ON THE HEIGHTS 
 
 A NOVEL 
 
 BY 
 
 BERTHOLD AUERBACH 
 
 
 
 TRANSLATED BY 
 
 N T <:W YORK 
 HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 
 
 1876 
 
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 
 
 HENRY HOLT, 
 In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 
 
 JOHN F. TROW & SON, 
 
 PRINTERS AND STEREOTVPERS, 
 
 205-213 East i2f/t Street, 
 
 NEW YORK. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 pj- / 
 
 BOQK I. 
 
 1376' 
 
 CHAPTER I. f7 A / A/ 
 
 EARLY mass was being celebrated in the chapel attached to 
 the royal summer palace. 
 
 The palace stood on a slight eminence in the centre of the park. 
 The eastern slope of the hill had been planted with vineyards and 
 its crest was covered with mighty, towering beeches. The park 
 abounded with maples, plane trees and elms, with their rich foliage, 
 and firs of various kinds, while the thick clusters of needles on the 
 fir-leaved mountain pine, showed that it had become acclimated. 
 On grassy lawns there were solftary tall pines of perfect growth. 
 A charming variety of flowers and leaf plants lent grace to the 
 picture which, in all its details, showed evidence of artistic design 
 and exquisite taste. 
 
 The paths were neatly kept. The flowers were sparkling with 
 the dews of morning ; birds were singing and the air was laden 
 with the fragrant perfume of the new-mown grass. Swans, and 
 rare varieties of ducks from foreign lands, were swimming in the 
 large lake, on the banks of which the bright-hued flamingo might 
 also have been seen. The fountain in the centre of the lake sent 
 its waters to such a height that they were lost in spray. 
 
 A clear mountain brook, running between alders and weeping- 
 willows, and under many a rustic bridge, emptied into the lake, 
 flowing thence through the valley until it reached the river, bright 
 glimpses of which might here and there be caught through open- 
 ings in the shrubbery. 
 
 Tables, chairs and benches of graceful form had been placed 
 under the trees and at various points that commanded a fine pros- 
 pect. 
 
 Seated near the chapel, there was a man of impressive appear- 
 ance. His dress betokened scrupulous care. His thick hair was 
 as \\hite as his cravat. His eyes were blue and sparkling, and full 
 I 
 
2 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 of youthful fire. Re looked out upon the broad landscape, the 
 valley crowded. n:ith fruit-trees, the near-lying hills and the mount- 
 ., \yhose lh)e stposl out in bold relief against the blue 
 sky above, "He" had' a book in his hand, but now laid it aside 
 and drank in the peaceful influences of the scene before him. 
 
 The great door of the chapel was open, the mighty sounds of 
 the organ were heard, a soft cloud of incense floated out on the 
 morning air and then vanished into space. 
 
 This impressive looking man was the king's physician, Doctor 
 Gunther, who, being a protestant, had not attended mass. 
 
 Just then, a beautiful woman, earning an open sunshade, step- 
 ped out from the verandah which was almost concealed by trellised 
 vines. She wore a full, white robe, and her headdress was a sim- 
 ple morning cap with blue ribbons. Her bright, rosy face beamed 
 with youth and beauty ; her hair was of a golden hue and she 
 seeme'd the very incarnation of glorious day. 
 
 The Doctor, hearing the rustling of her dress, had at once ad- 
 vanced and made his obeisance. 
 
 "Good morning, Doctor!" said the lady, whose two female 
 companions had kept a few steps to the rear. Her voice was not 
 clear and bright, but suggestive of the soulful violoncello-tone 
 which is more properly the vehicle of intense and fervent feeling, 
 than of loud-voiced joy. 
 
 "What a charming' day !" continued the lady, "and yet, for 
 that very reason, doubly sad to those who are obliged to pass it in 
 a sick-room. How is our dear Countess Brinkenstein ? " 
 
 " Tiie Countess, may it please Your Majesty, may safely take the 
 air for an hour to-day." 
 
 "I 'm delighted to hear you say so. Sadness and sickness 
 should indeed both be unknown in this lovely spot." 
 
 "The Countess must regard herself as doubly fortunate, now 
 that she is able to perform the interesting duties that await her." 
 
 "Speak softly," suddenly said the queen, for the sounds of the 
 organ had ceased ; the time of the consecration had arrived. " Ah, 
 dear Doctor, I should like to confide a secret to you." 
 
 The other ladies stepped aside, while the queen and the Doctor 
 walked up and down on the open space in front of the chapel. 
 
 "From one's physician, nothing should be kept concealed," said 
 the Doctor; "Your Majesty credited me, not long since, with the 
 possession of a stethoscope by means of which I could note the 
 movements of the soul itself." 
 
 " Yes," replied the queen, her face mantled with blushes, " I Ve 
 already thought of applying to you for ghostly advice, but that 
 were impracticable ; such matters I must settle for myself. But 
 I Ve a request to make of you as the physician." 
 
 "Your Maiesty his but to command " 
 
 "No. -that can't be done in this instance. What I meant 
 was " 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 3 
 
 At that moment, the bell began to toll, and the king came out of 
 the chapel. He wore the simple dress of a citizen and was with- 
 out decorations of any kind. He was followed by the gentlemen 
 and ladies of the court, the former of whom were also in citizen's 
 dress, and, for the greater part, wore the picturesque costume of 
 the mountaineers of that region. 
 
 The king was a man of stately appearance and erect bearing. 
 He bowed to the queen from afar, and hastened forward to meet 
 her. The ladies and gentlemen composing his train remained in 
 the background exchanging kindly greetings. The king addressed 
 a few words to the queen, whereat she smiled ; he, too, seemed 
 happy, and, offering her his arm, led her towards the pavilion. 
 The ladies and gentlemen followed, indulging in cheerful and un- 
 constrained conversation by the way. 
 
 A young lady, leaving the rest of the party, joined the Doctor 
 and grasped his hand most cordially. She was of a tall and grace- 
 ful figure ; her hair and eyes were brown. She wore a simple, 
 light-colored summer dress and a loose jacket which was open and 
 revealed the full chemisette. A leather girdle studded with steel 
 buttons encircled her waist. Her movements were easy and grace- 
 ful ; her expression, half earnest, half mischievous. "Might I 
 ask," said she, addressing the Doctor, "the name of the book 
 you 've found worth reading on this lovely morning? " 
 
 " It was well worth reading, although, to tell the truth, I 've not 
 opened it," replied the Doctor, while he handed the little book to 
 her. It was Horace. 
 
 " Oh, it 's Latin ! " said the lady. Her voice was as clear and 
 bold as that of a chaffinch. "And this, I suppose, is your mass." 
 
 The Doctor briefly alluded to the success witft which the ancient 
 writers had compressed so many weighty and enduring thoughts 
 into so small a volume. 
 
 The party entered the saloon, seating themselves as best pleased 
 them, for the order of rank or precedence was not insisted on at 
 breakfast. They were in the country and, with their uniforms, had 
 laid aside many.pf the vexatious requirements of etiquette. 
 
 There is nothing more cheerful than a gay and unconstrained 
 party at breakfast. All are still full of the new strength that refresh- 
 ing sleep has lent them ; society succeeds to -solitude ; and the 
 spirits of all seem affected by the soft, dewy morn. 
 
 There were no servants at breakfast. The ladies waited on the 
 company, which was almost as free and unconstrained as a family 
 party. The Doctor drank nothing but tea which he himself, pre- 
 pared. The lady with the brown hair invited herself to a seat next 
 to him and poured out the tea for him. At her left, sat Colonel 
 Von Bronnen, the king's adjutant-general, and the only one, in 
 fact, who did not seem to miss his uniform. 
 
 The party seemed in undress, mentally as well as physically, 
 and there was much loud and confused talking. 
 
4 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Dear me ! It 's Sunday ! " said the young lady with the brown 
 hair. 
 
 Uproarious laughter greeted her remark ; and when the queen 
 enquired as to the cause of so much merriment, the Doctor in- 
 formed her of the startling discovery which had just been made 
 by Countess Irma von Wudenort The queen smiled. 
 
 " I had thought," said the king, addressing the Countess and at 
 the same time lighting his cigar he was the only one who smoked 
 in the saloon "that with you every day was Sunday." 
 
 " Yes, Your Majesty, but only since I 've had the honor of being 
 here. At the convent, Sunday was the only day on which we had 
 cake, whilst here we have cake every day ; and so I am obliged to 
 use some other means to find out which is Sunday." 
 
 Von Schnabelsdorf, who had recently visited Spain on service of 
 a diplomatic nature and was now awaiting orders, was sitting op- 
 posite the Doctor. Addressing his conversation to the latter, he 
 remarked that a friend of his who lived in Madrid had written a 
 highly interesting work, to which he, also, had contributed a few 
 ideas. It was soon to appear, and its subject was " Sunday," or 
 rather, "The Sabbath." 
 
 The king had overheard his remarks and inquired as to what 
 these ideas were. Schnabelsdorf replied that as seven corre- 
 sponded with the quarter of the lunar month, it was a natural di- 
 vision, and that the institution of the Sabbath \vas older than all 
 positive religions. He had apt quotations to support every state- 
 ment and did not forget to lug in the names of his distinguished 
 friends. 
 
 Von Schnabelsdorf s learned discourse failed to make a deep im- 
 pression on the company, which continued in its cheerful vein until 
 the queen rose, beckoning the Doctor to follow. The king of- 
 fered her his arm and conducted her to a lovely seat under a weep- 
 ing ash, on the slope of the lawn. 
 
 It was delightful to behold this royal pair, so tall and stately ; and 
 the queen was doubly beautiful, for another life was budding with- 
 in her own. 
 
 The queen seated herself and the king sat down beside her. 
 Without waiting for orders, the Doctor drew up his chair and joined 
 them. 
 
 "Yes," said the queen, "I must speak to you about it; I must 
 tell you of a pain " 
 
 " Perhaps I had better withdraw," said the king. 
 
 " Xo ! you must remain. Once more, I ask you ; if God grants 
 -ne health, may I not nurse the child that is to be mine ? " 
 
 An almost imperceptible glance from the king informed the 
 Doctor what answer he was to make to the queen. 
 
 " I have already had the honor of acquainting Your Majesty with 
 my opinion of the superstitious belief that the mere performance 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 5 
 
 of maternal duties preserves the mother's beauty. Your wish is 
 inspired by a feeling which, in itself, is beautiful. But, both for 
 your own sake and that of the child, it were impossible to accede 
 to it. The duties of a queen, the demands of etiquette, the need 
 of your presence at court and the various emotions which these 
 employments must necessarily occasion, render it out of the ques- 
 tion. A high state of development has effects upon the nervous 
 system, which effects, being transmitted to the child, must cling to 
 it for life." 
 
 "I beg you, dear Mathilde," added the king, "to avoid distress- 
 ing yourself. Consider the prince's welfare." 
 
 " Do n't always talk of a prince ! Promise me you will be just as 
 happy, if it be a princess 
 
 " Just as happy ! No, that were impossible. I can't control my 
 feelings to that extent. But this I can promise you if you and 
 the child are well, I shall be happy for all." 
 
 " Well, then, let a nurse be brought ; even now, I envy her the 
 child's affectionate glances and hearty caresses ! " 
 
 "And what is the sorrow you were complaining of? " 
 
 " The thought of depriving another child of its mother troubles 
 my conscience. Even if thousands have done the same thing time 
 and time again, he who commits a wrong, sins for himself and as 
 deeply as if it were the first time the sin were ever committed. 
 Yet, I submit. But I shall insist on one thing : the foster-mother 
 of my child must be an honest married woman and must belong 
 to a respectable family. I could never silence my conscience if I 
 were to deprive a child, already wretched enough, of its all its 
 mother ! In this I am perfectly indifferent to worldly regulations 
 and prescribed forms. Is the poor, forlorn child, born into a hostile 
 world, to be robbed of the only source of love yet left it ? And 
 even if we take an honest married woman, we will be depriving a 
 child of its mother and inflicting an injury upon a being that we 
 do not even know. Ah ! how hard it is ! In spite of our knowing 
 better, we are yet forced to commit wrong. However, I shall sub- 
 mit to necessity. But the child that we take from its mother will 
 be cared for by her family, has a father and, perhaps, even a kind 
 grandmother and affectionate brothers and sisters. A hospitable 
 roof will shelter its infant head " 
 
 "Your Majesty" exclaimed the Doctor, with an outburst of en- 
 thusiasm, "at this very moment, prayers are being offered up for 
 you in thousands of churches, and myriad voices are saying 
 'Amen '!" 
 
 "Great God, what duties are thus imposed ! One had needs be 
 more than human to bear the charge it crushes me to the earth." 
 
 " It should elevate instead of depressing you. At this very mo- 
 nu-nt the breath issuing from millions of lips forms a cloud that 
 supports you. True humanity is best shown when those who are 
 
6 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 prosperous r.nd happy and therefore need no assistance from others, 
 protect the suffering instead of putting them a\vav from them. 
 The effect of such a mood upon the child whose heart throbs be- 
 neath that of its mother, is one of nature's mysteries. This child 
 must needs become a noble, beautiful being, for its mother has in- 
 stilled purest philanthropy into it before its birth." 
 
 The king, who had taken the queen's hand in his, now said : 
 
 " And so you really know nothing of the law. It is n't merely a 
 family law that the princes and princesses of our house must be 
 born in the royal palace and for which reason, we shall return to 
 the city to-morrow but it is also a law of the court that the nurse 
 of a prince must be a married woman." 
 
 " Great Heavens ! And how I 've been tormenting myself. In 
 the future I shall think better of the customs of the court, since I 
 find there are such beautiful ones among them." 
 
 "From the depths of your soul, Your Majesty has given new 
 life to this law," interposed the Doctor, "a law is neither free nor 
 sacred until it has become a living truth to us." 
 
 "Very pretty, and true besides," said the king. He dropped his 
 cigar, and,. after looking for it for a little while, said : "Excuse me, 
 Doctor, but would n't you be kind enough to have cigars brought 
 for us?" 
 
 The Doctor went into the house and, after he had left, the king 
 said : 
 
 " Pray tell me, Mathilde, was that all that troubled you ? I have 
 for some time past, observed that there 's something on your 
 mind " 
 
 "Yes, there is something on my mind, but I can't speak of it, 
 until it becomes an actual truth. It is nothing but love for you ; 
 pray do n't ask me more at present. You '11 soon know all." 
 
 When the Doctor returned, he found the king alone, and sitting 
 under the ash. The queen had withdrawn. 
 
 " Was the compliment you 've just paid the queen prompted by 
 professional considerations?" asked the king, with lowering eye. 
 
 "No, Your Majesty. I spoke sincerely and from conviction." 
 
 The king remained silent for a long time, his eyes resting on the 
 ground. At last he arose and, moving his hand as if putting 
 something far away from him, said : 
 
 " Well, the queen wishes the nurse to be a young woman from 
 the Highlands and of a respectable family. Is there time enough 
 left for you to journey there and select one ? Are you not a native 
 of the Highlands ? That were but no, you must not go now. 
 Send Doctor Sixtus ; give him precise instructions, and let him go 
 from village to village. He can propose several and you can select 
 the best of them ; the others can be sent home with a gratuity, 
 and but act on your own judgment ; only, do n't fail to send the 
 Doctor off this very day." 
 
 "Your Majesty's wishes shall be obeyed." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 " TTOW radiant you look!" said Countess Irma, as she met 
 .Li the Doctor. 
 
 "Perhaps I do," he replied, "for I 've just beheld that divine 
 sight, a heart overflowing with pure love of its fellow beings ; ' 
 but excuse me for a moment ! " he said, interrupting himself and 
 leaving the Countess, while he went into an adjoining apartment 
 and dispatched a telegram to Doctor Six'tus, instructing him to pre- 
 pare himself for an eight days' journey, and to come to the summer 
 palace forthwith. He then returned to the Countess, to whom he 
 gave an account of what had happened. 
 
 "Shall I tell you what I think? " asked the Countess. 
 
 "You know very well that none dare say you 'nay'." 
 
 "Well, then, I can't help thinking that it was far better in olden 
 times ; for then, royal children were born in some lonely out-of-the- 
 way palace, as quietly as if it were to be kept a secret 
 
 The Doctor interrupted her : " You are indeed a true child of 
 your father. For, although my dear friend Eberhard was full of 
 strange fancies during his younger years, he would at times mani- 
 fest sudden and surprising diffidence." 
 
 " Ah, do tell me of my father ! I know so little about him." 
 
 " I 've known nothing of him for many years. Of course you 
 know that he has broken with me, because I am at court ; but, in 
 the olden times, in our youthful, enthusiastic days " 
 
 "Then you, too, were once enthusiastic ! " 
 
 " I was ; but not to so great a degree as your father. When I 
 see you, it seems as if his youthful ideal had become realized. In 
 those days, when I was a young army surgeon, and he a still 
 younger officer, we would indulge in fantasy pictures of the future, 
 and what it might have in store for us. He never thought of a be- 
 loved one, or a wife, but would at one bound, as it were, clear all 
 that lay between, and indulge himself with brain pictures of a 
 child ; a daughter, fresh, tender and lovely beyond comparison. 
 And now, when I behold you, I look upon his ideal." 
 
 " And so my father's only ideal was a child ? " asked Irma with 
 pensive air, and looking earnestly into the Doctor's eyes, " and yet 
 for all that, he left his children to grow up among strangers, and 
 all that I know of him I am obliged to learn from the lips of others. 
 But I do n't care to speak of myself at present, dear Doctor. I 
 have a presentiment of the queen's secret. I think I know what 
 makes her so quiet and reserved." 
 
 " My dear child," said the Doctor, " if you really have a presenti- 
 ment, and that, moreover, in regard to a secret of their majesties 
 take my advice : Do n't impart it to anyone, not even to the pil- 
 Irw on which you lay your head at night." 
 
8 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " But if your knowing it would be of service to the queen .' 
 You ought to be her guide." 
 
 " We can only lead those who desire to be led." 
 
 ' All I ask of you is to have an eye on certain signs. Did the 
 queen say nothing when she was before the church a little while 
 ago and heard the mass ? Was n't she startled by a certain tone ? 
 Did n't you observe a certain inclination " 
 
 By a motion of his hand, the Doctor signified that Irma had 
 better stop, and added : 
 
 My child, if you desire to live comfortably at court, you had 
 better not try to solve riddles which those to whom they belong 
 do n't care to solve for you. But, above all, let no one know " 
 
 " Discretion, discretion ; the same old text," said Irma, roguishly, 
 her beautifully curved lips quivering w r ith emotion. 
 
 "You are of a creative temperament, and are therefore out of 
 place at court," said the Doctor. "You desire to assert your in- 
 dividuality, instead of giving way to prescribed forms ; but it can't 
 be done. Just observe Councilor Schnabelsdorf, who will be used 
 up much sooner than he imagines. He is constantly offering or 
 preparing something new cooking, roasting, or stewing all sorts 
 of interesting information for his masters and his memory is an 
 everlasting 'table, table, cover thyself.' Take my word for it, be- 
 fore a year goes round, they '11 all be tired of him. He who wishes 
 to remain a favorite must not thrust himself forward." 
 
 Irma assented to this opinion, but saw through his attempt tc 
 change the direction of the conversation, and at once returned tc 
 what she had intended to say. 
 
 " Pray tell me," said she roguishly, "when one takes a false step 
 and, at the same time, injures himself, is it not called a mis- 
 step?" 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 " Well, then, let me tell you that the queen is in danger of mak- 
 ing a misstep, which may be fraught with irreparable injury to 
 her" 
 
 "I'd prefer " interrupted the Doctor. 
 
 " Ah ! you 'd prefer. Whenever you say that, you Ve something 
 to find fault with." 
 
 "You 've guessed it. I 'd prefer your leaving the queen to di- 
 vulge her secrets at her own pleasure. I thought you were a friend 
 of hers " 
 
 "And so I am." 
 
 " Well, and since I am your morning preacher to-day, let me 
 give you another warning. You are in danger of becoming one 
 of those ladies who have no friends of their own sex." 
 
 " Is that really so dreadful ? " 
 
 " Most assuredly. You must have a female friend, or there is 
 some fault in your disposition. Isolation, such as yours, warps 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 9 
 
 one's character, and, consciously or otherwise, results in vanity. 
 If, from among all the ladies here, you can't make even one your 
 friend, the fault must lie in yourself." 
 
 " But there 's no harm in my having a male friend, a friend like 
 yourself." 
 
 " I could n't wish you a truer one." 
 
 Irma walked beside the Doctor in silence. 
 
 When they again reached the lawn in front of the palace, Irma 
 s.i id : 
 
 " Do you know that this lawn is dressed up every Saturday with 
 false hay? " 
 
 " Less wit and more clearness, if you please." 
 
 "Pshaw! how officinal," said Irma, laughing. "Then allow 
 me to tell you that the queen once said she was very fend 
 of the odor of new-mown hay ; and, ever since then, the intendant 
 of the gardens has had the lawn mowed at least once a week. 
 But as stubborn nature won't furnish hay quickly enough, they 
 bring some from one of the outlying meadows and spread it about 
 during the night. And yet they persist in saying that, in our age, 
 princes are not deceived." 
 
 " I can find nothing wrong or laughable in the matter. The 
 intendant is one of those who regard themselves as the pleasure- 
 purveying providence of their masters and 
 
 " ' Pleasure-purveying providence ! ' that 's excellent. What a 
 happy thought ! I shall hold fast to that. How can you say you 've 
 no wit ? Why, you 're brimful of delicious sarcasm. Oh dear, 
 ' pleasure-purveying providence '!" said Irma, laughing heartily; 
 and while laughing, more lovely than ever. 
 
 The Doctor found it no easy matter to lead the conversation 
 back to the point at which it had been interrupted. Whenever he 
 attempted a serious remark, she would look at him with a roguish 
 expression and give way to laughter so hearty that he could not 
 help joining in it. But when he at last said that he had hereto- 
 fore given her credit for something more than mere occasional 
 flashes of wit, and that he had, until now, supposed her capable of 
 carrying on an argument, she quickly became the docile scholar, 
 willing to be led by her master. And so skillfully did the Doctor 
 use his arguments that she soon reflected his thoughts as if they 
 were her own. 
 
 A tall and handsome page, with an aquiline nose and raven hair, 
 approached the Countess. 
 
 "My lady," said he, "her majesty the queen awaits you in the 
 music-room." 
 
 lima excused herself to the Doctor, whose eyes followed her 
 with a thoughtful gaze. In a little while the rich and metallic 
 notes of Countess Irma's voice were heard. 
 
 "Eberhard used to sing delightfully," said the Doctor, directing 
 
io ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 his steps towards the palace. When he approached the music- 
 room, :rrl s.ixv that the canon, who had read the mass that morn 
 ing", w.is about to enter, he hesitated. 
 
 The morning was soft and balmy ; nature seemed wrapped in 
 bliss. Even- plant, even- flower, thrives best in its native soil. 
 Man alone is constantly creating new torments for himself. Could 
 it be possible that the mischievous Countess was right, after all ? 
 l>ut why should the queen wish to forsake the faith of her ances- 
 tors ? 
 
 The Doctor retired to an arbor and read his Horace. 
 
 Doctor Sixtus presented himself before the dinner hour, and, 
 while the company were seating themselves at table, rode off in 
 the direction of the mountains. 
 
 That evening it was mild and starlight the court drove to the 
 capital ; for the corner-stone of the new arsenal was to be laid on 
 the following day, with great pomp and military display. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 ^PHE bells were ringing merrily. Their sounds were re-echoed by 
 1 the rugged mountains, and then floated out over the lake, the 
 smooth, green, glassy surface of which mirrored the forest-clad 
 shores, the rocky crags and the skies above. 
 
 Crowds were issuing from the church, the only building at the 
 upper end of the lake. The men, donning their green hats with the 
 black cock plumes, took their pipes from their pockets and struck 
 a light ; the women busied themselves with their dress, adjusted 
 the pointed, green hats, smoothed their aprons, and tied the broad 
 streaming ends of their silk kerchiefs anew. Following after the 
 old women, who are always the last to leave the church, there was 
 a handsome young couple. The wife was tall and stout, the hus- 
 band slender and hardy as a pine. His appearance showed the 
 effects of the week's hard work. His pointed, green hat, on which 
 there was no hunter's badge, \vas worn aslant ; he took off his 
 jacket and laid it over his shoulder, and then, with a smile which 
 seemed somewhat out of keeping with his weather-beaten face, 
 said : 
 
 " Do n't you see? This is much better. Now there's no 
 d.mger of your getting squeezed in the crowd." 
 
 The young wife nodded assent. 
 
 A group of women and girls seemed to have been waiting for 
 her. One of the older members of the party said : 
 
 " \Yalpurga, you should n't have done such a thing as \valk all 
 the way to church. You do n't kno\v how near you are to your 
 time, and sometimes there 's too much of a good thing." 
 
 " It won't do me any harm," replied the young wife. 
 
 "And I 've prayed for you this morning," said a young, saucy 
 
ON THE HEIG 
 
 maid, who wore a bunch of fresh flowers in her bosom. "When 
 the priest prayed for the queen and asked God to help her in the 
 hour of trial, I asked myself: What 's the use of rr.y worrying 
 about the queen ? There are enough praying for her without me ; 
 and so I thought of you and said, Amen, Walpurga ! " 
 
 "Stasi, I 'm sure you meant well," said Walpurga deprecatingly, 
 "but I want no share in it. You never ought to do such a thing. 
 It 's wrong to change a prayer in that way." 
 
 "She 's right," said the old woman, "Why, that 'ud be just the 
 same as taking a false oath." 
 
 " Let it go for nothing, then," said the girl. 
 
 "It must be fine to be a queen," said the old woman, folding 
 her hands. " At this very hour, in all the churches, millions are 
 praying for her. If such a king and queen are n't good after all 
 that, they must be awful wicked." 
 
 The old woman, who was the midwife of the neighborhood, 
 was always listened to with great attention. She accompanied 
 husband and wife for a part of the way, and gave them precise 
 information as to where she might be found at any hour during 
 the next few days. Then, taking the mountain path which led to 
 her dwelling, she left them, the rest of the church-goers dropping 
 off in various directions as they reached the lanes and by-paths 
 leading to their farms. The children always kept in front, their 
 parents following after them. 
 
 A party of girls, who were walking along hand in hand, had 
 much to say to one another. But at last they, too, separated and 
 joined their parents. 
 
 The young couple were alone on the road. The glaring rays of 
 the noonday sun were reflected from the lake. 
 
 It was almost a full hour's walk to their house, and they had 
 scarcely gone a few hundred steps, when the wife said : 
 
 "Hansei, I ought n't to have let Annamirl go." 
 
 " I '11 run after her as fast as I can, I can catch up with her yet," 
 said the husband. 
 
 " For God's sake, do n't ! " said his wife, holding him fast. " I 'd 
 be all alone here on the highway. Stay here ! It '11 soon be all 
 right again." 
 
 " Wait a second ! Hold fast to the tree ! That 's it." 
 
 The husband rushed into the meadow, gathered up an armful 
 of hay, placed it on the pile of stones by the wayside, and seated 
 his wife upon it. 
 
 "I feel better, already," said the wife. 
 
 " Do n't talk now, rest yourself ! Oh ! dear me ; if only a 
 wagon were to come along ; but there 's neither man nor beast in 
 sight. Just take a good rest and then I '11 carry you home. 
 You 're not too heavy for me. I Ve carried heavier loads many a 
 time." 
 
12 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "Do you mean to carry me, in broad daylight?" said the wife, 
 laughing so heartily that she was obliged to rest her hand on the 
 stones, to support herself. "You dear, good fellow! Much 
 obliged, but there 's no need of it. I 'm all right now, and can 
 walk." She got up briskly, and Hansei's face was radiant with 
 joy. 
 
 "Thank God! Here comes the Doctor, in the very nick cf 
 time." 
 
 The Doctor, who lived in the neighboring town, was just turn- 
 ing the corner. Hansei raised his hat and requested him to take 
 his wife into the carriage. He gladly consented, but Walpurga 
 seemed loth to get in. 
 
 "I never rode in a carriage in all my life," said she, repeatedly. 
 
 " Everything must be tried, you know," said the Doctor, laugh- 
 ing, as he assisted her into the carriage. He told the husband 
 that he might get up on the box, but he declined. 
 
 "I '11 drive slowly," said the Doctor. 
 
 Hansei walked along by the side of the carriage, constantly 
 casting happy glances at his wife. 
 
 " Now we'Ve two thousand paces from home, now we 're a 
 thousand," said he, talking to himself, while his glances showed 
 his gratitude to the Doctor, to the carriage that was kind enough 
 to allow his wife to sit in it ; and even to the horse from which he 
 brushed the troublesome flies. 
 
 " Hansei is doing the horse a kindness," said the Doctor to the 
 young wife. She did not answer, and the Doctor looked pleased 
 with the husband, whom he had known for a long while as a wood- 
 cutter in the royal forest. Hansei carried his hat in his hand and 
 would now and then with his sleeve wipe the perspiration from his 
 brow. His face was sunburnt and void of expression and, as he 
 had not been a soldier, he wore no moustache. A shaggy beard, 
 extending from his temples, encircled his long face ; his forehead 
 \\ as, for the greater part, covered with thick, light hair ; his short 
 leather breeches displayed his great knees ; the clocked, knitted 
 leggings must surely have been a gift from his wife ; the heavy- 
 hobnailed shoes had been used in many a mountain walk. Hansei 
 walked along, beside the coach, with steady step and at last ex- 
 claimed : " We 're home ! " 
 
 T he little cottage by the lake stood in the midst of a small 
 garden ; an old woman was at the gate, and called out : "So you 
 ride home in the bargain." 
 
 "Yes, mother," answered the wife, who, with profuse thanks, 
 took leave of the Doctor, while Hansei gratefully patted the horse 
 that had safely brought her home. 
 
 "I 'in going right off for Annamirl," said he ; " keep some din- 
 ner for me." 
 
 " No, let 's eat together ; I 'm hungry, too, " exclaimed the wife, 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 13 
 
 while she laid her hymn-book aside, and removed her hat and 
 jacket. She was good-looking, had a full, round, cheerful face, 
 and large plaits of light hair encircled her brow. She forced her 
 self to remain at the table and join in the meal with her husband 
 and mother, but as soon as the last morsel had passed his 'lips, 
 Hansel started on his errand. 
 
 It was high time for Annamirl to come. Before the chickens 
 had gone to roost, the Sunday child, a screaming, fair-haired girl 
 baby, had come. 
 
 Hansei was quite beside himself with joy and did not know 
 what to do. He had not had a comfortable dinner and it seemed 
 a great while since he had eaten anything. It was ever so long 
 ago, for he had become a father since then ; and it seemed as if 
 years, instead of hours, had passed in the meanwhile. He cut off 
 a large slice from the loaf; but when he got out of doors, where 
 the birds were chirping so merrily and the starlings were so tame, 
 he cried out : " Here ! You shall have some too ; I want you to 
 know that I 'm a father, and of a Sunday child at that ! " He 
 threw the soft bread crumbs to them, and the crust into the lake, 
 saying : " Here, ye fish who feed us ; to-day I '11 feed you ! " He 
 was overflowing with goodwill to the whole world, but there was 
 no one left on whom he could exercise it. He knew not where he 
 should betake himself to. Suddenly, he spied the ladder leaning 
 against the cherry-tree ; he mounted it, plucked the cherries, and 
 kept on eating until he quite forgot himself, and felt as if it were 
 not he who was eating, but as if he were giving them to some one 
 else. He no longer knew where or who he was, and at last began 
 to fear that he was bewitched and would never be able to get 
 down again. The telegraph wire ran by the house and almost 
 touched the cherry-tree. Hansei looked at it as if to say : " Go, 
 tell the whole world that I 'm a father." He was delighted to see 
 swallows and starlings sitting on the wire, and nodded to them, 
 saying: "Do n't disturb yourselves, I '11 not harm ye." And so 
 he went on plucking cherries, and looking straight before him for 
 ever so long. 
 
 Then the grandmother put her head out of the window and 
 called to him : " Hansei, your wife wants you." 
 
 He hurried down from the tree, and when he entered the room 
 his wife laughed at him heartily, for his lips were black and his 
 face was streaked with the juice of cherries. 
 
 " So you 've been pilfering. Do leave a few cherries for me ! " 
 
 " I '11 bring the ladder into your room, so that I shan't be able to 
 go up into the tree again," said he, and there was merry laughter in 
 the little cottage by the lake until the moon and stars looked down 
 on it. The lamp in the little chamber was kept burning all night. 
 The mother soon fell into a peaceful and hap^ly slumber, and the 
 Sunday child would whimper at times, but was easily quieted. 
 
H ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The grandmother was the only one awake she had merely 
 feigned sleep and now sat on a footstool by the cradle of the 
 new-born babe. 
 
 A bright star was shining overhead. It flickered and sparkled 
 and, within the cottage, the face of the mother was resplendent 
 with joy as indescribable as the radiance of the star aboAe. A 
 child of man had become mother of a child of man, and she who 
 watched over them was the one from whom both these lives had 
 sprung. The soft air seemed laden with song and the sounds of 
 heavenly music, and the room itself, as if thronged with flutter- 
 ing, smiling cherubs. 
 
 The old grandmother sat there, resting her chin on her hand 
 and gazing at the star above, whose rays fell upon her face. She 
 sat there with bated breath, feeling as if transported into another 
 world. The glory of the Highest had descended upon the cottage, 
 and, like a halo, now encircled the head of the grandmother, Wal- 
 purga and the infant. 
 
 " Mother ! How brightly the stars are shining ! " said Walpur- 
 ga, awaking. 
 
 " Never fear, they '11 keep on shining, even if you shut your eyes. 
 Do go to sleep again ! " answered the grandmother. 
 
 And, until the day broke, all lay hushed in slumber. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 SEATED in an open carriage, Doctor Sixtus journeyed to- 
 wards the Highlands. 
 
 The Doctor was a man of easy and winning address. While 
 the present king was yet the crown prince, he had accompanied 
 him on his travels and, in the society of nobles, had improved on 
 the light and graceful manner which he had acquired during a 
 three years' stay in Paris. Just as princes treat their inferiors and 
 regard their service as a right, so, in turn, do courtiers abuse those 
 who are under them. The court doctor had chosea for his lackey, 
 one of the readiest, and most skillful at command. 
 
 "Give me a light, Baum ! " said he ; and the lackey, who was 
 sitting beside the driver on the box, handed him a lighted match. 
 With gentle condescension, Sixtus offered his cigar-case to the 
 lackey, who gratefully helped himself to a cigar. He well knew 
 that it would prove too strong for him, and that, if he attempted to 
 smoke it, it would in all likelihood throw him into a cold sweat ; 
 but he knew also that it is a safe rule never to refuse a proffered 
 favor. 
 
 The road was good and the ride a pleasant one. At the next 
 station, the royal horses \vere sent back to the king's stables and 
 a relay of fleet postaiiorses was taken. Doctor Sixtus had no need 
 to trouble himself about such Batters Baum knew what was 
 needed and attended to it. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. K 
 
 "Baurn, where were you born ? " asked the court doctor. 
 
 Although Baum was startled by the question, he acted as if he 
 had not heard it. He found it necessary to collect himself before 
 he could reply. His features were agitated for a moment, but he 
 quickly assumed a modest and innocent expression. 
 
 The Doctor repeated his question : " Baum, where were you 
 born ? " 
 
 With a face expressive of willingness to serve him in any way, 
 Baum turned toward the Doctor and said : 
 
 ' I come from the Highlands ; far over there near the border 
 but I 've never felt at home there." 
 
 Sixtus, whose question had been a casual one, had no desire to 
 enquire further into Baum's history. 
 
 He was quite affable towards Baum, who was the favorite lackey 
 at court, since he possessed the art of showing by his demeanor 
 how highly he esteemed the exalted personages whom he served. 
 
 " Keep as near the telegraph as possible," had been the instruc- 
 tions given to Doctor Sixtus. " Report every morning and even- 
 ing where a dispatch will reach you, so that you may be recalled 
 at any moment." 
 
 Doctor Sixtus looked out at the telegraph wires, running through 
 the valleys and climbing over the hills, and smiled to himself. " I, 
 too, am nothing more than an electric spark, with this difference 
 however : the master who has sent me does not know where I am 
 going to. No, I am like the spirit in the fairy-tale ; I bring money 
 and luxury to an invisible cottage, for I cannot find a rich peasant 
 woman. Where art thou, O noble foster-mother?" 
 
 He looked out at the landscape with a self-complacent smile, 
 while, in his day-dreams, various images appeared and vanished 
 like the smoke clouds of his cigar. 
 
 It was after dark when they drew near to a little watering-place 
 in the Highlands. 
 
 While they ascended the mountain, the lackey walked on beside 
 the postilion. Sixtus had entrusted him with the secret reason for 
 their journey. They had already, in distant lands, shared in ad- 
 ventures of quite a different nature. Baum engaged the postilion 
 in conversation about the life and ways of the neighborhood, and 
 adroitly managed to inquire about young lying-in women. He had 
 found the right party. The postilion was the son of a midwife, 
 whose only fault was that she had died some time ago. 
 
 Sixtus was much gratified by the hint which he had just received 
 of how his mission might be fulfilled. He would seek information 
 from the midwives of every village, and, in order to avoid being 
 overrun, would take good care not to let them know for whom the 
 foster-mother was wanted. When Baum was about to return to 
 his seat, Sixtus quietly called him and said : " During the whole 
 of this journey, you 're to address me simply as ' Herr Doctor'. " 
 
16 0-V THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The lackey did not ask why, for that was no part of his business 
 nor did he conjecture as to the reason ; he was a lackey and obeyed 
 orders. " He who does more than he 's ordered to do is good 
 for nothing," were the words that Baroness Steigeneck's chamber- 
 lain had often impressed upon him, and whatever the chamberlain 
 sai 1 was as a sacred law to Baum. 
 
 The little watering-place was full of life. The company had just 
 left the table. Some were talking of the day's excursion ; others, 
 about that projected for the morrow. A young officer in civil dress, 
 and a stout gentleman, appeared to be the wags of the assembly. 
 There were jokes and laughter, and, in the background, a party 
 were singing to the accompaniment of a piano that was out of 
 tune. All seemed more or less excited. They had repaired to the 
 Highlands to escape from ennui, and, having arrived there, found 
 themselves bored in earnest ; for there are but few to whom the 
 beauties of nature afford constant and all-sufficient entertainment. 
 
 Luckily for Sixtus, no one recognized him, and Baum, who was 
 without his livery, allowed no information to escape him. The 
 Doctor looked upon the doings of the gentry about him with a 
 certain aristocratic sense of superiority. 
 
 As the neighborhood abounded with goitres, he concluded to 
 leave without making further enquiries. 
 
 On the following morning, they reached a small mountain vil- 
 lage. Doctor Sixtus addressed himself to the village doctor, rode 
 about the country with him for several days and, at last, left with- 
 out having accomplished his mission. He, however, made a note 
 of the names of several of the parties they had seen. 
 
 His knightly pride had well nigh left him. He had looked into 
 the dwellings of want and had beheld so much that told of toil 
 and misen% that the careless indifference with which beings of the 
 same flesh and blood could live in palaces, seemed like a dream. 
 In this outer world, existence is mere toil and care, nothing more 
 than a painful effort to sustain life, with no other outlook than 
 that of renewed toil and care on the morrow. 
 
 "A truce to sentiment," said the Doctor to himself. "Things 
 happen thus in this fine world. Men and beasts are alike. The 
 stag in the forest does n't ask what becomes of the bird, and the 
 bird, unless it be a stork, does n't care what becomes of the 
 frogs \ Away with sentimentality and dreams of universal happi- 
 ness ! " 
 
 The Doctor traveled to and fro among the Highlands, always 
 careful to keep near the telegraph stations, and, as instructed, re- 
 porting twice a day. He despaired of accomplishing his mission, 
 and wrote to his chief that, although he could not find married 
 women, there were lots of excellent unmarried ones. He there- 
 fore suggested that, as it would not do to deceive a queen, it would 
 be well to have the most acceptable one married to her lover at 
 once. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 17 
 
 While awaiting 1 a reply, he remained at a village near the lake, 
 the resident physician of which had been a fellow-student of his. 
 
 The scarred lace of the portly village doctor was refulgent with 
 traces of the student cheer which in former days they had enjoyed 
 in common. He was still provided with a never failing thirst "and 
 ready for all sorts of fun. His manners had become rustic and it 
 was with a self-complacent feeling that Sixtus thought of the dif- 
 ference in their positions. 
 
 Doctor Kuinpan this was a nickname he had received while at 
 the university looked upon his friend's excursion in search of a 
 nurse as if it were one of their old student escapades. He rode 
 with him over hill and dale, never loth to make a slight detour, if, 
 by that means, they might gain an inn, where he could gratify his 
 hunger with a good meal, and his thirst with a drop of good 
 wine the more drops the better. 
 
 "So many of our customs," said Sixtus, one day, "are, at 
 bottom, immoral. For instance, nurse-hunting." 
 
 Doctor Kuinpan roared with laughter and said : 
 
 "And you too, Schniepel," the college nickname of Sixtus 
 " so you, also, are one of the new-fashioned friends of the people. 
 You gentlemen, whose gloves are ever buttoned, treat the people 
 far too gingerly. We, who live among them, know them far better. 
 They 're a pack of rogues and blockheads, just like their superiors ; 
 the only difference is that they 're more honest about it. The 
 only effect your care for them can have will be to make matters 
 worse. How lucky it is that the trees in the forest grow without 
 artificial irrigation ! " 
 
 During these excursions', Doctor Kumpan gave free vent to his 
 rough humor, and was so delighted with his wit that he could live 
 three days on the recollection of one of his own wretched jokes. 
 
 Sixtus found himself ill at ease in the company of the village 
 doctor, with whom it was necessary to keep on the same friendly 
 footing as of yore ; and, therefore, made an effort to hasten his 
 departure. 
 
 He was about to take his leave it was on the morning of the 
 second Sunday following when Doctor Kuinpan said : 
 
 " I 'm disgusted with myself for having been so stupid. I Ve 
 got it ! Mother nature herself, unconditioned and absolute just 
 as old Professor Genitivus, the son of his celebrated father, used 
 to say, while he brought his fist down on his desk Come along 
 with me ! " 
 
 They drove off in the direction of the lake. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 OUNDAY morning had come again and, with it, stirring times hi 
 O the cottage by the lake. Godfather and godmother were there, 
 
1 8 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 and, at the first tolling of the church bell, whose sounds floated 
 on the air like so many invisible yet audible waves, a procession 
 moved from the house. The grandmother carried the child upon 
 a soft, downy pillow, over which a white cover had been spread ; 
 following after her, proudly walked the father, with a nosegay in 
 his button-hole. Beside him, was the godfather, mine host of the 
 Chamois, followed by tailor Schneck's wife and other females. A 
 light-haired boy about five years old, and bearing a two-pronged 
 twig of hazel in his hand, had also joined in the procession. 
 
 " What are you after, Waldl ? " asked Hansei. 
 
 The boy did not answer. Mistress Schneck took his hand in 
 hers and said : " Come along, Waldl ! " and then turning to 
 Hansei, she continued: "Don't drive the child away! It 's a 
 good sign when a young boy goes along to the christening ; the 
 child will get a husband so much the sooner, and who knows 
 but " Hansei laughed to find that they were already thinking of 
 a mate for his daughter. 
 
 While moving along in silent procession, they beheld another 
 good omen. A swallow flew directly over the heads of the grand- 
 mother and the child, whereupon the former opened her great red 
 umbrella and held it over herself and the babe.- 
 
 Walpurga, unable to accompany them on their long walk to 
 church, was obliged to remain at home. Her friend Stasi, who, 
 on the previous Sunday, had altered the prayer for the queen in 
 Walpurga's favor, remained to bear her company. Walpurga, 
 seated in grandmother's arm chair, looked out of the latticed win- 
 dow, at the violets, the buttercups and the rosemary, the peaceful 
 lake and the blue skies, while she listened to the sound of the 
 church bell. 
 
 "This is the first time my babe goes out into the wide, wide 
 world, and I 'm not with it," said she ; "and some day I shall go 
 into the other world and never be with it again. And still I feel 
 as if it was with me all the same." 
 
 "I do n't know what makes you so downhearted to-day," said 
 her companion ; " if that ccmes o' getting married, I '11 never have 
 a husband." 
 
 "Nonsense ! " curtly replied Walpurga ; her meaning was plain 
 enough. Soon afterwards, she added in a voice tremulous with emo- 
 tion : " I f m not downhearted. It 's only this. I just feel as if tl.e 
 baby and I had both been born over again. I do n't know how it is, 
 but I feel as if I were another person. Just think of it ! In all 
 my life, I Ve never lain abed so quietly and peacefully as I Ye 
 been doing these many days. And to be lying there perfectly well, 
 and with nothing to do but think, and sleep, and awake again, 
 and nurse the baby, while kind folk are forever bringing whatever 
 heart can wish for I tell you, if I 'd been a hermit in the woods 
 for seven years, I could n't have done more thinking. It would 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 19 
 
 keep me busy day and night to tell you all. But what 's that ? " 
 said she, suddenly interrupting herself; "just then it seemed as if 
 the whole house were shaking." 
 
 " I did n't notice anything. But your face is enough to give one 
 the blues. Let 's sing something. Just try whether you 're still 
 our best singer." 
 
 Her companion insisting, Walpurga at last began to sing, but 
 soon stopped. Stasi essayed another song, but Walpurga did not 
 care for it ; indeed, none of them were to her liking that day. 
 
 " Let 's be quiet," said she at last. " Do n't worry me through 
 all those songs ; I do n't feel like doing anything to-day." 
 
 The bells were tolling for the third time. The two friends were 
 sitting together in silence. 
 
 At last Stasi said : " How kind it is of the innkeeper to let them 
 ride home from church in his wagon." 
 
 " Listen ! I hear wheels. They can't be coming already." 
 
 " No, that 's the rattle of the Doctor's carriage. There he is, up 
 there by the willows; and there 's another gentleman with him." 
 
 "Do n't talk to me now, Stasi," said the young mother; "let 
 the whole world drive by; it 's all the same to me." 
 
 She sat there silently, resting her head against the back of the 
 chair and looking out into the golden sunlight that seemed to in- 
 fuse all nature with new life. The grass was of a lovelier green 
 than ever before ; the lake glittered with the soft sheen of the ever- 
 changing light ; the waves were plashing against the shore ; a 
 gentle breeze wafted the odors of the violets and rosemary from 
 the window-shelf into the room. 
 
 A carriage stopped before the cottage. First, the loud cracking 
 of a whip was heard ; then, approaching footsteps and, at last, the 
 jolly Doctor calling out : " Hansei ! Is there no one at home ? " 
 
 "No," answered Stasi, "there 's nobody but Walpurga and 
 me," whereupon there was great laughter out of doors. 
 
 Doctor Kumpan entered the room, followed by the stranger, who 
 started as if amazed. Moved with admiration by the sight he be- 
 held, he bowed involuntarily; but, speedily checking himself, he 
 was more erect than before. 
 
 " Where 's Hansei, the Sunday child's father? " enquired Doctor 
 Kumpan. 
 
 The wife arose and said that he had gone to church with the 
 child and its sponsors, but that he would soon return. 
 
 " Keep your seat ! " said the Doctor. " I mean to be an unbid- 
 den guest at your christening dinner, and my friend here, who is 
 also a man-killer like myself, will join us." 
 
 " What do you want of my husband ? May n't I know ? " 
 
 " The husband cuts the loaf and then helps his wife to some of 
 it. You know that 's the custom of the country, Walpurga. We 
 want to talk to your husband about a matter of great importance. 
 
20 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Do n't get frightened, it is n't a law affair. AD I have to say to 
 you is, you Ve a Sunday child. Perhaps you 're one yourself ? " 
 
 "I am, indeed." 
 
 "So much the better ; you 're doubly fortunate." 
 
 "It seems to me," said Doctor Sixtus, "we might as well speak 
 to the wife at once. She appears to be a sensible woman and will 
 be glad to make her husband and child happy." 
 
 Walpurga looked about her as if imploring help. 
 
 "Well then," said Doctor Kumpan, taking a seat, "you may 
 as wi.'ll let me tell it. Now, pay attention, Walpurga ! Just keep 
 your seat and let me tell you a story : Once upon a time, there 
 was a king and a queen. The king was good and brave, and the 
 queen was lovely ; and a son was born to them who inherited the 
 father's virtues and the mother's beauty; it might have been a 
 daughter, but they would rather have it a son. Now when the 
 son was born, they summoned a spirit who lived in the palace, and 
 was called Doctor Puck ; and they said to him : Puck, dear Puck, 
 pack up your things, and pack yourself off to the mountains as fast 
 as you can ; for there, by the border of the lake, is a pretty little 
 cottage in which there sits a mother who 's tidy, strong and good, 
 and who 's to be the foster-mother of the little prince, who is as 
 good as his father, and as lovely as his mother. And the foster- 
 mother shall have whatever her heart wishes for, and shall make 
 her husband and child happy; and the king and the queen and 
 the prince, and but look up, Walpurga ! look at this gentle- 
 man. He 's the kind spirit named Doctor Puck, and he comes 
 from the king and queen. Do you understand me, Walpurga?" 
 
 The young mother rested her head upon the back of the chair 
 and closed her eyes. She drew a long breath and uttered not a 
 word. At that moment Hansei returned with the sponsor and the 
 babe. The mother hurried to her child and taking it in her arms, 
 rushed out into the garden with it, Stasi running after her. 
 
 " What 's the matter ? " asked Hansei, casting angry glances at 
 the Doctor and the stranger. 
 
 " Sit down, my worthy Hansei, and I '11 tell you all about it. 
 And it 's well that you 're here, too, my good friend of the Cham- 
 ois ; remain with us. The rest of you may all leave the room." 
 
 Suiting the action to the words, Doctor Kumpan hurried out the 
 villagers, who had been drawn there by curiosity. Then, accept- 
 ing a pinch of snuff from the innkeeper, he said : " Hansei, make a 
 bo\v ; you must know that this gentleman is the court physician. 
 He 's sent here by the king, who wants you to lend him your wife 
 for a year." 
 
 The Doctor's overbearing manner so enraged Hansei, that he 
 almost felt like putting him and the court doctor out of the room, 
 And was already squaring his shoulders for the attack. 
 
 Motioning Kumpan to be silent, Sixtus told Hansei that, by the 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 21 
 
 king's orders, he had sought information in regard to him, and 
 that it had seemed as if the people did not know whom to praise 
 the most Hansei or Walpurga. Hansei grinned self-cornpla- 
 cently, and now Sixtus acquainted him with the king's pleasure. 
 
 " Many thanks for the kind words," replied Hansei, " I 'm much 
 obliged to the king for his good opinion of me. I know him well ; 
 I rowed him across the lake twice while he was yet a merry lad, 
 and a wide-awake huntsman. Tell the king that I had n't thought 
 he 'd still remember me, but I can't part with my wife. I could n't 
 be so cruel to her, to myself, and, above all, to our child." 
 
 It was the longest speech he had ever made. He wiped the 
 perspiration from his brow, and turned towards the table. He 
 was as hungry as a wolf, and, seeing the nicely cut cake, took a 
 piece, exclaiming: "Before I do it, may this morsel 
 
 " Do n't swear ! " cried the innkeeper, taking the cake from him. 
 " Do n't swear ; you can do as you please ; no one can compel 
 you." 
 
 "And no one wishes to," said Doctor Sixtus; "may I have a 
 piece of cake ? " 
 
 " To be sure you may ! Help yourself, and you, ^too, Doctor ! 
 We Ve wine also. Ah, Doctor, this day two weeks ago, out on the 
 road, things looked very serious ! " 
 
 There was eating and drinking, and with every morsel that 
 Hansei swallowed, his face grew more cheerful. 
 
 " It seems to me, Mr. Landlord, that you could explain the 
 matter to him better than we," said Sixtus. The innkeeper offered 
 Hansei a pinch of snuff, with the words : " It would be a great 
 honor to the village and to the whole neighborhood. Just think 
 of it, Hansei ! the king and the crown prince " 
 
 "Perhaps it 's a princess," interrupted Sixtus. 
 
 "Oh!" said Hansei, laughing, "and so the child is n't born 
 yet ? " But, while laughing, he thought to himself: " There 's still 
 time to think the matter over." Then he laughed again at the 
 thought, for, with all his simplicity, he was rogue enough to deter- 
 mine to reap the greatest possible advantage from it r he could n't 
 think of such a thing for less than a thousand no, two thousand 
 and, who knows, perhaps even three thousand florins. Hansei 
 would probably have gone up to a hundred thousand if the inn- 
 keeper had not resumed the conversation, and thus interrupted the 
 current of his thoughts. 
 
 "Hansei 's perfectly right; he says neither 'yes/ nor 'no' ; he 
 says nothing ; for here the wife must decide. He 's a good hus- 
 band, and won't force her to do anything against her will. Yes, 
 gentlemen, although we 're only simple country folk, we know 
 what 's right." 
 
 " It does you credit to respect your wife so," said Doctor Sixtus. 
 The innkeeper took another pinch of snuff and went on to say : 
 
22 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Of course ; but after all, if I may be allowed to speak my mind 
 freely, a woman 's only half a man in reason and judgment, 
 With your permission, Herr Court Doctor, I think we 'd better say 
 no more for the present, but call the wife. She 's ever so good." 
 
 Happiness and misery, pride and humility, were depicted in 
 Hansei's features. 
 
 "Whatever she says, I '11 abide by," said he. 
 
 He was proud of possessing such a wife, and yet dreaded her 
 decision. He pulled at the buttons of his coat as if to make sure 
 they were all there. At last, urged by the innkeeper, he went out 
 into the garden and called Walpurga, who was still sitting under 
 the cherry tree. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 AFTER Walpurga had hurried out into the garden and had 
 pressed the babe to her bosom, she quietly gave it to Stasi, 
 saying : 
 
 " Take the child ; I dare n't feed it now. O, you poor, dear 
 thing ! They want to take me away from you. What harm have 
 you ever done that they should treat you so ? And what have I 
 done? But they can't make me go! And who'd dare try? 
 But what have they come for ? Why to me ? Come darling, I 'm 
 all right again. I 'm with you, and we '11 not part from each 
 other. I 'm quite calm again." 
 
 When Hansei came to call W T alpurga, he found her quietly 
 pressing the child to her bosom and kissing its little hands. 
 
 " If you 've had your talk out, do come in." 
 
 Walpurga motioned him to be quiet, lest he should disturb the 
 child. He stood there silently for awhile ; not a sound escaped 
 father, mother or child ; naught was heard but the starlings in the 
 cherry tree, who were feeding their young. Swift as the wind it- 
 self they would fly from their nests and return again. At last, the 
 child, its hunger thoroughly sated, but its lips still softly moving, 
 dropped back on the pillow. 
 
 "Come into the house," said Hansei, in a voice far gentler than 
 his rough looks would have led one to expect. " Come in, Wal- 
 purga. There 's no need of being rude, and there 's nothing 
 wrong in what they ask of us. They can't force us, you know, 
 and we can thank them, at any rate. You can talk to' strangers 
 much better than I can. It 's your turn to speak now ; and I '11 
 be satisfied with whatever you say or do." 
 
 Walpurga handed the child to the grandmother, and accompan- 
 ied Hansei into the house. She looked back several times, and 
 almost stumbled at the very threshold. 
 
 As soon as she entered the room, Doctor Sixtus came up to her. 
 and, addressing her in a gentle, insinuating manner, said : 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " My good woman ! I should think it a sin to induce you to do 
 anything that your heart condemns. But I feel it my duty to urge 
 you to reflect upon the matter calmly and dispassionately." 
 
 " Many thanks. But I hope you won't think ill of me 1 
 could n't be so cruel to my child." Her eye fell on Hansei, a.nd 
 she quickly added, " Nor my husband either. I can't go away 
 and leave them all alone." 
 
 " Why, they won't be alone ; your mother 's here," said the inn- 
 keeper, interrupting her. Doctor Sixtus interposed : 
 
 " Do n't interrupt her, if you please, sir. Let her speak for her- 
 self, and pour out her whole heart. Pray go on, my good woman." 
 
 " I Ve nothing more to say ; I know nothing more. Yes, there 's 
 one thing more. I 've never been in service, except to do an odd 
 day's work, now and then. I was born in this cottage, and I Ve 
 lived here up to this time, and 't was here my husband came to see 
 me. I 've never thought of leaving it, and I can't think of doing 
 so now. I 've never slept in a strange bed. If I had to leave 
 here and go to the city for so long a time, I 'd die of homesickness ; 
 and what would become of my child and my husband ? I 'm sure 
 the king do n't want us all to die of grief." 
 
 " I 'd like to say a word, too," said Doctor Kumpan, casting an 
 expressive glance at Doctor Sixtus. "We 've already thought of 
 your child. You Ve often wished for a cow, and we '11 get you 
 one that has just calved." 
 
 "I Ve got the very thing you want," exclaimed the innkeeper, 
 rushing to the window and calling to a boy outside : " Go tell my 
 man to bring my heifer, right away. Be quick about it ! Hurry 
 yourself! I really did n't care to part with her," said he, address- 
 ing Doctor Sixtus and turning his back on Hansei, who well knew 
 that the innkeeper dealt in cattle and pigs, all the year around. 
 Everything in his stable had its price, and here he was acting just 
 as if tlie heifer were a member of his family. " She 's the very 
 best beast I Ve got," added he, "but one ought to give up every- 
 thing for his king; and she 's a bargain at forty crown thalers." 
 Then turning to Hansei he said, with a grin : " You 're getting a 
 fine, plump little cow not an empty hide." 
 
 "Not so fast, my friend," said Doctor Sixtus; "but if Hansei 
 likes the heifer, I '11 buy it of you." 
 
 "The mother goes, and the cow takes her place," muttered 
 Walpurga, absently. 
 
 "I never thought you could be so foolish," thundered the inn- 
 keeper. " Why, what a fuss you 're making ! You ought to shout 
 for joy, and get down on your knees and thank God ! " 
 
 Doctor Sixtus quieted him, and the village doctor now said 
 "Joy and song come a< no one's bidding; if Walpurga won't go 
 with us cheerfully, we '11 look further ; there must be others besides 
 her." 
 
24 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 He arose, and took his hat as if to depart, Doctor Sixtus doing 
 likewise. 
 
 " How soon would I have to go, and how long would I have to 
 be away from home ? " asked the young wife. 
 
 Seating himself again, Doctor Sixtus replied : " I can't say how 
 soon, but you 'd have to be ready to go at a momeni's notice." 
 
 " Then I would n't have to go right off and how long would I 
 have to stay? " 
 
 "A year, or thereabouts." 
 
 " No, no ! I won't go. God forgive me for giving it a moment's 
 thought ! " 
 
 " Then we '11 take our leave, and may God bless you and your 
 child," said Doctor Sixtus, offering her his hand. With a voice 
 full of emotion, he added : 
 
 " It would do the royal child more harm than good if you were 
 to leave here regretfully, and carry a constant grief about with 
 you. That the mere idea pains you is quite natural. You could n't, 
 as a good woman and true mother, have consented at once, and 
 who knows whether I would have accepted you if you had ? What 
 the queen desires is a good woman, who has a respectable hus- 
 band and a kind mother ; she will have no other, and has no 
 thought of grieving or offending you. Therefore, if you can't be 
 cheerful among strangers ; if it does n't gladden your heart to 
 think that you may benefit the royal child, and that the king- will 
 be kind to you, you '11 do far better to remain at home and not 
 allow yourself to be tempted by the money. Do n't let that in- 
 duce you. No ; you 'd better not go." 
 
 He was about to leave, when the innkeeper detained him and 
 said : 
 
 " I Ye only one word more to say. Listen, Walpurga, and you, 
 too, Hansei. You Ye said : ' No, I won't go,' and the answer does 
 you great credit. But ask yourselves what the consequences will 
 be? To-day, to-morrow, perhaps even the day after to-morrow, 
 you '11 be quite content \vill take each other by the hand, kiss 
 your child and say: 'Thank God! we Ye resisted temptation; 
 we Yc remained united in poverty, and maintain ourselves hon- 
 estly; we 'd rather toil and suffer together than part.' But how 
 will' it be a day or a week later? how thrn? when sorrow and 
 want and misfortune come for we 're only human after all and 
 you find yourselves helpless? Won't you say to yourselves : -'If 
 we 'd only consented.' Won't you then, by word or look, say to 
 one another : ' Why did n't you urge me ? Why did n't you decide 
 to go? ' I do n't want to persuade you, I merely want to remind 
 you of all you ought to consider in the matter." 
 
 Silence ensued. The husband looked at his wife and then at 
 the ground ; the wife looked at him for awhile, and then suddenl) 
 raised her hand to her eyes. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 25 
 
 The cracking of a whip was heard and then a fine, black-pied 
 cow bellowing- loud and deep, as if the sound issued from a 
 cavern. All were startled. The sound broke upon the silence like 
 a ghost-call at noonday. 
 
 The innkeeper cursed and swore, and, putting his head out of the 
 window, abused the servant for not having brought the calf, which 
 had, in truth, already been sold to the butcher. 
 
 The servant fastened the cow to the fence, and hurried home to 
 bring its calf. The cow dragged at the rope, as if trying tc 
 strangle herself, and groaned and bellowed until she foamed at the 
 mouth. 
 
 "That 's only a beast, and see how she goes en ! " cried Wal- 
 purga. 
 
 The arrival of the cow seemed to dissipate the effect of the inn- 
 .keeper's eloquence. But Walpurga suddenly composed herself. 
 Speaking quickly, as if addressing an unseen being, and without 
 looking at any one, she said : 
 
 " A man or a woman can do more than a beast ! " Then, turn- 
 ing towards her husband, she added : " Come here, Hansei, give 
 me your hand. Tell me, from the bottom of your heart, will you 
 be satisfied with whatever I may do or say? " 
 
 " Do you mean if you say 'no' ? " replied Hansei, hesitating. 
 
 "Whether I say 'yes ' or 'no ' is what I mean." 
 
 Hansei could not utter a word. Had he been able to speak, his 
 remarks would have been very sensible. He kept looking into his 
 hat, as if there to read the thoughts that were running through 
 his head. Then he took his blue pocket-handkerchief, and twisted 
 it up as if he were trying to make a ball of it. 
 
 When Walpurga found that Hansei did not answer, she said : 
 
 " I can't ask you to decide. I, alone, can do that. I 'm the 
 child's mother I 'm the wife, and . . . if I go, I must, and I 'm 
 sure I can, keep down all grief, so that I may do no harm to the 
 other child ; and and here 's my hand, sir my answer is ' yes '." 
 
 It seemed as if a load had been lifted from the hearts of all 
 present. Hansei felt a stinging sensation in his eyes, and as if 
 choking. To allay this, he indulged in a fresh glass of wine and 
 a large slice of cake. What a strange day. If the company 
 would only go, so that one could get a bite of something warm. 
 The morning seemed as if it would never end. 
 
 The two physicians had much to say to Walpurga, who 
 promised to keep herself as cheerful as possible. She told them 
 that when she had once undertaken a thing she would carry it out ; 
 that God would help to preserve her child and that she would do 
 all she could for the king's child. " You can depend upon it, 
 when I Ve made up my mind to do a thing, I do it," she repeated 
 again and again. 
 
 Now that she had decided, she seemed to have acquired won 
 2 
 
26 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 drous self-control. Spying her mother, who was earning the 
 child, she called her to her, and told her of everything. The 
 child slumbered peacefully, and was* placed in the cradle that 
 stood in the bedroom. The grandmother seemed to look upon 
 the whole affair as if it were an unalterable decree of fate. For 
 years, if had been her wont to allow Walpurga to decide in all 
 things, and in this case, moreover, the king's pleasure was to be 
 regarded. 
 
 " Your child won't be motherless ; I understand her better than 
 you do. We 've got a cow, and we 'II see that the child is well 
 cared for." 
 
 The innkeeper hurried out and put the cow in the stable. That 
 closed the purchase and gave him a pretty profit. He was pro- 
 voked at himself to think that he had not asked ten thalers more. 
 He managed to get two thalers additional, as a gratuity for the 
 boy, but half of this sum found its way into his own pocket. 
 
 Hansei, who had in the meamvhile refreshed himself, thought it 
 would be well to show that he was a man. He enquired as to the 
 pay, and was just about to name the large sum he had beeft 
 thinking of, when the innkeeper returned, and made it clear to 
 him that the less he bargained the more he would get. He offered 
 to give him five hundred florins for the christening gifts alone, 
 and told him that, if he left it to the king, he would get all the 
 more. 
 
 Walpurga now asked what she would have to take with her. 
 Doctor Sixtus told her that her best suit would be all that was 
 necessary. 
 
 Many of the villagers had gathered before the window. They 
 had heard the news, and others, while on their way to afternoon 
 church, stopped, and at last there w r as quite a crowd. There was 
 much merriment, for every man said that he would gladly let the 
 king borrow his wife for a year. 
 
 Stasi offered to help the grandmother. It was not without pride 
 that she spoke of her being able to write a good hand and prom- 
 ised to send Walpurga a letter once a week, about the child, the 
 husband, and the mother. 
 
 She then brought the plates, for it was high time they were at 
 dinner. Walpurga said that she would put all to rights within the 
 next few days. 
 
 "What I now deny my child," said she, "I can more than 
 make up to her for the rest of her life." 
 
 While she was thus speaking, she heard the child crying in the 
 other room and hurried to it. 
 
 The two physicians and the innkeeper were about to leave, when 
 the sounds of a post-horn were heard in the direction of the road 
 that led up from the lake. 
 
 A special post had arrived. The lackey whom Doctor Sixtus 
 
\ ON THE HEIGHTS. 27 
 
 had left at the telegraph station near by, was sitting in the open 
 carriage. He raised* his hand, in which he held a letter aloft. He 
 stopped before the cottage and called out to the crowd : 
 
 " Shout huzza ! every one of you ! A crown prince was born an 
 hour ago ! " 
 
 They cheered again and again. 
 
 An old woman, "bent double, suddenly turned towards the lackey 
 and gazed into his face with her bright, brown eyes that, in spite of 
 her years, were still sparkling. 
 
 " Whose voice is that ? " muttered the old woman to herself. 
 
 There was an almost imperceptible change in the features of the 
 lackey, but the old woman had noticed it. " Clear the way, folks ! " 
 said he, "so that I may alight." 
 
 " Get out of the way, Zenza ! " (Vincenza) " Old Zenza 's always 
 in the way." 
 
 The old woman stood there, staring before her vacantly, as if in 
 a waking dream. She was shoved aside, and lost the staff with 
 which she had supported herself. The lackey tripped over it, but. 
 without looking to the right or left, hurried into the cottage. 
 
 Doctor Sixtus advanced to meet him, took the dispatch and 
 returned to the room. Walpurga had come back in the mean- 
 while, and he said to her : 
 
 " It has happened sooner than we expected. I 've just received 
 a dispatch ; at ten o'clock this morning, the crown prince was born. 
 I am to hurry off to the capital and bring the nurse with me. 
 Now, Walpurga, is the time to prove your strength. We leave in 
 an hour." 
 
 " I 'm ready," said Walpurga resolutely. She felt so weak, 
 however, that she was obliged to sit down. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE two physicians, accompanied by the innkeeper, left the 
 house. Stasi brought in the soup and the roast meat for the 
 christening dinner and placed them on the table. The grand- 
 mother offered up a prayer, in which the others joined ; they all 
 seated themselves at the table. Walpurga was the first to take a 
 spoonful of the soup from the dish, but, finding that no one cared 
 to eat, she filled her spoon again and said : 
 
 " Open your mouth, Hansei, and let me give you something to 
 eat. Take this, and may God's blessing go with it. And just as 
 the food I now offer you gives me more pleasure than if I were 
 eating it myself, so, when I 'm among strangers, not a morsel will 
 pass my lips that I would n't rather give you and the child. I 
 only go away so that we may be able to live in peace and comfort 
 hereafter. I shall think of you and mother and the child, by day 
 and night, and, God willing, I '11 return again in health and happi- 
 
28 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 ness. Do n't forget that God might have called me away in the 
 hour of pain and trial, and that then you 'd have been without me 
 all your lifetime. Mother, I Ve often heard you say that a wife 
 giving birth to a child has one foot in the grave. I 'm only going 
 away for a year, and you all know that I '11 return the same Wal- 
 purga that \ now am. Do n't let our parting be sad, Hansei ; you 
 must help me ! You can, and I know you will. You 're my onl) 
 support. Keep yourself tidy while I 'm gone. You 'd better wear 
 a good shirt every Sunday morning, for now you can afford it. 
 You '11 find them in the blue closet on the upper right-hand shelf. 
 Do eat something ; I '11 eat just as soon as you do. We need all 
 our strength. You ')! be all right to-morrow, and so shall I. But 
 do eat something ! For every spoonful you take, I '11 take one, 
 too ; there, that's it but not so fast, or I can't keep up with 
 you ! " Smiling through her tears, she went on eating. 
 
 "And now, mother," she continued, "you '11 have no chance to 
 Say that you 're a burden to us. When I 'm gone, you can take 
 the two pillows off my bed and put them on yours, so that you 
 can sleep with your head right high. That '11 do you good. If 
 \ve did n't have you, I would n't dare to think of going. Do n't 
 spoil my husband, and, when I come back again, we '11 fix up a 
 little room for you where you can live as well as the first farmer's 
 wife in the land." 
 
 They let her do all the talking, and when she said : " Do say 
 something, Hansei," he replied: "You 'd better keep on talking. 
 I can hear my voice any time ; but it '11 be a long while before I 
 listen to yours again. Who knows but 
 
 He was about to take a piece of meat, but he put it back on the 
 plate. He could not eat another morsel ; nor could the others. 
 The grandmother arose and said grace. 
 
 Time flew by. A coach drove up to the door. The lackey was 
 the only one seated in it ; the gentlemen intended to follow shortly 
 after. Baum speedily found himself on a familiar footing with 
 Hansei. The first step towards their intimacy was the offer of a 
 good cigar. He said that he envied Hansei's luck in having such a 
 wife, and in being so fortunate into the bargain. Hansei felt 
 greatly flattered. Doctor Sixtus gave orders that some bed 
 cushions should be placed in the coach, so that Walpurga might 
 be comfortable and well protected against the night air. 
 
 " Do you ride all night ? " enquired Hansei. 
 
 "O no ! We shall reach the capital by midnight." 
 
 "But your fast driving may hurt my wife." 
 
 "Do n't let that worn* you. Your wife will be as well taken 
 care of as the queen herself." 
 
 "I do n't know how it is, but when I look at this gentleman 
 and hear him talk." said Hansei, looking Baum straight in the face, 
 " I feel ever so queer." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 29 
 
 "How so? Do I look so terrible?" 
 
 " God forbid ! No, indeed ! But the one I 'm thinking of was 
 a good-for-nothing fellow. No offense, I assure you. But old 
 Zenza there she is at the garden gate, watching us had twins. 
 One is named Thomas and the other was Wolfgang, or Jangerl, as 
 they say hereabouts. Well, Jangerl joined the soldiers and went 
 to America. It must have been some thirteen or fourteen years 
 ago, and no one has ever heard of him since, and really but you 
 won't think ill of what I say? " 
 
 "Of course not! Go on." 
 
 "Well, Jangerl looked just like you to the very hair. No, not 
 the hair, for his was red and his face was n't as fine as yours, 
 either ; but taking it all together, just as the devil takes the farm- 
 ers" Hansei was delighted with his joke, and the lackey joined 
 in his laughter "one might say that you look like each other. 
 But you 're sure you 're not angry at what I Ve said ? " 
 
 "Not at all," said Baum, looking at his watch. The clock in 
 the church steeple was just striking five, and he said : " There 's 
 a difference of exactly one hour between your clock and that at 
 the capital. Did this house belong to your parents? " 
 
 " No, I got it with my wife. That 's to say, we still owe a 
 mortgage of two hundred florins on it, but the farmer who holds 
 it, does n't press us." 
 
 "Your wife can buy you another house, and you ought to con- 
 sider yourself lucky to have so goodlooking a wife." 
 
 " Yes, and that 's what makes me sorry to give her up," com- 
 plained Hansei. "However, there are only three hundred and 
 sixty-five days in a year but that 's a good many, after all." 
 
 "And as many nights in the bargain," said Baum, laughing. 
 Poor Hansei shuddered. 
 
 "Yes, indeed!" said he. He felt that politeness required an 
 answer on his part. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Walpurga had asked her mother and Stasi 
 to leave her alone with the child. She was kneeling beside the 
 cradle and wetted the pillow with her tears. She kissed the child, 
 the coverlet, and cradle, and then, getting up, said : " Farewell ! 
 A thousand times, farewell ! " She had dried her tears, and was 
 about to leave the room, when the door opened from without and 
 her mother entered. 
 
 "I '11 help you," said she. "You '11 be either twice as happy, 
 or twice as miserable, when you return, and will make us just as 
 happ; or as miserable as you are." 
 
 Then she took Walpurga's left hand in hers, and, in a command- 
 ing voice, said : " Put your right hand on your child's head ! " 
 
 "What 's that for, mother? " 
 
 " Do as I bid you. Swear by your child's head and by the hand 
 I hold in mine, that you '11 remain good and pure, no matter what 
 
f> ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 .v-vnptations may assail you. Remember you 're a wife, a mother 
 - Daughter ! Do you swear this with all your heart ? " 
 
 I do, mother, so help me God ! But there 's no need of such 
 an oath." 
 
 Very well," said the mother. "Now walk around the cradle 
 three times with your face turned from it. I '11 lead you ; do n't 
 stumble. Now you 've taken the child's homesickness from it and 
 I '11 take good care of it. Take my word for that." 
 
 She then led Walpurga into the room and, handing her the 
 great loaf of bread and the knife, said : . 
 
 " Cut a piece for yourself, before you go. May God bless it for 
 your sake, and when you 've reached your journey's end, let the 
 bread that you 've brought from home be the first morsel you eat. 
 That '11 kill the feeling of strangeness ; and now, farewell." 
 
 They remained there in silence, holding each other by the hand. 
 
 Walpurga found it wondrous strange that Hansei was walking 
 about in the garden with the lackey and forgetting her. Just then, 
 he went up the ladder to get him some cherries, and was smoking 
 incessantly ; after that, he took him into the stable, where the cow 
 had been placed. 
 
 The two physicians had returned, and Hansei had to be called 
 into the room, for it was here, and not out of doors in the presence 
 of the crowd, that the wife wished to take leave of her husband. 
 Doctor Sixtus put a roll of crown thalers in Hansei's pocket. 
 After that, Hansei constantly kept his hand there, and was loth to 
 remove it. 
 
 "Give me your hand, Hansei," said Walpurga. 
 
 He loosened his grasp of the money and gave her his hand. 
 
 " Farewell, dear Hansei, and be a good man. I '11 remain a 
 good wife. . . . And now, God keep you, all of you ! " 
 
 She kissed her mother and Stasi, and then, without once looking 
 back, she hurried through the garden and seated herself in the 
 carriage. 
 
 The cow in the stable bellowed and groaned, but the sounds 
 were drowned by the postilion's fanfare. 
 
 During all this, old Zenza had been leaning against the garden 
 gate ; at times passing her hand over her face and rubbing her 
 bright and sparkling eyes. And now, when the lackey passed her 
 she stared at him so, that he asked, in a rough and yet not unkind 
 voice : 
 
 " Do you want anything, mother? " 
 
 "Yes ; I 'm old, and a mother in the bargain. Hi-hi-hi ! " said 
 she, laughing, and the crowd hinted to the lackey that her mind 
 often wandered. 
 
 " Is there anything you want ? " asked the lackey again. 
 
 'Of course there is, if you '11 give it to me." 
 
 With trembling hand, the lackey drew the large purse from his 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 31 
 
 pocket, and took out a piece of gold. But no, that might betray 
 him. After fumbling with the money a long while, he at last gave 
 the gold piece to the old woman, and said : 
 
 "This is from the k : ng." 
 
 He mounted the box and never looked back again. The coacli 
 started off. 
 
 People came up to Zenza and asked her to show them what sne 
 had received, but her hand was closed as with a convulsive gmsp. 
 Without answering, she went away, supporting herself upon her 
 staff. 
 
 She walked on, constantly looking at the ruts that the carriage 
 wheels had made in the road, and those who passed her could 
 hear her muttering unintelligibly. Her staff was in her right hand, 
 and with her left she still clutched the gold piece. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 r PHE carriage moved along the road by the lake, and, at last, 
 1 turning the corner at the stonepile, was out of sight. The 
 hay on which Walpurga had rested a fortnight before was still ly- 
 ing in the same place. 
 
 They passed a handsome girl, dressed in once genteel, but now 
 shabby, finery. She was of a powerful frame, tawny complexion, 
 and her blue black hair was braided in thick plaits. She stared at 
 Walpurga, but did not greet her until after she had passed. 
 
 " That 's the daughter of the old woman you gave a present 
 to," said Walpurga, addressing the lackey. "She goes by the 
 name of Black Esther. If the mother does n't bury the money 
 out of sight, she '11 surely take it from her." 
 
 Although Baum turned towards Walpurga, he was not looking 
 at her, but at the girl, who was no other than his sister. A little 
 while ago he had denied his mother, while bestowing an alms 
 upon her. And now he sat up beside the postilion, his arms 
 folded as if to brace himself, for he felt as if his heart would 
 break. His whole life passed before him and, now and then, he 
 planted himself more firmly in his seat, lest he should fall. And 
 now the carriage passed by a farmyard where, twenty years ago, 
 he had, by his mother's order, stolen a goose. He was a slim lad 
 then, and had found it easy to slip in, on all fours, through the gap 
 in the hedge, which had closed up in the meanwhile. 
 
 Thomas, his twin brother, had joined the poachers. But Baum, 
 who was not apt at their work, was glad when they took him for 
 a soldier. One day while he was on duty at the palace, an old 
 valet de chambre brought a letter from Baroness Steigeneck, who 
 was then at the height of her power. The valet was kept waiting 
 a long while, during which he chatted with Baum, to whom he 
 took a great liking. He invited Baum to visit the Steigeneck pal- 
 
32 (AV THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 ace, where they drank together in the servants' room and \\ere ex- 
 ceedingly jolly. 
 
 " Why is your hair so red ? " said the valet :Ie chambre. 
 
 " Why ? Because it grew so." 
 
 "But that can he remedied." 
 
 " Indeed ! How so ? " 
 
 Thn old man gave Baum the requisite directions. 
 
 "You must also change your name. Rauhensteiner is too hard 
 for th x r lordships. It is difficult to pronounce, and particularly 
 for those who have false teeth. You must take some such name 
 as Beck, or Schulz, or Hecht, or Baum. For, mind you, a dog 
 has no name except the one its master sees fit to call it by." 
 
 " ' Baum' would suit me very well." 
 
 "Well then, let it be Baum." On his way home that night, he 
 kept continually saying to himself, " Baum, Baum that 's a short 
 and easy name and no one will know me." The old man had 
 made him swear that he would have nothing more to do with his 
 family. His recent visit to his native village had reminded him of 
 his pledge, and, although he attached but little importance to an 
 oath, he found it convenient and, as he thought, praiseworthy to 
 keep this one. 
 
 Through the intercession of the Steigeneck valet, his military 
 discharge was made out in the name of Wolfgang Rauhensteiner 
 surnamed Baum. After that, he was simply known as Baum, 
 and none knew that he had ever borne another name. He was 
 perfectly willing to forego his chance of any bequests that might 
 be left to him under the name of Rauhensteiner. 
 
 He entered the sen-ice of the court, and his first position was 
 as groom to the prince, while at the university and during his 
 subsequent journey through Italy. As a precaution, he had gone 
 home and obtained an emigrant's passport, and afterwards had 
 dyed his hair black. In his native village, all were under the 
 impression that he had emigrated. 
 
 After he returned from his travels, he married the daughter 
 of the valet de chambre, and ever grew in favor with his masters. 
 He was discreet in all things, and would cough behind his raised 
 left hand. He was delighted with the name of "Baum." Such 
 was his zeal to serve his masters, that, had it been possible, he 
 would, for their sakes, have banished all harsh consonants from the 
 language. 
 
 'That 's settled," said Baum, as he sat on the box beside tne . 
 postilion and coughed behind his hand. "That's settled" and 
 his face assumed a calm and determined expression as if he thought 
 some one was watching him. " I Ve emigrated to America. If I 
 were there, I 'd be dead and buried as far as my family are 
 concerned. Family, indeed ! They 'd only ruin and beggar me, 
 and always be at my heels. None of that for me ! " He watched 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 33 
 
 the people, many of whom he knew, walking along the road. 
 "What a pitiful life these folks must lead no pleasure the whole 
 year round ! Once a week, on Sunday, they get shavsd and 
 preached to, and the next morning the squalor begins anew. Any 
 one who has escaped, would be a fool to think of returning to it 
 again ! " 
 
 Whilst Baum was thus recalling long-forgotten incidents of his 
 past, Walpurga was trying hard to repress her tears. It seemed 
 ns if some higher power to whose sway she submitted herself had 
 deprived her of thought and feeling. 
 
 With wondering eyes she gazed at the brooks that hurried down 
 from the hills and then, as if to see what was becoming of Wal- 
 purga, would run along beside the road. When they dashed across 
 the wooden bridges that overhung the roaring brook, she would 
 tremble with fear, and would not feel reassured until they had 
 gained the smooth road on the other side. She looked up at the 
 mountains, the houses and the Alpine huts ; she knew the names 
 of those who dwelt in every one of them. But they soon reached 
 a region to which she was a stranger. 
 
 At the next station where they stopped to change horses, the 
 Sunday idlers were astonished to see a peasant woman descend 
 from so elegant a carriage. A woman nursing her child was sit- 
 ting under a linden tree near by. Prompted by curiosity, she 
 raised herself in her seat, and the child turning its head at the 
 same time, mother and child were staring at Walpurga, who nod- 
 ded to them kindly, while her eyes filled with tears and her throat 
 seemed to close. The postilion blew his horn, the horses started 
 off at a gallop, and Walpurga again felt as if flying through the 
 air. 
 
 "This is fast traveling, Walpurga, is n't it ? " exclaimed Baum. 
 When she now looked at him, she, too, was startled by his won- 
 derful resemblance to Thomas. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! " said she. The Doctor said but little, for he 
 was too deeply moved by sympathy for her. Nor did he, as usual, 
 assert his pride of position. This woman was so much more than 
 a mere tool that one might well treat her with kindness and con- 
 sideration. She had found it so hard to leave her home. He was, 
 for some time, considering what he should say to her and, at last, 
 enquired : 
 
 " Do you like your doctor? " 
 
 "Yes, indeed I do! He's very odd. He scolds and abuses 
 everybody ; but for all that, he does good wherever he can, be it 
 day or night ; rich and poor are all the same to him. O, he 's a 
 real good man ! " 
 
 Doctor Sixtus smiled and asked her : 
 
 " I did n't get to see his wife. Do you know her ? " 
 
 " Of course I do. It 's Hedwig, the apothecary's daughter. 
 
 2* 
 
34 0-V THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Her family are very nice folks, and she 's a sweet, charming ere i- 
 ture ; plain in her ways and quite a home body. They have fine 
 children, too, five or six of them, I believe and so she has hel 
 hands fall. He might have taken you to his house, for it 's evel 
 so neat and tidy." 
 
 He was delighted with Walpurga's good report of his friend. 
 And now that he had succeeded in changing the train of her 
 thoughts, he concluded that he had done enough and could leave 
 her to shift for herself. 
 
 She saw everything as if in a dream. There were fields and 
 meadows, then a village, a window-shelf covered with carnations 
 and hanging vines. You 've such at home, too, thought she, and 
 in a moment they had vanished from sight. Then they passed the 
 churchyard, its black crosses half buried in the earth and yet stand- 
 ing out boldly against the clear sky. In the village there was music 
 and dancing, and merry youths "and maidens, their faces flushed 
 by their sport, hurried to the windows. Then they passed more 
 fields and meadows and houses, and saw groups sitting together 
 and talking. And then the postilion blew a loud blast. A child 
 was running in the middle of the road. With a shriek of horror, 
 the mother rescued it and hastened away. The carriage did not 
 stop. Walpurga looked back, feeling sure that they must now be 
 thanking God for the child's escape. And still they went on. 
 Then they passed a cow grazing by the wayside, a boy near by 
 watching her. In the level country where the climate is so much 
 milder, the cherry trees were already bare of fruit. And then 
 they came to great fields, with their vast sea of waving grain 
 
 there were none such in the Highlands How happy 
 
 these people must be who live down here, where there is some- 
 thing more than water, meadow and forest. In yonder fallow 
 field, there lies a plough as if sleeping over Sunday. It grows 
 dark, lights begin to twinkle; there are men and women, too. 
 They are in their homes, but I *m being taken away from mine. 
 
 . . . At the next post station, both the Doctor and Walpurga 
 remained in the carriage. The horses were quickly changed, the 
 old ones going, w^ith heavy steps, into the stable ; a new postilion 
 mounted the box, and they were off again. \Valpurga saw noth- 
 ing more ; her eyes were closed, and it seemed as if it were a 
 dream, \vhen the carriage stopped again for a fresh relay of horses, 
 and she heard Baum ordering the postilion not to blow his horn 
 lest he might awaken those inside. 
 
 "I 'm not asleep," said the Doctor. 
 
 " Nor am I ! Just blow your horn, postilion," said Walpurga. 
 
 The postilion blew a loud blast, and they were off again. The 
 stars were glittering overhead. They passed through more vil- 
 lages ; windows were quickly raised, but they dashed by so rapidly 
 that they were out of sight before the surprised villagers had time 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 35 
 
 to collect their senses. Objects at the wayside were strangely 
 illumined by the ever-moving 1 glimmer of the two carriage lamps, 
 and at last, in the distance, they descried a great light and, over il^ 
 a cloud of smoke. 
 
 "There 's an illumination in the city ! " exclaimed Baum. The 
 horses were urged to greater speed, and the postilion blew his 
 horn more merrily than before. They were, at last, in the capital, 
 
 The carriage made slow headway through the surging, joyous 
 crowd that rilled the streets. 
 
 " Here comes the crown prince's nurse," was soon noised about, 
 dnd the merry crowd greeted Walpurga with loud cheers. Con- 
 fused and abashed, she hid her face in her hands. At last they 
 were safely in the courtyard of the palace. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WALPURGA found herself in the interior quadrangle of the 
 palace. She was quite giddy with looking at the many 
 doors, the great windows, the broad staircases and the coats of 
 arms, emblazoned with figures of wild men and beasts. All 
 seemed wondrous strange under the glare of the gas lamps, the 
 strong lights, here and there, contrasting with the deep, mysteri- 
 ous shadows. Walpurga stared about her with a dreamy, vacant 
 gaze. Giving way to memories of olden legends, she thought of 
 the young mother whom the genii of the mountain had carried off 
 to a subterranean cavern, where they detained her by means of a 
 magic charm, while she nursed a new-born babe. 
 
 But she was recalled to herself at last. From the palace-guard, 
 where the muskets were stacked in two long rows and the sentry 
 was marching to and fro, she heard one of the songs of her home. 
 
 " The captain of the palace-guard has sent wine to the soldiers," 
 said a young liveried servant addressing Baum, whom he assisted 
 to unharness the horses : "the whole town will be drunk." 
 
 Walpurga felt like telling them that they should not permit the 
 soldiers to sing so loudly, because the young mother who was 
 lying overhead ought to sleep. She had no idea of the great size 
 of the palace, but was soon to find it out. 
 
 " Come with me," said Doctor Sixtus ; " I '11 conduct you to the 
 first lady of the bed-chamber. Have no fear ! You will be cor- 
 dially welcomed by all." 
 
 " I 'd better bring my pillows with me," answered Walpurga. 
 
 " Never mind ; Baum will attend to them." 
 
 Walpurga followed after the Doctor. They ascended a stair- 
 case, brilliantly illuminated and decorated with flowers, and Wal- 
 purga felt ashamed at the thought of her coming empty-handed, 
 just as if there was nothing she could call her own. " I 'm not 
 that poor, after all," said she, almost audibly. 
 
36 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 They reached the grand corridor. It was also brilliantly illu- 
 minate:! and rilled with flowers. There were people in uniform, 
 walking lo r.nd fro, but the soft carpets prevented their footsteps 
 from being heard. The under servants remained standing while 
 Sixtus and Walpurga passed by them. At last they stopped be- 
 fore a door. Addressing the sen-ant who was stationed there 
 Doctor Sixtus said : 
 
 " Inform her excellency that Doctor Sixtus is in waiting, and 
 that he has brought the nurse." 
 
 This was the first time Walpurga had heard herself spoken of as 
 "the nurse," and as being "brought." 
 
 She again felt as if under a spell, or rather, as if sold. But she 
 plucked up courage, and suddenly it seemed to her as if she were 
 seated, as she often had been, in a boat on the lake ; as if she 
 were plying the oars with her strong arms a furious wind resist- 
 ing her progress, and the waves rising wildly on high. But she 
 was strong, and rowed with a steady hand, and at last conquered 
 the wind and the waves. She stiffened her arms and clenched 
 her fists as if to grasp the oars more firmly. 
 
 The servant soon returned, and held the door open while Doc- 
 tor Sixtus and Walpurga entered a large, well-lighted apartment. 
 A tall, thin lady, clad in a dress of black satin, was seated in an 
 armchair near the table. She arose for a moment, but resumed 
 her seat immediately. It is no trifling matter to be first lady of 
 the bed-chamber at the birth of a crown prince. This had been a 
 great day with Countess Brinkenstein. Her name had been in- 
 scribed for all time in the great official record of the day. 
 
 Although she always judged her actions by a severe standard, 
 she had reason to be satisfied with herself that day. While the 
 court and capital were all commotion, she had been perfectly 
 calm. She had kept up the dignity of the court and, moreover, of 
 the king, who had shown himself strangely weak and excited. 
 
 She was resting on her laurels. One circumstance had greatly 
 vexed her and had not yet been dismissed from her mind ; but as 
 she had a firm will, she controlled her feelings. She was always 
 self-possessed, because she always knew just what was to be 
 done. 
 
 To have waited so long before securing a nurse was a thing 
 unheard of. Many had offered themselves, and, among them, 
 some who belonged to good families ; that is, of the nobility who 
 had married lower officials. Countess Brinkenstein regarded the 
 queen's resolve that the nurse must be of the common people a 
 peasant woman, indeed as overstrained fastidiousness ; there 
 could be no harm in referring to princely errors in such terms. The 
 preserver of decorum was therefore determined to assume the 
 responsibility of filling the post with a nurse of her own choice, 
 when the Doctor's telegram, informing them that he had secured 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 37 
 
 the ideal peasant woman, was received. Her displeasure at the 
 queen's behavior was now transferred to the peasant woman, who 
 was. as yet a stranger to her, and who would, in all likelihood, 
 bring trouble into the palace. But, after all, what wer< lules and 
 regulations made for? By consistently observing them, all would 
 yet be well. 
 
 When the peasant woman was announced, Countess Brinken- 
 stein arose, her stern features softened by the noble thought that 
 this poor woman ought not to suffer because of the queen's newly- 
 acquired love for the people ; a love which would only render its 
 objects the more unhappy and discontented. 
 
 The Doctor presented Walpurga, and spoke of her in such 
 terms that she cast down her eyes, abashed at his praise. 
 
 Addressing Countess Brinkenstein in French, he told her how 
 difficult it had been to secure this, the fairest and best woman in 
 the Highlands. Answering in the same tongue, the Countess con- 
 gratulated him upon his success and commented on Walpurga's 
 healthy appearance. Finally she enquired, still in French : 
 
 " Has she good teeth ? " 
 
 The Doctor turned to Walpurga, saying : 
 
 " Her ladyship thinks you can't laugh." 
 
 Walpurga smiled, and the Countess praised her perfect teeth. 
 She then touched the bell on the table and a lackey appeared. 
 
 " Tell privy councilor Gunther," said she, " that I await him here, 
 and that the nurse of his royal highness has arrived." 
 
 The lackey left the room. The Countess now touched the bell 
 twice ; a tall lady, advanced in years, and wearing long, corkscrew 
 curls, appeared, and bowed so low. that Walpurga imagined she 
 intended to sit down on the floor. 
 
 " Come nearer, dear Kramer," said the Countess. "This is the 
 nurse of his royal highness ; she is in your especial charge. Take 
 her to your room and let her have something to eat. What 
 shall it be, Doctor ? " 
 
 " Good beef broth will do very well." 
 
 "Go with Kramer," said the Countess, addressing Walpurga, 
 and smiling graciously. "Whenever you want anything, dear 
 child, ask her for it. God be with you ! " 
 
 The lady with the corkscrew curls, offering her hand to 
 Walpurga, said : "Come with me, my good woman." 
 
 Walpurga nodded a grateful assent. 
 
 And so, after all, there was some one to take her by the hand and 
 ?peak German to her. And they were kind words, too, for the old 
 lady had addressed her as "dear child," and mademoiselle as "my 
 good woman." While they were speaking French, it had seemed 
 as if she were betrayed, for she could not help feeling that they 
 w<:re talking of her. Mademoiselle Kramer now conducted her 
 to the second room beyond. 
 
3S ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "And now let me bid you welcome!" said the lady, \vnile her 
 homely face suddenly acquired a charming expression. " Give me 
 both hands. Let us be good friends, for we '11 always be together, 
 by day and by night ! They call me the chief-stewardess." 
 
 "And I 'm called Walpurga." 
 
 " A pretty name, too ! I think you '11 keep it." 
 
 " Keep my name ! Why, who can take it from me ? I was 
 christened Walpurga, and I 've been called so ever since child- 
 hood." 
 
 "Don't agitate yourself, dear W'alpurga," said the stewardess, 
 with much feeling. " Yes, pray be calm," added she, " and, when- 
 ever anything displeases you, tell me of it, and I '11 see that it is 
 remedied. You ought to be contented and happy always ; and 
 now, sit in this armchair, or if you 'd rather lie on the sofa and 
 rest yourself, do so. Make yourself perfectly at home." 
 
 "This will do very well," said Walpurga, ensconcing herself in 
 the great armchair and resting her hands upon her knees. Mad- 
 emoiselle Kramer now ordered one of the sen-ing-maids to brin^ 
 in some good beef broth and wheaten bread for the nurse. 
 Turning towards Walpurga, she saw T that she was crying bitterly. 
 
 "For God's sake, what 's the matter? You 're not frightened 
 or worried about anything? What are you crying for? " 
 
 " Let me cry. It does me good. My heart 's been heavy for 
 ever so long. I suppose you '11 let me cry when I can't help it. I 
 did n't know what I was doing when I said ' yes.' God 's my wit- 
 ness, I never thought it would be like this ! " 
 
 " What has happened ? Who has done anything to you ? For 
 God's sake, do n't cry ; it will do you harm, and I '11 be repri- 
 manded for having allowed it. Just tell me what you want ; I '11 
 do all I can for you." 
 
 "All I want of you is to let me cry. O my child ! O Hansei ! 
 O mother ! But now I 'm all right again. I '11 be calm. I 'm 
 here now, and must make the best of it." 
 
 The soup was brought. Mademoiselle Kramer held a spoonful 
 to Walpurga's lips, and said : 
 
 " Take something, my dear, and you '11 soon feel better." 
 
 " I do n't want any broth. Am I to be treated as if I were 
 sick, and forced to eat what I do n't like? If there was anyone in 
 the house who could make porridge, I 'd rather have that than 
 anything else. I '11 go into the kitchen and make some myself." 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer was in despair. To her great relief, 
 there was a knock at the door. Doctor Gunther, the king's phy- 
 sician, entered, accompanied by Doctor Sixtus. He held out his 
 hand to the nurse, and said : 
 
 " God greet you, Walpurga of the cottage by the lake ! You 've 
 made a good catch in coming to this house. Do n't be alarmed 
 by the ways of the palace, and do just as you would at home, 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 39 
 
 Take my word for it, water is needed for cooking, all the world 
 over. The folks here are just as they are in your neighborhood- 
 just as good and just as bad ; just as wise and just as stupid , 
 with this difference, however here they know how to hide theif 
 wickedness and stupidity." 
 
 Doctor Gunther had, in part, used the Highland dialect while 
 addressing her, and her face suddenly brightened. 
 
 "Thank you! thank you! I'll remember what you tell me," 
 said she, cheerfully. 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer now introduced the great question of the 
 day beef broth or porridge. Doctor Gunther laughed, and 
 sail: 
 
 " Why porridge, to be sure ; that 's the best. In fact, Walpurga, 
 all you need do is to say what you 've been used to at home and 
 you shall have it here, provided it is neither sour nor fat." 
 
 Addressing his colleague, he added : 
 
 " We '11 keep the nurse on her accustomed diet for the present, 
 and afterwards can gradually bring about a change. Come here, 
 Walpurga, and let me look into your eyes. I 've something to tell 
 you. In a quarter of an hour from now, you 're to appear before 
 the queen. Do n't be alarmed, no one will harm you. She mere- 
 ly wishes to see you. Do n't fail to prove that your eyes are right, 
 when they say they belong to a clever head. Address the queen 
 calmly and if, as is quite likely, you still feel a homesick yearning 
 for your child and the others you 've left behind you, do n't show 
 it while you are with the queen. You might cause her to weep 
 and make her ill, for she 's very delicate. Do you quite under- 
 stand me ? " 
 
 " I do, indeed ! I '11 be very careful. I '11 cheer her up." 
 
 " You must not dp that either. Remain perfectly calm and com- 
 posed ; speak but little, and in a low voice. Try to get out of the 
 room as soon as you can, for she need" all the sleep she can get." 
 
 " I '11 do everything just as you say. You can depend on me," 
 said Walpurga. "Are n't you going along? " 
 
 " No ; you '11 meet me there. But now, take something to eat. 
 Here comes the porridge. I hope it will do you good. You 
 need n't eat it all ; half will do for the present. But wait a little 
 while until it cools. Come with me a moment. I suppose you 're 
 not afraid to go with me ? " 
 
 " No ; it seems as if I 'd often heard your voice before." 
 
 "Very likely! I am also from the Highlands, and have already 
 been in your father's house. If I am not mistaken, your mother 
 was from our region. Was she not in service with the freehold 
 farmer?" 
 
 " She was, indeed." 
 
 " Well then, your mother 's a good woman, and do n't forget to 
 tell the queen that she 's taking good care of your child. That 
 
40 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 \vill please her. I knew your father, too ; he was a merry soul, 
 and perfectly honest." 
 
 \Valpurga felt happy to know that her parents were well thought 
 of and that the others had heard them so favorably mentioned. If 
 the Doctor who had known her father had been that father himself, 
 she could not have been more willing to accompany him into 
 the adjoining room. He returned, in a few moments, and left in 
 the company of Doctor Sixtus ; and then Walpurga came, her eyes 
 bent on the ground. When she at last looked up, she was glad there 
 was no one in the room but Mademoiselle Kramer. 
 
 Her thoughts must have been of home, for she suddenly ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Dear me ! I 've got you, yet." She then took from her 
 pocket the piece of bread which her mother had given her. And 
 thus the first morsel she ate while in the palace, was brought from 
 home, and was of her mother's baking. Her mother had told her 
 that this \vould cure her of homesickness ; and she really found it 
 so, for, with even- mouthful, she became more cheerful. 
 
 If seven queens were to have come just then, she would not 
 have been afraid of them, and her crying was at an end. 
 
 She ate all the crumbs that had fallen into her lap, as if they 
 had some sacred potency. After that she tried a little of the por- 
 ridge. 
 
 "Can't I go somewhere to wash my face and dress my hair? " 
 asked she. 
 
 " Of course. Doctor Gunther has given orders that you should." 
 
 " I do n't need orders for everything I do !" said Walpurga, de- 
 fiantly. 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer wanted to have her maid dress Walpur- 
 ga's hair. But Walpurga would not allow it. 
 
 Xo stranger's hand shall touch my head," said she. And 
 after a little while she presented a tidy and almost cheerful appear- 
 ance. 
 
 " There, now I '11 go to the queen," said she. " How do you 
 address her?" 
 
 " ' Your majesty,' or, ' most gracious madam.' " 
 
 " In the prayers at church they call her the ' country's mother,' " 
 said Walpurga, " and I like that far better. That 's a glorious, 
 bea:* ; ful name. If it were mine, no one should take it from me. 
 And now I '11 go to the queen." 
 
 " Xo ! you must wait. You will be sent for." 
 
 " That '11 suit me just as well. But I want to ask a favor of you. 
 Call me Du'. "* 
 
 " Quite willingly, if the first lady of the bedchamber does not 
 object." 
 
 " And so nothing can be done here without asking leave. But 
 
 The familiar " thou." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS, 41 
 
 now we Ve done enough talking, let 's be quiet. Ah, yes ! there 's 
 one thing more. Whose picture is that hanging up there ? " .- 
 
 " The queen's." 
 
 " Is that the queen ? O, how lovely ! But she 's very young." 
 
 " Yes, she 's only eighteen years old." 
 
 Walpurga gazed at the picture for a long while. Then, turning 
 away from it, she sank on her knees beside the great chair, folded 
 her hands and softly whispered a paternoster. 
 
 Walpurga was still kneeling, when a knock at the door was 
 heard. A lackey entered ancfSaid : 
 
 " Her majesty has sent for his royal highness's nurse." 
 
 Walpurga arose and followed the servant, Mademoiselle Kra- 
 mer accompanying them. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PRECEDED by a servant bearing a lantern, they passed 
 F through the long, narrow, brilliantly-lighted passage and, 
 ascending a staircase, reached the gallery of the royal chapel. 
 There were cushioned chairs for the court. Walpurga looked 
 clown into the vast, dark hall. There was no light except that in 
 the altar lamp, the rays of which faintly illumined the image of the 
 Virgin. 
 
 "Thou art everywhere ! " said Walpurga, half aloud, while she 
 looked down into the dark church and saluted the Madonna with 
 the Child, as familiarly as if greeting an intimate friend. A dim 
 sense of the divine attributes of maternity, as glorified in ages of 
 song and picture, prayer and sacrifice, filled her soul. She nodded 
 to the picture once again, and then walked on. As uncertain of 
 her steps as if walking on glass, she went through the throne- 
 room, and the great ball-room. Then they passed through other 
 apartments which, although evidently intended for more domestic 
 uses, were without doors and were separated from each other by 
 heavy double hangings. At last they descended a wide marble 
 staircase with a golden balustrade. It was well-lighted and carpet- 
 ed. Here there were servants and guards. They entered other 
 apartments, which were filled with people, who paused in their 
 eager conversation to glance at Walpurga. In the third room, 
 Dr. Gunther advanced towards her. Taking her by the hand, 
 he led her up to a gentleman who was attired in a brilliant uni- 
 brm and wore the crosses and medals of many orders. 
 
 "This is His Majesty, the king," said he. 
 
 " I know him ; I Ve seen him before," replied Walpurga. " My 
 ather rowed him across the lake, and so did my Hansei, too." 
 
 " Then, as we have known each other so long, let us improve 
 our acquaintance," replied the king. "And now go to the queen j 
 but be careful not to agitate her." 
 
42 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 He dismissed her with a gracious inclination of the head and, 
 accompanied by Doctor Guntherand Countess Brinkenstein, whom 
 they found in attendance, she passed through several other rooms, 
 the heavy carpets of which deadened the sounds of their footsteps. 
 
 "Be careful not to agitate her." The words greatly troubled 
 Walpurga. Why should she provoke the queen to anger? for that 
 was the only meaning she could take from the word. 
 
 Although she did not know what they meant by the word, her 
 being pushed hither and thither, up and down, through passages 
 and rooms without number, encountering the glances of the court- 
 iers by the way and, at last, receiving the king's warning, had 
 had the effect of agitating her. 
 
 At last she stood at the threshold of a green apartment that ap- 
 peared to her like an enchanted room, hollowed out of some vast 
 emerald. A lamp with a green glass shade hung from the ceiling, 
 and shed a soft, fairy-like light on the room and its inmates. And 
 there on the large, canopied bed, with the glittering crown over- 
 head, lay the queen. 
 
 Walpurga held her breath ; a soft glow illumined the face of her 
 who lay there. 
 
 " Have you come ? " asked a gentle voice. 
 
 " Yes, my queen, God greet you ! Just keep yourself quiet and 
 cheerful. All has gone well with you, thank God !" 
 
 With these words, Walpurga advanced towards the bedside, and 
 would not suffer Doctor Gunther nor Countess Brinkenstein to 
 keep her back. She offered her hand to the queen. And thus 
 two hands one hardened by toil and rough as the bark of a tree, 
 the other as soft as the petal of a lily clasped each other. 
 
 " I thank you for having come. Were you glad to do so ? " 
 
 " I was glad to come, but sorry to leave home." 
 
 " You surely love your child and your husband with all your 
 heart." 
 
 'I 'm my husband's wife, and my child's mother." 
 
 " And your mother nurses your child and cares for it with a lov- 
 ing heart ? " inquired the queen. 
 
 " The idea ! " replied Walpurga. 
 
 The queen did not seem to know that her answer meant: 
 "That's a matter of course," and she therefore asked: "Do you 
 understand me ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; I understand German," replied Walpurga. " But 
 Your Majesty should n't speak so much. God willing, we '11 be to- 
 gether in happiness for many days to corr.e. We '11 arra:./ ; every- 
 thing when we can look into each other's eyes in broad daylight, 
 and I '11 do all I can to please you and the child. I 've got over 
 my homesickness and now I must do my duty. I '11 be a good 
 nurse to yo.ur child ; do n't let that worry you. And now, good 
 night ! Sleep well, and let nothi ig trouble you. And now let me 
 see our child." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 43 
 
 " Breath of my breath, it lies here, sleeping by my side. How 
 infinite is God's grace, how marvelous are his works ! " 
 
 Walpurga felt that some one was pulling at her dress, and 
 hastily said : 
 
 " Good night, dear queen. Put all idle thoughts away from 
 you. This is no time to busy yourself thinking. We '11 have 
 enough to think of when the time comes. Good night ! " 
 
 "No, remain here ! You must stay ! " begged the queen. 
 
 "I must beg Your Majesty " hurriedly interposed Doctor 
 Gunther. 
 
 " Do leave her with me a little while," begged the queen, in 
 childlike tones. " I am sure it will do me no harm to talk with 
 her. When she drew near the bed, and I heard her voice, I felt 
 as if a breath of Alpine air, in all its dewy freshness, was being 
 wafted towards me. Even now I feel as if lying on a high mount- 
 ain, from which I can look down into the beautiful world." 
 
 " Your Majesty, such excitement may prove quite injurious." 
 
 "Very well ; I will be calm. But do leave her with me a mo- 
 ment longer ! Let me have more light, so that I may see her." 
 
 The screen was removed from a lamp that stood on a side-table, 
 and the two mothers beheld each other, face to face. 
 
 " How beautiful you are," exclaimed the queen. 
 
 "That does n't matter any longer," replied Walpurga. "God 
 be praised, we Ve both' got over having our heads turned by such 
 nonsense. You 're a wife and mother, and so am I." 
 
 The screen fell again ; the queen, taking Walpurga's hand in 
 hers, said in a gentle voice : 
 
 " Bend down to me, I want to kiss you I must kiss you." 
 
 Walpurga did as she was bid, and the queen kissed her. 
 
 "You can go now. Keep yourself good and true," said the 
 queen. 
 
 A tear of Walpurga's fell upon the face of the queen, who 
 added : 
 
 " Do n't weep ! You, too, are a mother." 
 
 Unable to utter another word, Walpurga turned to go, and the 
 queen called after her. 
 
 ' What is your name ? " 
 
 'Walpurga" said Doctor Gunther, answering for her. 
 
 ' And can you sing well ? " asked the queen. 
 
 'They say so," replied Walpurga. 
 
 'Then sing often to my child, or 'our child,' as you call him. 
 Good night ! " 
 
 Doctor Gunther remained with the queen. It was sorr/e time 
 before he uttered a word. He felt that he must calm her e* cited 
 feelings, and he had a safe and simple remedy at command. 
 
 "I must request Your Majesty," said he, "to return my con- 
 gratulations. My daughter Cornelia, the wife of Professor Korn 
 
44 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 of the university, was safely delivered of a little girl, at the very 
 hour in which the crown prince was born." 
 
 " I congratulate the child on having such a grandfather. You 
 shall, also, be the grandfather of our son." 
 
 " The congratulation that imposes a noble duty upon its recipi- 
 ent, is the best that can be given," replied Gunther. " I thank 
 you. But we must now cease talking. Permit me to bid Your 
 Majesty good night ! " 
 
 Gunther left the room. All was silent. 
 
 Instead of taking Walpurga back to the upper rooms, the) had 
 conducted her to a well-furnished apartment on the other side of 
 the palace, where, to her great delight, she found Mademoiselle 
 Kramer awaiting her. 
 
 " The queen kissed me ! " exclaimed she. " O what an angel 
 she is ! I 'd no idea there were such creatures in the world." 
 
 Sometime later, when the queen had fallen asleep, two women 
 brought a gilded cradle into Walpurga's room. 
 
 When they took the child from the bed, the queen, as if con- 
 scious of what was being done, moved in her sleep. 
 
 Before taking the child to her bosom, Walpurga breathed upon 
 it thrice. It opened its eyes and looked at her, and then quickly 
 closed them again. 
 
 Throughout the palace, all was soon hushed in silence. Wal- 
 purga and the child by her side were asleep. Mademoiselle 
 Kramer sat up during the night, and, in the ante-chamber on 
 either side, there were doctors and servants within call. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 IN the village by the lake, or, to speak more correctly, in the few 
 houses clustered near the Chamois inn, Walpurga's strange and 
 sudden departure caused great commotion. 
 
 All hurried towards the inn. The innkeeper assumed a wise air 
 and desired it to be understood that he knew far more than people 
 gave him credit for. The whole affair was, of course, of his plan- 
 ning ; for had it not been proven that his acquaintance included 
 even the king himself? 
 
 Immediately after Walpurga's departure, he urged Hansei to 
 accompany him to the Chamois, for he well knew that his presence 
 there would prove a far greater attraction than a band of mu- 
 sicians. 
 
 Hansei would not go at once, but promised to follow soon after- 
 ward. He could not leave home just then. 
 
 He went through the whole house, from cellar to garret. Then 
 he went out into the stable, where, for a long while, he watched the 
 vow feeding. "Such a beast has a good time of it, after all," 
 thought he ; " others have to provide for it, and wherever it finds 
 a full crib, it is at home," 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 45 
 
 He went into the room and, silently nodding to the grand- 
 mother, cast a hurried glance at the slumbering child. He seated 
 himself near the table and, resting his elbows thereon, buried his 
 face in his hands. 
 
 " It still goes," said he, looking up at the Black Forest clock 
 that was ticking on the wall. "She wound it up before she left." 
 
 He went out and sat down on the bench under the cherry tree. 
 The starlings overhead were quite merry, and from the woods a 
 CMckoo called: "Yes, he goes away, too, and leaves his children 
 to be brought up by strangers." 
 
 Hansei laughed to himself, and looked about him. Had the 
 wife really gone ? She must still be sitting there ! How could 
 those who belong together be thus parted ? 
 
 He kept staring at the seat next to him but she was not there. 
 
 Half the village had gathered before the garden gate. Young 
 and old, big and little, stood there, gazing at him. 
 
 Wastl (Sebastian), the weaver, who had for many years been a 
 comrade of Hansei's, and had worked with him in the forest, 
 called out : 
 
 " God greet you, Hansei ! Your bread has fallen with the 
 buttered side up." 
 
 Hansei muttered sullen thanks. Suddenly, there was a great 
 peal of laughter. No one knew who had been the first to utter 
 the word "he-nurse." It had been rapidly and quietly passed 
 from one to another through the crowd, until it at last reached 
 Thomas, Zenza's son a bold, rawboned fellow, whose open shirt 
 revealed a brawny chest. 
 
 " Walpurga 's the crown prince's j^<?-nurse, and Hansei 's the 
 
 Wastl opened the gate and entered the garden, the whole crowd 
 following at his heels. They went through garden, house and 
 stable ; peeped through the windows, smelled at the violets on the 
 window-shelf, and sat down on the kindling wood that lay under 
 the shed. The house seemed to have become the property of the 
 whole village. When joy or sorrow enters a home, all doors are 
 open, and the rooms and passages become as a public highway. 
 
 "What do they all want ? " inquired Hansei of Wastl, who had 
 sat down beside him on the bench. 
 
 " Nothing ! All they Ve come for is to see for themselves that 
 the whole thing 's true, so they can tell others about it. But 
 they 're all pleased with your good luck." 
 
 " My good luck ! Well, I suppose it had to be," said Hansei, in 
 a tone scarcely suggestive of happiness. "Wastl, it seems as if 
 nothing is to go right with me. I 'd just begun to think that 
 everything would go on smoothly as it had been doling, and now, 
 all at once, I Ve got to climb another mountain. But you 're 
 single and, of course, you can't know how I feel." 
 
46 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " It 's very good of you to be so fond of your wife." 
 
 " My wife ? So fond ? " 
 
 " I know how you must feel." 
 
 Hansei shook his head with an incredulous air. 
 
 " Cheer up ! " said Wastl. " Many a husband would be glad to 
 be rid of his wife for a year." 
 
 " For a year? " 
 
 " The longer the better, some would say," thought Wastl. " But 
 your wife will come back again and turn your cottage into a palace, 
 and then you '11 be king number two ! " 
 
 Hansei laughed loudly, although he was not in a laughing mood. 
 He felt as if he must go out into the forest, where he should neither 
 hear nor see anything of the world. Confound it all ! Why did 
 the wife leave ? Was it for this that we married and pledged our- 
 selves to be one for life, come weal come woe ? 
 
 But Hansei could not get away. Half the village had gathered 
 about him. All spoke of his good-fortune. The owner of the 
 great farm up the road, he who was known as the Leithof bauer, 
 even stopped his team at the garden gate and alighted in order to 
 shake hands with Hansei and wish him joy. 
 
 " If you 'd like to buy the meadow next to your garden, I '11 sell 
 it to you. It 's a little too far off for me," said the Leithofbauer. 
 
 The joiner who lived in the village, and who had long been 
 anxious to emigrate, quickly said : 
 
 " You '11 do far better if you buy my house and farm. I '11 let 
 you have them dirt cheap." 
 
 The starlings up in the tree could not out-chatter these people. 
 Hansei laughed heartily. Why, this is splendid ! thought he. 
 The whole world comes to offer me house and farm, field and 
 meadow. 
 
 " You were right, Walpurga ! " said he suddenly. The people 
 stared, first at him and then at each other, and did not know what 
 to make of him. 
 
 He stretched his limbs, as if awaking from sleep, and said : 
 
 " Many thanks, dear neighbors. If I can ever repay you, in joy 
 or in sorrow, I '11 surely do so. But now, I '11 make no change ; 
 no, I shan't move a nail in the house till my wife comes back." 
 
 " Spoken like a man, good and true," said the Leithofbauer, and 
 greater praise could befall no one, than to be thus spoken of by 
 the wealthiest farmer in the neighborhood. 
 
 "Would you like to look at my cow?" said Hansei, beckoning 
 to the Leithofbauer, who now seemed the only one on a level with 
 himself. 
 
 The Leithofbauer thanked him, but had no time to stop. Be- 
 fore taking his leave, he assured Hansei that he would willingly 
 advise him how to put out his money safely. 
 
 His money? Where could it be? Hansei trembled with fear 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 47 
 
 and pressed his hands to his head he had lost the roll of money ! 
 Where was it? He plunged his hand into his pocket. The roll 
 was still there ! And now that his hand again clutched it, he was 
 quite affable to those who still remained, and had a kind word for 
 every one. 
 
 At last, the villagers had all left, and Hansei could think of 
 nothing better to do than to climb up into his cherry tree the 
 true friend that would never desert him, and would give as long as 
 it had aught to give. 
 
 He plucked and ate lots of cherries, while he looked at the tele- 
 graph wire and thought : It runs into the palace and I could talk 
 to my wife through it, if I only knew how. He bent forward until 
 he could touch the wire, and having done so, quickly withdrew his 
 hand, as if frightened. 
 
 Suddenly he heard a voice calling to him : 
 
 " Hansei ! where are you ? " 
 
 "Here I am." 
 
 "Come along!" was the answer. It was the priest who had 
 called to him. 
 
 Hansei hurried down from the tree and now received the great- 
 est honor that had yet been paid him. The priest beckoned to 
 him, and Hansei approached, hat in hand. 
 
 " I wish you joy ! " said the priest. " Come along to the inn ; 
 the host of the Chamois has opened a fresh tap." 
 
 Hansei looked at himself to see what had come over him. To 
 think of the priest's inviting him to walk with him, and to drink in 
 his company, too ! . 
 
 He received the new honor with dignity. While he walked with 
 the priest, the people whom they met along the road would lift 
 their hats and he would acknowledge their greetings quite affably. 
 
 In the large room at the Chamois, where every one was either 
 talking to or of him, he felt so happy that he opened the roll of 
 money, without, however, removing it from his pocket. He meant 
 to offer the first piece to the priest, so that he might say a mass 
 for Walpurga. But the pieces were so large. They were all 
 crown thalers. And so Hansei merely said : 
 
 " I wish you 'd say a mass for my wife and child. I '11 pay you." 
 
 It was already twilight. The guests gradually departed. But 
 Hansei remained sitting there, as if rooted to the spot. At last, 
 he and the innkeeper were the only ones in the room. 
 
 "Now that they 've all had a talk at you," said the innkeeper, 
 "you may as well listen to me. No one means it as kindly with 
 you as I do, and I 'm not a fool, either. Do you know what would 
 suit you, Hansei, and would suit your wife still better ? " 
 
 "What?" 
 
 " This is the place for you, you and your wife ! I 've been 
 landlord long enough. When your wife comes back, you can say 
 
48 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 'good night' to your cottage and settle yourselves here, where 
 you '11 find a good living for your children and your grandchildren. 
 We won't talk about it now ; but don't commit yourself to anything 
 else. I 'm your best friend ; I think I 've proved that, this very 
 day. I do n't care to make a penny by the affair quite the con- 
 trary." 
 
 O how kind they are when all goes well with one ! 
 
 Hansei sat there for a long while, looking i .to his glass, and 
 endeavoring to satisfy himself as to who he really was. Then he 
 began to think of his wife again : where she might be, and how it 
 was with her. If he could only go to sleep that very moment and 
 remain asleep until the year was out ; but to sit and wait. . . . 
 He looked up at the clock ; it was just striking ten. 
 
 " How often you '11 have to strike ten before we meet again," 
 thought he to himself. 
 
 Hansei almost staggered as he walked through the village. The 
 people who were sitting at their doors, or standing about, sa- 
 luted him and wished him joy, and he well knew that, far away 
 among the mountains, all were speaking of his good luck. He 
 felt as if he must cut himself into a thousand pieces in order to 
 thank them all. 
 
 He was standing near his garden and looking at the hedge. 
 How long was it since he, who had never before known a spot 
 which he could call his home, had prized himself as ever so happy 
 in the possession of a little property ! And now the grandmother 
 was sitting in the house, and he heard her singing his child to 
 sleep : 
 
 " If all the streams were naught but wine, 
 And all the hills were gems so fine, 
 And all were mine : 
 Yet would my darling treasure be 
 Dearer far than all to me. 
 
 "And since we needs must part, 
 One more kiss before I start. 
 Thou remain'st, but I must leave, 
 And parting sore the heart doth grieve ; 
 But, though life drags, we '11 not despond, 
 For longer far is the life beyond." 
 
 "But though life drags, we '11 not despond, For longer far is the 
 life beyond." The words sank deep irto Hansei's heart, and the 
 fireflies flitting about in the darkness, or resting on fence and grass, 
 drew his glance hither and thither, as if they were some new and 
 startling phenomenon. Hansei's waking dream continued for 
 some time, and when he, at last, passed his hand over his face, it 
 was wet with the dew. He felt as if some one must carry him 
 inio the house and put him to bed. But a sudden turn caused 
 the roll of money to touch his hip, and he was wide awake again. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 49 
 
 He walked far out along the road, in the same direction that Wal- 
 purga had gone, and at last reached the pile of stones on which 
 she had rested a fortnight ago. There was still some hay lying 
 there. He sat down upon it and gazed out at the broad lake, over 
 which the moon shed its bright rays. It was just as quiet as it had 
 been a fortnight before ; but that was in the daytime, and now it 
 was night. "Where can my wife be now?" said he, springing 
 to his feet, so that he might run to her, though it took the whole 
 night. " How glad she will be to have me come to the palace 
 the very first morning she is there !" With giant strides he hur- 
 ried on. But he could not help asking himself : " How will it 
 be if you have to leave again to-morrow, and what will the folks 
 at home say, and what will grandmother think, left all alone with 
 the child?" 
 
 And yet he walked on. Suddenly, he became alarmed at the 
 thought of the money on his person. The neighborhood was safe 
 enough, to be sure. It was long since any crime had been heard 
 of in that region. But still there might be robbers, who, after 
 helping themselves to his treasure, would murder him, and throw 
 him into the lake. . . . Tortured by fear, he hurriedly turned 
 about and ran towards home. 
 
 Advancing towards him, he beheld a figure of threatening 
 aspect. He grasped the knife in his belt " If there 's only one, 
 and no other 's lying in wait, I 'm man enough to defend myself," 
 thought he. 
 
 The figure advanced, greeting him from afar. The voice was 
 that of a woman. Could Walpurga have No, that were im- 
 possible. 
 
 The figure halted. Hansei advanced towards it and said : " Oh ! 
 is it you, Esther, out on the road so late? " 
 
 " And is this you, Hansei ? " said Black Esther, laughing heart- 
 ily. " I thought it was some drunken fellow, because I heard you, 
 a great way off, talking to yourself. But, of course, now you 're 
 lonely enough, I suppose." 
 
 " Do you walk in the woods so late at night, and all alone? " 
 
 "I must go alone, if no one goes with me," said Black Esther, 
 with a laugh that fell harshly upon the silent night. There was a 
 pause. Hansei could hear the beating of his heart. Perhaps it 
 was caused by his rapid walking. 
 
 " I must go home," said he, at last. "Good night." 
 
 Laying her hand on his shoulder, Black Esther said : " Hansei, 
 I 'm not used to begging and, if it were day, I 'd rather starve 
 than ask you for anything. But now, you 've a good heart and 
 are doing well ; give me something, or lend it to me. I '11 give it 
 back to you again." She spoke so persuasively that 'Hansei 
 trembled. Her hand still rested upon him ; he was about to feel 
 in his pocket for the crown thaler he had saved from the priest, 
 3 
 
50 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 when he suddenly pushed her hand from his shoulder, and said : 
 " I '11 give you something another time." He then ran off towards 
 home. Her shrill laughter rang in his ears, and it sounded as if 
 hundreds of voices were answering from the rocks. His hair 
 stood on end and he felt, by turns, as if shivering with cold and 
 burning with fever. She must surely have been one of the forest 
 demons, who had merely assumed the form of Black Esther. And 
 there really were such beings, for the old forest inspector had, on 
 his deathbed, confessed to having seen one. They wander about 
 when the moon is at its full. Instead of wearing clothes, they 
 merely wind their long hair about their bodies, and on such a 
 night as this, when the mother is away from her child, they can 
 
 Hansei had never before run so fast, or found the road by the 
 lake so long, as on this very night. 
 
 He reached home at last and, as if to assure himself that the 
 house was still there, touched the walls with his hands. Nothing 
 had been disturbed. All w r as as he had left it. 
 
 He went indoors. The light in the room was still burning. 
 The grandmother was sitting on a low stool, and had the child on 
 her lap. With one hand, she hid her eyes they were red with 
 weeping ; with the other, she motioned Hansei to step lightly. 
 
 Hansei did not observe that there had been, and still was, some- 
 thing wrong with his mother-in-law. He had taken a seat behind 
 the table, was thinking of no one but himself, and felt as tired 
 and ill at ease as if he had just returned from a long and danger- 
 ous journey. He was even obliged to remind himself that, although 
 he was at home, it was no longer the right sort of a home. The 
 grandmother placed the child in the cradle and sat down, resting 
 her chin upon her closed hand. Thoughts far different from 
 Hansei's had passed through her mind. Stasi had remained 
 with the grandmother for some time after Hansei left the house. 
 How it would fare with Walpurga, was a topic of but short dura- 
 tion with them ; for what could they say, or know, about that ? 
 When it began to grow dark, Stasi spoke of going, and promised 
 to come again the next day. The grandmother nodded assent. 
 She preferred being alone, for then there would be nothing to pre- 
 vent her thinking of her child. Her prayers followed Walpurga ; 
 but the words flowed forth so easily that her mind was elsewhere 
 much of the time. Her first thought was : Walpurga must be say- 
 ing the same prayer and, although ever}' word lengthens the dis- 
 tance between us, we are together in spirit, nevertheless. She felt 
 happy that Walpurga had turned out so well in all things, and that 
 she could be depended upon. It was hard to be among strangers ; 
 but they were men and women, after all. At times, her heart 
 would misgive her, lest Walpurga should not be able to hold out to 
 the end. She has lots of good notions if she only thinks of 
 .hem at the right time. " For my sake, if for nothing else, you '11 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 51 
 
 keep yourself pure," said she aloud, as she ended her prayer. All 
 at once, she felt so lonely and forlorn. She had never passed 
 a night without Walpurga, and, looking up at the stars, she 
 wished it were day again. Hansei might just as well have re- 
 mained at home ; still, it was a great honor to be invited by the 
 priest. He '11 surely send home a schoppen of wine to gladden 
 grandmother's heart ; and if it be only half a schoppen, it '11 show 
 his good heart. Her tongue seemed as if parched ; she thirsted 
 for the wine, and listened for a long while, in the vain hope that 
 she might hear the footsteps of the innkeeper's servant, bringing 
 the bottle under her apron. At last, pity for herself made her 
 indescribably miserable, and she burst into tears. O that her hus- 
 band were still alive ! A poor widow woman is always expected to 
 be at hand, but no one thinks of how it fares with her. Tears 
 came to her relief; for, after a little while, she said to herself: 
 " What an awful sinner you are ! Is n't it enough to have clothes 
 and food and a home, and never to hear a harsh word ? You 
 ought to be thankful that you 're still active enough to be of use to 
 others." 
 
 As if ashamed of herself, she turned away, wiped the tears from 
 her furrowed face, and then sang cheerful songs to the child. 
 Then she waited silently, until Hansei, at last, returned. And 
 thus he found her, seated beside the cradle and resting her chin 
 upon her clenched hand. 
 
 "Where have you been so long?" asked the grandmother, in a 
 low voice. 
 
 " I hardly know, myself." 
 
 " Walpurga must be in bed by this time." 
 
 "Very likely; they can travel fast, four-in-hand." 
 
 "Do you hear the cow lowing? The poor beast is n't used 
 to be alone and, this very evening, the butcher drove her calf by 
 the stable. It 's awful to hear her moan. Do go and look after 
 her." 
 
 Hansei went out to the stable, and the cow became perfectly 
 quiet. He walked away, and she began lowing again. He 
 returned and spoke to her kindly. As long as he talked to her 
 and kept his hand upon her back, she was quiet ; but as soon as 
 he left her, she would low more piteously than before. In 
 despair, he was constantly going back and forth, between the room 
 and the stable. He returned several times, gave her some fodder, 
 and then sat down on a bundle of hay. At last the cow lay down 
 and slept, and Hansei, overcome with fatigue, also fell asleep. 
 Indeed, few had ever gone through so much in one day as our 
 poor Hansei had. 
 
52 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 WHEN Walpurga awoke next morning, she fancied heiself 
 at home, and looked at the strange surroundings as if it were 
 all a dream that would not vanish at her bidding. She gradually 
 realized what had happened. Closing her eyes again, she said her 
 prayers and then boldly looked about her ; the same sun that 
 shone on the cottage by the lake, shone on the palace, too. 
 
 Full of fresh courage, she arose. 
 
 She lay at the window for a long while, looking at the scene so 
 strange to her. 
 
 She saw nothing of the bustling city. The palace square, 
 encircled by thick, bushy orange trees, was far removed from the 
 noise of the streets. At the palace gate, two soldiers, with their 
 muskets at rest, were seen marching up and down. 
 
 But Walpurga's thoughts wandered homeward. In her mind's 
 eye, she saw the cottage by the lake and all within its walls. In 
 fancy, she heard the crackling of the wood with which her mother 
 kindled the fire, and saw the lamp which she took from the 
 kitchen-shelf. We have milk ip the house, for we 've got a cow. 
 Mother will be glad to go milking again. I 'm sure they never 
 light a fire at home without thinking of me. And the chattering 
 starlings, up in the cherry tree, are saying : 
 
 "Our goodwife is gone ; a cow has taken her place." 
 
 Walpurga smiled and went on thinking to herself: My Hansei 's 
 over-sleeping himself this morning. If you did n't call him, he 'd 
 sleep till noon ; he never wakes of himself. She hears her mother 
 calling : " Get up, Hansei ; the sun is burning a hole in your bed ! " 
 He gets up and washes his face at the pump, and now she sees 
 them at their meal ; the child is fed with good milk. If I 'd only 
 taken a good look at the cow ! And now Hansei is getting fodder 
 for it from the innkeeper. If he only does n't let the rogue cheat 
 him ; and Hansei will feel more forlorn than the child ; but, thank 
 God, he has work enough to keep him busy. It 's fishing time, 
 and so he does n't go into the woods. I see him jump into his 
 boat ; what a noise he makes ! The oars are plashing, and n\vay 
 he rows to catch what fish he can. 
 
 Walpurga would have gone on picturing to herself her hcme at 
 noon and at evening. Suddenly, she felt as if she had lost her 
 reason. Absence and death are almost one and the same. You 
 can have no idea of how it will be one hour after your death ; you 
 cannot imagine yourself out of the world. Her head swam and, as 
 if startled by an apparition, she .turned to Mademoiselle Kramer, 
 and said : 
 
 "Let's talk!" 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer required no second hint, and told Wal- 
 purga that every one in the palace knew of the queen's having 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. S3 
 
 kissed her the night before, and that it would be in all the news- 
 papers of the next day. 
 
 "Pshaw!" said Walpurga ; whereupon Mademoiselle Kramer 
 declared that, although it "made no difference in her case, it was 
 highly improper to answer in that way, and. told her, also, that 
 she ought always express herself distinctly and in a respectful 
 manner. 
 
 Walpurga looked up and listened, as if waiting for Mademoiselle 
 Kramer to continue and, at last, said : " My dear father once said 
 almost the very same thing to me ; but I was too young to under- 
 stand it then. All I meant to say was, that the city people must 
 have very little to do, if they can make a fuss about such a mat- 
 ter " mentally concluding her remarks with another " pshaw ! " 
 
 The little prince awoke. Walpurga took him up and speedily 
 put him to sleep, while she sang in a clear voice : 
 
 Ah, blissful is the tender tie 
 
 That binds me, love, to thee, 
 And swiftly speed the hours by 
 
 When thou art near to me. 
 
 When she had finished her sorig, and had placed the child in 
 the cradle, she looked toward the door and beheld the king and 
 Doctor Gunther standing there. 
 
 "You sing finely," said the king. 
 
 "Pshaw !" said Walpurga, and, acting as her own interpreter, 
 she quickly added, while casting a hurried glance at Mademoiselle 
 Kramer : " It 's good enough for home use, but net particularly 
 fine." 
 
 The king and Doctor Gunther were delighted with the appear- 
 ance of the child. 
 
 "The day on which one beholds his child for the first time is a 
 red-letter day," observed the king; and Walpurga, as if to confirm 
 what he had said, added : 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; that makes one look at the world with different 
 eyes. His majesty told the truth that time." 
 
 Although her remark caused the king to smile, it was received 
 in silence. Accompanied by Doctor Gunther, he soon left the 
 room. After they had gone, Mademoiselle Kramer endeavored, 
 as delicately as possible, to impress Walpurga with the importance 
 of observing the first commandment : 
 
 " You must not speak to their majesties, unless they ask you a 
 question." 
 
 "That's sensible," exclaimed Walpurga, to the great surprise 
 of Mademoiselle Kramer. " That prevents you from hearing any- 
 thing out of the way. What a clever idea ! I won't forget that." 
 
 During breakfast, in the pavilion, it was plainly to be seen that 
 Mademoiselle Kramer, and perhaps Walpurga, too, had spoken 
 
54 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 truly. The various groups on the verandah and under the orange 
 trees were engaged in what seemed to be confidential conversation. 
 Aitei they had sounded each other, and had satisfied themselves 
 that they could safely indulge in scandal, the common topic was 
 the manner in which the queen's sentimentality had manifested 
 itself in her behavior toward the nurse. It was agreed that this 
 
 mawkishness was an unfortunate legacy from the house of . 
 
 Some even went so far as to say that Countess Brinkenstein \\as 
 quite ill with anger at the queen's disregard of etiquette. 
 
 "The queen's conduct deprives her favors of their value," said 
 an elderly court lady, who must have had at least a pound and a 
 half of false hair on her head. 
 
 " Nothing is so great a bore as mawkish sensibility," observed 
 another one of the ladies attached to the palace. She was corpu- 
 lent, and piously inclined withal. As if to cover her ill-natured 
 remark with the mantle of charity, she added : 
 
 " The queen is n't much more than a child, and really means 
 well at heart." 
 
 She had thus made herself safe with both parties those who 
 praised, and those who abused the queen. 
 
 " You look as if you had slept but little," said an elderly lady, 
 addressing a very young and pale-looking one. 
 
 " You are right," sighed the latter, in reply. " I sat up to read 
 
 the last volume of " giving the name of a recent unequivocal 
 
 French novel "and finished it at a single sitting. I shall return 
 the book to you to-day. It is very interesting." 
 
 " Please let-me have it next," resounded from several quarters at 
 once. 
 
 The pious lady, who had, indeed, read the novel in secret and 
 was loth to talk of such subjects, changed the conversation by 
 introducing the topic of Walpurga. As the latest piece of news, 
 she acquainted them with the report that the nurse could sing 
 beautifully. 
 
 "Who sings beautifully?" inquired Countess Irma, joining the 
 group. 
 
 " This will interest you, dear Wildenort. You will be able to 
 learn many new songs from Walpurga, and accompany them on 
 the zither." 
 
 " I '11 wait until we are in the country again. A peasant woman 
 seems strangely out of place in a palace. W T hen does the court 
 return to the country ? " 
 
 " Not for six weeks." 
 
 There was much talk about Walpurga. One lady maintained 
 that Doctor Gunther was a native of the Highlands, and that it 
 was only through his intriguing that a nurse had to be brought 
 from the same region ; that he was constantly surrounding himself 
 with allies, and was clever enough to know that this person would 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. ft 
 
 exert a great influence upon the queen. They also spoke of the 
 Doctor's love of intrigue, and of his affecting to sympathize with 
 the queen in all her extravagant fancies. Of one thing they all felt 
 assured : that it was impossible to retain the favor of the court for 
 so long a time, by fair means alone. 
 
 " The Doctor is n't so very old," remarked a very thin lady. " He 
 is only a little over fifty. I think he must have dyed his hair white, 
 in order to appear venerable before his time." 
 
 Loud laughter greeted this sally. 
 
 Before breakfast, the ladies and gentlemen were in separate 
 groups. A knot of courtiers were discussing the telegrams which 
 had been sent out to various governments, and to which in some 
 instances, replies had already been received. 
 
 It was not until after breakfast that a council of the royal 
 household was to determine who, besides the queen's parents, 
 should be invited to stand as sponsors. It was even reported 
 that the christening would be celebrated by a special papal nuncio, 
 assisted by the bishop. 
 
 Countess Irma's brother, the king's aid-de-camp, again diverted 
 the conversation from such lofty topics back to Walpurga. He 
 extolled her beauty and her droll ways, and they smacked their 
 lips, when they spoke of the queen's kiss. The aid-de-camp had 
 given vent to a joke on the subject, at which they laughed up- 
 roariously. 
 
 " The king ! " suddenly whispered several of the gentlemen. 
 
 They separated and, while making their obeisance, arranged 
 themselves in two rows. The king, acknowledging their saluta- 
 tion, passed between the rows and entered the hall of Diana, 
 where breakfast was served. The frescoes on the ceiling repre- 
 sented the goddess with her hunting train, and had been painted 
 by a pupil of Rubens. The lord steward handed a packet of 
 telegrams to the king, who instructed him to open them, and in- 
 form him when they contained anything more than congratula- 
 tions. 
 
 They now sat down to breakfast. 
 
 The company was not so cheerful and unconstrained as it had 
 been at the summer palace. Indeed, no one had yet recovered 
 from the excitement of the previous night, and conversation was 
 carried on in a quiet tone. 
 
 " Countess Irma," said the king, " I commend Walpurga to you ; 
 she will be sure to please you. You will be able to learn some 
 beautiful songs from her, and to teach her new ones." 
 
 " Thanks, Your Majesty ! If Your Majesty would tmly deign 
 to order the first lady of the bedchamber to grant me access, at 
 all times, to the apartments of his royal highness the crown 
 prince." 
 
 " Pray see to it, dear Rittersfeld ! " said the king, turning to the 
 lord steward. 
 
$6 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Countess Irma, who sat at the lower end of the table, received 
 the congratulations of all. Walpurga had become the sole topic 
 of conversation. 
 
 The morning papers were brought to the king. He glanced 
 through them hurriedly and, throwing them aside with an angry 
 air, said : 
 
 "This babbling press! The queen's kiss is already in all the 
 newspapers." His face darkened ; it was evident that, as the fact 
 itself had displeased him, the publicity given it was doubly annoy- 
 ing. After a time, he said : 
 
 " I desire you, gentlemen and ladies, to see to it that the queen 
 does not hear of this." He rose quickly and left the apartment. 
 
 The breakfast party lingered for some time, and the pious lady 
 could now openly join the ranks of the scandal-mongers. The 
 mantle of charity was no longer necessary it was very evident 
 that the king had already tired of his sentimental wife. 
 
 If Countess Irma ? Who could tell but what this was part of 
 a deep-laid plan to give her free access to the crown prince's 
 apartments? The king could meet her there and who knows 
 but that 
 
 They were quite ingenious in the malicious conjectures which 
 they whispered to each other with great caution and circumspec- 
 tion. For a while, at least, Walpurga, the queen and even the 
 crown prince were completely forgotten. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 4 ' ^PHERE, my boy ! Now you 've seen the sun. May you see 
 1 it for seven and seventy years to come, and when they 've 
 run their course, may the Lord grant you a new lease of life. Last 
 night, they lit millions of lamps for your sake. But they were 
 nothing to the sun up in heaven, which the Lord himself lighted 
 for you this very morning. Be a good boy, always, so that you 
 may deserve to nave the sun shine on you. Yes, now the angel % s 
 whispering to you. Laugh while you sleep ! That 's right. 
 There 's one angel belongs to you on earth, and that 's your 
 mother ! And you 're mine, too ! You 're mine, indeed ! " 
 
 Thus spake Walpurga, her voice soft, yet full of emotion, while 
 she gazed into the face of the child that lay on her lap. Her soul 
 was already swayed by that mysterious bond of affection which 
 never fails to develop itself in the heart of the foster-mother. It 
 is a noble trait in human nature, that we love those on whom we 
 can confer- a kindness. Their whole life gradually becomes inter- 
 woven with our own. 
 
 Walpurga became oblivious of herself and of all that was dear 
 to her in the cottage by the lake. She was now needed here, where 
 a young life had been assigned to her loving charge. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 57 
 
 She looked up at Mademoiselle Kramer, with beaming eyes, and 
 met a joyful glance in return. 
 
 " It seems to me," said Walpurga, "that a paiace is just like a 
 church. One has only good and pious thoughts here ; and all the 
 people are so kind and frank." 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer suddenly smiled and replied : 
 
 " My dear child " 
 
 " Do n't call me ' child ' ! I 'm not a child ! I 'm a mother ! " 
 
 " But here, in the great world, you are only a child. A court is 
 a strange place. Some go hunting, others go fishing ; one builds, 
 another paints ; one studies a role, another a piece of music ; a 
 dancer learns a new step, an author writes a new book. Every one 
 in the land is doing something, cooking or baking, drilling or 
 practicing, writing, painting, or dancing simply in order that the 
 king and queen may be entertained." 
 
 " I understand you," said Walpurga, and Mademoiselle Kramer 
 continued : 
 
 " My family has been in the service of the court for sixteen gen- 
 erations ;" six would have been the right number, but sixteen 
 sounded so much better ; " my father is the governor of the sum- 
 mer palace, and I was born there. I know all about the court, 
 and can teach you a great deal." 
 
 " And I '11 be glad to learn," interposed Walpurga. 
 
 " Do you imagine that every one is kindly disposed towards you ? 
 Take my word for it, a palace contains people of all sorts, good 
 and bad. All the vices abound in such a place. And there are 
 many other matters of which you have no idea and of which you 
 will, I trust, ever remain ignorant. But all you meet are wondrous 
 polite. Try to remain just as you now are and, when you leave 
 the palace, let it be as the same Walpurga you were when you 
 came here." 
 
 Walpurga stared at her, in surprise. Who could change her? 
 
 Word came that the queen was awake and desired Walpurga to 
 bring the crown prince to her. 
 
 Accompanied by Doctor Gunther, Mademoiselle Kramer and 
 two -waiting-women, she proceeded to the queen's bedchamber. 
 The queen lay there, calm and beautiful, and, with a smile of greet- 
 ing, turned her face towards those who had entered. The cur- 
 tains had been partially drawn aside and a broad, slanting ray of 
 light shone into the apartment, which seemed still more peace- 
 ful than during the breathless silence of the previous night. 
 
 " Good morning ! " said the queen, with a voice full of feeling. 
 "Let me have my child!" She looked down at the babe that 
 rested in her arms and then, without noticing any one in the room, 
 lifted her glance on high and faintly murmured : 
 
 "This is the first time I behold my child in the daylight ! " 
 
 All were silent ; it seemed as if there was naught in the apart- 
 
5S 0.Y THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 ment except the broad slanting ray of light that streamed in at the 
 window. 
 
 "Have you slept well?" enquired the queen. Walpurga was 
 glad that the queen had asked a question, for now she could 
 answer. Casting a hurried glance at Mademoiselle Kramer, she 
 said : 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! Sleep 's the first, the last, and the best thing in 
 the world." 
 
 "She 's clever," said the queen, addressing Doctor Gunther in 
 French. 
 
 Walpurga's heart sank within her. Whenever she heard them 
 speak French, she felt as if they were betraying her ; as if they had 
 put on an invisible cap, like that worn by the goblins in the fairy- 
 tale, and could thus speak without being seen. 
 
 " Did the prince sleep well ? " asked the queen. 
 
 Walpurga passed her hand over her face, as if to brush away a 
 spider that had been creeping there. The queen does n't speak of 
 her "child" or her "son," but only of "the crown prince." 
 
 Walpurga answered : 
 
 "Yes, quite well, thank God! That is, I couldn't hear him, 
 and I only wanted to say that I 'd like to act toward the " she 
 could not say " the prince " " that is, towards him, as I 'd do with 
 my own child. We began right on the very first day. My mother 
 taught me that. Such a child has a will of its own from the very 
 start, and it won't do to give way to it. It won't do to take it 
 from the cradle, or to feed it, whenever it pleases ; there ought to 
 be regular times for all those things. It '11 soon get used to that, 
 and it won't harm it either, to let it cry once in a while. On the 
 contrary-, that expands the chest." 
 
 " Does he cry ? " asked the queen. 
 
 The infant answered the question for itself, for it at once began 
 to cry most lustily. 
 
 " Take him and quiet him," begged the queen. 
 
 The king entered the apartment before the child had stopped 
 crying. 
 
 "He will have a good voice of command," said he, kissing the 
 queen's hand. 
 
 Walpurga quieted the child, and she and Mademoiselle Kramer 
 were sent back to their apartments. 
 
 The king informed the queen of the dispatches that had been 
 received, and of the sponsors who had been decided upon. She 
 was perfectly satisfied with all the arrangements that had been 
 made. 
 
 When Walpurga had returned to her room and had placed the 
 child in the cradle, she walked up and down and seemed quite ag- 
 itated. 
 
 "There are no angels in this world !" said she. "They're all 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 59 
 
 just like the rest of us, and who knows but " She was vexed at 
 the queen : " Why won't she listen patiently when her child cries ? 
 We must take all our children bring us, whether it be joy or pain." 
 
 She stepped out into the passage-way and heard the tones of 
 the organ in the palace chapel. For the first time in her life, these 
 sounds displeased her. It don't belong in the house, thought she 
 where all sorts of things are going on. The church ought to stan J 
 by itself. 
 
 When she returned to the room, she found a stranger there. 
 Mademoiselle Kramer informed her that this was the tailor to the 
 queen. 
 
 Walpurga laughed outright at the notion of a "tailor to the 
 queen." The elegantly attired person looked at her in amazement, 
 while Mademoiselle Kramer explained to her that this was the 
 dressmaker to her majesty the queen, and that he had come to 
 take her measure for three new dresses. 
 
 " Am I to wear city clothes ? " 
 
 "God forbid ! You 're to wear the dress of your neighborhood, 
 and can order a stomacheY in red, blue, green, or any color that 
 you like best." 
 
 " I hardly know what to say ; but I 'd like to have a workday 
 suit, too, Sunday clothes on week days that won't do." 
 
 "At court, one always wears Sunday clothes, and when her 
 majesty drives out again you will have to accompany her." 
 
 " All right, then. I won't object." 
 
 While the tailor took her measure, Walpurga laughed incessantly, 
 and he was at last obliged to ask her to hold still, so that he might 
 go on with his work. Putting his measure into his pocket, he in- 
 formed Mademoiselle Kramer that he had ordered an exact model, 
 and that the chief master of ceremonies had favored him with 
 several drawings, so that there might be no doubt of success. 
 
 Finally, he asked permission to see the crown prince. Made- 
 moiselle Kramer was about to let him do so, but Walpurga objected. 
 "Before the child is christened," said she, "no one shall look at it 
 just out of curiosity, and least of all, a tailor, or else the child 
 will never turn out the right sort of man." 
 
 The tailor took his leave, Mademoiselle Kramer having politely 
 hinted to him that nothing could be done with the superstition of 
 the lower orders, and that it would not do to irritate the nurse. 
 
 This occurrence induced Walpurga to administer the first 
 serious reprimand to Mademoiselle Kramer. She could not under- 
 stand why she was so willing to make an exhibition of the child. 
 " Nothing does a child more harm than to let strangers look at it in 
 its sleep, and a tailor at that." 
 
 All the wild fun with which, in popular songs, tailors are held 
 up to scorn and ridicule, found vent in Walpurga, and she began 
 singing : 
 
6o ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Just list, ye braves, who love to roam ! 
 
 A snail was chasing a tailor home. 
 
 And if Old Shears had n't run so fast, 
 
 The snail would surely have caught him at lai .. 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer's acquaintance with the court tailcr had 
 lowered her in Walpurga's esteem, and with an evident effort tc 
 mollify the latter, she asked : 
 
 " Does the idea of your new and beautiful clothes really afford 
 you no pleasure ? " 
 
 "To be frank with you, no ! I don't wear them for my own 
 sake, but for that of others, who dress me to please themselves. 
 It 's all the same to me, however ! I 've given myself up to them, 
 and suppose I must submit." 
 
 "May I come in?" asked a pleasant voice. Countess Irma 
 entered the room. Extending both her hands to Walpurga, she 
 said : 
 
 " God greet you, my countrywoman ! I am also from the High- 
 lands, seven hours distance from your village. I know it well, and 
 once sailed over the lake with your father. Does he still live ? " 
 
 " Alas ! no ; he was drowned, and the lake has n't given up its 
 dead." 
 
 " He was a fine-looking old man, and you are the very image of 
 him." 
 
 " I am glad to find some one else here w r ho knew my father. 
 The court tailor I mean the court doctor knew him, too. Yes, 
 search the land through, you could n't have found a better man 
 than my father, and no one can help but admit it." 
 
 "Yes : I 've often heard as much." 
 
 " May I ask your ladyship's name ? " 
 
 "Countess Wildenort." 
 
 "Wildenort? I 've heard the name before. Yes, I remember 
 my mother's mentioning it. Your father was known as a very 
 kind and benevolent man. Has he been dead a long while ? " 
 
 " No, he is still living." 
 
 " Is he here, too ? " 
 
 -No." 
 
 " And as what are you here, Countess ? " 
 
 "As maid of honor." 
 
 " And what is that ? " 
 
 "Being attached to the queen's person ; or what, in your part 
 of the country, would be called a companion ! " 
 
 " Indeed ! And is your father willing to let them use you that 
 way ? " 
 
 Countess Irma, who was somewhat annoyed by her questions, 
 said: 
 
 " I wished to ask you something can you write ? " 
 
 "I once could, but I 've quite forgotten how." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 61 
 
 "Then I 've just hit it ! that 's the very reason for my coming 
 Mere. Now, whenever you wish to write home, you can dictate 
 your letter to me, and I will write whatever you tell me to." 
 
 " I could have done that, too," suggested Mademoiselle Kramer, 
 timidly; "and your ladyship would not have needed to trouble 
 yourself." 
 
 " No, the Countess will write for me. Shall it be now ? " 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 But Walpurga had to go to the child. While she was in the 
 next room, Countess Irma and Mademoiselle Kiamer engaged 
 each other in conversation. 
 
 When Walpurga returned, she found Irma, pen in hand, and at 
 once began to dictate. 
 
 " Dear husband, dear mother, and dear child. No, stop ! do n't 
 write that ! Take another sheet of paper. Now I 've got it, now 
 you can go on." 
 
 " I wish to let you know, that by the help of God, I arrived here 
 safe and sound, in the carriage with the four horses. I do n't 
 know how. And the queen 's an angel, and there were millions 
 of lights, and my child " 
 
 Walpurga covered her face with both hands she had said " my 
 child, 1 ' without knowing which child she meant. 
 
 A pause ensued. 
 
 "And my child," said Countess Irma, repeating the words after 
 her. 
 
 "No!" exclaimed Walpurga, "I can't write to-day. Excuse 
 me ; there 's no use trying. But you 've promised to write for me 
 to-morrow or the day after. Do come and see us every day." 
 
 " And shall I bring a good friend with me ? " 
 
 " Of course ; any friend of yours will be welcome. Is n't it so, 
 Mademoisellle Kramer?" 
 
 "Certainly; Countess Irma has special permission." 
 
 " I '11 bring a very good friend with me ; she can sing charmingly, 
 and her voice is soft and gentle but I '11 not torment you with 
 riddles ; I play the zither, and will bring mine with me." 
 
 " You play the zither ? " exclaimed Walpurga, scarcely able 
 to contain herself for joy. 
 
 Any further expressions on her part were prevented by the 
 presence of the king, who entered at that moment. 
 
 With a gentle inclination of the head, he greeted Countess Irma, 
 who had risen from her seat and bowed so low that it seemed as 
 though she meant to sit down on the floor. 
 
 " What are you WTiting? " asked the king. 
 
 "Walpurga's secrets, may it please Your Majesty," replied 
 Countess Irma. 
 
 " The king may read all that 's there," said Walpurga, handing 
 him the sheet. 
 
62 a\ T THE HEIGHTS 
 
 He hurriedly ran his eye over it, and then, with a glance at the 
 Countess, folded it and put it in his breast pocket. 
 
 "I shall sing with Walpurga," said Irma, "and Your Majesty 
 will again observe that music is the highest good on earth. Sing- 
 ing together, Walpurga and I are equals. The creations of other 
 arts, poetry especially, may be translated by every one into his own 
 l.mguage, according to the measure of his knowledge and experi- 
 ence." 
 
 " Quite true," replied the king ; " music is the universal language, 
 the only one that requires no translation, and in which soul speaks 
 to soul." 
 
 While they were thus talking, Walpurga stared at them in dumb 
 amazement. 
 
 The king, accompanied by Countess Irma, looked at the prince 
 for a little while, and then, haying said : " The christening will take 
 place next Sunday," he withdrew. 
 
 It was with a strange expression that Walpurga's eyes followed 
 the king and then rested in earnest gaze upon Countess Irma. 
 
 The Countess busied herself with the papers, and then, with 
 cheerful voice, took leave of Walpurga. Her cheerfulness almost 
 seemed constrained, for she laughed while there was nothing to 
 laugh at. 
 
 For a long while, Walpurga stood looking at the curtains, be- 
 hind which the Countess had disappeared, and at last said to 
 Mademoiselle Kramer : 
 
 " You told the truth, when you said that the palace is n't a 
 church." 
 
 She did not enter into any further explanation. 
 
 "I will teach you how to write," said Mademoiselle Kramer \ 
 "it will be pleasant employment for us, and you will then be able 
 to do your own writing to your family." 
 
 "Yes, that I will," said Walpurga. 
 
 CHAPTERXIV. 
 
 ' ' T WANT to ask a favor of you," said Walpurga to Countess 
 1 Irma, the next day. " Always tell me frankly whenever I do 
 anything wrong." 
 
 "Quite willingly; but, in return, you must always tell me when 
 
 "Then I 've something on my heart, this very moment." 
 
 "Speak out." 
 
 "Sometime when we 're alone together, I will." 
 
 " Pray, dear Kramer, would you oblige me by retiring for a few 
 moments? " 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer went into the adjoining room, and Wal- 
 purga could not help feeling astonished when she observed how, in 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 63 
 
 the palace, people were pushed hither and thither, just like so many 
 chairs. 
 
 "And now, what is it?" enquired the Countess. 
 
 " You won't think ill of me, if I say anything foolish ; you 're 
 sure you won't?" 
 
 "What is it? " asked Irma again. 
 
 " You 're so beautiful, so very beautiful ; more so then any one 
 1 've ever seen ; you 're even more beautiful than the queen no, 
 no/ more beautiful, but more powerful, and your eyes are full of 
 kindness " 
 
 "Well what is it? speak out." 
 
 " I 'd rather think I 'm wrong; but its best to feel sure. Well, 
 I did n't like the way you and the king looked at each other yes- 
 terday; while your hand was on the cradle-rail, he placed his 
 upon it ; and he 's a husband and a father. You 're an unmarried 
 girl, and do n't know what it means when a man looks at you in 
 that way ; but I 'm a married woman, and it 's my duty to warn you. 
 You said that we 'd be good friends, and now there 's a chance to 
 test our friendship." 
 
 Irma shook her head, and replied : 
 
 " You mean well enough ; but you 're mistaken. The king has 
 a noble heart and, since the birth of his son, would like to make 
 every one as happy as he is himself. He loves his wife dearly and, 
 as you have seen for yourself, she 's an angel 
 
 " And if she were n't an angel, she 's his wife and the mother of his 
 child, and he must be true to her ; for with every glance he gives 
 another woman he 's a confounded adulterer, whose eyes ought 
 to be put out. Look here ! If I were to think that my husband 
 could do such a thing but the men are wicked enough to do any- 
 thing that a man could stand by the cradle of his new-bom babe, 
 and let the same eyes with which he had just been looking at his 
 child, tell another woman, ' I love you,' if I \vere to think that, I 'd 
 go mad. And if a man whose hand has pressed that of a woman 
 not his wife, can offer his hand to that wife, or touch his child's 
 face with it, the world in which such things could happen ought 
 to be burned up and the Lord ought to shower pitch and brim- 
 stone down on it." 
 
 "Speak softly, Walpurga; don't scream so. Don't let such 
 words pass your lips. You are not here to look after our morals, 
 nor is it for you to pass judgment. What do you know of the 
 world ? You 've not the slightest idea of what politeness means." 
 
 Countess Irma's words were harsh and severe, and had deeply 
 humbled Walpurga. 
 
 ^"Now that you know who you are and what you are a?>out. 
 I 've something more to tell you : I forgive you for insulting the 
 king and .myself with your silly talk. If I did n't pity your igno- 
 lance, I wou'ld never speak to you again ; but, as I feel kindly dis- 
 
64 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 posed towards you, and know that you meant no harm, I shall give 
 you a bit of advice. No matter what may happen, do n't concern 
 yourself about it. Attend to your child, and let no one induce you 
 to speak ill of others. Take my word for it here, all are deceit- 
 ful. They are ever ready to speak ill of one another, and unless 
 you are very careful you '11 not have a friend in the whole palace. 
 'Mind you do n't forget what I 've said to you. And now I must 
 thank you once more for having spoken to me as you did. You 
 meant it all well enough, and it is proper that you should be perfectly 
 frank. I shall always be your good friend. Although one treats 
 the king respectfully, he is, nevertheless, as good as your Hansei, 
 and I 'm as good as you. And now, let 's shake hands ! Let 
 bygones be bygones. Whatever you do, not a word of this to 
 Kramer; and don't forget that, hereabouts, the walls have ears." 
 
 Without saying another word, Countess Irma began the melody 
 of a Highland song upon her zither. 
 
 Wulpurga could hardly realize what had happened to her. She 
 was provoked at her own stupid and forward behavior, and was 
 firmly resolved to keep her own counsel in the future. 
 
 While Irma was playing, the king again passed through the 
 portiere and stopped to listen. Irma did not look up ; her eyes 
 were fixed upon her zither. When she had finished, the king ap- 
 plauded faintly. She arose and bowed, but did not accompany 
 the king when he went into the adjoining chamber to look at the 
 prince. 
 
 "Your zither is in perfect tune, dear Countess, but you seem to 
 be somewhat out of tune," said the king, as he came back into the 
 room. 
 
 "I am in tune, Your Majesty," replied Countess Irma. "I 've 
 just been playing an air to Walpurga, and it has deeply affected 
 me." 
 
 The king left very soon afterward, and without offering his hand 
 to the Countess. 
 
 Walpurga's saddest thought was that she dared not even trust 
 Mademoiselle Kramer. 
 
 "O, you poor child ! " said she to the prince, one day, when no 
 one was by. " O you poor, dear child ! you 're expected to grow 
 up among people who do n't trust each other. If I could only take 
 you with me, what a fine boy you 'd become. You 're still inno- 
 cent children, until they begin to speak, are the only innocent 
 creatures in this world. But what matters it ? I did n't make the 
 \v-.irld, and need n't change it. The Countess is right. I '11 nurse 
 you well, care for you tenderly, and leave the rest to God." 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 4 * \fOUR wish is fulfilled at last," said Countess Irma to Doctoi 
 I Gunther, just as they were rising from the dinner-table. 
 
ON THE 
 
 "What wish?" 
 
 " I now have a female friend, a 
 the song, 'you '11 ne'er find a better'." 
 
 "Youi treatment of the peasant woman is quite amiable and 
 does you great credit, but she is not a friend. Your friend should 
 be one who is your equal. Your relation towards this peasant 
 woman will always be that of a patron. She never dare find fault 
 with you, and if she were to make the attempt, you could readily 
 silence her. Mere common sense is defenseless against the armory 
 of culture." 
 
 Without noticing how Irma started at these words, the Doctor 
 calmly continued : 
 
 "There's just as much difference, mentally, between yourself 
 and such a type 6f popular simplicity as there is between a grown 
 person and a child. I fear you 've neglected to secure yourself a 
 friend who is your equal in birth." 
 
 " My equal in birth ? So you, too, are, an aristocrat ? " 
 
 The Doctor explained that equality of rights could be conceded 
 without doing away with social distinctions. 
 
 " Whenever I leave you,*' said Irma, her face radiant with enthu* 
 siasm "whenever I 've been under the influence of your thoughts, 
 all that I do or attempt seems petty and trifling. At such moments, 
 I feel just as I do after listening to glorious music, and long to 
 accomplish something out of the usual way. I wish I were gifted 
 with artistic talent." 
 
 "Content yourself with being one of nature's loveliest works. 
 , That 's the best thing to do." 
 
 The Doctor was called away. 
 
 Irma remained seated for some time, and at last repaired to her 
 room, where she amused herself with her parrot. Then, after 
 looking at her flowers for awhile, she bega*n to copy them in colors 
 on a slab of marble. She evidently intended it to be a rare work. 
 But for whom ? She knew not. A tear fell on a rose, the color in 
 which was still wet. She looked up and left her work. Then she 
 dried the tear, and found herself obliged to paint the rose anew. 
 
