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The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 02

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Title: The German Classics of the Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Volume 02

Editor: Kuno Francke


        
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GERMAN CLASSICS OF THE NINETEENTH AND TWENTIETH CENTURIES, VOLUME 02 ***

VOLUME II


JOHANN WOLFGANG VON GOETHE



THE GERMAN CLASSICS


MASTERPIECES OF GERMAN LITERATURE

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH



IN TWENTY VOLUMES

ILLUSTRATED




1914





VOLUME II



    CONTENTS OF VOLUME II


      INTRODUCTION TO THE ELECTIVE AFFINITIES.
         By Calvin Thomas

      THE ELECTIVE AFFINITIES.
         Translated by James Anthony Froude and R. Dillon Boylan

      SHAKESPEARE AND AGAIN SHAKESPEARE.
         Translated by Julia Franklin

      ORATION ON WIELAND.
         Translated by Louis H. Gray

      THE PEDAGOGIC PROVINCE (from "Wilhelm Meister's Travels").
         Translated by R. Dillon Boylan

      WINCKELMANN AND HIS AGE.
         Translated by George Krielin

      MAXIMS AND REFLECTIONS.
         Translated by Bailey Saunders

      ECKERMANN'S CONVERSATION WITH GOETHE.
         Translated by John Oxenford

      GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE WITH WILHELM VON HUMBOLDT AND HIS WIFE.
         Translated by Louis H. Gray

      GOETHE'S CORRESPONDENCE WITH K. F. ZELTER.
         Translated by Frances H. King




    ILLUSTRATIONS--VOLUME II

    Capri

    Edward reading aloud to Charlotte and the Captain

    Charlotte receives Ottilie. By P. Grotjohann

    Edward and Ottilie. By P. Grotjohann

    Edward, Charlotte, Ottilie and the Captain discuss
      the new plan of the house. By Franz Simm

    Ottilie examines Edward's Presents. By P Grotjohann

    Luciana posing as Queen Artemisia. By P. Grotjohann

    Ottilie. By Wilhelm von Kaulbach

    The Old Theatre, Weimar. By Peter Woltze

    Martin Wieland. By E. Hader

    Princess Amalia

    Winckelmann

    Weimar seen from the North

    Goethe and his Secretary. By Johann Josef Schmeller

    Goethe's Study

    The Garden at Goethe's City House, Weimar. By Peter Woltze

    Schiller's Garden House at Jena. Drawing by Goethe

    The float at Jena. Drawing by Goethe

    View into the Saale Valley near Jena. Drawing by Goethe

    K.F. Zelter


INTRODUCTION TO THE ELECTIVE AFFINITIES


In the spring of the year 1807 Goethe began work on the second part of
_Wilhelm Meister_. He had no very definite plot in view, but proposed to
make room for a number of short stories, all relating to the subject of
renunciation, which was to be the central theme of the _Wanderjahre_. In
the course of the summer, while he was taking the waters at Karlsbad,
two or three of the stories were written. The following spring he set
about elaborating another tale of renunciation, the idea of which had
occurred to him some time before. But somehow it refused to be confined
within the limits of a novelette. As he proceeded the matter grew apace,
until it finally developed into the novel which was given to the world
in 1809 under the title of _The Elective Affinities_.

When that which should be a short story is expanded into a novel one can
usually detect the padding and the embroidery. So it is certainly in
this case. Those long descriptions of landscape-gardening; the copious
extracts from Ottilie's diary, containing many thoughts which would
hardly have entered the head of such a girl; the pages given to
subordinate characters, whose comings and goings have no very obvious
connection with the story,--all these retard the narrative and tend to
hide the essential idea. The strange title, too, has served to divert
attention from the real centre of gravity. Had the tale been called,
say, "Ottilie's Expiation," there would have been less room for
misunderstanding and irrelevant criticism; there would have been less
concern over the moral, and more over the artistic, aspect of the story.

What then was the essential idea? Simply to describe a peculiar tragedy
resulting from the invasion of the marriage relation by lawless passion.
As for the title, it should be remembered that there was just then a
tendency to look for curious analogies between physical law and the
operations of the human mind. Great interest was felt in suggestion,
occult influence, and all that sort of thing. Goethe himself had lately
been lecturing on magnetism. He had also observed, as no one can fail to
observe, that the sexual attraction sometimes seems to act like chemical
affinity: it breaks up old unions, forms new combinations, destroys
pre-existing bodies, as if it were a law that _must_ work itself out,
whatever the consequences. Such a process will now and then defy
prudence, self-respect, duty, even religion,--going its way like a blind
and ruthless law of physics. But if this is to happen the recombining
elements must, of course, have each its specific character; else there
is no affinity and no tragedy.

It is no part of the analogy that the pressure of sex is always and by
its very nature like the attraction of atoms. Aside from the fact that
character consists largely in the steady inhibition of instinct and
passion by the will, there is this momentous difference between atoms or
molecules, on the one hand, and souls on the other: the character of the
atom or molecule is constant, that of the soul is highly variable. There
is no room here for remarks on free will and determinism; suffice it to
say that Goethe does not preach any doctrine of mechanical determinism
in human relations. The scientific analogy must not be pressed too hard.
It is really not important, since after all nothing turns on it.
Whatever interest the novel has it would have if all reference to
chemistry had been omitted. Goethe's thesis, if he can be said to have
one, is simply that character is fate.

He imagines a middle-aged man and woman, Edward and Charlotte, who are,
to all seeming, happily united in marriage. Each has been married before
to an unloved mate who has conveniently died, leaving them both free to
yield to the gentle pull of long-past youthful attachment. Their feeling
for each other is only a mild friendship, but that does not appear to
augur ill, since they are well-to-do, and their fine estate offers them
both a plenty of interesting work. Edward has a highly esteemed friend
called the Captain, who is for the moment without suitable employment
for his ability and energy. Edward can give him just the needed work,
with great advantage to the property, and would like to do so. Charlotte
fears that the presence of the Captain may disturb their pleasant idyl,
but finally yields. She herself has a niece, Ottilie, a beautiful girl
whom no one understands and who is not doing well at her
boarding-school. Charlotte would like to have the girl under her own
care. After much debate the pair take both the Captain and Ottilie into
their spacious castle.

And now the elective affinity begins to do its disastrous work. Edward,
who has always indulged himself in every whim and has no other standard
of conduct, falls madly in love with the charming Ottilie, who has a
passion for making herself useful and serving everybody. She adapts
herself to Edward, fails to see what a shabby specimen of a man he
really is, humors his whims, and worships him--at first in an innocent
girlish way. Charlotte is not long in discovering that the Captain is a
much better man than her husband; she loves him, but within the limits
of wifely duty. In the vulgar world of prose such a tangle could be most
easily straightened out by divorce and remarriage. This is what Edward
proposes and tries to bring about. The others are almost won over to
this solution when the event happens that precipitates the tragedy: the
child of Edward and Charlotte is accidentally drowned by Ottilie's
carelessness.

It is a very dubious link in Goethe's fiction that this child, while the
genuine offspring of Edward and Charlotte, has the features of Ottilie
and the Captain. From the moment of the drowning Ottilie is a changed
being. Her character quickly matures; like a wakened sleep-walker she
sees what a dangerous path she has been treading. She feels that
marriage with Edward would be a crime. She resists his passionate
appeals, and her remorse takes on a morbid tinge. It becomes a fixed
idea. Happiness is not for her. She must renounce it all. She must
atone--atone--for her awful sin. For a moment they plan to send her back
to school, but she cannot tear herself away from Edward's sinister
presence. At last she refuses food and gradually starves herself to
death. The wretched Edward does likewise.

Any just appreciation of Goethe's art in _The Elective Affinities_ must
begin by recognizing that it is about Ottilie. For her sake the book was
written. It is a study of a delicately organized virgin soul caught in
the meshes of an ignoble fate and beating its wings in hopeless misery
until death ends the struggle. The other characters are ordinary people:
Charlotte and the Captain ordinary in their good sense and self-control,
Edward ordinary in his moral flabbiness and his foolish infatuation. His
death, to be sure, is unthinkable for such a man and does but testify to
the unearthly attraction with which the girl is invested by Goethe's
art. The figure of Ottilie, like that of her spiritual sister Mignon, is
irradiated by a light that never was on sea or land. She is a creature
of romance, and we learn without much surprise that her dead body
performs miracles. One is reminded of that medieval lady who is doomed
to eat the heart of her crusading lover and then refuses all other food
and dies. That Edward is quite unworthy of the girl's love, that the
death of the child is no sufficient reason for her morbid remorse, is
quite immaterial, since at the end of the tale we are no longer in the
realm of normal psychology. A season of dreamy happiness, as she moves
about in a world unrealized; then a terrible shock, and after that,
remorse, renunciation, hopelessness, the will to die. Such is the logic
of the tale.




THE ELECTIVE AFFINITIES


TRANSLATED BY JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE AND R. DILLON BOYLAN


PART I


CHAPTER I


Edward--so we shall call a wealthy nobleman in the prime of life--had
been spending several hours of a fine April morning in his
nursery-garden, budding the stems of some young trees with cuttings
which had been recently sent to him.

He had finished what he was about, and having laid his tools together in
their box, was complacently surveying his work, when the gardener came
up and complimented his master on his industry.

"Have you seen my wife anywhere?" inquired Edward, as he moved to go
away.

"My lady is alone yonder in the new grounds," said the man; "the
summer-house which she has been making on the rock over against the
castle is finished today, and really it is beautiful. It cannot fail to
please your grace. The view from it is perfect:--the village at your
feet; a little to your right the church, with its tower, which you can
just see over; and directly opposite you, the castle and the garden."

"Quite true," replied Edward; "I can see the people at work a few steps
from where I am standing."

"And then, to the right of the church again," continued the gardener,
"is the opening of the valley; and you look along over a range of wood
and meadow far into the distance. The steps up the rock, too, are
excellently arranged. My gracious lady understands these things; it is a
pleasure to work under her."

"Go to her," said Edward, "and desire her to be so good as to wait for
me there. Tell her I wish to see this new creation of hers, and enjoy it
with her."

The gardener went rapidly off, and Edward soon followed. Descending the
terrace, and stopping as he passed to look into the hot-houses and the
forcing-pits, he came presently to the stream, and thence, over a narrow
bridge, to a place where the walk leading to the summer-house branched
off in two directions. One path led across the churchyard, immediately
up the face of the rock. The other, into which he struck, wound away to
the left, with a more gradual ascent, through a pretty shrubbery. Where
the two paths joined again, a seat had been made, where he stopped a few
moments to rest; and then, following the now single road, he found
himself, after scrambling along among steps and slopes of all sorts and
kinds, conducted at last through a narrow more or less steep outlet to
the summer-house.

Charlotte was standing at the door to receive her husband. She made him
sit down where, without moving, he could command a view of the different
landscapes through the door and window--these serving as frames, in
which they were set like pictures. Spring was coming on; a rich,
beautiful life would soon everywhere be bursting; and Edward spoke of it
with delight.

"There is only one thing which I should observe," he added, "the
summer-house itself is rather small."

"It is large enough for you and me, at any rate," answered Charlotte.

"Certainly," said Edward; "there is room for a third, too, easily."

"Of course; and for a fourth also," replied Charlotte. "For larger
parties we can contrive other places."

"Now that we are here by ourselves, with no one to disturb us, and in
such a pleasant mood," said Edward, "it is a good opportunity for me to
tell you that I have for some time had something on my mind, about which
I have wished to speak to you, but have never been able to muster up my
courage."

"I have observed that there has been something of the sort," said
Charlotte.

"And even now," Edward went on, "if it were not for a letter which the
post brought me this morning, and which obliges me to come to some
resolution today, I should very likely have still kept it to myself."

"What is it, then" asked Charlotte, turning affectionately toward him.

"It concerns our friend the Captain," answered Edward; "you know the
unfortunate position in which he, like many others, is placed. It is
through no fault of his own; but you may imagine how painful it must be
for a person with his knowledge and talents and accomplishments, to find
himself without employment. I--I will not hesitate any longer with what
I am wishing for him. I should like to have him here with us for a
time."

"We must think about that," replied Charlotte; "it should be considered
on more sides than one."

"I am quite ready to tell you what I have in view," returned Edward.
"Through his last letters there is a prevailing tone of despondency; not
that he is really in any want. He knows thoroughly well how to limit his
expenses; and I have taken care for everything absolutely necessary. It
is no distress to him to accept obligations from me; all our lives we
have been in the habit of borrowing from and lending to each other; and
we could not tell, if we would, how our debtor and creditor account
stands. It is being without occupation which is really fretting him. The
many accomplishments which he has cultivated in himself, it is his only
pleasure--indeed, it is his passion--to be daily and hourly exercising
for the benefit of others. And now, to sit still, with his arms folded;
or to go on studying, acquiring, and acquiring, when he can make no use
of what he already possesses;--my dear creature, it is a painful
situation; and alone as he is, he feels it doubly and trebly."

"But I thought," said Charlotte, "that he had had offers from many
different quarters. I myself wrote to numbers of my own friends, male
and female, for him; and, as I have reason to believe, not without
effect."

"It is true," replied Edward; "but these very offers--these various
proposals--have only caused him fresh embarrassment. Not one of them is
at all suitable to such a person as he is. He would have nothing to do;
he would have to sacrifice himself, his time, his purposes, his whole
method of life; and to that he cannot bring himself. The more I think of
it all, the more I feel about it, and the more anxious I am to see him
here with us."

"It is very beautiful and amiable in you," answered Charlotte, "to enter
with so much sympathy into your friend's position; only you must allow
me to ask you to think of yourself and of me, as well."

"I have done that," replied Edward. "For ourselves, we can have nothing
to expect from his presence with us, except pleasure and advantage. I
will say nothing of the expense. In any case, if he came to us, it would
be but small; and you know he will be of no inconvenience to us at all.
He can have his own rooms in the right wing of the castle, and
everything else can be arranged as simply as possible. What shall we not
be thus doing for him! and how agreeable and how profitable may not his
society prove to us! I have long been wishing for a plan of the property
and the grounds. He will see to it, and get it made. You intend yourself
to take the management of the estate, as soon as our present steward's
term is expired; and that, you know, is a serious thing. His various
information will be of immense benefit to us; I feel only too acutely
how much I require a person of this kind. The country people have
knowledge enough, but their way of imparting it is confused, and not
always honest. The students from the towns and universities are
sufficiently clever and orderly, but they are deficient in personal
experience. From my friend, I can promise myself both knowledge and
method, and hundreds of other circumstances I can easily conceive
arising, affecting you as well as me, and from which I can foresee
innumerable advantages. Thank you for so patiently listening to me. Now,
do you say what you think, and say it out freely and fully; I will not
interrupt you."

"Very well," replied Charlotte; "I will begin at once with a general
observation. Men think most of the immediate--the present; and rightly,
their calling being to do and to work; women, on the other hand, more of
how things hang together in life; and that rightly too, because their
destiny--the destiny of their families--is bound up in this
interdependence, and it is exactly this which it is their mission to
promote. So now let us cast a glance at our present and our past life;
and you will acknowledge that the invitation of the Captain does not
fall in so entirely with our purposes, our plans, and our arrangements.
I will go back to those happy days of our earliest intercourse. We loved
each other, young as we then were, with all our hearts. We were parted:
you from me--your father, from an insatiable desire of wealth, choosing
to marry you to an elderly and rich lady; I from you, having to give my
hand, without any especial motive, to an excellent man, whom I
respected, if I did not love. We became again free--you first, your poor
mother at the same time leaving you in possession of your large fortune;
I later, just at the time when you returned from abroad. So we met once
more. We spoke of the past; we could enjoy and love the recollection of
it; we might have been contented, in each other's society, to leave
things as they were. You were urgent for our marriage. I at first
hesitated. We were about the same age; but I as a woman had grown older
than you as a man. At last I could not refuse you what you seemed to
think the one thing you cared for. All the discomfort which you had ever
experienced, at court, in the army, or in traveling, you were to recover
from at my side; you would settle down and enjoy life; but only with me
for your companion. I settled my daughter at a school, where she could
be more completely educated than would be possible in the retirement of
the country; and I placed my niece Ottilie there with her as well, who,
perhaps, would have grown up better at home with me, under my own care.
This was done with your consent, merely that we might have our own
lives to ourselves--merely that we might enjoy undisturbed our
so-long-wished-for, so-long-delayed happiness. We came here and settled
ourselves. I undertook the domestic part of the ménage, you the
out-of-doors and the general control. My own principle has been to meet
your wishes in everything, to live only for you. At least, let us give
ourselves a fair trial how far in this way we can be enough for each
other."

"Since the interdependence of things, as you call it, is your especial
element," replied Edward, "one should either never listen to any of your
trains of reasoning, or make up one's mind to allow you to be in the
right; and, indeed, you have been in the right up to the present day.
The foundation which we have hitherto been laying for ourselves, is of
the true, sound sort; only, are we to build nothing upon it? is nothing
to be developed out of it? All the work we have done--I in the garden,
you in the park--is it all only for a pair of hermits?"

"Well, well," replied Charlotte, "very well. What we have to look to is,
that we introduce no alien element, nothing which shall cross or
obstruct us. Remember, our plans, even those which only concern our
amusements, depend mainly on our being together. You were to read to me,
in consecutive order, the journal which you made when you were abroad.
You were to take the opportunity of arranging it, putting all the loose
matter connected with it in its place; and with me to work with you and
help you, out of these invaluable but chaotic leaves and sheets to put
together a complete thing, which should give pleasure to ourselves and
to others. I promised to assist you in transcribing; and we thought it
would be so pleasant, so delightful, so charming, to travel over in
recollection the world which we were unable to see together. The
beginning is already made. Then, in the evenings, you have taken up your
flute again, accompanying me on the piano, while of visits backwards and
forwards among the neighborhood, there is abundance. For my part, I
have been promising myself out of all this the first really happy summer
I have ever thought to spend in my life."

"Only I cannot see," replied Edward, rubbing his forehead, "how, through
every bit of this which you have been so sweetly and so sensibly laying
before me, the Captain's presence can be any interruption; I should
rather have thought it would give it all fresh zest and life. He was my
companion during a part of my travels. He made many observations from a
different point of view from mine. We can put it all together, and so
make a charmingly complete work of it."

"Well, then, I will acknowledge openly," answered Charlotte, with some
impatience, "my feeling is against this plan. I have an instinct which
tells me no good will come of it."

"You women are invincible in this way," replied Edward. "You are so
sensible, that there is no answering you, then so affectionate, that one
is glad to give way to you; full of feelings, which one cannot wound,
and full of forebodings, which terrify one."

"I am not superstitious," said Charlotte; "and I care nothing for these
dim sensations, merely as such; but in general they are the result of
unconscious recollections of happy or unhappy consequences, which we
have experienced as following on our own or others' actions. Nothing is
of greater moment, in any state of things, than the intervention of a
third person. I have seen friends, brothers and sisters, lovers,
husbands and wives, whose relation to each other, through the accidental
or intentional introduction of a third person, has been altogether
changed--whose whole moral condition has been inverted by it."

"That may very well be," replied Edward, "with people who live on
without looking where they are going; but not, surely, with persons whom
experience has taught to understand themselves."

"That understanding ourselves, my dearest husband," insisted Charlotte,
"is no such certain weapon. It is very often a most dangerous one for
the person who bears it. And out of all this, at least so much seems to
arise, that we should not be in too great a hurry. Let me have a few
days to think; don't decide."

