to 
 whom they first should speak the lan- 
 guage of love. In conversation she was 
 rather reserved than cheerful, while a 
 tender melancholy diffused a pensi\'e 
 softness over every feature. Yet she 
 never spoke, without exciting a general 
 sentiment of rei>ret that she said so 
 little, for every observation was equally 
 characteristic of judgment, taste, and 
 feeliiig. 
 
 During sup|)er, her timid looks were 
 frequently directed towards Theodore, 
 whose character she had long admired 
 from public report, but who had that 
 night captivated her unsuspecting heart, 
 as the interesting representative of 
 Joas. 
 
 Her father, whose passion was vanity^
 
 THE EXTIIUSIAST. 343 
 
 desirous of exhibiting his daughters 
 talents in all tiieir histie, iiisisted 
 iipf^n lier pla} Ing a fdvorite over- 
 ture. With imaflccted modesty she 
 instiuitlv ol>eved, and, seatin^: herself at 
 her iiarpsichord, touched the keys vrith 
 suehrKhrdrable taste, as commanded uni- 
 versal apphiuse. The old man now in- 
 treated Theodore to repeat an air which 
 lie had sung that evening in a musical 
 afterpiece ; and with tiiis he readily com- 
 plied, upon condition that Sophia would 
 accompany him. 
 
 Old Werner's triumph was novv' com- 
 plere, since all tlie company allowed that 
 superior as her powers were, she had 
 never bgfore displayed such ex([uisite 
 sensibiiity. Looking round him with 
 an air of self-complacency, his sleek, 
 tat features glowed with delight, and 
 seemed to sa\-, " What being is so happy 
 as mvself ■ f )r who lias a son half so 
 learned as mine, a daughter with talents
 
 34,6 TilEOBOllE; OR, THE E^^THUSIAST. 
 
 like n'iine, or wlio gives entertainments 
 half so elegant as mine?" 
 
 Yet so totally was he occupied with 
 the rapture of possessing two such 
 amiable and accomplished children, that 
 he was absolutely blind to every other 
 consideration ; and though his eyes were 
 constantly fixed either on Sophia or her 
 brother, alternatel}^ admiring that which 
 w^as the present object of tlie company's 
 applause, lie wanted penetration to dis- 
 cover that her artless heart was suscep- 
 tible of an attachment to which piide, 
 and prudence, miglit equally object. 
 
 EKD OF VOL. I, 
 
 Printed by G Sidnf.v, 
 Northumberland Street, Strand.
 
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