 On the day before the christening, Walpurga dictated the fol- 
 lowing letter to Countess Irma : 
 
 "To-morrow will be Sunday, and I '11 try to be with you, too. 
 In thought, I 'm always there. It seems as if it were seven years 
 since I left home. The day 's ever so long here, and there are 
 more than three times as many people in the palace as could get 
 into our church. There are lots of^ married servants here who 
 have servants of their own ; there are none but tall, fine-looking 
 men in service here. Mademoiselle Kramer tells me that their 
 lordships do n't care to have any but handsome people about them ; 
 and some of them are as prim and proper as a parson. They call 
 Ihem lackevs and whenever the king goes near one of them, they 
 
66 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 bow very low and double up with a snap, just like a pocket-knife. 
 Oh, what lots of good things I have. If I could only send you 
 some of them. I 'm ever so glad that we shall go to the country 
 palace in four weeks and stay there till autumn. But how 's my 
 child, and how goes it with Hansei, and with mother, and you too, 
 Stasi ? In my sleep at night, I 'm always with you. I can't sleep 
 much, for my prince is a real night-watchman, and the king's 
 Doctor said I must n't let him cry as much as Burgei does at 
 home. But he has good lungs, and to-morrow is the christening. 
 The queen's brother and his wife are to be godfather and god- 
 mother, and there '11 be lots of princes and princesses besides. 
 And 1 've got beautiful new dresses, and two green hats with gold 
 lace, and two silver chains for my stomacher, and I can take them 
 all home with me when I go, but that won't be for a long while. 
 If all the weeks are as long as last week, I '11 be seven hundred 
 years old when I get home. I 'm quite lively again. But, at first, 
 it seemed as if I could always hear the lowing of the cow in the 
 stable. 
 
 " She who writes this is the Countess Wildenort, from over be- 
 yond the Chamois Hill ; she 's a very good friend of mine. She 
 knew our dear father, too, and you, mother, know of her family. 
 
 "And I've something to tell you, Hansei. Don't have too 
 much to do with the innkeeper ; he 's a rogue, and he '11 talk your 
 money out of your pocket. There are good folks and bad, every- 
 where ; at home with us and here, too ; and the king's doctor says 
 you must n't give the cow any green fodder, nothing but hay, or 
 else the milk won't agree with the child. 
 
 "I 'm learning to write. Indeed I 'm learning a great many 
 things here. 
 
 " And tell me what the people say about my leaving home so 
 suddenly, and about my having left at all. 
 
 " But I do n't care what they say. I know I 've done my duty 
 by my child, my husband, and my mother. 
 
 " And, dear mother, take a servant-girl into the house ; we can 
 afford it now. 
 
 " And, Hansei, do n't let the innkeeper wheedle you out of our 
 money. Put it out safely at mortgage, till we have enough to buy 
 a few acres of land. 
 
 " And do n't forget, Wednesday 's the day on which father died ; 
 have a mass said for him. 
 
 " We 've got a church in the house here, and I hear the organ 
 every morning, while I stand in the passage, To-morrow will be 
 a great day, and I remain your ever faithful 
 
 "WALPURGA ANDERMATTEN. 
 
 " I send you a little cap for my child ; let her wear it every Sun- 
 day. A thousand greetings to all of you, from your 
 
 " WALPURGA." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 67 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ' ' OH, how lovely ! How beautiful ! And is it all mine ? And 
 
 \J is it you, Walpurga, of the cottage by the lake? How 
 proud she '11 be ! " 
 
 Such were Walpurga's extravagant expressions of delight, while 
 she stood looking at herself in the full-length mirror. Made- 
 moiselle Kramer was indeed obliged to hold her back, lest she 
 should rush through the glass in her eager desire to embrace the 
 figure she saw reflected in it. 
 
 The court tailor had sent home the new clothes. It was diffi- 
 cult to decide which was the most beautiful the stomacher, the 
 skirt, the collar, the shirt with the short, wide sleeves but no ! 
 the narrow rimmed hat, trimmed with flowers and gold lace and 
 with gold tassels, was the most beautiful of all. It fitted perfectly, 
 and was as light as a feather. " There, I '11 just move it a little to 
 the left. Gracious me ! Well, you are beautiful ! The folks are 
 right ! " She placed her arms akimbo and danced about the room, 
 like one possessed. And then, placing herself before the mirror, 
 she stared into it, silently, as if lost in contemplation of her own 
 image. 
 
 Ah, that mirror! Walpurga had never before seen her full 
 figure, from head to foot. What could she see in the twopenny 
 looking-glass at home ? Nothing but the face and a little of the 
 neck ! 
 
 She lifted her hand to her throat. It was encircled by a neck- 
 lace composed of seven rows of garnets and fastened in front with 
 an agraffe. And how clever Mademoiselle Kramer was ! How 
 many things she could do ! She^iad placed a large mirror behind 
 Walpurga who could now see how she looked in the back, and on 
 all sides. O how clever these people are ! What do they know 
 out our way ? Nothing of the world, and less about themselves ! 
 
 " And this is how Walpurga looks to those who walk behind 
 her? And so," turning herself on one side, "and so," turning 
 again on the other. " I must say, I like your looks ; you 're not 
 out of the way, at all ! So that 's Hansei's wife ? He ought to 
 feel satisfied with her ; but then, he 's good and true and has well 
 deserved her." 
 
 Giddy with excitement, Walpurga thus talked to herself; it was 
 the first time that she had ever seen a full length reflection of her- 
 self. 
 
 The first stranger who saw her thus was Baum. 
 
 He always wore shoes without heels and, putting down his 
 whole foot at once, managed to step so softly that you could never 
 know when he was coming. He always approached with a modest 
 air, as if fearful of disturbing you, but always kept his own 
 counsel and was an available tool, no matter what the nature of the 
 service might be. 
 
68 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Oh ! how pretty ! " he exclaimed, staring at her as if quite 
 lost with admiration. 
 
 "It 's nothing to you, sirrah, at any rate," said Walpurga; 
 "you 're a married man and I 'm a married woman." 
 
 Burning an air of command, and acting as if these were the 
 first words uttered since he entered the apartment, Baum went 
 on to say : 
 
 "It 's-the lord steward's pleasure that the nurse shall come to 
 the court chapel immediately, if his royal highness the crown 
 prince, is asleep. The rehearsal is about to begin." 
 
 " I Ye tried my clothes on," answered Walpurga. 
 
 Baum told her that it had nothing to do with trying on clothes, 
 but that, excepting the highest personages, all who were to take 
 part in the grand ceremonies of the morrow, were now to rehearse 
 the order of the procession, so that there might be no confusion. 
 
 Walpurga went with Baum. 
 
 The ladies and gentlemen of the court were assembled in the 
 throne-room. Most of them were eagerly engaged in conversa- 
 tion, and the confused sound of many voices was strangely echoed 
 back 'from the high, vaulted ceiling. When Walpurga entered, she 
 could hear them whispering on all sides. Some spoke French, but 
 others used plain German, to say that the nurse was a fine speci- 
 men of a Highland peasant woman. Walpurga had a smile for 
 every one, and was quite unembarassed. 
 
 The lord steward, bearing a gold-headed stick in his hand, now 
 stationed himself on the lowest step of the throne, which had been 
 covered with an ermine mantle. He struck the floor thrice with 
 the stick and then held it up. Every one was provided with a 
 printed programme, and Walpurga also received one. After read- 
 ing it to the company, the lord steward enjoined its strict oj^serv- 
 ance on all. The procession now moved towards the chapel, pass- 
 ing through the picture gallery and the portrait gallery, by the 
 way. The open space before it presented the appearance of an en- 
 chanted garden. It was filled with exotic trees, and the air was 
 laden with the odor of flowers. The chapel was also decorated 
 with flowers and shrubbery ; and the paintings on the ceiling repre- 
 sented angels flying about in the air. 
 
 Countess Brinkenstein, whose appearance was even more austere 
 than on the first evening, was engrossed with her official duties ; 
 this was no time for her to be ill. 
 
 She cautioned W 7 alpurga, who walked beside her, to be very 
 careful how she carried the prince, and earnestly enjoined her not 
 to withdraw her arms until she felt quite certa'in that the prince 
 was safely in his godfather's arms. 
 
 "Of course I won't; I 'm not that stupid," said Walpurga. 
 
 "I require no answer from you." Countess Brinkenstein was 
 vexed at \Valpurga. She was indeed displeased with the queen, 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 69 
 
 who, she thought, was spoiling the poor servant, but found it more 
 convenient to vent her resentment upon Walpurga than upon so 
 exalted a personage as her majesty. 
 
 The various groups were chatting and laughing in as careless a 
 tone as if they were in a ball-room instead of a church. 
 
 The lord steward, who had stationed himself at the altar, en- 
 quired whether all were in readiness. 
 
 "Yes," was answered from various quarters, amid much laugh- 
 ter. 
 
 Walpurga looked up at the image of the Virgin, which she had 
 seen by the light of the everlasting lamp on the evening of her ar- 
 rival, it was the first time she saw it by daylight and said : 
 "Thou, too, must look on while they rehearse." She now fully 
 understood Mademoiselle Kramer's remark that, for royalty, every- 
 thing must be arranged in advance. But was it right to do so 
 with sacred matters? It must be, thought she, or they would n't 
 do it. The court chaplain was there, too, but not in his ecclesias- 
 tical robes. She saw him taking a pinch from the golden snuffbox 
 of the lord steward, with whom he was talking just as if they were 
 in the street. 
 
 And so this is the rehearsal, thought Walpurga to herself, when 
 Countess Brinkenstein approached and said that, as she now knew 
 her place for the morrow, she might go. She also ordered Wal- 
 purga to wear white cotton gloves, and said that she would send 
 her several pairs. 
 
 Walpurga went out by way of the throne-room and the picture 
 gallery. Without looking about her, she walked on through nu- 
 merous apartments, and suddenly found herself standing before a 
 large, dark room. The door was open, but she could not see 
 w r here it led to. She turned in alarm, for she had lost her way. 
 All was silent as death. She looked out of the window and saw a 
 street that she had never seen before. She knew not where she 
 was, and hurried on ; from a distance, she could see strange men 
 and beasts and places on the walls, and suddenly she uttered a 
 shriek of terror, for the devil himself, black as pitch, came towards 
 her, gnashing his teeth. 
 
 " O Lord ! Forgive me ! I '11 never be proud and vain again ! 
 I '11 be good and honest," she cried aloud, wringing her hands. 
 
 " What are you making such a noise about ? who are you ? " ex- 
 claimed the devil. 
 
 " I 'm Walpurga, from the lake ; and I 've a child and husband 
 and mother, at home. I was brought here to be the crown prince's 
 nurse, but, indeed, I did n't want to come." 
 
 " Indeed ! and so you 're the nurse. I rather like your looks." 
 
 " But I do n't want you, or any one else, to like my looks. I Ve 
 a husband of my own and want nothing to do with other men/' 
 
 The black fellow laughed heartily. 
 
70 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Then what were you doing in my master's apartments ? " 
 
 " Who 's your master ? I've nothing to do with him. I and 
 all good spirits praise God the Lord ! Speak ! What is it you 
 want of me ? " 
 
 "O, you stupid ! My master is the queen's brother. I 'm his 
 valet de chambre. We arrived here last evening." 
 
 Walpurga could not understand what it all meant. Luckily for 
 her, at that moment, the duke and the king came out of the apart- 
 ment. 
 
 Addressing the Moor in English, the duke inquired what had 
 happened ; answering in the same tongue, the Moor said that the 
 peasant woman had taken him for the devil incarnate ; upon 
 hearing which, the duke and the king laughed heartily. 
 
 " What brings you here ? " enquired the king. 
 
 " I lost my way, after leaving the chapel," replied Walpurga. 
 " My child will cry. Do please show me the way back to him." 
 
 The king instructed one of the lackeys to conduct her to her 
 apartments. While going away she overheard the uncle, who was 
 to be chief sponsor, saying : " What a fine milch-cow you 've 
 brought from the Highlands ! " 
 
 When she had returned to her room, and again beheld herself 
 in the large mirror, she said : 
 
 " You 're nothing but a cow that can chatter, and is dressed up 
 in clothes ! Well, it served you right." 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE night was a bad one. The crown prince suffered because 
 of the fright which the Moor had given his foster-mother. 
 Doctor Gunther sat up all night, in the adjoining room, so as to be 
 within ready call, and was constant in his enquiries as to Walpurga 
 and the child. He instructed Mademoiselle Kramer never again to 
 allow the nurse to leave the room without his permission. 
 
 To Walpurga, this imprisonment was welcome, as she wished 
 to have nothing more to do with the whole world ; for the child 
 filled her soul and, while she lay on the sofa, she vowed to God 
 that nothing else should enter her mind. She looked at the new 
 clothes that were spread out on the large table and shook her 
 head ; she no longer cared for the trumpery. Indeed, she almost 
 hated it, for had -it not led her into evil? and had not the punish- 
 ment quickly followed ? 
 
 Walpurga's sleep was broken and fitful, and whenever she closed 
 her eyes, she beheld herself pursued by the Moor. It was not 
 until near daybreak that she and the child slept soundly. The 
 great ceremony could therefore take place at the appointed time. 
 
 Baum brought the beautiful pillows, and the brocaded coverlet 
 embroidered with two wild animals. While passing Walpurga, he 
 softly whispered : 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 71 
 
 "Keep a brave heart, so that you don't get sick again ; for if 
 you do, they will discharge you at once. I mean well by you, and 
 that 's why I say so/' 
 
 He said this without moving a feature, for Mademoiselle Kramer 
 was to know nothing of it. 
 
 Walpurga looked after him in amazement ; and Baum, indeed, 
 presented quite an odd appearance, in his grey linen undress 
 uniform. 
 
 "And so they'll send you away when you get sick," thought 
 she to herself. " I 'm a cow. They 're right. There 's no longer 
 any room in the stable for a cow that 's barren." 
 
 " I and thou and the miller's cow " said she, to the prince, as 
 she again took him to her bosom, while she laughed and sang : 
 
 Cock a doodle doo ! 
 The clock strikes two ; 
 The clock strikes four, 
 While all sleep and snore. 
 
 Be it palace or cot, 
 
 It matters not, 
 
 Though they cook sour beets, 
 
 Or eat almonds and sweets 
 
 As long as they care 
 
 For the little ones there. 
 
 Walpurga would have said and sung much more that day, were 
 it not for the constant hurrying to and fro in the prince's apart- 
 ments. Countess Brinkenstein came in person, and said to 
 Walpurga : 
 
 " Have you not all sorts of secret charms which you place under 
 the pillow for the child's sake ? " 
 
 " Yes, a twig of mistletoe will do, or a nail dropped from a 
 horse-shoe ; I 'd get them quick enough if I were at home ; but 
 I 've nothing of the sort here." 
 
 Walpurga felt quite proud while telling what she knew of these 
 secret charms; but grew alarmed when she looked at Countess 
 Brinkenstein and saw that her face wore an expression of dis- 
 pleasure. 
 
 "Mademoiselle Kramer," said she, "you will be held responsi- 
 ble if this peasant woman attempts to practice any of her super- 
 stitious nonsense with the child." 
 
 Not a word of this was addressed to Walpurga, who had 
 persuaded herself into believing that she was the first person in 
 the palace, and now, for the first time, experienced the mortifica- 
 tion of being ignored, just as if she were nothing more than empty 
 air. 
 
 " I won't lose my temper, in spite of you. And I won't do you 
 the favor to get sick, so that you may send me off," muttered Wal- 
 purga, laughing to herself, while the Countess withdrew. 
 
72 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 And now followed a beautiful and happy hour. Two maidens 
 came, who dressed the prince. Walpurga also allowed them to 
 dress her, and greatly enjoyed being thus waited upon. 
 
 All the bells, throughout the city, v/cre ringing ; the chimes of 
 the palace tower joined in the merry din, and almost caused the 
 vast building to tremble. And now Baum came. He looked mag- 
 nificent. The richly-embroidered uniform with the silver lace, the 
 scarlet vest embroidered with gold, the short, gray-plush breeches, 
 the white stockings, the buckled shoes all seemed as if they had 
 come from some enchanted closet, and Baum well knew that he 
 was cutting a grand figure. He smiled when Walpurga stared at 
 him, and knew what that look meant. He could afford to wait. 
 
 "One should not attempt to reap too soon," had been a favorite 
 saying of Baroness Steigeneck's valet, and he knew what he was 
 about. 
 
 Baum announced a chamberlain and two pages, who entered 
 soon afterwards. 
 
 Heavy steps and words of command were heard from the adjoin- 
 ing room. The doors were opened by a servant and a number of 
 cuirassiers entered the room. They were a detachment from the 
 regiment to which the prince would belong, as soon as he had 
 received his name. 
 
 The procession that accompanied the prince moved at the 
 appointed hour. The chamberlain walked in advance, and then 
 came Mademoiselle Kramer and Walpurga, the pages bringing up 
 the rear. It was fortunate for Walpurga that Baum was at her 
 side, for she felt so timid and bashful, that she looked about her as 
 if imploring aid. Baum understood it all and whispered to her : 
 " Keep up your courage, Walpurga ! " She merely nodded her 
 thanks, for she could not utter a word. Bearing the child on her 
 arms, she passed through the crowd of cuirassiers who, with 
 drawn swords and glittering coats of mail, stood there like so 
 many statues. Suddenly, she thought of where she had been last 
 Sunday at the same hour. If Hansei could only see this, too. 
 And Franz, tailor Schneck's son, is in the cuirassiers perhaps he, 
 too, is among those lifeless ones ; but they must be alive, for their 
 eyes sparkle. She looked up, but did npt recognize the tailor's son, 
 although he was in the line. 
 
 The prince's train, with its escort, passed on to the so-called 
 grand centre gallery, where the procession was forming. 
 
 Walpurga had been told to seat herself with the prince on the 
 lowest step of the throne, and when she looked about oei sns 
 beheld a sea of splendor and beauty. There were richly em- 
 broidered costumes, lovely women, their heads adorned with 
 flowers, and jewels that sparkled like dew-drops on the meadow 
 at early morn. 
 
 "Good morning, Walpurga ! Pray don't rise," said a pleasant 
 

 ON- THE HEIGHTS. 73 
 
 voice, addressing her. It Vas Countess Irma. But she had 
 scarcely commenced speaking to her, when the lord steward thrice 
 struck the floor with his goM-headed stick, the diamonds on which 
 sparkled brightly. 
 
 A train of halberdiers, wearing gay plumes on their helmets, 
 marched in from a side apartment. And then the king came. He 
 carried his helmet in his left hand and at his side. His face was 
 ladiant with happiness. 
 
 At his side walked the duchess, a diamond crown on her head, 
 and with two pages bearing her long silk train. She was followed 
 by a numerous and brilliant suite. 
 
 Irma had hastened to her appropriate place. The bells were 
 slowly tolling, and the procession moved. At the entrance of the 
 palace chapel, the duchess took the child from the nurse and car- 
 ried it up to the altar, where priests, clad in splendid robes, were 
 awaiting it, and where countless lights were burning. 
 
 Walpurga followed, feeling as if bereft not only as if the 
 clothes had been torn from her body, but as if the body had been 
 rent from her soul. The child cried aloud, as if aware of what 
 was taking place, but its voice was drowned by the tones of the 
 organ and choir. The whole church was filled with a mighty vol- 
 ume of sound, which descended from the gallery and was echoed 
 back from the floor beneath, like sullen, muttering thunder. In- 
 voluntarily, Walpurga fell on her knees at the altar there was no 
 need to order her to do so. 
 
 Choir, organ and orchestra burst forth with a mighty volume of 
 sound, and Walpurga, overwhelmed with awe and surprise, 
 imagined that the end of the world had come and that the painted 
 angels on the ceiling, aye, the very pillars, too were swelling the 
 heavenly harmonies. 
 
 Suddenly all was silent again. 
 
 'The child received its names. One would not suffice ; there 
 were eight ; a whole section of the calendar had been emptied for 
 its benefit. 
 
 But from that moment until she reached her room, Walpurga 
 knew nothing of what had happened. 
 
 When she found herself alone with Mademoiselle Kramer, she 
 asked : 
 
 "Well, and what am I to call my prince?" 
 
 " None of us know. He has three names until he succeeds to 
 the throne, when he himself selects one, under which he reigns, 
 and which is stamped on the coins." 
 
 "I've something to tell you," said Walpurga, "and mind 
 you do n't forget it. You must send me the first ducat you have 
 stamped with your name and your picture ! See ! he gives me his 
 hand on it ! " cried she, exultingly, when the child stretched out 
 its little hand as if to grasp hers. " O you dear Sunday child J 
 4 
 
74 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Let the first lady of the bedchamber say it 's superstition it 's 
 true, for all. I 'm a cow and you 're a Sunday child, and Sunday 
 children understand the language of the beasts. But that 's only 
 once a year at midnight on Christmas eve. But as you 're a 
 prince, I 'm sure you can do more than the rest." 
 
 Walpurga was called into the queen's apartment, the dazzling 
 beauty of which suggested a glittering cavern in fairy-land. All 
 was quiet ; here nothing was heard of the noisy, bustling crowd 
 overhead. The queen said : 
 
 " On that table you will find a roll containing a hundred gold 
 pieces. It is your christening present from my brother and the 
 other sponsors. Does it make you happy ? " 
 
 "O queen! If the lips on these gold pieces could speak, the 
 hundred together could n't tell you how happy I am. It 's too 
 much ! Why, you could buy half our village with it ! With that 
 much you could buy " 
 
 "Don't excite yourself! Keep calm! Come here, and I'll 
 give you something else, for myself. May this little ring always 
 remind you of me, and may your hand thus be as if it were mine, 
 doing good to the child." 
 
 " O my queen ! How happy it must make you to be able to 
 speak right out when your heart is full of kind thoughts, and to 
 have it in your power to do so many great and good actions ; be- 
 sides, God must love you very much, to permit so much good to 
 be done by your hand ! I thank you with all my heart ! And to 
 Him who has given it all to you, a thousand thanks ! " 
 
 " Walpurga, your words do me more good than all that the arch- 
 bishop and the rest of them said. I shall not forget them ! " 
 
 " I do n't know what I 've said but it 's all your fault ! When 
 I 'm with you, I I hardly know how to say it but I feel as if I 
 were standing before the holy of holies in the church. O, what a 
 heavenly creature you are ! You 're all heart ! I '11 tell the child 
 of it, and though it does n't understand what I say, it '11 feel it all. 
 From me it shall get only good thoughts of you ! I beg your 
 pardon now, if I should ever offend you, even in thought, or do any- 
 thing out of the way " She could say no more. 
 
 The queen motioned Walpurga to be quiet and held out her hand 
 to her ; neither spoke another word. Angels were indeed passing 
 through the silent room. 
 
 Walpurga went away. It was self-confidence, not boldness, 
 that made her look straight into the faces of the courtiers whom 
 she passed by the way. As far as she was concerned, they did not 
 exist. 
 
 When she was with the child again, she said : 
 
 " Yes, drink in my whole soul ! It 's all yours ! If you do n't 
 become a man in whom God and the world can take delight, you 
 do n't deserve a mother like yours ! " 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 75 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer was amazed at Walpurga's words. But 
 the latter did not care to tell what was passing in her mind. 
 There was perfect silence, and yet she sat there, motionless, as if 
 she could still hear the organ and the singing of the angels. 
 
 " It is n't this that makes me so happy," said she, looking at the 
 money once more. " It must be just this way when one gets to 
 heaven and the Lord says : ' I 'm glad you 've come ! ' O, if I 
 could only fly there now ! I do n't know what to do with myself." 
 
 She loosened all her clothes ; the world seemed too close and 
 confined to contain her. 
 
 " God be praised ! the day 's over," said she, when she lay down 
 to rest that evening. "It was a hard day, but a beautiful one; 
 more beautiful than I '11 ever see again." 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 (IRMA TO HER FRIEND EMMA.) 
 
 * * \7OU ask me how I like the great world. The great world, 
 I dear Emma, is but a little world, after all. But I can 
 readily understand why they term it 'great.' It. has a firmament 
 of its own. Two suns rise daily ; I mean their majesties, of course. 
 A gracious glance, or a kind word, from either and the day is 
 clear and bright. Should they ignore you, the weather is dull and 
 dreary. 
 
 "The queen is all feeling, and lives in a transcendental world of 
 her own, into which she would fain draw everyone. She suggests 
 a ' Jean Paul ' born after his time, and is of a tender, clinging dis- 
 position, constantly vacillating between the dawn and twilight of 
 emotion, and always avoiding the white light of day. She is ex- 
 ceedingly gracious towards me, but we cannot help feeling that we 
 do not harmonize. 
 
 " I know not why it is, but I have of late frequently thought of 
 a saying of my father's : ' Whenever you find yourself on friendly 
 or affectionate terms with any one, imagine how he would seem if 
 he had become your enemy ! ' 
 
 " The thought follows me like a phantom, I know not why. It 
 must be my evil spirit. 
 
 " All here regard me as wonderfully naive, simply because I have 
 the courage to think for myself. I have not inherited the spec- 
 tacles and tight-lacing of tradition. The world seem to follow the 
 fashion, even in clothing the inside of their heads. 
 
 " I admire the first lady of the bedchamber most of all. She is 
 the law incarnate, carefully covered with poudre de riz. The la- 
 dies here ridicule her, but I have only pity for those who are 
 obliged to resort to the use of cosmetics. Ah, you can have no 
 idea, my dear Emma, how stupid and bored some persons are 
 
76 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 when unable to indulge in scandal. There are but few who 
 how to enjoy themselves innocently. But I am forgetting that I 
 intended to tell you about Countess Brinkenstein. 
 
 " She read me a lecture on etiquette. What a pity that I can- 
 not give it to you, word for word. She said many pretty things ; 
 for instance, that we have as little right to doubt in matters of 
 etiquette as in religion, that, in either case, reasoning always 
 led to heresy and schism, and that one ought to feel happy to have 
 the law ready made, instead of being obliged to frame it. 
 
 " Countess Brinkenstein, like Socrates the peripatetic, teaches by 
 example. In the park of the summer palace there is a jutting 
 rock, from the top of which a fine view can be obtained. It is 
 protected on all sides by an iron rail. ' Do you observe, my dear 
 Countess,' said this high priest of etiquette to me for she seems 
 to have conceived quite an affection for your humble servant 'it 
 is because we know there is a railing, that we feel perfectly safe 
 here. If it were not for that, we should become too dizzy to re- 
 main. It is just the same with the laws of court etiquette ; re- 
 move the railing and there will be some one falling every day.' 
 
 " The king enjoys conversing with Brinkenstein and, although 
 decorous and dignified demeanor best pleases him, he is not averse 
 to unconstrained cheerfulness. The queen is too serious ; she is 
 always grand organ. But one cannot dance to organ music and, 
 as we are still young, we often feel like dancing. Brinkenstein 
 must have commended me to the king, for he often addresses me, 
 and in a manner that seems to say : ' We understand each other 
 perfectly.' " 
 
 " June ist (at nighf). 
 
 " It is a pity, dear Emma, that what I have written above bears 
 no date. I have completely forgotten when I wrote it auld lang 
 syne, as it says in the pretty Scotch song. 
 
 ." I feel the justice of your complaint, that my letters are written 
 for myself and not for the one to whom they are addressed ; that 
 is, whenever I feel like writing, but not when you happen to wish 
 for news. But you are wrong in charging this to egotism. I am 
 not an egotist. I am wholly absorbed by the impressions of the 
 moment. Ah, why are you not here with me ! There is not a 
 day, not a night, not an hour But I shall do better. That is, I 
 mean to try, at all events. 
 
 "The king distinguishes me above all others, and I enjoy the 
 favor of the whole court. If it were not for the demon that ever 
 whispers to me 
 
 " I send you my photograph. We are now wearing wings on 
 our hats, and the feather you see on mine was taken from an 
 eagle that the king shot with his own hand. 
 
 "O what lovely days and nights we are having. If one could 
 only do without sleep. I am giving great attention to music and 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 77 
 
 sing nothing but Schumann. His music invests the soul with a 
 magic veil, with a fire that seems to consume while it fills you 
 with happiness, and from the spell of which none can escape, 
 though they try ever so hard. I gladly yield to its influence. I 
 have just been singing 'The heavens have kissed the earth.' It 
 was late at night, and I felt as if I could go on singing forever. 
 You know my habit of repeating the same song again and again ; 
 of all things a pot pourri of the emotions is least to my liking. 
 At last I lay down by the window who was it that glided past ? 
 I dare not say. I do not care to know. There was a humming in 
 the direction 'of the lamp on my table. A moth-fly had flown into 
 it and had been consumed by the flame. The moth had not wished 
 to die ; it had imagined the light to be a glowing flower-cup, and 
 had buried itself in it. 
 
 " It was a beautiful death ! To die in the summer night, amid 
 song and in the light of the fiery calyx. Good night !" 
 
 " June 3< 
 
 " No matter where I am or what I do, I am always excited, 
 without knowing why. But I have it, after all. I am constantly 
 thinking that this letter to you is still lying in my portfolio. If any 
 one at court knew what I have written. I have already been on 
 the point of burning these sheets. I beg of you, destroy them. 
 You will, will you not ? or else conceal them in some safe place. 
 I cannot help it, I must tell you all. 
 
 " The queen is very kind to me. Her present condition invests 
 her with a touching, I might almost say, a sacred character. 
 
 "'Man is God's temple,' said the archbishop, who paid us a 
 visit yesterday, ' and of no one is this so true as of a young moth- 
 er ; above all, a young royal mother.' 
 
 " What a noble thought ! 
 
 " I now think quite differently of the queen. When she said to 
 me, yesterday : ' Countess Irma, the king speaks of you With great 
 affection, and I am very glad of it,' I thought to myself: Blessed 
 be the etiquette that permits me to bend down before the queen 
 and kiss her hand. 
 
 ' Her hand is now quite full and round." 
 
 " June yh. 
 
 " The most cheerful hours are those we spend at breakfast. I 
 do not know how, after such Olympic moments, the rest can con- 
 tent themselves with every day matters, for I always wing my flight 
 into the boundless realm of music. 
 
 " The king is very kind to me. He is of a noble and earnest 
 character. While I was walking with him in the park, yesterday, 
 and we both kept step so beautifully, he said : 
 
 " ' You seem like a true comrade to me, for we always walk to- 
 gether in perfect step. No woman has ever walked thus with me. 
 With the queen I am always obliged to slacken my usual pace.' 
 
78 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 '"That is only of late, I suppose.' 
 
 " ' Xo, it is always so. Will you permit me, when \ e are alone, 
 to address you as my good comrade ? ' 
 
 "We stopped where we were, like two children who have lost 
 their way in the woods and do not know where they are. 
 
 " ' Let us return,' was all I could say. 
 
 "We went back to the palace. I admire the king's self-control, 
 for he at once entered into earnest conversation with his minister. 
 Such self-control can only result from great education and innate 
 mental power. 
 
 " But there is one thing more. Let me confide it to you. 
 
 " I feel sure that the queen meditates a step which must needs 
 be fraught with evil to the king, to herself, and to who knows how 
 many more. . I would have liked to acquaint him with my fears, 
 but I dared not speak of the queen at that time, and Doctor 
 Gunther, the king's physician, had made me afraid to utter a word 
 on the subject. I am talking in riddles, I know. I will explain all 
 to you at some future day, if you remind me of it. In a few 
 weeks, all will be decided. My lips are not sealed, for the queen has 
 confided nothing to me. I have simply reasoned from appearances. 
 But enough of this. I shall no longer torment you with riddles. 
 
 " My best friend, after all, is Doctor Gunther. He is great by 
 nature, and still more so by education. He is always up to his own 
 high standard. I have never yet seen him confused or uncertain. 
 The old fashioned phrase, a 'wise man,' is, indeed, applicable to 
 him. He is not fond of so-called 'spirituality' or 'intellectuality/ 
 for he is truly wise. He has great command of language. His 
 hands are beautiful, almost priestly, as if formed for blessing. He 
 never loses his equanimity and, what is best of all, never indulges 
 in superlatives. \Vhen I once mentioned this to him, he agreed 
 with me, and added : ' I should like to deprive the world of its 
 superlatives for the next fifty years ; that would oblige men to 
 think and feel more clearly and distinctly than they now do.' 
 
 " Do you not, dear Emma, perfectly agree with this ? Let us 
 found an anti-superlative society. I admire the man, but will 
 never be able successfully to imitate him. Through him, I have 
 learned to believe that there have been great and wise men on 
 earth. While yet a surgeon in the army, he was my father's friend. 
 Afterward, he filled a professorship in Switzerland, and, for the last 
 eighteen years, has been physician to the king. You would be 
 delighted with him. To know him, is to enrich one's life. If I 
 were to w T rite down all his sayings, half the charm were lost, for 
 you would lose the spell of his presence. He has a most con- 
 vincing air and a sonorous voice, and I have heard that he used to 
 sing very well. He is a perfect man, and loves me as if I w^ere 
 his niece. I shall have much more to tell you about him. Above 
 all things, I am glad that he has a fine vein of humor. This 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 79 
 
 furnishes the salt and prevents him from being included among the 
 class of sugar-water beings. 
 
 "Colonel Bronnen is his best, perhaps his only intimate, friend, 
 and the Doctor recently told me that the Colonel's manner and 
 appearance greatly resemble that of my father while a young 
 man." 
 
 " June i yh. 
 
 "Ah, how hateful, how horrible is the thought of man's birth 
 and death ! To die to be laid in the earth, and to know that the 
 eyes that once glowed with life, and the lips that once smiled, are 
 to decay. The very idea is a barbarous one. Why do we know 
 of death ? We must be immortal, or else it were terrible that we 
 human beings should alone know that we must die. The moth- 
 fly did not know it. It simply thought the burning light was a 
 lovely flower, and died in that belief. 
 
 " Since last evening, we have been greatly concerned for the 
 queen, indeed, for a double life. She was so good, so angelic. 
 But no, she still is, and will remain so. She will live. I have 
 prayed for it with all my heart. Away with doubts ! My prayer 
 must avail. 
 
 " When I met the king to-day he scarcely looked at me, and it 
 is better for me, that it should be thus. A feeling was beginning 
 to bud within me, and now I pluck it out by the roots. It dare 
 not be. I will be his comrade ; his good, his best comrade. 
 
 " My piano, my music, my pictures, my statuettes, my bird all 
 seem strange to me. A human being, a two-fold life, is in mortal 
 danger. What does all the trumpery in the world amount to now ? 
 All of it together cannot save a human life. Is original sin a 
 truth, and is it because of that, that man must pass through the 
 throes of death before he can behold the light ? 
 
 " I would like to read, but there is no book that can serve one 
 in such moments. One cannot even think. Nothing, nothing can 
 be done. All the wisdom in all the books is of no avail." 
 
 " June \6th. 
 
 " Hallelujah ! I have just come from church. O that my 
 song could reach you. I have just sung the Hallelujah as if I 
 were pouring out my whole soul to God above. 
 
 " Hallelujah ! 
 
 "A 11 is well! 
 
 " The crown prince is born ! 
 
 " The queen is doing well. The king is happy, the world is 
 bright, and the blue sky overhead is cloudless. 
 
 " God be praised, that I have so soon escaped from my perplex- 
 ing doubts. Perhaps it was all imagination, after all. There was 
 not the slightest ground for my alarm. 
 
 " I am but a silly cloister plant, after all, and do not yet under- 
 stand the ways of the court. Is it not so ? I see you laughing at 
 
8o O.Y THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 me, and see the dimples in your cheeks. I send you many kisses. 
 Ah, all are so good and pious, and holy, and happy, and If I 
 could only compose, I should produce some great work. A mute 
 Beethoven dwells within my soul." 
 
 "July i&t/i. 
 
 " The crown prince's nurse is a peasant woman, from the High- 
 lands. At the king's desire, I paid her a visit. I was standing by 
 the prince's cradle, when the king approached. 
 
 " Softly he whispered to me : ' It is indeed true ; there is an an- 
 gel standing by my child's cradle.' 
 
 " My hand was on the rail, and his hand rested on mine. 
 
 " The king left the room, and just imagine what happened after- 
 wards. 
 
 "The nurse, a fresh and hardy-looking peasant woman, with 
 shrewd blue eyes a perfect rustic beauty, indeed, to whom I had 
 been kind in order to cheer her up, and prevent her from growing 
 homesick now turned upon me and told me harshly, and to my 
 face : ' You 're an adulteress ; you 've been exchanging love- 
 glances with the king ! ' 
 
 " Emma, I now feel the force of what you have often said to me : 
 ' You idolize the people ; but they are just as sinful and corrupt as 
 the great world, and without education to curb and restrain them.' 
 
 " But what is the peasant woman to me, after all ? Certain 
 persons exist, only in so far as they serve our purposes. 
 
 "No, she is a good and sensible woman, and has asked me to 
 forgive her boldness. I shall remain her friend. I shall, indeed." 
 
 " June 2$f/i. 
 
 " The king evinces the greatest kindness towards me. It is only 
 yesterday that he remarked to me, while passing : 
 
 " ' Should you ever have a secret, confide it to me.' 
 
 " He knows full well that I could hardly go to my brother, as a 
 sister should, and that my father is so far away. 
 
 "Colonel Bronnen, of the queen's regiment, is very attentive to 
 me. He is usually quite reserved. Ah, how I envy those who 
 possess such self-control. I have none. The demonstrative are 
 always flattering themselves that their irrepressibility is simple 
 honesty, whereas it is nothing but weakness. 
 
 " Bronnen tells me that you write to him at times. Can it be 
 possible that a single thought of yours enters this palace, without 
 being mine ? 
 
 " I am delighted to know that we return to the summer palace 
 in a fortnight from now. Cities ought to vanish during the sum- 
 mer. We ought to be able to transport our houses into the woods, 
 among the mountains, or in the valleys, and in the winter they 
 might be brought together again. 
 
 " Last evening, while we were sitting on the verandah, we were 
 greatly amused by a joke of my brother Bruno's. He gave us a 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 81 
 
 description of what might happen if the feet of all the four-post 
 bedsteads in the city were endowed with life and, with their con- 
 tents, were to come stalking along the garden-walks. It was very 
 droll. Of course, there was some little that was scarcely proper ; 
 but Bruno, with all his impertinence, has so charming a manner 
 that he knew how to couch his descriptions in most discreet 
 yet piquant terms. 
 
 " It was this that suggested the idea of a migration of houses. 
 
 " It was a lively evening, full of merry jests that still seem to 
 ring in my ears while I write to you. 
 
 " The king has a new walking-stick he has quite a collection 
 of such and this one pays court to me. I am said to be intellect- 
 ual, and this walking-stick is intellectual par excellence, and ' birds 
 of a feather flock together,' you know. 
 
 "It is Baron Schnabelsdorf, privy councilor of one of the lega- 
 tions. 
 
 "Picture to yourself a dapper, beardless bachelor, always in 
 faultless attire. Every one of the few hairs left him is made to do 
 service, and is artistically brushed up into the form of a cock's 
 comb. He passes for an authority in matters of statecraft. He 
 has just returned from Rome, and was formerly attached to the 
 embassies at Paris and Madrid and, if 1 am not mistaken, that at 
 Stockholm, also. He is a fluent and ready anecdotist. He must 
 have a familiar spirit who crams for him, for he knows every- 
 thing, from the cut of Queen Elizabeth's sleeve to the latest 
 discoveries in the milky-way and the recent excavations at 
 Nineveh. The ladies and gentlemen have several times amused 
 themselves by reading up one or more articles in the encyclopedia, 
 and then directing their conversation to the subjects they had 
 prepared themselves upon. But the omniscient Baron was, even 
 then, better informed as to dates and circumstances than they 
 were. He is always provided with a bonbonniere full of piquant 
 anecdotes. He is almost constantly with the king, and it is 
 rumored that a high position will soon be conferred upon him. 
 
 " What do you think of it ? had I better marry him ? 
 
 " My brother would like me to do so and, although he stoutly 
 denies it, I still believe that Schnabelsdorf sent him to broach the 
 affair to me. I could not help laughing, if I were to stand at the 
 altar with this learned walking-stick. But it is, nevertheless, very 
 flattering to know that so learned a man desires me as his spouse. 
 I must be excessively learned and clever, and you ought to respect 
 me accordingly. 
 
 " A thousand greetings and kisses, from 
 
 "Your ever spoiled 
 
 "IRMA. 
 
 "P. S. The queen's brother, the hereditary prince of , was 
 
 at the christening, and his wife was also present. She rarely 
 4* 
 
82 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 utters ?. word, but is beautiful. It is reported that the hereditary 
 prince intends to seek a divorce from her, as she is childless. If ; 
 as really seems to be the case, she loves her husband, how terribly 
 the pot r thing must feel. She must have noticed my interest in 
 her, lor she treats me with marked favor, and has more to say to 
 me than any one else. She wishes me to ride with her. The 
 christening ceremonies were impressive and beautiful. At church, 
 1 wore a white moire dress, and a veil fastened to my coiffure. 
 At the banquet, Baron Schoning, the chamberlain, escorted me 
 to the table. I am regarded here as of a highly poetic tempera- 
 ment, and the chamberlain has already presented me with a copy 
 of his poems. (You know them. He has disguised his sublime 
 emotions in the Highland dialect.) He affects my company and, 
 while at table, told me lots of fearfully silly stuff. Well, as I was 
 going to say, at the banquet I wore a dress of sea-green silk, cut 
 out square a la madonna, and in my hair a simple wreath of 
 heather. They all said that I looked very well, and I am inclined 
 to believe that they told the truth." 
 
BOOK II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 LIFE at the palace again moved in its wonted channel. Bulle- 
 tins as to the condition of the queen and the crown prince, 
 were no longer issued. The amnesty which had been proclaimed in 
 consequence of the happy event, had been received with satisfac- 
 tion throughout the land. 
 
 Irma spent much of her time in the crown prince's apartments, 
 and endeavored to enter into the feelings of the peasant woman 
 who had been transplanted into a world that was entirely new and 
 strange to her. She was greatly amused by the droll conceits that 
 this new life awakened in Walpurga. Her peculiar way of looking 
 at things was frequently in accord with Walpurga's simple-minded 
 notions, and when Irma was absent, the nurse would speak to the 
 child for hours, endeavoring, as it were, to outdo herself with all 
 sorts of droll expressions which, eccentric as they were, failed to 
 satisfy her. 
 
 A strong and deep spring of happiness and content, earnest re- 
 solve and all that makes men true, welled up from Walpurga's 
 soul and ministered to the benefit of the babe that she had 
 pressed to her bosom ; the child had become as a part of herself. 
 
 With constant regularity the prince was daily carried to the 
 queen. That was the event of the day, after which, life, in the 
 crown prince's apartments, went on in its usual course. 
 
 Doctor Gunther now relaxed his orders ; for one day, he said :. 
 " The weather is charming, and it will do the prince good to send 
 him out of doors for a little while. We will arrange it in this 
 way : At eleven o 'clock, you can drive out with Walpui ga and 
 the prince, as far as the Nymph's Grove. Arrived there, you can 
 walk about with the child under the pines, or can sit down, if you 
 wish to do so. After remaining there about half an hour, you will 
 return and at once remove to the new apartments. You have 
 taken good care of yourself, Walpurga ; continue to do so. Let 
 nothing move you from your accustomed ways, and you will con- 
 tinue to afford pleasure to all of us, as well as to yourself." 
 
 Walpurga was quite beside herself with happiness. "We 're 
 ut riding," said she to the child, when the physician had 
 God sends you everything good while you are asleep. But 
 
 going c 
 left. " 
 
 you '11 let me have some, too, won't you ? for you 've a good heart, 
 and I 've given you mine." 
 
84 0-V THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Walpurga would have continued in this vein for a long while, 
 but Mademoiselle Kramer came up and, while gently patting her 
 cheeks, said : " You '11 have red cheeks again. Show your love for 
 the prince, with calmness and moderation, and not with such ex- 
 travagant expressions." 
 
 "You 're right," said Walpurga. "It 's true ; I 'm not always 
 so. I was always cheerful, but prudent at the same time ; not so 
 giddy as I now am," said she, after she had walked up and down 
 the room several times, and had at last sat down by the window. 
 
 " I '11 tell you what ails me." 
 
 " Indeed, does anything ail you ? " 
 
 " Yes, the worst of all ills. I Ve nothing to do. I do n't know 
 what to put my hands to. This constant talking, dressing and un- 
 dressing, eating and drinking, with nothing else to do, makes me 
 stupid. The next time the Doctor comes, tell him to give me 
 some work. I '11 carry wood or do anything that is to be done. 
 They 're mowing the grass in the palace garden, and if I could 
 only be down there with them, I 'd feel the better of it. No man 
 could beat me at mowing grass. Grubersepp often used to say 
 that the women sharpened their scythes seven times as often as 
 the men, but that never happened with me." 
 
 " Oh, that would never do. But I shall see that you get some 
 exercise." 
 
 " Come, you 're to go out of doors, into the fresh air," said 
 Walpurga to the prince. 
 
 Thy cage is open ! Fly away, 
 
 Far o'er land and sea. 
 But tell me, birdie ; tell me pray, 
 
 Where can my darling be ? 
 
 " What a pity that the birds have stopped singing. Yes, dear 
 child, they only sing so long as there are young ones in the nest ; 
 but I shall have you in my nest for a whole year, and I '11 sing 
 better than the birds could," and she sang: 
 
 Ah, blissful is the tender tie 
 That binds me, love, to thee, 
 And swiftly speed the hours by 
 When thou art near to me. 
 
 My heart doth bear a burden, love, 
 And thou hast placed it there 
 And I would wager e'en my life 
 That none doth heavier bear. 
 
 " Brava ! charming ! " said Countess Irma, entering the room. 
 ' I should like to learn that song. Sing it again." 
 
 Walpurga repeated it and, at the second verse, Irma joined in 
 the song. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 85 
 
 " It does n't really suit a child," said Walpurga, " but what does 
 such a youngster know about lowing cows or singing birds ? It 's 
 all one to him. We 're going out riding to-day. Do you go with 
 
 U5 ? " 
 
 " I would be glad to ride with you, but I may not," replied 
 Countess Irma. 
 
 "Then you 're not allowed to do whatever you please." 
 
 Her words surprised Irma: " What do you mean? " asked she, 
 sharply. 
 
 " Forgive me, if I 've said anything stupid. I only meant to say 
 that you 're in service as well as the rest of us. You 're a maid- 
 of-honor, I believe." 
 
 " All must serve some one ; the king and queen serve God." 
 
 "We must all do that." 
 
 " Yes, but princes have a much harder time of it than we, for 
 theirs is a far greater responsibility. But what am I saying? You 
 ought to feel happy that you need n't know everything. I 've 
 brought some writing copies for you. I owe you thanks for one 
 thing, already. Ever since I 've resolved to teach you, my own 
 writing has become far plainer than before " 
 
 Irma suddenly checked herself, for she realized the full force of 
 what she had been saying, and continued : "for you are to learn 
 it thoroughly." 
 
 Baum came to announce that the carriage was waiting. Irma 
 left, saying that she would meet Walpurga in the park. 
 
 They now went out and Baum let down the carriage steps for 
 them. Mademoiselle Kramer, who was the first to enter, held the 
 child until Walpurga had seated herself. Baum jumped up behind 
 and took his place beside the second lackey ; the four horses 
 stepped out and the carriage started. 
 
 "Are we driving? " asked Walpurga. 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 " It seems like flying. I can't hear the least rumbling of the 
 wheels." 
 
 " Of course you can't. The tires are covered with india rubber." 
 
 " And so they wear cloth shoes just as we do when we walk on 
 smooth floors. Oh how clever they all are here. Out yonder, they 
 do n't know a thing. They live just like cattle ; the only difference 
 is they do n't eat grass but what 's the matter ? " said she, starting 
 with fright. " They 're beatirig the drums and the soldiers are 
 rushing towards us. Is there a fire somewhere?" 
 
 " That 's on our account. The guard always present arms 
 when a member of the royal family passes by watch them. They 're 
 presenting arms, and after we 've passed they '11 lay their muskets 
 aside and return to the guard-room. Their regiment is known as 
 the crown prince's, for it belongs to him." 
 
 "And so he '11 have live soldiers to play with when he grows 
 up." 
 
S OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer showed all the self-command 1 efitting 
 one who could boast of a line of sixteen ancestors. A slight start 
 and an odd, nervous twitching of the features, as if suppressing a 
 yawn, were the only visible effects of Walpurga's words. But of 
 laughter there was not a sign. An upper sen-ant of the right sort 
 must hear and see all that is going on, and yet stand by as if he were 
 no more than the table or plate that can be moved about at will ; and 
 although Walpurga was not her superior, it would not do to laugh 
 at hr.r, for she was nurse to his royal highness the crown prince. 
 Mademoiselle Kramer therefore refrained from laughing, and, as il 
 to evade answering, merely said; "When we pass the guard on 
 our way home, the same thing will happen again. 
 
 "And may I ask what 's the good of it all?" 
 
 " Certainly ; there is a good reason for e /erything, and this serves 
 to accustom the people, and especially the soldiers, to show proper 
 respect to their superiors." 
 
 "But our prince don't know anything of that." 
 
 "We must show our respect for him, even though he know 
 nothing of it ; and now let me tell you something which it would 
 be well for you to know. Whenever you speak or think of their 
 majesties, the king and queen, let it be as ' his majesty ' or ' her 
 majesty,' but never simply as king or queen, so that you may never 
 so far forget yourself as to speak or think of them in a disrespect- 
 ful manner. Bear this in mind." 
 
 Walpurga scarcely heard a word of what she said. 
 
 "Oh Lord!" she exclaimed, "how wisely they've arranged 
 even-thing. It must have taken many thousand years before they 
 could get so far." 
 
 " It has, indeed. But you need n't nod to every one you see 
 bowing. It is n't meant for you." 
 
 " But I 'd like to do it for my prince, until he can attend to it 
 himself. They all show how glad they 'd be to get a look at him. 
 They all bow to you, my child you 're well off, indeed oh, what 
 a lovely carriage this is. It 's as soft as a bed, and as comfortable 
 as a room, and you can sit here and see all that 's going on out- 
 side, and dear me, how fast we 're going." 
 
 They turned into the park. The carriage drove slowly while 
 they passed the lake, and Walpurga was ever saying : 
 
 " I feel as if I were in fairy-land." 
 
 They alighted by the shady and fragrant Grove of the Nymphs. 
 As soon as she had left the carriage, Walpurga, who was earn ing 
 the child in her arms, said : 
 
 " Open your eyes ! Look about you ! The whole w-orld 's yours. 
 There are trees and meadows and, overhead, the blue sky. But 
 your father can't give you that ; you '11 have to earn it by being 
 good, and if } ou and I both remain good, we '11 meet again, up 
 above." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 87 
 
 "Sit down here, Walpurga, and pray cease talking," said Mad- 
 emoiselle Kramer. 
 
 She was terribly anxious about Walpurga, who talked inces- 
 santly and incoherently, and was as unmanageable as a young foal 
 that has just been let loose in the meadow. 
 
 For this reason, Mademoiselle Kramer again remarked : " Speak 
 softly, and address all your remarks to me. I should be sorry if 
 the lackeys behind us were making sport of you. Do you see the 
 outrider over there? He is my nephew." Walpurga had not, 
 until then, noticed that two lackeys, one of whom was Baum, were 
 following them. The carriage was being driven up and down the 
 side avenues. Suddenly, Walpurga stopped, as if spellbound, be- 
 fore a marble figure. 
 
 "Is n't it beautiful?" asked Mademoiselle Kramer. 
 
 " Fie ! " replied Walpurga. " It 's abominable ; and to think of 
 men and women walking about here and looking at such an 
 object." 
 
 When the old king had the statues placed in the park, Made- 
 moiselle Kramer had deemed them objectionable, but as their 
 majesties had found them beautiful, she had gradually come to look 
 upon them in the same light. 
 
 They went into a side avenue, where Walpurga sat down on a 
 bench and, falling into a reverie, soon knew as little of the world 
 as did the child in her arms. 
 
 "Who 's there? " said she, as if awakened from sleep. 
 
 Riding between two horsemen, she beheld a lady mounted on a 
 glossy black steed. Her riding habit was of blue and the long 
 flowing veil fastened to her hat was of the same color. 
 
 " It looks like the Countess." 
 
 " It is she, and now they dismount. His majesty the king and 
 their royal highnesses the hereditary prince and princess, are with 
 her. They are coming this way," said Mademoiselle Kramer. 
 "Keep your seat. As nurse, you need not trouble yourself about 
 being polite." 
 
 But Walpurga could not help putting her hands up to her hat, 
 in order to feel whether the tassel at the back and the flowers in 
 front were still in place. 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer begged their highnesses not to look at 
 the sleeping child, lest they might awaken it. 
 
 Irma was the first to speak. " How deeply significant are all 
 of nature's laws. The waking eye arouses the sleeping child. In 
 the depths of every human soul, an infant soul rests sleeping, and 
 it is not well to' permit either sympathy or idle curiosity to disturb it." 
 
 "I would like to know how you always manage to have such 
 original thoughts," replied the king. 
 
 " I do n't know," replied Irma, playing with her riding whip. 
 " I Ve courage enough to say what I think, and that passes for 
 
88 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 originality. Nearly all human beings are changelings. They were 
 changed while in the cradle of education." 
 
 The king laughed. Walpurga however, quickly turned he! 
 thumbs inward, anclsaid . 
 
 " Changeling. It"*s~wrong to speak of anything of that sort be- 
 fore a child that 's less than seven months old, for the evil spirits 
 aie all powerful up to that time, even if the child is christened." 
 
 In order to exorcise any evil spell from the child, she breathed 
 upon it thrice. 
 
 The princess looked sadly at the nurse and the child, but did 
 not utter a word. 
 
 " I do n't understand a word of what the nurse says," remarked 
 the hereditary prince. 
 
 Walpurga blushed scarlet. 
 
 "Why do you look at me so?" asked Countess Irma, "don't 
 you know me ? " 
 
 " Of course I do, but do you know \vho you look like? like the 
 Lady of the Lake. When she rises from the waves, her dress 
 hangs about her in a sea of folds just like yours." 
 
 Irma laughed, while she, in High German, told the prince and 
 princess what the nurse had been saying. The prince nodded to 
 Walpurga much as he would have done with a dumb animal to 
 which he could not render himself intelligible. 
 
 " But Countess Irma's feet are not swan's feet. Do n't believe 
 that, W'alpurga," said the king laughing. "Come, 'Lady of the 
 Lake.' " 
 
 They mounted their horses and rode away. 
 
 It was time for the prince to return. 
 
 On their return, they at once repaired to the new apartments on 
 the ground floor, into which everything had been removed during 
 their absence. 
 
 They now had sunlight at all hours of the day. The apart- 
 ments opened out on the park where the blackbird sang in the 
 broad daylight, and where the breezes were laden with the odor of 
 the orange bushes. Tall trees were whispering in the wind and a 
 great fountain was constantly murmuring and plashing. 
 
 Walpurga was quite happy and the fountain was her greatest 
 delight. 
 
 " It 's far more comfortable on the first floor," she would often 
 say; "I feel as if I 'd just returned from a long journey. The 
 rooms are so nice and cool, and my night-watchman sleeps in the 
 daytime just as a light-watchman should, and and 
 
 And Walpurga too, fell asleep, although 't was daylight. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 89 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 WALPURGA soon accustomed herself to her cha iged mode 
 of life. She was often concerned because she received no 
 tidings from home. 
 
 But if there were no letters, there was a messenger at all events. 
 A servant entered the room and said : 
 
 *' There 's a woman outside, who comes from the same place as 
 Walpurga. She wishes to speak to you for a few moments." 
 
 " I '11 go to her. Who is it? " 
 
 "No," said Mademoiselle Kranrer; "receive her here." 
 
 The servant went out at once, and returned, bringing old Zenza 
 with him. 
 
 "Oh, is it you, Zenza? Have you brought me anything from 
 my child, my husband, or my mother? For God's sake, has any- 
 thing happened? Are they sick? " 
 
 " No, they 're all well, thank God, and send their love to you." 
 
 Walpurga, with an affectionate glance, gazed into Zenza's cun- 
 ning eyes, which now seemed good and truthful, because they had 
 seen her child. Smiling, Zenza went on to say: 
 
 "I 'm glad you still know me. How bad the folks are. They 
 told me you would n't recognize me, because, you 'd become a fine 
 lady. But no, you always were a good girl, and I Ve always said 
 so." 
 
 " Yes, yes, that 's all very well ; but what do you want of me ? " 
 
 " I want you to help me. If you do n't, my son Thomas will 
 take his life and I '11 drown myself in the lake. You '11 help me, 
 won't you ? See, I 'm kneeling at your feet. You must help me. 
 Your dear father and I were almost cousins, and if your father 
 were alive, he 'd say what he 's now calling down to you from 
 heaven ' Walpurga, if you do n't help Zenza, I '11 never forgive 
 you.' " 
 
 " Get up ! What 's the matter? How can I help you ? " 
 
 " I won't get up. I '11 die at your feet unless you promise to 
 help me." 
 
 " 1 '11 do all I can for you." 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer interposed and said that unless Zenza 
 would calm herself, she would not be allowed to remain in the 
 room another moment. 
 
 Zenza arose and asked : 
 
 "Is that the queen?" 
 
 Walpurga and Mademoiselle Kramer laughed at her question, 
 tnd Zenza at last made known her wish. 
 
 Her son Thomas, she said, was standing down there before the 
 palace, as the guard would not allow him to enter. He had been 
 caught poaching and, as it was his second offense, he had been 
 sentenced to two years' imprisonment. And yet he was not tc 
 
90 0.V THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 blame. It lay in his blood. He must go hunting. His father had 
 been that way before him. He had only shot one little chamois 
 buck and for that he was to go to jail again. He had sworn an 
 oath that, before he would let them lock him up, he would take his 
 own life or else commit a murder, so that they might behead him 
 at once ; and Zenza \vent on to say that Walpurga would have two, 
 nay, three human lives on her conscience if she did not help 
 them ; that Walpurga must procure her an audience with the king 
 or queen, so that she might, on her knees, beg them for mercy. 
 
 "Your husband and the landlord of the Chamois sent me," 
 added Zenza, "and they both say it '11 be easy enough for you to 
 help me, and if you do, I '11 be your slave as long as I live." 
 
 "Yes, I 'd like to help you, but I can't see how. Things are 
 not managed here as they are at home." 
 
 " Oh, you can find a way, quick enough. You 're clever, the 
 whole neighborhood says so ; and I 've known it ever so long, and 
 said so, too, on last St. Leonard's day. Schneck, the tailor, will 
 bear me witness, and so will Spinnerwastl, too ; ' Walpurga bears 
 herself,' said I, 'as if she were one of the lowliest, but she 's the 
 first in the whole neighborhood. You '11 all live to see what 
 becomes of her. Her wisdom and her goodness will show them- 
 selves.' Now, Walpurga, you '11 help me ; won't you ? " 
 
 "Yes, as soon as there 's a chance." 
 
 "But I can't wait. Thomas is to go to jail to-morrow at day- 
 break, and, if he 's not released to-day, there will be murder." 
 
 "My dear woman," interposed Mademoiselle Kramer, "his 
 majesty the king declared a general amnesty at the birth of the 
 crpwn prince. That covers your son's case, does it not? " 
 
 "No; that's the very trouble. All the courts in the country 
 are against my Thomas. Look at this. It 's all there. The 
 innkeeper wrote it down, better than I can tell you. The writing 
 must reach the king before noon, or it '11 be too late. My son 
 Thomas is walking up and down out there, and it 's an even 
 chance whether he goes to heaven or hell. He 's got a double- 
 barrelled pistol with him, and he '11 shoot the first man he looks at 
 and himself, too, before this very palace, if I go out there without 
 having done anything for him." 
 
 " Yes, but I can't run up to the king as I would to the innkeeper, 
 or I 'd gladly do it." 
 
 " I must sit down, my knees are breaking under me," exclaimed 
 Zenza, and Mademoiselle Kramer hurried to bring her a chair. 
 And while she sat there with drooping head, great tears dropped 
 upon the bony, thick-veined hands that lay folded on her knees. 
 
 Walpurga motioned to Mademoiselle Kramer, who was trying 
 to console th ; old woman. She wanted to tell her that Zenza was 
 not so very good, after all, and that Thomas was still worse ; but 
 Mademoiselle Kramer turned about and said : 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 91 
 
 "I have an idea. Countess Wildenort's brother is aid-de-camp 
 to his majesty, and, in half an hour from now, will present his re- 
 port and get the countersign. Now, Walpurga, go to Countess 
 Irma at once and request her to hand the petition to her brother, 
 so that he may submit it to his majesty." 
 
 "Yes, yes, do go do! Lord, what a wise angel'you have here 
 with you, Walpurga ; but go right off do n't lose a moment ! 
 May I stay here a little while longer, or shall I wait down there be- 
 fore the palace?" 
 
 "No! you may remain here, my good woman," said Made- 
 moiselle Kramer, consoling her. "But hurry yourself," said she, 
 addressing Walpurga, who still held the letter before her, and 
 stood there as if immovable. 
 
 Walpurga left the apartment. When she drew near to Irma's 
 door, she heard the Countess, with fervid expression, singing Schu- 
 mann's song to Friedrich Rueckert's words : 
 
 He came to me, 
 
 In storm and rain, 
 And boldly, he 
 
 My heart hath ta'en. 
 
 Was my heart won, 
 
 Or his, that day ? 
 Methinks both hearts 
 
 Did meet half-way. 
 
 The chambermaid announced Walpurga. Irma stopped in the 
 middle of her song. 
 
 " Welcome ! What good thought brings you here ? " 
 
 Walpurga hesitated, but, at last, preferred her request and 
 handed the paper to the Countess. 
 
 "Take courage," said Irma, consolingly. 
 
 She rang for a servant, to whom she said : " Tell my brother to 
 come here at once." Then, addressing Walpurga, she continued : 
 " I '11 add a few words of my own. Be calm. I am glad to be 
 able to grant your request. I 've often wanted to ask you whether 
 there was not some wish that you would like to have gratified. 
 The king will surely grant the pardon." 
 
 Walpurga would have liked to interrupt her, but everything 
 seemed as if bewitched. Before she could say a word, the aid-de- 
 camp had come. Irma begged him to wait while she added a few 
 lines of her own. 
 
 The aid-de-camp had taken his leave. Irma passed her hand 
 over Walpurga's face and said: "Let me 'banish all your sad 
 thoughts. Be happy and take my word for it the man is saved. 
 Go to the poor woman and quiet her in the meanwhile. I '11 
 bring the answer to your room." 
 
 Walpurga could not find words, or she would have said some- 
 
92 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 thing, even then. But the petition had already gone. After all, nc 
 one would be harmed in the matter, and, although Thomas really 
 was a wicked fellow, this might make a better man of him. Wal- 
 purga left Irma's apartment. Stopping at the door, for an instant, 
 to recover herself, she heard Irma singing again. When she 
 reached her room, she was in a calmer state and said to Zenza : 
 
 "Your Thomas will get off; depend upon it. But you must 
 give me your word, and promise to keep it, too, that Thomas will 
 become an honest man, and that you won't help him sell his stolen 
 wares and hide his evil ways. You needn't look at me so, for 
 I 've a right to talk to you this way. I 've risked a great deal for 
 you." 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; you 've a right to say it," replied Zenza, in a half- 
 earnest, half -jesting tone. " You make our whole neighborhood 
 happy. \Ye 're all proud of you. On Sunday, before the church, 
 I '11 tell them what influence you have here, and they '11 all believe 
 me. Your mother was my playfellow, and if my Thomas had got 
 an honest woman like you for his wife, he 'd been thrifty, too. He 
 must get himself a good wife. I '11 give him no peace till he does." 
 
 Zenza was enjoying some good coffee which Mademoiselle Kra- 
 mer had prepared for her, and the kind-hearted housekeeper filled 
 her cup again and again. 
 
 " If I could only give my son some of this ! O how he must be 
 suffering out there ! But it serves him right ; that 's his punish- 
 ment. He 's on the lookout now, but not as a poacher. It 's quite 
 a different thing, now." Zenza was quite voluble and Mademoiselle 
 Kramer was charmed with the frankness and motherly affection of 
 the old woman. 
 
 When Zenza had emptied her cup and eaten nearly all the cake, 
 she said : 
 
 " May I take this little bit of sugar with me ? It '11 always remind 
 me that I 've drunk coffee in the king's palace." 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer wrapped a piece of cake in a paper, and 
 said : "Take this to your son." 
 
 It seemed as thoug'h Zenza would never get done thanking them. 
 She was in great good humor, and asked permission to see the 
 prince ; but Walpurga refused it, and well knew why ; for, at 
 home, Zenza was regarded as a witch and, even if it were mere 
 superstition, thought Walpurga, who can know what might 
 happen? She had already become so politic that she availed 
 herself, as an excuse, of the' Doctor's order that no stranger should 
 be allowed near the person of the crown prince. 
 
 Zenza now told them how great a commotion Walpurga's sudden 
 departure had created in their neighborhood. Ever since, the people 
 would talk of nothing else. The folks were all late at church on 
 Sunday, because they had stopped before Walpurga's house and 
 stared at it as if there was something new to be seen, and Hansei 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 93 
 
 had been obliged to show his cow to half the congregation, as if 
 there was something strange about it. But the thoughts of all 
 were of Walpurga ; and she also said that it was well known that 
 Walpurga's influence had secured Stasi's betrothed his position as 
 ranger. In spite of Walpurga's protestations that she knew nothing 
 of it, Zcnza insisted on her story, and praised her the more for her 
 mo'iesty. 
 
 The time passed quickly. 
 
 Countess Irma, her face radiant with joy, brought the king's let- 
 ter of pardon. 
 
 Zenza would have fallen on her knees to her and kissed her feet, 
 but Irma held her up and said : 
 
 " I 've something more ,for you : take this, so that, besides being 
 free, you may be able to get some pleasure." 
 
 She gave her a gold piece. 
 
 Old Zenza's eyes sparkled, while she said : 
 
 " If the gracious princess should ever want any one who 'd go 
 through fire and water to serve her, she need only think of Zenza 
 and Thomas." 
 
 She would have said much more, but Walpurga said : 
 
 "Thomas is waiting for you at the gate ; make haste and go to 
 him." 
 
 " You see, dear princess, how good she is. She deserves to be 
 happy." 
 
 "Walpurga," said Mademoiselle Kramer, "you might give the 
 woman the money for your husband." 
 
 "I '11 take it for you." 
 
 " No, I '11 send it. I must wait awhile," said Walpurga, hesita- 
 ting. She could not well explain that she distrusted both Zenza 
 and her son. 
 
 " Here," said Irma, handing Zenza the little golden heart which 
 she wore; "take this to Walpurga's child, from me." Then, re- 
 moving her silk kerchief, she added, "give her this, too." 
 
 " O what a lovely neck ! " exclaimed Zenza. 
 
 Walpurga again reminded her that she had better return to her 
 son. 
 
 Irma felt happy to think that she had brought about the pardon. 
 Walpurga was afraid to tell them Zenza was a stranger to her, 
 and that she almost hated her ; or that Red Thomas was one oi 
 the worst men in their neighborhood. She consoled herself with 
 the thought that all would yet be well. Bad men can grow better, 
 or else all talk of repentance would be mere lies and deceit. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Zenza, holding the pardon on high, had hur- 
 I'ied out of the palace. 
 
 "Is my reckoning settled ?" asked Thomas, spitting as far as he 
 could. 
 
 " Yes, thank God ! See what a mother can do." 
 
94 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " I do n't owe you much thanks for that, what did you bring me 
 into the world for ? But the best of it all is, it 's a slap in the face 
 for the great snarling country justice. Now, mother, I 'm as 
 thirsty as three bailiff's clerks. Waiting has almost used me up. 
 Have you anything more about you ? " 
 
 " Of course I have ; just look." 
 
 She showed him the gold piece, which he most dexterously re- 
 moved from her hand and into his pocket. 
 
 " What else have you got ? " said he, when he noticed the little 
 gold heart that she had taken from her pocket at the same tims. 
 
 " The beautiful princess gave me that and this silk kerchief f. 
 Walpurga's child." 
 
 " Hansei's child will have enough with the kerchief," s^.d 
 Thomas, appropriating the gold heart, while he goodnaturedly al- 
 lowed his mother to retain the black cord which had been at- 
 tached to it. 
 
 " There, mother ; that '11 do very well, and now let 's take a 
 drink for having waited so long." 
 
 " While I was waiting out here, I saw a splendid rifle at the 
 gunsmith's. You can take it apart and put it in your pocket, and 
 we '11 see if the greencoats catch me again." 
 
 The first thing young Thomas did was to take the chamois 
 beard and the black cock plume out of his pocket and stick them 
 in his hat again. Then he put on his hat in a defiant manner, 
 and his whole bearing seemed to say : I 'd like to see who 'd dare 
 touch them. 
 
 Just as they were going away, Baum came in from the street. 
 He seemed anxious to avoid them, but Zenza went up to him and 
 thanked him again for the handsome present he had given her 
 when Walpurga had been sent for. She looked at him strangely, 
 and Baum, with a side glance, noticed that Thomas's eyes were 
 fixed upon him. He felt a shudder passing, like a flash of light- 
 ning, from his heart to his head. It actually made his hair stand 
 on end, and obliged him to raise his hat and adjust it differently; 
 but he took a nail-file from his pocket and began trimming his 
 nails, and then said : " You 've thanked me already ; once is 
 enough." 
 
 " Mother ! if Jangerl was n't in America, I 'd have sworn that 
 was he." 
 
 "You 're cr?zy," replied Zenza. 
 
 They went into the town together. Thomas always walking 
 briskly in front. It seemed as if it would not worry him much, 
 were he to lose his mother. 
 
 They repaired to an inn, where, without taking time to sit down,' 
 he drank off a schoppen of wine. Then, telling his mother to 
 vvait; he went off to purchase the rifle. 
 
 Mean.vhile, Walpurga was sitting by the window and imagining 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 95 
 
 how the folks at home would be talking of her great power, and 
 how, at the Chamois, they would have so much to say about her, 
 and that the innkeeper's wife, who had always looked down upon 
 her, would almost burst with envy. 
 
 Walpurga laughed and was pleased to think that the envious 
 and proud would be angry at her good fortune. This, indeed, 
 seemed her greatest delight, and, at all events, was the thought on 
 which she dwelt longest. Another reason may have been that the 
 joy of the virtuous is more quickly exhausted than the angry and 
 evil speeches of the wicked, which keep fermenting and -sending 
 bubbles to the surface long after they have been uttered. Wal- 
 purga remained sitting by the window, her lips silently moving, as 
 if she were repeating to herself the words of those who envied 
 and were angry at her, until, at last, Countess Irma addressed 
 her: 
 
 " I can see how happy you are. Yes, Walpurga, if we could 
 only do good to some fellow creature every moment, we would be 
 the happiest beings under the sun. Do n't you see, Walpurga, the 
 real divine grace of a prince lies in his being able to do good at 
 any moment? " 
 
 " I understand that quite well," answered Walpurga. "A king 
 is like the sun which shines down on all, and refreshes the trees 
 near by, as well as the flowers in the distant, hidden valley ; it does 
 good to men and beasts and everything. Such a king is a messen- 
 ger from God ; but he must be careful to remain one, for, being 
 lord over all, pride and lust may overpower him. He 's just given 
 life to Thomas, and all the prison doors open as they do in the 
 fable when they say : ' open sesame' O you good king ! do n't let 
 them spoil you, and always have such kind-hearted people about 
 you as my Countess Irma." 
 
 "Thanks," said Irma. "I now know you perfectly. Believe 
 me, all the books in the world contain nothing better and nothing 
 more than does your heart; and, although you cannot write, it has 
 been so much the more plainly written there. But let us be quiet 
 and sensible. Come, you must take your writing lesson." 
 
 They sat down together, and Irma taught Walpurga how to use 
 the pen. Walpurga said that she did not care to write single 
 letters, and that she would prefer having a word to copy. 
 
 Irma wrote the word " pardon" for her. Walpurga filled a whole 
 sheet with that word, and when Irma left the room, she took the 
 writing with her, saying : 
 
 " I shall preserve this as a memento of this hour." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 " "\I7HAT can be the matter with the o^ueen? " 
 VV "Her majesty," added Mademoiselle Kramer. 
 
96 O.V THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "What can it be?" said Walpurga; "for some days, the 
 prince " 
 
 "His royal highness," said Mademoiselle Kramer. 
 
 " Has hardly been noticed by her. Before that, whenever she 
 sa\v the child and held it to her 'heart, she always seemed lifted 
 up to the skies, and once said to me : ' Walpurga, did n't it make 
 you feel as if you 'd become a girl again, free and independent of 
 everything? To me, the world is nothing but myself and my 
 child ' and now she hardly looks at i*, just as if her having had a 
 child were a dream. There must be great trouble in a mother's 
 heart" 
 
 "Royal mother " said Mademoiselle Kramer. 
 
 " When she does n't care to look at her child." 
 
 The queen's heart was, in truth, torn by a mighty struggle. 
 Her feelings had, for months past, been of a most distressing and 
 excited nature. There was one point on which she dared not even 
 think aloud, and \vhich she would have thought profaned by 
 speaking of it to others. It was her wish to determine for herself, 
 and she had done so. Ever since she had become a mother, she 
 had felt as if separated from the rest of the world. When she 
 thought of her child and, above all, \yhen she clasped it to her 
 heart, she felt as if nothing more remained to be done. She and 
 the child were her world ; all else was as nothing. And yet she 
 loved the king with all her heart, and ardently desired that their 
 union should be so complete that they might be one in feeling, in 
 belief, and in affection. 
 
 The thought that they ought to be united in all things, con- 
 stantly grew upon her. Father, mother and child should be as one, 
 praying to the same God, with the same thoughts, and in the same 
 words. 
 
 The isolation of the sick chamber only helped to strengthen these 
 thoughts and, now that she was about to return to the world, she 
 longed to make the bond that united her to the king, perfect in the 
 highest sense. 
 
 She was allowed to do but little talking, and, therefore, did not 
 indulge in conversation. After a few days had passed, she had a 
 Madonna, by Filippo Lippi the younger, brought to her dimly- 
 lighted chamber. She gazed at the picture for hours, and it 
 seemed to be looking at her in return the two mothers were one 
 in bliss. 
 
 The canon visited her and found her in this devotional frame of 
 mind. With trembling lips, she confided to him her desire to 
 belong to the church of her husband and child. He lent a ready 
 assent to the request that she might be spared all dogmatic 
 teachings. When the canon had left, she became oppressed 
 with a sense of fear. There goes a man, thought she, who bears 
 my secret with him. He \ ad promised to keep it to himself and 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 97 
 
 thus prove himself worthy her confidence. But the secret had, 
 nevertheless, ceased to be entirely her own. 
 
 She soon quieted her fears, and a glow of delight overspread her 
 features at the thought that, although she was now a mother, 
 there was yet another sublime and exalted function which would 
 perfect her union with her husband and furnish one more proof 
 of her great love for him. 
 
 In the fullness of life, the thought of death occurred to her, ami 
 she ordered another painting to be placed on the easel before her. 
 It was the Maria ^Egyptica, by Ribera. 
 
 The queen often felt as if she must seek the glance of the peni- 
 tent. But those eyes, instead of beholding aught, seem as if 
 listening; not in alarm, for an angel is calling to her but sub- 
 missive and trustful, for she is used to the sound of heavenly 
 voices. Instead of representing the penitent daughter of the king 
 as crushed and bruised from having mortified the flesh, the artist 
 has made her features expressive of restored, childlike innocence 
 and youthful beauty a nude figure, divested of all raiment, 
 wrapped in the long, fair tresses that descend to her knees. She is 
 kneeling beside the open grave that is to receive her. Her blue 
 eyes gaze into eternity; her lips are closed, as if in pain, and 
 above her hovers an angel who spreads the mantle of mercy over 
 her and exclaims : " Thou art forgiven ! " Forgiven and redeemed, 
 she sinks into the grave. 
 
 The ascetic tone of the picture fully accorded with the queen's 
 mood, and the canon often found her lost in ecstatic admiration of 
 it. 
 
 Although Doctor Gunther disapproved of this mute companion 
 ship, his wishes and his orders were alike unavailing. It was 
 the first time that this man, who was so highly esteemed by the 
 queen, had encountered obstinacy and unyielding defiance at her 
 hands. When Irma saw the picture, she carelessly remarked that 
 the position of the eyes was faulty, but that the artist had skil- 
 fully availed himself of this fault in order to produce a peculiar 
 expression. The queen pressed her hand to her heart she was 
 alone in her feelings and wished to remain so. 
 
 Walpurga was successful where both Gunther and Irma had 
 failed. 
 
 "Is that a forest-sprite ? " asked she. 
 
 "What's that?" 
 
 " Out our way, they tell of the forest-sprites. They haunt the 
 mountains on ghost-nights, and can wrap themselves in their long 
 hair." 
 
 The queen related the legend of Maria vEgyptica to Walpurga. 
 
 She was a princess who had led a dissolute life. Suddenly, she 
 
 It ft the palace and, renouncing all pleasures, went out into the 
 
 desert, where she supported herself on roots and lived many years, 
 
 5 
 
98 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 until all her clothes fell from her body ; and, when her dying hour 
 arrived, an angel descended from above and spread the mantle of 
 mercy over her 
 
 "That 's all very good and pretty," said Walpurga, "but, no 
 offense to you, my queen, it seems a sin to have such a terrible 
 picture before one's eyes. I would n't want to sleep in the same 
 room with it. It seems as if some night it would come down and 
 drag me into the open gjave with it. O dear Lord ! I 'm afraid 
 of it, even in broad daylight." 
 
 Walpurga's words were not without effect. When night came, 
 the queen really imagined that the picture was coming towards 
 her. She could not sleep, and was obliged to have it removed 
 during the night. 
 
 Her calmness and equanimity were thus restored, and, as read- 
 ing \vas now permitted her, the priest provided her with suitable 
 books. 
 
 Her whole life was possessed by the one idea. Walpurga had 
 observed correctly. The queen scarcely looked at her child, al- 
 though the step she contemplated taking was prompted by love for 
 her husband and her child. 
 
 A few days before she went out for the first time, she sent for 
 the king, and said : 
 
 " Kurt, next Sunday will be the first time that I go out, and the 
 first day that I enter your church, and that of our son. Hence- 
 forth, I shall pray at the same altar with you and him." 
 
 " I do n't understand you " 
 
 " I have vowed that if God, in his mercy, would preserve my 
 life and that of the child, I would be united with you in all things. 
 I am not fulfilling an enforced vow, but a free and well-considered 
 resolution. I offer this, not as a new proof, but rather as a 
 confirmation or final sealing of our love. Kurt, my every thought, 
 all that I am, is yours. We are as one before the world ; let us be 
 as one before God. Henceforth, we will not take separate ways, 
 or have separate thoughts. Let our child learn nothing of the dif- 
 ferences between men, and, above all, between those to whom he 
 owes his life. I feel happy that I can do this as a free offering and 
 not as a sacrifice." 
 
 "Mathilde," said the king, with a strangely cold tone, "is this 
 the first time you speak of this, or have you already made prepara- 
 tions " 
 
 " My resolution was formed in secret, and in all earnestness. 
 Afterward, I announced it and all is now in readiness. I had in- 
 tended it as a surprise for you. The canon almost insisted that I 
 must tell you of it in his presence, but I would n't consent." 
 
 " Thank God ! " said the king, drawing a long breath, "all ma) 
 again be well ! " 
 
 " ' Again ? ' ' Well ? '" enquired the queen in amazement. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 99 
 
 The king calmly explained to her that, although hi appreciated 
 the sacrifice, he could not accept it. 
 
 The queen deprecated his terming it a sacrifice, and the king 
 said : 
 
 " Very well, then ; you need go no further than myself, who of 
 all beings am most in accord with you, to discover that others 
 may, nay, must judge of your actions differently from yourself. 
 What will the world, the courts, our subjects, think of it? " 
 
 "What need we care about that, when we know that we nfre 
 right ? ' What will the world say ? ' is always the great question. 
 But the world must not force us to be different from what we are." 
 
 " Mathilde, you speak like a martyr. Your feelings are exalted 
 and worthy of all reverence. You are both good and noble ; but, 
 believe me, the best actions, indeed, the only proper ones, are 
 those which require neither explanation nor apology. We are not 
 hermits. Although your motives are pure and lofty, the world will 
 be unable and unwilling to understand them. Nor dare we make 
 explanations. A prince degrades himself by stooping to explain 
 his actions. You regard the world with heavenly .feelings ; but 
 the heaven lies in your way of looking at things, not in the world 
 itself. I should be sorry to reveal the world's wickedness to you, 
 and thus cast a gloom over your kindly views of life. Hold fast to 
 your belief in the Highest, but do it after the forms of your own 
 faith." 
 
 " And must I, all my life, walk in one path, while you and the 
 child take another?" 
 
 " Mathilde, we are not anchorites ; we are not even private citi- 
 zens. Our position is an exposed one. A sovereign can have no 
 private actions " 
 
 " Do you mean that all we do is to be as an example to others ? " 
 
 " I mean that, too," said the king, hesitating ; " but what I 
 meant to say was, that, in whatever you do, it is not yourself alone, 
 but the queen who acts. Its effects are felt far and near. I am 
 happy to be the object of so much love. You feel it, do you not, 
 Mathilde?" 
 
 " Do n't speak of it. Our best and deepest feelings c o not seek 
 expression in words." 
 
 " Bear this well in mind the wife of a private gentleman can 
 perform such an action in secret. You cannot. You would be 
 obliged to close the Protestant court chapel, and would thus offend 
 all throughout the land who hold your present faith." 
 
 ;< I do n't wish to offend any one. The world can't ask me to 
 make such a sacrifice. My highest, my only aim, is to be one with 
 you, on earth and in heaven, now and hereafter." 
 
 " Very well, then ; promise me one thing." 
 
 "Whatever you wish." 
 
 "Promise me that you will defer acting on your resolve, for ai 
 
loo ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 least a month. It would be wrong to allow a passing mood to 
 change the course of one's life." 
 
 "You 're a noble creature," said the queen ; " I '11 obey you." 
 
 " So you give up your resolve ? " 
 
 "No, I shall wait. I do n't wish it to be what you imagine it- 
 the outgrowth of a sickly mood, engendered by the seclusion of 
 my chamber. I '11 allow" it to ripen in the sunlight, and you will 
 then discover that it is something more than a mere mood." 
 
 The king was satisfied with the result. But, strangely enough, 
 lie refrained from any display of affection, and when, at parting, 
 he took the queen's hand in his, his manner seemed cold and 
 distant. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THE king had shown great self-control while conversing with 
 his wife, and, now that he was alone, felt that her words had 
 aroused a dormant feeling of displeasure. 
 
 He sincerely loved his wife, but he was of an heroic, active 
 temperament, and all that savored of pettiness, self-questioning 
 or sentimentality, was utterly distasteful to him. His great 
 ambition was to promote the happiness of his subjects, and to 
 achieve for himself a place in history. But a period of peaceful 
 development, in which all were friendly to the government and 
 anxious to serve it, afforded no opportunity for heroic deeds, or for 
 new and startling measures. All that could be done was to hold 
 fast to what had already been achieved and, at the same time, to 
 encourage new growths. But such labors absorb the work of 
 many whose names remain unknown to fame, and it was this that 
 explained the king's fondness for building. The construction of 
 great edifices devoted to art, science, the church and the army, 
 could not but be regarded as proofs of a mind anxious to achieve 
 great deeds. 
 
 The king loved his wife, and was content to have it so. The 
 queen, on the other hand, was ever anxious to furnish new proofs 
 of her love, and her deep sensibility was again displayed in this at- 
 tempt to carry out a resolve which, although prompted by the best 
 motives, was utterly impracticable. She idealized everything, and, 
 in that respect, the king's temperament was the very opposite of 
 hers. Her apartments were always so dimly lighted that, when he 
 entered them, he was obliged to grope his way. On emerging 
 from this gloom, it seemed to him as if the morn had dawned anew, 
 for he dearly loved the bright light of day. This continual worry- 
 ing about religious problems that none can solve this constant 
 mental excitement, incapacitates one for prompt action. He who 
 desires to have his life-fabric rest on a firm foundation, must be 
 free from over-refined self-criticism. He must subordinate all his 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. ' 101 
 
 feeling's, all his passions, to the one, aim.- and to no one does -ibis sxy 
 forcibly apply as to the monarch who desires to direct the 'diversi- 
 fied and all-embracing interests of his subjects. 
 
 The queen's aim was to realize, in her own person, her ideal of 
 the wife and the mother ; but then she had no right to forget that 
 she was a queen. Something more was required than eternal 
 trifling and weaving of garlands, ingeniously devised as they might 
 be. Love, such as hers, is exacting withal, for, while it lavishes en 
 dearments, it constantly requires a return in kind. It is exclusive 
 and, at the same time, wearisome. The sun shines and love exists, 
 but why constantly worry about either. 
 
 The lonely life the queen had been leading had produced an ex- 
 cited condition that sought vent in the attempt to change her faith, 
 and, although the king had determined that it should be nothing 
 more than an attempt, her words had tended to confirm a corre- 
 sponding feeling of loneliness on his part a result to which his 
 recent experience had in no slight degree contributed. 
 
 The king was alone in his cabinet. How would it have stood 
 with him, if his wife had possessed a great and commanding 
 mind ? The thought had suddenly flashed upon him. He passed 
 his hand across his brow, as if to banish the idea ; he dared not, 
 could not think of such a thing. He sent for Doctor Gunther, for 
 this affair must be disposed of at once. 
 
 Gunther came. 
 
 The king, at first, cautiously sounded him, in order to discover 
 whether this confidant of the queen's knew aught of what had 
 happened, and then, under the seal of secrecy, informed him of 
 all. 
 
 To the king's great surprise, Gunther, instead of thanking him 
 for this mark of confidence, politely said : 
 
 "I should much prefer that Your Majesty had graciously per- 
 mitted me to remain ignorant of secrets and troubles in which I 
 can be of no assistance." 
 
 The king stared at him in astonishment. This man was always 
 obstinate and always preserved his dignity. 
 
 "I was about to ask you," said the king, harshly, "whether 
 you believe that you can influence the queen in this matter." 
 
 " I fear not ; but if Your Majesty desires it, I am ready to make 
 the effort." 
 
 " Pray do." 
 
 "But I fear her majesty will be offended. I understand her 
 idiosyncrasies. If the matter is noised about, she will thin.'t it 
 profaned by the touch of others, and it will thus, in he,r opinion* 
 lose its greatest charm." 
 
 " That would be the very thing," said the king, eagerly. " Per 
 haps that will be the best way to cure her of her enthusiasm. 
 Everything is considered a fit subject for debate, nowadays. Your 
 
102 .cry THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 friends .iti rhe chamber >f delegates debate even-thing, and th?y 
 might as well " 
 
 It was a constant source of annoyance to ihe king, that the 
 Doctor, who never obtruded his opinions, would, when drawn into. 
 an argument on questions of religion or politics, always espouse 
 the liberal side ; but, with all that, he could ill afford to do without 
 Gunther. Although the king found him objectionable in some re- 
 spects, he nevertheless had a high regard for him. He held so 
 high a position in the world of science and in the esteem of his 
 countrymen, that the presence, near the king, of one possessed of 
 such liberal views, reflected peculiar glory on the court itself. 
 
 The king now formally requested Gunther to endeavor to move 
 the queen from her resolve. 
 It was a difficult undertaking. 
 
 The queen had, heretofore, made this trusted friend her confidant, 
 and now he was possessed of a secret of hers that had been given 
 him by another. Gunther endeavored to draw the queen into some 
 allusion to her secret resolve, but, failing in the attempt, was 
 obliged to introduce the subject himself. 
 The queen seemed surprised and grieved. 
 
 "Why has the king done this? "asked she, her features ex- 
 pressing intense pain. 
 
 "Perhaps his majesty," replied Gunther, "credits me with the 
 possession of more powerful arguments that any which have yet 
 been advanced." 
 
 "I know them, all," answered the queen, excitedly; "in such a 
 matter, no stranger should dare to breath a word of " 
 
 " Then, Your Majesty, I Ve nothing more to say, and humbly 
 Deg leave to withdraw." 
 
 14 Xo, no ! Speak on I must hear you." 
 " Must ? You must not." 
 
 " Wish, or must, it 's all the same. You 're always saying that 
 there 's no such thing as free will, and with monarchs it is cer- 
 tainly so." 
 
 "Your Majesty," said Gunther, in a gentle voice, "the high 
 resolve you have formed was not an act of your will. It is the 
 natural and inevitable consequence of a chain of events and im- 
 pressions, which have been shaped by your temperament. Fervent 
 natures are always afraid lest they cannot do enough for them- 
 selves and for the world. They would like, with every hour nay, 
 with every breath to make others happy, or impress the world 
 with some great thought." 
 " So you,, too, can flatter." 
 
 "I never flatter. 1 simply take the diagnosis which, in your 
 case, is not flattering. This excess of sensibility is not health " 
 " So you consider my mood as unhealthy 
 " We should not use that term. But I entreat you, Your 
 Majesty ! this tone, with either of us, is hardly 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 103 
 
 " Speak on. I like to hear you. I do n't feel hurt that you know 
 of this. I regard you as part of the daylight that was to ripen my 
 resolve." 
 
 " Well then, all that is to ripen must needs be subjected to cur- 
 rents of air and even to storms. But I shall bring you no storrr, 
 and shall not even speak of the fact that whoever deserts the faith 
 into which he was born, insults his parents ; nor shall I tell you 
 that the ceremonies to which we have been accustomed frorr 
 youth, are the soul's mother-tongue. All that does not address it- 
 self to the mind. Mind and reason are the parents of conscious 
 man. It is our duty to live up to our convictions, and I can, there- 
 fore, find no fault with a change of religion based upon conviction. 
 But it seems to me, Your Majesty, that your change of faith is 
 simply superficial or, if it be deeper, only from love for your hus- 
 band. You know, however, that I view all these things from an 
 entirely different standpoint. I believe I know the spring in para- 
 dise, whence flows the stream that on earth is divided into so 
 many little rivulets ; and these again, to use the words of my friend 
 Eberhard, Countess Irma's father, furnish the power for the mills 
 that grind out sermons. Your Majesty knows that the legend of 
 the four streams that flowed from the tree Igdrasil, which is found 
 in the most beautiful of all books, the Bible, is also to be found in 
 our old German Saga." 
 
 " Very well but, I beg 'of you, my dear friend, spare me your 
 literary curiosities." 
 
 "Your Majesty," resumed Gunther, "as long as we remain in 
 the faith of our fathers, we can enjoy great latitude of opinion. 
 Our thoughts can reach far beyond its confines, and no inquisition 
 has power over us : but, as soon as we profess another religion, 
 we forfeit the right to be free. It is our duty to live up to it. One 
 who is noble by birth can afford to admit civil equality, but he 
 who has had nobility conferred on him, cannot do so. Will 
 Your Majesty permit me to say one word more ? I regard it as 
 fortunate for mankind in general, and our German fatherland in 
 particular, that there is a diversity of religious beliefs. That of 
 itself tends to preserve feelings of humanity, for thus we cannot 
 help seeing that there are different forms of soul utterances for one 
 and the same thing. A multiplicity of sects affords the best 
 protection against fanaticism and, moreover, helps to prove that 
 religious forms are of no consequence ; that is, one can be righteous 
 in any faith and, indeed, without any outward show of religion." 
 
 Gunther remained with the queen for a long while, offering 
 further explanations of the ideas he had advanced. 
 
 He was still with her, when the canon was announced. 
 
 The queen sent word that she desired to be excused, and. 
 requested him to come the next day. 
 
 When Gunther left, she was still as firm in her resolve as a* 
 
104 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 first. She felt persuaded that this was an action in which no olhei 
 being should interfere and, least of all, a man. 
 
 She was on the point of taking Irma into her confidence. She 
 felt that the Countess was clever and, moreover, a true friend. 
 Unconquerable dread held her back. She feared lest she might 
 appear weak and vacillating in Irma's eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 F'OR days, the queen remained alone. Walpurga and the chfid 
 were the only ones permitted near her. She did not wish to 
 speak to any one else, be it her husband, Gunther, or the priest. 
 
 One afternoon, when Walpurga was with her, she felt impelled 
 to ask : 
 
 " Walpurga, do you know that I do n't belong to your faith ? " 
 
 "Yes, indeed, I do ; and I 'm glad of it." 
 
 "Glad of it?" 
 
 " Of course I am ; you 're the first and only Lutheran I 've ever 
 known, and if they 're all like you, it must be a beautiful religion." 
 
 " It is beautiful, and so are all religions that make good beings 
 of us." 
 
 " Why, do you know, queen, that 's the very thing my father 
 used to say, and in the very same words ? O, if he 'd only lived 
 long enough to have had a talk with you." 
 
 The queen was silent for a long while. 
 
 At last she asked : 
 
 "Walpurga, if your religion was different from Hansei's, would 
 you go to his church ? " 
 
 " Why, Hansei 's Catholic, as well as I am." 
 
 " But if it were otherwise ? " 
 
 "But it is n't otherwise." 
 
 " But just imagine it were." 
 
 "But I can't do that," said she, as if about to cry. 
 
 The queen was again silent for some time. Presently Walpurga, 
 of her own accord, said : 
 
 " Yes, I can, after all. I Ve thought it out. Why you 're 
 Lutheran and your husband 's Catholic. But why do you ask 
 me that ? " 
 
 " Imagine yourself in my position. If you were a Protestant, 
 would you not visit your husband's church ? " 
 
 " No, queen, never ! As long as I 'd been an honest wife while 
 a Protestant, I 'd remain one. May I tell you a little story, 
 queen ? " j 
 
 " Yes ; go on." 
 
 " What was I going to say ? Yes, now I know. You see, my 
 dear father the king's physician has surely told you what a good 
 man he was But I 'm beginning at the wrong end ; I wanted to 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 105 
 
 tell it to you differently. Well, as I was going to say, I went to 
 school to a very strict priest who condemned all people th it did n't 
 belong to our faith, to the lowest depths of hell. I was once 
 telling my father about it, when he said: 'Purgei,' he always 
 called me Purgei when he wanted to speak right to m-y heart 
 ' Purgei,' said he, 'there are many millions of people in the world, 
 and the smallest portion of them are Christians, and what a vile 
 God it would be who would condemn all the rest to hell just 
 because they are n't Christians, when they can't help it, and were 
 born as they are. Don't you believe,' said he, 'that a man's 
 damned for his faith, as long as he 's virtuous.' Well, I hold fast 
 by that. Of course, I did n't say anything to the priest about it, 
 for he need n't know everything. I 'm sure he do n't tell me all he 
 knows." 
 
 The queen was siler.t, and Walpurga soon began again : 
 
 " And now I think of something, better than all. O, my dear 
 queen, I must tell you this, too. It 's about my father, who used to 
 think a great deal. The old doctor, the father of the one who 's liv- 
 ing there now, often used to say that if father had studied, he 'd 
 have become a great man. Well, one evening, on the very Sunday 
 that I was confirmed, I was sitting with father and mother on the 
 bench behind our little cottage by the lake. The evening bells 
 were tolling ; we had said our aves and were sitting about in front 
 of the cottage, when we heard the Liederkranz. They were coming 
 across the lake in a boat, and were singing so beautifully I can't 
 tell you how lovely their singing was. And then father got up 
 from his seat, his face glowing in the sunshine, and said : ' now I 
 know how our Lord in heaven must feel.' 'Don't blaspheme,' 
 said my mother. ' I 'm not blaspheming ; quite the reverse/ said 
 father. His voice seemed wondrous strange. 'Yes, I know it, I 
 feel it, 'said he ; ' all churches our own, the Protestant, the Jewish, 
 the Turkish, and whatever their names may be every one of them 
 has a part in the song, and though each sings as best he can, they 
 go together very well, and make a chorus that must sound glori- 
 ous up there in heaven. Let every one sing according to the 
 voice God has given him, for He will know how if will harmonize, 
 and it surely does harmonize beautifully.' " 
 
 Walpurga's beaming glance met that of the queen. 
 
 " Your father spoke wisely," said the queen ; a tear glistened in 
 her eye and in that of the nurse, too. 
 
 Walpurga went away, taking the child with her. 
 
 The next day the queen sent for the king, and said : 
 ' Kurt, I have courage." 
 I know it." 
 
 No. I have a courage that you do not know." 
 'A courage that I do not know?" 
 And never will know. I have courage enough to appear weak 
 
io6 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 and vacillating; but, Kurt, you will not misjudge me on that ac- 
 count ? " 
 
 "Pray speak more plainly, and with fewer preliminaries." 
 
 " I am determined," continued the queen, ' 1 hardly dare utter 
 that word, now but you will not misjudge me ? I shall remain ir 
 the faith in which I was born, and we shall nevertheless be as one." 
 
 The king thanked her quite cordially, and only regretted thit 
 the canon knew of the matter. He hoped, however, to be able to 
 silence his tongue. 
 
 The queen was surprised to find that he manifested so little joy ; 
 but, on second thought, this seemed quite natural to her, for why 
 should that which had been nothing more than a passing cloud, 
 leave great results in its wake ? Others could know nothing of the 
 bitter struggle it had cost her. 
 
 She felt sensible that it would be a long while before any ex- 
 pression or resolve of hers would obtain weight or authority, for it 
 would not soon be forgotten that she had once shown herself weak. 
 
 While she was in the Protestant court chapel, on the following 
 Sunday, she scarcely ventured to raise her eyes. She was think- 
 ing of how it would have been if she now were in the other church, 
 and of how the eyes of the congregation would have been directed 
 to the pew that was thenceforward to remain vacant. In spirit, 
 she had already deserted this church and its congregation. Her 
 soul trembled when she thought of the resolve she had entertained, 
 and, from the bottom of her heart, she thanked her husband, whose 
 strong arm had held her back. 
 
 When the whole congregation arose and, in the prayers for the 
 royal household, offered up thanks for her preservation and that of 
 the royal prince, she could no longer restrain her tears. 
 
 Contrary to her usual habit, she went to church again that after- 
 noon. 
 
 Meanwhile, the king and Countess Irma were pleasantly saunter- 
 ing in that portion of the park from which the public was shut out. 
 
 The king informed Irma of the queen's resolve and of how she 
 had been induced to give it up. Irma replied that she had, long 
 since, surmised ^.s much, but had not felt that she had a right to 
 speak c-f it. She had dropped a hint to Doctor Gunther, who had 
 refused to have anything to do with the matter. 
 
 The king expressed his dislike for Gunther, .but Irma defended 
 him with great enthusiasm. 
 
 "The Doctor is very fortunate," said the king, "to have so elo- 
 quent an advocate in his absence." 
 
 " I am that to all friends whom I truly respect." 
 
 "I could wish that I, too, were accused," continued the king. 
 
 "And I believe," replied Irma, smiling, "Your Majesty could 
 not wish for a more earnest advocate than I would be." 
 
 A pause ensued. The king gracefully and frankly retracted his 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 107 
 
 complaints against Gunther, and this conversation seemed merely 
 a bridge over which they passed to another topic. 
 
 The king spoke of the queen and of her peculiar temperament. 
 
 It was the first time that the king and Irma had spoken of the 
 queen. That the king not only prompted, but actually called 
 forth her remarks, was the cause, at a later day, of incalculable 
 suffering'. 
 
 They extolled the poetic sense, the fervent feeling, the flower-like 
 tenderness of the queen, and while they thus depicted her in glow- 
 ing colors, they, in their own minds, found fault with her weakness 
 and overflowing enthusiasm. 
 
 When a husband thus speaks of his wife, to a third person, it 
 inevitably leads to estrangement and exposure. 
 
 Thus far, all was veiled in terms of praise. It was here just as 
 it was with the queen in church. With all the power of her will, 
 she strove to forget herself in her prayer, and to be again as she 
 had once been ; and yet, while the sense of the words she uttered 
 entered her soul, she could not help being aware of a secret numb- 
 ness and estrangement that seemed to say to her : " You will 
 never again be as you once were." 
 
 While the king and Irma were thus conversing, they appeared to 
 each other as equals. Their views of life were in accord, and 
 while they spoke of how easily one might yield to temptation, their 
 intimacy seemed to them a proof of strength rather than of weak- 
 ness. They went on, in perfect step with each other, and Irma 
 no longer said : " Let us return." 
 
 The queen, since she had again appeared in society, was, if 
 possible, more gracious and amiable than she had ever been. She 
 placed every one far above her. They had none of them been as 
 weak and vacillating as she. She felt it her duty to do good to 
 every one, because, although she was no better than they, she was 
 placed far above them. Her soul was all humility. 
 
 A few days later, the newspapers mysteriously hinted that 
 attempts had been made to take advantage of the angelic purity 
 of the queen, in order to estrange her from herself and alienate 
 the affections of the people from her. 
 
 This, it was readily understood, alluded to the queen's con- 
 templated change of faith. 
 
 The queen had always openly acknowledged herself on the side 
 of the liberal opposition, and the king regarded Gunther as the 
 mediator who had procured her the goodwill of the press, and 
 who, in doing so, had not feared committing an indiscretion. 
 
 This i lain and flagrant perversion of the truth only served the 
 more to embitter him against the press and the machinations of 
 the queen's party at court. Nevertheless, he dissembled his re- 
 sentment, for he felt that he could well afford to bide his time. 
 
io8 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 (IRMA TO HER FRIEND EMMA.) 
 
 4 * | FT me tell you all that I did yesterday. I wanted to read' 
 L; 1 saw the letters but could not read a word, for they all 
 sec-n?ed to be moving about the page, like so many ants in an ant- 
 hill. I wanted to sing, but no song was to my liking. I wanted to 
 play, but even Beethoven seemed strange, and I lay for hours, dream- 
 ing I followed the little mother and her son beyond the moun- 
 tain. The larks sang my thoughts to them. They reach their 
 home , and the wild, daring lad is tractable once more. He carols 
 his merry song to his beloved. I fancy I hear him. Ah, Emma ! 
 what is there so glorious as making others happy? It is hard 
 enough to be a human being, fettered by a thousand trammels, by 
 ailments, consideration for others, and all sorts of misery ; but to 
 suffer want beside ! The very idea of jails is a disgrace to human- 
 it)-. Ah. Emma ! how noble! how like a revelation from the great 
 heart of the people, were the words of the simple-minded wife of 
 the woodcutter. I tried to put what she had said into verse, in- 
 tending to give it to the king the next morning; but I could 
 not do it ; nothing satisfied me. Language is worn out, narrow 
 coarse. I was ever thinking of Schiller's words: 'When the soul 
 speaks, it has ceased to be the soul.' I left my scribbling. I 
 passed a restless night. When the soul's depths are stirred, it 
 wanders about like a spirit, and can find no rest in sleep. 
 
 " While at breakfast this morning, I informed the king of what 
 Walpurga had said. I was annoyed to find that he did not undei- 
 stand more than half of it. How else could he have answered 
 me : Yes, the Highlanders have great affection for their rulers. 
 Pray tell that to your father/ 
 
 " The king observed that he had made a mistake, but, adroit 
 and amiable as he is, quickly recovered his good nature and said : 
 Dear Countess, I will give you a secret title, which is to be known 
 only by us two. I appoint you as spy on the popular heart. Seek 
 and listen, and whenever you find anything, you can always count 
 upon unquestioning compliance on my part. Does it not seem to 
 you that Egeria was nothing more than a spy on the popular 
 heart ? At the altar in the temple, she could overhear the secret 
 thoughts of the people, and then repeated them to king Numa, 
 whom they deified and adored.' 
 
 " But our people only use prescribed prayers,' said I. 
 
 " ' The thought is quite suggestive,' replied the king, and when 
 Schnabelsdorf entered shortly afterward, he commissioned him to 
 /nake brief notes of what fixed prayers the Grecians and Romans 
 used in their temples. 
 
 " And thus thf whole story ended. What I had imagined would 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 109 
 
 create a deep impression, merely served to furnish amusement for 
 an evening. 
 
 " Ah, dear Emma, amusement is the point about which all re- 
 volves. If an apostle were to appear to-day, he could not help 
 preaching, 'Ask not, how shall we amuse ourselves to-day, but' 
 - etc., etc., finish the sentence for yourself. 
 
 " I am no better than the rest of them. I, too, am nothing but 
 a puppet, wound up to run seventy years, and to dance and luugh 
 and ride and amuse itself in the meanwhile. All of us are mere 
 singing-birds ; the only difference being that some are contented 
 with grain and caterpillars and flies, while others require larger 
 morsels, such as rabbits, bucks, deer, pheasants, fish. And the 
 higher education of that variety of singing-birds known as man, 
 lies in the fact that he cooks his food. There is terrible vacuity in 
 many men. To make conversation. Therein lies the whole art. 
 Try to get a clear notion of the expression : to make conversation, 
 and you will find how nonsensical it is. The people find me enter- 
 taining, but I do n't make conversation. I merely speak when I 
 have somewhat to say. 
 
 "My evil spirit is constantly shouting the word dilettante' in 
 my ear. 
 
 " ' Dilettante One who junkets or feeds on tit-bits for pas- 
 time/ says my dictionary. Rather rough, but there is something 
 in it." 
 
 " One day later. 
 
 "The king has just sent me the following poem. I must apolo- 
 gize to him ; he seems to have understood my communication far 
 better than I had suspected. What do you think of the lines? 
 Why should a king not write verses? Ideality is required of him. 
 Indeed a king should understand all things, but be a dilettante in 
 none. 
 
 " P. S. I have just looked at the lines again, and find that I 
 cannot copy them for you." 
 
 " A day later. 
 
 " Do n't laugh at my continually telling you of W 7 alpurga. 
 
 " It was during our writing lesson to-day, that the king found 
 me with her. He told her how much pleasure it had afforded him 
 to be able to pardon her relative. 
 
 " ' Our relationship is very distant,' said she, ' nothing more than 
 forty-second cousins ; and, Your Majesty, I 've something on my 
 mind. If Red Thomas turns out badly, I can't help it.' 
 
 ' The king laughed and replied : ' Nor can I.' It is h ird to un- 
 derstand how Walpurga never speaks of Zenza and her son except 
 in anger, and that she will have nothing to do with them. Strange 
 demons jostle each other in the hearts of the people. I fear that 
 my office of spy on the popular heart will prove very difficult. 
 
 " By the .king's orders, I have been furnished with a copy of the 
 church prayers of the Greeks and Romans. 
 
no ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " 1 must write it down and then the idea will cease tormenting 
 me. I am constantly picturing to myself, how would it have been 
 if Zenza had become first lady of the bedchamber, and her son the 
 poacher, master of the hounds. She would be ready enough of 
 speech. She has exceedingly clever and cunning eyes, and the lad 
 would surely have been an elegant cavalier. 
 
 "In spite of all their prating about human equality and pride of 
 birth. I cannot help regarding it as a sign of divine grace, that I 
 was bom a countess, instead of Zenza's daughter ; but there are 
 two sides to that question. 
 
 "God's creatures are not so badly off in this world, after all. 
 The frog croaking in the marsh is just as happy as the nightingale 
 that sings on the tree. 
 
 " To say to the frog, 'Thou, too, should 'st dwell in the rosebush 
 and sing like the nightingale,' were not humane, but simply tyran- 
 nical. 
 
 " Have you ever patiently listened to the croaking of the frogs ? 
 How expressive it is of comfort ! While I write, they are having 
 a grand concert over in the park pond. I enjoy listening to them. 
 We human beings are impudent enough to judge everything by 
 the standard of our own taste, and yet Mistress Frog will, very 
 justly, find no music so sweet to her ears as the song of Master 
 Frog. 
 
 " I feel so grateful, dear Emma, that I can write everything to 
 you. You cannot imagine w r hat a relief it is to me. 
 
 " I am a spy on my own heart ; there are many wild spirits in it 
 adventurers and fortune hunters and, with them all, a nun. I 
 am quite curious to know how so mixed a company will get on to- 
 gether. 
 
 " My behavior towards the whole court is so free and indepen- 
 dent, because I have a secret daily task : writing to you. 
 
 " But my thoughts go out to you a thousand times oftener : 
 
 There 's not an hour in the silent night, 
 But what my thoughts go out to thee. 
 
 " Do you remember it ? It was your favorite song. I sing it, 
 for your sake, at least once every day. You and my piano are all 
 in all to me. You patiently await my coming. All the music of 
 all the masters that ever were, or ever will be, dwells within you, 
 ;md you only await the coming of the one whose touch can release 
 those tones. 
 
 " I have a dual soul. In its one phase, the piano in its other, 
 the zither. The one is easily moved from place to place ; the 
 other not. The one requires that the fingers touch the strings. 
 But ah, dear Emma, I scarce know what I am writing. I wish I 
 could get rid of the habit of thinking. I wish I were Zenza's daugh- 
 ter and the poacher wei e my brother. But no ; our thieves and 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. in 
 
 rogues who have been at school long 1 enough to know the seven 
 cardinal sins and the whole of the catechism by heart, are timid 
 and cowardly ; they drop the petition for pardon into their mother's 
 lap, while they stand by whining : Forgive us, we have done noth- 
 ing wrong. All the world over, there is no longer genuine scorn 
 of nature. Methinks the ' Italian robber behind the rock ' that you 
 once worked in wools, has, in these days, ceased to be more than 
 a traditional pattern for embroidery. The arts simply se.i ve to 
 gloss over life. 
 
 "Good night good night." 
 
 "A day later. 
 
 " I never read what I have once written. I do not care to be 
 reminded of it again. Yesterday's sun does not shine to-day. 
 But that was not what I meant. The sun is the same, but the light 
 is ever new, and I am happy to-day and do not care for all the 
 churches and palaces, men and women, frogs and crocodiles in 
 the world. 
 
 " To-day, the king said to me : 
 
 " ' I am well aware, Countess, that you have thought contemptu- 
 ously of me, during the last two days. Every withdrawal of your 
 sympathy affects me as sensibly as if it were an electric shock. 
 Do not let this happen again, I beg of you ! ' and while he spoke, 
 he looked at me like a beseeching child. Ah, he has such deep, 
 beautiful eyes ! 
 
 " I remember your once saying to me : ' There are glances with- 
 out a background, void of depth or soul ; ' but the glances of this 
 friend have unfathomed depths. 
 
 " The bonds that held me captive shall no longer restrain me ! 
 I I but no I cannot write the word. 
 
 " Oh Emma ! How I wish I were a peasant on a lonely moun- 
 tain height. Last night, it seemed to me as if my native mountains 
 were calling out to me, ' Come home ' ' Do come ' ' It is good to 
 be with us.' Ah, I would like to come, but cannot. 
 
 "Walpurga is a great friend to me at present. I become 
 absorbed in her life, so full of true, natural repose. I find it excess- 
 ively amusing to behold the court as reflected through her eyes. 
 It seems like a very puppet-play, and we, like two merry children 
 at a raree-show. 
 
 "We often sing together, and I have learned some lovely songs 
 from her. O how charmingly independent the country people are. 
 
 " ' On mountain heights there dwells no sin.' The song is ever 
 haunting me. 
 
 " The king departs for the baths to-dny ; my brother is in his 
 suite. The king requested me to write to him, now and then. I 
 shall not do it." 
 
 " Two days later. 
 
 " The king knows that I cannot live unless there be flowers in 
 
112 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 my room, and has given orders to have a fresh bouquet placed there 
 even day. This displeases me. A flower that a friend has 
 stooped to pluck for you is worth more than a thousand artistically 
 arranged bouquets. 
 
 " The king has also left orders that bouquets shall be sont daily 
 
 to Baroness N and Countess A . I think this is only to 
 
 avoid remarks upon the attention shown me. I am angry at 
 l he king. He shall not have a line from me. 
 
 " I have, for some time past been taking lessons in modeling, from 
 a professor at the academy. He has finished a bust of me, and 
 has used it as a model for a figure of Victory, to be placed on the 
 new arsenal. Have I not reason to be proud ? After this, I shall 
 ever be in the open air, and shall see nothing but the blue sky, the 
 sun, the moon, and the stars, and, at noon, the guard-mounting. 
 
 " The professor says that I have talent for modeling. This has 
 made me quite happy. Painting and drawing are only half the 
 battle mere makeshifts. Will you permit me, on my return, to 
 make a rtlici'O of you ? 
 
 " Did I not, in one of my letters to you, speak of a secret in re- 
 gard to the queen ? 
 
 "I think I did. 
 
 " The affair is now at an end. For love of the king, the queen 
 wished to enter our church, or rather yours pardon me, once and 
 for all time, I have no church. The king behaved nobly in the 
 matter. I shall never forget the time he told me of it. He is, in- 
 deed, a great man. How glorious it is, that there are princes on 
 earth who realize our ideal of the perfect man. Free and yet self- 
 possessed, unspoiled, unperverted and unbiased. If there were no 
 kings, we could no longer know a free, beautiful, perfect man. I 
 use the word beautiful in its highest sense, and of course presup- 
 pose the existence of a noble mind. All are not gods who suffer 
 themselves to be worshiped. 
 
 "The poet and the king are, of all men, alone perfect. All 
 others be they musicians or painters, sculptors or architects, artists 
 or scholars have narrow, contracted vocations, solo instru- 
 ments, as it were. The poet and the king are the only ones who 
 grasp life in all its phases. To them, naught is void of meaning, 
 because all belongs to them. The poet creates a world ; the king 
 is a world in himself. The poet knows and depicts the shepherd 
 and the huntsman, the king and the waitingmaid, the seamstress- 
 in fact, all. But the king is hunter and statesman, soldier and 
 farmer, scholar and artist, all in himself. He represents the 
 orchestra of talents. Thus is he king, and thus does he represent 
 a people, an age aye, humanity itself, and at its best. 
 
 "Ah, Emma ! Call me Turandot. Schoning, the poetic cham- 
 berlain, is also paying his addresses to me. 
 
 ' Do you know what I ought to have been ? 
 
 " 1 do. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 113 
 
 " Queen of a tribe of savages. That is what I was created for. 
 My true vocation would be to found a new ci\ ilization. Do n't 
 laugh at me. I am not joking ; indeed, I 'm not. I am fit for 
 something far better than all I have here. I am not modest. I 
 judge others and myself, too. I know my merits and my faults, 
 also. 
 
 " On father's estate, there is a hammock that hangs between two 
 elms. My greatest pleasure was to lie in it, suspended in the air, 
 while I dreamt of distant worlds. 
 
 "Do you know some savage tribe that would elect me as its 
 queen? I have procured some of the Indian melodies, if they 
 really deserve the name. One of the professors at the university, 
 who spent six years among the Indians, recently gave a lecture 
 at court. He brought some of their instruments with him, and 
 had them played on. There was more noise than music. It 
 seemed like the lisping of a nation which, as regards civilization, is 
 yet in its infancy." 
 
 " Four o'clock in the morning. 
 
 " Forget all that I have written to you, as you would the breezes 
 and the weather-changes of yesterday. 
 
 " I have just left my bed, in order to write to you. I cannot 
 sleep. I am scarcely dressed while I sit here speaking to you. 
 Oh ! that I could speak to you ! Writing is a miserable make- 
 shift nay, helplessness itself. 
 
 " I do n't know what ails me. All that I am my very self 
 seems as if only for the time being. I feel as if waiting for 
 something, I know not what. I fancy that the very next mo- 
 ment must bring it, and that I shall either be doing some wonder- 
 ful thing, or have it happen to me that I shall be completely 
 changed and become a great healing power, instead of the puny, 
 useless child of man that I now am. I listen and fancy that I 
 must hear a tone that has never yet been uttered on earth. 
 
 "There is no use trying I cannot write. I imagined that it 
 would soothe me if I could force myself to think and speak of all 
 things in definite terms, but I know nothing definite. I only know 
 that I am unhappy. Not unhappy, but as if dead and yet alive. 
 I imagine myself a sleep-walker. 
 
 " I can write no more. I close my letter and shall go to bed. 
 I want to sleep. All the world about me lies hushed in slumber. 
 Oh, that I could dream myself into another world, even though 
 :iy sleep were one from which there is no waking ! 
 
 " Good n.ght ! Good morning ! 
 
 ' IRMA." 
 
114 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 4 ' ^PO-MORROW, I mean to bring Countess Irma to you," 
 1 said Doctor Gunther to his wife, one evening. " She 's the 
 daughter of my old friend." 
 
 " In voice and manner, the Countess is full of majesty, but her 
 singing is not practical." 
 
 "Then you shall teach her. She will be glad to learn from 
 you." 
 
 " If she be willing, I am quite at her sen-ice." 
 
 The Doctor was delighted to find it so easy to bring the two 
 ladies together. He knew, of course, that his wife complied with 
 his every wish, but in this instance he was doubly anxious that all 
 should go smoothly. 
 
 For some time past, he had observed that Irma was in a fever- 
 ish condition which, during the last few days, had been growing 
 worse ; but he was one of those physicians who pay great atten- 
 tion to mental conditions and, instead of waiting for disease to 
 make its appearance, endeavor to avert it by proper changes in the 
 mode of living. He did not know the cause of Irma's excitement, 
 but he knew that her temperament was one of extremes, and felt 
 sure that if she could only obtain an insight into a pure home and, 
 perhaps, become initiated into its ways, it would have a tranquil- 
 i/ing effect and lead her mind to move in quieter channels. He 
 had enough experience to know that there are no substitutes for 
 sympathy and friendship, but felt that the acquaintance of a citi- 
 zen's wife, of exalted character and ripe culture, could not fail to 
 have an effect upon Irma, who had thus far known no life but that 
 of the cloister and the court. 
 
 Gunther had no need to give his wife instructions, or even a 
 mere hint as to the way in which she was to endeavor to gain an 
 influence over Irma. He felt as sure of his wife's course in the 
 matter as if she were a force in nature, and well knew that, if left 
 to her own methods, the result would be so much the more 
 certain. 
 
 Gunther usually kept his household free from all relations with 
 the court ; but this was the daughter of his friend although that 
 friend was angry at him and he allowed her the freedom of his 
 house. 
 
 Some weeks before, when speaking of the Te Deum on the oc- 
 casion of the birth of the crown prince, Irma had casually referred 
 to her having met Gunther's wife and youngest daughter. The 
 Doctor had again, as if by the merest chance, introduced the 
 subject and, almost without knowing it, Irma had expressed a wish 
 to improve the slight acquaintance thus begun. This was just 
 what he had wished for and, on the afternoon of the day follow- 
 ing, he conducted Irma to his beautiful, well-furnished home. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 1 1 5 
 
 Gunther's wife was Swiss by birth, and had come fro.n a wealthy 
 and cultured family. She spoke High German with a strong 
 Alemannic accent. She endeavored neither to retain the dialect 
 nor to acquire the language of books. Her easy, natural ways 
 seemed the result of careful culture, but there was no attempt to 
 show off either. As a matter of course, she was perfectly conver- 
 sant with all that related to the economy of the household, and at 
 the same time fully alive to all that makes for beauty and the com- 
 mon weal. 
 
 As a singer, Madame Gunther had been a great favorite, both 
 in social circles and at important vocal performances. Her voice 
 was a full, resonant soprano and, although she had given up sing- 
 ing solos, she and her daughters would still take part when great 
 musical works were performed. When fresher voices had taken 
 the solo parts, she had, without a murmur of regret, retired to 
 her place in the chorus. 
 
 And thus, too, was her life. Self-reliant and diligent at home, 
 she took an active interest in all public institutions in which women 
 were permitted to take part. She had preserved one priceless heir- 
 loom she was free from nervousness and, with her, public spirit 
 was a duty. She educated her children, managed her household, 
 was a kind and attentive hostess, and performed all this as if obey- 
 ing the simple instincts of her nature. 
 
 She honored her husband. Whatever he said was always of 
 special weight, but still she held fast to her own judgment. 
 Although she had been living in the capital for nearly twenty years, 
 she had remained a stranger to the whole of the hodge-podge 
 system of caste and the granting of favors by the grace of this or 
 that one. She was not opposed to the system, but she left such 
 matters to those in whose eyes they possessed value and impor- 
 tance ; as for herself, she regarded them with absolute indifference. 
 
 She was pleased at the honors shown her husband, but that 
 seemed, to her, a matter of course. He was a great man, and if 
 the world had withheld its praise, he would, in her eyes, still have 
 been the greatest and best of men. Her whole bearing expressed 
 this feeling. She had never had the slightest desire to appear at 
 court, and when her husband was obliged to be away from home 
 by day or at night, and often for weeks at a time, she accepted his 
 absence as unavoidably incident to his calling, and refrained from 
 adding to his discomfort by complaining thereat. 
 
 When the Doctor returned, it was always to a well-ordered 
 home. Refreshed and invigorated by its influence, he would go 
 back to the smooth and slippery precincts of the court. 
 
 Irma was now introduced to this home. In appearance, she was 
 all beauty and dignity, and no one would have guessed how forlorn 
 and homeless she felt within her heart. In her hand, she held the 
 bouquet which had, as usual, been sent to her that day, by the 
 
Ii6 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 kind's orders. Gunther had told her that this was his daughter 
 Paula's birthday, and she had brought the flowers for her. They 
 were as lovely as she who brought them. And yet what was it 
 that clung to them ? It was almost sinful to use the bouquet as a 
 birthday favor, for Irma felt mortified when she received it. But 
 the flowers were as coin that might be passed on to another. 
 
 When Irma entered the house, she felt as if escaping from the 
 noise and bustle of the market-place, or the restless life and cries of 
 the highway, into a temple of domestic peace. 
 
 The house was on a little, narrow street, and was surrounded by 
 a garden full of tall, fine trees. A portion of the yard had been 
 fenced off and converted into an aviary. The hallway and rooms 
 were adorned with statuettes and pictures ; the furniture was 
 simple and massive. The Doctor's library, reception-room and 
 study were in the upper story. 
 
 There had been no preparations of any kind for Irma's recep- 
 tion. The mother had carefully enjoined her daughters not to 
 make any change in their dress on account of the Countess's visit. 
 They did not go out to meet her. She was conducted through the 
 summer-house, where the flowers and presents for Paula had been 
 arranged, and there, on the steps, sat Madame Gunther and her 
 daughters, busily engaged in needle-work. The elder daughter, 
 the wife of Professor Korn of the university, had her child with her. 
 Paula, the younger of the two, who, like Irma, had just entered 
 her twenty-first year, could not be termed beautiful, but had a 
 bright and cheerful countenance and a fine figure. 
 
 Irma was warmly welcomed. As it was Gunther's hour for 
 consultation, he soon retired and left her with the ladies. She was 
 surprised, at first, to find herself repeatedly accosted as the 
 daughter of an old friend. She was not here on her own merit, or 
 as the most admired of all the ladies at court, but simply as 
 Count Eberhard's daughter, who had been received into the house 
 from an affectionate sense of duty. When asked about her fath- 
 er's health, she thanked them, although she felt sad at heart to 
 think that she knew so little of him. How utterly different from 
 hers was the life these children led. 
 
 Music soon afforded a convenient and agreeable change. On the 
 piano, there lay a composition in manuscript. It was by a nephew 
 of Madame Gunther's, who lived in northern Germany. Madame 
 Gunther told her that he was a philologist by profession, but that, 
 as he would, in all likelihood, lose his eyesight, he had determined 
 to cultivate his decided musical gifts and to perfect himself as a 
 musician. 
 
 Irma begged Madame Gunther to sing the song, but she replied 
 that, while her voice was no longer equal to it, that of the Countess 
 tvas exactly suited to it. She gave the manuscript to Irma, who 
 read it over and afterwards sang it with rich, full voice, t 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 117 
 
 Madame Gunther's accompaniment. The composition was pleas- 
 ing, but full of suggestions of well-known masters. 
 
 Madame Gunther now showed what she meant by practical 
 singing. Irma did not make the best use of the means at her 
 command, and where there were faults showed them too plainly. 
 The Doctor's wife instructed her in a simple, unpretentious man- 
 ner, and Irma remarked that the daughters ought to feel happy to 
 think that they could hear such singing every day. 
 
 "And this is my son, the most grateful of all listeners," said 
 Madame Gunther, introducing a handsome young man with a full, 
 brown beard. He was technical director in a manufactory of 
 chemicals, and had brought a student with him. Female friends 
 who lived in the neigborhood joined them soon afterward and 
 there were merry times on the terrace and in the garden. 
 
 Irma remarked the attentive glances directed upon her. It 
 seemed to her as if all knew the troubles that filled her soul ; she 
 had completely forgotten how beautiful she was. 
 
 "Pardon me, Madame Gunther, for looking at you so," said Irma, 
 suddenly, " but I am somewhat of a dabbler in plastic art, and 
 when I notice the contour and color of your head, it seems as if 
 the Holbein Madonna, of the Dresden Gallery, had come to life 
 and was standing before me." 
 
 " Can you really see the resemblance, at this late day ? " asked 
 Madame Gunther, blushing slightly ; " in former days, it was often 
 remarked and was almost the very first thing my husband said 
 to me in Zurich, now well nigh twenty-six years ago. On my 
 mother's side I can trace my descent from the family of Burgo- 
 master Maier, by whose orders the picture was originally painted." 
 
 Irma was delighted with all that she heard and saw, and espe- 
 cially with Madame Gunther's reminiscences. While speaking of 
 her own efforts in the way of art, she looked at the Doctor's wife 
 earnestly, and only wished she were able to model a portrait, in 
 which case Madame Gunther would have to sit to her. She could 
 not help thinking, at the same time, that there was a culture which 
 had been handed down from earliest times : a culture whose history, 
 running through all ages, is entirely different from that of the 
 nobility, and that the best results of human effort had been brought 
 about, not by the nobles, but by civic liberty. 
 
 Madame Gunther asked Irma whether she had a picture of her 
 mother, 
 
 Irma replied that her father had had a portrait taken of her 
 mother when in the fullness of her beauty. The picture had been 
 a failure, and almost seemed as if intended for some one else, 
 and so her father had ordered it to be destroyed. He would rather 
 have no picture than a false one. 
 
 " That, of itself, is enough to make one honor him for his love 
 of truth,' said Madame Gunther. "Most people are satisfied with 
 
ii8 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 \vhat is false, and keep on saying : ' you can recognize this or that 
 feature,' until they, at last, persuade themselves that it must once 
 have been a true likeness." 
 
 The conversation now turned upon the fact that Irma had never 
 known her mother, and Irma's glance often dwelt upon the two 
 daughters sitting beside their mother. 
 
 Madame Gunther said : 
 
 " I trust that I 've not awakened painful memories, but I regatd 
 it as a duty that we should often think of our beloved dead ; 
 calmly and peacefully, of course. I 've always felt thus with re- 
 gard to my departed mother, and I hope that, when the time 
 comes, my children may have the same feelings toward me." 
 
 Irma pressed Madame Gunther's hand. All that she said was 
 so full of truth, so satisfying. 
 
 Madame Gunther told her that it was long before she had 
 acquired a taste for plastic art. Appreciation had. however, 
 gradually dawned upon her ; but it was for what related to the 
 human figure, rather than for landscapes. The conversation con- 
 tinued in an easy and cheerful vein. The carriage had long ago 
 been announced ; the half-hour which Irma had meant to stay with 
 Madame Gunther had been prolonged to more than an hour. At 
 last, she took her leave with sincere requests to repeat her visit. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WHEN Irma returned to the palace, she felt as if coming from 
 another world from a life tar removed from her own. 
 
 Gunther was a deep student of the human heart. 
 
 In one respect, Irma's visit had had the result foreseen by him ; 
 but there was some unknown influence at work, and. perhaps, af- 
 fecting previously existing conditions. Nothing, unless it be the 
 drop that falls from the cloud, is free from foreign admixture, and 
 it is from pure thought alone that one can draw definite conclu- 
 sions. The water in the spring, and the living human heart, both 
 contain foreign elements within themselves, and no one can fore- 
 tell how a new ingredient may affect the invisible atoms thus held 
 in solution. 
 
 Irma's soul was deeply agitated. Her great power had been ex- 
 ercised and had sought some act in which to spend itself. She 
 had felt happy in the possession of the king's friendship and in the 
 thought that she could furnish so great a mind as his with the 
 congenial companionship he would otherwise be obliged to forego ; 
 but the daily bouquet, trivial attention as it was, had aroused 
 and offended her. "He isn't my ideal," said she to herself, and 
 her heart felt lonely again, as it had been ever since she was old 
 enough to think. 
 
 Although she had been lonely while at the cloister, she had 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 119 
 
 there found a friend who, if she had little to impart, gratefully ac- 
 cepted all that Irma could give her. At the court, she felt lonely 
 in spite of her wanton humors. She was always obliged to be do- 
 ing something, be it playing, singing, painting or modeling ; any- 
 thing but this death-like solitude. She was suffering the home- 
 sickness of the soul. 
 
 'Are not all in this world homeless?" she asked herself, and, 
 while searching her mind for an answer, Gunther had introduced 
 her to his household. 
 
 There, 2 11 seemed beautiful and complete. There was a home, 
 and a mother who showed that she understood a young and ardent 
 life ; the daughters would never suffer as she did. The mother's 
 glance fell upon her and seemed to say : " I shall understand you 
 and will soothe all sorrow's you may tell me of." But Irma could 
 not complain, nor exclaim : " Help me ! " and where nothing was 
 required of her, least of all. She could and must help herself. 
 
 Madame Gunther had touched her most tender chord : the mem- 
 ory of her mother and, although Irma gently avoided the sub- 
 ject, her pain was so much the greater. 
 
 She wept, but did not know it until a tear dropped on her bosom. 
 
 There is so much comfort, so much of real and beautiful seclu- 
 sion, in a world which is content with itself, and which, in its work 
 and education, requires no favors from those above. How happy 
 the lot of a daughter in such a home, until she, in turn, becomes 
 the head of another household. 
 
 Irma felt humbled. All her pride had left her. Her thoughts 
 were still in the garden, where the people moved about in care- 
 less unconstraint and where the men, returning from their profes- 
 sional labors, and the maidens, from their domestic duties, were en- 
 joying themselves in common. 
 
 "One thing yet remains mine and it is the best," exclaimed 
 Irma, suddenly rising : " solitude is mine. I can yet be lonely, 
 strong, self-contained." 
 
 Her waitingmaid entered and announced a lackey sent by the 
 queen. 
 
 " Does the queen want to see me at once ? " 
 
 " Yes, gracious Countess. ' 
 
 "Very well, I '11 be there directly." 
 
 "Walpurga was right, after all," said she to herself; "I, too, 
 serve." 
 
 She felt vexed while she stood before the mirror to have her 
 dress adjusted. She assumed a cheerful expression with which to 
 appear before the queen. She was obliged to do so. 
 
 She hastened to obey the queen's orders. When she got near 
 the door, she drew herself up and again fixed her features in the 
 cheerful, smiling expression that she wished them to have and 
 then entered the room, which, as usual, was dimly lighted. 
 
120 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The queen was sitting in a large armchair. She was clad in a 
 dress of snowy white, and a lace handkerchief had been twined 
 about her golden hair. 
 
 " Come nearer, dear Countess," said the queen " I am delighted 
 to see you again. When I see my dear friends, it seems as if I 'd 
 !>een spending the last few weeks in another world. Unfortu- 
 nately, I am somewhat i.idisposed, again. I owe you special 
 thanks, for I understand that you Ve kindly interested yourself in 
 the nurse ; by keeping her cheerful, you do the prince a service. 
 Thr king quite agrees with me that you 're a real treasure to us. 
 I shall write as much to your father and tell him how happy we are 
 to have you with us. That will surely put him in a better humor 
 with you." 
 
 Irma was glad that the queen had so much to say, for she was 
 thus enabled to recover her composure. 
 
 '* Pray give me the letter that lies on the table," said the 
 queen. 
 
 Irma brought it and the queen added : 
 
 "Just read these lines of the king's." 
 
 Irma read : " Pray tell Countess Irma to keep me constantly 
 informed as to the condition of our son. Remember me to the 
 dear fourth petal of our clover-leaf." 
 
 Irma returned the letter with thanks. She felt deeply humiliated 
 to think that the king was trying to force her to write, and at the 
 method he had chosen. Walpurga was right when she spoke of 
 love-glances at the cradle. 
 
 Irma almost fainted with grief and shame. 
 
 4< Won't you do us the favor to write, dear Countess ? " 
 
 Irma bowed deeply, and the queen continued : 
 
 " Of course there will be very little to write about. Man is the 
 highest object in creation and, for that very reason, develops far 
 more slowly than all other creatures," 
 
 Irma was about to suggest that, at that rate, a prince would de- 
 velop still more slowly, but she merely nodded and smiled assent. 
 
 She was not in a mood to enter into the queen's way of think- 
 ing. She could see nothing in her but nursery thoughts, with which, 
 at present, she had no sympathy, Though they were vastly more 
 important, what would it matter to me, thought she to herself. 
 Here, just as in Gunther's house, there is a life separate from the 
 world and contented with itself. Here is a mother and her child. 
 Of what use am I ? Merely to talk and take part in everything. 
 All others are complete and possess a world of their o\vn ; and am 
 I always only to take a part there, the alms bestowed by friend- 
 ship ; here, those accorded me by royal grace ? Am I complete in 
 in self, or am I not ? 
 
 And while Irma's mind xsas filled with these thoughts, the 
 queen, in her agitated, soulful manner, went on to say : 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 121 
 
 11 The miracle of life fills me with awe. Have you never thought 
 of the world of meaning suggested by the idea of a child drawing 
 its first breath and opening its eyes for the first time ? Air and 
 light are earth's first and last messengers ; the first breath and the 
 last ; the first glance and the last. How wonderful ! " 
 
 Irma now felt what it was to serve. Had she been free, and on 
 an equal footing with the one who addressed her, she would have 
 said : " My dear friend, I am not in the mood, just now, to entei 
 into what you are saying. Within your soul, there is the calm of 
 early morn ; in mine, hot, burning noonday. I implore you, leave 
 me to myself." 
 
 Irma was filled with a deep longing for boundless solitude, but 
 she dared not show it. She would gladly have closed her eyes, 
 but obsequious glances were required of her. She listened and 
 answered, but her soul was far away. For the first time in her life, 
 she felt indignant that there was a fellow-being who enjoyed rights 
 of which she was deprived. She felt angry at the queen. She was, 
 several times, on the point of mentioning her visit to Gunther's 
 house, but felt that life there had nothing in common with the 
 constant gloom of the queen's apartment. It seemed to her, 
 moreover, that it were wrong, even in thought, to bring hither the 
 citizen-wife whose footsteps had never entered the palace ; and 
 then she thought of her father and his strong sense of independence. 
 
 And while such were her thoughts, she spoke of the prince and 
 of Walpurga's amusing peculiarities. 
 
 The queen saw that Irma's thoughts were slightly tinged with 
 sadness and, wishing to cheer her up, said : 
 
 " Ah, dear Countess, I am really languishing for music. Friend 
 Gunther has forbidden my listening to music, lest it might afifect 
 my nerves ; but one of your little songs would do no harm. I hear 
 that you Ve learned a beautiful one from the nurse. Won't you 
 sing it for me ? May I send for your zither ? " 
 
 Irma felt more like crying, but she bowed assent and sent a 
 servant for the zither. He brought it, and Irma sang : 
 
 Ah, blissful is the tender tie 
 That binds me, love, to thee, 
 And swiftly speed the hours by 
 When thou art near to me. 
 
 My heart doth bear a burden, love, 
 And thou hast placed it there ; 
 And I would wager e'en my life 
 That none doth heavier bear. 
 
 Within Irma's soul there was a shrill, discordant accompani- 
 ment to this song, every word of which had a double meaning. 
 
 "And I must sing this to the queen," said the voice within her. 
 'Yes, you two are united. All happy ones are. The unhappy 
 one is always lonely." 
 6 
 
122 0.V THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Her song was full of gloomy despair ; her heart, of ai ger. 
 
 "You sing that with deep feeling," said the queen, "and my 
 son hears it, too. One can scarcely say 'hears/ for all that he 
 hears or sees is undefined. Pray repeat the song, so that I may 
 sing it to myself." 
 
 Irma sang it again, but this time her mind was more at ease. 
 The queen thanked her heartily. " The Doctor has unfortunately 
 forbidden my conversing for any length of time, even with those 
 who are dear to me. I am delighted to think that we shall soon go 
 to the summer palace. Then we will spend much of our time 
 together and with the child. Adieu ! dear Countess, write soon, 
 and sing your lovely soul into the child's heart." 
 
 Irma went away. While passing through the long corridors, 
 she stopped several times, as if to remember where she was. At 
 last she reached her room, and gave orders that her horse be 
 saddled at once and that a groom be in waiting. 
 
 Irma had just changed her dress when a servant brought her a 
 letter. She broke the seal with a trembling hand and read : 
 
 " My child : You have now been at court for eighteen months. 
 I have left you free and uncontrolled. There are many things 
 which I would like to say to you, but cannot write. Writing 
 estranges. Your rooms are ready, and flowers await you. It is 
 now lovely summer and the apples on your tree are getting ruddy 
 cheeks like your own, and I should like to see yours again. Come to 
 
 ' YOUR FATHER." 
 
 Irma threw up her hands. " This is deliverance ! Yes, I still 
 have a home, and there is still a heart against which I can rest my 
 head. I am coming, father ! I am coming ! " 
 
 Her brain whirled with excitement. She rang for her servant 
 and sent word to the groom that she would not ride out. Then, 
 after having ordered the waitingmaid to pack up enough clothes 
 for several weeks, as quickly as possible, she presented herself be- 
 fore the queen and asked for leave of absence. 
 
 "I am sorry th'at you, too, leave me," said the queen, "but I 
 shall gladly part with you if it only helps, as I hope it will, to 
 make you happy. Do all that lies in your power to be in full 
 accord with your father. Believe me, Irma, in the various relations 
 of life, be it as wife or as mother, one is sensible of a constant 
 desire to grow and expand with each succeeding day ; the child 
 alone is perfectly satisfied with itself." 
 
 The queen and Irma were not in accord that day. Irma was 
 restless and anxious to depart. Whatever detained her, though 
 it were only for a second, excited her resentment. 
 
 What the queen was saying, might have been interesting to rru 
 who was not in a hurry, but not to her whose foot was already on 
 the carr age step. 
 
 The parting was, nevertheless, an affecting one, the queen kissing 
 Irma. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 123 
 
 All that now remained was to ask Countess Brinkenstein's for- 
 mal assent. That, too, was obtained. 
 
 She- had not yet said farewell to Doctor Gunther and his family. 
 She wished to say good-bye through Colonel Bronnen, or Baron 
 Schojiing who had told her that he often visited the Doctor's 
 house. It was also necessary to take leave of these men and hei 
 companions at court. Now that she was about to go, she found 
 out how many acquaintances she had. But where are they when 
 you need them ? They are here, simply that you may not need 
 them. Such is the world ; but stop ! There 's one to whom, of 
 all others, you must say farewell. She hurried off to Walpurga. 
 
 "Walpurga," she exclaimed, "when you get up to-morrow, 
 shout as loud as you can. By that time, I '11 be at our mountain 
 home, and I '11 shout back to you until the whole world rings with 
 laughter. I 'm going to my father." 
 
 " I 'm glad of it." 
 
 " And are n't you sorry to see me go ? " 
 
 "Of course; but if your father's still alive you oughtn't miss 
 looking into the eyes that are only once in the world for you. I'm 
 glad, for your father's sake, that he 's able to look on such a child 
 as you are. Oh ! if my Burgei were only as tall." 
 
 "Walpurga, I '11 also go to see your husband, your child and 
 your mother. I '11 sit down at your table and remember you to 
 your cow and your dog. I shall; depend upon it." 
 
 " Oh ! how happy they '11 be ! If Hansel 's only at home and not 
 in the woods." 
 
 " If he is, I '11 have them send for him ; and now farewell ! do n't 
 forget me ! " 
 
 " You can rely on that," said Walpurga, while Irma hurried 
 away. 
 
 She still found time to write to her friend Emma : 
 
 " Dearest Emma : Two hours ago, I received a letter from 
 father. He calls me home to him. I have leave of absence for a 
 fortnight. Do you know what that means ? I was obliged to 
 promise that I would surely return ; I do n't know whether I shall 
 keep my promise. The earth trembles at my feet and my head 
 swims. The world is all chaos, but there will be light ! Any one 
 can say : ' Let there be light ! ' If we only could always do our best. 
 But I shall not write another word. It is enough ; I shall see you 
 soon. Come to Wildenort as soon as you can, to your 
 
 "IRMA. 
 
 "P.S. I shall take no excuse ; you must come. In return, I 
 promise to go to your wedding. Many greetings to all of yours, 
 and, above all, to your Albrecht." 
 
 The sun was already sinking towards the horizon, when Irma, 
 accompanied by her maid, departed for Wildenort. 
 
124 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 SO one can go away, after all, and leave the rr otley monotony 
 called "the world" behind. Farewell, thou palace, and fur- 
 nish thy inmates with their daily pleasures Farewell, ye streets, 
 filled with shops and offices, towers and churches, theatres, music- 
 halls and barracks. May fashion be gracious and favor you with 
 customers, clients, guests, applause, and fostering laws. Vanish, 
 frail frippery ! I feel like a bird flying from the housetop, out into 
 the wide world. How foolish to remain in the cage when the door 
 is al'.vays open. Thou, great bailiff who holdest the world captive 
 thy name is custom ! 
 
 Thus thought Irma to herself, while seated in the carriage and 
 driving out into the open world. 
 
 Her thoughts again recurred to the great house which she had 
 just left. It was the dinner hour and they were waiting for the 
 queen to appear. What a pity that the lord steward had not been 
 Dresent at the creation of the world, for here every one has his 
 fixed place and the sen-ice is simply perfect. The queen expresses 
 her regrets at the departure of Countess Irma. All praise her. 
 
 "Oh she 's so very good," says one. 
 
 And so merry," says another. 
 
 "Somewhat unmanageable, but very amiable," says still another. 
 
 But what is there new ? It 's a bore to be talking of one sub- 
 ject all the time. Help ! Zamiel Schnabelsdorf ! 
 
 "Away with it all!" exclaimed Irma, suddenly; "I shall not 
 look back again, but forward to my father." 
 
 The horses stepped out bravely, as if they knew they were carry- 
 ing a child to her father. 
 
 Irma was so impatient that she told the servant who was seated 
 on the box, to give a double fee to the driver so that they might 
 get on faster. 
 
 She could hardly wait until she saw her father, so anxious was 
 she to rest her head upon his breast. 
 
 What did she desire? To complain to him? How could he 
 help her? She knew not. All she knew was that, with him, 
 there must be peace. She wished to be sheltered, protected ; no 
 longer alone. To obey him and anticipate his even' wish would 
 be her highest happiness. To be released from herself, and to de- 
 sire nothing that did not minister to the joy of another oh, how 
 happy the thought ! The whole earthly load is removed. Thus 
 must it be with the blessed spirits above ! Thus should we imag- 
 ine angels to be ! They want for nothing and need nothing, they 
 never change and never grow, are neither young nor old. They 
 are eternal, and are ever laboring for and through others. Their 
 works bring joy to the world and to themselves. They are the un- 
 dying rays of an eternal sun. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 125 
 
 During the greater part of the journey, Irma's brain was filled 
 with such unintelligible dreams, and the whole world seemed to be 
 saying ; " Father Daughter." 
 
 She regained composure at last. It would not do to arrive at 
 the castle in this state. 
 
 Agitation is weakness, and it had always been her father's aim 
 to foster strength of mind and self-command, 
 
 Irma forced herself to observe what was going on about her. 
 
 It was twilight when they reached the first post station. Irma 
 fancied she could almost feel the air of her native mounUJns, 
 although they were still far off. 
 
 They drove on at a rapid pace. The evening bells were ringmg, 
 and the air was filled with their sounds, carrying them out to -the 
 men and women in the fields, and measuring time and eternity for 
 them. 
 
 What would the world be without its bells, whose pealing har- 
 monies are to serve as a substitute for the beautiful creations of 
 antique art ? 
 
 But these thoughts failed to satisfy Irma. They lifted her out 
 of the world, whilst she desired to occupy herself with what was 
 present and established. 
 
 In the villages through which they drove, and the fields by which 
 they passed, there was singing, interrupted, now and then, by the 
 rattling of the carriage wheels, and Irma thought : We make too 
 much noise in this world, and thus miss enjoying what the rest 
 may have to tell us. 
 
 No thoughts were to her liking. No outlook pleased her. 
 
 The stars appeared in the heavens, but what were they to man ? 
 They shine for him who is free and has naught to seek on earth. 
 She, however, was seeking, and, in the world's vast circle, could 
 see nothing but two starry eyes directed upon her ; and they were 
 her father's. 
 
 They continued on their journey, disturbing lazy horses and 
 sleepy postilions at every station. 
 
 It was long after midnight when they arrived at Wildenort. 
 
 Irma alighted at the manor-house and, accompanied by the 
 r ervant, knocked at the door. 
 
 Her father had not expected her so soon. There were no lights 
 in the large house, or its extensive outbuildings. Dogs barked, 
 for strangers were coming. There was not even a dumb beast 
 that knew Irma, for she was a stranger in her father's house. 
 
 Two ploughboys passed by. They were astonished to see the 
 beautiful lady at that hour, and she was obliged to tell them who 
 she was. 
 
 She ordered her rooms to be opened. Her father slept near by. 
 She longed to see him, but controlled herself. He should sleep 
 calmly and not know that she was breathing near him. She, too, 
 soon fcfl asleep and did not wake till broad daylight. 
 
126 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Stepping softly, old Eberhard entered the ante-chamber where 
 Inna's maid was already sitting. 
 
 My lady the Countess, is still sleeping. It was three o'clock 
 j'j5t about daybreak, when we arrived." 
 
 " What made you hurry so and take no rest ? " 
 
 I do n't know ; but the Countess was quite excited on the way. 
 They could n't drive fast enough for her. When my lady wishes 
 anything, it must be done at once." 
 
 " Who are you, dear child ? " 
 
 "Her ladyship's maid." 
 
 "No, but who are your parents ? What took you to court ? " 
 
 " My father was riding-master to Prince Adolar, and her royal 
 highness had me educated in the convent school." 
 
 A chain of dependents, from generation to generation, thought 
 the old man to himself. 
 
 The maid looked at him wonderingly. 
 
 He was tall and broad shouldered. He wore the mountaineer's 
 dress and a white horn whistle hung by a cord from his neck. 
 His fine head bent slightly forward and rested on a massive neck ; 
 his gray hair and beard were thick and closely cropped ; his brown 
 eye still sparkled, as if in youth ; his expressive countenance 
 looked like embossed work, and his whole figure resembled that of 
 a knight who has just laid aside his armor and put himself at 
 ease. 
 
 " I wish to see my daughter," said the old man as he went into 
 the adjoining room. It was dark. Eberhard stepped to the win- 
 dow, on tiptoe, and drew aside the green damask curtain. A 
 broad ray of light streamed into the room. He stood before the 
 bed and, with bated breath, watched the sleeping one. 
 
 Irma was beautiful to behold. Her head, encircled by the long, 
 loosened, golden brown tresses ; the clear, arched brow, the deli- 
 cately chiseled nose, the mouth with its exquisitely curved upper 
 lip, the rosy chin, the full cheeks w r ith their peach-like glow over 
 all there lay a calm and peaceful expression. The beautiful, small, 
 white hands lay folded on her breast. 
 
 Irma was breathing heavily, and her lips moved as if with a sad 
 smile. It is difficult to sleep with one's hands folded on the breast. 
 The hands gently loosened themselves, but the left one still rested 
 on her heart. The father lifted it carefully and laid it at her side. 
 Irma slept on quietly. Silently, the father took a chair and sat 
 clown at her bedside. While he sat there, two doves alighted on 
 the broad window-sill, where they remained cooing with each 
 other. He would have liked to frighten them away, but he dared 
 not stir. Irma slept on and heard nothing. 
 
 Suddenly, the pigeons flew away, and Irma opened her eyes. 
 
 " Father ! " she cried, throwing her amis around his neck and 
 kissing him. " Home again ! Oh, how happy it makes me ! Do 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 127 
 
 draw the other curtain, so that I can see you better, and pray open 
 the window so that I may inhale my native air ! Oh, father ! I Ve 
 been away and now I 've come back to you, and you won't let me 
 go away again. You will support me in your powerful arms. Oh, 
 now I think of what you said to me in my dream. We were 
 standing together up on the Chamois hill and you took me up in your 
 arms and, while carrying me, said : ' See, my child ; so long as 
 one of your parents lives, there is some one to help you bear up in 
 the world.' Oh, father! Where have I been? Where am I 
 now ? " 
 
 "Be calm, my child. You Ve been at court and now you 're 
 home again. You 're excited. Calm yourself. I '11 call the ser- 
 vant. Breakfast is ready in the arbor." 
 
 He kissed her forehead and said : 
 
 " I kiss all your good and pure thoughts, and now let us live to- 
 gether again, as plain and sensible beings." 
 
 " Oh, that voice ! To be in my father's house and at home once 
 more ! Life elsewhere is just like sleeping in one's clothes. 'T is 
 only at home that one can rest ; for there no bond oppresses us." 
 
 He was about to leave, but Irma detained him. 
 
 " I feel so happy," said she, " to be here and look at you ; to see 
 you and think of you, all the time." 
 
 The father passed his hand over her forehead, and she said : 
 
 " Let your hand rest there. I now believe in the laying on ot 
 hands ; my own experience convinces me." 
 
 He remained at her bedside for some time, his hand still resting 
 upon her forehead. 
 
 At last he said : 
 
 " And now arise, my child. I shall expect you at breakfast." 
 
 "I am glad there is some one who can command me to ' get 
 up'." 
 
 " I do n't command, I simply advise you. But, my dear child, 
 something strange must be going on with you, as you understand 
 nothing in its literal sense." 
 
 " Yes, father very strange ! but that 's all over, now." 
 
 "Well then, follow me as soon as you can ; I shall await you." 
 
 The father went out to the arbor, where he awaited her coming. 
 He moved the two cups and the beautiful vase of flowers first to 
 one position, and then to another, and arranged the white table- 
 cloth. Shortly after, Irma entered, clad in a white morning 
 dress. 
 
 " You 're you 're taller than I thought you were," said the 
 father, a bright color suffusing his face. 
 
 He stroked his daughter's cheek, while he said ; 
 
 " This white spot on your rosy cheek, extending from the jaw to 
 the cheek bone, is just as your mother had it." 
 
 Irma smiled and, grasping both of her father's hands, looked 
 
128 a\ T THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 into his eyes. Her glance was so full of happiness that the old 
 man who, at all times, preserved his equanimity, found his eyes 
 rilling with tears. He endeavored to conceal them, but Ir'ma 
 said: 
 
 " That won't in the least detract from your heroism. Oh, father, 
 why are we such slaves to ourselves ? Why should we be afraid 
 to appear as we are ? Your great rule is that we should follow 
 out our natures. Why do we not always do so? Oh, father 
 let me send up a joyful shout to my native mountains, to the 
 forests and the lakes ! I 'm with ye, again, my constant 
 friends ! Let us live together ! Hold fast by me and I will be as 
 faithful as ye are ! I greet thee, sun ; and yonder hill under which 
 my mother rests " 
 
 She could not go on. After some time, the old man said : 
 
 "It would be well, my child, if we could live out our life in all 
 its native purity ; but it is neither fear of ourselves, nor self- 
 imposed slavery that induces us to avoid such scenes, such violent 
 agitation. It is a deep-seated feeling that, by contrast, the next 
 moment must appear bald and commonplace. It would oblige us 
 to plunge from a life of excessive sensibility into the every day 
 world. It is for this reason that we should, and do, exercise self- 
 control ; for such emotions should not exhaust themselves in what 
 might be called a devout outburst, but should extend through all 
 our acts and thoughts, even to the smallest and most insignificant. 
 That is the source of our noblest aspirations. Yes, my child, the 
 very ones who thus, as it were, divide their life in two, profane the 
 one-half of it, while they secretly flatter themselves : W r e have 
 had great and noble emotions and are still capable of feeling 
 them." 
 
 The old housekeeper brought the coffee. Irma waited on her 
 father and told him that she expected Emma and her betrothed. 
 Eberhard said : 
 
 When Emma was here, years ago, your thoughts ran in the 
 same vein as at present. We were on the Chamois hill, where a fine 
 view of the great lake can be obtained, and were waiting to see the 
 sunrise. Emma, in her matter-of-fact and plain-spoken way, said ; 
 ' I do n't think it worth while to lose one's sleep and go to so nvich 
 trouble for this. I find the sunset fully as beautiful and far less 
 troublesome.' What did you answer her at the time ? " 
 
 " I can'r. remember, father dear." 
 
 " But I do. You said : ' The sunrise is far more elevating, but I 
 do n't know what one can do to have the rest of the day in keeping 
 with lofty mood thus inspired. Sunset is better for us, because 
 the world then veils itself and allows us to rest. After beholding 
 the highest, there are only two things left us sleep and music.' " 
 
 " But, father, I Ve ceased to think so. Yesterday, during the 
 whole of my drive, I was haunted by the thought : What are we ir 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 129 
 
 the world for, after all ? Without us the trees would still grow 
 the beasts, the birds and the fishes would still live without us 
 All these have a purpose in the world ; man alone is obliged to 
 seek one. Men paint, and build, and till the soil, and study how 
 they may the better kill each other. The only difference, after all, 
 between mankind and the beast is that "man buries his dead." 
 
 " And have you ventured so far, my child ? I am indeed glad 
 that you 're with me once again. You must have had much to 
 co.itend with. I trust you will once more learn to believe that 
 o:j" p?oper destiny is, to live in accordance with nature and reason. 
 L^ok at the world ! " said he, with a smile. " A maiden twenty- 
 one years of age, and a countess to boot, asks : ' Why am I in the 
 world ?' Ah, my child, to be beautiful, to be good, to be as lovely 
 as possible in mind as well as in outward form. Conduct yourself 
 so that you can afford to wish that every one might know you thor- 
 oughly. But enough of this, for the present," 
 
 The hour that father and daughter thus spent together in the 
 arbor was full of happiness for both, and Irma repeatedly expressed 
 a wish that she could thus live forever. 
 
 Oblivious of all else, each seemed to constitute the other's' world. 
 
 "You 've become my great tall girl," said the father. He had 
 intended to say : " You must have gone through a great deal, for 
 you return to your father and have nothing to tell about matters 
 trifling or personal to yourself." He had intended to say this, bu". 
 simply repeated : " You Ve become my great girl." 
 
 " And, father ! you order me to remain with you, do you not ? ' 
 
 " You know very well that I Ve never ordered you to do anything, 
 since you were able to think for yourself," replied the father. " I 'cl 
 have you act according to your own convictions, and not against 
 your will or reason." 
 
 Irma was silent. She had not received the answer she had 
 hoped for, and, feeling that she must herself bring about the 
 desired result, determined to do so. 
 
 A forest-keeper came to receive instructions in regard to the 
 woods. Eberhard replied that he would ride out there himself. 
 Irma begged to be allowed to accompany him and, her father con- 
 senting, she soon appeared in a hunting dress and rode off with 
 him across the meadows and in the direction of the forest. 
 
 Her face glowed with animation while she felt herself moving 
 along on the spirited steed, through the shady, dewy forest. 
 
 While her father was giving his orders to the forest-keepers, 
 Irma was resting on a mossy bank under a broad, spreading fir 
 tree. Her father's dog had already made friends with her, and 
 now came up and licked her hand. Thus awakened, she arose 
 ant! walked over towards the field at the edge of the forest. The 
 first object her eyes fell upon was a four-petaled clover-leaf. She 
 
 5* 
 
130 6LV THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 quickly possessed herself of it. Her father now joined her and 
 noticed her happy looks. \ 
 
 " How much good it has done me to rest on the earth," said i 
 she. ^ 
 
 He made no reply. JHe did not think it necessary that every 
 fet iing, however deep, should find vent in wordsT"? 
 
 Irma looked up in surprise. In the world o^oohversation, small 
 change is paid back for every remark. 
 
 They soon returned home. 
 
 During the afternoon they were seated together in the cool 
 library. Cicero's words, "When I am alone, then am I least 
 alone," were written in letters of gold, over the door. 
 
 The father was writing and would occasionally look at his 
 daughter, who was engaged with a volume of Shakespeare. She 
 v/as reading the noblest thoughts, taking them up into herself and 
 n.aking them a part of her own soul. 
 
 Eberhard felt it a joy to detect his ow r n glance in another's eye, 
 to hear his own thoughts from other lips, and that eye and those 
 lips his^ child's to note that her soul reflected his, although native 
 temperament and peculiar impressions had served to make hers 
 different from and independent of his own. The ideal that had 
 filled his youthful dreams now stood before him, incarnate. 
 
 Eberhard soon closed his book and smiled to himself. He was 
 not so strong as he had imagined. Now that his child was with 
 him, he could not keep on with his work, as he had done the day 
 before. He sat down by Irma, and, pointing to Spinoza's and 
 Shakespeare's works, that always lay on his worktable, he said : 
 
 " To them, the whole world was revealed. Although they lived 
 centuries ago, they are my constant companions on these lonely 
 mountains. I shall pass away and leave no trace of my thoughts 
 behind me, but I've already lived the life eternal in the companion- 
 ship of the noblest minds. The tree and the beast live only for 
 themselves, and during the short period that ends with death. 
 With life, we inherit the result of centuries of thought and he who, 
 within himself, has become a true man fully embodies the idea of 
 humanity. Thus you live on, with your father and with all that is 
 true and beautiful in the history of the human race." 
 
 There was a long pause. It was, at last, broken by th~ father's 
 saying: 
 
 " Did n't you come in a court carriage ? " 
 
 "Certainly." 
 
 " And so you intend to return to court ? '' 
 
 " Father, do n't let us speak of that, now. I Ve not like you. 
 strength enough to drop from the greatest heights do\\ n to the 
 level of ever} r day life." 
 
 " My child, every day affairs are the highest that can engage us." 
 
 "But I 'd like to forget that there is such a thing as a court, 01 
 
GN THE HEIGHTS. 131 
 
 that I 've ever been, or ever shall be, anything but part of your 
 heart and soul." 
 
 " No, you 're to live for yourself; but if you wish to remain with 
 me, all you need do is to send the carriage back." 
 
 " I shall have to return, though it be but for a few days. I have 
 only leave of absence, not a discharge. The best thing would 
 be for you to go with me and bring me back again." 
 
 "I can't go to court, as you well know; and I give you credit 
 for enough strength to take yourself away from there. I was 
 watching you to-day while you lay asleep. There 's nothing 
 false in you ; as yet, no evil passions cloud your brow. I know 
 your brother is anxious to have you marry, and I, too, wish that 
 you may become a good wife and mother. { But I fear that you 
 have become too much your own, ever to become another's, lie 
 that as it may, my child, look at the scene spread out before you. 
 Myriads of flowers are blooming, silent and unknown. Should a 
 wanderer pass by and feast his eyes upon them, or even pluck a 
 flower, it has lived for him. Should it blossom and fade away 
 unseen, it has lived for itself. But, my child, do n't go out of yout 
 way to please me. How long is your leave ? " 
 
 "A fortnight." 
 
 " Let us spend the time in truth and cheerfulness, and then act 
 as your judgment dictates." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ^HE days passed by quietly. Eberhard had little to do with 
 1 his neighbors, but was always glad to see the burgomaster 
 of the village, who was, also, a deputy to the Diet, and to consult 
 with him regarding the affairs of the community. 
 
 Irma spent much of her time alone. She read, embroidered, 
 painted and sang. After the first few days, a reaction set in. 
 
 " What is this life ?" she asked herself, " of what use ? I work for 
 dress dress for my soul and for my body. And to what purpose ? 
 The mirror sees me, the walls hear me, and I have my father for 
 one hour at noon and another in the evening." 
 
 She endeavored to control her flights and, although she suc- 
 ceeded in that, could not prevent herself from thinking of one who 
 was distant. She would look around as if she could hear his foot- 
 steps and as if the air were filled with his presence ; and that man 
 was the king. 
 