"As the matter stands," returned Edward, "wait as many days as we will,
we shall still be in too great a hurry. The arguments for and against
are all before us; all we want is the conclusion, and as things are, I
think the best thing we can do is to draw lots."

"I know," said Charlotte, "that in doubtful cases it is your way to
leave them to chance. To me, in such a serious matter, this seems almost
a crime."

"Then what am I to write to the Captain?" cried Edward; "for write I
must at once."

"Write him a kind, sensible, sympathizing letter," answered Charlotte.

"That is as good as none at all," replied Edward.

"And there are many cases," answered she, "in which we are obliged, and
in which it is the real kindness, rather to write nothing than not to
write."




CHAPTER II


Edward was alone in his room. The repetition of the incidents of his
life from Charlotte's lips; the representation of their mutual
situation, their mutual purposes, had worked him, sensitive as he was,
into a very pleasant state of mind. While close to her--while in her
presence--he had felt so happy, that he had thought out a warm, kind,
but quiet and indefinite epistle which he would send to the Captain.
When, however, he had settled himself at his writing-table, and taken up
his friend's letter to read it over once more, the sad condition of this
excellent man rose again vividly before him. The feelings which had been
all day distressing him again awoke, and it appeared impossible to him
to leave one whom he called his friend in such painful embarrassment.

Edward was unaccustomed to deny himself anything. The only child, and
consequently the spoilt child, of wealthy parents, who had persuaded him
into a singular, but highly advantageous marriage with a lady far older
than himself; and again by her petted and indulged in every possible
way, she seeking to reward his kindness to her by the utmost liberality;
after her early death his own master, traveling independently of every
one, equal to all contingencies and all changes, with desires never
excessive, but multiple and various--free-hearted, generous, brave, at
times even noble--what was there in the world to cross or thwart him?

Hitherto, everything had gone as he desired! Charlotte had become his;
he had won her at last, with an obstinate, a romantic fidelity; and now
he felt himself, for the first time, contradicted, crossed in his
wishes, when those wishes were to invite to his home the friend of his
youth--just as he was longing, as it were, to throw open his whole heart
to him. He felt annoyed, impatient; he took up his pen again and again,
and as often threw it down again, because he could not make up his mind
what to write. Against his wife's wishes he would not go; against her
expressed desire he could not. Ill at ease as he was, it would have been
impossible for him, even if he had wished, to write a quiet, easy
letter. The most natural thing to do, was to put it off. In a few words,
he begged his friend to forgive him for having left his letter
unanswered; that day he was unable to write circumstantially; but
shortly, he hoped to be able to tell him what he felt at greater length.

The next day, as they were walking to the same spot, Charlotte took the
opportunity of bringing back the conversation to the subject, perhaps
because she knew that there is no surer way of rooting out any plan or
purpose than by often talking it over.

It was what Edward was wishing. He expressed him self in his own way,
kindly and sweetly. For although, sensitive as, he was, he flamed up
readily--although the vehemence with which he desired anything made him
pressing, and his obstinacy made him impatient--his words were so
softened by his wish to spare the feelings of those to whom he was
speaking, that it was impossible not to be charmed, even when one most
disagreed, with him.

This morning, he first contrived to bring Charlotte into the happiest
humor, and then so disarmed her with the graceful turn which he gave to
the conversation, that she cried out at last:

"You are determined that what I refused to the husband you will make me
grant to the lover. At least, my dearest," she continued, "I will
acknowledge that your wishes,--and the warmth and sweetness with which
you express them, have not left me untouched, have not left me unmoved.
You drive me to make a confession;--till now, I too have had a
concealment from you; I am in exactly the same position with you, and I
have hitherto been putting the same restraint on my inclination which I
have been exhorting you to put on yours."

"Glad am I to hear that," said Edward. "In the married state, a
difference of opinion now and then, I see, is no bad thing; we learn
something of each other by it."

"You are to learn at present, then," said Charlotte, "that it is with me
about Ottilie as it is with you about the Captain. The dear child is
most uncomfortable at the school, and I am thoroughly uneasy about her.
Luciana, my daughter, born as she is for the world, is there training
hourly for the world; languages, history, everything that is taught
there, she acquires with so much ease that, as it were, she learns them
off at sight. She has quick natural gifts, and an excellent memory; one
may almost say she forgets everything, and in a moment calls it all back
again. She distinguishes herself above every one at the school with the
freedom of her carriage, the grace of her movement, and the elegance of
her address, and with the inborn royalty of nature makes herself the
queen of the little circle there. The superior of the establishment
regards her as a little divinity, who, under her hands, is shaping into
excellence, and who will do her honor, gain her reputation, and bring
her a large increase of pupils; the first pages of this good lady's
letters, and her monthly notices of progress, are forever hymns about
the excellence of such a child, which I have to translate into my own
prose; while her concluding sentences about Ottilie are nothing but
excuse after excuse--attempts at explaining how it can be that a girl in
other respects growing up so lovely seems coming to nothing, and shows
neither capacity nor accomplishment. This, and the little she has to say
besides, is no riddle to me, because I can see in this dear child the
same character as that of her mother, who was my own dearest friend; who
grew up with myself, and whose daughter, I am certain, if I had the care
of her education, would form into an exquisite creature.

"This, however, has not fallen in with our plan, and as one ought not to
be picking and pulling, or for ever introducing new elements among the
conditions of our lives, I think it better to bear, and to conquer as I
can, even the unpleasant impression that my daughter, who knows very
well that poor Ottilie is entirely dependent upon us, does not refrain
from flourishing her own successes in her face, and so, to a certain
extent, destroys the little good which we have done for her. Who are
well trained enough never to wound others by a parade of their own
advantages? and who stands so high as not at times to suffer under such
a slight? In trials like these, Ottilie's character is growing in
strength, but since I have clearly known the painfulness of her
situation, I have been thinking over all possible ways to make some
other arrangement. Every hour I am expecting an answer to my own last
letter, and then I do not mean to hesitate any more. So, my dear Edward,
it is with me. We have both, you see, the same sorrows to bear, touching
both our hearts in the same point. Let us bear them together, since we
neither of us can press our own against the other."

"We are strange creatures," said Edward, smiling. "If we can only put
out of sight anything which troubles us, we fancy at once we have got
rid of it. We can give up much in the large and general; but to make
sacrifices in little things is a demand to which we are rarely equal. So
it was with my mother,--as long as I lived with her, while a boy and a
young man, she could not bear to let me be a moment out of her sight. If
I was out later than usual in my ride, some misfortune must have
happened to me. If I got wet through in a shower, a fever was
inevitable. I traveled; I was absent from her altogether; and, at once,
I scarcely seemed to belong to her. If we look at it closer," he
continued, "we are both acting very foolishly, very culpably. Two very
noble natures, both of which have the closest claims on our affection,
we are leaving exposed to pain and distress, merely to avoid exposing
ourselves to a chance of danger. If this is not to be called selfish,
what is? You take Ottilie. Let me have the Captain; and, for a short
period, at least, let the trial be made."

"We might venture it," said Charlotte, thoughtfully, "if the danger were
only to ourselves. But do you think it prudent to bring Ottilie and the
Captain into a situation where they must necessarily be so closely
intimate; the Captain, a man no older than yourself, of an age (I am not
saying this to flatter you) when a man becomes first capable of love and
first deserving of it, and a girl of Ottilie's attractiveness?"

"I cannot conceive how you can rate Ottilie so high," replied Edward. "I
can only explain it to myself by supposing her to have inherited your
affection for her mother. Pretty she is, no doubt. I remember the
Captain observing it to me, when we came back last year, and met her at
your aunt's. Attractive she is,--she has particularly pretty eyes; but I
do not know that she made the slightest impression upon me."

"That was quite proper in you," said Charlotte, "seeing that I was
there; and, although she is much younger than I, the presence of your
old friend had so many charms for you, that you overlooked the promise
of the opening beauty. It is one of your ways; and that is one reason
why it is so pleasant to live with you."

Charlotte, openly as she appeared to be speaking, was keeping back
something, nevertheless; which was that at the time when Edward came
first back from abroad, she had purposely thrown Ottilie in his way, to
secure, if possible, so desirable a match for her protégée. For of
herself, at that time, in connection with Edward, she never thought at
all. The Captain, also, had a hint given to him to draw Edward's
attention to her; but the latter, who was clinging determinately to his
early affection for Charlotte, looked neither right nor left, and was
only happy in the feeling that it was at last within his power to obtain
for himself the one happiness which he so earnestly desired; and which a
series of incidents had appeared to have placed forever beyond his
reach.

They were on the point of descending the new grounds, in order to return
to the castle, when a servant came hastily to meet them, and, with a
laugh on his face, called up from below, "Will your grace be pleased to
come quickly to the castle? The Herr Mittler has just galloped into the
court. He shouted to us, to go all of us in search of you, and we were
to ask whether there was need; 'whether there is need,' he cried after
us, 'do you hear? But be quick, be quick.'"

"The odd fellow," exclaimed Edward. "But has he not come at the right
time, Charlotte? Tell him, there is need,--grievous need. He must
alight. See his horse taken care of. Take him into the saloon, and let
him have some luncheon. We shall be with him immediately."

"Let us take the nearest way," he said to his wife, and struck into the
path across the churchyard, which he usually avoided. He was not a
little surprised to find here, too, traces of Charlotte's delicate hand.
Sparing, as far as possible, the old monuments, she had contrived to
level it, and lay it carefully out, so as to make it appear a pleasant
spot on which the eye and the imagination could equally repose with
pleasure. The oldest stones had each their special honor assigned them.
They were ranged according to their dates along the wall, either leaning
against it, or let into it, or however it could be contrived; and the
string-course of the church was thus variously ornamented.

Edward was singularly affected as he came in upon it through the little
wicket; he pressed Charlotte's hand, and tears started into his eyes.
But these were very soon put to flight, by the appearance of their
singular visitor. This gentleman had declined sitting down in the
castle; he had ridden straight through the village to the churchyard
gate; and then, halting, he called out to his friends, "Are you not
making a fool of me? Is there need, really? If there is, I can stay till
mid-day. But don't keep me. I have a great deal to do before night."

"Since you have taken the trouble to come so far," cried Edward to him,
in answer, "you had better come through the gate. We meet at a solemn
spot. Come and see the variety which Charlotte has thrown over its
sadness."

"Inside there," called out the rider, "come I neither on horseback, nor
in carriage, nor on foot. These here rest in peace: with them I have
nothing to do. One day I shall be carried in feet foremost. I must bear
that as I can. Is it serious, I want to know?"

"Indeed it is," cried Charlotte, "right serious. For the first time in
our married lives, we are in a strait and difficulty, from which we do
not know how to extricate ourselves."

"You do not look as if it were so," answered he. "But I will believe
you. If you are deceiving me, for the future you shall help yourselves.
Follow me quickly, my horse will be none the worse for a rest."

The three speedily found themselves in the saloon together. Luncheon was
brought in, and Mittler told them what that day he had done, and was
going to do. This eccentric person had in early life been a clergyman,
and had distinguished himself in his office by the never-resting
activity with which he contrived to make up and put an end to quarrels:
quarrels in families, and quarrels between neighbors; first among the
individuals immediately about him, and afterward among whole
congregations, and among the country gentlemen round. While he was in
the ministry, no married couple was allowed to separate; and the
district courts were untroubled with either cause or process. A
knowledge of the law, he was well aware, was necessary to him. He gave
himself with all his might to the study of it, and very soon felt
himself a match for the best trained advocate. His circle of activity
extended wonderfully, and people were on the point of inducing him to
move to the Residence, where he would find opportunities of exercising
in the higher circles what he had begun in the lowest, when he won a
considerable sum of money in a lottery. With this, he bought himself a
small property. He let the ground to a tenant, and made it the centre of
his operations, with the fixed determination, or rather in accordance
with his old customs and inclinations, never to enter a house when there
was no dispute to make up, and no help to be given. People who were
superstitious about names, and about what they imported, maintained that
it was his being called Mittler which drove him to take upon himself
this strange employment.

Luncheon was laid on the table, and the stranger then solemnly pressed
his host not to wait any longer with the disclosure which he had to
make. Immediately after refreshing himself he would be obliged to leave
them.

Husband and wife made a circumstantial confession; but scarcely had he
caught the substance of the matter, when he started angrily up from the
table, rushed out of the saloon, and ordered his horse to be saddled
instantly.

"Either you do not know me, you do not understand me," he cried, "or you
are sorely mischievous. Do you call this a quarrel? Is there any want
of help here? Do you suppose that I am in the world to give _advice_? Of
all occupations which man can pursue, that is the most foolish. Every
man must be his own counsellor, and do what he cannot let alone. If all
go well, let him be happy, let him enjoy his wisdom and his fortune; if
it go ill, I am at hand to do what I can for him. The man who desires to
be rid of an evil knows what he wants; but the man who desires something
better than he has got is stone blind. Yes, yes, laugh as you will, he
is playing blindman's-buff; perhaps he gets hold of something, but the
question is what he has got hold of. Do as you will, it is all one.
Invite your friends to you, or let them be, it is all the same. The most
prudent plans I have seen miscarry, and the most foolish succeed. Don't
split your brains about it; and if, one way or the other, evil comes of
what you settle, don't fret; send for me, and you shall be helped. Till
which time, I am your humble servant."

So saying, he sprang on his horse, without waiting the arrival of the
coffee.

"Here you see," said Charlotte, "the small service a third person can
be, when things are off their balance between two persons closely
connected; we are left, if possible, more confused and more uncertain
than we were."

They would both, probably, have continued hesitating some time longer,
had not a letter arrived from the Captain, in reply to Edward's last. He
had made up his mind to accept one of the situations which had been
offered him, although it was not in the least up to his mark. He was to
share the ennui of certain wealthy persons of rank, who depended on his
ability to dissipate it.

Edward's keen glance saw into the whole thing, and he pictured it out in
just, sharp lines.

"Can we endure to think of our friend in such a position?" he cried;
"you cannot be so cruel, Charlotte."

"That strange Mittler is right after all," replied Charlotte; "all such
undertakings are ventures; what will come of them it is impossible to
foresee. New elements introduced among us may be fruitful in fortune or
in misfortune, without our having to take credit to ourselves for one or
the other. I do not feel myself firm enough to oppose you further. Let
us make the experiment; only one thing I will entreat of you--that it be
only for a short time. You must allow me to exert myself more than ever,
to use all my influence among all my connections, to find him some
position which will satisfy him in his own way."

Edward poured out the warmest expressions of gratitude. He hastened,
with a light, happy heart, to write off his proposals to his friend.
Charlotte, in a postscript, was to signify her approbation with her own
hand, and unite her own kind entreaties with his. She wrote, with a
rapid pen, pleasantly and affectionately, but yet with a sort of haste
which was not usual with her; and, most unlike herself, she disfigured
the paper at last with a blot of ink, which put her out of temper, and
which she only made worse with her attempts to wipe it away.

Edward laughed at her about it, and, as there was still room, added a
second postscript, that his friend was to see from this symptom the
impatience with which he was expected, and measure the speed at which he
came to them by the haste in which the letter was written.

The messenger was gone; and Edward thought he could not give a more
convincing evidence of his gratitude, than in insisting again and again
that Charlotte should at once send for Ottilie from the school. She said
she would think about it; and, for that evening, induced Edward to join
with her in the enjoyment of a little music. Charlotte played
exceedingly well on the piano, Edward not quite so well on the flute. He
had taken a great deal of pains with it at times; but he was without the
patience, without the perseverance, which are requisite for the
completely successful cultivation of such a talent; consequently, his
part was done unequally, some pieces well, only perhaps too
quickly--while with others he hesitated, not being quite familiar with
them; so that, for any one else, it would have been difficult to have
gone through a duet with him. But Charlotte knew how to manage it. She
held in, or let herself be run away with, and fulfilled in this way the
double part of a skilful conductor and a prudent housewife, who are able
always to keep right on the whole, although particular passages will now
and then fall out of order.




CHAPTER III


The Captain came, having previously written a most sensible letter,
which had entirely quieted Charlotte's apprehensions. So much clearness
about himself, so just an understanding of his own position and the
position of his friends, promised everything which was best and
happiest.

The conversation of the first few hours, as is generally the case with
friends who have not met for a long time, was eager, lively, almost
exhausting. Toward evening, Charlotte proposed a walk to the new
grounds. The Captain was delighted with the spot, and observed every
beauty which had been first brought into sight and made enjoyable by the
new walks. He had a practised eye, and at the same time one easily
satisfied; and although he knew very well what was really valuable, he
never, as so many persons do, made people who were showing him things of
their own uncomfortable, by requiring more than the circumstances
admitted of, or by mentioning anything more perfect, which he remembered
having seen elsewhere.

When they arrived at the summer-house, they found it dressed out for a
holiday, only, indeed, with artificial flowers and evergreens, but with
some pretty bunches of natural corn-ears among them, and other field and
garden fruit, so as to do credit to the taste which had arranged them.

"Although my husband does not like in general to have his birthday or
christening-day kept," Charlotte said, "he will not object today to
these few ornaments being expended on a treble festival."

"Treble?" cried Edward.

"Yes, indeed," she replied. "Our friend's arrival here we are bound to
keep as a festival; and have you never thought, either of you, that this
is the day on which you were both christened? Are you not both named
Otto?"

The two friends shook hands across the little table.

"You bring back to my mind," Edward said, "this little link of our
boyish affection. As children, we were both called so; but when we came
to be at school together, it was the cause of much confusion, and I
readily made over to him all my right to the pretty laconic name."

"Wherein you were not altogether so very high-minded," said the Captain;
"for I well remember that the name of Edward had then begun to please
you better, from its attractive sound when spoken by certain pretty
lips."

They were now sitting all three round the same table where Charlotte had
spoken so vehemently against their guest's coming to them. Edward, happy
as he was, did not wish to remind his wife of that time; but he could
not help saying, "There is good room here for one more person."

At this moment the notes of a bugle were heard across from the castle.
Full of happy thoughts and feelings as the friends all were together,
the sound fell in among them with a strong force of answering harmony.
They listened silently, each for the moment withdrawing into himself,
and feeling doubly happy in the fair circle of which he formed a part.
The pause was first broken by Edward, who started up and walked out in
front of the summer-house.

"Our friend must not think," he said to Charlotte, "that this narrow
little valley forms the whole of our domain and possessions. Let us take
him up to the top of the hill, where he can see farther and breathe more
freely."

"For this once, then," answered Charlotte, "we must climb up the old
footpath, which is not too easy. By the next time, I hope my walks and
steps will have been carried right up."

And so, among rocks, and shrubs, and bushes, they made their way to the
summit, where they found themselves, not on a level flat, but on a
sloping grassy terrace, running along the ridge of the hill. The
village, with the castle behind it, was out of sight. At the bottom of
the valley, sheets of water were seen spreading out right and left, with
wooded hills rising immediately from their opposite margin, and, at the
end of the upper water, a wall of sharp, precipitous rocks directly
overhanging it, their huge forms reflected in its level surface. In the
hollow of the ravine, where a considerable brook ran into the lake, lay
a mill, half hidden among the trees, a sweetly retired spot, most
beautifully surrounded; and through the entire semicircle, over which
the view extended, ran an endless variety of hills and valleys, copse
and forest, the early green of which promised the near approach of a
luxuriant clothing of foliage. In many places particular groups of trees
caught the eye; and especially a cluster of planes and poplars directly
at the spectator's feet, close to the edge of the centre lake. They were
at their full growth, and they stood there, spreading out their boughs
all around them, in fresh and luxuriant strength.

To these Edward called his friend's attention.

"I myself planted them," he cried, "when I was a boy. They were small
trees which I rescued when my father was laying out the new part of the
great castle garden, and in the middle of one summer had rooted them
out. This year you will no doubt see them show their gratitude in a
fresh set of shoots."

They returned to the castle in high spirits, and mutually pleased with
each other. To the guest was allotted an agreeable and roomy set of
apartments in the right wing of the castle; and here he rapidly got his
books and papers and instruments in order, to go on with his usual
occupation. But Edward, for the first few days, gave him no rest. He
took him about everywhere, now on foot, now on horseback, making him
acquainted with the country and with the estate; and he embraced the
opportunity of imparting to him the wishes which he had been long
entertaining, of getting at some better acquaintance with it, and
learning to manage it more profitably.

"The first thing we have to do," said the Captain, "is to make a
magnetic survey of the property. That is a pleasant and easy matter; and
if it does not admit of entire exactness, it will be always useful, and
will do, at any rate, for an agreeable beginning. It can be made, too,
without any great staff of assistants, and one can be sure of getting it
completed. If by-and-by you come to require anything more exact, it will
be easy then to find some plan to have it made."

The Captain was exceedingly skilful at work of thus kind. He had brought
with him whatever instruments he required, and commenced immediately.
Edward provided him with a number of foresters and peasants, who, with
his instruction, were able to render him all necessary assistance. The
weather was favorable. The evenings and the early mornings were devoted
to the designing and drawing, and in a short time it was all filled in
and colored. Edward saw his possessions grow out like a new creation
upon the paper; and it seemed as if now for the first time he knew what
they were, as if they now first were properly his own.

Thus there came occasion to speak of the park, and of the ways of laying
it out; a far better disposition of things being made possible after a
survey of this kind, than could be arrived at by experimenting on
nature, on partial and accidental impressions.

"We must make my wife understand this," said Edward.

"We must do nothing of the kind," replied the Captain, who did not like
bringing his own notions in collision with those of others. He had
learnt by experience that the motives and purposes by which men are
influenced are far too various to be made to coalesce upon a single
point, even on the most solid representations. "We must not do it," he
cried; "she will be only confused. With her, as with all people who
employ themselves on such matters merely as amateurs, the important
thing is, rather that she shall do something, than that something shall
be done. Such persons feel their way with nature. They have fancies for
this plan or that; they do not venture on removing obstacles. They are
not bold enough to make a sacrifice. They do not know beforehand in what
their work is to result. They try an experiment--it succeeds--it fails;
they alter it; they alter, perhaps, what they ought to leave alone, and
leave what they ought to alter; and so, at last, there always remains
but a patchwork, which pleases and amuses, but never satisfies."

"Acknowledge candidly," said Edward, "that you do not like this new work
of hers."

"The idea is excellent," he replied; "if the execution were equal to it,
there would be no fault to find. But she has tormented herself to find
her way up that rock; and she now torments every one, if you must have
it, that she takes up after her. You cannot walk together, you cannot
walk behind one another, with any freedom. Every moment your step is
interrupted one way or another. There is no end to the mistakes which
she has made."

"Would it have been easy to have done it otherwise?" asked Edward.

"Perfectly," replied the Captain. "She had only to break away a corner
of the rock, which is now but an unsightly object, made up as it is of
little pieces, and she would at once have a sweep for her walk and stone
in abundance for the rough masonry work, to widen it in the bad places,
and make it smooth. But this I tell you in strictest confidence. Her it
would only confuse and annoy. What is done must remain as it is. If any
more money and labor is to be spent there, there is abundance to do
above the summer-house on the hill, which we can settle our own way."

If the two friends found in their occupation abundance of present
employment, there was no lack either of entertaining reminiscences of
early times, in which Charlotte took her part as well. They determined,
moreover, that as soon as their immediate labors were finished, they
would go to work upon the journal, and in this way, too, reproduce the
past.

For the rest, when Edward and Charlotte were alone, there were fewer
matters of private interest between them than formerly. This was
especially the case since the fault-finding about the grounds, which
Edward thought so just, and which he felt to the quick. He held his
tongue about what the Captain had said for a long time; but at last,
when he saw his wife again preparing to go to work above the
summer-house, with her paths and steps, he could not contain himself any
longer, but, after a few circumlocutions, came out with his new views.

Charlotte was thoroughly disturbed. She was sensible enough to perceive
at once that they were right, but there was the difficulty with what was
already done--and what was made was made. She had liked it; even what
was wrong had become dear to her in its details. She fought against her
convictions; she defended her little creations; she railed at men who
were forever going to the broad and the great. They could not let a
pastime, they could not let an amusement alone, she said, but they must
go and make a work out of it, never thinking of the expense which their
larger plans involved. She was provoked, annoyed, and angry. Her old
plans she could not give up, the new she would not quite throw from her;
but, divided as she was, for the present she put a stop to the work, and
gave herself time to think the thing over, and let it ripen by itself.

At the same time that she lost this source of active amusement, the
others were more and more together over their own business. They took
to occupying themselves, moreover, with the flower-garden and the
hot-houses; and as they filled up the intervals with the ordinary
gentlemen's amusements, hunting, riding, buying, selling, breaking
horses, and such matters, she was every day left more and more to
herself. She devoted herself more assiduously than ever to her
correspondence on account of the Captain; and yet she had many lonely
hours; so that the information which she now received from the school
became of more agreeable interest.

To a long-drawn letter of the superior of the establishment, filled with
the usual expressions of delight at her daughter's progress, a brief
postscript was attached, with a second from the hand of a gentleman in
employment there as an Assistant, both of which we here communicate.

POSTSCRIPT OF THE SUPERIOR

"Of Ottilie, I can only repeat to your ladyship what I have already
stated in my former letters. I do not know how to find fault with her,
yet I cannot say that I am satisfied. She is always unassuming, always
ready to oblige others; but it is not pleasing to see her so timid, so
almost servile.

"Your ladyship lately sent her some money, with several little matters
for her wardrobe. The money she has never touched, the dresses lie
unworn in their place. She keeps her things very nice and very clean;
but this is all she seems to care about. Again, I cannot praise her
excessive abstemiousness in eating and drinking. There is no
extravagance at our table, but there is nothing that I like better than
to see the children eat enough of good, wholesome food. What is
carefully provided and set before them ought to be taken; and to this I
never can succeed in bringing Ottilie. She is always making herself some
occupation or other, always finding something which she must do,
something which the servants have neglected, to escape the second course
or the dessert; and now it has to be considered (which I cannot help
connecting with all this) that she frequently suffers, I have lately
learnt, from pain in the left side of her head. It is only at times, but
it is distressing, and may be of importance. So much upon this otherwise
sweet and lovely girl."

SECOND POSTSCRIPT, BY THE ASSISTANT

"Our excellent superior commonly permits me to read the letters in which
she communicates her observations upon her pupils to their parents and
friends. Such of them as are addressed to your ladyship I ever read with
twofold attention and pleasure. We have to congratulate you upon a
daughter who unites in herself every brilliant quality with which people
distinguish themselves in the world; and I at least think you no less
fortunate in having had bestowed upon you, in your step-daughter, a
child who has been born for the good and happiness of others, and
assuredly also for her own. Ottilie is almost our only pupil about whom
there is a difference of opinion between myself and our reverend
superior. I do not complain of the very natural desire in that good lady
to see outward and definite fruits arising from her labors. But there
are also fruits which are not outward, which are of the true germinal
sort, and which develop themselves sooner or later in a beautiful life.
And this I am certain is the case with your protégée. So long as she has
been under my care, I have watched her moving with an even step, slowly,
steadily forward--never back. As with a child it is necessary to begin
everything at the beginning, so it is with her. She can comprehend
nothing which does not follow from what precedes it; let a thing be as
simple and easy as possible, she can make nothing of it if it is not in
a recognizable connection; but find the intermediate links, and make
them clear to her, and then nothing is too difficult for her.

"Progressing with such slow steps, she remains behind her companions,
who, with capacities of quite a different kind, hurry on and on, learn
everything readily, connected or unconnected, recollect it with ease,
and apply it with correctness. And again, some of the lessons here are
given by excellent, but somewhat hasty and impatient teachers, who pass
from result to result, cutting short the process by which they are
arrived at; and these are not of the slightest service to her; she
learns nothing from them. There is a complaint of her handwriting. They
say she will not, or cannot, understand how to form her letters. I have
examined closely into this. It is true she writes slowly, stiffly, if
you like; but the hand is neither timid nor without character. The
French language is not my department, but I have taught her something of
it, in the step-by-step fashion; and this she understands easily.
Indeed, it is singular that she knows a great deal, and knows it well,
too; and yet when she is asked a question, it seems as if she knew
nothing.

"To conclude generally, I should say she learns nothing like a person
who is being educated, but she learns like one who is to educate--not
like a pupil, but like a future teacher. Your ladyship may think it
strange that I, as an educator and a teacher, can find no higher praise
to give to any one than by a comparison with myself. I may leave it to
your own good sense, to your deep knowledge of the world and of mankind,
to make the best of my most inadequate, but well-intended expressions.
You may satisfy yourself that you have much happiness to promise
yourself from this child. I commend myself to your ladyship, and I
beseech you to permit me to write to you again as soon as I see reason
to believe that I have anything important or agreeable to communicate."

This letter gave Charlotte great pleasure. The contents of it coincided
very closely with the notions which she had herself conceived of
Ottilie. At the same time, she could not help smiling at the excessive
interest of the Assistant, which seemed greater than the insight into a
pupil's excellence usually calls forth. In her quiet, unprejudiced way
of looking at things, this relation, among others, she was contented to
permit to lie before her as a possibility; she could value the interest
of so sensible a man in Ottilie, having learnt, among the lessons of her
life, to see how highly true regard is to be prized in a world where
indifference or dislike are the common natural residents.




CHAPTER IV


The topographical chart of the property and its environs was completed.
It was executed on a considerable scale; the character of the particular
localities was made intelligible by various colors; and by means of a
trigonometrical survey the Captain had been able to arrive at a very
fair exactness of measurement. He had been rapid in his work. There was
scarcely ever any one who could do with less sleep than this most
laborious man; and, as his day was always devoted to an immediate
purpose, every evening something had been done.

"Let us now," he said to his friend, "go on to what remains for us, to
the statistics of the estate. We shall have a good deal of work to get
through at the beginning, and afterward we shall come to the farm
estimates, and much else which will naturally arise out of them. Only we
must have one thing distinctly settled and adhered to. Everything which
is properly _business_ we must keep carefully separate from life.
Business requires earnestness and method; _life_ must have a freer
handling. Business demands the utmost stringency and sequence; in life,
inconsecutiveness is frequently necessary, indeed, is charming and
graceful. If you are firm in the first, you can afford yourself more
liberty in the second; while if you mix them, you will find the free
interfering with and breaking in upon the fixed."

In these sentiments Edward felt a slight reflection upon himself. Though
not naturally disorderly, he could never bring himself to arrange his
papers in their proper places. What he had to do in connection with
others, was not kept separate from what depended only on himself.
Business got mixed up with amusement, and serious work with recreation.
Now, however, it was easy for him, with the help of a friend who would
take the trouble upon himself; and a second "I" worked out the
separation, to which the single "I" was always unequal.

In the Captain's wing, they contrived a depository for what concerned
the present, and an archive for the past. Here they brought all the
documents, papers, and notes from their various hiding-places, rooms,
drawers, and boxes, with the utmost speed. Harmony and order were
introduced into the wilderness, and the different packets were marked
and registered in their several pigeon-holes. They found all they wanted
in greater completeness even than they had expected; and here an old
clerk was found of no slight service, who for the whole day and part of
the night never left his desk, and with whom, till then, Edward had been
always dissatisfied.

"I should not know him again," he said to his friend, "the man is so
handy and useful."

"That," replied the Captain, "is because we give him nothing fresh to do
till he has finished, at his convenience, what he has already; and so,
as you perceive, he gets through a great deal. If you disturb him, he
becomes useless at once."

Spending their days together in this way, in the evenings they never
neglected their regular visits to Charlotte. If there was no party from
the neighborhood, as was often the case, they read and talked,
principally on subjects connected with the improvement of the condition
and comfort of social life.

Charlotte, always accustomed to make the most of opportunities, not only
saw her husband pleased, but found personal advantages for herself.
Various domestic arrangements, which she had long wished to make, but
which she did not know exactly how to set about, were managed for her
through the contrivance of the Captain. Her domestic medicine-chest,
hitherto but poorly furnished, was enlarged and enriched, and Charlotte
herself, with the help of good books and personal instruction, was put
in the way of being able to exercise her disposition to be of practical
assistance more frequently and more efficiently than before.

In providing against accidents, which, though common, yet only too often
find us unprepared, they thought it especially necessary to have at hand
whatever is required for the recovery of drowning men--accidents of this
kind, from the number of canals, reservoirs, and waterworks in the
neighborhood, being of frequent occurrence. This department the Captain
took expressly into his own hands; and the observation escaped Edward,
that a case of this kind had made a very singular epoch in the life of
his friend. The latter made no reply, but seemed to be trying to escape
from a painful recollection. Edward immediately stopped; and Charlotte,
who, as well as he, had a general knowledge of the story, took no notice
of the expression.

"These preparations are all exceedingly valuable," said the Captain, one
evening. "Now, however, we have not got the one thing which is most
essential--a sensible man who understands how to manage it all. I know
an army surgeon, whom I could exactly recommend for the place. You might
get him at this moment, on easy terms. He is highly distinguished in his
profession, and has frequently done more for me, in the treatment even
of violent inward disorders, than celebrated physicians. Help upon the
spot, is the thing you often most want in the country."

He was written for at once; and Edward and Charlotte were rejoiced to
have found so good and necessary an object on which to expend so much of
the money which they set apart for such accidental demands upon them.

Thus Charlotte, too, found means of making use, for her purposes, of the
Captain's knowledge and practical skill; and she began to be quite
reconciled to his presence, and to feel easy about any consequences
which might ensue. She commonly prepared questions to ask him; among
other things, it was one of her anxieties to provide against whatever
was prejudicial to health and comfort, against poisons and such like.
The lead-glazing on the china, the verdigris which formed about her
copper and bronze vessels, etc., had long been a trouble to her. She got
him to tell her about these, and, naturally, they often had to fall back
on the first elements of medicine and chemistry.

An accidental, but welcome occasion for entertainment of this kind, was
given by an inclination of Edward to read aloud. He had a particularly
clear, deep voice, and earlier in life had earned himself a pleasant
reputation for his feeling and lively recitations of works of poetry and
oratory. At this time he was occupied with other subjects, and the books
which, for some time past, he had been reading, were either chemical or
on some other branch of natural or technical science.

One of his especial peculiarities--which, by-the-by, he very likely
shares with a number of his fellow-creatures--was, that he could not
bear to have any one looking over him when he was reading. In early
life, when he used to read poems, plays, or stories, this had been the
natural consequence of the desire which the reader feels, like the poet,
or the actor, or the story-teller, to make surprises, to pause, to
excite expectation; and this sort of effect was naturally defeated when
a third person's eyes could run on before him, and see what was coming.
On such occasions, therefore, he was accustomed to place himself in such
a position that no one could get behind him. With a party of only three,
this was unnecessary; and as with the present subject there was no
opportunity for exciting feelings or giving the imagination a surprise,
he did not take any particular pains to protect himself.

One evening he had placed himself carelessly, and Charlotte happened by
accident to cast her eyes upon the page. His old impatience was aroused;
he turned to her, and said, almost unkindly:

[Illustration: EDWARD READING ALOUD TO CHARLOTTE AND THE CAPTAIN]

"I do wish, once for all, you would leave off doing a thing so out of
taste and so disagreeable. When I read aloud to a person, is it not
the same as if I was telling him something by word of mouth? The
written, the printed word, is in the place of my own thoughts, of my own
heart. If a window were broken into my brain or into my heart, and if
the man to whom I am counting out my thoughts, or delivering my
sentiments, one by one, knew beforehand exactly what was to come out of
me, should I take the trouble to put them into words? When anybody looks
over my book, I always feel as if I were being torn in two."

Charlotte's tact, in whatever circle she might be, large or small, was
remarkable, and she was able to set aside disagreeable or excited
expressions without appearing to notice them. When a conversation grew
tedious, she knew how to interrupt it; when it halted, she could set it
going. And this time her good gift did not forsake her.

"I am sure you will forgive me my fault," she said, when I tell you what
it was this moment which came over me. I heard you reading something
about Affinities, and I thought directly of some relations of mine, two
of whom are just now occupying me a great deal. Then my attention went
back to the book. I found it was not about living things at all, and I
looked over to get the thread of it right again."

"It was the comparison which led you wrong and confused you," said
Edward. "The subject is nothing but earths and minerals. But man is a
true Narcissus; he delights to see his own image everywhere; and he
spreads himself underneath the universe, like the amalgam behind the
glass."

"Quite true," continued the Captain. "That is the way in which he treats
everything external to himself. His wisdom and his folly, his will and
his caprice, he attributes alike to the animal, the plant, the elements,
and the gods."

"Would you," said Charlotte, "if it is not taking you away too much from
the immediate subject, tell me briefly what is meant here by
Affinities?"

"I shall be very glad indeed," replied the Captain, to whom Charlotte
had addressed herself. "That is, I will tell you as well as I can. My
ideas on the subject date ten years back; whether the scientific world
continues to think the same about it, I cannot tell."

"It is most disagreeable," cried Edward, "that one cannot now-a-days
learn a thing once for all, and have done with it. Our forefathers could
keep to what they were taught when they were young; but we have, every
five years, to make revolutions with them, if we do not wish to drop
altogether out of fashion."

"We women need not be so particular," said Charlotte; "and, to speak the
truth, I only want to know the meaning of the word. There is nothing
more ridiculous in society than to misuse a strange technical word; and
I only wish you to tell me in what sense the expression is made use of
in connection with these things. What its scientific application is I am
quite contented to leave to the learned; who, by-the-by, as far as I
have been able to observe, do not find it easy to agree among
themselves."

"Whereabouts shall we begin," said Edward, after a pause, to the
Captain, "to come most quickly to the point?"

The latter, after thinking as little while, replied shortly:

"You must let me make what will seem a wide sweep; we shall be on our
subject almost immediately."

Charlotte settled her work at her side, promising the fullest attention.

The Captain began:

"In all natural objects with which we are acquainted, we observe
immediately that they have a certain relation to themselves. It may
sound ridiculous to be asserting what is obvious to every one; but it is
only by coming to a clear understanding together about what we know,
that we can advance to what we do not know."

"I think," interrupted Edward, "we can make the thing more clear to her,
and to ourselves, with examples; conceive water, or oil, or quicksilver;
among these you will see a certain oneness, a certain connection of
their parts; and this oneness is never lost, except through force or
some other determining cause. Let the cause cease to operate, and at
once the parts unite again."

"Unquestionably," said Charlotte, "that is plain; rain-drops readily
unite and form streams; and when we were children, it was our delight to
play with quicksilver, and wonder at the little globules splitting and
parting and running into one another."