 She could not but think that he expected a letter from her, and 
 what had he received ? The news of her departure. Why should 
 she insult and mortify him ? 
 
 While at Wildenort, she was several times on the point of writ- 
 ing to him. She wanted to tell him that she had meant to flee 
 from him ; nay, from herself. Framing the sentences in her mind, 
 
132 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 she would say to herself: Flight is not cowardice. Ihdeed, it re- 
 quires great strength thus to tear one's self away. She meant tc 
 make this clear to him. She did not wish him to think ill of hu- 
 manity and, least of all, of her. His great and extended energy 
 should not to be weakened, or even disturbed, by the consciousness 
 that mankind had no conception of the truly noble. She owed it, 
 both to him and to herself, to explain this ; but it is difficult to do 
 it all in writing. She would, therefore, return and tell him all, 
 and. after that, they would, although distant, be united in the 
 noblest thoughts. She felt satisfied that she would find full com- 
 pensation for a lonely life in the recollection of one moment of per- 
 fect communion with a noble mind, and the consciousness of truth 
 and purity in thought and deed. 
 
 Irma was delighted to think that she had thus liberated herself. 
 
 She refrained, as far as possible, from speaking to her father 
 about the court ; but a remark would, now and then, involuntarily 
 escape her, and she would tell how the king and the queen had 
 praised this or that, or had uttered such and such a remark, and it 
 was easily to be seen that she attached special importance to what 
 they had said. 
 
 "That's the way with men," said Eberhard, smiling. "They 
 know what they are, or, at least, ought to ; and yet they give a prince 
 the right to stamp them with a value. It is he who determine:. : 
 you are worth so and so much ; you a ducat, you a thaler, you a 
 mere brass counter, you a privy councilor and you a colonel. The 
 story of the creation of the world is thus ever renewed. There it 
 says that the Creator led the beasts out before man so that he 
 might give them names. Here the human animals come to the 
 prince and say : ' Give us a name, or we shall feel as if naked and 
 be afraid.' " 
 
 Irma started at these harsh words. Solitude had brought her 
 father to this point. She could not refrain from saying : 
 
 " You do the king great injustice ; he has a noble mind and is 
 full of intelligence." 
 
 " Intelligence ! I know all about that," replied Eberhard. "He 
 can ask questions without number, propound problems and, for 
 his dessert, would fain have an epitome of ecclesiastical history, 
 physiology or any other interesting department of knowledge. But 
 he never applies himself; never reads a work through. He re- 
 quires excerpts and essences. I know all about it. And the 
 courtly roulade singers place their thoughts at his sen-ice. Do n't 
 imagine, my child, that I underrate the king's efforts. They 've 
 always told him : ' You are a genius ! ' They are always persuad- 
 ing kings that they possess genius, either military, political or ar- 
 tistic. AH who approach a monarch are obliged, even in an intel- 
 lectual sense, to attire themselves in court dress. He never sees 
 and things in their true colors ; they all drape themselves to 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 133 
 
 please him. Nevertheless, I believe the king honestly endeavors 
 to see things as they are, and that 's a great deal ; but__hg cau!t 
 shakejrff the magic spell of set forms and phrases.!' 
 
 Irma's lips trembled with emotion. She did not believe that her 
 father meant to weaken her interest in the king, since he could not 
 know of its existence ; but his antagonism irritated her and she 
 saw -vith alarm, that no help war. to be looked for in that quarter. 
 She " ght have shared her father's solitude, if he had honored the 
 exa. ed man as she did. He might have done homage to the noble 
 mind, even though it was a monarch's, without doing violence to 
 his republican feelings, or his sense of justice. But now he 
 destroyed every bridge that had led to a better understanding and 
 to justice. If another had spoken thus of the king, she would have 
 made him feel her wrath, and now she felt that her silence was a 
 sufficient sacrifice to filial duty. Her heart seemed to close up 
 within itself, as if never again to be opened. She was a stranger 
 in her father's house and now doubly felt that she had never been 
 at home there. She forced herself to appear cheerful and tranquil. 
 Eberhard observed that an inner conflict agitated her, and 
 thought it was merely a struggle between court life and solitude. 
 He did not aid her, for he thought that she could best gain peace 
 if she fought the battle for herself. 
 
 On Sunday morning Eberhard never went to church he said : 
 
 ' Have you time to listen to a long story ? " 
 
 ' Certainly." 
 
 'Then let me make my will while I am yet in health." 
 
 ' Pray, father, do n't do that. Spare me ! " 
 
 4 1 do n't mean as to my possessions, but as to myself. We 
 have no picture of your dear mother, and none of you children have 
 any idea of her appearance so pure, so lovely, so full of sunshine , 
 and, for that reason, I mean to give you a picture of my life. 
 Treasure it. Who knows when I may again have a chance ? If 
 there 's anything that you do n't understand or that seems to you 
 in danger of being misinterpreted, ask me about it. I do n't find 
 such objections an interruption. I pursue my life in its even 
 tenor ; nothing disturbs me. I Ve accustomed* myself to improve 
 my estate, to give orders to my servants and to answer their ques- 
 tions, and, afterwards, to take up the train of thought just where it 
 was broken off ; and so you, too, may interrupt me whenever you 
 care to. % 
 
 " My father, who was a free count, was always proud of his 
 direct relations to the empire. Unto his last day, he would never 
 acknowledge the unity of the kingdom and would always ask : 
 ' How goes it over there ? ' He regarded his domain as distinct 
 from the rest, and his family as on an equality with all princely 
 houses." 
 
 "And why, dear father," asked Irma, "would you destroy these 
 
134 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 beautiful memories that have been handed dowr, from generation 
 to generation ? " 
 
 " Because history itself has destroyed them, and justly, too. It 
 is necessary for the preservation of mankind that new races should 
 constantly 'ascend to the surface; but I didn't mean to tell you 
 about my father. I spent a happy youth in this house. My precep 
 to'', although an ecclesiastic, was a man of liberal opinions, i 
 entered the military service a year before my father's death and, 
 though I say it myself, presented no mean figure while there, for I 
 possessed good looks and an iron frame. I was stationed with my 
 regiment, in a fortress belonging to the confederation. While 
 recklessly riding one day, I fell from my horse and dislocated my 
 hip. It laid me up for a long time and thus afforded me an oppor- 
 tunity to become better acquainted with our regimental surgeon, 
 Doctor Gunther. Has he never told you of the the times we passed 
 together?" 
 
 " He has merely mentioned them. It was only a few days ago 
 that the king told me I was right in saying that Doctor Gunther 
 would only furnish verbal prescriptions when they were demanded 
 and were really necessary." 
 
 "Ah! and so the king said that you were right? 'You are 
 right' that is a real mark of grace and should make one happy 
 for a whole day and perhaps even longer. Is n't it so? " 
 
 " Father did n't you mean to tell me more about your life 
 with Gunther? " 
 
 Ah, my child, that was a wondrous time. As far as I was able, 
 I dived, with him, into the study of philosophy. I can still re- 
 member, as if it were this very moment, the very hour and the very 
 place by the fortress wall it was a dull evening in Autumn ; I can 
 still see the leaves as they fell from the trees when Gunther, for 
 the first time, explained to me the great saying of the all-wise one: 
 4 Self-preservation is the first law of nature.' I stood as if rooted 
 to the spot ; it dawned upon me like a revelation, and has never 
 since left me. Although at times obscured by the events of life, 
 'preserve thyself,' has always been before my mind. I have faith- 
 fully lived lip to the great precept, and alas, as I now see, too 
 completely and selfishly. The man who lives only for himself does 
 not live a complete life, but I can confess this to you, of all others, 
 without fear. It was only later that I came thoroughly to know 
 the great right of sovereignty that belongs to every human being. 
 I had done much thinking before that, but never in logical connec- 
 tion. You cannot imagine what courage it requires, on the part of 
 ?. favorite and respected officer, to venture on the study of philoso- 
 phy ; how opposed it is to the very idea of military service, how 
 improper it seems to one's superiors, and how ridiculous to one's 
 comrades. Military service so exhausts the body, by daily, and for 
 the greater part, useless exercises, that it renders it difficult to cul- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 135 
 
 tivate one's mind. I often excused myself, as unwell, and 
 remained in my room during the loveliest weather, simply on 
 account of my studies. Our regiment was ordered to the capital, 
 and Gunther accepted my offer of a discharge. He became a 
 professor and I attended lectures: But I was painfully conscious 
 of my deficiency in knowledge and ardently longed fora chance *o 
 devote my life to perfecting my education. An unforeseen event 
 helped to bring about the desired end. I had become gentleman 
 of the bedchamber and spent much of my time at court. At that 
 early day, I observed the ineradicable, servile spirit that "dwells in 
 man. Every one rejoices that there are others lower down in the 
 scale than himself, and is willing, on that account, to suffer some to 
 stand above him. Princes are not to blame for this ladder of non- 
 sense. One day while at the summer palace, the king had gone out 
 hunting, and although it was long past the dinner-hour, not a 
 glimpse of him was to be seen. The chamberlains and the court la- 
 dies I forget their titles were walking in the park. They would 
 sit down on the benches, look through their spy-glasses, and endeav- 
 or, unsuccessfully however, to keep up a sustained conversation ; 
 for the ladies and gentlemen, both young and old, were possessed 
 of vulgar hunger. And still the herdsman who was to put fodder 
 in the rack for them, did not make his appearance. Your uncle 
 Willibald, pacified his gnawing hunger with little biscuits, which 
 did not destroy his appetite. Hours passed, while they walked 
 about like Jews on the Day of Atonement. But they laughed 
 and joked at least they tried to while their stomachs growled. 
 And though your uncle had thirty horses in his stables at home, 
 with oxen and cows and many broad acres besides, he was content 
 to serve and wait there, because he took great pride in being lord 
 chamberlain. At that time, my child, I was as old as you are now, 
 and I swore to myself never more to be a servant to any man. 
 At last, the 'king's hunting carriage arrived. All were profuse in 
 their greetings and received him with smiling faces. And yet his 
 majesty was in a bad humor, for while he had been unsuccessful, 
 General Kont, who had been one of the hunting party, had com- 
 mitted the impropriety of shooting a deer with twelve antlers. 
 The General felt very unhappy at his good luck, and his head 
 hung as mournfully as that of the dead beast. He apologized again 
 and expressed his regrets that his majesty had not killed the stag. 
 With rueful countenance, the monarch congratulated him. The 
 king looked at me and asked : ' How are you ? ' 
 
 "Very hungry, Your Majesty,' was my answer. The king 
 smiled, but the rest of the court were horror-struck at my im- 
 pertinence. 
 
 " We were obliged to wait another half hour, while the king 
 (hanged his dress and, at last, we went to dinner. 
 
 " My child, if you were to tell the story to a courtier, he would 
 
136 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 consider me intolerably stupid; but that meal was the last I ever 
 ate at princely table. 
 
 " I know that I 'm talkative I 'm an old man. I merely wanted 
 to say : Look about you and see how many human sacrifices they 
 are constantly requiring. 
 
 " The idea of princely dignity is a noble and beautiful one. Th< 
 prince should embody the unity of the state ; but, although the 
 idea, in itself, is beautiful, the 'knowledge that its realization re- 
 quires a pyramid of worn out creatures, divested of human dignity, 
 renders it repulsive to me. 
 
 " Irma, I feel as if I must impress the testament of my soul 
 upon yours. The moment you feel that you 've lost the smallest 
 portion of your crown of human dignity, flee, without hatred 01 
 contempt ; for he who carries such feelings in his soul is heavily 
 laden and can never breathe freely. I do n't hate the world ; I 
 neither do I despise it. It simply appears to me strange, decayed, | 
 distant. Nor can I hate or despise any one, because his belief is 
 different from mine. 
 
 " But as I do n't wish to teach you, I will go on with my story. 
 I applied for my discharge and entered the university as a student. 
 I soon left, however, in order to continue my education in an 
 agricultural school. After that, I traveled and, as you know, spent 
 an entire year in America. I had a great desire to become, ac- 
 quainted with that new phase of history in which men are born to 
 intellectual freedom and are not constantly looking back towards 
 Palestine, Greece or Rome. I do n't find the world of the future 
 in America. All there is still, as it were, in a state of ferment 
 suggestive of primeval processes ; but whether a new civilization 
 will be the result, is more than I know. I do know, however, that 
 all mankind is patiently waiting for a new moral compact. But I, 
 and many more of us, will never live to see it realized. 
 
 "\Yill the world of the future be governed by pure ideas, or 
 will it again look up to some lofty personage as its exemplar ? I 
 should wish for the former, but its realization seems far off. 
 
 " Now to continue with the story of my life. 
 
 " I returned home and, meeting your mother, was unutterably 
 happy. She was alone in the world. I have enjoyed the greatest 
 of all happiness ; there is none other like it. Three years after you 
 were born, your mother died. I cannot give you particulars about 
 her. Her whole appearance was one of strength and purity. The 
 ivoild regarded her as cold and reserved, but she was ardent and 
 ")pen-hearted, beautiful to her very heart, but only for me. I know 
 that if she had been spared to me, I would have become 01 c of 
 the best and kindest of men. I dare not think of that. 
 
 " It was not to be. 
 
 " But I feel as if sanctified through her, for since that time no 
 base thought has ever entered my soul ; nor have I ever committee 1 
 a deed that I should feel ashamed to confess to my daughter. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 137 
 
 " She died, and I stood alone, my violent nature confronting the 
 enigma of life. 
 
 " Although I could not give my children a stepmother, I became 
 a stepfather to them. Yes, let me speak on : I am unsparing 
 towards myself. I know that if others heard me, they would say 
 that I am using too strong language. It is the fashion to be in- 
 dulgent nowadays, but I am not in the mode. I put my children 
 away from me. I placed you with your aunt, until you entered the 
 convent, and Bruno remained with me until he went to the semi- 
 nary. You were in fine institutions, with expensive fees, but you 
 were nevertheless put away from me. You did not know your 
 fathe* ; you merely knew that he was alive, but did not live with 
 him. You grew up like orphaned children. 
 
 " It is only two years since I confessed this to myself. For 
 weeks, it robbed me of sleep, of feeling and of thought, and still 
 I adhered to it. The demon called sophistry was ever telling me 
 'You could have been of no use to your children. You had still 
 too much to do for yourself, and it is better for them that they 
 should become free human agents through their own unaided 
 efforts than through you.' There may be some truth in it, but 
 nevertheless, I 've put my children away from me." 
 
 The old man paused. Irma laid her hand upon his and gently 
 strokecj it. 
 
 " 'T is well. I Ve said it at last. 
 
 " I remained here, leading a solitary but not a lonely life. 1 
 communed with the greatest minds and, at the same time, easily 
 managed our estate. 
 
 " I devoted myself to national affairs, but soon withdrew. I 
 can't belong to a party, not even to the one that calls itself the 
 party of freedom. It includes many noble-hearted men whom I 
 honor and respect, but they put up with too many frivolous com- 
 rades who, while they prate of equality and of the highest good of 
 man, do not hesitate to sacrifice their fellow-beings to themselves. 
 Aristocratic trirlers are simply vicious, but democratic triflers are 
 corrupters of ideas. He who dares not wish that the whole people 
 should think and act as he does, has no right to term himself a 
 free and honest man. 
 
 " If liberty does not rest on morality, what is there to distinguish 
 it from tyranny ? What is tyranny ? The egotistical abuse of be- 
 ings endowed with rights equal to ours. A tyrant, in effect, 
 denies his God. A frivolous democrai blasphemes Him. By 
 the term God, I mean the full conception of the world's moral law. 
 1 was a hermit in the midst of the crowd, and am happier and more 
 consistent, when away from the world. 
 
 " And now I am here leading a solitary life." 
 
 " Is n't it sad to be so lonely? " asked Irma. 
 
 " If I felt lonely, it would be very hard, " replied Ebcrhard ; "but 
 
138 6LY THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 man should not feel lonely, though he be alone. Ennui and lone- 
 liness have no resting place here. Men who are nothing to them- 
 selves are lonely wherever they be ; but let me continue' my story. 
 
 "Gi nther's defection caused me the greatest sorrow, but I was 
 unjus owards him. He always was a friend of court life and re- 
 gardtu it as the culmination of culture. He was always too aes- 
 thetic and would often say : ' I, too, have a claim on the luxuries, 
 the comforts, the pleasures of life and am determined to have my 
 share of them.' That led him to court and caused him to desert 
 fiee science and, at the same time, to lose both himself and me. 
 
 "You have probably been told, and have perhaps even yourself 
 thought, that I am a misanthrope. He who hates mankind is a 
 vain fool. In what respect is he better than the rest, or different 
 from them? I don't hate mankind. I only know that most of 
 them, either by their own efforts or through those of others, appear 
 in false colors. They affect an interest in things that do not con- 
 cern them and, in most instances, do not even know that it is affec- 
 tation. I have often been deceived and cheated, but, I frankly 
 confess, it was because I deceived myself. I gave forth what was 
 best in me, and imagined that others were with me, but it w r as 
 mere politeness that induced them to assent. They were not hyp- 
 ocrites ; it was I who deceived myself. I imagined myself in a 
 world in which all was peace and harmony, while, in fact, I was 
 alone, completely alone. Every one who has a character of his own, 
 is alone. There is no such thing as perfect accord ; to live out 
 one's self is all that remains. But most men do not care to do this, 
 and they are best off. They live as custom and morals require, 
 and do not greatly concern themselves about the present or the 
 past. They jump or dawdle, as the case may be, from mood to 
 mood, from enjoyment to enjoyment, and, as long as they can al- 
 ways see the same face when they look in the glass, are perfectly 
 content. Such faces never change. If the human countenance 
 always expressed the thoughts that fill the soul, you would not be 
 able to recognize any one from day to day, or even from hour to 
 hour. I do not know, my child, where I am leading you to ; I only 
 meant to tell you that I am not a misanthrope. I love all men. I 
 kr.ow that, at bottom, they cannot be different from what they are, 
 and that honest nature still lies concealed beneath their frizzled, 
 over-loaded, glittering masks. They cannot reveal it, however, and 
 ir spite of their false, cunning ways, there still remains a great and 
 v.ise precept: 'Forgive them, for they know not what they do.'i 
 And now let me add that I forgive your brother, too. He has 
 deeply mortified me, for the deepest mortification that one can suf- 
 fer is at the hands of one's child. 
 
 " I cannot force Bruno to act against his will, nor do I wish to. 
 It is a strange world. The struggle between father and son 
 drags on through all ages. My son defends the old, and I the 
 new ; but I must bear with it all. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 139 
 
 " Freedom alone accords with the dictates of nature and reason. 
 But you cannot force one to be free ; nor do I wisn to force you, 
 in any way. Most women would rather yield to nature than affec- 
 tion, but I do not regard you as an ordinary woman, nor do I wish 
 you to be one. You should " 
 
 Although Eberhard had said that he did not wish to be inter 
 rupted, something now came which did interrupt him. 
 
 It was a messenger with a letter for Irma. She recognized the 
 handwriting of her friend Emma, and hurriedly opening the letter, 
 read as follows ; 
 
 " Irma : I cannot come to thee. I have said farewell to the 
 world. Three weeks ago to-day, my Albrecht lost his life through 
 the bite of a mad dog. My life for this world is also at an end. I 
 humbly submit to the inscrutable will of the Almighty. I have 
 vowed to take the veil. I am here now, and shall never again 
 leave this spot. Come, as soon as thou can'st, to thy 
 
 "SISTER EUPHROSYNE, 
 "In the convent of Frauenworth" 
 
 Irma handed the letter to her father to read. 
 
 " And so the bite of a mad dog has destroyed two human lives. 
 Who will explain this ? " exclaimed Irma. 
 
 " In that respect, religion is just as impotent as we are. Like 
 reason, she commands us to. obey nature's law." 
 
 The messenger waited, and Irma went off to write an answer in 
 which she promised to come. 
 
 Meanwhile, Eberhard sat alone. He had confided the story of 
 his life to his child and what would it avail ? How often had he 
 realized that no teaching, be it ever so noble, can change the 
 human mind. Life, observation and experience can alone produce 
 conviction. The weak point of dogmatism is that it attempts to 
 teach that which can only be learnt from life itself. His children 
 had not shared in his life, and it was now of little avail to recount 
 it to them, in all its details, or to explain the motives that directed 
 it. There was enough of contradiction implied in the fact that the 
 father was obliged to tell what his life had been. 
 
 In his own mind, Eberhard acknowledged that his own conduct 
 had borne its legitimate results. He had no real claim to filial affec- 
 tion ; at all events, not to the degree in which he craved it, for he 
 had lived for himself alone. 
 
 When Irma returned and asked permission to visit her friend 
 Emma, he nodded assent. He had boasted that nothing could in- 
 terrupt him. He might use the rule for himself, but not for others. 
 He had told his child the story of his life who knew but what 
 his untoward interruption would efface it all from her memory? 
 
140 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 SEATED in the open court carriage, Irma rode o'er hill and 
 dale. She lay back on the cushions ; the waitingmaid and the 
 lackey sat on the back seat. 
 
 Emma's sad and sudden message had almost paralyzed her ; but, 
 now that she was in the carriage, her strength returned. Travel 
 and change of air always exerted a magic influence over her. 
 
 The echo of her father's story followed her during a great part 
 of the journey. She had listened with great interest, although the 
 story itself had made but a faint impression upon her. An inner 
 voice told her : These matters are not so serious or important as 
 he takes them. It is his peculiar temperament that causes them 
 to affect his course in life. It would not be so with another. It 
 was enough that she was able to do justice to his eccentricity. He 
 could hardly expect it to exert any decided influence upon her. 
 Emma's fate was horrible, maddening ; but her father's was not. 
 Much of his life-trouble was mere self-torment. He spoke of re- 
 pose, and yet knew it not. 
 
 \Yith all Irma's affection for her father, she had really so little in 
 common with him, that the painful expression that played about 
 his mouth, while he told her his history-, simply served to remind 
 her of the Laocoon. 
 
 Irma shook her head quite petulantly. 
 
 What a chaos is the world ! 
 
 A mad dog destroys a life and, here and there, solitary beings 
 are tormenting themselves to death. Every one is conscious of 
 some fault or weakness ; all seek the unattainable and, in unend- 
 ing attempts and trials, life is spent. In the midst of this chaos, 
 a single figure appears. It is full, beautiful, great, sure of life 
 and, in truth, controls life. Irma turned back as if to say: 
 " Alas ! it is not you, father, although you could and ought to be 
 the one. The king alone is the one free being on the pinnacle of 
 life." 
 
 A smile played about her lips while she thought of him. She 
 looked up at the blue heavens and, forgetting whither she was 
 going, felt as if gentle arms were carrying her away over hill ind 
 dale. 
 
 An eagle was winging its flight far above the mountain tops. 
 Irma's eyes followed it for a long while. She ordered the driver 
 to stop the carriage, and the sen-ant alighted in order to receive 
 her ladyship's orders. She motioned him to mount the box again 
 and, though all the comforts wealth affords were hers, stopped 
 in the midst of wild nature to watch the eagle hovering in the air, 
 until it at last disappeared in the clouds. 
 
 If one must die, I 'd like to die thus," said an inner voice, " fl\ 
 ,nto heaven and be no more. ' 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 141 
 
 They drove on. For the rest of the journey, Irma did not utter 
 a word. 
 
 It was towards evening when the lackey said : " We 've reached 
 th^ place." 
 
 The road descended towards the lake, by the shore of which 
 the carriage stopped. The convent was on an island in the centre 
 of the lake, and the sounds of the curfew bells filled the air. The 
 sun was still visible over the mountain tops, its rays were almost 
 horizontal, and the dancing, sparkling waves looked like so many 
 lights swimming to and fro. The surface of the lake was rapidly 
 assuming a golden hue. 
 
 At the sound of the evening bells, the lackey and the postilion 
 lifted their hats and the waitingmaid folded her hands. Irma also 
 folded her hands, but did not pray. She thought to herself: The 
 sound of the bells is pleasant enough, if one can listen to them 
 from without,' and then return to the happy world ; but to those 
 who are within the convent, it is a daily death-knell ; for life such 
 as theirs, is death. 
 
 Irma's mood was not in sympathy with that of her friend, and 
 she did her best to feel as befitted the occasion. 
 
 While they were getting the boat ready, she overheard the 
 lackey speaking with another servant whose face she remembered 
 to have seen at court. 
 
 She heard the court lackey saying : 
 
 " My master 's been here for some days and has been waiting for 
 something ; I do n't know what." 
 
 Irma would have liked to ask with whom he had come, but 
 ii sudden fear overpowered her and she was unable to speak a 
 word. 
 
 Accompanied by the waitingmaid, she stepped into the boat. 
 An old boatman and his daughter rowed the rudderless skiff. 
 The waters of the lake were deep and dark. The sun was setting, 
 and the shadows of the western mountains were reflected in dark 
 outlines on the hills along the shore. The fresh-fallen snow lay 
 on the glaciers, whose white crests contrasted sharply with the 
 wooded hills of the foreground and the clear blue sky. Below, all 
 was as silent and dusky as though they were sailing into the realm 
 of shadows. 
 
 "Is this your daughter?" asked Irma, addressing the old boat- 
 man. 
 
 He nodded a glad assent, delighted to find her conversant with 
 the -dialect of that portion of the country. Her intercourse with 
 Walpurga had kept her in practice. 
 
 "Yes," replied the boatman, "and she 'd like to go into service 
 with some good family. She can sew well and ' 
 
 " Remain with your father ; that 's the best thing you can do,' 
 said Irma to the girl. 
 
142 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 They rowed on in silence. 
 
 " How deep is the lake here ? " enquired Irma. 
 
 " Sixty fathoms, at least." 
 
 Irma's hand played with the water, and she was pleased with 
 the thought that human beings could so easily and boldly move 
 along over a threatening, watery grave. She leaned a little way 
 over the side of the boat, and the boatman called out * 
 
 " Take care, miss ! " 
 
 " i can swim," replied Irma, splashing the waves. 
 
 " That 's all very well," said the old man, laughing. "They can 
 al~. swim until they have to, and then all 's over ; and if they 
 happen to have clothes hanging to them, mighty few can swim.' ; 
 
 " You 're right there. Our gay frippery would drag us down.'' 
 
 The old man did not understand her and made no reply. 
 
 She was quite excited and asked : " Have many persons been 
 drowned in this lake ? " 
 
 " Very few ; but just below us, there 's the body of a young 
 man. twenty-one years old." 
 
 " How was he lost ? " 
 
 " They say he 'd been drinking too freely, but I think that he 
 had a sweetheart in the convent over there. It 's a good thing she 
 do n't know of it." 
 
 Irma looked down into the waves, while the old man continued : 
 
 " And over there by the rock the trunk of a tree struck a wood- 
 cutter and hurled him into the lake. Over there by the flood-gate, 
 a milkmaid, fifteen years old, happened to get into the current 
 while the drift logs were whirling along, and by the time her body 
 reached the lake, every bit of clothing had been torn from it by 
 the logs." 
 
 "Do n't tell such frightful stories," said the waitingmaid to the 
 man. 
 
 Irma looked up at the steep mountains and asked : 
 
 " Could one climb up there ? " 
 
 " Yes, but they 'd find it mighty hard work ; still, wherever there 
 are trees, man can climb." 
 
 Irma looked down into the* lake, and then up at the mountains. 
 One can lose one's self in the world. " How would it be if one 
 were to do so ? " said the voice within her. 
 
 She stood up in the boat. The old man exclaimed : 
 
 " Sit down ! there 's danger if you stir one way or the other." 
 
 " I shall not move," said Irma, and she really stood erect in the 
 unsteady little boat. 
 
 " By your leave, the beautiful young lady surely does n't mean to 
 enter the convent?" 
 
 " Why do you ask ? " 
 
 " Because I 'd be sorry." 
 
 "Why would you be sorry? Don't the nuns lead a pleasant 
 and peaceful life? " 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 143 
 
 "Oh yes, they do ; but it is a life in which nothing happens." 
 
 As if obeying a higher summons, Irma sat down and immedi- 
 ately stood up again. The boat reeled. 
 
 "A life in which nothing happens" the words*touched a chord 
 in her own heart. With her, the pride and strength of youth 
 rebelled against sacrificing one's life in such a manner. It is a 
 life in which nothing happens: whether it be, like her father's, 
 spent in solitary thought, or, like that of the nun, in common 
 devotion. Are we no* placed upon earth so that we may call rill 
 our own come joy, come grief; come mirth, come sadness a 
 life in which nothing happens is not for me. 
 
 Filled with such thoughts she stepped ashore and, while walking 
 up the avenue of lindens that led to the convent, heard the boat- 
 man fastening his skiff by the chain. 
 
 She inquired for Sister Euphrosyne. The nuns were all at 
 vespers. Irma also repaired to the chapel, in which the everlasting 
 lamp was the only light. Although the sendee was over, the 
 sisters were still kneeling on the floor. At last they arose, looking 
 like so many ghostly figures stepping out from chaotic darkness. 
 
 Irma returned to the parlor, where the portress told her that 
 she would not be allowed to speak to Emma that day, as the 
 sisters were not permitted to receive any communication, or con- 
 verse with any one, after vespers. Irma, in the meanwhile, was 
 lodged in the convent. 
 
 It was a mild September night. Wrapped in her plaid, Irma sat 
 out on the landing until a late hour. Her thoughts were lost in 
 the illimitable. She scarcely knew what she was thinking of, and 
 yet, as if wafted towards her on the air, she would now and then 
 seem to hear the words : " A life in which nothing happens." 
 
 On the following morning, after early mass, Irma was permitted to 
 visit her friend. She was frightened when she saw Emma, and 
 yet it was the same mild countenance, only terribly disfigured by 
 the closely fitting hood that completely covered the hair and gave 
 the face greater prominence. 
 
 After the first outburst of grief and sympathy that followed the 
 recital of her sad affliction, Emma at last said to Irma, who had 
 again and again pressed her to her heart : 
 
 " Your embraces are so passionate. I know you will never be 
 able to learn humility. You cannot ; it is not in your nature. But 
 \ou should acquire equanimity. You could never enter a convent, 
 Irma, and never ought to ; for you would long to return to the 
 world. You must become a good wife, but do not imagine that 
 your ideal will ever be realized. Our existence heVe is fragmentary 
 and full of misery. Life here below is not intended to be beautiful 
 and complete. But, Irma, take heed you do not attempt to loosen 
 barrier, or to overstep it. Draw back while you are still on this 
 side ! " 
 
144 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Emma did not mention the king's name. There was a long 
 pause. Irma felt as if their present surroundings must stifle her. 
 
 Emma spoke of what had happened but a few weeks ago, as if 
 decades had parsed in the meanwhile. She discoursed to her 
 friend of the strength that lay in continuous devotion ; how it 
 lengthened the hours into years full of placid victor}- over the 
 world. She felt happy that it was possible, even on earth, to lay 
 aside one's name and memories, and to lead an existence which, 
 without one steep step, gradually led one to eternal bliss. Emma, 
 however, complained that they would not allow her to take the 
 veil, and resented it as tyranny that she was only permitted to re- 
 main as a serving sister without vows. 
 
 "It is right that you should not," exclaimed Irma; "I think 
 Bronnen loves you, but he 's a man who respects existing facts. 
 His moral character would lead him to repress, rather than mani- 
 fest, warm feeling towards an affianced bride. He deserves you. 
 I don't say that you should now How could you ? How would 
 he dare ? You should remain your own mistress and, after you 've 
 spent a year or more in the convent, you may, with that excellent 
 man, lead a life which, if void of transports, will be none the less 
 true and beautiful. All I can say to you now is : Do n't fetter 
 your future. No one should take a vow that binds him for life, 
 that, on the very morrow, might seal his lips and make him a slave, 
 a liar, a hypocrite or a deceiver, in his own eyes." 
 
 " Irma," exclaimed Emma, "what bad advice you are giving me. 
 Is that the language used at court ? Oh forgive me for speaking 
 to you so ! It was the old Emma that did it ; not I. Forgive me, 
 I pray you, forgive me ! " 
 
 She threw herself on her knees at Irma's feet. 
 
 "Stand up," said Irma, "I 've nothing to forgive. I will speak 
 more calmly. You see, dear Emma, it is fortunate for you that 
 you cannot take the vow. A fearful blow has prostrated you ; but 
 if you remain free in your seclusion, your load will gradually lighten 
 and your wounds will heal. Then, should the world call you, you 
 are free to return to it. This should be a place of refuge for you, 
 and not a prison." 
 
 "Ah yes," said Emma, with a smile, "you must of course think 
 so, but I I do not care to see the world which no longer contains 
 him who was dearer to me than life. You cannot realize what it is 
 to be betrothed on earth, and be obliged to wait for eternal union 
 in heaven. I have prayed God to take my heart from me and 
 banish every selfish desire, and He has hearkened unto me. It u 
 tyrannical to attempt to force our opinions upon others. Do you 
 still remember, Irma, the first time we read the story of Odysseus, 
 and how he had them bind him to the mast so that he might listen 
 to the songs of the syrens and yet not be able to follow them ? 
 Do you still remember the remark you then made ? 
 
v 
 
 ON THE HEIGi 
 
 "I 've quite forgotten it." 
 
 " ' Much-be-praised Odysseus,' said you, 'was a weakling", not a 
 hero. A hero must not suffer himself to be bound by external 
 fetters ; he must resist everything by his inner strength.' Even 
 then, I felt how strong you were. Odysseus was only a heathen, 
 and knew nothing of the eternal law. I rejoice in that law ; 1 
 cling to that rock. I long for the divine, the eternal bond ; it will 
 support me if I sink. I do not wish to return to the world. I 
 wish to fetter myself, and can it be that men who claim to be free 
 dare forbid others to tread the path that leads to perfection to the 
 true eternal life ? Is not that tyrannical and godless?" 
 
 " Yes ; but who forbids you ? " 
 
 " The law of the state. It has ordered this convent to be closed 
 and forbids its taking any more young nuns." 
 
 " And does the law say that? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "The king shall not allow it." 
 
 Irma spoke so loudly that her words were echoed back from the 
 vaulted ceiling of the cell. 
 
 Emma's glance was fastened on Irma if it only could be 
 brought about ! 
 
 The two maidens had no time to exchange a word on the subject, 
 for, at that moment, the abbess sent for them. 
 
 The abbess addressed Irma, just as if she had overheard the last 
 words of the latter. With gentle voice, but positive manner, she 
 complained of the tyranny of the free-thinkers whom she did not 
 judge, but simply pitied arid maintained that the attempt to 
 destroy ancient and holy institutions was revolting. 
 
 Irma's countenance glowed with excitement. She again said 
 that the law must be repealed, and that she would exert all her in- 
 fluence to bring about that end. She offered to write to the king 
 at once. The abbess gladly accepted the proffered service and 
 Irma wrote : 
 
 " Your Majesty : I write to you from the convent, but I am not 
 a nun. I believe my talent does not lie in that way. But what 
 laws are these that forbid a maiden from taking the eternal vow ? 
 Is that freedom ? Is it justice ? What is it ? Your Majesty will, 
 I trust, pardon my agitation. I am writing with convent ink on 
 convent paper, and it is not the first time that such ink and such 
 paper have been used in the service of freedom. 
 
 " Is it possible that one set of human beings can forbid others to 
 live together in seclusion ? 
 
 " Quacks cannot create life or happiness ; should they, therefore, 
 De allowed to forbid unhappiness from effecting its own cure ? 
 
 " Your Majesty's great mind cannot suffer such barbarism, and 
 t is barbarous, although hedged about by culture. 
 
146 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " I am aware, Your Majesty, that I have not yet made my 
 meaning clear. I shall endeavor to do so. 
 
 " I am here in the convent. 
 
 " Emma, the woman whom I love above all others I believe 1 
 have already spoken of her to Your Majesty wishes to take the 
 veil. From her point of view, she is in the right. Dogs will go 
 mad, although the dog-tax be paid. A mad dog killed her affianced 
 and she now desires to renounce the world. Who dare prevent it ? 
 And yet the law of the state commands that this convent shall die 
 out, and forbids its receiving nuns. 
 
 " Your Majesty dare not permit this. Your eye takes in all at a 
 glance ; your life is the nation's history. You must teach these 
 journeymen to be greater-minded than they now are. They must 
 abolish this law r ; indeed, they must. 
 
 " Pardon my language, Your Majesty ; but I cannot help myself. 
 I feel as if I were your deputy. I feel that your great mind resents 
 such pettiness as an insult. 
 
 " I hope to see Your Majesty soon again and, meanwhile, send 
 my most respectful greetings. 
 
 "IRMA VOX WlLPEXORT." 
 
 Without being observed, Irma enclosed the four-petaled clover- 
 leaf with the letter. 
 
 While Irma sat in the boat that took her back to the shore, 
 she was filled with pride. She felt that she had instigated, if not 
 accomplished, a beautiful and noble act in the sen-ice of freedom 
 and was determined that it should be carried out. 
 
 The old boatman was glad to see her again. He rowed lustily, 
 but did not speak a word. Now and then, he would smile to him- 
 self, as if happy in the thought that he was carrying a young soul 
 away from the realm of shadows. 
 
 In the distance there was a skiff and, in it. a man clad in a green 
 hunting dress. He .waved his hat and bowed. 
 
 Absorbed in thought, Irma was gazing into the lake, when her 
 maid drew her attention to the other boat. 
 
 Irma started. 
 
 " Is it not the king?" 
 
 Thinking that he had not yet been observed, the hunter fired off 
 his gun, the report of which was echoed again and again from the 
 hills. He then waved his hat once more. With trembling hand, 
 Irma waved her white handkerchief as a token of recognition. 
 
 The skiff approached. Irma's expression rapidly changed from 
 one of joy to that of disappointment. 
 
 It was not the king. It was Baron Schoning who greeted her. 
 
 He sprang into the boat, kissed her trembling hand and told her 
 how happy he was to meet her there. 
 
 They alighted. The Baron offered his arm to Irma and they 
 walked along the bank, the maid going before. In the distance. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 147 
 
 Irma could see the lackey who, on the previous day, had been 
 speaking to hers. Had not the servant said that his master had 
 been waiting here for a long time ? Had not Baron Schoning, be- 
 fore this, been open in his attentions to her? His-words soon re- 
 lieved her of all doubt on that score. 
 
 " We are alone here, in the presence only of the mountains, the 
 lake and the heavens. Dearest Countess ! May I speak of some- 
 thing that lies near my heart and which I have for a long while 
 desired to tell you ? " 
 
 She silently nodded assent. 
 
 " Well then, permit me to tell you that the court is not the right 
 place for you." 
 
 " I am not quite sure that I shall return there ; but why do you 
 think me out of place there ? " 
 
 " Because there is something in you which will always prevent 
 you from feeling at home there. You are surprised to hear me, 
 the jester, the court-warbler, speak thus. I know very well I bear 
 that title ; but believe me, Countess, while they imagine they are 
 playing with me, I am amusing myself at their expense. You, 
 Countess, will never feel at home at court. You do not accept 
 that life and its customs, as fixed and settled. You interpret it ac- 
 cording to your own peculiar views ; your mind cannot wear a uni- 
 form ; your soul utters its deepest feelings in its own dialect, and 
 when your utterances get abroad in the liveried world, they find it 
 exceedingly original, but strange and no one knows it better than 
 I you have not, and never will have aught in common with those 
 who surround you." 
 
 " I should not have believed that you could thus look into my 
 heart ; but I thank you." 
 
 " I am not looking into your heart ; I live in it. O Countess ! 
 Oh ! thou child-like and all-loving heart, tremble not ! Suffer me 
 to clasp this hand in mine, while I tell you that I, too, am a 
 stranger there, and have resolved to retire from court and live for 
 myself on yonder patrimonial estate of mine. Irma, will you ren- 
 der my life a thousand fold happier than it can otherwise be ? Will 
 you be my wife ? " 
 
 It was long before Irma could answer him. At last she said : 
 
 " My friend yes, my friend on yonder island there lives a 
 friend of mine who is dead, both to herself and me. Fate deals 
 kindly with me and sends me another in her stead. I thank you 
 but I am so confused perhaps more than But look, dear 
 Baron, at the little cottage half way up the mountain. I would be 
 content to live there to grow my cabbages, milk my goats, plant 
 my hemp, make my clothes and could be happy, desiring noth- 
 ing, forgetting the world and forgotten by it." 
 
 "You jest, clear Countess; you are creating an ideal whose 
 bright colors will soon grow dim." 
 
148 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " I do not jest. I could live alone while laboring for my daily 
 bread, but not as the mistress of a castle, and surrounded by the 
 trifles and the frippery of the fashionable world. To dress for the 
 mere sake of seeing one's self in the glass, is not to my taste. In 
 yonder cottage, I could live without a mirror. I need not look at 
 myself, nor need another look at me ; but if I am to live with the 
 world, I must be wholly with it ; at the reigning centre, in the 
 metropolis, or traveling. I must have all or nothing. Nothing 
 else will make me happy. Nothing half-and-half or intermediate 
 will satisfy me." 
 
 Irma's tone was so determined that the Baron saw how thor- 
 oughly in earnest she was, and that her words meant more than 
 mere caprice or sport. 
 
 " I must either subject myself to the world," said she, "or, de- 
 spising it, put it beneath me. I must either be perfectly indiffer- 
 ent and regardless of the impression I produce upon others, or 
 else afraid of every glance, even my own." 
 
 The Baron was silent, and evidently at a loss for words. At 
 last he said : 
 
 " I would gladly have gone to your father's house, but I know 
 that he dislikes men of my class. I waited for you here, knowing 
 that you would come to your friend. Pray answer me another 
 question : Do you intend to return to court ? " 
 
 "Yes," said Irma, now, for the first time, firmly resolved upon 
 returning. " It were ungrateful to act otherwise. Ungrateful to 
 the queen and to the king and all my friends. I feel sure, my 
 friend, that I am not yet mature enough to lead a life in which 
 nothing happens." 
 
 They came to a seat. 
 
 " Will you not sit down with me ?" said Irma to the Baron. 
 
 They seated themselves. 
 
 " When did you leave the capital? " 
 
 "Five days ago." 
 
 " And was everything going on as usual ? " 
 
 " Alas, not everything. Doctor Gunther has met with a sad af- 
 fliction. Professor Korn, his son-in-law, died suddenly, having 
 poisoned himself while dissecting a corpse." 
 
 While dissecting a corpse ? " exclaimed Irma. " We all die of 
 the poison of decay, but not so suddenly ; those on yonder island 
 and we all of us." 
 
 " You are very bitter." 
 
 " Not at all. My head is filled with the strangest fancies. I be- 
 came acquainted with a great law over there." 
 
 " The law of renunciation ? " 
 
 " Oh no ; the justification of fashion." 
 
 " You are mocking." 
 
 " By no means. Fashion is the charter of human liberty and 
 the journal of fashion is humanity's greatest boon." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 149 
 
 "What an odd conceit ! " 
 
 " Not at all. It is the simple truth. The frequency with which 
 a man changes the material, cut and color of his clothes, proves 
 his claim to culture. It is man alone who constantly clothes him- 
 self differently and anew. The tree retains its bark, the animal its 
 hide, and, as the national and clerical costumes are both stereo- 
 typed, as it were, those who use them are regarded as belonging 
 to an inferior, or less civilized class." 
 
 The Baron looked at Irma, wonderingly. He was glad, at 
 heart, that she had candidly given him the mitten. He could not 
 have satisfied so restless and exacting a nature that constantly re- 
 quired intellectual fireworks for its amusement ; and she, more- 
 over, took delight in her absurd ways. All at once, he saw noth- 
 ing but the shadows in Irma's character. An hour ago, he had 
 seen only the bright side and had regarded her as a vision of light 
 itself. She had just visited a friend about to take the veil, had just 
 listened to a proposal of marriage how could she possibly indulge 
 in such strange notions immediately afterward ? 
 
 Baron Schoning told her that he had ordered photographs of 
 Walpurga and the prince. 
 
 " Ah, Walpurga," said Irma, as if suddenly remembering some- 
 thing. 
 
 The Baron politely took his leave and rowed back across the 
 lake. 
 
 Irma took the road that led homeward. She wished to visit 
 Walpurga's relatives and enquired as to the route towards the lake 
 on the other side of the mountains. They told her that a carriage 
 could not get there, and that the only way to reach the point was 
 on horseback. Irma took the direct road for home. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 { * OOMETHING ails me ! It always seems as if some one were 
 O calling me, and I can't help looking round to see who it is. 
 The Countess must be thinking of us all the time. Ah me, she 's 
 the best creature in the world." 
 
 Whilst Walpurga, for many days, thus lamented Irma's depart- 
 ure, the others at the palace rarely thought of her. The place we 
 leave, be it to journey in this or to the other world, is speedily 
 filled. In the palace, they tolerate neither vacancies nor senti- 
 ment. There, life is a part of history ; and history, as we all know, 
 never stands still. 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer continued to teach Walpurga how to 
 write, and the latter did not understand her, when she said : 
 
 " The quality are fond of taking up all sorts of things, but we 
 must finish what we begin. I Ve finished many a piece of em- 
 broidery, of which the hand that was kissed for it scarcely worked 
 a couple of stitches ; but that 's in the order of things." 
 
i$o ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Although Mademoiselle Kramer found everything in order that 
 \vas done by the quality, she, nevertheless, had a habit of speaking 
 of such things to her inferiors, not with the hope of being under- 
 stood by them, but merely to relieve her mind. 
 
 The child was well and hearty. Day after day passed in quiet 
 routine, and now Walpurga was richly recompensed for the ab- 
 sence of Countess Irma. The queen was permitted to have the 
 nurse and child about her for several hours every day. 
 
 While Irma had gone forth to seek rest and quiet, but had found 
 chaos instead, the queen's life had become serene and happy. 
 Her recent experience of life's trials had been a novel and difficult 
 one; but now her mind was at rest, her health restored. She 
 would look at her child and, when she spoke, Walpurga would fold 
 her hands and listen in silence. The nurse did not understand all 
 that was said but, nevertheless, sympathized with what was going 
 on. The queen endeavored to console Doctor Gunther in his af- 
 fliction, and spoke to him of the consolation that the mother could 
 find in her child : " In spite of all life's contradictions and enigmas," 
 said she, "there is yet the one glad thought that ever)' child bears 
 within it the possibility of the highest human development." 
 
 The queen, while speaking, looked around at her child, and 
 Walpurga said, in a gentle voice : 
 
 " Look at our child ; it 's laughing for the first time. It 's seven 
 weeks old to-day." 
 
 " I Ve seen my child's first smile, and its father is not here." 
 
 " Do n't make such a long face," said Walpurga ; "just keep on 
 laughing and he '11 laugh, too ; your pleasant glances will bide in 
 his face." 
 
 The child kept smiling until the doctor requested them not to 
 excite it any more. He said that Walpurga was right, and that if 
 one looks at an infant kindly it has the effect of imprinting a sweet 
 expression upon its features. 
 
 From that day forward, the child never saw a sad look on its 
 mother's face. 
 
 It was only when she spoke of persons that Walpurga could 
 talk volubly and continuously. Countess Irma was therefore fre- 
 quently the topic of conversation. But this subject was soon 
 exhausted, and when the queen woul/1 say : " Why are you silent ? 
 I hear that you can talk to the child so prettily and carry on all 
 sorts of fun with him," Walpurga persistently remained silent. 
 
 The queen made Walpurga tell her her history. It required 
 much questioning to get at the entire story, for Walpurga could 
 not narrate it in a continuous strain, as she had never thought of 
 her life as a connected whole. Everything had gone on of its own 
 accord, as it were, and without requiring one to stop and think. 
 While telling her story, she was as anxious as if before a court of 
 justice. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 151 
 
 " How did you happen to fall in love with your husband ? Do 
 you love him with all your heart ? " 
 
 " Of course. He 's my husband and there is n't a bad drop of 
 blood in him. He 's a little awkward, I mean unhandy, but 
 only when others are about. He 's never been much among 
 people. He grew up in a one-storied house and until he was 
 twenty-two years old had seen nothing but trees; but no work 's 
 too hard for him and whatever you put him to, he does his duly. 
 He 's not so dull, either; but he doesn't show it to the worH; 
 with me, he can talk well enough, and he 's satisfied as long as I 
 know he 's the right sort of man. It takes my Hansei a long 
 while to make up his mind, but when he 's made it up, he 's always 
 right. You see, dear queen, I might have got a much cleverer 
 husband ; my playmate has a hunter, and his comrade was after 
 me for a long while ; but I did n't want to have anything to do 
 with him, for he 's too much in love with himself. He once rowed 
 over the lake with me, and was all the time looking at himself in 
 the water, and twisting his moustache and making mouths, and so 
 thought I to myself: If your clothes were made of gold, I would n't 
 have you. And when father was drowned in the lake, Hansei was 
 at hand and did everything about the house. He 'd go out in his 
 skiff and bring in fish, 'and, while I and mother would sell 'em, he 'd 
 work in the forest. Father was also woodcutter and fisherman, at 
 the same time. And so Hansei was there a full half year ; no one 
 bid him come and no one told him to go, but he was there and was 
 honest and good and never gave me an unkind word ; and so we 
 were married, and, thank God, we 're happy and, through our 
 good prince, we '11 have something of our own. We 've got it 
 already, and it 's no easy matter for a husband to give his wife 
 away for a year. But Hansei did n't waste many words over it. 
 If a thing 's right and must be, he only nods this way and then 
 it 's done. Forgive me, dear queen, for telling you all this silly 
 stuff, but you asked me." 
 
 " No, I am heartily glad that there are simple-minded, happy 
 beings in this world. The worldly-wise think they prove their 
 infinite wisdom when they say: 'There are no simple-minded, 
 happy people, and the country folk are not nearly so good as we 
 imagine '." 
 
 "No more they are," said Walpurga, eagerly; "there aren't 
 any worse people than some of those out our way. There are 
 good ones, of course ; but there are wicked and envious an d 
 thieving and lazy and good-for-nothing and godless creatures 
 besides ; and Zenza and Thomas are among the worst, but I can't 
 help it." 
 
 Walpurga imagined that the queen must know of the paidon, 
 and they should not say of her that she had not told the truth. 
 The queen felt grieved at Walpurga's vehemence and the serious 
 charges she made against the people of her neighborhood. 
 
152 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Alter a little while, she said to Walpurga : 
 
 " They tell me you sing so beautifully. Sing something for me 
 or, rather, for the child." 
 
 " No, dear queen, I can't do it. I 'd like to, but I can't. I 
 do n't know any but silly songs. The good ones are all church 
 songs." 
 
 ' Sing me one of those that you call silly songs." 
 ' No, I can't ; they 're lonely songs." 
 4 What do you mean by lonely songs ? " 
 ' I do n't know, but that 's what they call 'em." 
 ' Ah, I understand : they can only be sung when one is solitary 
 and alone." 
 
 "Yes, I suppose that 's it ; the queen 's right." . 
 Although the queen endeavored to induce her to sing, Walpurga 
 protested that she could not and finally became so agitated that 
 she burst into tears. The queen experienced some difficulty in 
 pacifying her, but succeeded at last, and then Walpurga, taking 
 the child with her, returned to her room. 
 
 On the following day Walpurga was again summoned to the 
 queen, who said: "You 're right, Walpurga. You can't sing to 
 me. I 've been thinking a great deal about you. The bird on the 
 tree does n't sing at one's bidding. Free nature cannot be directed 
 by a baton. You need n't sing for me. I shall not ask it of you 
 again." 
 
 Walpurga had intended to sing to the queen that day. She had 
 chosen her prettiest songs, and now the queen actually ordered her 
 ,iot to sing, and even compared her to a bird. "Palace folk," 
 thought she, "are queer folk." 
 
 "I understand," continued the queen, "that in your neighbor- 
 hood they believe in the Lady of the Lake. Do you believe in 
 her, too ? " 
 
 " Believe in her ? I do n't know, but they tell of her. Father 
 saw her three days before he died, and that was a sure sign that 
 he would soon die. They say, too, that she 's the Lady of Wai- 
 deck." 
 
 ' Who is the Lady of Waldeck ? " 
 She 's the Lady of Worth." 
 What is Worth ? " 
 
 ' A bit of land in the middle of the lake, with water all round it." 
 Do you mean an island ? " 
 
 Yes, an island ; we sometimes call it that, too." 
 ' And what is the story of the Lady of Waldeck ? " 
 " Once upon a time, many thousand years ago, there was a man, 
 ind he was a knight by the name of Waldeck, and he was a 
 irusader. He and lots of emperors and kings went off to our 
 Savior's grave in the Holy Land. He left his wife at home and 
 before he went away, he said to her : ' You 're good and you '11 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 153 
 
 remain true to me ; ' and when, after many years, he returned, 
 quite black with the eastern sun, he found his wife with another 
 man, and so he bound the two together, put them in a boat and 
 rowed them over to Worth where he left them ; and there they lay 
 and had nothing to eat, and nothing to drink, and were tied 
 together and died of hunger, and the birds of the air ate them. 
 They were adulterers and it served them right ; but he was 
 horrible for all. And even nowadays, on spirit nights, you can 
 often see a little' blue flame on the island of Worth, and they say 
 that the Lady of Waldeck's soul has passed into a nymph and 
 that she must wander about." 
 
 Such was Walpurga's story. 
 
 " I have n't frightened you, I hope ? " said she, anxiously, as she 
 observed the queen's fixed gaze. "That's what they say. But 
 may be it 's only talk, after all." 
 
 " No, no. Do n't be anxious about that," cried the queen. " So 
 many different thoughts pass through my mind." 
 
 " Like enough ; it 's very hard to be the housewife, with so big a 
 house as this to keep, and so many folk in it." 
 
 The queen laughed heartily. 
 
 Walpurga did not know that she had said anything odd or 
 droll and was therefore surprised at the effect of her remarks ; but 
 she soon became satisfied that all she said was quoted. This 
 made her quite shy, although she would now and then give way 
 to fits of extravagance and would, at such moments, delight in her 
 own odd freaks, for they always provoked a smile. While the 
 queen aimed to be as simple as possible in her intercourse with 
 W 7 alpurga, the latter was, with each succeeding day, becoming 
 more artificial and affected. She copied herself and her whilom 
 naivett?. When she knew that the queen was within hearing, she 
 would repeat the wondrous combination of words with which she 
 was wont to amuse the prince. She one day began to sing of her 
 own accord and, when she had finished, she felt surprised and 
 almost hurt, because her song had elicited no remark from the 
 queen. Had she not sung well ? 
 
 The queen had said nothing, because she feared that she might 
 embarrass her. 
 
 There was a strange contrast between these two women, each 
 of whom was trying to place herself in more perfect sympathy 
 with the other, while both were, with every step, adding to the 
 distance that separated them. 
 
 It was a great day when the queen, accompanied by Walpurga 
 and the crown prince, rode out for the first time. 
 
 " You 're a thousand times more beautiful when you 're out of 
 doors, in the open air. In the darkened rooms, I never knew how 
 beautiful you were," said Walpurga to the queen, who immediately 
 
154 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 afterward had something to say in French to the Countess Brinken* 
 stein, \vho sat beside her. 
 
 " May I ask a favor, gracious queen?" said Walpurga. 
 
 " Certainly. What is it ? " 
 
 " I think it hurts the child to talk gibberish before it. A young 
 soul like his understands, even if it can't speak, and it seems to me 
 it must confuse his little brain. I hardly know how to tell you ; 
 but I feel it in mv own head, and whatever affects me, affects the 
 child." 
 
 "She 's right," said the queen to Countess Brinkenstein, "until 
 the child can speak perfectly, it should hear no language but its 
 mother tongue." 
 
 " That 's it mother tongue," exclaimed Walpurga, "you Ve hit 
 it. I had it on my lips, but I could n't think of it ; that 's the 
 very word. I 'm, so to say, the same as a mother to the child and 
 so is n't it so?" 
 
 " Yes, certainly. It shall be as you say in all things. See to it, 
 my dear Brinkenstein, that after this, nothing but German be 
 spoken before the prince. No one can tell what sounds may sink 
 into the soul which, as yet, is but half awakened." 
 
 Walpurga was delighted. There would now be no more gibber- 
 ish when she was by ; for wherever the child was, there was she. 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer added to her happiness by informing her 
 that they would start for the country, that is, the summer palace, 
 within a few days. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 JN the meanwhile there was a special reason for detaining Wal- 
 purga and the prince in the city. 
 
 Baron Schoning had spoken of the matter, while at breakfast 
 one day, and the suggestion which had been offered as a bit of 
 pleasantry was well received. The millions who were anxious to 
 behold their future ruler were to be gratified by the work of an in- 
 stant. It was determined that there should be a photograph of 
 the crown prince borne aloft on the hands of the people, Wal- 
 purga representing the people. She urged various objections to 
 the idea, and said it was wrong to let a child less than a year old 
 look into a mirror, and quite wrong to have its likeness taken. 
 "As long as you haven't let a child look in the glass, it can see 
 itself in the hollow of its left hand." Finding that her opposition 
 was of no avail, she dressed herself in her best gown. The crown 
 prince looked very pretty, and as he already had fair curly hair, the 
 artist removed his cap. 
 
 The first few attempts to get the likeness were failures. When- 
 ever she heard the voice issuing from the dark room, Walpurga 
 was frightened and imagined that witchery was going on. She 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 155 
 
 became more and more agitated, but at last, at Schoning's clever 
 suggestion, a pianist in the adjoining room played the air of Wal- 
 purga's favorite song. As soon as she heard it, she could not help 
 joining in the strain. Her expression and that of the child, too 
 became cheerful and unconstrained. Eureka ! the picture was 
 a success. 
 
 The drives about the city had been lovely, but the most beau- 
 tiful of all was now to come. 
 
 It was a bright, balmy afternoon when they drove off. Although 
 there had been no rain for some time, the road was free from dust, 
 sprinklers having preceded the court carriage. 
 
 Walpurga was in an open carriage, with the prince and the 
 queen. It was the first time that she rode out among the villages 
 and the fields. She gazed at the people who were looking out of 
 the windows, or sitting at the doorsteps of the houses by the road- 
 side, at the children who would stop and salute them, and then, 
 again, at the laborers in the fields. She kept smiling, nodding and 
 winking in all directions. The queen asked : 
 
 " What ails you ? What 's the matter ? " 
 
 " Oh, pardon me, queen ; but here I 'm riding in a carriage and 
 four, and over there the likes of me are working and toiling, and I 
 know how the women's backs ache from digging up potatoes, and 
 while I ride by, as though I were somebody better than they, it 
 makes me feel as if I ought to ask 'em all to forgive me for riding 
 by in this way. I feel as if I ought to say : ' Never mind ; when 
 the year's over, I '11 be the same as you are ; the clothes I wear, 
 the carriage and the horses, none of 'em are mine ; they 're all 
 borrowed.' Ah, dear queen, forgive me for saying this to you, 
 but you understand everything and know how to explain it for the 
 best. I empty my whole heart out to you," said Walpurga, 
 smiling. 
 
 "Yes, I understand what you mean," replied the queen; "and 
 it is wise of you thus to look forward to a return to your home. 
 The thought that you might be unable to content yourself there, 
 has often troubled me. Believe me, we who ride in carriages are 
 no better off than those who are walking barefoot through yonder 
 stubble." 
 
 "I know it," said Walpurga. "No one can eat more than his 
 fill, as my father used to say, and queens must bear their children 
 in pain and sorrow, just like the rest of us ; no one can save them 
 from that." 
 
 The queen made no reply, and looked out of the other side of 
 the carriage." 
 
 Countess Brinkenstein motioned Walpurga to be silent ; for, 
 A'hile it was difficult to induce her to talk, when she had once be- 
 gun, she did not know when to stop. 
 
 The queen was only silent because she wished to say something 
 
156 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 in French, tc Countess Brinkenstein, and had refrained from doing 
 so on accour t of Walpurga's previous admonition. 
 
 'My dear child," said the queen at last, "I would gladly give 
 up ewrythiig, if I knew that I could thereby render mankind 
 happy and contented. But what good would it do? Money 
 vouL! n't help the people, and it is not we who have brought 
 about this inequality. God has ordained it thus." 
 
 Walpurga could easily have answered her, but thought it best 
 to leave something for the morrow ; for her father had often said : 
 "It isn't well to catch all the fish in one day." She, therefore, 
 remained silent. 
 
 The queen felt greatly constrained by her promise not to speak 
 French in Walpurga's presence. There was much that she de- 
 sired to say and with which the peasant woman had no concern. 
 
 "How beautiful! how lovely is the world," she murmured to 
 herself, and then closed her eyes, as if fatigued with the splen- 
 dor which had opened before them, after her long seclusion. And 
 while she lay there, her head thrown back on the cushion, she 
 looked like a sleeping angel, so peaceful, so tender, as if mother 
 and child in one. 
 
 " The soft cushions almost made me think I was sitting on 
 clouds," said Walpurga, when they reached their journey's end. 
 
 She was unspeakably happy in the country. The broad pros- 
 pect, the clear skies, the mountains, the large and beautiful garden 
 with its comfortable seats, the fountains, the swans all delighted 
 her. There was also a fine dairy-farm, about a quarter of a mile 
 distant, where the cow-stable was much finer than the dancing 
 floor at the Chamois inn. 
 
 Walpurga was out in the open air during the greater part of the 
 day. The queen lived for her child alone, and Walpurga was 
 again talkative and natural. All the affected ways that she had 
 acquired while in the city, had left her. 
 
 In her first letter home she could now write for herself she 
 said : 
 
 " If I only had you here for one day, to tell you about every- 
 thing ; for, if the sky were nothing but paper and our lake nothing 
 but ink, I could n't write it all. If it were only not so far off, Han- 
 sei ; a pound of fish here costs twice as much as with us. We 're 
 living in the summer palace now, and just think, mother, what 
 such a king has. He has seven palaces, and they 're all furnished, 
 every one with a hundred beds, rooms, kitchens and all of them 
 rilled, and when they go from one palace to another they need n't 
 take a fork or a spoon along. Everything here is silver, and the 
 doctor and the apothecary and the preacher and the court people 
 and the horses and the carriages, all move out here with us. There 's 
 a whole town here in the palace, and I Ve the best beer and more 
 than I care for; and when one gets up in the morning ever) thing 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 157 
 
 is as neat and clean as a new-laid egg. There 's not a leaf on the 
 paths, and then there 's a house all made with glass. The flowers 
 five in it ; but I dare n't go in, because it 's too hot in there. They 
 keep it heated the whole year round, and it 's filled with great 
 palms and other trees from the east and, in the pond, there 's a 
 fountain, and the water rises up as high as our church steeple. 
 And just think of all such a king can have. All day long, when 
 the sun shines, there 's a rainbow there, sometimes above and 
 sometimes below. Of course, he nor no one else can make the 
 sun ; and they all do their best to please me. I hardly can say I 
 like a thing, before they give it to me at once. 
 
 "The queen is just like a companion with me. Just like you, 
 Stasi. I wish you much joy at your wedding. I only heard of it 
 from Zenza. You shall have a wedding present from me ; let me 
 know what you 'd like to have. But now I beg of you, just tell me 
 how it goes with my child. It did n't please me to know that you 
 had weighed it on the butcher's scales, and that it 's so heavy. I 
 would n't have thought, mother, that you would have allowed it, 
 or that you, Hansei, would have given way to the innkeeper. Be- 
 ware of that fellow. It was only last night that I dreamt you and 
 he were rowing across the lake, and that he clutched you and 
 dragged you into the water. Then all was over. And then the 
 Lady of the Lake appeared, and she looked like the good Countess 
 who is now away. She 's the best friend I have here, and prom- 
 ised to visit you on her way back. You can tell her and give her 
 everything just as if it was myself. They 've just brought me my 
 dinner. Ah, dear mother, if I could only give you some of it. 
 There are so many good things here and there 's always so much 
 left. Do n't let yourself want for anything, or Hansei either, and 
 my child least of all, for we can now afford it, thank God ! And 
 I want to be with you for a long while yet, dear mother. It often 
 makes me feel bad that I can't be a mother I mean a true moth- 
 er; but when I come home I '11 make it all up to my child ; and 
 Hansei, put all the money out at interest until I get home ; re- 
 member, it does n't belong to us, but to our child whom we de- 
 prive of its mother. 
 
 " Mademoiselle Kramer, who is with me all day, tvas born here. 
 She 'd rather be in the city, and she says it used to be much pret- 
 tier here than it now is ; that everything used to be like the little 
 garden yonder, where there are walls and rooms with doors and 
 vinclows, all made of shrubbery. It 's ail very pretty and I like to 
 go there, but when I 've been there a few minutes I am almost 
 frightened to death ; for I feel as if I and the trees were bewitched, 
 and I get away as soon as I can. Mademoiselle Kramer is a very 
 good person, but nothing is quite to her taste. She 's been used 
 all her life to riding and fine eating and sitting about ; and mother, 
 just think of what I have eaten here live ice ! People here are s 
 
158 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 clever they can preserve ice and make it up so that you can eat it 
 Yes, if that could satisfy one's appetite, there wouldn't be any 
 hungry people with us in the winter, or even in the summer, further 
 up the mountains. And mother, you once told me a fairy-tale 
 about \valls that have ears ; but this is no fable, it 's true and quite 
 natural. They have speaking trumpets running through the whole 
 palace, and you can speak through them, and if I want anything in 
 my room, all I 've got to do is to go up to the wall and say so and 
 in a minute it 's there. 
 
 " This is a beautiful day and that makes me think that you have 
 it as well as we, and that the same sun that shines on us here 
 shines on you, too, 
 
 " The main business here is taking walks. Every one must take 
 walks here. They call it taking exercise, so that they can get up 
 their appetite and keep their limbs from getting stiff. They even 
 take the horses out walking when there 's nothing for them to do. 
 Early in the morning, the grooms ride out a long way with them 
 and then come home. I often wish the horses could only take me 
 home for an hour. I often get homesick, but I am well and hearty 
 and only hope it is the same with you. Your 
 
 "WALPURGA. 
 
 "Postscript. Why haven't you mentioned a word about the 
 little gold heart which my Countess sent to my Burgei ? And no 
 one is to send me any more petitions, or to come to me. I won't 
 receive another one. As long as I live, I '11 be sorry for having 
 anything to do with Zenza and Thomas ; but perhaps it 's all for 
 the best and may be he 's turned out better. Do n't think hard of 
 it, dear Hansei, but I beg you, once more, to have very little to do 
 with the host of the Chamois. He 's a rogue, and a dangerous 
 one at that, but you need n't tell him that I say so, for I want the 
 ill-will of no one. I send my love to all good friends. I must 
 stop now, my hand is quite stiff with writing. 
 
 " Stop ! I must begin again. I send you a picture of myself and 
 my prince. It was taken in a sort of peep-show, before we came 
 out here, and now, as long as the world lasts, the prince and I will 
 always be together, and I '11 be holding him in my arms. But I 
 am still with you, dear Hansei, and you, dear mother, and, most 
 of all, with my dear child that I bear in my heart where no one can 
 look. Don 't show the picture to any one. 
 
 " But, dear me ! what good will it do if you do n't show it ? 
 Mademoiselle Kramer tells me that they 've made a hundred 
 thousand pictures of me and the prince, and now I am hanging up 
 in all the shops, and wherever I go they know me as well as the 
 king and the queen, whose pictures hang next to mine. I feel as 
 if I wanted no one ever to see me again, but when I think of it, 
 it 's really an honor after all. I am out in the world now, and 
 must let them do what they please with me. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 159 
 
 "But I shall ever be true to you, and I am at home nowhere 
 Out with you, and am always there in thought." 
 
 ! CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 * * T T OW goes it, Walpurga ? " asked Baum, one morning, when 
 11 the nurse was looking out of the window of the ground 
 floor. 
 
 "Oh dear," replied she, "this is a real paradise." 
 
 " Indeed ! " 
 
 " Could it be any finer in paradise ? The people live without 
 care and have nothing to do but eat and drink and laugh and go 
 out walking." 
 
 " You 're right there ; but still it was finer in paradise, for there 
 father Adam could n't covet another man's wife, as his was the 
 only one in the world." 
 
 "What queer notions you have," said Walpurga, laughing ; and 
 Baum, feeling flattered, added : 
 
 " In paradise they had no use for servants, no coachman, no 
 cook, no house, no clothes. There were no boots to be cleaned, 
 because there were none, and there were no coats and shirts to be 
 woven, and sewed and mended." 
 
 " You dreadful creature," exclaimed Walpurga. She felt as if 
 Baum's words had almost torn the clothes from her; her face was 
 crimson. Baum quickly answered : 
 
 " I 'm sorry I look so dreadful in your eyes. In my eyes you 're 
 so beautiful that I " He was interrupted by a servant who 
 called him away. 
 
 Walpurga quickly drew back into the room. She was angry 
 at Baum. How could any one use such language to a married 
 woman? "And yet," thought she, with a self-complacent smile, 
 "Baum 's a well-mannered person, after all; and why shouldn't 
 one crack a joke, now and then ? " 
 
 She looked in the large mirror for a moment and smiled. 
 
 " Yes, when Hansei sees you again, he '11 hardly know you ; it 's 
 the good living that does it. But I '11 say to myself every day : 
 ' It won't last long ; you 're only hired here for awhile. But danc- 
 ing 's pleasant, even if the dance does n't last long,' " said Wal- 
 purga, as if to console herself. All sorts of dance tunes occurred 
 to her and she kept humming them to the prince. 
 
 Walpurga roamed about through the beautiful park as if in a 
 dream. She imagined that the trees, the sky and the birds were 
 all enchanted and in a strange world ; that they would suddenly 
 awaken and all would vanish. But everything went on in its quiet 
 course, each day as beautiful as the one that preceded, like the sun 
 rising anew every day, the flowers that are constantly giving forth 
 their fragrance, or the spring that never ceases to flow. 
 
160 aY THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Waipurga had a special liking for Mademoiselle Kramer's father, 
 who was governor of the castle. He was a venerable man who 
 raised lovely flowers in his little lodge, and she could talk to him 
 as with her own father. 
 
 Walpurga was sitting out of doors for the greater part of the 
 day. Mademoiselle Kramer was always with her and two servants 
 within ready call. The queen would also often join them. 
 
 The queen had a beautiful snow-white setter of which the child 
 was especially fond. Walpurga requested her to let the prince 
 often have the dog, because it is well for a child to have a living 
 animal about it. 
 
 " She is right," said the queen, addressing the court lady at her 
 side ; " animal life awakens human consciousness." 
 
 Walpurga stared at her in surprise. The queen had said she 
 was right, but added words that she did not understand. 
 
 "Just look," said she to the queen, "how fond the bees are of 
 our child. They won't hurt him you need n't fear. The bee is 
 the only creature that came out of paradise without being spoilt." 
 
 The queen manifested her pleasure at the manner in which Wal- 
 purga's thoughts were interwoven with tradition. 
 
 Walpurga observed that the queen had but little worldly wisdom, 
 and gave her the benefit of hers whenever opportunity presented 
 itself. 
 
 " Do you know what that is ? " she once asked, while they sat 
 in the shrubbery. 
 
 " A tree." 
 
 "Yes, but do you know it's a sacred tree and that lightning 
 does n't strike where it grows ? " 
 
 No, I never knew that." 
 
 " And then of course, you do n't know why. Now my mother 
 told me all about it. The Virgin was once crossing a mountain 
 and was caught in a fearful storm. So she stood under a great 
 large hazel tree and remained safe, and, because it had protected 
 her, she blessed it for all time. You can make magic wands from 
 hazel twigs. The serpent-king dwells under the hazel tree and, 
 sometimes, under the weeping willow. Do you know why the 
 weeping willow drops its branches so sadly?" 
 
 " No, I do n't know that either. You 're full of wisdom," said 
 the queen, smiling. 
 
 " I 'm not, but my mother is. I do n't know half as much as 
 she. She 's very clever, and told me about the weeping willow. 
 The rods with which they scourged our Savior were made from 
 the weeping willow, and ever since that time she droops her 
 branches with shame." 
 
 Walpurga was quite happy to think that she could teach the 
 queen something. She felt that she was quite a different being 
 from all in the palace and that the queen was the only one who 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 161 
 
 understood her. She was always happy and cheerful when with 
 her and opened her whole heart to the queen. " You 're quite a 
 stranger in the world ; you 've never, in all your life, seen how the 
 burghers and farmers sit in their rooms of an evening, what they 
 eat. what they talk of, what they wish for, and what makes them 
 happy or gives them pain. I once heard my father tell a story. 
 It was about a prince and a princess who grew up as shepherds, and 
 did n't know who they were until they were grown up, when they 
 said to him: 'you 're a prince/ and to her: 'you 're a princess,' 
 and they became right good and honest people. Of course they 'd 
 been out in the world, and had learnt how people live and what 
 they need. I only wish that we could send our prince out, the 
 same way. I think it would be good for him and the whole 
 country, too. If servants are running after you all day long, it 's 
 just as if you were in a prison, the people form a living wall 
 around you." 
 
 "We can all be honest and good," replied the queen. 
 
 "And make good men and women of our children," added 
 Walpurga. " Do you know what I 'd like ? I 'd like, as long as I 
 live, to take all trouble from you, and if sickness came to you, to 
 be sick in your place." 
 
 " Yes, that 's very well ; but let us be quiet now." 
 
 The queen was all happiness. She saw to the bottom of a 
 simple peasant woman's heart, and into a new world that revealed 
 itself to her in her child. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 BAUM availed himself of every opportunity to speak with Wal- 
 purga. He was in deep affliction ; his wife was seriously ill, 
 and Walpurga endeavored to console him. In return, Baum lent 
 a willing ear to all her complaints, for she had just heard from 
 home, that Zenza denied all knowledge of the little golden heart 
 that Countess Irma had sent to the child. 
 
 "Ah, and so your Countess has a golden heart left to give 
 away," said Baum in a mocking voice. "You ought to be glad 
 to have such a friend." 
 
 " And so I am. Oh, if she were only here again, then it would 
 be a real paradise. I do n't worry about Zenza's making away with 
 the golden heart ; there must be some bad people, or else the world 
 would be too beautiful." 
 
 " And I tell you, it 's only half a life when the king 's away. Just 
 ivait till he comes back and see how it will be then. When there 's 
 no man about, it is n't a complete house." 
 
 The queen approached and Baum withdrew. 
 
 " What was that man saying to you ? " asked the queen. 
 
 " We were telling each other of our troubles ; he has great long- 
 
162 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 ing for the king and I, dear queen, have great longing for my 
 Countess Irma." 
 
 " I long for her, too ; but she has asked to have her leave of 
 absence extended for another fortnight." 
 
 Peacefully and calmly, the days passed by. Walpurga's favorite 
 resort was in the neighborhood of the dairy-farm ; for there were 
 cows there, and cows are the same everywhere, and do n't know 
 that they belong to the king, or that their milk is served at his 
 table. 
 
 Walpurga remarked this one day to Baum, who had discovered 
 that he could meet her there, and he replied : 
 
 " Oh, how clever you are ; if I only had got a wife like you." 
 
 " There are dozens like me." 
 
 " Oh, not so clever as you are. You could get far in the world, 
 if you only wanted to." 
 
 " How far should I go ? " said Walpurga. " I want to go home 
 and no farther." 
 
 " No one will think the w r orse of you for that, but one can make 
 a new home." 
 
 " I do n't understand you." 
 
 " I can't explain now, Countess Brinkenstein is coming. Meet 
 me in the shrubbery behind the chapel, this evening when they 're 
 all at table, I 've something good to tell you." 
 
 Walpurga had not time to reply. Baum saw Countess Brinken- 
 stein approaching and, in a loud voice, gave the dairy inspector an 
 order from the head cook, and then walked away quickly, respect- 
 fully saluting the Countess as he passed. 
 
 Countess Brinkenstein administered a severe reproof to Made- 
 moiselle Kramer for having allowed Walpurga to stand there with 
 the prince, and chatter with the servants. 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer made no reply, and only motioned Wal- 
 purga to go into the vine-clad arbor. 
 
 Walpurga was busy conjecturing what sort of advice Baum 
 might have to give her. He knew lots of things and perhaps 
 knew of some clever stroke, by which Hansei, her mother and the 
 child might be brought to the palace. But Hansei would n't do 
 for a lackey. Perhaps, though, they could make him court fisher- 
 man or chief woodsman of the royal forest. 
 
 When evening came, she was quite uneasy. It was not the 
 right thing for her to have a secret meeting with any man but her 
 husband ; but, perhaps the place may be given away to-morrow, 
 and then it would be too late. She sat by the window and looked 
 up at the stars. Her cheeks glowed, she drew a deep breath. 
 
 " What ails you ? " inquired Mademoiselle Kramer. 
 
 " I feel so warm and oppressed." 
 
 " I '11 send for the doctor." 
 
 " I do n't need the doctor. Just let me sit here quietly. But 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 163 
 
 no ; let me walk up and down in the garden for a few minutes and 
 I '11 feel better." 
 
 " The maid can go with you." 
 
 " No, I do n't need any one ; I '11 feel better if I go alone." 
 
 " But, I beg of you, do n't go too far, and come back soon 
 You Ve seen, to-day, how every misstep of yours draws reproof 
 on me." 
 
 " Yes, I '11 come back soon." 
 
 Walpurga went out at the back door. The gravel grated under 
 her footsteps and she trod more lightly. The air was laden with 
 the perfume of the flowers ; the swans in the lake uttered a strange 
 sound, like a deep, muffled trumpet tone ; the sky sparkled with 
 countless stars and, just as Walpurga looked up, she saw a brilliant 
 meteor and exclaimed : " Hansei ! " 
 
 In her innermost heart she wished for nothing but her husband's 
 happiness. She stopped when she had uttered his name. She 
 felt as if she had better return. She was a married woman and 
 ought n't to meet a strange man at night, even though it was by 
 the chapel. 
 
 Something ran across the path. Was it a cat, a martin or a 
 weasel ? 
 
 " Return," said an inner voice, but she went on, nevertheless. 
 She reached the arbor. Baum stepped forth from behind a vine- 
 clad column. He held out both his hands to her and she offered 
 him her own. He tried to draw her closer to him, but she stood 
 firm. 
 
 " What have you to tell me ? " asked Walpurga. 
 
 " Nothing but what 's good. You see, we lesser folks must 
 help each other, and you 're so much to me that I could do any- 
 thing for you." 
 
 "If you can do me a good service, I shall be grateful as long as I 
 live I and my husband and my child. Tell me quick ; I 'm in a 
 hurry." 
 
 " Then we can leave it for some other time." 
 
 " No, tell me now. What do you mean ? " 
 
 "I really meant nothing at all, but you see we must always wait 
 on others, and so I thought that we might have a quarter of an 
 hour to ourselves. I only wanted to tell you that you are the 
 light of my life, my happiness. When I look at you, and listen to 
 you, I 'd like to do I do n't know what, and I can 't tell." 
 
 "It isn't necessary, either; and, let me tell you, this is very 
 wicked of you." 
 
 " Is it wicked that I love you to distraction ? " 
 
 " Yes, and doubly wicked that you fooled me here and made me 
 believe that you had something good to tell me." 
 
 "And so I have,' said Baum, quickly; "forgive me for whaj 
 I Ve done ; if you do. I '11 tell you the re.st." 
 
164 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "Yes, I '11 forgive you, but make haste." 
 
 "Well," said Baum, with great composure, "it's simply this. 
 He who stands at the manger and does n't eat, is a fool. Do you 
 understand me ? " 
 
 " Of course ; it does n't take much to know that." 
 
 "Yes, but you don't take my meaning. A court like this is a 
 full manger, and you '11 be a great fool if you go away without 
 having taken enough to satisfy yourself and your child for life." 
 
 " I 'd like to know how that can be done. You 've got to eat 
 even 7 day, and can't stuff yourself with enough to last for a life- 
 time." 
 
 " You 're clever, but you might be more so. Just listen ! What 
 I mean is this. A good position, or a profitable situation, should 
 give one a chance to make himself comfortable for life. The 
 tenant of the dairy-farm will have to leave next spring or, at the 
 latest, in the fall, and I think you ought to manage it with the 
 queen and the rest of them, so that your husband should get the 
 position, and then you could be here all your life and you and yours 
 would be well provided for. 
 
 " Take my word for it, I know what the quality are. If you 
 leave here without having secured a good situation, not a cat will 
 remember you. But if you remain here, you '11 be well taken care 
 of to the end of your days, and the older the prince gets, the more 
 he '11 think of you ; and when he becomes king, he '11 provide for 
 you, your family, your child and even your grandchildren. Is that 
 wicked advice?" 
 
 " No ; on the contrary, it 's very good and I '11 remember it. 
 That, indeed, would be bread and lots of butter." 
 
 " Oh, I 've never seen or heard so sensible a woman as you are. 
 You deserve a better lot ; but that can't be helped, and if you 
 remain here, I '11 often have the pleasure of seeing you and speak- 
 ing a word with you, for I hope we '11 be good friends ; shall we 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes, indeed, and my Hansei will also be a good friend to you. 
 There 's not a false drop of blood in his body, and he 's clever, too, 
 only he 's not much of a talker ; and he loves me just as much as 
 gold ; he 's true and kind-hearted, and I won't let any one say a 
 word against him." 
 
 " I have n't said anything against him," replied Baum, and 
 Walpurga was obliged to admit that this was the case ; neverthe- 
 less, she could not help feeling that any offer of love to another 
 man's wife is an insult to her husband, for it implies as plainly as 
 words can express it : " He is not the right man, for he has such 
 and such faults ; I alone am worthy of you." 
 
 Sighing deeply, Baum answered : 
 
 "Oh, if one could only double his life." 
 
 " I should think one life was enough for any man." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 165 
 
 " Certainly, if one has n't wasted it. One can only live once, 
 you know." 
 
 "Yes, in this world ; but in the next it begins anew." 
 
 " I mean in this world, too. But it 's very hard, let me tell you, 
 ii one's whole life has been wasted through a stupid blunder. 
 Must one bear with it and make no attempt to change it ? We 've 
 both of us blundered." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 " While I was a soldier, I became acquainted with the valet of 
 the late king. He was very fond of me and took great pleasure in 
 helping me forward ; but he well knew what he was about. I 
 thought it a wonderful piece of luck, when I found I was to 
 marry his daughter. It was only too late, when I discovered that 
 she was sickly and irritable and without a healthy drop of blood 
 in her body. And is my whole life to be wasted, because of this 
 blunder ? And is no love left for me in the world ? And with 
 you, it 's just the same ; with both of us, you and I but why should 
 it be too late, even now? " 
 
 " Pretty jokes, indeed ! but they 're not to my taste. It 's wrong 
 to talk about such things." 
 
 " I 'm not joking. Are all of earth's joys to be lost to us, just 
 because we have once blundered ? In that case, we 'd be doubly 
 fools." 
 
 " I see you 're in earnest." 
 
 "Certainly I am," said Baum, his voice trembling with emotion. 
 
 "Very well, then. Just listen to what I 've got to say. How 
 can you dare insult my Hansei, that way? If it were so and it 
 is n't but suppose it were ; do you think, even if you were better 
 looking or better mannered than my Hansei, and you 're far from 
 being that, let me tell you. But that does n't matter one way or 
 the other. There 's not a better man living than my Hansei, and 
 even if there be one, he 's nothing to me ; we 're husband and 
 wife and belong to each other. But it was only a joke, after all, 
 was n't it ? and a mighty stupid one at that. Say that you only 
 meant it for fun, for if I thought you were in earnest, I 'd never 
 speak another word to you ; and now Good night." 
 
 " No, wait a moment. Now that I know how good you are, 
 I think so much the more of you. If I only had a wife like you ! " 
 
 Baum was greatly agitated. He had at first only dallied with 
 kind words, but his voice had gradually assumed an agitated and 
 touching tone. 
 
 "I '11 give you something," said Walpurga, placing her hand on 
 his shoulder. 
 
 ' ; \y'iat is it; a kiss? " 
 
 " Get out ! Do n't talk so. You 've just been behaving so well. 
 Now I '11 tell you something that my mother taught me. She 
 always says, that he who is not contented with what lie has, would 
 De dissatisfied even if he had what he wished for." 
 
166 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Did your mother tell you that ? " 
 
 "Yes, and she knows many other good sayings, and I am glad 
 that this one will be of use to you ; it '11 do you good." 
 
 " Of course but now give me just one kiss, because I Ve been 
 so good." 
 
 "What a foolish fellow you are," said Walpurga; "you say 
 you 're good, and, the very next minute, want something wicked as 
 a reward. I 'm a married woman and, if you were to give me a 
 whole palace with all that 's in it and seven palaces besides, I 'd not 
 kiss any man but my husband. There, I '11 shake hands with you 
 and now good night." 
 
 They parted, with a mutual, promise to remain good friends. 
 
 Walpurga found Mademoiselle Kramer in great trouble. The 
 child was crying, and would not be pacified until Walpurga sang 
 to it. 
 
 Meanwhile, Baum returned to the palace. He bit his lips with 
 vexation and thought to himself: W 7 hat a simple, stupid creature 
 such a peasant woman is. And she is beautiful ; I can wait ; I 
 know the long road ; she shall be tamed yet. 
 
 For many days, \Valpurga would pass Baum without looking up, 
 and he, too, seemed shy ; but one day, when she was sitting on the 
 bench, he quickly said while passing : 
 
 " You need n't be angry at me ; I did n't know I 'd offended 
 you and, if I have, I ask your pardon." 
 
 Walpurga looked up as if relieved. Baum nodded to her and 
 hurried away. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ^PHE king had returned from the baths. He was received with 
 1 great ceremony, but he and the queen soon withdrew from the 
 company and repaired to the crown prince's apartments. The 
 parents, clasping hands, stood by the cradle of the sleeping child. 
 Their glances rested upon each other and then upon the prince. 
 
 " Can there be a higher joy than thus to behold the babe whose 
 life belongs to and is a part of our own?" softly whispered the 
 queen. 
 
 The king embraced her. 
 
 The child awoke ; his cheeks were glowing, his eyes were bright. 
 
 In the meanwhile, Walpurga had been sitting in a corner, weep- 
 ing silently ; but now she was obliged to go to the child. The king 
 left ; the queen remained with her. 
 
 " You Ve been crying? " asked the queen. 
 
 " It was for joy, nothing but joy. Could anything be more beau- 
 tiful than the way you stood together there ? " 
 
 " I '11 have your husband come to you," replied the queen ; 
 14 write him to come, and say that your mother and child may come 
 Loo." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 167 
 
 " Yes. dear queen, it would be very nice, but it would cost a 
 pretty penny." 
 
 Surprised that any one was obliged to deny himself a pleasure, 
 because of the expense, the queen looked up and said : 
 
 " Go to the paymaster and get the money. Would a hundred 
 florins be enough ? " 
 
 " Oh ! More than enough ! But if the queen would give me 
 the money, we could make better use of it." 
 
 The queen looked at Walpurga, as if shocked to think that, even 
 in simple hearts, avarice can destroy the noblest emotions. 
 
 Walpurga observed the change in the queen's expression and 
 said : 
 
 " I '11 tell you, honestly, why I do n't want it, even if it cost noth- 
 ing. My husband 's a good man, but he 's just a little bit awkward, 
 and it would grieve him to the heart if any one were to laugh at 
 him. And it would be too much to expect of mother, for she 's 
 over sixty years old, and has n't been out of the village since hef 
 wedding-day that is, not farther than Hohenheiligen, three miles 
 from our place, where she went on a pilgrimage. Though it would 
 only be a day's journey, she has n't even once gone home in all 
 that time ; and so I think it might do her harm if she were taken 
 anywhere else, even if it were only for a few days. The best thing 
 would be if we could all of us remain near the king. I 'm sure 
 we 'd take good care of the dairy-farm. My husband knows all 
 about cattle ; he was cowboy for many years, and, afterwards, 
 herdsman on the mountain meadows." 
 
 Walpurga spoke as if the queen knew all about the plan, but the 
 queen was so possessed with the thought of her domestic happi- 
 ness, that she did not hear a word of what was said. 
 
 Days passed by, and Walpurga, who l\ad received none of the 
 traveling money that the queen had promised her, did not venture 
 to ask the court paymaster for it. Desirous of showing Baum that 
 she was still on friendly terms with him, she told him what had 
 happened. 
 
 "The best thing you can do," said he, with a shrewd air, "is 
 not to take so small a gift. If you do, they '11 think they 've done 
 with you ; do n't lose sight of the main chance, and that 's the 
 farm." 
 
 Walpurga was sincerely grateful to Baum. It was very fortu- 
 nate, she thought, to have a friend at the palace, who, while the 
 king was yet a prince, had traveled with him through Italy and 
 France, and who knew how one ought to deal with such high folk. 
 
 The palace seemed to have thrown off its tranquil ways of the 
 last few weeks. All was life and bustle. Sounds of laughter and 
 of song could be heard from early morn until late at night. Gay 
 colored lamps hung from the trees and, at night, the sparkling 
 lights seemed, in the distance, as if part of a fairy-scene. 
 
168 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Early in the morning, wagons laden with provisions could be 
 seen going hither and thither. To-day, the court would dine on 
 some wooded height ; to-morrow, in a ravine, or near a waterfall. 
 
 The king was all kindness and attention to his wife, and the 
 queen had never seemed more lovely in his eyes, than now, ele- 
 vated as she was by maternal happiness and conjugal affection. 
 
 In the apartments occupied by Walpurga and Mademoiselle 
 Kramer, none of this bustle of preparation or departure was heard. 
 They simply knew that "all had gone off, for the day." 
 
 In the morning, while the day was still young, and in the even- 
 ing, while the soft dews were falling, the 'king and queen, arm in 
 arm, might often have been seen sauntering in the park, and at 
 such times the ladies and gentlemen would remain near the 
 palace. 
 
 One evening, while the king and queen were thus walking to- 
 gether, engaged in familiar conversation, the queen said : 
 
 " How delightful it is to be thus leaning on your arm ; to close 
 one's eyes and be led by you. You can't imagine what good it 
 does me." 
 
 Although the king expressed himself delighted with her devo- 
 tion, an inner voice told him that such sensibility was unqueenly. 
 How differently 
 
 No, he would not permit himself to think of it. 
 
 The queen had much to tell him of the gradual dawning of 
 sense in the prince. He listened attentively, but rather through 
 politeness than sympathy. After the first week, the queen excused 
 herself from taking part in the frequent excursions, for she found 
 no pleasure in all the bustle. 
 
 The queen had Walpurga and the child with her, either in the 
 park or on the rising ground behind the palace, where she would 
 sketch groups of trees, the lake and the swans, the castle, the 
 chapel, and various distant views. 
 
 One morning, while at breakfast, the king said : 
 
 " What charming rivalry it was when you and Countess Irma 
 were drawing together. Your dispositions were both illustrated 
 by the way in which you treated the same subjects." 
 
 "Yes, we often remarked that. Perhaps I worked in the details 
 more correctly and sharply, while Countess Irma sketched with 
 far greater ease and freedom. I greatly miss the dear Countess." 
 
 " Then let us write to her and tell her that she must return, and 
 that at once. Let us send her a joint letter. Ladies and gentle- 
 men, we shall now, all of us, write a letter to Countess Irma." 
 
 " Order the writing materials to be brought," said he to one of 
 (he gentlemen in waiting. His request was speedily complied 
 with and he wrote : 
 
 " Beautiful Countess ! Fugitive bird ! At last I know what bird 
 you are : The wild dove. Does this contradiction describe you ? 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 169 
 
 Wild, and yet a dove ? Come, do come to us your forest com- 
 panions hang their heads because of your absence. Hasten to 
 us, on wings of song." 
 
 The king offered the sheet to the queen and said : " What will 
 you write ? " 
 
 " I can't write when any one is present," replied the queen. "I 
 can't write a word now ; I shall send her a separate letter." 
 
 An almost imperceptible expression of displeasure passed over 
 the king's countenance, but he subdued it. 
 
 " As you please," said he courteously, although, at heart, angry 
 at this everlasting sentimentalism. 
 
 The courtiers and ladies all wrote, each adding a few lines of a 
 light, jesting character. 
 
 Countess Brinkenstein, however, had slipped away. 
 
 Amid jests and laughter, the whole sheet was at last filled, 
 and then the king said : 
 
 " The chief one is still missing. Walpurga must also write to 
 the Countess, for the voice of the people has most influence with 
 her. Send Walpurga here." 
 
 Baum was at once sent to bring Walpurga. On the way, he ex- 
 plained to her what was going on. 
 
 Walpurga was not shy, in the midst of the assembled court. 
 
 " Would you rather be alone in your room while you write ? " 
 asked the king, betraying his vexation, in spite of himself. 
 
 " I '11 write wherever you want me to, but I can't do it well." 
 
 Walpurga seated herself and wrote : 
 
 " If your noble father will allow it, I shall be heartily glad when 
 my dear Countess Irma is here again. My heart longs for her. 
 
 "WALPURGA ANDERMATTEN." 
 
 The king, having read it, said : " Write also ' it will do me and 
 the prince much good to have you here again. You make us both 
 happier '." 
 
 " Dear king," said Walpurga, "how clever you are. What you 
 say is quite true. Now be so kind as to dictate it to me. I can't 
 put it into such good words, but I can write quite well from dicta- 
 tion. I learned it from Mademoiselle Kramer. I used to know how 
 at school, but forgot it afterwards." 
 
 "No," replied the king, "write as your feelings prompt you. 
 Ladies and gentlemen, let us leave Walpurga alone, and go to the 
 verandah." 
 
 Walpurga was sitting alone, in the great breakfast-room, biting 
 the end of her pen and vainly endeavoring to remember the. king's 
 words. Suddenly, she heard a slight noise near her and, looking 
 up, saw Baum who was standing in the doorway. 
 
 "Come here," she exclaimed, "you can help me, for you must 
 have heard it all." 
 
 8 
 
i;o ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "Certainly," replied Baum, and dictated the king's words *o 
 \Valpurga. She went out and handed the letter to the king. 
 
 He praised her for having put the words so nicely. She w r as 
 about to say that Baum had helped her, but one need not tell every- 
 thing, and why not receive praise for what might have been ? 
 
 When Walpurga returned to her room, she smiled at her own 
 shrewdness. The king would now surely give her the farm, for 
 he had seen that she could write down everything and could keep 
 accounts. 
 
 The queen came into the garden with her hastily written note. 
 
 It was unsealed. She gave it to the king, saying : 
 
 "Will you read it? " 
 
 " It is n't necessary," said the king, closing the letter. 
 
 After the letter was written, there was endless tittering among 
 the court ladies. They chirruped and chattered and teased each 
 other, and hopped about like a flock of sparrows that have just dis- 
 covered an open sack of corn. They soon scattered, and ladies 
 who, at other times, could not endure each other were now good 
 friends and, arm in arm, would walk up and down the park, while 
 others would stand gathered in little groups. All seemed loth to 
 separate. They had so much to tell each other that none seemed 
 willing to leave. They all spoke kindly of Irma. Every one was 
 still her best friend, but, nevertheless, careful to leave a loop-hole 
 of escape open, for things might change. 
 
 Within a few days, a great change had come over the feelings of 
 all at the summer palace. The king and queen had, at first, 
 greeted each other as if newly married, as if unspeakably happy ; 
 but, soon afterward, came the first distinct sense of uncongeniality 
 which, in a word, betokened that the king wearied of the queen. 
 He did full justice to her noble and exalted appearance. Her every 
 word and thought was an outgush of purest emotion. But this 
 exaltation of feeling, which, to an every-day world, appears strange 
 and incomprehensible and yet exacts constant consideration for its 
 peculiarities ; this endeavor to give intense and exhaustive thought 
 to every casual subject ; this utter absence of all cheerful or sport- 
 ive traits ; this cathedral-like solemnity of character ; this constant 
 dwelling on the heights : though beautiful and engaging at times, 
 had become monotonous and distasteful to the king. The queen's 
 conversation lacked that sparkling effervescence which, though it 
 be only for a moment, charms and animates the listener. 
 
 The king who was fond of change, delighted in what was sport- 
 ive, capricious, or enigmatical in character, and in the conquering 
 of difficulties. 
 
 The remembrance of Irma supplied all that he missed in the 
 queen. He felt sure of his faith ul love for his wife, but admired 
 the frank and lovely disposition of Irma, and why should he not, 
 therefore, enjoy her society ? 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 171 
 
 " She will come and remain with us, and bring new and fresh 
 life with her," thought he to himself when he saw the courier who 
 bore the letter to Irma, hurrying along the road. 
 
 In the afternoon, the king and queen drove out together ; he' sat 
 at her side and held the reins. Their only attendants were the two 
 grooms who followed on horseback. 
 
 The king was quite amiable ; the queen happy. He felt inward- 
 ly conscious of having, in ever so slight a degree, swerved from 
 the right path, and this made him doubly affectionate. With a 
 frank gaze, he looked into the brightly beaming eyes of his beautiful 
 wife. 
 
 Thus should it ever be. Thus, purely and frankly, shouldst thou 
 ever be able to look into those eyes. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 * < WOUR MAJESTY," said Countess Brinkenstein, on the fol- 
 JL lowing morning when they were sauntering in the park, " I 
 owe you an explanation for not having signed the letter to the 
 queen's maid of honor." 
 
 "You did not? " replied the king. 
 
 The rigid yet refined features of the old lady showed no change 
 at these words, although she might have felt wounded at the inti- 
 mation that the absence of her signature had not been remarked. 
 But, in all things, she obeyed the highest law of the courtier ; that 
 is, to repress all personal feeling and thus avoid all sensitiveness. 
 Couching her censure in terms of praise, in accordance with courtly 
 fashion, she calmly added : 
 
 "The idea of the invitation was quite original, but genius 
 must ever stand alone. Your Majesty has often honored me by 
 addressing me as your motherly friend and, as such, you will, I 
 trust, permit me to remark that it does not become either the gen- 
 tlemen or the ladies to put their names to an extraordinary jest of 
 Your Majesty's. There should not be the slightest cause for sus- 
 picion that this invitation was designedly open and informal, be- 
 cause secretly intended and wished for." 
 
 The king looked at the old lady in surprise, but acted as if un- 
 conscious of her having seen through his disguise. 
 
 " I must again tell you, my lady, that you ought to have gone to 
 the baths. You take such sombre and serious views of everything ; 
 but when one has been at the baths, as I have, everything looks 
 gay and happy." 
 
 " Your Majesty, it is simply my duty to emphasize the rules that 
 govern Your Majesty's high position." 
 
 " Are you not overdoing it ? " 
 
 "Your Majesty, etiquette, although invisible, is none the less val- 
 uable. Treasures of artistic and great historical value are not 
 
172 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 melted over to make new coins, but are carefully handed down from 
 century to century. The palace is the highest point in the land, 
 where one is in full view of all, and where we should so live that 
 \ve can afford to have all our actions seen." 
 
 The king was listless, for his mind wandered to Irma, who must 
 n.nv be receiving the letter. "She has awakened," thought he, 
 " and is standing alone, or sitting beside her misanthropic father, on 
 the balcony of the mountain castle. The letter comes, and she 
 feels as if surounded by a flock of chirruping, singing birds, that 
 alight on her hands, her shoulders and her head. What a pity 
 that one cannot behold her charming smile ! " 
 
 The king's vision had been a true one. Irma was sitting beside 
 her father and dreamily gazing into the distance. What was to 
 become of her? If her father would only say: "You must stay 
 here." But this being obliged to decide for herself was the trouble. 
 If she had a husband to command her but Baron Schoning 
 would have been her subject, and that would have made life's load 
 a double one. At that moment, the housekeeper announced a 
 messenger who had just arrived on horseback. 
 
 The courier entered, delivered his letter and said that he would 
 await an answer. Irma read it and laughed aloud. She laid the 
 letter on her lap, took it up again, and read and laughed again. 
 Her father looked at her in surprise. 
 
 "What 's the matter?" 
 
 " Read this." 
 
 The father read it ; his expression did not change in the least. 
 
 " What do you mean to do ? " he asked. 
 
 " I think I must obey such requests ; but can I return without 
 incurring your reproof? " 
 
 " Always ; if there be nothing in your own heart to reprove 
 you." 
 
 Irma rang for the housekeeper and told her to order the maid 
 to make the necessary preparations for her departure ; she also 
 ordered them to treat the courier with hospitality, and to inform 
 him that a part of the journey was to be accomplished the same 
 evening. " Are you angry at me, father ? " 
 
 " I am never angry. I am only sorry that so few persons allow 
 their reason to guide them. But be calm, my child. If your 
 resolve is dictated by reason you must follow it and bear the con- 
 sequences calmly, just as I do. But let us spend the few hours 
 yet left us, in peace and quiet ; life lies in the present." 
 
 Irma gave many instructions to her maid and the courier, although 
 it always seemed to her as if she were forgetting something which 
 would not occur to her until after she had left. 
 
 Father and daughter were still at dinner. The carriage, laden 
 with the luggage, had been sent forward a short distance to await 
 them in the valley. The father accompanied Irma down the 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 173 
 
 mountain. He spoke with her in a cheerful strain. While passing 
 the apple tree, on the way, he said : 
 
 "My child, let us take leave of each other here. This is the 
 tree that I planted on the day you were born. It often marks the 
 limit of my evening walk." 
 
 They stood there in silence. An apple fell from the tree and 
 struck the ground at their feet. The father picked it up and gave 
 it to his daughter. 
 
 " Take this fruit of your native soil with you. The apple falls 
 from the tree because it is ripe, and because the tree has nothing 
 more to give it. In the same way, man leaves home and kindred , 
 but a human being is more than the fruit of the tree. And now, 
 my child, take off your hat, and let me once more place my hands 
 upon your head. No one knows when his hour will come. Nay, 
 my child, tlo not weep. Nay, weep ; and may you, through life, 
 only have to weep for others, but never for yourself." His voice 
 faltered, but, recovering himself, he continued : 
 
 " And just as I now rest my hands upon your head and w r ould 
 fain place them on all your thoughts, do you ever remain true unto 
 yourself. I would like to give you all my thoughts, but, for the 
 present, keep this one in your memory: Indulge in no pleasures 
 but those which you can remember with pleasure. Take this kiss 
 you kiss passionately may you never give a kiss in which youi 
 soul is less pure than at this moment. Farewell ! " 
 
 The father turned away and walked up the mountain road. 
 He did not look back again. 
 
 Irma looked after him, trembling and feeling as if something 
 drew her towards home and bade her remain there forever. But 
 she felt ashamed of her indecision ; she thought of the next hour 
 and of how strange it would seem to the servants and to her father, 
 to see her trunks unpacked and all the preparation for the journey 
 undone. No, it was too late, and she went on. She seated her- 
 self in the carriage and was soon on her journey. She was nc 
 longer her own mistress ; a strange power had taken possession of 
 her. 
 
 It was on the following day, at noon, that Irma reached the 
 summer palace. All was quiet ; no one came to meet her but the 
 old steward, who hurriedly laid aside his long pipe. 
 
 " Where are their highnesses ? " asked the courier. 
 
 "They dine at the Devil's Pulpit to-day." 
 
 From the garden, there resounded a cry. 
 
 "O, my Countess! My Countess is here!" exclaimed Wal- 
 purga, kissing Irma's hands and weeping for joy. " Now we '11 
 have sunshine ! Now we '11 have day ! " 
 
 Irma quieted the excited woman, who said : 
 
 " I '11 go and tell the queen at once. She 's the only one al 
 home, and is up on yonder hill, painting ; she does n't care to go 
 ou thcoe holiday excursions, and here every day seems a holiday." 
 
174 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Irma instiicted Walpurga not to tell the queen, and said that 
 si c would join her. She went to her room and sat there for a 
 lo.ig vvhil", buried in thought. She felt as if she had extended a 
 Incndly hand and that no one had clasped it in return. 
 
 In the hallway, they were moving trunks about. Suddenly, 
 si e thought of the time when she sat in her room, an orphan child, 
 clad in black, and heard them moving her mother's coffin about in 
 the adjoining apartment. 
 
 Why had it occurred to her at that moment ? She arose she 
 could no longer endure being alone. She hastily changed her 
 dress and went to the queen. 
 
 The queen saw her coming and advanced to meet her. Irma 
 bent low and made an effort to kiss her hand. 
 
 The queen held her up and, embracing her, imprinted a tender 
 .kiss upon her lips. 
 
 "You 're the only one who dare touch the lips that my father 
 has kissed," said Irma that is, she did not say it aloud, but 
 simply moved her lips as if forming the words. Deep within her 
 soul, arose a thought : I 'd rather die a thousand deaths, than 
 sadden that guileless heart. 
 
 The thought illumined her countenance with a noble expression, 
 and the queen, all delight, exclaimed : 
 
 " Oh how beautiful, how radiant you are, Countess Irma ! " 
 
 Irma dropped her eyes and knelt down beside the child's cradle. 
 Her eyes were so lustrous that the child put out its hand as if to 
 seize them. 
 
 " He 's right," said W 7 alpurga, "he tries to catch the light al- 
 ready, but I think your eyes have grown larger than they used to 
 be." 
 
 Irma went with Walpurga and excused herself for not having 
 visited the cottage by the lake. She then told her of her friend in 
 the. convent. 
 
 " And how 's your father ? " asked Walpurga. 
 
 Irma w^as startled. The queen had not even enquired about her 
 father. Walpurga was the only one who had asked about him. 
 
 She told her that he knew her mother, and also her uncle, who 
 Dften burnt pitch in the forest. 
 
 " Yes, he 's my mother's brother ; so you know him, too ? " 
 
 " I do n't, but my father does." 
 
 Walpurga told her about her uncle Peter, who was known as 
 die "little pitchman," and vowed that she would send him some- 
 thing, one of these days, for the poor old fellow had a hard time 
 of it : n this world. Old Zenza had had the courage to come to 
 the palace, but the little pitchman would starve to death before he 
 would do such a thing. 
 
 While Walpurga was speaking, the queen went to the cradle, 
 and when the prince saw her, he struggled, with hands and feet, as 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 175 
 
 if trying to get to her. She bent down and raised him up, and 
 Walpurga exclaimed : 
 
 " Dear me ! on the very day our Countess returns, our prince 
 sits up for the first time. Yes, she can make everything go right." 
 
 The queen and Irma remained together in cheerful and uncon- 
 strained conversation. In the evening, there were joyful greet- 
 ings on the part of those who had returned from the excursion to 
 the Devil's Pulpit. Irma now, for the first time, learned that her 
 brother was not at court. While at the baths, he had made the 
 acquaintance of Baroness Steigeneck and her daughter and was 
 now visiting them. 
 
 The king's greeting of Irma was quite formal. Even Countess 
 Brinkenstein could have found nothing to object to in it ; but how 
 could he well have done otherwise, when the queen said : 
 
 " I can't tell you how happy our dear Countess's return has made 
 me ; we 've already spent several delightful hours together." 
 
 In the evening, there were fireworks which the king had ordered 
 to be prepared in honor of Irma's arrival. Far and near, the peo- 
 ple were looking at the lights and the gay-colored sheets of fire 
 ascending heavenward. At last, Countess Irma's name stood 
 forth in letters of fire, held aloft by mountaineers. The flame 
 crackled, and, from behind the shrubbery, there issued strains of 
 music which were echoed back from the distance. In the midst 
 of all this noise and splendor, Irma was ever asking herself: 
 " How fares it now with your father ? " 
 
 Count Eberhard, in his mountain castle, was sitting by the win- 
 dow and, looking out into the starry night, said to himself: "Just 
 as the stars above are separate and distinct from each other, so is 
 every human soul solitary and alone. Each travels in its own 
 orbit, its course determined by the attraction and repulsion of the 
 heavenly bodies that environ it." 
 
 That night, Irma dreamt that a star descended from heaven and 
 fell upon her bosom. She tried to grasp it, but it eluded her and 
 transformed itself into a human figure which, with averted glance, 
 exclaimed: "Thou, too, art solitary." 
 
BOOK III. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 HANSEI was looking out of the window, holding his pipe with 
 both hands and smoking away, while the morning passed. Near 
 by, a day-laborer was cutting a load of wood. Hansei looked 
 on, calmly nodding approval when the woodcutter made a clever 
 stroke and, like a true judge, smiling at the awkward fellow when 
 an obstinate branch would oblige him to turn it again and again 
 before he succeeded in chopping it up. The grandmother was 
 carrying the chopped wood into the shed at the gable end of the 
 house and was there piling it up. Every time she passed, she 
 would look at Hansei, who did not stir. At last, with an armful 
 of wood, she stopped before him and said : 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Of course," he replied and puffed on. The grandmother's 
 exclamation had meant : " What 's this ? Are you only here to 
 look on ? Can't you, at least, pile up the cut wood ? " 
 
 Hansei had fully understood her and had answered as if to say : 
 "Of course I shan't help ; I don't feel a mind to." 
 
 The grandmother was about to throw down the armful of wood 
 before his very face, but she reflected that the day-laborer outside 
 need not see that. She carried the wood into the shed and then 
 went into the room and said : 
 
 " Look here, Hansei ! I 've got something to tell you." 
 
 " I can hear you," he replied, still looking out of the window. 
 
 " I do n't know what to make of you. What 's got into you ? ' 
 
 Hansei did not deem it necessary to make any reply, but went 
 on smoking while the grandmother continued : 
 
 " It 's shame enough that you have the wood brought to the 
 house, instead of going and getting it yourself. You 're a wood- 
 cutter, and yet you must have another come and cut your wood for 
 you. Such a thing never happened before. As long as this 
 house stands, the axe-handle has never grown warm in the hands 
 of a stranger. Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" 
 
 "There 's no need of my doing it," replied Hansei. 
 
 11 Very well, I suppose you know your needs, better than I do," 
 cried the old woman, angrily ; "but I '11 not scold. Do just as you 
 please ; let yourself and everything else go to ruin. As you make 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 177 
 
 your bed, so you '11 have to lie on it. O, if Walpurga knew of 
 this ! She 's gone away among strangers, for our sake, while 
 you 
 
 " There ! I Ve had enough of it," said Hansei, closing the window 
 and turning round. " Mother-in-law, I do n't interfere in anything ; 
 I let you manage just as you please, and so I do n't mean to let 
 anybody interfere with me." 
 
 " I do n't want to interfere with you. You 're father and hus- 
 band." 
 
 " A fine husband, indeed, whose wife leaves him for a year." 
 
 " Perhaps she 's having a harder time of it than you." 
 
 " May be so ; but she has pleasure and enjoyment, and what 
 have I ? I wander about as if lost, and that 's why I 'm not 
 ashamed. The best thing left me is the tavern. One can feel 
 at home there, when he can't in his own house. I do n't need 
 to cut or haul wood any longer, and I want to have some good of 
 my wife's being " 
 
 . Hansei could not finish what he was about to say, for, at that 
 moment, the door opened and Zenza entered. 
 
 " What are you doing here ? Who sent for you ? " enquired the 
 grandmother of Zenza, who replied : 
 
 " Good morning to you I did n't come to see you ; I want to 
 see this man. Who 's master here ? you or he ? " 
 
 " Speak out ; what 's the matter? " said Hansei, winking at his 
 mother-in-lavv. 
 
 " I was to bring you the smith's compliments and tell you that 
 the gun 's ready for you, at his workshop." 
 
 " And so you 're going to be a sportsman ? " enquired the grand- 
 mother ; " are you going a hunting ? " 
 
 "I suppose I'll have to go if you don't carry me," replied 
 Hansei, laughing loudly at his joke. 
 
 The grandmother left the room, slamming the door after her. 
 As nimbly as a cat, Zenza sprang towards Hansei and said : 
 
 " She '11 wait for you up there, at dusk." Then, in a loud voice, 
 she added : "God keep you, Hansei," and left the house. 
 
 The grandmother went out to the woodcutter and told him that 
 he must n't think they were used to having such wicked people 
 as Zenza come to the house ; but that, no matter how often they 
 forbade her coming, she would force herself upon them, in order to 
 show her gratitude for Walpurga's having procured the pardon of 
 her sou Thomas. It had been a foolish action ; for Red Thomas 
 \\ ould have been much better taken care of under lock and key. 
 But Walpurga had meant it for the best. 
 
 The woodcutter was satisfied ; he well knew that it was a 
 lespectable house, and it was quite by accident that he remarked : 
 
 " I wonder why Zenza 's without Black Esther. They 're gener 
 ally together in the daytime." 
 8* 
 
178 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The grandmother's eyes flashed when she heard his words. 
 She bent cloxvn hurriedly, took up an armful of wood and carried 
 it up to the h-use. When she reached the gable side, she found 
 Har.sei there, piling up the wood and whistling cheerfully. The 
 gr nc'.ir.c her kept on earning wood, while Hansei piled il up, 
 iv.iher of them speaking a word. At noon, Hansei paid the 
 woodcutter and said : 
 
 "I 'II cut the rest myself; you needn't come to-morrow." 
 
 "He's a good fellow, after all," thought the grandmother to 
 herself. "He don't like to give in, in so many words, but after- 
 wards he does what you tell him, for all. He soon finds out what 's 
 right." 
 
 After dinner she brought the child to him and said : 
 
 " Just look here ! Just feel ! There 's a tooth coming already. 
 It 's very soon, but it was just the same way with your wife. Just 
 see how it puts its little hands in its mouth. God be praised that 
 our child is thriving so nicely ! Since you Ve been using hay for 
 fodder, and since it 's been getting the new cow's milk, you can see 
 the child growing before your very eyes. If Walpurga could only 
 see it, just for an hour. Take it ; I '11 give it to you carefully. See, 
 it 's laughing at you. It knows you. Ah, dear me ! but it does n't 
 know its mother yet." 
 
 " I can't take the child on my arms ; I 'm afraid I 'd hurt it," re- 
 plied Hansei. 
 
 The grandmother felt like saying: "If you let yourself go to 
 ruin, you '11 surely harm the child " but checked herself. When 
 a man is getting back into the right road, it is n't well to keep 
 preaching at him. Let him go on quietly in his own way, or else 
 he will lose all pleasure in it. Thus thought the grandmother to 
 herself, and, although she had already opened her lips to speak, 
 she swallowed her words. 
 
 Hansei looked about him, with an unsteady glance, and said : 
 
 " Mother-in-law, you were going to say something else." 
 
 " There 's no need of saying everything. But yes ! you lower 
 yourself when you let Zenza bring messages to you. I noticed the 
 woodcutter making a queer face when he saw that Zenza was al- 
 lowed to enter our house. Do n't go to the Windenreuthe ; the 
 place has a bad name and it does no one credit to go there. If 
 you do want to go hunting, and have bought yourself a gun, you 
 can give a boy a penny to go there and get it for you." 
 
 " Yes, indeed," thought Hansei, smiling, "grandmother 's right ; 
 but one need n't tell all one 's thoughts." 
 
 " I 'm going into the forest now. I want to be about when they 
 load up my wood." 
 
 He took his hat and mountain-staff, donned his hunter's pouch 
 and provided himself with a piece of bread. The grandmother, 
 carrying the child on her arm, accompanied him as far as the 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 179 
 
 cherry tree, from which the withered leaves were already begin- 
 ning to fall. 
 
 Hansei went into the forest ; but, as soon as he was out of 
 sight, he turned about and took the road that led to Windenreuthe. 
 
 He felt quite strangely while on his way. He had never before 
 known that he breathed so hard and was so easily frightened. He 
 was terrified by every sound, by the nutpecker flying from the tree, 
 the chattering magpie, the hooting hawk-owl on the rocky ridge, 
 and the bellowing cow in the meadow. 
 
 "I oughtn't to go, and I won't go," he exclaimed, bringing 
 his staff down with such force that the pointed ferrule struck sparks 
 from the stones in the road, and yet he went on. Fortunately, a 
 mist was ascending the mountain, but he walked on, farther and 
 farther, through the clouds. 
 
 Windenreuthe consists of a few poor-looking, scattered houses. 
 Hansei stopped in front of the first house, as if riveted to the spot. 
 He was seized with fright as sudden as if a bullet had struck 
 him, and yet what had alarmed him was nothing, after all. He had 
 merely heard a child crying in the house before which he stood. 
 ''Your child cries just like this one," said an inner voice. "How 
 will you be, when you see it and hear it and kiss it again? How 
 will you be, when you pass this house on your way back. . . . 
 How will you be, in the spring, when your wife returns and you 
 walk with her and meet Black Esther ? And at every merry-mak- 
 ing, either at home or at the inn, Black Esther will come and say : 
 ' Make room for me ; I belong here too '." 
 
 Hansei's brain reeled. He looked into the future days and years 
 passed before him in an instant. And yet he went on. Indeed, 
 he snapped his fingers and said to himself: "You 're a foolish fel- 
 low ; a perfect simpleton ; you have n't a bit of courage. Other 
 people are merry and lead a happy life, and do n't care a deuce 
 about it and what jolly stories the innkeeper tells of such and 
 such a one, and what pranks the hunters tell of. .... To 
 enjoy all you can and lead a loose life into the bargain, does one 
 credit with those w r ho 're not obliged to earn a living." 
 
 He removed his hat ; his head seemed as if burning. He put his 
 hat on again, pressing it down over his eyes, and went on through 
 the dreary village. 
 
 Night had come on. Zenza lived in a so-called herb-hut, in the 
 woods and at some distance from the village. It was there that 
 her deceased husband had distilled brandy from various herbs, but 
 principally of gentian. His master-wort was still noted. 
 
 The light from a large fire shone through the open door of the 
 hut. At that moment, some one came to the threshold and leaned 
 against the doorpost. She was full of wild beauty and power. 
 Behind her, the flames were brightly burning. Hansei was now 
 ,[uite free from the fear he had experienced on the night when he 
 
180 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 still believed in the fabled forest-sprites. The figure now placed 
 its hands to its cheek and uttered a shrill shout, which might be 
 compared to a tone-rocket ascending on high and then bursting 
 into all sorts of carols. Hansei trembled, and then he heard Zenza 
 say : 
 
 " You need n't shout so. Do n't scream to the whole world that 
 you 're at home. Wait till the horse is in the stable " 
 
 " Hallo ! " thought Hansei to himself, while he stood there, 
 trembling, "she means to make a prisoner of you, and will drag 
 every kreutzer from your pocket, if you act meanly or badly with 
 her . . . She '11 make a beggar of you, and disgrace you in 
 the bargain. No, you shan't rob me of my money. I won't put 
 myself in your clutches. I '11 do no such thing. You shan't have a 
 right to stand up before my wife, and look her in the face and talk 
 to her, while I 11 have to thank you, in the bargain, if you do n't 
 do it. No, a thousand times no. I won't be wicked. I 'd 
 rather " 
 
 As if pursued by an enemy, Hansei hurried back with mighty 
 strides, and the unbarked oaken staff w-hich he held with both 
 hands served to support him in his flight. It was long since he 
 had bounded down the rocks with such energy" and rapidity. He 
 again passed the house where he had heard the child crying. It 
 had not yet been hushed, but he who heard it was a different man 
 from what he had been a little while ago. He hurried on as if 
 pursued. The perspiration trickled down his cheeks and dropped 
 on his hands, but he did not once stop. He felt as if Zenza, Black 
 Esther and Red Thomas had followed and overtaken him, and 
 were tearing the clothes from his body. It was not until he had 
 gone far into the forest, that he ventured to sit down on the stump 
 of a tree. He felt as tired as if he had been running ten miles. 
 He rested his hands on his naked knees, and it seemed as if they 
 were grasping- a strange body. He touched the stockings that 
 Walpurga had knit for him, and the first word that left his lips 
 was : " Walpurga, I 've only once trodden such a path. It shall 
 never happen again. I swear it, Walpurga," and, taking the last 
 letter he had received from her out of his pocket, he said : " I put 
 your letter in my shoe, and these feet shall never tread the path of 
 evil again. Thank God ! I 've only been wicked in thought." 
 He took off his shoe, placed the letter in it, and had just stood up 
 again, when he once more heard the loud shout issuing from 
 Zenza's house. 
 
 "Scream on, as long as you 've a mind to," said he to himself, 
 while he went farther into the wood. He tried to light his pipe, 
 but always struck his fingers with the steel ; and, besides, his 
 tinder was damp. " You do n't need any fire, you wicked fellow," 
 said he at last, while he put the pipe into his pocket. " You do n't 
 Heed fire ; there 's one burning up there, that would have been 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 181 
 
 hellfire for you. You may be right glad that you 're out of it ; it 's 
 more than you deserve." 
 
 If Hansei, at that moment, could have laid hands on the Hansei 
 of an hour ago he would have strangled him. 
 
 The mist had become so thick that it was almost like a 
 drizzling rain. The forest seemed to be growing vaster, and a 
 path was nowhere to be found. 
 
 "You Ve lost your way, and it serves you right," said Hansei, 
 speaking to himself. " You 're no longer fit to be with decent 
 men, you good-for-nothing wretch. It 's only a pity that youi 
 wife and child are innocent sufferers by it " 
 
 Two men in one were lost in the mist. Hansei cursed and 
 swore at himself, but soon grew frightened, for his mind became 
 filled with stories of the evil spirits that lead the solitary traveler 
 up and down hill, and round and about, through the livelong 
 night. He was about to turn back. It would be easier to find 
 the way to Windenreuthe. 
 
 "Wait, you accursed devil," said he, addressing the invisible 
 companion who had thus advised him ; " all you want is to get 
 me back there again. No, you shan't catch me." 
 
 He again tried to strike a light and, this time, with success. 
 Just as he drew the first puff, he heard the tones of the bell, and 
 pressed his hand to his forehead, for it seemed to him as if the 
 clapper of the bell were striking against his head. 
 
 " That 's the vesper bell of the chapel by the lake. The sounds 
 seem so near. Can I be on this side? No, it 's the mist that 
 makes it sound so." 
 
 Uncovering his head, and clinging with both hands .to the 
 staff which now stood firmly planted in the ground, he cast aside 
 all other thoughts and breathed a silent prayer. 
 
 While praying, he could not help thinking : Oh God ! I can still 
 pray, although I could so far forget myself and go astray. 
 
 The immortal words which an inspired mind drew from the 
 depths of the human heart and its never-ending struggles, thou- 
 sands of years ago, have been, and still are, the source of blessings 
 innumerable. They are a guide to the lonely wanderer who has 
 lost his way in the mist and darkness of the forest, and lead 
 him back to the right path. The bell utters its sounds and, 
 though it does not speak in words, it yet fills the soul with those 
 immortal words which serve as a staff to the weary and a guide to 
 the blind. When Hansei finished his prayer, the bell was still 
 tolling, and it seemed to him as if the whole village, every soul in 
 t, and above all, his wife and child were calling to him. And 
 now he found the path. He descended the stony bed of a dried 
 mountain current which led into the valley. He had gone far out 
 of his way, fcr when he descended the mountain, he found himself 
 back of the (Ihamois inn. Evil desires, fright, devotion, and losing 
 his way had made him both hungry and thirsty. 
 
182 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "Ah ! God greet you, Hansel," exclaimed the host. 
 
 " God greet you ! God be with you ! " stammered out Hansei, 
 confusedly. 
 
 "What's the matter with you? You're as pale as death. 
 What 's happened to you ? Where do you come from ? " en- 
 quired the host. 
 
 "1 '11 tell you all about it, after a while," answered Hansei; 
 " but, first of all, give me a schoppen of wine." 
 
 The wine was brought, and Hansei looked around, as if wonder- 
 ing where he was. 
 
 He felt as if he had come from another world, and it was not 
 until he had eaten some bread and salt, that he told them of the 
 strange adventures he had had that day. He had gone out into 
 the forest to load up the wood, and had lost his way, and wandered 
 in the direction of Windenreuthe. He said this intentionally, lest 
 some one might have seen him in that neighborhood. 
 
 They spoke of the belief in ghosts, but the innkeeper ridiculed 
 such nursery tales. Hansei made no reply. The innkeeper 
 remarked, very sensibly : 
 
 "You're often bewildered, nowadays, just because your Wal- 
 purga is n't with you. You 're thinking of her all the time, and 
 that 's what makes you lose your way." 
 
 "Yes quite likely." 
 
 " Do you know what they call you in the village, now ? " 
 
 "Well, what?" 
 
 " The he-nurse. Your wife, who 's with the crown prince, is the 
 she-nurse, and so they call you the he-nurse." 
 
 Hansei laughed with all his might. 
 
 "Say, Hansei, what pay does your wife get?" enquired Wastl 
 the weaver. 
 
 " I won't tell," replied Hansei, with an air of mystery. 
 
 " It 's a long while since you had a letter from your wife, is n't 
 it?" enquired the innkeeper. 
 
 " Xo ; I 'm expecting one any hour." He had scarcely uttered 
 the words, when the letter carrier entered and said, " So here you 
 are, Hansei ; I 've been at your house twice to-day. I 've got a 
 letter with money in it, for you." 
 
 "Let's have it," said Hansei, breaking the five seals with a 
 trembling hand. 
 
 " A nice way of treating money," said the innkeeper, picking up 
 a hundred florin note from the floor. " That '11 suit me very well. 
 1 've use for one, and will give you the change for it." 
 
 "All right," said Hansei, leaving the money in the innkeeper's 
 hands. He then read his letter : 
 
 "Dear Hansei : This time, I write to you all alone. Here are 
 i hundred florins that the queen has given me for a special present, 
 because you have n't come to see me ; but I must tell you all 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 183 
 
 about it so that you can understand it. You 've no idea what a 
 good soul the queen is; whenever you pray, pray for hei. We 
 often sit together for hours, and she can take down everything on 
 paper beautifully the trees and all sorts of things, and we talk to 
 each other as if we had gone to school together. But she 's 
 Lutheran and is very good and pious, and has such kind thoughts 
 about all things that an ugly word could n't pass her lips. If she 
 were n't Lutheran, she might become a saint, but she '11 get to 
 heaven anyhow. That's my belief, and you can believe it, too; 
 but you need n't tell any one. 
 
 " Well, the queen wanted to give me a treat. She would like to 
 make the whole world happy ; that 's the way the saints must have 
 been in the olden times. Well, as I said before, the queen wanted 
 to give me a treat, because her husband came home well and 
 hearty, and they 're so fond of each other, and she wanted you 
 and the child and mother to come and see me for one or two 
 days, for she notices everything ; she looks right into your heart, 
 and I 'm often homesick for you all. And when the queen talked 
 about having you come, I said to her : ' That would be very nice, 
 but it would cost a pretty penny,' and so I let her make me a 
 present of the money, and we can make better use of it. You 
 have n't the right sort of clothes, you know, and the people here 
 might make fun of you. But with all that, I would n't have got 
 the money, for that 's nothing to her. She never thinks of such 
 things. She 's never counted money in all her life, and I really be- 
 lieve that she do n't know how to reckon. The court paymaster 
 attends to all that. Here there 's an extra servant for everything 
 butlers and silver keepers and lots of others. But now my good 
 Countess is back again. She 's been to see her father. They say 
 he 's a sort of a hermit who do n't want to know anything of the 
 world, and I must thank my Countess that I got the money, for 
 she knows how to manage everything. And so I send you the 
 money. Put it out safely, and don't forget to take some of it to 
 make a holiday for you and the child and grandmother. 
 
 " Ah, dear Hansei, the palace folk are not all saints and honest 
 people, as I once used to think. Lots of thieving and deceit are 
 carried on here. The father of my Mademoiselle Kramer is an 
 honorable old man ; he 's the keeper of the castle here, and he 's 
 told me many things. But one can be honest everywhere, in the 
 palace or in the cottage by the lake. And now, I beg of you dear 
 Hansei I always say 'dear Hansei,' whenever I think of you, and 
 that 's very often. It was only last night that I dreamt of you, but 
 I won't tell you about that, because we ought n't to believe in 
 ilivams. But write to me very soon and tell me how it goes with 
 j'ou ; send me a good, long letter, and do n't let the time seem 
 
1 84 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 long till \ve meet again ; and always think as kindly of me as I do 
 of you. 
 
 " Till death, your faithful " WALPURGA." 
 
 In spite of their entreaties, Hansei would not tell a word of what 
 was in the letter ; he went home quietly, and kissed his sleeping 
 child. He felt happy that he could thus be at home again, and 
 that his home did not reject him. A cold sweat came over him 
 when he thought that he was sleeping in this bed, and of what a 
 changed man he might have become. He stretched forth his 
 hand towards his wife's bed and, in the silent night, kissed 
 her pillow. 
 
 " Now I 'm all right again," said he. He arose, struck a 
 light, and removed the letter which he had put into his shoe. 
 Then, cutting the passage, " until death, your faithful Walpurga," 
 out of the letter last received, he loosened the inner sole, placed the 
 little paper underneath it, and fastened the sole down again. 
 After that, he soon fell into a sound sleep. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 4 4 YTOUR MAJESTY," said Countess Irma to the King one day, 
 1 while walking on the verandah with him the queen was 
 in the music-room, practicing a classical composition with one of 
 the court performers "it is curious that, while absence lends ad- 
 ditional charms and greater merit to some persons, there are others 
 who are all the more perfect and interesting when one is in con- 
 stant, daily intercourse with them. And yet, when away from such, 
 it is almost impossible to remember them just as they are ; and as 
 to describing their character, or even their personal appearance, 
 to one who is not acquainted with them why, that is entirely out 
 of the question. How do you account for it ? " 
 
 " I must confess that I have never reflected on the subject," 
 replied the king, " but it seems to me that the chief characteristic of 
 the one class is an infinitude of small details ; while with the other, 
 one is struck by the general effect of the various traits that go to 
 make up the character. Those whose character still presents an 
 unsolved problem, and who thus give us more to think of, would 
 seem to belong to the class to whom absence lends importance. 
 Does it not seem so to you ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; but I might also say that the one class are more im- 
 pressive and thus, even in the present, seem like remote historical 
 personages. Although they die, they yet remain indeed, absence 
 is a sort of death. The others, however, only exist as long as 
 they breathe, and only live for us as long as we breathe the same 
 atmosphere with them." 
 
 " Can you name examples of such imposing historical person- 
 ages, and also of ephemeral ones? " 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 185 
 
 "At present, I could only recall the historical." 
 
 A slight blush passed over the king's features. "Well," said 
 he, when he found that Irma hesitated, " I beg of you " 
 
 " In that class, I place my father over all others. I cannot de- 
 scribe to Your Majesty how his great nature seems constantly 
 before me." 
 
 4 Yes, I Ve often heard him spoken of as a man of high char- 
 acfer and eminent ability. It is a pity, for his sake and, still 
 more, for our own that he is opposed to the government. And 
 in which class would you count me ? I have sufficient confidence 
 in your candor to believe that you will frankly give me your opin- 
 ion, and you are so sure of my my respect, that you can speak 
 without reserve." 
 
 "Your Majesty is present company," replied Irma, "and yet, at 
 the same time, absent ; for your position exalts you far above the 
 rest of us." 
 
 " Friendship does not dwell on the throne, but here where we 
 stand on equal ground, dear Countess." 
 
 " Nor does friendship pass sentence," replied the Countess. 
 " Her place is not the judgment seat. I know of nothing more re- 
 volting than when men who profess to be friends, constantly cast 
 up their accounts with each other, as if to say : ' You are worth 
 so much and I am worth so much ; this is yours and this is mine 
 
 " Ah, these state affairs," interposed the king, as a lackey an- 
 nounced the arrival of the minister. "We will speak of this sub- 
 ject again," he added, taking leave of Irma and politely greeting 
 the ladies and gentlemen whom he passed on his way. He offered 
 his hand to his prime minister and, accompanied by him, went 
 into the palace. 
 
 Irma's friendly relations with the king seemed to have acquired 
 new life since her return. Her daily greetings seemed filled with 
 the joy of meeting after long separation. 
 
 When the king would say: "Good morning, Countess," and 
 Irma would answer: " Thanks, Your Majesty," there lay a wealth 
 of unuttered thought in those simple words. The king had never 
 before been in so pleasing and witty a mood, and Irma, it was 
 justly said, had brought 'the mountain breezes with her. The 
 queen would never tire of telling the ladies and gentlemen of the 
 court how pleased she was with Irma who, although simple and 
 unaffected, possessed the highest intellectual- gifts. 
 
 Like melodies that have sunk deep into the soul and which grad- 
 ally return and harmoniously blend, so did her father's words and 
 dt-as now recur to Irma. She had spent weeks in a strict school, 
 where idle talk and trifling were of no value and where distinctness 
 and certainty were insisted upon. Formerly, Irma had been re- 
 garded as a child of nature, freely pouring forth whatever engaged 
 Her thoughts ; but now they recognized in her a mind whose 
 
1 86 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 groundwork was solid and comprehensive, and which, neverthe- 
 less, was full of the simplicity of nature. She was full of sympa- 
 thy and kindness, but did not concern herself about prevailing 
 modes of thought. She freely expressed her likes and dislikes, and 
 one was obliged to admit that she was something more than a 
 mere original or artless hoyden, and that she really possessed 
 intellectual self-consciousness to a great degree. 
 
 Irma often changed her style of dressing her hair. This was 
 naturally censured as coquetry, and as an attempt to draw the 
 glances of all upon her. But it was simply a desire to appear dif- f. 
 ferent even" day, even though it were in unimportant and subordi- // 
 nate matters. 
 
 It was very fortunate for Irma that she had become so attached 
 to Walpurga ; for, on sunny afternoons, the queen would scarcely 
 ever suffer Walpurga to leave her; and then Irma would be seated 
 with them and would read aloud to the queen, or join Walpurga 
 in some of the lovely mountain songs. 
 
 The king's eyes would sparkle with delight when he happened 
 "to join them at such times, and find Irma with his wife. 
 
 "You look troubled," said the queen, when the king, who had 
 just left the ministerial council, joined her and Irma in the park. 
 
 " And so I am." 
 
 "May I ask why?" 
 
 Irma was about to withdraw, but the king said : 
 
 " Stay, Countess ; the matter is one which has been brought to 
 an issue by the case of your friend Emma." Turning to the queen, 
 he added : " Has our Countess told you of the terrible fate of hei 
 friend ? " 
 
 " She has ; and when I think of it, I feel as if I were standing on 
 the edge of a precipice." 
 
 Strangely enough, the king had, thus far, neither spoken to Irma 
 about the matter, nor alluded to her letter. Irma had had so much 
 to engage her mind since her return, that Emma's troubles had 
 almost escaped her memory. 
 
 "Our friend," began the king, "has informed me of the affair, 
 and I appreciate her delicacy in refraining from pressing the sub- 
 ject. In matters of state, we have no right to allow personal feel- 
 ings to affect us. Nevertheless, one of our greatest pleasures is to 
 find that our friends cherish our honor as their own." 
 
 Irma looked down. He added : 
 
 " Although a prince owes thanks to his friends, for informing 
 him of what is going on, no influence, not even the best, should 
 affect his decision." 
 
 Irma did not dare to raise her eyes. 
 
 "The matter stands thus," continued the king. "We have 
 provisionally suspended the right to receive new nuns, and now 
 the ministers desire me, at the next meeting of the estates, to con- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 187 
 
 sent to the introduction of a law by which the convent of Frauen- 
 worth is to be definitively placed upon the extinct list. They hope 
 by this and additional measures, to be enabled to make a^ stand 
 against the constantly increasing strength of the opposition." 
 
 The king looked at Irma while he said this, and she enquired : 
 
 " And has Your Majesty approved the draft of the law ? " 
 
 " Not yet. I have no special feeling in favor of keeping up 
 the convents, but I do n't find it so easy a matter to lay the axe 
 to a tree which is the growth of centuries. It is the special duty 
 of royalty to establish and foster institutions that are to endure 
 longer than a generation or even a century, and a convent 
 What do you think of it, Mathilde ? " 
 
 " I think that a woman who has lost all, should not be prevented 
 from devoting herself to solitude and prayer. But perhaps I 
 ought not express an opinion on the subject. My youthful im- 
 pressions, or rather instruction, in regard to convent life, may not 
 always have been correct. It seems to me that woman alone 
 should have the right to determine as to the continuance of a con- 
 vent. What do you think of it, Countess Irma? You were edu-' 
 cated at a convent, and Emma is your friend." 
 
 " Yes," said Irma, " I was with my friend at Frauenworth, where 
 she desires to live, or rather to die ; for life there is a daily waiting 
 for death. It seems terrible to me, too, to think of making what 
 may perhaps be only a passing mood, the irrevocable law of one's 
 life, or a fate from which there can be no escape. And yet many 
 other holy institutions are just the same. I can now see what an 
 exalted and difficult vocation it is to be a king. I frankly confess 
 that if I were now called upon to decide this matter, or to sui 
 a law upon the subject, I could not arrive at a decision. Now, 
 more than ever before, do I realize that we women were not born 
 to rule." 
 
 Irma's voice, although usually so clear and firm, was now veiled 
 and trembling. She was standing on a pinnacle where she could 
 find no firm footing ; she looked up to the king, as if to a higher 
 being ; his bearing was so firm, his eye so clear. She would gladly 
 have fallen on her knees at his feet. 
 
 " Come nearer, Count Wildenort," exclaimed the king. 
 
 Irma started. Was her father there ? She was so excited that 
 everything seemed possible. 
 
 She had, at the moment, quite forgotten that her brother Bruno 
 was the king's aid-de-camp. He had been standing a little dis- 
 tance off, and now approached, in order to take his leave of the. 
 queen, as he was about to go away for some time. 
 
 The king and queen left ; after which, Irma and her brother 
 walked away. 
 
 The king's benavior seemed a riddle ; but for this he had his own 
 reasons, the first and greatest of which was invincible distrust of 
 
1 88 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 others. "Distrust all," was the great precept which had been in- 
 stilled into him from* earliest youth. " One can never know what 
 selfish purposes may lurk behind the noblest exterior." This 
 maxim was in accord with one trait of the king's character. He 
 desired to be strong in himself, to allow no one to guide his judg- 
 ment ; and that is the great secret of the heroic nature. It was 
 this which, with all his love of freedom, had made constitutionalism 
 repugnant to him ; for the constitution destroyed great and power- 
 ful personal influence, and required that he be simply the vehicle 
 of the spirit of the age, or the exponent of public opinion. This 
 \vas opposed to his own strong self-consciousness. He distrusted 
 even" one who attempted to press him for an opinion or a decision. 
 He even distrusted Irma. Perhaps she did not know that she was 
 the instrument of a party ; but she was, nevertheless. They had 
 found out that he held her in great esteem, and were now availing 
 themselves of Emma's entering the convent, to force him to a 
 decision. He would not submit to this. Irma should be made to 
 know that he would not allow another, even though it were his 
 lovely friend, to lead him. The olden time could never again 
 return. They would find him a new being; he would not permit 
 female interference in state affairs. 
 
 It was these conflicting feelings of distrust and self-exaltation 
 that had induced the king to refrain from mentioning Irma's letter, 
 and at last to speak of it in the way he had. 
 
 While walking with the queen, the king still enjoyed his victory 
 over the women and, above all, over the one whom he had believed 
 possessed of so powerful a mind. He repeatedly spoke of Irma's 
 petition in favor of her friend, and of his determination not to be 
 swayed by it. His remarks betrayed a trace of ill humor towards 
 Irma. The queen was lavish in her praise of the Countess. The 
 king smiled. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 u "PvO N'T let me wait any longer for your answer," said Bruno 
 U to his sister ; " are you ready ? " 
 
 " I beg your pardon. What was it? I was so preoccupied that 
 I did n't hear you." 
 
 Bruno looked at his sister with an air of surprise. Irma had in- 
 deed not heard him. She had been puzzling her brain in regard 
 to the king's behavior. He had plainly intimated that he would 
 allow no one to influence his course in state affairs. It now oc- 
 curred to Irma that the tone of the letter which she had written while 
 at the convent, had been q-.ite improper, and her heart was filled 
 with thanks to the great and noble man, who, having it in his 
 power to forgive her, had forgiven her so gracefully. She felt 
 doubly grateful to him for refusing to be swayed by her ardent 
 
ON THE HEIGH 
 
 entreaties. She was, herself, in doubt as 
 it now seemed to her, as at first, that it was 
 to prevent the consummation of an irrevocable 
 
 " I beg your pardon," she again said to her brother. " L>o you 
 wish anything of me? " 
 
 " You must go with me to-morrow," said Bruno ; "we 're going 
 on a journey. I 've already obtained leave of absence for myself, 
 and the queen will grant you leave." 
 
 " Go on a journey ? Where ? " 
 
 "To witness my betrothal." 
 
 " Surely not with ? " 
 
 " Certainly ; with the king's sister ; or, if you 'd rather have it 
 so, his half, or quarter sister. Baroness Arabella von Steigeneck 
 will be delighted to make your acquaintance." 
 
 Irma looked down. It was the oldest daughter of the dancer 
 who had been ennobled by the late king. Irma spoke of the im- 
 pression that this marriage would make upon her father; but 
 Bruno jestingly answered, that he and his sister had been separated 
 from their father, who indulged the strange whim of desiring to be 
 a common citizen. Perceiving that his remarks displeased Irma, 
 he changed his manner and explained to her how cruel and narrow- 
 minded it would be to make Baroness Arabella, who had royal 
 blood in her veins, suffer on account of a few irregularities for 
 which she was not to blame. And when he represented to Irma, 
 that, independent of his wishes, it was her duty to meet Arabella 
 in a spirit of kindness and without prejudice, he touched the right 
 chord. He added : 
 
 " You are so affectionate to the simple-minded peasant woman, 
 the crown prince's nurse. It is very cheap to practice humanity 
 towards one of the lower classes. You will find its exercise 
 pleasanter and more effective in this instance." 
 
 " I am glad to find that you think so," replied Irma, regarding 
 her brother with a more cheerful glance. 
 
 Bruno was delighted. He had used the right bait and, for a few 
 moments, found real pleasure in conversing on such subjects as 
 elevation of mind and nobility of soul. Irma consented to accom 
 pany him. When she applied to the queen for leave of absence, 
 and the latter, in the most delicate manner, intimated surprise at 
 Bruno's choice, Irma proved herself so zealous an advocate of hu- 
 manity that the queen could not avoid saying to her : 
 
 "You are, and ever will be, a noble heart." 
 
 Inr a imprinted a fervent kiss on the queen's hand. 
 
 They started off on their journey, taking with them Bruno's two 
 private servants, and jockey Fritz, Baum's son. Father Baum, 
 who was both indispensable and ubiquitous, also accompanied 
 them. 
 
 Bruno was in high spirits. Like all other epicures, he was not 
 
190 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 averse to occasional tender scenes. He played the piano excel- 
 lently and, at times, would indulge in a sentimental adagio. Irma 
 no\v' seemed sentimental in his eyes. But he soon tired of the 
 melting mood and in his flippant, jesting manner, exclaimed : 
 
 "1 am better than the world of cavaliers that surround us. 
 You smile and wonder what sort of cavaliers they must be among 
 whom I am the best. Yes, dear sister Krimhilcle, it is so, never- 
 theless. I honestly confess that I only marry this lady in order to 
 be enabled to lead as jolly a life as possible, and am I not bettet 
 than those who act the hypocrite in such a case ? " 
 
 "Yes, if you think that makes you better. But I think you 're 
 simply ashamed of being in love, and are afraid of appearing sen- 
 timental." 
 
 " Thanks ! You 're a profound judge of human nature." 
 
 Bruno, at heart, desired his sister to imagine that he was in 
 love ; for that would render the demeanor of both of them more 
 natural and more befitting the occasion. He blushed and smiled 
 with a bashful air. 
 
 Baroness Steigeneck lived in a little town and occupied a castle 
 which had once been a retreat of a sister of the late king. 
 
 They reached the castle. A bright peacock stood on the high 
 wall, and filled the air with its shrill cry. 
 
 Rooms had been prepared for Bruno and Irma, who retired to 
 change their dress. Bruno appeared in full uniform, and with all his 
 medals and orders. They were conducted to Baroness Steigeneck's 
 salon by two servants, who opened the folding doors. Baroness 
 Steigeneck, who was clad in studiously simple attire, came forward 
 to meet Bruno and Irma, and received them with a graceful bow. 
 Bruno kissed her, and then embraced his betrothed, who, in form 
 and feature, presented a pleasing appearance. He introduced her 
 to his sister, who embraced and kissed her. 
 
 The furniture of the castle was splendid, but in somewhat 
 gaudy taste, with more regard to show than comfort, A life-size 
 picture of the late king was displayed in the great salon. 
 
 Irma felt alarmed when she first beheld the old Baroness. Her 
 boudoir was hung with pictures of herself, taken while she was yet 
 a young, beautiful and voluptuous creature, and representing her 
 in various bold poses, such as Psyche, Eros, and the Fairy Queen. 
 And could this heavy woman, with rigid features, be the same 
 person ? Her chief employment was card playing, and it was 
 here, for the first time in her life, that Irma saw people who would 
 sit at cards by the hour, out in the open air, under the trees, and 
 amid the singing of birds. \Yhat would become of some people, 
 how empty their lives would be, if there were no cards ! 
 
 The time was pleasantly spent with music for Baroness Ara- 
 bella sang beautifully, merry dinners and excursions in the neigh- 
 borhood. Irma could not help watching the servants, and won- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 191 
 
 dering how they felt, and what their thoughts must be, while 
 serving such a mistress. But she saw the same respect shown as 
 at court ; and when they drove through the little town, the people 
 would stop and lift their hats in token of respect, for the Baroness 
 had brought life and money to the place. Everything in this 
 world, even respect, can be purchased. 
 
 Three days sped by quickly. Baroness Steigeneck held a little 
 court, quite modest in appearance. An old and exceedingly ec- 
 centric French legitimist was the special attraction of this court, 
 and French was the only language spoken. 
 
 The formal betrothal was speedily settled by the notary, whom 
 Bruno had brought with him from the capital. He had been 
 carefully instructed and it fared hard with the old Baroness. 
 There were all sorts of devilishly close clauses in reference to 
 death or separation. Bruno had made himself secure. The 
 Baroness jestingly spoke of love, and said that she had not 
 imagined such enthusiasm possible at the present day. Bruno 
 agreed with her, for they both well knew that it was simply a 
 question of money. 
 
 Arabella had the air of a well-bred lady and possessed that de- 
 gree of education that can be purchased from teachers. She 
 could sing and sketch, and spoke three foreign languages, which, 
 at her mother's bidding, she was obliged to make a parade of. 
 But all of this showed application, rather than native talent. She 
 had also read a great deal, but affected ignorance of certain works, 
 passages in which might be applied to herself or her mother. 
 
 Irma was exceedingly kind to her sister-in-law, and Bruno 
 heartily thanked her. And yet Irma's mind was not at ease. The 
 house seemed under the influence of a peculiar spell it was just 
 as if in fairy-land. People would go about, and laugh and joke 
 and sing and play, but there was one word they dared not utter ; 
 for, at the very mention of it, the castle, with all its pomp and 
 splendor, would disappear. And that word was: "father." But 
 it was here that Irma was the more impelled to think of her 
 father. When alone in her room, she began a letter to him, and 
 when she wrote the words : " Dear Father," she looked about her. 
 She regarded it as her duty, and thought herself better able than 
 Bruno, to inform her father of the betrothal, and to invoke his 
 forbearance for this unfortunate, though wealthy, girl. Never be- 
 fore had she made so many unsuccessful attempts to write a letter. 
 She had begun again and again, and had always ended by tearing 
 up the sheet and throwing it into the fire. She found it impossible 
 to finish her letter, and at last concluded to wait until she returned 
 to the summer palace. But she could not get rid of a desire to 
 speak cf parents, and when Baum came to her with a message, 
 she detained him with the question : 
 
 "Baum, are your parents still living?" 
 
192 0A r THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Did you know them long? " 
 
 Baum coughed behind his raised hand and answered : " I never 
 knew my father ; and my mother my mother was taken from me 
 long ago." 
 
 Baum, who still held his hand before his face, bit his lips and at 
 last ventured to ask ; " May I enquire, my lady, why you put that 
 question to me?" 
 
 " I desire to acquaint myself with the life and history of those 
 whom I know personally." 
 
 Baum dropped his hand and his face was as smooth and void 
 of expression as before. 
 
 The strictest decorum was observed during their stay at the 
 castle. On one occasion, however, Irma felt offended, and that 
 was when the old lady they called her " Her Grace " declared 
 the relation of an affianced couple the silliest of all convention- 
 alities the most natural and proper course would be to have mar- 
 riage follow immediately upon the betrothal yes, in the very same 
 hour. 
 
 These remarks were accompanied by a peculiar change in the 
 expression of the old lady's features. Irma was startled and did 
 not get over her fright, for when, at parting, the Baroness im- 
 pressed a kiss upon her, Irma could not help shuddering. 
 
 Irma had been sitting in the carriage for some time, when Bruno 
 at last came, and again stopped to throw a kiss to his betrothed, 
 who was standing at the window. 
 
 They drove off, and when Irma found herself alone with her 
 brother she said, in a loud voice and with a strange expression : 
 
 "O father! father!" She drew a long and deep breath, as if 
 relieved from some dread spell. 
 
 " What ails you ? " said Bruno. 
 
 Irma did not care to tell him what she felt, and merely replied : 
 
 "As soon as we get back to the palace, you must write to 
 father, or, what would be better, must go to him. Let him scold 
 you, if it must be. He 's our father, after all, and will be kind to 
 you once more and accept what is past." 
 
 "We had better write," said Bruno. 
 
 " No ! " exclaimed Irma, clasping both his hands, "you must do 
 it, for Arabella's sake." 
 
 " For her sake ? " 
 
 " Yes. I wish her to feel that there is some one whom she can 
 address as ' father ' ; that would be the happiest moment she had 
 ever known." 
 
 Bruno drew back. After a little while, he said : 
 
 " Let us speak softly. You know, I suppose, that you Ve 
 touched me in a tender spot. Arabella could n't call any one 
 father, and can't do so now. Irma, you 're strong enough to look 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 193 
 
 the truth in the face. What is it that forms the ir dissoluble bond 
 between father and child ? It is not nature alone, but history. 
 By rejecting our rank, our father has denied father and mother and 
 our long line of ancestors. It was he who broke the strong and 
 glittering chain that, through him, linked us to our house. We 
 have renewed the connection which was thus broken, but, in 
 doing so, have become sundered from our father. He separated 
 himself from us ; in the sense in which you mean, we can neither 
 of us say 'father'." 
 
 Irma turned pale. She had never thought of the matter in that 
 light, and had never dreamt that Bruno would thus defend his 
 course. She had 'thought his life naught but frivolity, and now, 
 for the first time, beheld the deep chasm that separated them. 
 She was about to reply that her father had remained true to all 
 that was noble, to all that the best of their ancestors had transmit- 
 ted to him, and that he had simply cast aside the external prerog- 
 atives of rank. But, for the first time, she felt that she could not 
 maintain her ground against her brother. She, too, had separated 
 herself from her father. She was silent. They drove on and, for 
 hours, neither spoke a word. 
 
 They reached the summer palace. To all who congratulated 
 her on her brother's betrothal, Irma offered most courteous thanks. 
 She felt strangely embarrassed in the presence of the court jeweler, 
 who had been requested to present himself at the palace with vari- 
 ous caskets of gems. She was to join Bruno in selecting a rich 
 present for Arabella. She did" so, but would not suffer any of the 
 jewels to be tried on herself. Her maid was present for that pur- 
 pose and, at last, they decided on a rich set of diamonds, which 
 was at once dispatched to Bruno's betrothed. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IRMA recovered her wonted cheerfulness and was the merriest 
 sprite of the whole court, teasing and bantering every one ex- 
 cept Colonel Bronnen, with whom alone she was always serious 
 and reserved. She rode out a great deal and often accompanied 
 the king in the chase, in which the other court ladies were also 
 glad to join. The advance of autumn rendered the air fresh and 
 bracing, and there was no lack of variety in their amusements. 
 The queen was obliged to remain at home. She had Walpurga 
 and the prince about her for a great part of the time, and was 
 made happy by every new proof of the child's dawning intelligence. 
 He already knew his mother and had begun to notice many ob- 
 iects. She deplored her husband's restless mind, which constantly 
 craved new and violent excitement, and thus deprived him of many 
 delightful moments with his child. 
 
 They would often take their meals in the woods or on the mount- 
 9 
 
194 0-V THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 ains, whither their viands and cooking utensils were quickly trans- 
 ported on the backs of mules. 
 
 The idea had originated with Baron Schoning, and he was not a 
 little vain of it. It was, indeed, a surprise that almost savored of 
 magic, to find a banquet spread in the heart of the forest, or on 
 some height that commanded a lovely view ; and at the end of the 
 feast all of their paraphernalia would as quickly disappear. 
 
 Ever since his return from the lake, Baron Schoning had treated 
 Irma with as much forbearance and consideration as if he had re- 
 fused her, instead of having been refused by her, and he really felt 
 as if he were the one who had said "no." The idea of his ever 
 entertaining thoughts of marriage now seemed to him sheer mad- 
 ness. The Baron endeavored, withal, to assume an air of dignity, 
 but, in doing so, acted very cautiously, lest too sudden a change in 
 his deportment might awaken unpleasant comment. He had told 
 Irma that the court imagined it was trifling with him, while he in 
 reality was playing with it. The bold change which he was now 
 attempting to consummate had, in truth, only suggested itself to 
 him during the conversation referred to. 
 
 Schoning was an odd character at court. He had, at the start, 
 entered the diplomatic service, but soon left it, in order to become 
 a landscape artist. His achievements in his new vocation proving 
 of slight merit, he sought, and found it an easv matter to obtain, a 
 position at court. He became one of the directors of the royal 
 gardens and chief in the office of the lord steward and, by virtue 
 of his position, chamberlain also. 
 
 In familiar moments, he was fond of telling his intimate friends 
 and these, of course, included every lady and gentleman at court 
 that his real vocation was art ; that he had only sacrificed it for 
 the sake of the king, whom he loved above all beings ; and main- 
 tained that this was a duty that the nobles owed their sovereign. 
 A landscape of his, showing a view of the lake, on the borders of 
 which lay Walpurga's birthplace, was hanging in the summer 
 palace. It was a clever picture, but malicious tongues asserted 
 that one of his friends, at the academy, had painted the landscape, 
 and that another had done the figures. 
 
 On their mountain excursions, Schoning paid marked attention 
 to Irma, who could freely indulge her wanton humor with him, for 
 it was well understood, at court, that no one could have a love af- 
 fair with Schoning. He was the butt of ever} 7 one, and Knew how 
 to take, as well as give a joke. 
 
 Schoning would, many a time, have liked to avoid taking part in 
 these excursions, for he well knew lhat his attempts to acquire 
 dignity were far from being successful. But even pretended ill- 
 ness did not serve as an excuse ; for, without Schoning, there was 
 no target for their jests. What was he to do? He put the best 
 face possible on the matter and, with feigned willingness, accom- 
 panied them. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 195 
 
 Notwithstanding the wide difference in their stations, Schoning 
 and Baum were both indispensable. 
 
 Baum was the favorite servant at court. He was fortunate 
 enough to be useful in every way and no country party, no dinner 
 in the woods, no excursion on the water, was considered complete 
 without him. Actors are often vexed when they are not suffi- 
 ciently employed, or are cast for unimportant parts, and lackeys, 
 in the same way, have a jealous desire to be kept ever busy. It 
 follows, as a matter of course, that Baum had his favorites, whom 
 he would, when occasion offered, mention approvingly to the lord 
 steward, and they obeyed him as if he were their natural superior. 
 The queen's shawl, or the king's paletot, were never so well carried 
 as by Baum. While hanging on his arm, they w r ould almost seem 
 to say : " Oh, how warm and soft we are, and we are ready, at any 
 time, to protect and warm you. Your Majesties have only to com- 
 mand us." 
 
 The evenings were pleasantly spent. After tea, they would 
 usually repair to the inner palace yard and, by the light of torches, 
 look at the wild beasts that had been shot during the day's hunt. 
 The queen, although loth to behold such sights, would always joir 
 the party, lest they might regard her as being sentimental. Sue 
 cess in the chase always put the king in a good humor. They 
 would then return to the open saloons, where they would have in- 
 strumental and vocal music, play cards or have some one read to 
 them. Irma was an excellent billiard player, and won many a 
 game from the king. Her every movement was full of grace and 
 every pose that she assumed while playing was worthy of an ar- 
 tist's pencil. 
 
 " How beautiful she is," the queen would often say to her hus- 
 band, who would nod assent. There was much merriment in the 
 great billiard-room. Before parting for the night, the inner circle 
 of the court would gather, as if for rest and retrospection ; for, 
 every evening, the chronicle of the day was read aloud. Baron 
 Schoning had conducted this daily journal for many years. It was 
 written in verse and, what was still better, in the Highland dialect. 
 Countess Irma was often mentioned in it, under the name of the 
 "Rock-maiden." All the little events of the day were presented 
 in a comic dress and, as the company knew all the personages re- 
 ferred to, the reading of the journal always occasioned great mer- 
 riment. The king was usually referred to as Nimrod, or Artus. 
 Nor were the dogs forgotten, and one of the standing jokes was : 
 "Foster-mother Walpurga ate heartily, and Romulus drank copi- 
 ously. Aunt Lint " meaning Mademoiselle Kramer " began to 
 recount her family history, but has not yet reached the end." 
 
 After the king and queen had retired, the court would break up 
 into small parties. Accompanied by Doctor Gunther, Irma would 
 often ascend some neighboring height or descend into the valley 
 
196 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Gunther taught her the constellations ; and here, in the stilly night 
 he would explain to her the great laws that govern the universe ; 
 how the planets move in infinite space, attracted and repelled, so 
 that none describes a perfect circle. They would often speak of 
 Irma's father who, Gunther maintained, would be able to complete 
 his circle, because he had isolated himself. The Doctor, however, 
 maintained that his own case was different ; that it had been his 
 lot to remain in the world ; that an elliptical course was the only 
 one in which he could move ; and that, being a physician, he was 
 obliged to influence others and was unable to escape their influ- 
 ence on himself. Thus absorbed in the secrets of the universe, the 
 old man and the maiden would forget themselves until fatigue 
 warned them that it was time to return and seek repose. 
 
 Irma would often say that she intended to spend much of her 
 time with the Gunthers, during the winter. The young widow and 
 her child had now come home to live with the father. 
 
 lima would rarely retire for the night, without first visiting Wal- 
 purga, who would generally lie awake and wait for her, and who, 
 if she had fallen asleep, would, as if conscious of her presence, 
 awaken as soon as Irma drew near. They would sit talking to 
 each other for some time. Walpurga had always much to relate 
 about her clever prince, and still more about the good queen. 
 
 The days grew shorter, the evenings longer. The gardeners 
 were kept busy, clearing the fallen leaves from the paths, before the 
 court awoke. It was said they would soon leave the summer 
 palace and return to the capital. The king had preceded them 
 thither. Surrounded by a new ministry, of which Schnabelsdorf 
 was president, he opened the parliament in person. 
 
 Gunther felt sorry, and expressed his regrets to Irma, that the 
 king, in appointing a reactionary and ultramontane ministry, had 
 taken a step fraught with serious consequences. In firm and meas- 
 ured language, he inveighed against all the romance of the convent. 
 Irma had not enough courage to confess how much she was to 
 blame in all this and consoled herself with the thought that the 
 king had, in the queen's presence, rejected all outside influence. 
 For the first time, she became conscious of a feeling of antagonism 
 to the Doctor who, in her eyes, now seemed illiberal and filled 
 with the fanaticism of unbelief. He was a stranger to the greatest 
 glory in life, the flights of a soaring soul, and anathematized them 
 by the words "romance" and "sentimentalism." The king, soli- 
 tan- and alone while breasting the torrent of public opinion, 
 seemed to her greater than ever before. The idea that she had 
 once expressed in a letter to Emma, gradually became clearer to 
 her. No one but a king, and such a one as he, has the large and 
 comprehensive mind that will not suffer itself to be cramped by 
 the systems of the schools. Logic is only part of the human mind. 
 The complete man alone possesses a complete mind. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 197 
 
 Even such a mind and such a man as the Doctor, seemed to her 
 to suffer by comparison with the only one. 
 