"And here," said the Captain, "let me just cursorily mention one
remarkable thing--I mean, that the full, complete correlation of parts
which the fluid state makes possible, shows itself distinctly and
universally in the globular form. The falling water-drop is round; you
yourself spoke of the globules of quicksilver; and a drop of melted lead
let fall, if it has time to harden before it reaches the ground, is
found at the bottom in the shape of a ball."

"Let me try and see," said Charlotte, "whether I can understand where
you are bringing me. As everything has a reference to itself, so it must
have some relation to others."

"And that," interrupted Edward, "will be different according to the
natural differences of the things themselves. Sometimes they will meet
like friends and old acquaintances; they will come rapidly together, and
unite without either having to alter itself at all--as wine mixes with
water. Others, again, will remain as strangers side by side, and no
amount of mechanical mixing or forcing will succeed in combining them.
Oil and water may be shaken up together, and the next moment they are
separate again, each by itself."

"One can almost fancy," said Charlotte, "that in these simple forms one
sees people that one is acquainted with; one has met with just such
things in the societies amongst which one has lived; and the strangest
likenesses of all with these soulless creatures are in the masses in
which men stand divided one against the other, in their classes and
professions; the nobility and the third estate, for instance, or
soldiers and civilians."

"Then again," replied Edward, "as these are united under common laws and
customs, so there are intermediate members in our chemical world which
will combine elements that are mutually repulsive."

"Oil, for instance," said the Captain, "we make combine with water with
the help of alkalis----"

"Do not go on too fast with your lesson," said Charlotte. "Let me see
that I keep step with you. Are we not here arrived among the
affinities?"

"Exactly," replied the Captain; "we are on the point of apprehending
them in all their power and distinctness; such natures as, when they
come in contact, at once lay hold of each other, each mutually affecting
the other, we speak of as having an affinity one for the other. With the
alkalis and acids, for instance, the affinities are strikingly marked.
They are of opposite natures; very likely their being of opposite
natures is the secret of their inter-relational effect--each reaches out
eagerly for its companion, they lay hold of each other, modify each
other's character, and form in connection an entirely new substance.
There is lime, you remember, which shows the strongest inclination for
all sorts of acids--a distinct desire of combining with them. As soon as
our chemical chest arrives, we can show you a number of entertaining
experiments which will give you a clearer idea than words, and names,
and technical expressions."

"It appears to me," said Charlotte, "that, if you choose to call these
strange creatures of yours related, the relationship is not so much a
relationship of blood as of soul or of spirit. It is the way in which we
see all really deep friendship arise among men, opposite peculiarities
of disposition being what best makes internal union possible. But I will
wait to see what you can really show me of these mysterious proceedings;
and for the present," she added, turning to Edward, "I will promise not
to disturb you any more in your reading. You have taught me enough of
what it is about to enable me to attend to it."

"No, no," replied Edward, "now that you have once stirred the thing, you
shall not get off so easily. It is just the most complicated cases which
are the most interesting. In these you come first to see the degrees of
the affinities, to watch them as their power of attraction is weaker or
stronger, nearer or more remote. Affinities begin really to interest
only when they bring about separations."

"What!" cried Charlotte, "is that miserable word, which unhappily we
hear so often now-a-days in the world; is that to be found in nature's
lessons too?"

"Most certainly," answered Edward; "the title with which chemists were
supposed to be most honorably distinguished was, artists of separation."

"It is not so any more," replied Charlotte; "and it is well that it is
not. It is a higher art, and it is a higher merit, to unite. An artist
of union is what we should welcome in every province of the universe.
However, as we are on the subject again, give me an instance or two of
what you mean."

"We had better keep," said the Captain, "to the same instances of which
we have already been speaking. Thus, what we call limestone is a more or
less pure calcareous earth in combination with a delicate acid, which is
familiar to us in the form of a gas. Now, if we place a piece of this
stone in diluted sulphuric acid, this will take possession of the lime,
and appear with it in the form of gypsum, the gaseous acid at the same
time going off in vapor. Here is a case of separation; a combination
arises, and we believe ourselves now justified in applying to it the
words 'Elective Affinity;' it really looks as if one relation had been
deliberately chosen in preference to another.

"Forgive me," said Charlotte, "as I forgive the natural philosopher. I
cannot see any choice in this; I see a natural necessity rather, and
scarcely that. After all, it is perhaps merely a case of opportunity.
Opportunity makes relations as it makes thieves; and as long as the
talk is only of natural substances, the choice to me appears to be
altogether in the hands of the chemist who brings the creatures
together. Once, however, let them be brought together, and then God have
mercy on them. In the present case, I cannot help being sorry for the
poor acid gas, which is driven out up and down infinity again."

"The acid's business," answered the Captain, "is now to get connected
with water, and so serve as a mineral fountain for the refreshing of
sound or disordered mankind."

"That is very well for the gypsum to say," said Charlotte. "The gypsum
is all right, is a body, is provided for. The other poor, desolate
creature may have trouble enough to go through before it can find a
second home for itself."

"I am much mistaken," said Edward, smiling, "if there be not some little
_arrière pensée_ behind this. Confess your wickedness! You mean me by
your lime; the lime is laid hold of by the Captain, in the form of
sulphuric acid, torn away from your agreeable society, and metamorphosed
into a refractory gypsum."

"If your conscience prompts you to make such a reflection," replied
Charlotte, "I certainly need not distress myself. These comparisons are
pleasant and entertaining; and who is there that does not like playing
with analogies? But man is raised very many steps above these elements;
and if he has been somewhat liberal with such fine words as Election and
Elective Affinities, he will do well to turn back again into himself,
and take the opportunity of considering carefully the value and meaning
of such expressions. Unhappily, we know cases enough where a connection
apparently indissoluble between two persons, has, by the accidental
introduction of a third, been utterly destroyed, and one or the other of
the once happily united pair been driven out into the wilderness."

"Then you see how much more gallant the chemists are," said Edward.
"They at once add a fourth, that neither may go away empty."

"Quite so," replied the Captain. "And those are the cases which are
really most important and remarkable--cases where this attraction, this
affinity, this separating and combining, can be exhibited, the two pairs
severally crossing each other; where four creatures, connected
previously, as two and two, are brought into contact, and at once
forsake their first combination to form into a second. In this forsaking
and embracing, this seeking and flying, we believe that we are indeed
observing the effects of some higher determination; we attribute a sort
of will and choice to such creatures, and feel really justified in using
technical words, and speaking of 'Elective Affinities.'"

"Give me an instance of this," said Charlotte.

"One should not spoil such things with words," replied the Captain. "As
I said before, as soon as I can show you the experiment, I can make it
all intelligible and pleasant for you. For the present, I can give you
nothing but horrible scientific expressions, which at the same time will
give you no idea about the matter. You ought yourself to see these
creatures, which seem so dead, and which are yet so full of inward
energy and force, at work before your eyes. You should observe them with
a real personal interest. Now they seek each other out, attract each
other, seize, crush, devour, destroy each other, and then suddenly
reappear again out of their combinations, and come forward in fresh,
renovated, unexpected form; thus you will comprehend how we attribute to
them a sort of immortality--how we speak of them as having sense and
understanding; because we feel our own senses to be insufficient to
observe them adequately, and our reason too weak to follow them."

"I quite agree," said Edward, "that the strange scientific nomenclature,
to persons who have not been reconciled to it by a direct acquaintance
with or understanding of its object, must seem unpleasant, even
ridiculous; but we can easily, just for once, contrive with symbols to
illustrate what we are speaking of."

"If you do not think it looks pedantic," answered the Captain, "I can
put my meaning together with letters. Suppose an A connected so closely
with a B, that all sorts of means, even violence, have been made use of
to separate them, without effect. Then suppose a C in exactly the same
position with respect to D. Bring the two pairs into contact; A will
fling himself on D, C on B, without its being possible to say which had
first left its first connection, or made the first move toward the
second."

"Now then," interposed Edward, "till we see all this with our eyes, we
will look upon the formula as an analogy, out of which we can devise a
lesson for immediate use. You stand for A, Charlotte, and I am your B;
really and truly I cling to you, I depend on you, and follow you, just
as B does with A. C is obviously the Captain, who at present is in some
degree withdrawing me from you. So now it is only just that if you are
not to be left to solitude a D should be found for you, and that is
unquestionably the amiable little lady, Ottilie. You will not hesitate
any longer to send and fetch her."

"Good," replied Charlotte; "although the example does not, in my
opinion, exactly fit our case. However, we have been fortunate, at any
rate, in today for once having met all together; and these natural or
elective affinities have served to unite us more intimately. I will tell
you, that since this afternoon I have made up my mind to send for
Ottilie. My faithful housekeeper, on whom I have hitherto depended for
everything, is going to leave me shortly, to be married. (It was done at
my own suggestion, I believe, to please me.) What it is which has
decided me about Ottilie, you shall read to me. I will not look over the
pages again. Indeed, the contents of them are already known to me. Only
read, read!"

With these words, she produced a letter, and handed it to Edward.




CHAPTER V


LETTER OF THE LADY SUPERIOR

"Your ladyship will forgive the brevity of my present letter. The public
examinations are but just concluded, and I have to communicate to all
the parents and guardians the progress which our pupils have made during
the past year. To you I may well be brief, having to say much in few
words. Your ladyship's daughter has proved herself first in every sense
of the word. The testimonials which I inclose, and her own letter, in
which she will detail to you the prizes which she has won, and the
happiness which she feels in her success, will surely please, and I hope
delight you. For myself, it is the less necessary that I should say
much, because I see that there will soon be no more occasion to keep
with us a young lady so far advanced. I send my respects to your
ladyship, and in a short time I shall take the liberty of offering you
my opinion as to what in future may be of most advantage to her.

"My good assistant will tell you about Ottilie."

LETTER OF THE ASSISTANT.

"Our reverend superior leaves it to me to write to you of Ottilie,
partly because, with her ways of thinking about it, it would be painful
to her to say what has to be said; partly, because she herself requires
some excusing, which she would rather have done for her by me.

"Knowing, as I did too well, how little able the good Ottilie was to
show out what lies in her, and what she is capable of, I was all along
afraid of this public examination. I was the more uneasy, as it was to
be of a kind which does not admit of any especial preparation; and even
if it had been conducted as usual, Ottilie never can be prepared to make
a display. The result has only too entirely justified my anxiety. She
has gained no prize; she is not even amongst those whose names have been
mentioned with approbation. I need not go into details. In writing, the
letters of the other girls were not so well formed, but their strokes
were far more free. In arithmetic, they were all quicker than she; and
in the more difficult problems, which she does the best, there was no
examination. In French, she was outshone and out-talked by many; and in
history she was not ready with her names and dates. In geography, there
was a want of attention to the political divisions; and for what she
could do in music there was neither time nor quiet enough for her few
modest melodies to gain attention. In drawing she certainly would have
gained the prize; her outlines were clear, and the execution most
careful and full of spirit; unhappily, she had chosen too large a
subject, and it was incomplete.

"After the pupils were dismissed, the examiners consulted together, and
we teachers were partially admitted into the council. I very soon
observed that of Ottilie either nothing would be said at all, or if her
name was mentioned, it would be with indifference, if not absolute
disapproval. I hoped to obtain some favor for her by a candid
description of what she was, and I ventured it with the greater
earnestness, partly because I was only speaking my real convictions, and
partly because I remembered in my own younger years finding myself in
the same unfortunate case. I was listened to with attention, but as soon
as I had ended, the presiding examiner said to me very kindly but
laconically, 'We presume capabilities: they are to be converted into
accomplishments. This is the aim of all education. It is what is
distinctly intended by all who have the care of children, and silently
and indistinctly by the children themselves. This also is the object of
examinations, where teachers and pupils are alike standing their trial.
From what we learn of you, we may entertain good hopes of the young
lady, and it is to your own credit also that you have paid so much
attention to your pupil's capabilities. If in the coming year you can
develop these into accomplishments, neither yourself nor your pupil
shall fail to receive your due praise.'

"I had made up my mind to what must follow upon all this; but there was
something worse that I had not anticipated, which had soon to be added
to it. Our good Superior, who like a trusty shepherdess could not bear
to have one of her flock lost, or, as was the case here, to see it
undistinguished, after the examiners were gone could not contain her
displeasure, and said to Ottilie, who was standing quite quietly by the
window, while the others were exulting over their prizes: 'Tell me, for
heaven's sake, how can a person look so stupid if she is not so?'
Ottilie replied, quite calmly, 'Forgive me, my dear mother, I have my
headache again today, and it is very painful.' Kind and sympathizing as
she generally is, the Superior this time answered, 'No one can believe
that,' and turned angrily away.

"Now it is true--no one can believe it--for Ottilie never alters the
expression of her countenance. I have never even seen her move her hand
to her head when she has been asleep.

"Nor was this all. Your ladyship's daughter, who is at all times
sufficiently lively and impetuous, after her triumph today was
overflowing with the violence of her spirits. She ran from room to room
with her prizes and testimonials, and shook them in Ottilie's face. 'You
have come badly off this morning,' she cried. Ottilie replied in her
calm, quiet way, 'This is not the last day of trial.' 'But you will
always remain the last,' cried the other, and ran away.

"No one except myself saw that Ottilie was disturbed. She has a way when
she experiences any sharp unpleasant emotion which she wishes to resist,
of showing it in the unequal color of her face; the left cheek becomes
for a moment flushed, while the right turns pale. I perceived this
symptom, and I could not prevent myself from saying something. I took
our Superior aside, and spoke seriously to her about it. The excellent
lady acknowledged that she had been wrong. We considered the whole
affair; we talked it over at great length together, and not to weary
your ladyship, I will tell you at once the desire with which we
concluded, namely, that you will for a while have Ottilie with yourself.
Our reasons you will yourself readily perceive. If you consent, I will
say more to you on the manner in which I think she should be treated.
The young lady your daughter we may expect will soon leave us, and we
shall then with pleasure welcome Ottilie back to us.

"One thing more, which another time I might forget to mention: I have
never seen Ottilie eager for anything, or at least ask pressingly for
anything. But there have been occasions, however rare, when on the other
hand she has wished to decline things which have been pressed upon her,
and she does it with a gesture which to those who have caught its
meaning is irresistible. She raises her hands, presses the palms
together, and draws them against her breast, leaning her body a little
forward at the same time, and turns such a look upon the person who is
urging her that he will be glad enough to cease to ask or wish for
anything of her. If your ladyship ever sees this attitude, as with your
treatment of her it is not likely that you will, think of me, and spare
Ottilie."

Edward read these letters aloud, not without smiles and shakes of the
head. Naturally, too, there were observations made on the persons and on
the position of the affair.

"Enough!" Edward cried at last, "it is decided. She comes. You, my love,
are provided for, and now we can get forward with our work. It is
becoming highly necessary for me to move over to the right wing to the
Captain; evenings and mornings are the time for us best to work
together, and then you, on your side, will have admirable room for
yourself and Ottilie."

Charlotte made no objection, and Edward sketched out the method in which
they should live. Among other things, he cried, "It is really very
polite in this niece to be subject to a slight pain on the left side of
her head. I have it frequently an the right. If we happen to be
afflicted together, and sit opposite one another--I leaning on my right
elbow, and she on her left, and our heads on the opposite sides, resting
on our hands--what a pretty pair of pictures we shall make."

The Captain thought that might be dangerous. "No, no!" cried out Edward.
"Only do you, my dear friend, take care of the D, for what will become
of B, if poor C is taken away from it?"

"That, I should have thought, would have been evident enough," replied
Charlotte.

"And it is, indeed," cried Edward; "he would turn back to his A, to his
Alpha and Omega;" and he sprung up and taking Charlotte in his arms,
pressed her to his breast.




CHAPTER VI


The carriage which brought Ottilie drove up to the door. Charlotte went
out to receive her. The dear girl ran to meet her, threw herself at her
feet, and embraced her knees.

"Why such humility?" said Charlotte, a little embarrassed, and
endeavoring to raise her from the ground.

"It is not meant for humility," Ottilie answered, without moving from
the position in which she had placed herself; "I am only thinking of the
time when I could not reach higher than to your knees, and when I had
just learnt to know how you loved me."

She stood up, and Charlotte embraced her warmly. She was introduced to
the gentlemen, and was at once treated with especial courtesy as a
visitor. Beauty is a welcome guest everywhere. She appeared attentive to
the conversation, without taking a part in it.

The next morning Edward said to Charlotte, "What an agreeable,
entertaining girl she is!"

"Entertaining!" answered Charlotte, with a smile; "why, she has not
opened her lips yet!"

"Indeed!" said Edward, as he seemed to bethink himself; "that is very
strange."

Charlotte had to give the new-comer but a very few hints on the
management of the household. Ottilie saw rapidly all the arrangements,
and what was more, she felt them. She comprehended easily what was to be
provided for the whole party, and what for each particular member of it.
Everything was done with the utmost punctuality; she knew how to direct,
without appearing to be giving orders, and when any one had left
anything undone, she at once set it right herself.

As soon as she had found how much time she would have to spare, she
begged Charlotte to divide her hours for her, and to these she adhered
exactly. She worked at what was set before her in the way which the
Assistant had described to Charlotte. They let her alone. It was but
seldom that Charlotte interfered. Sometimes she changed her pens for
others which had been written with, to teach her to make bolder strokes
in her handwriting, but these, she found, would be soon cut sharp and
fine again.

The ladies had agreed with one another when they were alone to speak
nothing but French, and Charlotte persisted in it the more, as she found
Ottilie more ready to talk in a foreign language, when she was told it
was her duty to exercise herself in it. In this way she often said more
than she seemed to intend. Charlotte was particularly pleased with a
description, most complete, but at the same time most charming and
amiable, which she gave her one day, by accident, of the school. She
soon felt her to be a delightful companion, and before long she hoped to
find in her an attached friend.

At the same time she looked over again the more early accounts which had
been sent her of Ottilie, to refresh her recollection with the opinion
which the Superior and the Assistant had formed about her, and compare
them with her in her own person. For Charlotte was of opinion that we
cannot too quickly become acquainted with the character of those with
whom we have to live, that we may know what to expect of them; where we
may hope to do anything in the way of improvement with them, and what
we must make up our minds, once for all, to tolerate and let alone.

[Illustration: CHARLOTTE RECEIVES OTTILIE]

This examination led her to nothing new, indeed; but much which she
already knew became of greater meaning and importance. Ottilie's
moderation in eating and drinking, for instance, became a real distress
to her.

The next thing on which the ladies were employed was Ottilie's toilet.
Charlotte wished her to appear in clothes of a richer and more
_recherché_ sort, and at once the clever active girl herself cut out the
stuff which had been previously sent to her, and with a very little
assistance from others was able, in a short time, to dress herself out
most tastefully. The new fashionable dresses set off her figure. An
agreeable person, it is true, will show through all disguises; but we
always fancy it looks fresher and more graceful when its peculiarities
appear under some new drapery. And thus, from the moment of her first
appearance, she became more and more a delight to the eyes of all who
beheld her. As the emerald refreshes the sight with its beautiful hues,
and exerts, it is said, a beneficent influence on that noble sense, so
does human beauty work with far larger potency on the outward and on the
inward sense; whoever looks upon it is charmed against the breath of
evil, and feels in harmony with himself and with the world.

In many ways, therefore, the party had gained by Ottilie's arrival. The
Captain and Edward kept regularly to the hours, even to the minutes, for
their general meeting together. They never kept the others waiting for
them either for dinner or tea, or for their walks; and they were in less
haste, especially in the evenings, to leave the table. This did not
escape Charlotte's observation; she watched them both, to see whether
one more than the other was the occasion of it. But she could not
perceive any difference. They had both become more companionable. In
their conversation they seemed to consider what was best adapted to
interest Ottilie; what was most on a level with her capacities and her
general knowledge. If she left the room when they were reading or
telling stories, they would wait till she returned. They had grown
softer and altogether more united.