 Walpurga was quite uneasy on account of the second change of 
 residence, and complained to Irma that it was a fearful life. " Why, 
 it 's nothing but living in carriages. You never get a chance to feel 
 settled anywhere. It do n't seem right to go and come in this 
 way. Of course, they drive the cattle away from the mountain- 
 meadows when the grass is gone, but cattle are n't human beings. 
 I can't help pitying my poor prince, for there 's nothing in his 
 youth worth remembering. When he gets older, he won't be able 
 to say : ' I used to be at home here, and saw these trees blossom 
 and bear fruit ; and then the snow covered them, and, after that, 
 the spring came ' and if the poor child has n't that, where '11 it 
 ever have a home ? " 
 
 At breakfast, Irma repeated Walpurga's words, and found much 
 that was affecting and poetical in this identifying one's self with 
 nature, and in this attachment to lifeless objects. The ladies and 
 gentlemen in the breakfast-room could not understand where the 
 poetry lay, for, to them, it seemed narrow-mindedness. Baron 
 Schoning interposed, and reminded them that this attachment to 
 the soil possessed its advantages ; for it was thus alone that solitary 
 heights and valleys were inhabited. He maintained that the 
 common, people could only be governed by the force of habit ; that 
 man, as a free agent, must rid himself of such restraint ; and that 
 the true poetic idea was that of Pegasus resting on the earth, but 
 yet able to wing his flight aloft. 
 
 Schoning looked about him as if he expected applause for his 
 profound remark. It failed, however, to produce an impression. 
 He had so constantly ministered to the amusement of the court, 
 that all his attempts to be serious were failures, suggesting the 
 success with which a well-known comedian or country bumpkin 
 would undertake a tragic role. Schoning imagined that Irma un- 
 derstood him better than any of the others, but even she was not 
 in a humor to assent that day. Gunther was the first to take up 
 the conversation, saying that the present desire for incessant travel 
 constituted a new impulse in the history of mankind, and one 
 which no former age had known to the same extent. The gen- 
 eration which, even in its cradle, had heard the whistle of the 
 locomotive, must, of necessity, be different from its predecessors. 
 But yet poetry would never die, for every mother would teach her 
 child to sing, and time, the everlasting mother, would teach unto 
 the children of a new generation, new songs, different from thosi 1 
 of the past but none the less full of beauty and feeling. 
 
 The queen nodded to Gunther, and her face was mantled with 
 blushes, while she said that she agreed with Walpurga, and would 
 rather remain in one place and become settled there. 
 
 The gentlemen and ladies of the court were loud in their praise 
 
198 O.V THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 of the queen's beautiful and feeling remarks, while, in their hearts, 
 many considered them just as foolish as Walpurga's. 
 
 When they had left the table, the queen said to Irma : 
 
 " Dear Countess, you should n't say such things at table, or in 
 the presence of company. Let me assure you, they are out of place 
 there. Walpurga's thoughts are like fresh wild-flowers, which, 
 when plucked and bound into a bouquet, soon wither and die. It 
 :s only artificially cultivated flowers that are adapted for the salon, 
 and the best of all are those made of tulle and gauze. Hereafter, 
 confide such things to me alone." 
 
 Inna was delighted with this agreement ; but when, at noon, the 
 queen told Walpurga what she had heard about her, the latter was 
 angry at Irma. It won't do, thought she, to repeat everything 
 you hear. She felt ashamed of herself, and became shy and re- 
 served in Irma's presence. It was only when she was alone with 
 the prince, that she whispered: "Yes, my little wanderer; after 
 this, you shall be the only one to whom I '11 tell even-thing. 
 You 're the cleverest in the whole house, and the only one who 
 holds his tongue. You won't say a word to any one, will you ? " 
 
 Walpurga was quite troubled by the idea of leaving, and Baum 
 was the only one who knew how to pacify her. He said : 
 
 " Do n't be foolish. What do the furniture and the trees and all 
 the rest matter to you ? They remain here. You step into the 
 carriage and ride to the city and, when you get there, find all you 
 need, ready for you. There are hands and feet enough to attend 
 to all that." 
 
 Walpurga gradually quieted herself. They waited for the first 
 sunny day, and then the queen, the prince, Walpurga and the royal 
 suite drove to the capital. The summer palace was once more 
 lonely and deserted ; dead leaves filled the paths in the park 
 and were no longer swept away. The great colored lamps of the 
 verandah were put away for safe keeping, and the large windows 
 were covered with layers of straw. The summer palace entered 
 on its winter sleep, and, in the meanwhile, new life awakened at 
 the city palace. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE royal palace was in the centre of the city, and was without 
 walls or fosse. Although its windows looked down on the 
 busy streets, it seemed as if it stood on some fortified height, and 
 as if outworks for offense and defense surrounded it for some dis- 
 tance. It was only at rare intervals, and in indistinct utterances, 
 that a stray echo of popular feeling penetrated so far. There were 
 hundreds of human beings, from the lowest kitchen servant up to 
 the major-domo, who served in place of wall or fosse, and pre- 
 vented all except the favored few from entering the royal presence. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 199 
 
 The king was in a happy mood and yet his cheerfulness seemed 
 forced. He was a prey to a restless disposition which would not 
 permit him to dwell long on any one subject. From morning till 
 night, he required constant change and gay excitement. 
 
 If he had been asked to answer on his conscience, he would 
 frankly have said : " I respect the constitution and am faithful to 
 it" and yet, at heart, he was unconquerably opposed to it, for it 
 cramped his individuality. It was in the same way that he loved 
 his wife, while his heart paid homage to her friend ; but that he 
 should be subjected to the law, or even to his own desires, was 
 equally distasteful to him for that, too, would retard the full 
 development of his new individuality. He regarded all that 
 sivored of opposition, whether it was the constitution of the state 
 or the opinion of a kind friend, as an attempt to subjugate him. He 
 desired to be perfectly free and yet not without law and affection. 
 He could not forego the approbation of those to whom he was, at 
 the same time, unwilling to accord the right to dissent. He would 
 have liked his own people to regard him with as loyal an affection 
 as that which the English bestow upon their rulers, but did not 
 care to have it interfere with his following the dictates of his own 
 judgment. He studied the laws of the state, but favored such 
 interpretations thereof as rendered them nugatory. He loved the 
 constitution, much as he did his wife ; that is, he prized her virtues, 
 and aimed to be faithful to her without sacrificing his inclinations. 
 
 The journals of the day reached the king in the form of an 
 abstract, which was prepared in the literary court-kitchen. By his 
 orders, stenographic reports of the proceedings of the Chamber of 
 Deputies were brought to his cabinet, but for the greater part they 
 remained unread. There was too much to be done, too much of 
 ceremonious receptions, parading and exercises. The new arsenal 
 was now under roof, and they were engaged in supplying the 
 decorations, devices for some of which were prepared by the king 
 himself. 
 
 The great autumn manoeuvres took place near the palace. 
 There was much talk of changes, and, among the soldiers, great 
 enthusiasm thereat. The queen and Irma, attired in the uniform 
 of the queen's guards, appeared on horseback. The queen looked 
 like a patron saint, while Irma, with her triumphant air, looked 
 like a commander. At the word of command, the huzzas of the 
 soldiers filled the air, and it seemed as if their joyous shouts 
 would never end. 
 
 Colonel Bronnen was quite devoted in his attentions to Irma. 
 It was generally believed thai he would, before long, sue for her 
 hand. Some even went so far as to assert that they were 
 already secretly betrothed, and that Irma's father, the old misan- 
 thrope, had refused his consent, but that the beautiful countess 
 would be of age within a month. No regiment could have wished 
 for a more beautiful colonel's wife. 
 
200 0-Y THE HEIGHTS 
 
 Irma's life seemed to glide en in ecstatic happ'ness. Sh<> d ; d 
 not even I. now that the world had betrothed her. \\ hen she nu-t 
 the Doctor, she would say: "I think of visiting- your dear family, 
 every clay, but there is always something to prevent me ; I '11 
 surely come to-morrow, or the day after." 
 
 Weeks passed before she paid the visit, and when she did call, 
 the servant informed her that the family were not at home. Irma 
 had intended to call again, and finally concluded that they had 
 treated her rudely in neglecting to return her visit. She waited, 
 and, at last, dropped all intercourse with them. It is far better, 
 she thought, in one's own sphere ; aside from this, they were in 
 mourning at the Doctor's, and Irma was not in the mood to seek 
 sorrowful scenes. The Doctor himself even appeared ill at ease, 
 for he had recently said to her : 
 
 " Most persons, even those who are matured and self-conscious, 
 exhaust their joys, just as children do. Like them, they indulge 
 their love of pleasure without stint, and then follows the reaction, 
 when joy is followed by tears." Irma avoided all further discussion 
 with him. 
 
 Rainy days came, and no one could leave the house. Walpurga 
 would go about as if a prisoner, longing to be at the summer 
 palace, although, if she had been there at that season of the year, 
 she would have been obliged to remain indoors. " Uncle was 
 right," said she, jestingly, to Mademoiselle Kramer. "At the 
 christening, he said I was a cow, and now I can fancy how a cow 
 must feel, when it comes down from the mountain meadows to its 
 stall in the valley. Grubersepp, who lives at our place, has a 
 mountain meadow and whenever his cows are brought home, they 
 keep on lowing for three days, and won't eat a thing. If I only 
 knew how things are at home ; if I only felt sure that they keep 
 my child indoors ; but I '11 write at once." 
 
 Walpurga wrote an anxious, sorrowful letter and was not content 
 until good tidings came in return. 
 
 Whenever Irma entered the crown prince's apartments, even in 
 the gloomiest weather, her presence seemed like sunshine. There 
 was rarely a day that she did not come, although her visits were 
 shorter than they had been. She said that the preparations for 
 her brother's wedding took up so much of her time. 
 
 "I'd like to see your father," said Walpurga, one day; "he 
 must be a splendid man to have such good and beautiful children." 
 
 Irma pressed her hand to her heart. 
 
 "If father comes I '11 bring him to you," said she, as if to 
 silence her. The innocent remark of this simple-minded woman 
 had deeply moved her, and the anticipation of brilliant festivities 
 gave way to sad and sombre thoughts. She was often in the city, 
 either alone or attended by her brother, while making purchases 
 for a complete and luxuriously furnished household. Women in 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 201 
 
 large towns find as much pleasure in shopping as children in the 
 woods do in gathering wild flowers. To go from shop to shop, 
 to compaie, to select, to purchase it is just like plucking flowers. 
 Irma was enough of a child and woman of the world to delight in 
 this, and to enjoy the pleasure of furnishing a house according to 
 her own taste. The workmen and shopkeepers exaggerated noth- 
 ing when they said that they had never before met one whose 
 orders showed such excellent judgment. Irma was not amiable 
 and gracious, she was simply courteous. She never apologized 
 for the trouble she gave the shopkeepers and workmen, for that 
 was part of their business. She addressed them respectfully, freely 
 expressed her approval, when their suggestions were in good taste, 
 and thanked them for correcting her, when her demands were 
 impracticable. 
 
 Could Irma have heard how sewing-women, workmen and shop- 
 men praised her, it would have gladdened her heart. 
 
 It struck her as very singular that every one would make the 
 mistake of speaking of the new establishment as her own, and not 
 as her brother's. 
 
 The wedding was solemnized. Irma had no opportunity of in- 
 troducing her father to Walpurga, for he did not come. During 
 those few days, she neglected to visit the crown prince's apart- 
 ments, and when she again went she had dreaded Walpurga's 
 questions the nurse made no allusion to the wedding or to her 
 father. 
 
 Irma felt that Mademoiselle Kramer had informed Walpurga of 
 the state of affairs. .She would gladly have placed matters before 
 her in their true light, but that were impracticable. The common 
 people could only understand simple relations, and an involved and 
 complicated story, such as hers, would pass Walpurga's compre- 
 hension. Irma forced herself to appear the same to Walpurga as 
 she had always been. The latter observed this, although she 
 said nothing about it. She, too, had become strangely reserved. 
 
 Winter came in all its might. Walpurga could not go out into 
 the open air, but found pleasure in taking long walks with the 
 crown prince, inside the palace. A whole suite of apartments had 
 been thrown open and heated for this purpose. 
 
 " You may sing if you like," the Doctor had said to her. But 
 Walpurga could not utter a sound in the grand saloons, for she 
 was afraid of the pictures of men in coats of mail, and of women 
 with stiff ruffs or bare necks, who were looking down upon her. 
 
 " I know what I am going to say is very stupid, and you must 
 promise not to repeat it," said she, one day, in confidence to Irma. 
 
 " What is it ? You can always tell me everything." 
 
 " It 's very silly, I 'm sure, but it seems to me as if those mec 
 and women can't find rest in the other world and have got to b' 
 here all the time and look on at what happens." 
 9* 
 
202 0_Y THE H RIGHTS. 
 
 " That is n't at all stupid," said Irma, smiling. " But, pay atten 
 tion, Walpurga, to what I am about to tell you. To stand here, 
 and feel that your father, your great-grandfather, and others stil.' 
 further back, are looking at you that 's what is meant by nobility 
 Thus, we are always in the company of our ancestors." 
 
 " I understand ; it 's just the same as if, in your heart, you were 
 always saying a mass for the repose of their souls." 
 
 "That ; sit, exactly." 
 
 . Irma thought of repeating this conversation to the queen. But, 
 
 /no ; she would tell it to the king. His was a truly poetic and ex- 
 
 } altecl conception of all things. Irma had accustomed herself to 
 
 I tell the king all that happened to her. She spoke to him of all her 
 
 j thoughts, and of every book that she read, and thus found all her 
 
 experiences invested with a twofold interest. He was so grateful, 
 
 so appreciative, so happy, and was, moreover, so burdened down 
 
 with the cares of state that it was a duty to cheer him with other 
 
 thoughts. 
 
 At the summer palace, the trees were covered with snow and 
 the windows were protected with straw ; but in the palace at the 
 capital, pleasure reigned supreme. Here all was fragrance, splen- 
 dor, glitter, and, in Bruno's house, it seemed as if the feasting 
 would never end. The court had honored the opening fete with 
 their presence and, throughout the city, all spoke of the queen's 
 great kindness, in visiting a sister-in-law of so peculiar a kind, and 
 of her having, in the most affable and friendly manner, actually sat 
 on the same sofa with her. The old Baroness had also wished to 
 attend the first fete given by her children, but, having been in- 
 formed that, in that case, the queen would not come, she remained 
 at her castle in the little country town. 
 
 Arabella had written to Bruno's father. Her husband had not 
 forbidden her doing so, but he had told her, beforehand, that she 
 would receive no answer. He had every reason to feel assured of 
 this, for he had never forwarded the letter. 
 
 Irma consoled her, and found it painful to offer such a descrip- 
 tion of her father's peculiarities as would satisfactorily account for 
 his silence. It seemed like treachery, but she could not help it, for 
 why should the poor child be made to suffer. But fete succeeded 
 fete with such rapidity, that the father, the whilom dancer aye, 
 even her own thoughts, were soon forgotten. 
 
 The Chamber of Deputies was not far from the royal stables, 
 and, while the delegates were heatedly discussing so-called decisive 
 questions, the royal riding school was the scene of a rehearsal for 
 a tournament in the knightly costume of the Middle Ages. Prince 
 Arnold who, as the story went, w r as wooing princess Angelica, was 
 chief of the gentlemen, and Irma of the ladies. 
 
 Although it was merely by accident that the tournament opened 
 on the evening of the day on which the Chamber was dissolved; 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 203 
 
 the circumstance occasioned much ironical comment throughout 
 the capital. 
 
 Irma was the central figure in the brilliant scene. When she 
 entered the royal box, the king lavished loud praise upon her beauty 
 and skill. 
 
 The queen added her praises to his and said : 
 
 " You must feel happy, Countess Irma, to think that you afford 
 us so much pleasure." 
 
 Irma bowed low and kissed the queen's hand. 
 
 There was hardly time to rest from one fete, before another suc- 
 ceeded it. The grand sleighing-party, which was especially bril- 
 liant, excited the whole city. The king and the queen drove in an 
 open sleigh, and, in spite of their dissatisfaction with the policy of 
 the government, the citizens were delighted to see the royal couple 
 so happy. Following immediately after the sleigh of the prince of 
 the house came that of Bruno and his handsome wife ; but, rich as 
 were the trappings and handsome as were the couple, all glances 
 were quicklv turned to the next sleigh in which sat Irma and Baron 
 Schoning. /She had pitched upon him as the most convenient 
 dummy .T The countenances of the lookers-on were expressive of 
 mingled surprise and derision. 
 
 " If Hansei could only see it ! How I wish he could ! One would 
 hardly believe it ! " said Walpurga, as she looked out of her win 
 dow at the sleighing-party. 
 
 No one had noticed her but Irma, who nodded to her. How 
 radiant she was ; she had never looked so beautiful. The clear 
 cold air of winter had wondrously animated her features. She was 
 sitting in a swan, drawn by two white horses, and Walpurga said 
 to herself: "Oh, you dear creature! You just look as if you 
 could n't help riding to heaven ; but you '11 never marry that clown 
 aside of you." The last words she had uttered in quite a loud 
 voice. 
 
 "She won't marry at all," said a voice behind her. 
 
 Walpurga looked around, startled. Baum had been standing 
 behind her. 
 
 "What an everlasting eaves-dropper you are," said she. All 
 her joy had been imbittered, but this did not last long, for Irma 
 soon came and said : 
 
 " Walpurga, I can only warm myself with you. It is bitter cold, 
 and you 're like a good warm stove. You 're growing as fat and 
 as broad as a Dutch oven." 
 
 Walpurga was delighted with her friend. She was always com 
 ing to see her, and allowing her to share in all her pleasures. 
 
 But Walpurga started with fright, when the king suddenly en 
 tered. Courteously bowing to Irma, he said : 
 
 " A letter has just come for vou ; I thought I would bring it my- 
 self." 
 
204 CLV THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Irma looked down, while she took the letter. 
 
 "Pray onen it," said the king, while he motioned Walpurga tr. ' 
 follow him into the prince's room. When he came out again, the 
 king said : 
 
 "Did the letter bring you good news? " 
 
 Irma looked at him with surprise, and at last said : " It was from 
 my d-arest friend.'' 
 
 The king nodded, as if pleased that the letter, which had been 
 written by himself, should receive such an answer. He added, in 
 a careless tone : 
 
 " Dear Countess, you will, of course, feel sad at parting from 
 \Yalpurga, but her situation must necessarily end with time. 
 Think of some other position for her, so that you may keep^ hei 
 near you." 
 
 Walpurga drew 7 a long breath. "Give me the farm," lay on hei 
 lips, but she could not utter the words. She felt as if her tongue 
 clave to the roof of her mouth. 
 
 The king soon took his leave. He always came and w r ent so 
 quickly. 
 
 Xo, you shall not remain here," said Irma when she was alone 
 with Walpurga. " It is better, a thousand times better for you, that 
 you should go home again. Xext summer, I '11 come to see you. 
 I '11 never forget you. Rely upon it." 
 
 Walpurga now felt bold enough to express her wishes in regard 
 to the farm ; but Irma was immovable. " You know nothing about 
 these things. Take my word for it it will be far better for you, if 
 you go home again." 
 
 "H 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 O W do you live in the country in winter ? " asked the queen 
 while she sat by the cradle of her child. 
 
 "Well enough," replied Walpurga, "but wood is getting to be 
 quite dear. We 're glad when spring returns. To be sure, my 
 Hansei has good earnings in the winter, when the wood can be 
 brought down the snow road to the valley. Mother always says 
 our Lord 's the greatest of all road masters, for He can make roads 
 and make it easy to bring the wood where no man can." 
 
 " You have a good mother. Give her my love, and when I again 
 go to the mountains, I shall visit her." 
 
 " Oh, if you only would ! " 
 
 "And now," resumed the queen, "tell me how you pass youi 
 time during the winter." 
 
 "When the housework for the day is done, the women spin. 
 The men spend the day in the forest, cutting wood and, when 
 night comes, they 're so tired that they hardly ever cut kindling- 
 wood." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 205 
 
 " And do you sing much at such times ? " 
 
 " Of course. Why not ? " 
 
 "And do you never read to each other?" 
 
 " No, never. But we like to tell stories, and frighten each other 
 as much as we can." 
 
 " And do you sometimes dance ? " 
 
 " Yes, at carnival time ; but there 's not much of that nowadays. 
 They say it used to be much better in old times." 
 
 " Do you never find the day hang heavy on your hands ? " 
 
 " No, never ; we 've no time for that." 
 
 The queen smiled when she looked at the astral lamp that stood 
 on the table, and thought of the many expedients that society em- 
 ployed 'to kill time. 
 
 The queen at length said : " And do you feel quite sure that your 
 husband is always true to you ? Do you never think of his being 
 otherwise ? " 
 
 " Mother often says that the men are all good for nothing, but 
 she says my Hansei 's not like the rest of 'em. He 'd be heartily 
 ashamed of himself if he spoke a loving word to another woman. 
 It would haunt him day and night, and he 'd never be able to look 
 any one in the face again. He 's not one of your sharp, clever 
 folks far from it ; but he 's good, thoroughly good at heart ; a 
 little bit close in money matters, and he 's always afraid that, some 
 time or other, we might come to want. However, one who has to 
 save every kreutzer can easily get used to that. But, thank God, 
 that 's over, now." 
 
 When Walpurga had once begun to talk, she would, unless 
 interrupted, run on like a mountain spring. She had a thousand 
 and one little stories to tell. How she had, for the first time, 
 bought three geese, two white and one gray ; how many feathers 
 she got from them, and what a good price she obtained for the 
 feathers ; and that she now had eight ducks they were much 
 more useful than geese, and required but little food ; and that her 
 goat was wondrous clever. They had once had a sheep, but that 
 was nothing. They belong in flocks and do n't thrive well alone. 
 At last, Walpurga said that she could hardly believe that they 
 really had two cows of their own in the stable. She had never, in 
 all her life, even wished for so much. And then she spoke of the 
 innkeeper and said that, although one could n't trust him, it was 
 necessary to keep on good terms with him, for, if he was your 
 enemy, you might as well be put out of the village and the principal 
 house would be closed to you. The innkeeper would, once in a 
 while, do you a favor, if he lost nothing by it. He had paid a good . 
 price for her ducks and fish, and if you should happen to need it, 
 you could always get a little from him on trust. She did n't want 
 to speak ill of him, but. he had once been impudent to her ; but 
 she had taught him a lesson that he 'd remember as long as he 
 
zo6 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 lived. She hoped the queen would n't do anything to him foi 
 that ; he was good enough, after all, considering that he was an 
 innkeeper. But there were ever so many good people in theit 
 neighborhood. They did n't give anything away, and she would n't 
 want their gifts, but when you know r that on every hillside there 
 are people who feel kindly towards you, it makes the whole neigh- 
 borhood seem as if it were one warm room. 
 
 The queen smiled. 
 
 Walpurga went on talking. The more she talked, the more the 
 child prattled and crowed and clapped its hands ; the sound of his 
 nur>.''s voice pleased him and Walpurga said : 
 
 " He 's just like a canary bird ; when there 's lots of chattering 
 in the room, he joins in with his mem- song. Is n't it so, you 
 canary bird?" said she, shaking her head at the child, while it 
 crowed yet more lustily than before. 
 
 Buried in thought, the queen passed her hand over her face sev- 
 eral times. Walpurga's words had transported her into another 
 world. And so, thought she, there are other beings, beneath me 
 and far away, who pass their days in work and care and yet are 
 happy. 
 
 What makes you look so sad ? " asked Walpurga. 
 
 Her question had recalled the queen to herself. No one had 
 ever read her face in this way. No one could, or would have 
 questioned her thus. 
 
 The queen made no answer, and Walpurga continued : 
 
 41 Oh, my dear queen, I can't help thinking you must have a 
 hard time of it. To have plenty of everything is n't so good for 
 one after all. It 's like having your heaven on earth. Have you 
 never felt lonely and lorn ? When one wakes to sorrow and thinks 
 that one still has sound limbs, and can work, and can see the sun 
 and know that there are still good people in the world it 's then 
 that you really feel at home in the world. Oh, my dear queen, 
 do n't be sad.' You could n't, if you knew how happy you ought 
 to feel." 
 
 The queen was silent for a long while. There must have been 
 something in Walpurga that suggested the thought, for she at last 
 said: "They play William Tell to-night. I would like you to go 
 to the theatre, for once." 
 
 Walpurga said : 
 
 " I 'd like to go, well enough. Mademoiselle Kramer has told 
 me a great deal about it ; it must be splendid, but I can't take the 
 child with me, and I can't leave it alone for so long a time. See 
 how he listens, and what a cross voice he has already. He under- 
 stands even-thing we say, I '11 bet my head on it." 
 
 The boy began to cry. Walpurga took him up in her arms, 
 fondled him and sang : 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 207 
 
 I won't leave you a minute, 
 To see the finest play ; 
 It 's better far, and safer, 
 If at home with you I stay. 
 
 ] The little prince was soon quieted and fell isleep. 
 
 "Yes, you 're right," said the queen, aftei a pause. "Remain 
 just as you are, and when you go home again, do n't think of 
 what is past. Only think that your lot is the best in the world." 
 
 The queen left. Walpurga felt like telling Mademoiselle Kramer 
 that the queen was very sad, and was about to ask what could be 
 the matter; but, with clever tact, she refrained from alluding to 
 the subject. The queen had been so confiding and so sisterly with 
 her, that it would not do to speak of it to any one else ; and 
 perhaps, too, the queen did not wish others to know that she was 
 sad. 
 
 For many days, there was a pilgrimage of court ladies and gen- 
 tlemen to Walpurga for the sake of seeing something that was 
 quite new to them. Doctor Gunther had given Walpurga per- 
 mission to get a distaff and spin. To see a spinning-wheel in 
 use seemed like a fairy-tale. Few of the ladies and gentlemen had 
 ever seen such a thing before, and now they came and looked on 
 wonderingly. Walpurga, however, always laughed merrily when 
 she wound a fresh thread on the spindle. All the court came to 
 look at the distaff, and Schoning declared that this was the imple- 
 ment with which Little Thornrose had injured herself. 
 
 Irma was again the object of envy, for she, too, knew how to 
 spin and, like a village neighbor, would sometimes come and join 
 threads for Walpurga. They both sat spinning at the same distaff, 
 and, while they worked, their voices joined in merry songs. 
 
 " What 's to be done with what we spin ? " asked Irma. 
 
 Walpurga was vexed, for the question had destroyed the charm. 
 She said : " Little shirts for my prince ; but they must only be of 
 my spinning." After that, she laid the bobbins which Irma had 
 filled in a separate place. The threads which she had moistened 
 with her own lips, should be the only ones used by the prince. 
 
 Irma could not help telling Baron Schoning of Walpurga's plan, 
 and it suggested to him a poem, in which he alluded to the legend 
 of a fairy, or enchanted princess, who was spinning flax for her 
 darling. The queen was delighted with the poem, and, for the 
 first time, and with perfect sincerity, praised the Baron's verses. 
 
 Walpurga was sitting at her distaff and telling the prince in the 
 cradle the story of the King of the Carps, who swims about at the 
 bottom of the lake. He 's more than seven thousand years old, 
 wears a crown on his head, has a great long beard and, up over him, 
 millions of fishes are swimming about and playing tag with each 
 other; and when one 's naughty and envious and quarrelsome and 
 disobedient, the naughty pike comes and eats him, and then comes 
 
208 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 the fisherman who catches the pike, and then comes the cook who 
 cuts up the pike, and then all the little fishes jump out and go back 
 into the lake and come to life and tell all that 's happened to them, 
 how dark it was in the pike's belly and how much brighter it is in the 
 sea and, in the meanwhile, the pike is cut in pieces and eaten, and 
 if one 's not very careful, he '11 get a fish bone in his mouth, and 
 that '11 make him cough, and Walpurga coughed with great skill. 
 
 The door suddenly opened and, to Walpurga's great alarm, a 
 handsome young officer entered, went straight up to her, saluted 
 her in military fashion, and, while twirling his moustache, asked : 
 
 " Have I the honor of addressing the magic spinner, named 
 Walpurga Andermatten, from the cottage by the lake? " 
 
 " Yes ; dear me, what can be the matter? " 
 
 "I am sent by the spirit Kussschmatzky, and he commands me 
 to kiss you three times in order to break a spell." 
 
 Walpurga trembled. It was her own fault. Why had she told 
 the child so many fairy-tales, and now it had all come true. All 
 at once, the officer threw his arms about her neck, and kissed her 
 with all his might, and then laughed until he could no longer stand, 
 and seating himself, exclaimed : 
 
 " And so you really do n't know me ? That 's splendid. Do n't 
 you know your friend Irma, any more ? " 
 
 "You rogue! You good-for-nothing rogue," burst out Wal- 
 purga. " Pardon me, Countess Irma, but who 'd have thought of 
 such a thing ; and you threw me into such a fright ! What 's it 
 all about? Is it carnival time already?" 
 
 "Walpurga, if you understood the language, you might see me 
 in a French play this evening. The king is also going to act. I 'm 
 sorry, for I 'd rather have had you in the audience than any of the 
 rest.' But I Ve had sufficient applause already ; you did n't know 
 me. I 'm glad of that at all events." 
 
 "And I 'm heartily sorry," said Walpurga, becoming quite 
 serious. " Oh, dear Countess, do you know what you 're doing ? 
 It 's the greatest sin to put on men's clothes, for then the devil 's 
 master over one. Do n't laugh at me ! I 'm not so silly as you 
 think. It 's just as true as can be. Grubersepp's grandfather had 
 a daughter, and she had a sweetheart who was off at the wars, 
 and while she was sitting in the room spinning, just as I was a 
 little while ago, a girl dressed herself up in soldier's clothes, and 
 went into the room and acted just as if she was the sweetheart 
 himself. Grubersepp's daughter fainted, but got over it again and 
 the disguised girl ran away. And as soon as she got out of the 
 house, there were hundreds of men with whips and horses' heads, 
 and they chased her ever so far and, at last, the devil caught her, 
 tore her to pieces and threw her into the lake. Yes, it 's a true 
 story ; you can take my word for it. There are people enough 
 living to this day who knew her." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 20$ 
 
 "You 're enough to make one quite melancholy," said Irma. 
 
 " Perhaps such things only happen with us," said Walpurga, as 
 if to console her. " The soldiers out there, with their swords and 
 muskets, would n't let the devil enter here ; but, my clear, good 
 Countess, do n't you feel ashamed to wear those clothes before so 
 many people?" 
 
 " You belong to a different world from ours. You 're right, and 
 so are we," said Irma, walking up and down the room quickly and 
 rattling her spurs. " No, Walpurga, do n't alarm yourself about 
 me, and do n't take your fright so much to heart." 
 
 She was again the same careless, true-hearted creature that she 
 had ever been, and Walpurga could not help saying : 
 
 "Oh, how beautiful ! you look just like a prince." 
 
 Walpurga's eyes rested on the door long after Irma had left. It 
 seemed to her as if it had all been a dream. 
 
 Many days passed by, and Irma was always blithe and cheerful 
 when with Walpurga. They would sing and spin, and the king 
 and queen once came together they had never clone so before 
 and seated themselves by the child's cradle, while they looked at, 
 and listened to, the workers. Walpurga was timid at first, but, 
 after awhile, sang quite cheerfully. 
 
 A veritable surprise was in store for Walpurga. Christmas eve 
 arrived. The manner in which it was observed at her home, had 
 been transplanted hither by the queen. Walpurga and the child 
 were conducted into the great saloon, where the Christmas tree 
 was all ablaze with lights, and where there also were many rich 
 presents. 
 
 It seemed to her as if she were in a fairy grotto ; there was so 
 much glitter and sparkle, and the presents were so rich and varied. 
 The child shouted for joy and was ever putting out its little hands 
 to grasp the lights. Walpurga received lavish gifts, but, although 
 the dazzling gold and the rich garnet necklace with golden clasp 
 delighted her, a well-arranged table covered with clothing pleased 
 her more than all the rest. There was a complete winter suit for 
 Walpurga's mother, another, with a beautiful green hat, for Han- 
 sei, and many articles of clothing for little Burgei. 
 
 " Does it all please you ? " asked the queen. " I sent to your 
 village to get the measure." 
 
 "Oh, how it does please me!" said Walpurga; "if I could 
 thank you as many times as ther^are threads in these clothes, it 
 
 ould n't be enough." 
 
 A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she sent Baum to her 
 oom to get the yarn which was hanging there. He soon returned 
 with it and, presenting it to the queen, in the king's presence, she 
 said: "As often as I Ve wetted each thread with my lips, do I 
 thank you. I shall pray for you as long as I can move my lips, 
 and all will go well with you." 
 
210 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The king held out his hand to her and said : " You 're a good 
 soul, but do n't excite yourself so." She pressed his hand firmly. 
 
 Walpurga was sitting in her room, late at night, when the queen 
 came to her. 
 
 " I 'm glad you 've come," said Walpurga, softly. 
 
 " Why ? Does anything ail the child ? " 
 
 " No ; thank God, he 's quiet. See how he clenches his little 
 fists while he sleeps. But, on this night, at twelve, a Sunday child 
 sees everything. He can hear all that the angels in heaven and 
 the beasts in the wood are saying. One must always be with him 
 at that time, and keep on saying the paternoster, and then no 
 harm will come to him." 
 
 " Yes, I '11 stay with you ; that can do no harm. But you must 
 not torment yourself so with your belief." 
 
 Walpurga looked at the queen with a strange expression. 
 
 "Ah, she knows nothing of this," she thought to herself. "She 
 was n't born in our faith." The queen said : " I 'm glad that I 
 can make so many people happy, just as I 've made you happy, 
 to-day." 
 
 "But you must be happy, too," said Walpurga. "Take my 
 word for it I 'd put my hand in the fire as a pledge there 's noth 
 ing wrong with Irma. She 's true, and so is the king." 
 
 The queen started convulsively. And had it come to this pass ? 
 Must she receive consolation from such a quarter? She sat there 
 motionless, for some time. The clock struck twelve, and. at the 
 same instant, bells were heard ringing from every tower, filling the 
 air with their merry sounds. 
 
 The child in the cradle began to mutter in its sleep. Walpurga 
 made a sign to the queen and went on repeating the Lord's Prayer, 
 in a firm voice. The queen moved her lips and silently joined in 
 the prayer. When it was repeated for the third time, she said 
 aloud : " And forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them that 
 trespass against us.' " Then she knelt down by the child's cradle, 
 and buried her face in the pillow. 
 
 Walpurga was filled with reverence for the mother who thus 
 knelt silently at her child's cradle. She went on praying in a low 
 voice. The queen arose, nodded to Walpurga, and waved both 
 her hands to her. She looked almost like a spirit and, without 
 uttering another word, she left the room. The sound of the bells 
 died on the air, and the child slept on quietly. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 STRANGE things were always happening during the days and 
 nights of Christmas week. ' Some mortals maintain that the 
 kingdom of the fairies has vanished, but it still exists. 
 
 In a large building, standing- back from the king's street, there 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 2 1 1 
 
 are silent workmen, placing strange wedges side by side, which 
 wedges are afterward handed over to a huge monster. It is still 
 at rest, but as soon as it receives them, it suddenly moves, creaks, 
 groans and puffs, and, in an instant, hundreds of human beings 
 are, as it were, created anew. In other words, it is the govern- 
 ment printing-office, and they are printing the official gazette, 
 which, at the beginning of every year, announces the promotion 
 and the orders conferred upon hundreds of individuals. 
 
 What is New Year's day to most mortals? Retrospection, 
 reflections that life is but transitory, succeeded by joy at what is 
 still left us, and good resolutions for the future ; and yet to-morrow 
 is a mere repetition of yesterday. 
 
 How different with those whose importance depends upon their 
 station, and who can be elevated into something more than they 
 now are. 
 
 The official gazette appeared, with its list of New Year's gifts. 
 One pleasure fell to the lot of the queen. Her English teacher, an 
 estimable and noble-hearted old man, whom she had brought with 
 her as her private secretary, received the title of privy councilor, 
 and was thus, in a social sense, rendered capable of being presented 
 at court. 
 
 But of all the promotions, none excited so much comment at 
 court and in the capital, as the appointment of Baron Schoning to 
 the office of intendant-general of the royal theatre, and he, him- 
 self, was more surprised than all others. Although he had been 
 greatly applauded for his share in the French play, in which Irma 
 had also taken part, he had not anticipated such a result. When he 
 read the announcement, he rubbed his eyes, to make sure of being 
 awake. Was it a bit of royal pleasantry? He would willingly 
 submit to any joke, but then it must be in a confined circle, not in 
 the eyes of the world. But it was not a joke, it was the simple 
 truth, for, side by side with his own, he could read of the appoint- 
 ment and the promotion of many distinguished men to important 
 positions. 
 
 It was an actual fact beautiful reality. 
 
 In the city it was said, with a significant smile, that the Baron 
 had received the appointment in order to place him in the proper 
 position to marry Countess Irma. Others, who were less kindly 
 disposed, asserted that it was freely offered to the gallant court 
 fool, as the court had always regarded theatrical matters as a 
 sort of time-honored buffoonery, furnishing amusement of a light 
 and trivial character. 
 
 But Baron Schoning or, as he must now be styled, the intend- 
 ant received the visits of his subordinates with great dignity and 
 then drove to the palace. 
 
 On the way, he was obliged to pass Countess Irma's apartments. 
 He stopped and sent in his card. % 
 
212 CA r THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The Countess received him kindly, and offered him her sincere 
 congratulations. He plainly intimated that he, in a great measure, 
 owed his promotion to her, and he remarked that a lady of 
 good taste and true artistic feeling could be his greatest aid and 
 support in his new calling. She affected not to understand him 
 and assented, in an absent manner. Her thoughts were wander- 
 ing. She would often look out of the window that opened on the 
 park. The snow had almost disappeared and the marble statues 
 of gods and goddesses had thrown off their winter covering. Near- 
 est her window, and in a position which showed its profile, stood 
 the Venus de Milo. 
 
 "Pardon me," said she, at last, as if collecting her thoughts, 
 " I am delighted that you have again resumed your connection 
 with art, and would be very glad to have a talk with you on the 
 subject. Above all things, let me beg of you to let us have music 
 again at the theatre ; if not during the entr'actes, before the 
 performance, at all events. 
 
 "The musicians are all opposed to such a course." 
 
 " I know that very well. Each art endeavors to isolate itself, to 
 remain independent of all others. But a play without music is 
 like a feast without wine. Music cleanses the soul from the dust 
 and dross of even- day life and seems to say to every one: 'You 
 are no longer in your office, in the barracks, or in the workshop.' 
 If it could be done, I would prescribe a special costume for all who 
 frequent the theatre. Their uncovered heads should be a token 
 of spiritual reverence, and, besides that, I would have theatrical 
 performances only once a week." 
 
 " You are perfectly right as regards the music," interposed the 
 intendant. " If you have any other suggestion, dear Countess " 
 
 " Some other time. I know of nothing at present. Just now, 
 my mind is full of the bal costume, which is to take place next 
 week." 
 
 The ball was to be given in the palace and the adjoining winter 
 garden. The intendant now informed Irma of his plan, and was 
 delighted to find that she approved of it. At the end of the garden, 
 he intended to erect a large fountain, ornamented with antique 
 groups. In the foreground, he meant to have trees and shrubbery 
 and various kinds of rocks, so that none could approach too 
 closely, and the background was to be a Grecian landscape, 
 painted in the grand style. 
 
 Irma promised to keep his secret. Suddenly, she exclaimed : 
 "We are, all of us, no better than lackeys and kitchen-maids. 
 We are kept busy, stewing, roasting and cooking for weeks, in or- 
 der to prepare a dish that may please their majesties." 
 
 The intendant made no reply. 
 
 "Do you remember," continued Irma, "how, when we were at 
 'he lake, we spoke of the fact that man possessed the advantage 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 213 
 
 of being able to change his dress, and thus to alter his appearance ? 
 While yet a child, masquerading was my greatest delight. The 
 soul wings its flight in callow infancy. A bal costume is, indeed, 
 one of the noblest fruits of culture. The love of coquetry which 
 is innate with all of us, there displays itself undisguised." 
 
 The intendant took his leave ; while walking away, his mind was 
 filled with his old thoughts about Irma. 
 
 "No," said he to himself, "such a woman would be a constant 
 strain, and would require one to be brilliant and intellectual all day 
 long. She would exhaust one," said he, almost aloud. 
 
 No one knew what character Irma intended to appear in, 
 although many supposed that it would be as Victoria, since it was 
 well known that she had stood for the model of the statue that 
 surmounted the arsenal. They were busy conjecturing how she 
 could assume that character, without violating the social proprieties. 
 
 Irma spent much of her time in the atelier and worked assidu- 
 ously. She was unable to escape a feeling of unrest, far greater 
 than that she had experienced years ago, when looking forward to 
 her first ball. She could not reconcile herself to the idea of pre- 
 paring for the fete, so long beforehand, and would like to have had 
 it take place in the very next hour, so that something else might, 
 be taken up at once. The long delay tried her patience. She 
 almost envied those beings to whom the preparation for pleasure 
 affords the greatest part of the enjoyment. Work alone calmed 
 her unrest. She had something to do, and this prevented the 
 thoughts of the festival from engaging her mind during the day. 
 It was only in the evenings that she would recompense herself for 
 the day's work, by giving full swing to her fancy. 
 
 The statue of Victory was still in the atelier and was almost 
 finished. High ladders were placed beside it. The artist was 
 still chiseling at the figure and would, now and then, hurry down 
 to observe the general effect and then hastily mount the ladder 
 again in order to add a touch here or there. Irma scarcely ven- 
 tured to look up at this effigy of herself in Grecian costume 
 transformed and yet herself. The idea of being thus translated 
 into the purest of art's forms filled her with a tremor half joy, 
 half fear. 
 
 It was on a winter afternoon. Irma was working assiduously at 
 a copy of a bust of Theseus, for it was growing dark. 
 
 Near her, stood her preceptor's marble bust of Doctor Gunther. 
 All was silent; not a sound was heard save, now and then, the 
 picking or scratching of the chisel. At that moment, the master 
 descended the ladder and, drawing a deep breath, said : 
 
 " There that will do. One can never finish. I shall not put 
 another stroke to it. I am afraid that retouching would only 
 injure it. It is done." 
 
 In the master's words and manner, struggling effort and calir 
 
aY THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 content seem mingled. He laid the chisel aside. Irma looked .at 
 him earnestly and said : 
 
 " You are a happy man ; but I can imagine that you are still 
 unsatisfied. I do n't believe that even Raphael or Michael Angeio 
 were ever satisfied with the work they had completed. The rem- 
 nant of dissatisfaction which an artist feels at the completion of a 
 work, is the germ of a new creation." 
 
 The master nodded his approval of her words. His e\ r es 
 expressed his thanks. He went to the hydrant and washed his 
 hands. Then he placed himself near Irma and looked at her, 
 while telling her that, in every work, an artist parts with a 
 portion of^his life; that the figure will never again inspire the 
 same ftelihgsMhat it did while in the workshop. Viewed from 
 afar, and serving as an ornament, no regard would be had to the 
 care bestowed upon details. But the artist's great satisfaction 
 in his work is in having pleased himself; and yet no one can 
 accurately determine how, or to what extent, a conscientious 
 working up of details will influence the general effect. 
 
 While the master was speaking, the king was announced. Irma 
 hurriedly spread a damp cloth over her clay model. 
 
 The king entered. He was unattended, and begged Irma not 
 to allow herself to be disturbed in her work. Without looking up, 
 she went on with her modeling. The king was earnest in his 
 praise of the master's work. 
 
 " The grandeur that dwells in this figure will show posterity 
 what our days have beheld. I am proud of such contemporaries." 
 
 Irma felt that the words applied to her as well. Her heart 
 throbbed. The plaster of Paris which stood before her suddenly 
 seemed to gaze at her with a strange expression. 
 
 " I should like to compare the finished work with the first 
 models," said the king to the artist. 
 
 " I regret that the experimental models are in my small atelier. 
 Does Your Majesty wish me to have them brought here ? " 
 
 " If you will be good enough to do so." 
 
 The master left. The king and Irma were alone. With rapid 
 steps, he mounted the ladder and exclaimed, in a tremulous voice : 
 
 " I ascend into heaven I ascend to you. Irma, I kiss you, I 
 kiss your image, and may this kiss forever rest upon those lips, 
 enduring beyond all time. I kiss thee, with the kiss of eternity." 
 He stood aloft and kissed the lips of Jthe statue. Irma could not 
 help looking up, and, just at that moment, a slanting sunbeam fell 
 on the king and on the face of the marble figure, making it glow 
 as if with life. 
 
 Irma felt as if wrapped in a fiery cloud, bearing her away into 
 eternity. 
 
 The king descended and placed himself beside her. His breath- 
 ing was short and quick she did not dare to look up she stood as 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 215 
 
 silent and as immovable as the statue. Then the king embraced 
 nei she lay in his arms and living lips kissed each ether. 
 
 When the artist returned, the king was alone. Inna crossed the 
 street, on her way to the palace, as if dreaming. She felt hersdf 
 borne on wings, and likened herself to Semele whom the ardent 
 kisses of Jupiter had made immortal. 
 
 "The greatest happiness has been mine," said she to herself. 
 " I can easily give^up all else, for the kiss of eternity rests upon my 
 lips." 
 
 The people and the houses seemed like so many shadowy forms, 
 and. she felt as if flying through the air above them. 
 
 It was not until she had gained her apartment and beheld her 
 costume, that she was reminded of the ball that was to take place 
 that very night. Her lips were wreathed in smiles, while her maid 
 attired her in the full, cloud-like, white robe, trimmed with rushes 
 set with diamonds. 
 
 "My lady promised the crown prince's nurse," said the maid, 
 " that she should see her in her ball-dress. Shall I send for her 
 now?" 
 
 Irma nodded assent. All that she heard seemed as if in a 
 dream ; all that she saw, as if in a cloud. She felt it a torture to 
 be obliged to display herself to so many people. She wished to 
 appear to him only. To him who was all .the world to her. 
 
 Walpurga came, and gazed upon her like one entranced. There 
 stood a maiden, so beautiful, so charming, so brilliantly and won- 
 derfully encircled with reeds, and with diamond drops hanging 
 from those reeds and from red coral branches. The girdle was a 
 green serpent, with large glittering diamond eyes that sparkled so 
 that it dazzled one's eyes to look at them. Her long hair was 
 loosened, and fell down over her bare neck. It was held together at 
 the top by a wreath of water-lilies glittering with dew drops, and on 
 her brow was a star which flashed and sparkled, while the face of 
 the beautiful maiden was more radiant than all her jewels. Irma 
 had never before looked so beautiful. She seemed so noble, so far 
 away, as if smiling, from the clouds above, upon mortals below. 
 
 " Dear me ! Why, you 're the Lady of the Lake," exclaimed 
 Walpurga. 
 
 "Ah ! So you recognize me," said Irma, holding out her hand. 
 Her voice sounded strangely. 
 
 Walpurga pressed her hand to her heart. She felt grieved that 
 Irma should assume this character. It was defying God, and 
 would end in evil. But Walpurga said nothing ; she merely folded 
 her hands and moved her lips in silent prayer for Irma. 
 
 "Dear me ! " she exclaimed, after passing her hand across her 
 
 eyes, "dear me, how the people can fix themselves up. Where 
 
 do they get everything from ? How is it possible ? " She walked 
 
 ound and round Irma. " When I tell 'em at home, they '11 never 
 
216 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 believe I Ve seen anything like this. The Lady of the Lake wears 
 an undergarment of sea foam and loose hair just like this. If only 
 mother and Hansei were here." 
 
 Irma made no reply. She walked about the room, and when she 
 saw herself reflected in the great mirrors her own figure seemed 
 like a strange apparition, and the rustling of the reeds bewildered 
 her. 
 
 " I would like to jump into the lake, just as I am, and quench the 
 burning flames," thought she to herself. 
 
 Walpurga seemed dazzled by so much splendor and returned to 
 her apartments. 
 
 " I can easily imagine," she said to herself, "that the people here 
 do n't understand the world, and that the queen herself does n't 
 understand it, either. They make a new world every day, and turn 
 everything upside down and inside out, and disguise and mask 
 themselves. How are they ever to get rest and keep their senses ? 
 The queen 's right ; it 's better that I should go home again. I 'd 
 go crazy here." 
 
 When Walpurga reached her room, she found a letter from home 
 awaiting her. She had been joyfully looking forward to this letter 
 for weeks. She had fancied how delighted her mother and Hansei 
 would be, and how the villagers would come and admire their new 
 clothes, and express their astonishment. She had placed a cheer- 
 ful letter in the breast-pocket of Hansel's jacket, and this was the 
 answer. Stasi had written it, but the mother had dictated ever)' 
 word. It read thus : 
 
 " Oh, child, I 'm sure you meant well enough, but it did n't turn 
 out well. I and Hansei wore the beautiful clothes when we went 
 to church on New Year's day. I did n't want to ; I felt sure some- 
 thing would happen ; but Hansei said we must put them on for the 
 king would think ill of it, if we did n't wear the clothes he sent us, 
 and so, for peace's sake, I went to church with him. But the peo- 
 ple kept looking at us so strangely, and did n't say a word ; and 
 after church, they were standing together in crowds and we could 
 hear them say, while they pointed their fingers at us : ' It 's all 
 very fine. Such things can be got at the capital, but even- one 
 knows how ; not in an honest way, that 's certain. The old fool 
 and that blockhead there are proud of it in the bargain, and show 
 off their new clothes.' Old Zenza was worse than any of them, 
 and people who never listened to her at other times, were quite wil- 
 ling to hear all she had to say, and urged her to go on. 
 
 "Oh, my dear child ! you do n't know how bad people can be. 
 I know that you 're good,' but some people are bad and begrudge 
 one everything, and what they can't take from you they befoul. 
 You meant well enough, I 'm s'ure, but I won't even venture out of 
 the house in my own clothes now. The people are so envious, so 
 cunning and so willing to speak evil. As long as you 're poor you 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 217 
 
 know nothing of it, but now I see it. And dear child, that 's not 
 the worst of it. The worst of all is that they want to fill one's 
 heart with mistrust, but I have none towards you ; I know you 're 
 good. Remain so, and bear in mind, that if your heart is troubled 
 you can't find rest, though you sleep in a golden bed and on pil- 
 lows of silk. It were far better to lie on thorns or in the grave. 
 The innkeeper came and offered to buy the clothes for himself and 
 his wife, but I won't let him have them. And now, dear child, keep 
 honest, and do n't touch a thread or a penny to which any evil 
 clings. I know you would n't do it, but I can't help telling you ; 
 and don't take it so much to heart that people are so bad, and I 
 shan't either." 
 
 Walpurga cried bitterly while she read the letter. "The peas- 
 ants are the worst people in the world," thought she. " Of course, 
 there are bad people among the court folk, but they 're not that 
 bad. Just let one of 'em come again and ask for pardon. I '11 
 send them home again." She felt like asking the king to have a 
 sound thrashing administered to every one of the villagers. She 
 only wished that the king's power could be hers for one short hour, 
 so that she might show these silly, infamous people who really was 
 their master. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 WALPURGA was sitting in her room, weeping with anger. 
 Now and then she would clench her fists and speak her mind 
 to the folks at home, in such a manner that they would have trem- 
 bled with fear, if they could only have heard her. But she soon 
 regained her self-control and repressed all emotion, lest the ex- 
 citement occasioned by the wicked folk at home should injuriously 
 affect the child. 
 
 Meanwhile, there were sounds of music far away in the brightly 
 illuminated and elegant apartments of the palace, and also in the 
 winter garden. There were thousands of lights, a perfect sea of 
 velvets and silks, pearls and diamonds, flowers and wreaths, and 
 smiling, joyous faces ; but the king outshone them all. 
 
 He knew that he was handsome, and took an almost childlike 
 delight in the fact. He was always in a good humor when attired 
 'n becoming uniform. At the great fetes which were given on the 
 rarious regimental anniversaries, he always wore the unifoim of the 
 regiment thus honored. He was best pleased with himself, when 
 in the dress of the hussars, for that displayed his fine figure tc 
 great advantage. On this occasion, he appeared in the fantastic 
 costume of the mythic king Artus, in a golden coat of mail and 
 flowing purple mantle. At his side, was the queen, refined and 
 delicate as a lily, and wearing a light, flowing white veil. 
 
 The king observed the pleased expression of all who beheld him. 
 10 
 
218 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 He was happy, for he knew that their admiration was not flattery, 
 When Irma first saw him and made her obeisance to the royal 
 ceuph, 't required all her self-command, to refrain from sinking on 
 her k -<=cs at his feet. Then she looked up into his face, with a 
 happy, beseeching air. 
 
 She could scarce refrain from' expressing her admiration and de- 
 votion. , 
 
 The queen greeted her cordially, and said : 
 
 " I am sorry, Irma, that you can't see yourself ; you 're enough 
 to make one believe in miracles." 
 
 The king said nothing, but Irma felt his glance resting upon her. 
 She could not conceive how it was that his glances and the 
 queen's words did not destroy her. With an effort to regain her 
 composure, she said : 
 
 " Ah, Your Majesty, I find my costume oppressive. A spirit 
 should stay but a minute and then vanish in a burst of flame." 
 
 "There is a minute which is as eternity." 
 
 Irma had, indeed, felt a conscious pride in her beautiful appear- 
 ance, but now she experienced a higher joy. He who was so tall 
 and handsome, a knight more perfect than fancy could devise, 
 could give the kiss of eternity ; for he alone, was the highest em- 
 bodiment of the idea of royalty. 
 
 Irma scarcely noticed what was going on about her. 
 
 The royal couple passed on, and Irma, in spite of her splendid 
 attire, felt as if deserted and forlorn. The king was no longer 
 near her. In the distance she could still see him, radiant as a god. 
 
 Those who were near Irma, praised her ingenious and poetical 
 costume. She did not hear a word of what was said. The queen 
 sent for her. The king had wished the queen to open the ball 
 with him, but she had declined. He always asked her, as a matter 
 of form, but she never danced. 
 
 She now begged Irma to open the ball in her stead. 
 
 Irma bowed her thanks, but a proud feeling of superiority filled 
 her breast. " You have nothing to give me. It is I who am giving. 
 It is I who am renouncing. He is mine. The priest gave him to 
 you ; nature has given him to me. You are a tender, delicate 
 flower, but we are eagles, who soar into the clouds." 
 
 She could hardly conceive how she could bear it all. Every 
 drop of blood in her veins had turned to fire. 
 
 The quadrille began. 
 
 Irma felt the king's warm breath against her cheek. He pressed 
 her hand, indulged in various pleasantries, and remarked that it was 
 charming to be able to indulge one's fancy in conjuring up a fan- 
 tastic world. Irma felt that both she and the king would have 
 .iked to speak of far different things, and that, indeed, silence was 
 even more eloquent than speech ; but they were obliged to talk, 
 and of indifferent subjects at that. Whenever the king's hand 
 
ON THE JttTGffTS. 219 
 
 touched hers, she felt as if she must suddenly fly aloft with him ; 
 and, whenever he removed it, as if she most sink. They came 
 near throwing the whole quadrille into confusion. 
 
 The queen left the ball at an early hour. The king accompanied 
 her, but soon returned. 
 
 Irma went about the room, but the gay scene seemed like a 
 confused dream. At last she met her brother and his wife, who 
 were richly attired, and greeted them with a pleasant smile. She 
 was for ever asking herself: "Do I still live? where am I ? who 
 am I ? " She had descended through the air, and was floating in a 
 strange world, in which there were only two human beings he 
 and she ; the first, the only human pair. The gods have again 
 descended upon earth, and his kiss is eternity. 
 
 She sat with her brother and his wife, in a bower under a pine 
 tree. Presently, the king approached. In her heart, she rushed 
 forth to embrace him, exclaiming: "Let us die together! Thou 
 art mine and I am thine. We are alone in the world " But 
 all she did was to rise from her seat, and bow tremblingly. The 
 king sat down beside her. 
 
 As if this were the first time he had beheld her, he gazed with 
 delight upon her beautifully shaped head, the curls playing about 
 her throat and descending to her shoulders, and the dimpled neck. 
 She seemed taller than usual. The delicate, oval face ; the broad 
 forehead richly arched as if with too great a wealth of thought ; 
 the finely curved eyebrows ; the brown eyes with their limpid 
 brilliancy, and the swelling lips ; all were in beautiful and harmo- 
 nious proportion. 
 
 "You are beautiful, and I love you," whispered the king. 
 
 ' And you are beautiful and great, and my love for you is with- 
 out limit," answered her heart, although her lips did not utter a 
 sound. She closed her eyes and suffered his glance to rest upon 
 her. 
 
 "Irma!" said the king. "Irma," he repeated, with a choking 
 voice. 
 
 They sat there in silence for some time, and then, drawing a deep 
 breath, the king said : 
 
 " Oh, Irma ! There is one moment which is as eternity there 
 parting is unknown. In the world below, men reckon by hours 
 and minutes, but to those who dwell in the heaven above, the 
 earth is no longer visible." 
 
 Irma looked up. Bruno and his wife had gone. She was alo x 
 with the king. 
 
 She longed to fall on her knees before him, to clasp him in her 
 ardent embrace. With powerful effort, she forced herself to re- 
 member her surroundings. The music, the lights, the gay figures : 
 all was a confused jumble. She opened her lips but could not 
 utter a word. She arose quickly and with trembling step, left the 
 room. 
 
220 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The king- left the ball soon after. 
 
 It was late at night. \Yalpurga, her heart filled with sadness, 
 stood looking out of the window of the room over Irma's apart- 
 ments. 
 
 Light clouds were passing over the sky, now covering the moon, 
 and then again revealing it in all its splendor. The light fell full 
 on the figure of the Venus de Milo, and she seemed to turn her 
 face. 
 
 Walpurga bounded away from the window, and was so fright- 
 ened that she did not venture again to return to the open casement. 
 
 The same ray of moonlight that shone upon the Venus de Milo, 
 rested tremblingly on the lips of the statue which the king had 
 kissed. . . . The gods were astir that moonlight night. . . . 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 WHEN the small circle composed of the select of the court 
 were at tea, the intendant announced it as his intention to 
 celebrate the birthdays of those great minds who had contributed 
 to the elevation of the drama, and said that he meant to begin with 
 the approaching anniversary of Lessing's birth. 
 
 " What play will you give us?" enquired the queen. 
 
 " I should feel highly honored if Your Majesty would decide 
 which it shall be." 
 
 " I ? " asked the queen, looking towards the king, who was sitting 
 opposite to her. Although apparently engaged with an illustrated 
 newspaper, he must have felt that the queen's eye was upon him, 
 for he looked up and said : 
 
 " Yes, please yourself." 
 
 "Then I should like ' Emilia Galotti.' " 
 
 All looked up, for this work, as well as Schiller's " Love and 
 Intrigue " had, during the last reign, been placed on the list of for- 
 bidden plays. 
 
 A pause ensued. It was the king's turn to speak, and what 
 would he say ? 
 
 He remained silent. A moment later, he showed Schnabelsdorf, 
 who was sitting near him, a portrait of a foreign scholar who had 
 recently died, and asked whether it was a good likeness. 
 
 Schnabelsdorf replied affirmatively. 
 
 The king's voice seemed so harsh and strange that the queen 
 felt greatly alarmed. 
 
 At that moment, Baum was about to hand a cup to the queen. 
 She turned quickly, with a frightened look, just as if a cat had 
 sprung upon her shoulders, and, while turning, struck against the 
 proffered cup, which fell to the floor. If a bomb had suddenly 
 burst, it could not have produced greater consternation. Baum 
 picked up the fragments, and felt so terribly unhappy, that he 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 221 
 
 
 
 would gladly have prostrated himself; but it would not do for him 
 to speak or even ask pardon, for that would have been a still more 
 heinous breach of discipline. The queen turned towards him and 
 said : 
 
 " It was my fault, not yours." 
 
 She requested the ladies who had hurriedly left their seats, in 
 order to satisfy their curiosity and rectify the damage that had been 
 clone, to be seated again. The lord steward beckoned Bauni to 
 approach, and whispered him to withdraw and leave the rest to the 
 other servants. 
 
 It required all the queen's power of self-command to preserve 
 the appearance of unconcern which etiquette demanded. Although 
 her brain whirled with contending emotions, she sat erect and 
 smiling, while her eyes followed the servant who was carrying 
 away the broken fragments, just as if he were bearing with him 
 something else which had been shattered forever. 
 
 Baum went out to the landing, and stood by the stair-rail. He 
 felt as if stunned, and was so ashamed of himself that he would 
 gladly have hurled himself down to the floor below. Such a thing 
 had never happened to him before. It would disgrace him for life, 
 and, although the queen had taken the blame upon herself, he 
 would have to suffer for it all the same. He looked at the frag- 
 ments of the cup, and only wished that he, too, had been dashed 
 into pieces. 
 
 Order was speedily restored. Schnabelsdorf, who, in the new 
 ministry, held the position of foreign secretary and temporarily 
 conducted the department of education, proved himself a friend in 
 need. With consummate tact, he succeeded in engaging the com- 
 pany with subjects that interested them, and thus restored their 
 good humor. Taking the play of Emilia Galotti, as an instance, 
 he said that the names which poets had assigned to their dramatis 
 persona would furnish the subject of interesting investigations, or 
 rather hypotheses. It was his opinion that in naming his intriguant 
 Marinelli, Lessing had intended an allusion to Machiavelli, to 
 whose character the last century had not been able to do justice. 
 The vowels were the same in both names ; and the name of Orsina 
 reminded one of a dagger leaping from its sheath. The full round 
 O followed by the sharp I. He continued in this vein, and afforded 
 much interesting information in regard to the names of poetic 
 characters. Lessing had acted wisely, substituting for the name of 
 Melchisedek Boccaccio's Jew that of Nathan, for the very name 
 reminds one of an all-embracing garment. How appropriate are 
 the names which Goethe has given his female characters 
 Gretchen, Clarchen, Dorothea, Natalie. Even Schiller had fre- 
 quently been happy in his choice of names, as, for instance, Franz 
 Mohr Posa hew sonorous are the O and the A. 
 
 Schnabelsdorf 's conversation was both fluent and pleasing 
 
222 CLY THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Ho\v fortunate it is to be so we'l informed, and to be ahlo to impart 
 one's knowledge to others, without troubling one's self i.bout 
 nioocis, broken cups, or ill-humored people looking at illustrated 
 papers. 
 
 As no one seemed inclined to assist Schnabelsdorf. he was 
 obliged to monopolize the conversation. At last Irma took pity 
 on him and carelessly remarked how strange it was, that no proper 
 names were invented in our day, and that all we could do was to 
 borrow, combine, or abbreviate those which already existed. 
 
 This suggested various unsuccessful, but mirth-provoking, at- 
 tempts to invent new names. 
 
 The intendant told them of a peasant whom he knew and who 
 had named the first of his daughters Prima, the second Secunda, 
 the third Tertia, and so on. 
 
 The king scarcely ever looked up from the illustrated papers that 
 lay before him, but the queen was affable and kindly towards all 
 who took part in the conversation. She felt grateful to even- one 
 who spoke, for something nad happened to her which she had 
 really not desired. She was, even now r , as ignorant of the false 
 construction which might be put upon her motive in selecting 
 Emilia Galotti, as she was of having intended to break the cup. 
 It was evident that the king's mind was agitated, for he frequently 
 passed his hand over his brows as if to smooth them, and it was 
 his wont to indulge in this movement whenever he felt it necessary 
 to repress his excitement. His first thought had been : Is she 
 really ignorant that the play has, for many years, been a forbidden 
 one? Perhaps she is, for those who measure life by their own 
 feelings have no sense for historic data. But suddenly a thought 
 occurred to him and he again stroked his eyebrows it is an in- 
 trigue, and she is capable of it. She means to lay a trap a la 
 Hamlet, in order to see what effect the play will have upon us. 
 But no, thought he to himself, in that case, she would be obliged 
 to surprise us, and that 's not her way. But anger and violence 
 and a rebuking conscience struggled within him. His persistent 
 devotion to the illustrated journals made it seem as if, while in the 
 midst of the company, he had withdrawn into a private box. The 
 king had never before, while in his private circle, read so uninter- 
 ruptedly. It had been his wont to look now at this, and now at 
 another picture, and to har.d it to others for notice or comparison. 
 But, on this evening, he read and yet knew not what he read. He 
 would gladly have caught Irma's eye, and felt happy when he 
 neard her expressing herself so unconstrainedly. He admired her, 
 and would gladly have looked round to her, but dared not even 
 smile approval of her words. He had left Schnabelsdorfs re- 
 marks unanswered, and must, therefore, seem not to have heard 
 Irma's. 
 
 The queen arose. All stood up with a sense of relief, for everv 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 223 
 
 one had felt oppressed, although the evening had proven a cheer- 
 ful one. Before withdrawing, the queen made Schnabelsdorf 
 happy by telling him how grateful they ought to feel towards him, 
 since he was always able to introduce such charming subjects of 
 conversation. Then, addressing the intendant, she said in a voice 
 louder than was her wont : 
 
 "If it is any trouble to study Emilia Galotti " 
 
 " Oh, no, Your Majesty." 
 
 " I mean if the time 's too short." 
 
 "There 's ample time," replied the intendant. He had already 
 determined how he would cast the play and intended to try the 
 novel experiment of using the costume of the last century. 
 
 "I think," said the queen, while her voice assumed an expres- 
 sion which was foreign to it, " that you might give us ' Nathan the 
 Wise' or 'Minna von Barnhelm,' if you think they can be pro- 
 duced more effectively." 
 
 " Let it be as it is," exclaimed the king, suddenly. " Let Emilia 
 Galotti be the play, and have the bills read : ' By royal command.' " 
 
 The king offered his arm to the queen and, accompanied by her, 
 withdrew. The rest of the company bowed low and soon after- 
 wards separated for the night. Those who lived without the 
 palace got into their carriages ; the rest retired to their apartments, 
 and, although indifferent and unimportant topics had but recently 
 engaged them, every one was busied with his own thoughts on one 
 and the same subject. 
 
 Irma dismissed her maid as soon as possible ; then, taking up 
 a dust-covered volume of Lessing, she opened and closed the book 
 several times in order to shake off the dust and, at one sitting, read 
 the whole of Emilia Galotti. 
 
 She did not fall asleep until near morning, and, when she awoke, 
 hardly knew where she was. The open book still lay before her ; 
 the lights had gone out of themselves, for she had forgotten to put 
 them out, and the air in her apartment was close and almost stifling. 
 
 At about the same time that Irma awoke, bitter tears were being 
 shed in the theatre. The intendant had assigned Emilia Galotti 
 to a new cast, had taken the role of Emilia from the leading 
 actress, who had looked upon the part as hers in perpetuity, and 
 had given it to a more youthful performer. The role of Claudia 
 had been assigned to the elder actress, who sat weeping behind a 
 side scene, exclaiming : " Pearls mean tears, but tears do not mean 
 pearls." The intendant, although generally kind and amiable, was 
 unrelenting. 
 
 But Baum was far more unhappy than the dissatisfied actress. 
 For she was still permitted to take part in the performance, while 
 he, on account of the mishap with the cup, was no longer allowed 
 to remain near their majesties. He deplored his misfortune to Wal- 
 purga, ?.nd she begged the queen that Baum might again be re- 
 
224 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 stored to favor. On the second evening, the queen enquired if the 
 lackey Baum was ill. He was saved. Full of gratitude, he went 
 to Walpurga and said : 
 
 " I '11 never forget you for this: you 've served me for life." 
 
 " I 'm glad I 've been able, for once, to do you a favor." 
 
 "I '11 repay you some time or other, depend upon it." 
 
 Baum hurriedly withdrew, for Irma entered the room. The 
 king came in socn afterward. He was about to speak French with 
 Irma, but she begged him not to do so, saying: 
 
 " Simplicity is very susceptible." 
 
 "And so-called good-nature," replied the king, "is often full of 
 malice :.nd intrigue. Weakness all at once fancies itself obliged to 
 be very strong." 
 
 " We must be gentle for all that," replied Irma. Although they 
 had spoken German before Walpurga, she had not understood a 
 word of what they said. 
 
 "I admire the power of my spy," said the king, "and confess 
 that I bow to her, in all humility. I would never have believed such 
 greatness possible." 
 
 Irma nodded gently, and replied: "The hero is Hettore Gon- 
 zaga, but the true Emilia Galotti loves him with a power which is 
 worthy of him." 
 
 " And the true Hettore is neither dilettante nor weakling, and 
 needs no Marinelli." 
 
 The relation born of shame and passion, received added strength 
 through the cunning and intriguing opposition of the queen, for the 
 choice of the proscribed play was regarded as part of a well- 
 considered plan. It was like a breath of wind, which, instead of 
 extinguishing the flame, fans it. Deep within their hearts, lurked 
 the self-extenuating plea that the queen was not the pure angel she 
 pretended to be. 
 
 "I am firmly convinced," said the king, "that Hippocrates con- 
 jured the fatal crystal cup into Nausikaa's hand." 
 
 "No, Your Majesty," replied Irma, eagerly, "Hippocrates is a 
 thoroughly noble man ; somewhat of a pedant, indeed, but too 
 good and too wise to do anything like that." 
 
 The king soon left and, after he had gone, Walpurga said : 
 
 " Xow, Countess, you might open every vein in my body and I 
 could n't repeat one word of what you 've been saying. I do n't 
 understand a word of it." 
 
 "Yes, W T alpurga," said Irma, "the king's a very learned man, 
 and we have just been talking about a book which was read yes 
 terday." 
 
 Walpurga was satisfied. 
 
 " I had expected to meet the queen here," said Irma, after 
 awhile, passing her hand over her face, as if to change its expres- 
 sion. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 225 
 
 "The queen isn't coming to-day," replied Walpurga. "She 
 sent word that she isn't very well. At other times, she nevei 
 misses being- here when we bathe the child, and there 's noth- 
 ing more beautiful either, than such a child in its bath, or right 
 after the bath. It 's like a new-born babe, and splashes and 
 shouts and crows. Won't you stop and see it for once ? It 's a 
 real treat." 
 
 Irma declined and soon afterward left the room. 
 
 Silent and alone, the queen lay in her room. Her heart still 
 trembled with fear of the consequences of what she had done ; 
 no, of what had happened without her having really desired it. 
 A dagger had been forced into her hand, as if by invisible fate. 
 She could not, dared not use it ; and yet suspicion filled her soul. 
 Suspicion ! The word suddenly seemed as if she had never heard 
 it before, just as she had in truth never felt what it meant. Purity 
 and innocence no longer exist. Every joyful word, every cheerful 
 expression, every smile is equivocal. Every harmless remark has a 
 new meaning. It were better to die than cherish suspicion. The 
 blessed gift of fancy which enables its possessor faithfully to realize 
 to himself, and sympathize with, the actions and thoughts of 
 others, now became a consuming flame. Spectres appeared before 
 her waking eyes and would not be laid. If the dread truth were 
 only determined. One can take his position against a manifest 
 wrong, but against suspicion there is none. It renders one weak 
 and unsteady ; nothing is fixed ; the very earth under one's feet 
 seems to tremble. 
 
 The queen was not ill. She could easily enough have gone to 
 the apartments of her son ; but she could not have looked into his 
 face and smiled for her heart was filled with a bitter thought 
 against the father. 
 
 She arose quickly, and was about to send for the king. She 
 would tell him all. She wished him to release her from the 
 torment of suspicion. She would believe him. She would only 
 ask him honestly to acknowledge whether he was still true and at 
 one with her. " At heart he 's frank and truthful," said she to her- 
 self, and love for her husband welled up from the depths of her heart. 
 Still, if he has but swerved from himself, he has already been untrue ; 
 and would he acknowledge it ? Can one expect a man to answer 
 on his conscience, when he has already denied that conscience ? 
 And if he were to acknowledge the horrible fact, she would still 
 bear it in silence. Anything was better than this suspicion that 
 poisoned her heart and hardened her soul. Could it be that evil, 
 nay, the mere suspicion of evil, destroys everything that lies within 
 its reach ? 
 
 She sat down again ; she could not ask the king. 
 
 " Be it so," said she at last ; " I must overcome this temptation 
 ind the spirit of truth will lend me strength." 
 10* 
 
226 CLV THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 She thought for a moment of making Gunther her confidant. He 
 
 was h?r fatherly friend. "But no," she exclaimed to herself. "I 
 
 am not wer.k. I will not seek help from others. If I must learn 
 
 the terr:! le truth, I will do it by myself; and if it is a delusion, I 
 
 to conquer it unaided." 
 
 At table and in the social circle, the queen's behavior toward the 
 kin- and Irma was more loving than ever. When she looked at 
 her friend, she felt as if she ought to ask forgiveness for having, 
 even for a moment, thought basely of her ; but when she was alone 
 she felt her soul carried away towards him and her. She longed 
 to know what they were thinking of, what they were doing or say- 
 ing. They were speaking of her, smiling at and ridiculing her. 
 Who knows ? perhaps wishing her dead. 
 
 She, indeed, wished that she were dead. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ** T 'M going to the theatre this evening," said Baum to Wal- 
 1 purga, in the afternoon of the 22d of January. % " They 're 
 going to play a great piece. What a pity you can't go, too." 
 
 " I 've seen enough of masquerading," replied Walpurga. " I 
 shall stay with my child. He 's the only one in the whole court 
 who can't disguise himself." 
 
 Even- seat in the court theatre was occupied long before the be- 
 ginning of the play, and the lively talking among the audience 
 seemed like the roar of the sea. Many wondered at the words on 
 the play bill : 
 
 "/;/ Commemoration of Les sing's Birthday 
 EMILIA GALOTTI 
 
 B Y R O Y A L C O M M A X D." 
 
 They spoke in hints, but understood each other perfectly. Was 
 the performance intended to refute certain rumors? Would the 
 court attend, and who would form the suite? 
 
 Three dull knocks were heard. They were the signal that the 
 court had entered the passage leading from the palace to the thea- 
 tre. Even- eye, every opera glass was directed to the royal box. 
 
 The queen entered, radiant with youthful beauty. The nobles 
 who occupied the first tier arose. She bowed graciously, and then 
 sat down, and attentively read the play-bill that was fastened to 
 the front of the box. The king entered soon after and took the 
 seat beside her. He, too, saluted the nobles who were still stand- 
 ing, and who seated themselves at the same time he did, just as if 
 they were part of himself. 
 
 The king reached back for his lorgnette, which was handed to 
 Urn, and surveyed the audience, while the orchestra played the 
 pverture. Irma's wish was realized. Since the new intendant 
 had come into power, there was music at the beginning of the 
 play and during the entr'actes. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 227 
 
 "Who 's sitting behind the queen ? " 
 
 "Countess von Wildenort." 
 
 She wore a single rose in her brown hair. She was exchanging 
 a few complimentary remarks with Colonel Bronnen, and was smil- 
 ing and showing her pearly teeth. 
 
 A young critic in the pit said to his neighbor : 
 
 " It is surely not without design that Countess Wildenort, like 
 Emilia Galotti, wears only a single rose in her hair." 
 
 There was so much talking during the overture, that those who 
 desired to listen to the music frequently hissed, but without avail ; 
 for it wis not until the curtain rose that the audience became silent. 
 
 It is not until near the end of the first act of the play that there 
 is any occasion for marked applause. The prince's haste and prej- 
 udice are shown in his readiness to sign the death-warrant, while 
 the carriage waits for him. Old privy councilor Rota withdraws 
 the document. 
 
 In order to mark the festal character of the evening's perform- 
 ance, the intendant had selected music by celebrated composers, 
 for the entr'actes. The malicious maintained that this was only 
 done in order to prevent discussion of the play, which had not 
 been performed for many years. If this had really been the inten- 
 tion, the lively conversation, both in the royal box and among the 
 rest of the audience, prevented its success. 
 
 In reply to a remark of the king's, the intendant said : 
 
 " The role of Rota, although insignificant, is quite a graceful 
 one, and, in this, Lessing has proved himself the master. Another 
 advantage is that the part can be played by a veteran." 
 
 The queen looked around in surprise was this mere acting, in- 
 stead of a living, thrilling fact ? 
 
 They went on \vith the play. The scene between Appiani and 
 Marinelli aroused tumultuous applause. The queen never once 
 left her place, although it was her wont between the acts to retire 
 to the salon near her box ; and Irma, as first maid of honor, was 
 obliged to remain in attendance. 
 
 Between the third and fourth acts, the lord steward met Bron- 
 nen in the corridor and said : " If they would only get through 
 with this confounded, democratic play. The sweet rabble down 
 there may become demonstrative." The next act was the fourth, 
 containing the scene between Orsina and Marinelli. The queen 
 held her fan with a convulsive grasp. She saw and heard all that 
 passed on the stage, while, with strained attention, she listened to 
 the quickened breathing of Irma, who stood behind her. She 
 longed to turn round suddenly and look into her face, but did not 
 venture to do so. With one and the same glance, she saw the 
 figures on the stage and Watched her husband's countenance. 
 Her eyes and ears did double service. It was all she could do to 
 control herself. The play went on. Orsina and Odoardo if Irma 
 
228 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 were now to faint What then ? What had she done in having 
 this piece performed ? Orsina hands the dagger to her father, and 
 at last rises into a frenzy of fury. "If we, all of us," she cried, 
 "this whole host of forsaken ones, were transformed into bacchan- 
 tes and furies, with him in our possession, and were tearing him 
 to pieces and rending the flesh from his limbs yea, tearing out 
 his vitals in order to find the heart which the traitor promised to 
 each and yet gave to none ! Ah, what a dance that would be ! 
 That would " 
 
 If Irma should cry out ! The queen clutched the rail of the 
 box with convulsive grasp. She felt as if she, herself, must cry 
 out to the audience. 
 
 But all was as silent as before. 
 
 When the scene was over, the king, addressing Irma, in i care- 
 less tone, said : " Miiller plays excellently, does she not ? " 
 
 " Wonderfully, Your Majesty, although some parts were over- 
 acted. The passage, ' I have nothing to pardon, because I have 
 not been offended,' she gave in too sharp a tone, and her voice 
 seemed unnatural. The sentences of one who had been thus 
 openly humiliated should be more like dagger thrusts ; the words 
 should prepare us for the sharp point of the dagger that follows 
 them/' 
 
 Irma's voice was firm and clear. The queen fanned herself, in 
 order to cool her burning face and prevent herself from betraying 
 her agitation. 
 
 One whose conscience reproved her could not have spoken thus. 
 Her voice must have faltered and the terrible lesson of the play 
 itself must have petrified her, thought the queen, as she turned 
 towards Irma and nodded pleasantly. 
 
 I am stronger than I imagined, thought Irma to herself, smooth- 
 ing her gloves. While she heard Odoardo's words, a mist had 
 arisen before her eyes. If it had been her father and it might 
 have been he. A cry arose from her heart, but did not pass her 
 lips; and now she was quiet and self-composed. The play pro- 
 gressed without interruption, and, when it was over, the audience 
 were not content until they had twice called the Odoardo of the 
 evening before the curtain. The king joined in the applause. 
 
 The court party returned to the palace, and retired to the queen's 
 apartments for tea. 
 
 The queen was cheerful, as if she had just escaped from some 
 danger. For the first time in a long while her bearing was easy 
 and vivacious. A dread load had been lifted from her heart. She 
 was now free and vowed that she would never more think basely 
 of any one ; and, least of all, of her neighbor. 
 
 They were at tea, and the queen* asked her husband: "And 
 bad you also never seen the play before ? " 
 
 "Oh, ye.s. I saw it on my travels; I forget where it was.' 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 229 
 
 Turning towards the intendant, he added: "I think that the 
 costume of the last century was very appropriate. When I saw 
 the play before, it was in modern attire, which seemed quite out of 
 place. In spite of its classic character, the play has a thin crust of 
 powder which one dare not blow away, lest the whole, both scene 
 and action, become unnatural." 
 
 The intendant was delighted. 
 
 " How do you like the piece ? " asked the king of Gunther. 
 
 " Your Majesty, it is one of our classics." 
 
 " You 're not always so orthodox." 
 
 "Nor am I in this case," replied Gunther; "I can safely say 
 that I honor Lessing with all my heart and perhaps, indeed, with 
 undue partiality. But in this play, Lessing had not yet arrived at 
 the repose of freedom. It is the result of noblest melancholy, and 
 might be termed fragmentary and incomplete ; for the account is 
 not closed, and at the end there still remains an unfilled breach. 
 This, however, arises from the fact that a great historical subject 
 taken from the age of the Romans has been transferred to the 
 cabinet and country-seat of a petty Italian prince." 
 
 " How do you mean? " enquired the king. Gunther went on to 
 explain : 
 
 " In this play, there is a pathos of despair which reaches its climax 
 in the final question : 'Is it not enough that princes are men ? 
 Must they also learn that their friends are demons in disguise ? ' 
 One might assume that this discovery was a punishment that 
 would cling to the prince for life. Henceforth, he must become a 
 changed man. But this epigrammatic confession of his own weak- 
 ness and of the baseness of those who environ him, does not seem 
 to me a full expiation. A question, and such as this, at the close of 
 of a drama whose aim should be to leave us reconciled with eternal 
 and unchanging law, can only be explained by the fact that the key- 
 note of the whole play is sarcastic. He whom certain things will 
 not deprive of his reason, has none to lose. The fault of the play 
 Lessing's love of truth would court the boldest investigation the 
 gap, as it were, lay in the fact that Lessing has transferred the act 
 of Virginius from the Roman forum to the modern stage and has 
 given us, instead of the infuriated citizen with knife in hand, the 
 malcontent Colonel Galotti. The act of Virginius was the turning 
 point that led to a great political catastrophe, after which came re- 
 volution and expiation. But in Lessing's play, the deed takes place 
 at the end, and leads to no results. It closes with a question, as it 
 were, or rather with an unresolved dissonance." 
 
 Although this explanation had, at first, been given in a some- 
 what acrimonious tone, it gave great satisfaction. It elevated the 
 subject, and the painful impressions awakened by it, into the cool 
 serene atmosphere of criticism. 
 
 "What struck me. as peculiar, in the play," said Irma, unable to 
 
230 0-Y THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 m 
 
 remain silent, "was that I discovered two marriage stories in it.' 
 
 " Marriage stories ? and two of them ? " 
 
 " Certainly. Emilia is the offspring of an unfortunate, or, to 
 speak plainly, a bad marriage. Odoardo, with his rude virtue, 
 ami Claudia, so yielding, led each other a terrible life and, in the 
 end, parted without scandal. He remained on his estate, while 
 she took the daughter to the city, in order that she might there 
 receive the finishing touches. Emilia was obliged to devote much 
 of her time to the piano. Papa Appiani was, in a moral sense, 
 always on stilts. Madame Claudia was worldly minded and fond 
 of society. The fruit of this marriage was Emilia, and her mar- 
 riage with Appiani would have been just like that of her parents." 
 
 " Cleverly expounded," said the king, arrd, encouraged by his 
 praise, Irma continued : 
 
 "Emilia's grandmother may have said: 'I am unhappy, but I 
 would like my daughter Claudia to be happy with good Odoardo,' 
 who was then but a captain. And in turn, mother Claudia said : 
 ' I am not happy, but my daughter shall be ; ' and, at a later day, 
 Emilia would have said : ' I am not happy, but my daughter, etc., 
 etc.' It 's an everlasting round of misery and resignation. Who 
 is this Mr. Appiani? A splenetic counselor to the embassy, who is 
 out of employ, and merely marries for the sake of the worthy man 
 whom he thus makes his father-in-law, and who, after marriage, 
 would preach to his wife just as Odoardo had done before him, 
 and with just as much effect. Appiani was worth a charge of 
 powder, or even two, as Marinelli thought. Why had he no eye 
 for the toilette of his betrothed ? The very next winter, Emilia 
 would have died of ennui in the country, or, becoming transformed 
 in spirit, would have founded an infant school on her estate. If 
 Emilia could sing, her melodies would have been like those of 
 Mozart's Zerlina. Masetto Appiani felt that he would not suit, 
 and, although he could not tell why, had good reasons for feel- 
 ing so sad before the betrothal. Appiani ought to have married a 
 a widow with seven children. The man's heart was tender by na- 
 ture. Had he quarelled with his wife, he would have said, as he 
 did after his dispute with Marinelli : ' Ah, that did me good. It 
 stirred up my blood and now I feel like a new and better man.' 
 Emilia loves the prince and, therefore, fears him. He who be- 
 comes her husband by virtue of the marriage contract, has never 
 possessed her love. I would have chosen Appiani for a parlia- 
 mentary delegate, but not for a husband. Such a man should 
 either remain unmarried, or else take unto himself a wife who 
 founds soup-kitchens ; not an Emilia, who is enough of a coquette 
 to know what becomes her." 
 
 Irma's cheeks glowed while she thus spoke. She felt as if rid- 
 ing o'er forest and field on a wild courser. She had begun in bit- 
 lerness and, yielding to imagination, she went on boldly and fear- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 231 
 
 lessly. She had lost all fear and felt a conscious pride in her sway 
 over life itself and all that surrounded her. 
 
 The evening which had threatened dire storms had brought re- 
 freshing breezes and a purified atmosphere. 
 
 The queen breathed freely once more, and felt happy in the midst 
 of this circle of good and gifted people. 
 
 Immediately after the play, Baum had hurried to Walpurga and 
 told her : " Oh, what a play we 've had. I wonder they allow them 
 to play anything so free. There 's a prince who Xjust about to 
 marry a princess, and has an old love who 's still good-looking. 
 He wants to get rid of her and, in the meanwhile, tries to procure 
 a new one who is very beautiful and whose marriage is to take 
 place that very day. He has a chamberlain who is his friend, but 
 whom he treats quite roughly if he does n't bring him what he 
 wants on the instant. He treats him as an inferior and calls him 
 a fool one moment, and embraces him the next. So the chamber- 
 lain manages to have the bridegroom shot dead and the bride car- 
 ried away. But, all at once, the old love comes and meets the 
 father of Emilia Galotti and sets him on, and the father stabs his 
 daughter, and she drops down dead." 
 
 "And what becomes of the prince and the chamberlain?" 
 asked Walpurga. 
 
 " I do n't know." 
 
 "Tell me once more," said Walpurga; "what was the bride's 
 name ? " 
 
 " There 's the play bill. It 's all there." 
 
 Walpurga read the bill ; the hand with which she held it trem- 
 bled. There were names which the king and Irma had mentioned 
 that day, when she had not understood a word of what they were 
 saying. 
 
 " And so you Ve had that story performed. Oh you The 
 whole pack of you are I know " 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer's advice stood her in good stead. Wal- 
 purga did not venture to utter the thoughts that filled her mind. 
 
 On the following evening, there was a court concert. The large 
 hall in the main building was crowded with men wearing gay uni- 
 forms and crosses of various orders, and richly dressed ladies. 
 The select court circle were in the hall, and the guests in the 
 adjoining apartments and galleries. 
 
 Those who belonged to the queen's small circle, and who had 
 been together yesterday, greeted each other with a familiar air. 
 They did not keep together to-day. It was their duty to mingle 
 ivith those guests who were less frequently invited. The king was 
 attired in the uniform of the hussars and was in a happy mood. 
 During the pauses, he would walk through the rooms, speaking to 
 this one and that, and would have a pleasant word for every one. 
 The queen looked as if suffering, and it was evident that it cost 
 her an effort to keep up. 
 
232 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 It was Irrna's habit to enter into cheerful conversation with the 
 singers, who were always seated on a raised platform separated 
 from the rest of the room. The malicious asserted that she did 
 this, in order to make a parade of her affability ; but Irma simply 
 believed it her duty to be kind and affable to the artists. 
 
 Doctor Gunther was engaged in conversation with the director 
 of the academy and intendant Schoning. They were discussing 
 designs for paintings to decorate the new' parliament house, which 
 had recently been completed by the king's orders. The artist 
 regretted that there was no accepted symbol of the constitution. 
 The conventional antique female figure holding a sheet of paper, 
 was always cold and unsatisfactory. 
 
 "You re-awaken an old thought," replied the intendant. 
 "What w-e lack is the myth-creating power and, if 'you will allow 
 the expression in this case, the court-directing power. Just as 
 there is a field marshal, so should there be a court director who 
 I mean it seriously should always have precedence in all affairs 
 of importance, and, at court, should always represent the constitu- 
 tion. Believe me, the constitution is not admitted at court. What 
 I mean is, it is not represented and is, therefore, unknown there. 
 Do you not agree with me, privy councilor Gunther? " 
 
 Gunther, rousing himself from a reverie, answered : " There 's 
 no longer any use in trying to find myths and symbols to represent 
 things which have been weighed and measured and of which we 
 have distinct conceptions. It \vould be just as unsuccessful as an 
 attempt to represent the goddess of reason." 
 
 He spoke in an absent manner, for he was constantly watching 
 Irma. She w r as about to return to the company, when he advanced 
 towards her. She said : " Ah, nowadays everything is according 
 to programme. In olden times, the king sent for a bard with his 
 harp, and the old man, with his white beard, sang wondrous songs. 
 But now, nothing less than an orchestra and a dozen singers will 
 do, and one has the musical bill of fare in his hand." 
 
 Gunther did not seem disposed to enter upon the subject, and 
 replied : 
 
 " I 've been thinking seriously about what you said yesterday." 
 
 " I never think about what was said yesterday." 
 
 " But I 'm a pedant and can't help it. You 're right. Emilia 
 would never have been happy with Appiani." 
 
 " I 'm glad that you agree with me." 
 
 "Do you think that Emilia would have been happy with the 
 prince? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And for how long?" 
 
 " That I do n't know." 
 
 " She would soon have been undeceived, for this prince is only a 
 lelfish voluptuary, one who steals sweets in love and in life ; in a 
 

 ON THE HEIGHTS. 233 
 
 word, a dilettante. As long as a dilettante is young, the grace 
 which is inseparable from the vigor and elasticity of youth, lend him 
 what is called an interesting air. But when he becomes older he 
 copies himself, repeats the few phrases which he has heard from oth- 
 ers or has, perhaps, blundered together for himself, and, as if disguis- 
 ing his soul with rouge, affects the possession of youthful enthusiasm. 
 Beneath the surface, all is withered, empty, decayed and fragile. 
 It is not without reason that Lessing depicted Hettore as young 
 and handsome, and on the eve of consummating a lawful marriage. 
 He is ready to make Appiani embassador to his father. Are you 
 not of my opinion ? " asked Gunther at last. He noticed that Irma 
 seemed unwilling to answer. 
 
 " Oh, excuse me," said she ; " I Ve drunk so deeply of the music 
 of to-davtyhat I Ve no memory left for the dry affairs of yesterday." 
 
 She took leave of him with a pleasant smile and disappeared in 
 the throng. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 A LTHOUGH its advent had been preceded by much gaiety and 
 I\ merriment, there were quiet times at court during the carnival 
 season. 
 
 The queen was ill. 
 
 The excitement of the last few weeks had greatly impaired her 
 strength, and it was feared that her life was in danger. 
 
 Irma now spent most of her time in the queen's apartments, 
 and when, at rare intervals, she visited Walpurga, looked pale and 
 worn. 
 
 Walpurga still kept on spinning, and the child thrived amazingly. 
 
 " Oh, how true were our good queen's words ! ' God be praised, 
 my child ! ' said she to the prince, one day, ' that you 're healthy 
 and away from me. You live for yourself, alone.' Yes, she 's 
 looked deep into every one's heart, and I think she 's too good for 
 this world. Mother 's said, a thousand times, that the Lord soon 
 calls those who are always good, and who never get downright 
 angry and furious. Oh, if I could only take my prince home with 
 me ! Spring '11 soon be here. Oh God ! if he were to lose his 
 mother and me too ! " 
 
 Thus did Walpurga express herself to Mademoiselle Kramer, 
 who found it no easy matter to console her. 
 
 Baum so managed it that there was always something for him 
 o do in the crown prince's apartments. He was no longer impor- 
 unate, but simply grateful and obliging, in his attentions to Wal- 
 purga. He was determined to gain her sympathy, for that was 
 worth more to him than aught else. And now when Walpurga 
 confided her trouble to him, he said : 
 
 " Do I wish you well ? " 
 
234 O-V THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Yes, I can't deny that you do," replied Walpurga. 
 
 " Then listen to what I've got to tell you. There's nothing more 
 tiresome, or niggardly, than a good, simple marriage ; that is. what 
 they call a ' good marriage '. What does one get by it ? Wages, 
 a tip, once in a while, from a stranger, or a lew bottles of wine 
 which one can make away with. In Baroness Steigeneck's time, it 
 was quite different, for then the valets de chambre and every one 
 about the place grew rich, and had houses in the town, and owned 
 mortgages and estates. But now, thank God, it '11 soon be differ- 
 ent again." 
 
 " I do n't know what you mean," said Walpurga. 
 
 " I wish I were in your place, only for one hour," replied Baum. 
 " She thinks more of you than she does of any one. It was here 
 that they came to an understanding, and, if you Ve a mind to, you 
 can get all the money you want, and woods and fields and mead- 
 ows besides. All I ask for, is the place of steward at the sum- 
 mer palace." 
 
 And how am I to do all that ? " 
 
 "Oh you " laughed Baum. " Have n't you noticed anything ? 
 Have n't you eyes in your head? If the queen dies, the king will 
 marry your Countess. She's a free countess, and can marry any 
 king; and if the queen doesn't die, it won't matter much anyhow." 
 
 ".I 'd like to box your ears for saying such a thing ; and the next 
 minute you '11 be cringing and bowing to them. How can you 
 say such a thing ? " 
 
 "" But if it 's true ? " 
 
 "But it isn't true." 
 
 " But if it were true, for all ? " 
 
 " It can't be true." 
 
 " But I tell you it is." 
 
 " And even if it were But, forgive me, good Countess ! I 
 don't believe a word of it, it 's only he that says it. If it were 
 true, I 'd rather die than ask for the wages of sin. You 're a good- 
 for-nothing fellow, and if you ever say such a thing again, I '11 tell 
 on you. Take my word for it, I will." 
 
 Baum pretended that it was all a joke. But Walpurga could see 
 no joke in the matter, and he was glad when she, at last, promised 
 to say nothing about it. He remarked that he required no medi- 
 ator arid would manage to look out for himself. 
 
 In Countess Irma's apartment, which was just below that of the 
 crown prince and Walpurga, a scene of quite a different nature 
 was going on. 
 
 Bruno was there, and thus addressed Irma : 
 
 " I 'm in trouble, and I can't help saying that it 's your fault. 
 Mother Sylph has inflicted herself upon me, and is very much 
 'p my way." 
 
 " Whom do you mean ? " 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 235 
 
 41 My mother-in-law has come and has told me with a smile, 
 that as long as my sister sfce, too, might just as well be here." 
 
 Irma covered her face with both her hands. 
 
 "And do you, too, believe it ? " 
 
 "What matters it what I believe? It's the town-talk, and 
 I hat 's enough." 
 
 " It is n't enough ; I shall teach them to talk differently." 
 
 "Very well. Go into every house, to every man and every 
 woman/ and tell them to think differently. But there 's one thing 
 you can do. Shall I tell you what it is ? " 
 
 Irma nodded a silent assent. 
 
 " I know that the intendant sued for your hand last summer. He 
 would feel it an honor to be able to call you his wife. Make up 
 your mind; to accept him." 
 
 A servant entered and announced the intendant. 
 
 "What a strange coincidence ! Make up your mind at once." 
 
 The intendant entered. Bruno greeted him most cordially, and 
 Irma's welcome was a friendly one. 
 
 Bruno soon took his leave. The intendant handed Irma a man- 
 uscript play and requested her to read it and give him her opinion 
 of it. She accepted it with thanks, and laid it on a table. 
 
 " Ah, when spring returns, I shall not care to hear the theatre 
 mentioned. Our theatre is a winter plant." 
 
 " This piece is intended for next winter." 
 
 " I can't tell you how I long for summer. When everything is 
 barren and desolate as at present, one can hardly realize that there 
 ever were sunshine and green trees and sparkling seas. Do you 
 remember the balmy day last summer, when we met on the lake ? " 
 
 " I do, indeed ; very well." 
 
 A long pause ensued. Irma waited for the intendant to speak, 
 but he remained silent. Not a sound was heard but that made by 
 the parrot hopping about in its cage and pecking at the golden 
 wires. 
 
 "I long," said Irma, "to visit my friend Emma next summer. I 
 would like to revel in solitude. This winter has been too noisy and 
 exciting." 
 
 "Yes, and, besides that, the queen's illness." 
 
 The parrot tugged at the golden wires, and Irma slightly loos- 
 ened the red velvet ribbon on her morning dress. t 
 
 " Do you intend to visit the lake again ? " said Irma, trembling. 
 
 " No, dear Countess ; I shall visit the various theatres of Ger- 
 many, in order to engage a second basso and, above all, a young 
 person for the lover's parts. You would hardly believe how scarce 
 youthful lovers have become in the German world." 
 
 Irma laughed heartily, while the blood mounted to her temples. 
 She felt quite faint. 
 
 The servant announced Baroness Steigeneck. 
 
236 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "I 'm not at home," was Irma's hurried reply. "Pray remain 
 a moment longer," said she, addressing- the intendant. 
 
 He remained for some time longer, and referred to the manu- 
 script, mentioning that the passages to be omitted were marked 
 with a red pencil. Irma promised to read the play, thanked him 
 foi the compliment paid her judgment, and conversed in a light 
 and careless tone, until he had left the room. As soon as he 
 had gone, she threw herself on a sofa, where she lay for a long 
 while, weeping bitterly. At last, she looked up, as if bewildered, 
 for she thought she had heard a voice saying : " You meant to * 
 Is there no other course left ? Must one who has swerved from 
 the straight path, necessarily sink into the mire of self-abasement ? " 
 
 Suddenly, she arose, shook her head defiantly and brushed the 
 hair from her face. She ordered her carriage, intending to drive 
 to the sculptor's atelier and resume her work. The servant an- 
 nounced Colonel von Bronnen. "Let him enter," said Irma. A 
 moment later, Irma was apologizing for receiving him in her hat. 
 She was just about to drive out. 
 
 " I can call again, dear Countess, and will only leave the mes- 
 sages I have for you." 
 
 "Messages? " 
 
 "Yes, from your father." 
 
 " From my father ? Where did you meet him ? " 
 
 "At Wildenort." 
 
 "Were you there?" 
 
 "Yes, I had some matters to attend to in the neighborhood, 
 and, without further introduction, called on your father. 1 felt that 
 I had a right to call myself an intimate friend of yours." 
 
 "And how fares it with my father? " 
 
 " As it should with the father of such a daughter." 
 
 "Of such a daughter " 
 
 " Pardon me, dearest Countess. You are in a hurry, and I am 
 still so impressed by your father's great and noble nature, that I 
 would rather we were both calm " 
 
 " I am quite calm now ; pray tell me, have you a message for 
 me ? " 
 
 " I have not. But it seems to me, dear Countess, as if I were 
 just beginning to understand you. O, what a man your father is ! " 
 
 Irma looked up in surprise. She thought of Appiani speaking to 
 Odoardo. 
 
 The Colonel continued, calmly : 
 
 " Dear Countess, I am not an enthusiastic youth ; but, during 
 the short time I was permitted to spend with your father, I felt as 
 if the exalted existence which had once been my ideal had become 
 a real, living fact. Such perfect communings are impossible unless 
 one feels sure that he is looked upon with favor, and I feel that I 
 have had the good fortune to gain your father's good opinion." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 237 
 
 " You fully deserve it. Excuse me, while I lay off my hat. Pray 
 take a seat and tell me more about father." She removed her hat ; 
 her excitement had only added to her beauty. 
 
 She rang for a servant and ordered him to send the carriage 
 away. 
 
 The Colonel seated himself. 
 
 Irma was all attention. "Now tell me all," said she, brushing 
 back her curls. 
 
 -"You, of all others, will understand me, when I say that I 
 passed sublime hours with your father. And yet I can recount 
 nothing definite in regard to them. If, while rambling through the 
 woods, I pluck a spray and fasten it to my hat, what can the spray 
 tell of the rustling of the forest, or of the free mountain air ? It is 
 merely a symbol, both for us and to those we meet, of the joy that 
 pervades our whole being." 
 
 "I understand you," said Irma. They sat opposite each other, 
 and neither of them spoke for some time. 
 
 "Did my father mention my brother?" 
 
 " No. The word ' son ' never passed his lips. Oh, Countess ! 
 the man to whom pure love vouchsafes the happiness of becoming 
 a son " 
 
 Emotion seemed to choke his utterance. Irma trembled ; hei 
 heart beat quickly. Here was a man, noble and highly esteemed, 
 who offered her his heart and hand. Yea, his heart, and she had 
 none to give him in return. She felt a pang that pierced her very 
 soul. 
 
 "I feel happy," said she, "that father, in his solitude, has once 
 more seen that this stirring, bustling court contains some worthy 
 men ; men like yourself, who stand for that which is best in all 
 things. Do not, I beg of you, reject my honest praise. I know that 
 true merit is always modest, because it is never satisfied with it- 
 self." 
 
 "Your father expressed the same thought, in the very same 
 words." 
 
 " I believe he must have taught it to me ; if not in words, at all 
 events by his example. I would have liked to see you and him to- 
 gether. Your presence must have restored his faith in humanity. 
 You are a messenger of goodness, and since you are good, you be- 
 lieve in the virtue of others." 
 
 "Where I have once felt respect and love," replied Bronnen, "I 
 am unchangeable. I should like to write to your father at an early 
 day. I should love, dear Countess, to send him the best of news, 
 and in the best words that language affords. Countess Irma, I 
 long to tell him " 
 
 "My dear friend," interposed Irma, "I am, like my father, of a 
 solitary nature. I thank you. You do not know how greatly your 
 visit and all that you have told me, has benefited me. I thank 
 
238 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 you with all my heart. Let us remain friends. Give me your hand 
 as a pledge. Let us remain friends, just as we have been. I thank 
 you " 
 
 Her voice was choked with tears. 
 
 The Colonel took his leave. Irma was alone. She lay kneeling 
 near the sofa. Her heart was filled with unutterable sorrow. The 
 coxcomb had rejected her. Then came a man worthy of the best 
 of wives. He loved and trusted her, and she had refused him. 
 His kind and honest heart had a right to ask for full, unbounded 
 love. 
 
 She shook off the mingled feeling of distress and mortification. 
 The thought that she had acted honorably, soothed her and seemed 
 like refreshing dew to her whirling brain. But then, again, it 
 galled her when she asked herself: "How far have you sunk, 
 that you are obliged to make a show of simple honesty ? And 
 where lives the girl who, if not bound by love, has a right to 
 reject the man whom you have just refused ? He cannot but es- 
 teem you and your love." 
 
 She knew not how long she lay there. She laughed and wept, 
 lamented and rejoiced. 
 
 Her maid entered. It was time to dress for dinner. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE queen was ill. Her life was saved, but a hope \vas lost. 
 It was on a stormy morning in spring, that Baum, earning a 
 little coffin that contained the corpse of a still-born babe, descended 
 the back stairs of the palace. He walked so softly that he did not 
 hear his own footsteps. He was followed by Madame Leoni, the 
 queen's waiting-woman, who held a white handkerchief to her 
 eyes. At the foot of the stairs, a carriage was in waiting. Baum 
 was obliged to tell the coachman, who was not in court liven", 
 where to drive to. Scarcely any one in' the palace knew of what 
 was going on. 
 
 They drove out of town and towards the church-yard. An un- 
 named child is not placed in the vault, but is buried in the public 
 cemetery. The grave-digger was waiting for them. The little 
 corpse was lowered into the open grave, without a name or sign to 
 mark its place of burial. 
 
 About the same time that Baum and Madame Leoni were out 
 at the churchyard, Walpurga was thus writing home : 
 
 " Thank God ! all 's over. Now I can 
 
 look fonvard to happier days. We 've had a terrible time here. 
 If all goes well, there are only seven Sundays more till I come 
 home again. I can hardly believe it possible that I 've got to go 
 away from here again, ancl yet I '11 thank God a thousand times, 
 tthen I 'm with you once more. If I stay here, I shall grow quite 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 23$ 
 
 stupid from thinking so much. There 's misery everywhere and 
 people take pleasure in each other's wickedness, and, even if it 
 is n't true, they imagine it is and find pleasure in it, besides. 
 
 " There was some talk about our getting a place here, where we 
 could all be comfortable for life ; but the queen said that it would 
 be batter for me to go home, and whatever she says, is right. 
 She 's a true queen, just as a queen ought to be. God has made 
 her so, on purpose. 
 
 " I 'd only like to know why she has to suffer so much. 
 
 '* Oh, what a time we Ve had. Every minute, we thought the 
 queen There 's not another soul like her in the world, and she 
 had so much to bear, and we 're all human after all. But now, 
 thank God, all 's over. The king's doctor says the danger 's over. 
 But, of course, what we hoped for, is gone. I can't tell you how 
 it made me feel, to think that I was so well, and I felt as if I must 
 go to the queen and give up every drop of my blood to save her. 
 
 " Whenever I had a chance, I went down to the church they 
 have their church in the house here and prayed for the queen'. 
 My Countess has never once come to me. They say she looks 
 like a shadow. All the passages here are heated and the whole 
 house is just like one warm room, and the people in the palace 
 would pass each other, without taking notice of any one. 
 
 " On the evening that the queen thought she was going to die, 
 she sent for me and the child. She did n't say much, but her 
 eyes told it all. 
 
 " And now, Hansei, keep yourself ready ; you must come for me. 
 Next time I write, I '11 tell you the very day when you 're to come. 
 
 " I feel as if I could n't wait ; and yet it makes my heart ache to 
 think that I must leave my prince, for he loves me so. But I can't 
 help it. I 've got a child, a husband and a mother of my own, at 
 home, and am tired of being in service and among strangers. 
 
 " Does the storm rage so terribly with you ? Oh, how the wind 
 blows. If it would only bear me home. Last night it blew clown 
 a tree in front of my window. It was a fine, large tree, and fell 
 on a figure which it broke to pieces. Every one said it was very 
 beautiful, but I could n't see any beauty in such a thing. It 
 seemed ever. so impudent as it stood there, and was enough to 
 make one blush. I could see the tree and the figure from my 
 window, and people are already there, putting things to rights, and 
 carrying all that 's damaged out of the way. 
 
 " They 're very quick about such things here, whether it be a 
 tree, a marble figure, or a dead child. 
 
 " Forgive me for writing such a mixed-up letter. When I get 
 home again, I can never tell you all that I Ve gone through here, 
 if I live to be a hundred years old. 
 
 " And when you come, dear Hansei, just put on the clothes that 
 the king sent, and one of the fine shirts that I made for you when 
 
2 4 o ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 we were married. They 're in the blue closet on the upper shelf 
 on the left-hand side with the red ribbon. Forgive me for writing 
 all this to you, but you 've had to take care of yourself almost a 
 year, and I have n't been able to help you, or get your things for 
 you. Now that will all come right again. I feel as if I were at 
 home already, pulling your shirt collar straight, as we go to church 
 of a Sunday morning. I feel as if it was some one else who had 
 gone through all this, and as if the days were a high mountain 
 that one can never cross. But all will be right again, and we '11 
 be merry and happy together, for, thank God, we 've sound limbs, 
 and true hearts. Forgive me, all of you, if I 've ever said a single 
 word to offend you. 
 
 " If I had you here, dear Hansei, I 'd put my arms round your 
 neck and kiss you to my heart's content. You and the child and 
 mother are all the world to me. I 'm just beginning to feel how 
 much I love you all, and I can't understand how I could stay away 
 from you so long, without dying of grief and homesickness. 
 " Do n't forget to bring a> large chest with you for they 've given 
 me ever so many things. 
 
 " And bring me something out of our garden ; one of my pinks, 
 and also one of the child's shoes. But I '11 tell you more plainly 
 about this, in my next letter. 
 
 " I can't fall into the ways of the court folk. I 'm told that they 
 can't touch or dress their own dead. They have it all done by 
 strangers, who are paid for it. 
 
 ' I 've been spinning rlax this winter, for shirts for my prince. 
 They were all pleased with it, and came to my room to look on 
 and seemed as much astonished as if it were something wonderful. 
 
 " I like to think of working in the fields again, it makes one 
 much healthier. But do n't worry, for nothing ails me, except that 
 I am terribly homesick. 
 
 "And now farewell ; a thousand times farewell ! 
 "Your 
 
 " WALPURGA AXDERMATTEN." 
 
 While Walpurga, with slow and heavy hand, toiled at her letter, 
 Countess Irma sat at her desk, in the room below, and dashed off 
 the following lines : 
 
 " J/x Dearest Emma : What a night I 've passed I must be 
 endowed with herculean strength, or I should not have lived 
 thrcugh it. I have looked into the fiery eyes of the glaring mon- 
 sters who dwell above and below our daily life and who suddenly, 
 and without warning, burst upon us. You must suffer me to return 
 to you, to write to you once more. I do n't know how long it is 
 since I 've done so. You are my fortress, my rock, my shelter. 
 You are firm, immovable, steadfast, patient. When in distress, I 
 come to you. I flee to you. 
 
 "It was a terrible night. The tree still stands, but a young 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 241 
 
 blossom was broken off. I came from the queen's apartment ; I 
 could not pray, but stood by the window, and thought, while I 
 looked out into the night : Thou who renewest everything, who 
 awakenest the earth from its wintry sleep, breathing new life into 
 trees and flowers and all that faded and withered last year suffer 
 a human heart to renew itself; let past deeds be destroyed and 
 forgotten. Suffer a child of man, regenerate and redeemed, to 
 begin life anew. I stood at the casement, while the wind howled 
 without. Suddenly there was a fearful crash. A tall oak before 
 my window had been broken by the angry wind. The tree top- 
 pled and, in its fall, dashed a statue of Venus, which stood beneath 
 it, into fragments. It all seemed like a feverish dream, and when I 
 realized what had happened, my only wish was : O that I had been 
 in the statue's place ! O that I had been dashed to atoms It 
 would have been far better for me. 
 
 " I hardly know what to tell you. I only know that I may again 
 be with you perhaps to-day, to-morrow, at night or in the day- 
 time, I shall fall on my knees to you and you will lift me up. I 
 shall rest on your heart, and you will protect me. You will save 
 me from the demons ; you will not question me ; you will give food 
 and drink and rest to-the stranger soul, and will not ask whence it 
 comes. 
 
 " What are we ? What is the world ? We see and know all, 
 and yet 
 
 " How ingenious the devices with which the world lulls its con- 
 science into slumber If there were only no awakening ! The 
 awakening the morrow that is the most terrible thought of all. 
 
 " An eternal kiss rests upon a statue at the arsenal, and the stars, 
 the moon and the sun look down upon it. If I could but climb 
 up there, hurl myself to the earth and destroy myself the world 
 everything ! 
 
 " Should you hear the bells tolling loudly, know that it is my 
 funeral. If there be a gentle knock at your door, think that it is a 
 poor soul that was once so rich might still be aye, is. Who 
 can restore a human being to himself? Who draws him out of 
 the lake out of the lake 
 
 " Why is it that the lake is constantly before my eyes ? I see 
 myself in it I sink ! Help me ! Save me, Emma ! Help me, I 
 sink ! " 
 
 Irma suddenly uttered a loud shriek. The maid hurried into the 
 room. Her mistress had fainted and lay on the floor. 
 
 When she revived, she asked what had happened to her. Doctor 
 Gunther sat at her bedside and said : 
 
 " You Ve been writing ; here is the letter. I took charge of it, 
 
 as I supposed it was this that had so excited you. I read the first 
 
 six lines. I was obliged to, but I assure you, on my honor, that I 
 
 did not read a word more. I took charge of the letter, so that no 
 
 ii 
 
242 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 other eye should see it. And now, keep yourself quiet ; here it 
 is." 
 
 Irma sat up and read the letter. Then she looked at the Doctor 
 earnestly, and said : 
 
 " I believe you." 
 
 She called for a light and consigned the letter to the flames. 
 
 " Will you promise me one thing ? " 
 
 "What is it? " 
 
 "That you will give me poison, if I lose my mind." 
 
 "You are playing with extremes," replied the physician, "and 
 lhat can't be done with impunity." 
 
 After a long pause, Gunther said : 
 
 "Above all things, you must control yourself, and must not 
 imagine that these wild, wandering thoughts are your true self. I 
 thought that you would take my advice, but I was mistaken. You 
 are your best, your only, physician ; force yourself to rest and let 
 calm and happy thoughts alone engage you." 
 
 Irma rested her head on her hand. Her eyes glowed with fever- 
 ish fire. She closed them, but suddenly arose and, seizing her 
 loosened hair with both hands, exclaimed : 
 
 " I will have my hair cut off." 
 
 "That is another of your wild thoughts," said Gunther, calming 
 her, and taking her hand in his. " You always wish to accomplish 
 your desires by violent methods. You must acquire repose." 
 
 "Yes, life is a slow and gradual growth, and death, yes, death 
 in life, takes but a moment," said Irma, with a w r ild and vacant 
 stare. 
 
 " And now go to sleep, and you will soon be well again," said Gun- 
 ther. He was about to leave, but Irma detained him, and en- 
 quired : 
 
 " How is your wife your family ? " 
 
 "Thank you," said he. "They are calm and resigned. 1 ' 
 
 Irma was about to beg that Gunther's wife might visit her, but 
 could not force herself to do so. Gunther left. He, himself, 
 thought that if Irma would frankly open her mind to his wife, the 
 good sense of the latter would gradually help the distracted one. 
 But he knew that his wife would not visit Irma. With all her kind- 
 ness of heart, she had no mercy for arrogance, and Irma, in her 
 prosperous days, had neglected to revisit the house in which she 
 had received so hearty a welcome. Ever since Irma had again left 
 her father and returned to court, its doors were closed to her. 
 Irma, moreover, was regarded as having promoted the revival of 
 the convents and the appointment of the reactionary ecclesiastical 
 ministry of which Schnabelsdorf was premier. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 243 
 
 , CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 WALPURGA'S thoughts were of home, and she tried to pic- 
 ture to herself how it would be when her letter arrived there. 
 But she had been away so long that she found it difficult to do so. 
 The letter had arrived at dusk, and Hansei, who was out in the 
 backyard, chopping wood, was called in. He hurriedly lit the 
 lamp, and Stasi read the letter to them. The grandmother wept, 
 and the child on her lap moved about restlessly, as if it felt that the 
 words it heard were its mother's. Nor could they help noticing 
 that it had twice pulled the letter out of Stasi's hand, arid that, in 
 order to finish reading it, she had been obliged to move her seat. 
 The child had, nevertheless, remained restless as before. At last, 
 the grandmother dried her tears and said : " Thank God, that I 
 have such a child. I do n't mean you," said she to her grand- 
 daughter, " I mean your mother. You may be glad if you turn 
 out as good as she is." Hansei listened with mouth agape, and 
 smiled all over his face when they came to the passage about Wal- 
 purga's embracing him. 
 
 When she had finished the letter, Stasi said : 
 
 " It 's a sad letter for all ; but she '11 be so much the happier 
 when she gets home again. I 'm only sorry that I shan't meet her 
 when she does come." 
 
 Stasi was to be married on the following Sunday, to a forest- 
 keeper who lived near the frontier, on the other side of the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 Hansei took the letter again and was about to go away. 
 
 " Leave the letter here," whispered the mother to him. " That 's 
 not the sort of a letter to read aloud at the Chamois. There are 
 things in it which only man and wife ought to tell each other when 
 they 're alone." 
 
 "Yes, you're right," said Hansei. "Here's the letter." He 
 was, nevertheless, sorry that the folks would not be able to see 
 what a pretty letter his wife could write, and how much she loved 
 him, and how good she was, and that none in the whole village 
 deserved to be spoken to by her, for his Walpurga was the pride 
 of his life. 
 
 "Yes, grandmother," said he, while he stood in the doorway, 
 " thank God, the longest time 's over. I can hardly understand 
 how we managed to live without each other so long, or how it '11 
 be when she sits in this low room again. But that '11 be all right, 
 and there are other houses besides this." 
 
 Hansei spoke these last words quite rapidly. He wanted his 
 mother-in-law to understand that he was about to purchase a 
 house. It was proper that she should know of it, but there was 
 no need of her interference, lest she should rule him. The inn- 
 keeper 'vas quite in the right. 
 
244 O-V THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Hansei could hardly wait until he was again with his privy 
 counselor, and this privy counselor was, of course, the innkeeper. 
 He looked up at the house and the trees, as if to say: "Just keep 
 still, and do n't be afraid. She '11 come back again in good time, 
 and she still thinks of you all. She knows many a thing, and 
 would make a better queen than many another woman, and coul .1 
 reign better than the strongest man " When Hansei arrived in 
 front of the inn, he waited for a little while, in order to get his 
 breath, and compose himself. It is no light matter to have such 
 an extraordinary wife ; one is very apt to be thrown into the back- 
 ground and to be less thought of. He was proud of his wife, but 
 he was the husband, nevertheless. He went into the inn quietly, 
 and sat down to a schoppen of wine, as calmly as if nothing had 
 happened. 
 
 " That 's the way a man should be," thought he to himself, while 
 he took a comfortable draught. " It won't do to tell the world 
 everything. Keep things to yourself. That makes the master ; and 
 that 's what the women can't do." 
 
 Hansei patted Dachsel and Wachsel, the landlord's two dogs, 
 who seemed to be fond of him, for they knew their master's fa- 
 vorites. 
 
 " Is it long since you 've heard from your queen ? " asked the 
 host, casually. 
 
 " Xo. Only to-day." 
 
 "What does she say? " 
 
 "All sorts of things," said Hansei, discreetly, adding, in a care- 
 less manner, " I want to ask your advice about something pres- 
 ently." 
 
 The other guests looked up in surprise, to find Hansei the 
 woodcutter addressing the innkeeper in this familiar tone, and 
 were none the less astonished that the latter did not object. 
 
 " If you 've got more paper money, it would be quite convenient," 
 replied the innkeeper. 
 
 " I 've none this time, but I want to talk to you about another 
 matter." 
 
 The host went into the back room, sent his wife out to wait on 
 the guests, and exclaimed : "Come in, Hansei." A secret council 
 was held in the back room. 
 
 Hansei told him that his wife would return in seven weeks from 
 yesterday, that she had written to him to come for her, and that, 
 while he knew how to carry himself in the world 
 
 "Yes, that you do," said the host, "it was only yesterday that 
 the chief forester he was sitting in the very seat you 're in, now 
 said : 'That Hansei 's a sharp fellow '." 
 
 Hansei smiled his thanks for the compliment. " But I want to 
 ask you about something." 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 245 
 
 " Look here. You 're so much how shall I say it ? so much 
 readier with your mouth, and more mannerly than I am, and if I 
 have to go to the capital and stand up before the king and queen 
 and all the grand gentlemen, why why why, look here, when- 
 ever I think of it, even now, it chokes me, and my opinion is that 
 you 'd better go along as my mouthpiece and say everything pro- 
 perly. One does n't have such a chance more than once in a life- 
 time, and it won't do to forget anything." 
 
 "That 's a clever thought of yours," said the innkeeper. 
 
 " You shan't do it for nothing and the journey shan't cost you a 
 groschen." 
 
 " No, I can't go with you. At court, it won't do to say : ' This 
 is my child's godfather, my comrade, and he 's to come in, too, 
 and speak for me.' The one who has the audience is the only one 
 who 's allowed to speak. If you want to have a little fun, and your 
 wife 's agreed, I might go as Walpurga's husband that would do." 
 
 "No," cried Hansei, "I won't do any such thing, and my wife 
 would n't, either. That won't do at all." 
 
 "Well, my dear fellow, all that remains is to go and speak for 
 yourself." 
 
 Hansei was sad. He felt as if thrust out of doors. He had not 
 been brought up and schooled for such things as talking to the 
 king and queen and their courtiers, and was afraid of what he might 
 do to them if they were to laugh at and ridicule him, for he 
 would n't stand that. He would allow no one to make sport of 
 him, in his wife's presence, for he was the husband and she only 
 the wife. 
 
 " Do n't be so faint-hearted a man like you " said the inkeeper, 
 consolingly, while Hansei rubbed his forehead as if to make another 
 head out of his own. "Just pretend I was the king. What would 
 you say? " 
 
 "You speak first." 
 
 "All right." The innkeeper placed himself in position, put his 
 hand in- the breast of his coat, balanced himself on one foot, threw 
 his head back, and said gravely : 
 
 " Ah, and so you 're the husband of ah, what 's her name of 
 Walpurga? " 
 
 "Yes, she 's my wife." 
 
 " Have you been a soldier ? " 
 
 " No, by your leave." 
 
 "You needn't say 'by your leave,' but you must add Youi 
 Majesty,' and always as short as possible. The high folk never 
 have any time to spare ; they 're always in a hurry and everything 
 is counted out to the very minute. But what 's the use of worry- 
 ing ourselves already ? We 'd better settle our little business 
 no\v. You buy my house and fields. I '11 let you have them 
 :beap, and then when the king asks how it goes with you, you car 
 
246 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 answer : 'Your Majesty, it would go very well with me ; but I still 
 owe three thousand florins on my house and farm and they trouble 
 me greatly.' And when you say that, you '11 see trmt the king will 
 give you the three thousand florins at once. But if you did n't 
 owe it, you could n't say it. I know you. You 're an honest fellow 
 and can't tell a lie, and you know you might just as well say four 
 thousand, or five thousand it 's all the same and you '11 have 
 some money over to build with. But there 's no need of that, and 
 so you can lay in a stock of wine instead." 
 
 " Yes, yes, you 're right, but I think we '11 make it a sham sale, for 
 I ought n't do it without my wife's consent. The money really 
 comes from her, and I do n't even know whether she 's willing to 
 have the inn. We '11 just make it a sham sale, and, if the king 
 gives me the money and my wife 's agreed, it '11 be all right." 
 
 The host had, before that, flattered Hansei on account of his 
 cleverness, but now, when there was real occasion for his doing so, 
 held his peace. After a pause, he said : " While the clever fellow 
 makes up his mind, the fool has time to make up his. I '11 think 
 about it." 
 
 They returned to the inn-parlor. Hansei felt ill at ease and soon 
 went home. On the way, old Zenza greeted him. He made be- 
 lieve that he neither saw nor heard her, and hurried on. How glad 
 he was that he had not become wicked, and how would he have 
 felt now, if he had allowed himself to be tempted. Nothing would 
 have been left him but to drown himself in the lake before Wal- 
 purga's return. 
 
 When he reached home, he said to himself: "I can still enter 
 here with a good conscience and, God be praised, I can bid her 
 welcome with a good conscience." After he got into bed, he kept 
 on repeating the words : "God be praised," to himself, until he at 
 last fell asleep. When he awoke, the first thing he said was: 
 "Good morning, Walpurga." He addressed his words to the 
 empty air, but he felt as if she must hear him, as if she were at 
 home already, for she had sent so good a messenger in advance. 
 The letter was like a postilion playing welcome melodies. Hansei 
 lay there dreaming, with his eyes wide open, until late in the day. 
 But the day was both a good and an evil one. He had promised 
 his comrades to go out hunting with them. All at once, it oc- 
 curred to him that it was time to give up such sport. He would 
 gladly have remained at home, but feared the talk of the innkeeper 
 and, though the hills were far away, he felt as if he could distinctly 
 hear the innkeeper telling his comrades: "Ha! Ha! His wife's 
 coming home, and she 's the master, and Hansei will have to lie 
 down as she bids him." He fancied that he heard his laughing 
 comrades walking about in the woods and calling out: "Lie 
 down, Hansei ; lie down," as if he were a dog. 
 
 An advocate at the provincial court, for Hansei now had such 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 247 
 
 distinguished companions was also with the hunting- party, and 
 would laugh and jeer more than any of them. And then, to add 
 to the fun, the innkeeper would tell a fine story about the letter. 
 Thank God, he had n't had a chance to read it. That would have 
 been too bad. If I only had n't mentioned it ; but I 'm too stupid 
 and can't keep a thing to myself. If the innkeeper knew nothing 
 of the letter, I could turn back without feeling ashamed and with- 
 out minding their jeers. But my mind 's made up. I shan't go 
 with them again. I used to get along by myself, and I will again, 
 when she comes back. We '11 need no one, then. Hansei was 
 busy thinking, that morning. He looked back upon how he had 
 been living all this time. He felt so homesick about his wife at 
 first, that he could not remain in the house and was unable to eat, 
 drink, sleep, or work. So he went to the inn, where they wished 
 him joy because his wife had brought him such good luck, and 
 this had pleased him ; and when others stopped talking about it, 
 he would renew the subject ; and the innkeeper would take him 
 along to fairs, target-shootings and pleasure-parties. One could 
 not help but admit it was all very pleasant and entertaining, and 
 the folks would say : " There goes Hansei, whose wife is the crown 
 prince's nurse." Wherever he went they showed him great re- 
 spect, and it 's very pleasant to be received with respect wherever 
 you go. Before allowing him to sit down, the hostess would 
 always wipe off the chair with her apron, and considered it a 
 pleasure to do so. At last, a happy thought occurred to him, and 
 he still held fast to it. He would be the very man to keep an inn, 
 and his wife would be the best hostess from one end of the land 
 to the other. She would know how to talk to the people ; and, 
 after all, what is there pleasanter in the world than keeping an inn ? 
 
 Hansei was so long in getting up, that the grandmother came to 
 the door and asked : " Is anything the matter? Are you sick? " 
 
 "Oh no, God forbid. I 'm coming directly," replied Hansei. 
 He soon came and, in a kindly tone, said : " Good morning. Is 
 the child hearty? " 
 
 " Yes. All 's well, thank God," said the grandmother. She 
 was always the same, whether Hansei was rude and taciturn, or 
 talkative and confidential. 
 
 During her daughter's absence, she had never interfered with 
 him but once, and then she had said : "You 're the husband and 
 the father, and should know what to do, and what to let alone." 
 She knew very well that if she attempted to induce Hansei to give 
 up his free life and his comrades, he would be less likely to do so, 
 if it were only to avoid the appearance of being ruled by the old 
 woman. 
 
 " Will you be at home at noon, or are you going across the 
 field ? " 
 
 " I '11 stay at home," said he, " I want to split wood. We '11 
 
248 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 clear up things and make it look tidy about the house, by the time 
 she returns." 
 
 The grandmother nodded a pleased assent. Hansei would 
 gladly have said more, but he always thought that another ought 
 to speak first, and so he sat there, stuffing potato after potato into 
 his mouth, just as if every one were an answer he had received. 
 With every potato that he pared, he thought of the clever things 
 he would say to the king. He felt that the latter could not escape 
 him. Six thousand florins could be counted on ; and of five thou- 
 sand he felt quite sure. 
 
 "If the king gives us a good farm on a royal estate, or any other 
 appointment, we '11 move away from here," said Hansei aloud. 
 He thought that the grandmother must know that he would gladly 
 break loose from his comrades and begin a changed life, elsewhere. 
 
 " Yes, yes," was all that the grandmother said. 
 
 " I think we must soon write an answer, and I '11 write to her, 
 too. She seems so very sad." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; do so. I must go to the child." 
 
 In promising to write to his wife, Hansei had imposed a difficult 
 task upon himself. He would have liked to write kind, consoling, 
 hearty words ; to have cautioned her not to worry so much 
 about the few weeks that still remained, and thus, perhaps, lose 
 sight of what advantages might present themselves. Now was 
 the time to be in good spirits, for pay-day was fast approaching. 
 He had all these thoughts in his head, and she would respect him 
 for the manly advice he was about to offer. But to get these ideas 
 out of his head and on paper, was a difficult task. 
 
 Consoling himself with the words : " There 's no need of my 
 writing. I '11 see her soon, and can tell her everything far better," 
 he gave up the attempt. 
 
 While the grandmother went into the room in which the child 
 lay, Hansei remained sitting at the table and emptied the whole 
 dish of potatoes, while he was, in imagination, explaining to the 
 king how well he understood forest matters. When the last potato 
 was eaten, he went out, took axe, mallet and wedge and, with 
 mighty strokes, split the stump* which had been piled up along 
 the road in front of the garden. He had just taken off his coat, 
 for, in spite of the keen spring breeze, he did n't feel cold, when a 
 voice said : "Ah, you 're still here." The innkeeper stood behind 
 him with his rifle slung over his shoulder and accompanied by his 
 two dogs, Dachsel and Wachsel. "You must have overslept 
 yourself, just as I did. If we take the road through the valley and 
 the ravine, we can still catch up with our comrades. Come, hurry 
 ind dress yourself, and get your gun." 
 
 As if this were a command which he must obey, Hansei carried 
 axe, mallet and wedge into the house, dressed himself, took his 
 gun and said to the grandmother: "I think I '11 go along, after 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 249 
 
 all." He would have liked to say: "I shall only go this once, so 
 that they do n't think that I stay at home on account of my wife's 
 letter," but he held his peace. It isn't necessary to tell every- 
 thing", and those to whom you do tell all, have a right to interfere 
 in ail. I want to arrange everything myself, and she must respect 
 me for doing it. 
 
 Hansei accompanied the innkeeper to the hunt. He was in a 
 good humor and more cheerful than ever. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 " How was it once ? How will it be ? " 
 I prithee, darling, ask not me. 
 Our life's the Present hold it fast, 
 And let each hour in joy be passed. 
 
 Lift up thine eyes, so bright and clear ; 
 To search my heart, thou need'st not fear. 
 Come, let us gather Flora's sweets, 
 Ere wintry storm around us beats. 
 
 THUS sang Irma, with clear, ringing voice. Nature was again 
 decked in beauteous array. The sharp winds of early spring 
 were still blowing, and the sunlight was often suddenly obscured 
 by floating snow-clouds. But the grass had begun to grow in the 
 meadows, and here and there spring flowers were blooming. 
 
 Irma had recovered, after a few days. The bulletins respecting 
 the queen's health had ceased, and Gunther, who had lived in the 
 palace for weeks, now returned to his own house. 
 
 The queen, who was now permitted to leave her apartment, 
 spent much of her time in the winter-garden, where the last fete 
 had been celebrated. The trees and flowers were again in their 
 wonted places ; the fountains plashed, the fish swam about in the 
 marble basin, and the birds twittered in their great cages. Walpurga 
 and the prince were allowed to remain with the queen for hours at 
 a time. All vied with each other in offering her delicate attentions 
 which were inspired by something more than a mere sense of what 
 was due her rank. Irma had shown so much devotion to the 
 queen that the latter felt like begging her pardon. She often had 
 the words upon her lips, but could not utter them. Friendship 
 suffers from mere suspicion, and the queen well knew that she was 
 looked upon as weak-minded and vacillating. She determined 
 that she would be thus no longer. She felt that the great mark\\ 
 of a strong character is to prevent the world from knowing every \\ 
 chang'e and phase of thought and feeling, and to give it naught |A 
 but results. 
 
 No one should ever know what had so troubled her heart. She 
 ttoulc 1 be strong. 
 
 She kept Irma about her much of the time, and the hours they 
 
 jj 
 
250 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 spent in the green, flowering, winter-garden, reading, working, 
 conversing cr singing, were serene antl blissful. 
 
 Irma, who was an excellent reader, read Goethe's Tasso to 
 them. It accorded with their present mood, and one day, Irma 
 said : 
 
 " Your Majesty resembles Princess Leonora in many things. 
 You have the advantage, however, of being able to accomplish in 
 < few weeks what, in her case, it required years to bring about." 
 
 " I do n't understand you." 
 
 "What I mean is, that long confinement to the sick-room and 
 careful nursing are apt to produce, in the invalid, a certain sensi- 
 tiveness and an almost imperceptible change in manner. It is 
 well to escape from this hot-house mood into the open air ; to be 
 once again among the trees which are proof against all weathers, 
 and to inhale the fresh, life-giving breeze." 
 
 The king was often present during these readings, and frequently 
 felt moved to express his thoughts on the weightiest and most 
 beautiful passages in Tasso. Irma often trembled. Ever}' word 
 she uttered seemed wicked. She felt that she no longer had a 
 right to speak of pure and holy subjects, but the king was so 
 cheerful and unconstrained that she speedily dismissed all concern. 
 
 "You are spoiling me, and will make me quite vain," said the 
 queen, one day. " I have another wish. I long to go from 
 flowers to works of art. I often feel like visiting the picture-gallery 
 and the collection of antiques. When we move among the achieve- 
 ments of art, the deepest impression we receive is, that human 
 beings who lived long ago, have bequeathed their best possessions 
 to us, and that eyes long since closed in death, look down upon us 
 with their undying glances, and are still with us." 
 
 At the words "undying glances," the^dng and Irma looked at 
 each other with involuntary surprise. To them, the words were 
 suggestive. Irma composed herself and replied : 
 
 " I cannot help joining in Your Majesty's wash : from flowers 
 and trees to works of art ! Surrounded by pictures and statues, 
 the soul dwells in an ideal atmosphere; life everlasting environs 
 us ; we inhale the very breath of genius which, although its pos- 
 sessors may have vanished from earth, endures for ever. When I 
 was forced to the conclusion that I was without real artistic talent, 
 I envied the monarchs to whom is vouchsafed the happiness of 
 encouraging talent and genius in others. That is a great compen- 
 sation." 
 
 " How beautifully she interprets everything," said the queen, 
 addressing her husband ; and it was with a mingled expression of 
 delight and pain that the king regarded the two ladies. What was 
 passing in his mind? He admired and loved Irma; he respected 
 and loved his wife. He was untrue to both. 
 
 Irma and the queen went through the galleries and the collection 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 251 
 
 of antiques, and would sit for hours, looking at the pictures and 
 statues. Every remark of the queen's was met by an observation 
 of Irma's, which was in full accord with hers. 
 
 "When I look at and listen to you two," said the king, "and 
 think of where you resemble each other and where you differ, it 
 seems as if I saw the daughters of Schiller and Goethe before me." 
 
 " How singular !" interposed the queen, and the king continued : 
 
 "Goethe saw the world through brown, and Schiller through 
 blue eyes ; and so it is with you two. You look through blue 
 eyes, like Schiller's, and our friend through brown eyes, like those 
 of Goethe's." 
 
 " It won't do to let any one know that we flatter each other so," 
 said the queen, smiling. Irma looked up to the ceiling, vhere 
 painted angels were hovering in the air. There is a world of in- 
 finite space where no one can supplant another ; it is only in the 
 everyday world that exclusiveness exists, thought she to herself. 
 
 The more the queen gained in strength, the more marked was 
 the change from a subdued, to a bright and cheerful vein. 
 
 It seemed as if Irma's wish was about to be realized. .The life- 
 renewing power of spring which reanimates the trees and the plants, 
 seemed to extend its influence over human life. It seemed as if 
 the past were buried and forgotten. 
 
 It was on the first mild day of spring, and they were walking to- 
 gether in the palace-garden, when the queen said : 
 
 " I can't imagine that there ever was a time when we did not 
 know each other, dear Irma." She stopped and looked into Irma's 
 eyes with an expression radiant with joy. " You once told me 
 about a Greek philosopher," said she, addressing Doctor Gunther, 
 who was walking after them with the captain of the palace-guard, 
 "who thought that our souls had a previous existence, and that 
 our best experience, in this world, is merely the recollection of what 
 we have experienced or imagined to ourselves in some earlier state 
 of being." 
 
 "Without accepting this fanciful theory," replied Gunther, 
 " there is much in life which may be regarded as destiny. I believe 
 that all living truths which we take up into ourselves, and which 
 thus, as it were, become a part of our being, were intended for us. 
 Our mind, the whole constitution of our being, is destined for and 
 attuned to it. There is thus perfect correspondence between our 
 destiny and our capacity. But I beg Your Majesty to regard your- 
 self as destined, at present, to step into your carriage. We must 
 not let the first walk be too long." 
 
 The queen and Irma seated themselves in the carriage which 
 awaited them at the Nymph's Grove. They drove on slowly, and 
 the queen sale : 
 
 " You cannot imagine, dear Irma, how timid and fearful I was 
 .vhen I first came here." She told her how she had looked into 
 
252 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 the eyes of the multitude that surrounded her, and had asked 
 herself: " Who of all these does, in truth, belong to you ? " and how 
 encouraged she had felt when Irma spoke to her, as it were, with 
 her warm, brown eyes. 
 
 "And they were speaking to you," replied Irma. "I should 
 have liked to say to you : ' Sweet being ! imagine that we have 
 known each other for years and feel just as if we had been friends 
 forever.' I fancy that we both felt thus because we were both 
 timid and fearful. It was the first time I had ever been at court, 
 and I felt as if I could n't help taking the lord steward's staff out of 
 his hand, and supporting myself on it." 
 
 " How strange ! I had the very same thought," said the queen, 
 "and, now that I think of it, I can still recollect that the lord 
 steward looked at me incessantly." 
 
 The affection of the two ladies was cemented by a hundred 
 little memories. The carriage drove on slowly, but their thoughts 
 took in days and months. There was a turn in the road ; they had 
 just reached the place where the statue had been shattered. 
 
 " It was a terrible night," said the queen, "when that happened, 
 and it seems to me that simple-minded Walpurga is right when 
 she says that it is wrong for us thus to expose the undraped human 
 figure." 
 
 " I must be permitted to differ with Your Majesty," replied Irma. 
 "The free why should we mince words? the nude, beautiful 
 human form is the only one in accord with free nature. All frip- 
 pery is subject to changes of taste and fashion. The human form 
 as shaped by the hand of nature, is alone fitted to stand in her 
 temple." 
 
 " You are a free soul ; far freer than I am," said the queen. 
 They alighted. Irma accompanied the queen to her apartments 
 and then returned to her own. When she found herself alone, 
 she threw up her hands, exclaiming : 
 
 "What is the greatest punishment? It is not hell, where other 
 guilty ones suffer with us ! No ; to be conscious of guilt and yet 
 condemned to remain beside a pure and happy creature ; that is far 
 worse than all the torments of hell ! " 
 
 " God keep you, Irma ! God keep you ! " shrieked the parrot. 
 Inn a started with a shudder. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 SPRING returned, ushered in by the merry singing of larks and 
 finches, and bringing with it the latest' Paris fashions. The 
 queen now appeared in public, and the ladies of the capital were 
 delighted to pattern their costumes after hers. 
 
 The queen drove out, with Irma beside her, and Walpurga and 
 the prince opposite. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 253 
 
 "You must not worry when you 're at home again," said the 
 queen to Walpurga. 
 
 Addressing the queen in French, Irma said, with a smile : 
 "Countess Brinkenstein would disapprove of your manifesting any 
 interest in the future fortunes of one whose term of service is at an 
 end." 
 
 With a degree of boldness that surprised her two well-wishers,' 
 Walpurga said : "There '11 be one advantage at any rate, for, at 
 home, they won't treat me as if I were deaf and dumb." 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 " Why, they would n't, while I was about, say things that I can't 
 understand." 
 
 Irma endeavored to pacify her, but without avail. Walpurga's 
 longing for home had made her exacting and dissatisfied. She 
 felt ill at ease everywhere, and felt sure that the very people who 
 had done so much to humor and spoil her would soon get along 
 without her. * 
 
 There was another and a deeper cause for her feeling annoyed 
 when Irma spoke French. A youthful-looking nurse from one of 
 the French cantons of Switzerland had become a member of the 
 prince's household. She could not understand a word of German, 
 and that had been the principal reason for engaging her. The 
 prince was to speak French before he acquired any other language. 
 
 Walpurga and the new-comer were, as regarded each other, like 
 two mutes. Nor was she othenvise favorably disposed towards 
 the tall, handsome girl with the French cap.' She was, indeed, 
 quite jealous of her. What has the foreigner to do with the child ? 
 She was, at times, angry at the child itself. 
 
 " You '11 soon parlez vous so that I shan't be able to understand 
 a word," she would say, when alone with him, and would feel 
 quite angry ; and, the very next minute, she would exclaim : "God 
 forgive me ! How well it is that I '11 soon be home again. I can 
 count the days on my fingers." 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer now told Walpurga that a chamber * had 
 been prepared for the crown prince. 
 
 " He has rooms enough already," said Walpurga. 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer was again obliged to undertake the diffi- 
 cult task of explaining the court custom, in such matters, to Wal- 
 purga, who made her go over the various names again and again, 
 bhe would always begin thus: "The crown prince will have an 
 &yah 
 
 " Ayah ? what sort of a word 's that ? what does that mean ? " 
 
 " It means the prince's waiting-maid. And when his royal high- 
 ness becomes four years old, he will have a new set of officers ; 
 
 * Kammer meaning here the chamberlain and other officers composing the house- 
 hold. 
 
254 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 and so on. .is he grows older, only the new set will always be of 
 higher rank than those who precede them." 
 
 " Yes. I can easily understand it," thought Walpurga; "new 
 people and new palaces, constant change ; how lucky that your 
 ryes and your limbs are fast to you ; if it was n't for that, they 'd 
 be getting you new ones every year or two." 
 
 Walpurga felt reassured when she learned that Frau von Ger- 
 loff, a lady of noble birth and, hitherto, first waiting-woman to the 
 queen, had been appointed as ayah to the prince. Walpurga had 
 known her for a long while and said to her : 
 
 "If any one had asked me who should take charge of the prince, 
 you 'd have been my first choice. This is only another proof of the 
 queen's wisdom and her kind heart. She gives up her dearest 
 friend for the sake of her son." 
 
 Walpurga deemed it necessary to give Frau von Gerloff various 
 directions as to the management of the prince. The good lady 
 listened to her patiently. When Walpurga next saw the queen, 
 she felt it necessary to express her satisfaction with the arrange- 
 ments which had been made. 
 
 " You 'd have done very well." said she to Madame Leoni, the 
 queen's second waitingmaid ; " but our good queen can't afford to 
 part with both hands at once." 
 
 Madame Leoni smiled her thanks, although she really felt morti- 
 fied and thought that she had been slighted because of her being 
 a commoner. But the first law of court life is : "Take offense at 
 nothing." 
 
 The slumbering infant-prince had no idea of the jealous feelings 
 which already played about his cradle. 
 
 By degrees, Walpurga got her effects ready and, when pack- 
 ing up certain articles, she would say: "No one would dream 
 that heart's blood is clinging to you." 
 
 Doctor Gunther had given orders that Walpurga should often 
 leave the prince for awhile, in order that he might gradually grow 
 accustomed to her absence. 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer, who, during the first few days accom- 
 panied her on her walks, found the occupation a difficult one, for 
 Walpurga wanted to stop at ever}* shop window, and whenever 
 she saw men or women whose costume resembled that worn at 
 her home, wanted to go up to them and enquire whence they 
 had come, and whether they knew her husband, her child and 
 her mother. Mademoiselle Kramer soon wearied of the office 
 of guide, and would sometimes allow Walpurga to go out alone, 
 on which occasions she would entrust her with her watch, so 
 that she might return at the proper time. Walpurga's great 
 delight was to watch the soldiers parading at guard-mounting, and 
 her route generally led her beyond the city gates. She would walk 
 along the highway that led to her home. This comforted her 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 255 
 
 and she would often think of how she had felt when coming to the 
 palace by that very road. It seemed to her as if ages had passed 
 since then, and it was not without an effort, at times, that she in- 
 duced herself to retrace her steps. She would often stand there 
 listening, and imagining that she could hear her child's voice borne 
 on the breeze. Which child ? Her heart was divided and she 
 hurried back to the prince. It was well he rested so quietly in t ! ie 
 arms of the Frenchwoman. Walpurga, however, was vexed at 
 Ibis circumstance, and laughed triumphantly when he wanted to 
 be taken by her as soon as he noticed her. 
 
 "Yes, you're a true soul," said she. "When men are good, 
 they 're a great deal better than women. Your other father, my 
 Hansel, is very good, too, and he 's coming, day after to-morrow, 
 and you '11 shake hands with him when he comes, so." 
 
 Walpurga observed that the ayah was almost beside herself at 
 this mode of treating the child, and that it cost Mademoiselle 
 Kramer an effort to prevent her from putting a veto upon it ; but 
 this only made Walpurga the more wanton in her mad pranks with 
 the prince. 
 
 " Now do n't forget," said she, "that I gave you myself to feast 
 upon. The others only give you what comes from the kitchen. 
 We two are one, and day after to-morrow my Hansei will come, 
 and then I '11 go home, and when you 're a big boy you must come 
 and see me ; and if it 's in cherry time, I '11 give you the best cherries. 
 And my Hansei will go hunting with you and will carry your gun 
 lor you, and you '11 shoot a great big stag and a roe, and a cham- 
 ois, and we '11 roast them. I '11 stick a nosegay on your hat, and 
 then we '11 row over the lake together, and I '11 give you a kiss, and 
 then I '11 bid you good-bye." 
 
 The child laughed heartily, while Walpurga looked into his eyes 
 and spoke to him thus. Then it laid its little head on her cheek, 
 and Walpurga cried out : 
 
 " Mademoiselle Kramer ! Mademoiselle Kramer ! he knows 
 how to kiss already ; he 's kissing me now. Yes, you 're the right 
 sort of a man and a king's son to boot ; they always begin betimes." 
 
 It seemed as if she wanted to make known all the love she had 
 for the child during the few days that yet remained to her at the 
 palace, and she did this both from affection and spite, for she 
 desired to show the Frenchwoman how very much she and the 
 ch Id loved one another. He would never grow to love the foreigner 
 as much as he loved Walpurga, and then she would sing : 
 
 Standing by yon willow tree, 
 Scarcely weeping, thou dost see 
 My bark put off from shore. 
 
 As long as willows grow, 
 As long as waters ll\v, 
 Thou 'It see me nevermore. 
 
2$6 aV THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 While she sang, the boy crowed and laughed, and Walpurga 
 protested to Mademoiselle Kramer, that she would wager her head 
 he understood everything already. 
 
 "And besides," said she, with an angry- glance at the French- 
 woman, " the language that little children speak is the same all the 
 world over. Is n't it so ? The French do n't come into the world 
 speaking gibberish." Then she would sing and dance about, and 
 kiss the child again. It seemed as if she must repress all her sad- 
 ness, and, in one outburst, give vent to all her joy. 
 
 "You excite the child too much; you will do it harm," said 
 Mademoiselle Kramer, endeavoring to quiet her. 
 
 " That won't harm him ; he 's got the right stuff in him. No 
 Frenchwoman can spoil him." 
 
 Walpurga was in a restless and contradictory mood. She had 
 long known that the tie would be broken, and had often wished 
 and hoped for that end. But now when the moment of separation 
 approached, all painful memories vanished. She felt that she could 
 never again live alone. She would always miss something, even 
 the trouble and excitement; and, besides, everything had always 
 come all right again. She felt hurt, moreover, that the others 
 seemed so indifferent about her leaving them. And the child 
 why had n't it sense enough to speak and say : " Father and mother, 
 you must n't do this ; you must n't take my Walpurga away" ? 
 
 But now others controlled the child. What would they do with 
 him ? Why should she no longer be allowed to interfere, and to 
 say things should be thus and so ? She had nursed him from the 
 first day of his life, and they had been together day and night. 
 And how would the days and nights be when they were no longer 
 together ? 
 
 When Walpurga had finished her supper, she held up the empty 
 dish to the child and, with a bitter tone, said : 
 
 " Do you see this ? I 'm of no more use now than this empty 
 platter." 
 
 Nor did she care to sleep. She felt that she could not lose a 
 minute of the time that was yet left her with the child. Although 
 she did at times, drop asleep, she would wake up in a fright ; for, 
 in her dream, she had heard children crying one far off by the 
 lake, and another beside her and had thought she was standing 
 between them, and that she must divide herself: must ue there 
 and here. And then, too, she had heard the cow bellowing, and 
 pulling at the rope, just as it had when fastened to the garden 
 hedge. Walpurga saw it all, quite distinctly; and the cow had 
 such large eyes, and she could feel its warm breath against her 
 face. Then she would wake up and rub her eyes and all would be 
 quiet again, and she would know that it was a dream. 
 
 It was the day before her departure. Walpurga bitterly regretted 
 that she had not told Hansei to come sooner. He might have 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 257 
 
 remained there a day, and she would then have had some one ta 
 stretch out his hand in welcome, while now she could only offej 
 hers in farewell. 
 
 She walked the streets and looked up into the blue sky the 
 same blue sky that rested over her home. She went through tht 
 little street in which Doctor Gunther lived. She read the name on 
 the door-plate .and walked in. A servant conducted her into the 
 Doctor's ante-room, where many patients were waiting to see him. 
 Walpurga gave her name to the servant. All looked at her in 
 astonishment. She was asked to come in without waiting for her 
 turn, and said that she had only come to say good-bye. Gun- 
 ther told her to go into the garden and wait there for him until his 
 office hours were over. She did so. Madame Gunther was sitting 
 on the steps that led into the garden. She called the peasant 
 woman to her, and when she learned who she was, told her she 
 might wait there. Walpurga sat clown. Madame Gunther went 
 on with her work and did not speak a word. She had a decided 
 prejudice against the nurse. Her husband had often told her of 
 Walpurga's peculiarities, and Madame Gunther had concluded that 
 they were full of coquetry, and that she was trying to make a show 
 of her simplicity. Walpurga's appearance only confirmed her in 
 this opinion. 
 
 "You are going home again, are n't you?" asked Madame 
 Gunther, at last ; for she did not wish to be uncivil. 
 
 Walpurga told her how happy she would be at home again. 
 
 Madame Gunther looked up. She was one of those persons who 
 are rendered truly happy when freed from a prejudice. Entering 
 into conversation with Walpurga, she soon found that the nurse 
 had been led to exaggerate certain traits of her strong nature, 
 but that it was just this strength of character that had prevented 
 her from losing herself in the new scenes through which she had 
 passed. 
 
 Madame Gunther now urged her to keep a stout heart and to 
 avoid making herself unhappy by comparing her home with what 
 she had left behind her in the palace. 
 
 " How is it that you know all about it ? " asked Walpurga ; 
 ' have you ever been among strangers ? " 
 
 " I can put myself in your place," said Madame Gunther with a 
 smile. She was rapidly winning her way to Walpurga's heart. 
 
 She asked her into the room ; and, when Gunther came down, 
 he found Walpurga on the steps, with his fatherless little grand- 
 hild on her lap. 
 
 " And now you know my wife, too," said Gunther. 
 
 " Yes ; but too late." 
 
 Gunther also advised Walpurga to keep up her spirits after she 
 got home, and, as he, too, was a native of the Highlands, he gave 
 her a merry desc ription of what her welcome would be. 
 
258 aV THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Gunther said he would see her once more, at the palace, and hit 
 wife eihook hands with her, saying : 
 
 " May you be happy at home." 
 
 " I mean to send your mother a present," said the Doctor. 
 " Tell her to try and think of the young student who danced with 
 her at the Kirchweih* many years ago, when she was betrothed 
 to your father. I '11 send you six bottles of wine to-day. Tell her 
 to drink them in remembrance of me, but not to take too much at 
 a time." 
 
 " I thank you for my mother, and I feel already as if I had been 
 drinking the best of wine," said Walpurga. "My Countess Irma 
 was right, for she always said Madame Gunther would be a lady 
 after my own- heart, and now all that I can wish you is, that, to the 
 end of your days, you may be as happy as you 've made me." 
 
 No notice was taken of her allusion to Irma. Encouraged and 
 strengthened, Walpurga returned to the palace. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 'T^HE queen came to Walpurga that evening and said : " I shall 
 1 not say farewell to you. Do n't let us speak of parting. I 
 only wish to thank you with all my heart, for the love you 've shown 
 me and my child." 
 
 " Oh, queen ! how can you thank me ? I '11 tell no one on earth 
 that the queen has thanked me," cried Walpurga. " But it 's only 
 because you 're so kind and want to make parting easy to me. 
 Believe me, I 'd gladly give even- drop of blood in my veins for 
 you and our child. O, good God ! our child I dare n't say that 
 any longer. I must go ; but when I get home, I '11 have my 
 own child again." 
 
 "Yes, Walpurga; that is what I was about to tell you. The 
 greatest happiness on earth is to be at home, and, by this time, you 
 must have seen that it is all one, whether that home be a palace or 
 a cottage." 
 
 " You 're right there ; you can't get more than your fill of eating 
 and sleeping, anywhere. My Hansei '11 be here to-morrow morn- 
 ing. May I bring him to the queen and to the king, and to the 
 good ladies and gentlemen of the court, so that he may thank 
 them, too ? " 
 
 " Never mind that, Walpurga. There 's no need of it. Indeed, 
 Doctor Gunther forbade my taking leave of you ; but I may, lor 
 all that, say good-bye to you again, to-morrow. Believe me, I 
 feel very sorry to part with you." 
 
 "If the queen wishes it, I '11 remain, and my husband and my 
 whole brood can come, too." 
 
 *Church festival 
 
ON THE HEIGi 
 
 "No, you had better gc home again. If 1 ever get into your 
 neighborhood, I will pay you a visit. I shall not fail to tell my 5013 
 how kind you 've been to him. He shall never forget you." 
 
 Walpurga had put the child in the cradle and cried out : 
 
 "Just look! he's talking. We grown-up folks don't under- 
 stand what the children say, but he understands us." Walpurga 
 now joyfully related that the prince had kissed her ; and tried to 
 persuade him to give his mother a kiss, but he would not. 
 
 "I shall leave something good for you behind me," said Wal- 
 purga to the queen. " I 've found something that '11 be good for 
 you." Her face glowed with pleasure, and the queen asked : 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
 "I 've found a friend, one of the best of friends, for you. Ma- 
 dame Gunther can speak right to one's heart ; just as you do, but 
 in a different way. I think you ought to visit her right often. It 
 would do you good if you could, once in a while, spend an hour in 
 a good neighbor's house. You 'd always feel much better after it." 
 
 Walpurga eagerly told how delightful it was to visit one's neigh- 
 bors. The queen smiled at Walpurga's ignorance of the condi- 
 tions of court life, and explained to her that she could only have 
 intercourse with those who visited the palace. Walpurga was very 
 sorry that she could not bring about a meeting of the two ladies. 
 
 The queen retired. 
 
 " Now she 's gone," said Walpurga. " I Ve said nothing at all ; 
 and I feel as if I had ever so much to say to her." She felt as if 
 she ought not to leave the queen as if she were her only true 
 friend, a faithful companion who, if others were to menace her queen 
 with harm, would hasten to her aid. 
 
 She thought of the time the queen had kissed her. How much 
 they had experienced together since that time ? Could it be pos- 
 sible that it was scarcely a year ago ? 
 
 Cowering beside the cradle, she was silent for a long while. At 
 last she softly sang : 
 
 My heart doth bear a burden, 
 And thou hast placed it there ; 
 And I would wager e'en my life 
 That none doth heavier bear. 
 
 Her voice trembled with emotion. The child slept. She got up 
 and told Mademoiselle Kramer that she intended to take leave of 
 all in the palace. Mademoiselle Kramer dissuaded her from doing 
 this. So Walpurga only went in search of Countess Irma, but did 
 not find her, as she had gone to a party at her brother's house. 
 Walpurga told 'he maid that she intended to leave early the next 
 morning and that she would be very sorry if she did not have a 
 chance to say good-bye. Meanwhile, she took leave of the maid, 
 and recommended her to take great care of the good Countess so 
 
260 aY THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 that she might always keep well. Walpurga held out her hand to 
 the maid, but was obliged to draw it back again, for the latter had 
 both hands in the pockets of her silk apron, and, as if mocking 
 Walpurga, merely curtsied to her. 
 
 "The higher people are, the better they are," said Walpurga, 
 when she got back to her room. "The queen's the highest ard 
 best of them all." 
 
 Walpurga was sent for by Countess Brinkenstein, who was 
 standing in the same place and in the same position as when she 
 had received the nurse, nearly a year ago. She had seen this rigid 
 lady almost every day. In all that time she had not become more 
 familiar, but had treated Walpurga with unvarying kindness. It 
 now seemed as if her disposition, or perhaps her office, required 
 her to dismiss Walpurga in a formal manner. 
 
 " You have behaved well," said Countess Brinkenstein, with a 
 kindly motion of the hand ; " their majesties are satisfied with you. 
 And now, farewell ; and keep yourself good." 
 
 She did not rise, nor offer her hand to Walpurga. She merely 
 nodded in token of farewell, and Walpurga left. 
 
 Although this mode of dismissal was by no means over-gentle 
 or courteous, it, nevertheless, afforded Walpurga great satisfaction. 
 She felt as if she had received a sort of honorable discharge. 
 Although Couniess Brinkenstein had ruled with almost military 
 severity, she ha4l always been the same and could always be relied 
 upon. And this consistency was not without its due influence on 
 Walpurga. 's mind. 
 
 In Walpurga's room, stood two large chests, filled to the very 
 top and locked. She had received many presents during the year, 
 and enough money to buy a moderate sized farm. She would sit 
 down, now on one and now on the other chest, and when she at 
 last lay down to rest, she still cast a wistful eye on her treasures. 
 Like wandering spirits, her thoughts roved through the apartments 
 of the palace, and then to her cottage at home, through the garden 
 and over the mountains, until she was suddenly awakened by the 
 crying of the child. She was obliged to ask herself whether it was 
 he'r own, or a strange child. She speedily quieted the prince, but 
 remained beside his cradle. "Sleep shan't steal another minute 
 of the time that 's left us," said she, softly. 
 
 Day dawned. Walpurga nursed the child for the last time. A 
 tear dropped on its head ; it looked up at her and then fell asleep, 
 resting against her heart. She whispered softly into its little left 
 hand, which she held to her lips. 
 
 She put the child in the cradle again, fixed one more sad look 
 upon it, then, with her back turned, walked around the cradle 
 thrice, and, at last, said to Mademoiselle Kramer. 
 
 "I 'm going now ; it 's time." 
 
 The servants came and carried the chests away. Walpurga was 
 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 261 
 
 in so forgiving- a mood, that she even took leave of the French- 
 woman. She did not look back towards the cradle, but went down 
 stairs, and ordered the boxes to be carried to an inn near the pal- 
 ace, where she had asked Hansel to meet her. She thought he 
 would surely be on hand by that time, for she had told him the 
 very hour when he could meet her. But Hansel was not there. 
 
 Although it was early in the day, there was life and bustle at the 
 inn, which was frequented by the court servants. There was loud 
 carousing, and some liveried servants were inveighing against their 
 masters who, at Count Wildenort's soiree of the previous night, 
 had kept them waiting in the porter's lodge, and the coachman on 
 the box, for nearly three hours. It was said that Count Wildenort 
 had obtained royal permission to set up a roulette table, that there 
 had been high play and that the king had also been there, but not 
 the queen. 
 
 Walpurga sat behind the screen, with the hostess, and was 
 seated on the largest of the chests. She went to the front of the 
 house to look for Hansei, but he did not come. Baum brought 
 her a message that she was to go to Countess Irma, but not until 
 nine o'clock. Walpurga wandered about town as if lost. " How 
 the people run past each other," thought she ; " no one knows who 
 the other is, and has n't time to ask." At that hour of the day, 
 round hats are not seen on the streets. None but the cap-wearing 
 population is now represented. Baker's men and butcher's boys 
 whistling merrily while at their work, are serving bread and meat. 
 Servant maids stand at the street corners waiting while milk is 
 measured out to them, and market women from the country hurry 
 to their posts, with baskets and hand barrows. 
 
 " It '11 be just the same to-morrow again, and you '11 be gone. 
 Indeed, it do n't concern you to-day," said Walpurga to herself, 
 while she looked on at their busy doings. Just then a large book- 
 seller's shop was opened, and her picture hung in the window. 
 What did it matter to her? No one concerned himself about her 
 feelings. 
 
 " To-morrow the picture will still be hanging there ; it '11 be all 
 the same, whether you 're here or not. I believe it 's all the same, 
 whether you 're in fhe world or out of it," added Walpurga, as a 
 hearse went by and no one cared to enquire whom they were bury- 
 ing. Every one went his own way. 
 
 With heavy heart, Walpurga walked on, feeling as if something 
 were drawing her back to the palace and to the child. She went 
 on until she reached the gate by which Hansei must come. But 
 still he c^ame not. 
 
 " If he does n't come at all if the child at home is ill if it is 
 dead ! " Walpurga was almost frightened to death with thoughts 
 of what might be. She seated herself on a bench near the gate. 
 Horsemen were galloping past, and a blind invalid soldier was 
 playing a merry waltz on his organ. 
 
262 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 A clock struck nine, and Walpurga walked through the town. 
 At the palace gate she found Hansei, and his first words were : 
 
 "God greet you, Walpurga; you 're here at last. Where have 
 you been running to ? I 've been looking for you, the last two 
 hours." 
 
 "Come in here," said Walpurga, leading Hansei into a covered 
 way. " They do n't speak so loud here." 
 
 It turned out that, in her last letter, Walpurga had told Harst.i 
 to come to the palace, and not to the inn. She begged him to for- 
 give her, for she had been so confused while writing, and then she 
 said : " Now let me give you a good kiss of welcome. Thank 
 God, all are well. I need lots of love and kindness." 
 
 She asked him to wait at the door of Irma's apartment, while she 
 went in. Irma was still in bed, but, as soon as she heard Wal- 
 purga's voice, asked her to enter. The Countess looked lovely 
 in deshabille, but she was quite pale, and her loosened hair lay in 
 wild profusion on the pillow. 
 
 " I wanted to give you something to remember me by," said 
 Irma, raising herself, " but I thought the best thing I could give 
 you would be money. Take what's lying there. Take it all; I 
 want none of it. Take it ; do n't be afraid, it 's real gold, won in 
 honest play. I always win always Take out your handker- 
 chief and wrap the money up in it." 
 
 Irma's voice was hoarse. The room was so dimly lighted that 
 Walpurga looked about in fear, as if she were in some enchanted 
 apartment ; and yet she knew the maid, the tables, the chairs, and 
 could hear the screaming of the parrot in the next room. She 
 knew all tfr.s, but she could not help thinking that there might be 
 something wrong about the money. She hurriedly made the sign 
 of the cross over it, and then put it in her pocket. 
 
 "And now, farewell," said Irma; " may you be happy; a thou- 
 sand times happy. You are happier than all of us. When I do n't 
 know where to go to in this world, I shall come to you. You '11 re- 
 ceive me, won't you ? and will make room for me at your hearth ? 
 Now go ! go ! I must sleep. Farewell, Walpurga, do n't forget 
 me. No thanks ; not a word. I '11 soon come to you, and then 
 we '11 sing again ; aye, sing. Farewell ! " 
 
 " I beg of you, let me say only one single word ! " cried W T al- 
 purga, grasping her hands. " We can't, either of us, know which 
 of us may die, and then it would be too late." 
 
 Irma pressed her hand over her eyes, and nodded assent. Wal- 
 pi ;rga continued : 
 
 " I do n't know what ails you. Something 's going wrong with 
 you, and it may go worse yet. Your hands are often so cold and 
 your cheeks so hot. I wronged you that day the second day 
 after I came here. Forgive me ! I '11 never wrong you again, ever 
 in thought ; and no one shall. No one shall ever slander you to 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 263 
 
 me ; but, I beg of you, leave the palace as soon as you can ! Go 
 home to " 
 
 "Enough, enough," said Irma, deprecatingly, and holding her 
 hands before her face as if Walpurga's words were stones hurled 
 at her. "Enough," added she, "farewell ; do not forget me." 
 
 She held out her hand to Walpurga, who kissed it. The hand 
 was hot, as if with fever. 
 
 Walpurga left. The parrot in the ante-room was still crying : 
 "God keep you, Irma." Walpurga started with terror, and hur- 
 ried away, as if some one were after her. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 WHEN Walpurga came out to Hansei, he asked: "Shall I go 
 in, too ? " 
 
 "No, we 're ready." 
 
 " I think I ought to go to the king and queen. I 've got a good 
 deal to say to them." 
 
 " No ; that won't do at all." 
 
 " Why not ? I know how to talk to them." 
 
 He had frequently rehearsed what he intended to say to the 
 king and queen. He would let them know that he deserved some- 
 thing more for giving up his wife for so long a time. 
 
 Walpurga found it difficult to make him understand that it 
 would not do to press the matter. Hansei was not inclined to give 
 up the point, and was, moreover, ashamed of confessing to the 
 innkeeper that he had not sat at the same table with their majes- 
 ties, and that he had not even seen them. 
 
 Walpurga, who herself needed support, was now obliged to 
 make a double effort in order to pacify Hansei, who threatened to 
 become rude and troublesome. 
 
 "But I may see your prince? You still have a right to take me 
 there ? " asked Hansei. 
 
 " Yes, yes," replied Walpurga, "that can be done." She, too, was 
 herself glad to have a chance to see the child once more, and this 
 would furnish a good excuse. " What matters it if Mademoiselle 
 Kramer or Frau von Gerloff make sport of Hansei ? Day after to- 
 morrow all these people will be nothing to me, and I. shall be 
 nothing to them." Her cheeks glowed with excitement, while she 
 hurriedly led Hansei towards the prince's apartments. She was 
 met at the door by Mademoiselle Kramer who, when Walpurga 
 stated her wish, answered : 
 
 " No ; it can't be done. You must not go in again. Doctor 
 Gunther is there and the child is crying and screaming terribly. 
 Go ; in God's name, go." 
 
 Mademoiselle Kramer disappeared, closing the door after her. 
 Walpurga heard the child cry, and was not allowed to go in and 
 
264 O.Y THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 help it. She was shut out thrust out of doors. Shame at the 
 treatment she had received in Hansel's presence, and anger at 
 these cruel, ungrateful people struggled within her. At last, she 
 said : 
 
 "Come, Hansei ; we must n't demean ourselves." 
 
 "Of course not," said Hansei. "It 's plain enough that this is 
 the way they treat folks when they have no further need for them." 
 
 " Xor do we need them any more. Thank God, that 's over," 
 said Walpurga. 
 
 She left the palace in an angry mood, and Hansei muttered to 
 himself that he would thrash the first man he met on the way. 
 
 They returned to the inn where the chests had been left. They 
 met Baum there, and Hansei again said : 
 
 " I 'd swear that he 's no one but Zenza's Jangerl." 
 
 "Jangerl 's in America," insisted Walpurga. "I beg of you, 
 do n't trouble yourself about other matters. Let 's hurry and get 
 away from here." 
 
 " I Ve arranged to stay for another day. I 'd like to see the 
 sights, and would like to go to the theatre for once in my life, and 
 then " 
 
 " Some other time I want to get home to my child." 
 
 " You Ve been away so long that you need n't mind waiting a 
 day longer." 
 
 Walpurga insisted and Hansei was obliged to yield. 
 
 ". Why do you always look at me? " asked Hansei. " It seems 
 as if you scarcely know me any more." 
 
 " I 'd forgotten what true, blue eyes you have." 
 
 " Well, and so I Ye been so little in your thoughts that you 
 did n't even remember how I look." 
 
 " Be quiet ; I thought of you alwavs. What sort of eyes has 
 the child ? " 
 
 ' Bright and clear ones, and there 's never been anything the 
 matter with them." 
 
 Walpurga wanted to know what color its eyes were, and whether 
 their color had changed, as had been the case with the prince. 
 But Hansei did not know, and was quite vexed that his wife asked 
 him questions about matters that he knew nothing of. 
 
 At last :hey mounted the wagon. 
 
 It drove by the palace, and, in spite of the rattling of the wheels 
 over the stones, it seemed to Walpurga as if she could hear the 
 prince crying. 
 
 " I, too, must wean myself," said Walpurga, weeping silently. 
 
 As soon as they had passed the city gates, Hansei began abusing 
 the court. " They might have sent us home in a coach ; but that 's 
 the way with them. They 'd rather fetch our wives than take 'em 
 back again." Whenever he said anything, he would look about as 
 if his boon companions were present to nod their approval 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. . 265 
 
 " They might have let us have a pair of horses at least ; indeed, 
 they ought to have told us to keep them, for they 've got more than 
 they know what to do with, in the royal stables," said he. 
 
 Walpurga had so often told every one that her husband was 
 coming to take her home in a wagon, that no arrangements had 
 been made for that purpose ; and now when Hansei grumbled at 
 their want of consideration, she remembered her mistake and, 
 without confessing it, endeavored to quiet him. 
 
 "I beg you, for all the world," said she, "do n't say anything 
 against the court. They can't help it. If the king or queen knew 
 of these things, they 'd gladly do everything. But you 've no idea 
 how little the queen knows of the world ; of what costs money, of 
 what has to be bought, or earned, or paid she has no notion at 
 all. She 's just like the angels. They can't count money any 
 more than she can, and have nothing to do with it. She 's as 
 dear as an angel, too. She takes the words out of your heart, 
 and gives you such good ones in return." When she stopped and 
 found that Hansei made no reply, she bit her lips with vexation. 
 How she would have been praised if she had uttered such remarks 
 to Countess Irma or Mademoiselle Kramer. But he behaved as if 
 what she had said were nothing at all. A feeling of discontent 
 struggled within her, but she repressed it. " Yes, I, too, must get 
 used to the change," thought she to herself. "It's all over. 
 Where I 'm going, they '11 not make much of everything I say." 
 For a long while she was silent. She felt that looking into life- 
 size double-mirrors was now at an end. At last she thought of 
 what the queen had told her : " When you get home, be patient 
 with your people. The way to have peace on earth is to be patient 
 with one another, and to do good to others without hope of recom- 
 pense. Those who look for no reward are repaid sevenfold." 
 When she left home her mother had given her a piece of bread, 
 with which to deaden her homesickness while at the palace, but 
 the queen had given her words and thoughts that were as bread, 
 for the'y, too, were life-sustaining and, moreover, long-enduring. 
 
 It seemed as if a ray from the queen's sunny nature rested upon 
 Walpurga's countenance. She regained her composure, and calm 
 and gentle thoughts now rilled her mind. Suddenly she seized her 
 husband's hand and said : 
 
 " Now, God be praised, we hold fast to each other again. You 
 must have lots of patience with me. I 've been among strangers, 
 but you '11 soon see that I '11 be all right again at home." 
 
 "Yes, yes, it 's all right," said Hansei. 
 
 Wherever they alighted by the way, Hansei would tell the folk 
 at the inn : 
 
 " This is my wife ; she 's been nurse to the crown prince, and 
 tio\v, thank God, we 're well to do." 
 
 He had become boastful, but Walpurga remained silent in the 
 
 12 
 
266 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 presence of others. It was only when they \\ere in the wagon 
 that she became talkative. She asked many questions and Hansei 
 had much to relate, but she heard little of what was said. She 
 was forever thinking of her child, which- seemed to be dancing on 
 the mountain peaks ; just like the moon which stood in the sky in 
 broad daylight, it ever seemed to move along with them. 
 
 " And has it blue eyes ? " asked she suddenly, while Hansei was 
 giving her a circumstantial account of the cow that was again 
 giving milk. 
 
 "I do n't know what color the calf's eyes are," said Hansei, 
 laughing. 
 
 " Oh, do n't think hard of me. I can't think of anything but our 
 child. If we traveled as fast as my thoughts, we 'd be home in a 
 twinkling, as tailor Schneck says." 
 
 She smiled and checked herself and, soon after, continued : " O 
 how could I ever have stayed away from you so long? It is n't 
 true. I 've always been at home and now I 'm coming. I 'm 
 coming to you, my child. Did n't you hear some one cry, Hansei ? " 
 said she, looking round. " I hear some one crying ; it sounds like 
 a child." 
 
 " Do be quiet. You 're enough to frighten one out of his senses." 
 
 Walpurga would often look back, for it seemed to her as if she 
 could hear a child crying. 
 
 In the city a child was crying, and those who were about it 
 could not quiet it. Their diamonds, their gold, their soldiers, were 
 all of no avail. Behind her and before her, Walpurga heard noth- 
 ing but the crying of a child. 
 
 "Why do you shut your eyes? " asked Hansei. 
 
 "Oh," replied Walpurga, "I feel like the father of Wastl the 
 weaver. When he was cured of his blindness, he used to say that 
 the trees came towards him, and that everything blinded him. I, 
 too, feel as if I had seen nothing during this whole time. Look ! 
 there 's the first man with a green hat, and he has his gamebag 
 on his backhand the trees have kept on growing of themselves, 
 while I was away. I do n't know how I '11 go through it all and 
 not die, for I should n't like to die just now. I want to walk about 
 with my child. Oh dear, good Hansei, do n't give her a step- 
 mother." 
 
 "Wife, wife," said Hansei, quieting her, "You 're making fools 
 of both of us. I 'm quite sure that comes of your not having eaten 
 a thing all day." 
 
 He insisted upon stopping at the next inn, where Walpurga was 
 obliged to drink some wine. There was, indeed, wine jn her chest, 
 that is, the six bottles with silver foil, which the Doctor had sent. 
 But she wished to take that to her mother. 
 
 Although it was in broad daylight, Walpurga fell asleep in the 
 wagon. When she awoke, she silently took her husband's hand 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 267 
 
 in hers and .held it for a long while. In the last little town this 
 side of their village, they stopped again, in spite of Walpurga's 
 protests. Hansei asserted that the grandmother did not expect 
 them before the next day; and that they would find nothing to eat 
 at home. He ordered a bounteous meal, as if he were laying in a 
 supply for several days. Walpurga fell to heartily, and at last they 
 quite forgot themselves, for Doctor Kumpan entered the inn. He 
 was quite affable towards Walpurga and drank heartily with Han- 
 sei. He then called him aside and enjoined him to treat his wife 
 considerately. 
 
 When they, at last, got into the wagon, half of the town had 
 gathered about the inn, in order to have a look at the crown prince's 
 nurse. Doctor Kumpan ordered the postilion, who was not in 
 uniform, to take his post-horn with him, and the handsome, dark- 
 eyed, lively fellow, blew his horn while they drove through the 
 little town and along the road. The merry echoes resounded 
 from the mountains and through the forests. Walpurga was 
 almost ashamed to drive in this style, while the people were at 
 work along the road ; but Hansei felt a childish delight in the 
 sound of the horn. 
 
 At last they caught a glimpse of the lake. Evening was already 
 setting in. 
 
 "Those are swallows from home," said Walpurga. "The next 
 village is ours. I see the church, and hark ! I hear the bells ! 
 I hear them with you, my child, and soon you '11 hear them, in my 
 arms ; and your voice your voice Coachman, drive faster ; no, 
 drive gently ; drive just as you please, so that we do n't upset. 
 Stop here ; we '11 get out now. Stop ! I tell you." She alighted, 
 but as soon as she had done so, she exclaimed : " No, I '11 get in 
 again. We '11 get home sooner if we ride. But why do n't 
 mother and the child come out to meet me ? " 
 
 " She thinks we won't be home till to-morrow," cried Hansei. 
 
 " Then may be she is n't at home at all, and has gone off with 
 the child to visit some neighbor." 
 
 " May be so ; but I think not." 
 
 " Do n't you see a child there, running across the road ? Is that 
 it? Is it?" 
 
 " No, that 's not our child. It can't run yet ; but it can crawl 
 about like a young dog." 
 
 "Who cut down the willow?" suddenly asked Walpurga. 
 
 " It was blown down by the storm, last spring." 
 
 Walpurga asked questions, but heeded not what she asked nor 
 the answers she received. "Just see, how clear the brook is, 
 and how swiftly it flows. I think it never used to flow so quickly. 
 And they Ve built a new house here, and there they Ve felled the 
 trees, and, just look at the beautiful little water wagtails. They 're 
 larger and more beautiful with us than anywhere else." 
 
268 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 They met a boy on a grey mare which he was riding 1 to water. 
 
 " That 's Grubersepp's Waldl. How stout he 's growing ! " 
 
 " And it 's a good beginning, that the first one to meet us should 
 be a boy," said Hansei. "Waldl!" he called out to the lad, 
 " come over to our house this evening and I '11 give you some 
 cherries." The boy made no reply and rode on. 
 
 " The two COW T S grazing there near the little girl, are ours," said 
 'Hansei. 
 
 Everything comes ; everything except the mother and the child. 
 
 " Mother 's at home," cried Walpurga, suddenly. " Mother 's 
 a. home. I see smoke rising from our chimney ; and there she 
 stands by the fire with the child on her arms. Oh mother! Oh 
 child ! How is it possible that you do n't notice anything ? I 'm 
 coming ! I 'm here ! I 'm home ! I 'm coming ! " 
 
 The wagon stopped before the house. 
 
 "Mother! Child!" cried Walpurga from the depths of her 
 heart. The mother came out of the house, with the child on her 
 arm. 
 
 Walpurga embraced her mother and kissed her child, but it 
 cried and would not go to her. 
 
 Walpurga \vent into the room and sat down beside the stove. 
 Her hands w r ere folded on her lap, and she was weeping. She 
 looked about her as if she were in a strange world. 
 
 " Leave her to herself for a little while ; give her a breathing 
 spell," said the grandmother to Hansei, who had gone out of the 
 house, and who, with the driver's assistance, had been unloading 
 the chests. 
 
 It was but a short time that Walpurga remained in the room, a 
 prey to sad thoughts. The sun stood high over the opposite 
 mountains, its rays making every blade of grass in the garden 
 glitter like burnished gold. The mountains in the west were all 
 aglow with light, and those opposite were reflected half-way across 
 the lake. The day had been one of great excitement to Wal- 
 purga, What she had hoped for was now realized. There was 
 nothing more to come. She felt as if she must start off again, as 
 if she must be up and doing. And then it suddenly occurred to 
 her that it was wrong to remain sitting there alone, while her 
 mother and her child were out of doors, and that it was almost a 
 crime to pass a moment away from them. 
 
 She went into the kitchen. The grandmother, with the child on 
 her arm, was standing by the hearth in which there was a bright 
 fire. 
 
 " Does my child eat broth ? " asked W T alpurga. Attracted by 
 the voice, the child stared at her ; but, as soon as Walpurga fixed 
 her glance upon it, it nestled closer to its grandmother, as if to 
 hide itself. 
 
 ' Yes, indeed. It eats anything, and is just like you. You did 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 269 
 
 so, too. It would like to take a spoon and help itself, but it can't 
 find its mouth. I 'm making soup for you, you must eat something 
 warm." 
 
 Walpurga's looks became more cheerful. The grandmother soon 
 brought her some soup. Walpurga ate it and said : 
 
 " Ah, mother ; the first soup I eat at home. Nothing on earth 
 tastes like it. They can't make such soup as this at the palace." 
 
 The grandmother smiled, and stroked Walpurga's head with her 
 hand, as if blessing her. She felt that Walpurga's joy at being 
 home again, affected her every thought and action. 
 
 "The home soup yes, indeed," said she at last, and smiled; 
 and, moved thereto by the grandmother's cheerful looks, the child 
 laughed, too. 
 
BOOK IV. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE soft glimmer of early dawn stole through the heart-shaped 
 opening- in the shutters of their little room. Down by the 
 reedy bank the water-ousel piped its matin song. Walpurga 
 awoke and listened to the breathing of her husband and child. 
 Her life, now, is a threefold breath. 
 
 "Good morrow, day. I 'm home again," said she, softly. She 
 felt so happy at the thought of being in her own bed. Suddenly, 
 she folded her hands and said : 
 
 " I thank Thee, Lord ! Now I know how it must be to wake in 
 heaven and feel as if home were reached at last, to have all your 
 loved ones with you, to know that parting 's at an end, and that all 
 will remain together forever. Now we '11 live happily, in kindness 
 and in righteousness. Grant us all good health, and put all evil 
 away from us." 
 
 She closed her eyes and indulged in retrospection. Last night, 
 the grandmother had beckoned her to follow her into the little 
 grassy garden back of the house. When they reached there, her 
 mother had said : " Look up to those stars and tell me : Can you 
 still kiss your husband and your child, with pure lips ? If God 
 forbid it be otherwise " 
 
 " Mother ! " Walpurga had cried. " Mother, I can. I raise my 
 hand and call God to bear me witness, I am just as I was when I 
 left home." 
 
 Said the mother : " That makes me happy. Now I 'm content 
 to die." 
 
 " No, mother ; let 's live together in happiness for many years to 
 come." 
 
 " I 'm content. And now let me give you a piece of advice ; and 
 mind what I tell you. You 've been out in the wide world for 
 nearly a year. You 've been riding about in carriages, while I 've 
 been here in the cottage and garden, taking care of your child. 
 But, for all that, my thoughts went out into the world, and far be- 
 yond, where coach and four never get to. Now listen to me and 
 obey iiic." 
 
 " Yes, mother ; with all my heart." 
 
 " Then mind what I tell you. Give yourself time to get used to 
 things again, and do n't ask for anything out of reason. You can't 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 271 
 
 expect your child to love you yet. You Ve been away from it so 
 long that it does n't know you, and has become estranged. And 
 so you must expect to find it with everything else. Your hus- 
 band 's been alone for nearly a year ; his lot has been much harder 
 than yours." 
 
 Here they were interrupted. Hansei called from the window 
 and asked them what they were doing out there so late, in the 
 dark. 
 
 " And now go to sleep," said the mother. " I Ve had your bed 
 aired these three days. Sleep well. Good night." 
 
 The mother led her daughter by the hand as if she were a little 
 child, and when they had passed the threshold, she fell upon Wal- 
 purga's neck and hugged and kissed her in the dark. 
 
 Walpurga had closed her eyes, and, in thought, recalled all that 
 had happened during the preceding night. Everything seemed 
 double, just as with the stars that are reflected in the lake at night, 
 making it seem as if there were two skies, one above and one in 
 the waters below. 
 
 At the thought of the lake, Walpurga arose, quietly dressed her- 
 self, bent over her child and husband for a moment, softly opened 
 the door, left the room, and went out of the house. She passed 
 through the garden. The air was filled with the fragrance of the 
 elder bushes in the hedge. The finch on the cherry tree warbled 
 merrily, and she would fain have called out to him : " Be quiet ; 
 wake no one till I return." 
 
 She passed on. From the reedy banks of the lake, where the 
 water-ousel and the reed-sparrow were chirping their song, there 
 flew up a flock of wild ducks, twittering while on the wing. 
 
 The sun rose, and the whole lake shone as if a softly undulating 
 golden mantle had been spread over it. 
 
 Walpurga looked about her in all directions, and then, undress- 
 ing herself in a trice, jumped into the lake. She dived and rose 
 again, brushed her hair from her face and plashed about, as happy 
 as if she were a fish at the bottom of the lake. The golden mantle 
 of the lake assumed a purple hue, and Walpurga looked up at the 
 purple sun, and over the glowing lake. "Thus it is," said she, 
 " and thus it 's right. I 'm here again and yours again, and every- 
 thing else is put away from me. I 've never been away." Under 
 the clustering willows, she hurriedly dressed herself, and felt so 
 happy and cheerful that it cost her an effort to refrain from singing 
 aloud. Blue and green dragon flies hovered over the water. 
 Swallows were flying over the lake and dipping their bills into 
 the waters which were gradually acquiring a paler hue, and from 
 yonder forest resounded the cuckoo's note. A stork among the 
 reeds seemed to watch Walpurga while she dressed herself. She 
 noticed the bird rattling its great bill and waved it away. She hur- 
 ried back to the house. The finch in the cherry tree was still warb- 
 
272 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 ling its morning song, the two cows in the stable were lowing, but 
 everything else about the house was still wrapped in silence. Fot 
 \* hile, \\~alpurga stood gazing at the flowers en the window 
 sill, and was delighted with the fragrance of the pinks and the rose- 
 mary. She had planted them while still a child, and before she 
 had had a garden of her own. All the earth that she could then 
 call her cwn, was contained in these flower pots. Now she was 
 able 'to buy many a broad field, but who could say whether they 
 would give her as much joy as she now derived from these dingy, 
 broken pots. 
 
 It seemed as if the pinks had purposely blossomed, in honor of 
 the return of her who had planted and cared for them. There 
 were scarcely any buds left, but even these few were putting out 
 their little red tongues. Walpurga returned to her pinks again 
 and again, and could not get enough of their fragrance. Suddenly, 
 she laughed to herself at the thought of an old story that her 
 mother had told her about blessed Susanna, who, when hungry 
 and thirsty, could satisfy herself by smelling a flower. " Yes, but 
 that would n't satisfy my folks," said she with a smile, and went 
 back into the house. 
 
 Mother, husband and child were still asleep. Walpurga sat by 
 the cradle for a little while. Then she went out to the kitchen, 
 and kindled the first fire on her own hearth. Silently she watched 
 at the rising flame, \vhile the sounds of the matin bell of the chapel 
 by the lake fell on her ear. She pressed both hands firmly against 
 her heart, as if to hold fast the happiness with which it was over- 
 flowing. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 U TT7HAT! at work already?" said Hansei, entering the 
 VV kitchen, and bearing in his arms the child, whose only 
 garment was its little shirt. 
 
 "Good morning! Good morning to both of you," exclaimed 
 Walpurga, with joyful voice. Her ever}- tone and even- word 
 seemed to say that she could feed and satisfy them all with her 
 love. 
 
 " Good morning, my child ! " said she. The baby stretched out 
 its a"*ns towards her, but, when she offered to take it, turned its 
 back on her and laid its head upon Hansei's shoulder. 
 
 "Have patience with it; it doesn't know you right yet," said 
 Hansei ; " after all, such a young child is just like an animal, and 
 do n't know its mother if she 's been living away from it." 
 
 As if to refute Hansei's humiliating philosophy, the child turned 
 round again, stared at the fire, pursed up its little mouth, and blew 
 just as when one does when blowing the fire. 
 
 "Grandmother taught her that," said Hansei. "It can do lots 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 273 
 
 of other clever things. Grandmother never slept so late as she 
 does to-day. She seems to feel that she 's no longer obliged to 
 draw the cart all by herself. No one '11 grudge it to her. Yes, 
 there never was a better woman in all the wide world, than your 
 mother." 
 
 " Never was ! is n't she so still ? " asked Walpurga, in alarm. 
 
 Her mother had been so unutterably happy yesterday. Who 
 knows but what her joy had killed her ? They had been so happy 
 that perhaps misfortune must come, for nothing is perfect in this 
 world. 
 
 Walpurga trembled with fear while these thoughts flashed 
 through her mind. 
 
 " I '11 go look after mother," said she, and went to her room. 
 Hansei followed, carrying the child on his arm. And now, when 
 the mother awoke, she said : "Well, and so they have to awaken 
 me. Am I still a young girl who sleeps late and dreams when the 
 elder flower is in blossom ? Yes, now I remember my dream. I 
 dreamt that I was young again and was a servant at the farm on the 
 other side of the mountains, and that your father came. It was on 
 a Sunday, and he and I went off together to my brother's, in the 
 pitch hut. We were standing by the brook where the elder 
 grows, and father was on the other side, reaching out his hand to 
 me, so that I could jump across, when you woke me. I can feel 
 his hand in mine yet." 
 
 " God be praised that you 're awake again," interposed Wal- 
 purga. The mother smiled and continued : 
 
 " And now, Walpurga, I 've only one thing to ask of you. If 
 you do n't mind doing so, give me a florin or two. I 'd like to go 
 home once more, to the place where I was born and was in service, 
 and where my brother lives ; and I would like to have a few pence 
 about me, to give to the poor people who are still there." 
 
 " Yes, mother ; you shall have all you want. We 've plenty, 
 thank God." 
 
 "I 'd like to know," said the mother, "why I dreamt of my 
 home last night." 
 
 "That 's plain enough," said Hansei. "A few days ago, when 
 the wood-carver from your village was here, they were saying that 
 the owner of the freehold farm there would like to sell his place, 
 lint who 's got money enough to buy that ? " 
 
 "You see," said the old woman to Walpurga, "what a heretic 
 and believer in dreams your husband has become. He learned all 
 that from the innkeeper. And now give me the child and hurry 
 out of here. Come, you little chamois-kid, jump about and dance." 
 
 She sang to the child, and it stretched forth its arms towards 
 her, just like a bird glad to return to its nest. 
 
 Hansei and Walpurga left the room. The child lay beside the 
 grandmother, and the two were quite happy together. 
 
 12* 
 
274 tf-V 7 HE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Aivi now I '11 milk the cow," said Hansei. 
 
 "You?" 
 
 " Yes. Who else ? Mother can't do everything." 
 
 " Xo ; let me do that now." 
 
 Walpurga went out to the stable with her husband ; she wanted 
 to relieve him of the task, but it would not do, and Hansei said 
 
 " There 's no need of it, either ; that '11 all soon be different. 
 When you become landlady, we '11 have two servants, at least, and 
 they can see to the milking. We '11 have room for six cows besides 
 our own, and will be entitled to have as many more on the mount- 
 ain meadow. Then you can make butter and cheese, and do what 
 you like." 
 
 Hansei seemed to be talking to the cow. He did not care to see 
 what sort of a face his wife would make. But now she had, at 
 all events, heard of the matter, and they could talk it over, after- 
 ward. 
 
 Walpurga was about to reply, when the stable door opened, and 
 a girl entered, carrying a cake on a large platter. She removed 
 the cloth with which it was covered, and said : 
 
 " My master, the landlord of the Chamois, sends this with his 
 kind greetings, and his welcome to the wife." 
 
 You silly thing ! " exclaimed Hansei, jumping to his feet, and 
 looking quite oddly with the milk pail buckled fast to him. " You 
 silly thing ! People do n't carry cakes into a stable. Take it into 
 the room, and when you get home, give them my best thanks, and 
 tell the innkeeper, our godfather, to honor us with a visit soon 
 no, we '11 come to see him this forenoon ; and now you may go." 
 
 Walpurga remembered that her mother advised her not to at- 
 tempt to change things at once. She determined, for the present, 
 to listen to everything, and let affairs go on in their own way, keep- 
 ing her eyes open in the meanwhile. Time would show how the 
 hind lay. 
 
 Hansei went on milking the cows, and Walpurga said nothing. 
 
 " One can't always have the world all to one's self, the way it 
 was down at the lake this morning ; but while there 's such a bus- 
 tle about my ears, I must keep my own counsel," thought she. 
 
 When Hansei had finished milking, and stood there with a pail 
 in each hand, he said : 
 
 " What do you think of it ? " 
 
 " It 's splendid milk ; and there 's lots of it, too." 
 
 " No, I mean what do you think of the landlord of the Chamois ? " 
 
 " It 's very polite of him, and I 'm much obliged to him for it. 
 We must try to get even with him." 
 
 " There 's no need of that ; we '11 have to pay dear enough for 
 the cake. But we 're not so stupid, either. You '11 soon see, Wal- 
 purga, I know which side my bread 's buttered on, as well as hd 
 does. Yes," continued Hansei ; " if I 'd only had a chance to talk 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 27$ 
 
 to the king, you 'd have soon found out that Hansei 's not the 
 dullest fellow in the world." 
 
 " I knew that long ago. I do n't need the king to tell me that." 
 
 At breakfast, Walpurga was delighted to find that the child 
 would take a few spoonfuls of porridge from her; but it would not 
 go to her, and cried as if its heart would break, when she tried to 
 take it. 
 
 " Have you counted up all we 're worth ? Of all the money you 
 sent, not one penny 's been taken. That is, I took fifteen florins to 
 buy me a rifle." 
 
 " That was right," said Walpurga. And with all her confidence 
 in him, she resolved that she would not hand Hansei the money 
 that Irma had given her on the day she left the palace. / She knew 
 not why, but she felt a dread of the gold that had come to her in 
 so strange a manner. She had not yet looked at it herself. Be- 
 sides, she felt that it might be well to keep-something in reserve 
 for a rainy day. It might be better if all were not displayed at 
 once. She promised to reckon it all up before noon, and expressed 
 her regret that she had no closet in which to pack away all the 
 pretty things she had brought with her in the chest. 
 
 " I would n't unpack at all, if I were you," said Hansei. "You 
 might as well wait till we have our inn. You '11 find enough chests 
 and trunks there." 
 
 Walpurga made no answer. Hansei looked at her curiously, but 
 she remained silent. 
 
 "Why don't you say something about the matter?" he en- 
 quired at last. 
 
 " Because you have n't told me about it right. Come now, what 
 do you really mean ? " 
 
 Hansei informed her that every one said the most sensible thing 
 he could do would be to buy out the landlord of the Chamois. 
 There could n't be a better hostess in the world than Walpurga, and 
 they would have a larger custom than any house in the land. 
 They could alter the sign that would be a clever stroke and would 
 draw more than anything else. It should no longer be " The 
 Chamois," but the "The King's Nurse," or "The Prince's Nurse, " 
 instead. There was a painter thereabouts, who would make a 
 new sign, representing Walpurga with the prince in her arms. 
 People would be drawn together from all parts of the neighbor- 
 hood ; there would n't be tables and chairs enough, and money 
 would pour in on them from all sides. The bargain was a fair 
 one; the innkeeper had named a reasonable price. "Every one 
 says so," said Hansei, "and now what have you to say? for it 's 
 for you to decide." 
 
 " I do n't care for what the people say," began Walpurga, "but 
 tell me, frankly, have you concluded the purchase ? If you have, 
 I 've nothing to say. I would n't have you break your word nor 
 
276 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 disgrace yourself, for all the world. You 're the husband and your 
 word must be kept." 
 
 " lY.at 's vijht ; if only every one could have heard that." 
 " What need you care whether they hear it or not ? " 
 " \Yhy, the stupid people think that you rule eveything, because 
 the money comes from you. To be frank with you, the bargain 
 isn't concluded ; it all depends upon your consent." 
 
 " And if I were to say ' no/ would you be angry ? Answer me ; 
 why are you silent now ? " 
 
 " Well, it would grieve me to the heart if you did." 
 "I don't say 'no,'" answered his wife, soothingly. "But 
 there 's one thing we 'd better have an understanding about, at 
 once. I never want to hear another word as to where the money 
 comes from. You were alone all that time ; you Ye had to suffer 
 for it, as well as I, and, take my word for it, I shan't forget it. 
 But, as I told you before, I do n't say ' no.' We 're husband and 
 wife and will talk over and settle everything together. If the 
 money 's to bring discord, I 'd rather throw the whole of it into 
 the lake, and myself in after it." 
 
 Walpurga wept, and Hansei, with choking voice, said : " For 
 God's sake, do n't weep. I feel as if my heart would break when 
 you cry. I would n't have you cry, no, not for ten inns. Oh 
 Lord ! to cry on the very first morning ! Depend on it, nothing 
 shall be done, unless you 're perfectly satisfied." 
 
 Walpurga held out her hand to him, and, with the other, wiped 
 away the tears which had relieved her overflowing heart. They 
 heard visitors approaching. Walpurga hurried to the bedroom, 
 for she would have no one see that she had been weeping. While 
 in the room, she put the gold that Irma had given her into a pillow 
 case, and then hid it. One piece of the money had dropped on the 
 floor. She picked it up and looked at the image of the king 
 stamped upon it. "Such a king's head goes everywhere," said 
 she. " If he could only be everywhere in thought, so as to set 
 everything to rights. But that 's more than any man can do. God 
 alone can do that How are they getting on in the palace ? 
 What will become of them all ? Is it only a day since I left there ? " 
 Lost in reverie, \Valpurga remained in trie room for a long 
 while. At last, with a deep sigh, she awakened to the fact that, in 
 this world, no one can afford to give all his thoughts to others. It < 
 >\v her duty to take care of herself. Various neighbors and 
 friends dropped in to welcome Walpurga. Hansei, who was all 
 impatience, said that she had just gone to her room and -would re- 
 turn in a little while. At last W r alpurga came, radiant with joy 
 and health. They all expressed themselves delighted to see her 
 looking so well, spoke of the excellent reputation she enjoyed, and 
 assured her that they took as much pleasure in her good fortune 
 as if it were their own. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 277 
 
 Walpurga thanked them heartily. The great cake which the 
 innkeeper had sent was soon eaten up, for she offered some of it 
 to every visitor. 
 
 " How goes it with old Zenza? " asked Walpurga. 
 
 "Just to think how good she is; she even remembers the old 
 torment. Yes, your kindness was thrown away on her and her 
 offspring," said several voices. She was soon informed that Zenza, 
 with her son and Black Esther, had left the neighborhood. No one 
 knew where they had gone, but the root-hut on the Windenreuthe 
 now stood empty. 
 
 Nor did troops of beggars from the village and the neighboring 
 country fail to present themselves. It must have been quickly 
 noised about that Walpurga had returned, bringing a whole chest- 
 ful of gold with her. 
 
 Walpurga was astonished to learn how many relations she had 
 in the neighborhood. Many claimed relationship with her father, 
 but were unable to state exactly in what degree, and some of the 
 beggars, who disputed each other's claims, were soon involved 
 in quarrels with each other. Walpurga dispensed modest gifts to 
 all of them. They left in an ill humor. What they had received 
 had hprdly been worth the trouble of going for it, and the high- 
 \\ays and byways resounded with imprecations launched against 
 Walpurga who, they said, had become proud and sting}'. But 
 there were soon fresh troops of beggars. It was like scattering 
 wheat among sparrows ; more were constantly coming. 
 
 " Take your whip and drive the whole pack of beggars away," 
 suddenly cried a loud voice from the road. 
 
 It was the innkeeper, accompanied by his two dogs, Dachsel and 
 Wachsel, who added their voices to that of their master, until at 
 last a beggar gave one of the dogs a kick that sent him off yelping. 
 The innkeeper now swore more violently than before, but Wal- 
 purga went out and, in quite a determined tone, requested him not 
 to interfere, and then doubled her gifts to all of them. She thus 
 escaped a confidential and patronizing familiarity on the part of 
 the innkeeper. She was, as yet, uncertain how she ought to behave 
 towards him. He was evidently Hansel's seducer. If she were to 
 show herself angry at him at the start, it might lead to much vexa- 
 tion and would destroy all her influence. On the other hand, she 
 found it difficult to force herself to greet him in a friendly manner. 
 
 When he had entered the room, he asked Hansei : 
 
 " Have you told her everything ? " * 
 
 "Of course." 
 
 " And is she agreed ? " 
 
 " She says she '11 be satisfied with anything I do." 
 
 Walpurga came into the room, and with the words : " Wel- 
 come, and many congratulations to the hostess of the Chamois," 
 the innkeeper extended his hand to her. 
 
278 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Thanks for the first ; but, before I accept the second, my hus- 
 band must be landlord of the Chamois." 
 
 " Heigho ! " exclaimed the innkeeper, " how clever ! how studied ! 
 how dignified and polite ! Look here, Hansei ! have n't I always 
 told you that you 've got a wife who might be a queen ? " 
 
 " And why not, if my husband were a king ? " 
 
 The innkeeper's fist descended on the table, and he laughed so 
 heartily at this clever sally, that his two dogs began to bark and 
 thus accompanied his laughter with their applause. He showed 
 the other visitors that it would not do to weary their hosts. He 
 left soon afterward, the rest of the company going with him. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 * ' A ND for your mother I '11 build a snug room looking towards 
 
 1\ the garden, where she can take her comfort. I always 
 knew it before, but it was n't till you were away, that I found out 
 what a treasure she is to us. If the Lord only lets us keep her 
 with us for many a year to come. Yes, your mother shall have the 
 best room in the house." 
 
 Thus spake Hansei, with gleeful countenance. Walpurga en- 
 quired : " Where do you mean to build ? " 
 
 Hansei looked around as if to express his surprise at her asking 
 such a question. He had yielded so far as to promise that noth- 
 ing should be done without his wife's consent. He thought that 
 this was all that could in reason be expected of him, and that it 
 was best to finish up the business at once. 
 
 With great self-command, he said : 
 
 " Why, at our inn, to be sure. I shan't do anything to this tum- 
 bledown cottage. But I 've already told them that they must n't 
 disturb the nut tree. You '11 be surprised when you see how full it 
 is. We shall get three measures of nuts this year, and a nut year 
 is a good one for boys." 
 
 Walpurga clapped her hand to his mouth and, with downcast 
 eyes, said : " You 're a dear good fellow ; but, believe me, I know 
 you better than you do yourself. I 'm glad that you 're much 
 sharper than you used to be. I often used to tell you not to be so 
 bashful and forever keeping in the background. You 've so much 
 common sense ; more, indeed, than all the rest of them. If you 
 could only have been behind the door, when I told the queen about 
 you ; and she promised me faithfully that she '11 come to see us 
 when she visits the mountains next year." 
 
 Hansei complacently swallowed the praise that his wife bestowed 
 upon him, and kept on smiling to himself for some time afterward. 
 
 Husband and wife praised and extolled each other a custom 
 more honored in the breach than the observance, at least among 
 peasants, who would feel ashamed it they knew of it. Their com- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 279 
 
 ing together after so long a separation, seemed like a new wooing 
 and wedding. The question of the purchase of the inn, prevented 
 them, however, from fully realizing this and even threatened to im- 
 peril their domestic happiness. 
 
 " So you 're agreed that we '11 be host and hostess of the Cham- 
 ois ? " enquired Hansei. 
 
 "I 've told you, already, that we 'd talk it over ; and so you 
 think you '11 make a good landlord ? " 
 
 " Not so good a landlord as you will a landlady. That 's what 
 everybody says ; and the landlady 's always the chief point. You '<t 
 be the.best landlady, for you can earn your bread with your tongue, 
 just as the parson does ; and that '11 help us to get a penny or two 
 more for our wine and everything else. YQU 've got a way of look- 
 ing right into people's hearts, and can give and take, and that 's 
 the best sign that you 're made to be a landlady." 
 
 Hansei did not understand how Walpurga could still hesitate. 
 The highest ideal of the young mountaineer is to be an innkeeper ; 
 to supply every one with meat and drink, and to live by the profits 
 of it ; to give feasts and, at the same time, be the merriest one at 
 them ; to receive money while others spend it ; to have his house 
 the rendezvous of all, no matter how varied their pursuits and in- 
 terests ; to be the helper and adviser of every one ; the man with 
 whom all keep on good terms, who knows all that is going 
 on, all about bargains and prices, and who, like the lord of the 
 manor in the olden time, receives a profit whenever cow, or farm, 
 or house change hands. And, besides, what others eat and drink 
 tickles his palate, too, and he does n't grow thin upon it. And 
 then, like the parson, he would derive profit from baptisms, mar- 
 riages and funerals ; to say nothing of the strangers who would 
 come during the summer and would be obliged to pay tribute to 
 the landlord, because the mountains are so high and the lake so 
 deep, and because he allows them to see it all. Yes, an inn is like 
 a great lake all the little streams that flow from the different 
 mountain rills concentrate there. 
 
 Walpurga stared at her husband in surprise, while she listened 
 to his animated and yet detailed description of the advantages of 
 innkeeping. She almost felt inclined to favor his plan, and thought 
 to herself: " Perhaps it would be the most sensible thing after all ; 
 for I '11 never feel quite at home again in the old, narrow ways of 
 life that I once used to lead. I 've grown different, and must have 
 something different." Frankly and sincerely, she again assured 
 him t/iat she was not opposed to the project, but that it would be 
 well to go about it cautiously. 
 
 " And do you know what 's best of all ? " asked Hansei. " We 're 
 to have a post-office here the judge himself says so and if it 
 should fail us, you could easily bring it about. You '11 give the 
 village a "Teat name. Indeed, you '11 make a town of it, and the 
 houses will be worth twice as much as they now are." 
 
280 aY THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 He wanted his wife to go up to the village with him at once, in 
 order to look at the inn ; but Walpurga said : 
 
 " Let me get a good rest in our old house before we go up there. 
 The inn won't run away. I can't tell you how happy I am to be in 
 our house again. I feel as if I must try every chair. Even-thing 
 seems so good at home. It 's just as if every chair and every 
 table had eyes, and was looking at me and saying : ' Yes, we still 
 know you, and have waited for you ; ' and now, I beg of you, do 
 let me'rest awhile." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; just stay," replied Hansei, walking up and down the 
 room. Suddenly, as if called by some one, he went out and split 
 several logs which he had laid aside. 
 
 Walpurga came out and looked at him with evident satisfaction. 
 
 " Yes," said he, "work will be kept up just as it always was. I 
 shan't be a lazy landlord rest assured of that; and I won't take 
 to drinking, either. Are you going up to the village with me ? " 
 he enquired at last. 
 
 " Yes : but do come in." 
 
 Hansei was soon on the road, and was not a little proud to be 
 seen entering the village with his wife. At the fountain near the 
 townhall, there were women and girls with their tubs. As soon as 
 they saw Walpurga, they came up to her and offered their greetings 
 and congratulations. 
 
 The children were just leaving school. Walpurga called several 
 of them to her, shook hands with them, and gave them kind mes- 
 sages to their parents. With saddened heart, she \vould hear of 
 the death of such and such a one. The other children were gath- 
 ered in groups, and would stand about, staring at her with surprise. 
 Walpurga's being sent for and taken to the palace had been as a 
 fairy-tale to the village children ; and now the fairy herself was 
 standing there in broad daylight, and talking just as other people 
 did. 
 
 At last Walpurga left them, but the children kept calling out her 
 name, in order to prove that they still knew her. 
 
 When she and her husband walked on, the latter pointed towards 
 the townhall. " Look ! " said he, " I '11 soon be there, too. It 's 
 almost certain that they '11 elect me as one of the town council. I 
 might even become a burgomaster. But I won't take that, for that 
 would get aa innkeeper into lots of trouble." 
 
 Walpurga observed that the idea of becoming a host had taken 
 deep root in Hansei. She simply replied : " I find that you 've seen 
 a great deal of the \vorld this year, but you must certainly have 
 learned that it 's every one's duty to care for his own, and that 
 when one's poor and unfortunate, no one lends a helping hand." 
 
 " Certainly ; but think God ! we do n't need any one now ; quite 
 the contrary." 
 
 They were passing the house of Grubersepp, the wealthy farme/ 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 281 
 
 and, indeed, the richest man in the community. He was a tall, 
 lean man, whose features always wore a sour expression. He was 
 si an ding on the steps before his house, and Hansei greeted him 
 civilly. Grubersepp, however, turned on his heel and walked off 
 towards the stable. It would not do for a rich farmer like him to 
 welcome a day laborer's child like Walpurga. The whole village 
 might make fools of themselves on her account, but a rich farmer 
 like Grubersepp knows his own importance too well. It would be 
 mighty fine, indeed, if he were known to trouble himself about a 
 creature who used to be glad if he would let her have a pint or 
 two of milk on trust. 
 
 Hansei cried out aloud : " Good day, Grubersepp ! my wife 's 
 come back again." 
 
 Grubersepp acted as if he had not heard him, and went towards 
 the stable. 
 
 The joy that Walpurga had experienced while receiving the 
 greetings of the villagers was not enough to compensate her for 
 her pain at the slight thus put upon her. After all, it was only a 
 silly, narrow-minded fanner displaying his stupid peasant pride. 
 Had n't the king spoken to her, and had he ever spoken to such a 
 dolt as he ? But this did not satisfy her. Grubersepp was the 
 first in the village, and to be slighted by him, or to incur his ill 
 will, was no trifling matter after all. 
 
 " I '11 never be hostess to you, you old pitchfork," said Walpurga, 
 looking towards the house ; " I '11 never pour out a glass of wine 
 for you and say, ' God bless you ! ' with it." 
 
 "What are you saying?" said Hansei, as Walpurga uttered 
 these words to herself. 
 
 " If we could buy that silly old pitchfork's land, I 'd like it much 
 better than the inn," she answered. 
 
 " Of course, that would be much finer ; but we have n't enough 
 money for that ; and, even if we had, Grubersepp would n't sell. 
 On the contrary, when a poor man has his eye on a field, he buys 
 it up before he gets a chance at it." 
 
 When Hansei and Walpurga arrived at the inn, they found quite 
 a crowd there. A new purchase of wine had just been opened, 
 and, as usual on such occasions, the drinking was at the host's 
 expense. 
 
 " Ah ! here comes the new landlady," exclaimed several voices. 
 
 " Thank you," said Walpurga, "my husband has n't concluded 
 the bargain yet." 
 
 The hunter from Zell was there also, and Walpurga saw, at a 
 lance, that her husband was caught in a net of flatterers. She 
 soon got out of the room. The host and his wife showed her and 
 Hansei through all the rooms and the cellars. Walpurga found 
 it all very good, but kept saying that they would have to build 
 and ai range everything anew. 
 
282 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "You're spoiled," said the innkeeper. "Here in the country, 
 things are different from what they are in your palace. You seem 
 to forget that one need n't drive a nail into this house for the 
 next fifty years." Walpurga would not permit herself to be 
 drawn into any discussion of the subject. On the way home, she 
 remarked to her husband, that it would be \vell to have the house 
 examined by some one who knew all about building matters, for 
 neither of them understood anything about it, and to make any- 
 thing out of the innkeeper, was like drawing blood from a stone. 
 
 Hansei was vexed that the bargain had not been concluded on 
 the spot. He felt as if he could not remain in the old house 
 another hour. Walpurga, on the other hand, wished to stave off 
 the matter for awhile. Besides that, as Hansei was obliged to ad- 
 mit, she suggested many points that required careful consideration. 
 
 That afternoon, Walpurga reckoned up all that belonged to her. 
 It was a handsome amount. There was almost enough to pay for 
 the inn, with the fields, meadows and woods belonging to it. One 
 or two prosperous years would enable them to clear off the mort- 
 gage which they might be obliged to leave remaining on the pro- 
 perty. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IT was evening. The grandmother was in the room and, in a 
 tremulous voice, was singing her granddaughter to sleep. She, 
 too, was singing the song : 
 
 Oh, blissful is the tender tie 
 That binds me, love, to thee. 
 
 Walpurga and Hansei were the only ones at the table and he 
 could scarcely eat the potatoes as fast as she pared them. She 
 would always put the best and finest before him. " Just think of 
 it, Hansei," said she, looking so happy while she spoke ; "the best 
 things in the world sleep, sunlight, water, eggs, boiled potatoes 
 and salt are all the same in the palace and in the cottage. The 
 king and the queen can't have them better than we, and the very 
 best of all is the same everywhere. And do you know what it 
 is ? " 
 
 " Yes ; a good kiss. It would n't be any better from the queen's 
 lips than from yours ; and there I 'm like the king, too, especially 
 when I 'm as nicely shaved as to-day," he added, taking his wife's 
 hand and passing it over his smooth chin. 
 
 " You Ye right ; but I did n't mean to say it that way. Love 's 
 the same, too. It can't be different up there from what it is here." 
 
 " I clo n't know what 's come o'ver you," said Hansei. "I never 
 thought you were such a witch, so clever and so wide awake. It 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 283 
 
 provokes me that people should be so familiar with you, and treat 
 you as if you were still the same old Walpurga," 
 
 " You ought to be glad that I 'm still the same, or else I should 
 n't be your wife." 
 
 Hansei stopped chewing the potato that was in his mouth and 
 stared at his wife in surprise. At last he hurriedly bolted down 
 the potato and said : " Now that joke do n't please me at all. It s 
 wrong to joke about such things." Both were silent. 
 
 In the next room sat the mother singing : 
 
 My heart doth bear a burden, 
 And thou hast placed it there ; 
 
 And the song seemed to touch them both. 
 
 "I Ve got something to tell you," said Hansei, at last. "It 's 
 been my habit, for the last year, to go up to the Chamois after 
 supper, and especially on Saturday evenings. Sometimes I Ve 
 taken a drop, and sometimes not ; and as this is Saturday and as 
 they '11 all be there, I think 1 'd better go up once more, just for 
 your sake." 
 
 " For my sake ? " 
 
 " Yes, for fear the people might say : Now he 's got to duck 
 under, for his gracious wife has come home '." 
 
 " Why do you always worry about what the people say ? Sup- 
 pose they were to say : ' What sort of a man is this ? His wife 
 was gone for a year, and on the second night after her return, he 
 runs off to the inn ' ? " 
 
 Hansei, unable to parry this thrust, stared at her in surprise. 
 At last he said : " I think I '11 go, after all. You won't think hard 
 of it, will you ? " 
 
 "Go, if you like," replied Walpurga, and Hansei hurried off. 
 Walpurga looked after him, while her eyes filled with tears. "Is 
 this what I 've so longed for? " thought she to herself. "Was it 
 for this that I thought the minutes would never end, and felt as if 
 I must chase the hours away? " 
 
 Her mother came in and, gently closing the door, said : " She 
 
 sleeps sweetly." 
 
 The ruddy glow of the rosy setting sun illumined Walpurga 
 countenance, in which, it was plainly to be seen, a great change had 
 
 ic ruddy glow of the rosy setting sun illumined Walpurga s 
 
 tenance, in which, it was pla 
 taken place since that sun rose. 
 
 The child again began to cry. The grandmother went in to it. 
 and Walpurga stealthily hurried in the direction of the lakf;. It 
 was night. The waves were softly beating on the shore ; the reed- 
 sparrow was still chattering, and the water-hens kept up their 
 twittering. Far up on the mountain, bright fires were burning; 
 for it was Satur lay night, and the mountain lasses were looking 
 out for their svva ns. And now the moon rose over the summit of 
 the Chamois hill and shone upon the lake. Walpurga, as if lost 
 
284 O.Y THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 in reverie, stood there, for some time, gazing into the lake. Then 
 she turned towards home, but, instead of going into the room, 
 quielly stole into the cellar. With almost superhuman strength, 
 she moved the stone cabbage-tub from its place, dug a hole in the 
 ground, placed the money that Irma had given her in it, and 
 shoved the cabbage-tub back into its place again. 
 
 She was washing her hands at th.-i pump, when she noticed that 
 her mother was lighting the lamp in the room. She went in, star- 
 ing at the light. 
 
 " Why do you stare at the light so ? " asked her mother. 
 
 <: Well, mother, I 'm not used to a single light any more; in 
 the palace, there are ever so many." 
 
 "But the people there have only one pair of eyes," replied the 
 mother. " No, my child ; that 's not why you look so troubled. 
 Tell me honestly, what 's the matter ? " 
 
 Walpurga frankly confessed that it almost broke her heart to 
 think that her husband could n't stay at home on the second even- 
 ing after her return, but must go to the inn. 
 
 " Give me your hand," said the mother. " Yes, I 've been think- 
 ing about your hands. I 've noticed that you wash them whenever 
 you 've touched anything. That 's very nice, but it won't do 
 here. Your hand 's become soft and tender this last year, while 
 mine 's as hard as leather ; and you '11 soon have to harden your 
 hands, too. For God's sake, do n't make your husband skittish, 
 and do n't give him an ugly word. Take my word for it, he 
 could n't help going up there to-night, and it 's Saturday night be- 
 sides. It was just as if six horses were dragging him. He 's got 
 used to it, and habits are strong things that can't be changed at 
 will. He 's not bad ; I 'm sure of that. Let him have his own 
 way, just as he 's used to, and he '11 soon be all right again." 
 
 Walpurga made no answer. She busied herself paring potatoes 
 for her mother, who went on to say : 
 
 " The things that are God's gifts we have just as good as they 
 have them in the palace." 
 
 "There ! we 've saved one poor soul," replied Walpurga with a 
 smile, "I said the very same words to Hansei, a little while ago." 
 
 When they had finished paring the potatoes for the next day, the 
 mother said : 
 
 I '11 tell you what. Let 's close the front door, and sit on the 
 little seat your father was so fond of, in the grassy garden back of the 
 house. There we can talk to each other without being disturbed, 
 and, as the lights are out, we '11 have no visitors. Nor do we want 
 any, for we 're enough by ourselves." 
 
 " Oh God ! if only my husband felt so, too." 
 
 " Let him alone at the inn. Thank God that we Ve alone to- 
 gether. Do n't act like a deposed queen ; it only makes it so much 
 the harder for you." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 285 
 
 Mother and daughter went out through the back door that led 
 to the little garden, where they seated themselves on a bench which 
 stood against the well and opposite the stable window, and left the 
 back door ajar so that they might hear the child if it should cry. 
 They heard nothing, however, except the noise made by the cows 
 while feeding. The moon was high, and the shimmering surface 
 of the lake reflected its rays. Now and then, the yodel of some 
 distant mountaineer, the barking of a dog, or the soft plashing of 
 an oar, were the only sounds that broke the silence. 
 
 "If the first two weeks were only over," said Walpurga, "I'd 
 be better used to it." 
 
 " Do n't wish for time to pass. It comes and goes of itself." 
 
 " Yes, mother ; tell me everything I 'm to do, I do n't care to 
 have my own will now." 
 
 " That won't do, either. Those who can walk alone must fall 
 alone." 
 
 " I '11 try to do my best." 
 
 " Very well. Tell me one thing : how is it in the palace about 
 now? " 
 
 " About now ? Dear me, it seems two years since I left there. 
 By this time, the lamps have been lit in all the passage ways, and 
 down stairs, where the king and the queen are, they 're just about 
 leaving the table. But we have nothing to do with that. Made- 
 moiselle Kramer is reading her book. She reads a book through 
 every day ; and my prince. O you poor child " 
 
 Walpurga burst into tears. At the same moment, her own 
 cbild began to cry and the two women hurried in. 
 
 "It was only dreaming," said the mother softly. "The child 
 must feel that the right mother is come." 
 
 Walpurga again felt conscious of the double life she was leading. 
 
 Although she was at home, her thoughts were still at the palace. 
 Everything seemed confused and indistinct, and when she found 
 herself again sitting on the bench at her mother's side, she was 
 obliged to stop and consider where she was. 
 
 " It seems to me," said the mother, "that those-who possess so 
 many worldly gifts as the king and queen and the quality have, 
 can't take much time to think of the heavenly life hereafter." 
 
 Walpurga told her how pious they all were at court, and that 
 the queen, although a Protestant, was especially so. 
 
 They conversed with each other in calm and gentle tones. 
 Walpurga rested her head against her mother's heart and, at last, 
 fell asleep there. The mother held her in her embrace, scarcely 
 [venturing to breathe, lest she might waken her. After they had 
 neen sitting there awhile, she awakened Walpurga and told her 
 *:hat she might catch cold and had better go to bed. Walpurga 
 scarcely knew where she was and, while still rubbing her eyes, 
 she asked : " Is n't my husband home yet ? " 
 
286 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "Just go to bed, I'll help you," said the mother, and she un- 
 dressed Walpurga, as if s"he were a little child. Then she sat down 
 by the bed and, taking her daughter's hand in hers, said : " You 
 see, it 's a queer thing when people who belong together have 
 lived apart -for a long time. They Ve become used to getting 
 along without each other, and the only thing to do, is to wait 
 till they grow used to each other again. Take precious good care 
 that you never speak an unkind word, and don't dare to think to 
 yourself: 'If I only were away again, and out in the world.' If 
 you harbor such thoughts, you '11 be like a tree cut off at its roots 
 and transplanted it must die. Mind what I tell you ! Whenever 
 you can change anything according to your own notion, do so ; 
 but you 'd better not attempt to alter what can't be altered. Make 
 up your mind that it 's got to be as it is, and submit. There 's 
 nothing so silly, in all the world, as to wish for what you can't 
 have. When the wind blows and the rain descends, you '11 often 
 hear people say : ' If it were only fine weather to-day.' We can't 
 change the weather outside of us ; but we can see to it that there 's 
 fair weather inside. And what I was going to say is : see that you 
 have fair weather within yourself and then all will be well." 
 
 " Yes ; but what am I to do ? " 
 
 "Make an effort this very night. Promise me, faithfully, that if 
 you 're awake when your husband comes home, you '11 say to him, 
 cheerfully, 'God greet you, Hansei' ! " 
 
 "I can't do that, mother; indeed, I can't." 
 
 " But I tell you you must be able to do it, or else you 're not a 
 true wife and mother, and every piece of gold you 've brought 
 home with you will be as if a fiery demon were lurking in it. You 
 promised to obey me, and at the very start you refuse." 
 
 "Yes, mother; I '11 try my best." 
 
 "Well, then, good night," said the mother, and returned to her 
 room. 
 
 Walpurga lay there in silence. Anger and sorrow kept her 
 awake. Her child had become estranged from her, her husband 
 had acquired bad habits and preferred the society of his comrades 
 to hers. For whose sake had she imposed the heavy burden upon 
 herself? For whose sake had she gone among strangers to earn 
 all that she had brought home with her, and for whom had she 
 kept herself so pure ? She wet her pillow with bitter tears. But 
 suddenly an inner voice said to her : " Do you mean to take credit 
 to yourself for having been honest ? Were you honest for yourself, 
 or for others ? and were n't they obliged to suffer, too, in taking 
 everything upon themselves ? Ought n't you to thank God that 
 they did n't die of grief? Yes, that was all very well ; but now 
 they ought to be heartily glad and grateful I can't expect it 
 of the child, for that 's too young to know ; but my husband he 
 has sense enough, when he feels like it. And have I gained all 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 28? 
 
 this only to be a hostess to the whole world ? No, I Ve earned it, 
 and I've a right For God's sake! 'A right? There's the 
 trouble. When the one always insists upon claiming his rights 
 from the other, it 's just like hell itself I do n't want any rights ; 
 I Ve got no rights ; I want nothing at all. All I wish. is to be an 
 obedient wife and a good mother Dear Lord, assist me if I 'm 
 not one." 
 
 Heavy steps were heard approaching. Hansei entered, and, 
 with cheerful voice, Walpurga exclaimed : " God greet you, Han- 
 se: ! I 'm glad that you Ve found me still awake." 
 
 "I Ve won the bet ! I Ve won it ! " exclaimed Hansei with a 
 loud voice. " There 's two men standing out there under the 
 window. We had a wager together and I Ve won six measures 
 of wine from them. They said that the best proof of a wife is the 
 way she receives her husband when he returns from the tavern, or 
 when he awakes her out of her sleep. I told them : ' I know my 
 wife. When I get home, she '11 be kind and friendly to me.' But 
 they would n't believe a word of it. And so we Ve had a wager, 
 and I Ve won it ; and if all the wine in the whole world were 
 mine, it would n't please me half so much as to know that I was 
 right." 
 
 Hansei opened the shutters of the window towards the lake, 
 and called out : " Now you Ve heard it, friends. You can go now ; 
 I Ve won the wine. Good night ! " 
 
 Walpurga pulled the cover over her head. There was laughter 
 outside, and the two men departed. For a minute or two, the 
 bright moonlight shone into the lowly cottage, and then the shutter 
 was closed again. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 WHEN Hansei awoke the next morning, the cows were already 
 milked, and the house looked so bright and clean that it 
 seemed as if one of the kind fairies that dwelt on the mountains 
 had been putting things to rights. A pot of blooming, scarlet 
 pinks stood in the centre of the table, over which a neat, white 
 cloth had been spread ; and, as if to hide the dingy flower pot from 
 view, a garland of leaves had been twined around it. 
 
 "You've been industrious," said Hansei, and Walpurga an- 
 swered : " Yes, my thoughts wandered far away into the world, 
 and have come back again. You see, the quality have all that one 
 can wish for, but do you know what they have n't got ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 ' They Ve no Sunday ; and do you know why ? " 
 
 " I do n't know that, either." 
 
 " Because they've no real workdays. In the palace, when you 
 get up in the murning, your boots and shoes are ready at your door, 
 
288 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 just as if they had blackened themselves. The coffee is ready ot 
 itself, the bread has baked itself, the paths have swept themselves 
 clean, and everything is attended to, one hardly knows how. But 
 to do ever) thing with your own hands Just see ! to-day, I 've 
 already put my hand under your feet ; I 've cleaned your shoes." 
 
 " You must n't do that ; that 's no \vork for you. Do n't you do 
 it again." 
 
 " Very well, 1 won t do it again. But to-day I 've done every- 
 thing, and I can hardly tell you how happy I felt when I went after 
 the first pail of water. It went hard at first, but I managed it, 
 after all. And now I 'm longing for breakfast. Since the day I 
 left home, I Ve never once been so hungry as I now am." 
 
 When the grandmother came, bringing the child with her, she, 
 too, was surprised, and said : " Walpurga, you '11 turn our cottage 
 into a palace." 
 
 With joyful mien, Hansei told her of all that Walpurga had 
 been doing, and the mother said: "She's right; an industrious 
 home is the happiest home, and now, just because you 've got 
 some means, you must work so much the more. For where there 's 
 idleness, riches take wings to themselves ; but if you 're always 
 adding something, no matter how little, to your store, the old is 
 likely to stay." 
 
 "I don't think we need go to church to-day," said Hansei, 
 'mother 's giving us the best benediction." 
 
 Yes, but we '11 go to church, for all that," replied Walpurga. 
 " All the time I was away, I 've looked forward to this first going 
 to church. What a fine day it is ! I do n't believe there ever was 
 such lovely weather." Their intercourse was full of happiness. 
 The only drawback was that the child still refused to go to Wal- 
 purga. 
 
 Walpurga told her mother that everything had been well 
 attended to during her absence, but she was displeased at one 
 thing. 
 
 " What is it ? what have I done ? " 
 
 " Why, you did n't get yourself a servant." 
 
 The old woman smiled. She could never do that. She did n't 
 know how she could ever order a servant about. And now Hansei 
 said he would n't allow his wife to overwork herself, and that there 
 must be a servant in the house. 
 
 The grandmother recommended one of her brother's children 
 from over the mountains. So it was decided that they should send 
 word to Uncle Peter to come, and bring one of his daughters with 
 him. 
 
 The morning v as clear and bracing, and Hansei, who had put 
 on his snow-whit', shirt, said, while lighting his pipe : 
 
 " Walpurga. let your mother work a little while, and come out 
 into the garden." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 289 
 
 He was sitting on the bench under the cherry tree. Walpurga 
 soon joined him and, after the fashion of women, said that she 
 could only remain for a short time, that she had various matters to 
 attend to, and that they ought to be at church in good season. 
 
 She sat down beside him, and Hansei said : " Why do n't you 
 say something? you must have lots to tell about." 
 
 " I can't think of anything now. Just wait, it '11 all come in 
 time. It's happiness enough that we 're together again. If we, 
 all of us, only keep well. I think our cherry tree has grown." 
 
 " And now that I think of it, you Ve had no cherries from it this 
 year. I '11 climb up and get some for you, and if I could get up, 
 way beyond the tree, and bring down the blue sky for you, I 'd do 
 it." 
 
 He climbed up the tree, and cried out : " Shoo ! you sparrows, 
 you 've had enough. My old woman 's here again, but she 's a 
 young one, still, and wants some, too. You 've had your wiv^s 
 with you the whole year, and I have n't." He hurriedly plucked 
 the finest cherries, singing the while : 
 
 In cherry time, you left me, dear ; 
 In cherry time, again you "re here. 
 The cherries they are black and red, 
 And I '11 love my darling till I 'm dead. 
 
 Suddenly he called out : "Walpurga, I must come down, I can't 
 get any more for you, I 'm so giddy." 
 
 He was soon on the ground again and said : "That never hap- 
 pened to me before, in all my life, and I 've been up there many a 
 half day at a time. I suppose its our good fortune that makes me 
 so giddy. I '11 never climb a tree again, I promise you that. It 
 would be a terrible thing if I were to fall down. We must take 
 care that we keep well and hearty, and stick to each other. I 
 do n't want to break my legs. I want to dance with you yet. I '11 
 dance with you at Burgei's wedding. It seems as if I could hear 
 the music already. Hark ! do n't you hear anything? " 
 
 " No. It '11 be a long while before the music for Burgei's wed- 
 ding is struck up." 
 
 " And she must get a good husband ; I won't have it otherwise. 
 What do you think of a prince ? but I '11 be quiet, for I 'm talking 
 nothing but silly stuff. I scarcely know what I 'm saying, where I 
 am, or who I am, and " 
 
 "We 're at home, and you 're my husband and that 's all of it. 
 You '11 see, I have something else good in store for you." 
 
 "Tell me nothing, and promise me nothing more. I've got 
 enough already. I can hardly believe that we 've a child. It seems 
 as if we were just married." 
 
 In a soft voice, too low for any passer-by to hear it and just loud 
 snough for them to know they were singing, they sang : 
 13 
 
290 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Oh, blissful is the tender tie 
 That binds me, love, to thee. 
 And swiftly speed the hours by, 
 When thou art near to me. 
 
 Just like the finch who never wearies of repeating his song, they 
 sang the same words over and over again. They had nothing 
 more to tell each other, for they were unspeakably happy. The 
 church bell now began tolling. Its sounds, floating over the lake, 
 were echoed back from the forests and mountains. A wagon was 
 seen coming from the village and Walpurga said : " We must 
 get ready for church." 
 
 They went into the house. The mother had already brought 
 Hansei his royal Sunday suit. They soon heard the cracking of a 
 whip and a voice cried out: " Are you coming? " Hansei put his 
 head .out of the window and asked : " What 's the matter ? " Cov- 
 ering herself with a large sheet, \Valpurga looked out of the low 
 window. The innkeeper's head-servant, who was standing by the 
 wagon out in the road, answered : 
 
 " My master sends you his wagon, so that you may drive to 
 church." 
 
 "Walpurga, do you wish to ride? " asked Hansei, at the closed 
 chamber door. 
 
 " No, I '11 walk. I beg of you, Hansei, send the wagon away ; 
 I Ve had enough riding." Hansei went out. At the same mo- 
 ment, the innkeeper, with his military medal glittering on his breast, 
 arrived. 
 
 Hansei thanked him, but said that his wife did n't care to ride. 
 But it was not so easy to deny the innkeeper, who waited until 
 Walpurga came out of the house. 
 
 She was not long dressing herself, and that is saying a great 
 deal ; for this was to be her first appearance at church and she 
 knew that all eyes would be directed upon her. When she came 
 out, clad in tasteful attire, the innkeeper said : 
 
 " You must do me the honor of letting me drive you and your 
 husband to church." 
 
 " I 'm still quite sound on my feet, and shall be glad to have a 
 good walk again." 
 
 " You can do that, too ; but not on the first Sunday. We 'd feel 
 ashamed before the folks who live in the wilderness and out at the 
 Windenreuthe, if we did n't show them that we know how to treat 
 a woman like yourself with proper respect. We 're all proud of 
 you." 
 
 " Thanks. Do n't think hard of it, but I won't ride." 
 
 Walpurga was not to be moved. The innkeeper was about to 
 give vent to his anger, but, fearing the consequences, he restrained 
 himself and, with smiling mien, said : 
 
 ' I ought to have known as much. Walking 's a great treat to 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 291 
 
 the quality. Yes, indeed ! " He laughed at his own cleverness 
 and sent the wagon home again. He kept smiling till he had a 
 chance to turn his back on Hansei and Walpurga, when his face 
 assumed quite an angry expression. He went home, took off his 
 coat with the medal, hung it up in the closet, and wished he could 
 haug himself in the same manner. Who could tell but what Wal- 
 purga would interfere both with all his fun and the handsome re- 
 ceiots he expected that day. 
 
 Walpurga and Hansei started off by the road along the lake, the 
 grandmother, with the child on her arm, standing at the garden 
 hedge and looking after them. She softly repeated to the child : 
 "mother," and it suddenly called out "mother" in a loud voice. 
 Walpurga turned round and wanted to hug the child, but it again 
 tried to hide from her, and cried when she attempted to kiss 
 it. Hansei stood by, and was so vexed that he raised his hand as 
 if to strike the child, but Walpurga pacified him and said : " We 
 must wait." 
 
 The second bell was ringing, and they hurried on. On the way, 
 they were joined by men, women and children coming from the 
 village and various farms in the neighborhood. Hansei longed to 
 drive them away, and he once said, softly, " I 'd like to go with 
 you, alone." 
 
 "Be patient," said Walpurga, "don't begrudge them their de- 
 light in our happiness." She was affable to all. Hansei looked 
 out over the lake, then up at the sky, and then again at his wife, as 
 if to say: "She 's here again." He smiled when he heard the 
 children saying : " She 's the grandest peasant now she comes 
 right after the queen." 
 
 The third bell, or the ringing in, which generally lasts a full quar- 
 ter of an hour, had just begun, when Hansei and his wife reached 
 the church. Many churchgoers were standing about in groups and 
 welcomed them. There was still time to remain there, chatting for 
 awhile ; but Walpurga took her husband's hand and went into the 
 church with him. They were the first to enter. Walpurga took 
 her usual seat in the place allotted to the women, and Hansei went 
 into that assigned to the men. Thus they were together and yet 
 apart. The bells overhead were still ringing out their merry peal, 
 while they sat there 1 in silent introspection. Once only did Hansei 
 nod to his wife, but she shook her head deprecatingly. The play- 
 ing of the organ began, and the people poured into church. Wal- 
 purga knt:w that such and such a one was near her, but she did 
 not wish co be welcomed or greeted by any one in such a place. 
 She felt that the eye of the Invisible One was resting upon her. 
 
 The pastor preached of the return to the everlasting home. It 
 seemed as if his words were intended for Hansei and Walpurga ; 
 as if he were speaking only to them. 
 
 When the sermon was over and prayers were offered for the 
 
292 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 king, the queen and the royal family, there was strange whisper 
 ing in the church. Walpurga felt that all eyes were directed upon 
 her, and did not look up. 
 
 The service was over. The congregation left the church and 
 Walpurga was now welcomed by the late comers. 
 
 The sexton came to Walpurga and Hansei, and said that the 
 pastor wished to see them in the vestry. They went in. The 
 pastor again welcomed them, spoke of their good fortune and ad- 
 monished them to be humble. 
 
 "Yes, yes," said Hansei, "my mother-in-law said aln.ost the 
 very same thing." 
 
 The pastor promised to visit them before long, and said that he 
 was proud to have such a woman among his parishioners. Hansei 
 put out his hand as if to check him, and felt like answering : 
 "What 's the use of your warning us against pride when you tell 
 us such things yourself?" The pastor motioned him to be quiet, 
 and went on to say : " I shall visit the capital next week, and you 
 must do me the favor, Walpurga, to give me a letter to Countess 
 von Wildenort." 
 
 " With all my heart," said Walpurga. 
 
 When they were out of doors again, Hansei looked at his wife 
 from head to foot. And so even the pastor would ask his wife to 
 intercede for him. Yes, she was a splendid wife, if all that 
 could n't turn her head. 
 
 "Oh Hansei," said Walpurga suddenly, "what a pack of fools 
 they all are. They do all they can to make one proud, and if one 
 were to become so, they 'd do nothing but abuse you." 
 
 Hansei was on the point of saying that he had thought the very 
 same thing, but, before he had a chance to do so, he saw Schneck 
 the tailor coming down the mountain side, and carrying his great 
 bass viol. The weak and delicate looking man, with the great in- 
 strument on his back, presented quite an odd appearance. 
 
 " Heigho ! why here 's the wedding party," exclaimed the tailor, 
 while he left the meadow path and ran up the road to shake hands 
 with Hansei and Walpurga. 
 
 " What 's the matter ? what are you going to do ? " 
 
 " I 'm going to play for you to-day." 
 
 " For us ? Who ordered you ? " 
 
 "What a pity my wife did n't live to see this day. How happy 
 it would have made her. Do n't you know about it ? There 's 
 going to be a great feast at the Chamois, in honor of your return, 
 Walpurga, and the innkeeper has engaged me and six other 
 musicians. The forest keeper, the chief forester, all the judges of 
 the court, and even body for six leagues around, have been invited. 
 How stupid that I 've only got my bass viol with me, or else I 'd 
 play you a piece, right here on the road." 
 
 "There you have it," whispered Walpurga to her husband, " the 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 293 
 
 innkeeper makes money out of everything. If he only could do it, 
 he 'd have fiddle strings stretched over my back, and have the skin 
 drawn off of yov to make drum-heads with." 
 
 "Go on; we '11 follow," said Hansei to the tailor. He was 
 annoyed when others joined them on their way home. He wanted 
 to be alone with his wife. No one should have a share of her ; 
 she belonged to him alone. 
 
 " It '11 soon be a year since we sat on this pile of stones. Do 
 you remember? It must have been somewhere about here," ex- 
 claimed Hansei, with joyous voice. 
 
 Walpurga gave an evasive answer. She told Hansei that she 
 thought it a stupid piece of business for the innkeeper to make a 
 fes f ival of her return, but that she would n't put foot in the 
 Chamois for all his music. 
 
 Hansei had not thought so ill of the projected entertainment ; on 
 the contrary, he had found pleasure in the idea of setting in the 
 midst of the crowd, with his wife by his side and all the people 
 frisking about him. That was more than Grubersepp, with all his 
 money, could get. It was not without a struggle, that he, at last, 
 said : " Just as you please ; you ought to know best whether it 's 
 proper for you." 
 
 As soon as the afternoon service was over, crowds, on their 
 way to the Chamois, were seen hurrying through the village in 
 carriages, on horseback, or afoot. The sound of the music could 
 be heard from afar, and the tones of tailor Schneck's bass viol 
 were heard over all. 
 
 " If I could only hide myself from them," said Walpurga. 
 "That 's easily done, " said Hansei, triumphantly, "that's all 
 right. Let us go off together, by ourselves." 
 
 He went out through the back door and into the back garden 
 and loosened the boat from the spile. While the chain rattled over 
 its side, Walpurga laid her hand on her heart and said : 
 " You Ve loosened a chain from my heart." 
 They got into the boat and pushed off, and, like an arrow, the 
 slender bark snot out over the smooth waters of the lake. 
 
 "The pastor meant to come," said Walpurga, when they had 
 gone some distance. 
 
 " He can come some other time ; he won't run away," thought 
 Hansei. " We 're rowing together, just as we did when we were 
 betrothed." 
 
 Walpurga also seized the oars. She and Hansei sat face to face. 
 The four oars rose and fell as if it were a single hand that plied 
 them. Neither spoke a word ; there was nothing to be said. The 
 happy glances they bestowed on each other were full of eloquence, 
 and the equal stroke of the oars told the whole story. 
 
 When they reached the middle of the lake, they heard loud 
 music from the shore, and, looking back, saw a great crowd, 
 accompanied by the band, in front of their house. 
 
294 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "Thank God ! we Ve escaped that," said Hansei. 
 
 They rowed on, further and further, and went ashore on the 
 opposite bank where, holding each other by the hand, they walked 
 up the hill. They soon reached a bluff,' where they rested for 
 auhile. At last, Hansei said: 
 
 ' Walpurga, it seems to me that you do n't want to be the land- 
 lady of the Chamois. Tell me frankly, is it so? " 
 
 ' Xo, I do n't ; but if you r'e really bent upon it " 
 
 ' I want nothing that does n't suit you." 
 
 ' Nor do I want anything that displeases you." 
 
 ' And so we '11 let the innkeeper go his own way ? " 
 
 Gladly." 
 
 'We can wait." 
 
 ' We can remain as we are, for the present." 
 
 'We '11 soon find a good chance." 
 
 'The money won't grow mouldy." 
 
 ' Xor will you. I've got a brand-new wife. Hurrah! hurrah!" 
 
 Their voices joined in merry song, and they felt as if relieved 
 from a self-imposed burden. 
 
 " They may make sport of me, as much as they please, as long 
 as we 're happy together," said Hansei. 
 
 " Hansei, I '11 never forget you for that. There 's something 
 else coming, too." 
 
 " There need n't be anything more. All I ask for is that we 
 may keep what we have." 
 
 They sat there for a long while, and at last Walpurga said : 
 
 "Oh! how beautiful the world is. If we could only always 
 remain together thus. There 's nothing' more beautiful than to sit 
 here and look at the lake, through the green leaves and the gray 
 boughs. There are two skies, one above and one below. Hansei, 
 we have two heavens, too, and I almost think that the one on earth 
 is the lovelier of the two." 
 
 " Yes, but joy has made me hungry and thirsty ; I must have 
 something to eat." 
 
 They descended to a quiet, desolate looking village that lay near 
 by. Here and there, people w r ere seated before their doors, chat- 
 ting and yawning, to while away the sultry hour of noon. But 
 Walpurga said: 
 
 "Oh Hansei, how beautiful everything is! Just look at that 
 wheelbarrow, and that pile of wood, and that house I don't 
 know what 's the matter with me, but I feel quite dizzy, and as if 
 everything were smiling at me." 
 
 " You must have something to eat and drink ; you 're quite 
 beside yourself." 
 
 They found the inn-parlor untenanted, except by myriads of flies. 
 " They 've got lots of guests here, but they do n't pay anything," 
 said Hansei, and they both laughed with all their might. They 
 were so happy that the merest trifle provoked them to laughter. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 29$ 
 
 After repeated calls, the landlady appeared, bringing some sour 
 wine and stale bread ; but it was quite palatable, nevertheless. 
 
 They left and, when evening came on, rowed about the lake for a 
 long while. The evening dews were already falling, when Hansei, 
 pointing towards a distant bare spot in the forest, said : " That '3 
 our meadow." 
 
 Walpurga seemed busied with other thoughts. She rested hei 
 oars and exclaimed : 
 
 " The little house over there is our home, and there 's our child. 
 I do n't know how it is She could not express her feelings, 
 but it seemed as if she must fly away and hover over the sea and 
 the mountains, with all that belonged to her. She gazed earnestly 
 at Hansei, until he at last said : 
 
 " Of course it 's our little house ; and our cows, and our tables, 
 and our chairs, and our beds, are all there. Walpurga, you 've 
 become a foolish thing ; everything seems strange to you." 
 
 " You 're right, Hansei. Only have patience with me. I 'm 
 just coming home to it all again." 
 
 She had, at first, almost felt mortified at Hansei's words. He 
 had taken her expressions so literally, and had not appreciated her 
 high-strung feelings. But she quickly regained her self-control, 
 and realized how changed she had become, and that all this was 
 out of place here. 
 
 They returned home, and slipped into the house through the 
 back door. They found everything quiet and in good order. 
 They did not care for the people outside, or for their merry-making. 
 They were enough to each other. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 WERE these the same villagers who had talked so scandalously 
 of Walpurga when, at Christmas time, the new clothes had 
 come for Hansei and the mother? Had they suddenly become 
 kind and loving ? 
 
 It seemed, at first, as if they had really raised themselves to the 
 noblest height, that of pure sympathy. 
 
 But now If there had been a weather-cock to mark the feel- 
 ings of men, it would have turned quite suddenly. 
 
 It all came about quite naturally. 
 
 There were few amusements still left to the villagers. The 
 church and state authorities had ruled with a severe hand. It 
 was, therefore, no trifle that the members of the provincial court 
 would permit music in midsummer, in honor of the prince's nurse, 
 for the sanction of the authorities was required, even for music. 
 
 All were delighted except, of course, Grubersepp, who made a 
 wry face at their noisy doings, and, after he had taken his comfort- 
 able afternoon nap, went out to his fields. Such a noise and fuss 
 
296 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 about nothing at all, would do very well for the little farmers, the 
 woodcutters, the boatmen and the fishermen ; but it should not 
 interest a rich, sober-minded farmer. 
 
 But when they found that Walpurga and Hansei had gone away, 
 and that the cream of the joke was thus spoiled; when even the 
 country justice said that their behavior was shameful, there was 
 quite a revulsion of sentiment, and many who had gone to the cot- 
 tage by the lake in order to do honor to its inmates, now began to 
 think of what tricks they might play Hansei and his haughty wife. 
 There were many ways of annoying them, such as cutting off the 
 cows' tails, nailing up the doors, breaking the windows They 
 were quite ingenious in inventing all sorts of mean tricks, but the 
 presence of the justice acted as an uncomfortable restraint. So the 
 crowd returned to the inn and amused themselves by inveighing 
 against the he-nurse and his stupid wife. By degrees, however, 
 another change in feeling took place. There are many who rejoice 
 in another's misfortunes, and they chuckled over the landlord's 
 disappointment. The feast and the great earnings he had ex- 
 pected, had both been failures, for the better portion of the com- 
 pany soon drove off, leaving him enough roast meats and cakes on 
 hand to last a week. Out in the kitchen, the hostess was weeping 
 with anger and vexation, which she would gladly have vented upon 
 her husband. There was lively talking on all sides, and they found 
 it a great joke to make sport of the innkeeper, and to advise him 
 to add the day's loss to the price of the house. 
 
 " I shan't sell at all," said the host. "Such people shan't enter 
 my house again." 
 
 When Walpurga awoke, early on Monday morning, Hansei was 
 nowhere to be seen. The week's work had begun. Before clay- 
 light, he had taken his scythe and gone out to his mountain meadow, 
 where he was now mowing the dewy grass. He worked with such 
 joy, such pleasure and calmness, that it seemed as if an invisible 
 power were guiding his hand. When the breakfast was ready 
 and Walpurga had searched for her husband everywhere, and 
 thinking that he might have gone fishing, had called out for him 
 back of the house and down by the lake, she went out into the 
 garden again and looked up into the cherry tree. Perhaps he was 
 up there, although this constant plucking of cherries would be too 
 much of a good thing. At the same moment, she looked towards 
 the hill, and saw Hansei coming home, his scythe glittering in the 
 sun. Walpurga beckoned to him. He quickened* his pace and 
 told her how much he had already done. " Ah ! " said he, stretch- 
 ing his limbs while he seated himself at the breakfast table, " it 
 does one good to work before breakfast, and then come home and 
 find wife and child and mother, with something warm and good 
 to eat, waiting for you Ah ! that tastes good. Sunday 's beauti- 
 ful, but a workday 's much finer. I would n't care to be one of 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 297 
 
 vour quality, who have Sunday all the year round. If I only had 
 lots of fields and meadows and forests, so that I could always work 
 on my own land." 
 
 "We '11 have them, God willing," answered Walpurga. 
 
 They were a happy party at breakfast, and the child was full of 
 life They had been sitting together for a little while, when the 
 innkeeper's servant entered and brought Hansei his beer mug 
 with his name engraved on the pewter lid, and signified that the 
 innkeeper desired no further visits on his part. 
 
 Hansei sent word to the host that he had better return the twc 
 hundred florins that he still owed him. He did not like to send 
 such a message by the servant, but he felt that he ought to give 
 him tit for tat. 
 
 "And tell him, besides," he called out to the servant, "he's 
 often been warned that he might get hold of the wrong fellow. 
 Just tell him that I 'm the wrong fellow." 
 
 Hansei could not help feeling sad while he looked at the empty 
 beer mug. Who knew how long it would remain empty. Perhaps 
 forever. And it 's no trifling matter to be excluded from the vil- 
 lage inn. It 's almost as hard as to live in a small capital where 
 the prince gives entertainments, and to be unable to take part in 
 them because you are not admitted at court. " There 's a new 
 tap," they 'd say ; " there 's a new wine purchase ; there are enter- 
 taining strangers there " He was now excluded from the best 
 thing there was in the village. When he looked at his tankard 
 it was with sad thoughts, and with a prophetic sense of the thirst 
 which in future he would be unable to quench. 
 
 Before long, woodcutters, on their way to the forest, stopped to 
 see Hansei and tell him of all that had been said of him and his 
 wife on the previous day. They roundly abused those who, in 
 order to please the innkeeper, had spoken ill 'of an honest man, 
 one against whom nothing could be said. 
 
 "There 's no harm done," replied Hansei; "on the contrary, it 
 makes one wiser to see how people will talk when their tongues are 
 loosened." 
 
 " And your comrades, the huntsmen, said they had only let 
 you go with them in order to have fun at your expense." 
 
 " That does n't matter. I '11 soon show them that I 've learnt 
 wisdom from them." 
 
 " Was n't there one who spoke well of us ? " enquired Walpurga. 
 
 "Yes, yes," replied Wastl the weaver, who felt kindly inclined 
 towards Hansei, but feared to incur the displeasure of the inn- 
 keeper " the Doctor. He 's a real friend of yours. He said : 
 ' Walpurga was perfectly right ; it 's the most sensible thing she 's 
 ever done 'and he also said that he and his wife would soon come 
 on purpose to welcome you." 
 
 And now the woodcutters cautioned Hansei, and told him that 
 
298 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 there were others who thought just as they did, that the old inn 
 had been of little account for a great while, and that he would dc 
 well to apply for a license. He could n't fail to get one, and 
 then h- '-ould run the host of the Chamois so dry that the hoops 
 A'ould fall from his casks. 
 
 Han ci nodded his cheerful approval. "Just wait, we'll show 
 you, yet," he muttered to himself, clenching his fists, stretching 
 out his arms, and raising his shoulders as if he would fell the inn- 
 keeper to the earth with a blow that would make him forget to rise 
 again. But Walpurga said : " We '11 harm no one, and we '11 let 
 no one harm us." 
 
 V Have n't you something to drink ? " enquired the woodcutters. 
 They wanted a reward for the news they had brought. 
 
 "No, I've nothing," replied Hansei. "I must be off to the 
 meadow to turn the hay." 
 
 The men left, and had gone a great ways before they ceased 
 abusing Hansei. "That 's the way with a beggar on horse 
 back. He won't even give you a drink when you bring him 
 news." 
 
 \Yastl the weaver had not the courage to contradict them, 
 although he knew that Hansei would gladly have given him some- 
 thing to drink if the rest of the company had not been present. 
 
 Hansei gazed at his forlorn tankard, for some time. At last, he 
 said : 
 
 "I do n't care. I wanted to be all alone with you, Walpurga, 
 and now we are alone, I ask nothing of the world." 
 
 "The innkeeper's not the whole world," said Walpurga, con- 
 solingly. 
 
 Hansei shook his head, as if to say that a woman can't under- 
 stand what it is to be shut out of the inn, just like a drunkard whom 
 the law prevents from going there. 
 
 " He 's got no right to keep me out," said he, angrily. " I know 
 my rights. The landlord must give drink to every guest who enters 
 his house. But Lshan't do him the honor to go there." 
 
 Waipurga, whose thoughts followed the woodcutters, conject- 
 ured they were speaking ill of them. 
 
 "We ought to have given the woodcutters something to drink. 
 They 're surely abusing us now." 
 
 " We can't stop every one's mouth," replied Hansei. " Let them 
 t.i'k ; and do n't begin to repent now. We must be firm. What 's 
 clone is done." With a changed tone, he r.dded : 
 
 " The sun 's burning hot on the mountain, and if we stick at our 
 work, we can get our hay in this very evening. In such weather as 
 this, the grass turns into hay as fast as it falls from the scythe. 
 But there 's something brewing in the lake. There may be a 
 storm before we know it ; and so I 'd like to get the hay in under 
 cover. Won't you go along ? " 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 299 
 
 Walpurga was delighted to go. The mother also wished to ac- 
 company them, and so, taking their dinner with them, the whole 
 family set out for the mountain meadow. Hansei carried the 
 child, Walpurga took the barrow, and the grandmother carried 
 the dinner basket. As soon as the dog saw them start, he fol- 
 lowed after them, and was constantly running backward and for- 
 ward, from one to the other of the party. The dew had already 
 disappeared from field and meadow, when they entered the shady 
 forest. 
 
 "I 'd rather push a barrow," said Walpurga, "than ride in a 
 coach." 
 
 When they began to ascend the hill, they changed about. The 
 grandmother took the child, Walpurga the dinner, and Hansei the 
 wheelbarrow. It was not until the child was asleep that Walpurga 
 could take it on her arm, and she felt happy while carrying it 
 through the green wood. Once, it opened its eyes and looked at 
 her, but soon closed them again and went to sleep. 
 
 When they reached the meadow, they laid the child in a shady 
 spot, where they could always have it in sight, and the dog re- 
 mained there guarding it. Hansei and the two women worked 
 assiduously. Hansei called out to Walpurga that she must not turn 
 the hay so quickly, or she would soon tire herself, for she was no 
 longer used to such work. So she went about it more slowly. 
 
 "This meadow was bought with your money," said Hansei. 
 
 " Do n't say that. Promise me, you '11 never say such a thing 
 again." 
 
 " I promise." 
 
 They found it warm work, and when Hansei came near Wal- 
 purga again, she said : 
 
 " The same sun that dries the grass makes us wet with perspira- 
 tion. At the summer palace, they mow the grass every week. 
 They never let it grow high, and take great care that there are no 
 flowers in the grass; but they tell me that it does n't make good 
 fodder." 
 
 " You think of so many things," replied Hansei. " Are n't you 
 tired yet?" 
 
 " Oh no ; I 've been resting so long. Do you know what pleases 
 me most of all ? Just look," said she, showing him that her hands 
 were becoming hardened by labor. 
 
 They heard the bell down in the valley striking the hour of 
 eleven. This was the signal to prepare dinner. Hansei hurriedly 
 brought some wood, a bright fire was kindled, and the child was 
 so lively that the grandmother had to exert all her strength to 
 keep it on her lap. While the soup was being warmed, Hansei sat 
 by smoking his pipe. The three sat on the ground, eating out of 
 lne dish. After dinner, Hansei stretched himself out and said ; 
 'I '11 sleep for a quarter of an hour." 
 
300 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Walpurga also lay down, but the mother remained awake, watch- 
 ing the child. 
 
 Hansei slept but a short time. He looked pleased when he saw 
 his wife lying on the ground, sleeping by his side. He motione 1 
 to the mother that she should not awaken Walpurga. The child 
 was placed in the basket beside it's mother, who slept on quietly, 
 while Hansei and the grandmother were at work further down the 
 hillside. The sun was already sinking when Walpurga awoke. 
 She felt something touching her which thrilled her strangely. She 
 opened her eyes, and they met those of her child. Its hands 
 were stroking her cheeks. The child had crept out of its basket 
 and had crawled up to her. Walpurga kept perfectly still. She 
 scarcely ventured to breathe, and closed her eyes, lest she should 
 frighten the child away. "Mother," cried the child. She still 
 restrained herself, though she felt as if her heart must burst. 
 " Mother ! Mother ! " it cried, more eagerly than before ; and now 
 she raised herself and embraced the child, and it let her do with it 
 as she liked. Her heart overflowing with happiness, she sank 
 on her knees and held her little, laughing child on high. 
 
 She sprang to her feet, held the child up with both her hands, 
 and, hurrying to her people, exclaimed : " Hansei ! mother ! the 
 child 's mine ! " and the little one held her tightly in its arms. 
 
 " Moderate yourself," said her mother. " You '11 spoil the child 
 if you show that you care for it so much. That 's enough, Burgei," 
 said she to the 'little one. "Put it down, Walpurga, and come 
 help us." 
 
 Walpurga followed her mother's advice, but could not help look- 
 ing towards the child. It did not turn towards her. It was play- 
 ing with the dog, who had made good friends with it. Presently 
 it tumbled down from the pile of hay. Walpurga shrieked ; but 
 the mother exclaimed, " let it alone !" The child lifted its head, 
 laughed, crawled over to the grandmother, and then looked over at 
 its mother. 
 
 The hay was dry. Hansei hurried off to fetch his cow team, 
 as he was anxious to get the load home betimes. The wagon could 
 not cc me nearer than the road, and so they were obliged to carry the 
 hay d )\\n the hill and to pile it up in heaps. Walpurga said that 
 she had slept enough and had been idle for a long while, and al- 
 lowed her mother to help her but little. 
 
 Hansei returned. They loaded the wagon. Grandmother, Wal- 
 purga and child sat on top of the load of hay, and Hansei, at last, 
 got up, too. Evening had set in. The lake began to assume a 
 darker hue, and it was only here and there that a streak of light 
 played upon its surface. 
 
 ' And now the people may say whatever they please," said Wal- 
 purga, "up here, we 're far above them all." 
 -The mother and Hansei looked at each other, and their glance 
 
ON THE HEIGi 
 
 UJWIVJ 
 
 O3T 
 
 meant : " How wonderful it is that Walpurga 
 strange thoughts about everything." 
 
 It was soon quiet in the little cottage by the lake. 7ts tited, but 
 happy inmates were sleeping, and the whole house v.as fragrant 
 with the odor of the new-mown hay. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 'PHE folks in the cottage slept on peacefully, knowing nothing of 
 1 the whirlwind of dust, the dark clouds that overcast tne 3ky, 
 the mighty storm, or the violent rain that followed. When Hansel 
 put his head out ot the window next morning, it was still raining. 
 He turned to Walpurga and said : 
 
 " Do you see ? I was right, yesterday. The weather 's changed. 
 Thank God ! our hay 's under cover." 
 
 "Yes," replied Walpurga. "What a day it was. It was all 
 sunshine." 
 
 It rained all day. A sharp wind was blowing, the waves of 
 the lake rose on high and lashed themselves against the shore. 
 
 " How good it is to have a roof over one's head," said Walpurga. 
 Hansei again looked at his wife with surprise. Walpurga dis- 
 covered everything anew. But now she was happy, for her child 
 clung to her. It called her "mother," and called the grand- 
 mother "mamma." 
 
 Walpurga, with the child on her arm, was standing at the stable 
 door and throwing bread crumbs to the finches who could find no 
 food that day. The birds picked up the crumbs and flew away to 
 their nests with them. 
 
 ' They Ve got young ones at home, too," said she. Suddenly, 
 she interrupted herself and said : " Burgei, we Ve been in the sun 
 together, now we '11 go into the rain together." She ran out into 
 the warm rain with her child, and then back again into the stable. 
 She dried herself and the child, and said: "There! wasn't it 
 lovely ? and now it 's raining on our meadow, and fresh grass will 
 grow, and my child must grow, too, and when we gather the 
 aftermath, you '11 be able to run alone." 
 
 Walpurga felt so happy that the child had become attached to 
 her that she hardly knew what to do for joy. The child, too, was 
 happier than it had ever been before. The young mother could 
 play with it far better than the grandmother could. Her laugh 
 was so bright, and she would count its little fingers and renew all 
 those wondrous, childish plays which overflowing maternal love in- 
 vented. 
 
 Walpurga did not care to eat anything all that day. She merely 
 tasted a spoonful of the broth before giving it to her chijd. It 
 rained incessantly. Hansei was out in the shed, chopping wood. 
 Suddenly he came into the room and said: "How careless we 
 
302 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 were yesterday. They all know that you brought home so much 
 money with you, and we went off and left the house alone. Have 
 you looked to see if it 's still here ? " 
 
 Walpurga was filled with alarm, but speedily satisfied herself 
 that all was still there. 
 
 " It must be put in a safe place before long. At all events, one 
 of us must always stay at home, now," said Hansei, and returned 
 to his work. 
 
 Time passes slowly on rainy days, and what better employment 
 is there in such seasons, than to sit together and abuse those whc 
 are absent ? At noon, Hansei said : " The Chamois must be crowd- 
 ed, all day long." It worried him to think that he could not be there. 
 What a merry time he might have had. They might have drunk 
 those six measures of wine, and now he must let the rogues get off 
 without paying their wager. 
 
 Walpurga added: "Yes, and, from what I know of the people, 
 I 'm quite sure tjiey 're abusing us, because, thank God, we 're 
 doing well. It seems as if I 'd never known people before, except 
 by their outsides; but now I can see through them." 
 
 " Did n't you say that you would n't care what people thought ? " 
 replied Hansei. 
 
 Walpurga had a wonderful knack of divining the idea? of others. 
 Her thoughts now penetrated even,- house, wandered to the pump 
 by the courthouse, and into the inn itself, in order to discover what 
 the people there were saying against her and hers. She was not 
 obliged to wait long for confirmation. The joiner who, on the day 
 of Walpurga's departure, had offered to sell his house and farm, now 
 came to borrow money from Hansei, as he had received notice to 
 pay off his mortgage. As an introduction, he thought it best to 
 assure Hansei that he was his only friend, and the only well-wisher 
 left him in the village. 
 
 Hansei plainly told him that he would n't lend money to any one, 
 for that changed one's friends into foes. The friendly tale-bearer 
 soon took his leave. 
 
 Living in the village had ceased to be a pleasure to them. The 
 closing of the inn doors against Hansei was only the beginning. 
 No one, of his own accord, bade him or his wife 'good-day,' and 
 their greetings were scarcely returned. Walpurga. who had grown 
 accustomed to being praised and esteemed by those about her, was 
 often -er) sad. What vexed her most of all was that the story of 
 the wager haa been passed from mouth to mouth, and had become 
 so -Iistorted that it was scarcely fit to be repeated. It seemed as 
 ii the privacy of the marital chamber had been revealed to the 
 world and discussed in the market-place. She felt insecure in her 
 own house. Ever)' noise frightened her, though it were merely 
 a barking dog, or the elder bush brushing against the roof. Every 
 night, before going to sleep, she would try the window-shutters, t 
 see that they were firmly closed. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 303 
 
 " I do n't believe," said she, "that great folk are half 50 bad as 
 villagers." 
 
 "Indeed?" said the mother. "I don't know anything about 
 them ; but frm what I 've heard, the quality are just as good and 
 just as bad as the common folk. It do n't depend on the clothes." 
 
 " You 're just like Countess Brinkenstein. If you 'd been obliged 
 to spend all your life in the palace, you 'd have been just like her," 
 thought Walpurga to herself, while she looked at her mother. 
 
 Walpurga's mind was agitated by contending emotions. She 
 was obliged to reconcile two distinct spheres of life : the court and 
 the village, and, in imagination, would often transplant villagers 
 to the court and vice versa. 
 
 She was sometimes quite bewildered and scarcely able to distin- 
 guish what she had only imagined from what she had really ex- 
 perienced. 
 
 Hansel would listen to his wife and her mother discussing people 
 and, with a smile, would think to himself: 
 
 " How changeable the women are ; there 's nothing consistent 
 about them." 
 
 After Hansei had, for two or three evenings, resisted his inclina- 
 tion to go to the inn, he was merrier than ever. 
 
 ' I 'm glad," said he, "that I can give up a habit, if necessary. 
 I really think I could give up smoking, too." 
 
 Those dull days served to show the difference between the dis- 
 positions of Hansei and his wife. To the superficial observer, 
 Walpurga, so cheerful and wide awake, would seem the superior of 
 her sullen, awkward husband. Her temperament was suggestive 
 of life among the mountains ; for there, when it is dull and rainy, 
 everything is covered with darkness, but, as soon as the sun breaks 
 forth, every object is lighted up afresh the green meadows are 
 brighter, the lake acquires a darker blue, every mountain height and 
 every forest stream is revealed anew in clear and perfect lines. 
 Like a beautiful flower, opening and revealing all its beauty in the 
 glowing sunshine, Walpurga was always better and brighter in fair 
 weather. Hansei remained steady and, indeed, gained in firmness 
 while the bad Weather lasted. When the storm raged, sway- 
 ing branches and boughs to and fro, he resisted, as it were, and 
 maintained his ground. He had something in common with the 
 rough-barked, weather-beaten oak. The monarch of the forest 
 does not don its robes of green with the first mild rays of the 
 spring sun. Its boughs remain bare long after its neighbors are 
 decked with foliage, but, in the end, it surpasses them all in 
 strength and beauty. 
 
 The pas: year had indeed wrought a greater change in Hansei 
 than in Walpurga. 
 
 The tree growing on a rock, drawing scanty nourishment from 
 the thin crust of earth around it, and exposed to wind and 
 
304 0.Y THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 storm, will, when transplanted to a rich soil, seem to languish at 
 first ; bu\ it will soon shoot forth with new strength. Thus had it 
 been with Hansei. The sudden transition, from a life of care and 
 toil into a new sphere, had almost ruined him. But in a little 
 while, all was well with him again. And now his firmness and 
 self-possession stood him in good stead, for he was obliged to pre- 
 vent Walpurga's kind but strongly self-conscious nature from gain- 
 ing ascendency over his. 
 
 Walpurga was, at first, almost vexed at her husband's insensi- 
 bility. She would go about in an angry mood, would curl her lips 
 and clench her fists. She felt as if she must do something to 
 punish thi villagers. Hansei remained calm ; it was not his habit 
 to trouble his head with much thinking. It gradually dawned upon 
 Walpurga's mind that Hansei was far stronger than she. Like a 
 plant deprived of sunshine, and in spite of her happy home, she 
 would have withered and languished because of the averted glances 
 of her neighbors. She was so possessed by her anger that she was 
 only sensible to that which, feeding it, provoked her the more. 
 Hansei was quite calm, and Walpurga, for the first time, became 
 fully aware of his strength of character. No one could make him 
 change his gait. He was like a horse which jogs on, regardless of 
 the dog barking at its heels, or which, when going up hill, will 
 suffer no one to urge it into a trot. 
 
 In true humility, Walpurga bowed to her husband. He might 
 have been wittier, readier, and more sprightly, but none could be 
 better nor steadier than he. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE village council were in session. 
 Hansei was summoned to the town-hall. The messenger 
 who came for him told him that there was to be a new assessment, 
 and that higher taxes were to be levied upon him, now that he had 
 come into property. 
 
 "You need n't tell everything to the last kreutzer," said he. 
 
 " I '11 tell them all. Thank God, I 've got something to pay taxes 
 for," replied Hansei. 
 
 Walpurga listened with eager interest. She had been bci'ing 
 with rage for many days, and now the time had come when her 
 anger could find vent in words. She said she would go along to 
 the town-hall where they were all assembled, and would, then and 
 there, tell them what she thought of them. Hansei persuaded her 
 that that would n't do, and now the messenger seemed the very 
 man to serve her purpose. She burst forth in a torrent of abuse 
 of the villagers, and asked the messenger to go to them and repeat 
 every word he had heard. She threatened them with the house of 
 correction and the king, as if both were at her service, besides 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 305 
 
 mentioning other punishments which were quite new and of her 
 own invention. 
 
 " Come along," said Hansel to the messenger. While on the 
 way, he gave him some drink-money and told him that his wife 
 had not yet become used to things at home, and that, naturally 
 enough, many a thing worried her. The messenger reassured Han- 
 sei by saying that, in an office like his, one was obliged to hear and 
 see much which it was best to seem ignorant of afterward, and 
 that women were very queer. Their great delight was to unbur- 
 den themselves ; after that, they were all right again. 
 
 Hansei was detained at the town-hall for a long time. The inn- 
 keeper, who was one of the councilmen, was seated at the table 
 and found great pleasure in trying to get him into a tight place. 
 His office protected him as with a shield. He. tried to provoke 
 Hansei to insult him, so that he might put him in jail and thus, at 
 one stroke, disgrace the haughty beggar and his wife. Hansei saw 
 what was in the wind, and every one was astonished, at the polite 
 manner in which he expressed himself. He never addressed the 
 innkeeper except as "Mr. Councilman." "He must have learned 
 that from his wife, who got her education at the palace," whispered 
 the councilmen to each other. 
 
 In spite of the pouring rain that lasted during the whole of the 
 meeting, Walpurga waited and watched outside of the town-hall. 
 If there should be any trouble up there, thought she to herself, she 
 would go up and tell them all what they were. She was insensible 
 to the rain penetrating her clothes, for she was all aglow with ex- 
 citement. At last she heard a noise on the stairs. Many were 
 coming down, and she hurried home. 
 
 Hansei returned home, full of self-confidence. He had con- 
 quered himself, and the victory had been a greater one than if he 
 had laid about him with cudgels. At home, he found everything 
 in great confusion. 
 
 Walpurga, after walking about in the rain, had suddenly hurried 
 home as if some one was after her, and had fainted as soon as she 
 entered the room where her mother was sitting. She had recovered, 
 but was still in a high fever, and her teeth were chattering. Once 
 she opened her eyes, but quickly closed them again. 
 
 Hansei wanted to go for the doctor at once, but the mother ad- 
 vised him to stay at home and send a messenger in his stead. 
 Before the doctor came, Walpurga was sitting up in bed and tell- 
 ing her own story. 
 
 Hansei informed her how he had killed the innkeeper with polite- 
 less. Walpurga's face suddenly lit up with joy, and she held out 
 her hand to him, saying : 
 
 "You 're you 're a splendid fellow," and then she wept until 
 the tears streamed down her cheeks. 
 
 "That's "ight;" said the grandmother to Hansei; "that 'H 
 
306 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 clear her head. I was afraid it had gone to her head, but now it 's 
 all right. You can go now." 
 
 Hansei left the room. He stood at the window for awhile, 
 looking out at the rain. "If your wife were to die, or if she 
 should live and be worse than dead. If she " He did not dare 
 \o think of the word. 
 
 The mother came out into the room and said : " Thank God ! 
 she 's sleeping. When this is well over, the danger 's past. It 
 .vas no trifle to leave the palace as she 's done, where they all 
 petted her and showed her great respect, and to come here among 
 these coarse, spiteful people. She 'd become filled with anger 
 and hatred, and it had to come out some day. Thank God, it 's 
 out now. It 's lucky for us that the people have shown themselves 
 so mean. Take my word for it with all her goodness, she would 
 have found fault with everything in the house, and nothing would 
 have suited her, if this had n't come in the way." 
 
 The mother thus consoled Hansei, who nodded approval of her 
 words. 
 
 Walpurga slept. Her cheeks were scarlet. Hansei, with the 
 child in his arms, stood at his wife's bedside for a long time, look- 
 ing at her. 
 
 The doctor did not come until the next morning. He found 
 Walpurga lively, but very weak. He prescribed drastic remedies, 
 and, in the course of a few days, she was quite restored. She now 
 saw what danger she had been in, and how luckily she had 
 escaped it. 
 
 It was not until then that she felt quite at home and perfectly 
 happy. 
 
 Walpurga and her mother were down by the lake, washing 
 clothes. 
 
 " Yes, it 's our business to keep things clean," said Walpurga. 
 " When I look up at the mountains, I see the rocks and forests which 
 only men, with their chisels and axes, can shape into houses. Men's 
 work is with whatever 's strong and powerful. Even if others do 
 flatter us, and we persuade ourselves that we 're ever so great, we 
 women are less than they are." 
 
 The mother smiled and said : " Oh child, your thoughts are far- 
 fetched, but you 're right, for all." 
 
 " My Hansei 's a real steady man," continued Walpurga. 
 
 That he is," answered the mother, with joyful mien. "He 
 (Ii,es n't talk as much as others do, but when it comes to a pinch, 
 he knows what he has to do and how to do it, and that 's just the 
 way your blessed father was. You 're very lucky to find this out 
 so soon after the birth of your first child. 1 did n't know it till 
 after my third, or, indeed, till I 'd lost all my children except your- 
 self." 
 
 "Good day to you all!" suddenly said a little needy-looking 
 man. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 307 
 
 " Why it 's Peter ! " cried the grandmother ; " you here already ? 
 That 's good. And is this your daughter? What 's her name ? " 
 
 "Gundel." 
 
 " God greet you both," said the grandmother, who kept wetting 
 nivl wiping her hand again and again, before offering it to her 
 brother. 
 
 The little man's features expressed great surprise. It was long 
 since any one had been so glad to see him ; but, of course ; he had 
 come to a house that was overflowing with joy. 
 
 The grandmother took her brother by the hand, and led him 
 towards the house. She felt sad when she looked at the poor little 
 man, for his appearance betokened great poverty. 
 
 She forthwith gave her brother and her niece something to eat. 
 When they had finished, she took Gundel out to the washtub by 
 the lake. 
 
 "Just work there till dinner time, and then you '11 know where 
 you belong." She went back to her brother and again bade him 
 welcome. The little man complained that life went hard with him. 
 The grandmother went into the other room with Walpurga, and 
 asked her : " How much money did you mean to give me for my 
 journey home ? " 
 
 " As much as you want." 
 
 " No. Tell me how much." 
 
 " Would ten florins be enough ? " 
 
 "More than enough. Give them to me at once." 
 
 Walpurga gave her a ten florin piece and said : 
 
 " Mother, I have n't given you a present since I came back." 
 
 She gave her mother several florins in addition to the ten which 
 she had already handed her, and said : " Take this and give it 
 away. I know that your greatest pleasure is in giving to others." 
 
 " O my child ! you know me well. Oh God ! I can now give 
 something to others ; that 's the best thing in the world. You see, 
 I Ve never been able to do anything for the poor." 
 
 " Do n't say that, mother; how often you Ve watched, day and 
 night, by the sick." 
 
 " That 's nothing ; that 's not money." 
 
 " It 's far better than money." 
 
 " May be it is with God, but with men Just think of it ! to 
 be able to give money and money's worth to others ! You make me 
 ever so happy. I 've had gifts, too, in my time. You do n't know 
 how it is, when the hands of the giver and the receiver touch. 
 And some gifts are like hot bread in one's stomach. It stills your 
 hunger, but it lies there like so much molten lead. But there are 
 some good people whose gifts do one good. Grubersepp's father 
 once came to me and gave me something, and so did Count Eber- 
 hard Wildenort, who lives on the other side of the Chamois hill." 
 
 " Why, that 's the father of my Countess," said Walpurga, inter- 
 ipting her. 
 
3 o8 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Thank God ! Then he '11 live to be rewarded for it by his 
 children. I never forget a name. Yes, I received presents from 
 them both, and now they 're again bestowing gifts through me. 
 My child, I '11 never forget you for this. To be able to give is 
 heaven on earth. But while we stand here chattering, my poor 
 brother 's waiting out there like a poor soul at heaven's gate. 
 Come along." 
 
 They \vent into the room. The mother put the ten florin piece 
 into her brother's hand, and said : 
 
 " There, take it. I need n't go to my home now, for it has come 
 to me, and if I never get there again, it 's enough for me that I 've 
 seen my brother once more. There, Peter ; that was to have been 
 the money for my journey." 
 
 " Tsch-st-st-st " with these sounds, resembling the hissing of 
 a pot on a tire, did the little pitchman receive the gift. 
 
 "What does that mean?" asked Walpurga and her mother, in 
 one breath. 
 
 "Tsch-st-st-st," answered Peter. 
 
 "What's the matter with you? are you crazy?" asked the 
 mother, whose face had suddenly assumed a serious expression. 
 
 "Tsch-st-st-st," replied the little pitchman again. 
 
 And now it was Walpurga's turn to become angry and to 
 enquire : " What do you mean by such capers ? " 
 
 "Oh you piece of palace wisdom !" said Peter at last, "don't 
 you know how it hisses when a drop falls on a hot stone, and, d' ye 
 see? it 's just the same with me and the money." 
 
 The mother told him that he was ungrateful, and that the people 
 thought that Walpurga had now enough money to make every one 
 rich. He ought to feel very happy, for he had never before had so 
 much at any one time. But the little pitchman, without mak- 
 ing further answer, continued to repeat the strange, hissing noise. 
 Walpurga went out and soon returned with another ten florin 
 piece, which she gave to the little pitchman, who then said : 
 
 "There! it 's out now; I can pay all my debts and buy me a 
 goat, besides," and, striking the pieces of money together, he sang : 
 
 What 's the best? aye, what 's the best? 
 To be free from debt or care, 
 And have a little money to spare 
 That 's the best ; aye, that 's the best 
 
 The mother was now quite happy again. She resolved to be 
 prudent and. economical in dispensing her gifts. In imagination, 
 she already saw the people whose want she could now alleviate, 
 and perhaps remove. The joyful glances of those who were to be 
 gladdened by her bounty seemed reflected in her calm and happy 
 face. 
 
 "Oh you women ! " said the little pitchman, as if sermonizing.. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 309 
 
 while he looked with sparkling eyes at his two pieces of money, 
 " you women can't know what money is. I shall put small change 
 for a florin in my pocket, and always keep it with me. Hurrah 
 what a jolly life I '11 lead ! What do you know about such things ? 
 You go by a public house of a Sunday, put your hand in your 
 pocket and there 's nothing there. But I '11 go in and won't be- 
 grudge myself a treat, and wherever there 's an inn, I can make 
 myself at home. Wine and beer await me and host, hostess, 
 daughter and servant treat me kindly, and ask how it goes with 
 me, where I 've come from and where I 'm going to ; and when 
 I leave, they go with me part of the way, and ask me to come again. 
 And why do they do so ? Just because I Ve got money in my 
 pocket." 
 
 The old man shouted for joy. The grandmother cautioned 
 him not to become dissipated, and Peter laughed until his face was 
 nothing but wrinkles. He declared that he had made it all up, and 
 that now he was less likely to go to the public house than before. 
 "When you 've got money in your pocket," he said, "it 's great 
 fun to go and quench your thirst at the pump in front of the inn." 
 
 ' My Countess told me," said Walpurga, seating herself near her 
 uncle, " that you knew her father." 
 
 " And what Countess is it ? " 
 
 " Wildenort." 
 
 " Of course I know him. He 's a man ; the right sort of a man , 
 a German of the old sort ; a gentleman, a real gentleman. He 
 ought to be king, he Heavy footsteps were heard approach- 
 ing. Hansei entered. Peter quickly put the money in his pocket, 
 and whispered : "I shan't say anything to Hansei about it." 
 
 "You needn't tell him; we'll do it, ourselves," replied Wal- 
 purga. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 HANSEI did not stand on ceremony with his uncle. He had 
 known him for a long while. They had often met up in the 
 mountains, where Hansei had worked as a woodsman and Peter 
 had gathered pitch. But they had not made much ado of their 
 friendship ; an occasional charge of tobacco had been the only 
 exchange of courtesy between them. 
 
 Hansei now had something more important to relate. 
 
 " I was working out by the garden hedge that the band and the 
 rest of the crowd almost tore down last Sunday, and, all at once, I 
 heard some one say : ' You 're quite industrious, Hansei ; ' and, 
 when I looked round, who do you think it was? You can't guess." 
 
 " Not the innkeeper ? " 
 
 " You '11 never guess. It was Grubersepp, and he said : ' 1 hear 
 you 've stopped going to the Chamois,' and I said: 'That's no- 
 body's business but my own '." 
 
3io ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Why did you answer so rudely ? " asked Walpurga, interrupt- 
 ing him. 
 
 "Because I know him. If you do n't show your teeth to such a 
 fellow, he '11 hold you mighty cheap 'See here,' said he. ' It '11 
 be six years, come Michaelmas ever since Waldl was born and 
 in all that time I 've never once set foot in the Chamois, and I '1.1 
 still alive for all. You '11 find it '11 do you good to stay away, just 
 as it did me. I 've laid in beer of my own, and if you ever feel 
 like having a glass, send for it, or come yourself. May be you '11 
 want a word of advice as to what you'd better do with your 
 money, and let me tell you one thing, lend nothing to any one ' 
 Now tell me, mother, tell me, wife, who 'd have thought of such 
 a thing ? Who 'd ever expect as much from old Grubersepp, 
 who's always afraid he might waste a word ? Now, Walpurga, 
 you can see that the people are n't all wicked ; good and bad are 
 mixed together in the palace as well as in the village. When they 
 they find that Grubersepp keeps company with me, they '11 come 
 flocking back, just like bees to a mellow pear." 
 
 It was indeed a great event. A resident of the capital could not 
 feel more highly favored if accosted by the king in the public 
 street, than Hansei and his whole family now were. 
 
 Walpurga wanted to go up to Grubersepp's at once, and to 
 acknowledge that she had done him wrong, but Hansei said : 
 
 "There 's no need of being in such a hurry about it. I '11 wait 
 till he comes again ; I won't go one step to meet him." 
 
 "You 're right," replied \Valpurga, "you 're the right sort of a 
 man." 
 
 " I 've got my full growth," said he. " Is n't it so, Uncle ? I 'm 
 done growing." 
 
 "Yes," replied the uncle, "you've got your full size. But do 
 you know what you ought to be? You ought to own a large 
 farm. You 'd be the very man, and Walpurga the very woman 
 for it ; and now that I think of it, have you heard that the owner 
 of the freehold at our place wants to sell ? They say he 's obliged 
 to. You ought to go there ; you 'd be better off than the king, 
 then. If you 've got the ready money, you can buy the farm at 
 j half "price." 
 
 The uncle now praised the farm, with its fields and its meadows, 
 and said the soil was so rich and in such good condition that it was 
 almost good enough to eat ; and as to the timber, no one knew how 
 much it was worth. The only trouble was that one could n't get 
 at it even-where. 
 
 The uncle was a pitchburner, and knew the woods well. 
 
 Walpurga was quite happy, and said : 
 
 " It won't do to lose sight of this." 
 
 Hansei seemed quite indifferent about the matter. Walpurg? 
 took his hand in hers, and whispered : " I 've something more foi 
 you." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 311 
 
 " I do n't need anything. There 's only one thing I ask of you : 
 let me attend to the purchase of the farm, and do n't let uncle see 
 that you snap at it so. I really think the farmer must have senf 
 him here. We must be hard, and make believe we do n't care fol 
 it at all. I shan't neglect the matter, you may depend upon that. 
 And, besides, I 've been a woodcutter long enough to know some- 
 thing about timber land." 
 
 Hansei let the uncle go away alone and merely said, in a casual 
 manner, that he would take a look at the farm some time or other. 
 
 Grubersepp came that evening, according to promise. A maid- 
 servant, carrying a large stone jug of beer, followed him. A 
 wealthy farmer visiting the cottage by the lake, and bringing his 
 beer there of an evening such a thing had never been heard of as 
 long as the village existed. 
 
 His whole manner seemed to say : " I 've got sixty cows pastur- 
 ing on the mountain meadows." No one had ever heard a word 
 of praise pass his lips. He was a sour-visaged fellow, and was 
 chary of his words. He was what is called a drudging farmer. All 
 that he cared for was incessant work, and he never concerned him- 
 self about others. 
 
 Walpurga kept out of sight. She was afraid lest she might 
 humble herself too much, and thus vex Hansei, who behaved as if 
 Grubersepp had been visiting the family for years. 
 
 Grubersepp enquired for Walpurga. Hansei called her, and 
 when she came, the rich farmer shook hands with her and bade 
 her welcome. 
 
 After Walpurga had left the room, they spoke of the best way 
 of investing the money. 
 
 Grubersepp was a great enemy of the public funds. 
 
 "Yes," said Hansei, at last ; " I 've had an offer of the farm on 
 the other side of the lake, six leagues inland. My mother-in-law 
 is from that neighborhood." 
 
 " I know the farm. I was there once. I was to have married 
 the farmer's daughter, but nothing came of it. They tell me that 
 the property is in a poor condition. If you want to reap good from 
 land, you must give it something in return. The soil requires it, 
 and, if you should purchase, do n't forget that a good portion 
 of the meadow land had best be sold. My father always used to 
 say that the meadows of a farm are like a cow's udder." 
 
 Hansei was astonished at the amount of wisdom which Gruber- 
 sepp had inherited, and marveled at his carrying it all about with 
 him and making so little ado of it. 
 
 Grubersepp added : " The matter will bear thinking over, at all 
 events, and I 'd be glad if some one from our village should get so 
 line a property." 
 
 " But you would n't lit me have anything towards it ? " 
 
 " No. I do n't owe you anything. But if you can use me in 
 any other way " 
 
312 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Well, how ? Will you go bail for me ? " 
 
 " Xo ; that I won't, either. But I understand the matter better 
 than you do, and I '11 give you a whole day of my time. I '11 drive 
 over there with you and value the whole property for you. I 'm 
 glad that you 've concluded not to take the inn. The weather 's 
 clearing, and I '11 have all my hay under cover by to-morrow noon. 
 If you need me for a day, I 'm at your service, and we '11 ride over 
 there. You know that when I say a thing it 's so, for I 'm Gru- 
 bersepp." 
 
 "I accept it." said Hansei 
 
 Radiant with joy, Walpurga stood at the garden hedge the next 
 day, watching the wagon in which Hansei and Grubersepp were 
 sitting. She was glad that so many people happened to be coming 
 from work at about the time the two drove off together. 
 
 " Now let 'em burst with anger ; the first man in the village is 
 my Hansei's comrade." 
 
 It was no small matter for Grubersepp thus to give a whole day 
 of his time, and in midsummer at that. He meant it kindly 
 enough, but his main object was to show that the innkeeper and 
 his pack could not make a man of one, while he, Grubersepp, 
 could. He felt quite indifferent as to what people thought of him, 
 but, nevertheless, it does one good to let them know who 's the 
 master, as long as it costs nothing to do so. When it costs nothing 
 that was the chief point in all that Grubersepp did. 
 
 The nearest route lay across the lake and straight up the 
 mountain on the other side. But Grubersepp had an unconquerable 
 aversion to the water, and so they drove round the lake and then 
 up the mountain. 
 
 It was late on the following evening when Hansei and Gruber- 
 sepp returned. Hansei reported that the farm was a fine one, and 
 that it would be quite a fair purchase, although not so wonderfully 
 cheap as the uncle had vaunted it to be. The place had been sadly 
 neglected ; but that would n't stand in the way, for he could put all 
 that to rights again. Still, he would n't buy, because he 'd be 
 obliged to leave too much remaining on mortgage, and he 'd rather 
 own a smaller farm and be out of debt. 
 
 Then Walpurga said : 
 
 "Come, I 've been wanting to tell you something for a great 
 while, and you 'd never listen to me. I 've something more for you." 
 
 She led Hansei down into the cellar and, with a mighty effort, 
 removf d the stone cabbage-tub, after which she dug up the earth 
 with her hands, and displayed to the astonished eyes of Hansei the 
 pillow-case filled with gold pieces. 
 
 "What 's that?" 
 
 "Gold ! Every bit of it." 
 
 "Good God ! you 're a witch ; that 's that 's enchanted gold ! " 
 exclaimed Hansei. He was so startled that he upset the oil lamp 
 which Walpurga had placed on an inverted pail. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 313 
 
 They both stood there in the dark, shuddering with fear. 
 
 "Are you still here?" cried Hansei, trembling. 
 
 " Of course I am. Do n't be do n't be so so superstitious. 
 Strike a light. Have you no matches about you ? " 
 
 "Of course I have." 
 
 He drew them from his pocket, but let them all fall on the 
 ground. Walpurga gathered them up. Several of them caught 
 fire, but immediately went out again. The sudden flash of blue 
 light seemed weird and dismal. At last they succeeded in lighting 
 the lamp, and went up stairs into the room, where Waipurga lit a 
 second lamp, lest the darkness might again frighten them. Hansei 
 hurriedly removed the pillow-case, and the glittering gold met his 
 eyes. 
 
 "Now tell me," said he, passing his hand over his face, "have 
 you any more ? Do n't try that again." 
 
 Walpurga assured him that this was all. Hansei spread the 
 gold out on the table, piled it up in little heaps, and counted it with 
 his fingers. He always had a piece of chalk in his pocket, and he 
 now took it out and reckoned up the money. When he had finished, 
 he turned and said : 
 
 " Come here, Walpurga. Come, there 's your first kiss as mis- 
 tress of the freehold." 
 
 Hansei put the gold back into the pillow-case, and when he 
 went to bed he placed it under his pillow, saying: "O what a 
 good pillow ; one can sleep sweetly on it." 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 WHEN Walpurga awoke the next morning, she found the sack 
 of gold in bed beside her, but Hansei had disappeared. 
 
 " Where is he ? What 's become of him ? " 
 
 She dressed herself in a hurry, hunted for him, and went all over 
 the house calling for him ; but he was not there. She hurried over 
 to Grubersepp's, but they had seen nothing of him. She returned 
 home, but Hansei had not yet arrived. 
 
 What could it be ? If Hansei had done some harm to himself 
 If having so much money had turned his head O that terrible 
 money ! It had been lying in the earth, and there was now nothing 
 wrong about it, for what has once been in the ground is purified. 
 
 She went out to the lake. It was still storming ; its waves were 
 high, and the sky was covered with dark gray clouds. 
 
 May be Hansei 's destroyed himself may be he 's floating in 
 there. 
 
 She stood by the water's edge and cried " Hansei " with all hei 
 might. 
 
 There was no answer. She returned to the house and, as coher- 
 
3H ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 ently as she could, told her mother of her grief. Her mother con- 
 soled her. 
 
 "Do be quiet. Hansei took his axe with him the one that al- 
 ways hangs up there. _ I suppose he had something to do in the 
 forest. He never shirks work. When he comes home, do n't tell 
 him how foolish you 've been. The palace still clings to you. You 
 worry too much about everything. Take my word for it, the 
 world 's quiet and peaceful enough as long as we 're quiet and 
 orderly. Hush ! I hear him coming. He 's whistling." 
 
 Hansei approached, whistling and bearing his axe on his 
 shoulder. 
 
 Walpurga could not go forward to meet him. She felt so weak 
 in her limbs that she was obliged to sit down. 
 
 " Good morning, Mistress Freeholder ! " cried Hansei from afar. 
 
 "Good morning, Freeholder!" replied Walpurga. "Where 
 have you been ? " 
 
 " Out in the woods. I cut down a pine tree, a splendid one that 
 must have felt my strokes. It did me good. But, first of all, give 
 me something to eat, for I 'm hungry." 
 
 " He can still eat ; thank God for that," thought Walpurga to her- 
 self, while she hurried to fetch the porridge. She sat down beside 
 him, delighting in every spoonful which he took. She had much 
 to tell and to ask about, but she did n't wish to disturb him while 
 he was eating, and when the dish was half empty she held it up 
 for him, so that he could fill his spoon. 
 
 " Now tell me," said she, when the dish was emptied, "why did 
 you go out so early and steal away so ? " 
 
 "Well, I'll tell you. When I awoke, I thought it was all a 
 dream and when, after that, I found the money, so much of it, I 
 thought I 'd go crazy. Hansei, the poor fellow who used to save 
 for months at a time, and felt so happy when he could buy himself 
 a shirt and a pair,of shoes, had all at once become rich, and it 
 seemed as if some one were turning me round and round and 
 driving me crazy. Then I felt like waking you up, that we might 
 
 went up the mountain. Day was just breaking. Although I was 
 quite alone, I felt, all the time, as if there was a great crowd of 
 people after me. Still I went on till I reached the pine. It was 
 marked out to be felled long ago. I threw off my jacket and set 
 to work, and when the chips began to fly, I felt better. After- 
 wards, Wastl came up and helped me, but he kept saying, all the 
 time : ' Hansei, you never worked as you do to-day ; ' and he spoke 
 the truth. We' felled the tree and it came down with a crash. 
 That did me good, and I felt better and better. We chopped off 
 the branches and did three times as much as we generally do in 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 315 
 
 the same time, and so, little by little, all the foolish notions and 
 giddiness left my head. Now I 'm here again and happy, and I 'm 
 with you, Walpurga, my old sweetheart. I 've been a woodcuttei 
 again, in downright earnest, and now I 'm to become a farmer 
 that is, if all goes right." 
 
 And it all came to pass. 
 
 The mother had a wonderful way of disappearing when she 
 knew that Hansei and Walpurga had anything to settle between 
 themselves. One could almost have fancied that the cottage was 
 provided with secret doors and subterranean passages, so suddenly 
 would she vanish. She would reappear just as suddenly, and no 
 one would know where she had been or how she had returned. 
 
 According to her wont, she had disappeared. Walpurga and 
 Hansei searched through the house for her but found her nowhere. 
 When they returned to the room, she was there. 
 
 "Mother, we 've good news for you," said Walpurga. 
 
 "I see what's best of all, already," she replied, "and that is 
 that your hearts are truly united. I do n't care to know any 
 more." 
 
 " No, mother, you must know this. Did you ever imagine that 
 you might be mistress of the freehold at which you once were a 
 servant? " 
 
 "No, never." 
 
 "But now it is so." 
 
 Walpurga and Hansei, relieving each other by turns, told her 
 that they had enough money to pay the cash down for the farm, 
 and that the purchase was as good as concluded, because Hansei 
 had obtained the refusal of it for eight days. 
 
 Mother Beate could not utter a word in reply. She folded her 
 hands, and her features assumed an expression of sadness. 
 
 " Mother, are n't you pleased at it ? " asked Walpurga. 
 
 " Not pleased ? You '11 soon see. But I 'm old, my child, and 
 can't jump about, the way you do. Look at the mountains over 
 there. As long as they 've been standing there, no one has ever 
 felt happier than I do. I do n't know what the Lord means by 
 giving me so much happiness on earth. He knows what He is 
 doing and I accept it calmly and patiently. When you came home 
 to us again, I thought my cup of happiness was full, but now I see 
 there 's more coming. Well, let what will come, I 'm going home 
 again." 
 
 The mother was obliged to stop, but Hansei said : 
 
 " Yes mother ; you shall see something that you Ve never seen 
 before in all your life." He went into the room, returned with the 
 sack of gold, and opened it. 
 
 "Just look at that!" said he. "How it shines and sparkles. 
 You can hold it all in two hands, and yet there 's enough there to 
 buy a farm, with house and fields and forests, and cattle and tools 
 Mid everything." 
 
316 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " That 's a great deal of money," said the mother. Sne laid her 
 hand on the gold while her lips moved silently. 
 
 " Put your hand into it," urged Hansei. " Oh how good it feels 
 to stir about in the gold that way." 
 
 The grandmother did not comply with his wish, but kept mur- 
 muring to herself. 
 
 The child in the next room cried, and Hansei called out : 
 
 " The freeholder's daughter 's awake. Good morning, free- 
 holder's daughter ! " said he, while the two women went out to the 
 child. Then he took up the bag of gold, shook it, and said : 
 
 "Just listen ; you never heard such music before." 
 
 The grandmother lifted the child out of the bed and said : 
 ' Hansei, just do as I tell you, and put the gold in the warm crib 
 of the innocent child. That '11 bless it, and no matter whose hands 
 the gold may have been in, that consecrates it and brings a bless- 
 ing with it." 
 
 "Yes, mother; we can do that." Turning to Walpurga, he 
 added: "Mother always has such pretty notions. You know 
 it '11 do the gold good in the warm nest. Yes," said he to the 
 little child, " they 've put lots of gold in your cradle. We '11 take 
 one piece and have a hole drilled through it, and you shall get it 
 when you become confirmed. Only keep good." 
 
 "But now I must go over to Grubersepp's," said he, at last. 
 
 Walpurga was obliged to tell that she had already been looking 
 for him there, that morning. She now realized how prone she was 
 to give way to exaggerated fears, and determined to break herself 
 of the habit. 
 
 The grandmother, Walpurga and the child were happy together 
 at home, and the mother related that just three months before 
 Walpurga was born, she had been at the farm for the last time, 
 and that was to attend her brother's wedding. 
 
 " They can bury me up there," added she. " It 's a pity . I can't 
 rest beside your father, for the lake never gave him up again. Oh 
 if he 'd only lived to see this ! " 
 
 Our highest joys and our deepest sorrows are closely allied. 
 
 Grubersepp came back with Hansei and was the first to con- 
 gratulate Walpurga and the grandmother. He advised them, 
 however, to say nothing of the matter until the purchase was le- 
 gally consummated. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 OX Sunday, Hansei, Walpurga and the mother, went to church 
 together. The child remained at home with Gundel. They 
 walked along the shore of the lake in silence, thinking of how often 
 they had gone that way in joy and in sorrow, and hov. f they would 
 feel when walking along another path and to another church. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 317 
 
 The churchgoers whom they met on the way, greeted them 
 coldly, and the grandmother said : 
 
 " Do n't let us take evil thoughts against others into church with 
 us. We must leave them outside." 
 
 " But when one comes out again, they 're there all the same, just 
 like the dogs that wait at the church door," replied Walpurga 
 sharply. The mother looked at her and she shook her head, while 
 she said : " Take my word for it, the people are not nearly so bad as 
 they make believe to be. They think it makes them look grander 
 and more important, if they show that they can be angry and 
 spiteful ; but let that be as it may, if we can't make others good, 
 we can make ourselves better." 
 
 " Give me the umbrella, mother I can carry it better than you," 
 said Hansei. This was his manner of expressing his assent. 
 
 The innkeeper drove by, Hansei saluted him, but the only an- 
 swer he heard was the cracking of the whip. 
 
 " That 's the way," said Hansei. " If he 's angry, it 's no reason 
 why I should be." 
 
 The mother nodded her approval. 
 
 Although the service had both edified and satisfied them, it did 
 not prevent Hansei from having a mighty appetite at dinner that 
 day, and he. said : 
 
 " I think the freeholder can eat more than ever, but I '11 see to 
 it that he works right bravely, too." 
 
 Hansei was quite merry, but he did not climb the cherry tree 
 again. 
 
 The Doctor and his wife paid them a visit that afternoon. Wal- 
 purga showed the pretty gifts she had received, and Frau Hedwig 
 was all admiration. 
 
 " I shall lay this beautiful dress aside for my child's wedding. 
 You can't begin thinking of the outfit too soon." 
 
 The doctor had brought a good supply of bottle food. He 
 placed the bottles on the table and said : 
 
 " Hansei, they tell me that you 're doing dry penance, and as 
 1 'm a heretic, I '11 pour out the wine for you." 
 
 He proceeded to do so most generously. 
 
 Walpurga brought one of the silver-sealed bottles of wine that 
 Doctor Gunther had given her. 
 
 Doctor K urn pan knew how to open the bottles. He praised the 
 wine but bestowed still greater praise on Gunther. 
 
 " I think," said Walpurga, "that we ought to tell our honored 
 guests what we have in view. They 're honorable people and 
 won't carry it further." 
 
 "You're right," said Hansei, and told them about the faim. 
 The Doctor and his wife congratulated them, and were only sorry 
 that such good people were about to leave the neighborhood. En- 
 couraged by the wine, Hansei asked : 
 
3i8 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Doctor, might I be so free ? You see, you 're rtally the 
 cause of our good fortune. Would you do us the honor to accept 
 a present from us ? " 
 
 " Let 's hear what it is. How many thousand florins will yoj 
 spend on me ? " 
 
 Hansei was quite frightened ; he had not meant to go that far. 
 
 "You 're a merry gentleman ; you 're full of fun," said he, col- 
 lecting his wits. "What I meant to say, was I've got three 
 cords of wood out in the forest. I only finished cutting it last 
 week, and I 'd like to take it to your house." 
 
 " I '11 do you the favor of accepting it. I see you 're a real 
 farmer already. You have an itching palm and money clings to it. 
 Take care to remain so." 
 
 That Sunday had other honors in store for them, for when the 
 afternoon service was over, the pastor called. He told them that 
 he intended to leave for, the capital on the following day, and re- 
 minded Walpurga of her promise to give him a letter to Countess 
 Wildenort. Laughing heartily, Doctor Kumpan exclaimed : 
 
 " Ah ! so her highness Countess Wildenort is your friend, and 
 the pastor " 
 
 " Doctor, I 'd like to speak a word with you," said Walpurga, in- 
 terrupting him. "Come, as quickly as you can." 
 
 She had learned one lesson at court : viz., that a firm yet po- 
 lite manner enables one to check or avert many an ill-natured re- 
 mark. There was a certain grandeur in her manner when she 
 told the Doctor that, in her house, she would allow no one to 
 speak ill of Countess Irma, just as she would allow no one to say 
 anything against the Doctor. That would be just as false as what 
 was said about the Countess, who, while she was merry enough to 
 be his comrade, was just as good as he was. Walpurga added 
 that she hoped he would not grieve her by speaking ill of the 
 Countess. 
 
 The Doctor looked at Walpurga in astonishment. When he 
 came back into the room, he said to Hansei : 
 
 " You 've got a great wife ; one \vhose friendship is an honor to 
 any one." 
 
 Walpurga went to her room and wrote : 
 
 " My Dearly Beloved Countess : 
 
 ' I take this opportunity to write to you. Our pastor is going Lo 
 the city, and has promised to be kind enough to take the letter 
 with him and deliver it to you. I do n't know what else he wishes 
 to do, but rest assured that whatever he wants is all right. H< 's 
 very kind to me, and particularly so since I 've come home agi .n. 
 And now I 'd like to write you how things are going with me. I 
 could n't ask God to make them better. To have one's husband, 
 mother, child, and one's daily work besides ! W T e 've already made 
 our hay, but not make-believe, as it used to be with us on the lawn 
 at the summer palace. Do n't you remember? 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 319 
 
 " Dear me ! I say with us, and who knows whether any one at the 
 palace still thinks of me ? 
 
 " Yes, I am sure you do, my good Countess ; and my child, I 
 mean the prince, and the queen and Mademoiselle Kramer and her 
 father, too. 
 
 " Pray give my love to them all. the Doctor and Baron Schoning 1 
 and Countess Brinkenstem. Sne 's good, too, and Madame Gunther, 
 also, if you should meet her. Oh, what a woman she is ! I 'in 
 sorry enough that I only made her acquaintance the day before I 
 left. You ought to go to see her every day. Your blessed mother 
 must have been just such a woman as she is ; and do me the favor 
 and write me how my prince is getting on. He 's fond of you, too, 
 and if you get married, let me know, and, if there 's an opportunity, 
 Mademoiselle Kramer might send me the beautiful distaff. It 
 would be a great pity if it had to lie up there in the garret. 
 
 " My husband was very sorry that he didn't get to see you, and 
 I was sorry, too. I must always try to forget how you looked that 
 morning, and when I try to picture my beautiful Countess and good 
 friend to myself, I have to pass over that. 
 
 " My mother sends her respects ; she remembers your mother and 
 says that when one looked into her face it was like looking at 
 the sun. 
 
 '" My child was quite stubborn at first. You saw, by the prince, 
 how stubborn children can be when they do n't like a person ; but 
 my child and I are very good friends, and the best thing in the 
 world, after all, is to have a child, something to do, and a little prop- 
 erty besides. Ah ! to walk about with one's child is to have a 
 fountain of life with you ; one from which you can drink pure hap- 
 piness at any moment. 
 
 " It often seems like a dream, when I think that I 've been away ; 
 and it 's well that it 's past. I feel that I could n't go through it 
 again, and all that I wish for now is to live happy. 
 
 " I kiss this sheet, for your hands will touch it. 
 " From your true friend, 
 
 "WALPURGA ANDERMATTEN. 
 
 " Postscript. I Ve got some new songs here, but they 're not 
 pretty. I 've no time to sing during the day, and if I did n't sing 
 my child to sleep of an evening, I 'd never have a chance to sing 
 at all. 
 
 " Excuse me for writing so badly, but my hands have become 
 hard already, and the paper and ink are very bad. Yes, that 's 
 what all bad writers say. Once more, farewell ! I 'm writing in haste 
 and the pastor 's waiting in the other room and the Doctor and his 
 wife are here too. They 're mighty good people, and if there are 
 many wicked and envious folks in the world, they harm themselves 
 more than they do others. My dear Countess, you can't imagine 
 how much good you 've done us. You '11 be rewarded for it you, 
 
320 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 your children, and your grandchildren. It 's as good as certain 
 that we won't stay here ; but there 's the same sky everywhere. And 
 when you see your father, give him my mother's respects. She 
 has n't forgotten his kindness to her, and you are his daughter, and 
 have your good heart from him and your mother. All that 1 wish 
 is that you still had such a mother as mine. But mother 's right : 
 she says that there 's no use wishing for what you can't have. I 
 feel as if I had to write you a great deal more, but I can't think of 
 anything else, and they 're calling for me from the other room. 
 Farewell ! my best wishes, thousandfold, for your health and hap- 
 piness. From my very heart, I wish you all that 's good. Oh, if I 
 could only go to you with this letter ! But I 'm glad to be home 
 and mean to remain as long as I live. Farewell, all you good peo- 
 ple out in the world." 
 
 \\~alpurga handed the letter to the pastor who left soon afterward. 
 He was not fond of being with the Doctor, who was a sad heretic. 
 Towards evening, the Doctor and his w r ife left, and Walpurga was 
 not a little proud of the fact that all the villagers knew of the dis- 
 tinguished visitors who had called at the cottage. None of their 
 neighbors could boast of like honor. 
 
 The week w r ent by quietly. Hansei was absent for several days, 
 during which time he concluded the purchase. 
 
 The little pitchman had asked permission to be present when the 
 money for the farm w y as paid, and had requested this as an especial 
 favor. His face brightened when he saw the heaps of gold, and 
 when Grubersepp asked : " Do you like it ? " he answered, as if 
 waking from a dream : 
 
 " Yes, it 's true ; I could n't have believed it. I 've often heard, 
 in old stories, of such heaps of gold. The whole lot of stuff does n't 
 weigh more than a couple of pounds, and you can get the whole 
 farm for it. Yes, yes. I '11 remember that to the end of my days." 
 
 Grubersepp laughed heartily. The little, gray-haired man must 
 have thought himself quite young to talk thus of the end of his 
 days as a thing of the remote future. 
 
 On Friday, the pastor returned. He had not seen Countess 
 Irma, as she had accompanied the court to a watering place. He 
 had left the letter at the palace, and was told that it would be for- 
 warded to her. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE weather-cock turned again and indicated fair weather. The 
 sky was almost cloudless. 
 
 With men's minds it was just the same. It was rumored in the 
 village that Hansei had bought the farm on the other side of the 
 lake, and that he had paid for it in ready money. How could any 
 one harbor ill-feeling against a man who was able to do that? 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 321 
 
 No ; it was shameful, on the part of the innkeeper, to drive a man 
 like Hansei, and such a woman as Walpurga, from the village. 
 They were a credit to every one, to say nothing of the advantage 
 i; is to have such rich and good people in the place people, more- 
 over, who have themselves been poor and know how the poor feel. 
 
 Hansei and Walpurga now received kindly greetings wherever 
 they went, and all spoke of their intended departure as if it grieved 
 them to think of it. 
 
 The ringleader on the Sunday that the band had come to the 
 house, the very one, indeed, who wanted to play a trick on Hansei, 
 now came and offered to engage with him as a farm hand. Hansei 
 replied that, for the present, he would keep the servants who were 
 at the farm, and that, in the beginning, he would require people who 
 knew all about the neighborhood and the farm itself. He said that 
 he might be able to employ him later. Hansei was obliged to 
 travel back and forth quite frequently. There were many legal 
 matters to be arranged, and, besides, there was an old resident on 
 the property who had a life-claim against the estate, for mainte- 
 nance and support, and whom money would not induce to quit 
 the house. 
 
 "And do you know," said Hansei, one day, "who helped me 
 ever so much ? We had quite forgotten that Stasi lives up there 
 near the frontier, about three leagues from the farm. Her husband 
 is the under-forester at that district. He showed me the forest, and 
 he 's quite right when he says that paths can be made, so that 
 beams and planks may be brought down. Won't you go with me 
 sometime, and take a look at our new home? " 
 
 "I'll wait till we go there for good," answered Walpurga. 
 "Wherever you take me to, I '11 be satisfied, for we '11 be together, 
 and you can't imagine how happy mother is." 
 
 Although the grandmother had, before this, rarely thought of 
 dying, she often complained that she would n't live long enough to 
 move to the farm with them, and thus, as mother of the farmer's 
 wife, return to where she had once been a servant. All day long, 
 she would tell Walpurga of the beautiful apple trees in the great gar- 
 den there, and of the brook whose water was such that the articles 
 washed in it would become as white as snow, and that, too, without 
 using a particle of soap. She also extolled the virtue of the people 
 who were living there, and cautioned Walpurga to use good judg- 
 ment in dispensing the gifts which it would now be her duty to be- 
 stow on others. She knew the old pensioner and was indeed dis- 
 tantly related to him. They must treat him kindly, and thus bring 
 blessings on the house. 
 
 Time sped by and the hour of departure gradually drew near. 
 
 Walpurga had already packed the clothing and household uten- 
 sils, but was obliged to unpack them again, as they were needed. 
 As the time for their departure drew near, the villagers became 
 14* 
 
322 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 even more kindly and affable towards them, and Walpurga com 
 plained to her mother : 
 
 " I feel just as I did when I was about to leave the palace. I was 
 always anxious to get away, but when the time came, I felt worried 
 about leaving." 
 
 " Yes, child," said the mother, consoling her, "it will be just the 
 same w r hen you leave the world. How often one would like to go, 
 bur when the time comes, one is n't anxious to leave. O my child ! 
 I feel as if the whole world were speaking to me and as if I under- 
 stood it all. Everything, men and women especially, seems at its 
 best when you have to part from it. That 's the way it is when one 
 parts with life. For it is n't till then that we begin to understand 
 how beautiful the world is, after all, and how many good hearts we 
 leave behind us." 
 
 Walpurga and her mother were now able to talk with each other, 
 to their hearts' content, for they no longer got an hour of Hansei's 
 company. He spent much of his time with Grubersepp whom he 
 accompanied into the fields, and from whom he received much ad- 
 vice and instruction. 
 
 One evening a messenger came, asking Hansei to come to Gru- 
 bersepp's at once. He hurried off and did not return until late. 
 Walpurga and her mother, curious to know w T hat was going on, 
 sat up for him. It was near midnight when he returned, and 
 Walpurga asked : " What 's the matter? " 
 
 " ( imbersepp has got a colt." 
 
 Walpurga and her mother almost split their sides with laughter. 
 
 "What is there to laugh at?" asked Hansei almost angry. 
 " And besides, the signs are that it '11 be a white one." 
 
 They burst out laughing again, and Hansei looked amazed. He 
 told them, in great earnest, that Grubersepp had sent for him, so 
 that he might learn all about it, and he was just about to acquaint 
 them with the latest bit of information he had acquired : namely, 
 that foals are never born white. But he thought better of it ; for 
 it occurred to him that it would n't do to tell the women all he 
 knew, for they laughed so stupidly at everything. Besides, a rich 
 farmer ought to be on his dignity with the women ; he would n't 
 forget that Grubersepp was so, too. 
 
 Hansei received various offers for his cottage and was always 
 provoked when it was spoken of as a tumbledown old shanty. He 
 always looked as if he meant to say : " Do n't take it ill of me, 
 good old house ; the people only abuse you so that they may get 
 you cheap." Hansei stood his ground. He would not sell his 
 home for a penny less than it was worth ; and, besides thai, he 
 owned the fishing'right which was also worth something. Gruber- 
 f epp at last took the house off his hands, with the design of putting 
 a servant of his, who intended to marry in the fall, in possession 
 of the place. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 323 
 
 All the villagers were kind and friendly to them nay, doubly 
 so, since they were about to leave and Hansei said : 
 
 " It hurts me to think that I must leave a single enemy behind 
 me. I 'd like, to make it up with the innkeeper." 
 
 Walpurga agreed with him, and said that she would go along , 
 that she had really been the cause of the trouble, and that if the 
 innkeeper wanted to scold any one, he might as well scold he % '. oo. 
 
 Hansei did not want his wife to go along, but she insisted upon it. 
 
 It was on the last evening in August, that they went up into the 
 village. Their hearts beat violently while they drew near to the 
 ini.. There was no light in the room. They groped about the 
 j torch, but not a soul was to be seen. Dachsel and Wachsel, how- 
 ever, were making a heathenish racket. Hansei called out : 
 
 " Is there no one at home? " 
 
 "No. There's no one at home," answered a voice from the 
 dark room. 
 
 "Well, then tell the host, when he returns, that Hansei and his 
 wife were here, and that they came to ask him to forgive them if 
 they 've done him any wrong, and to say that they forgive him, too 
 and wish him luck." ' 
 
 " All right ; I '11 tell him," said the voice. The door was again 
 slammed to, and Dachsel and Wachsel began barking again. 
 
 Hansei and Walpurga returned homeward. 
 
 " Do you know who that was ? " asked Hansei. 
 
 " Why, yes ; 't was the innkeeper himself." 
 
 "Well, we 've done all we could." 
 
 They found it sad to part from all the villagers. They listened 
 to the lovely tones of the bell which they had heard every hour 
 since childhood. Although their hearts were full, they did not say 
 a word about the sadness of parting. Hansei at last broke silence : 
 
 " Our new home is n't out of the world, we can often come 
 here." 
 
 When they reached the cottage they found that nearly all of the 
 villagers had assembled, in order to bid them farewell, but every 
 one added : " I '11 see you again in the morning." 
 
 Grubersepp also came again. He had been proud enough 
 before ; but now he was doubly so, for he had made a man of his 
 neighbor, or had, at all events, helped to do so. He did not give 
 way to tender sentiment. He condensed all his knowledge of life 
 into a couple of sentences, which he delivered himself of most 
 bluntly. 
 
 "I only want to tell you," said he, "you'll now have lots of 
 servants. Take my word for it, the best of them are good for 
 nothing ; but something may be made of them, for all. He who 
 would have his servants mow well, must himself take the scythe in 
 hand. And since you got your riches so quickly, do n't forget the 
 proverb : ' Light come, light go.' Keep steady, or it '11 go ill witb 
 you." 
 
324 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 He gave him much more good advice, and Hansei accompanied 
 him all the way back to his house. With a silent pressure ol the 
 hand, they took l^ave of each other. 
 
 The house seemed empty, for quite a number of chests and 
 boxrs had been sent in advance by a boat that was already crossing 
 the lake. On the following morning, two teams would be in 
 w; king en the other side. 
 
 "So this is the last time that we go to bed in this house," said 
 the mother. They were all fatigued with work and excitement, 
 and yet none of them cared to go to bed. At last, however, they 
 could not help doing so, although they all slept but little. 
 
 The next morning, they were up and about at an early hour. 
 Having attired themselves in their best clothes, they bundled up 
 the beds and carried them into the boat. The mother kindled the 
 last fire on the hearth. The cows were led out and put into the 
 boat, the chickens were also taken along in a coop, and the dog 
 was constantly running to and fro. 
 
 The hour of parting had come. 
 
 The mother uttered a prayer and then called all of them into 
 the kitchen. She scooped up some water from the pail and poured 
 it into the fire, with these words: "May all that 's evil be thus 
 poured out and extinguished, and let those who light a fire after 
 us. find nothing but health in their home." 
 
 Hansei, "\Valpurga and Gundel were, each of them, obliged to 
 pour a ladleful of water into the fire, and the grandmother guided 
 the child's hand, while it did the same thing. 
 
 After they had all silently performed this ceremony, the grand- 
 mother prayed aloud : 
 
 " Take from us, O Lord our God ! all heartache and homesickness 
 and all trouble, and grant us health and a happy home where we 
 next kindle our fire." 
 
 She was the first to cross the threshold. She had the child in 
 her arms a*nd covered its eyes with her hands, while she called out 
 to the others : 
 
 " Do n't look back when you go out." 
 
 "Just wait a moment," said Hansei to Walpurga when he found 
 himself alone with her. "Before we cross this threshold for the 
 last time, I 've something to tell you. I must tell it. I mean to 
 be a righteous man and to keep nothing concealed from you. I 
 must tell you this, Walpurga. While you were away and Black 
 JLsthc-r lived up yonder, I once came very near being wicked and 
 unfaithful thank God, I was n't. But it torments me to think 
 that I ever wanted to be bad ; and now, Walpurga, forgive me 
 and God will forgive me, too. Now I 've told you, and have 
 nothing more to tell. If I were to appear before God this moment, 
 I 'd know of nothing more." 
 
 Walpurga embraced him and, sobbing, said : " You 're my dear, 
 good husband," and they crossed the threshold for the last time. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 325 
 
 When they reached the garden, Hansei paused, looked up at the 
 cherry tree and said : 
 
 " And so you remain here. Won't you come with us ? We 've 
 always been good friends and spent many an hour together. But 
 wait ! I '11 take you with me, for all," cried he, joyfully, "and I '11 
 plant you in my new home." 
 
 He carefully dug out a shoot that was sprouting up from one of 
 the roots of the tree. He stuck it in his hat band and went down 
 to join his wife at the boat. 
 
 From the landing place on the bank, were heard the merry sounds 
 of fiddles, clarionets and trumpets. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 HANSEI hastened to the landing place. The whole village had 
 congregated there and, with it, the full band of music. Tailor 
 Schneck's son, he who had been one of the cuirassiers at the 
 christening of the crown prince, had arranged, and was now con- 
 ducting, the parting ceremonies. Schneck, who was scraping his 
 bass viol, was the first to see Hansei, and he called out, in the midst 
 of the music : 
 
 " Long live farmer Hansei and the one he loves best ! Hip, hip, 
 hurrah ! " 
 
 The early dawn resounded with their cheers. There was a 
 flourish of trumpets, and the salutes fired from several small 
 mortars were echoed back from the mountains. The large boat in 
 which their household furniture, the two cows and the fowls were 
 placed, was adorned with wreaths of fir and oak. Walpurga was 
 standing in the middle of the boat, and with both hands held the 
 child aloft, so that it might see the great crowd of friends and the 
 lake sparkling in the rosy dawn. 
 
 " My master's best respects," said one of Grubersepp's servants, 
 leading a snow white colt by the halter, " he sends you this to re- 
 member him by." 
 
 Grubersepp was not present. He disliked noise and crowds. 
 He was of a solitary and self-contained temperament. Neverthe- 
 less, he sent a present which was not only of intrinsic value, but 
 was also a most flattering souvenir ; for a colt is usually given by 
 a rich farmer to a younger brother when about to depart. In the 
 eyes of all the world, that is to say, the whole village, Hansei ap- 
 peared as the younger brother of Grubersepp. 
 
 Little Burgei shouted for joy when she saw them leading the 
 snow-white foal into the boat. 
 
 Gruberwaldl, who was but six years old, stood by the whinny- 
 ing colt stroking it, and speaking kindly to it. 
 
 " Would you like to go to the farm with me and be my servant ? ' 
 asked Hansei of Gruberwaldl. 
 
326 a\ T THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "Yes indeed, if you '11 take me." 
 
 "See, what a boy he is," said Hansei to his wife. " What a 
 boy ! " 
 
 Walpurga made no answer, but busied herself with the child. 
 
 Hansei shook hands with every one at parting. His hand 
 trembled, but he did not forget to give a couple of crown thalers to 
 the musicians. 
 
 At last he got into the boat and exclaimed : 
 
 " Kind friends ! I thank you all. Do n't lorget us, and we shan't 
 forget you. Farewell ! may God protect you all." 
 
 Walpurga and her mother were in tears. 
 
 "And now, in God's name, let us start." The chains, were 
 loosened ; the boat put off. Music, shouting, singing, and the 
 firing of cannon resounded while the boat quietly moved a\vay 
 from the shore. The sun burst forth in all his glory. 
 
 The mother sat there, with her hands clasped. All were silent. 
 The only sound heard was the neighing of the foal. 
 
 Walpurga was the first to break the silence. "O dear Lord ! if 
 people would only show each other half as much love during life 
 as they do when one dies or moves away." 
 
 The mother, who was in the middle of a prayer, shook her head. 
 She quickly finished her prayer and said : " That 's more than one 
 has a right to ask. It won't do to go about all day long with your 
 heart in your hand. But remember, I 've always told you that the 
 people are good enough at heart, even if there are a few bad ones 
 among them." 
 
 Hansei bestowed an admiring glance upon his wife, who had so 
 many different thoughts about almost everything. He supposed it 
 was caused by her having been away from home. But his heart 
 was full too, although in a different way. 
 
 "I can hardly realize," said Hansei, taking a long breath and 
 putting the pipe which he had intended to light, back into his 
 pocket. "What has become of all the years that I spent there 
 and all that I went through during the time. Look, Walpurga ! 
 the road you see there leads to my home. I know every hill 
 and every hollow. My mother 's buried there. Do you see the 
 pines growing on the hill over yonder ? That hill was quite bare ; 
 every tree was cut down when the French were here ; and see how 
 fine and hardy the trees are now. I planted most of them myself. 
 I was a little boy about eleven or twelve years old when the forester 
 hired me. He had fresh soil brought for the whole place and cov- 
 ered the rocky spots with moss. In the spring, I worked from six 
 in the morning till seven in the evening, putting in the little plants. 
 My left hand was almost frozen, for I had to keep putting it into a 
 tub of wet loam with which I covered the roots. I was scantily 
 dothed into the bargain and had nothing to eat, all day long, but 
 a piece of bread. In the morning it was cold enough to freeze the 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 327 
 
 marrow in one's bones, and, at noon, I was almost roasted by the 
 hot sun beating on the rocks. It was a hard life. Yes, I had a hard 
 time of it when I was young. Thank God, it has n't harmed me 
 any. But I shan't forget it ; and let 's be right industrious and 
 give all we can to the poor. I never would have believed that 
 I 'd live to call a single tree or a handful of earth my own ; and 
 now that God has given me so much, let 's try and deserve it all." 
 i Hansel's eyes blinked, as if there was something in them, and he 
 'pulled his hat down over his forehead. Now, while he was pulling 
 himself up by the roots as it were, he could not help thinking of how 
 thoroughly he had become engrafted into the neighborhood by the 
 work of his hands and by habit. He had felled many a tree, but 
 he knew full well how hard it was to remove the stumps. 
 
 The foal grew restive. Gruberwaldl, who had come with them 
 in order to hold it, was not strong enough, and one of the boatmen 
 was obliged to go to his assistance. 
 
 "Stay with the foal," said Hansei. "I '11 take the oar." 
 
 "And I, too," cried Walpurga. "Who knows when I '11 have 
 another chance ? Ah ! how often I 've rowed on the lake with 
 you and my blessed father." 
 
 Hansei and Walpurga sat side by side plying their oars in per- 
 fect time. It did them both good to have some employment which 
 would enable them to work off the excitement. 
 
 "I shall miss the water," said Walpurga; "without the lake, 
 life '11 seem so dull and dry. I felt that, while I was in the city." 
 
 Hansei did not answer. 
 
 " At the summer palace, there 's a pond with swans swimming 
 about in it," said she, but still received no answer. She looked 
 around and a feeling of anger arose within her. When she said 
 anything at the palace, it was always listened to. 
 