In return for this, Ottilie's anxiety to be of use increased every day;
the more she came to understand the house, its inmates, and their
circumstances, the more eagerly she entered into everything, caught
every look and every motion; half a word, a sound, was enough for her.
With her calm attentiveness, and her easy, unexcited activity, she was
always the same. Sitting, rising up, going, coming, fetching, carrying,
returning to her place again, it was all in the most perfect repose; a
constant change, a constant agreeable movement; while, at the same time,
she went about so lightly that her step was almost inaudible.

This cheerful obligingness in Ottilie gave Charlotte the greatest
pleasure. There was one thing, however, which she did not exactly like,
of which she had to speak to her. "It is very polite in you," she said
one day to her, "when people let anything fall from their hand, to be so
quick in stooping and picking it up for them; at the same time, it is a
sort of confession that they have a right to require such attention, and
in the world we are expected to be careful to whom we pay it. Toward
women, I will not prescribe any rule as to how you should conduct
yourself. You are young. To those above you, and older than you,
services of this sort are a duty; toward your equals they are polite; to
those younger than yourself and your inferiors you may show yourself
kind and good-natured by such things--only it is not becoming in a young
lady to do them for men."

"I will try to forget the habit," replied Ottilie; "I think, however,
you will in the meantime forgive me for my want of manners, when I tell
you how I came by it. We were taught history at school; I have not
gained as much out of it as I ought, for I never knew what use I was to
make of it; a few little things, however, made a deep impression upon
me, among which was the following: When Charles the First of England
was standing before his so-called judges, the gold top came off the
stick which he had in his hand, and fell down. Accustomed as he had been
on such occasions to have everything done for him, he seemed to look
around and expect that this time too some one would do him this little
service. No one stirred, and he stooped down for it himself. It struck
me as so piteous, that from that moment I have never been able to see
any one let a thing fall, without myself picking it up. But, of course,
as it is not always proper, and as I cannot," she continued, smiling,
"tell my story every time I do it, in future I will try to contain
myself."

In the meantime the fine arrangements which the two friends had been led
to make for themselves, went uninterruptedly forward. Every day they
found something new to think about and undertake.

One day as they were walking together through the village, they had to
remark with dissatisfaction how far behind-hand it was in order and
cleanliness, compared to villages where the inhabitants were compelled
by the expense of building-ground to be careful about such things.

"You remember a wish we once expressed when we were traveling in
Switzerland together," said the Captain, "that we might have the laying
out of some country park, and how beautiful we would make it by
introducing into some village situated like this, not the Swiss style of
building, but the Swiss order and neatness which so much improve it."

"And how well it would answer here! The hill on which the castle stands,
slopes down to that projecting angle. The village, you see, is built in
a semicircle, regularly enough, just opposite to it. The brook runs
between. It is liable to floods; and do observe the way the people set
about protecting themselves from them; one with stones, another with
stakes; the next puts up a boarding, and a fourth tries beams and
planks; no one, of course, doing any good to another with his
arrangement, but only hurting himself and the rest too. And then there
is the road going along just in the clumsiest way possible,--up hill and
down, through the water, and over the stones. If the people would only
lay their hands to the business together, it would cost them nothing but
a little labor to run a semi-circular wall along here, take the road in
behind it, raising it to the level of the houses, and so give themselves
a fair open space in front, making the whole place clean, and getting
rid, once for all, in one good general work, of all their little
trifling ineffectual makeshifts."

"Let us try it," said the Captain, as he ran his eyes over the lay of
the ground, and saw quickly what was to be done.

"I can undertake nothing in company with peasants and shopkeepers,"
replied Edward, "unless I may have unrestricted authority over them."

"You are not so wrong in that," returned the Captain; "I have
experienced too much trouble myself in life in matters of that kind. How
difficult it is to prevail on a man to venture boldly on making a
sacrifice for an after-advantage! How hard to get him to desire an end,
and not hesitate at the means! So many people confuse means with ends;
they keep hanging over the first, without having the other before their
eyes. Every evil is to be cured at the place where it comes to the
surface, and they will not trouble themselves to look for the cause
which produces it, or the remote effect which results from it. This is
why it is so difficult to get advice listened to, especially among the
many: they can see clearly enough from day to day, but their scope
seldom reaches beyond the morrow; and if it comes to a point where with
some general arrangement one person will gain while another will lose,
there is no prevailing on them to strike a balance. Works of public
advantage can be carried through only by an uncontrolled absolute
authority."

While they were standing and talking, a man came up and begged of them.
He looked more impudent than really in want, and Edward, who was
annoyed at being interrupted, after two or three fruitless attempts to
get rid of him by a gentler refusal, spoke sharply to him. The fellow
began to grumble and mutter abusively; he went off with short steps,
talking about the right of beggars. It was all very well to refuse them
an alms, but that was no reason why they should be insulted. A beggar,
and everybody else too, was as much under God's protection as a lord. It
put Edward out of all patience.

The Captain, to pacify him, said, "Let us make use of this as an
occasion for extending our rural police arrangements to such cases. We
are bound to give away money, but we do better in not giving it in
person, especially at home. We should be moderate and uniform in
everything, in our charities as in all else; too great liberality
attracts beggars instead of helping them on their way. At the same time
there is no harm when one is on a journey, or passing through a strange
place, in appearing to a poor man in the street in the form of a chance
deity of fortune and making him some present which shall surprise him.
The position of the village and of the castle makes it easy for us to
put our charities here on a proper footing. I have thought about it
before. The public-house is at one end of the village, a respectable old
couple live at the other. At each of these places deposit a small sum of
money, and let every beggar, not as he comes in, but as he goes out,
receive something. Both houses lie on the roads which lead to the
castle, so that any one who goes there can be referred to one or the
other."

"Come," said Edward, "we will settle that on the spot. The exact sum can
be made up another time."

They went to the innkeeper, and to the old couple and the thing was
done.

"I know very well," Edward said, as they were walking up the hill to the
castle together, "that everything in this world depends on distinctness
of idea and firmness of purpose. Your judgment of what my wife has been
doing in the park was entirely right; and you have already given me a
hint how it might be improved. I will not deny that I told her of it."

"So I have been led to suspect," replied the Captain; "and I could not
approve of your having done so. You have perplexed her. She has left off
doing anything; and on this one subject she is vexed with us. She avoids
speaking of it. She has never since invited us to go with her to the
summer-house, although at odd hours she goes up there with Ottilie."

"We must not allow ourselves to be deterred by that," answered Edward.
"If I am once convinced about anything good, which could and should be
done, I can never rest till I see it done. We are clever enough at other
times in introducing what we want, into the general conversation;
suppose we have out some descriptions of English parks, with
copper-plates, for our evening's amusement. Then we can follow with your
plan. We will treat it first problematically, and as if we were only in
jest. There will be no difficulty in passing into earnest."

The scheme was concerted, and the books were opened. In each group of
designs they first saw a ground-plan of the spot, with the general
character of the landscape, drawn in its rude, natural state. Then
followed others, showing the changes which had been produced by art, to
employ and set off the natural advantages of the locality. From these to
their own property and their own grounds, the transition was easy.

Everybody was pleased. The chart which the Captain had sketched was
brought and spread out. The only difficulty was, that they could not
entirely free themselves of the plan in which Charlotte had begun.
However, an easier way up the hill was found; a lodge was suggested to
be built on the height at the edge of the cliff, which was to have an
especial reference to the castle. It was to form a conspicuous object
from the castle windows, and from it the spectator was to be able to
overlook both the castle and the garden.

The Captain had thought it all carefully over, and taken his
measurements; and now he brought up again the village road and the wall
by the brook, and the ground which was to be raised behind it.

"Here you see," said he, "while I make this charming walk up the height,
I gain exactly the quantity of stone which I require for that wall. Let
one piece of work help the other, and both will be carried out most
satisfactorily and most rapidly."

"But now," said Charlotte, "comes my side of the business. A certain
definite outlay of money will have to be made. We ought to know how much
will be wanted for such a purpose, and then we can apportion it out--so
much work, and so much money, if not by weeks, at least by months. The
cash-box is under my charge. I pay the bills, and I keep the accounts."

"You do not appear to have overmuch confidence in us," said Edward.

"I have not much in arbitrary matters," Charlotte answered. "Where it is
a case of inclination, we women know better how to control ourselves
than you."

It was settled; the dispositions were made, and the work was begun at
once.

The Captain being always on the spot, Charlotte was almost daily a
witness to the strength and clearness of his understanding. He, too,
learnt to know her better; and it became easy for them both to work
together, and thus bring something to completeness. It is with work as
with dancing; persons who keep the same step must grow indispensable to
one another. Out of this a mutual kindly feeling will necessarily arise;
and that Charlotte had a real kind feeling toward the Captain, after she
came to know him better, was sufficiently proved by her allowing him to
destroy her pretty seat, which in her first plans she had taken such
pains in ornamenting, because it was in the lay of his own, without
experiencing the slightest feeling about the matter.




CHAPTER VII


Now that Charlotte was occupied with the Captain, it was a natural
consequence that Edward should attach himself more to Ottilie.
Independently of this, indeed, for some time past he had begun to feel a
silent kind of attraction toward her. Obliging and attentive she was to
every one, but his self-love whispered that toward him she was
particularly so. She had observed his little fancies about his food. She
knew exactly what things he liked, and the way in which he liked them to
be prepared; the quantity of sugar which he liked in his tea; and so on.
Moreover, she was particularly careful to prevent draughts, about which
he was excessively sensitive, and, indeed, about which, with his wife,
who could never have air enough, he was often at variance. So, too, she
had come to know about fruit-gardens and flower-gardens; whatever he
liked, it was her constant effort to procure for him, and to keep away
whatever annoyed him; so that very soon she grew indispensable to
him--she became like his guardian angel, and he felt it keenly whenever
she was absent. Besides all this, too, she appeared to grow more open
and conversible as soon as they were alone together.

Edward, as he advanced in life, had retained something childish about
himself, which corresponded singularly well with the youthfulness of
Ottilie. They liked talking of early times, when they had first seen
each other; and these reminiscences led them up to the first epoch of
Edward's affection for Charlotte. Ottilie declared that she remembered
them both as the handsomest pair about the court; and when Edward would
question the possibility of this, when she must have been so exceedingly
young, she insisted that she recollected one particular incident as
clearly as possible. He had come into the room where her aunt was, and
she had hid her face in Charlotte's lap--not from fear, but from a
childish surprise. She might have added, because he had made so strong
an impression upon her--because she had liked him so much.

While they were occupied in this way, much of the business which the
two friends had undertaken together had come to a standstill; so that
they found it necessary to inspect how things were going on--to work up
a few designs and get letters written. For this purpose, they betook
themselves to their office, where they found their old copyist at his
desk. They set themselves to their work, and soon gave the old man
enough to do, without observing that they were laying many things on his
shoulders which at other times they had always done for themselves. At
the same time, the first design the Captain tried would not answer, and
Edward was as unsuccessful with his first letter. They fretted for a
while, planning and erasing, till at last Edward, who was getting on the
worst, asked what o'clock it was. And then it appeared that the Captain
had forgotten, for the first time for many years, to wind up his
chronometer; and they seemed, if not to feel, at least to have a dim
perception, that time was beginning to be indifferent to them.

In the meanwhile, as the gentlemen were thus rather slackening in their
energy, the activity of the ladies increased all the more. The every-day
life of a family, which is composed of given persons, and is shaped out
of necessary circumstances, may easily receive into itself an
extraordinary affection, an incipient passion--may receive it into
itself as into a vessel; and a long time may elapse before the new
ingredient produces a visible effervescence, and runs foaming over the
edge.

With our friends, the feelings which were mutually arising had the most
agreeable effects. Their dispositions opened out, and a general goodwill
arose out of the several individual affections. Every member of the
party was happy; and they each shared their happiness with the rest.

Such a temper elevates the spirit, while it enlarges the heart, and
everything which, under the influence of it, people do and undertake,
has a tendency toward the illimitable. The friends could not remain any
more shut up at home; their walks extended themselves further and
further. Edward would hurry on before with Ottilie, to choose the path
or pioneer the way; and the Captain and Charlotte would follow quietly
on the track of their more hasty precursors, talking on some grave
subject, or delighting themselves with some spot they had newly
discovered, or some unexpected natural beauty.

One day their walk led them down from the gate at the right wing of the
castle, in the direction of the hotel, and thence over the bridge toward
the ponds, along the sides of which they proceeded as far as it was
generally thought possible to follow the water; thickly wooded hills
sloped directly up from the edge, and beyond these a wall of steep
rocks, making further progress difficult, if not impossible. But Edward,
whose hunting experience had made him thoroughly familiar with the spot,
pushed forward along an overgrown path with Ottilie, knowing well that
the old mill could not be far off, which was somewhere in the middle of
the rocks there. The path was so little frequented, that they soon lost
it; and for a short time they were wandering among mossy stones and
thickets; it was not for long, however, the noise of the water-wheel
speedily telling them that the place which they were looking for was
close at hand. Stepping forward on a point of rock, they saw the strange
old, dark, wooden building in the hollow before them, quite shadowed
over with precipitous crags and huge trees. They determined directly to
climb down amidst the moss and the blocks of stone. Edward led the way;
and when he looked back and saw Ottilie following, stepping lightly,
without fear or nervousness, from stone to stone, so beautifully
balancing herself, he fancied he was looking at some celestial creature
floating above him; while if, as she often did, she caught the hand
which in some difficult spot he would offer her, or if she supported
herself on his shoulder, then he was left in no doubt that it was a very
exquisite human creature who touched him. He almost wished that she
might slip or stumble, that he might catch her in his arms and press
her to his heart. This, however, he would under no circumstances have
done, for more than one reason. He was afraid to wound her, and he was
afraid to do her some bodily injury.

[Illustration: EDWARD AND OTTILIE]

What the meaning of this could be, we shall immediately learn. When they
had got down, and were seated opposite each other at a table under the
trees, and when the miller's wife had gone for milk, and the miller, who
had come out to them, was sent to meet Charlotte and the Captain,
Edward, with a little embarrassment, began to speak:

"I have a request to make, dear Ottilie; you will forgive me for asking
it, if you will not grant it. You make no secret (I am sure you need not
make any), that you wear a miniature under your dress against your
breast. It is the picture of your noble father. You could hardly have
known him; but in every sense he deserves a place by your heart. Only,
forgive me, the picture is exceedingly large, and the metal frame and
the glass, if you take up a child in your arms, if you are carrying
anything, if the carriage swings violently, if we are pushing through
bushes, or just now, as we were coming down these rocks--cause me a
thousand anxieties for you. Any unforeseen blow, a fall, a touch, may be
fatally injurious to you; and I am terrified at the possibility of it.
For my sake do this: put away the picture, not out of your affections,
not out of your room; let it have the brightest, the holiest place which
you can give it; only do not wear upon your breast a thing, the presence
of which seems to me, perhaps from an extravagant anxiety, so
dangerous."

Ottilie said nothing, and while he was speaking she kept her eyes fixed
straight before her; then, without hesitation and without haste, with a
look turned more toward heaven than on Edward, she unclasped the chain,
drew out the picture, and pressed it against her forehead, and then
reached it over to her friend, with the words:

"Do you keep it for me till we come home; I cannot give you a better
proof how deeply I thank you for your affectionate care."

He did not venture to press the picture to his lips; but he caught her
hand and raised it to his eyes. They were, perhaps, two of the most
beautiful hands which had ever been clasped together. He felt as if a
stone had fallen from his heart, as if a partition-wall had been thrown
down between him and Ottilie.

Under the miller's guidance, Charlotte and the Captain came down by an
easier path, and now joined them. There was the meeting, and a happy
talk, and then they took some refreshments. They would not return by the
same way as they came; and Edward struck into a rocky path on the other
side of the stream, from which the ponds were again to be seen. They
made their way along it, with some effort, and then had to cross a
variety of wood and copse--getting glimpses, on the land side, of a
number of villages and manor-houses, with their green lawns and
fruit-gardens; while very near them, and sweetly situated on a rising
ground, a farm lay in the middle of the wood. From a gentle ascent, they
had a view, before and behind, which showed them the richness of the
country to the greatest advantage; and then, entering a grove of trees,
they found themselves, on again emerging from it, on the rock opposite
the castle.

They came upon it rather unexpectedly, and were of course delighted.
They had made the circuit of a little world; they were standing on the
spot where the new building was to be erected, and were looking again at
the windows of their home.

They went down to the summer-house, and sat all four in it for the first
time together; nothing was more natural than that with one voice it
should be proposed to have the way they had been that day, and which, as
it was, had taken them much time and trouble, properly laid out and
gravelled, so that people might loiter along it at their leisure. They
each said what they thought; and they reckoned up that the circuit, over
which they had taken many hours, might be traveled easily with a good
road all the way round to the castle, in a single one.

Already a plan was being suggested for making the distance shorter, and
adding a fresh beauty to the landscape, by throwing a bridge across the
stream, below the mill, where it ran into the lake; when Charlotte
brought their inventive imagination somewhat to a standstill, by putting
them in mind of the expense which such an undertaking would involve.

"There are ways of meeting that too," replied Edward; "we have only to
dispose of that farm in the forest which is so pleasantly situated, and
which brings in so little in the way of rent: the sum which will be set
free will more than cover what we shall require, and thus, having gained
an invaluable walk, we shall receive the interest of well-expended
capital in substantial enjoyment--instead of, as now, in the summing up
at the end of the year, vexing and fretting ourselves over the pitiful
little income which is returned for it."

Even Charlotte, with all her prudence, had little to urge against this.
There had been, indeed, a previous intention of selling the farm. The
Captain was ready immediately with a plan for breaking up the ground
into small portions among the peasantry of the forest. Edward, however,
had a simpler and shorter way of managing it. His present steward had
already proposed to take it off his hands--he was to pay for it by
instalments--and so, gradually, as the money came in, they would get
their work forward from point to point.

So reasonable and prudent a scheme was sure of universal approbation,
and already, in prospect, they began to see their new walk winding along
its way, and to imagine the many beautiful views and charming spots
which they hoped to discover in its neighborhood.

To bring it all before themselves with greater fulness of detail, in the
evening they produced the new chart. With the help of this they went
over again the way that they had come, and found various places where
the walk might take a rather different direction with advantage. Their
other scheme was now once more talked through, and connected with the
fresh design. The site for the new house in the park, opposite the
castle, was a second time examined into and approved, and fixed upon for
the termination of the intended circuit.

Ottilie had said nothing all this time. At length Edward pushed the
chart, which had hitherto been lying before Charlotte, across to her,
begging her to give her opinion; she still hesitated for a moment.
Edward in his gentlest way again pressed her to let them know what she
thought--nothing had as yet been settled--it was all as yet in embryo.

"I would have the house built here," she said, as she pointed with her
finger to the highest point of the slope on the hill. "It is true you
cannot see the castle from thence, for it is hidden by the wood; but for
that very reason you find yourself in another quite new world; you lose
village and houses and all at the same time. The view of the ponds with
the mill, and the hills and mountains in the distance, is singularly
beautiful--I have often observed it when I have been there."