 In a sorrowful tone, she added : " It would have been better if 
 we 'd moved . in the spring ; it would have been much easier to 
 get used to things." 
 
 " Maybe it would," replied Hansei, at last, "but I 've got to hew 
 wood in the winter. Walpurga, let 's make life pleasant to each 
 other, and not sad. I shall have enough on my shoulders, and 
 can't have you and your palace thoughts besides." 
 
 Walpurga quickly answered : " I '11 throw this ring, which the 
 queen gave me, into the lake, to prove that I 've stopped thinking 
 of the palace." 
 
 " There 's no need of that. The ring 's worth a nice sum and, 
 besides that, it 's an honorable keepsake. You must do. just as I 
 do." 
 
 " Yes ; only remain strong and true." 
 
 The mother suddenly stood up before them. Her features were 
 illumined with a strange expression and she said : 
 
 " Children ! Hold fast to the good fortune that you have. You 'vtf 
 
328 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 gone through fire and water together ; for it was fire when you 
 were surrounded by joy and love and every one greeted you with 
 kindness and you passed through the water, when the wickedness 
 of others stung you to the soul. At that time, the water was up to 
 your neck, and yet you were n't drowned. Now you 've got over 
 it all. And when my last hour comes, do n't weep for me ; foi 
 through you I 've enjoyed all the happiness a mother's heart can 
 have in this world." 
 
 She knelt down, scooped up some water with her hand and 
 spiinkled it over Hansel's, and also over Walpurga's face. 
 
 They rowed on, in silence. The mother laid her head on a 
 roll of bedding and closed her eyes. Her face wore a strange ex- 
 pression. After awhile she opened her eyes again, and casting 
 a glance full of happiness on her children, she said : 
 
 "Sing and be merry. Sing the song that father and I so often 
 sang together ; that one verse, the good one." 
 
 Hansel and Walpurga plied the oars while they sang : 
 
 Ah, blissful is the tender tie 
 That binds me, love, to thee ; 
 And swiftly speed the hours by, 
 When thou art near to me. 
 
 They repeated the verse again, although, at times, the joyous 
 shouting of the child and the neighing of the foal bade fair to in- 
 terrupt it. 
 
 The singing and shouting was suddenly interrupted by a young 
 sailor, who cried out : 
 
 " There 's some one floating there ! it 's a human being there ! 
 the head 's over water ! do n't you see it ? there 's the long, coal- 
 black hair floating on the water. Some woman 's drowned herself, 
 or has fallen overboard." 
 
 Even- one in the boat looked towards the point indicated. The 
 object rose and fell on the waves. It appeared to be a human 
 face that would, now and then, rise to the surface and sink again. 
 All were dumb with terror, and Hansei rubbed his eyes, asking 
 himself: "Was it imagination or was it reality?" He thought he 
 had recognized the face of Black Esther rising on the waves and 
 sinking again. It floated on, further and further, and, at last, sank 
 out of sight. 
 
 "It's nothing," said Walpurga, "it's nothing. Don't let us 
 make ourselves unhappy." 
 
 " You 're a stupid fellow," said the old boatman, scolding his 
 comrade. "It was nothing but a dead crow or some other bird 
 floating on the water. Who 'd say such a thing? " added he in a 
 \vhisper. " If we get but little drink money, it '11 be your fault. 
 They were so happy that they 'd have given us a thaler at least, 
 but now you can see Hansei rummaging in his purse. He 's look- 
 ing for small change, and it 's all your fault." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 329 
 
 Without knowing why, Hansei had indeed pulled out his purse, 
 and was fumbling in it. He was so bewildered with what he had 
 seen it was true, after all but it could not be right just new- 
 to-day, when all was forgiven and past ; and, after all, he had n't 
 sinned. 
 
 In order to regain his composure, he counted out several pieces 
 of money. That restored his spirits. He was able to count ; his 
 senses had returned. He had resigned the oar and, with his piece 
 of chalk, had actually been making some calculations on the bench. 
 But he soon rubbed them out again. 
 
 " There 's the other shore," said he, looking up and lifting his hat, 
 "we '11 soon be there. I can see the wagon and horses and Uncle 
 Peter there already. I can see our blue chest." 
 
 " Heavens ! " cried Walpurga, and the oar remained motionless 
 in her hands. " Heavens ! Who is it ? Who is that figure ? I 
 can take my oath that, while we were singing, I thought to myself: 
 If only my good Countess Irma could see us sitting in the boat to- 
 gether. It would have made her happy to see that, and just then 
 it seemed to me as if " 
 
 "I 'm glad," said Hansei, interrupting her, "that we 're getting 
 to shore. If this lasts much longer, we '11 all lose our wits." 
 
 On the distant shore, some one was seen running to and fro. 
 The figure was wrapped in a flowing dress, and suddenly started 
 when the wind wafted the sound of music across towards her. 
 She sank to the earth and seemed to be crouching on the bank. 
 Now that the sound had died away, she arose and fled, disappear- 
 ing among the bushes. 
 
 " Did n't you see anything?" asked Walpurga again. 
 
 " Yes, indeed. If I was superstitious, and it was n't in the day- 
 time, I 'd have thought it was the Lady of the Lake." 
 
 The boat reached the bank. Walpurga was the first to leap 
 ashore. Leaving her people, she ran towards the bushes as fast 
 as she could, and there, behind the willows, the figure fell on hci 
 neck and fainted. 
 
BOOK V. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 ^PHE summer was almost at an end when the court returned 
 I from the baths. 
 
 The king's first official act was to sign the proclamation of the 
 Schnabelsdorf ministry, dissolving the refractory Chamber of Dep- 
 uties and ordering a new election. 
 
 The king was displeased ; and yet, that which now surprised 
 him was the inevitable consequence of his previous doings. He 
 had returned in high spirits, but, like an importunate creditor, the 
 state was already thrusting its claims upon him. 
 
 He felt happy that his government met with popular approval ; 
 but that, he thought, should be a matter of course. And now a 
 
 great question was to be submitted to the country, and there were 
 oubts as to what the answer might be. 
 
 Schnabelsdorf exercised his great conversational gifts, and 
 adroitly endeavored to humor the heroic side of the king's charac- 
 ter. But his efforts were in vain. 
 
 The whole land was in great commotion, but of this they knew 
 little or nothing at court. The autumn manoeuvres had begun, 
 and in a few days the court expected to move to the summer 
 palace, after which, hunting in the Highlands was to begin. 
 
 The king had seldom taken so lively an interest in the manoeu- 
 vres. The ease and precision with which, on such occasions, large 
 bodies of men were moved at will, afforded a suggestive contrast 
 to the spirit of disorganization and breaking away from authority 
 which seemed abroad in the land. Nothing, however, was further 
 from his thoughts than the idea of bringing the two opposing 
 tendencies to bear upon each other. 
 
 At the court assemblages, the king always seemed to be in 
 an exceptionally pleasant mood. The greater his ill-humor, the 
 more he regarded it his duty to keep up the outward semblance 
 of cheerfulness. The habit, acquired in youth, of always keeping 
 up his dignity ; the knowledge that the eyes of all were upon him ; 
 a due consideration for the claims of those about him ; the need 
 of always speaking the right word at the right time ; above all, the 
 art of ignoring an art in which others refrain from indulging 
 themselves, and which, for that very reason, requires practice 
 
332 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 and, added to this, the consciousness of possessing kingly power: 
 all this prevented him from betraying the slightest tra'ce of ill- 
 humor. He manifested a lively interest in whatever was going on, 
 especially so, when Irma was present. She, above all, should never 
 find him wavering, for she would have misinterpreted it. It was 
 therefore necessary, in her presence, to keep up that exalted mood 
 which regards dissent or contradiction as impossible, and thus 
 esteems itself as above the law. And yet the king felt the danger 
 of encouraging a secret passion while all his strength was required 
 by a weighty problem, in the solution of which he would necessa- 
 rily encounter great opposition. 
 
 Irma returned from her visit to the sea-shore, refreshed and in- 
 vigorated. She was more beautiful than ever, but was rarely seen 
 at court, as she spent much of her time with Arabella. On the 
 day after Arabella had given birth to a boy, Irma and the Doctor 
 left Bruno's house together. 
 
 Irma was about to say : " I am beginning to get tired of this 
 everlasting nursery," but checked herself in time. 
 
 The Doctor did not utter a word, while accompanying her down 
 the carpeted stairs. His features wore a serious expression. He 
 had been living in the great world for many years, but, even now, 
 it offended his sense of justice when he saw the joys of paternity 
 fall to the share of one who, like Bruno, had led what is mildly 
 termed a "fast life." The Doctor pressed the ivory handle of his 
 cane against his lips, as if thus to prevent his thoughts from rinding 
 vent in words. Silently, he seated himself in the carriage with 
 Irma. They drove to the palace. 
 
 " My sister-in-law has imposed a difficult task upon me," said 
 Irma. 
 
 Gunther did not enquire as to the nature of the task, and Irma 
 was obliged to continue of herself : 
 
 " She made me promise that I 'd inform father of the birth of 
 his grandson. If you were still on former terms of intimacy 
 v.'ith him, you would be the best mediator." 
 
 "I can do nothing," replied Gunther, curtly. He was unusually 
 reserved in his manner towards Irma. She felt conscious of this, 
 and felt, too, that she no longer had a right to claim unreserved 
 confidence on the part of her friends. But as she did not wish to 
 break with those whom she esteemed, it was necessary to main- 
 tain relations of courtesy with them. 
 
 " I believe that Bruno''s better nature will now assert itself," said 
 Irma. She forced herself to speak, and trembled when she thought 
 that the man who sat beside her might suddenly ask her: "What 
 have you done with your better nature ? " 
 
 The carriage stopped before the palace. Irma alighted and 
 Gunther drove home. 
 
 Once in her room, Irma pressed both hands to her heart as if 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 333 
 
 to allay the storm within. "Must I beg every one tp prove his 
 friendly feeling by silence, or to admit that I am right ? (Those who 
 despise the wo,rjd's laws and have soared above them.had better 
 cease to live.JT/ She aroused herself by a violent effort and be- 
 gan the lettefTo her father. She complained that she had had no 
 news from him for a long while. She wrote about Arabella, in- 
 formed him that Bruno had become a steady paterfamilias, and, 
 at last, mentioned the birth of the grandson. She also wrote that 
 Arabella begged for a few lines from the grandfather and that they 
 would render her happy. 
 
 Irma found her letter a difficult task. Her pen usually re- 
 sponded to to every varying phase of feeling ; but, that day, it seemed 
 to stumble and hesitate. She leaned back in her chair, and picked 
 up a letter that she had found lying there. It was Walpurga's. 
 She smiled while reading it, and enjoyed the satisfaction of hav- 
 ing benefited a fellow creature who, although distant, held her in 
 faithful remembrance. 
 
 The waitingmaid announced Bruno's groom. Irma had hin\ 
 come in. He had come to express his master's desire that the 
 gracious Countess should at once dispatch the letter she had prom- 
 ised to write, and said that he had been ordered to take it to the 
 post-office himself. Irma sealed it and gave it to him. 
 
 Bruno, seated in his dog-cart, was waiting at the corner of the 
 palace square. The groom handed him the letter. Bruno put it 
 in his pocket. He drove to the post-office and, with his own hands, 
 dropped a letter into the box. This epistle, however, was directed 
 to a lady. The one intended for his father he retained in his pos- 
 session. He was determined not to humble himself, either through 
 his sister or his wife. 
 
 The box into which Bruno dropped the perfumed billet-doux 
 contained letters for old Eberhard, letters which Bruno could not 
 intercept. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 ON the very morning that his first grandchild was born, Count 
 Eberhard was returning, with a light heart, from a walk in the 
 fields. They had begun, that day, to gather the first harvest from 
 a large, tray-formed tract of land which had once been a swamp. 
 Eberhard had drained the desolate tract with great care and judg- 
 ment, and now it produced unequaled crops. The sight of the 
 ripened grain, waving in the gentle breeze, inspired him with pure 
 and happ> feelings, and he thought of the generations to come, 
 who would derive sustenance from a tract of land rendered fertile 
 by him. 
 
 He felt no desire to impart his happiness to another. He had 
 accustomed himself, in the past, to live within himself. His 
 
334 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 one real life-burden he had confessed to his daughter. He thor- 
 oughly enjoyed the repose which solitude alone affords. He 
 imagined that pure reflection had conquered all passion. He 
 always obeyed the inner voice of nature ; there was no one tor 
 whose sake he was obliged to repress it. He had faithfully en- 
 deavored to perfect himself and, while placing himself beyond 
 the reach of temptation, had, at the same time, withdrawn from 
 social activity. 
 
 When he left his work in field or forest, it was to commune with 
 those great ones who had long since left the world, and with whose 
 profoundest thoughts he felt himself in full accord. 
 
 He had just come in from the fields and was about to repair to 
 his library^, there to converse with a spirit that had long since left this 
 world. His step was steady, his mind was calm and placid. He 
 could, at will, preserve a certain state of feeling, or resign himself 
 to the guidance of a spirit living in another sphere. His life lay in 
 two distinct spheres, and yet the transition from one to the other 
 was never violent. 
 
 The impressions of the moment had already clothed themselves 
 in words, and he was about to note them down in a little book which 
 bore the inscription: "Self-redemption." 
 
 Entering the manor-house, he found a number of persons wait- 
 ing for him in the great, long, harvest hall which was hung with 
 garlands and wreaths. They saluted him as he approached. The 
 village burgomaster, who had, hitherto, represented that district at 
 the Diet, and many other persons of local importance were as- 
 sembled there. The burgomaster was the spokesman of the party 
 and stated that in the forthcoming election, it would be necessary 
 to relinquish the field to blockheads and bigots, unless they could 
 nominate a candidate whose high personal character and influence 
 would secure them victory. Colonel Bronnen, who had been rec- 
 ommended by Count Eberhard, had refused to stand, and now 
 Count Eberhard was the only one who could defeat the enemy. 
 The electors said that they well knew what a sacrifice it would be 
 for him to take part in the canvass. They had, therefore, waited 
 until now, the day of the election, and they urgently entreated 
 him not to withdraw at the eleventh hour. 
 
 "Yes," added the burgomaster, "you Ve drained a swamp and 
 carried ofi the foul water ; and now you must help us in this, too." 
 
 To their great surprise and delight, Eberhard, without further 
 objection, declared his willingness to stand. He had succeeded in 
 one undertaking, and, from a sense of duty, felt that he had no 
 right to avoid assuming the greater trust now offered him. The 
 old enemy was still in force, and it was meet that the old warriors 
 should go forth to battle against him. 
 
 The friends left and, after giving a few orders to the servants, 
 Eberhard followed. He rode a large, powerful horse, such as a 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 335 
 
 large, strong man requires. He caught up with his friends before 
 they reached the town, and thus made his entry with quite a fol- 
 lowing. 
 
 He presented himself before the assembled electors. The hall 
 was almost full. The people were astonished to see the Count, 
 but the glances turned towards him were soon withdrawn, and 
 much whispered conversation ensued. Making his way through 
 the crowd, Eberhard walked up to the speaker's stand. Few stood 
 up or greeted him. Why was it ? At other times, the crowd 
 would always make way for him ; but to-day, he had to push his 
 way through them. It almost vexed him, but he controlled him- 
 self. " This is the true effect of free thought ; homage should not 
 be bestowed according to custom and precedence ; it should only 
 be for those who have earned it. You are still an aristocrat at 
 heart, and are still filled with pride of ancestry pride in your own 
 past." Such were the thoughts that passed through his mind, 
 while, with a smile, he rejoiced in the victory he had won over 
 himself. 
 
 The first one to mount the speaker's stand was the candidate of 
 the "Blacks," as the popular party termed their opponents. He 
 spoke with cleverness, but without fervor, and it was evident that 
 his address had been carefully studied. He made several clever 
 points, however, which were received with loud applause. 
 
 The retiring delegate came forward and, stating that he declined 
 a re-election, proposed Count Eberhard of Wildenort, the tried 
 champion of freedom and popular rights. 
 
 The assembly seemed taken by surprise. There was but little 
 clapping of hands, and few bravos were heard. Count Eberhard 
 was quite taken aback by this cool reception and looked about him 
 in astonishment. The burgomaster whispered to him that this was 
 a sure sign of victory, and that the enemy was confounded. 
 Eberhard merely nodded. A strange feeling of embarrassment 
 arose within him. He repressed it, and mounted the speaker's 
 stand. With every step, he gained in courage and became more 
 fully persuaded that it was his duty to defend the new trust without 
 regard to thought of self. He began his speech by giving an ac- 
 count of his past life and struggles, adding, with a smile, that there 
 were many present who, like himself, had gray hairs, and that 
 there was no need of telling them what he desired. He was 
 glad, however, to find that there were so many younger men 
 present. 
 
 They listened with considerable patience. Among the opposi- 
 tion there was, now and then, loud talking which was, however, 
 soon silenced. Eberhard went on speaking. Suddenly loud peals 
 of laughter resounded through the assemliy, and the words "left 
 handed father-in-law " were heard. Eberhard did not know what 
 it meant, and went on with his remarks. The talking in the crowd 
 
336 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 grew louder. Drops of cold sweat stood on his brow. The burg- 
 omaster mounted the stand and exclaimed : "Whoever is n't will- 
 ing to listen to a man like Count Eberhard, does n't deserve to 
 have a vote." 
 
 Breathless silence ensued. Eberhard concluded with the words : 
 
 " I am proud enough to tell you that I do n't ask you for your 
 votes. I simply say that I accept the nomination." 
 
 lie left the assembly, but, before doing so, begged his friends 
 to remain. He rode home, filled with the thought that he had 
 separated himself from the world, instead of having conquered it. 
 
 He alighted as soon as he came to his own land in the valley, 
 and gave orders to some of the laborers. When he returned to 
 the road, he met the postman, who handed him several letters. 
 Eberhard opened the first and read: " Your daughter has fallen 
 into disgrace, and yet stands in high grace as the mistress of the 
 king. To her the country ow r es the restoration of the ecclesiastical 
 ministry. If you still doubt, ask the first person you meet in the 
 streets of the capital. Unhappy father of a happy daughter." It 
 was signed " The Public Voice." 
 
 Eberhard tore up the letter and gave the shreds to the winds 
 which carried them far away over the fields. 
 
 " Anonymous letters," said he, "are the meanest things conceiv- 
 able. They are far lower than cowardly assassination, and yet " 
 It seemed as if the breeze \vhich carried the shreds away had now 
 returned, laden with the expression that he had heard at the meet- 
 ing. Had they not said "left handed father-in-law ? " 
 
 Eberhard pressed his hand to his brow the thought was like a 
 burning arrow piercing his brain. He opened the second letter and 
 read : " You do not care to believe how it stands with your daugh- 
 ter. Ask him who was once your friend. Ask the king's physician, 
 on his honor and conscience. He will tell you the truth. Save 
 what may yet be saved. Then will the writer of these lines divulge 
 his name. From one who greatly esteems you. * * * " 
 
 Eberhard did not destroy this letter ; he held it in his trembling 
 hand. A mist suddenly rose before him. He passed his hands 
 over his eyes as if to brush it away ; but it still remained, growing 
 denser with each succeeding moment. He tried to read the letter 
 again, but could not distinguish a word of it. He crumpled up the 
 paper and put it in his breast pocket, where it lay like a burning 
 coal against his heart. His head swam and he sat down by ihe 
 wayside. What could he do ? They would smile if he went to 
 court to fetch her. They would be very gracious and would say : 
 " Let there be no scenes, no noise. Let even-thing be arranged 
 quietly; let there be no scandal; decorum must be maintained." 
 And one must smile, though his heart is bursting. We live in a 
 civilized world, and this they call culture and good manners. Oh ! 
 you are well off. With you, all is pastime. You can afford to be 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 337 
 
 ever polite, ever cool and reserved. O, why did I come home to 
 waste my powers in this miserable nook ! It 's all my own fault. 
 I meant to rescue myself from the hurly-burly of the world. I 've 
 lost my children, instead. A satanic sophist lurks in us all. I 
 persuaded myself that it was better, and more in accordance with 
 nature, to let my children grow up, free from all control ; and yet it 
 was only a vain excuse for my own weakness. Because the duty 
 of incessantly watching over them was distasteful to me, I suffered 
 them to go to ruin, while persuading myself that their nature could 
 thus best develop itself. And here I stand, and must fetch my 
 child 
 
 The sudden neighing of the horse, hitched to a tree near by, so 
 startled Eberhard that he almost fell back. A laborer who was 
 bringing two horses in from the field, stopped and asked : " What 
 ails you, master?" 
 
 The lab'orer unhitched the horse. Eberhard rose hastily and, 
 Without saying a word, walked up the hill in the direction of the 
 manor-house. He felt as if the air was filled with intangible, electric 
 clouds that drew torn back ; but he forced his way through them. 
 He reached the house and held fast by the doorposts. He was 
 giddy, but still he did not give up. He went through the stables 
 and barns, saw the men storing away the fodder, and remained 
 looking at them for a long while. Then he went through the 
 whole house and looked at every object with an enquiring gaze. 
 In the great room with the bay-window, he lingered long before a 
 picture of Irma, painted when she was but seven years old, a 
 beautiful, large-eyed child. The attitude was natural, a mixture of 
 childlike awkwardness and grace. The painter had wanted to put 
 a nosegay in the child's hand, but she had said : " I won't have 
 dead flowers ; give me a pot with living flowers in it." Ah, she 
 had had such pretty conceits ! There she stood, the very picture 
 of childish grace, with rosy cheeks, and with blooming roses in her 
 hand. "A rose plucked before the storm could scatter its petals." 
 These last words of Emilia Galotti passed through his mind. 
 " No, I am not that strong." 
 
 He rang, but when the servant came, had forgotten what he 
 wanted. The effort to collect his scattered thoughts seemed like 
 plunging into chaos. At last he ordered the carriage, which was 
 all he had wanted the servant for. 
 
 " The traveling carriage," he called out after the servant. 
 
 When he reached the library, he paused, and gazed at the door 
 for a while. There were so many great and mighty minds in there 
 why did none of them come to his aid ? There is no help but 
 that we find within ourselves. 
 
 While descending the steps, he would, now and then, hold fast 
 to the baluster as if to support himself. He drew himself up, as if 
 filled with anger because of the weakness that mastered him. In 
 15 
 
338 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 the courtyard, he gave orders that the carriage should drive on and 
 meet him down in the valley. His speech was noticeably indistinct. 
 Half way down the mountain, he suddenly seated himself on a 
 heap of stones and looked about him. 
 
 What was passing before his eyes ? What thoughts filled his 
 mind ? He looked for the tree which he had planted on the very 
 spot where word was brought him of Irma's birth. This is the 
 first soil trodden by her feet ; these are the first trees she ever saw. 
 The sky, the forests, the mountains, the blooming flowers, the 
 merry birds, the grazing cows all, all seemed like phantoms. 
 None of these will ever find you pure again. Never again dare 
 you approach a living creature, or tree or flower ; for they repudi- 
 ate you, they are pure and you are The world 's a paradise. 
 
 You have been driven thence, and roam about, a restless fugitive. 
 You may deaden your conscience, may smile and jest and dissem- 
 ble ; but'the sun does not dissemble, neither does the earth, nor your 
 own conscience. You 've destroyed the world and yourself, and 
 still live, dead in a dead world. How is it possible ? It cannot be. 
 I am mad. I shall neither punish nor chastise you ; but you must 
 know who and what you are, and the knowledge of that will be 
 your punishment and your cure. I shall palliate nothing ; you 
 must know, see, and acknowledge it all, yourself 
 
 A road laborer went up to the Count and asked whether he was 
 ill. He had noticed him sitting on the stones, and supposed that 
 something might be wrong. 
 
 " Not well ! " groaned Eberhard, " Not well ? It would be well 
 for me if I " 
 
 He got up and walked away. 
 
 A grief-stricken mother can shed tears ; a father cannot. 
 
 His head was bowed on his chest. He saw blooming roses ; 
 they should have adorned her. He saw thorns ; they should tear 
 her brow. Anger and grief struggled within him. Anger raged ; 
 grief wept. Anger would have lent him giant strength, with which 
 to destroy the world ; but grief crushed his very soul. 
 
 Suddenly he drew himself up, and, as if driven by the storm, ran 
 down the road, over the ditch and across the meadow, only stop- 
 ping when he reached the apple tree. 
 
 " This is the tree you 're decked with ruddy fruit and she 
 Woe is me ! life is pitiless ! " 
 
 A deep cry of pain escaped him. The road laborer above, and 
 the driver who was waiting with the carriage below, heard him 
 and ran to his help. They found him lying on the ground, face 
 downwards. He was foaming at the mouth and was unable to 
 speak. They bore him into the castle. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 '"THROUGHOUT the capital, schools, offices and workshops 
 1 were closed. With the exception of, now and then, a noisy 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 339 
 
 group of men who soon entered a large building and disappeared 
 from view, the streets were given over to women and children. It 
 was election day. It seemed as if the thousand and one diversified 
 interests and sentiments that help to make up the life of a city had 
 converged to a single point as if a great soul were communing 
 with itself. Although it was in broad daylight, a wondrous silence 
 rested upon the deserted streets. Gunther's carriage had just come 
 from Bruno's house, and now stopped at the town-hall. The Doctor 
 alighted, went up stairs and gave in his vote. In consideration of 
 his being a physician in active practice, he was allowed to vote 
 before his turn. He returned to his carriage and drove home. 
 When he entered the sitting-room, his wife handed him a telegram 
 which had just been received. Gunther opened it. 
 
 "What's the matter?" exclaimed Madame Gunther, for she 
 had never before seen so great a change in her husband's face. 
 
 He handed her the telegram and she read : 
 
 "Count Eberhard Wildenort paralyzed. Deprived of speech. 
 Send word to son and daughter to come at once ; if possible, you 
 also. "DOCTOR MANN, District Physician." 
 
 " You are going ? " said Madame Gunther in an agitated, but 
 scarcely enquiring tone. Gunther nodded affirmatively. 
 
 " I Ve one request to make," continued Madame Gunther. 
 With a slight motion of his hand, the Doctor intimated that he 
 wished her to proceed. He felt as if his tongue were palsied. 
 
 " I 'd like to go with you," said she. 
 
 "I do n't understand you." 
 
 " Sit down," said the wife, and when Gunther had seated himself, 
 she placed her gentle hand upon his lofty forehead. His face 
 brightened, and she went on to say : 
 
 " Wilhelm, this is a terrible visitation. Let me do all I can to 
 alleviate the grief of the lost child whom this dread message 
 will soon reach. I can imagine her feelings. Who knows ? 
 Perhaps her own actions have been the cause of this. Although 
 she rides in her carriage, I shall assist her as faithfully as if she 
 were a poor outcast ; and if the poor soul repels me, I shall not 
 leave her. I do n't know what may happen, but the moment may 
 come when she will feel it a comfort to rest the head now scourged 
 by thorns, against a woman's heart. Do let me go with you ? " 
 
 " I Ve no objection. For the present, however, you had better 
 get everything ready for my departure." He drove to Bruno's 
 house. 
 
 As soon as the latter noticed his sad looks, he exclaimed : " And 
 so your party was beaten ? " 
 
 " Not yet," replied Gunther, gently breaking the news to Bruno. 
 
 Bruno turned away, hurriedly gathered up several letters tha 
 were l)ing on the table and locked them up in his desk. He was 
 soon ready to go with Gunther to Irma, to whom they broke the 
 sad news as gently as possible. 
 
340 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " I knew it ! I knew it ! " cried Irma. Not another word escaped 
 her. She went into her bedchamber and threw herself on the 
 bed ; but she had hardly touched the pillow before she sprang up 
 as it thrust back, and then knelt on the floor and swooned away. 
 When she returned to the reception room, her features wore a fixed, 
 rigid expression. She gave hurried orders to her sen-ant and her 
 maid to prepare for the journey. The Doctor withdrew, in order 
 to ask for leave of absence, and promised to procure leave for 
 Irma, too. 
 
 "You ought to bid adieu to the queen, before you go," said 
 Bruno. 
 
 " Xo, no ! " cried Irma, vehemently. " I cannot ; I will not/' 
 
 There was no servant in the antechamber. There w r as a knock 
 at the door. Irma started. " Was the king coming? " 
 
 "Come in ! " said Bruno. 
 
 Madame Gunther entered. 
 
 Irma could not utter a word, but her eyes seemed to ask : " You 
 here? and now?" 
 
 Madame Gunther told her that she had heard the sad news, 
 and would regard it as a proof of her friendship, if Irma woukl 
 allow her to accompany her. 
 
 "Thank you, with all my heart," stammered Irma. 
 
 " Then you grant my request ? " 
 
 " I thank you ; on my knees, I '11 thank you ; but I beg of you, 
 do n't make me talk much now." 
 
 "There 's no need of your doing so, dear Countess," said Ma- 
 dame Gunther. " You 've apparently neglected or forgotten me ; 
 but in your heart, you 've remembered me. And even if it were 
 otherwise, there was one short hour during which \ve opened our 
 hearts to each other." 
 
 Irma raised her hands as if to shield herself, as if the kind 
 words pierced Her like so many arrows. In a soothing voice, 
 Madame Gunther added : " I shall consider it a kindness, if you 
 will allow me to be kind to you ; you have no mother and, per- 
 haps you will soon have no father." 
 
 Irma groaned aloud and pressed her hands to her eyes. " My 
 dear child," said Madame Gunther, placing her hand upon Irma's 
 arm. Irma started " there are many of God's creatures on earth, 
 so that the sympathy of those whom misfortune has spared may 
 serve as a support to the afflicted, and as a light in the hour of dark- 
 ness. I beg of you, do not be proud in your grief. Let me share 
 in all that the next few days may have in store for you." 
 
 " Proud ? proud ? " asked Irma, suddenly grasping Madame 
 Gunther's hand and as suddenly dropping it again. " No, dear 
 honored Madame. I appreciate your affectionate motives. I un- 
 derstand I know all. I could calmly accept your kindness. I 
 know at least I think that I, too, would have'just acted as you 
 io, if-" 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 341 
 
 "This is the best and the only thanks," interposed Madame 
 Gunther, but Irma motioned her to stop, and continued : 
 
 " I entreat you, do not torture me. Your husband and my 
 brother will accompany me. I beg of you, say nothing more. I 
 thank you ; I -shall never forget your kindness." 
 
 Gunther entered the room again and Irma said : 
 
 " Is everything ready ? We have no time to lose." 
 
 She bowed to Madame Gunther, and would gladly have err- 
 braced her, but could not. 
 
 Madame Gunther, who had never, before this, set foot in the 
 palace, had only come to succor a ruined one. Never had the 
 thought of herself so filled Irma with anguish and remorse, as 
 when this embodiment of loving kindness had held out her hand 
 to her. 
 
 The thought that she no longer dared approach the pure pained 
 her as if demons were tearing her to pieces. Her first impulse was 
 to throw herself at Madame Gunther's feet. She controlled her- 
 self, however, and, looking at her with a fixed gaze, passed on. 
 
 The parrot in the anteroom spread out its wings, as if it, too. 
 wanted to go along, and screamed : "God keep you, Irma ! " 
 
 As if veiled in a cloud, Irma walked through the corridor. At 
 the palace-gate, she met the king coming out of the park with 
 Schnabelsdorf, who had a number of dispatches in his hand, and 
 whose cheerful looks were owing to the news of victory which he 
 had just received. 
 
 To Irma, the king and Schnabelsdorf seemed like misty forms. 
 She wore a double black veil, for she did not care to gratify the idle 
 curiosity of the court, by making a show of the face on which grief 
 had done its work. 
 
 The king drew near. She could not remove her veil. He seemed 
 far. far away. She heard his friendly and, of course, kind words, 
 but she knew not what he said. 
 
 The king extended his hand to Gunther, then to Bruno, and, at 
 last, to Irma. He pressed her hand tenderly, but she did not 
 return the pressure. 
 
 They got into the carriage. Just as they were about to start, 
 Irma, noticing Madame Gunther's hand on the carriage door, bent 
 down and kissed it. The next moment they were gone. 
 
 They were silent for some time. After they had passed 'he 
 first village, Bruno took out a cigar, saying to Irma, who sat oppo- 
 site him : " I 'm a man, and a man must calmly accept the inevita- 
 ble. Show that you, too, have a strong mind." 
 
 Irma did not reply. She threw back her veil and looked out of 
 the window. Her departure had been so hurried that she was just 
 beginning to recover herself. 
 
 " You ought to have taken leave of the queen in person," said 
 Bruno, in a calm tone. The long silence was irksome to him. 
 
342 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Such dark hours should be made to pass as agreeably as possible. 
 When he found that Irma still remained silent, he added : " Foi 
 you know that the queen's tender nature is so easily offended." 
 
 Jrma still made no reply, but Gunther said : 
 
 "Yes; it were sacrilege to offend the queen. No one but a 
 savage would dare to weaken her faith in human goodness and 
 veracity." 
 
 Gunther expressed himself with unwonted energy, and his words 
 cut Irma to the heart. Was it she who had committed sacrilege? 
 And then the thought gradually dawned upon her: the queen is 
 his ideal ; the king is mine. Who knows whether the mask of 
 intellectual affinity may not have served to screen Quick as 
 thought, she dropped her veil ; her breathing was short and fast ; her 
 cheeks were burning. He who knows himself to be must judge 
 others nothing is perfect no .one She felt as if she must 
 speak, and at last said : " The queen deserves to have a friend like 
 you." 
 
 "I place myself beside you," said Gunther, calmly. "I believe 
 that we both deserve the friendship of that pure heart." 
 
 " And so you believe that friendship can exist between married 
 people of different sex ? " enquired Bruno. 
 
 " I know it," replied Gunther. 
 
 At the first posting-house, where they came upon noisy crowds, 
 the postmaster informed them that the election was going on, and 
 that the contest was quite an excited one. The " Blacks " would 
 certainly be defeated. 
 
 Bruno, who had alighted, asked the postilion : 
 
 " My noble fellow-citizen, have you exercised your sovereign 
 right of voting to-day ? " 
 
 " Yes, and against the 'Blacks'." 
 
 They drove on. 
 
 Bruno did not get out at the other stations. They were drawing 
 near to Eberhard's district. While they were changing horses at 
 the assize town, they heard loud cries of: " Long live Count Eber- 
 hard ! Victor}- ! " 
 
 " What 's that? " enquired Gunther, putting his head out of the 
 carriage door. 
 
 He was informed that, in spite of the " Blacks," Count Eberhard 
 would prove the victor. The opposition had started a contemptible 
 rumor, intended to disgrace the old Count. But, although meant 
 !o injure others, it had proved a stumbling-block to themselves ; 
 for even,- one had said : "A father can't help what his child does, 
 and, for that very reason, greater respect should now be shown 
 him." Irma drew back into the dark corner of the carriage and 
 held her breath. 
 
 They drove on without saying a word. 
 
 After they had started, Bruno said it was too warm for him in 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 343 
 
 the carriage, and that it did not agree with him to ride backwards. 
 Still, he would not suffer Gunther to change seats with him. He 
 ordered the carriage to stop anft, telling the lackey to sit up with 
 the driver, placed himself on the back seat, next to the waitingmaid. 
 Irma took off her hat and laid her head back. It was heavy with 
 sad thoughts. Now and then, when the road lay along the edge 
 of a precipice, she would quickly raise herself in her seat. She 
 felt as if she must plunge into the abyss ; but, weak and feeble, 
 she would fall back again. Gunther, too, remained silent ; and 
 thus they drove on through the night, without uttering a word. 
 
 At one time, the waitingmaid would have laughed out aloud, but 
 Bruno held his hand over her mouth and prevented her. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TT was near midnight when the travelers reached castle Wildenort. 
 1 The servant said that the Count was sleeping, and that the 
 physician who lived in the valley was with him. The country 
 doctor left the sick-room and came out into the antechamber to 
 welcome the new arrivals. He was about to describe the case to 
 Gunther, who, however, requested him not do so until he had him- 
 self seen the patient. Accompanied by Irma and Bruno, he went 
 into the sick-room. 
 
 Eberhard lay in bed, his head propped up by pillows. His eyes 
 were wide open, and, without showing the slightest emotion, he 
 stared at those who entered, as if they were figures in a dream. 
 
 " I greet you, Eberhard, with all my heart," said Gunther. The 
 
 sick man's features twitched convulsively, and his eyelids rose 
 
 quickly and as quickly fell again, while he gropingly put forth his 
 
 hand towards his old friend. But the hand sank powerless, on the 
 
 . coverlet. Gunther grasped it and held it fast. 
 
 Irma stood as if rooted to the spot, unable to move or utter a 
 word. 
 
 " How are you, papa ? " asked Bruno. 
 
 With a sudden start, as if a shot had whizzed by his ear, Eber- 
 hard turned towards Bruno and motioned to him to leave the 
 room. 
 
 Irma knelt down at his bedside, while Eberhard passed his 
 trembling hand over her face. It became wet with her tears. 
 Suddenly, he drew it back, as if it had been touching a poisonous 
 rt-ptile. He averted his face and pressed his brow against the wall ; 
 an:l thus he lay for a long while. 
 
 Neither Gunther nor Irma spoke a word. Their voices failed 
 them in the presence of him who had been deprived of speech. 
 And now Eberhard turned again and gently motioned his daughter 
 to leave the room. She did so. 
 
 Gunther remained alone with Eberhard. It was the first time in 
 
344 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 thirty years that the two friends had met. Eberhard passed 
 ('.anther's hand across his eyes, and then shook his head. 
 
 Gunther said: "I know what you mean; you would like t<r 
 weep, but cannot. Do you understand all I say to you? " 
 
 The patient nodded affirmatively. 
 
 "Then just imagine," continued Gunther, and his voice had a 
 rich and comforting tone, "that the years we've been separated 
 from each other were but one hour. Our measure of time is a dif- 
 ferent one. Do you still remember how you would often in enthu- 
 siastic moments exclaim : ' We 've just been living centuries ' ? " 
 There was again a convulsive twitching of the patient's features, 
 just as when a weeping one is enlivened by a cheerful thought 
 and would fain smile, but cannot. 
 
 Eberhard attempted to trace letters on the coverlet, but Gunther 
 found it difficult to decipher them. 
 
 The sick man pointed to a table on which there lay books and 
 manuscripts. Gunther brought several of them, but none was the 
 right one. At last he brought a little manuscript book, the cover 
 of which was inscribed with the title " Self-redemption." The sick 
 man seemed pleased, as if welcoming a fortunate occurrence. 
 
 " You wrote this yourself. Shall I read some of it to you ? " 
 
 Eberhard nodded assent. Gunther sat do\vn by the bed and 
 read : 
 
 " May this serve to enlighten me on the day and in the hour 
 when my mind becomes obscured. 
 
 " I have been much given to introspection. I have endeavored 
 to study myself, without regard to the outward conditions of time, 
 standpoint, or circumstance. I perceive it, but, as yet, I cannot 
 grasp it. It is a dewdrop shut up in the heart of a rock. 
 
 "There are moments when I am fully up to the ideal I have 
 formed for myself, but there are many more when I am merely the 
 caricature of my better self. How am I to form a conception of 
 my actual self? ' What am I ? 
 
 " I perceive that I am a something belonging to the universe and 
 to eternity. 
 
 " During the blessed moments, sometimes drawn out into hours, 
 in which I realize this conception, there is naught but life for me 
 no such thing as death, either for me or the world. 
 
 " In my dying hour, I should like to be as clearly conscious as I 
 now am that I am in God, and that God is in me. 
 
 " Religion may claim warmth of feeling and glory of imagina- 
 tion as her j ortion. We, on the other hand, have attained to that 
 clear vision which includes both feeling and imagination. 
 
 "In troubled, restless days, when I endeavored to grasp the 
 Infinite, I felt as if melting away, vanishing, disappearing. I longed 
 to know : \Vhat is God ? 
 
 " And now I possess our master's answer : Although we cannot 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 345 
 
 picture God to ourselves, yet we have a clear idea or conception of 
 Him. 
 
 "For us, the old commandment: 'Thou shalt not make unto 
 thyself any i/nage of God,' signifies thou canst not make to thy- 
 st If any image of God. Every image is finite ; the idea of God 
 is that of infinity. 
 
 " Spinoza teaches that we must regard ourselves as a part of 
 God 
 
 " While endeavoring to grasp the idea of the whole, I came to 
 understand what is meant by the words : ' The human mind is 
 part of the divine mind.' 
 
 " A single drop rises on the surface of the stormy ocean of rife. 
 It lasts but a second though men term it three score years and 
 ten and then, glowing with the light it receives and imparts, 
 sinks again. 
 
 " Man, regarded as an individual, is, both by birth and education, 
 a thought entering upon the threshold of the consciousness of 
 God. At death, he simply sinks below that threshold, but he does 
 not perish. He remains a part of eternity, just as all thought en- 
 dures in its consequences. 
 
 "When I combine a number of such individuals or thoughts 
 and term them a nation, the genius of that nation enters upon the 
 threshold of such consciousness as soon as the nation begins to 
 have a history of its own. 
 
 " Combining the nations into a whole, we have mankind or the 
 totality of thought, the consciousness of God and of the world. 
 
 " I have often felt giddy at the mere thought of standing firm 
 and secure, on the highest pinnacle of thought. 
 
 " May these thoughts inspire and deliver me in the hour of dis- 
 solution. There is no separation of mortal and immortal life, they 
 flow into each other and are one. 
 
 " 1'he knowledge that we are one and the same with God and 
 the universe is the highest bliss. He who possesses this, never 
 dies, but lives the life eternal. 
 
 " Come to me once more, thou spirit of truth, at the moment 
 when I sink 
 
 " Dust cleaves to my wings, just as it does to yonder lark, wing- 
 ing its flight from the furrowed field into ether. The furrow is as 
 pure as the ether, the worm as pure as the lark God yet dwells 
 in that which, to us, seems lost and ruined. An'd should my eye 
 be dimmed in death I have beheld the eternal one My eyes 
 have penetrated eternity. Free from distortion and self-destruction, 
 the immortal spirit soars aloft " 
 
 When Gunther had read thus far, Eberhard laid his hand on his 
 lips as if to silence him, and gazed intently into his eyes. 
 
 "You have honestly wrestled with yourself and the highest 
 ideas," said Gunther, whose voice was tremulous with something 
 more than grief at approaching death. 
 15* 
 
346 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Eberhard closed his eyes. When Gunther saw that he was 
 asleep, he rose from his seat. 
 
 He now noticed that Irma had been sitting- behind the bed- 
 screen. He beckoned to her, and she left the room with him. 
 
 " Did you hear everything? " asked Gunther. 
 
 " I only came a few minutes ago." Irma wanted to know the 
 whole truth in regard to her father's position. Gunther admitted 
 that there was no hope of recovery, but that the hour of death 
 was uncertain. Irma covered her face with both hands and re- 
 turned to the sick-room, where she again took her seat behind the 
 bed-screen. 
 
 Bruno was with the country physician, in the great hall. As 
 socn as Gunther entered, Bruno 'hastily arose and, advancing to 
 meet him, hurriedly said : " Our friend here has already quieted me. 
 The danger, thank God " his tongue faltered at the words " thank 
 God " " is not imminent. Pray quiet my sister's fears." 
 
 Gunther made no reply. He saw that Bruno merely affected 
 ignorance of the imminent danger, and Gunther was enough of a 
 courtier to refrain from forcing the truth upon unwilling ears. He 
 returned to Irma. Bruno followed him and endeavored to cheer 
 his sister; but she shook her head incredulously. He paid no 
 heed to this, but said that he wanted to gain strength and endur- 
 ance for the sad trial that awaited them. What he really wanted 
 was to ride out, so that he might be absent at the terrible moment. 
 Since his presence could not make things any better, why should 
 he expose himself to such a shock ? 
 
 The morning began to dawn. The sick man still lay there, mo- 
 tionless. 
 
 " His breathing is easier," faintly whispered Irma. 
 
 A gentle, reassuring nod was Gunther's reply. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IT^ITH a firm tread, Bruno went down the steps. He had or- 
 \ \ dered the groom to lead his horse some distance from the 
 castle and there await him. 
 
 " If there only were no such thing as dying," thought he to 
 himself. While placing his foot in the stirrup, something tugged 
 at his coat. Was it his father's hand ? or was it a spirit-hand drag- 
 ging him back ? He stumbled ; his coat had caught in a buckle. 
 He loosened it and was just about to lift his riding-whip against the 
 careless groom, when it occurred to him that such behavior was ill- 
 tnru-d. His father was ill, seriously ill, indeed, in spite of the 
 family physician's reassuring words. Xo, it would not do to 
 punish the servant now ; it should not be said that Bruno had 
 beaten his groom at such a moment. Fitz, who was putting the 
 buckle to rights, stooped as if he already felt the whipstock across 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 347 
 
 his shoulders, and looked up amazed, when his master, in the 
 gentlest voice, said to him : " Yes, good Fitz, I see that you 've 
 not slept any more than I have, and you 're quite nervous. Lie 
 down and rest for another hour. You need not ride out with me. 
 Keep your horse saddled, however. I shall take the straight road 
 through the forest clearing and, if anything should happen here, 
 you or Anton can ride after me. At the foot of the Chamois hill, 
 I shall turn back into the bridle-path and return by way of the 
 valley. Do you hear? Don't forget! And now you can go 
 sleep awhile ; but do n't unsaddle your horse. Do n't forget what 
 I 've told you." 
 
 Bruno rode off, and the astonished Fitz stood there looking after 
 him, for some time. 
 
 Bruno took the road that led to the woods and in the direction 
 of a clearing which was now used as a pasture. It was easy 
 riding over the grassy path, and the morning breezes refreshed 
 him. 
 
 The golden glow of morning trembled on every leaf, and 
 sparkled on every dewdrop. The woods on either side were 
 superb, and, with a self-complacent nod, Bruno said to himself: 
 " How well he understood forest matters. No, I shan't be so 
 cruel. I shall have the woods well looked after, and shall not cut 
 down the timber." 
 
 He now reached a level stretch of road. He put spurs to his 
 horse and set off at a gallop. Suddenly he halted, for the neigh- 
 borhood was one with which he was not familiar. There had for- 
 merly been a swamp, and now there were broad fields, on which 
 lay many sheaves of ripened grain. 
 
 Bruno turned towards the laborers who were binding the sheaves. 
 The foreman told the young master that it was his father who had 
 drained the swamp, and that this was now some of the best land 
 on the whole estate. Offering Bruno a handful of the ripened ears, 
 he said : " Take these to your father ; I 'm sure he thinks of us on 
 his sick-bed." 
 
 Bruno declined them, and gave the foreman some drink money. 
 He rode off, leaving word that he was going towards the Chamois 
 hill, and instructing the foreman to tell his groom as much, in case 
 he should come after him. 
 
 The farm laborers he had left behind him were driving home 
 with the first crop gathered from the redeemed land, and the 
 cracking of their whips was the only sound that broke upon 
 the silence of the forest-solitude. He checked his horse's pace 
 to a walk and, as no one could see him there, lit a cigar. 
 When he reached the high level ground, he started off" at a brisk 
 trot. Sheep were grazing here, and Bruno did not fail to ride up 
 to the shepherd and tell him what to say to the groom in case he 
 should follow. It was a comfort to know that he had made it so 
 
34S c\Y THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 easy to find him. After he had passed, he turned involuntarily. 
 /\s if to calm himself he patted his horse's neck and, drawing a 
 tight rein, drew himself up in his saddle. The road again led 
 through a clearing in the forest ; the valley below was bathed in 
 golden sunshine. Suddenly it occurred to him : " There are so 
 many miserable beings whose constant care is how to manage to 
 keep alive. Why can't one purchase their vital power and, adding 
 their years to his own, live forever? The masses, stupid as they 
 r.re. are right when they consider us as no better than themselves, 
 foi -re must die of the same diseases they are subject to. Here, 
 all is life ; tree and beast and man. There, in the castle, lies a 
 man whose end is drawing near, and who may be dying at this very 
 moment. Perhaps, even now, the air is wafting his last breath 
 towards me Where is it ? Why does not a shudder pass through 
 all that belongs to him ? through ever}' tree, and man, and beast ? 
 All that lived with him should die with him, for it is his. This 
 wretched, miserable life " 
 
 " I 'm a poor woman, give me something," said a figure, sud- 
 denly emerging from the thicket. It was Zenza. 
 
 Bruno started as if a ghost had appeared to him. He put spurs 
 to his horse and hurried off. His hair stood on end with fright, and 
 it was long before he regained his composure. 
 
 In spite of this interruption, and without an effort on his part, his 
 thoughts went back to the subject that engaged them at the mo- 
 ment when Zenza appeared upon the scene; but the old woman's 
 cry of: "Give me something," was ever ringing in his ears. If 
 even-thing were to die with its possessor, who would inherit? 
 What is more peculiarly a man's own than his thoughts ? and even 
 they die with him 
 
 " I won't think any more," said Bruno to himself. " Not now ; 
 to-morrow the day after some other time ; but now I do n't 
 want to think." 
 
 He raised his hat, as if to permit his thoughts to escape ; then he 
 whipped and spurred his horse so that it reared and started off at 
 a furious pace. The effort to maintain himself in his saddle drove 
 what he regarded as gloomy fancies from his mind. He sat firmly, 
 pressed his knees against the horse's ribs, and felt the better for 
 the exertion, But, in spite of all, his thoughts would suddenly 
 wander off to his father again. He felt a sudden shudder This 
 must have been the very moment at that instant, his father must 
 have breathed his last Involuntarily, Bruno drew his hand back. 
 His horse halted. He again put spurs to him, and galloped away 
 as if to escape from his thoughts. Suddenly, a voice cried out : 
 
 " Stop, Bruno !" He shuddered. \Vhose voice could it be? 
 Who would call him by name ? Surprise and alarm had thrown 
 him into a cold sweat. 
 
 " Who calls me? " he asked with pale, trembling lips. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 349 
 
 "You can't get here." 
 
 " Who are you ? Where are you ? " cried Bruno. A cold shud- 
 der passed over him, and his horse snorted and snuffed the air. 
 Was it true that witches lived in rocks ? for the voice had come 
 from the rock. 
 
 " Who are you ? " repeated Bruno ; "your voice seems 
 
 " Do you still know Black Esther ? Turn back, or you 're a dead 
 man." 
 
 He heard something whizzing by him. Benumbed with terror, 
 he sat upon his horse. At last he dropped the rein, looked at his 
 hand, drew off his glove, as if to satisfy himself that he was still 
 living, that it was yet day, that all was not a dream, or the product 
 of wild imagination 
 
 His horse went on at a gentle pace. Suddenly, it started to one 
 side there had been the report of a gun. Who could be hunting 
 there ? 
 
 Bruno had already gotten beyond the limits of his own domain. 
 Who could now be hunting in the royal forests, where the chase 
 was not to begin until next month ? 
 
 With a complacent air, Bruno twirled his moustache. He again 
 felt confidence in himself, and in his worldly wisdom. He felt for 
 the revolver in his saddle-bag and calmly examined it to see if it 
 was fit for use. The horse went on. Presently he saw a gun- 
 barrel resting on a tree and directed against him, while a voice 
 from behind the tree called out : 
 
 " Turn back, or you 're a dead man. One two three " 
 
 Trembling from head to foot, Bruno turned his horse's head. 
 Behind him was the loaded gun, and, at any moment, a bullet 
 might pierce him. The cold sweat streamed down his face ; his 
 eyes burned ; he did not venture to raise his hand, lest the poacher 
 behind him should misinterpret the movement and shoot him in 
 the back. It was not until he had reached the rock where Black 
 Esther had called to him and had so mysteriously disappeared, that 
 he ventured to breathe freely. She had not forgotten his love and 
 he would henceforward provide for her. He again put spurs to his 
 horse, and hurried off without knowing whither. It was not until 
 he reached tilled land and saw laborers at work, that he alighted 
 and sat down on the ground. 
 
 The first feeling of safety inspired him with a good resolve. He 
 would return and, bowing himself in repentance, ask his father's 
 forgiveness. He would now promise to care for Black Esther, who 
 had been the cause of the rupture between them. But he felt so 
 weak that he could not rise, and a voice within him said : " You 
 can't do it, you can't stand two such shocks in one day, and, be 
 sides, there 's no hurry ; the end will surely not come to-day. 
 There will be time enough to-morrow, or later." 
 
 Feeling as if every bone in his body were broken, he, at last, 
 
350 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 arose, and asked the people in the field where he was. He found 
 that he was far away from the road. 
 
 If the groom were now to ride after him and not find him. 
 
 Bruno quieted his conscience with the knowledge that he had 
 not meant it to be thus. Dire fate, and an almost inconceivable 
 combination of terrors, had led him from the right road. 
 
 Here, no one knew him. Suddenly, he heard the sounds of 
 music and saw several carriages, decorated with green boughs, 
 driving along the road. " What 's this ? a wedding ? " he enquired 
 of the peasant who had already given him some information as tc 
 the road. 
 
 " I do n't know, but I think they must be town folk, or else they 
 could n't ride about in harvest time. May be they 're coming from 
 the election." 
 
 Bruno again mounted his horse. When he asked for the near- 
 est road to Wildenort, the peasant looked at him in surprise, and 
 pointed to a bridle-path on which he could not miss his way. But 
 Bruno, who had lost all taste for the woods, preferred keeping to 
 the highway. He passed a long string of wagons preceded by a 
 band of music with a flag of black, red and gold. He hurried by 
 them, for he was not in a mood to listen to music. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 EVEN before Gunther's arrival, Eberhard had been bled. Gun- 
 ther had brought a small medicine-chest with him, and had 
 hastily compounded some remedies which had relieved and quieted 
 the patient. He was now sleeping. Great drops of perspiration 
 stood on his brow. Irma still sat concealed behind the screen. 
 She could see her father, but could not be seen by him. Drawing 
 a deep breath, he awoke and looked about him. Irma hastened 
 to him. He gazed at her fixedly, and then motioned her to open 
 the window. 
 
 The day was bright and sunny ; the cool, balmy breezes wafted 
 the fragrance of the woods into the room. The cracking of whips 
 was heard. Eberhard's features acquired a pleased expression, for 
 he knew that they were now bringing in the first sheaves from the 
 swamp which he had redeemed. 
 
 Steps were heard in the ante-chamber, and Gunther came in, 
 accompanied by the farm bailiff. 
 
 " Come in," said he, "it will please your master." 
 
 With a heavy tread, the bailiff walked up to the sick man's bed- 
 side. In his right hand, he held some of the ripened grain, while, 
 ivith his left, he beat his breast as if to force out the words : 
 
 " Master, I Ye brought you the first ears from our new field, and 
 hope your health may be spared, so that you may eat the bread 
 from it for many a year to come." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. - 351 
 
 Eberhard seized the ears and, with his other hand, pressed that 
 of the servant, who now left the room and went down to the barn, 
 where he sat down on a sheaf and wept. 
 
 " Shall I remain with you, or would you rather be alone with 
 your child ?" asked Gunther. 
 
 Eberhard dropped the ears, and they lay upon the coverlet. He 
 reach ,-cl for Irma's hand. Gunther went out. 
 
 And now Eberhard dropped his daughter's hand, pointed to her 
 heart and then to the ears of corn. 
 
 She shook her head and said : " Father, I do n't understand you." 
 
 An expression of pain passed over Eberhard's features and he 
 placed his finger on his lips, as if grieved that he could not speak. 
 Who knows but what he meant to say : " Good seed will grow from 
 the swamp, if we rightly cultivate it ; and out of your own heart, 
 too, my child ; out of your lost, ruined " 
 
 "I'll call Gunther," said Irma ; "perhaps he will understand 
 what you mean." 
 
 Eberhard shook his head, as if in disapproval. His features be- 
 trayed something like anger at Irma's inability to understand him. 
 
 He bit his speechless lips 'and tried to raise himself. Irma 
 assisted him, and he now sat up, supported by the pillows. 
 
 His face had changed. It had suddenly acquired a strange hue 
 and an altered expression. 
 
 With a shudder, Irma realized what was taking place. She fell 
 down by his bedside, and laid her cheek upon her father's hand. 
 He drew his hand away. 
 
 She looked at him. With great effort he raised his hand it was 
 damp with the dews of death and with outstretched finger he 
 wrote a word upon her brow. It was a short word ; but she saw, 
 she heard, she read it. It was written in the air, on her fore- 
 head, in her brain, aye, in her very soul. Uttering a piercing cry, 
 she sank to the floor. 
 
 Gunther came in hurriedly. Stepping over Irma, he rushed to 
 the bedside, lifted Eberhard's fallen hand, felt for the beating of 
 his heart, started back and then closed his friend's eyes 4 
 
 The silence of death reigned in the room. 
 
 Suddenly, music was heard in front of the house. They were 
 playing the melody of a national song and hundreds of voices 
 culled out: "Long live our representative, noble Count Eber- 
 hard ! " Irma, who was still lying on the ground, moved at these 
 sounds. Gunther strode past her and went out into the courtyard. 
 The playing ceased and the voices were silenced. 
 
 Horse's steps were heard approaching, and Bruno entered the 
 courtyard. He alighted. The sorrowful mien of Gunther and 
 those about him, told him what had happened. He covered his 
 face and leaned on Gunther, who led him into the house. When 
 Gunther and Bruno entered the chamber of death, Irma had dis- 
 appeared. She had shut herself up in her room. 
 
352 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 HE who destroys his life, destroys more than his own life. 
 The child that has afflicted a father sees his upbraiding hand 
 rise from the grave. 
 
 My father has put the mark of Cain upon my brow ; a mark that 
 can never be effaced. 
 
 Nevermore dare I look upon my face or permit the eyes of 
 strangers to behold it. 
 
 Can I escape from myself? My thoughts will follow me every- 
 where. 
 
 I am an outcast, forlorn, ruined. 
 
 Such was the dreary monotone that rang through Irma's soul, 
 again and again. 
 
 She lay in the darkened chamber from which every ray of light 
 was excluded. She was alone with herself and darkness. Her 
 thoughts were like strange voices, calling her now here, now there. 
 And it often seemed to her as if, with finger pointed at her, her 
 father's fiery hand shone through the darkness. 
 
 She could hear Bruno's voice and Gunther's. Bruno wanted to 
 ask her about many things, and Gunther wished to return to the 
 city. Irma answered that she could see no one, and charged 
 Gunther with a thousand greetings to all who loved her. 
 
 Gunther cautioned the family doctor and the maid to keep a 
 careful watch on Irma, and also sent a messenger to Emma at the 
 convent. 
 
 Irma remained in darkness and solitude. 
 
 The tempter came to her, and said : 
 
 " Why grieve yourself to death ? You are young, and the world, 
 with all its beauty and splendor, lies before you. There is not the 
 faintest trace of a mark upon your brow. The hand that left it is 
 cold and stiff in death. . Rise up and be yourself again ! The 
 whole world is yours ! Why pine away ? Why mortify yourself? 
 Everything lives for itself; everything lives out its allotted time. 
 Your father completed his life ; do you complete yours. What is 
 sin ? The dead have no claims on the living ; the living alone have 
 rights." 
 
 While distracted by grief and doubts, she suddenly saw, arising 
 through the darkness, the vision described in the New Testament, 
 of Satan and the angel contending for the possession of the body 
 of Moses. 
 
 "I'm not a corpse !" exclaimed she suddenly. "There are 
 neither angels nor devils. It is all false ! In song and story, and 
 from generation to generation, they Ve been handing down all 
 sorts of fables, just as they do with children whom they lull to 
 sleep in the dark. 
 
 41 Day has dawned. I can draw the curtain aside, and the whole 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 353 
 
 world of light is mine. Are there not thousands who have erred 
 as I have, and who still live happily? " 
 
 She felt as if buried alive in the earth. Fancy ever transported 
 her to that one grave. She rushed to the window. 
 
 " Light ! I must have light ! " 
 
 She raised the curtain. A broad ray of light streamed into the 
 room. She sprang back, the curtain fell and she again lay in 
 darkness. 
 
 But she soon heard a voice that went to her heart. Colonel 
 Bronnen had come from the capital to pay the last honors to Eber- 
 hard. He begged Irma his powerful voice was thick with emo- 
 tion to permit him to mourn with her for the dead. 
 
 All her blood seemed to flow back to her heart. She opened 
 the door and, through the darkness, held out her hand to her 
 friend. He pressed it to his lips, and she heard the strong man 
 weep. Suddenly, the thought flashed upon her that this man 
 could save her, and that she could serve him, and look up to him. 
 But how could she dare ? 
 
 " I thank you," said she, at last. " May it ever make you happy 
 to know that you Ve been kind to the departed and to myself- 
 Her voice faltered ; she could say no more. 
 
 Bronnen departed, leaving her in the dark. 
 
 Irma was again alone. 
 
 The last stay left her was broken. Had she imagined that 
 Bronnen had picked up fragments of a torn letter which he had 
 found on the road, and that they were now in his pocket, she 
 would have criecl out for very shame. 
 
 One idea constantly possessed her. What good would it do her 
 to see the sun rise so many thousand times more? Every eye 
 would make the writing stand out more clearly, and certain wprds 
 had become undying torments to her. Father daughter ! Who 
 would banish these words from the language, so that she might 
 nevermore hear them, nevermore read them ? 
 
 Her ideas seemed to move in an unfathomable void. Turn it as 
 she might, the one and only thought was ever returning with 
 crushing weight. It seemed exhausting and yet inexhaustible. 
 
 Then ensued that numbness of the mind which is best described 
 as the entire absence of thought. Chaos reigned, and what lay 
 beyond surpassed conception. " Let what will come, I shall submit, 
 like the beast led out for the sacrifice and upon whose head the 
 uplifted axe of the high priest is about to descend. Your des- 
 tiny must be accomplished ; you can do nothing but submit without 
 shrinking." 
 
 Irma lay thus for hours. 
 
 The great clock in the hall was ticking and seemed to be saying . 
 Father daughter ; daughter father. For hours, she could hear 
 nothing but the pendulum, which seemed to utter those words 
 
354 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 again and again. She was about to give orders that the clock 
 should be stopped, but forbore. She tried to force herself not to hear 
 th.se words, but did not succeed. The pendulum still kept saying : 
 Father daughter; daughter father. 
 
 What had once been subject to her caprice, now ruled her. 
 "What have you seen of the world?" she asked herself. "A 
 mere corner. You must travel round the earth, and let it be a 
 pilgrimage in which you may escape from yourself. You must 
 become acquainted with the whole planet on which these creat- 
 ures who call themselves men creep about ; creatures who dig 
 and plant, preach and sing, chisel and paint, simply to drown the 
 thought that death awaits them all. All is drowned in stupor 
 
 In imagination, she transported herself far, far away, with faithful 
 servants pitching their tent in the desert ; and if some wild race 
 were to approach W T hile she lay there, half awake, half asleep, 
 she heard the sounds of the tom-tom, and fancied herself borne 
 away on the shoulders of others, and adorned with peacocks' 
 wings, while savage, dusky forms were dancing around her. 
 
 What had once been a wild day-dream now possessed her, 
 and her brain whirled in fancy's maddening dance. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 IT was late at night. All were asleep. 
 Irma gently opened her door and slipped out. 
 
 She went to the chamber of death. A single light had been 
 placed near the head of the corpse, which lay in an open coffin 
 and with a few r ears of corn in its hands. A servant who was 
 watching by the corpse, looked at Irma with surprise. He bowed 
 to her, but did not speak a word. 
 
 Irma grasped her father's hand. If that hand had rested on her 
 head to bless her, instead of 
 
 She knelt down and, with burning lips, kissed the cold, icy hand. 
 A distracting thought flashed through her mind : This is the kiss 
 of eternity. Burning flame and icy coldness had met : this is the 
 kiss of eternity. 
 
 When she awoke in her room, she knew not whether she had 
 really kissed her dead father's hand or whether it was all a dream, 
 But she did feel that her heart was oppressed by a burden that 
 could never be cast aside. 
 
 The kiss of eternity ! You shall nevermore kiss warm, loving 
 lips you are the brid'e of death. 
 
 She heard the bells tolling while they bore her father to the 
 grave. She did not leave her room. Not a sound escaped her 
 lips ; not a tear fell from her eye ; all her faculties were benumbed 
 and shattered. She lay in the dark. When she heard the pigeons 
 on the window-sill outside, cooing and flying away, she knew that 
 it was day. 
 
ON THE HETG _ 355 
 
 Bruno was greatly annoyed by his sister's eccentric behavior. 
 He wanted to leave, and wished her either to accompany him or, 
 at all events, say what she proposed doing. But, thus far, she had 
 not replied. At length, equipped for the journey, he went into 
 Irma's ante-room, where he found her maid reading a book. 
 
 Bruno had just stretched out his hand to pat her under the chin, 
 when he suddenly remembered that he was in mourning, and drew 
 his hand back. 
 
 He gave his hat to the maid, so that she might put a mourning 
 band on it, and, while doing so, stroked her hand, as if by accident. 
 Then he went to his sister's door again. 
 
 " Irma ! " he said ; " Irma, do be sensible ; do give me an an- 
 swer." 
 
 " What do you want of me ? " 
 
 "Open the door." 
 
 " I can hear you," she replied, but did not open the door. 
 
 "Well then, I must tell you that no will has been found. I shall 
 arrange everything with you in a brotherly manner. Won't you 
 come along to my house ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Then I must go without you ! good bye !" He received no 
 answer and, while waiting, heard steps moving away from the 
 door. He turned towards the waitingmaid who had in the mean- 
 while fastened the crape upon his hat. Bruno kissed her hand 
 and gave her a handsome present. 
 
 He set out on his journey at once. 
 
 He was just as well pleased to travel without Irma's company. 
 There would be no one to disturb him, and he could more easily 
 give way to his own inclinations. His philosophy enjoined upon 
 him the avoidance of all unnecessary grief ; it could do no good, 
 and would simply embitter life. 
 
 He was in a self-complacent mood. He meant to take the Wilde- 
 nort estate to himself, on account of the name. It was, unfortu- 
 nately, small and, unless he obtained a position under the govern- 
 ment, it would not support him in a manner befitting his rank. If 
 Irma should marry, which he hoped would be very soon, he would 
 give her the assessed value of the hereditary estate as her dowry. 
 Bruno returned to the capital, and the first time that he left his 
 house was to visit the jockey club, which was now in session. By 
 paying a moderate forfeit, he hoped to be able to withdraw his 
 liorses from the races which were announced to .take place within 
 a few days. He was in mourning and they would, of course, take 
 that into consideration. On the way, he met Gunther and turned 
 back. The Doctor was going to the palace. 
 
 Never had this mail, who, at court, was looked upon as a stoic, 
 shown such agitation as when he brought the news of old Count 
 Wildenort's death. 
 
356 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 He told the queen that Eberhard's last moments had renewed the 
 spirit of his better days, and yet he could not refrain from adding 
 th.it his departed friend had not attained the high point to gain 
 which he had so honestly labored. For, at the last moment, he 
 h.id felt the need of support from without, and was obliged to im- 
 press his mind anew with truths he had long since made his own. 
 The queen was astonished at the Doctor, who could judge so 
 sternly, even when most deeply afflicted. 
 
 " How does our Irma bear it ? " cried she. 
 
 "Sadly and silently," replied Gunther. 
 
 " I think," said the king to the queen, "that we ought to write 
 to our friend, and send a messenger to her." The queen approved 
 of his suggestion, and the king said to the captain of the palace 
 guard : 
 
 " The queen wishes to have a courier sent to Countess Irma at 
 once. Pray attend to the matter. Send Baum." 
 
 The queen started with fear. Why had the king said that she 
 desired to send a messenger? The suggestion had been his own 
 and she had merely assented to it. She quickly silenced her 
 doubts, however, and reproached herself that the suspicion she 
 had once harbored had not yet entirely vanished. She went to 
 her room and wrote to Irma. The king wrote, too. 
 
 Baum assumed a modest and submissive mien, while receiving 
 orders to start at once as a courier to the Countess of Wildenort. 
 He was to remain with the Countess, to be in constant attendance 
 upon her, and, if she desired to travel, he was to accompany her 
 until she should return to court. 
 
 When Baum set out with the letters, his face wore a triumphant 
 expression. He was now on the point of gaining the great prize. 
 He had been intrusted with a delicate commission, and he knew 
 what he was about. He felt that they appreciated him, and that 
 he understood them. He looked back towards the palace. The 
 submissive air had vanished. Stroking his chest with his right 
 hand, and holding the left up to his lips, he said to himself: "I 
 shall return as a made man ; I shall be lord chamberlain at least." 
 
 Baum arrived at the manor-house. The maid told him that 
 Irma would receive no one. 
 
 " If she only had a good cry ; her silent grief will kill her." 
 
 He knocked at Irma's door. It was long before an answer 
 came. At last she asked what was the matter, and when she rec- 
 ognized Baum's voice, she was obliged to support herself from 
 falling, by holding on to the latch of the door. "Had the king 
 come, too ? " she asked herself. 
 
 Baum said that he had come as a courier to deliver a letter from 
 their majesties. Irma opened the door just far enough to enable 
 her to put out her hand. She took the large letter and laid it on the 
 table. There was nothing that she cared to learn from the world, 
 nor could it offer her any consolation. No one could. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 357 
 
 At last, towards evening, she drew back the curtains and broke 
 the seal of the large envelope. There were two letters in it ; one 
 in the queen's handwriting, the other in the king's. She opened 
 the queen's letter first, and read : 
 "My Dear, Good Irma : " 
 
 (It was the first time that the queen had written so affection- 
 ately. Irma wiped her face with her handkerchief and went on 
 reading.) 
 
 " You have experienced life's greatest affliction. Would that I 
 were with you, to press your throbbing heart to mine, and to kiss 
 away your tears. I shall not attempt to console you, but can only 
 say that I sympathize with you as far as it is possible to sympa- 
 thize with griefs one has not yet known. You are strong and 
 noble, and I cannot help appealing to you " (Irma's hand trembled) 
 " to think of yourself and to bear your grief purely and nobly. You 
 are orphaned, but the world must not be a desert void to you. 
 There are still hearts that beat with friendship for you. I am glad 
 that is to say I thank fate that I am able to be of some help to 
 you in your sorrow. I need not assure you of my friendship for 
 you, and yet, at such moments, it does one good to tell one's self 
 so. I do not care to spend a single hour in pleasure while you are 
 in affliction. All feelings are shared by us." (Irma covered her face 
 with her hands. Recovering herself, she went on reading.) " Let 
 me know soon what I can do for you. Come to me, or remain in 
 solitude, just as your feelings dictate. If I could only enable you 
 to enjoy the company of yourself as we enjoy it. You do n't know 
 how much good you 've done me. You have extended the domain 
 of our perceptions and have thus enriched our lives. What nobler 
 achievement can there be ! Remain firm and remember that you 
 may always depend upon the friendship of 
 
 " Your ever loving 
 
 "MATHILDE." 
 
 Irma laid the letter on the table and involuntarily pushed it far 
 away from that of the king, which was still unopened. Years 
 should elapse aye, oceans should lie between the reading of the 
 two letters ; and yet how often had she listened to them both in 
 the same breath, and looked at them with the same glance. 
 
 With a violent movement, as if in anger, she opened the king's 
 letter and read : 
 
 " I am deeply pained to know that you, too, my charming friend, 
 must learn that we are mortal. It grieves me to think that your 
 lovely eyes must weep. If that which is noblest be capable of 
 still further purification and what mortal being is not ? this 
 affliction must needs add to your noble-mindedness. I entreat 
 you, do not soar too high, lest you leave us too far below you. 
 Carry us with you, to the lofty regions in which you dwell." 
 
 Irma's features assumed a hard and bitter expression. She 
 went on reading : 
 
358 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " If you mean to torment your beautiful eyes with tears, and 
 your noble heart with sighs, for more than seven days, and desire 
 to remain alone, pray send me word. Should you, however, wish 
 to protract your mourning, and to recover yourself and another 
 self, by travel, decide upon what direction you mean to take. Let 
 it not be too far not too far into the land of sorrow, a land to 
 which you are a stranger. Be happy again and subdue your grief, 
 cheerfully and speedily. 
 
 " Affectionately yours, 
 
 "K." 
 
 In the letter, there lay a small piece of paper with the inscription : 
 "Burn this as soon as read." 
 
 " I cannot live without you. If I lose you, I lose myself. Your 
 presence is my life. I cannot live, except in the light of your eyes. 
 I want no clouds ; I long for the sunlight. Remember the world 
 of thought that dwells beneath your plumed hat. Let that world 
 have its sway. You must not be sad ; you dare not, for my sake. 
 You must be mistress of your grief, just as you are mistress over 
 me. Be firm, put all grief away from you, and return to your 
 
 ""KURT. 
 
 " The kiss of eternity ! I alone can kiss away the sadness that 
 clouds your brow. I can and I will." 
 
 Irma uttered a loud shriek, and then gave way to convulsive 
 laughter. 
 
 " Can any lips kiss this brow ? How would they relish the 
 death-sweat which has already eaten into the flesh ? How would 
 that terrible word taste to the lips ? Kiss it away ! Kiss it away ! 
 I burn ! I freeze ! " 
 
 The maid heard the last few words, and endeavored to go to 
 Irma's assistance, but the door was locked. 
 
 After some time, Irma raised her head and was surprised to find 
 herself on the floor. She rose and ordered a light and writing 
 materials. She burned the king's two letters, and then sat there 
 for a while, with her weary head resting upon both her hands. Al 
 last she took the pen and wrote : 
 " Queen ! 
 
 " I expiate my crime, in death. Forgive and forget. 
 
 "IRMA." 
 
 On the envelope she wrote the words " By the hand of Gunther," 
 " For the queen herself." 
 
 Then she took another sheet and wrote : 
 " My Friend: 
 
 "These are the last words I shall ever address to you. We arc 
 trending the wrong path, a path full of peril. I expiate my crime. 
 You do not belong to yourself alone ; you belong to her and to your 
 country. Death is my expiation. Life must be yours. Be at one 
 with the law that binds you to her and to the state. You have de- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 359 
 
 nied both, and I have aided you to do so. Our life, our love, has 
 dealt terribly with you. You could no longer be true to yourself. 
 But now you must again become so ; and that, completely. These 
 are my dying words, and I shall gladly die, if you will but hearken 
 to me and to your better self. God knows we did not mean to sin ; 
 but we sinned, for all. My judgment is written on my brow ; in- 
 scribe yours in your heart and live anew. All is still yours, I 
 receive the kiss of eternity from death. Listen to this voice and 
 forget it not, but forget her who calls to you. I do not wish to be 
 remembered." 
 
 She sealed the letters and hurriedly hid them in the portfolio, for 
 she was interrupted. Emma, or rather Sister Euphrosyne, was 
 announced. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 r^UNTHER had sent a messenger to inform Emma of Count 
 \J Eberhard's death and Irma's despair. The prioress suggested 
 that Emma should hasten to her young friend to whom they owed 
 so great a debt ; and, as nuns were -not allowed to travel alone, 
 she was accompanied by a sister who was an experienced nun. 
 
 When the maid announced them, Irma started from her seat. 
 This is deliverance ! In the convent, shut out from the world, a 
 living death there shall you wait until they bear you to the grave. 
 
 Suddenly the old boatman's words flashed upon her: "A life in 
 which nothing happens." 
 
 Her lips swelled with proud defiance. I shall not wait for the 
 end ; I '11 force it. It was long before she answered the maid : 
 
 " My best thanks, but I do n't care to see or hear any one." 
 
 After uttering these words, Irma felt as if inspired with new 
 strength. That, too, was over. 
 
 All was silence and darkness again, and the clock kept on say- 
 ing : Father daughter ; daughter father. 
 
 From the valley below, she heard the sounds of the vesper bell. 
 
 " It must be," said Irma to herself. She drew back the curtains 
 and, looking down into the valley, could see the nuns, clad in their 
 long black gowns, walking across the meadows. Her thoughts 
 went out after them, as she said : " Farewell, Emma ! " Then she 
 called her maid and told her to give orders that a horse should be 
 saddled for her, as she wished to ride out. She did not turn her 
 face to the maid. No one should ever look on that brow. The 
 maid helped her on with her riding-habit and riding-hat, the latter 
 ornamented with part of an eagle's wing. Irma started when her 
 hand touched the wing. The king had shot the bird, and had given 
 her the plumes when It seemed like a parting, ghostly touch. 
 
 She ordered a double veil to be put on her hat, and it was not 
 until she was in perfect disguise, that she set off. She did not 
 
360 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 look up ; she took leave of no one ; her eyes were fixed on the 
 ground. 
 
 Irma's saddle-horse stood in the courtyard. At her approach, it 
 pa\ved the ground and snuffed the air. She did not stop to en- 
 quire who had brought her horse from the city. She patt-nl its 
 neck and called it by its name : " Pluto." In thought, she was 
 already so far removed from the world that she regarded the beast 
 as a marvel, or as something never before seen. She mounted. 
 
 The large dog, a favorite of her father's, was there also, and 
 barked when he saw her. She gave orders to have the dog taken 
 back to the house. 
 
 She rode away at an easy pace. She did not look behind her, 
 nor to the right or left. The sun \vas already behind the tops of 
 the trees. Its broken rays shone through the branches, like so 
 many threads of light, and between the boughs glowed the sky, 
 forming a golden background. 
 
 Irma halted and beckoned to Baum, who had been following her, 
 to come nearer. He rode up. 
 
 " How much money have you with you ? " 
 
 " Only a few florins." 
 
 " I must have a hundred florins ; ride back and get them for me." 
 
 Baum hesitated. He wanted to say that he was not allowed to 
 leave the Countess, but he could not muster courage enough to 
 do so. 
 
 "Why do you hesitate? Don't you understand me?" said 
 Irma, harshly. "Ride back, immediately." 
 
 Baum was scarcely out of sight, when Irma whipped her horse, 
 leaped over the ditch at the side of the road, hurried across the 
 mountain meadow and into the w r oods. She rode at full gallop, 
 over the very road Bruno had taken a few days before. The horse 
 was "spirited and fresh, and proud of its beautiful rider. They 
 knew each other and it galloped on right merrily, as if in the 
 chase. And there really is a chase ; for hark ! there 's a shot. 
 But Pluto stands fire, and is not so easily frightened. Away he 
 dashed, more wildly than before. The rays of the setting sun 
 shone through the forest shades, lighting up the trees and mosses 
 with their roseate glow. And still she rode on, ever urging her 
 horse to greater speed. 
 
 She had reached the crest of the mountain ridge ; below, lay the 
 broad lake, glowing with purple. 
 
 " There ! " cried Irma. " There thou art, cold death ! " 
 
 Pluto stopped, thinking that his mistress had spoken to him. 
 "You 're right," said she, patting his neck ; "it 's far enough." 
 
 She alighted and turned the horse's head. He looked at her 
 once more, with his large, faithful eyes, for she had thrown back 
 her veil. 
 
 " Go home. You re to live ; go home ! " 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 361 
 
 The horse did not move. She raised her whip and struck it. It 
 started off, with mane and tail fluttering in the evening breeze, as it 
 hurried away along the mountain crest. 
 
 Irma paused and looked after it. Then she sat down on the 
 edge of a projecting rock and gazed at the vast prospect and the 
 setting sun. 
 
 " O light ! O lovely sky ! This is the last time I gaze upon you, 
 before I sink into the night of death " 
 
 For a moment, she was wholly absorbed in the view that opened 
 before her. She no longer knew whence she had come, or whither 
 she would go. Her eyes rested on the vast range of towering 
 peaks, summit piled on summit, and, in the distance, a peak over- 
 topping them all. The wooded heights seemed enveloped in a 
 violet haze. The trembling rays of the setting sun gilded the bare 
 and rugged cliffs. High upon the glaciers rested the rosy glow of 
 sunset, ever assuming a brighter hue as it grew darker in the valley 
 below. One mighty, snow-clad peak seemed as if on fire ; but a 
 cloud passed over it and, as if lifting a veil, carried the mountain's 
 rosy glow with it. The cloud gradually disappeared in a blaze of 
 glory, and the snowy peaks, standing out against the background 
 of dull sky, looked cold and bleak, as if in death. 
 
 The mighty spirit of death was passing o'er the heights. 
 
 Oh ! that one might thus vanish into thin air ! 
 
 A chilling breeze swept over the mountain. Irma shuddered. 
 She passed her hand over her face, and felt that she, too, was grow- 
 ing pale. She rose to her feet and ascended the mountain for 
 some distance, so that she might once more see the fiery ball. 
 She was too late and said aloud : 
 
 " Of what avail is it to see the sun a thousand, or twice a thou- 
 sand times, as long as the day must come when it sets for us, once 
 and for all ? And it has forever set to him who lies under the sod 
 and on whose hand decay " 
 
 She felt giddy and sank upon the mossy ground. 
 
 When she got up again, it was night. 
 
 She arose and, holding up her dress, walked down into the dark 
 and thickly wooded ravine below. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IRMA advanced with a firm step. The footpath she had struck, 
 wound its way among large and lofty trees and soon opened 
 into a broad road that had been cut through the forest. Ever 
 and anon heat-lightning would flash in the distance, breaking up 
 the gloom incl revealing another firmament that lay beyond. 
 
 Irma scarcely looked up. She thought of nothing but how to 
 find her \vay. There was perfect silence, broken, now and then, 
 by a sorrowful sound, like the sobbing of a human being. It 
 16 
 
362 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 must be from some hollow tree, thought she. The groaning 
 always seemed to advance before her. Wherever she went, 
 she heard it. She looked for the heart-sick tree, but could 
 not find it. With every step, she advanced further into the forest 
 and higher up the mountain. Then she ran down the mountain, 
 and now all was silent. The path was no longer visible, but, from 
 afar, she caught a glimpse of the moonlit lake, the object of her 
 search. She went on, through the pathless forest, treading down 
 the soft moss. Sometimes she heard the twittering of birds in 
 the tree-tops ; a martin or a weasel was destroying the young 
 in their nests. The world is full of murder, thought she ; its 
 creatures are ever preying on each other. Though man destroys 
 and kills his fellow men, he does not eat them. That alone dis- 
 tinguishes man from the beasts. And there is one thing more 
 man alone can kill himself. Irma grew dizzy at the thought. She 
 supported herself against a tree, for a moment, and then walked 
 on. Her resolve must be carried out ; there must be no weakness, 
 no wavering. She went still further into the dense forest. Her 
 cheeks glowed, the perspiration dripped from her forehead ; but, 
 inwardly, she felt as if freezing. 
 
 Something rustled through the thicket. It was a stag which she 
 had frightened from its cover. The stag was afraid of her, and 
 she was afraid of the stag. She fancied that she could feel its 
 antlers piercing her. She hurried down the mountain side. For 
 awhile, she could still hear the crackling of the underbrush, and at 
 last all was silent again. The wind whistled through the tree-tops, 
 and there was a sound of running water, sometimes near and 
 sometimes afar, and then the roaring of a forest stream dashing 
 down from the rocks. She beheld the moonlit foam, and no longer 
 knew where she was or whither she was going towards the lake, 
 or away from it. If she were to lose her way in the forest if she 
 were to be found there and taken back to the world and misery ! 
 Mustering all her strength, she walked on. The cool night air 
 blew against her face, but her cheeks glowed as if with fire. She 
 pressed her hand to her brow ; it seemed as if a hot spring was 
 flowing from the spot which had been touched. She looked up to 
 the stars and recognized the familiar constellations. She knew 
 their position, but those great guides through infinite space do not 
 help the lonely mortal who has lost her way in the heart of the 
 forest. Irma thought of the nights when, under Gunther's guid- 
 ance, her glance had roamed o'er the vast, starry expanse. But 
 now all was annihilated, all greatness had fallen. Even her view 
 of the stars was conf ned and obstructed. She tried to remember 
 whether she had destroyed the letters or left them behind her. 
 She thought she could remember having burnt that of the king ; 
 but how as to the letter to the queen ? Torn by conflicting doubts, 
 she was, at last, completely bewildered. Perhaps both letters 
 would be found. Be it so. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 363 
 
 Ami then Walpurga's song passed through her mind. 
 
 If the good peasant woman who lives by the lake knew that her 
 friend was thus groping her way through the woods, all alone, in 
 darkest night, and with such dread thoughts for her companions- 
 she would hasten to her aid, would draw her to her heart and would 
 not let her go. Who knows but that, although far away, she is 
 thinking of me now, dreaming of me and, perhaps, singing her 
 song sending it, like some invisible messenger, on the wings of 
 night. How the poor creature will grieve when she hears of my 
 death. Perhaps she will be the only one who will sincerely mourn 
 for me. 
 
 Memories of many kinds floated through her mind. Years 
 hence, some boatman, like the one at the island convent, will tell 
 the story of the drowned maid of honor. What effect will the 
 news of my death have upon others ? None of them can help me, 
 nor can I help them. Day after to-morrow they'll be playing, 
 dancing and singing as usual. No one can keep another in re- 
 membrance. He who is absent has no claim on our thoughts. 
 Life is as pitiless as death. She went further into the thicket, 
 passing wild ravines on the way. The stones loosened by her 
 tread tumbled over the precipice, and the dull, hollow thud with 
 which they struck the earth below, told her how far they had fallen. 
 The rocks on either side drew closer together, the mountain tor- 
 rent rushed down over them and, all at once, she reached the edge 
 of a precipice ; further, she could not go. I will take the fatal leap 
 and dash myself to pieces. But to lie there, perhaps for days, 
 bruised and half dead. To die a lingering death ! No ! 
 
 She sought a path. A branch struck her in the face just where 
 her father's icy finger had touched her. 
 
 "No; this brow shall nevermore see the light of day," she 
 cried, holding fast with her hands, while trying to find a way 
 along the edge of the cliff. Suddenly, she heard the loud voice 
 of a woman singing. Irma drew a long breath, for it was a human 
 voice a woman's, perhaps that of- a young and lovely girl, giving 
 her lover a signal in the night. The sounds were repeated again 
 and again, and grew more and more piercing, and, trembling 
 with, fear, Irma sat on the rock. She answered with a scream. 
 -She was frightened at the sound of her own voice, but she cried 
 ouc again and again, for now there was an answer. The other voice 
 seemed to approach ; dogs rushed forth and were already surround- 
 ing Irma and barking, as a signal that they had found the Diev. 
 The voice came nearer and nearer. * 
 
 ' Where are you ? " she asked. 
 Here," answered Irma.* 
 Where?" 
 Here." 
 
 ' Up there ? " 
 
364 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 'Yes." 
 
 ' How did you get up there ? " 
 'I don't know." 
 
 ' Keep quiet ; do n't move and I '11 come." 
 Yes." 
 
 Irma waited a long while, and at last some one appeared right 
 below where she was sitting. 
 
 "So there you are," said the figure. She threw a rope to Irma, 
 telling her to bind it round her body and then fasten the other end 
 to a rock or tree, and slide down gently. 
 
 Irma did as she was bidden. During that one short moment, 
 while she hovered between heaven and earth, a thousand inde- 
 scribable thoughts passed through her mind. She reached the 
 ground in safety. The woman at once seized her by the hand and 
 led her away. She followed, as if without a will of her own. In 
 scrambling through the bushes and over the rocks, she tore herself 
 until the blood flowed. At last they reached a narrow rocky path. 
 Below them the brook rushed by, but the powerful woman held 
 Irma's hand fast in hers, as if with an iron grip. 
 
 " A chamois hunter would n't dare go where you Ye been. Now 
 we 're up here, and there's our hut," said she, at last. "It's 
 a wonder you did n't stumble over the rock with your long dress." 
 ' Who are you ? " asked Irma. 
 
 'Tell me first, who you are, and how you got here." 
 ' I can't tell you that," 
 ' Xo matter. They call me Black Esther." 
 'Who are you bringing there?" called out a grim-looking 
 woman, who appeared at the door of the hut. Behind her, glowed 
 the fire on the hearth. 
 
 " I do n't know ; it 's a woman." 
 
 Irma went towards the hut with Black Esther. The old woman 
 crossed herself and exclaimed : 
 
 " Let all good spirits praise the Lord ! it 's the Lady of the 
 Lake " 
 
 "I *m not a spirit," said Irma. " I 'm a weary mortal. Let 
 me rest here for awhile, and then let your daughter go with me 
 and show me the way to the lake. All I ask for now is a drop 
 of water." 
 
 "No, that 'ud be the death of you. You mustn't drink water 
 now. I '11 cook some warm soup for you, and bring it to you right 
 off." 
 
 She led Irma into the room, and when she saw her hand and the 
 diamond rings sparkling on it, she grinned with delight. 
 
 " Oh what a beautiful ring ! That 's from your sweetheart." 
 Take it and keep it," said Irma, holding o'ut her hand. 
 With great dexterity, the old woman removed the ring from 
 Irr.ia's finger. 
 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 365 
 
 " Goou neavens ! " cried the old woman, suddenly, " I Ve seen 
 you before yes, yes, it was you. Did n't you once wear a little 
 golden heart and send it to a child ? Did n't you once, at the palace, 
 order them to get something to eat for an old woman, and have her 
 son set free, and did n't you give her money besides ? Good 
 heavens ! you 're the " 
 
 " Do n't mention my name ! Only let me rest a moment ; ask 
 me nothing, and say nothing more." 
 
 " As you do n't want me to, certainly not. I '11 hurry and get 
 the soup ready for you." 
 
 She went out, leaving Irma alone. 
 
 Irma lay on the bed, which was nothing more than a sack of 
 leaves that crackled strangely whenever she turned her head. The 
 leaves seemed to say : " Ah ! when we were green, we had a better 
 time of it The moon shone in through the window ; every- 
 thing seemed dancing before her eyes ; she felt as if she were on 
 the open sea. But she soon fell asleep. When she awoke, she 
 heard a man's voice. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 OUT on the porch, which also served as a kitchen, were Thomas 
 and his mother. He had removed his false beard, was clean- 
 ing his black face, and now said : 
 
 " Mother, do you know what I 'm sorry for? " 
 
 "What for?" 
 
 "Why, that I did n't shoot the young Count, the other day. I 
 won't have as good a chance at him again. I could have shot him 
 through the back of the neck and that would have been the last 
 of him. I 'd have given the daylight a chance to shine through 
 him." 
 
 " You 're a nice fellow to talk repentance." 
 
 "Yes, and I 'd have done a good deed if I 'd shot the fellow. 
 Just think, mother, that 's the kind of people the grand folks are 
 who own the forest and all the game in it. Just think of it, mother ! 
 I 'm a good fellow, after all." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " Only think, mother ! Do you know why the Count was in the 
 forest ? He wanted to be out of the way while his father was 
 dying ; and so he rode off and let the old man end his days alone. 
 1 promise you, if you were going to die, and I were about, I 'd 
 stay with you to the last. I 'd deserve to go to heaven, if I 'd put 
 that fellow out of the way. If I 'd known all about it at the time. 
 I 'd have done it, too. Indeed I did want to, just for the fun of 
 the thing. But it 's great fun to think how the fellow must have 
 shook, to be riding in front of me while I had a ball ready for him 
 and could have shot him at any minute. Oh, you Wildenort ! " 
 
366 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 At the mention of her family name, Irma fell over as if shot and, 
 with bated breath, listened while Thomas continued : 
 
 "Since then, I 've been as if bewitched. I have n't chanced 
 across a bit of game and I feel like a fool. Something happened 
 to me about twilight the devil take it, one can't help believing in 
 spirits. Mother, I saw a beautiful horse, and no one was on it. 
 If it had only been a real horse, one that would fetch money! 
 But I, like a fool, was frightened when it galloped past me, with 
 its flying mane and clattering hoofs. But, before I 'd made up my 
 mind that it was a real horse and that ghost stories were stupid 
 stuff heigho, it was gone." 
 
 " Nay, Thomas, take care ! There 's something in those stories 
 after all. Come, stand here, hold your hand over the fire and 
 swear that you '11 keep quiet, and I '11 tell you something." 
 
 " What do you happen to know? " 
 
 " More than your thick head can hold. I tell you there are 
 spirits, and the Lady of the Lake is lying on the bed in there." 
 
 " Mother, you 've gone crazy." 
 
 "Take care ! she 's ordered me to cook some soup for her." 
 
 "And so the water-fairies eat soup. I 'm not afraid of any 
 creature that eats cooked victuals. I 'd like to take a look at the 
 Lady of the Lake." 
 
 The old woman tried to keep him back, but he forced his way 
 into the room. When he beheld Irma, he stood still, as if rooted 
 to the spot. Suddenly, he exclaimed : 
 
 " She 's a woman like yourself, only she 's much handsomer. If 
 she were the Lady of the Lake, she 'd have swan's feet, as far as 
 I know. Mother, who is it?" 
 
 " I do n't know." 
 
 "Then I '11 ask her." 
 
 The old woman tried to restrain him, but Irma had already 
 risen to her feet. She looked about her with a vacant stare and 
 and opened her lips, but could not speak. 
 
 " It 's you ! " cried Thomas, suddenly. "That 's splendid." 
 
 He wanted to seize her, but Zenza held him back. 
 
 " It 's you ! " he cried again. " You 've lost your way and here 
 you are ; that 's splendid." 
 
 " Do you know me ? " 
 
 " Why, who does n't know you ? you 're the king's sweetheart 
 rnd now you 're " 
 
 Irma's loud shriek of despair drowned the last words of the 
 brutal fellow. 
 
 "Hurrah!" shouted Thomas. "Out with you, mother; and 
 jrou, too, Esther. I do n't need either of you." 
 
 " Let her go ! You shan't touch her," cried the mother. 
 
 " Shan't I ? and who 's to hinder me ? " 
 
 The mother struggled with him, but he hurled her aside. Un- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 36) 
 
 able to think of any other expedient, she seized the vessel of boil- 
 ing broth and swore that she would dash it in his face. He warded 
 it off and staggered back, bellowing like a bull. 
 
 Esther rushed up to Irma and hurriedly whispered : 
 
 " Come, come ! I '11 save you, for your father's sake. Come ! 
 Away ! " 
 
 She dragged Irma away with her, and with breathless haste they 
 ran down the hill. Irma was out of breath and wanted to rest. 
 Esther, however, dragged her a little further, until they reached a 
 spring, where they seated themselves. Dipping up some water in 
 her hands, she bathed Irma's brow and her own. 
 
 For some time, neither of them spoke a word. At last, Irma 
 asked : 
 
 " Do.you know the way to the lake ? " 
 
 " Very well. That 's my path, too the only one left me." 
 
 " How ? what do you mean ? " 
 
 " I want to do just what you mean to do, and I suppose I '11 
 have to." 
 
 " What do I mean to do ? " 
 
 "To drown yourself." 
 
 Irma started with surprise when she found her purpose known. 
 
 " I do n't know why," continued Esther, " but I can easily guess. 
 My brother spoke bitter words to you ; but, I beg of you, do n't do 
 it. Just think of it ! You 're so beautiful, so young, so rich. You 
 may live for many years, and things may be much better for you in 
 the world. Do n't do it. Hush ! " said she, interrupting herself, 
 "don't you hear something? We'll stop talking, so as to hear 
 every sound. He 's following us, and won't leave us. Get up ! 
 we must be off." 
 
 They got up and walked on further through the gloomy forest. 
 
 A vision of hell passed through Irma's mind. Through all eter- 
 nity, the noble and the lowly would be linked to each other and 
 suffer a like fate ; for sin, like virtue, knows no such distinctions. 
 
 They were passing a wild, roaring stream, when Esther asked : 
 
 " So you 're his sister? " 
 
 "Whose sister?" 
 
 " My Bruno's. How goes it with him ? I saw him the other 
 day, when I was looking for ants' eggs, but he did n't see me. Is 
 it true that he 's married happily ? " 
 
 " Yes. But why do you call him your Bruno ? " 
 
 "Well, I '11 tell you. You 're the first one who 's heard his name 
 pass my lips since that day. Has he never mentioned it to you 
 himself? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " He can't have forgotten it. Come on ! Thomas might find 
 os here. Take my hand and go backwards ; then the dogs will 
 lose the scent." 
 
368 0.Y THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Esther took Irma by the hand and led her away. After they 
 had seated themselves under a projecting rock, Black Esther thus 
 told her story : 
 
 " My mother knows nothing of it, nor does my brother. No one 
 knows the right story ; but I can tell you. This is n't our real 
 home, but we 're often here in the summer, looking for gentian, 
 and herbs, and ants' eggs. I was fifteen, years old, a merry devil 
 of a girl, and could have run a race with any stag, when your 
 brother found me in the woods. He was handsome very hand- 
 some. There never was another man in all the world so beautiful 
 as he was. He was so clever and so good, and we loved each 
 other so much ; and I cried every time I had to go home to my 
 mother again. I would have liked to stay out in the w r oods, just as 
 the deer did ; and it almost pleased me when I got home and 
 mother gave me a beating, for then I could cry without having to 
 give a reason for it. I longed for him every moment, and never 
 wanted to leave him. He once told me who he was, and that his 
 father was a very stern man, and that, if it were n't for that, he 'd 
 take me home to his castle, and make a countess of me. And 
 what do you think I did ? I 've thought a thousand times since 
 of how foolish I was, but I 'm sure I meant no harm. As Bruno 
 had complained so bitterly, I thought this bad father might be 
 brought around ; so I went to the castle, and went right up to 
 him and told him that he ought n't to be so cruel and hard-hearted, 
 and that he ought to allow Bruno to marry me, and I 'd surely be 
 a good daughter-in-law, and that there had never, in all the world, 
 been truer love than ours. And your father gave me a glance 
 I '11 never forget his eyes. I can see them before me now, so 
 large and bright. And a little while ago, when Thomas started 
 towards you, you had just such eyes, and that made me take pity 
 on you and help you away." 
 
 "Go on," said Irma, after a long pause. 
 
 " Ah, yes," replied Esther, collecting her thoughts. " And then 
 your father came towards me. I stooped, for I thought he was 
 going to strike me ; but he put his hand on my head and said : 
 ' You're a good child, even if you 've done wrong, and it shan't be 
 my fault if you do n't keep good.' Then he called a servant and 
 ordered him to go for Bruno. When Bruno came in and saw me, 
 he was frightened ; but I said : ' Do n't be afraid ; you Ve father 's 
 a kind-hearted man, and he '11 let me have you for a husband.' 
 Bruno didn't stir from the spot; his face was as white as the 
 tloth on the table he was leaning against. And then your father 
 said : ' Very well, so I '11 come to you. You 've not acted honora- 
 bly, but you shall still have a chance to do so. I permit you nay, 
 1 command you to take this child of the forest for your wife ' 
 Bruno laughed it was a devilish laugh, and I '11 never forget it 
 and your father said: 'Speak, Bruno.' Then he said: 'Father, 
 

 ON THE HEIGHTS. 369 
 
 do n't be ridiculous,' and your father's face changed as suddenly as 
 if he had grown thirty years older in that one minute. He could 
 hardly stand, and sat down on a chair. 'What do you say?' he 
 asked. ' Repeat it once more ! Speak ! ' And Bruno repeated 
 his words, twisting his moustache while he spoke. Your fathei 
 tried to persuade him, and told him that he 'd teach me, that I 
 should learn to read, and write, and do everything else, as well 
 as any countess, and that Bruno had better not take a load upon 
 his conscience which he 'd never get rid of as long as he lived. 
 And Bruno answered : ' If you do n't send that girl away, I '11 
 leave the room. Go, Esther. Leave the room, and do n't come 
 again till I send for you.' He said something to your father, 
 in a language I did n't understand. Your father grew pale, came 
 up to me, gave me his hand, and said : * Go, Esther.' He did n't 
 say another word, but that he said kindly. And so I went away. 
 That was the last time I ever saw Bruno. I heard, afterward, that 
 there had been terrible goings on between your father and him, but 
 I kept out of sight, after that. I did n't want to be the cause of ill 
 feeling between father and son ; I saw that it would n't do. Our 
 child meant kindly towards us, for it was born dead. That was 
 far better than to find only misery in the world, and die at last. 
 Do n't you think so, too ? " 
 
 Irma did not answer, but she felt for Esther's hand. 
 
 Esther continued : 
 
 "Mother and Thomas don't know that I ever knew your 
 brother. But Thomas is a terrible fellow, and he hates youi 
 brother just as if he had a notion of it; but I don't say a word. 
 I 'in lost ; but what does it matter ? There 's no need of his 
 being ruined too. Oh ! how I loved him. I can't forget it, even 
 now." 
 
 Esther who had, thus far, told her story in a calm and quiet 
 tone, suddenly cried out : 
 
 " He 's got a beautiful, fine, rich, noble wife ! Yes, that 's all we 
 are here for so that nothing may happen to you in your silken 
 beds out yonder. Ha ! ha ! ha ! And when they get a child in 
 wedlock, they get some poor woman to suckle it. Walpurga 's 
 wdl off; her milk's turned to gold. Oh, if I could only stop 
 rhinking." 
 
 She tore her hair and gritted her teeth. " It 's a wonder that 
 the wild and burning thoughts that pass through my brain have n't 
 burned away the stupid black hair long ago. Oh, my head 's burn- 
 ing, and I get blows on it every day. But it 's hard just feel it 's 
 as hard as steel." 
 
 Irma stood there, as if rooted to the spot. 
 
 " Hush ! " said Esther. " Hush. I hear the dogs. I told you 
 he 'd hunt for us. Fly ! fly ! there, to the right ! that 's the path ; 
 but, I beg of you, for the sake of everything in the world, do n'i 
 1 6* 
 
370 0A T THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 do it do n't do it ! You have n't gone far enough for that. But, 
 be off. Down there you '11 come to a small, wooden bridge. Cros 
 it and hurry on. I '11 stay here ; the dogs will come to me and I '11 
 detain them. You 're saved. Away ! Away ! " 
 
 She urged Irma away, and remained behind. 
 
 Irma hurried on, alone. She often pressed her hand to her brow. 
 Grateful remembrance of her father had saved her from unspeak- 
 able horror. When his hand rested on Estrfer's head, it had been 
 in token of forgiveness. But the characters he had branded on 
 Irma's brow, told her that he had forever put her away from him. 
 " The brand upon my brow can only be cooled by the waters of 
 the deep lake," she kept saying to herself, while she hurried across 
 the wooden bridge, and then over the rising ground until she 
 again entered the dark forest. 
 
 Black Esther stood her ground quietly, and waited for the dogs to 
 approach. She called them, and they ran towards her. She heard 
 Thomas whistling, and the dogs answering. He was still far off, 
 but he was on the right track. She counted ever}' pulsation ; for 
 with even- heart-beat, Irma was one step further from where her 
 pursuer must halt. She was willing to suffer all. What did it 
 matter ? 
 
 "Yes, yes; I know you 're fond of me," said she to the great 
 wolf-dog, that fawned upon her. " Yes, you 're the only creature 
 in this world that loves me. I wish I 'd been a dog, too. Why 
 was n't I born a dog? If it were only true, as mother says, that 
 there once were times when people were changed into other 
 beings." 
 
 Thomas's whistle and cry were again heard. The dogs an- 
 swered. He drew nearer and soon stood beside her. 
 
 "So it's you, is it? I thought as much. Where's the other 
 one ? " 
 
 " Where you '11 never find her." 
 
 A cry of pain resounded from the woods. 
 
 " Kill me at once ! " cried Esther. The dogs howled, but knew 
 not which of the two they would help. 
 
 Thomas went off, leaving Esther lying where she had fallen. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 OX the soft moss under the trees near the border of the forest, 
 a beautiful female, clad in blue, lay stretched in sleep. The 
 trembling sunbeams played about her face. She awoke, and, 
 jesting her head upon her hand, gazed about her with the air of 
 one to whom all is lost. 
 
 The air was laden with the odor of pines, and fresh, cooling 
 breezes were wafted from the lake. The bells of the browsing 
 cattle were heard from the neighboring hills. The dew glistened ; 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 371 
 
 every object was radiant with light ; but to her, all was night. It 
 was long before she realized that she was awake, or where she 
 was. At last, she became conscious of herself; but still she moved 
 not. Sad and gloomy thoughts passed through her mind. Why 
 awake ? Oh, pitiless nature ! why cannot the soul's anguish de- 
 stroy thee ? Why is it necessary to use another force fire, water, 
 steel, or poison to oppose thee? Why is it that the soul can 
 ruin the body, and yet cannot destroy it ? Sun ! what dost thou 
 want of me ? I want thee no longer ! My father's writing burns 
 my brow. Conscience hammers at me, as if with a thousand 
 fists, and yet does not destroy me !---Why is this ? Why ? 
 
 She closed her eyes and turned away from the sun. Something 
 whispered to her: "There 's time .yet. It may all prove to be a 
 hellish adventure, a waking dream. Turn back ! You can, you 
 may. You have fully expiated all." 
 
 As if moved by some invisible power, she again turned towards 
 the sun. Below her lay, the glittering lake, and its waves seemed 
 to say : "In these depths, all thought, all trouble, all fear, all 
 doubt is at an end." 
 
 She arose, and when she saw the impression her figure had 
 made in the moss, she looked at it for a long while. Thus, 
 thought she, does the stag look at his nightly couch when the fatal 
 shot has struck him. Are we better than the hunted beasts of the 
 forest ? All is vanity ! What use is there in torturing ourselves ? 
 One bold plunge will end all. She put on her hat and walked 
 away, alone in the world with the one idea that possessed her. No 
 voice dissuaded her ; she was mistress over life and death. 
 
 The blackberry bushes caught her dress and held her fast,' and, 
 while extricating herself, the thorns scratched her hands and feet. 
 She felt a sense of gnawing hunger, and wept like a forsaken 
 child. 
 
 Tears came to her relief. 
 
 Just then, she saw more berries, which she plucked and ate with 
 eager appetite. Startled by her, a bird and its mate flew up from 
 among the blackberry bushes. There was the empty nest. Every 
 creature has its home. Irma stood there for some time, quite for- 
 getting herself. She turned her head, and, behold ! beside the 
 blackberries, there were poison berries, belladonna he who hun- 
 gers for death can feed on these. Irma did not pluck the deadly 
 fruit. She did not care to die a death of slow torture, perhaps to 
 swoon away, to fall into the hands of men again. No ; it must be 
 in the bottomless lake. 
 
 Irma now hurried off, as if she had been loitering by the way. 
 The dew moistened her wounded feet ; she shivered with cold. 
 
 Suddenly, the bright sounds of music and the flourish of trump- 
 ets were borne upon the breeze. Irma pressed her hand to her 
 brow it is n't music, it is only the play of my frenzied imagination. 
 
372 a\ r THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The world's pleasures are tempting me and calling me back with 
 violin, clarionet and trumpet. "Come, soothe yourself with our 
 sounds ; be merry and enjoy the days allotted to you." But listen ! 
 The sound is heard again, accompanied by the discharge of can- 
 non, whose reports are echoed back from the mountains, again 
 and again. Perhaps they are celebrating a wedding in some 
 quiet village on yonder shore. A youth and a maiden who have 
 loved each other truly, have to-day become united, and music and 
 cannon call out to the mountains : " Rejoice with us ; love's 
 happiness is as eternal as ye are " Irma walked on, lost in 
 reverie and looking down on the ground. Her thoughts were 
 with the happy ones. In imagination, she saw the glad looks of 
 parents, of comrades, of friends and heard the priest's benediction ; 
 while she walked on through the dewy grass and briars. Her 
 hand was firmly clenched, as if she felt obliged thus to hold fast to 
 the resolve that urged her onward. She walked along by the 
 lake. The shore was flat, a mere reedy swamp. There could be 
 no sudden ending there ; only a slow, miserable death. She walked 
 round and round, ran to and fro with hasty step and bated breath. 
 At last she saw a rock extending to the water's edge. It was steep, 
 almost . perpendicular. She climbed up to the top, raised her 
 hands, leaned over the edge. But hark ! Who called to her from 
 the water ? She heard a shriek of anguish, a cry for help, a splash. 
 In her excitement, she dropped her hat. It rolled over the edge 
 of the rock and into the water. She saw a human figure wrestling 
 with the waves. It rose to the surface it was Black Esther ! It 
 rose once more and then sank out of sight. . . . Uttering a 
 wild shriek, Irma sank upon the rock. She had seen the deed she 
 purposed enacted before her very eyes. Her limbs seemed palsied 
 and she lay there as if at the bottom of the lake. She was con- 
 scious, and yet could not raise herself. A voice called within her, 
 but no sound passed her lips. 
 
 And while she lay there, she heard voices singing : 
 
 Ah, blissful is the tender tie 
 That binds me, love, to thee ; 
 And swiftly speed the hours by, 
 When thou art near to me. 
 
 She sprang to her feet. What could it be ? 
 
 As if impelled by some unseen power, she hurried down from 
 the rock. She wiped the tears from her eyes, and blood was 
 streaming from her face. Had she been weeping tears of blood ? 
 A large boat was approaching. It drew nearer and nearer. 
 
 It is Walpurga's voice. It is she who calls. She comes she 
 recognizes her friend. Irma flees. Walpurga leaps ashore pur- 
 sues her Irma tries to escape Walpurga at last overtakes her 
 and clasps her in her arms, while Irma falls fainting upon her 
 breast. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 373 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE blood was streaming from a wound in Irma's forehead. 
 Walpurga knelt down beside her and, divesting herself of her 
 neckcloth, bound the bleeding brow. She then gathered some 
 wet grass and shook the dew in Irma's face. In despair, she cried ; 
 
 " l3earest Countess ! dear, good, beloved Countess ! do wake up ! 
 For God's sake, what's the matter? Oh! for God's sake, wake 
 up! Irma ! Irma ! " Irma opened her eyes. 
 
 Hansei's voice was heard calling : " Walpurga ! Walpurga, where 
 are you ? " 
 
 "Is that your husband ? Don't let him come here. He must 
 not see me," said Irma. 
 
 " Stay there ! " cried Walpurga. " Send mother here and tell 
 her to bring some of the wine along that I brought home with me. 
 It 's in the blue chest, with the child's things. Be quick about it ! " 
 
 In a few hurried words, Irma told her that her father was dead, 
 and that she had sought to drown herself in the lake. She put her 
 hand to her brow, and drew it back in alarm. 
 
 " Woe 's me ! How is this ? " 
 
 " You 've been bleeding. You must have fallen and struck your 
 head against a stone. Just look ! " said she, forcing herself to 
 assume a cheerful tone; "this is the green kerchief you sent 
 my child." Irma tore off the bandage and silently looked at the 
 blood-stained handkerchief. 
 
 " That quenches the fire ; let it run," said she to herself. Then, 
 with a sudden access of emotion, she said : 
 
 " Oh Walpurga ! I can't die ! I can't kill myself and yet I 
 can't live. I 've I Ve been wicked " 
 
 She hid her face against Walpurga's heart, which beat loud and 
 violently. 
 
 " Help me ! tell me what to do ! Tell me quickly, before your 
 mother comes ! " 
 
 " I do n't know I do n't know at all but mother will know. 
 She knows how to help every one. See there, it 's stopped bleed- 
 ing, already. Only keep calm." 
 
 The mother joined them. Irma looked at her, as if she were an 
 angel come to save her. With a voice free from the slightest trace 
 of doubt or hesitation, the mother said : 
 
 " Walpurga, this is your Countess ! " 
 
 " Yes, mother." 
 
 "Then you 're a thousand times welcome," said the old woman, 
 14 1 offer you both my hands. Sad things must have happened to 
 you. You must have fallen. Or has some one struck you in the 
 forehead ? " 
 
 Irma made no reply. She sat between the two women who 
 supported her, and her gaze was as fixed as though she were life- 
 less. 
 
374 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Mother, help her ; say something to her," whispered Walpurgi.. 
 
 " No ; let her quietly recover herself. Every wound must bleed 
 itself out." 
 
 Irma grasped her hands, kissed them and cried : 
 
 " Mother ! you 've saved me. Mother ! I '11 remain with you ; 
 take me with you ! " 
 
 " Yes, that I will. You '11 find it ever so healthy up in my home. 
 The air and the trees there are better than anywhere else in this 
 world. There you '11 become well again, and all this will fall away 
 from you. Does your father know that you 've run away, out into 
 the wide world ? and does he know why? " 
 
 ' He did know. He 's dead. Walpurga, tell her how it is with 
 me." 
 
 " There 's time enough for that ; for, God willing, we '11 be to- 
 gether a long while. You can tell me all when you 're calm and 
 composed. But now, drink something." 
 
 After considerable effort, the two women succeeded in drawing 
 the silver-foiled cork. Walpurga finished the operation by taking 
 the cork between her teeth and pulling it out. Irma drank some 
 of the wine. 
 
 "Drink," said Walpurga. "It must be w T holesome, for Doctor 
 Gunther sent it to mother. But she won't drink it. She says 
 she '11 wait till she grows old and needs the strength that wine 
 gives." 
 
 A melancholy smile passed over Irma's face at the thought that 
 the aged woman before her meant to wait until she grew old. 
 
 Irma was obliged to take a few more mouthfuls of the wine. 
 When she complained of the pain in her foot, the mother skilfully 
 extracted a thorn. Irma felt as if a gentle angel were attending 
 her, and offered to kiss the old woman's hands once more. " My 
 hands were never kissed before you kissed 'em," said the old 
 w oman, deprecatingly ; " but I know how you mean it. I never 
 touched a countess before in all my life ; but they 're human beings, 
 just like the rest of us." 
 
 Irma heaved a deep sigh. She told her rescuers that she would 
 go with them, but only on condition that no one except themselves 
 was to know who she was. She wished to live concealed and 
 unknown, and, if she were discovered, she would take her life. 
 
 " Do n't do that again," said the old woman, w r ith a stern voice. 
 " Do n't say that again. It won't do to trifle with such things. 
 That 's no threat. But here you have my hand and my word of 
 honor that not a word shall pass my lips." 
 
 " Nor mine either ! " exclaimed Walpurga, laying her hand, with 
 that of her mother, in Irma's. 
 
 "Tell me one thing," asked the mother. "Why did n't you go 
 i.o a convent ? One can do that nowadays." 
 
 "I mean to expiate in freedom," said she. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 375 
 
 " I understand you. You 're right." 
 
 Not another word was spoken. The mother held her hand upon 
 Irma's forehead, on which she now bound a white handkerchief. 
 
 " It '11 be well in _a week, and there won't be a scar left," she 
 said, consolingly. 
 
 " The white cloth shall remain there as long as I live," replied 
 Irma. She now asked them to provide her with other clothes, be- 
 fore she showed herself in Hansel's presence. 
 
 Walpurga hurried back to the inn near the landing-place. Here 
 she found Hansei in an angry mood, and scolding terribly. Every 
 interruption annoyed him. He had enough to look after, as it 
 was. There was more work put upon him than upon the horses 
 in the wagon. He was in that excited state, often produced by 
 travel and change of abode, in which one's better self seems to 
 disappear, and when a restless and homeless feeling renders its 
 possessor excessively irritable. Besides that, the foal, beautiful as 
 it was, had put him to considerable trouble. It had run away and 
 had almost got under the wheels of one of the wagons. 
 
 Hansei was very angry. Walpurga found it difficult to pacify 
 him, and at last she burst into tears and said : 
 
 " Sooner than move to our new home in anger and hatred, I 'd 
 rather we 'd all gone to the bottom in the boat." 
 
 "Yes, yes; I'm quiet; just try to be so, too," said Hansei, 
 recovering himself and looking towards the lake as if Black 
 Esther's head were again rising on the waves. He continued : 
 " But we must hurry on, or else it '11 be pitch dark before we get 
 there. We Ve a good distance before us, and the horses have a 
 heavy load* What are you about there ? Whom have you got 
 over there among the willows ? " 
 
 " You '11 know all about it in a little while. Just take my word 
 for it, that mother and I are doing something that '11 be a satisfac- 
 tion to us as long as we live. I am glad that God has given me a 
 chance to do something at this moment, when I would have liked 
 to ask Him what I could do to prove my gratitude. She 's a dear, 
 kind creature, and you '11 be satisfied." 
 
 Walpurga spoke so earnestly and impressively, that Hansei re- 
 plied : 
 
 " I '11 drive on with the household goods, and, if it suits you, you 
 can follow in the covered wagon. Come as soon as you can. 
 Uncle 's here, and he '11 drive." 
 
 Walpurga nodded to Hansei, who started up the mountain with 
 the loaded wagon. Then she went to a chest and took out a full 
 suit. She carried the clothes into the thicket where she found 
 Irma sitting beside the mother, Irma's head resting against the 
 breast of the old woman, who had wound her arms around her. 
 
 " Irmgard will be quite happy with us ; we know each other, 
 already," said the mother. 
 
376 ON THt: HEIGHTS. 
 
 No one on earth knows what Irma confessed to old Beate, down 
 among the willows by the lake. The old woman breathed thiice 
 on her brow, as if her warm breath could dispel the charm. 
 
 " And now put on your clothes," said Beate. In the thicket, 
 Irma exchanged her dress for the peasant's garb. 
 
 When she left the thicket and returned to the path, she kept her 
 eyes fixed on the ground. She was now entering upon a new 
 world a new life. 
 
 She looked at the beings and the objects in the parlor of the inn 
 as if it were all a dream. She had come back to the world again 
 from the depths of the lake. Here, life was going on as usual ; 
 there was eating and drinking, laughing and talking, singing, 
 driving, riding All this she had already left far behind her. She 
 was as one risen from the dead. Silent, and with folded hands, she 
 sat upon the bench, caring nothing for the world about her, longing 
 for only perfect solitude. And yet her ear was so acute that she 
 overheard the hostess whisper 'to Walpurga : "A kinswoman, I 
 suppose," and, significantly putting her finger to her forehead, 
 " she do n't seem to be in her right wits." 
 
 " May be you 're right," replied Walpurga. A smile, as of pain, 
 passed over Irma's beautiful lips : "There's one protecting dis- 
 guise and it is madness." 
 
 She felt as if a net of thorns had descended upon her head. 
 Insanity may, indeed, sometimes serve as an invisible cap, con- 
 cealing, or rather disguising, the sorrow-stricken wearer. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE grandmother was out of doors, arranging a bed in the cov- 
 ered wagon. . She told her brother to drive carefully, and not 
 crack his whip so often ; for Uncle Peter, known as the little pitch- 
 man, was so elated at the idea of having a whip and two horses 
 under his charge, that he cracked his whip incessantly. 
 
 " The stranger 's putting on airs, I think. Who is she, anyhow ? " 
 asked the little pitchman, taking the thong between his teeth, as if 
 he could only thus prevent himself from cracking the whip. 
 
 "A poor, sick creature," said Beate. It went hard with her to 
 say this, and yet it was not a lie. 
 
 Hansei had gone on with the large team. And now the 
 women, too, < greed that it was time to start. Irma now saw Wal- 
 purga's child for the first time, and, as soon as it caught Irma's eye, 
 .t shouted and wanted to go to her. 
 
 "Oh ! that's lovely," exclaimed Walpurga and her mother at 
 the same time. " She 's always so shy." 
 
 Irma took tin child in her arms and hugged and kissed it. She 
 felt as if again embracing the childlike purity which, in herself, had 
 withered and died. Her expression changed from one of joy to 
 that of sadness, and the grandmother said : 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 377 
 
 " You 've a good, honest heart ; children feel and know that. 
 But now you 'd better give the child to Walpurga and get into the 
 wagon." 
 
 A bed had been prepared for Irma. The grandmother got up 
 into the wagon and, taking the child in her arms, sat down beside 
 Irma. Walpurga and Gundel sat in front, looking about them. 
 The uncle walked beside the horses, and would, now and then, cast 
 ? sorrowful look at the whip that he was not allowed to crack. No 
 c ne spoke a word ; but the child laughed and prattled and wanted 
 Irma to play with her. 
 
 "Go to sleep now," said the grandmother, and in a soft voice 
 she sang both child and Irma to sleep. 
 
 "Who 's that coming down the hill ? " suddenly asked Walpurga 
 of the uncle. 
 
 " The one 's a forester, and the other must be a nobleman's ser- 
 vant." 
 
 Walpurga was alarmed. When the horsemen drew near, she 
 recognized Baum. Swift as thought she slipped into the wagon 
 and left Gundel sitting alone in front. 
 
 The horsemen drew nearer, and at last halted by the wagon. 
 The child awoke and cried, and thus awakened Irma. A thin 
 curtain was all that separated her from him. The horse that Baum 
 rode distended its nostrils, threw its head back, and reared so that 
 it was difficult to hold it in check. Irma recognized it. It was 
 Pluto, her own horse ; and so it had been captured and brought 
 back again. If the horse could have spoken, it would have said : 
 " Here is my mistress ; here is the one whom you seek." 
 
 Irma could hear Baum asking the uncle : 
 
 " Did you meet a young lady in a blue riding-habit ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Did you hear any one mention such a person ? " 
 
 " Not a word." 
 
 " Whom have you in the wagon there ? " 
 
 Irma trembled. Walpurga grasped her hand. It was as cold 
 as ice. The child cried again. 
 
 "You can hear it; there 's a little child in there," said the for- 
 ester to Baum. " Let 's go on." 
 
 The horsemen rode off, and Irma, looking after them, could see 
 her feathered hat hanging from the pommel of the saddle. 
 
 The wagon slowly ascended the hill, while the horsemen hurried 
 off in the opposite direction. 
 
 Irma kissed the child and said : 
 
 " O you darling ! you Ve saved me, for the second time. Let 
 me get out, too. I want to walk." 
 
 The mother dissuaded her and begged her to remain with her. 
 Irma yielded ; she had hardly lain down before she fell asleep 
 again, and no longer knew that she was crossing the mountains io 
 a farmer's wagon. 
 
3?8 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 It was already past noon when they overtook Hansei, far up the 
 mountain, where he had stopped to rest his horses. 
 
 " Let 's keep together," said he. His anger had vanished and he 
 now was twice as kindly as before. " I think we ought n't to ent';r 
 our new home in such a straggling way. I 've given the servants 
 strict orders to drive slowly. We can easily catch up with 'em, for 
 our wagons are light, and then we '11 all be together. I want 
 mother and wife and child to be with me when we enter on the 
 farm." 
 
 " That 's right ! I 'm glad you Ve come to your senses again. 
 Oh ! I know you. When you 're excited, the only thing to do is to 
 leave you alone for a little while, and you soon get homesick after 
 your folks and the good Hansei that 's in you ; and then you 're all 
 right again. But come here. I want to tell you something. To- 
 day, you '11 have to prove whether you 're a real, strong man ; and 
 if you do, I '11 never, in all my life, deny that men are stronger than 
 we." 
 
 "Well! what is it?" 
 
 She lead him into the inn garden and said : 
 
 " You 've often heard tell of the household fairies they used to 
 have in olden times? They were good, peaceful spirits that 
 brought blessings and wealth and good fortune to whatever house 
 they visited. But there was one condition. As long as they 
 stayed, no one dared ask their name, or where they 'd come from." 
 
 " Yes, yes ! I 've heard that often enough ; but I do n't believe 
 a word of it." 
 
 " You need n't believe it ; I do n't ask you to. I want to put you 
 to the test. Listen ! Mother and I have ever so tender and deli- 
 cate a creature in the wagon, there. She 's strong and powerful, 
 but quite strange in her ways. She means to stay with us, but 
 she won't be a burden. And now, Hansei, tell me; have you 
 strength enough never to ask her who and whence she is, or any 
 other question ? You must take my word for it. I know her 
 and know what I 'm doing in keeping her with us ; and on the 
 strength of that, will you be good and faithful and kind to her? 
 Tell me ; can you, will you be this? " 
 
 " Is that the way I 'm to prove whether I 'm a strong man, or 
 not?" 
 
 " Yes, that 's it ; nothing more." 
 
 " I can do that ; and here 's my hand on it." 
 
 " Let me have it." 
 
 " You '11 see. I '11 keep my promise ; that 's easy enough." 
 
 " It is n't as easy as you think for, Hansei." 
 
 " For the sake of getting you, for the rest of your life, to admit 
 that a man has more strength of mind than a woman, and can 
 easier undertake a thing, and carry it out, too, I '11 show you what 
 I can do. Your good friend shall be mine, too. But she is n't 
 crazy, nor does n't bite, does she ? " 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 379 
 
 " No, you need n't worry about that." 
 
 " All right then ; that settles it." 
 
 Hansei went out to the wagon with Walpurga, who drew the 
 curtain aside and said : 
 
 " My husband wants to bid you welcome." 
 
 ""Welcome ! " said Irma, offering her hand to Hansei. 
 
 He stared at her in mute astonishment, and it was not until 
 Walpiirga raised his hand that he offered it to Irma. 
 
 They had taken up their journey once more, and Hansei, who, 
 with his wife, was walking up hill in advance of the wagons, said : 
 
 " Wife ! if it was n't daylight, and you and mother and* the child 
 were n't here, if I was n't quite sure that I 'm in my right senses, 
 and that it 's all true I 'd really believe that you had a fairy in the 
 wagon there. Is she lame ? can't she walk? " 
 
 " She can walk very well." 
 
 Walpurga turned back towards the wagon and said : 
 
 " Irmgard, do n't you want to get out for a little while and walk 
 up the hill with us? It 's so beautiful here." 
 
 "Yes, gladly," was the answer. 
 
 Irma alighted and walked with them for awhile. Hansei re- 
 garded her with timid side-glances. The stranger limped. Per- 
 haps it 's true after all ; the Lady of the Lake has a swan's foot and 
 can't walk well. He cast sly looks at her feet, but they were just 
 like those of other people. Gradually, he ventured to raise his eyes. 
 He saw that the clothes she had on were his wife's, and that she 
 was wondrously beautiful. His head grew so warm that he lifted 
 his hat now and then. What 's real in the world and what is n't ? 
 he would ask himself. Had his wife a double ? and could she ap- 
 pear in another form ? 
 
 Walpurga lingered behind and left the two walking by them- 
 selves. Irma asked herself what she had better say to Hansei, 
 and how she should address him. It was the first time in her life 
 that she found herself in an humble position. " How should I ad- 
 dress one of an inferior class ? " thought she. At last, she said : 
 
 "You 're a happy man ; you have a wife and child and mother- 
 in-law as good as one can wish for in this world." 
 
 "Yes, yes, they '11 do very well," said Hansei. 
 
 Although she had not intended it, Irma's praise was, to a certain 
 extent, patronizing, and Hansei had observed this. He would 
 have confirmed her opinion by his answer, and would have liked 
 to ask : " Have you known her long? " but he remembered that he 
 had promised to ask no questions. Walpurga was right ; it was a 
 hard task. He rolled his tongue about in his mouth and felt as if 
 the one-half of it were tied. 
 
 " The country 's pretty rough hereabouts ; further up, when you 
 reach our new home it 's much better," said he, at last. It was 
 long before he could say that. He had intended to ask whether 
 
3&> ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 the stranger had ever been in that neighborhood before ; but he 
 had promised to ask no questions and to transpose one's questions 
 is not so easy a task. 
 
 Irma felt that she must say something that would put the man 
 at his ease, and she began : " Hansei ! " his face brightened when 
 he heard her calling him by name " Hansei, try to think that 
 you Ve known me for ever so long ; do n't look at me as a stranger. 
 I do n't like to ask anything of others ; but I do ask this of you. 
 I know you '11 do it ; for you 've a good, kind face. And it could n't 
 be otherwise ; Walpurga's husband, with whom she is so happy, 
 must be a good man. I beg of you, therefore, do n't be con- 
 cerned ; I '11 not be a burden to you." 
 
 " Oh, there 's no idea of such a thing. We 've enough, thank 
 God. One cow more in the stable, or one person more in the house, 
 won't make any difference ; so you need n't worry about that. And 
 we 've also taken charge of an old pensioner on the estate and 
 I do n't want to know what you do n't want to tell, and if any one in 
 this world offers to harm you, call me, and I '11 defend you with my 
 life. But it seems you have n't been much among the mountains ; 
 so let me give you a piece of advice. In climbing mountains, the 
 rule is : Go right on, and never stop." 
 
 They waited for the wagon. Hansei drew a long breath after his 
 long speech. He felt satisfied with himself, and looked about him 
 with a self-complacent air. 
 
 Irma sat clown by the wayside. She was now on the heights 
 which, on the evening before, she had seen all aglow with the rosy 
 sunset, and then fading away in the pale mists. The giant peaks 
 that she had beheld from afar were now near, and seemed still 
 vaster than before. Here and there in the woods, there was a 
 clearing of meadow and field, and, now and then, a house was 
 visible. Looking down, she caught glimpses of the foaming, 
 sparkling forest stream, so far below them that they could scarcely 
 hear its roar. 
 
 Hansei walked at Irma's side, but without uttering a word. 
 
 The wagon overtook them. Irma got in again, Hansei assisting 
 her quite politely. He was about to lift his hat to her, when, with 
 cheerful word and glance, she thanked him. 
 
 "She's a very decent person," said Hansei to his wife, "and 
 we 've a nice little room for her, too, if she is n't afraid of t'ie old 
 pensioner." 
 
 Walpurga felt happy that the great point was gained. 
 
 As Hansei had talked with the stranger, the little pitchman 
 thought himself entitled to say something, too ; and, as the first 
 sign of his resolve, he cracked his whip so loudly that the sound 
 was echoed back from the valley and the mountains. 
 
 " Did n't I tell you to be quiet ? " said the old woman. 
 
 " She she 's well again," replied the little pitchman. " Is n't 12 
 so ? " said he, addressing Irma. " The noise do n't hurt you ? " 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 381 
 
 Irma told him not to put himself out on her account and, 
 emboldened by her answer, he enquired : 
 
 " What 's your name ? " 
 
 "Irmgard." 
 
 "Indeed! why, that was my wife's name, and, if you've no 
 objection, I '11 marry an Irmgard again. I 've got half of a house 
 and a whole goat. I owe something on the house, but the goat 's 
 paid for. Say ! will you have me ? " 
 
 "Don't make such jokes, Peter," cried Beate, nothing loth, 
 however, to hear pleasantry from some quarter. 
 
 The little pitchman laughed heartily, and was well pleased with 
 himself. Yes, Hansei was now the freehold farmer, but still he 
 could n't talk to people the way he could. The little pitchman was 
 quite entertaining. When he had nothing more to say, he would 
 gather strawberries, which grew by the wayside and, in this high 
 region, did not ripen until late. He laid them on a hazel leaf and 
 offered them to Irma. Yes, Peter has good manners ; he could 
 tell that by his sister's face, for she smiled her approval. 
 
 The journey to their new home proceeded without further ad- 
 venture. When they came in sight of her native village, and before 
 they had reached the boundary line, the grandmother requested 
 them to stop. She alighted, went into the woods, knelt down 
 until her face touched the ground, and exclaimed : 
 
 " God be praised, I 'm with thee again ! Keep me well, let me 
 and mine pass many peaceful, happy days on thee, and, when my 
 last hour comes, receive me kindly." 
 
 She went back to the wagon, and said : " God be with you all ! 
 now we 're at home. Do you see that house up there, with the big 
 linden tree? That 's the freehold farm, where we 're to live." 
 
 ' Gundel and the child alighted, Irma alone remaining in the 
 wagon. All the others walked the rest of the way. 
 
 They passed through the valley and reached the village, where 
 they were still an hour's walk from the farm. As they entered the 
 village, the little pitchman cracked his whip loudly. He wanted 
 every one to see his kindred, and the amount of property he was 
 now moving with. They passed by a little cottage. 
 
 "I was born there," said the grandmother to Hansei. 
 
 "I '11 take off my hat to that house," replied Hansei. suiting his' 
 action to the word. 
 
 The wagons which had preceded them were stopping at the inn 
 which was near the town-hall and the church. The people had 
 gathered there to get a look at the new freeholder and his family. 
 The little pitchman acted as master of ceremonies, and pointed out 
 the burgomaster's wife to Walpurga. Walpurga went up to her, 
 and Beate felt truly happy, for the mother of the burgomaster's 
 wife, she in whose house Beate, while yet in her school-days, had 
 served as nursemaid, was also there. She enquired for the boy 
 
382 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 whom she had then taken care of. " He 's dead," they said, "but 
 there 's his son." A stalwart lad was called, but when Beate told 
 him that she had taken care of his father while he was yet a little 
 child, he had not a word to say. 
 
 Half the village had gathered about the new arrivals, and they 
 remained there chatting for a long while. 
 
 Irma lay there in the wagon in the open market-place, forgotten 
 by those whom she had joined. The grandmother was the first to 
 think of her ; she hurried out and said : 
 
 " Forgive us for forgetting you so, but we '11 soon be home." 
 
 Irma replied that they need not trouble themselves about her. 
 The grandmother did not quite understand the tone in which she 
 spoke. 
 
 Here on the public road, while she lay in the covered farm wagon 
 and could hear the loud talking of the crowd, she felt a pang of grief 
 to think that she was an object of charity, and that she to whom the 
 world had once done homage, was now forgotten. But she 
 quickly regained her self-command. It is better thus, for thus you 
 are alone. 
 
 At last they drove on. The road again lay up the mountain. 
 The grandmother was quite happy and greeted every one. The 
 plum trees were laden with fruit, and the apple trees along the road 
 she had, while yet a girl, seen them planted had grown so large 
 that they bent under the weight of the ruddy fruit. The grand- 
 mother often said : " I never thought it was so far ; no, I meant to 
 say, I thought it was further than this. Dear me, how I 'm talk- 
 ing. It seems as if the world had shrunk together. Children, I 
 tell you what, you '11 live to see great, and good, and beautiful 
 things come to pass. Come, give me the child," said she to Gun- 
 del, and she took Burgei in her arms, her face radiant with joy. 
 
 " Burgei, I 've sung here, and so will you ; and here I carried 
 your mother on my arms, just as I 'm carrying you, now. There ! 
 give that to the bird." 
 
 She had taken a piece of bread from her pocket and gave the 
 child some crumbs to scatter to the birds on the way, while she, 
 too, kept throwing crumbs to the right and the left. 
 
 She did not speak another word, but her lips moved silently. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 AS they drew near the house, they could hear the neighing of the 
 white foal. 
 
 "That 's a good beginning," cried Hansei. 
 
 The grandmother placed the child on the ground, and got her 
 hymnbook out of the chest. Pressing the book against her breast 
 with both hands, she went into the house, being the first to enter. 
 Hansei, who was standing near the stable, took a piece of chalk 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 383 
 
 from his pocket and wrote the letters C. M. B., and the date on 
 the stable-door. Then he, too, went into the house, his wife, 
 Irma and the child following him. 
 
 Before going into the sitting-room, the grandmother knocked 
 thrice at the door. When she had entered, she placed ihe open 
 hymnbook upon the open \\indow-sill, so that the sun might read 
 in it. There were no tables or chairs in the room. 
 
 Hansei shook hands with his wife and said, " God be with you, 
 freeholder's wife." 
 
 From that moment, Walpurga was known as the " freeholder's 
 wife " and was never called by any other name. 
 
 And now they showed Irma her room. The view extended over 
 meadow and brook and the neighboring forests. She examined 
 the room. There was naught but a green Dutch oven and bare 
 walls, and she had brought nothing with her. In her paternal 
 mansion, and at the castle, there were chairs and tables, horses and 
 carriages ; but here 
 
 None of these follow the dead. 
 
 Irma knelt by the window and gazed out over meadow and forest, 
 where the sun was now sinking. 
 
 How was it yesterday was it only yesterday ? when you saw the 
 sun go down ? 
 
 Her thoughts were confused and indistinct. She pressed hei 
 hand to her forehead ; the white handkerchief was still there. A 
 bird looked up to her from the meadow, and, when her glance 
 rested upon it, it flew away into the woods. 
 
 " The bird has its nest," said she to herself, " and I " 
 
 Suddenly, she drew herself up. Hansei had walked out to the 
 grass plot in front of Irma's window, removed the slip of the cherry 
 tree from his hat, and planted it in the ground. 
 
 The grandmother stood by and said : " I trust that you '11 be 
 alive and hearty, long enough to climb this tree and gather cherries 
 from it, and that your children and grandchildren may do the 
 same." 
 
 There was much to do and to set to rights in the house, and, on 
 such occasions, it usually happens that those who are dearest to 
 one another are as much in each other's way as closets and tables 
 which have not yet been placed where they belong. The best 
 proof of the amiability of these folks was that they assisted each 
 other cheerfully, and, indeed, with jest and song. 
 
 Walpurga moved her best furniture into Irma's room. Hansei 
 did not interpose a word. " Are n't you too lonely here ? " asked 
 Walpurga, after she had arranged everything as well as possible in 
 so short a time. 
 
 " Not at all. There is no place in all the world lonely enough 
 ."or me. You 've so much to do now ; do n't worry about me. I 
 must now arrange things within myself. I see how good ycu and 
 yours are ; fate has directed me kindly." 
 
384 ON THh HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Oh do n't talk that way. If you had n't given me the money, 
 how could we have bought the farm ? This is really your own." 
 
 "Don't speak of that," said Irma, with a sudden start, "never 
 mention that money to me again." 
 
 Walpurga promised, and merely added that Irma need n't be 
 alarmed at the old man who lived in the room above hers, and 
 who, at times, would talk to himself and make a loud noise. He 
 was old and blind. The children teased and worried him, but he 
 was n't bad and would harm no one. Walpurga offered, at all 
 events, to leave Gundel with Irma for the first night ; but Irma pre- 
 ferred to be alone. 
 
 " You '11 stay with us ; won't you ? " said Walpurga, hesitatingly. 
 "You won't have such bad thoughts again ? " 
 
 " No, never. But do n't talk now, my voice pains me and so 
 does yours, too. Good night ! leave me alone." 
 
 Irma sat by the window and gazed out into the dark night. 
 
 Was it only a day since she had passed through such terrors ? 
 Suddenly, she sprang from her seat with a shudder. She had seen 
 Black Esther's head rising out of the darkness, had again heard 
 her dying shriek, had beheld the distorted face and the wild, black 
 tresses. Her hair stood on end. Her thoughts carried her to the 
 bottom of the lake, where she now lay dead. She opened the 
 window and inhaled the soft, balmy air. She sat by the open 
 casement for a long while, and suddenly heard some one laughing 
 in the room above her. 
 
 "Ha! ha! I won't do you the favor! I won't die! I won't 
 die. Pooh, pooh ! I '11 live till I 'm a hundred years old and then 
 I '11 get a new lease of life." 
 
 It was the old pensioner. After a while, he continued : 
 
 " I 'm not so stupid ; I know that it 's night now and the free- 
 holder and his wife are come. I '11 give them lots of trouble. I 'm 
 Jochem. Jochem 's my name, and what the people do n't like, I do 
 for spite. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I do n't use any light and they must make 
 me an allowance for that. I '11 insist on it, if I have to go to the 
 king himself about it." 
 
 Irma started, when she heard the king mentioned. 
 
 " Yes, I '11 go to the king, to the king ! to the king ! " cried the 
 old man overhead, as if he knew that the word tortured Irma. 
 
 She heard him close the window and move a chair. The old 
 man went to bed. 
 
 Irma looked out into the dark night. Not a star was to be seen. 
 There was no light anywhere ; nothing was heard but the roar- 
 ing of the mountain stream and the rustling of the trees. The 
 night seemed like a dark abyss. 
 
 " Are you still awake ? " a'sked a soft voice, without. It was the 
 grandmother. 
 
 " I was once a servaj t at this farm," said she. " That was -forty 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 385 
 
 years ago ; and now I 'm the mother of the freeholder's wife, and 
 almost the head one on the farm. But I keep thinking of yoj all 
 the time. 1 keep trying to think how it is in your heart. I 've 
 something to tell you. Come out again. I '11 take you where it '11 
 do you good to be. Come ! " 
 
 Irma went out into the dark night with the old woman. How 
 different this guide from the one she had had the day before ! 
 
 The old woman led her to the fountain. She had brought a cup 
 with her and gave it to Irma. " Come, drink ; good cold water 's 
 the best. Water comforts the body ; it cools and quiets us ; it 's 
 like bathing one's soul. I know what sorrow is, too. One 's 
 insides burn as if they were afire." 
 
 Irma drank some of the water of the mountain spring. It 
 seemed like a healing dew, whose influence was diffused through 
 her whole frame. 
 
 The grandmother led her back to her room and said : "You Ve 
 still got the shirt on that you wore at the palace. You '11 never 
 stop thinking of that place till you Ve burned that shirt." 
 
 The old woman would listen to no denial and Irma was as docile 
 as a little child. The grandmother hurried to get a coarse shirt for 
 her and, after Irma had put it on, brought wood and a light, and 
 burnt the other at the open fire. Irma was also obliged to cut off 
 her long nails and throw them into the fire. Then Beate disap- 
 peared for a few moments, and returned with Irma's riding-habit. 
 "You must have been shot; for there are balls in this," said she, 
 spreading out the long, blue habit. 
 
 A smile passed over Irma's face, as she felt the balls that had 
 been sewed into the lower part of the habit, so that it might hang 
 more gracefully. Beate had also brought something very useful 
 a deerskin. 
 
 "Hansel sends you this," said she. "He thinks that may be 
 you 're used to having something soft for your feet to rest on. He 
 shot the deer himself." 
 
 Irma appreciated the kindness of the man who could show such 
 affection to one who was both a stranger and a mystery to him. 
 
 The grandmother remained at Irma's bedside until she fell 
 asleep. Then she breathed thrice on the sleeper and left the 
 room. 
 
 It was late at night when Irma awoke. 
 
 " To the king ! to the king ! to the king ! " The words had 
 been uttered thrice in a loud voice. Was it hers, or that of the man 
 overhead ? Irma pressed her hand to her forehead and felt the 
 bandage. Was it sea grass that had gathered there ? Was she 
 lying alive at the bottom of the lake ? Gradually all that had 
 happened became clear to her. 
 
 Alone, in the dark and silent night, she wept. And these were 
 17 
 
3 86 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 the first tears she had shed since the terrible events through 
 which she had passed. 
 
 It was evening when Irma awoke. She put her hand to her 
 forehead. A wet cloth had been bound round it. She had been 
 sleeping nearly twenty-four hours. The grandmother was sitting 
 by her bed. 
 
 " You 've a strong constitution," said the old w r oman, "and that 
 helped you. It 's all right now." 
 
 Irma arose. She felt strong and, guided by the grandmother, 
 walked over to the dwelling-house. 
 
 "God be praised, that you 're well again," said Walpurga, who 
 was standing there with her husband ; and Hansei added: "Yes, 
 that 's right." 
 
 Irma thanked them and looked up at the gable of the house. 
 What words there met her eye ? 
 
 "Don't you think the house has a good motto written on its 
 forehead? " asked Hansei. 
 
 Irma started. On the gable of the house, she read the following 
 inscription : 
 
 EAT AND DRINK: FORGET NOT GOD: THINE HONOR GUARD: 
 OF ALL THY STORE, 
 THOU 'LT CARRY HENCE 
 A WINDING-SHEET, 
 AND NOTHING MORE. 
 
BOOK VI. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THROUGH Irma's sudden flight, Baum's occupation was gone. 
 He returned to where she was to have waited for him, and 
 found that she had disappeared. He gazed into the distance, but 
 saw nothing. A dog following its master's track was better off 
 than he, for while instinct would help it, man could only guess. 
 
 Had she flown ? and if so, whither ? Why had she done so ? 
 and what, under such circumstances, was the duty of a subordi- 
 nate ? Ought he to pursue her who had sent him back ? She had 
 honestly and frankly sent the dog home ; but the servant was only 
 human and must therefore be imposed upon. 
 
 " For shame, Countess ! Thus to fool a poor servant who dare 
 not disobey ! " said Baum, speaking to himself. He felt that now, 
 for the first time, he was put to the great test, and that this was 
 the time to prove himself a reasoning servant. Perhaps the letters 
 he had brought contained an appointment for this evening. They 
 are at the hunt and, as if by chance, meet in the woods ; for it 
 would not do to visit Wildenort openly, as it was but a short time 
 since they had gone into mourning there. And so they mean to 
 keep even the servant in ignorance of their plans. But why should 
 they ? He could have been depended upon. 
 
 But perhaps the Countess had escaped after all. 
 
 But why ? and whither ? 
 
 They had shown so much confidence in him. The head cham- 
 berlain had told him, before leaving : " You 're always to remain 
 near the Countess, always do you understand ? And you are to 
 conduct her back to court." Could they have dreamt that she 
 meant to escape ? and if so, why should they only half trust him ? 
 
 " I am innocent ! " exclaimed Baum ; but what avails innocence ? 
 It was more important to be clever and sensible. 
 
 Baum's master, Baroness Steigeneck's chief chamberlain, had 
 imparted some valuable precepts to him. " There are two things," 
 said he, "that a good servant should always have with him a 
 sharp knife and a good watch. When anything happens that dis- 
 concerts you, take out your watch, count off ten seconds, and then 
 make up your mind what is best to be done." 
 
 One disadvantage possessed by this precept, in common with 
 
388 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 many other good ones, is the great danger of your forgetting it 
 when excited. 
 
 Baum rode back to the castle. Perhaps the Countess had re- 
 turned by some other road ; perhaps her maid could tell him where 
 she had intended to ride to. He asked the maid : "Is your mis- 
 tress here ? " 
 
 ' No ; she rode out with you." 
 
 'Do n't you know where she intended going? " 
 
 ' Has she left you ? Oh, God ! now she '11 do it, for sure." 
 What do you mean ? " 
 
 ' I Ve already told the Count, that I believed she 'd take her life. 
 I believe she has either poison or a dagger with her ; she '11 kill 
 herself." 
 
 " If she meant to take her life that way, she might have done so 
 in her room," replied Baum. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! It was only last night that she cried out in her 
 sleep, ' Deep in the lake ! ' Oh gracious heavens ! my dear, lovely 
 Countess is dead ! Oh, what an unhappy creature I am ! what 
 will become of me ! " 
 
 Baum endeavored to pacify her, and enquired whether the Coun- 
 tess had left any papers anywhere. 
 
 The writing desk was open and papers were strewn about on it. 
 They found a letter directed to the queen. Baum wanted to take 
 it, but the maid would not give it up. She would not suffer a 
 stranger to pry into her mistress's secrets. 
 
 In the midst of the dispute, Baum suddenly took out his watch. 
 The chamberlain's advice had occurred to him. He looked fixedly 
 at the dial, and when he had finished counting ten, he nodded 
 with a self-satisfied air, for he had regained his presence of 
 mind. 
 
 Very well, the maid might deliver the letter herself; that would 
 neither help nor hinder matters. But he would now show himself 
 worthy of the greatest confidence. His task was to institute en- 
 quiries ; perhaps he might yet save the Countess. 
 
 While the maid, who was hastily putting the letter into her 
 pocket, had turned her back upon him, he saw another letter ad- 
 dressed "To my friend." He quickly perceived that this was of 
 far greater value than the other, and put it into his own pocket. 
 He well knew that there was only one person for whom it could 
 be intended, and he knew who that person was. The maid had 
 heard the rustling of the paper, and now asked him to give it 
 to her. Baum ran out of the room and summoned the servants. 
 The maid followed him, and he now quickly changed the attitude 
 of defense for one of attack, and demanded the letter to the queen, 
 in order that he might open it and thus obtain some clue as to the 
 Countess's whereabouts. He said that he would hold the maid re- 
 sponsible for the consequences. She ran away and he made no 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 389 
 
 further attempt to carry out his plan, for he did not know whether 
 he had a right to open the letter. At any rate, he had undisputed 
 possession of the more important epistle to the king. He ordered 
 the groom to saddle another horse and accompany him. 
 
 The rosy sunset was already gilding the windows of the castle 
 when the two horsemen rode forth. But whither ? 
 
 They questioned a laborer working on the road, but he had seen 
 nothing of the Countess. They saw a shepherd driving his flock 
 homeward, and, riding up to him, they enquired whether he had 
 seen her. He nodded affirmatively, but the loud bleating of the 
 sheep prevented them from hearing what he said. Baum alighted 
 and learned from him that the Countess had been seen riding 
 full tilt along the road that led to the Chamois hill. 
 
 "She sits her horse firmly, and rides very well," said the shep- 
 herd, praising her. 
 
 This was a clue, at all events. They rode off, at full gallop, in 
 the direction indicated. When they reached the drained marsh, 
 they heard the neighing of a horse. They rode up to it, and found 
 that it .was Irma's saddle-horse, quietly grazing, but bridle and 
 girth were covered with thick foam. " The Countess has been 
 thrown. Who knows where she may be lying, weak and faint ? " 
 said Baum. He meant to be discreet, and was in no hurry to tell 
 all to the groom. 
 
 They searched for her everywhere, and called out her name 
 again and again. They found nothing, nor did they receive any 
 answer. Baum discovered the horse's tracks, but was somewhat 
 confused by them, as it had taken the same path going and return- 
 ing. They took the horse with them, but did not mount, for it was 
 necessary to find out where the track led to. Baum's keen eye 
 enabled him to distinguish the hoofprints in the twilight. 
 
 " If we only had the dog with us ; he knows her. Why did n't 
 you bring the dog with you ? " he asked angrily. 
 
 "You did n't say anything about it." 
 
 " Ride back and bring him. No, stay ; I can't be here alone." 
 
 They reached the Chamois hill. " Let 's turn aside, into the 
 wood," cried Baum. 
 
 He now found use for his good knife. He gathered some of the 
 brushwood, bound it together into a torch, kindled it, and its light 
 enabled him to find the track. It was here that the horse had 
 turned. There were also prints of a woman's foot going in the 
 opposite direction. He followed them for a few paces and then 
 lost the track. 
 
 "She must be here," said Baum. "It was from here that she 
 went down into the wood ; I know every spot about here. Keep 
 to the left with the two horses, but always near enough to hear my 
 voice. I '11 keep to the right with one." 
 
 They searched and shouted, but found nothing. At last they 
 
390 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 met again. A stag rushed by. Could it have spoken, it might 
 have told them where Irma had startled it from its resting place 
 a full hour's walk from where they then were. 
 
 "If you find her, you '11 be handsomely rewarded," said Baum 
 to the groom. He addressed him in the way he thought his royal 
 master would have done. 
 
 They spent the greater part of the night wandering in the forest. 
 At last, they were obliged to lie down and wait for the daylight, 
 for there was no longer a path by which to lead the horses. - 
 
 The day was far advanced w r hen Baum and the groom awoke. 
 They could see the sparkling lake from afar, and could hear the 
 sounds of distant music, while the rock near w T hich they stood 
 echoed the reports of cannon: 
 
 Baum took the pistols from the saddle-pouch and fired them off 
 in rapid succession. Then he listened with bated breath, thinking 
 that if Irma were anywhere in the neighborhood, she would hear 
 the shots and give some sign of her whereabouts ; but not a sound 
 was heard. 
 
 They now found a forest-path leading down towards the lake. 
 They reached the water's edge. At their feet lay the lake, smooth 
 as a mirror and stretching away for miles. Who knew what 
 lay concealed within its depths? In the distance, there was a 
 boat with people and beasts aboard, and now the boat reached the 
 shore. Baum's companion turned to the other side, where there 
 were a few scattered farm-houses and fishermen's huts. Man 
 and beast were worn out and needed rest. Baum asked every 
 one he met whether they had seen a lady in a blue riding-habit 
 and wearing a hat with a feather ; but he could find no trace of 
 her anyvvhere. 
 
 " Stop ! " at last said a little old man who was cutting willows 
 by the lake : " I 've seen her." 
 
 "Where? When?" 
 
 " Over there in the tavern. It 's almost a year ago ; she lived 
 there a good many weeks." 
 
 Baum cursed the peasant folk for a stupid set. 
 
 Fortunately, he met a gend'arme and told him who he was and 
 whom he was looking for. He then sent the groom back to 
 Wildenort with the lady's saddle. Placing his own saddle on 
 Pluto, he rode along the edge of the lake with the gend'arme. 
 On a rock near the shore, they soon saw a figure holding out a hat 
 with a feather on it. They made for the spot, at full speed. Baum 
 recognized his brother Thomas, and was so 'startled that he lost 
 bis stirrup. 
 
 If it were he who had robbed and murdered the Countess ! 
 
 The gend'arme knew the wild fellow. Thomas stared and 
 grinned at them both. His hair was wet and his clothes were 
 dripping. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 391 
 
 "What are you doing there?" cried the gend'arme. "Whose 
 hat is that ? " 
 
 "That's none of your business," replied Thomas, his teeth 
 chattering with the cold. 
 
 Baum offered the shivering man his brandy flask, and Thomas 
 took a long draught. Then, with mingled rage and sorrow, he 
 told them that the king's sweetheart had lost her way the night 
 before and had come to their hut, and that she had led away his 
 sister to plunge into the lake with her. He had come too late ; he 
 had seen something floating on the water and had jumped in to 
 save her, but the hat was all he had found. 
 
 The gend'arme was not inclined to believe Thomas's story and 
 would have arrested him forthwith, if Baum had not whispered to 
 him that there was no doubt that the lady had drowned herself, 
 and that there was no murder in the case. He was moved by a 
 feeling akin to pity for his brother, and did not wish to have him 
 arrested. 
 
 " Come here ! " said Baum to Thomas. " Let 's make an ex- 
 change. I '11 give you my flask there 's a good deal in it yet 
 for the hat." 
 
 " Oh no ! I know who the hat belongs to : it 's worth a lot, 
 and I '11 take it to the king." 
 
 He still has got his sweetheart's hat, 
 
 Though she lies in the lake ; 
 And since she 's drowned, another love 
 
 Right gladly will he take. 
 
 Sang Thomas, with heavy voice, while he threw the hat up irto 
 the air and caught it again. 
 
 The gend'arme wanted to give Thomas a beating ; Baum re- 
 strained him, however, and then walked up to Thomas and plat ed 
 his hand upon his shoulder. Thomas started, but suddenly grew 
 quiet and looked at Baum as if afraid of him. Baum spoke to him 
 with a condescending air, and Thomas listened, with mouth agape, 
 as if trying to recollect something, he knew not what. The voice, 
 and the hand upon his shoulder, made quite another man of him, 
 and the savage, murderous fellow wept. 
 
 " Will you give me the hat for a gold piece, or must it be taken 
 from you by force ? You see we 're two to one, and can master 
 you," said Baum. 
 
 Without saying a word, Thomas handed him the hat, and when 
 Baum gave him the gold piece, Thomas could not close his hand 
 on it. As if quite bewildered, he looked now at the geld piece, 
 now at the giver. 
 
 Baum spoke to him earnestly, and told him that he ought to give 
 some of the money to his mother, if he still had one. 
 
 "A mother?" stammered Thomas, looking at Baum with a 
 
392 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 glassy eye. "A mother!" he repeated, as if reminded of some- 
 thing- long forgotten. 
 
 The gend'arme was touched by the lackey's generosity. "He 
 must he a very fine man," thought he. 
 
 Thomas again told them that Irma had been at their hut the 
 night before, and that his mother knew more about her than he did, 
 for she had been alone with her. Baum and the gend'arme said 
 they would like to talk with his mother, and Thomas guided them 
 to the hut. 
 
 On the way there, the gend'arme informed Baum of Thomas's 
 family history. " You see, the fellow 's a brawler and has often been 
 convicted of poaching. I 've often advised him to emigrate to 
 America, for there he can hunt as much as he pleases. He has a 
 brother in America a twin brother, but he must be a good-for- 
 nothing fellow ; that is, if he is n't dead. He 's never yet written 
 a line to his mother or his brother, and has never sent home as 
 much as you could put in your eye. But that 's the way they all 
 become, after they get to America. A good many have gone there 
 from my place, but they 're all selfish, good-for-nothing fellows." 
 
 Baum smiled. He had need of all his self-command. He 
 scarcely spoke a word, for he was nerving himself for the meeting 
 with his mother, and felt annoyed that she, too, was mixed up in 
 this affair. He had enough to think of without that. 
 
 The gend'arme knew many stories about poachers and other out- 
 laws and, in order to beguile the time and entertain Baum, re- 
 counted some of them. Such stories, however, have one unpleasant 
 feature. It is rather uncomfortable to listen to them, unless one's 
 hands are free from guilt. Baum nodded to him graciously, for it 
 would not do, by look or manner, to betray that he was in the least 
 related to the abandoned wretch who was walking ahead of them. 
 The gend'arme said that he had once been bitten in the finger by 
 a murderer whom he had helped to arrest, and he showed Baurn 
 the scar. 
 
 Baum, at last, endeavored to put an end to these terrible stories. 
 He asked the gend'arme what regiment he had served in, and put the 
 question as graciously as if he were about to draw a medal from 
 his pocket and bestow it on the man. Now nothing can be pleas- 
 anter than to recount one's military experiences. The forester tcld 
 of his many exploits, laughing heartily at his own stories, and 
 Baum, seeing no help for it, joined in the laughter. Thomas, who 
 was walking on before, turned around and grinned, and then went 
 on. They reached the hut. It was empty. Old Zenza had dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 "She 's looking for Esther, I 'm sure," said Thomas. 
 
 " What 's the matter with Black Esther? " asked the gend'arme. 
 
 " Black Esther ! " repeated Thomas ; " Ha ! ha ! the lake '11 
 wash her white now. If any one would pay me well for it, I 'd 
 jump in, too." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 393 
 
 He threw himself on the sack of leaves, and silently looked 
 at the hands with which he had beaten Esther last night. Then 
 he threw his head back and fell into a heavy sleep, and they could 
 not get a word out of him. Baum and the gend'arme rode away, 
 intending to return to the lake, in order to pursue their enquiries, 
 and to leave directions everywhere that the search should be kept 
 up. Emerging from the forest, they gained the highway, and 
 here it was that they had met the covered wagon. 
 
 They were again riding along the lake at a quiet pace. A large 
 rod cow was walking along ahead of them. It stopped now and 
 then to nibble the grass and would look across the lake. When it 
 came to a thicket, it started, turned about quickly and ran so fast 
 that it almost rushed against Baum's horse. 
 
 " That cow has shied at something. There must be something 
 lying there," said Baum, quickly alighting. His dyed hair rose on 
 end, for he felt sure that they would rind Irma's dead body the next 
 moment. And he really did find something ; for there lay Irma's 
 torn shoes. He knew them. There were blood stains, too, and 
 the grass was crushed, as if a human being had lain there and 
 rolled about in pain. 
 
 Baum's hand trembled as he took up the shoes, and he trembled 
 still more when he plucked a little flower. It was a simple leaf 
 cup the so-called "our-lady's-mantie," the best mountain fodder 
 and in this little flower there were drops of blood which were 
 still moist. 
 
 If she had drowned herself, how had the blood got there ? and 
 whence the shoes ? and why should the shoes be so far from where 
 Thomas had found the hat ? and besides, there were the footprints 
 of larger shoes. If Irma had been murdered, after all ! If his 
 brother 
 
 "She's dead that's the main point," said Baum, consoling 
 himself, " and I have the proofs. What good would it do to draw 
 another being into trouble ?" He put the little blood-besprinkled 
 plant away with the letter addressed "To my friend." 
 
 Accompanied by the gend'arme, he went to the inn at the land- 
 ing place where the wanderers had halted that morning. 
 
 The gend'arme again enquired about the lady in the blue riding 
 Siabit. 
 
 The manner of the hostess showed that the gend'arme's question 
 had set her thinking. Could it have been the crazy woman who 
 was with the travelers ? There had been so much running hither 
 and thither, and carrying of bundles of clothes, and she had had 
 such a queer look about her. 
 
 " Do you know anything about it ? " said the gend'arme, looking 
 her straight in the face, " speak out ! " 
 
 " I do n't know a thing," said the hostess. " Did I say a word ? 
 What do you want of me ? " 
 17* 
 
394 O.V THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 There is nothing which the country people dread so much as be- 
 ing called into court in order to bear witness, and so the hostess 
 was careful not to utter a single word that might lead to such a 
 result. 
 
 Baum saw that he had made a mistake in taking the gen- 
 d'arrne with him, for his presence alarmed those who might really 
 have something to tell. He, therefore, sent him off, so that he 
 might make further enquiries on his own account. 
 
 Baum stood before a looking-glass, combing and brushing his 
 dyed hair which, that day, was unusually refractory. For the first 
 time in his life, he was perfectly modest. He admitted, to himself, 
 that, after all, he was not the right man to follow up such an affair, 
 and that he had wasted too much time already. Others would be 
 before him in profiting by whatever advantage \vas to be gained 
 from Irma's death. He felt that he had better hurry back to the 
 palace, and that there were others there, enough of them, too, who 
 could work up such a case far better than he. 
 
 He endeavored to sound the hostess who, he still thought, knew 
 something of the affair. But he was unsuccessful, for she had not 
 forgotten his comrade, the gend'arme, nor did it help in the least, 
 when he pointed to his buttons and informed her that he was the 
 king's lackey, 
 
 It suddenly occurred to him that Walpurga lived in the neigh- 
 borhood. It was scarcely a year since he had been here w r ith Doc- 
 tor Sixtus. Irma had always been a friend of Walpurga's, and 
 perhaps was now hiding with her such high-flown people were 
 capable of anything. 
 
 The large boat still lay before the inn. Baum, taking his horse 
 with him, went on board and ordered them to put off at once. He 
 permitted a laborer who arrived with a great barrow T -load of hay, 
 which he had gathered on the most dangerous crags, to cross in 
 the same boat with him. They put off. Baum lay down on the 
 wild hay, feeling completely \vorri out. 
 
 He asked the boatmen whether they had seen anything of a 
 drowned person. They answered that, in the moaning, a human 
 head with long hair had been seen rising to the surface, and that, 
 in all likelihood, it was a woman. 
 
 Baum suddenly drew himself up and, with a bewildered look, 
 gazed over the sparkling surface of the lake. " If the gentleman 
 would like to wait," said the elder boatman to Baum, "the lake 
 will give up its dead at the end of three days." Baum did not 
 care to hear any more ; he merely felt in his pocket, to make sure 
 that he still possessed the letter and the blood-stained flower. 
 Having satisfied himself on this point, he stretched himself still 
 more comfortably than before and fell asleep. It w^as not until 
 the boat stiuck against the shore that he awoke. 
 
 There was no longer any need of hunting up Walpurga; but he 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 393 
 
 did so, nevertheless, in order to show that he had left nothing un- 
 done. He went up to the cottage by the lake and knocked at the 
 door. There was no answer. He looked in at the window. Two 
 large cat's eyes were staring at him. The cat was sitting on the 
 ledge. She was the only one who had remained behind. The 
 room was completely dismantled ; not a table or even a chair was 
 to be seen. As if in a dream, or under the influence of a magic 
 spell, he walked back again through the garden. 
 
 A chattering magpie sat up in the leafless cherry tree ; but not a 
 human being was visible. At last a man passed by. Baum re- 
 cognized him ; it was tailor Schneck. 
 
 "Say!" he called out, "what's become of Hansei and Wal- 
 purga?" 
 
 " They 're gone over the mountains. They Ve moved away and 
 bought a great farm. They call it the freehold ; it 's way down 
 by the frontier." 
 
 Tailor Schneck was in a talkative mood, and enquired whether 
 the gentleman had brought anything from the king and queen. 
 But Baum was sparing of his words. He mounted his horse and 
 rode off in the direction of the summer palace. 
 
 In the midst of the hurry and excitement, he had retained 
 enough composure to calculate how this event might serve as a 
 springing-board from which he could bound into a higher position. 
 Henceforth, he would be the king's confidant. He alone knew 
 what had happened and how it had all come about. He looked at 
 the hand which the king would press in gratitude, and felt as if 
 the king had done so already. The head chamberlain was old and 
 decrepit ; he would surely step into his place. It would have been 
 better, of course, if he could have reported that Irma had been 
 murdered the gend'arme, like a sleuth hound, had found a 
 clue But no ; that would n't do ; it was his brother, after all 
 although it might be better for him if he were obliged to spend the 
 rest of his days behind the prison bars. He resolved that he 
 would be very good to his mother and brother that is, after he 
 had become head chamberlain. His sister was dead, and it was 
 a great pity, too but he would surely do this, if he got on and if 
 the king should give him lots of money and a good life annuity. 
 Baum was bold enough, to tell God that he ought to aid him in 
 obtaining what he wanted, as he meant to do good with it. 
 
 As he rode on through the darkness, he would sometimes catch 
 himself falling asleep, for it was the second night he had spent in 
 such unrest his thoughts were confused and bewildered. 
 
 At the last post-house, he left his horse and took a post-chaise. 
 
 It was early in the morning, when the carriage arrived at the 
 summer palace. They found it difficult to arouse Baum, and it was 
 some time before he was fully awake and could recollect where he 
 was and what he had brought with him. 
 
396 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Various court carriages were in waiting, and fine saddle-horses 
 were being led from the stables. Baum scarcely heard the saluta- 
 tions of his comrades and the grooms. He entered the palace and 
 ascended the staircase. He was so completely worn out that he 
 felt as if his knees would sink under him. He entered the king's 
 ante-chamber. The old head chamberlain hastily took the pinch 
 of snuff which he had been holding between his fingers, and of- 
 fered his hand to Baum. Baum sank into a chair, and expressed 
 a wish to be forthwith announced to his majesty. 
 
 " I can't yet. You must wait," replied the head chamberlain. 
 
 It was only by a violent effort that Baum was enabled to keep 
 his seat and prevent himself from falling asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE King was in his cabinet at an early hour. He avoided all 
 enervating self-indulgence, and his powers of endurance sur- 
 passed those of any other member of the court. It was his cus- 
 tom to take a cold bath every morning, all the year round, and this 
 always gave him new life and strength. He knew nothing of 
 deshabille, and always left his bath-room fully dressed for the 
 day. 
 
 There was to be a hunt that day, and the king was in hunting 
 costume. He had repaired to the cabinet, for the purpose of dis- 
 patching various matters of business that required his imme- 
 diate attention. 
 
 His office was situated in the central building, in the so-called 
 Elector's Tower. It was a large, lofty apartment, and comfortable 
 withal. Its walls were covered with a sort of handy-volume li- 
 brary, military maps and various favorite specimens of plastic art, 
 mostly antiques, of which he had procured copies while yet a 
 prince. There was also a letter-weight, formed of balls from the 
 battle field of Leipsic. The oaken furniture was in the Renais- 
 sance style the large writing table stood in the centre of the 
 room. A water-color picture, representing the queen as a bride, 
 hung on his right. 
 
 The king entered and touched the bell which stood on the writ- 
 ing table ; the privy councilor presented himself. 
 
 He handed several papers to the king, who hurriedly read and 
 signed them. The councilor presented a report in regard to the 
 household ministry. The king, meanwhile, walked up and down 
 the room. Suddenly, he exclaimed * 
 
 "What 's that?"' 
 
 From the adjoining room, he had heard sounds as of moving 
 and lifting, and also scraping footsteps, just as if a coffin were be- 
 ing borne away. He touched the bell. In an instant, the door 
 opened and the head chamberlain appeared. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 397 
 
 " What insufferable noise is that in the gallery ? " 
 
 " Your Majesty ordered the large picture to be removed." 
 
 The king remembered having given the order the day before. 
 
 Although he had, for a long while, been accustomed to seeing 
 tne picture in that place, it had yesterday suddenly become repug- 
 nant to him. The painting represented Belshazzar seated on his 
 throne and surrounded by his creatures, while a hand issuing from 
 the clouds is writing " Mene Tekel " on the wall. The figures 
 were all in life size. The king had given directions that the picture 
 should be removed to the public gallery. 
 
 "I am awkwardly served," said the king, impatiently. "It 
 would have been time to do that while I was at the hunt." 
 
 The head chamberlain trembled when he heard these words. 
 His hands dropped, and his head bent as if with shame. It was 
 with difficulty that he dragged himself out through the opposite 
 door. Instant silence ensued. Noiselessly, the painting was placed 
 on the floor and the servants retired. 
 
 The chamberlain came around, from the other side, into the 
 ante-room. He sat down in an armchair and took a pinch of 
 snuff between his fingers, but was so absorbed in thought that he 
 forgot to use it until the very moment when Baum entered the 
 room. 
 
 He sat opposite Baum. All was silent. Now and then he 
 would shake his head mournfully and look at his large armchair. 
 "Yes, he '11 soon be sitting here, and I '11 be dismissed," thought 
 he. When the privy councilor passed through the ante-chamber, 
 the old chamberlain forgot to bring him his hat. Baum did it in 
 his stead, for Baum was fresh again. This was no time to show 
 signs of fatigue. He felt that he held the winning card, and that 
 now was the time to play it. 
 
 The bell in the cabinet was again heard. 
 
 "Is there any one else in the ante-room ? " enquired the king of 
 the chamberlain. 
 
 " Yes, Your Majesty ; Baum is here." 
 
 "Let him enter." 
 
 Baum felt fully conscious of his importance. The king had not 
 ordered him to report to the chamberlain, but had said, " Let him 
 enter." He desired to confer with him in person. The confi- 
 dential position which he had craved was already his. 
 
 Baum's usually grave and submissive manner seemed more im- 
 pressive than ever before. 
 
 " Have you a message ? " asked the king. 
 
 "No, Your Majestv." 
 
 " What have you mere ? " 
 
 " Your Majesty," replied Baum, placing his bundle on the chair 
 and untying it, " I found this hat of Countess von Wildenort in 
 the lake, and these shoes among the willows on the shore." 
 
398 CIV THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The king put forth his hand, as if to grasp these tokens, and 
 then drew it back and pressed it to his heart. He stared at Baum 
 and seemed lost in surprise. 
 
 "What does it all mean?" he asked, raising his hand to his 
 head, as if to smooth down his hair which stood on end. 
 
 "Your Majesty," continued Baum, who himself trembled when 
 he saw the king's agitated manner, " the Countess wore these 
 artich.-s when she rode out with me and ran away." 
 
 "Ran away ? and " 
 
 Baum laid his hand on his watch, and, although he could not see 
 the dial, he counted the seconds, nevertheless ; after which, he 
 softly answered : 
 
 "The Countess drowned herself in the lake last night no, it 
 was night before last. The boatman saw the body of a female 
 rise on the waters and sink again ; and to-morrow, which is the 
 third day, the lake will give her up." 
 
 The king motioned him to stop it was enough his hand 
 trembled ; he grasped the back of a chair to support himself, and 
 stared at the hat and shoes. 
 
 Baum dropped his eyes. He felt that the king's gaze was fixed 
 upon him, but he still kept looking on the floor which seemed to be 
 rising and lifting the lackey to the level of the throne. In his 
 mind's eye, he already beheld himself at the king's side, and as the 
 confidant of royalty. Baum modestly inclined his head still lower. 
 He heard the king pacing the room,' but still he did not look up. 
 "A downcast air," thought he, "betokens perfect obedience and 
 unqualified devotion." The king now stopped before him. 
 
 " How do you know it was suicide ? " 
 
 " I do n't know. If it is Your Majesty's pleasure, the Countess 
 was dro\vned by others " 
 
 "My pleasure? I? How?" 
 
 " I humbly beg Your Majesty's permission may I tell all ? " 
 
 " You must !" 
 
 Summoning all his strength, Baum now said : 
 
 " Your Majesty, I found the shoes myself, but I got the hat from 
 a man who is fit to do anything the gend'arme thinks that it may 
 perhaps be good for the man he might be pardoned at the end of 
 a year and sent to America a brother of his is said to be 
 there 
 
 " You speak incoherently. 
 
 Baum regained his self-command. 
 
 " She may have been murdered by some poacher. The worst 
 of it all is that she sent a letter to her majesty the queen." 
 
 " A letter to the queen! Where is it ? Give it to me ! " 
 
 " I haven't it, the maid snatched it from me." 
 
 The king sat down. 
 
 For a long while, not a sound was heard but the rapid ticking of 
 the clock that stood on the writing table. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 399 
 
 The king arose from his seat and walked up and down the room. 
 Then he came towards Baum, who felt as if the hour of judgment 
 had come as if his life hung in the balance. He tried to loosen 
 his cravat; it seemed too tight for him. He almost felt as if a 
 sword were passing through him. 
 
 ' Do you know what was in the letter to the queen ? " 
 
 No, Your Majesty." 
 
 Was it sealed ? " 
 
 ' Yes, Your Majesty." 
 
 ' And have you nothing more ? " 
 
 ' Yes, Your Majesty ; I was almost obliged to use violence to get 
 this from the maid ; and here, Your Majesty, there is something 
 more. Beside the shoes, there was a pool of blood, and on this 
 little plant there are drops of her blood." 
 
 A heart-rending cry of pain escaped the king ; then, taking the 
 letter and the plant with him, he went into the adjoining room. 
 
 Baum remained standing there waiting. 
 
 In the next room, the king sat reading, with tearful eyes. 
 
 " She loved me intensely. She was great and beautiful," said 
 he to himself, with pale and trembling lips. His mind was filled 
 with thoughts of her beauty, her voice, her gait, and all her varied 
 charms. And were they all now dead ? 
 
 The king looked at his hand ; the hand which she had so fondly 
 kissed. He took up the letter again and once more read the 
 words : " To my friend." He knew not how it came about, but 
 when he again became conscious of himself, he was kneeling by the 
 chair. 
 
 What was to come next ? 
 
 He remembered Jhat the lackey was waiting in the cabinet. 
 The king felt deeply humbled at the thought of his being obliged 
 to take such a creature into his confidence ; but had not men of all 
 kinds long known of his crime ? They knew of it, but were silent. 
 A thousand eyes were upon him, a thousand lips were speaking 
 and all were telling this terrible story. The king looked about him, 
 bewildered. He could scarcely rise. And among the many thou- 
 sands who had laid their hands in his, and who looked up to him, 
 there was one Ah ! how heavily her hand and her glance now 
 weighed upon him. And her lips ; what might they say ? 
 
 How was he now to approach the queen ? If she only knew his 
 deep contrition, she would fall weeping on his neck ; for she was 
 divine goodness itself. And yet how had he acted towards her ! 
 
 He was on the point of sending Irma's last words to the queen. 
 He meant to add some words expressive of his contrition to 
 lay bare his thoughts and feelings. It is best, thought he to him- 
 self, not to act precipitately, and when he was again on his feet, 
 the consciousness of strength returned. One must be able to fulfill 
 the most difficult duties, even that of repentance, without sacrificing 
 dignity. 
 
400 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The king saw himself in the large mirror. He had forgotten 
 that he was in hunting costume and started at the reflection of 
 himself, as though it were a stranger. 
 
 His face was pale, his eyes inflamed. He had shed tears for 
 his friend, and that was enough. What, with some natures, re- 
 quires months or years, great minds achieve in a few moments. 
 Their years had become as ages. It seemed to him as if the 
 words : " The kiss of eternity," were being wafted towards him on 
 the air, and his mind was filled with memories of that day in the 
 atelier, of the ball, and 
 
 " It was given to thee to live the highest life and then die ; to 
 force death to do your bidding. But I cannot do so. I do not live 
 for myself alone ! " said he, apostrophizing his friend, and feeling 
 as if a new source of life flowed forth from the depths of his grief. 
 
 "And this is thy work," said an inner voice, while his thoughts 
 were of the dead. " In all that 's good, your spirit will ever abide 
 with me. Without thee I would confess it to God, were I now to 
 appear before him I should never have discovered the deepest 
 springs of my being. If I only knew of some deed which could 
 serve as a fit memorial of thy life." 
 
 The king again remembered that the lackey was waiting for him. 
 He felt annoyed that there was not an hour he could call his own, 
 in which to calm his agitated feelings and, for the first time in his 
 life, it flashed upon him : He who commands the services of oth- 
 ers, has duties to them, too. They lead a life of their own, extend- 
 ing beyond the time and act of service. 
 
 The influence of Irma's last words seemed to hover over his 
 soul like a mist. 
 
 He returned to his cabinet. Baum was still standing where he 
 had left him, as silent and as quiet as if he were a chair or table. 
 
 " When did you leave there? " asked the king. 
 
 Baum told him all. 
 
 " You must be fatigued," said the king. 
 
 " Yes, Your Majesty." 
 
 "Well then, take a rest. Anything else you may know, you 
 must tell no one but myself do you understand ? " 
 
 "Certainly, Your Majesty. I thank you, humbly." 
 
 The king had drawn a large emerald ring from his finger, and, 
 while he turned it from side to side, the bright gem sparkled in the 
 sunlight. 
 
 Baum thought that the king was about to bestow the ring upon 
 him as a mark of his favor, but his majesty put the ring on again, 
 and asked : " Are you married ? " 
 
 I was, Your Majesty." 
 
 " Have you any children ? " 
 
 "An only son, Your Majesty." 
 
 " Very well. Hold yourself in readiness ; I shall soon have fur- 
 ther orders for you." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 401 
 
 Baum went out. While hurrying through the ante-room, he 
 graciously addressed the chamberlain with : " Pray do n't rise ! " 
 There was no need that any one should see what was plainly to 
 be read in every line of his face. The king had addressed him 
 familiarly, and had even enquired about his family. He was, at 
 last, the confidant of royalty ; the highest honors now awaited him. 
 
 He went to nis quarters in the side wing of the palace. 
 
 The king was alone. Naught was near him save Irma's hat 
 and shoes. He gazed at them for a long while. What a poem it 
 would make to bring to the lover the shoes and the hat of his be- 
 loved what a song it would be to sing in the twilight. Such were 
 his thoughts and yet his brain whirled. With trembling hands, he 
 took up the hat and shoes, and locked up the tokens of death in 
 his writing desk. 
 
 The feather on the hat broKe as he closed the door. A light 
 was burning on the writing table. The king lit a cigar. When his 
 eye fell on the water-color portrait of the queen, he started. He 
 went on smoking violently. 
 
 It was not till some time after that, that the king rang the bell and 
 gave directions that the lord steward should be called, but that no 
 one else should be admitted. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 WHEN the lord steward entered, the king had recovered his 
 self-command and had settled upon the course he should 
 pursue. 
 
 " Have you heard the terrible news ? " 
 
 " I have, Your Majesty. The Countess's maid has arrived ; her 
 mistress was drowned in the lake.". 
 
 "And ?" asked the king, when he found the lord steward 
 paused. 
 
 " And it is also said that, after her father's death, the Countess 
 neither saw nor spoke to any one. But she, nevertheless, wrote a 
 few words to the queen, with the request that Doctor Gunther should 
 deliver them." 
 
 " And was it done without previously informing me." 
 
 The lord steward shrugged his shoulders. 
 
 " Very well ; I know " continued the king. " Is everything in 
 readiness for the hunt ? " 
 
 "At Your Majesty's pleasure. The hunting party has been 
 .raiting for an hour." 
 
 " I 'm coming," said the king. "Send Doctor Sixtus to the lake 
 and tell him to take Baum with him, for he knows all about the 
 affair. Let him also take the notary with him, and tell him to see 
 that the body, if found, be suitably interred. I know that you will 
 have everything properly attended to ; act on your own good judg- 
 ment in the matter." 
 
402 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The king laid especial stress on the last words. Everything was 
 to be managed discreetly ; every appearance of undue interest, on 
 his part, was to be avoided. 
 
 The king knit his brows, as if trying to think of something he 
 had forgotten. " One thing more," added he, hastily. " Go to the 
 poor Countess's brother, and break the news to him as gently 
 as you can. Should he desire leave of absence, you may inform 
 him that it is granted for an indefinite time." 
 
 The king passed out through the ante-room and down the stair- 
 case. Rest and quiet had been prescribed for the queen, and, in 
 order to avoid arousing her early in the morning, he had bade adieu 
 to her the night before. 
 
 The hunting party assembled in the palace-yard greeted the 
 king, who graciously returned their salutation. In an instant, 
 and as if by word of command, the covers were removed from the 
 carriage-horses. 
 
 "Colonel Bronnen," exclaimed the king, "come sit with me." 
 
 Bronnen bowed in respectful acknowledgment of the compliment, 
 and stepped up to the king's carriage. The gentlemen of the 
 party, amazed at the honor paid the colonel, got into their carriages. 
 Bronnen had bowed respectfully for the highest honor of the day 
 had been conferred upon him but there was a struggle within his 
 heart. Had the king the faintest idea that Bronnen felt himself 
 the avenger of old Eberhard, or that he was wrestling with himself 
 as to whether or not he should take up the vendetta ? He started 
 when he involuntarily touched the hanger at his side. Was the royal 
 carriage to be the scene of a tragedy, such as history had never 
 yet known ? Had Irma vauntingly told the king that he was a re- 
 jected suitor for her hand ? and was he now to receive the alms of 
 sympathy ? 
 
 The party drove out into the open country. The king was silent 
 for a long time. At last, he said : 
 
 " You were also a true friend of hers. There were few in- 
 deed, there was no one whom she honored and esteemed as she 
 did you. Her constant wish was that we should be more closely 
 united." 
 
 Bronnen drew a long breath. - There was no occasion for his 
 saying anything. The king offered him his cigar case. 
 
 "Ah, you do n't smoke," he said. 
 
 There was another long pause, which was at last broken by the 
 king's asking : 
 
 " How long had you known Countess Irma? " 
 
 "From childhood. She was the friend of my cousin Emma, 
 with whom she was at the convent." 
 
 " It comforts me to be able to speak to you of our friend. You 
 jnderstood her character. It was great, almost supernaturally so. 
 Suffer me to inherit your friendship for her." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 403 
 
 "Your Majesty " replied Bronnen with constrained composure ; 
 for his heart was boiling with indignation at the man who had cor- 
 rupted this noble creature and had driven her to self-destruction. 
 But his military feeling of respect for his superiors held him in 
 check. 
 
 " Ah, dearest Bronnen ! " continued the king, "no death has ever 
 affected me so. Did she ever speak to you of death ? She hated 
 it. And yet, when I look about me, all is life. When a great heart 
 ceases to beat, the whole world should pause, though it were but 
 for a moment. What are we, after all ? " 
 
 "Each of us is but a small, limited portion of the world. 
 Everything about us has its due sphere of development and right. 
 We are masters only of ourselves, and how few of us can claim 
 to be even that ! " 
 
 The king looked at Bronnen in surprise. Every one has a sphere 
 of right What could he have meant by it ? Hastily collecting 
 himself, the king replied : " She might have used the very same 
 words. I can easily imagine how much you sympathized with 
 each other. If I understand rightly, you regard suicide as the 
 greatest of crimes ? " 
 
 " If that which is most unnatural is, therefore, the greatest crime, 
 I certainly do. ' Self-preservation is the first law of nature.' I 
 shall never forget a conversation I had with old Count Eberhard, 
 last winter, upon this very subject." 
 
 " Ah yes, you knew him. Was he really a great man ? " 
 
 " He was a man of one idea, of grand one-sidedness. But per- 
 haps this is a necessary condition of greatness." 
 
 " When did you speak with Countess Irma for the last time ? " 
 
 " After her father's death, when she had shut herself up in im- 
 penetrable darkness. I spoke to her, but could not see her, 
 although she extended her hand to me. I believe that I am the 
 last man who held her hand in his." 
 
 " Then let me take your hand in mine ! " exclaimed the king. 
 
 He held Bronnen's hand in his for a long time, until the latter 
 said : 
 
 "Your Majesty, confession for confession. I loved Irma ! " 
 
 He spoke in a curt and bitter tone. The king hastily withdrew 
 his hand. 
 
 "I see," continued Bronnen, gathering all his strength, "that 
 the Countess has mentioned nothing of my suit. I thank her, 
 even now, for this proof of her noble, generous heart. Since she 
 could not honestly return my love, she frankly declined it." 
 
 "You? my dear Bronnen ! " exclaimed the king, in a tone that 
 betrayed his painful agitation. He could not help thinking of the 
 happy life which, as the wife of this man, Irma might have led. 
 "My poor friend ! " he added, in a voice full of feeling. 
 
 " Yes, Your Majesty, I have a right to mourn with you, and it 
 
404 0*Y THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 seems as if her powerful, all-embracing mind were still potent, and 
 had caused Your Majesty to call me to your side." 
 
 " I never dreamt of such a thing. If I had, I would not have 
 inflicted this pain upon you." 
 
 "And I thank Your Majesty for permitting me to share in your 
 grief. Because I share it with you, I am able to comfort you ; that 
 is, as far as another can. Since Your Majesty is so frank with me, 
 I must needs be as frank in return." 
 
 The king was silent for a long time. Although Bronnen had 
 opened his heart to him, the immediate effect upon him was to roi.se 
 a deep feeling of jealousy. He could not brook the thought that 
 another had dared to cast his eye upon Irma ; aye, actually to woo 
 her. She seemed no longer entirely his own, since another had 
 stretched out his hand towards her. 
 
 Bronnen waited for the king's answer. He could not understand 
 what his silence meant. Had the king repented of his frankness ? 
 Did it offend him to find that another had placed himself on a 
 level with him and answered him frankly and fearlessly ? The con- 
 sciousness of royalty trenches upon that of manhood, and perhaps 
 it never happens that a prince thinks of himself simply as a human 
 being. Bronnen felt vexed at the king's silence and averted looks. 
 He could stand it no longer and, at last, feeling that, at such a 
 moment, etiquette could safely be disregarded, he said : 
 
 " I think that few men are great-minded enough to keep all 
 knowledge of their conquests to themselves." 
 
 This remark had a double meaning, and Bronnen would not 
 have been surprised if the king had turned upon him with a crush- 
 ing reply. He felt defiant and yet composed. The man to whom 
 he had revealed his soul's secret, must not act as if nothing had 
 happened ; he must answer for himself. 
 
 The king still remained silent. 
 
 " Is Your Majesty not of my opinion ? " asked Bronnen, trembling 
 with emotion. 
 
 The king turned towards him. 
 
 "You are my friend. I thank you, and when we reach Wolfs- 
 winkel, you shall receive the highest proof of my confidence." 
 
 " There is something more which I think I ought to communicate 
 to Your Majesty." 
 
 " Proceed." 
 
 " I think I can see the connection between certain recent events. 
 During the late election for deputies, some friends of mine in the 
 Highlands thought of me. They knew of my sincere devotion to 
 my constitutional king." 
 
 The king's features betrayed the faintest expression of disgust, 
 while Bronnen continued calmly: 
 
 " I informed the voters that I would never accept an election 
 tvhich would range me with the opposition. Count Eberhard was, 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 405 
 
 therefore, proposed on the very last day, and, to the great surprise 
 of all, accepted the nomination. In order to cast a stigma upon 
 the father, the friends of the present ministry I am now giving 
 Your Majesty facts, not mere opinions were not above introducing 
 the relation between Countess Irmaand yourself into the canvass." 
 
 The king threw his cigar away, and quickly said : 
 
 " Go on ; tell me more ! " 
 
 " Count Eberhard was elected in spite of them. While I was 
 at Wildenort, to attend the funeral, I was informed that the first 
 intimation he had received of his daughter's position was conveyed 
 to him at the meeting of electors. On his way home, he received 
 letters which affected him deeply. Nay more, for I have enquired 
 into the matter. I found this piece of a torn letter on the road, 
 and the laborer who worked there told me that the Count had torn 
 up letters at the time mentioned." 
 
 Bronnen handed him a paper on which stood the words : " Your 
 daughter has fallen into disgrace, and yet stands in high grace as 
 the king's mistress." 
 
 " That may have been written by our saintly Hippocrates," mut- 
 tered the king to himself. 
 
 " I beg Your Majesty's pardon, but if you harbor the slightest 
 suspicion against Doctor Gunther, you do him injustice. I will 
 stake my honor for him, and time will show that I am right." 
 
 "Go on!" said the king, impatiently. He felt displeased that 
 Bronnen could read his very thoughts, as it were, and understand 
 what he had only half muttered ; and that, understanding it, he 
 had not, as in duty bound, ignored it. He was only to hear what 
 was directly addressed to him. 
 
 " On his return from the meeting," continued Bronnen, calmly, 
 "Count Eberhard was attacked by a paralytic stroke which de- 
 prived him of the power of speech. During his last moments, 
 Countess Irma was the only one with him. She was heard to utter 
 a terrible cry when they entered the room, she lay on the floor, 
 and Count Eberhard was dead. Who knows what may have 
 happened there ! But, whatever it may have been, I feel sure it 
 was the cause that drove her to this terrible resolve." 
 
 "And what purpose does this ingenious combination serve?" 
 asked the king. 
 
 Bronnen looked at him with astonishment. 
 
 "Its only purpose is to aid in clearing up the mystery." 
 
 The long pause which followed Bronnen's remark added to its 
 impressiveness. 
 
 "Yes," said the king, resuming the conversation, "how much 
 better it is to clear up all things ! That was just her own way of 
 doing ; so natural, and yet so clear, so conscious, and yet so strong. 
 Well, be it so. Bronnen, why should I conceal it? I may tell you 
 everything. I loved the Countess. And now I must say it, foi 
 
406 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 the thought tortures me I am almost angry at her. Her suicide 
 has imposed a heavy life-burden upon me. I shall never, to the 
 end of my days, be able to lay it aside. She must have known 
 how it would weigh me down. Tell me, frankly I beg of you, 
 tell me is this feeling not a justifiable one? " 
 
 "I am not addressing the king, now. I am speaking to the 
 clear-headed, warm-hearted man." 
 
 Bronnen paused. It shocked the king to find himself thus di- 
 vested of his inborn dignity. What would this stern man, whom 
 he had ordered to forget his rank, say ? 
 
 " Speak on ! " said the king, encouragingly. 
 
 " Then I shall speak frankly," began Bronnen, "as between man 
 and man. When you reproach yourself for feeling that your friend 
 has aggrieved you in imposing this life-burden upon you, it is 
 simply a proof that your true self has been deeply affected. What 
 really torments you, however, is the ghost of your own act. Al- 
 though our friend, who deserved so well of fate, may, in a fine 
 frenzy, have willingly sacrificed herself, the stern truth still confronts 
 you : you invaded, nay destroyed, her sphere of right, and now you 
 reap the inevitable consequence of what was then begun. The 
 ghost of your own actions disturbs you and will continue to do so, 
 until you perceive the truth. Every human being has its own 
 rights, presenting a barrier which no one, however exalted his 
 position, dare invade. When you fully realize this in yourself, and 
 by your knowledge of sin have overcome sin, then, and not until 
 then, will you be free no matter what may have gone before. 
 Superstition uses the formula: 'All good spirits praise the Lord,' 
 with which to exorcise phantoms. Our good spirit is that inner 
 perception of truth to which we appeal, or rather to whose appeal 
 we give utterance." 
 
 There was a long pause. Bronnen's face glowed with excite- 
 ment. The king was chilly, and wrapped himself in his mantle. 
 His eyes were closed. At last he sat up and said : 
 
 " I thank her ; she has given me a friend, a true man. You will 
 remain to me." 
 
 The king's voice was hoarse. He wrapped his mantle yet more 
 closely about him, lay back in the corner of the carriage, and closed 
 his eyes. Not another word was uttered until they reached the 
 hunting-seat. The king told his suite that he felt unwell and 
 would not take part in the hunt. The rest of the party plunged 
 into the forest, while the king remained alone with Bronnen. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 IT was after breakfast. The queen, attended by the ladies of 
 the court, was in the music-room. 
 
 The first mist of early autumn obscured the landscape, and the 
 morn gave promise of a lovely, bracing day. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 407 
 
 Various journals were lying before the queen. She pushed them 
 away, saying : 
 
 " How terrible these newspapers are ! What license ! This 
 sheet is usually so unobjectionable ; but even here it is stated that 
 Count Wildenort died of grief because of the conduct of his un- 
 married daughter. Can such things be permitted ? Was such a 
 thing ever heard of ? Ah, dear councilor ! " added she, address- 
 ing her private secretary, "there is a sealed letter for Countess 
 Inna on my desk up stairs. Let a messenger take it to her at 
 once. If she could only be kept in ignorance of these terrible 
 newspaper stories ; I hope she may, at all events." 
 
 The ladies of the court were engaged with their embroidery. 
 They plied their needles more nimbly than before and did not look 
 up from their work. 
 
 Countess Brinkenstein was called away. After some time, she 
 returned, accompanied by the Doctor. 
 
 "Ah, welcome ! " cried the queen. 
 
 At a sign from Countess Brinkenstein, the ladies retired. 
 
 "How charming! you 've come just in the nick of time," said 
 the queen. " I am just about to send off a letter for Countess 
 Irma ; you might add a few kind words." 
 
 " Your Majesty, Countess Irma will not be able to read your let- 
 ter of condolence." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " The Countess is very ill." 
 
 " Very ill ? You say it in such a not dangerously, I hope ? " 
 
 " I fear so." 
 
 " Doctor ! your voice what is it ? The Countess is not 
 
 "Dead ! " said the Doctor, covering his face with his hands. 
 
 For a few moments there was breathless silence in the great 
 hall. At last the queen exclaimed : 
 
 " Dead ! Was it grief at her father's death ? " 
 
 The doctor nodded affirmatively. 
 
 The flower-table which Irma had painted stood by the queen's 
 side. The queen looked at it for a long while. At last, com- 
 pletely forgetting those about her her gaze still fixed upon the 
 table which, now that she was weeping bitterly, was wet with her 
 tears she cried out, in heart-rending accents : 
 
 " Oh, how beautiful she was ; how radiant her eyes, how bright 
 her glance, how musical her voice ! Her singing was like the 
 warbling of the lark ! And all. this beauty, all this love and good- 
 ness is no more ! I would love, to see her, even in death. She 
 must be beautiful, a very image of peace. And you say that she 
 died of grief at her father's death, of a broken heart ? Was it one 
 great, convulsive throb of feeling that broke her ardent noble 
 heart? Oh, my sister for I loved her as such forgive me that 
 even the shadow of doubt Oh, my sister ! the lovely flowers on 
 
408 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 this table were conjured up by your hand And you are faded, 
 withered, decayed ! You were lovelier than any flower ! I can still 
 see your eye, as it followed every stroke of the pencil. You meant 
 to give me undying flowers, and as an undying flower you shall 
 dwell in my heart." 
 
 Her tears fell on the 'narble flower-table. A little dog came up 
 to her and she said : 
 
 " She decked you too, with flowers. It was on my birthday. 
 She sought to adorn everything that met her eye. And you loved 
 her, too, poor Zephyr ; ever)' creature loved her, and now she 's 
 dead." She wept in silence, for sometime. 
 
 ' May I wear mourning for my friend ? " she enquired, looking 
 up at Countess Brinkenstein. 
 
 " Your Majesty, it is not the custom for the queen to go into 
 mourning alone." 
 
 " Of course ; we are not alone. No, never ! All must moum 
 with us ; there must needs be a mourning livery." 
 
 She had spoken harshly, and now offered her hand to Countess 
 Brinkenstein, as if in apology, and enquired : 
 
 "When is she to be buried, and where ? I should like to lay the 
 most beautiful garland upon her grave. I will go to her myself, 
 and my tears shall drop upon her pale face. So fair a life, and so 
 sudden an,end ! Can it be possible ? I must go to her ! " 
 
 Her eyes seemed fixed on vacancy, while she asked : 
 
 " Has the king gone hunting ? " 
 
 " Yes, Your Majesty." 
 
 "He, too, will weep, for he loved her as if she were his sister. 
 I know it." 
 
 The look which Countess Brinkenstein now gave the Doctor 
 seemed to say : " I never gave the queen credit for so much tact 
 and self-command. How naturally she acts, while trying to make 
 us believe that she never knew or suspected that aught was 
 wrong." 
 
 "I will go to her!" suddenly exclaimed the queen. "No one 
 shall prevent it. I will go to her and stand by her coffin, by her 
 grave." 
 
 Countess Brinkenstein stared at the queen. 
 
 The Doctor approached and said : 
 
 "Your Majesty cannot see the Countess. Grief for her father's 
 death affected her mind " 
 
 ' Then she 's aot dead ? " 
 
 'The Countess has undoubtedly drowned herself in the lake.' 
 
 The queen cast a look of horror at the Doctor. She attempted 
 to speak, but could not. Gunther added : 
 
 " She has not left us without a farewell ; she left a letter, which 
 I am to deliver to Your Majesty. It must surely be intended 
 to atone for the frightful tidings ; even in her last moments, she 
 was true to her affectionate nature." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 409 
 
 The queen stared at Gunther, vacantly. She tried to rise, but 
 could not. She mutely motioned him to give her the letter. Gun- 
 ther handed it to her. 
 
 The queen read it and turned pale as a corpse. Her features 
 grew rigid ; her hands fell to her side, as if palsied ; her eyes 
 closed, an expression as of death lay on her lips. Presently, she 
 shook as if in a chill, and then her face became flushed, as if 
 burning. She sprang to her feet and exclaimed : 
 
 " No ! no ! Have you done this ? Could you act thus, Irma ? 
 You" 
 
 She fell back in her chair, covered her face with both hands, and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " And she kissed my child, and he kissed it ! Oh, they kissed 
 that whiqh was purest of all, well knowing how impure their own 
 lips were. They talked in the loftiest strain, and yet the words did 
 not cut their tongues like sharp knives ! Oh, how disgusting ! 
 How disgusting, how tainted everything seems ! How I loathe 
 myself! And he dared to tell me that a prince could have no pri- 
 vate actions, for his deeds are an example to others. Shame ! 
 shame ! Everything is vile, everything is despicable ! Everything ! " 
 
 She looked around, bewildered. She was as terrible in her in- 
 dignation, as she had been beautiful in her grief. 
 
 With vacant gaze, she regarded every object that had once 
 met Irma's eye, and when her glance again fell upon the flower- 
 table, she turned away with a convulsive start, as if serpents had 
 darted from the flowers. Again, she exclaimed : 
 
 "Oh, how loathsome! Oh, how vile, how disgusting! I beg 
 of you, leave me alone ! May I not be alone ? " 
 
 " Let me remain with Your Majesty," said the Doctor, taking her 
 hand, which hung as if lifeless at her side. 
 
 Countess Brinkenstein withdrew. 
 
 For a long while, the queen did not speak a word. She seemed 
 to be staring at vacancy, breathed heavily and would, at times, 
 start convulsively. She was suddenly seized with a chill, and fell 
 back insensible. 
 
 The Doctor bathed her forehead and wrists with a few drops of 
 some restorative, and then called her maid. Accompanied by the 
 latter, he conducted the queen to her apartments, and ordered that 
 she should be put to bed. 
 
 " I shall never again see the light of day, nor a human face ; and 
 he and he ! " cried she ; then she forced her lace handkerchief 
 into her mouth and tore it to pieces with her teeth. 
 
 She lay thus for some time, the Doctor sitting silently by her 
 bedside. 
 
 At length she heaved a deep sigh, opened her eyes, and said : 
 
 " I thank you, but I would like to sleep." 
 
 18 
 
410 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "Yes, do so," said the Doctor. He was about to leave, but she 
 called to him : 
 
 ' One word more. Does the king know ? " 
 'Yes, Your Majesty." 
 ' And he went to the hunt ? " 
 ' He is king, Your Majesty." 
 
 ' I know, I know ! Anything to avoid creating a sensation. 
 Yes, yes." 
 
 " I beg of you, Your Majesty, do n't think now. Do n't worry 
 about anything. Try to sleep." 
 
 "We can give ourselves the sleep eternal, but not temporal 
 sleep." 
 
 " I entreat you, Your Majesty ; do n't give way to this violent 
 excitement ; do try to sleep." 
 
 " I will, I will. Good night ! Give me a sleeping draught, a 
 drop of forgetfulness. Poison were better ! Good night ! " 
 
 The Doctor withdrew, but, by a faint gesture, signified to Ma- 
 dame Leoni, the woman in waiting, that he should remain in the 
 next room. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 IT was silent and lonely at the hunting-seat in the Highlands. 
 The walls of the great hall were hung with antlers ; a stuffed 
 boar's head stared from over the entrance. A bright fire was 
 burning on the large hearth, for here among the mountains it was 
 already cold. The king sat before the fire, staring at the blazing 
 embers. The flames, intertwining, would leap on high, like so 
 many tongues of fire. The king left his chair several times, but 
 soon sat down again. 
 
 Under the antlers, hung tablets marking the year and date of 
 each hunt. A long line of ancestors had contributed to these 
 proofs of victory. If all the guns that had been used in achieving 
 these triumphs were to be fired off at the same moment ; if, in 
 addition to this, even* horn that had been blown, even" dog which 
 had barked and even- creature that had cheered, were to find voice, 
 the din thus produced could not be more confusing or bewildering 
 than the thoughts which jostled each other in the head that now 
 rested upon the king's hands. 
 
 He arose from his seat and read some of the inscriptions on the 
 wall. He could boast of a mighty ancestry. They were of a lusty 
 and powerful race and, while indulging in the pleasures of the 
 chase and the social board, would speedily have forgotten an ad- 
 venture like the one that now unnerved him. 
 
 Have we become weaker, pettier, more timid ? 
 
 The king seated himself again and gazed at the fire. He wi.s 
 ang.-} with himself, and yet could not master his weakness. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 411 
 
 We are not like the men of the olden time, with their rude sim- 
 plicity and fearless disregard of consequences. Why have we not 
 inherited the strength of our ancestors, instead of mere pride in 
 their power ? 
 
 What has happened ? 
 
 Unfaithfulness cannot be blotted out, nor can the dead be called 
 back to life. 
 
 The memory of the days passed in intoxicating happiness rose 
 up before him, as if to say : It dare not, it cannot be. 
 
 Has she a right, while destroying her life, to destroy mine, tco ? 
 And she has destroyed it. Her death will ever remain an insepa- 
 rable part of myself. I bear a corpse about with me. The guilt 
 of murder dwells within my heart ! 
 
 He suddenly held his hands before the fire, for they were cold. 
 The flames burned brightly, but they did not warm his hands, and 
 his heart seemed freezing. 
 
 Is Bronnen right in refusing to see anything in this terrible affair 
 but the inevitable results of my actions ? 
 
 He uttered a short laugh, for it had suddenly occurred to him 
 that the world would present a wondrous chaos of bloodshed and 
 murder, if every similar misstep were to produce a like result. 
 How many thousands 
 
 A few words uttered on a lovely morning and during happy 
 times, floated through his mind. It was like suddenly recollecting 
 a long forgotten melody. It was scarcely more than a year ago, 
 that the queen had said, while sitting under the weeping ash : 
 "He who commits a wrong sins for himself, and as deeply as if 
 it were the first time the sin were ever committed." 
 
 Ah ! why is it that our actions fall so far short of our ideal ? 
 
 The king was still gazing into the fire. The image of his wife, 
 fading from his mind, was replaced by that of the friend, whom, in 
 fancy, he followed to the bottom of the lake. 
 
 He hastily arose, opened the window, inhaled the bracing mount- 
 ain air and looked out into the dark night. 
 
 There, wrapped in slumber, lies the world, the palace with its rich 
 and varied life, your wife, your child ; and beyond, as far as the eye 
 can reach, the rich land over which you rule. And while millions 
 of beings cry to you in their hour of need, are you to be dragged 
 down by one mortal? 
 
 The king turned round, with the intention of sending for Bronnen. 
 
 It is not well to give one's self up to solitude and the company 
 of evil spirits. 
 
 And yet he hesitated. From out of the darkness, there rose a 
 demon with a thousand glittering, cunning eyes. He had known 
 him from youth and his name was distrust. Who knows that 
 this gentleman, with his high sounding phrases, is not availing him- 
 self of your humility and the tender mood which has unmanned 
 
412 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 you, for his own selfish ends ? for all men are selfish, especially 
 when dealing with royalty. He means to rule me and, through 
 me, the country. Who knows whether he ever loved her or de- 
 clared his passion to her. She neither could nor would have dared 
 conceal that from me. The story was a ready invention of his, 
 intended to make him my companion in grief. But I know no 
 companion. I will have none. If I cannot do all by myself, I am 
 not a king ; and if I am not a king, what am I ? No, my wise 
 and noble-hearted gentleman 
 
 An inner voice admonished him that it was wrong to judge 
 Bronnen as he judged other men, but he would not listen to it. 
 lie drew himself up as if conscious of his power ind dignity. 
 Suddenly, a sound from the forest broke upon his ear. It was the 
 first wild, mournful cry of the stag. The huntsman in him was 
 now aroused. His hand quickly sought his weapon, but the 
 thought vanished with the swiftness of the stag's flight through 
 the forest, and gave way to another that raised a smile on the 
 king's countenance. The stag, thought he, was crying to him. 
 Nature knows nothing of such unfaithfulness as that with the 
 thought of which you are now tormenting y r ourself. The laws of 
 nature do not recognize unfaithfulness ; it is simply a violent and 
 arbitrary creation of man. But neither does nature's law recognize 
 a king, or the right of any creature to rule others of the same 
 species. But it is not nature alone that directs human life. There 
 is also another law that dwells within man. At the birth of each 
 beast, the law of its life seems born anew. Man, however, inherits 
 that which has gone before, for he has a, history. And, a king 
 more than all others 
 
 The king stood there in silence for a long time. Feeling chilled 
 again, he closed the window and sat down before the fire, in which 
 the embers were still burning. Although he found it irksome to be 
 alone, he yet forced himself to remain so. 
 
 The fire was still flickering, and now and then a sharp tongue 
 ol flame would dart forth. The king's hand still clasped the silver 
 handle of the tongs long after the fire had ceased to burn. For 
 the first time in his life, he felt conscious of a void within himself 
 a void which could not be filled. What could it be ? Hunting or 
 drilling, jesting or commanding, loving or ruling, none of these 
 filled the aching void. What could it be? this constant unrest, 
 this longing for something that was yet to come. 
 
 He had spent a happy youth. The free tone at his father's court 
 had not affected him. He had lived in an ideal world. He was 
 on his travels and far away from home, when the sudden news of 
 his father's death reached him. He had hardly arrived at man's 
 estate, when he was called to the throne. Others might test their 
 affections, might choose His consort had been selected for him 
 there was no wooing ; a throne, a country, a wife were given to 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 413 
 
 him. His wife was graceful and pretty. He was fond of her, and 
 she loved him intensely. Suddenly, Irma entered their circle, and 
 the husband, the father, the king, became seized with ardent love. 
 And now she was dead, destroyed by her own rash deed. 
 
 Is it still possible for you to subordinate yourself to the law? 
 
 You have submitted to it reluctantly, as if it were a clog and a 
 fetter ; but is not submission to the law the highest, aye, the only 
 source of indestructible power? Yes, there is an eternal law that 
 binds you to your wife and to your people ; in that alone dwells 
 the life eternal. 
 
 He was filled with the thought. It was like a deliverance ; like 
 the first free breathing of the convalescent. He could not fully 
 grasp the idea, and yet it seemed to him as if he must cry aloud ; 
 I am free ! free and yet in accord with the law. 
 
 He rose quickly. He meant to send for Bronnen, but restrained 
 himself. He had wrestled with himself and would now bear this 
 within himself. He felt as if the aching void, the restless longing 
 for change, had suddenly been filled. He pressed his hand to his 
 throbbing heart. 
 
 He rang the bell and sent word to Bronnen that he might retire. 
 He sent his body servant away and retired to his room alone. 
 
 Bronnen had been waiting for hours, expecting to be sent for at 
 any moment, and was now busy conjecturing why this had not 
 been done. 
 
 Could Irma's death have had more than a mere passing influ- 
 ence upon the king, or had it really helped to reconcile him with 
 the law of life ? What proof of his confidence did the king mean 
 to bestow upon him ? And when Bronnen had waited for hours, 
 without receiving a message from the king, he could not repress a 
 feeling of resentment. Who could tell ? Perhaps the king had for- 
 gotten him ? He had joined him for awhile in a plaintive duet ; 
 but now all was over. That piece had been played and, as with a 
 concert programme, a new one was to come. 
 
 One of old Eberhard's sayings occurred to him : " When you 
 are not in the presence of royalty," were the old man's words, 
 " it esteems you as little better than the servants who wait out in 
 the vestibule, or on the steps, with warm mantles for their masters. 
 They go on playing, dancing, laughing and jesting ; but which of 
 them stops to think of those who are waiting outside, who have 
 aching legs and are overcome with sleep. But, nevertheless, there 
 you must be, and that without a murmur." 
 
 He felt a touch of Eberhard's deep scorn. He, too, was a serv- 
 ant who, while waiting in the ante-chamber, had been forgotten by 
 his master. 
 
 When, at a Lite hour, the king sent him word that he might re- 
 tire, he nodded his thanks. He has remembered you after all, 
 thought he to himself. Many thanks. Of course they would be 
 less ashamed of a companion in crime. 
 
414 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE mountains were still covered with the mists of morning, 
 when the king sent for Colonel Bronnen. 
 
 The latter entered with a respectful air. The king advanced 
 towards him and said : 
 
 "Good morning, dear Bronnen!" His voice was hoarse; he 
 looked pale and unrefreshed. He took a sheet of paper from the 
 table and said : 
 
 " There is the proof that I promised you. Read it." 
 
 Bronnen read it and looked at the king in astonishment. 
 
 " Do you know the handwriting ? " asked the king. 
 
 " I do not recognize the handwriting, but the great mind seems 
 lamiliar. I believe " 
 
 " You are right they are the last words that our lost friend left 
 for me." 
 
 With a certain air of solemnity, Bronnen again placed the letter 
 upon the table. He did not venture to say a w r ord. 
 
 " Be seated ; I see that you are agitated." 
 
 " Certainly, Your Majesty ; but, in spite of everything, these lines 
 only confirm my presentiment." 
 
 44 Your presentiment ? " 
 
 " Yes, Your Majesty ; a presentiment that Countess Irma is not 
 dead." 
 
 " Not dead ? and why ? " 
 
 " I know not what to say, but the proofs that were found in the 
 lake and on the shore serve rather to confirm than refute my 
 theory. They are too complete " 
 
 " You loved our friend ; I believe it," said the king ; " but you did 
 not fully understand her. Countess Irma was incapable of deceit ; 
 and have I not told you that boatmen saw the body of a woman 
 floating in the lake ? " 
 
 "Who knows what they may have seen? Nothing has been 
 found as yet." 
 
 "On what do you base your presentiments ? " 
 
 " It is fully consistent with my exalted opinion of that great 
 woman, to conceive of her having withdrawn to some convent, in 
 order to leave Your Majesty free. Yea, free and true." 
 
 "Free and true," said the king, repeating the words to himself. 
 " You utter words which seem irreconcilable, and yet they must be 
 reconciled. Bronnen, you mean to show me a new life-path, and 
 to remove the corpse that obstructs the way, so that, relieved of 
 my burden, I may pass on. But I have strength to listen to the 
 whole truth, and to decline all soothing deceit." 
 
 "Your Majesty, I have addressed you in all frankness and with 
 an utter disregard of all other considerations." 
 
 The king nodded gently, and Bronnen added : 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 415 
 
 " Be that as it may, these lines are the utterance of a great soul, 
 and the realization of these thoughts is an end worth dying for. 
 Now, Your Majesty, the weight must be lifted from your soul. 
 Your friend's death or disappearance has not imposed a burden 
 upon you ; it has liberated you. For the sake of our country and 
 the realization of the highest laws, she has departed." 
 
 " Free and true," said the king again, in a low voice. " I would 
 like, this very day, to change the legend on my coat of arms and 
 replace it with those words. But I will prove and to you alone 
 do I confess it I will prove that they dwell within me ! Yes, my 
 friend, I read those lines many a time during the night. When 
 they first appealed to me yesterday, I did not understand them ; but 
 now I do. Let us, as long as we live, quietly celebrate the mem- 
 ory of this day. You uttered an expression yesterday that startled, 
 nay, offended me." 
 
 "Your Majesty! " 
 
 " Calm yourself. You see we are friends. I promise you never 
 again to allow my displeasure to last over night." 
 
 " What expression ? " 
 
 " It was ' constitutional king ' ; and while, last night, I read this 
 letter again and again, that phrase was ever between the lines. 
 Can one be a sovereign and yet subject to the law ? Mark me, 
 Bronnen ; if I were in the presence of Eternal God, I could not 
 open my heart more freely. This expression of yours and our 
 friend's appeal aroused me. Can I remain a sovereign, a complete 
 man and king, and at the same time be fettered ? At last I 
 understood it. She says : ' Be one with the law, with your wife 
 and your people.' Is there free love in marriage ? Can there be a 
 free king in a constitutional government ? There lies the difficulty. 
 But I have conquered it. Fidelity is love awakened to itself. The 
 life I lead, my crown, my wife, indeed all that I possess, became 
 mine by virtue of my rank. Last night, I earned the right to call 
 them mine. To be able, in all moods, to hold fast to what has, 
 heretofore, only been the result of impulse ; to infuse new life into 
 one's actions, and to feel that they are in accord with one's self 
 Ah, you can have no idea of the spirits I wrestled with ; but I 
 conquered at last. 'Free and true,' is my motto for evermore." 
 
 Bronnen was deeply agitated, and, in his enthusiasm, rushed 
 towards the king. 
 
 " I have never bent the knee to human being, but now I should 
 like to " 
 
 " No, my friend," cried the king. " Come to my heart. Let us, 
 holding fast to one another, act and work together. I will prove 
 that a king can act freely, and that his freedom and his friendship 
 are something more than a mere fairy ideal. Yesterday, I felt as 
 if you were my father-confessor. It does me good to say this. I 
 have Come to know that the man whose hand and heart are impure 
 
416 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 is unfit to labor for the highest and noblest ends. There is no 
 greatness which is not based on true morality, and, in uttering these 
 words, I utter a verdict upon my past life. I am not ashamed to 
 acknowledge to you, what I have already said to myself. And now 
 let us, as men, consider what is best to be done." 
 
 Bronnen 's countenance seemed illumined with a ray of purest 
 joy. 
 
 "A bright, unclouded spirit is with us." 
 
 " Let her memory be held in honor." 
 
 " I do not mean her," said Bronnen. "When I spoke to Count 
 Eberhard, he said: 'Honor pledges us to morality; fame, still 
 more so ; and power, most of all.' " 
 
 The king and Bronnen discussed many other topics. With his 
 friend, the king could frankly and unreservedly show the change 
 which had taken place in him. But with the world, the court and 
 the country at large, it behooved him to avail himself of more 
 gradual methods. A king dare not publicly repent. 
 
 Bronnen was, in secret, appointed prime minister. 
 
 They remained at the hunting-seat and joined in the chase 
 They deemed it best to postpone their return to court long enough 
 to permit certain matters to settle themselves in the meanwhile. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ' ' T T IS MAJESTY desires me to assure you of his sincere sym- 
 11 pathy, and to say that if you wish to go away in order to 
 arrange your family affairs, to pursue investigations at the lake, or to 
 divert your thoughts by travel, you are at liberty to do so. Leave 
 of absence, for an indefinite period, will be sent after you." 
 
 These were the words with which the lord steward, who had 
 been sent to inform Bruno of his sister's death, concluded his 
 message. He pressed Bruno's hand, kissed him on both cheeks 
 and left. 
 
 As soon as he was out of doors, the lord steward fanned himself 
 with his pocket handkerchief. The dread task which had fallen to 
 his lot had greatly agitated him, but still he could not help admit- 
 ting that Bruno had received the terrible news with great com- 
 posure. 
 
 While the lord steward remained in the room, Bruno had sat on 
 a sofa in the comer, covering his face with his handkerchief, and 
 listening quietly and patiently to it all, as if it were the news of 
 some strange, remote event that in no way affected him. 
 
 But now he was alone again. He sat silent for awhile, uncon- 
 sciously playing with a scented note which he had received a little 
 while before. 
 
 Suddenly, he sprang from his seat as if crazed, seized a chair and 
 broke it. This seemed to do him good. Then, as if possessed by 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 417 
 
 a demon, he threw himself on the floor and lay there, raving, 
 writhing, and screaming fearfully. 
 
 The servant entered and, finding his master lying on the floor, 
 lifted him up. 
 
 " I 'm ill ! " said he. " No, I 'm not ill ! I won't be ill ! Go at 
 once to chamberlain Von Ross or to intendant Von Schoning, and 
 request one of those gentlemen to come to me directly. If my 
 wife enquires for me, say that I Ve gone out with the master of the 
 household." 
 
 The servant went away and Bruno stood at the window, looking 
 out into the street. The mist had disappeared and now revealed 
 the park in all its beauty. The gardener was removing the pots 
 (hat contained faded flowers, and replacing them with fresh ones. 
 Arabella's pet greyhound was sitting on the gravel path ; it looked 
 up at its master and, in token of its joy, jumped about and ran 
 around the arbor. 
 
 Although Bruno saw it all, he was thinking of something quite 
 different. 
 
 " Ha ha ! " he laughed, " I never thought that this world was 
 anything but an empty farce. He who frets away an hour is a fool. 
 Now I am quite free," said he, drawing himself up, "quite free. 
 Now there is no one on earth for whom I need care. World, I am 
 free and alone ! And now for seventy years to come, give me all 
 thy pleasures ! Thou can'st not harm me ! I trample everything 
 under foot ! " 
 
 He stopped to listen but no one came. 
 
 Bruno had always lived in society, but had never passed any time 
 in the society of his own .thoughts. Now, when he was lonely and 
 in mourning, they came to him neglected-looking companions 
 with an eager air and merry glances and cried : " Leave it all ; 
 come with us ! Let us be merry ! What avails your grieving ? 
 You will be old before your time." 
 
 He stood before a mirror, and they said to him : "See how hor- 
 rible you look." 
 
 He could not rid himself of his companions. They played merry 
 dances; they jingled their gold and cried: "va banque;" they 
 rattled the glasses and showed him voluptuous and seductive forms, 
 and he could hear rude and wanton laughter. They filled the 
 room ; they seized him and wanted to dance about with him , 
 but he stocd firm, clenching his fists and unable to go. And then 
 they ci ied to him : " We know you ! You are a silly boy and care 
 for what the world thinks. You have no courage ! Cheer up ! 
 Let them taunt you, but be merry, nevertheless. The day you 
 lose in fretting, no one can ever give back to you. Fie ! at 
 this begging for sympathy ! Go about and say : ' I 'm a poor man, 
 my father 's dead and my sister drowned herself.' Get some one 
 to make a song for you, and another to paint a little sign, and 
 1 8* 
 
418 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 wander about from fair to fair, asking for an alms. Fie ! fie ! You 
 must do one thing or the other : despise the world, or let it pity 
 you. Which do you choose? How often have you said: 'I 
 despise the world 'and what makes you afraid ? You are sitting 
 there, and would like to go out ; who closes the door ? who has 
 tied your horses' feet? You are alone. The dear friends, the 
 kind-hearted beings, the sympathizing souls, will come and say: 
 'Be tirm ; be a man; conquer your grief!' And what will the 
 dear souls do for you ? They will give you the alms of sympathy 
 and then leave you in solitude, while they go their way in search of 
 pleasure. As long as there is playing, dancing, drinking, they are 
 true and enduring friends ; but no feast will be put off for your 
 sake, nothing will be changed. If you mean to enjoy the world 
 you must despise mankind. They merely say to you : Be a man ' 
 -- but be one." 
 
 His thoughts worked him into a frenzy. The next few days 
 seemed a yawning unfathomable abyss staring him in the face. 
 All was empty, void, hollow, joyless, consuming solitude. 
 
 He was at last released, for the servant entered and announced 
 the intendant. 
 
 They had not been great friends, but now Bruno embraced the 
 intendant as if he were the only friend he had in the world, and lay 
 on his neck sobbing and begging him not to abandon him to soli- 
 tude. He raged and raved and, with a strange mixture of blas- 
 phemy and mocken-, reviled his fate. " Oh the terrible days that 
 await me ! " he exclaimed vehemently. 
 
 " Time heals all wounds," said the intendant. 
 
 " But to pass weeks, aye months, in mourning ! " cried Bruno 
 again. 
 
 The intendant started. He had received an insight into this 
 man's character. What grieved him most was the long period 
 during which he would have to seem to be in mourning. 
 
 It could not have happened at a more unfavorable time. 
 
 Bruno had entered two of his best horses for the races which 
 were to come off in a few days. He had intended to ride Zuleika 
 himself in a trotting match, and, for the great hurdle race, he had 
 carefully trained Fitz, his groom. The name was really Fritz, but 
 Fitz sounded better. Fitz, Baum's son, was a thorough rascal, in 
 whom his father took great pride. His future was assured, for 
 there was no doubt that if Fitz did not break his limbs, he would 
 be the first jockey in the stables. He sat his horse like a cat, and 
 it was impossible to throw him. 
 
 The weather was charming. There were just enough clouds to 
 shield one from the burning rays of the sun, and, during the night, 
 there had been a gentle rain which had improved the course. Fitz, 
 in his green and white suit, would surely win the first prize. Bruno 
 was not a little proud of Fitz's livery. He had, as it were, divided 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 419 
 
 him in two, from the crown of his head to his feet ; his dress was 
 grass-green on the right and snow-white on the left. What a pity 
 that there are but seven cardinal colors, thus affording so little 
 chance to indulge one's love of variety. But still, persistence can 
 accomplish much, and while Bruno held his handkerchief before 
 his face, he smiled at the thought of Fitz with one boot green and 
 the other white. 
 
 "Of course, I shan't ride," he said to the intendant. "Do you 
 think I ought to allow my jockey to do so ? I may do that ; may 
 I not ? " he hastily added, as if fearing a negative reply. " They 
 would think it mean of me, if I did n't. I have a large amount 
 staked on the race. I shall let Fitz ride. Yes, I must ; there 's 
 no harm in that." 
 
 He had scarcely finished speaking, when Fitz entered the room. 
 In a harsh voice, Bruno told him to go away. He was determined 
 to act as though he had forgotten all about the races. That would 
 prove his sorrow far more effectually than if he were to withdraw 
 his engagement. He would submit to the fine for non-appearance 
 and the world would thus perceive that his grief was deep enough 
 to make him forget everything. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE intendant sat on the sofa with Bruno. He held Bruno's 
 hand in his it was hot with fever. 
 
 Now that he had found the key to Bruno's character and 
 present mood, he knew what was meant when the mourner ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " I know how it is in the world. To-day and to-morrow there is 
 hunting at Wolfswinkel ; and day after to-morrow, the races. 
 I am only surprised that I did n't forget everything in that one 
 hour. His excellency Von Schnabelsdorf is now ' intellectualizing ' 
 with the handsome wife of ambassador Von N . After that, 
 conies guard-mounting, and, this evening, there will be a banque 
 at Prince Arnold's. Ah ! the world goes on in its beaten track. 
 If I could only forget it ; for it forgets me. Who has a thought for 
 the solitary mourner? Oh, forgive me, my beloved, my only friend 
 in this world ! You will stay with me ! You will never, never 
 leave me ! Do n't leave me alone, or I shall go mad ! " 
 
 The intendant felt sincere pity for the poor man. He had been 
 invited to dine with the master of the horse, and merely wished to 
 leave for a few moments in order to present his excuses in person. 
 But Bruno would not permit him to go, and induced him to send 
 his excuse in writing. 
 
 " Of course I '11 stay with you," said the intendant, consolingly. 
 " At such moments, the presence of a friend is like a light in the 
 night, obliging or, at all events, enabling one to see surrounding 
 
420 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 objects ; it teaches us that the world has not yet ceased to exist, 
 and that we do wrong to bury ourselves in solitude." 
 
 " Oh, you understand me ! Tell me what to do, what to begin ! 
 I know nothing. I am like a child that has lost its way in the dark 
 woods ! " 
 
 " Yes, that you are." 
 
 Bruno started. The intendant's confirmation of his opinion of 
 himself rather displeased him. 
 
 " I am so weak now," said he. "Just think of what I've had 
 to suffer during the last few days ! " 
 
 There was a strange mixture of gentleness and bitterness in his 
 tone. 
 
 "May I smoke?" he asked. 
 
 "Certainly. Do anything that pleases you." 
 
 "Ah, no! nothing pleases me. And yet I should like to 
 smoke." 
 
 He lit a cigar. 
 
 The world had, however, not quite forgotten him, as he had 
 said in his anger. A visitor was announced. He hurriedly put 
 the cigar away. The world was not to see him smoking, and was 
 not to imagine that he was unfeeling, or that he did not mourn for 
 his father and sister. 
 
 There were many visitors, and Bruno was again and again 
 obliged to display his grief and to accept the sympathy offered 
 him. He now saw how the rumor of Irma's death had spread 
 throughout the city, from the palace to the hovel. People whom 
 he hardly knew, and others who were even ill-disposed towards 
 him, came. He was obliged to receive all politely, to thank them, 
 and to accept their assurances of sympathy, while he fancied he 
 could detect malicious pleasure in many an eye. But he was 
 obliged to ignore this and, although now and then a nervous 
 twitching of his features almost betrayed him, he managed to keep 
 up the semblance of all-absorbing grief. 
 
 His companions in pleasure also visited him, and it was quite 
 curious to witness the grave air which the young cavaliers assumed, 
 now and then casting a glance at the great mirror in order to see 
 whether the serious expression became them well. It seemed al- 
 most comical to think that the man who was always the merriest 
 in the party, and who could make the best and most unequivocal 
 jokes, should now be so downcast. They seated themselves ; they 
 straddled the chairs and rested their arms on the backs ; they lit 
 iheir cigars, and much was said of their respective "papas." 
 
 " My papa has been dead this two years." 
 
 " My papa is ill." 
 
 "My papa intends to retire on his pension." 
 
 Some one asked : " Bruno how old was your father ? " 
 
 He did not know, but answ r ered at a venture : 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 421 
 
 "Sixty-three." 
 
 They also spoke of the races ; at first cautiously and almost in 
 a whisper, but afterward in a loud voice. They spoke of Baron 
 Wolfsbuchen's great loss. 
 
 " What happened to him ? " 
 
 " Fatima, his splendid black mare, would n't obey him, and he 
 struck her over the mouth with his sword. He had forgotten that 
 the blade was sharp." 
 
 They spoke of the loss that he had incurred by forfeiting the 
 stakes, and of the damage done his horse ; but no one found fault 
 with his cruelty. 
 
 At last his comrades left. As soon as they were out of doors, 
 they stretched themselves. "Well, well; that's over." A visit 
 of condolence is a sort of funeral parade, and one's words are like 
 muffled drums. Before they left the carpeted staircase, they be- 
 gan to whisper scandal, and to tell that Bruno had forbidden his 
 mother-in-law to come to the capital, as their majesties had been 
 gracious enough to stand as sponsors to his young scion. The 
 whole party concluded to lunch together, and have some wine. 
 There were merry goings on at the French restaurant, and Bru- 
 no was often the topic of conversation. 
 
 " He will be enormously rich, for he inherits a double share." 
 
 "If he had known as much a year ago, who knows whether he 
 would have married Steigeneck. His debts were not so heavy but 
 that he could have held out for another year." 
 
 "He also inherits his sister's jewels, and they are of immense 
 value." 
 
 As if he were two beings in one, the one here and the other 
 there, Bruno's thoughts followed the companions who had left him. 
 He surmised what they were saying, and once started as if he had 
 heard laughing behind him. It was nothing, however, but his sis- 
 ter's parrot which he had ordered to be brought into his ante-room. 
 He had it taken back to Irma's apartment, as he did not know 
 whether it really belonged to her, and its eternal " God keep you, 
 Irma," annoyed him. 
 
 He walked about the room for a long while, with his thumbs 
 stuck into his closely buttoned coat, and his fingers playing a 
 merry but inaudible tune upon his breast. The visits of condolence 
 really annoyed him. It is so irksome to put on a sorrowful look 
 to listen to words of consolation, to offer thanks for sympathy, 
 while all is a lie or, at most, an empty form It is simply one's 
 duty to express sympathy with the afflicted. Perhaps people regret 
 that they cannot, in such cases, send their empty carriages, as they 
 do at funerals Is it not enough to let the world know that the 
 grief was great and general, and that the funeral was a large one ? 
 These were Bruno's angry and ill-natured thoughts. " Then they 
 go off," thought he, "the young and the old, in uniform and in 
 
422 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 citizen's dress, twisting their moustaches and stroking their chins, 
 with a self-complacent air, while they say to themselves : ' You Ve 
 done a good deed ; you are a man of politeness and feeling ' and 
 when they get home they tell their wives and daughters : ' The 
 king's aid-de-camp is thus and so ' and then they eat and drink 
 and drive out, and when they reach the house they say: '\Ve 
 ought to feel satisfied when everything goes well with us, and our 
 family escapes misfortune.' They use the misfortunes of others as 
 they would a platform, from which to get a better view of their own 
 prosperity." Bruno's fingers moved yet more quickly than before 
 death, grief, sickness were intended for the lower orders, and 
 not for the higher classes. The world is miserably arranged after 
 all, since there is no preservative against such ills, and since one 
 cannot purchase immunity from them. 
 
 His excellency Von Schnabelsdorf also came. Bruno hated him 
 at heart, for it was he who had invented the sobriquet of "Miss 
 Mother-in-law " for Baroness Steigeneck, the whilom dancer. 
 Bruno, however, felt obliged to act as if he knew nothing of it, to 
 take his hand in the most polite and grateful manner, and to re- 
 ceive a kiss from the lips which had put a stigma upon his family ; 
 for Von Schnabelsdorf stood highest at court, and Bruno could not 
 do without his friendship, which was doubly necessary, now that his 
 main support, his sister, had been taken from him. 
 
 Thus Bruno felt annoyed at the visits of condolence he received, 
 as well as at those which were withheld. The world was consid- 
 erate enough to refrain from alluding to anything more than Irma's 
 sudden and unfortunate death ; how she was thrown from her 
 horse and fell into the lake. The vice-master of the horse main- 
 tained that Pluto had never properly been broken in. Bruno, him- 
 self, behaved as if he really believed that Irma had met with her 
 death by accident. 
 
 But it seemed as if he delighted to picture to himself the 
 scene of the suicide and to think of Irma at the bottom of the 
 lake, held fast to the rocks by her long hair. He could not ban- 
 ish the awful picture, and at last threw open the window, so that 
 he might divert himself with external objects. 
 
 Bruno did not care to eat or drink anything ; the intendant could 
 only induce him to take some food, by ordering dinner for himself. 
 Bruno felt obliged to sit down with him, and, at every mouthful, he 
 said : " I can't eat." At last, however, he ordered some cham- 
 pagne. 
 
 " I must build a fire in my engine ! " said he, gnashing his teeth, 
 while he thrust the bottle into the wine-cooler. " I derive as little 
 pleasure from this as the engine does from the coals." 
 
 He drank down the wine hastily and went on eating, with a woe- 
 begone expression, as if he would, at any moment, burst intd 
 tears. 
 
Inrol 4 " 
 
 ON THE H. 
 
 He ordered more champagne. 
 
 " Did you see that? " said he, looking out )f the window. His 
 eyes were inflamed. "There's Kreuter, the merchant, riding 
 Count Klettenheim's chestnut gelding. They must have played 
 high last night, that the Count should give up his horse ; why, it 's 
 the pride of his life, his honor. What is Klettenheim without his 
 gelding. A mere cipher, a double zero. Ah, my dear friend, ex- 
 cuse me ! I am feverish, I am ill. But I won't be ill ! I ^hall 
 say nothing more. Go on ; say whatever you please." 
 
 The intendant had nothing to say. He felt as ill-at-tase as if he 
 were shut up in a dungeon with a maniac. 
 
 " I wish to speak with lackey Baum," cried Bruno, suddenly. 
 The intendant was obliged to dispatch a telegram to the summer 
 palace, asking that Baum should be sent to the king's aid-de- 
 camp. 
 
 Bruno let down the curtains, ordered lights and more wine, and 
 gave orders that no one should be admitted. The intendant was 
 in despair, but Bruno exclaimed : 
 
 " My dear friend, everything on earth is suicide, with this differ- 
 ence, however here, one can always come to life again. The hour 
 one kills is the only one that is rightly spent." 
 
 The intendant feared an outbreak of delirium, but Bruno was 
 not one of those cavaliers who have only as much mind as the 
 champagne they have just tossed down inspires them with and 
 who, at best, can only write a gallant billet-doux or devise a 
 witty impropriety. At other times, Bruno would have laughed at 
 the man who would ask him to adopt a system as his own, and yet 
 he now asserted that he had one and, filling his glass again, ex- 
 claimed : " Yes, my friend ; there are only two kinds of human 
 beings in the world." 
 
 " Men and women ? " said the intendant, who thought it best to 
 fall in with his vein, in order more easily to divert him from it. 
 
 " Pshaw ! " interrupted Bruno. " Who is speaking of such things ? 
 Listen, my friend ; the two human species are those who enjoy and 
 those who suffer. He who lives for so-called ideas for the good, 
 the beautiful, the true. The man with an ideal may sacrifice his 
 life, or be burnt at the stake. It is his duty. His life is a short 
 and uneventful one, but is compensated by the long and enduring 
 remembrance in which he is held by posterity. That balances the 
 reckoning. Is it not so ? " 
 
 The intendant was obliged to assent. What could he do ? 
 
 "And the second species," added Bruno, "includes ourselves 
 those who enjoy. The best thing in the world is enjoyment with- 
 out consequences. After I have been smoking, gaming or listen- 
 ing to music, I can do anything ; nothing disturbs me then. Other 
 pleasures unfortunately have consequences. One ought to have no 
 family- no family by all means, no family." 
 
424 tXV THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Bruno suddenly burst into tears. The intendant was at a loss 
 how to help him, and reproached himself for not" having induced 
 Bruno to refrain from drinking and talking. Bruno threw his head 
 back, and the intendant wrapped a piece of ice in a handkerchief 
 and laid it on his forehead. 
 
 " Thanks ! " said Bruno, closing his eyes ; " thanks ! " 
 
 He was soon asleep. 
 
 The servant entered. Bruno awoke. The intendant drew aside 
 the curtains and opened the windows. It was high noon. 
 
 Word came that Baum had already started off with Doctor Six- 
 tus, the court physician. "Then we will go without them,'' said 
 Bruno, who had regained his composure. 
 
 "We?" 
 
 " You see, my grief makes me think that I have already told you 
 everything. We must go to the lake to look for traces of my un- 
 fortunate sister. - Have I really said nothing of this to you before ? " 
 
 " No but I am at your service. I will ask for leave of absence 
 for myself and for you, too," 
 
 "There 's no need of that. His majesty has already offered it 
 to me. Your Majesty is very gracious very. Do you think we 
 serve you ? Ha, ha ! we only serve you because we can enjoy 
 ourselves better, and in more varied ways, at your court. You are 
 our host, and do not mind stealthily taking a tit-bit yourself, behind 
 the bar I beg of you, my dear friend what dii I say ? You 
 heard nothing did you ? It was delirium ! I am growing mad ! I 
 must go out ! Let us start this very day ! " 
 
 The intendant consented and left him for an hour, in order to 
 arrange various matters before his departure. 
 
 Bruno ordered his trunks to be packed and gave instructions 
 that two saddle-horses should be sent to the lake at once. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 BRUXO was standing in his room, surrounded by luggage 
 of various shapes, when a servant announced his gracious 
 mother-in law. 
 
 ' "She here? And in spite of my prohibition?" thought he to 
 himself. "Show her in," he said to the servant, who quickly 
 threw open the folding doors, and closed them again w'hen the 
 lady had entered. "Ah, my dear mother!" exclaimed Bruno, 
 who was about to hurry forward to embrace her, but she coolly 
 offered him her hand and said : 
 
 Xo, no," and then, seating herself on a sofa, she continued : 
 
 ' Draw near ; take a seat." 
 
 'Do you know ? " enquired Bruno. 
 
 ' I know all ; you need tell me nothing." 
 
 'I thank you for coming to offer me your sympathy." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 425 
 
 " I 'm delighted I meant to say that I feel comforted to find 
 you so composed. Arabella knows nothing as yet? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "Nor need she know of it. What is the meanir.g of all this 
 luggage ? " 
 
 Bruno looked at her in astonishment. Who had any right to 
 enquire, and in such a tone ? 
 
 "I 'm going on a journey," he answered bluntly, and then, in 
 order to prevent a scene, he added in a gentle tone : " As her 
 brother, I must make enquiries in regard to the accident." 
 
 "I ppprove of that; it 's quite proper," replied the Baroness. 
 " Have you already had an understanding with him ? You do n't 
 seem to understand me, as you do n't answer ; I mean with this 
 king." 
 
 " Yes," replied Bruno boldly, " but I have pledged my word to let 
 it go no further." 
 
 " Very well, I respect your discretion ; but now, a frank word 
 with you. Please close the portiere." 
 
 Bruno did as he was ordered, but ground his teeth as he walked 
 towards the door. When he returned again, his manner was as 
 polite and attentive as before. 
 
 " Proceed," said he, " no one hears us ; a mourner listens to you 
 patiently." 
 
 " A mourner ! We have greater cause to mourn than you have. 
 We thought we had allied ourselves with one of the best families 
 in the land." Bruno started as if angry. 
 
 " Pray drop your acting for the present," continued the Bar- 
 oness, whose voice and appearance had changed. " We are alone 
 now, and unmasked. In spite of the outward show of politeness, 
 you have never treated me with the respect which I have a right to 
 demand Do n't contradict me ; please let me finish what I am 
 about to say: When I calmly reflected on the matter, I was 
 not angry with you on that account. I knew my position. But now, 
 my dear son-in-law, matters have changed. I was what your 
 sister was, but I never feigned virtue. The world esteemed me at 
 my true value " 
 
 Bruno heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 The Baroness continued, grinding her teeth with anger as she 
 spoke : 
 
 " When your sister was so kind to us, I could have knelt to her 
 in humility. She must give me back my humility, though she be 
 : n hell ! It was not she who was the better ; it was I But now, 
 my son-in-law, your disdainful behavior must cease. Let me tell 
 you, you ought to feel glad that we 've allied ourselves with you. 
 But we shall never let you feel it ; that is, if you conduct ycurself 
 in a becoming manner." 
 
 " And am I not doing so ? " asked Bruno, who, during this at- 
 tack, had entirely lost his self-command. 
 
426 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " We will see ; but, first of all, let me tell you that, after this, I 
 shall reside with Arabella as often and as long as I choose to. 
 This insipidly moral queen has been taught a lesson, too. At 
 present, however, I have no desire to appear at court. But the 
 social circle is open to me I shall enter it, arm in arm with you, 
 my amiable, my gallant son." 
 
 The old woman rose and, bowing gracefully, offered her arm to 
 Bruno. The latter took his mother-in-law's hand in his own and 
 held it to his lips. 
 
 " Fie ! you 've been drinking wine, in your grief! " cried the old 
 danseuse, hurriedly putting her fine and strongly-perfumed hand- 
 kerchief to her lips. 
 
 " Miss Mother-in-law " the words were on the end of Bruno's 
 tongue ; he would like to have hurled them at her. Steps were 
 heard. A moment afterward, the intendant entered, his presence 
 serving as a great relief to Bruno. 
 
 " I beg pardon ! do n't let me disturb you," said he, when he 
 saw Bruno's mother-in law. 
 
 "You 're not disturbing us," replied Bruno, quickly. "In spite 
 of a violent attack of fever, our dear mother, now our grandmother, 
 has hastened to console us. I am fortunate in still having a few 
 faithful relatives, and a friend like yourself. I shall now live entirely 
 for the. family still left me." 
 
 The Baroness nodded a pleased assent. She was thoroughly 
 satisfied with Bruno's first rehearsal of his new role. 
 
 " We shan't leave to-day? " enquired the intendant. 
 
 " Yes, yes. We must not lose another minute." 
 
 The mother-in-law undertook to tell Arabella of Bruno's de- 
 parture, and to inform her that he had been sent away on public 
 business. 
 
 While slowly drawing on his black gloves, Bruno thanked his 
 mother-in-law.' He thanked her sincerely, for while he well knew 
 that he was about to enter upon a state of dependence, and that 
 her presence in his house would prove distasteful to him in many 
 ways, he, at the same time, consoled himself with the hope that 
 she would prove a companion to his wife, and that he could thus 
 absent himself from home more frequently, and for longer periods, 
 than he had before done ; for he felt it not a little irksome to be 
 obliged to spend so much of his time with his wife. The leave- 
 taking was short, but hearty. Bruno was permitted to kiss his 
 mother-in-law's cheek. After he got into the carriage, he rubbed 
 his lips till they were almost sore, in order to wipe the rouge off 
 of them. 
 
 It was already evening when they drove off, and they passed the 
 night at the first posting-house. Bruno lay down on the bed to 
 rest himself "for a little while," but he did not awake until late 
 the following mnrning. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 427 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE queen, overcome with grief, lay sleeping in her apart- 
 ment. 
 
 The court ladies were gathered together on the terrace under 
 the weeping ash, and did not care to leave one another. It seemed 
 as if a fear of ghosts oppressed them all. It was but a few days 
 since Irma had been in their midst. She had been sitting in the 
 chair without a back she never leaned against anything The seat 
 she had occupied remained empty, and if the paths were not 
 freshly raked every morning, her foot-print would still be there. 
 And now she had vanished from the world. Her light had been 
 extinguished and in so terrible a manner. Who could tell how long 
 her ghost might haunt the palace and what mischief it might do. 
 The world, at last, knew what had been going on. 
 
 Th^ ladies were busily engaged at their embroidery. At other 
 times, they would take turns in reading aloud ; but to-day their 
 book it was a French novel, of course remained untouched. 
 They were intensely interested in the story, but no one ventured to 
 propose that the reading should be gone on with, nor did sustained 
 conversation seem possible. Now and then a voice was heard : 
 "Dear Clotilde," "dearest Hannah, can you lend me some violet, 
 or some pale green?" "Oh, I tremble so, that I cannot thread 
 my needle ; have you a needle-threader? " 
 
 It was, fortunately, at hand. They were, none of them, willing 
 to appear so little moved as to be able to thread a needle. 
 
 They deplored Irma's fate, and it did them good to be able to 
 show how kind and merciful they were. They felt happy in being 
 able to accord their pious forgiveness to the unhappy one, and, 
 since they had been so gentle and forgiving, they felt it their right 
 to denounce her crime the more severely. It was thus they 
 avenged themselves for the self-humiliation they had endured ; 
 for, while Irma was the prime favorite, they had paid greater 
 homage to her than to the queen. 
 
 They never mentioned the royal couple except in terms of re- 
 spect with all their apparent confidence, they distrusted each 
 other. They felt that there was trouble ahead, but that it was best 
 for them to appear unconscious of it. 
 
 Countess Brinkenstein was the only one who had a good word 
 to say for Irma. 
 
 "Her father was greatly to blame," said she; "it was he .vho 
 instilled this belief into Irma." 
 
 " And yet he had her educated at the convent." 
 
 " But she inherited from him a contempt for all forms and tra- 
 ditions, and that was her misfortune. She had a lovely disposition, 
 was richly endowed by nature, and her heart was free from the 
 slightest trace of envy or ill-r ature." 
 
428 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 No one ventured to contradict Countess Brinkenstein. Per 
 haps, thought they, etiquette requires us to speak well of Irma and 
 to forget her terrible deed. 
 
 "Who knows whether her brother would have married the 
 Steigeneck, if he had known that he was to inherit everything !" 
 softly whispered a delicate and languishing little lady to her neigh- 
 bor, while she bent over her wool-basket. 
 
 The one whom she had addressed looked at her with a sad, yet 
 grateful expression. She had once loved Count Bruno and still 
 loved him. 
 
 " I have a book of hers." 
 
 "And I have one of her drawings." 
 
 "And I have some of her music." 
 
 They shuddered at the thought of possessing articles which had 
 once been hers, and determined that everything should be sent to 
 her brother. 
 
 " I passed her rooms, early this morning," said Princess An- 
 gelica's maid of honor she always seemed as if half-frozen and 
 rubbed her hands and breathed on her finger-tips while she spoke 
 " the windows were open. I saw the lonely parrot in his cage, 
 and he kept calling out ; ' God keep you, Irma.' It was dreadful." 
 
 They all shuddered, and yet they felt a secret satisfaction in 
 dwelling on the subject. The pious court lady joined the circle, 
 and mentioned that Doctor Sixtus had just taken leave of her, 
 that he had started for the Highlands, that Fein, the notary, had 
 accompanied him, that he had also taken Baum along, and that 
 they meant to search for the body of Countess Irma. 
 
 " Will he bring her here, or to Wildenort castle ? " 
 
 " How terrible, to be gaped at in death by common people ! " 
 
 "Horrible ! it makes me shudder." 
 
 " Pray let me have your vinaigrette." 
 
 A bottle of English smelling-salts was passed round the circle. 
 
 " And to have every bystander volunteer a funeral sermon ! " 
 
 " How improper to take one's life in so public a manner ! " 
 
 " If there were no horrid newspapers," whined the freezing 
 court lady. 
 
 The conversation gradually assumed a more cheerful tone. 
 
 "Ah me!" exclaimed a pert and pretty court lady, "how we 
 were all obliged to ' enthuse ' about the beauties of nature and the 
 
 fenial traits of the lower orders during her life and reign. Now, 
 imagine one may at last venture to say that nature 's a bore, and 
 that the lower orders are horrid, without being regarded as a 
 heretic." 
 
 In spite of the malice that flavored it, they found the remark 
 both just and appropriate. In a little while they were all convers- 
 ing and laughing, just as if nothing had happened. 
 A wanton boy has shot a sparrow. The rest of the flock arc 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 429 
 
 very sad and pipe and prate about the matter for a while ; but soon 
 they hop about again, and chirrup as merrily as before. 
 
 To give truth its due, it is necessary to state that many of the 
 ladies would have been glad to speak well of Irma, but they kept 
 such feelings in the background. Of all things in the world, they 
 dreaded showing themselves sentimental. 
 
 It was not until Countess Brinkenstein again began to speak that 
 the rest of the company became more calm and dignified than they 
 had been. 
 
 Countess Brinkenstein's demeanor seemed to say : " I am, un- 
 fortuntely, the one who prophesied it all ; and now that it has all 
 come to pass as I said it would, I am not in the least proud of it." 
 It was both her right and her duty to speak compassionately of 
 Irma, and yet, at the same time, mildly to point a moral. 
 
 " Eccentricity ! Ah yes, eccentricity !" said she. " Poor Countess 
 Wildenort ! The publicity of her deed is, in itself, a serious offense ; 
 but do not let us, while thinking of her terrible fate, forget that she 
 was undeniably possessed of many good traits. She was beautiful, 
 anxious to please every one, and yet without a trace of coquetry. 
 She possessed intellect and wit, but she never used them to slander 
 others. A poor eccentric creature ! " 
 
 This disposed of Irma, and the other court ladies had, at the 
 same time, received a lesson. 
 
 The eyes of all were directed towards the valley. 
 
 " There goes the carriage ! " they said. Doctor Sixtus saw the 
 ladies and saluted them. The notary sat by his side, and Baum 
 sat opposite. He was too tired to sit up on the box. " It is 
 scarcely a year since we made this same journey together," said 
 Sixtus to Baum. 
 
 Baum was not in a talkative mood ; he was too tired. After 
 great preparations, he had that day passed his examination, and 
 could say to himself that he had not come off without honor. Al- 
 though he was not accustomed to find himself inside of the car- 
 riage, he yet thought he might take it for granted that this would 
 henceforth be his place. He was about to become a different, a 
 more exalted personage. He had, indeed, become such already- 
 all that was needed was the outward token. He would have been 
 willing to remain a simple lackey. Perhaps the king desired to 
 have it so, lest he might betray himself. He was willing to let him 
 have his own way, even in this. He and the king knew how they 
 stood towards each other. He smiled to himself, and felt like a 
 girl whose lover has declared his affection for her ; the formal woo- 
 ing can take place at any time. 
 
 When Doctor Sixtus helped himself to a cigar, Baum was at 
 once ready with a light. That, however, was, for the present, his 
 last act of service. Nature was not to be overcome and Baum was 
 imnolite enough to fall asleen in the nresence of the gentlemen. 
 
430 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 But he was so well schooled that, even while asleep, he sat up 
 right and ready at any moment to obey their commands. 
 
 It was not until they halted, that Baum awoke. The notary's 
 searching questions greatly disturbed his comfort. What matters 
 the death of a countess, thought he, if one can rise by means of it. 
 He was greatly aA^yed that his family his mother, his brother 
 and his sister w'OJS'rnixed up in the affair: and had n't Thomas 
 said something alrout the death of Esther, or was it merely a 
 dream ? Events had succeeded each other so rapidly that they 
 quite bewildered him. 
 
 Doctor Sixtus apologized to the notary for Baum's disconnected 
 narrative. 
 
 Baum looked at him in amazement. Did he already know that 
 Baum was about to be advanced, and did he mean to curry favor 
 with him ? He was cunning enough to think of such a thing. 
 
 Baum resolved, for the present, only to show the spot where he 
 had found the hat and shoes, and to leave his mother and brother 
 entirely out of the affair. At all events, he would not drag them 
 into it, and suggested that they should take the forester with them. 
 They found him at last, and then wended their way towards the 
 assize town in which Doctor Kumpan lived. 
 
 Sixtus sent for the latter. He soon came to the inn, and the 
 jolly fellow was lavish in his praise of Countess Irma. He thought 
 it greatly to her credit that she had had courage to live and die as 
 she chose. Besides that, Kumpan delighted in joking his friend, 
 in regard to the great missions on which he had been employed, 
 looking up wet nurses and hunting corpses. He asked for the 
 privilege of being permitted to dissect the Countess. 
 
 Doctor Sixtus did not in the least relish the coarse humor of 
 his former fellow student. Doctor Kumpan told him of the great 
 change that had taken place in Walpurga's circumstances, that 
 she and the rest of her family had moved far away to the Highlands, 
 near the frontier. He also told him several very funny stories at 
 Hansei's expense, and especially about the wager for six measures 
 of wine. 
 
 Sixtus informed his comrade that Walpurga was no longer a 
 favorite at court, and that it would soon be proven that she had 
 been the mediator. Although he spoke in an undertone, Baum 
 heard every word. After Sixtus had made this disclosure to Kum- 
 pan, he felt sorry for what he had done, but it was just because 
 they had so few subjects in common, that he had told him the very 
 matters he desired to keep from him. All that remained was to 
 make his friend promise not to mention a word of the affair, and 
 Kumpan always was a man of his word. 
 
 After Kumpan had left, Baum went up to Sixtus again and told 
 him that he thought it would be well to go to Walpurga, as she 
 might know something of the affair ; but Sixtus replied that the 
 

 ON THE HEIGHTS. 431 
 
 journey would be a useless one and that Baum was to remain 
 with him. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 ON the following morning, Bruno would Jive liked to return. 
 What was the use of it all ? Was he ttlkt the fable of the 
 little brother and sister over again, and to be tne little brother who 
 had gone in search of his sister ? And what would be the result ? 
 A dreadful, agitating sight one which he could never banish from 
 his memory. It would haunt him in his dreams a bloated, dis- 
 figured corpse with open mouth. 
 
 Bruno cast an injured look upon the friend who congratulated 
 him on having slept so well, and on having thus gained new 
 strength for the trials the day might have in store for him. Bruno 
 looked at the intendant with feelings of anger and distrust. He felt 
 almost certain that this man regarded the whole occurrence as a 
 tragic drama, which would have to be mounted for the stage. It 
 was evident to him that the intendant was using this as a study, of 
 which he would avail himself in future scenic representations, and 
 that he was observing his every gesture and feature, so that he 
 might be able to instruct the actors under him ; so that he might 
 say : " Thus does one pose himself, and thus does one groan when 
 he finds his sister's corpse Am I to be this puppet's puppet ? 
 No, never ! " 
 
 Bruno would have liked, best of all, to have journeyed back to 
 his mother-in-law, even if he had to succumb to her. He could 
 convert his humility into gallantry, and, at all events, would be 
 spared these terrible sights. But here was his friend encouraging 
 him to neglect nothing which fraternal duty demanded of him. 
 Oh ! these people of feeling are the most abominable of mortals, 
 for they take everything so seriously. Do they really mean all they 
 say ? Who knows ? Every one in the world is merely playing a 
 part, after all. 
 
 He must go on, and he saw what was in store for him. This 
 terrible friend with the strong sense of duty and, after all, he was 
 not his friend this man, whom he had inflicted on himself, would 
 force him to spend days, searching for horrors which he had no 
 desire to find. They drove on, in an ill-humor. 
 
 The intendant, finding that Bruno would formally thank him for 
 every little service declared : 
 
 "I beg of. you, don't thank me. I am only doing my duty to 
 my friend and to myself. You know that I once loved your sister, 
 and that she rejected my suit." 
 
 He was discreet enough to refrain from adding that he had after- 
 ward rejected her offer, and Bruno groaned inwardly at his cruel 
 discretion. 
 
432 O.V THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The intendant found Bruno quiet and reserved. Concluding 
 that this was the natural reaction from the excitement of the pre- 
 vious day, he, too, remained silent. Bruno often looked at the in- 
 tendant, as if he were a gaoler leading him to the place of pun- 
 ishment. 
 
 They drove on rapidly. At the different post-houses, where 
 they stopped to change horses, the intendant would fluently con- 
 verse with the postilions and the innkeepers in their native dialect. 
 Several of them knew him. 
 
 To his great alarm, it suddenly occurred to Bruno that he had 
 the saloon warbler with him. He was perfectly at home here, and 
 would now have a chance to display the treasures of his dialect 
 wardrobe, to pursue his studies, and revel in the pleasure which 
 trne rude dialect of the region afforded him. 
 
 His friend, for this was the only term by which he dared char- 
 acterize him, was now in his element, and found it no easy matter 
 to refrain from expressing his delight thereat. 
 
 At length they reached the last mountain and saw, from afar, the 
 mirror-like surface of the lake, surrounded by gigantic mountains 
 and sparkling in the golden sunshine. 
 
 "Do you see that maple tree, over there ?" said the intendant, 
 no longer able to contain himself, "there to the left, by the small 
 rock that is the point from which I sketched the painting that 
 hangs in her majesty's music-room." 
 
 The friend had imagined that this remark might help to create 
 a calmer mood in Bruno, so that the terrible idea of his sister's 
 having sought her death below that very spot, might not at once 
 obtrude itself. 
 
 Bruno looked at him with an impatient air. Every one thinks 
 of himself, said an inner voice, and this coxcomb is now thinking 
 of his daubs. He remained silent, however, for silence was more 
 expressive of grief than words could be. He rubbed his eyes, for 
 the dazzling reflection of the sun's rays on the surface of the lake 
 had made them ache. His friend grasped his hand and silently 
 pressed it. He had understood this fraternal heart, and his glance 
 meant : others may think you superficial and frivolous, but I know 
 you better. 
 
 From the landing near by, they could hear the neighing of Bruno's 
 horses, which were there in charge of his grooms. And now, 
 for the first time, Bruno felt a sense of shame in the presence of 
 his servants. They, of course, knew even-thing, and how they 
 must have talked about it in the tap-room. He was full of anger 
 at the sister who had inflicted all this upon him. 
 
 The first information they received at the inn was that old Zenza 
 had been there. She had endeavored to sell or to pawn the ring 
 which the maid of honor had given her on the night before she 
 had drowned herself. As they all regarded the ring as stolen, she 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 433 
 
 could obtain nothing for it. It was now decided that Zenza must 
 know more. They took a guide and walked along the mountain 
 path that led towards her hut. 
 
 Bruno, being a huntsman, was usually a good climber, but to-day 
 he felt as if he would break down at every step, and was often 
 obliged to stop and rest. 
 
 His friend encouraged him and they walked on through the 
 sunny forest, where the light shone brightly on the soft moss, while 
 many a hawk uttered its shrill cry overhead. 
 
 At the crossing of the roads, they encountered a party of ladies 
 and gentlemen ; they were in city dress and had adorned their hats 
 with green branches and garlands. Bruno hurriedly stepped aside 
 from the path. The intendant, however, was recognized by a 
 former colleague of his, and Bruno heard him say that the guests 
 of a little watering place in the neighborhood were making an ex- 
 cursion to see the place where Countess Wildenort had drowned 
 herself. The party passed on and their loud and cheerful talk was 
 heard from afar. 
 
 At last they reached the hut. It was closed. They knocked at 
 the door, A growl was the only answer they received, and the 
 next moment they heard some one dashing a bolt back. 
 
 A neglected looking, yet powerful man, with a wild, dishevelled 
 appearance, stood before them. 
 
 Thomas recognized Bruno at once and exclaimed : 
 
 " Ah, Wildenort ! it 's well you Ve come. I take my hat off to 
 you, for you 're an out-and-out man. What matters one's father ! 
 When he 's dying, ride off; one can't help him die, you know. 
 Ho, ho ! you 're a splendid fellow. No one cares for the old lum- 
 ber any more." 
 
 "What do you want of me?" asked Bruno, with tremulous 
 voice. 
 
 " I shan't harm you ; there 's my hand on it. I r ll do you no 
 harm. You let the king do what he chooses and make no fuss 
 about it, and so I shall do you no harm, for what you 've done in 
 the same line of business. You 're my king. I got it out of her 
 at the very last, that you were the one, and that, because it was 
 you, she had helped your sister. You know what I mean, well 
 enough. I shan't say a word. The stupid world need n't know 
 what there is between us. Sister, king; poacher, count it 's all as 
 it should be." 
 
 "This man seems crazed," said the intendant to the guide. 
 "What do you want? Let go of the gentleman ! " he called out 
 to Thomas. 
 
 " Is that your lackey ? Where 's the one with the coal black 
 
 hair? Let us alone," said Thomas, turning to the intendant, "we 
 
 understand each other very well. Do n't we, brother ? You 're a 
 
 brother, and I 'in one, too. Ha ! the world 's wisely arranged ! 
 
 - 19 
 
434 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 You must n't think I 've been drinking ; I 've taken something, it 's 
 true, but that doesn't hurt me I 'm as sober as a judge. Now 
 let me tell you what my plan is : I '11 listen to reason, to anything 
 that 's fair and just ; I can see that you 're a decent fellow, for you 
 come to me of your own accord." 
 
 "We wish to enquire whether you know anything of the lady in 
 the blue riding-habit who was here ? " said the intendant in the 
 proper dialect. 
 
 "Ho, ho!" cried Thomas, "how finely he talks; but I can 
 understand priest German, and judge's German, too. I 've had 
 enough to do with those people already. But you 'd better not in- 
 terfere ; " and then, turning to Bruno, he added : " Let us two 
 talk together, alone. Now listen, brother ; this is what we '11 do : 
 You need n't make a count of me ; all you need do is to give me 
 sen-ants and horses, and enough money and chamois and deer, 
 and you '11 soon see how clever and strong and hearty I am. 
 Would you like to wrestle with me ? or come out into the woods, 
 and I '11 show you that I can shoot better than you can. Now, all 
 you need do is to give me either your sister's inheritance or my 
 sister's, and you '11 see we '11 be a couple of merry brothers ! " 
 
 Bruno hardly knew whether he was dreaming or awake. Some 
 of the insolent fellow's words were clear enough to him, others he 
 could not understand. He motioned the intendant to withdraw, 
 and then said in a gentle voice : 
 
 "Thomas, I know you now ; sit down." 
 
 Thomas seated himself on the bench, and, raising the brandy jug 
 which he had bought with the money received for the hat, said : 
 
 " Won 't you drink something ? " 
 
 Bruno declining, Thomas took a long draught. 
 
 The intendant said to Bruno, in French, that there was no infor- 
 mation to be obtained from that quarter, and that he had secretly 
 charged the guide to hold fast to the wild fellow so that, unmo- 
 lested, they might return to the valley. 
 
 ' What sort of gibberish is the simpleton talking, there? " cried 
 Thomas, preparing to rush at the intendant. At the same mo- 
 ment, the guide threw himself on Thomas, and held him fast, 
 while the two gentlemen left the hut and hurried down the moun- 
 tain. 
 
 It was not until the guide again came up with them, that they 
 paused and Bruno ventured to draw a long breath. The guide 
 now told them how Thomas had raged, and how he had called out 
 for the gun which he had hidden in the wood, and that he had said 
 he must shoot his brother-in-law. 
 
 " The best thing the fellow r could do," said the guide, " would be 
 to drink himself to death, so as to save himself from being hanged." 
 
 After some time, Bruno ventured to ask the intendant, in a 
 whisper, whether they had not proceeded far enough with their 
 investigation, and whether it was not best to return at once. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 435 
 
 The intendant was silent. Bruno looked at him again with that 
 bitter expression which might also pass for- grief. 
 
 The intendant, who saw' that Bruno was almost broken down, 
 consented to return. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 1^ H E two friends returned to the inn. On their way, they met one 
 of the grooms who had brought their horses, and who now told 
 them of a boatman .who had informed him that the body of a wo- 
 man had been dragged from the lake. It had been near the vil- 
 lage, of which a few scattered houses and the church steeple 
 were visible on the opposite shore. 
 
 The intendant embraced Bruno, who seemed staggered at the 
 news. They sat down for awhile, in the very spot where they had 
 been when the news reached them. The groom said that, by boat, 
 they could reach the village in one hour ; but that if they went by 
 land, it would take them several hours. 
 
 " I can't cross the water," said Bruno, " I can't to-day ; Schoning, 
 do n't ask it of me ! Do n't force me ! Why do you torment me 
 so ? " he asked, impatiently. , 
 
 The intendant well knew that deep grief makes men unreason- 
 able. In the dark depths of their hearts, there still lurks a feeling 
 of anger, even towards those who most thoroughly sympathize 
 with them, but who, themselves, have been spared by misfortune. 
 
 " I take no offense at anything you do," he replied, "and though 
 you treat me rudely, I shall bear it. I understand you, and am far 
 from wishing to induce you to cross the lake. We '11 ride." 
 
 Their horses were brought, and they rode off in the direction of 
 the village that had been pointed out to them. They passed an inn 
 where a crowd of merry wagoners, boatmen and woodcutters were 
 sitting under the lindens, and drinking beer or brandy. Bruno felt 
 that he was being treated like a fever patient whom they were 
 dragging over hill and dale, and to whose clouded vision the world 
 seemed bare and desolate. When they reached the inn, his mouth 
 watered. He thirsted for drink ; perhaps it might give him new 
 strength and, what was still better, might enable him to forget. 
 But he did not venture to express his wish to his friend. Was it 
 proper for one in his position to drink brandy? A poacher, like 
 Thomas, might do so ; but it would ill befit a cavalier. While 
 thanking the intendant for the trouble he had given him, and prom- 
 ising that he would never forget it, Bruno, whose tongue was 
 parched with thirst, secretly cursed the friend who would not allow 
 him to drink. Ah, how fortunate it is that words are always at 
 command. It is almost as fortunate as the fact that horses are 
 properly broken in, and keep up their pace so nicely that they give 
 one no trouble. 
 
436 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The friends rode on at a rapid pace. It was high noon when 
 they reached the village which Hansei and his family had left two 
 days before. The landlord of the Chamois was standing at the 
 door, and respectfully saluted the two horsemen with the groom 
 behind them. 
 
 They alighted. Bruno handed the reins of his steaming horse 
 to the groom. The intendant led his friend into the front garden, 
 where they sat down. He then insisted on Bruno's taking a glass 
 of wine. The host quickly brought a sealed bottle, and vaunted 
 it as the best wine in the house. He also brought some roast meat 
 and placed it on the table, and, as long as he had brought it, it 
 must be paid for, even though it were not touched. 
 
 The intendant took the host aside and, in a whisper, asked hinv 
 whether it was true that the body of a woman had been cast ashore 
 near there. 
 
 The host answered in the affirmative, and with a smile of satis- 
 faction. The occurrence was a strange and unusual one, and it 
 was only right that it should enure to his great profit. The in- 
 tendant again asked him where the house was in which the body 
 lay. 
 
 " I '11 take you there," said the host, with a smile. 
 
 "Send for the burgomaster, also." 
 
 "There 's no need of that ; I 'm a member of the council," said 
 he, hurrying into the house and returning with his long coat and 
 his medal. He meant to let the gentlemen see with whom they had 
 to do. He felt sure that they must be people of quality, or else 
 they would n't be traveling with a groom, and would have said: 
 " Take your meat away ; we shan't pay for it ! " He even fancied 
 that he knew one of them. 
 
 "Begging your pardon," said he to the intendant, "but some 
 years ago, there was a painter here who looked enough like you to 
 be your brother." 
 
 The intendant well knew that it was himself who was referred 
 to, but he was not yet in the mood to renew the acquaintance. 
 
 The host accompanied the strangers to Hansei's house. 
 
 On the way there, he said: "She was a handsome creature. 
 She was beautiful, but good-for-nothing ; and her belongings were 
 as bad as she was : particularly her one brother." 
 
 The intendant beckoned the innkeeper to be quiet. Bruno bit 
 his lips until they bled. They found it almost impossible to force 
 their way through the crowd which had gathered in the garden and 
 about the road. There were wailing woman, crying children, and 
 cursing men. 
 
 " Make way there ! " cried he host. He walked on forcing a 
 passage for the two men, and Bruno heard some one behind hiir 
 say : The handsome man, with the large moustache, is the king.' 
 
 " No he is n't ; it 's his cousin ! " said another. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 437 
 
 They had entered the garden. Bruno leaned against the cherry 
 tree, and the intendant motioned to the host to allow his comrade 
 to rest for a little while. Everything seemed to swim before Bruno's 
 eyes. Something touched him, and he started with fear. It was 
 .-i dead leaf which had fallen from the tree above. At last, address- 
 ing Schoning in French, he said : 
 
 "What good will it do the dead, if I look at her? And it will 
 harm me forever, for I shall never be able to banish the sight frorr 
 my memory ! " 
 
 " You must go in, my friend. Remember that these people have 
 made every effort in their power to restore to life one who was a 
 stranger to them, and they have done this out of pure philan- 
 throphy." 
 
 " Well, we can give them money for that ; but why torment our- 
 selves with these dead remains ? " 
 
 But Bruno was, nevertheless, obliged to go in ; leaning on his 
 friend's arm, he entered the house. 
 
 Black Esther now lay in the very spot where Hansel had been 
 two days ago, when thinking of her. Her thick, glossy black hair 
 had fallen over her face ; her mouth was open the last cry that 
 Irma had heard still rested there. 
 
 "Esther ! " cried Bruno, covering his face with his hands. 
 
 " It is n't your sister ! " said the intendant consolingly. " Come, 
 let us be off." 
 
 Biuno could not move from the spot. 
 
 '' Yes ! sister ! " cried the old woman, who now rose up from be- 
 side the corpse; "yes, sister. Didn't I tell you to let her alone, 
 even if she did help the beautiful lady ? Did n't I tell you she 'd 
 kill herself, if you beat her again ? And now you 've had your own 
 way, and here she is, lying in this house ! Oh, this house, this 
 house ! The lake will wash it away yet. Lake ! take the whole 
 house ! Who are you ? What do you want ? " she cried, springing 
 up and seizing Bruno's arm. " Who are you with the black hands ? 
 let me see who you are it 's you, is it ? you who did n't want to 
 see your father die and what do you want of my Esther ? Great 
 God ! now I see it all. You were the one, you ! say you were ! 
 say it ! Do n't shut your eyes, or I '11 scratch them out for all. 
 It was you I '11 drive a nail into your brain, into the cursed brain 
 that forgot her ! Oh, why did n't I know it before ! But there 's 
 tin\2 enough yet. My Thomas has already aimed at you and 
 he '11 have a chance again " 
 
 Bruno fainted. The intendant caught him in his arms, but 
 could npt support his weight and, therefore, laid him down on the 
 same floor on which lay the dead body of Esther. The innkeeper 
 hurried out to fetch water, and when they opened the door, several 
 people entered from without, among them Doctor Sixtus, Doctor 
 Kumpan, the notary, and Baum. 
 
438 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Sixtus soon restored Bruno to consciousness. A glance sufficed to 
 inform Baum of what had happened. He supported himself against 
 a door post, holding fast with desperate grip, lest he should fall to 
 the ground. At the first opportunity, he glided out of the room. 
 He was not needed there, and if he were now to betray himself, 
 all might be lost. He dragged himself as far as the cherry tree, 
 sat down on the bench, buttoned his gaiters, unbuttoned them, 
 took out his watch, counted the seconds, wound it up again, held 
 it to his ear and carelessly played with the watch chain. He 
 stopped to consider. One great task still remains, thought he to 
 himself, and that I must accomplish unaided. He felt that he had 
 a clue to Irma's whereabouts. Sixtus would n't listen to such a 
 thing and ridiculed him. So much the better; the credit would 
 all fall to his share ; and for that reason, this was no time to worry 
 about his mother. His sister was dead, and perhaps it was for the 
 best. At any rate, he could n't restore her to life ; but, at some 
 future day, he could, without discovering himself, provide for the 
 old woman. 
 
 Baum felt proud of his firmness, and stroked his chin with satis- 
 faction. 
 
 Within the house, the excitement was not yet at an end. The 
 old woman howled, shrieked, ran about the room, opened the win- 
 dow, and cried : " Strike him dead ! Drown him, he drowned 
 her!" 
 
 Baum let his watch drop from his hand when he heard these 
 words. The old woman was dragged away from the window, and 
 Doctor Kumpan held her fast. She went back to the corpse. 
 
 " Strike us all dead ! " she cried, " there 's no king on earth, and 
 no God in Heaven ! " 
 
 The old woman raved ; then she would weep, and then would 
 again go back to her child. 
 
 "Your lips are open ! Say but a word ! only one 'yes,' before 
 these witnesses ! speak his name ! he ruined you and left you to 
 perish in misery ! They don't believe me. Say, you !" she ex- 
 claimed, addressing the intendant and seizing him at the same 
 time, " say, did n't he utter her name and confess it all ? Is noth- 
 ing to be done to one who leads a poor creature into misery and 
 drives her to death ? Speak !" said she turning to Bruno. " Here ! 
 take the ring your sister gave me ! I want nothing from any of 
 you ! " 
 
 Shrieking and groaning, she again threw herself upon the corpse. 
 
 Bruno was at last led away. He was as pale as death ; his face 
 had been marked by his black gloves. They placed him upon the 
 seat under the cherry tree. Baum rose and brought some water, 
 so that Bruno might wash his face. He was astonished when he 
 saw the white handkerchief which had been blackened by the spots 
 upon his face. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 439 
 
 They went back to the inn. Like a fearful child, Bruno never re- 
 laxed his hold of the intendant's hand. At every sound he heard, he 
 fancied that the old woman was coming to scratch out his eyes and 
 to tear out his heart. At last he regained his composure and 
 asked the intendant what he had said on seeing the corpse. 
 Schoning replied that he had called out " Schwester " (sister), and 
 that the old woman, who had understood him to say Esther, h;id 
 grown quite frantic in consequence. 
 
 Bruno felt comforted to learn that he had not betrayed himself. 
 He, nevertheless, set aside a considerable sum for the lifelong sup- 
 port of the old woman from whom Irma had received her last 
 shelter. 
 
 "Oh, my friend ! " said he to the intendant, "as long as I live, I 
 shall never forget the image of that drowned girl ! " 
 
 Bruno was so exhausted that he was unable to ride his horse. Doc- 
 tor Sixtus's carriage was in readiness and he got into it, in order to 
 accompany him back to the capital. The doctor gave Bruno the 
 poor consolation that Irma's body would not be recovered. That 
 of the abandoned girl had floated on the surface. Ijma, however 
 as he had already said, must have been kept down by her long 
 riding-habit, and would, therefore, never be found. 
 
 When taking leave of Bruno, the intendant said : 
 
 "Now I know how great a heart you have." 
 
 Bruno merely nodded in reply. He did not object. It might be 
 well if the intendant were to say the same thing at court. 
 
 When they repaired to the carriage, the whole region was ob- 
 scured by a misty rain ; neither mountain nor lake were distinguish- 
 able. Just as they were starting, Bruno called Baum to him and 
 gave him his coat with a red collar, for Baum was to mount 
 Bruno's horse and ride it home. The intendant rode back, ac- 
 companied by Baum. He told the lackey to remain beside him, 
 instead of following. 
 
 " These are fearful goings on," said Baum, addressing the intend- 
 ant. 
 
 " Yes, terrible. I think the mother of the drowned girl must be 
 crazed." 
 
 " Sir," resumed Baum, " there is something I should like to speak 
 to you about. I think that may be the Countess is n't drowned, 
 after all. The court physician has laughed at me, but I have a 
 clue, and " 
 
 The report of a gun was heard. Baum fell from his horse. 
 
 " I Ve hit you this time ! " cried a voice. 
 
 Thomas rushed forth from the thicket. 
 
 " Take me ! " cried he, " I caught him after " 
 
 At that moment, he saw Baum's body lying on the ground. In 
 a furious voice, he cried : 
 
 " 1 meant to shoot Bruno, and now it 's you ! you ! " 
 
440 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "Brother! my brother!" gasped Baum. "I 'm Wolfgang! 
 Your brother Jangerl Wolfgang Zenza my mother ! " 
 
 Thomas rushed back into the thicket and, in an instant, the re- 
 port of another shot was heard. 
 
 The intendant was in despair. The rain fell in torrents. Baum 
 gave one more convulsive start. Presently, a merry crowd passed 
 by ; it was the excursion party they had met early that morning. 
 The ladies were horror-struck and hastened away ; the gentlemen 
 remained to assist the intendant. Peasants were called from the 
 fields to carry Baum's body back to the village ; others searched 
 the thicket, and soon brought out the lifeless body of Thomas. 
 
 The intendant met the notary in the village, and gave him a full 
 report of all that had happened. Before long, the whole village had 
 gathered at the Chamois. It was no unimportant event, for three 
 of one family to be dead at once. No one would confess to sur- 
 prise that Baum had turned out to be Wolfgang. They all de- 
 clared that they had recognized him long ago, even when he had 
 come with Doctor Sixtus to take Walpurga away. 
 
 The intendant and the innkeeper sat up late that night. The 
 former had discovered himself as the painter who had been a guest 
 at the inn in times gone by. The host had much to tell about 
 Hansei and Walpurga, and one can readily conceive the tone in 
 which he spoke of them. 
 
 When they told Zenza what had happened, she listened with a 
 stolid, stupefied air ; nor did she seem to understand them when 
 they told her that the Count had left money for her and had promised 
 always to take care of her. She burst into a shrill laugh, and 
 when food was brought, greedily ate all that was placed before her. 
 
 Baum, Thomas, and Black Esther were buried in one grave. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE king was at the hunt. The queen was ill. Life at court 
 went on as usual. The ladies and gentlemen dined at the 
 marshal's table, and conversed upon different subjects. They 
 were cheerful, for it was their duty to maintain the accustomed 
 tone. 
 
 It was the fourth day after the receipt of the terrible news. It 
 was after dinner, and the ladies were sitting under the so-called 
 "mushroom, "a round, vine-covered arbor, situated at the edge 
 of the mountain vineyards. The roof rested, at the centre, on 
 a column and, in the distance, resembled an open umbrella, or a 
 gigantic mushroom. They were delighted to have a chance to talk 
 of the preparations for the betrothal of Princess Angelica. They 
 spoke in praise of her noble traits, although she was merely a 
 simple, modest, good-hearted girl. They had the court catechism, 
 the genealogical calendar, before them ; for dispute had arisen as 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 441 
 
 to the degree in which the mediatized Prince Arnold was related, 
 on his grandmother's side, to the reigning house. Their conver- 
 sation, however, was simply a makeshift. 
 
 Some one remarked that the intendant had returned from his 
 journey. No one, however, knew what adventures he had passed 
 through. They all knew that there had been deaths by shooting 
 and drowning, but as to the "who" and the "how," they were as 
 yet ignorant. 
 
 They felt quite happy when they saw the intendant coming in 
 person. They welcomed him in a half-pitying, half-teasing tone. 
 He seemed quite exhausted by his recent experiences. They of- 
 fered him the most comfortable chair and, placing it in the centre 
 of the group, begged him to tell them everything. Although this 
 general homage was not without a touch of irony, the intendant 
 felt quite flattered by it, and was, as usual, ready to play the agree- 
 able. He was always willing to sacrifice everything, not excepting 
 himself, for the sake of being in favor. 
 
 He began by telling them of Bruno's deep grief; but that did 
 not interest them. Very well "as you don't care to hear of 
 Bruno, we '11 pass him by." He then went on to give a cleverly 
 arranged account of the terrible death of Baum who, like a true 
 servant, had been obliged to give up his life for another. However, 
 the death had not been an undeserved one, for he had denied his 
 mother and kindred, and, at last, fell by the hand of his own 
 brother, who immediately afterward killed himself. 
 
 The intendant's audience were horror-struck, and found it won- 
 drous strange that so much of the adventurous was concealed in a 
 common-place, every-day lackey, like Baum. 
 
 " You have at last beheld a tragedy in real life," said one of the 
 ladies. 
 
 The intendant well knew that tragedies were no longer in favor, 
 and, in his anxiety to please, recounted some very interesting re- 
 ports about Walpurga, giving, as his authority, the host of the 
 Chamois, an honest, upright man, who had been decorated for his 
 services in the wars. Whether it was real or affected forgetful- 
 ness on their part, it is impossible to say, but the ladies seemed 
 to have forgotten that Walpurga had ever existed but who can 
 remember all one's subordinates ? f 
 
 For want of some other safe topic of conversation, they listened 
 to various droll stories about Walpurga and her dolt of a husband. 
 Schoning, to use his own words, simply repeated all that the ve- 
 racious and upright host of the Chamois had told him. Hansei 
 was described as an awkward bumpkin, unable to use his hands or 
 feet, and obliged to call the schoolmaster to his assistance when- 
 ever he found it necessary to count the smallest sum of money. 
 One of these stories, introducing a wager and a chamber window, 
 was quite piquant and greatly to the taste of the ladies. They 
 19* 
 
442 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 tittered, and scolded the intendant for talking of such things, but 
 Schoning well knew that the more they scolded, the better they 
 were pleased with what he had told them. He found an added 
 pleasure in the opportunity afforded him of using the dialect of 
 the mountain region from which he had but recently returned, and 
 cleverly imitated the voices of the peasants and peasant women 
 who had stood before the window, on the night referred to. He 
 introduced various forcible and unequivocal expressions, and 
 greatly enjoyed shocking the ladies, who would, now and then, 
 cry: "Oh, you horrid man! you terrible man!" One lady 
 actually pricked him with her needle, but he quietly proceeded 
 with his story, well knowing how delighted they were to listen 
 to it. 
 
 And if there was no harm in describing Hansei as a dolt, there 
 was just as little in heightening the colors in which Walpurgawas 
 depicted the petticoats of the peasant women are always shorter 
 upon the stage than they are in real life and thus, with the kind- 
 est feeling towards all and merely yielding to his desire to please, 
 the intendant said all sorts of strange things about Walpurga. It 
 had been rumored, he added, that it was not without cause that 
 the pastor had called her into the vestry-room on the first Sunday 
 after her return. 
 
 With cautious reserve, he at last confided to them, as a great 
 secret, the story that Walpurga had received immense sums of 
 money from a certain lady who had been a friend of hers. It was, 
 of course, impossible to assign a reason for such gifts, but it was 
 rtell known that the money had been used to purchase a large 
 farm. They had, indeed, been obliged to remove from their old 
 home ; for, even in the country, ill-gotten wealth disgraces its 
 possessors. It had been the talk of the whole neighborhood. 
 The bailiff had also confirmed the report that the whole purchase 
 had been paid for in ready money, and that the price had been 
 more than six times as much as Walpurga had received for her 
 services as nurse. 
 
 The intendant again remarked that he did not mean to calum- 
 niate any one, that really nothing was further from his inten- 
 tions ; but he was determined to be interesting, even though it 
 was at the expense of others, as^well as himself. 
 
 They were delighted to know that this dressed-up specimen of 
 rural innocence was at last exposed, and only hoped that the queen 
 might also behold her favorite in her true colors. 
 
 Care was taken that she should not be left in ignorance of the 
 story. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 ''PHE king was hunting in the Highlands. He was a veritable 
 1 sportsman, and, instead of allowing his retainers to beat up 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 443 
 
 the game and drive it within shooting distance, would climb the 
 dizziest heights while in quest of the chamois. His hardened and 
 elastic frame enabled him to sustain any amount of fatigue or ex- 
 posure, and gained sinewy strength and new ardor from the chase. 
 
 The gentlemen of the party felt sure that some important matter 
 engaged the king's mind, and were not a little puzzled how to ac- 
 count for Bronnen's constant and almost exclusive attendance upon 
 the king. 
 
 It was well known that Bronnen had declined to take charge of 
 the war office under the Schnabelsdorf ministry, and now it was 
 asserted that Schnabelsdorf was at a disadvantage ; for he was 
 only master of the green table and was unable to attend the hunt. 
 Bronnen thus had the king's ear for several days. 
 
 Rifles were heard on the heights, and many a beast was killed ; 
 rifles were heard in the valley, and two brothers met their death. 
 In the meanwhile, the capital was filled with murmurs that 
 sounded like the roar of mighty ocean. The queen heard noth- 
 ing of all this. In her apartments, all was quiet ; not a footfall 
 was heard, naught but occasional faint whisperings. 
 
 The queen had felt outraged by the manner in which the news- 
 paper she had read, referred to Eberhard's death ; and yet the ar- 
 ticle had been mild and reserved when compared with the utter- 
 ances of the people. 
 
 They reported affairs at court as in a terrible state ; it was even 
 said that the queen had lost her reason when she heard the news 
 of Countess Wildenort's death. 
 
 People little knew how much of truth lay in this rumor. The 
 night that Irma had spent wandering over hill and dale, was not 
 half so terrible as the thoughts that filled the queen's mind. 
 
 She hated and abhorred Irma, and yet envied her her death. A 
 queen dare not commit suicide, for that were without precedent. 
 A queen must patiently submit, while they slowly kill her accord- 
 ing to the forms of etiquette must suffer herself, as it were, to be 
 embalmed while yet alive. And, even then, they do not bury her. 
 No they simply deposit her in a vault ; dignity must not be 
 sacrificed, and, above all, there must be no queenly suicide. They 
 offered to bring .her child ; but she refused to see it, for Irma had 
 kissed it. She would rub her cheeks again and again ; they were 
 impure, they burned, for Irma had kissed them. 
 
 Love, friendship, faith, fidelity, nature, painting, music, eloquence 
 all were dead to her, for Irma had possessed them all, and now 
 all was a lie and a caricature. 
 
 The queen started from her seat with a shudder. She had been 
 thinking of the king, and felt sure that his remorse must goad 
 him to self-destruction. He could not support the thought that 
 she whom he had ruined had still enough of courage and righteous- 
 ness left to give up her life. How could he live after that ? How 
 could he aim his gun at an innocent beast, instead of at himself? 
 
444 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 He whose name is on the lips of multitudes to whom he owes 
 duties, may not lay hands upon himself. But what right had he 
 to indulge in conduct which must drag him down from his exalted 
 position ? To whom could he look for truth, when he himself ? 
 
 The queen's thoughts almost drove her mad. 
 
 People said that the queen was crazed it seemed as if a vague 
 feeling had informed them of the yawning abyss that opened before 
 her. 
 
 She gave orders that no one should be admitted. She smiled at 
 the thought that she could still command, and that there were still 
 some left to obey her. After some time, she sent for Doctor Gun- 
 ther. He appeared at once, for he had been waiting in the ante- 
 room. 
 
 The queen found it a great relief to confide to him the thoughts 
 that so bewildered and confused her, but she could not force her- 
 self to say that she still felt how the king loved her that is, as far 
 as his wavering, restless nature would permit the existence of 
 what might be termed love. She confessed everything to Gunther, 
 except that she felt ashamed that she could still associate the 
 thought of love with that of the king. 
 
 "Ah, my friend ! " said she, at last, in a sad tone, "is there no 
 chloroform for the soul, or for a part of it ? a few drops of Lethe ? 
 Teach me to forget things, to blunt my sensibility ; my thoughts 
 will kill me." 
 
 According to his usual practice, Gunther thought it best to pro- 
 duce an entire change of tone, instead of attempting to patch and 
 mend the constitution at every fresh attack. He felt that, as soon 
 as the queen had learned to think and feel differently, his path 
 would be clear. Instead of offering to console her, he simply aided 
 her in developing her thoughts, while he revealed to her the causes 
 that underlie all human action. He treated the subject according 
 to the great maxim of the solitary philosopher who claimed that all 
 human actions are directed by the laws of nature. With those who 
 have attained to a proper conception and understanding of these 
 laws, the idea of forgiveness is out of the question. It may, indeed, 
 be regarded as included in the admission of necessity. 
 
 It was thus that Gunther endeavored, as it were, to clear away 
 the rubbish and the smoking ruins that were left after a fire. The 
 fitful llames would, however, still burst forth, here and there. 
 
 Th^ queen complained that all seemed chaos to her, and even 
 went so far as to declare the desire to be virtuous as mere folly. 
 The only comfort that Gunther offered her, was that he also knew 
 the utter wretchedness of despair. He was not as one who, feel- 
 ing himself secure from danger, calls out to him who wrestles with 
 the agony of death: "Come to me: it is pleasant to be here." 
 He was a companion of misery. He told her that there had been 
 a period when he had not only despaired of his heart, and believed 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 445 
 
 neither in cures nor in health, but had even lost all faith in the wis- 
 dom that rules the universe. 
 
 He acted on the principle that the only way to treat the despond- 
 ent, is to show them that others have suffered and yet have learned 
 to live. 
 
 When the consciousness of this truth has dawned upon the af- 
 flicted, there is new light, and he enters upon the first stage of 
 deliverance. 
 
 "I will impart the saddest confession of my life to you," said 
 Gunther. 
 
 " You ? " 
 
 " There was a time when I envied the frivolous, and even the 
 vicious, their light-heartedness. I desired to be like them. Why 
 burden one's soul with moral considerations, when one may live so 
 pleasantly while seizing the joys the world affords us ? " 
 
 Gunther paused, and the queen looked up at him in astonish- 
 ment. He continued, calmly: 
 
 " I have saved myself, and my rich experience has convinced me 
 that every one of us, even though he strive for excellence, has, so 
 to say, a skeleton closet somewhere in his soul. There must have 
 been a time, if only a moment, when his thoughts were impure or 
 when he was on the point of committing a sin." 
 
 As if reflecting on what he had said, the queen was silent for a 
 long while, and at last said : 
 
 " Tell me ; are there any happy beings in this world ? " 
 
 " How do you mean ? " 
 
 "I mean, are there beings in whom inclination and destiny are 
 in accord, and who are, at the same time, conscious of this har- 
 mony? " 
 
 " I thank you ! I see that you are endeavoring to express your- 
 self with precision. Your Majesty knows that, to a certain extent, 
 I judge persons by their mode of forming sentences. It is not so 
 important to display what is called cleverness, as to be clear 
 and concise in what one has to say." 
 
 The queen observed that her friend endeavored to lead her to 
 take a larger view of affairs, and to assist her in acquiring self-com- 
 mand ; and, with a sad smile, she asked : 
 
 " And do you know the answer to my question ? " 
 
 " I think I do ; Your Majesty knows the story of the shirt of the 
 happy one? " 
 
 "I do not quite remember it." 
 
 "Well then, to tell it in as few words as possible: A certain 
 king was ill, and it was said that he could not recover until the 
 shirt of a happy man was procured for him. They searched and 
 searched, and at last found a man who was unspeakably happy, 
 and he had no shirt to his back. I change the story according 
 1o iny own conviction. Were I a poet, I would, in fancy, wander 
 
446 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 from house to house, from town to town, from country to country, 
 describe the life of men in various conditions, and point out that, 
 \vith all their complaining, they were, nevertheless, happy, or, at all 
 events, as happy as they could be. Every human being is en- 
 dowed with a certain capacity for happiness, the measure of which 
 is regulated by his nature. It is this which determines how high 
 or how deep, his joys or misfortunes ; how blunt or how keen, 
 his sensibility. The measure of happiness assigned to every 
 human being corresponds to the requirements of his nature. 
 Un happiness is necessary in order that we may appreciate happi- 
 ness, just as we need shadows to help us distinguish the light." 
 
 "And so you think that all people are happy? " 
 
 " They are so in truth, but not in reality. The reason is, they 
 are not in accord with the requirements of their nature, and are 
 ever seeking for happiness in that which they have not, or rather 
 that wh'.ch they are not." 
 
 " I do not quite comprehend that, but will endeavor to do so," 
 replied the queen; "but, tell me, can he who is conscious of guilt 
 also be happy ? " 
 
 " Yes, if he acts freely, and if the knowledge of his guilt makes 
 him more forgiving and more active in good works. Errors, irreg- 
 ularities, or what are termed faults, are the result of excessive or 
 defective endowment, and may, to a certain extent, be described 
 as the basso relievo or alto relievo of character. Faults of excess 
 may \x> remedied by education and knowledge, but not those of 
 deficiency. Most of us, however, require those who belong to us, 
 and all whom we wish to be noble and great, to fill up the defects 
 of their nature ; and that is simply requiring the impossible." 
 
 The queen was silent for some time. She was evidently making 
 the Doctor's thoughts her own. 
 
 "I, too, have a bas-relief fault," said she, at last. "My desire 
 to forsake the religion of my fathers and to embrace a strange faith 
 subjected me to deceit and estrangement, and I regard this as a 
 punishment visited upon me by God or nature. It was this that 
 made the king look upon me as weak and vacillating and impelled 
 him to leave me. I was the first to think of defection, and defec- 
 tion at last became my punishment ! " 
 
 The queen wept while uttering these words, and her tears were 
 in pity for herself. 
 
 Gunther remained calm and quiet. 
 
 The queen was on the threshold of the second stage of knowl- 
 ledge. 
 
 " The mere idea of renouncing your faith and Your Majesty 
 may remember that I never approved of it " said Gunther, after 
 a long pause, "only served to show that Your Majesty felt the 
 need of possessing convictions which w r ere not alone in accord 
 with your nature, but were also the outgrowth of it. Every clear 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 44} 
 
 perception of truth, every conquest over pain, is a transformation 
 a remodeling of existence, or, as it is sometimes termed, a purifi- 
 cation." 
 
 " I understand," replied the queen. " Oh, that I knew the sys- 
 tem by which the world is governed, and the reasons that underlie 
 human destiny! Why was I obliged to experience this? Has it 
 made me any better? Will it inspire me to nobler actions? 
 Would I not have been far better if my life had remained un- 
 clouded ? I was full of love for all human beings. Ah, it was p .o 
 delightful to know of no one on earth who was my enemy, and still 
 more delightful to know no one whom I must hate and detest ! 
 And what am I to-day? I feel as if, where'er I turn, a corpse 
 lies in my path. There is no free spot left me on earth ! You are 
 a wise man ; help me to banish these terrible thoughts ! " 
 
 " I am not wise ; and, if I were, I could not bestow my wisdom 
 upon you. It was a saying of the ancients, that others can show 
 you the apples of the Hesperides, but cannot gather them for you." 
 
 " Well, well ! be it so. But tell me, would it not be better to 
 grow greater and nobler and stronger in virtue, and in our faith in 
 humanity? " 
 
 " Childlike innocence is happiness, but a clear perception of truth 
 is a great gain and, according to my opinion, a necessary and en- 
 during joy " 
 
 "You avoid my question. It seems to me that you, too, are 
 without the key." 
 
 " I do not possess it Life is inexorable. All that we can do is 
 to bend to the descending storm, and yet remain steadfast. Sun- 
 shine will come again. We are subject to the lesser law of our own 
 nature, and the greater law that embraces the universe. There is 
 not a star that completes its course without deviation. Surround- 
 ing planets attract or repel it ; but yet it moves on, in its appointed 
 course, teaching mankind the lesson of perseverance." 
 
 " You offer remedies, and yet place your trust in the healing 
 powers of nature?" 
 
 "Certainly," replied Gunther, "nature alone can help us." 
 
 After awhile, he added : 
 
 "To one who is bowed down by grief, it were useless to suggest 
 refreshing wanderings on the heights. With returning strength, 
 the desire will return ; for the will is merely the outward manifesta- 
 tion of inner power. Now, while bending to the blow which has 
 just descended upon you, you are clothed and sustained by the 
 life-giving power of nature. It is this that sustains existence until 
 we again awaken to life and free action. My good mother, in her 
 devout manner, used to say: 'May God help us, until we can help 
 ourselves.' " 
 
 " I thank you ! " said the queen. " I thank you," she repeated, 
 and closed her eyes. 
 
448 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 ON the same morning on which the king- and Bronnen were 
 closeted together at the hunting-seat, the queen sent for Gun- 
 ther. He found her clad in white and resting on her couch. She 
 looked pale and feeble, and told him how provoked she felt at the 
 vanity and conceit which had induced her, a young queen, to regard 
 herself as wise and good, and had led her to imagine herself as 
 gifted with unusual endowments. 
 
 " Did you know of what was going on here?" she asked the 
 physician. 
 
 " No ; I would not have believed it possible, and it is only now 
 that I understand the terrible death of my dear friend Eberhard. 
 A father in such grief " 
 
 The queen did not enter into this view of the matter and went 
 on, as if speaking to herself: 
 
 When I recall the days, the hours, in which she sung, I must 
 ask myself, can it be possible to sing such songs and such words, 
 breathing naught but love, kindness, exaltation, purity and at 
 the same time have nothing in one's soul ? Aye, worse than noth- 
 ing falseness and hypocrisy ? Every word seems false. Have we 
 a right to be princes, to regard ourselves as superior to others and 
 entitled to rule them, if we do not elevate ourselves above them by 
 purity and greatness of soul ? I have become a changed being 
 since yesterday. My soul then lay at the bottom of the sea, and 
 the waves of death and despair raged above me ; but now I wish 
 to live. Only tell me how to endure it all. You 've been at court 
 so long and despise even-thing. Do n't shake your head ; you de- 
 spise it all ! Tell me, how is one to endure it ? How can one 
 manage to live on and yet remain here ? You surely possess the 
 mystery ; impart it to me, for that alone can save me. " 
 
 "Your Majesty," replied the physician, "you are still feverish 
 and excited." 
 
 " Indeed, is that the sum of all your science ? Princes are right 
 when they abuse their fellow-creatures, for even the best of men 
 are naught but polite shadows. I had placed all my dependence 
 upon you ; I had looked up to you as one exalted far above me ; 
 and where I had hoped to clasp a hand, you offer me an empty 
 glove. You smile ; I am not delirious, I 've merely awakened to 
 the truth ; I have just passed through hours in which the beautiful 
 world Ah ! how full of beauty it was seemed filled with naught 
 but creeping worms and loathsome corruption. Oh, it is terrible ! 
 I fancied there was one free being to whom I could tell all, and 
 from whom I could ask everything in return ; but you are not the 
 man. Ah ! there are no real men in this world. The best are 
 nothing more than title-bearing creatures ! " 
 
 "You shall not have goaded me in vain!" muttered Gunther 
 half aloud, and rising from his seat. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 449 
 
 " I did n't mean to offend you ! " cried the queen. "Ah, thus it 
 is ; in pain and sorrow, we wound those who are nearest to us ! " 
 
 "Calm yourself, Your Majesty," replied Gunther, seating him- 
 self. " If there is anything for which I may claim credit, it is that 
 I do not indulge my sensitiveness. I am severe towards others, be- 
 cause I -am severe towards myself." 
 
 The queen closed her eyes, but presently she looked at him in* 
 tently and said : 
 
 " I fear nothing more." 
 
 Thus encouraged, Gunther went on to say : 
 
 "Human fancy cannot realize how much of vice and misery, nor, 
 on the other hand, how much of beauty, holiness, grandeur and 
 sublimity there is in life." 
 
 " Your Majesty, I am here at the palace, which is a world in 
 miniature, a world in itself. All that is terrible, and all that is 
 noble, is attracted hither and yet, with every returning spring, the 
 flowers bloom and the trees deck themselves in robes of green, 
 while the stars shine over all. There is a blooming flower, a shin- 
 ing star even in the most despicable of beings. A drop descends 
 from the .clouds and falls upon the dusty road. The drop and the 
 dust uniting, become the mire of the highway ; but to the eye that 
 looks deeper, the drop is still pure, although divided and subdivided 
 until it is almost impalpably minute, and inseparable from the dust 
 that darkens it. But even this image does not suffice. No image 
 directed to the senses, can convey an adequate conception of the 
 Deity. God exists even in the grain of dust. To our eyes, it is 
 dust ; but to the eye of God, it is as pure as the water and is 
 equally the abode of infinity. The very people whom you regard 
 as so false would like to be good, if it did not entail so much trouble 
 and involve so many sacrifices. Most men would like to win 
 virtue, but do not care to earn it. They all desire to draw the great 
 prize in the lottery of morality. ' Oh, if I were only good ! ' said a 
 lost creature to me, one day. Your Majesty, truth tells us that 
 hatred and contempt are not good, for they injure the soul. The 
 true art of living requires us to recognize that which is base in its 
 true colors, but, at the same time, to avoid debasing ourselves by 
 violent or passionate feelings against that which is wicked or vulgar. 
 You must remove hatred from your heart, and be at peace with 
 yourself. Hatred destroys the soul. You must grow to feel that, 
 viewed in the proper light, vice and crime are simply defects. 
 They may lead to a thousand sad consequences, but, of themselves, 
 hjve no existence ; virtue alone is a reality. Come up higher, 
 unto where I stand, and you will find that you have been torment- 
 ing yourself with mere shadows." 
 
 " I see the steps," said the queen ; "help me up ! " 
 
 " Naught can avail but self-help. Each must learn to be mon- 
 arch of himself, even though he wear a kingly crown. The law 
 
450 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 teaches us that, in order to retain this command over ourselves, we 
 must not permit anger and hatred to dwell in our souls, or to poison 
 so much of the world as is given us to enjoy, be our share great or 
 small." 
 
 " I had too much faith in virtue and kindness." 
 
 " Very likely. As long as one believes in mankind, there will be 
 deception and despair. We persist in judging our fellow-creatures 
 by what they are as regards us, instead of what they are as regards 
 themselves. And thus, as long as we believe in human virtue, we 
 may, at times, be perplexed at finding ourselves disappointed 
 where we least expect it. As soon, however, as we recognize the 
 Divine in everything, even though the possessor himself is uncon- 
 scious of it, we have attained a lofty standpoint, from which we feel 
 sure both of ourselves and of the world." 
 
 The queen hurriedly raised herself and, extending both hands to 
 Gunther, exclaimed : 
 
 " You are a worker of miracles." 
 
 " No, I am not that. I am only a physician who has held many 
 a hand hot with fever, or stiff in death, in his own. The healing 
 art might serve as an illustration. We help all who need our help, 
 and do not stop to ask who they are, whence they come, or 
 whether, when restored to health, they persist in their evil courses. 
 Our actions are incomplete, fragmentary ; thought alone is com- 
 plete and all-embracing. Our deeds and our selves are but frag- 
 ments the whole is God." 
 
 " I think I grasp your meaning. But our life, as you say, is 
 indeed a mere fraction of life as a whole, and how is each one to 
 bear up under the portion of suffering that falls to his individual 
 lot? Can one I mean it in its best sense always be outside of 
 one's self? " 
 
 "I am well aware, Your Majesty, that passions and emotions 
 cannot be regulated by ideas ; for they grow in a different soil, or, 
 to express myself correctly, move in entirely different spheres. It 
 is but a few days since I closed the eyes of my old friend Eberhard. 
 Even he never fully succeeded in subordinating his temperament to 
 his philosophy ; but, in his dying hour, he rose beyond the terrible 
 grief that broke his heart grief for his child. He summoned 
 the thoughts of better hours to his aid hours when his perception 
 of the truth had been undimmed by sorrow or passion and he 
 died a noble, peaceful death. Your Majesty must still live and 
 labor, elevating yourself and others, at one and the same time. 
 Permit me to remind you of the moment when, seated under the 
 weeping ash, your heart was filleTJ with pity for the poor child that, 
 from thr. time it enters into the world, is doubly helpless. Do 
 you still remember how you refused to rob it of its mother? I 
 appeal to the pure and genuine impulse of that moment. You 
 were noble and forgiving then, because you had not yet suffered. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 451 
 
 You cast no stone at the fallen ; you loved and, therefore, you for- 
 gave." 
 
 "O God ! ' cried the queen, "and what has happened to me? 
 The woman on whose bosom my child rested is the most aban- 
 doned of creatures. I loved her, just as if she belonged to another 
 world a world of innocence. And now I am satisfied that she 
 was the go-between and that her natvett was a mere mask con- 
 cealing an unparalleled hypocrite. I imagined that truth and purity 
 still dwelt in the simple rustic world but everything is perverted 
 and corrupt. The world of simplicity is base ; aye, far worse than 
 that of corruption ! " 
 
 " I am not arguing about individuals. I think you mistaken 
 in regard to Walpurga ; but, admitting that you are right, of this, 
 at least, we can be sure : morality does not depend upon so-called 
 education or ignorance, belief or unbelief. The heart and mind 
 which have regained purity and steadfastness alone possess true 
 knowledge. Extend your view beyond details and take in the 
 whole that alone can comfort and reconcile you." 
 
 "I see where you are, but I cannot get up there. I can't always 
 be looking through your telescope that shows naught but blue sky. 
 I am too weak. I know what you mean ; you say, in effect : ' Rise 
 above these few people, above this span of space known as a king- 
 dom compared with the universe, they are but as so many blades 
 of grass, or a mere clod of earth.' " 
 
 Gunther nodded a pleased assent, but the queen, in a sad voice, 
 added : 
 
 " Yes, but this space and these people constitute my world. Is 
 purity merely imaginary ? If it be not about us, where can it be 
 found ? " 
 
 " Within ourselves," replied Gunther. " If it dwell within us, it is 
 everywhere ; if not, it is nowhere. He who asks for more, has not 
 
 >t passed the threshold. His heart is not yet what it should be. 
 rue love for the things of this earth, and for God, the final cause 
 of all, does not ask for love in return. We love the divine spark 
 that dwells in creatures themselves unconscious of it : creatures 
 who are wretched, debased and, as the church has it, unredeemed. 
 My master taught me that the purest joys arise from this love of 
 God or of eternally pure nature. I made this truth my own, and 
 you can and ought to do likewise. This park is yours ; but the 
 birds that dwell in it, the air, the light, its beauty, are not yours 
 alone, but are shared with you by all. So long as the world is 
 ours, in the vulgar sense of the word, we may love it ; but when 
 we h ive made it our own, in a purer and better sense, no one can 
 take it from us. The great thing is to be strong and to know that 
 hatred is death, that love alone is life, and that the amount of love 
 that we possoss is the measure of the life and the divinity that 
 dwells within us." 
 
452 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Gunther rose and was about to withdraw. He feared lest ex- 
 cessive thought might over-agitate the queen who, however, mo- 
 tioned him to remain. He sat down again. 
 
 "You cannot imagine " said the queen, after a long pause, 
 " but that is one of the cant phrases that we have learned by heart. 
 I mean just the reverse of what I have said. You can imagine the 
 change that your words have effected in me." 
 
 " I can conceive it." 
 
 " Let me ask a few more questions. I believe nay, I am sure 
 that on the height you occupy, and towards which you would fain 
 lead me, there dwells eternal peace. But it seems so cold and 
 lonely up there. I am oppressed with a sense of fear, just as if I 
 were in a balloon ascending into a rarer atmosphere, while more 
 and more ballast was ever being thrown out. I do n't know how 
 to make my meaning clear to you. I do n't understand how to 
 keep up affectionate relations with those about me, and yet regard 
 them from a distance, as it were looking upon their deeds as the 
 mere action and reaction of natural forces. It seems to me as 
 if, at that height, every sound and every image must vanish into 
 thin air." 
 
 " Certainly, Your Majesty. There is a realm of thought in which 
 hearing and sight do not exist, where there is pure thought and 
 nothing more." 
 
 " But are not the thoughts that there abound projected from the 
 realm of death into that of life, and is that any better than monastic 
 self-mortification ? " 
 
 " It is just the contrary. They praise death or, at all events, ex- 
 tol it, because, after it, life is to begin. I am not one of those who 
 deny a future life. I only say, in the words of my master : ' Our 
 knowledge is of life and not of death,' and where my knowledge 
 ceases, my thoughts must cease. Our labors, our love, are all of 
 this life. And because God is in this world and in all that exist in 
 it, and only in those things, have we to liberate the divine essence, 
 wherever it exists. The law of love should rule. What the law 
 of nature is in regard to matter, the moral law is to man." 
 
 " I cannot reconcile myself to your dividing the divine power 
 into millions of parts. When a stone is crushed, every fragment 
 still remains a stone ; but when a flower is torn to pieces, the parts 
 are no longer flowers." 
 
 " Let us take your simile as an illustration, although in truth no 
 example is adequate. The world, the firmament, the creatures 
 that live on the face of the earth, are not divided they are one ; 
 thought regards them as a whole. Take, for instance, the flower. 
 The idea of divinity which it suggests to us, and the fragrance 
 which ascends from it, are yet part and parcel of the flower : attri- 
 butes without which it is impossible for us to conceive of its exist- 
 ence. The works of all poets, all thinkers, all heroes, may be 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 453 
 
 likened to streams of fragrance, wafted through time and space, 
 it is in the flower that they live forever. Although the eternal 
 spirit dwells in the cell of every tree or flower, and in every human 
 heart, it is undivided and, in its unity, fills the world. He whose 
 thoughts dwell in the infinite, regards the world as the mighty 
 corolla from which the thought of God exhales." 
 
 For some time, the queen kept her face buried in her hands 
 Gunther quietly withdrew. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 '"PHE king returned from the hunt. His courageous wanderings 
 1 among the Highlands had reinvigorated him. He, too, was 
 in a changed frame of mind. 
 
 He had already received a full account of what had happened at 
 the lake. " That 's over," thought he ; "I can't always be drag- 
 ging the past about with me." 
 
 He was informed that the queen had not left her apartments 
 since the receipt of the dreadful news. He sent for Gunther, who 
 informed him of the queen's condition, and recommended that she 
 be treated with great indulgence. 
 
 The king fancied that the Doctor's manner was more reserved 
 than usual. He would have liked to ask him as to the queen's 
 thoughts, how she had received the sad news, and whether she 
 had conquered her grief; but it was Gunther's duty to tell him all 
 this, without waiting to be questioned. At last, the king asked 
 him : 
 
 " Is the queen's mind composed ? " 
 
 " It is noble and beautiful as ever," replied Gunther. 
 
 " Has she been reading of late ? Did she send for the court 
 chaplain ? " 
 
 " Not to my knowledge, Your Majesty." 
 
 The king who, at other times, found the observance of etiquette 
 so convenient, now found it irksome. 
 
 He would have liked the Doctor to speak of his own accord, 
 and explain much that was yet unclear, instead of simply answer- 
 ing the questions put to him. 
 
 "You have had a great trial; in Count Eberhard, you lost an 
 old friend." 
 
 " He lives in my memory, just as he did before he died," replied 
 Gunther. 
 
 The king's heart was filled with anger. He had been very 
 friendly in his advances towards this man, had even enquired after 
 an event in his private life, and yet Gunther, while preserving per- 
 fect decorur i, remained as reserved and as repelling as ever. 
 
 His old aversion towards this man, who, in the midst of the ex- 
 citement at court, always remained unmoved, was again aroused. 
 
454 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 He dismissed Gunther, with a gracious wave of his hand ; but 
 when he had gone, his eye followed him with a sinister expression. 
 
 A thought occurred to him which made his cheeks glow, and 
 determined him upon another line of action. It was now clear to 
 him that the real cause of his misstep lay in the fact that a third 
 person had stood between him and his wife. This should no 
 longer be the case, no matter how well it was meant. Instead of 
 asking Gunther for information as to his wife's thoughts and feel- 
 ings, she should tell him all, in person and alone. He felt a dep 
 affection for her, and thought that, since he had conquered so much 
 within himself, he was again worthy of her. 
 
 The king sent for Countess Brinkenstein. Since the sad occur- 
 rence, the king had only moved among men, by whom affairs of this 
 nature are treated more lightly and, in fact, are scarcely alluded to. 
 And now, for the first time, he stood face to face with a woman ; 
 one indeed in whom a noble mind was combined with the most or- 
 thodox observance of court etiquette. The king's demeanor was 
 dignified, although his heart trembled with emotion. 
 
 "We have had sad experiences," said he to her. 
 
 With great tact, Countess Brinkenstein managed to turn the 
 conversation into another channel and thus avert any explanation 
 on the king's part. She thought it unbecoming a king to justify 
 himself or to show himself weak or perplexed ; and, besides that, 
 she regarded it as the duty of those about him, to smooth over all 
 that was unpleasant as gracefully as possible. 
 
 The king appreciated her considerateness. He asked her 
 whether she had often seen the queen during the last few days, and 
 who was now waiting on her. The Countess informed him 
 that she had only once been with the queen, who had expressed a 
 wish in regard to his royal highness the crown prince. 
 
 "Ah, how is the prince?" asked the king. During all these 
 days, he had scarcely thought of his child, and now, as if with re- 
 newed consciousness of the fact, he remembered that Le had a 
 son. 
 
 " Remarkably well," replied the Countess, who went on to name 
 the various ladies and gentlemen of the court who were now in 
 attendance upon her majesty the queen. No one had seen her 
 during the last few days, except Madame Leoni, who had been 
 with her constantly, and the Doctor, who had conversed with her 
 for hours. 
 
 The king gave orders to have the prince brought into his apart- 
 ments. He kissed the boy, whose round and delicate little hand 
 played with his father's face. 
 
 " Thou shalt honor thy father if I could only wipe away that 
 one reproach," said he to himself. 
 
 He felt as if his child's touch had endowed him with new 
 strength, and was about to proceed to the queen's apartments 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 455 
 
 when Schnabelsdorf was announced. The king" was obliged to 
 remain and receive him. 
 
 The prime minister informed him that the result of all the elec- 
 tions was now known, and that his position would be a difficult 
 one, for the majority had been on the side of the opposition. 
 
 The king shrugged his shoulders and said : 
 
 "We must await events." 
 
 Schnabelsdorf looked astounded at this indifference. What 
 could have happened ? 
 
 "There is only one new election necessary," said he. "Your 
 Majesty is aware that Count Eberhard Wildenort was elected as a 
 deputy?" 
 
 " I know, " said the king. " Why mention this ? " 
 
 Schnabelsdorf dropped his eyes and added : "I am informed 
 that Colonel von Bronnen, Your Majesty's adjutant general, whose 
 name has already been mentioned in that connection, is to be 
 brought forward as a candidate." 
 
 "Bronnen will refuse to stand," said the king. 
 
 Schnabelsdorf received this remark with an almost imperceptible 
 bow. He had a presentiment of what was going on. 
 
 The king permitted his minister to inform him of what was most 
 urgent, but begged him to be brief. 
 
 Schnabelsdorf was very brief. 
 
 The king dismissed him. His intention was to have Schnabels 
 dorf open the new chamber. If, as was to be expected, the ma- 
 jority were against him, Bronnen would form a new cabinet. 
 
 It was no slight struggle on the part of the king, to suffer that 
 which ought to have emanated from his own will, to appear as 
 a yielding, on his part, to the popular voice ; but he felt that it was 
 the first real proof of his subjection to the law, and he meant to 
 find his highest glory in giving expression to the voice of the 
 people. 
 
 His new motto: "True and free," again impressed itself upon 
 him. Calm and self-possessed, he repaired to the queen's apart- 
 ments. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE queen had been informed of the king's return, and the 
 calms ss and self-command that she had regained seemed to 
 vanish. As long as he remained at a distance, she felt herself 
 secure in the lofty realm of thought; but now that he was near 
 her, the thought of meeting him face to face made her tremble 
 with fear. Her sense of injury loosened the weak foundations of 
 the principles it had cost her such an effort to make her own. 
 
 It was already night when the queen heard hei husband's voice 
 in :he ante-chamber. He wished to see her, he said, even if she 
 
456 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 were asleep. He entered softly. She kept her eyes closed ana 
 forced herself to breathe as gently as possible. It was the first 
 deceit of her life. She was only feigning sleep, and how often had 
 he who now stood before her feigned sincerity and truth ? Her 
 breathing became heavier ; it required all her self-command to 
 remain quiet. Horror at the idea of feigning death now possessed 
 her. 
 
 She lay there motionless, with her hands folded, and her husband 
 stood before her. She imagined that she felt his loving, affection- 
 ate glance but what could his love or affection be ? She felt his 
 warm breath against her face. And now he felt her pulse, and 
 yet she did not stir. She felt the kiss that he imprinted upon her 
 hand, and yet she did not move. She heard him turn to Madame 
 Leoni and say : " She sleeps quietly, thank God ! Do n't tell her 
 that I was here." She heard his words, and his soft footsteps 
 while he left the room, and yet she did not move. Lest her at- 
 tendant should discover the deception, she was obliged to keep 
 up the appearance of being asleep and to affect entire ignorance 
 of what had passed. 
 
 When the king reached the ante-room, he said to the waiting- 
 woman : 
 
 " I thank you, dear Leoni ! " 
 
 "Your Majesty," replied Madame Leoni, with a profound bow. 
 
 " You have of late afforded fresh proofs of your attachment to 
 the queen. I shall not forget it. It is a comfort to me to know- 
 that she is surrounded by such careful attendants. My dear 
 Leoni, do all you can to secure the queen as much repose as possi- 
 ble ; and if she should wish for anything particular, which you 
 think that the ladies of the court or Countess Brinkenstein need 
 know nothing of, address yourself to me. Has the queen spoken 
 much during the last few days ? " 
 
 "O yes! unfortunately, too much; that's what makes her so 
 exhausted. She talked for hours, incessantly." 
 
 " Was it with you that she talked so much ? " 
 
 "O no!" 
 
 " Then it was with the Doctor? " 
 
 " It was. But pardon me, Your Majesty, it seems to me that 
 his medicines consist of words." 
 
 T'ie king remembered that Madame Leoni owed a grudge to the 
 queen, and a still greater one to Gunther, because the position of 
 ayah to the crown prince had been given to Madame von Gerloff, 
 instead of her. He was not disposed to take advantage of this, 
 and only said : 
 
 "The physician, dear Leoni, should always be the confidant." 
 
 ' Certainly, Your Majesty ; but our noble queen is so despond- 
 ent, and it seems to me it would be far better to cheer her up and 
 make her laugh, instead of conversing about such difficult and 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 457 
 
 terrible subjects. Your Majesty will surely not misunderstand me 
 but I should like to help our noble queen, and her best, indeed her 
 only helper, is Your Majesty. Whoever thrusts himself between 
 you and her does more harm than good." 
 
 The king felt concerned. He had never indulged in espionage, 
 and now that he felt himself purified and elevated, was doubly 
 averse to it. Nevertheless, he asked : 
 
 " Pray, tell me what has happened ! " 
 
 " Ah ! Your Majesty ; I 'd rather die than wrong my royal mis- 
 tress, but what I am doing can't harm her ; it is only meant to aid 
 her," 
 
 "Confide all to me," said the kir g, in a soft voice, himself 
 displeased at what he was saying, "you could not so demean 
 yourself as to be a spy on the words and actions of others, nor 
 could I desire or permit you to do so ; but it is necessary for me to 
 know how the queen can be helped out of her present trouble, and, 
 therefore, I ought to be informed of what is told her, and how 
 matters are discussed here." 
 
 " Certainly, Your Majesty," replied Madame Leoni, and, having 
 apologized for the ugly words, she informed him how the physician 
 had spoken of the origin of the mud in the highways, how a pure 
 drop from the heavenly clouds mingles with the dust of the road ; 
 and that they had gone on to talk of sculpture, of haut relief and 
 has relief. 
 
 Madame Leoni could only furnish a disconnected statement, but 
 the king already knew enough. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ON the following morning, the king sent word to the queen that 
 he must see her. 
 
 He hastened to her. 
 
 They were both alone in the apartment. 
 
 The king was about to embrace his wife. 
 
 She begged him to be seated. 
 
 "As you please," said he, in a gentle voice. He was resolved 
 to win her back to him, in candor and love. 
 
 " Will you speak first, or shall I ? " he asked, after a pause. 
 
 His voice was clear and distinct, and startled her. She observed 
 his fresh appearance, and grew still paler. She pressed her hand to 
 her heart ; she could not speak. 
 
 "Well, then let me speak. Mathilde, we won each other in 
 sincere love. I frankly confess that I have sinned deeply against 
 you and others, and now I beg you to believe in my sincere repent- 
 ance. Do n't judge me meanly, or in a narrow sense ! " 
 
 " Not meanly ? O yes, I understand ! To great minds like 
 fourself, morality is narrow-mindedness. Yours are the large, the 
 20 
 
458 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 world-embracing hearts, and I am a bigoted, self-opinionated creat- 
 ure ! " 
 
 " Mathilde, do n't say that ; I did n't mean to wound you." 
 
 " O no ! you did n't mean to wound me ; certainly not, never ! " 
 
 " Mathilde, with that tone we shall never arrive at perfect har- 
 mony. Ask anything of me, as a proof of my repentance and 
 conversion. You have the right to do so ; I swear to you 
 
 " Do n't swear. I pity you, there 's nothing left by which you 
 can swear. Swear by the head of your child the child at whose 
 cradle you exchanged adulterous words and glances with her ! " 
 
 " Let the future efface all recollection of the past ! " 
 
 "Very well. Issue a royal mandate: The world and, above 
 all, my wife, are to forget that there ever was a Countess Irma ; 
 such is my royal will." 
 
 The king gazed at his wife in astonishment. Was this the same 
 tender, sensitive being? What great change had come over her? 
 
 " Let the dead rest ! " said he, at last. 
 
 " But the dead do not let us rest. She looks at me through your 
 eyes, speaks to me with your lips, touches me with your hand ; foi 
 your hand, your lips, your eyes, were hers." 
 
 " I will withdraw until you regain your composure." 
 
 " No, stay ! I am quite composed. Perhaps you would rather 
 not hear what I have to say ? " 
 
 " I will listen to it all," said the king, seating himself; " proceed." 
 . " Well, then let me tell you that you have desecrated a sanctuary, 
 lovelier and more beautiful than any that ever existed on earth 
 the sanctuary in which you were worshiped. I may tell you this, 
 for the temple is no more and you are no longer in it. I desired to 
 be one with you in everything; in every breath, in every word, in 
 every glance, even though it was directed to Him who is on high. 
 It was for that, that I offered to sacrifice my faith " 
 
 "Do you wish to balance accounts between us? Then remem- 
 ber that I didn't ask you to make that sacrifice; it would have 
 been a burden. The idea of its being a sacrifice is out of the 
 question." 
 
 " Very well ; 1 '11 say no more about that. I merely wished to 
 tell you that what I regarded as a sacrifice, you looked upon as 
 weakness. Enough of that, however. You were false to your 
 marriage vow, and that, too, with her whom I regarded as my 
 friend ! I know the way of the world, in such matters. The 
 Steigeneck whom your father " 
 
 " Do n't insult my father's memory ! Say what you choose 
 cf me, but do n't insult my father ! " 
 
 " I do n't insult him ; I honor him. Compared with you, he was 
 pure and virtuous. He was free frj>m all affectation of morality, 
 from b ing, deceit and treachery ! " 
 
 " Wiio is it that speaks? " said the king, interrupting her. " Is 
 this my wife ? Is it a queen who utters these words ? " 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 459 
 
 ' They ought not to be my words ; you have forced them upon 
 me. But let us not dispute about words. Your father bestowed 
 his affections on a stranger who lived at a distance, and who did 
 not know his wife. Compared with your conduct, his was virtue 
 itself. You were false to me, and that, too, with a friend who was 
 constantly at my side ; we conversed together of love, of the stars, 
 of the trees, the mountains and the valleys, and our thoughts 
 seemed as one. Side by side, we beheld the works of art, we 
 sang, we played together and yet you could both act thus, while 
 at my side, and enter the inner sanctuary of that which is highest 
 in life. The sky, the earth, all that was pure and noble in thought 
 or word you have destroyed them all. I would like to know the 
 day when, by word or glance, you both ventured to begin your 
 false game ! With every kiss you gave her, you must have said : 
 'Ah, my wife how unhappy I am she 's so narrow-minded, so 
 devoid of grandeur ' Don't interrupt me ! Of one thing I am 
 sure : no husband or wife can ever touch the hand of another, in 
 love, without feeling : ' I am miserable.' It is n't hatred and revenge 
 that now speak through me, it is justice ! As long as I still loved 
 you, I could hate you ; but now I simply judge you. You must 
 bear the consequences of your actions. Justice requires that. I 
 pity and deplore your lot. How will you ever delight in the forest, 
 when she whom you loaded with sin, fled through the forest unto 
 death ? How can you look at the lake into which her sin plunged 
 her ? The whole world is annihilated to you, you poor creature ! 
 How your pen must tremble when you again sign a death sentence 
 you 've murdered both the dead and the living ! You may write 
 ' pardon,' but who will pardon you, ' king by the grace of God ' ? " 
 
 " Mathilde, I once believed you incapable of even alluding to 
 that which is unseemly." 
 