"She is right," Edward cried; "how could we have overlooked it. This is
what you mean, Ottilie, is it not?" He took a lead pencil, and drew a
great black rectangular figure on the summit of the hill.

It went through the Captain's soul to see his carefully and
clearly-drawn chart disfigured in such a way. He collected himself,
however, after a slight expression of his disapproval and went into the
idea. "Ottilie is right," he said; "we are ready enough to walk any
distance to drink tea or eat fish, because they would not have tasted as
well at home--we require change of scene and change of objects. Your
ancestors showed their judgment in the spot which they chose for the
castle; for it is sheltered from the wind, with the conveniences of life
close at hand. A place, on the contrary, which is more for pleasure
parties than for a regular residence, may be very well yonder
there, and in the fair time of year the most agreeable hours may be
spent there."

[Illustration: CHARLOTTE, OTTILIE, EDWARD AND THE CAPTAIN DISCUSS THE
NEW PLAN OF THE HOUSE _From the Painting by Franz Simm_]

The more they talked it over, the more conclusive was their judgment in
favor of Ottilie; and Edward could not conceal his triumph that the
thought had been hers. He was as proud as if he had hit upon it himself.




CHAPTER VIII


Early the following morning the Captain examined the spot: he first
threw off a sketch of what should be done, and afterward, when the thing
had been more completely decided on, he made a complete design, with
accurate calculations and measurements. It cost him a good deal of
labor, and the business connected with the sale of the farm had to be
gone into, so that both the gentlemen now found a fresh impulse to
activity.

The Captain made Edward observe that it would be proper, indeed that it
would be a kind of duty, to celebrate Charlotte's birthday with laying
the foundation-stone. Not much was wanted to overcome Edward's
disinclination for such festivities--for he quickly recollected that a
little later Ottilie's birthday would follow, and that he could have a
magnificent celebration for that.

Charlotte, to whom all this work and what it would involve was a subject
for much serious and almost anxious thought, busied herself in carefully
going through the time and outlay which it was calculated would be
expended on it. During the day they rarely saw each other, so that the
evening meeting was looked forward to with all the more anxiety.

Ottilie meantime was complete mistress of the household--and how could
it be otherwise, with her quick methodical rays of working? Indeed, her
whole mode of thought was suited better to home life than to the world,
and to a more free existence. Edward soon observed that she only walked
about with them out of a desire to please; that when she stayed out late
with them in the evening it was because she thought it a sort of social
duty, and that she would often find a pretext in some household matter
for going in again--consequently he soon managed so to arrange the walks
which they took together, that they should be at home before sunset; and
he began again, what he had long left off, to read aloud
poetry--particularly such as had for its subject the expression of a
pure but passionate love.

They ordinarily sat in the evening in the same places round a small
table--Charlotte on the sofa, Ottilie on a chair opposite to her, and
the gentlemen on each side. Ottilie's place was on Edward's right, the
side where he put the candle when he was reading--at such times she
would draw her chair a little nearer to look over him, for Ottilie also
trusted her own eyes better than another person's lips, and Edward would
then always make a move toward her, that it might be as easy as possible
for her--indeed he would frequently make longer stops than necessary,
that he might not turn over before she had got to the bottom of the
page.

Charlotte and the Captain observed this, and exchanged many a quiet
smile at it; but they were both taken by surprise at another symptom, in
which Ottilie's latent feeling accidentally displayed itself.

One evening, which had been partly spoilt for them by a tedious visit,
Edward proposed that they should not separate so early--he felt inclined
for music--he would take his flute, which he had not done for many days
past. Charlotte looked for the sonatas which they generally played
together, and they were not to be found. Ottilie, with some hesitation,
said that they were in her room--she had taken them there to copy them.

"And you can, you will, accompany me on the piano?" cried Edward, his
eyes sparkling with pleasure. "I think perhaps I can," Ottilie answered.
She brought the music and sat down to the instrument. The others
listened, and were sufficiently surprised to hear how perfectly Ottilie
had taught herself the piece--but far more surprised were they at the
way in which she contrived to adapt herself to Edward's style of
playing. Adapt herself, is not the right expression--Charlotte's skill
and power enabled her, in order to please her husband, to keep up with
him when he went too fast, and hold in for him if he hesitated; but
Ottilie, who had several times heard them play the sonata together,
seemed to have learnt it according to the idea in which they accompanied
each other--she had so completely made his defects her own, that a kind
of living whole resulted from it, which did not move indeed according to
exact rule, but the effect of which was in the highest degree pleasant
and delightful. The composer himself would have been pleased to hear his
work disfigured in a manner so charming.

Charlotte and the Captain watched this strange unexpected occurrence in
silence, with the kind of feeling with which we often observe the
actions of children--unable exactly to approve of them, from the serious
consequences which may follow, and yet without being able to find fault,
perhaps with a kind of envy. For, indeed, the regard of these two for
one another was growing also, as well as that of the others--and it was
perhaps only the more perilous because they were both stronger, more
certain of themselves, and better able to restrain themselves.

The Captain had already begun to feel that a habit which he could not
resist was threatening to bind him to Charlotte. He forced himself to
stay away at the hour when she commonly used to be at the works; by
getting up very early in the morning he contrived to finish there
whatever he had to do, and went back to the castle to his work in his
own room. The first day or two Charlotte thought it was an accident--she
looked for him in every place where she thought he could possibly be.
Then she thought she understood him--and admired him all the more.

Avoiding, as the Captain now did, being alone with Charlotte, the more
industriously did he labor to hurry forward the preparations for keeping
her rapidly-approaching birthday with all splendor. While he was
bringing up the new road from below behind the village, he made the men,
under pretence that he wanted stones, begin working at the top as well,
and work down, to meet the others; and he had calculated his
arrangements so that the two should exactly meet on the eve of the day.
The excavations for the new house were already done; the rock was blown
away with gunpowder; and a fair foundation-stone had been hewn, with a
hollow chamber, and a flat slab adjusted to cover it.

This outward activity, these little mysterious purposes of friendship,
prompted by feelings which more or less they were obliged to repress,
rather prevented the little party when together from being as lively as
usual. Edward, who felt that there was a sort of void, one evening
called upon the Captain to fetch his violin--Charlotte should play the
piano, and he should accompany her. The Captain was unable to refuse the
general request, and they executed together one of the most difficult
pieces of music with an ease, and freedom, and feeling, which could not
but afford themselves, and the two who were listening to them, the
greatest delight. They promised themselves a frequent repetition of it,
as well as further practice together. "They do it better than we,
Ottilie," said Edward; "we will admire them--but we can enjoy ourselves
together too."




CHAPTER IX


The birthday was come, and everything was ready. The wall was all
complete which protected the raised village road against the water, and
so was the walk; passing the church, for a short time it followed the
path which had been laid out by Charlotte, and then winding upward among
the rocks, inclined first under the summer-house to the right, and then,
after a wide sweep, passed back above it to the right again, and so by
degrees out on to the summit. A large party had assembled for the
occasion. They went first to church, where they found the whole
congregation assembled in their holiday dresses. After service, they
filed out in order; first the boys, then the young men, then the old;
after them came the party from the castle, with their visitors and
retinue; and the village maidens, young girls, and women, brought up the
rear.

At the turn of the walk, a raised stone seat had been contrived, where
the Captain made Charlotte and the visitors stop and rest. From here
they could see over the whole distance from the beginning to the
end--the troops of men who had gone up before them, the file of women
following, and now drawing up to where they were. It was lovely weather,
and the whole effect was singularly beautiful. Charlotte was taken by
surprise, she was touched, and she pressed the Captain's hand warmly.

They followed the crowd who had slowly ascended, and were now forming a
circle round the spot where the future house was to stand. The lord of
the castle, his family, and the principal strangers were now invited to
descend into the vault, where the foundation-stone, supported on one
side, lay ready to be let down. A well-dressed mason, a trowel in one
hand and a hammer in the other, came forward, and with much grace spoke
an address in verse, of which in prose we can give but an imperfect
rendering.

"Three things," he began, "are to be looked to in a building--that it
stand on the right spot; that it be securely founded; that it be
successfully executed. The first is the business of the master of the
house--his and his only. As in the city the prince and the council alone
determine where a building shall be, so in the country it is the right
of the lord of the soil that he shall say, 'Here my dwelling shall
stand; here, and nowhere else.'"

Edward and Ottilie were standing opposite one another, as these words
were spoken; but they did not venture to look up and exchange glances.

"To the third, the execution, there is neither art nor handicraft which
must not in some way contribute. But the second, the founding, is the
province of the mason; and, boldly to speak it out, it is the head and
front of all the undertaking--a solemn thing it is--and our bidding you
descend hither is full of meaning. You are celebrating your Festival in
the deep of the earth. Here within this small hollow spot, you show us
the honor of appearing as witnesses of our mysterious craft. Presently
we shall lower down this carefully-hewn stone into its place; and soon
these earth-walls, now ornamented with fair and worthy persons, will be
no more accessible--but will be closed in forever!

"This foundation-stone, which with its angles typifies the just angles
of the building, with the sharpness of its molding, the regularity of
it, and with the truth of its lines to the horizontal and perpendicular,
the uprightness and equal height of all the walls, we might now without
more ado let down--it would rest in its place with its own weight. But
even here there shall not fail of lime and means to bind it. For as
human beings who may be well inclined to each other by nature, yet hold
more firmly together when the law cements them, so are stones also,
whose forms may already fit together, united far better by these binding
forces. It is not seemly to be idle among the working, and here you will
not refuse to be our fellow-laborer;" with these words he reached the
trowel to Charlotte, who threw mortar with it under the stone--several
of the others were then desired to do the same, and then it was at once
let fall. Upon which the hammer was placed next in Charlotte's, and then
in the others' hands, to strike three times with it, and conclude, in
this expression, the wedlock of the stone with the earth.

"The work of the mason," went on the speaker, "now under the free sky as
we are, if it be not done in concealment, yet must pass into
concealment--the soil will be laid smoothly in, and thrown over this
stone, and with the walls which we rear into the daylight we in the end
are seldom remembered. The works of the stone-cutter and the carver
remain under the eyes; but for us it is not to complain when the
plasterer blots out the last trace of our hands, and appropriates our
work to himself; when he overlays it, and smooths it, and colors it.

"Not from regard for the opinion of others, but from respect for
himself, the mason will be faithful in his calling. There is none who
has more need to feel in himself the consciousness of what he is. When
the house is finished, when the soil is smoothed, the surface plastered
over, and the outside all overwrought with ornament, he can even
penetrate through all disguises and still recognize those exact and
careful adjustments to which the whole is indebted for its being and for
its persistence.

"But as the man who commits some evil deed has to fear, that,
notwithstanding all precautions, it will one day come to light--so too
must he expect who has done some good thing in secret, that it also, in
spite of himself, will appear in the day; and therefore we make this
foundation-stone at the same time a stone of memorial. Here, in these
various hollows which have been hewn into it, many things are now to be
buried, as a witness to some far-off world--these metal cases
hermetically sealed contain documents in writing; matters of various
note are engraved on these plates; in these fair glass bottles we bury
the best old wine, with a note of the year of its vintage. We have coins
too of many kinds, from the mint of the current year. All this we have
received through the liberality of him for whom we build. There is space
yet remaining, if guest or spectator desires to offer anything to the
after-world!"

After a slight pause the speaker looked round; but, as is commonly the
case on such occasions, no one was prepared; they were all taken by
surprise. At last, a merry-looking young officer set the example, and
said, "If I am to contribute anything which as yet is not to be found in
this treasure-chamber, it shall be a pair of buttons from my uniform--I
don't see why they do not deserve to go down to posterity!" No sooner
said than done, and then a number of persons found something of the
same sort which they could do; the young ladies did not hesitate to
throw in some of their side hair combs--smelling bottles and other
trinkets were not spared. Only Ottilie hung back; till a kind word from
Edward roused her from the abstraction in which she was watching the
various things being heaped in. Then she unclasped from her neck the
gold chain on which her father's picture had hung, and with a light
gentle hand laid it down on the other jewels. Edward rather disarranged
the proceedings, by at once, in some haste, having the cover let fall,
and fastened down.

The young mason who had been most active through all this, again took
his place as orator, and went on: "We lay down this stone for ever, for
the establishing the present and the future possessors of this house.
But in that we bury this treasure together with it, we do it in the
remembrance--in this most enduring of works--of the perishableness of
all human things. We remember that a time may come when this cover so
fast sealed shall again be lifted; and that can only be when all shall
again be destroyed which as yet we have not brought into being.

"But now--now that at once it may begin to be, back with our thoughts
out of the future--back into the present. At once, after the feast,
which we have this day kept together, let us on with our labor; let no
one of all those trades which are to work on our foundation, through us
keep unwilling holiday. Let the building rise swiftly to its height, and
out of the windows, which as yet have no existence, may the master of
the house, with his family and with his guests, look forth with a glad
heart over his broad lands. To him and to all here present herewith be
health and happiness."

With these words he drained a richly cut tumbler at a draught, and flung
it into the air, thereby to signify the excess of pleasure by destroying
the vessel which had served for such a solemn occasion. This time,
however, it fell out otherwise. The glass did not fall back to the
earth, and indeed without a miracle.

In order to get forward with the buildings, they had already thrown out
the whole of the soil at the opposite corner; indeed, they had begun to
raise the wall, and for this purpose had reared a scaffold as high as
was absolutely necessary. On the occasion of the festival, boards had
been laid along the top of this, and a number of spectators were allowed
to stand there. It had been meant principally for the advantage of the
workmen themselves. The glass had flown up there, and had been caught by
one of them, who took it as a sign of good luck for himself. He waved it
round without letting it out of his hand, and the letters E and O were
to be seen very richly cut upon it, running one into the other. It was
one of the glasses which had been executed for Edward when he was a boy.

The scaffoldings were again deserted, and the most active among the
party climbed up to look round them, and could not speak enough in
praise of the beauty of the prospect on all sides. How many new
discoveries does not a person make when on some high point he ascends
but a single story higher. Inland many fresh villages came in sight. The
line of the river could be traced like a thread of silver; indeed, one
of the party thought that he distinguished the spires of the capital. On
the other side, behind the wooded hill, the blue peaks of the far-off
mountains were seen rising, and the country immediately about them was
spread out like a map.

"If the three ponds," cried some one, "were but thrown together to make
a single sheet of water, there would be everything here which is noblest
and most excellent."

"That might easily be effected," the Captain said. "In early times they
must have formed all one lake among the hills here."

"Only I must beseech you to spare my clump of planes and poplars that
stand so prettily by the centre pond," said Edward. "See!" He turned to
Ottilie, bringing her a few steps forward, and pointing down--"those
trees I planted myself."

"How long have they been standing there?" asked Ottilie.

"Just about as long as you have been in the world," replied Edward.
"Yes, my dear child, I planted them when you were still lying in your
cradle."

The party now betook themselves back to the castle. After dinner was
over they were invited to walk through the village to take a glance at
what had been done there as well. At a hint from the Captain, the
inhabitants had collected in front of the houses. They were not standing
in rows, but formed in natural family groups; part were occupied at
their evening work, part out enjoying themselves on the new benches.
They had determined, as an agreeable duty which they imposed upon
themselves, to have everything in its present order and cleanliness, at
least every Sunday and holiday.

A little party, held together by such feelings as had grown up among our
friends, is always unpleasantly interrupted by a large concourse of
people. All four were delighted to find themselves again alone in the
large drawing-room, but this sense of home was a little disturbed by a
letter which was brought to Edward, giving notice of fresh guests who
were to arrive the following day.

"It is as we supposed," Edward cried to Charlotte. "The Count will not
stay away; he is coming tomorrow."

"Then the Baroness, too, is not far off," answered Charlotte.

"Doubtless not," said Edward. "She is coming, too, tomorrow, from
another place. They only beg to be allowed to stay for a night; the next
day they will go on together."

"We must prepare for them in time, Ottilie," said Charlotte.

"What arrangement shall I desire to be made?" Ottilie asked.

Charlotte gave a general direction, and Ottilie left the room.

The Captain inquired into the relation in which these two persons stood
toward each other, and with which he was only very generally acquainted.
They had some time before, both being already married, fallen violently
in love with each other; a double marriage was not to be interfered with
without attracting attention. A divorce was proposed. On the Baroness's
side it could be effected, on that of the Count it could not. They were
obliged seemingly to separate, but their position toward each other
remained unchanged, and though in the winter at the Residence they were
unable to be together, they indemnified themselves in the summer, while
making tours and staying at watering-places.

They were both slightly older than Edward and Charlotte, and had been
intimate with them from early times at court. The connection had never
been absolutely broken off, although it was impossible to approve of
their proceedings. On the present occasion their coming was most
unwelcome to Charlotte; and if she had looked closely into her reasons
for feeling it so, she would have found it was on account of Ottilie.
The poor innocent girl should not have been brought so early in contact
with such an example.

"It would have been more convenient if they had not come till a couple
of days later," Edward was saying; as Ottilie re-entered, "till we had
finished with this business of the farm. The deed of sale is complete.
One copy of it I have here, but we want a second, and our old clerk has
fallen ill." The Captain offered his services, and so did Charlotte, but
there was something or other to object to in both of them.

"Give it to me," cried Ottilie, a little hastily.

"You will never be able to finish it," said Charlotte.

"And really I must have it early the day after tomorrow, and it is
long," Edward added.

"It shall be ready," Ottilie cried; and the paper was already in her
hands.

The next morning, as they were looking out from their highest windows
for their visitors, whom they intended to go some way and meet, Edward
said, "Who is that yonder, riding slowly along the road?"

The Captain described accurately the figure of the horse-man.

"Then it is he," said Edward; "the particulars, which you can see better
than I, agree very well with the general figure, which I can see too. It
is Mittler; but what is he doing, coming riding at such a pace as that?"

The figure came nearer, and Mittler it veritably was. They received him
with warm greetings as he came slowly up the steps.

"Why did you not come yesterday?" Edward cried, as he approached.

"I do not like your grand festivities," answered he; "but I am come
today to keep my friend's birthday with you quietly."

"How are you able to find time enough?" asked Edward, with a laugh.

"My visit, if you can value it, you owe to an observation which I made
yesterday. I was spending a right happy afternoon in a house where I had
established peace, and then I heard that a birthday was being kept here.
Now this is what I call selfish, after all, said I to myself: you will
only enjoy yourself with those whose broken peace you have mended. Why
cannot you for once go and be happy with friends who keep the peace for
themselves? No sooner said than done. Here I am, as I determined with
myself that I would be."

"Yesterday you would have met a large party here; today you will find
but a small one," said Charlotte; "you will meet the Count and the
Baroness, with whom you have had enough to do already, I believe."

Out of the middle of the party, who had all four come down to welcome
him, the strange man dashed in the keenest disgust, seizing at the same
time his hat and whip. "Some unlucky star is always over me," he cried,
"directly I try to rest and enjoy myself. What business have I going out
of my proper character? I ought never to have come, and now I am
persecuted away. Under one roof with those two I will not remain, and
you take care of yourselves. They bring nothing but mischief; their
nature is like leaven, and propagates its own contagion."

They tried to pacify him, but it was in vain. "Whoever strikes at
marriage," he cried;--"whoever, either by word or act, undermines this,
the foundation of all moral society, that man has to settle with me, and
if I cannot become his master, I take care to settle myself out of his
way. Marriage is the beginning and the end of all culture. It makes the
savage mild; and the most cultivated has no better opportunity for
displaying his gentleness. Indissoluble it must be, because it brings so
much happiness that what small exceptional unhappiness it may bring
counts for nothing in the balance. And what do men mean by talking of
unhappiness? Impatience it is which from time to time comes over them,
and then they fancy themselves unhappy. Let them wait till the moment is
gone by, and then they will bless their good fortune that what has stood
so long continues standing. There never can be any adequate ground for
separation. The condition of man is pitched so high, in its joys and in
its sorrows, that the sum which two married people owe to each other
defies calculation. It is an infinite debt, which can only be discharged
through all eternity.

"Its annoyances marriage may often have; I can well believe that, and it
is as it should be. We are all married to our consciences, and there are
times when we should be glad to be divorced from them; mine gives me
more annoyance than ever a man or a woman can give."

All this he poured out with the greatest vehemence: he would very likely
have gone on speaking longer, had not the sound of the postilions'
horns given notice of the arrival of the visitors, who, as if on a
concerted arrangement, drove into the castle-court from opposite sides
at the same moment. Mittler slipped away as their host hastened to
receive them, and desiring that his horse might be brought out
immediately, rode angrily off.




CHAPTER X


The visitors were welcomed and brought in. They were delighted to find
themselves again in the same house and in the same rooms where in early
times they had passed many happy days, but which they had not seen for a
long time. Their friends too were very glad to see them. The Count and
the Baroness had both those tall fine figures which please in middle
life almost better than in youth. If something of the first bloom had
faded off them, yet there was an air in their appearance which was
always irresistibly attractive. Their manners too were thoroughly
charming. Their free way of taking hold of life and dealing with it,
their happy humor, and apparent easy unembarrassment, communicated
itself at once to the rest; and a lighter atmosphere hung about the
whole party, without their having observed it stealing on them.

The effect made itself felt immediately on the entrance of the
new-comers. They were fresh from the fashionable world, as was to be
seen at once, in their dress, in their equipment, and in everything
about them; and they formed a contrast not a little striking with our
friends, their country style, and the vehement feelings which were at
work underneath among them. This, however, very soon disappeared in the
stream of past recollection and present interests, and a rapid, lively
conversation soon united them all. After a short time they again
separated. The ladies withdrew to their own apartments, and there found
amusement enough in the many things which they had to tell one another,
and in setting to work at the same time to examine the new fashions, the
spring dresses, bonnets, and such like; while the gentlemen were
employing themselves looking at the new traveling chariots, trotting out
the horses, and beginning at once to bargain and exchange.

They did not meet again till dinner; in the meantime they had changed
their dress. And here, too, the newly arrived pair showed to all
advantage. Everything they wore was new, and in a style which their
friends at the castle had never seen, and yet, being accustomed to it
themselves, it appeared perfectly natural and graceful.

The conversation was brilliant and well sustained, as, indeed, in the
company of such persons everything and nothing appears to interest. They
spoke in French that the attendants might not understand what they said,
and swept in happiest humor over all that was passing in the great or
the middle world. On one particular subject they remained, however,
longer than was desirable. It was occasioned by Charlotte asking after
one of her early friends, of whom she had to learn, with some distress,
that she was on the point of being separated from her husband.

"It is a melancholy thing," Charlotte said, "when we fancy our absent
friends are finally settled, when we believe persons very dear to us to
be provided for for life, suddenly to hear that their fortunes are cast
loose once more; that they have to strike into a fresh path of life, and
very likely a most insecure one."

"Indeed, my dear friend," the Count answered, "it is our own fault if we
allow ourselves to be surprised at such things. We please ourselves with
imagining matters of this earth, and particularly matrimonial
connections, as very enduring; and as concerns this last point, the
plays which we see over and over again help to mislead us; being, as
they are, so untrue to the course of the world. In a comedy we see a
marriage as the last aim of a desire which is hindered and crossed
through a number of acts, and at the instant when it is reached the
curtain falls, and the momentary satisfaction continues to ring on in
our ears. But in the world it is very different. The play goes on still
behind the scenes, and when the curtain rises again we may see and hear,
perhaps, little enough of the marriage."

"It cannot be so very bad, however," said Charlotte, smiling. "We see
people who have gone off the boards of the theatre, ready enough to
undertake a part upon them again."

"There is nothing to say against that," said the Count. "In a new
character a man may readily venture on a second trial; and when we know
the world we see clearly that it is only this positive, eternal duration
of marriage in a world where everything is in motion, which has anything
unbecoming about it. A certain friend of mine, whose humor displays
itself principally in suggestions for new laws, maintained that every
marriage should be concluded only for five years. Five, he said, was a
sacred number--pretty and uneven. Such a period would be long enough for
people to learn each other's character, bring a child or two into the
world, quarrel, separate, and what is best, get reconciled again. He
would often exclaim, 'How happily the first part of the time would pass
away!' Two or three years, at least, would be perfect bliss. On one side
or the other there would not fail to be a wish to have the relation
continue longer, and the amiability would increase the nearer they got
to the parting time. The indifferent, even the dissatisfied party, would
be softened and gained over by such behavior; they would forget, as in
pleasant company the hours pass always unobserved, how the time went by,
and they would be delightfully surprised when, after the term had run
out, they first observed that they had unknowingly prolonged it."

Charming and pleasant as all this sounded, and deep (Charlotte felt it
to her soul) as was the moral significance which lay below it,
expressions of this kind, on Ottilie's account, were most distasteful to
her. She knew very well that nothing was more dangerous than the
licentious conversation which treats culpable or semi-culpable actions
as if they were common, ordinary, and even laudable, and of such
undesirable kind assuredly were all which touched on the sacredness of
marriage. She endeavored, therefore, in her skilful way, to give the
conversation another turn, and, when she found that she could not, it
vexed her that Ottilie had managed everything so well that there was no
occasion for her to leave the table. In her quiet observant way a nod or
a look was enough for her to signify to the head servant whatever was to
be done, and everything went off perfectly, although there were a couple
of strange men in livery in the way who were rather a trouble than a
convenience. And so the Count, without feeling Charlotte's hints, went
on giving his opinions on the same subject. Generally, he was little
enough apt to be tedious in conversation; but this was a thing which
weighed so heavily on his heart, and the difficulties which he found in
getting separated from his wife were so great that it had made him
bitter against everything which concerned the marriage bond--that very
bond which, notwithstanding, he was so anxiously desiring between
himself and the Baroness.

"The same friend," he went on, "has another law which he proposes. A
marriage shall be held indissoluble only when either both parties, or at
least one or the other, enter into it for the third time. Such persons
must be supposed to acknowledge beyond a doubt that they find marriage
indispensable for themselves; they have had opportunities of thoroughly
knowing themselves; of knowing how they conducted themselves in their
earlier unions; whether they have any peculiarities of temper, which are
a more frequent cause of separation than bad dispositions. People would
then observe each other more closely; they would pay as much attention
to the married as to the unmarried, no one being able to tell how things
may turn out."

"That would add no little to the interest of society," said Edward. "As
things are now, when a man is married nobody cares any more either for
his virtues or for his vices."

"Under this arrangement," the Baroness struck in, laughing, "our good
hosts have passed successfully over their two steps, and may make
themselves ready for their third."

"Things have gone happily with them," said the Count. "In their case
death has done with a good will what in others the consistorial courts
do with a very bad one.

"Let the dead rest," said Charlotte, with a half serious look.

"Why so," persevered the Count, "when we can remember them with honor?
They were generous enough to content themselves with less than their
number of years for the sake of the larger good which they could leave
behind them."

"Alas! that in such cases," said the Baroness, with a suppressed sigh,
"happiness is bought only with the sacrifice of our fairest years."

"Indeed, yes," answered the Count; "and it might drive us to despair, if
it were not the same with everything in this world. Nothing goes as we
hope. Children do not fulfil what they promise; young people very
seldom; and if they keep their word, the world does not keep its word
with them."

Charlotte, who was delighted that the conversation had taken a turn at
last, replied cheerfully:

"Well, then, we must content ourselves with enjoying what good we are to
have in fragments and pieces, as we can get it; and the sooner we can
accustom ourselves to this the better."

"Certainly," the Count answered, "you two have had the enjoyment of very
happy times. When I look back upon the years when you and Edward were
the loveliest couple at the court, I see nothing now to be compared with
those brilliant times, and such magnificent figures. When you two used
to dance together, all eyes were turned upon you, fastened upon you,
while you saw nothing but each other."

"So much has changed since those days," said Charlotte, "that we can
listen to such pretty things about ourselves without our modesty being
shocked at them."

"I often privately found fault with Edward," said the Count, "for not
being more firm. Those singular parents of his would certainly have
given way at last; and ten fair years is no trifle to gain."

"I must take Edward's part," struck in the Baroness. "Charlotte was not
altogether without fault--not altogether free from what we must call
prudential considerations; and although she had a real, hearty love for
Edward, and did in her secret soul intend to marry him, I can bear
witness how sorely she often tried him; and it was through this that he
was at last unluckily prevailed upon to leave her and go abroad, and try
to forget her."

Edward bowed to the Baroness, and seemed grateful for her advocacy.

"And then I must add this," she continued, "in excuse for Charlotte. The
man who was at that time suing for her, had for a long time given proofs
of his constant attachment to her; and, when one came to know him well,
was a far more lovable person than the rest of you may like to
acknowledge."

"My dear friend," the Count replied, a little pointedly, "confess, now,
that he was not altogether indifferent to yourself, and that Charlotte
had more to fear from you than from any other rival. I find it one of
the highest traits in women, that they continue so long in their regard
for a man, and that absence of no duration will serve to disturb or
remove it."

"This fine feature, men possess, perhaps, even more," answered the
Baroness. "At any rate, I have observed with you, my dear Count, that no
one has more influence over you than a lady to whom you were once
attached. I have seen you take more trouble to do things when a certain
person has asked you, than the friend of this moment would have obtained
of you, if she had tried."

"Such a charge as that one must bear the best way one can," replied the
Count. "But as to what concerns Charlotte's first husband, I could not
endure him, because he parted so sweet a pair from each other--a really
predestined pair, who, once brought together, have no reason to fear the
five years, or be thinking of a second or third marriage."

"We must try," Charlotte said, "to make up for what we then allowed to
slip from us."

"Aye, and you must keep to that," said the Count; "your first
marriages," he continued, with some vehemence, "were exactly marriages
of the true detestable sort. And, unhappily, marriages generally, even
the best, have (forgive me for using a strong expression) something
awkward about them. They destroy the delicacy of the relation;
everything is made to rest on the broad certainty out of which one side
or other, at least, is too apt to make their own advantage. It is all a
matter of course; and they seem only to have got themselves tied
together, that one or the other, or both, may go their own way the more
easily."

At this moment, Charlotte, who was determined once for all that she
would put an end to the conversation, made a bold effort at turning it,
and succeeded. It then became more general. She and her husband and the
Captain were able to take a part in it. Even Ottilie had to give her
opinion; and the dessert was enjoyed in the happiest humor. It was
particularly beautiful, being composed almost entirely of the rich
summer fruits in elegant baskets, with epergnes of lovely flowers
arranged in exquisite taste.

The new laying-out of the park came to be spoken of; and immediately
after dinner they went to look at what was going on. Ottilie withdrew,
under pretence of having household matters to look to; in reality, it
was to set to work again at the transcribing. The Count fell into
conversation with the Captain, and Charlotte afterward joined them. When
they were at the summit of the height, the Captain good-naturedly ran
back to fetch the plan, and in his absence the Count said to Charlotte:

"He is an exceedingly pleasing person. He is very well informed, and his
knowledge is always ready. His practical power, too, seems methodical
and vigorous. What he is doing here would be of great importance in some
higher sphere."

Charlotte listened to the Captain's praises with an inward delight. She
collected herself, however, and composedly and clearly confirmed what
the Count had said. But she was not a little startled when he continued:

"This acquaintance falls most opportunely for me. I know of a situation
for which he is perfectly suited, and I shall be doing the greatest
favor to a friend of mine, a man of high rank, by recommending to him a
person who is so exactly everything which he desires."

Charlotte felt as if a thunder-stroke had fallen on her. The Count did
not observe it: women, being accustomed at all times to hold themselves
in restraint, are always able, even in the most extraordinary cases, to
maintain an apparent composure; but she heard not a word more of what
the Count said, though he went on speaking.

"When I have made up my mind upon a thing," he added, "I am quick about
it. I have put my letter together already in my head, and I shall write
it immediately. You can find me some messenger who can ride off with it
this evening."

Charlotte was suffering agonies. Startled with the proposal, and shocked
at herself, she was unable to utter a word. Happily, the Count continued
talking of his plans for the Captain, the desirableness of which was
only too apparent to Charlotte.

It was time that the Captain returned. He came up and unrolled his
design before the Count. But with what changed eyes Charlotte now looked
at the friend whom she was to lose. In her necessity, she bowed and
turned away, and hurried down to the summer-house. Before she was half
way there, the tears were streaming from her eyes, and she flung herself
into the narrow room in the little hermitage, and gave herself up to an
agony, a passion, a despair, of the possibility of which, but a few
moments before, she had not had the slightest conception.

Edward had gone with the Baroness in the other direction toward the
ponds. This ready-witted lady, who liked to be in the secret about
everything, soon observed, in a few conversational feelers which she
threw out, that Edward was very fluent and free-spoken in praise of
Ottilie. She contrived in the most natural way to lead him out by
degrees so completely that at last she had not a doubt remaining that
here was not merely an incipient fancy, but a veritable, full-grown
passion.

Married women, if they have no particular love for one another, yet are
silently in league together, especially against young girls. The
consequences of such an inclination presented themselves only too
quickly to her world-experienced spirit. Added to this, she had been
already, in the course of the day, talking to Charlotte about Ottilie;
she had disapproved of her remaining in the country, particularly being
a girl of so retiring a character; and she had proposed to take Ottilie
with her to the residence of a friend who was just then bestowing great
expense on the education of an only daughter, and who was only looking
about to find some well-disposed companion for her--to put her in the
place of a second child, and let her share in every advantage. Charlotte
had taken time to consider. But now this glimpse of the Baroness into
Edward's heart changed what had been but a suggestion at once into a
settled determination; and the more rapidly she made up her mind about
it, the more she outwardly seemed to flatter Edward's wishes. Never was
there any one more self-possessed than this lady; and to have mastered
ourselves in extraordinary cases, disposes us to treat even a common
case with dissimulation--it makes us inclined, as we have had to do so
much violence to ourselves, to extend our control over others, and
hold ourselves in a degree compensated in what we outwardly gain for
what we inwardly have been obliged to sacrifice. To this feeling there
is often joined a kind of secret, spiteful pleasure in the blind,
unconscious ignorance with which the victim walks on into the snare. It
is not the immediately doing as we please which we enjoy, but the
thought of the surprise and exposure which is to follow. And thus was
the Baroness malicious enough to invite Edward to come with Charlotte
and pay her a visit at the grape-gathering; and, to his question whether
they might bring Ottilie with them, to frame an answer which, if he
pleased, he might interpret to his wishes.

Edward had already begun to pour out his delight at the beautiful
scenery, the broad river, the hills, the rocks, the vineyard, the old
castles, the water-parties, and the jubilee at the grape-gathering, the
wine-pressing, etc., in all of which, in the innocence of his heart, he
was only exuberating in the anticipation of the impression which these
scenes were to make on the fresh spirit of Ottilie. At this moment they
saw her approaching, and the Baroness said quickly to Edward that he had
better say nothing to her of this intended autumn expedition--things
which we set our hearts upon so long before so often failing to come to
pass. Edward gave his promise; but he obliged his companion to move more
quickly to meet her; and at last, when they came very close, he ran on
several steps in advance. A heartfelt happiness expressed itself in his
whole being. He kissed her hand as he pressed into it a nosegay of wild
flowers which he had gathered on his way.

The Baroness felt bitter in her heart at the sight of it. Even whilst
she was able to disapprove of what was really objectionable in this
affection, she could not bear to see what was sweet and beautiful in it
thrown away on such a poor paltry girl.

When they had collected again at the supper-table, an entirely different
temper was spread over the party. The Count, who had in the meantime
written his letter and dispatched a messenger with it, occupied himself
with the Captain, whom he had been drawing out more and more--spending
the whole evening at his side, talking of serious matters. The Baroness,
who sat on the Count's right, found but small amusement in this; nor did
Edward find any more. The latter, first because he was thirsty, and then
because he was excited, did not spare the wine, and attached himself
entirely to Ottilie, whom he had made sit by him. On the other side,
next to the Captain, sat Charlotte; for her it was hard, it was almost
impossible, to conceal the emotion under which she was suffering.

The Baroness had sufficient time to make her observations at leisure.
She perceived Charlotte's uneasiness, and occupied as she was with
Edward's passion for Ottilie, she easily satisfied herself that her
abstraction and distress were owing to her husband's behavior; and she
set herself to consider in what way she could best compass her ends.

Supper was over, and the party remained divided. The Count, whose object
was to probe the Captain to the bottom, had to try many turns before he
could arrive at what he wished with so quiet, so little vain, but so
exceedingly laconic a person. They walked up and down together on one
side of the saloon, while Edward, excited with wine and hope, was
laughing with Ottilie at a window, and Charlotte and the Baroness were
walking backward and forward, without speaking, on the other side. Their
being so silent, and their standing about in this uneasy, listless way,
had its effect at last in breaking up the rest of the party. The ladies
withdrew to their rooms, the gentlemen to the other wing of the castle;
and so this day appeared to be concluded.




CHAPTER XI


Edward went with the Count to his room. They continued talking, and he
was easily prevailed upon to stay a little time longer there. The Count
lost himself in old times, spoke eagerly of Charlotte's beauty, which,
as a critic, he dwelt upon with much warmth.

"A pretty foot is a great gift of nature," he said. "It is a grace which
never perishes. I observed it today, as she was walking. I should almost
have liked even to kiss her shoe, and repeat that somewhat barbarous but
significant practice of the Sarmatians, who know no better way of
showing reverence for any one they love or respect, than by using his
shoe to drink his health out of."

The point of the foot did not remain the only subject of praise between
two old acquaintances; they went from the person back upon old stories
and adventures, and came on the hindrances which at that time people had
thrown in the way of the lovers' meetings--what trouble they had taken,
what arts they had been obliged to devise, only to be able to tell each
other that they loved.

"Do you remember," continued the Count, "an adventure in which I most
unselfishly stood your friend when their High Mightinesses were on a
visit to your uncle, and were all together in that great, straggling
castle? The day went in festivities and glitter of all sorts; and a part
of the night at least in pleasant conversation."

"And you, in the meantime, had observed the back-way which led to the
court ladies' quarter," said Edward, "and so managed to effect an
interview for me with my beloved."

"And she," replied the Count, "thinking more of propriety than of my
enjoyment, had kept a frightful old duenna with her. So that, while you
two, between looks and words, got on extremely well together, my lot, in
the meanwhile, was far from pleasant."

"It was only yesterday," answered Edward, "when we heard that you were
coming, that I was talking over the story with my wife and describing
our adventure on returning. We missed the road, and got into the
entrance-hall from the garden. Knowing our way from thence as well as we
did, we supposed we could get along easily enough.

"But you remember our surprise on opening the door. The floor was
covered over with mattresses on which the giants lay in rows stretched
out and sleeping. The single sentinel at his post looked wonderingly at
us; but we, in the cool way young men do things, strode quietly on over
the outstretched boots, without disturbing a single one of the snoring
children of Anak."

"I had the strongest inclination to stumble," the Count said, "that
there might be an alarm given. What a resurrection we should have
witnessed."

At this moment the castle clock struck twelve.

"It is deep midnight," the Count added, laughing, "and just the proper
time; I must ask you, my dear Edward, to show me a kindness. Do you
guide me tonight, as I guided you then. I promised the Baroness that I
would see her before going to bed. We have had no opportunity of any
private talk together the whole day. We have not seen each other for a
long time, and it is only natural that we should wish for a confidential
hour. If you will show me the way there, I will manage to get back
again; and in any case, there will be no boots for me to stumble over."

"I shall be very glad to show you such a piece of hospitality," answered
Edward; "only the three ladies are together in the same wing. Who knows
whether we shall not find them still with one another, or make some
other mistake, which may have a strange appearance?"

"Do not be afraid," said the Count; "the Baroness expects me. She is
sure by this time to be in her own room, and alone."

"Well, then, the thing is easy enough," Edward answered.

He took a candle, and lighted the Count down a private staircase leading
into a long gallery. At the end of this, he opened a small door. They
mounted a winding flight of stairs, which brought them out upon a narrow
landing-place; and then, putting the candle in the Count's hand, he
pointed to a tapestried door on the right, which opened readily at the
first trial, and admitted the Count, leaving Edward outside in the dark.

Another door on the left led into Charlotte's sleeping-room. He heard
her voice, and listened. She was speaking to her maid. "Is Ottilie in
bed?" she asked. "No," was the answer; "she is sitting writing in the
room below." "You may light the night-lamp," said Charlotte; "I shall
not want you any more. It is late. I can put out the candle, and do
whatever I may want else myself."

It was a delight to Edward to hear that Ottilie was writing still. She
is working for me, he thought triumphantly. Through the darkness, he
fancied he could see her sitting all alone at her desk. He thought he
would go to her, and see her; and how she would turn to receive him. He
felt a longing, which he could not resist, to be near her once more.
But, from where he was, there was no way to the apartments which she
occupied. He now found himself immediately at his wife's door. A
singular change of feeling came over him. He tried the handle, but the
bolts were shot. He knocked gently. Charlotte did not hear him. She was
walking rapidly up and down in the large dressing-room adjoining. She
was repeating over and over what, since the Count's unexpected proposal,
she had often enough had to say to herself. The Captain seemed to stand
before her. At home, and everywhere, he had become her all in all. And
now he was to go; and it was all to be desolate again. She repeated
whatever wise things one can say to oneself; she even anticipated, as
people so often do, the wretched comfort that time would come at last to
her relief; and then she cursed the time which would have to pass before
it could lighten her sufferings--she cursed the dead, cold time when
they would be lightened. At last she burst into tears; they were the
more welcome, since tears with her were rare. She flung herself on the
sofa, and gave herself up unreservedly to her sufferings. Edward,
meanwhile, could not take himself from the door. He knocked again; and a
third time rather louder; so that Charlotte, in the stillness of the
night, distinctly heard it, and started up in fright. Her first thought
was--it can only be, it must be, the Captain; her second, that it was
impossible. She thought she must have been deceived. But surely she had
heard it; and she wished, and she feared to have heard it. She went into
her sleeping-room, and walked lightly up to the bolted tapestry-door.
She blamed herself for her fears. "Possibly it may be the Baroness
wanting something," she said to herself; and she called out quietly and
calmly, "Is anybody there?" A light voice answered, "It is I." "Who?"
returned Charlotte, not being able to make out the voice. She thought
she saw the Captain's figure standing at the door. In a rather louder
tone, she heard the word "Edward!" She drew back the bolt, and her
husband stood before her. He greeted her with some light jest. She was
unable to reply in the same tone. He complicated the mysterious visit by
his mysterious explanation of it.

"Well, then," he said at last, "I will confess, the real reason why I am
come is, that I have made a vow to kiss your shoe this evening."

"It is long since you thought of such a thing as that," said Charlotte.

"So much the worse," he answered; "and so much the better."

She had thrown herself back in an armchair, to prevent him from seeing
the slightness of her dress. He flung himself down before her, and she
could not prevent him from giving her shoe a kiss. And when the shoe
came off in his hand, he caught her foot and pressed it tenderly against
his breast.

Charlotte was one of those women who, being of naturally calm
temperaments, continue in marriage, without any purpose or any effort,
the air and character of lovers. She was never expressive toward her
husband; generally, indeed, she rather shrank from any warm
demonstration on his part. It was not that she was cold, or at all hard
and repulsive, but she remained always like a loving bride, who draws
back with a kind of shyness even from what is permitted. And so Edward
found her this evening, in a double sense. How sorely did she not long
that her husband would go; the figure of his friend seemed to hover in
the air and reproach her. But what should have had the effect of driving
Edward away only attracted him the more. There were visible traces of
emotion about her. She had been crying; and tears, which with weak
persons detract from their graces, add immeasurably to the
attractiveness of those whom we know commonly as strong and
self-possessed.

Edward was so agreeable, so gentle, so pressing; he begged to be allowed
to stay with her. He did not demand it, but half in fun, half in
earnest, he tried to persuade her; he never thought of his rights. At
last, as if in mischief, he blew out the candle.

In the dim lamplight, the inward affection, the imagination, maintained
their rights over the real; it was Ottilie that was resting in Edward's
arms; and the Captain, now faintly, now clearly, hovered before
Charlotte's soul. And so, strangely intermingled, the absent and the
present flowed in a sweet enchantment one into the other.

And yet the present would not let itself be robbed of its own unlovely
right. They spent a part of the night talking and laughing at all sorts
of things, the more freely as the heart had no part in it. But when
Edward awoke in the morning, on his wife's breast, the day seemed to
stare in with a sad, awful look, and the sun to be shining in upon a
crime. He stole lightly from her side; and she found herself, with
strange enough feelings, when she awoke, alone.




CHAPTER XII


When the party assembled again at breakfast, an attentive observer might
have read in the behavior of its various members the different things
which were passing in their inner thoughts and feelings. The Count and
the Baroness met with the air of happiness which a pair of lovers feel,
who, after having been forced to endure a long separation, have mutually
assured each other of their unaltered affection. On the other hand,
Charlotte and Edward equally came into the presence of the Captain and
Ottilie with a sense of shame and remorse. For such is the nature of
love that it believes in no rights except its own, and all other rights
vanish away before it. Ottilie was in child-like spirits. For her--she
was almost what might be called open. The Captain appeared serious. His
conversation with the Count, which had roused in him feelings that for
some time past had been at rest and dormant, had made him only too
keenly conscious that here he was not fulfilling his work, and at bottom
was but squandering himself in a half-activity of idleness.

Hardly had their guests departed, when fresh visitors were announced--to
Charlotte most welcomely, all she wished for being to be taken out of
herself, and to have her attention dissipated. They annoyed Edward, who
was longing to devote himself to Ottilie; and Ottilie did not like them
either; the copy which had to be finished the next morning early being
still incomplete. They staid a long time, and immediately that they were
gone she hurried off to her room.

It was now evening. Edward, Charlotte, and the Captain had accompanied
the strangers some little way on foot, before the latter got into their
carriage, and previous to returning home they agreed to take a walk
along the water-side.

A boat had come, which Edward had had fetched from a distance, at no
little expense; and they decided that they would try whether it was easy
to manage. It was made fast on the bank of the middle pond, not far from
some old ash trees on which they calculated to make an effect in their
future improvements. There was to be a landing-place made there, and
under the trees a seat was to be raised, with some wonderful
architecture about it: it was to be the point for which people were to
make when they went across the water.

"And where had we better have the landing-place on the other side?" said
Edward. "I should think under my plane trees."

"They stand a little too far to the right," said the Captain. "You are
nearer the castle if you land further down. However, we must think about
it."

The Captain was already standing in the stern of the boat, and had taken
up an oar. Charlotte got in, and Edward with her--he took the other oar;
but as he was on the point of pushing off, he thought of Ottilie--he
recollected that this water-party would keep him out late; who could
tell when he would get back? He made up his mind shortly and promptly;
sprang back to the bank, and reaching the other oar to the Captain,
hurried home--making excuses to himself as he ran.

Arriving there he learnt that Ottilie had shut herself up--she was
writing. In spite of the agreeable feeling that she was doing something
for him, it was the keenest mortification to him not to be able to see
her. His impatience increased every moment. He walked up and down the
large drawing-room; he tried a thousand things, and could not fix his
attention upon any. He was longing to see her alone, before Charlotte
came back with the Captain. It was dark by this time, and the candles
were lighted.

At last she came in beaming with loveliness: the sense that she had done
something for her friend had lifted all her being above itself. She put
down the original and her transcript on the table before Edward.

"Shall we collate them?" she said, with a smile.

Edward did not know what to answer. He looked at her--he looked at the
transcript. The first few sheets were written with the greatest
carefulness in a delicate woman's hand--then the strokes appeared to
alter, to become more light and free--but who can describe his surprise
as he ran his eyes over the concluding page? "For heaven's sake," he
cried, "what is this? this is my hand!" He looked at Ottilie, and again
at the paper; the conclusion, especially, was exactly as if he had
written it himself. Ottilie said nothing, but she looked at him with her
eyes full of the warmest delight. Edward stretched out his arms. "You
love me!" he cried: "Ottilie, you love me!" They fell on each other's
breast--which had been the first to catch the other it would have been
impossible to distinguish.

From that moment the world was all changed for Edward. He was no longer
what he had been, and the world was no longer what it had been. They
parted--he held her hands; they gazed in each other's eyes. They were on
the point of embracing each other again.

Charlotte entered with the Captain. Edward inwardly smiled at their
excuses for having stayed out so long. Oh! how far too soon you have
returned, he said to himself.

They sat down to supper. They talked about the people who had been there
that day. Edward, full of love and ecstasy, spoke well of every
one--always sparing, often approving. Charlotte, who was not altogether
of his opinion, remarked this temper in him, and jested with him about
it--he who had always the sharpest thing to say on departed visitors,
was this evening so gentle and tolerant.

With fervor and heartfelt conviction, Edward cried, "One has only to
love a single creature with all one's heart, and the whole world at once
looks lovely!"

Ottilie dropped her eyes on the ground, and Charlotte looked straight
before her.

The Captain took up the word, and said, "It is the same with deep
feelings of respect and reverence: we first learn to recognize what
there is that is to be valued in the world, when we find occasion to
entertain such sentiments toward a particular object."

Charlotte made an excuse to retire early to her room where she could
give herself up to thinking over what had passed in the course of the
evening between herself and the Captain.

When Edward sprang on shore, and, pushing off the boat, had himself
committed his wife and his friend to the uncertain element, Charlotte
found herself face to face with the man on whose account she had been
already secretly suffering so bitterly, sitting in the twilight before
her, and sweeping along the boat with the sculls in easy motion. She
felt a depth of sadness, very rare with her, weighing on her spirits.
The undulating movement of the boat, the splash of the oars, the faint
breeze playing over the watery mirror, the sighing of the reeds, the
long flight of the birds, the fitful twinkling of the first stars--there
was something spectral about it all in the universal stillness. She
fancied her friend was bearing her away to set her on some far-off
shore, and leave her there alone; strange emotions were passing through
her, and she could not give way to them and weep.

The Captain was describing to her the manner in which, in his opinion,
the improvements should be continued. He praised the construction of the
boat; it was so convenient, he said, because one person could so easily
manage it with a pair of oars. She should herself learn how to do this;
there was often a delicious feeling in floating along alone upon the
water, one's own ferryman and steersman.

The parting which was impending sank on Charlotte's heart as he was
speaking. Is he saying this on purpose? she thought to herself. Does he
know it yet? Does he suspect it or is it only accident? And is he
unconsciously foretelling me my fate?

A weary, impatient heaviness took hold of her; she begged him to make
for land as soon as possible and return with her to the castle.

It was the first time that the Captain had been upon the water, and,
though generally he had acquainted himself with its depth, he did not
know accurately the particular spots. Dusk was coming on; he directed
his course to a place where he thought it would be easy to get on shore,
and from which he knew the footpath which led to the castle was not far
distant. Charlotte, however, repeated her wish to get to land quickly,
and the place which he thought of being at a short distance, he gave it
up, and exerting himself as much as he possibly could, made straight for
the bank. Unhappily the water was shallow, and he ran aground some way
off from it. From the rate at which he was going the boat was fixed
fast, and all his efforts to move it were in vain. What was to be done?
There was no alternative but to get into the water and carry his
companion ashore.

It was done without difficulty or danger. He was strong enough not to
totter with her, or give her any cause for anxiety; but in her agitation
she had thrown her arms about his neck. He held her fast, and pressed
her to himself--and at last laid her down upon a grassy bank, not
without emotion and confusion * * * she still lay upon his neck * * * he
caught her up once more in his arms, and pressed a warm kiss upon her
lips. The next moment he was at her feet: he took her hand, and held it
to his mouth, and cried:

"Charlotte, will you forgive me?"

The kiss which he had ventured to give, and which she had all but
returned to him, brought Charlotte to herself again--she pressed his
hand--but she did not attempt to raise him up. She bent down over him,
and laid her hand upon his shoulder and said:

"We cannot now prevent this moment from forming an epoch in our lives;
but it depends on us to bear ourselves in a manner which shall be worthy
of us. You must go away, my dear friend; and you are going. The Count
has plans for you, to give you better prospects--I am glad, and I am
sorry. I did not mean to speak of it till it was certain but this moment
obliges me to tell you my secret * * * Since it does not depend on
ourselves to alter our feelings, I can only forgive you, I can only
forgive myself, if we have the courage to alter our situation." She
raised him up, took his arm to support herself, and they walked back to
the castle without speaking.

But now she was standing in her own room, where she had to feel and to
know that she was Edward's wife. Her strength and the various discipline
in which through life she had trained herself, came to her assistance in
the conflict. Accustomed as she had always been to look steadily into
herself and to control herself, she did not now find it difficult, with
an earnest effort, to come to the resolution which she desired. She
could almost smile when she remembered the strange visit of the night
before. Suddenly she was seized with a wonderful instinctive feeling, a
thrill of fearful delight which changed into holy hope and longing. She
knelt earnestly down, and repeated the oath which she had taken to
Edward before the altar.

Friendship, affection, renunciation, floated in glad, happy images
before her. She felt restored to health and to herself. A sweet
weariness came over her. She lay down, and sank into a calm, quiet
sleep.




CHAPTER XIII


Edward, on his part, was in a very different temper. So little he
thought of sleeping that it did not once occur to him even to undress
himself. A thousand times he kissed the transcript of the document, but
it was the beginning of it, in Ottilie's childish, timid hand; the end
he scarcely dared to kiss, for he thought it was his own hand which he
saw. Oh, that it were another document! he whispered to himself; and, as
it was, he felt it was the sweetest assurance that his highest wish
would be fulfilled. Thus it remained in his hands, thus he continued to
press it to his heart, although disfigured by a third name subscribed to
it. The waning moon rose up over the wood. The warmth of the night drew
Edward out into the free air. He wandered this way and that way; he was
at once the most restless and the happiest of mortals. He strayed
through the gardens--they seemed too narrow for him; he hurried out
into the park, and it was too wide. He was drawn back toward the castle;
he stood under Ottilie's window. He threw himself down on the steps of
the terrace below. "Walls and bolts," he said to himself, "may still
divide us, but our hearts are not divided. If she were here before me,
into my arms she would fall, and I into hers; and what can one desire
but that sweet certainty!" All was stillness round him; not a breath was
moving;--so still it was, that he could hear the unresting creatures
underground at their work, to whom day or night are alike. He abandoned
himself to his delicious dreams; at last he fell asleep, and did not
wake till the sun with his royal beams was mounting up in the sky and
scattering the early mists.

He found himself the first person awake on his domain. The laborers
seemed to be staying away too long: they came; he thought they were too
few, and the work set out for the day too slight for his desires. He
inquired for more workmen; they were promised, and in the course of the
day they came. But these, too, were not enough for him to carry his
plans out as rapidly as he wished. To do the work gave him no pleasure
any longer; it should all be done. And for whom? The paths should be
gravelled that Ottilie might walk presently upon them; seats should be
made at every spot and corner that Ottilie might rest on them. The new
park house was hurried forward. It should be finished for Ottilie's
birthday. In all he thought and all he did, there was no more
moderation. The sense of loving and of being loved, urged him out into
the unlimited. How changed was now to him the look of all the rooms,
their furniture, and their decorations! He did not feel as if he was in
his own house any more. Ottilie's presence absorbed everything. He was
utterly lost in her; no other thought ever rose before him; no
conscience disturbed him; every restraint which had been laid upon his
nature burst loose. His whole being centered upon Ottilie. This
impetuosity of passion did not escape the Captain, who longed, if he
could, to prevent its evil consequences. All those plans which were now
being hurried on with this immoderate speed, had been drawn out and
calculated for a long, quiet, easy execution. The sale of the farm had
been completed; the first instalment had been paid. Charlotte, according
to the arrangement, had taken possession of it. But the very first week
after, she found it more than usually necessary to exercise patience and
resolution, and to keep her eye on what was being done. In the present
hasty style of proceeding, the money which had been set apart for the
purpose would not go far.

Much had been begun, and much yet remained to be done. How could the
Captain leave Charlotte in such a situation? They consulted together,
and agreed that it would be better that they themselves should hurry on
the works, and for this purpose employ money which could be made good
again at the period fixed for the discharge of the second instalment of
what was to be paid for the farm. It could be done almost without loss.
They would have a freer hand. Everything would progress simultaneously.
There were laborers enough at hand, and they could get more accomplished
at once, and arrive swiftly and surely at their aim. Edward gladly gave
his consent to a plan which so entirely coincided with his own views.

During this time Charlotte persisted with all her heart in what she had
determined for herself, and her friend stood by her with a like purpose,
manfully. This very circumstance, however, produced a greater intimacy
between them. They spoke openly to each other of Edward's passion, and
consulted what had better be done. Charlotte kept Ottilie more about
herself, watching her narrowly; and the more she understood her own
heart, the deeper she was able to penetrate into the heart of the poor
girl. She saw no help for it, except in sending her away.

It now appeared a happy thing to her that Luciana had gained such high
honors at the school; for her great aunt, as soon as she heard of it,
desired to take her entirely to herself, to keep her with her, and
bring her out into the world. Ottilie could, therefore, return thither.
The Captain would leave them well provided for, and everything would be
as it had been a few months before; indeed, in many respects better. Her
own position in Edward's affection, Charlotte thought, she could soon
recover; and she settled it all, and laid it all out before herself so
sensibly that she only strengthened herself more completely in her
delusion, as if it were possible for them to return within their old
limits--as if a bond which had been violently broken could again be
joined together as before.

In the meantime Edward felt very deeply the hindrances which were thrown
in his way. He soon observed that they were keeping him and Ottilie
separate; that they made it difficult for him to speak with her alone,
or even to approach her, except in the presence of others. And while he
was angry about this, he was angry at many things besides. If he caught
an opportunity for a few hasty words with Ottilie, it was not only to
assure her of his love, but to complain of his wife and of the Captain.
He never felt that with his own irrational haste he was on the way to
exhaust the cash-box. He found bitter fault with them, because in the
execution of the work they were not keeping to the first agreement, and
yet he had been himself a consenting party to the second; indeed, it was
he who had occasioned it and made it necess

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