 " Did you believe it ? and what would you call unseemly in your 
 case ? " 
 
 " Speak on, speak on ! " said the king, as the queen now paused 
 and heaved a sigh. He saw the fire consuming all that was dear- 
 est to him on earth, and, at the same time, recognized the beauty 
 of the flame. There are strange chords in the human soul, and 
 the king, although filled with shame and indignation, could not 
 but admire the power revealed by his wife. He had never dreamed 
 of its existence. She was greater and stronger than he had ever 
 imagined, and his appeal to her seemed to acknowledge her su- 
 premacy. This made her the more indignant and, with forced 
 composure, she continued : 
 
 " No one has a right to demand of another, of a prince, or even 
 of yourself, that he should be a genius ; but every one has a right 
 to ask that you should be an upright man, a true husband and 
 father. You could be that, just as easily as any peasant or day- 
 laborer can." 
 
460 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Pain and resentment were depicted in the king's countenance. 
 
 "Mathilde," said he, at last, in a tremulous voice, " Mathilde, 
 I am not speaking of myself ; but consider how these words must 
 injure you." 
 
 " I 've considered all that. I know that the thousand little 
 pleasures of life are no longer mine. I shall bear a burden which 
 death alone can remove ! I know that. But I 've no pity for my- 
 self. Where love is dead, justice must reign ! " 
 
 " Love ? The love that could die was not love ! " 
 
 "Don't let us dispute. We've ceased to understand one 
 another. Listen to my last, my irrevocable words. What is left 
 me? to despise you, or to become despicable myself. Here I 
 stand," said she, drawing herself up, and appearing taller than be- 
 fore, while a dark flush overspread her countenance, "here I stand 
 and tell you that I despise you. I will live with you and by your 
 side, as long as life remains ; but I despise you . Know that, and 
 now leave me. I shall appear with you this evening, at the court 
 festival. You shall have no reason to complain of any breach of 
 decorum. Once, love for you was all mv life that memory is 
 mine ; you need it not ! " 
 
 The king arose. He wanted to speak, but it was long before he 
 could utter a word. 
 
 " Does any one know of your sentiments towards me ? " he 
 asked, at last, in a hoarse voice. 
 
 " No ; we owe it to our son that no one should know of it." 
 
 " Mathilde, I never would have believed that you could speak 
 thus to me. But it does not come from you ; another has forced 
 himself between us. He taught you to think and speak thus ! " 
 
 " You are the great master who has taught me to substitute 
 hatred for love, and contempt for adoration." 
 
 " Does your friend, the Doctor, know nothing of what you are 
 now inflicting upon me ? " 
 
 " I cannot swear to you you can no longer believe an oath 
 but this I can say : if Gunther knew that I had suffered myself to 
 be carried away by the ardor of my past love for you, it would 
 grieve him deeply, for anger, hatred, and revenge, are foreign to 
 his great nature ! " 
 
 " His great nature may be made very small ! " 
 
 "You will not, you dare not, rob me of my only friend ! I im- 
 plore you ! I '11 ask for nothing more as long as I live. I '11 be 
 obedient and submissive. I can no longer offer you love. Grant 
 me but this one request : leave me my only friend ! " 
 
 " Your only friend ? I do n't know that title. As far as I know, 
 there is no such position at court." 
 
 " On my knees, I implore you ! Do n't mortify him ! let me keep 
 this one friend. He 's great, pure, noble ; it is he alone who rec 
 onciles me to life ! " 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 461 
 
 The queen was about, to throw herself on her knees before the 
 king. He touched her she shuddered and drew herself up. 
 
 " Be proud ! " exclaimed the king. " Be so ! and bear the conse- 
 quences ! Be the exalted one, the pure drop from the heavenly 
 cloud mingling with me, the dust of the highway " 
 
 The queen looked up amazed. What was it she had heard ? 
 The words of her noble friend thus repeated and distorted. Her 
 head swam. 
 
 "Be what you will!" continued the king. "Be alone, and 
 seek support in yourself. 1 " 
 
 He pulled at the betrothal ring on his finger. It was difficult to 
 get it off", and his face grew red while he pulled at it with all his 
 strength. At last, he drew it over his knuckle. Without saying a 
 word, he laid the ring on the table before the queen. 
 
 He walked to the. door. He stopped for a moment, as if list- 
 ening for a word from her a word to which he would have re- 
 plied from the depths of his heart, a word which would have saved 
 and reconciled them both. 
 
 The queen looked after him. Would he not turn again ? would 
 he not once more, with heart-piercing tone, cry : " Forgive me ! " 
 The love that still dwelt in her, impelled her towards him. It was 
 but for a moment that the king paused. Involuntarily, the queen 
 stretched her arms towards him the moment had passed and, 
 with it, the king had left. 
 
 The queen walked to the portiere, and stared fixedly at it. Then 
 she fell back on the sofa and wept. She lay there weeping for a 
 long while. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE queen was now doubly unhappy. She felt unutterable 
 grief because of her lost love, and had, moreover, suffered her- 
 self to be led away by wicked and hateful passion. The sense of 
 freedon . and of elevation, which Gunther had awakened in her, had 
 vanished. And now that the heart-rending separation had taken 
 place, it seemed to her like a death that had been foreseen. But, 
 although we behold its approach from afar, death ever brings new 
 and unlocked for woe in its train. 
 
 The queen went to the crown prince's apartments. On her way, 
 she passed by the king's cabinet. She paused for a moment, and 
 asked herself how it would be if she were to enter here, clasp him 
 in her arms and say : " Let all be forgotten ; you are unhapr.y as 
 well as I, and I will help you to bear your lot." 
 
 She passed on, for she felt afraid lest she might again appear to 
 him as weak and wavering, while she meant to be strong. 
 
 When she saw her child, her eyes regained a bright expression. 
 The child had not seen its mother weeping and wrestling with hef 
 
462 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 sorrow, and now she was with him again. " He, too, will come 
 here," said an inner voice that she was almost loth to listen to. 
 She trembled when she learned that the king had had the prince 
 brought to his apartments that very day. 
 
 She waited for a long while. She would kiss the boy's little 
 hand again and again, and would look around to see if the father 
 were not coming. 
 
 He came not. 
 
 The king was sitting in his cabinet, his hands pressed against 
 his burning brow. He had passed the turning point in his ca- 
 reer, and he could no longer permit himself to be oppressed 
 by private, personal griefs. He had repented, and that was suffi- 
 cient. He was determined to effect a change in himself, and that 
 was more than enough. Of what use were further accusations and 
 penalties ? A deep feeling of resentment against his wife arose 
 within him. She was weak and revengeful. No, not weak ; she 
 was endowed with a power of which he had never had the faintest 
 presentiment, and he felt deeply conscious of the grievous fault he 
 had committed in deceiving such a wife. He was, however, una- 
 ble to free himself from the thought that his punishment was an af- 
 front to his exalted position. And while his own life-fabric lay in 
 ruins, why should he, with wondrous self-denial, set about righting 
 the lives of others ? The heart that is reconciled and at peace with 
 itself, is the only one that can exert a reconciling and peaceful in- 
 fluence on others. A spirit of defiance and discontent moved him 
 to abandon the reforms he had begun, for she who was nearest 
 and dearest to him, his own wife, would not justly acknowledge 
 them. 
 
 He sat there for a long while, dull and depressed. At length 
 he arose, his face expressive of defiance and firmness. He had de- 
 termined to accomplish the good, whether his efforts were appre- 
 ciated or misjudged. His strength for good had conquered. Un- 
 aided, and for the sake of his own honor, he had determined to 
 carry out the measures that he considered right, and the happiness 
 that this would cause him must compensate for the lost pleasures 
 of love. 
 
 There were great festivities at court that evening. 
 
 Th * betrothal of Princess Angelica to Prince Arnold was offi- 
 cially celebrated.' The queen appeared, leaning on her husband's 
 arm, and had a kind and gentle greeting for every one. She looked 
 weak, but none the less beautiful. 
 
 No one was able to discover the faintest trace of the rupture be- 
 tween the royal pair, nor did any one notice that the ring was no 
 longer on the king's hand. 
 
 The king and queen conversed with apparent cordiality, but 
 she often looked as if she must ask him : " Has nothing hap* 
 pened ? " 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 463 
 
 Then she would look about her fearfully, as if the spectre of Irma 
 must suddenly appear in white, dripping garments. 
 
 When the king, accompanied by the queen, had made the round 
 of the saloons, he saluted Bronnen most cordially and remained 
 with him for some time, engaged in lively conversation. 
 
 The queen looked on in amazement. She well knew that Bron- 
 nen had secretly admired Irma, and had even sought her hand. 
 Ho\v had it happened that the king had become so intimate with 
 this man, and distinguished him above all the other members of 
 the court? There was no opportunity to obtain information on 
 this point. The whole summer palace was illuminated ; the ter- 
 race was hung with variegated lamps ; vessels of burning pitch 
 were placed in the park, sending their brightness out into the au- 
 tumn night ; the band of Prince Arnold's regiment played merry 
 airs, the glow of lights and the sounds of music were wafted far out 
 into the valley and even into the mountains, on whose lonely heights 
 there were human dwellings. 
 
 The queen met Gunther, but simply exchanged a few hasty words 
 with him. The king greeted him politely as he passed by. 
 
 He won't be so cruel, thought the queen. There was a strange 
 shyness in her expression whenever her eyes rested on Gunther, and, 
 on one occasion, the king observed this and shook his head. The 
 queen felt that Gunther must be displeased with her, for she had not 
 acted according to the laws that he had explained to her. 
 
 On the following day, it was reported throughout the capital : .hat 
 Doctor Gunther had received his dismissal. The official gazette 
 which contained an account of the betrothal festivities, announced 
 that " His Majesty the King has been graciously pleased to accept 
 the resignation of his body physician, Privy Councilor Gunther, 
 and, in token of his satisfaction, has conferred the cross of Com- 
 mander of the **** Order upon him." 
 
 Among the personal announcements was the following : 
 
 " I bid farewell to all my friends and am about to remove to my 
 native town **** in the Highlands. 
 
 " DOCTOR WILLIAM GUNTHER, 
 
 " Privy Councilor and late Physician in Ordinary to His 
 Majesty the King." 
 
A STORY 
 
 OF 
 
 A SOLITARY WORLDLING 
 
BOOK VII. 
 
 (IRMA'S JOURNAL.) 
 
 CAST ashore what is there left me, but to live on, because I am 
 not dead ? 
 
 For days and nights, this unsolved question kept me, as it were, 
 hovering between heaven and earth, just as it was in the terrible 
 moment when I glided down from the rock. 
 
 I have solved the problem. 
 
 I am working. I shall remain resolved, no matter what the 
 result. I find it a relief to note down my thoughts and feelings. 
 
 I was ill, of a fever, they tell me, and now I am at work. 
 
 I had told the grandmother of what I could do, but there was no 
 chance to apply it here. She took me out into the garden, and we 
 gathered up the apples that Uncle Peter shook down from the tree. 
 Then the old, blind pensioner, whose room is over mine, came out 
 and told us, with angry cries, that a certain portion of the apples 
 belonged to him. He tried to find one, so that he might taste 
 it, and thus ascertain which tree we were shaking. I handed him 
 an apple, and told him that I lived in the room under his. 
 
 We were still in the garden, when a man came who wanted to 
 purchase two maple trees that were standing by the cross road, in 
 order to use them for carving. This seemed like a ray of hope. I 
 told the grandmother that I knew how to mold in clay, and that I 
 thought I could easily learn how to carve in wood. And now I 'm 
 in the workshop, as a pupil. 
 
 This is my first free Sunday, and, while all are away at church, 
 I am writing this. 
 
 I once knew a man who had already been kneeling on the sand- 
 heap, the muskets aimed at him, and he was pardoned. I have 
 often seen him. O that I had asked him how he lived on ! 
 
 * 
 
 There is no mirror in my room. I have determined never to see 
 myself again. 
 
 And since I neither have, nor desire a mirror, let these pages be 
 the mirror of my soul. 
 
468 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 this repose ! this solitude ! It is like rising from the lake, like 
 life regained. And yet how calm, how restful ! 
 
 Up here, and in thousands of other places on this earth, 't was 
 ever thus, while, down below, I was about to commit a fearful sin ! 
 
 * 
 
 1 have just returned from the workshop. Formerly, when making 
 excursions from the summer palace into the surrounding country, 
 we would stop at the industrial villages and visit the large work- 
 shops, where everything was shown us. I used to feel a sense of 
 shame ah ! that was long ago at the thought of our merel) 
 looking on for a moment, while others were working. And when 
 we returned to our carriages and drove off, leaving the men still at 
 their work, what must they have thought of us ? 
 
 I am now at the workbench myself. 
 
 * 
 
 Why does no religion place the command : " Thou shall work " 
 above all others ? 
 
 5P 
 
 They say that the wound sucked by living lips heals quickly. 
 O thou who art called queen ! I would like to suck up the blood 
 that trickles from thy heart ! 
 
 Did I destroy the letter to the queen, or did it reach her? 
 
 I started with fright, when the grandmother asked me why I had 
 pained the queen by informing her that I meant to take my life. 
 
 Why ? I know not why. All I know is that I could not help it ; 
 it was the last, the unavoidable tribute I owed to truthfulness. 
 
 Why is it that we only concern ourselves about what others may 
 think of us after death, when life has become but an empty sound ? 
 
 * 
 
 Sad and painful days. 
 
 I regarded it as my duty to write to the queen from my place of 
 concealment. Uncle Peter, a true-hearted and obliging little man, 
 who is always at my service and would like to show me a kindness 
 every moment, offered to carry a letter for me to a distant town. 
 The queen shall not grieve on my account not for my death, at 
 all events. I will let her know that I am yet alive, but that my life 
 is one of expialion. If I only felt sure that I had really burnt the 
 letters, or that they reached him and her. Him I need tell no 
 more. The good mother noticed that something was troubling me 
 something that I had kept from her. She often came to me, 
 but asked no questions. At last I could bear it no longer, and 
 told her what I had determined on. She took me by the hand 
 whenever she means to make her words additionally impressive, 
 she does this, as if she felt that she must hold fast to me physically 
 and said : " Child, you Ve only to make up your mind clearly as 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 469 
 
 to what you mean to do. Ask your own heart whether you would 
 n't rather be discovered. Ask your conscience." 
 
 I started. It is true, I should not care to do anything, but if it 
 were to happen 
 
 " Do n't give me your answer," continued the mother ; "answer 
 yourself, and then ask yourself whether, if you returned to where 
 you once were, you would n't, on the morrow or the day after, wish 
 to be away again. But let me tell you one thing : whatever you 
 determine on, do it thoroughly. Do n't write at all, and let the 
 queen mourn you ; for it 's much easier to grieve for the dead 
 than for one who, though living, is lost ; or else, write to her hon- 
 estly and frankly : ' Here I am.' As I said before, whatever you 
 do, let it be done thoroughly. O my child ! " she added, " I fear it 
 will be with you as it was with the poor soul. Do you know the 
 story of the poor soul ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then I '11 tell it to you. There was once a young girl who, 
 having gone astray and died an early death, descended into hell ; 
 and there Saint Peter could always hear her crying, from amidst 
 the flames, ' Paul ! Paul ! ' in tones that were so heart-rending that 
 even the most wicked demons could n't find it in their hearts to 
 mock at her. So one day Saint Peter went up to the gates of hell 
 and enquired : ' My dear child, why are you always crying " Paul ! 
 Paul!" in such a pitiful voice?' and the girl replied: 'Ah, dear 
 Saint Peter, what are all of hell's torments ? To me, they 're noth- 
 ing. Paul is worse off than I am. How will he endure life without 
 me ? I only ask for one thing : let me return to the earth once 
 more ; only for a moment, so that I may see how he 's getting on, 
 and I '11 be willing to remain in hell a hundred years longer.' 
 
 "'A hundred years!' said St Peter. 'Consider, my child; a 
 hundred years is a long time.' 
 
 " ' Not to me. O I implore you to let me see my Paul once 
 more ! After that, I '11 certainly be quiet and submit patiently to 
 everything.' 
 
 "Saint Peter resisted for a long while, but the poor soul gave 
 him no peace, and at last he said : ' Well, you may go, for all I 
 care ; but you '11 be sorry for it.' 
 
 " And so the poor soul returned to the earth, in order to see her 
 beloved Paul. And when she got there, and saw him feasting and 
 enjoying himself with others, she quietly went back to eternity and, 
 shaking her head sadly, said : ' Now I '11 return to hell and repent.' 
 And then Saint Peter said to her : ' The hundred years you prom- 
 ised are forgiven you. During the one minute you passed on earth, 
 you suffered more than you would have done in a hundred years 
 of hell.' 
 
 " And that 's the story of the poor soul." 
 
tfo ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 I thirst for some spring outside of me, which would refresh and 
 redeem me. I long for music, for faith, for some soul-liberating 
 dedication of myself ! I find it not. I must seek the spring within 
 myself. 
 
 In deepest grief, it often seems to me as if it were not I who have 
 suffered thus. 1 go my way, and it seems as if some one were tell- 
 ing me the story of what had happened to another. 
 
 For the first time in my life, I know what it is to feel that I am 
 being borne with and favored. I really ought not to be here. I 
 am eating the bread of charity. Now I know how the poor home- 
 less ones must feel. If Hansei cared to do so, he could send me 
 out of his house this very day, and what would become of me 
 
 then ? 
 
 Y 
 
 I am obliged to eat in the company of my hospitable friends, 
 and I find it no easy matter to do so. I pity Hansei, most of all. 
 To him, it must seem as if a strange apparition the phantom of 
 one whom he knows not, was seated at his table. I destroy his 
 
 happiness. 
 
 > 
 
 I have punctured my hand with the gimlet, just because, while 
 at work, I am busy thinking of other things. My little pitchman 
 has brought me a healing salve. 
 
 Antique forms of beauty cannot be worked in wood. It is inflex- 
 ible, stubborn stuff and can, with difficulty, be made to yield to the 
 designs of art. It is naught but a makeshift material. 
 
 " Oh, how glorious it must be to live up here ! " How often is 
 this expression heard during country excursions ! But we forget 
 that the atmosphere of country parties and that of home are two 
 very different things. How different when the wind whistles over 
 the stubble fields and rages among the leafless forest trees ; when 
 dull and heavy mists creep over the mountains ; when, for days 
 and days, the 'clouds hang upon the heights, and, now and then, 
 surfer a summit to appear in phantom-like outline, only to hide it 
 again ; when, at night, the storms disturb your sleep, and it seems 
 as if day would never come. Yes, ye pic-nic spirits, with garlands 
 of fresh leaves on your hats ! spend weeks up here without a sofa, 
 without fresh bread ; only think of it without a sofa ! 
 
 f 
 
 Solit ide with happy, cheerful memories, must needs be peaceful 
 and placid. It suggests the lonely tree that sends its roots through 
 the rich soil and into the clear stream in the valley. But solitude 
 with sad and dark memories, reminds me of the tree whose roots. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 47 r 
 
 ever striking against rocks, must pass over and clamber around 
 them. Thus, holding a rock in their embrace, they are like a heart 
 laden with a heavy burden that it can never rid itself of. 
 
 Perfect solitude is when, for a whole day, no human eye has be- 
 held your face. It does one good to know that no human eye has 
 seen you, and that the glass that mirrors your features, is, as yet, 
 unsullied by the breath of another. 
 
 Solitude is apt to make one superstitious. One naturally casts 
 about him for some external support. 
 
 It always alarms me when, on beginning work in the morning, 
 one of my tools drops from my hand- . I feel that the day which 
 begins thus, will prove a sad and troubled one. I fight down this 
 superstitious feeling. 
 
 He who possesses a firm faith, although in solitude, is not alone. 
 
 My master is always out of humor. His wife and three daugh- 
 ters assist him at his work. Hansei has advanced the pay for 
 my lessons. I am an apt pupil. 
 
 I notice that these people regard me as slightly demented. The 
 little pitchman informed me that Hansei had given out this report, 
 intending that it should serve as a sort of invisible cap. This 
 gives me liberty and yet protects me, but at times it makes me 
 feel uneasy. 
 
 My master also thinks that I am out of my mind. He ad- 
 dresses me cautiously, and is delighted when he finds that I have 
 understood him. 
 
 * 
 
 The swallows are departing. Ah ! I cannot deny that I fear the 
 approaching winter. If I only do not become ill. That were 
 terrible ! It would force me to betray myself or no, I dare not be 
 ill. But I am still so nervous. It is hard for me to mention it, but 
 it is hard to bear it. A cow in the stable near by has a bell on 
 her neck, and day and night it keeps up its unrhythmic tinkling. 
 But I must get used to it. 
 
 J. really dread the winter. If it were only springtime, instead of 
 autumn. Nature would be my friend. Nature is the same every- 
 where. But now winter faces me. I must reconcile myself to it, 
 however, for we cannot arrange the seasons to suit ourselves. I 
 will learn which is the stronger, my temperament or my will. I 
 shall impose no thoughts upon my mind but those which ought 
 to engage it. 
 
 I have determined upon this. 
 
472 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The shoemaker means to recognize C nderella by her foot he 
 finds mine unusually small for that of a peasant girl. 
 I trust that the fairy tale may remain a fairy tale. 
 That touching air from Isouard's Cinderella : 
 
 Good child, thou must contented be, 
 A better lot 's in store for thee, 
 
 Has been haunting me, all day long. 
 
 How simple the words ! Music is the fairy that invests Cinder- 
 ella's accents with royal robes, and entl rones them on the lips of 
 all mankind. 
 
 * 
 
 happy nursery tale ! Thou askest not how the princess lived 
 as poultry-maid. Thy fancy uttered its creative: "Let there 
 be " and behold !'it was. 
 
 But, in life, such transformations are not brought about without 
 great effort. 
 
 Walpurga has rightly divined my feelings. It was but to-day 
 that she said : 
 
 " You can't get used to things here. Life here must seem al- 
 most as strange to you as it did to me in the palace ; but, of course, 
 it 's easier to get used to a silken bed than to a sack of leaves." 
 
 1 felt like saying : " And if one means to go home again, it 's far 
 easier to put up with such discomfort," but I repressed it. One 
 ought not to torment such people with logical consequences. 
 Their thoughts and feelings are like the singing of birds, without 
 rhythm and, at best, like the folk-songs, whose melodies close on 
 the third, instead of on the key note. 
 
 Since the alluring, glittering life of the great world could at any 
 time have been mine, I find it easy to forego it. 
 
 Had I entered a convent and were living there, fettered by a vow 
 and subject to restraint, I know that I should have mourned 
 away my days behind the bars. 
 
 To be without gloves ! I never knew that one's hands could be- 
 come so cold. I cannot realize that I am without gloves. When 
 he drew off my glove, a shudder passed through me. Was it a 
 presentiment ? 
 
 In the mornings I feel the want of a thousand little conveniences, 
 with which use had so familiarized me that I scarcely knew I pos- 
 sessed them. I am obliged to learn the affairs of every-day life 
 from the good mother. It is just these things that we forget to 
 learn. We are taught dancing, before we are really able to walk. 
 
 From cleaning our shoes in the morning to putting out the 
 
ON THE H. 
 
 "^^Bi^^teZL ^ ^ w T^,*^^^ 
 
 lamps at night, how many are our wants, nowiiiAiiij TfilTnelping 
 hands we need ! What with cooking, washing, scouring, drawing 
 of water, and carrying wood, man finds no time to think of him- 
 self. Nature furnishes clothing and food to the beasts ; but man 
 must spin and cook for himself. 
 
 I have imposed a difficult task upon myself, for I have deter 
 mined to allow no one to wait upon me. An anchorite cannot af- 
 ford to be too cleanly or fastidious ; but then I was not intended fof 
 an anchorite. 
 
 * 
 
 At first it oppressed me to think that I had become a Robinson 
 Ciusoe in spirit, but now I am proud of it. 
 
 He who is thrown upon himself, and is no longer able to live in 
 accordance with custom, is cast away on a desert island, and must 
 create everything anew for himself. 
 
 But why should I, whose heart was already borne down with its 
 burdens, be obliged to suffer shipwreck, too ? 
 
 * 
 
 When I look out into the night and all is dark, and there is no 
 light to tell me: "Here are other beings like yourself," I feel op 
 pressed with fear, as if I were alone upon the earth ! 
 
 * 
 
 (October.) This evening Ah ! the evenings are already long 
 it suddenly occurred to me: There are thousands who lead a 
 life of affluence and pleasure, who move in society, and yet 
 
 Why should I alone renounce the world, deprive myself of its 
 pleasures, and bury myself in solitude ? 
 
 Because I must and shall ! I live only by the favor and charity 
 of others. I have wasted my life, trifled it away. Shall I try to 
 regain it in bitter earnest ? I once trifled with words, but now they 
 fetter and judge me ! 
 
 " You 're still too heavily laden ? " said the grandmother. 
 
 "How so? " 
 
 " If a wagon 's loaded too heavily, you can't grease its wheels so 
 as to stop their creaking. You must wait till it 's empty. Then 
 you can raise it with a jack-screw, take off the wheels and grease 
 the axles. The burden you still bear is the thoughts of the past ; 
 lay them aside, and you '11 soon feel relieved." 
 
 At last I know why I get up in the mornings. Something seems 
 to say to me : " Thou shalt labor. To-day, this will be finished ; 
 to-morrow, that." And when I lie down to rest, there is always 
 something more: in the world than there was at daybreak. 
 
 "Work!" "Work!" is the daily, hourly watchword here. 
 They think of nothing but work. It is a necessity of their being, 
 
474 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 just as growth is to the tree. It is this that makes them so self 
 reliant. 
 
 * 
 
 There is misery and discord, even here. 
 
 In the kindness of her heart, Walpurga said that she could not 
 endure the thought of the old blind pensioner's being obliged to 
 eat his meals alone, and that she meant to have him at the table 
 with the rest. 
 
 " I won't have it ! " said Hansei. " Not a word more about it; 
 I won't have, it." 
 
 "Why not?" 
 
 " Why ? You ought to know that yourself. If Jochem has once 
 been at the table, you can never get rid of him again. So we 'd 
 better not have him at all. You do n't know how an old blind man 
 eats." 
 
 After that, not a word was spoken during the meal. Walpurga 
 made believe that she was eating, but she was merely choking 
 down her tears, and left the table soon afterward. She is keenly 
 sensitive to such rudeness and cruelty ; but she never complains, 
 not even to me. 
 
 * 
 
 (During a violent storm.) 
 
 What a fright I have had to-day ! My little pitchman told me 
 that a man had hanged himself somewhere in the vicinity. 
 
 " It had to come," thought he. " The man had hanged himself 
 fifteen years ago, but they cut him down, and he lived on. But it 
 was just as if he always had a rope around his neck people 
 who 've once tried anything of that sort, never die a natural death." 
 
 How his words startled me. 
 
 Can it be that such dread fate is yet in store for me ? 
 
 I answer : No ! It shall not be ! 
 
 * 
 
 To sit in my warm room and look out at the driving snowstorm, 
 is like going back in thought to the hurly-burly of the great 
 world. 
 
 Nine weeks have passed already. 
 
 I still have a dull, heavy feeling, as if I had been struck in the 
 head with a hammer. I merely exist, but it seems as if life were 
 again dawning upon me. When I awake in the mornings, I am 
 obliged to ask myself who and where I am, and to recall all my 
 woe. But then work soon sum nons me away. 
 
 * 
 
 I have nothing more to look for, be it from the outer world, 01 
 die morrow. I am forced back upon myself and the present. 
 For me, there are neither letters nor books, and the very roads are 
 closed. To arise in the morning and know that no tidings, 
 whether of joy or sadness, can come from without ; to have noth- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 47$ 
 
 ing to fall back upon but one's self and the undying laws of na- 
 ture : he who can lead such a life, self-contained and yet contented, 
 must be like the child illuminated by its own radiance the child 
 painted by Correggio. 
 
 Hammer and axe, file and saw, all that once seemed to me in- 
 struments of torture for poor enslaved humanity, I have found the 
 instruments of deliverance. They banish the demons that dwell 
 within us. Where these tools are wielded by industrious hands, 
 evil spirits cannot tarry. The redeemer who will consecrate la- 
 bor, is yet to come. 
 
 * 
 
 At last, I find myself obliged to be content without doing any- 
 thing in the way of art. 
 
 Although wood is useful, and in many respects indispensable, it 
 cannot be applied to serve beauty apart from usefulness. The 
 substance with which my art, or rather trade, employs itself is 
 unequal to the demands of art, except for decorative purposes. 
 Bronze and marble speak a universal language, but a wooden 
 image always retains a provincial character. It addresses us in 
 dialect, as it were, and never attains to the perfect expression of 
 the ideal. We can make wooden effigies of animals or plants 
 with which we are familiar, and can even carve angels in relievo, 
 but to make a life-size bust, or human figure, of wood, were 
 entirely out of the question. 
 
 Wood carving is only the beginning of art and is faltering, or, at 
 best, monotonous, in its expression. What has once existed as an 
 organism cannot be transformed into a new organic structure. 
 Stone and bronze, however, do not acquire organic shape, except 
 at the hands of man. 
 
 If a Greek of the days of Pericles, were to behold our images 
 of the saints, how he would shudder at our barbarism. 
 
 * 
 
 This journal is a comfort to me. I can express myself in my 
 own language and feel perfectly at home. I cannot, at times, 
 avoid regarding my constant use of the dialect of this region as a 
 sort of affectation. Everything that I say appears to me distorted. 
 I feel as if wearing a strange costume, and as if my soul were 
 concealed behind an iron mask. Although I am a child of the 
 mountains, the words I utter seem strange and foreign. A dialect 
 proves poverty of resources. It is an imperfect instrument ; a 
 kettle-drum, for instance, on which one can play neither concertos 
 nor fantasias. Or, to put it differently, the language of Lessing 
 and Goethe is like the beautiful butterfly that has left the chrysalis 
 to which it can never more return. 
 
 Alas ! The one terrible thought confronts me at every turn. 
 I have offended and denied you, ye who represent the spirit of my 
 people and of humanity. You fostered me, and I have abused 
 
476 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 the gifts which education bestowed uoon me. I must remain in 
 exile. 
 
 * 
 
 The fire that still smoulders within me must be extinguished. 
 My heart is so heavy that it seems to drag me down, as if 
 weights were hanging to me, 
 
 * 
 
 I am so weary, so exhausted, that I feel as though my limbs 
 must break under me ! I should like to do nothing but sleep ; to 
 sleep always. 
 
 I should like to perform a pilgrimage to some place or person, as 
 an act of expiation. 
 
 I now understand the basis of a religion of symbols a religion 
 that speaks to the eye. 
 
 I will go hence to Italy, to Spain, to Paris, to the East, to 
 America. I will go to Rome and become an artist. I must be one. 
 If I am still to live on in the wide world, I must enjoy it fully and 
 deny myself nothing, for I am not of a self-sacrificing tempera- 
 ment. I could hurl the full cup of life into the abyss, but to see it 
 before my eyes, and yet languish and mortify myself that I cannot 
 do. I will, I must go. Something calls me hence. Naples lies 
 before me. I see a villa on the shore ; merry excursions by water ; 
 a crowd of laughing, singing, gaily-attired creatures I plunge 
 into the current of life. Better there than in that of death. And 
 yet I cannot 
 
 A gloomy, terrible, twilight hour. Something urges me to turn 
 back, and tells me that the whole world is mine. What has hap- 
 pened ? Are there not thousands like me, who live honored, ob- 
 livious of themselves ? What is it within me that whispers : " You 
 must expiate? " I can go hence. It will seem as if nothing had 
 occurred. "A piquant adventure," "a disappearance for a few 
 weeks." What more can they say? All I need is to be bold 
 the carriage rolls along, all salute me. I am beautiful, and no one 
 will see the writing on my brow, for a diadem sparkles there. 
 
 But the terrible words are written there it seems as if I could 
 behold my own soul face to face. 
 
 There is a childhood of the soul and, with all her experience, the 
 grandmother possesses it. Oh, that I could gain that childlike 
 feeling ! But have not those who seek it, for ever lost it ? 
 
 * 
 
 Old Jochem often brings his monev to me. and makes me count 
 it for him, piece by piece. He maintains that one is so often cheated 
 in money matters. 
 
 My little pitchman told me that the peasants almost always 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 477 
 
 treat their aged parents who have given up their property t4 
 them, with great unkindness, and then he asked me : " Why must 
 Jochem live so long ? He has nothing in the world but hatred and 
 mistrust." I know no answer 
 
 Old Jochem is a veritable peasant Lear, but as he is able to com- 
 plain at the court of jtistice, and has actually done so, his case is 
 not pure tragedy. 
 
 But there is no court of justice at which a king can complain ; 
 nor does he desire one ; and hence his fate is great and tragic. 
 
 My friend, call me when thou standest in judgment upon thy- 
 self. I am the only one who dare accuse thee, and yet I accuse 
 not thee, but myself. And I am expiating my guilt. 
 
 t: 
 
 The open hearth-fire affords me many happy moments. How 
 beautiful a fire is ! What are all jewels, compared with it ? 
 Poor old Jochem cannot see the fire*. It is the most beautiful thing 
 in every house Men should be fire-worshipers. 
 
 "You've had good thoughts," said Hansei to me, when I was 
 sitting by the open window to-day. " I could tell it by your looks." 
 He evidently longed to put a question to me, but he is determined 
 10 keep his resolution. He never asks me anything and, to avoid 
 doing so, often changes the form of his sentences. I told him my 
 thoughts, and his manner seemed to imply : " It is n't worth while 
 to think of such things." 
 
 "Yes," said Hansei at last, "that's true enough. When one 
 sits by the fire, his thoughts will roam." 
 
 To Hansei 's notion, nothing in the world is so objectionable as 
 taking a walk. He cannot conceive why one should roam about, 
 where there is nothing to seek and nothing to do, and why, under 
 such circumstances, one would not rather lie down on the long 
 bench and go to sleep. 
 
 When I think of good Kent, I always imagine him as having a 
 rich, full voice, like that of Bronnen, whom, in his youth, he must 
 have resembled. 
 
 Certain figures pass in procession before my mind's eye. The 
 queen and Bronnen are the only ones ever present ; the king van- 
 ished with the forgotten past. In my dreams, many visit me, but 
 he never comes. Why, I know not. I cannot solve the enigma. 
 
 To one who, when alone, stops to think, many things lose in 
 value, human beings among the rest. Personally, Gunther was no 
 more to me than another would have been. Emma was a mere 
 echo. 
 
 If we thus reckon over our possessions, we find them little 
 enough, and I have left but little behind me in the world. 
 
 The ringing of the sleigh bells is the only sound one hears. The 
 
478 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 woods are full of busy workmen. Snow and ice, which block the 
 roads elsewhere, here serve as highways. 
 
 * 
 
 Labor, by sending its fruits out into the world, places our vital 
 force at the disposal of others. The work which I have fashioned 
 goes out among men, and yet I am left undisturbed in my solitude 
 and concealment. 
 
 Man's work leaves him. It seems to me that I once met with 
 the same idea in Ottilia's journal. 
 
 * 
 
 The dog is the friend and confidant of solitary man. Lonely, 
 deserted spots, like this, aid one to appreciate his faithfulness, for 
 he fails not to give notice of every unwonted occurrence. 
 
 I often rush to the window when the dog barks who knows 
 what stranger may have come ? 
 
 Suppose the intendant or Gunther were suddenly to come, and 
 ask me to follow them back into the world ? 
 
 The very thought makes me tremble. 
 
 \Vould 1 be obliged to obey ? 
 
 To know that I had, at one time, renounced the world, and that 
 it was but a step and a leap makes it easier to bear with life. I 
 am now beyond misfortune's reach. 
 
 And yet if life were to claim me again 
 
 * 
 
 I am but an ant dragging a pine-needle. 
 
 * 
 
 I am not quite forsaken. I bear, within me, memories of melo- 
 dies and pictures, and, above all, songs of our great master, Goethe. 
 
 "On every height there lies repose." 
 
 This passage has occurred to me hundreds of times, refreshing 
 me just as if it were a gentle, cooling dew, falling upon a parched 
 field. I delight in the harmonious cadence and in the simple 
 words ! 
 
 I could not rest until I had repeated the song to some one. I 
 recited it to the old pensioner; he understood it, and my little 
 pitchman has already gotten it by heart. How fortunate is the 
 poet ! One short hour of his life becomes undying to thousands 
 a f ter him. How I delight in these precious memories ! I am like 
 the old pensioner, who has learnt a few songs and quietly sings 
 them to himself. 
 
 * 
 
 I am beginning to feel something like veneration for the old pen- 
 sioner. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 479 
 
 Early this morning, he came to me, dressed in his Sunday 
 clothes, and wearing the medal which he received in the war of 
 liberation. It was not without a certain air of pride that he said : 
 " They 're reading a mass for me at church to-day. I served under 
 Napoleon in those days, just as the king did, too. It was in the 
 year ' nine ' and, on this very day, up to three o'clock that is, 
 some time between three and four I was sound and hearty, when, 
 all at once, I was struck by a ball, here in the third rib that 's why 
 I wear my medal on the right side. I fell to the earth, thinking : 
 Good night, world ! God keep thee, my dear sweetheart ! She 
 who was afterward my wife, was my sweetheart at that time. 
 They extracted the ball with a crossbill, and I kept on smoking 
 while they were at work. My pipe never went out once, and I was 
 soon all right again. But one does n't easily forget such a day, and 
 60 I arranged it, at the church, that they should read a mass for me 
 on this day. See, this is the ball and, when they bury me, I want 
 them to lay it on my third rib." 
 
 He showed me the ball. He carried it in a leather purse. After 
 that a child that he had hired for the purpose led him down into 
 the village. 
 
 I will now be more patient with the unfortunate old man. His 
 life was a drop in the ocean of history struck by the enemy's bul- 
 let ! A leaden ball can be extracted, why cannot also 
 
 When I reflect on the daily events of the life I now lead, all my 
 thoughts seem to lose themselves in the one unsolvable problem. 
 
 The grandmother told me a strange truth to day. I had been 
 telling her that, even in the past, I had never been perfectly happy, 
 when she replied : 
 
 " You deceived yourself. It 's always so in the world. Those 
 who are deceived, have deceived themselves, but they 're never 
 willing honestly to confess it. 
 
 * 
 
 Uncle Peter is the very embodiment of cheerful poverty. He is 
 always in a good humor, and I have been the means of making 
 him quite happy. He brings my work, carries away what I have 
 finished, and, between us, we have quite a handsome profit. He 
 also assists me in preparing the wood, and he handles saw and 
 axe as deftly as a bird does its claws and beak. 
 
 * 
 
 To-day I received the first money that I ever earned by the work 
 of my hands. Uncle Peter counted it out to me on the table. He 
 refuses paper money. Nothing but silver will satisfy him. " Ready 
 money smiles," said he, with a laugh in which I could not help join- 
 ing. How small are these gains, and yet how encouraging. I have 
 earned them. All my lifelong, I have merely enjoyed what others 
 have offered me. It was a privilege, inherited from my ances- 
 tors, that others should labor for me. 
 
480 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 I can now manage to pay Walpurga something for my support, 
 She refused to receive pay, but I shall insist upon it. 
 
 It is well that my employment is, to a great extent, a mechanical 
 one, comprising much which is necessary and requires neither 
 reflection nor contrivance. Certain things must be done, and there 
 is but one way of doing them. If I were obliged to do anything 
 that required great mental exertion, it would be the death of me. 
 
 It is now four months since I came here. 
 My hands have become hardened. 
 
 The treatment I receive from those about me, satisfies me that 
 their affection for me is sincere. 
 
 * 
 
 If one could only always remain the same that is, in the full 
 possession of one's powers. 
 
 I often give way to fits of depression and feel completely undone, 
 forsaken, weak and helpless, and as if help must come from some- 
 where. But whence ? and from whom ? 
 
 I am obliged, with each succeeding day, to overcome the melan- 
 choly that oppresses me during the mornings. In the evenings, I 
 am calm for I am weary then. 
 
 * 
 
 We hear the falling rain, but not the snow. Bitter grief is vio- 
 lent ; resignation, calm and silent. 
 
 * 
 
 It is bitter cold up here ; but the woods are near us, and my 
 monster of a tile stove is a faithful friend who preserves his warmth. 
 
 * 
 
 Literally speaking, when Hansei returns from the forest it often 
 takes him an hour to thaw, and regain control of his voice and 
 movements. Until then, it is best not to talk with him, for he is 
 easily offended ; but when he has thawed, he is quite happy again, 
 and always says : " I thank God that I Ve been a woodsman ! " 
 
 He is evidently thinking of some method of improving the for- 
 ests, but he does not say what it is. 
 
 The lower orders always have overheated rooms. They enjoy 
 intoxication, even that of heat. 
 
 * 
 
 I have no mirror. There is no need of my knowing how I look. 
 A. mirror is the beginning and the cause of self-consciousness. 
 A beast does not see itself it is only seen by others and yet, 
 whether it be the bird on yonder bough, or the cat that sits before 
 my window, it adorns itself. I, too, dress myself carefully, and 
 for my own sake, and am ill at ease when my clothes are loose or 
 illfitting. 
 
 * 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 481 
 
 When I first came here, I found it quite difficult to associate 
 with those about me, but now I find comfort and self- forgetfuln ess 
 in my intercourse with them. I should not like to darken then 
 existence, but to brighten it, instead. They feel that while I par- 
 take, I also contribute my share. 
 
 I think the idea is Goethe's. 
 
 * 
 
 There was great joy in the house to-day, owing to the unex- 
 pected visit of Walpurga's friend and companion Stasi, with her 
 husband, a forester. What happiness, what joy, and what an in- 
 terchange of experiences ! 
 
 Hansei at once invited the forester to be sponsor to his boy, for 
 boy it must be. Walpurga quickly said that she would like to show 
 her friend through the house, and I was obliged to go with her. 
 
 Among the higher classes, love may be greater, may possess more 
 energy, more depth, and more of all that is allied to passion ; but 
 the lower orders seem to possess greater faithfulness and constancy. 
 Work teaches us to be faithful. 
 
 * 
 
 I have been out in the forest with Hansei. Oh how beautiful ! 
 We passed a frozen waterfall ; the crystal columns sparkled in the 
 sunshine. Hansei pointed out two trees that were far up the 
 mountain. He means to have them felled for me, so that I may 
 have the best wood for my work. Am I expected to work up two 
 whole trees ? 
 
 Hansei was quite amused, when I told him I had not forgotten 
 his rule of the mountain : "Go right on, and never stop." 
 
 Mountain-climbing in winter has made me very tired, but I feel 
 quite well. 
 
 * 
 
 I have often wondered why I never heard any mention of Han- 
 sei's family. The little pitchman has just told me that his mother 
 died an early death, and that he never knew his father. 
 
 This accounts for much in Hansei's behavior, and only renders 
 it the more beautiful. 
 
 * 
 
 We are feasting on meat broth. 
 
 Great is Hansei, the dispenser of good ! 
 
 Yes, he is great. How all our illusions vanish ! An Homeric 
 hero who cuts up swine and cooks and roasts them, remains a hero 
 for all, and Hansei is as good as any of them, although it be not 
 with the sword. 
 
 There is Homeric feasting throughout the farm. They all bite 
 with teeth as good as those of Menelaus. 
 
 * 
 
 The greatest blessings are pure blood, steeled sinews and strong 
 nerves. 
 
 21 
 
482 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 But he who, besides these, possesses a quiet conscience is tht 
 happiest of creatures. 
 
 * 
 
 I love the twilight day fading into night. He who lives in com- 
 munion with nature is the only one whose life does full justice to 
 each day. 
 
 Man is the only being who lives far into the night. Light and 
 fire make us what we are. 
 
 Schnabelsdorf the omniscient, once said: "The hour at which 
 men retire is the measure of their civilization." 
 
 At court, they are just sitting down to dinner. They are joking 
 and laughing, and telling each other anecdotes. If I were suddenly 
 to appear among them ? 
 
 Xo, I skall not disturb ye ! 
 
 In a little while, they will be driving to the theatre. Is n't to- 
 day ? I had almost forgotten it yes, this is my birthday. It was 
 to-day a year ago that I went to the ball, in the character of the 
 Lady of the Lake, and it was there he said to me it was in the 
 palmhouse I can still hear his soft voice: "I have purposely 
 chosen this day. You alone are to know it. You and I." 
 
 Oh ! that night ! 
 
 I wonder if they are thinking of me there ? 
 
 The Egyptians, at all their festivals, displayed mementoes of 
 their dead. I cannot write any more I will light the candle I 
 must work. 
 
 * 
 
 There is a deaf mute who lives down in the village and works at 
 coarse wood carvings. He has neither learned to read nor to 
 write, nor has he ever had any religious instruction. He knows 
 nothing at all ; but he does know the church festivals, the holidays, 
 and Shrove Tuesday especially. On those days he will plant him- 
 self, with his umbrella, in front of the church, and watch the peas- 
 ants as they go by. If he sees one who pleases him, he walks up 
 to him, takes off his coat and sits down at the table and, without 
 saying a \vord, they give him food and drink for three days. 
 
 And thus he happened to come to our house. Sometimes he 
 cries, and cannot tell why, but he endeavors to express himself by 
 dumb motions. The little pitchman declares that he cries be- 
 cause he can't eat any more. 
 
 I have tried to make myself intelligible to him, but we do not 
 understand each other. 
 
 * 
 
 (Ash Wednesday.) To-day, even' one in the house is silent and 
 thoughtful. Even' brow was strewn with ashes, while they re- 
 peated : " Mortal ! remember that thou art dust." 
 
 Ah ! mine is a long Ash Wednesday, after a mad carnival ! 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 483 
 
 In my mind's eye, I often behold the picture of the Egyptian 
 princess. Her garments have fallen from her nude form and, with 
 loosened hair, she kneels in prayer by her open grave. 
 
 When wilt thou receive me, all-merciful mother earth ? 
 
 I am reminded of the simple grandeur of Antigone's answer U 
 Creon, who has just announced to her the sentence of death : 
 
 "I knew that I should die ; thou only tellest me when." 
 
 I shall quietly bear the consequences of my actions, relying- on 
 myself, looking for no aid, either material or spiritual, from without. 
 
 When the people have finished repeating the Ave Maria during 
 the tolling of the vesper bell, they say "Good evening" to each 
 other. It is a beautiful custom, and seems to say that they have 
 returned from heaven unto those whom they love on earth. 
 
 When there is no one by, Walpurga always addresses me as 
 "Countess," and treats me with the deference she deems me enti- 
 tled to. 
 
 Everything seems reversed. At one time, I used to address him 
 familiarly in private, and in public 
 
 Ah ! that one memory forever thrusts itself in my way ! 
 
 If I were to become sensitive, it would be the most terrible thing 
 that could happen to me. Perhaps I am so, already. The sensi- 
 tive being is as one unarmed among those who are fully armed, as 
 one unveiled where all the rest are masked. 
 
 I will, I must be strong ! 
 
 Walpurga brought me some flower-pots to-day, with rosemary, 
 geranium and oleander. 
 
 Hansei had brought them from the place of a great doctor who, 
 he says, lives at some distance from here, in the valley. His gar- 
 dener is allowed to sell plants, and Walpurga brought them to me, 
 saying : " You 've always had flowers about you, and these will last 
 through the winter." 
 
 These few plants make me happy. The flower does not ask 
 what sort of a pot it is in, so long as it gets its share of sunshine 
 and rain. What enjoyment do those who dwell in the palace have, 
 of the hothouse flowers ? They neither planted nor tended them : 
 they are strangers to each other. 
 
 Hansei came to me to-day and said : 
 
 " Irmgard, if I 've ever wronged you though I do n't know that 
 I have I beg you to forgive me ! " 
 " What makes you ask me that question ? " 
 "Because to-morrow we go to confession and communion." 
 
484 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The tears that fall upon these pages are my confession, a confes 
 sion that I cannot frame in words. 
 
 * 
 
 Why was I obliged to cross the threshold of evil before entering 
 this circumscribed and yet peaceful existence ? Why not pure and 
 free, proud and strong ? 
 
 I have somewhere read that Francis of Assisi, returning, earl} 
 in the morning, with the merry fellows who had been his comrades 
 in the drinking bout of the night before, was suddenly seized by 
 tne Holy Spirit and, renouncing the world, led a holy life ever after- 
 ward. 
 
 And must it always be through paths of sin ? 
 
 But far sadder is the question : Why were you, O queen ! obliged 
 
 to suffer thus ? 
 
 * 
 
 I often wander about the fields in the pouring rain, and feeling 
 like a prisoner. What keeps me here ? what lures me hence ? 
 
 I lead the life of a prisoner, confined by walls and iron gratings 
 formed by my own will. 
 
 I endure all the pain of exile ! 
 
 I live in a state of torpor. Why must I wait for death ? 
 
 It often seems to me as if I were lying at the edge of a precipice, 
 and yet cannot awake and rise. 
 
 Whither should I go ? 
 
 The thought sometimes flashes across the desert waste that 
 fills my soul, and drags me along, like a powerless rider mounted 
 on some enchanted steed : " You know nothing of the world you 
 have left behind you : those who are about you conceal what 
 knowledge they may possess, and you dare not ask." 
 
 How would it be if the queen were dead, and he who once loved 
 you and whom you loved in return ah, so deeply ! were doubly 
 alone and forsaken, and grieving because of thee ? Let him have 
 but the faintest token that you are still alive, and he will come for 
 you, and, mounted on a white palfrey, you shall again enter the 
 palace as queen. All will be expiated, all will be forgiven. You 
 will be a friend to the people. You know them, for you have lived 
 and suffered with them This thought often seizes me and envel- 
 ops me, as it were, in an enchanted net. I cannot rid myself of 
 it, and I seem to hear voices and trumpet tones, calling me hence, 
 I have not yet quieted the wild brood that dwell in my soul. 
 
 Mysterious demons slumber within our souls. At the faintest 
 call, they raise their heads and crawl from their hiding place. 
 They have cunning eyes and can readily change their shapes. 
 They can appear as virtues, and, borrowing priestly robes, can 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 485 
 
 speak the language of sympathy : " Have pity on yourself and 
 others." They make a show of their power and love of action, 
 and say : " You can bestow happiness on one and on many. You 
 can do great and good service to one and to the multitude." 
 
 I annihilated them. I held the light up to their eyes, and they 
 vanished. 
 
 Thou livest, queen ! Friend whom I have so deeply injured, 
 thou livest ! I do not ask, nor do I wish to know, whether thou art 
 dead. 
 
 Thou livest, and my only wish is that thou mightst know of the 
 life of repentance that I am now leading, and how little compas- 
 sion I have for myself. 
 
 The GreeK drama, "Prometheus Bound," occurs to me. Pro- 
 metheus was the first anchorite. He was fettered from without 
 we fetter ourselves by vows or the rules of an order. 
 
 I am neither a Prometheus, nor a nun. 
 
 * 
 
 There is but one thing, which the outer world might afford me, 
 that I still long for, and that is the music of a large orchestra. 
 Fortunately, I often hear it in my dreams. How strange ! While 
 sleeping, my soul plays on all instruments, and performs great or- 
 chestral works which I never entirely succeeded in committing to 
 memory. 
 
 We lead a dual life after all. 
 
 9 
 
 Freedom and labor are the noblest prerogatives of man. 
 Solitude and industry constitute my all in all. 
 
 Walpurga has never referred to the warning she once gave me. 
 With a rude hand, she snatched me from the edge of the precipice 
 and, in return, I scolded and deceived her, while deceiving myself. 
 She represses everything that might remind me of that scene. 
 
 * 
 
 To-day, Jochem confided to me the one grief that clouds his 
 life : "They lead old oxen and cows to the slaughter-house," said 
 he ; " old horses and old dogs they shoot, and old men they feed 
 to death that 's all the difference." 
 
 * 
 
 The dwelling-house on our farm has been neglected and is sadly 
 in need of repair ; but Hansei is not inclined to begin building at 
 once. 
 
 "We must make shift with the old house," he says, "the work 
 must be done first." And, besides this, he has a certain dread of 
 what people may say. The house had been good enough for those 
 who had been there before him why should n't it be good enough 
 lor him ? 
 
486 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Even the farmer, on his lonely estate, is not perfectly independ- 
 ent. He who cares for the opinion of others, must allow it to 
 affect his actions. 
 
 These are the chains that make slaves of us all. 
 
 * 
 
 (March ist.) Joy and happiness have entered the house. New 
 light has awakened in me, too, as if my life were something more 
 than mere darkness. Walpurga has a boy. Hansei's happiness 
 is complete, and he never mentions the boy except as "the young 
 freeholder." 
 
 * 
 
 The christening is over. I felt sorry that I was unable to ac- 
 company them to church, but I could not. 
 
 I have laid the peasant's garb aside. It was in place while I 
 was a fugitive, but now I have no further need of it. I wear 
 dresses of simple calico, like those worn by many of the country 
 people who employ themselves with housework. All that I have 
 retained is my green hat, which I find quite useful, as it helps to 
 hide my face. 
 
 I have laid aside many outer garments ; how many inner ones 
 must I still put off? 
 
 * 
 
 Fear and anxiety are gradually leaving me. 
 
 I have been at the village, and for the first time. The houses 
 stand apart, on the mountain meadows. Viewed from above, they 
 almost look like a scattered flock of sheep. 
 
 The rushing of the waters and the rustling of the forests sound 
 so strangely at night, and yet the rushing and rustling are un- 
 ceasing. How vain, how small is the child of man ! 
 
 Oh, how delightful it is to be awakened by the song of the finch, 
 and to find all nature refreshed by the invigorating morning air ! 
 
 (April 1 9th.) A heavy fog all day. The mist forms a veil 
 which hides nature's death and awakening from view. 
 
 The nightingale by yonder brook, sings all day long and through 
 the night. What unwearying power! What an inexhaustible 
 fount of song ! 
 
 While I write, its song seems to come nearer, as if it knew that 
 I long for it. 
 
 * 
 
 I see every opening bud, and wait to see the ferns unfold their 
 leaves. Even the rough maple has a delicate blossom. Every- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 487 
 
 thing is blooming or singing. There is music, even in the cackling 
 of the hens. The world is full of infinite variety. 
 
 * 
 
 Oh, how delightful to watch for every green leaf, and for the open- 
 ing of every bud. Nature 's greatest charm is that she is never in 
 haste. She can wait, and all we need do is to wait upon her. 
 
 * 
 
 At first, we attempt to note every stage of growth, but we soon 
 find that an impossibility. 
 
 It needs but a single rainy day, and all the buds burst. Bright 
 spring is with us once again. Spring produces a sort of mental un- 
 rest which seems to move in a course parallel with the impulse at 
 work in nature. 
 
 * 
 
 The drooping birch is laden with rich clusters of blossoms, and 
 its branches are swayed to and fro in mute yet melodious move- 
 ments. 
 
 * 
 
 The best self-forgetfulness is to regard the things of this world 
 with love and attention. Perhaps attention already presupposes 
 love, and that of the most unselfish kind. 
 
 * 
 
 A cuckoo comes quite close to the house at early morning and 
 utters its cry. 
 
 (Whitsuntide.) The preparations for the festival afford much 
 pleasure, more perhaps than the festival itself. What kneading and 
 baking, and what joy at the successful completion of the festal 
 cake. 
 
 Joy which we have prepared for ourselves is perfect joy. And 
 now comes the festival. Trees and human beings seem blooming 
 with life, and yonder forest is borne towards us in the Whitsuntide 
 favors they bring into the house. 
 
 Hansei has a new suit of the style worn in this section of the 
 country. When he walked over the farm to day, the kindly " good 
 morning" which he bestowed upon every one, seemed full of happi- 
 ness. 
 
 I am very sorry that I am again unable to accompany them to 
 church. The festal feeling reaches its climax in church-going, but, 
 even at home, the air is laden with the fragrant odor of the birch 
 and holiday cake. 
 
 * 
 
 (May 24th.) We have had a furious spring storm, accompanied 
 by thunder and lightning. The trees swayed to and fro and bent 
 as if they would break. 
 
 " That 's bad," said my little pitchman, " though it 's good for 
 
*8S ON TLE HEIGHTS. 
 
 the rye. A storm in springt'ine brings cold weather, while one in 
 midsummer makes the days warmer than before." 
 
 How well this symbolizes precocious passion. 
 
 The bright sunshine has returned. I have been out of doors. 
 Millions of blossoms are strewn about the- ground and, in the 
 forest, lay many dead young birds. They had ventured out of 
 their nests too soon ; the rain had wet their young wings and they 
 could not return. Besides that, the nest no longer contained room 
 for them. Forsaken and hungry, there was nothing left them but 
 death ! 
 
 Nature is terrible. It labors long and patiently to bring forth a 
 being which it suddenly and wantonly suffers to die. 
 
 Sundays go hardest with me. One is used to look for some- 
 thing unusual on that day. We put on a particular dress and ex- 
 pect the world to do the same. On that day, more than on all 
 others, I feel that I am in a strange world. 
 
 The brook murmurs and the birds sing, just as they did yester- 
 day. What right have I to ask them to sing me a different song 
 to-day ? 
 
 Nature has no moods ; they belong to man alone. 
 
 In this lies a heavy burden. 
 
 In former days, while watching the forms and colors of the 
 clouds, I was obliged to look up into the sky. But now I see them 
 resting on the earth below me. 
 
 I can pass hours, watching the passing clouds and their ever 
 changing forms as reflected on the mountains. The earth itself 
 was fashioned from such fluid masses. No artist can realize the 
 extent of this cloud-world, or its wealth of form. Before our 
 thoughts attain fixed shape, they, too, must pass through this 
 nebulous state, in which, however, we are unable to perceive them. 
 
 Singing birds, in great variety, have clustered at the edge of the 
 forest. The notes of the lark, the yellow-hammer, the green finch, 
 the blackbird, the thrush, the redtail, and the titmouse are heard 
 all at once. Only a few of the birds that build their nests deep 
 in the forest, sing there. 
 
 In springtime, forest rills become brooks. In summer, naught 
 's visible, save the dry bed of the stream. It is the same with our 
 
 own lives. 
 
 * 
 
 When old 'ochem hears me rejoice because spring has come, he 
 always says " What does it signify ? In a few weeks, the days 
 will begin to shorten again." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 489 
 
 If human beings, like the trees, bore visible blossoms, these 
 blossoms would assume a different shape and color, with each suc- 
 ceeding year. The blossoms of my soul were once so bright ; but 
 now 
 
 * 
 
 For the first time in my life, I have seen a pair of eagles soaring 
 in the air. What a life theirs must be ! They hovered far over- 
 head, and described a circle in their flight. About what were they 
 circling ? Then they soared still higher and vanished in the em- 
 pyrean. 
 
 The world still contains spirits whose flights are as free and as 
 bold as that of the eagle. There is no creature that soars above 
 the king of birds, no enemy that can approach him. But man 
 sends forth the fatal ball and thus exerts an influence in regions 
 which the eye alone can pierce. 
 
 He too was filled with pride when he had shot an eagle. And 
 why ? Because it was a proof of his power ; and he adorned my 
 hat with the token of his victory. Ah, woe is me ! 
 
 Why does this grief constantly return to me ? 
 
 # 
 
 We women are never alone in nature. This is only another 
 proof of the deep truth that lies in the old tradition. Man, 
 created first, was alone ; but woman, who came afterward, never 
 existed alone. This repeats itself through the history of all na- 
 tions, and a perplexing mystery is at last revealed to me. 
 
 * 
 
 In the world of fashion, just as in the park, the traces of foot- 
 steps are effaced by obsequious servants. There must be nothing 
 to remind us of yesterday. 
 
 And yet their life is to form a part of history. 
 
 To cease doing evil, is not doing good. 
 
 I would like to accomplish some great deed. But where ? 
 
 Within myself alone. 
 
 * 
 
 My little pitchman is quite a changed being when among scenes 
 of nature. He does not love nature. To use his own words, it 
 merely amuses him. He delights in the most trifling peculiarities 
 of bird-life, and how well he knows all the birds ! 
 
 * 
 
 (Many rainy days.) I long for the sun, and ami almost dying for 
 the want of it. I feel as if I were fading, as if perishing with thirst 
 I cannot live without the sun. It is my debtor for the lovely 
 May days of which I have been deprived. I must have them ; 
 they are my only comfort. 
 
 * 
 
 If I remain thus dependent upon the weather, permitting every 
 21* 
 
490 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 cloud to darken my mind, and every shower to chill me with the 
 feeling that I am forsaken, it were far better I were lying at the 
 bottom of the lake, and that the boatman were telling those whom 
 he was ferrying across: "Far below us, lies a young maid of 
 honor." I have once before bade farewell to the sun, and I mean 
 to be independent of it. 
 
 # 
 
 There are beings who know nothing of rain and sunshine, and 
 ) et live. 
 
 But there are, also, others who are filled with dew-forming 
 power but they are the calm, self-contained, powerful natures, 
 whose life is an inner, rather than an outer, one. 
 
 * 
 
 (June 1 2th.) After many hot days, there was rain last night. 
 The drops are still glittering on even- leaf and flower. Oh, the de- 
 lightful morning that has succeeded the nocturnal storm ! To have 
 fully enjoyed such a morning is worth the trouble of living. 
 
 Jochem has a lark in a cage he must have something shut up 
 with him. 
 
 The lark affords me great delight. There are but few of them 
 up here, for we have nothing but meadow land. They love to 
 hover over the fields of grain down in the valley. 
 
 After the midsummer solstice, the woods become silent. The 
 sun now merely ripens, and has ceased to call forth blossoms and 
 song. The finch alone keeps up his merry lay. 
 
 From my window, I can see the white foal grazing in the 
 meadow. He knows me. When I look up, he stands still for 
 awhile and looks at me, and then dashes hither and thither at a 
 furious rate. I have named him Wodan, and when I call him by 
 that name, he comes to me. 
 
 I have sketched the foal, and am now carving it in birch. I 
 think I shall succeed, but wood is obstinate, awkward stuff, after 
 all. I lose my patience on slight provocation. I must try to over- 
 come this. 
 
 * 
 
 Ycstei day was a year since I lay at the foot of the rock. I 
 could not write a word. My brain whirled with the thoughts of 
 that clay ; but now it is over. 
 
 1 do n't think I shall write much more. I have now experienced 
 all the seasons in my new world. The circle is complete. There 
 is nothing new to come from without. I know all that exists about 
 me, or that can happen. I am at home in my new world. 
 
 * 
 
 Unto Jesus the scribes and pharisees brought a woman who 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 491 
 
 was to be stoned to death, and he said unto them : " Let him that 
 is without sin among you, cast the first stone." 
 
 Thus it is written. 
 
 But I ask : How did she continue to live ? She who was saved 
 from being stoned to death ; she who was pardoned, that is, con- 
 demned to live ? How did she live on ? Did she return to her 
 home ? How did she stand with the world ? And how with her 
 o vn heart ? 
 
 No answer. None. 
 
 I must find the answer in my own experience. 
 
 "Let him that is without sin among you, cast the first stone, ' 
 These are the noblest, the greatest words ever uttered by human 
 lips, or heard by human ear. They divide the history of the 
 human race into two parts. They are the "let there be light" of 
 the second creation. They divide and heal my little life, too, and 
 create me anew. 
 
 * 
 
 Has one who is not wholly without sin, a right to offer precepts 
 and reflections to others ? 
 
 Look into your own heart. What are you ? 
 
 Behold my hands. They are hardened by toil. I have done 
 more than merely lift them in prayer. 
 
 Since I am alone, I have not seen a letter of print. I have no 
 book and wish for none ; and this is not in order to mortify my- 
 self, but because I wish to be perfectly alone. 
 
 # 
 
 She who renounces the world, and, in her loneliness, still cher- 
 ishes the thought of eternity, has assumed a heavy burden. 
 
 Convent life is not without its advantages. The different voices 
 that join in a chorale sustain each other, and when the tone at last 
 ceases, it seems to float away on the air and vanish by degrees. 
 But here I am quite alone. I am priest and church, organ and 
 congregation, confessor and penitent, all in one ; and my heart is 
 often so heavy, as if I must needs have another to help me bear 
 the load. " Take me up and carry me, I cannot go further ! " cries 
 my soul. But then I rouse myself again, seize my scrip and my 
 pilgrim's staff and wander on, solitary and alone; and while I 
 wander, strength returns to me. 
 
 For the first time in a year, I saw a carriage driving up the white 
 road that leads through the valley. Those who were sitting in it, 
 could not know how my eyes followed them. Whither go ye? 
 who are ye ? 
 
 * 
 
 I must write again. I believe that I at last know the full mean- 
 
492 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 ing of the word "gemiithlich." It includes careful thought for 
 the comfort of others even in the merest trifles, and requires ne 
 to put himself in another's place. It is the heart, expressing itself 
 in poetry ; it is feeling, clothing itself in the garb of fancy. 
 
 True culture includes this feeling ; for what is culture but the 
 power to put one's self in another's place, and " to see ourselves 
 as others see us? " 
 
 My opinion is still unchanged. Hansei seems dull and awkward, 
 and yet he has far more of the best culture than many a one who 
 is decorated with orders and epaulettes and is regarded as one of 
 the most charming of cavaliers. 
 
 * 
 
 I constantly keep thinking that there is something in me which 
 I have not yet discovered. It gives me no rest. Is it an idea, a 
 feeling, a word, or a deed ? I know not, but I feel that there is 
 something within me that seeks a vent. Perhaps death may come 
 before I discover it. 
 
 * 
 
 Old Jochem still remembers a fe\v. verses from the hymnbook, 
 and keeps repeating them to himself, but in such perverted shape 
 that they are sheer nonsense. I offered to teach him the verses 
 correctly, but this made him very angry and he told me that I was 
 trying to teach him something new, and that it would not answer. 
 His nonsense seems dear to him. He does not understand it, and 
 the air of mystery thus imparted to it renders it far more im- 
 pressive. 
 
 * 
 
 One who has never experienced the feeling, cannot know what 
 it is to long for a few words of conversation with your equals. 
 It is a consuming thirst. Any one who can speak my language 
 would serve my purpose. I cannot endure this strain. I feel as if 
 I were in a strange land, and were vainly listening for the beloved 
 accents of my native tongue. It is well for me that I can work. 
 
 * 
 
 As long as I had Walpurga with me in the palace, I could speak 
 to her freely on various subjects. When I came to her, it was a 
 change, a stepping out of the sphere in which my thoughts were 
 accustomed to move. But here, where I have her and nothing 
 else, it is different. It is not pride for what have I to do with 
 pride ? Is it alienation, or is it sullen listlessness ? 
 
 c pleases us only for a short time. Wisdom always re- 
 mains attractive such wisdom as mother Beate's or Gunther's. 
 Yes, I long for him most of all. 
 
 Wisdom is cultured naivett or, to speak more correctly, the 
 ttan'ete of genius. It is the rosy apple ; naiveti, the blossom from 
 which it sprang, still dwells in the fruit, as its core. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 493 
 
 Night and day, the various elemental influences, clear perception 
 and the mysterious forces of nature : all these help to perfect the 
 
 finest fruit. 
 
 * 
 
 I cannot look upon work as the noblest thing in life. The per- 
 fect man is he who does nothing, who cherishes himself ; such is 
 the life of the gods, and what is man but the god of creation ? 
 
 My heresy thus expresses itself. I have confessed and repented 
 of it. But in the confessor's chair sits one who is in the right when 
 he says : " Very well, my child ! And so the noblest and most 
 exalted life is simply existence, void of effort. But, since no on<; 
 can live unless some other being labors for him, it follows that all 
 must do something. Nothing can be had without pay. The one 
 class has not been sent into the world merely to exist, nor the other 
 
 merely to labor." 
 
 * 
 
 How happy I might become if there were no past. A life here- 
 after, filled with memories how sad the thought ! And yet with- 
 out memories, would it be a second life ? 
 
 # 
 
 True joy at last dwells with us. Whenever we partake of any- 
 thing, Walpurga always says: "We planted this ourselves; on 
 such a day, we set our beans. I put them in Burgei's hand, and 
 she dropped them on the garden beds." 
 
 And thus it seems to be with all things. The past is being re- 
 newed to us. 
 
 * 
 
 I have found it difficult to go over the same task, again and 
 again. But the constant repetition is what constitutes labor. 
 Without that, it is mere amusement. 
 
 Nature constantly repeats herself, and we must serve her by im- 
 itating her. She repeatslierself through her laws ; man, through 
 his duties. 
 
 I have, nevertheless, indulged in variations, and not without 
 success. While walking through the stable, I observed the cow 
 lowing and turning towards her sucking calf. I have carved the 
 figures in wood. 
 
 I should like to imitate every object in nature to create the world 
 anew, as it were, so that men might see all things as I see them. 
 
 I thank Thee, Eternal Spirit, for bestowing these gifts upon me. 
 
 The chief aim of life is not joy, nor is it repose. It must be 
 labor. Perhaps there is no chief aim, after all. 
 
 * 
 
 Love and labor are the body and soul of mankind. Happy is 
 he in whom they are united. I have forfeited love nothing is 
 left me but labor. 
 
494 0A r THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 My white foal ! It looks at me, and I look at it in return. Free 
 and uncontrolled, it scampers about the field, and yet I seize it and 
 send it out into the world, so that others, too, may delight in the 
 pretty, playful animal. 
 
 I have sketched it in various positions. Its every movement is 
 replete with strength and grace. 
 
 * 
 
 I have carved the figure of my white foal, and have completed 
 il with incredible rapidity. My friends are astonished, and so am 
 I I look upon it as a success. 
 
 M\ little pitchman Why should I dislike to mention it? 
 carried the figure down to the dealer. It grieved me to part with 
 my work, but the little magic horse must, and does, support me. 
 It was sold at a good price, and I received a large order, besides. 
 
 Sometimes, I find myself wondering what Countess Brinkenstein, 
 pious Constance, Schnabelsdorf, or Bronnen, would say, if they 
 were to see me now ; and at such moments, I am obliged to look 
 around, in order to satisfy myself that they are not present. 
 
 So long as I cannot govern my imagination, I am not free. 
 Fancy is the most powerful of despots. 
 
 * 
 
 Our fountain gushes and bubbles the whole night through, and 
 when the moonlight rests upon it, it is lovelier and more peaceful 
 than ever. The earth bounteously gives forth its healing waters. 
 They flow unceasingly. All that we need do is to go to the spring 
 and drink. My favorite seat is near there. Its waters sometimes 
 suddenly increase in volume and swiftness, as if they were bring- 
 ing me a special message. Perhaps it is all caused by the cur- 
 rents of air, and I may be mistaken after all. One easily gives 
 way to reverie when by the spring. 
 
 * 
 
 Gundel, the little pitchman's daughter, affords me much pleasure. 
 The honest, kind-hearttd, simple-minded creature is now full of 
 joy ; she loves, and is loved in return. 
 
 One of the farm hands is a native of Hansei's birthplace. He 
 was once in the cuirassiers, and this faithful, but rough and ill- 
 favored lad is Gundel's lover. A girl whom no one has noticed, 
 whose life has been constant drudgery, is invested with new im- 
 portance, both in her own eyes and in those of others, as soon as 
 she becomes the object of a man's love. All that she does is re- 
 garded as good and pretty, and she is at once lifted up out of her 
 lowly and forgotten state. 
 
 Love is the crown of every life, a diadem even on the lowliest 
 head. 
 
 When Gundel goes about her rough work to draw water, or to 
 feed the cattle she seems radiant with new-born happiness. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 495 
 
 Although I have said nothing, she notices that I am interested 
 in her, and she often asks whether there is anything she can do for 
 me. 
 
 I wish that riches were again mine, so that I might make these 
 lovers happy. 
 
 How foolish is the desire to be ever original. Nature constantly 
 repeats herself. The rose of to-day is like that of yesterday. 
 Men determine for themselves and in this lies their torment. 
 
 
 
 I have not yet put vanity away from me. I am still moved to 
 delight whenever a happy expression flows from my pen. But is 
 this really vanity ? I think not. Although alone in my cell, I 
 adorn myself for my own sake. Beauty has become a necessity to 
 me. I must be surrounded by objects of beauty, and must also 
 possess it in myself. Uncouthness does not offend me, but ugliness 
 affects me just as discords do. In the so-called cultivated world, 
 a rude expression excites a deprecatory " Ah ! " while elegant vul- 
 garity is smiled upon. 
 
 t> 
 
 I am obliged to read old Jochem's bond to him, at least once a 
 week. Although he knows it by heart, he insists upon hearing it 
 again and satisfying himself that it is all right, and properly signed 
 and sealed. He does not suffer it to leave his hands. I am 
 obliged to read it while he holds it. He trusts no one. 
 
 The old man almost seems to regret that he has nothing to com- 
 plain of, and is constantly urging me to prepare a memorial to the 
 king, so that he may have it at hand when required. How strange 
 that the king should always seem to him the personification of 
 right and justice. 
 
 He has much to tell me about the late king, under whom he 
 served. He describes him as a perfect gentleman, and says that he 
 often hunted in this region. He has been informed that the present 
 king is not much of a hunter, and that he sticks to the priests, who, 
 in return, grant him absolution. He always concludes by asking 
 whether I have ever seen the king, and, although I have answered 
 " No " a hundred times, he keeps on repeating the same question. 
 
 * 
 
 Hansei was right, after all ! I feel as if I ought to crave his par- 
 llon. It is a disgusting sight to behold the old pensioner at his 
 meals ; and if one does not intend to have him at table for the 
 remainder of his life, one had better not begin with him. Hansei's 
 objection was kind and clever, not rude and ill-natured. Kind re- 
 solves that cannot be fully carried out, had better not be attempted, 
 
 When I spoke of this to Walpurga to-day, she answered me, 
 through her tears, saying: "I 'd a thousand times rather hear you 
 praise him than me." 
 
496 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 It is not until humanity becomes a duty that we can truly know 
 whether its exercise is a pleasure or a sacrifice. 
 
 Naturally enough, I have treated Jochem kindly, have often had 
 him visit me, and have tried to entertain him. 'Now he will not 
 leave me to myself, and robs me of my only possession solitude. 
 Although it cost me an effort, I was obliged to insist upon his only 
 visiting me during certain hours. But even that is irksome, for I 
 am no longer perfect mistress of my time. When the bell in the 
 valley tolls the hour of twelve, the old man comes and sits with 
 me. Our conversations are not very fruitful or suggestive. His 
 stock of ideas is but a limited one, and topics that are not related 
 to them fail to excite his interest. Besides that, he coughs a great 
 deal, and is always asking me to tell him about my father. He 
 seems to forget that I have already told him that I never knew my 
 father. It was the saddest thing I ever said, but I did not know 
 my father while he lived. I understood him not, although he at- 
 tempted to reveal himself to me. From the depths of my soul, I 
 cry out to him : " My poor father ! you tried to perfect yourself, but 
 your last action, although it was meant to arouse me, was the act 
 of one who was in fetters. I now accomplish what you falteringly 
 began. While laboring for you, my love for you has become full 
 and complete. You are now near to me, and have become what 
 you longed to be my preserver." 
 
 I have at last made it a rule that the old man shall only come 
 when I send for him. I could not do otherwise. And this I find 
 almost worse than to have fixed hours for his visits, for now I am 
 often obliged to stop and ask myself: " Is n't it time to call the old 
 man ? He won't disturb me now." He thus engages my thoughts 
 more than before. 
 
 I must learn to bear with him patiently, and Jochem will surely 
 improve. When I say to him : " I can't talk now," he is satisfied. 
 All that he asks is to be permitted to sit there in silence. 
 
 How well one sleeps when tired with work. How good it is to 
 have hunger and fatigue, when one is able to satisfy their demands. 
 
 In the great world, they eat and sleep, but are never tired or 
 hungry. 
 
 I never knew how much I used to talk, and how necessary con- 
 versation had become to me. But now that I have learne'd how 
 to be silent, and live alone with my own thoughts, I do know. I 
 now .see that the presence of others exerted an electric influence 
 upon me, overcharging my nature. I was never unreal, but was 
 more than I really am. I made others cheerful, but how rarely 
 
 was I so ! 
 
 * 
 
 Labor is the consoling friend and companion of solitude. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 497 
 
 He who has not lived alcne, does not know what labor is. 
 
 * 
 
 I am often reminded of Dante's: "There can be no greater 
 Buffering than, in one's misery, to remember happier days." But 
 why does he not tell us what kind of happiness he means ? It 
 must always be delightful to remember innocent joys, though the 
 unhappiness that follows be ever so great. 
 
 But Francesca refers to happiness allied with guilt. And I 
 Know that she is right. 
 
 I still remember my father's parting advice : " Indulge only in 
 sr.ch pleasures as it will afford you pleasure to look back upon." 
 
 What strange, hidden springs flow through one's soul. Ever 
 since the sad saying of Dante's occurred to me, all my thoughts 
 have been translating themselves into Italian. 
 
 * 
 
 It often seems to me as if it were sinful thus to bury myself alive. 
 My voice is no longer heard in song, and much more that dwells 
 within me has become mute. 
 
 Is this right ? 
 
 If my only object in life were to be at peace with myself, it would 
 be well enough but I long to labor and to do something for 
 others. Yet where and what shall it be ? 
 
 * 
 
 When I first heard that the beautifully carved furniture of the 
 great and wealthy is the work of prisoners, it made me shudder. 
 And now, although I am not deprived of freedom, I am in much 
 the same condition. Those who have disfigured life should, as an 
 act of expiation, help to make life more beautiful for others. The 
 thought that I am doing this comforts and sustains me. 
 
 * 
 
 My work prospers. But last winter's wood is not yet fit for use. 
 My little pitchman has brought me some that is old, excellent and 
 well seasoned, having been part of the rafters of an old house that 
 has just been torn down. We work together cheerfully, and our 
 earnings are considerable. 
 
 Vice is the same everywhere, except that here it is more open. 
 Among the masses, vice is characterized by coarseness ; among 
 the upper classes, by meanness. 
 
 The latter shake off the consequences of their evil deeds, while 
 he former are obliged to bear them. 
 
 The rude manners of these people are necessary, and are far pref- 
 erable to polite deceit. They must needs be rough and rude. If 
 it were not lor its coarse, thick bark, the oak could not withstand 
 the storm. 
 
498 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 I have found that this rough bark covers more tenderness and 
 sincerity than does the smoothest surface. 
 
 * 
 
 Jochem told me, to-day, that he is still quite a good walker, but 
 that a blind man finds it very troublesome to go anywhere ; for. at 
 every step, he is obliged to grope about, so that he may feel sure of 
 his ground before he firmly plants his foot on the earth. 
 
 Is it not the same with me ? Am I not obliged to be sure of the 
 ground before I take a step ? 
 
 Such is the way of the fallen. 
 
 Ah ! why does everything I see or hear become a symbol of my 
 life ? 
 
 * 
 
 Our life here is like that of plants. Our chief care is as to the 
 weather. Rain and sunshine affect us as they do the plants that 
 require their aid. Hansei often complains that he does not under- 
 stand the weather signs hereabouts. In his old home by the lake, 
 he could always tell how the weather would be. His want of 
 knowledge on this subject prevents him from feeling quite at home 
 here. Our little pitchman, however, is a most reliable weather- 
 prophet and has thus come to be looked upon as quite an impor- 
 tant personage. I am his docile scholar and he is quite proud of me. 
 Although he is quite intimate with me, and often indulges in pleas- 
 antry, he never fails to treat me with great respect. 
 
 Those who know nothing of etiquette, often make up for the 
 want of it by their tact. I congratulated the little pitchman last 
 \veek. It was on the occasion of his birthday, and when I shook 
 hands with him, his face grew scarlet. He thanked me heartily, 
 and kept saying that when he got to heaven, he would bespeak 
 good quarters for me, and that his old woman would n't get angry 
 if he possessed both her and myself in the next world. He is 
 always happy when serving me. When he builds a fire in my 
 stove, he ogles every log, as if it ought to feel it an honor to be 
 permitted to help keep me warm. 
 
 * 
 
 The census troubled me greatly to-day. After dinner, Hansei 
 produced the blank which he was required to fill, and handed it to 
 Walpurga, with the words: "Do you write, or let her" meaning 
 me "write her name, her age, and where she comes from? " 
 
 We were in great tribulation, until Walpurga, at last, solved the 
 difficulty by saying that there was no need of telling everything. 
 
 The remark was quite opportune and afforded a convenient ex- 
 cuse to Hansei, who was greatly annoyed by another schedule, in 
 which he was expected to state the annual yield of milk and of but- 
 ter, the number of chickens on the farm, etc., etc. Hansei was 
 angry at the officials, and felt quite sure that they meant to impose 
 Another tax. His wrath saved me, but defrauded the state out of 
 one soul. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 499 
 
 The people hereabouts look upon the state and its functionaries 
 as their natural enemies, and have no scruples as to deceiving 
 them. 
 
 * 
 
 For the first time in my life, I have seen a tree felled. 
 
 I was filled with awe when I saw it topple for a moment, before 
 th : final crash. It reminded me of the fate of a man who is, at 
 one blow, hurled from sunny heights into the depths of misery. 
 
 Hansei is having a path cut through the forest. It passes by my 
 window, and the clearing will afford me a fine view. He was quite 
 happy when I told him of this. 
 
 Hansei was at the capital. On his return, he unwrapped a large 
 parcel and, with conscious pride, showed us what sensible presents 
 he had bought. They were the pictures of the king and queen. 
 
 In his kindness of heart, he offered to let me hang up the pic- 
 tures in my room, and was quite provoked to find that his wife 
 wanted to keep them for herself. I satisfied him at last by saying : 
 "The sitting-room belongs to us all." 
 
 But the pictures seemed to be looking at me constantly, and 
 made it unpleasant for me to remain in the room. Walpurga 
 noticed this and, to my great relief, removed them to her bedroom. 
 Hansei does not take notice of such matters. 
 
 The king's portrait represents him in the dress of a citizen. Is 
 it a sign that ? 
 
 * 
 
 Hansei at last reveals his plan. It is quite a clever stroke of 
 his to begin by cutting roads through the forest, so that the beams 
 can be brought down from far up the mountain, and thus fetch 
 him thrice as much money as if they were cut into smaller logs. 
 
 (April 3rd.) At first, there is so much to observe. The whole 
 world seems like a young child, or like the first verdure of spring. 
 Later, one grows accustomed to it all, and it seems as if things were 
 always and everywhere alike. It seems to me that life would be 
 insupportable, if the world were ever new and left us no repose. 
 
 Habit, our second mother, is a good mother, too. 
 
 * 
 
 They have fastened a rope to the feet of my white foal, so that 
 it cannot run away. It can now only move about slowly. The 
 freedom and grace of its movements are gone, even before it is 
 put in harness. 
 
 Oh, how many human beings have a like fate ! 
 
 -)c 
 
 I love to watch the rain calmly descending upon the earth. If I 
 were not obliged to work, I could remain by my window for hours, 
 lost in reverie and looking out and listening, for it seems to me as if 
 
500 <ZV THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 I were endowed with a million eyes and could see every drop as ii 
 falls on the half-open buds. But here, we are all constantly at 
 work. I am ashamed to sit here with my hands in my lap. The 
 rain, in springtime, is soft and beautiful, lending voice, form and 
 substance to the air, and to every tiny rill. 
 
 * 
 
 Formerly, I always required a spyglass, where I no longer need it. 
 It is because we do not live in the open air, that we "Become 
 near-sighted. 
 
 The rose may be improved by cultivation, and the thorns grow- 
 ing on its stalk may become different from what they were ; but 
 they are thorns, nevertheless. 
 
 * 
 
 (April 1 5th.) I have heard the yellow-hammer, for the first time 
 this year. In springtime, its notes are far more rapid and short 
 than in summer. 
 
 * 
 
 (April 23d.) The first swallow has come. Now may we softly 
 lull ourselves to rest in the consciousness that sweet spring is with 
 us once again. The uncertain and anxious fluttering from one fail 
 day to another, is at an end. 
 
 My little pitchman says : " Swallows and starlings come and go 
 in the night." The idea is quite suggestive. 
 
 (End of April.) We have had a shower. Oh, what* fragrant 
 odors it awakened in flowers, grass and trees ! And this fragrance 
 floats off into infinite space, while we short-lived children of man 
 imagine that it all exists for us. Everything that exists, exists for 
 itself alone. 
 
 The immortelle is one of the earliest plants to shoot forth its 
 leaves. It grows by the edge of the forest and will thrive even in 
 poor soil. 
 
 * 
 
 (May ist.) We have had a cold, rainy day with hail. Towards 
 evening, when the rain had ceased and the drops on the trees and 
 bushes sparkled in the golden sunlight, I heard the cuckoo, for the 
 first time this year. He flew from forest to forest, from mountain 
 to mountain, crying everywhere. 
 
 I now know why they say : " Go to the cuckoo." * The cuckoo 
 has no nest, no home of its own and, according to popular tradi- 
 tion, is obliged to sleep on a different tree every night. " Go to the 
 cuckoo," therefore means: "be restless and fugitive; be at home 
 nowhere." 
 
 When I told the grandmother of my discovery, she said: 
 
 *"GehzumKukuk!" 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 501 
 
 " You Ve hit it exactly. You manage to get some good out o 
 everything. You 've won it." 
 
 She meant that I had won the game of life. 
 
 * 
 
 My kind little pitchman has given me an unexpected treat. He 
 has arranged a seat for me, up by the maple tree on the projecting 
 rock. But he cut away the bushes, and thus destroyed the privacy 
 of my favorite haunt. Nevertheless, I find it pleasant to sit there. 
 No human being" is perfectly satisfied with what another may do 
 for him, but we may be grateful, for all ; and gratitude is the soil 
 on which joy thrives. 
 
 (First Sunday in May.) On Sunday afternoons, when I may 
 not work, I long to drive through the park in a caleche which is 
 easy on its springs ; not to be always walking or obliged to be do- 
 ing something. To move through* the world in the springtime, 
 seated on soft cushions and drawn by fleet horses, or, what is still 
 better, to ride along the turfy forest paths, while guiding and con- 
 trolling a strong power I can never forget that. 
 
 At night, when I look up into the vast, starry vault, with its myriad 
 glittering orbs, I find it difficult to sit or to walk. I think of the 
 nights when, lying back in my carriage, I drove out into the wide 
 world and looked up at the stars. How free everything was then ! 
 
 I am still much affected by trifles. 
 
 * 
 
 There are days when I cannot endure the forest, when I do not 
 wish for shade. 1 must then have the sun nothing but light and 
 sunshine. At such times, I walk along the hot and shadeless 
 meadow paths. 
 
 * 
 
 I now have a window-shelf filled with flower pots. How differ- 
 ent when one has to wait for the flowers to come up, instead of 
 receiving them in full bloom from the gardener. 
 
 * 
 
 The evenings are my enemy always heavy and dull. Morn is 
 my friend, for then everything is bright. How different it once 
 
 was! 
 
 * 
 
 The mental state of those who are out in the world may be 
 likened to the physical condition of Baroness Constance. There 
 is a constant ringing in her ears, and she knows nothing of holy 
 repose or perfect silence. It is not until one ceases to know any- 
 thing of the world, or to care for it, that this mental ringing in the 
 ears ceases, and holy repose and calm are vouchsafed us. Ever) 
 sound which then enters is as a marvel. 
 
 * 
 
502 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The grandmother is quiet and alert, just as occasion may require. 
 She is not one of the ever busy and excited ones, and yet she is 
 never idle. With her great knowledge of human nature, she yet 
 retains her kindly feelings towards all. She has thought much and 
 yet is naive. She treats me with affectionate frankness, and says 
 that she has, all her life, wished to have a clever person about her 
 one who had learnt something and with whom she could talk 
 about everything. And she does this to the letter. I am obliged 
 to explain a thousand things to her, and she is sincerely grateful 
 for any information I can give her. 
 
 " I like to get my kindling-wood ready in time," said she to-day. 
 Translated into our language, this means that she likes to think 
 over things beforehand. 
 
 But there are so many dark doors which we pass with closed 
 eyes. 
 
 While watching the foal to-day, I could not help thinking that 
 the first man who tamed a beast that is, subdued it so that it 
 would bear him and support him was the first to assert the power 
 of humanity. Other animals can kill each other, but not one of 
 them can guide another life to its own advantage. There are no 
 .new species of beasts to be tamed now. Men are, in truth, becom- 
 ing poets. They condense the intangible forces and say to steam, 
 to light, and to the electric spark : " Come and do my bidding." 
 
 I have bought some sugar with which to feed my white foal. It 
 is a great pleasure, and to-day I could not help thinking that, if 
 any one saw us, it must have been a pretty picture. 
 
 Oh, how vain and trifling I still am ! 
 
 Every large and extended estate, be it this very farm, or the 
 court at the capital, has its vassals, its servants, its parasites, its 
 willing subjects. The world is the same everywhere. 
 
 * 
 
 Peasant life is not the elegant world, but there must be plough 
 horses as well as carriage horses. 
 
 * 
 
 To live out of one's self, to give full sway to one's native tem- 
 perament, to remain unmoved by external influences : thus may 
 one learn to know himself and that which is highest. It is in the 
 desert waste that God reveals himself to the individual heart. 
 The bush burns and yet is not consumed. 
 
 * 
 
 Whenever I look at the mountains, I am impressed anew with 
 their sublimity. 
 
 The world below me is covered by a sea of mist, from which the 
 mountain peaks here and there protrude. With ever}' day, as it 
 were, I behold the first day of creation. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 503 
 
 I am beginning to understand the idea of the sublime. It is the 
 awe of greatness, not the awe of fear. I feel as if dwelling in a 
 temple. 
 
 Solitude often makes one dull and torpid. I sometimes experi- 
 ence this even in myself. 
 
 On a rainy Sunday, Hansei will often stand looking out of the 
 window, for hours at a time. I feel satisfied that his first thoughts 
 are of a horse, a cow, the sale of his wood, or of some acquaint- 
 ance. At last, he falls into a sort of waking dream, and thinks of 
 nothing at all. One awakes from this childlike lying down and 
 gazing into the world, as from strengthening and refreshing sleep. 
 It is indeed only another form of elementary existence. 
 
 * 
 
 Judging by my notes, I, at one time, thought this merely a 
 station in my journey, where one is detained by interest or ad- 
 venture ; but now I see that I am at the goal. 
 
 I will lay down my load, as the grandmother advised me to do, 
 and break the chests to pieces. I shall remain here for the rest of 
 my life. And now that I have firmly resolved to remain even if 
 I were discovered to-morrow,, and the whole world heaped its scorn 
 upon me 1 have a happy feeling of being at home. I am here 
 and here I shall remain. 
 
 I was not reminded of all this until to-day, when my little pitch- 
 man said : " You look so pleased, so I do n't know how. but you 
 never looked so before." 
 
 Yes, my dear little pitchman, you are right ; it was not until to- 
 day that I felt myself truly at home. I have struck root, like the 
 cherry sapling before my window. 
 
 The old pensioner said to me to-day : " Behold, my child, age 
 takes much from us ; but I can still dream as beautifully as I did 
 in my youth." 
 
 Of all the flowers, I find the heaviest dew on the rose. Is that 
 because of the rich perfume ? Does the perfume form dew ? No 
 green leaf ever has so much dew on it, as the leaf of a flower. 
 
 * 
 
 I often feel tempted to tell the story of Leah to the whole house- 
 hold, Jochem included. 
 
 It often annoys me, when I think that I do not impart all I have 
 to my friends ; but how much more it would annoy me, if I were 
 misunderstood by them. 
 
 Even in our day, art and religion are far asunder. 
 
 The latter can be imparted to all; the former cannot. 
 
 * 
 
 It is impossible to interest the masses in refined pleasures. Dur- 
 
504 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 ing the week, they have nothing but hard work ; and on Sunday, 
 they find recreation at ninepins, or in dancing in heavy boots. 
 They require rude pleasures and a rude faith. 
 
 * 
 
 (On Sunday, while the bells are ringing.) Art does not enter 
 hito the life of the masses. For them, plastic or dramatic art, or 
 the higher order of music or literature, do not exist. 
 
 The only idea they have of another life, over and above the trivial 
 present, is embodied by the church, and yet that which is best in 
 all religions is the poetry they contain. 
 
 * 
 
 What must become of one who, for years, does not read a seri- 
 ous book, or does not read at all, and thus takes in no great or well 
 worked out ideas ? If he be rich and noble, his life becomes vain 
 play ; if he be poor and lowly, it becomes vain labor. And, for 
 this reason, nature has given us song and history, has established 
 religion which offers its jewels to all, so that every one may drink 
 of the fermented wine of all knowledge and all art. But new wine 
 must always be added, or 
 
 * 
 
 (July 30th.) The whole world was^ veiled in mist, and the sun 
 was hidden from view. It seemed as if the artistic creative eye 
 were brooding over the form it was about to usher into life. And 
 then the cloud -flakes w r ere rent asunder. For a moment, the 
 mountain world was free. The mists disappear; but new ones 
 arise from the earth. 
 
 * 
 
 Out in the world, the fear of being ridiculed prevents people from 
 expressing enthusiastic admiration of moonlight. When the whole 
 world is illumined by its soft glow, and no sound is heard save the 
 murmur of the sparkling brook, I am filled with ecstatic delight. 
 
 * 
 
 Temptation returns, and says: "You offend against nature by 
 wasting your rich gifts on tasks that others could accomplish as 
 well as you. Go out into the world, and consider your present life 
 merely as a state of transition." 
 
 No ! I shall remain ! 
 
 When I stand on the mountain and gaze out into the world, I 
 often ask myself: "Art thou still the same Irma? What vestige 
 is left of thy past glittering life ? " 
 
 Xcth'lig but the heavy burden that oppresses my soul. 
 
 Weather-talk is considered a bore, and yet there is no subject 
 more important. Plants and animals feel the changes, for they de- 
 termine their fate from day to day. And are there not men whose 
 whole life is bound up in the question : Will the day bf. clear or 
 cloudy ? 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 505 
 
 The cloud that, like a girdle, encircles yonder peak, has rested 
 there, motionless, the whole day ; and thus, too, there are days 
 when a mist seems to be resting upon one's soul, enveloping our 
 inner being in darkness. 
 
 Play of the features is distinctively a human attribute. The 
 human face reveals changing emotions ; that of the beast does not. 
 
 The beast, moreover, has always but one and the same tone. 
 The bark of a dog is ever the same, be it in joy or anger ; the only 
 change is in the tempor. Or is it only to our ears that these tones 
 seem alike ? 
 
 * 
 
 If a human being were to utter such inharmonious and discon- 
 nected tones as those produced by the mavis overhead, it would 
 drive me to distraction. But why do these tones not affect me in 
 the same way ? Why do they almost please me ? Because they 
 are natural to the bird. But man, having the power to choose, 
 must see to it that his tones are melodious. 
 
 * 
 
 What is all our knowledge ? We do not even know what to 
 morrow's weather will be. There is no infallible indicator of the 
 changes in this most essential condition of life. Nor do the farmers, 
 although they are so fond of talking on the subject, know anything 
 about it. 
 
 * 
 
 Harvest time is the dramatic turning point of the year. At that 
 time, all is haste and suspense, and men and women are alike un- 
 congenial. 
 
 * 
 
 One need but listen to the pensioner, to learn how thoroughly 
 corrupt the world is. His expletives have all the force of cudgels. 
 He is constantly trying to sound me in regard to Hansei and Wal- 
 purga, and would like me to tell him of their faults. It worries him 
 to hear them well spoken of. 
 
 * 
 
 A remark of Gunther's occurred to me to-day . 
 
 " We are all passionate ; the difference between individuals be- 
 ing only a difference in rhythm. He who goes down stairs at one 
 bound, may break his neck ; he whose descent is gradual and care- 
 ful, will remain uninjured." 
 
 * 
 
 I never look at the clock. With me, life is no longer divided 
 into hours. I hear the bell in the valley at morning, noon and 
 evening, and regulate my actions accordingly. The clock is in the 
 church tower. The church tells us the time of day. 
 
 Old Jochem is ill. The physician who attends him is quite a jovial 
 
 22 
 
$o6 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 character, and maintains that Jochem would live many years long-ei 
 if he had only been able to feed his anger and keep' his lawsuits, 
 for these furnished him with excitement and amusement, at the 
 same time. As long as he had these, there was still something 
 left to fight for in the world and some one to abuse, and it was thi? 
 that had kept him up. Now that his life was a peaceful one, he 
 would, in all likelihood, die of ennui. 
 
 "You smile," said the physician to me. "Believe me, I am 
 quite serious. An infant in the cradle that does not cry, and a 
 chai led dog that does not bark, have neither life nor energy and 
 will purely die." 
 
 He may be right, to a certain extent. 
 
 I feel under restraint when with the physician ; for he regards 
 me with such a strange, scrutinizing air. 
 
 " Oh, Thou good God ! The grass is coming up ! But they '11 
 bury me in the earth and I '11 never come up again!" was Jo- 
 chem's lament. 
 
 * 
 
 The old man is dead. This very night he passed away in his 
 sleep. No one was with him at the time. 
 
 He died like a forest tree which has lost its power of absorbing 
 nourishment. 
 
 Little Burgei now sleeps with me. My friends will listen to 
 nothing else, and will not suffer me to be alone at night. 
 
 I am filled with dread. A corpse lies on the floor above. Beside 
 it, is a solitary lamp that is left to burn until the dead man is buried. 
 And yet I feel that I must conquer this feeling of dread ! Yes, I shall. 
 
 It still moves me deeply to think of how the old man remembered 
 me. He sent for me yesterday ; and, when I went up to his bed- 
 side, he said : " Irmgard, you were a stranger and yet were kind 
 to me I 'd like to leave you something. I Ye been thinking the 
 matter over and find that I still have something to give you. It 's 
 the best of all that I own. It would do me no good to have it buried 
 with me, and it will be of great benefit to you, for there 's a charm 
 in it. Here it is take it it 's the bullet that struck me on the third 
 rib. Take good care of it. He who bears with him a bullet that has 
 once hit a man, is in no danger of sudden, unexpected death. You 
 can rely on that ! And now I 've something to ask you : Tell me, 
 what was your father's name ? You 've told me that he 's dead. 
 When I get to heaven, I '11 hunt him up and tell him that you 're 
 quite a good girl ; a little bit queer perhaps, but right good for all. 
 I '11 tell your father that, and it '11 be good news for him. " 
 
 I could not tell him the name How could I ? All I could do 
 was to thank him for giving me w r hat had been so precious in his 
 own eyes. And, strange to say, when I take the bullet in my hand 
 and look at it, it agitates me greatly. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 507 
 
 I will now prepare myself to follow the old man to his grave. 
 
 I was at the churchyard while the old man was buried. I shaJl 
 
 lie there, too, some day. 
 
 * 
 
 I feel as if death might be conquered by the will. I am deter- 
 mined to live ; I will not die. Is force of will the hidden thing 
 within me, that I am ever seeking? And yet, I have no will. No 
 one has. All our life, all our thoughts, are simply the necessary 
 result of events and experiences, of waking perception and noc- 
 turnal dreams. Like the beasts, we may change the scene ; but, 
 the greater one, the prison that confines us, we cannot change. 
 We cannot quit the earth. The laws of gravitation and attraction 
 hold our souls fast as well as our bodies. Far above me, move the 
 stars, and I am nothing more than a flower or a blade of grass 
 clinging to the earth. The stars look down at me, and I look up 
 to them, and yet we cannot join each other. 
 
 A reigning prince has visited our farm. His highness Gruber- 
 sepp, of whom Walpurga has often spoken to me, has arrived, 
 bringing his little son, or- to speak more correctly his two black 
 horses and his son with him. The house is all bustle, and every 
 one seems as proud and happy as if a reigning prince had act- 
 ually come. 
 
 Grubersepp looked at me with a curious air. 
 
 "Is that prim-looking girl," said he to Hansei, while pointing 
 backwards with his thumb, "one of your wife's relations ? " 
 
 "Yes; my wife " Hansei muttered something I saw that it 
 went hard with him to tell a lie, and, above all, to the great farmer 
 to whom he was showing his property. 
 
 Among the peasants, it is just the same as elsewhere. Only the 
 great ones know each other. But their intercourse is beautiful and 
 impressive, and, although they exchange no friendly words, they 
 serve each other by friendly actions. 
 
 The family have been made happy, for Grubersepp has said that 
 the farm was in good order ; and when Grubersepp says that, it is 
 as much as if the intendant should say : " divine." 
 
 During the two days Grubersepp spent here, there was no rest 
 in the house ; that is, every one was busy thinking of him. Now 
 everything is running in its accustomed groove, and every face is 
 radiant with joy. No matter how well satisfied one may be with 
 himself, it is something quite different to receive words of approval 
 from the lips of another, and especially so, when the words of 
 tommendation come from a man so exalted as Grubersepp. 
 
 I am still trembling with fright. I was in the woods to-day. I 
 was sitting on my bench, and saw some one walking among the 
 
5o8 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 treos. Now and then he would stop to gather a flower or pick up 
 a stone. He came near and who was it ? 
 
 It was Gunther, the friend for whose presence I had so often 
 longed. He asked me, in his deep, clear voice : " Child, does this 
 road lead down to the village? " 
 
 I felt as if choking, and could not utter a word. I pointed to 
 the footpath and, in fear and trembling, arose from my seat. He 
 asked me : " Are you dumb, poor child ? " This saved me. I am 
 dumb ; I cannot speak. Without uttering a word, I fled from him 
 and, when I found myself alone, I wept longer than I have foi 
 many years. I wanted to hurry after him, but he had gone. I 
 could not support myself. My limbs gave way under me. At 
 last I am calm all is over all must be over. 
 
 * 
 
 I have had long and troubled days. My work did not go as 
 smoothly as it should have done, and much went amiss with me. 
 The world without has aroused me. 
 
 * 
 
 I thank fate that I have learned to use my eyes. Wherever I 
 look, I see something that delights me and gives me food for 
 thought. The noblest joys and the most widely diffused, are those 
 the eye affords us. 
 
 * 
 
 I am delighted to find that the little pitchman knows every bird 
 by its song. The proverb says : " A bird is known by its feathers." 
 That is a matter of course, for few know them by their song. Their 
 plumage is permanent ; their song is fleeting and fitful. The 
 former is fixed ; the latter is not. 
 
 * 
 
 I now listen, with perfect unconcern, to the groaning of the 
 forest trees, which so alarmed me during that night of terrors. 
 And how strange ! as soon as a bird begins to sing, the groaning 
 ceases. What causes this ? 
 
 =F 
 
 I have received fresh orders, and am all right again. But my 
 little pitchman keeps ailing. At first, it almost vexed me, but I 
 conquered the selfish habits that tyrannized over me. I have served 
 him faithfully, in requital for the services he has done me. I 
 nursed him carefully, and now he is quite well again. 
 
 I am not so selfish, after all ; for I have gained the friendship of 
 good human beings. But I cannot do good to those who do not 
 concern me. I belong to myself and to an infinitely small circle ; 
 beyond that I cannot go. 
 
 When I sit here in silence and solitude, and look at the one room 
 in which I live and hope to die, I sometimes give way to horrible 
 fits of depression. Here is my chair, my table, my workbench, m5 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 509 
 
 bed. These are mine until I am laid in the grave ; but there is not 
 one human soul that belongs to me. 
 
 I feel so oppressed, at such moments, that I would like to cry out 
 aloud, and it is with difficulty that I regain my composure. Work, 
 however, aids me. 
 
 * 
 
 For one brief hour, I have imagined myself possessed of omnis- 
 cience. 
 
 It was yesterday morning, during the hour from eleven until 
 twelve. A light sun-shower passed over us, and then all grew 
 bright again, and, in my mind's eye, I saw how thousands of beings 
 were spending that hour. I saw the laborer in the forest, the king 
 in his cabinet, the sewing-woman in her garret, the miner in the 
 shaft, the bird on the tree, the lizard on the rock. I saw the child 
 sitting in school, and the dying old man drawing his last breath. 
 I saw the ship, the coquette rouging herself, and the poor work- 
 ing-women weeding in the fields. I saw all everything. I 
 passed one hour of infinity. 
 
 And now I am fettered again a small, isolated, miserable, 
 stammering child. The one great thought of eternity passes like a 
 fugitive through my mind, and finds no resting-place there. I must 
 again hold fast to trifles. 
 
 I shall return to my workbench. 
 
 I have read, somewhere, that the Arabians wash their hands be- 
 fore prayer; when in the desert, where they can find no water, 
 they wash them in sand and dust. The dust of labor purifies us. 
 
 * 
 
 The masses should have no books, but should talk with, and 
 listen to, each other. 
 
 Books serve to isolate man ; that which is told us by word of 
 mouth is far more potent. 
 
 The teachings or, rather, the experiences of a ruined world- 
 ling have two things in their favor. She who has gone astray has 
 become observant of everything, and is, therefore, the best guide. 
 And, besides that, it seems to me that those who receive a precept 
 from the lips of one who is perfectly pure have no choice left them ; 
 for purity is the highest authority, and its teachings must be ac- 
 cepted. But when a ruined being speaks to us, every word must 
 be tested. It will not do to reject it at once ; and this is well, for 
 it makes one free. 
 
 * 
 
 The swallows are departing. They gather in flocks which, like 
 thick clouds, darken the air and, with lightning speed, they move 
 in their zig-zag course. How they can keep together in such irreg- 
 ular movements passes our comprehension. When, or by what 
 means, do they signify to each other when a sharp turn is to be 
 taken? 
 
5io ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The thought of flying suggests a sphere of life of which \ve can 
 form no conception. And yet we imagine that we understand the 
 world. What is fixed, we may comprehend ; at least, the portion 
 that is fixed. Beyond that, all is conjecture. 
 
 * 
 
 I overheard Franz, Gundel's lover, saying to her: "A woman 
 who looked just like Irmgard was once with the queen at the mili- 
 tary manoeuvres ; and she wore the uniform of our regiment, and 
 lode up and down the line." 
 
 If the soldier were to recognize and betray me ? 
 
 How the confused feelings that fill the human heart seem to 
 play at hide and seek with each other. With all my misery, it is 
 not without a certain feeling of triumph that I learn that my image 
 has impressed itself on a thousand memories. 
 
 I have not yet accustomed myself to go out alone, and it often 
 seems to me as if a sen-ant must be walking after me. Ah ! what 
 an artificial life we all lead. 
 
 I have spent a whole clay alone in the woods. Oh, how happy I 
 was ! I lay on the ground listening to the rustling of the leaves 
 overhead, and the prattling of the brook below. If I could but end 
 my days here like a wounded doe for I am one, and drops of 
 blood mark my track. No, I am well again. I was once in the 
 world ; that is, in another world ; and now I lead a new life. 
 
 * 
 
 The little pitchman knew my father. During one summer, he 
 worked in our forest, gathering pitch, and my father, who under- 
 stood even-thing, went up to him and taught him how to boil the 
 pitch in order to obtain a better and purer article than he would 
 otherwise have got. 
 
 " Oh, what a man he was ! I only wish you 'd known him," said 
 the little pitchman to me. " He was so good. Many a one has 
 told me, since then, how he used to help everybody. He knew all 
 about everything. He taught me that you can get the best tur- 
 pentine from the larches. He never liked to give anything to peo- 
 ple, but he was n't stingy. He helped all who 'd work, and showed 
 them how things might be done with less trouble and with greatei 
 profit, and that was better than giving them money. Even- year 
 he would lend them some money, so that they could buy a pig, and 
 when they 'd sold it, they had to pay him back. They often 
 laughed at him and gave him a nickname, too, but it was an honor 
 to him. Yes and would you believe it? he had a great misfor- 
 tune. His children deserted him." 
 
 How these words rent my heart ! 
 
 During the whole evening, the terrible mark on my forehead 
 Durned like fire. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 511 
 
 This is the anniversary of my return to the summer palace. 
 
 At that time, I dreamt that a star had fallen down on me, and 
 that a man, with averted gaze, was saying : " Thou, too, art alone ! " 
 
 There are depths of the soul, which no safety-lamp ever enters, 
 and where all light is extinguished. I turn away for naught dwells 
 there but the angry storm-wind. 
 
 * 
 
 My thoughts go back to my childhood. I was three years old 
 when my mother died. I have nothing to remind me of it, except 
 that the moving about and pushing in the next room greatly fright- 
 ened me. Oh mother ! why did you die so soon ? How different 
 I would have been 
 
 I ? Who is this I ? If it could have been different, it were not I. 
 It was to be thus. 
 
 They put black clothes on me and my brother, and I only re- 
 member that father went with us. He said that it would be better 
 if we did not remain with him, and that it was not well for us to 
 grow up in solitude. He kissed us at parting. He kissed me and 
 my brother; then he kissed me once more. It seemed as if he 
 wished to retain my kiss for the last. 
 
 What are the memories of my childhood ? A silent convent, my 
 aunt the lady abbess, and my friend Emma. I remember this 
 much, however : when strangers came, they would turn to me 
 and say: "Oh, what a pretty child! what large brown eyes!" 
 Emma told me that I was not pretty, and that the visitors were 
 only laughing at and mocking me ; but my mirror told me that I 
 was pretty. I frankly said so to Emma and she confessed that I 
 was. My father came he had been in America and he looked 
 at me for a long while. "Father, I am pretty; am I not? " said 
 I to him. 
 
 " Yes, my child, you are, and much is required of one who is 
 beautiful. Beauty is a heavy charge. Always bear yourself so 
 that others may justly feel proud of you." 
 
 I did not know what he meant at the time, but now I under- 
 stand it all. 
 
 1 do not remember how the years passed by. I went back to 
 father. Bruno, who was intended for an agriculturist, entered the 
 army against father's wishes. Father, absorbed by his work and 
 his studies, lived entirely for himself, and left us to do as we 
 pleased. He was proud of this and often said that he did not 
 wish to exercise his authority over us, and that he meant to allow 
 us to develop our characters freely and without restraint. I re- 
 turned to the convent, and remained there until my aunt died. 
 
 And there forgive me, great and pure spirit ! there lay your 
 ^reat error. You cast aside your paternal majesty and meant to 
 live in love alone. And we ? Bruno would not, and I could not. 
 And thus, while you were lonely, we were miserable. 
 
^12 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Bruno went to court. He was handsome, gay, and full of life. 
 He presented me at court, also. Father had allowed me to follow 
 my own choice, and there my troubles began. I knew that I was 
 b-jautiful. and I had the courage to think differently from others. 
 I had become the free nature which my father had meant me to be ; 
 but to what purpose ? 
 
 When I look over what I have written, I cannot help thinking of 
 how much one has lived and labored during a year, and how small 
 the yield is, after all. But then flowers, too, require a long time 
 before they blossom, and fruit ripens but slowly ; many sunny days 
 and dewy nights have helped to perfect them. 
 
 * 
 
 A rainbow ! Rest and peace are intangible. They exist no- 
 where except in our own imagination and in the view we take of 
 things around us. Now I understand why the rainbow that fol- 
 lowed the deluge was described as a token of peace. The seven 
 colors have no real existence. They only appear to the eye that re- 
 ceives the broken rays at the proper angle of refraction. Rest and 
 peace cannot be conquered by force ; they are free gifts of the heaven 
 within us smiles and tears meeting like the rain cloud and the 
 sunshine. 
 
 * 
 
 I am often oppressed with a fear that I shall lose what culture I 
 possess, because of my having no one with whom I can speak in 
 my own language, and I hardly know how to express myself in 
 whom I can find my own nature reflected. And yet, that which 
 makes man human is possessed by those about me, as much as 
 by the most cultured. This being the case, whence this fear ? 
 and of what benefit is culture ? Do I still mean to use it in the 
 world ? I do not understand myself. 
 
 Our fashionable culture cannot supplant religion, because, while 
 religion makes all men equal, education produces inequality. But 
 there must be a system of culture that will equalize all men, and 
 that is the only right and true system. We are, as yet, at the 
 threshold. 
 
 * 
 
 I have a great work before me, and am determined to succeed. 
 
 Hansei put little Peter on the white horse and let him ride a few 
 steps. How happy the little fellow was ! and how Wodan looked 
 around at father and son ! I retained the scene in my memory, 
 ind am now working at the group Hansei, Peter, and the white 
 foal, all together. If I only succeed ! I can scarcely sleep for 
 thinking of it. 
 
 * 
 
 The group has proved a success, although not so great a one as 
 I had wished for. The human figures are stiff and without expres- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 513 
 
 sion ; but the horse is full of life, and every one in the house is de- 
 lighted with my achievement. 
 
 Hansei wishes me to accompany him when he goes out hunting; 
 so that I may copy stags, deer and chamois. Those, he thinks, are 
 'he best subjects after all. 
 
 I have tried to copy the animals in the forest, but did not succeed 
 as I did with the horse. I can only hold fast to that which has no 
 fear of me and which I, therefore, love. I shall stick to my horses 
 
 and cows. 
 
 * 
 
 All the mountain summits that I see, have such strange and yet 
 appropriate names. Who bestowed them upon them ? And who 
 accepted them ? What names could we invent nowadays ? The 
 earth and language have both become rigid and unyielding. I 
 think I once heard the same thought expressed one evening, while 
 we were at tea with the queen. 
 
 The carnival is a great festival the very realization of jollity. 
 Peasants from the village come to visit us. They often come on 
 Sundays, but I have never heard them speak of anything but cattle, 
 the crops, or the price of grain. I sometimes remain in the room 
 to listen to them, for I love to hear the sound of human voices. 
 
 The stories they tell each other seem simple, but, after all, none 
 better are told in the salon. 
 
 * 
 
 Why did I not live out my life in purity ? I was intended for a 
 noble and beautiful existence. 
 
 * 
 
 My white foal is running about, while I sit here modeling it. 
 The power of giving permanent shape to impressions received by 
 the eye is the prerogative of man alone. We have words for every- 
 thing about us and can imitate all objects, and, over and above 
 that, we have music and pure thought. What rich stores of 
 knowledge and. delight are at man's disposal. 
 
 We have passed three sad, sorrowful days. The grandmother 
 was ill. The whole household was in alarm. Hansei feared the 
 worst and did not venture to leave the farm. It was a comfort to 
 me to find that my nursing did the grandmother so much good. 
 
 Hansei, proud as he is of being a great farmer, was so anxious 
 to do something for the mother, that he chopped the wood with 
 which to make a fire in her room, and carried it in, himself. 
 
 * 
 
 He always told the doctor to spare no expense. Nothing was 
 too dear, or too good for the grandmother. 
 22* 
 
5 H ON THE HEIGHTS.* 
 
 The doctor explained the grandmother's illness to me, just as if 
 I were a physician. 
 
 She often" sent Uncle Peter out into the woods to me. It was 
 still raw out there, and we soon returned. 
 
 The grandmother is \vell again and is sitting in the spring sun- 
 shine. 
 
 " Yes, one must have been out of the world, to be grateful for 
 coming back again," said she. "One who doesn't get away 
 does n't know what it is to come back." She had much to tell me 
 about the deaths of her five children. " This one would have been 
 so old, and this one so old," she kept on saying. In imagination, 
 they had grown up with her. Then she tolcl me of her husband's 
 death : how he had been dragged into the lake by the driftwood, 
 and drowned ; and how Hansei had remained with them after- 
 ward. " He was a strange man," she always said of her husband, 
 "but good-hearted." 
 
 During his sister's illness, the little pitchman was in great despair. 
 
 " She was the pride of our family," he kept on saying, as if she 
 were already dead. But now he is the happiest of us all, and when 
 the grandmother sat on my bench under the maple tree, for "the 
 first time, he said : " I '11 get a golden seat in heaven for making 
 that bench. The king has n't got a finer place than that, and he 
 can't get any one to paint bluer skies or greener woods for him 
 than we can see from here." 
 
 * 
 
 I am quite distressed by what the little pitchman tells me. He 
 brings me word that the man who purchases my work intends to 
 pay me a visit. He has just received an order to furnish carved 
 wainscotings for the palace at the king's new hunting-seat, and 
 wishes to see me about them. 
 
 How shall I avoid meeting him ? 
 
 The good mother has helped me out of my trouble. She re- 
 ceived him when he came, and told him that I would see no one. 
 She would not consent to tell a falsehood, a point on which Wal- 
 purga would have had less scruples. 
 
 I now have the working designs, and beautiful woods with which 
 to carry them out, for I have undertaken to execute a portion of 
 the order. 
 
 * 
 
 It matters little what manner of life one leads, so long as there 
 is self-awakening and self-consciousness. All arts, all science, 
 merely exist in order that our own consciousness may be acted 
 upon and aroused by that of others. He who can do this unaided 
 is fortunate. He who awakes of himself when it is time to go to 
 work in the morning, has no need of a watchman to call him. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 515 
 
 Hansel has become a juryman. Walpurga is quite proud of it, 
 and when he took leave of us, it was with a certain air of pride and 
 importance. 
 
 The idea of appealing to the conscience of the people for the 
 verdict of justice, is a beautiful one. 
 
 Hansei has returned and had many terrible stories to tell. 
 
 It seems to me as if our lives and destinies were nothing more 
 than shadows playing on the wall. 
 
 Hansei was deeply affected when he said to us : 
 
 " Yes, all my sins came back to me, and I felt as if I were doing 
 penance when I pronounced judgment on others. It 's nothing 
 but good luck that prevents us from falling into sinful ways and 
 keeps us off of the anxious bench." 
 
 * 
 
 (Sunday, May 28th.) The grandmother is dead. 
 
 I cannot write of it. My hand seems as if paralyzed. 
 
 She kissed my eyes and said : " I kiss your eyes and hope they 
 may never weep again." 
 
 Two hours before her death, she said to Hansei : 
 
 " Make a sled for Burgei. She is so anxious to have one. It '11 
 please me if you do. You need n't fear, she won't harm herself. 
 I beg of you, do it." 
 
 " Yes, yes, grandmother ! " replied Hansei, with thick voice, 
 and deeply affected by the thought that, even then, the grand- 
 mother's only care was for Burgei's pleasure. 
 
 * 
 
 The fear of death lies heavily upon me, and yet I feel an in- 
 ward sense of freedom. I have beheld a beautiful end. My hand 
 closed her eyes in death. I had not believed that I could do it. 
 There was a time when I could not, when 1 lay on the floor feeling 
 as if I were buried far under the earth, and beside me lay my 
 father, cold in death. 
 
 The grandmother's death has relieved me of all fear. I am 
 able to assist Walpurga. Her lamentations are excessive. " Now 
 I 'm an orphan like you ! " she cried, throwing herself on my 
 bosom. Then she cried to the dead one : " Oh mother ! how can 
 you be so cruel as to leave me ? Oh God ! and there 's the bird 
 still hopping about in its cage. Yes, you can jump about ! but 
 mother never will again ! " 
 
 She took a cloth and covered the crossbill's cage with it, saying 
 " I 'd like to let you fly, you dear little creature, but I can't. 
 Mother loved you so much that I can't let you go." And then, 
 addressing the corpse, she said : "Oh mother! can there ever be 
 sunshine when you 're not here ? Yes, the clock ticks and keeps 
 on going, and can be wound up. But, oh ! the hours that will 
 come and go without you ! God forgive me for the many hours I 
 was away from you ! " 
 
516 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The door of the clothes-press suddenly flew open and startled 
 Walpurga. Regaining her self-command, she said : " Yes, yes ; 
 I '11 wear your clothes. I '11 wear them for the sake of good. No 
 evil thought shall enter my heart, no evil word pass my lips. Help 
 me, so that I may always be yours ! Oh God ! there 's no one 
 left to say ' child ' to me ! I remember how you said : ' So long as 
 yo \ can say, father, and mother, there is yet a love that bears you in 
 its arms, 'it 's only when the parents are gone, that one is set down 
 on the cold ground.' I '11 hold fast "o all you 've told me to do, 
 and so shall my children. And, Irmgard, you remember many of 
 her wise sayings, don 't you ? " 
 
 Such was the burden of Walpurga's lament, and I could only 
 reply : 
 
 " Yes, and hold fast to one thing she said : 'One may sin even 
 in speech.' Do n't give way to your grief." 
 
 Walpurga took down her mother's prayer-book and read the 
 prayer for the soul of the departed. 
 
 After that, she handed me the book, and what I read there filled 
 me with gratitude and devotion. When our feelings are most vio- 
 lently agitated, we cannot give definite shape to our ideas. We, 
 too, sing melodies that have been arranged by others. Our lips 
 repeat the words of poets who have sung and suffered for us ; for 
 the poet's heart, in truth, contains the New Jerusalem of civiliza- 
 tion. The great gulf that separates man from the beast, the plant, 
 or the stone, is the possession of sympathy, by means of which, 
 men are enabled to anticipate, or to follow each other's emotions. 
 From the beginning until now, humanity has been chanting an un- 
 dying melody in which my voice, too, forms a part. An everlast- 
 ing sun, of whose rays I am one, has been lighting the path from 
 generation to generation. The silent mountains outlast the races 
 of men and no new T one is added to their number ; but, from gen- 
 eration to generation, new watch-towers of thought arise from the 
 soul of humanity. 
 
 A happy death is the greatest good. Wondrous power of reli- 
 gion ! Over the couch of the sick, there are bell-pulls, reaching 
 into heaven, by which the patient is enabled to draw himself up 
 and support himself. He imagines them there, even in their ab- 
 sence, and, supported by faith, thinks that he is holding fast to 
 
 them. 
 
 * 
 
 After the grandmother's death, a strange feeling of quiet rested 
 on the house. It was a great comfort to Walpurga to know that 
 .here were so many people at the funeral. 
 
 "Yes, they all honored her; but they really didn't know her. 
 You and I knew her. Do you remember, Hansei, when the pota- 
 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 517 
 
 toes were stolen from the field, and she said : ' If one only knew 
 who stole them/ and I said : ' Mother, would you inform against 
 them?' 'You foolish thing,' she answered, reproachfully, 'how 
 could you think I 'd mean that ? What I mean is : if we only 
 knew who the people are that stole our potatoes during the night. 
 They must know that we have but little, ourselves ; and they must 
 be very unfortunate people, whom we ought to help as much as we 
 can afford to.' Yes, she said that ; was there ever another creat- 
 ure who 'd think of such a thing ? That 's the way the saints must 
 have been who thought so kindly of all. She had no fear of the 
 sick, nor hatred of the wicked. Her only thought was, how much 
 they must have suffered before they got so sick, or so wicked. If 
 I could only grow to be like her. Remind me of it all, Irmgard, 
 when I get cross and scold. You '11 help me, won't you ? to be- 
 come like my mother, so that, some day, my children will think of 
 me as I do of her. Ah ! if one were only always as good as one 
 can be. Yes, she was right when she used to say : ' Wishing in the 
 one hand and blowing into the other, amount to about the same 
 thing.' " 
 
 I shall now return to my work. At such times, there is hard - 
 ship and yet comfort in labor. Hansei and Walpurga are obliged 
 to work. They cannot afford to give themselves up' to grief, for 
 too much depends on them. Be it with king or beggar, poet or 
 peasant, the key note of the highest emotions is always the same. 
 
 Walpurga's lament was pitched in the same key as that of Lear 
 for Cordelia, and yet how different. To a father who loses his 
 child, the future is dead. To a child losing a parent, the past is 
 dead. Ah ! how weak is language. 
 
 * 
 
 I was quite alarmed by something that Hansei said to-day. 
 Has doubt entered even these simple hearts ? And they do their 
 duty in this world without a firm belief in a future state. 
 
 In his funeral sermon, the preacher had said : " Behold the trees ! 
 A few weeks ago, they were dead. But with the spring, they re- 
 turn to life." " The pastor ought n't to have said that," remarked 
 Hansei; "not that way, at any rate. He might convert children 
 by that, but not us. What does he mean by talking about trees 
 ! n that fashion ? The trees that still have life in them will get new 
 eaves in the spring, but the dead ones won't ; they '11 be cut down 
 and others will be planted in their place." 
 
 * 
 
 We all of us have a strange feeling of loneliness a feeling that 
 something is missing. Uncle Peter is the most inconsolable of all. 
 
 " Now I must wander about the world alone ; I have n't brother 
 or sister left. She was the pride of our family," he repeats again 
 and again. 
 
5i8 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Heretofore, he always slept in the garret, with the servants ; but 
 now Hansei has placed the old pensioner's room at his disposal. 
 He is quite proud of it, but often complains, saying: " Why did I 
 have to wait so long for all this ? How stupid it was of my sister 
 and me. We might have moved in there. Could we have found 
 a prettier place ? Oh, how nicely we would have lived there, and 
 you could have gone along with us. Oh, how stupid old age is. 
 We do n't see the good nests till the trees are bare and there 's 
 nothing more left in them. ' One gets nothing to eat, till there are 
 no teeth to bite it with,' as my sister used to say." 
 
 He always uses the words : " As my sister used to say," when he 
 is on the point of making a statement which he does not wish con- 
 tradicted, and I imagine he really thinks his sister did say it. He 
 inherited her closet and, betore opening it, he always knocks at the 
 door. 
 
 * 
 
 My little pitchman is a good bee-master. He knows how to take 
 care of bees and he calls them the poor man's pasture cattle. 
 
 "Since my sister's death," said he to me to-day, "I've had 
 nothing but bad luck with my bees. They won't have anything 
 more to do with me." 
 
 * 
 
 I have written nothing for months. For whom are these pages ? 
 Why do I torment my mind by recording ever}' trifling incident or 
 passing emotion ? These questions unsettled and perplexed me, 
 but now I am calm again. For months I have done nothing but 
 work. 
 
 It seems to me that I must soon die, and yet I feel that I am in 
 the fulness of my strength. I am often rendered uneasy by the 
 thought that people trifle with my supposed madness. 
 
 * 
 
 At last I feel that my rest here was never complete, and that it 
 might have been disturbed at any moment. But now, let what will 
 come, I shall remain. 
 
 * 
 
 A storm ! To us who note the sun, the moon, and every change 
 of weather, a storm is quite a different affair from what it is to 
 those who only look to see what weather it is when they are idle, 
 or have a pleasure party in prospect. 
 
 One feels as if transported back to the time of creation, as if all 
 \vere chaos once more ; for the voice of the Infinite is heard in the 
 :hunder, and His glory blazes forth in the lightning. 
 
 At a public gaming-table, while the thunder was pealing and 
 vhe lightning flashing, and the frivolous throng had withdrawn 
 from the game, I once saw a lady of noble birth who insisted upon 
 going on with the game after all the others had been frightened 
 away. The croupiers were obliged to keep at their work. This 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 519 
 
 lady gives elegant entertainments, and a servant who stole a silver 
 spoon from her, was sent to gaol. How low, to steal a spoon ! 
 But what of her mistress ? 
 
 There is, of course, one circumstance that I must not omit to 
 mention. Every morning, before repairing to the gaming-table, 
 she attends mass. 
 
 * 
 
 To be killed by lightning, must surely be the most beautiful 
 death of all. On a lovely summer's day, to be suddenly struck 
 down by the great marksman ! 
 
 I have seen a man who moves in the polite world. He is a mu- 
 sician ; young, good-looking, lively, and with delicate, well-cared-for 
 hands. The storm had overtaken him, and he passed the night in 
 our farmhouse. While here, he told us : 
 
 " I am already blind in this eye, and my physician tells me that I 
 shall lose the other in less than a year, and so I have determined to 
 see the great, vast, beautiful world. He who has not seen the Alps, 
 does not know how beautiful our earth is. And so I take it up 
 within me once more. I fix the sun, the mountains, the forests, 
 the meads, the streams, the lakes and, above all, the human face, 
 in my memory. Yes, child," said he to me, " I shall preserve my 
 memory of your face, for you are the loveliest peasant girl I have 
 ever seen. I shall learn your face by heart, just as I have learnt 
 poems-, so that I may repeat them to myself and call them back to 
 me when darkness and solitude close in around me. " 
 
 I felt quite constrained, but he was exceedingly cheerful. Now 
 and then, he cast a curious glance at the bandage over my brow. 
 What may he have thought of it ? 
 
 I should like to have told him that I had once, at Gunther 's house, 
 sung a song of his, but he did not mention Gunther 's name. 
 
 I cannot find words to describe the impression that this hand- 
 some young man made upon me. He seemed so full of power, 
 and without the least trace of weakly sensibility. He comes from 
 the north, and possesses somewhat of the austere beauty of the 
 northern races. He has breathed the salt sea air, and that is what 
 makes him so sturdy, as they call it there. Such natures impress 
 and arouse me ; one cannot remain languid, brooding or self-com- 
 placent, while in his society. 
 
 Oh, what cannot a strong will do ! How the human mind 
 wrestles with the powers of nature and conquers them ! 
 
 To-day, I have wept for the first time since the grandmother's 
 death. I now feel light and free again. 
 
 The young musician has left, and I could hear him sing while 
 on his way down the valley. 
 
 If I could still be aught to another human being I could fee' 
 
520 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 doubly as kind towards one who could neither see my brow, nor 
 praise mv beauty. 
 
 It is over 
 
 What strange shadows does the game of life project, even unto 
 us up here ! 
 
 This visit has satisfied me that there is a large share of vanity 
 still remaining in Walpurga. She could not help gradually direct- 
 ing the conversation to the subject, and, at last, told the stranger 
 that she had been the crown prince's nurse, and had lived at the 
 palace nearly a year. There is something in her that reminds me 
 of the man who has many orders of merit, and who, like a general 
 in citizen's dress, goes about without his medals and decorations. 
 He modestly deprecates being addressed as "your excellency," 
 but nevertheless enjoys it. The one year spent in the atmosphere 
 of the court, has not been without its effect upon Walpurga. 
 
 Hansei, who felt kindly towards the stranger, and evinced great 
 pity for him, was evidently annoyed by his wife's ostentation ; but, 
 with his usual great self-command, refrained from expressing his 
 annoyance. But, to-day, when they were going to church, Hansei 
 asked : 
 
 " Would n't you like to have a ribbon around your neck and 
 wear a picture of yourself and the crown prince, so that no one 
 may ever forget what you once were? " 
 
 I do not think that Walpurga will ever again allude to her bril- 
 liant past. 
 
 The grandmother's death and funeral afforded me an opportunity 
 to become better acquainted with the village schoolmaster. He 
 has a tolerably fair education, but delights in making a display of 
 it, and is fond of using big words, in order to impress the listener 
 and to imply: "You don't quite understand me, after all." But 
 the hearty feeling with which he entered into our grief, has raised 
 him in my esteem, and I have frankly let him know as much. 
 And so one day he said to me : " Your skill in wood carving is as 
 
 food as a marriage portion. You can earn much money by it." 
 had no idea what he meant by the remark. 
 
 Last Sunday, however, I was enlightened. 
 
 He came here, dressed in a black coat and white cotton gloves, 
 and made me a formal offer of marriage. 
 
 He could not be induced to believe that I would never many, and 
 he urgently repeated his offer, saying that he would only desist if I 
 really loved another. 
 
 Walpurga fortunately came to the rescue. The good man 
 seemed as if utterly crushed by his rejection, and went away. 
 Why must I fill yet another heart with pain? Of my own, I do 
 not care to speak. 
 
I have not yet done with the schoolma! 
 
 Walpurga asked me why I wished to 
 as I did not care to return to the great 
 make this good man happy, and would be 
 to the children and the poor of the village. I have thus come to 
 know myself anew. I am not made for beneficence. I am not a 
 sister of mercy. I cannot visit the sick, unless I know and love 
 them. I could nurse the grandmother, but no one else. I dislike 
 peasant rooms, and the dull, heavy atmosphere of these abodes of 
 simplicity. I am not a beneficent fairy. My senses are too easily 
 offended. I do not care to make myself better than I am ; that is, 
 I should like to make myself better, but all one can do is to improve 
 the good traits that already exist, and that one good, trait I do not 
 possess. I must be honest about the matter. I could find it 
 easier to live in a convent. This confession does not make me un- 
 happy, but melancholy. The desire to enjoy life, and to commune 
 with myself, is so strong. 
 
 Franz, Gundel's betrothed, has been summoned to join his regi- 
 ment. 
 
 My little pitchman has just returned from the town and brings 
 me news that " there '11 be war with the French." He tells me, 
 too, that our business will become poor, that the people do not 
 care to buy, and that our employer offers only half the usual price ; 
 and so I will be working for stock. 1, too, must help to bear 
 the world's burden. 
 
 How strange it seems to me that I no longer know anything 
 about my country and the age in which w r e live. One consolation 
 is left me. In such warlike times, they will not seek the lost one. 
 
 * 
 
 We are all, unconsciously, on heights from which the graves 
 of our beloved dead are invisible. Were they ever present, there 
 would be neither work nor song in this world. 
 
 Self-oblivion or self-knowledge about this, everything revolves. 
 
 Even in hottest summer, I can always see the snow-capped 
 mountains before me. I do not know how to express it, but 
 they always inspire me with strange and confused emotions. I 
 pay no regard to the date or the seasons, for I have them all at 
 once. 
 
 In my heart there is also a spot on which rest eternal snows. 
 
 * 
 
 I have now been here between two and three years. I have 
 formed a resolve which it will be difficult to carry out. I shall go 
 out into the world once more. I must again behold the scenes 
 of my past life. I have tested myself severely. 
 
 May it not be a love of adventure, that genteel yet vulgar desire 
 
522 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 to undertake what is unusual or fraught with peril? Or is it a 
 morbid desire to wander through the world after having died, as it 
 were ? 
 
 Xo ; far from it. What can it be ? An intense longing to 
 roam again, if it be only for a few days. I must kill the desire, 
 lest it kill me. 
 
 Whence arises this sudden longing? 
 
 Every tool that I use while at work, burns my hand. 
 
 I must go. 
 
 I shall obey the impulse, without worrying myself with specula- 
 tions as to its cause. I am subject to the rules of no order. My 
 will is my only law. I harm no one by obeying it. I feel myself 
 free ; the world has no power over me. 
 
 I dreaded informing Walpurga of my intention. When I did 
 so, her tone, her words, her whole manner, and the fact that she, 
 for the first time, called me "child," made it seem as if her mother 
 were still speaking to me. 
 
 "Child," said she, "you're right! Go! It'll do you good. 
 I believe that you '11 come back and will stay with us, but if you 
 do n't, and another life opens up to you your expiation has been a 
 bitter one, far heavier than your sin." 
 
 Uncle Peter was quite happy when he learned that we were to 
 be gone from one Sunday to the Sunday following. When I asked 
 him whether he was curious as to where we were going, he replied : 
 
 " It 's all one to me. I 'd travel over the whole world with you, 
 wherever you 'd care to go ; and if you were to drive me away, I 'd 
 follow you like a dog and find you again." 
 
 I shall take my journal with me, and will note down every day. 
 
 (By the lake.) I find it difficult to write a word. 
 
 The threshold I am obliged to cross, in order to go out into the 
 world, is my own gravestone. 
 
 I am equal to it. 
 
 How pleasant it was to descend towards the valley. Uncle 
 Peter sang, and melodies suggested themselves to me, but I did 
 not sing. Suddenly he interrupted himself and said : 
 
 " In the inns, you '11 be my niece, won't you ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " But you must call me ' uncle ' when we 're there ? " 
 
 "Of course, dear uncle." 
 
 He kept nodding to himself, for the rest of the way, and was 
 quite happy. 
 
 We reached the inn at the landing. He drank, and I drank, too, 
 from the same glass. 
 
 " Where are you going? " asked the hostess. 
 
 "To the capital," said he, although I had not said a word to 
 nim about it. Then, in a whisper, he said to me : 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 523 
 
 " If you intend to go elsewhere, the people need n't know every 
 thing." 
 
 I let him have his own way. 
 
 I looked for the place where I had wandered, at that time. 
 There there was the rock and on it a cross, bearing, in golden 
 characters, the inscription : 
 
 Here perished 
 
 IRMA, COUNTESS VON WILDENORT, 
 In the twenty-first year 
 
 of her life. 
 Traveler, pray for her and honor her memory. 
 
 I know not how long I lay there. When I revived, there were 
 several people busying themselves about me and, among them, my 
 little pitchman, who was quite violent in expressing his grief. 
 
 I was able to walk to the inn. My little pitchman said to the 
 people : 
 
 " My niece is n't used to walking so far. She sits in her room 
 all the year round. She 's a wood-carver, and a mighty clever 
 one, too." 
 
 The people were all kind to me. Guests were constantly com- 
 ing and going. Some of them told the little pitchman that the 
 beautiful monument out yonder was a great advantage to the inn ; 
 that, during the summer, it was visited by hundreds of persons ; 
 and that, every year, a nun from the convent came there, attended 
 by another nun, and prayed at the cross. 
 
 " And who put up the monument ? " asked the little pitchman. 
 
 " The brother of the unfortunate one." 
 
 " No, it was the king," said others. 
 
 The conversation often dropped off, but always began again 
 anew. 
 
 Some said that the place must be haunted, for a beautiful 
 creature known as Black Esther had drowned herself at the same 
 time. She was a daughter of Zenza, who was now crazed and 
 lived on the other side of the lake ; and who could tell whether 
 the beautiful lady for she was very beautiful had n't drowned 
 herself, too. To this the hostess angrily answered that the Count- 
 ess had had many gold chains and diamonds about her, and a 
 diamond star on her forehead ; that the horse which had thrown 
 her had been seen ; that her brother had wanted to shoot the 
 horse, but it had been bewitched and, from that day, would eat 
 nothing and at last dropped down dead. Others said that the 
 Countess's father had commanded her to drown herself, and that 
 she had been an obedient child and had done so. 
 
 Thus I had a glimpse of a legend in process of formation. 
 
 " And why was the father supposed to have commanded that ? " 
 enquired the little nitchman. 
 
524 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Because she loved a married man. It won't do to talk of that." 
 
 " Why won't it ? " whispered a sailor. " She and the king were 
 lond of each other, and, to save herself from doing wrong, she 
 took her life." 
 
 How can I describe my emotions, \vhile listening to their conver- 
 sation ? 
 
 Years hence, perhaps, some solitary child of man may cross the 
 lake and sing the song of the beautiful countess with the diamond 
 star on her brow. 
 
 I do not remember how night came on, and how I at last fell 
 asleep. I awoke and still heard the song of the drowned countess. 
 Its sad, deep strain had filled my dream. All that I had experi- 
 enced seemed but as a vision. I looked out of my window I 
 looked across the lake and beheld the golden characters in the 
 rosy dawn. 
 
 What was I to do ? Should I turn back ? 
 
 My little pitchman was quite happy when he saw me so fresh 
 again. The hostess offered me a picture of the monument, saying 
 that even- visitor bought one. My uncle bargained with her, got 
 it for half the price she had asked, and then presented it to me. I 
 earn,- the picture of my gravestone with me. 
 
 I felt irresistibly drawn towards another grave my father's. 
 While my hand rested on the mound, an inner voice said to me : 
 " You will be reconciled." I expiate and atone for my sin. 
 
 How the memories awakened by these different spots agitated 
 me. I cannot write about it my heart is breaking ! Besides this, 
 it is filled with fear. I shall be brief. I am unable to continue my 
 recital. I shall never again look at these pages. 
 
 We went to the Frauensee and crossed over to the convent. 
 Among the nuns, I saw my beloved Emma, who makes a yearly 
 pilgrimage to my gravestone. For the first time in many years, I 
 prayed with her. What difference does it make whether one still 
 lives or is dead, as long as the thought 
 
 My hand trembles while I write, but I will. . . . 
 
 I had left the convent and was returning across the lake, when 
 the thought flashed upon me : " I expiate in freedom ! That is 
 my only pride. My will holds me as fast as the bolts of the con- 
 vent gate would do, and I I work " 
 
 Even-thing was carried out just as I had determined. I saw the 
 whole world once more and bade it adieu. 
 
 We journeyed to the capital. The city noises and the rapid 
 driving alarmed me. 
 
 When I again heard the rustling of a silk gown, for the first 
 .ime, the sound quite affected me. I felt as if impelled to accost 
 .he first lady I met in a fashionable bonnet and veil. These people 
 seemed to belong to me. I felt as if returning from the lower re- 
 gions into sunlight. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 525 
 
 I stopped to read the placards that were posted up at the corners 
 of the streets. Am I still living in the same world ? 
 
 There is music, singing, etc. One amuses the other. No one 
 finds life's joys within himself. 
 
 All things in this world are related to each other. Thou hast 
 lost the connecting link. 
 
 I was sitting in a small inn, while I looked on at the bustling life 
 of the city. 
 
 I saw the houses here and there and it seemed as" if I beheld 
 the ghost of a part of my life. If the people knew There are 
 streets here with which I am not acquainted. Men pass without a 
 thought for each other. City folk all look ill-humored ; I have not 
 met one sunny, happy face. 
 
 I went to the picture gallery. What delights the eye there feeds 
 upon ! And besides these, there is the intoxicating wealth of color 
 and the solemn stillness of the place itself. I saw my old teacher 
 and heard him saying to a stranger : " A work of art does not derive 
 its great historical character from the importance of the subject, or 
 the size of the picture. What is required of the artist is that he 
 should be filled with, and, at the same time, transport the beholder 
 to, the scene that he attempts to depict. The same subject can be 
 conceived in various ways, and may be executed either as a light* 
 genre piece, or in the grand and more enduring historical style." 
 
 While I passed through the rooms, I felt like one intoxicated. 
 All my old friends greeted me. They are clothed in undying col- 
 ors, and have remained faithful and unchanged. The power of 
 nature and of art lie in their truthfulness. But they do not speak , 
 they merely exist. No nature alone is mute ; art lends it voice. 
 It is not by the lips alone that the human mind expresses itself. I 
 felt as if the Maria /Egyptica must suddenly turn towards me and 
 ask : " Do you know me now ? " 
 
 I grew dizzy and fearful. 
 
 While in the Raphael gallery, environed by the highest beauty 
 earth has ever known, conceived as only the clearest eye could 
 conceive it, I felt as if in another world. 
 
 A happy thought occurred to me : Art is the first liberator of 
 humanity, evoking a second, joy-creating life, and what is even a 
 greater boon revealing the highest realm, where every one who is 
 called may enter. The poor son of the people says : " I and my 
 spirit shall dwell in this lofty, this blessed abode." He reigns there 
 eternally, surrounded by his ancestors in art. There dwells immor- 
 tality ; or, better still, death never enters there. The paternal man- 
 sion of free, creative art contains infinite space, and is an eternal 
 home. Let him who has lived happily, enter there. 
 
 * 
 
 I stood before the palace. The windows of the room that I once 
 
526 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 occupied were open. My parrot was still there in its golden cag-e, 
 and called out: "God keep you ! God keep you !" But it does 
 not add my name, for it has forgotten it. 
 
 * 
 
 On the table before me there lay a newspaper, the first that I had 
 seen for years. It was long before I could summon resolution to 
 read it, but I did so at last and read as follows : 
 
 " His majesty the king has departed for the sea baths, where he 
 will remain for six weeks. Prime minister Von Bronnen." (Yon 
 Bronnen minister!) "Count Wildenort, master of the horse," (my 
 brother !) " and privy councilor Sixtus, the king's physician, are of 
 his suite." 
 
 How much these few lines conveyed to me ! There was no need 
 of my reading any further. Yet there was another paragraph, say- 
 ing: 
 
 " Her majesty the queen, accompanied by his royal highness the 
 crown prince, has removed to the summer palace." 
 
 * 
 
 I walked about the city and looked into the shop windows and at 
 the many objects which I no longer require. In one of the windows, 
 I found some of my carvings on exhibition. " That 's our work ! " 
 exclaimed the little pitchman, who boldly went into the shop and 
 enquired as to the price, and also asked by whom they had been 
 done. The price named was a high one, and the merchant added 
 "These works of art" yes, he spoke of them as works of art 
 "are made by a half-crazy peasant girl, who lives in the Highlands." 
 
 I looked at my little pitchman. He was terribly afraid. His 
 glance seemed to implore me not to lose my senses while away 
 from home. His fear was not without good grounds, for, in spite 
 of my self-control, my faithful guide must have found much that 
 was strange in my behavior. 
 
 I bought several small plaster casts of gems of Greek art ; and 
 now I have types of undying beauty ever with me. It required 
 clever management to effect such unusual purchases, and I only 
 ventured to attempt it during the twilight hour. 
 
 I saw many familiar faces, but always quickly averted mine. I 
 would so gladly have spoken to Mademoiselle Kramer. She has 
 become quite aged. She was carrying a book with the yellow 
 label of the circulating library. How many thousands of books 
 the dear old woman must have read ! She reads book after book, 
 just as men smoke cigars. 
 
 I went to Gunther's house. The courtyard gate was open. 
 There is now a factor}- there, and the lovel'v trees have all been 
 felled. 
 
 On the head of the figure of Victor}' at the arsenal, there sat a 
 pigeon with glossy plumage Although without eye-glasses, I 
 could see the figure quite distinctly. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 527 
 
 The evening afforded me pure delight the purest I ever knew 
 or, as I firmly believe, ever will know. 
 
 Mozart's " Magic Flute " was performed at the theatre. 
 
 I went there with my little pitchman. We sat in the uppermost 
 tier. I saw no one, although the crowded house must have con- 
 tained many whom I knew. All my senses were held captive by 
 music's magic spell. 
 
 It is past midnight. My little pitchman and I are stopping at a 
 teamsters' inn. I cannot rest until I put my feelings into words-. 
 
 Mozart's " Magic Flute " is one of those immortal creations 
 that dwell in purest ether, in a region beyond the passions and 
 struggles of mankind. I have often heard the text objected to as 
 puerile, but, at that height, all action, all understanding, all person- 
 ages, all surroundings, must needs be allegorical. All that is hard 
 and narrow is cast aside, and man becomes a bird, his life pure and 
 natural, full of love and wisdom. The childlike or childish char- 
 acter of the text is singularly true to nature. It is only the blase 
 who can find it dull and insipid. 
 
 It is Mozart's last dramatic work, and in it he appears at his best, 
 in all the fullness of his genius, as if already transfigured. His vari- 
 ous figures pass before him in review, created anew, as it were ; less 
 fixed and individualized, but all the more pure and etherial. Us- 
 ing the word in its best sense, there is something supernatural in 
 the way in which he has here gathered and combined the chords 
 that else were scattered, into one harmonious whole. 
 
 The opening chorus of priests is the march of humanity, and 
 the " O Isis ! " is full of the sunshine of blissful peace. This is the 
 fabled paradise a life above this, in the free ether, beyond the 
 reach of storm or tempest ; a region to which music alone can 
 transport us. 
 
 For hours, I felt as if thus transported, and know not how I de- 
 scended again. Thoughts without number hover about me. This 
 music breathes a spirit of noble, self-conscious repose, and is free 
 from all oppressed humility. It is a life that can never fade ; nay, 
 it is the odor of ripened fruit. 
 
 - This last work of Mozart's has a companion piece in Lessing's 
 last work : " Nathan the Wise." In both of them the soul wings its 
 flight far beyond the disjointed, struggling world and dwells in the 
 pure region beyond, where peace and piety have become actual 
 existences, and where the vexations of narrow, circumscribed, 
 finite humanity provoke but a smile. The great treasure of hu- 
 manity is not buried in the past ; it must be dug out, fashioned 
 and created from the future. 
 
 " Nathan " and the " Magic Flute " abound with precious gems. 
 They prove that happiness is not an illusion, but they speak in a 
 language unintelligible to him who does not bear within himself a 
 sense of things above this life. 
 
528 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 To have lived such hours is life eternal. 
 
 The song of the three boys is full of divine bliss. If the angels 
 in Raphael's Sistine Madonna were to sing, such would be theii 
 melodies, and in this register would their voices move. 
 
 I would like to hear such sounds at my dying hour, for that 
 would be an ecstatic death. 
 
 If such ecstasy could only continue without interruption. 
 
 Alter the opera was over, I sat in the park for a long time. All 
 was dark and silent. 
 
 Filled with this music, I would gladly fly back to my forest soli- 
 tude, have nothing more to do \vith the \vorld, and silently pass 
 away. After these, no other tones should fall upon my ear and 
 disturb me. 
 
 But I was obliged to return to the world. 
 
 And here I sit, late at night, the whole world resting in sleep 
 and self-oblivion, while I am awake in self-oblivion. 
 
 O ye eternal spirits ! Could one but be with you and utter a 
 word, a sound, that should pass into infinity ! In yonder gallery, 
 eyes that never close, look down upon the coming and departing 
 generations. And here there are undying harmonies and imper- 
 ishable words. 
 
 ye blessed spirits, ye who through art create a second world ! 
 The world confuses and perplexes us, but ye make everything clear 
 as the light of day. Ye are the blessed genii who ever offer man- 
 kind the wine of lite in the golden chalice which, though millions 
 drink from it, is never emptied. 
 
 It is with deep pain that I depart from the realm of color and 
 that of sound. This, and this only, is indeed a deprivation. 
 
 And now for the last halting place. 
 
 We wandered on in the direction of the summer palace. We 
 walked up and down before the park railing. Up by the chapel, 
 and under the weeping ash, I could see the court ladies sitting on 
 the ornamented chairs and busy with their embroidery. Ah, there 
 is many a one there, no better than I am, and yet she jests and 
 laughs, is happy and respected. Aye, there lies the misery. We 
 are constantly blunting our moral sense and saying to ourselves 
 " Look about you ; others are no better than you are." 
 
 Presently they all arose and bowed profoundly. The gates were 
 opened and the queen drove out, the prince sitting beside her. She 
 looked at me and the little pitchman, and greeted us. My eyes 
 failed me. 
 
 1 know not. Did I see aright? The queen looked cheerful. 
 The prince has become a fine boy. He has kept the promise of 
 
 his infancy. 
 
 My little pitchman conversed with a stone-breaker, who was 
 working on the road. He was loud in his praises of the queen 
 and her only child, the crown prince. So she has only one child--- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 529 
 
 I was so weary that I was obliged to rest by the wayside. In 
 former days, I had so often proudly passed by the spot where I 
 was now sitting. No matter ! It is well that it is so. The little 
 pitchman was delighted when I told him that our path now lay 
 homeward. He must have felt quite alarmed about me, and must 
 have thought to himself: " The folks who say that you 're not quite 
 right, were not so far out after all." 
 
 * 
 
 Those who see me not, think me dead ; those who do see me, 
 think me crazed. 
 
 1 had determined that, in case of discovery, I would tell all to 
 the king and queen, and, after that, quietly return to my retreat. 
 
 It is better thus. 
 
 * 
 
 We returned home. When I reached the foot of the mountain 
 on which we live, and had begun to ascend it, I asked myself: " Is 
 this your home?" And yet, absence makes it seem like a new 
 home. The life I lead here is a real life. 
 
 Since I have noted down this thought, I feel as if a weight were 
 lifted from my heart. While writing, I often felt as giddy as if 
 standing on the edge of a precipice ; but I shall remain firm. I 
 will not look at these pages again. But now work begins once 
 more, and my head will cease to be filled with thoughts of repent- 
 ance. The next minute is ours ; the passing moment is scarcely 
 so ; and the past one not at all. 
 
 There is much work awaiting me. I am glad that it is so. 
 Walpurga and the children are quite happy to have me with them 
 again. 
 
 H> 
 
 During my absence, Walpurga had my room painted a pale red. 
 It is in wretched taste, and yet I must needs show myself grateful. 
 She thought that I would not return. 
 
 These people constitute my whole world, and yet I could leave 
 hem any minute. Will it be thus when I, too, leave the world ? 
 
 * 
 
 Courageously to forego the world I think I have read the ex- 
 pression somewhere ; but now I understand it. I feel it within 
 myself and am carrying it out ; not timidly, not sadly, but cour- 
 ageously. 
 
 * 
 
 I am no longer sad. The calm satisfaction with which I resign 
 the world emancipates me. 
 
 When I look at life, I ask myself: "Why all these struggles and 
 all these barriers, until we come to the last barrier of all, unto 
 death itself? " The great heroes of history and my little pitchman 
 not one of them had the odds of fortune in his favor. No des- 
 tiny is completely and purely fulfilled. 
 23 
 
530 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Old Jochem said his prayers every day, and would often pass 
 whole hours thus employed ; yet he would curse mankind and his 
 own fate. And I have known ladies of quality, who, after listen- 
 ing in rapt ecstasy to the music of Beethoven, would dispute and 
 wrangle after the most vulgar fashion. 
 
 " Courageously to forego." The words are ever haunting me. 
 Thanks for this precept, kind spirit, whoever thou mayst be ! To 
 live out the day and not allow it to be darkened by the knowledge 
 that night must come, to forego with courage that is the sum of all. 
 
 I never would have believed that I could live without joy, with- 
 out pleasures ; but now I see that I can. Joy and pleasure are not 
 the conditions upon which my life is based. 
 
 We have it in our power to attune the mind to cheerfulness ; 
 that is, to calmness and clearness. 
 
 * 
 
 How many years was it that Hermione, of the "Winter's Tale," 
 remained hidden ? I have quite forgotten. 
 
 I am constantly reminded, while at work, of various passages, 
 of the solos, the great choruses, and even the instrumental accom- 
 paniments, in Mozart's " Magic Flute." They fill the silent air 
 with their sounds, and bear me aloft. 
 
 Above all, the appeal, " Be steadfast ! " with the three short 
 notes, d, e, d, and the trumpet-blast that follows, is ever sounding 
 in my ears like some spiritual watchword. The highest truths 
 should be conveyed by music alone, and would thus become more 
 forcible and enduring. Be steadfast 
 
 I am again trying to solve the enigma of life. 
 
 Man may not do all that he can, or to which he feels impelled. 
 Since he is human, he must recognize the limit of his rights before 
 he reaches the limit of his powers. 
 
 At court they often discussed the saying : ' Right before might." 
 I have melted down the phrase in the alembic of thought. I 
 have coined it anew. 
 
 How beautiful is the legend of paradise ! The first human pair 
 were placed there ; as far as their powers went, everything, with 
 a single exception, was permitted to them and the fruit tempted 
 them. But there is no paradise. The beast alone possesses what 
 may be termed paradise. It is free to do whatever it can. As long, 
 however, as there is a prohibition which man, as a moral being 
 must know, there can be no paradise, for perfect freedom is at 
 in end. 
 
 What I mean is this : self-consciousness is gained by overstepping 
 the barrier. It is eating of the fruit of the tree of knowledge. 
 From that moment, man's joys are no longer provided for him 
 He must create them, either from within himself or from his sur- 
 roundings. Now he begins to wrestle with nature, and his life 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 531 
 
 becomes one of deeds. Work, whether directed to self-perfection or 
 intended to benefit the world, is a second creation. 
 
 My every thought seems as if it were an inarticulate, stammering 
 attempt to express the words of knowledge. 
 
 The little world around me and the so-called great world that 
 still lives in my memory, now seem to me as if illumined and ren- 
 dered transparent by the golden sunlight. 
 
 To perceive the barriers, and thus recognize the necessity of law, 
 is liberty. I am free at last. 
 
 I did well in going out into the world again. Or do I merely 
 think so because I feel that I have done right ? I am a freer being 
 now. T have ceased to be the poor soul that longed to return to 
 the world. My life is no longer a hell. I could now return to the 
 world without fear. Now that I can courageously forego it, I do 
 not feel the privation. Oh, how presumptuous we are to imagine 
 that others need us ! I, too, no longer need any one. 
 
 * 
 
 The telegraph wires are being put up between here and my forest 
 view. The busy doings of the great world are now to pass by me. 
 I can see men on the ladders, fastening the wires to the high 
 poles. 
 
 Walpurga tells me that my voice is quite hoarse, but I feel quite 
 well. Perhaps it is because I speak so little, sometimes passing 
 whole days without uttering a word. The cool, pure breezes that 
 I inhale every morning are like a refreshing draught, and the blue 
 of the sky is far deeper up here. 
 
 * 
 
 Gunther once told me that I am of an unrhythmic temperament. 
 He was in the right. If I were not, I would now express my 
 deepest thoughts in melodious words. I feel so happy, so free, 
 that my thoughts could find proper expression in poetry alone. 
 
 Although Hansei has now been in possession for a long while, 
 he seems grateful for everything. It makes him happy to know 
 that he is able to buy fine cows and pretty bells for them, and this 
 gratitude for his good fortune lends an inner tenderness to his 
 rough exterior. 
 
 * 
 
 (August 28th.) After long, sunless days of deathlike torpor, 
 the sky is bright and clear again. The snowy peaks, the green 
 hills and the valleys are bathed in sunshine. I feel as if I must fly 
 away and soar through space ; but I remain here and work ; for, as 
 my work was faithful to me in dark days, so shall I remain faith- 
 ful to it in bright ones. I shall only wander forth when evening 
 comes and work is at an end. This is Goethe's birthday. I think 
 
532 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Goethe would have been friendly towards me, if I had lived in his 
 time and near him. 
 
 It is pleasant, after all, that we know the hour of his birth. It 
 was at noon. I write these lines during the very hour, and my 
 thoughts are of him. 
 
 What would he have counseled me to do with my lost life ? 
 
 Is it a lost life ? It is not. 
 
 * 
 
 Franz has returned from the target shooting and was the hero 
 of the occasion. What shouts of joy and triumph ! He gained 
 the first prize, a fine rifle. The target, riddled with bullets, is dis- 
 played before our house. 
 
 * 
 
 A falling leaf in autumn how many bright summer days and 
 mild nights were required to perfect it ? What was it while it 
 hung on the tree ? What is it now, when it foils to the ground ? 
 
 And what is the result of a whole human life, when summed up 
 in a few sentences ? 
 
 * 
 
 How many feet is our farm above the level of the sea ? I do 
 not know, and Hansei would smile to think of one's asking such a 
 question. We perform our duty on the little spot of earth on 
 which we dwell. Its effect flows out into the great sea of human- 
 ity and of history, without any interference of ours. The brook 
 goes on in its course, driving the mill-wheels, irrigating the mead- 
 ows, and is at last swallowed up in the ocean, whence come the 
 clouds and storms that again feed the brook. 
 
 * 
 
 In spite of all that I grew up to, all that, in a course of years, I 
 have practiced, acted, or thought, I cannot help regarding myself 
 as a block of wood even now, I know not what will become of 
 me, or who will hew me into shape. 
 
 I have a beautiful task on hand a piece of work that will re- 
 main and be a constant pleasure to me work for our own house. 
 
 When the additions were made to the dwelling, I succeeded, 
 with the assistance of the carpenter, in giving greater symmetry 
 to the dwelling itself. The piazza running round the house, re- 
 ceived a more open roof, and the balustrade a more pleasing form. 
 
 Hansei has often said that the forest clearing would make a 
 beautiful meadow. Yesterday, he came home and said : 
 
 " I have it ! I 'm having the trees on the hillside felled, and have 
 left four fine trunks standing. They form a square and I '11 have 
 a hut built there, and then we '11 have a mountain meadow of our 
 own. The farm can't thrive without one. It 's far up, to be sure 
 about two hours walk ; but we can see the clearing from here." 
 
 " And just think of it," said Hansei, who was delighted with his 
 plan, " where the trees have been cut down in front, you can see 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 533 
 
 ever so far, way off to the lake where we used to live. To be sure, 
 it 's nothing more than a little sparkling spot of blue, but it looks at 
 one so kindly, just like a faithful eye from home, or like one who 
 has known you from childhood. It was beautiful at our home, but 
 it 's more beautiful here ; so do n't let us sin by being ungrateful." 
 
 I have made the drawings for the shepherd's hut. My little 
 pitchman is quite clever in cutting everything. We are working 
 at our Noah's ark, and are as merry as apprentices. 
 
 I am also carving a horse's head in life size, for the gable of the 
 roof. 
 
 * 
 
 Hansei and I have just returned from where the new shepherd's 
 hut is being built. 
 
 After the invigorating mountain ascent of to-day, I feel as if I 
 had been present at the dawning of creation: a new road, a^new 
 dwelling and a spot where human being had never been before. I 
 feel as if experience had nothing more in store for me ; as if all 
 earthly burdens had fallen from me. 
 
 When, after a day of great exertion and mountain climbing, one 
 awakes on the following morning, the fatigue has passed away. 
 One feels refreshed and invigorated, and satisfied with the test to 
 which he has subjected himself; for it has proved his power of en- 
 durance and his ability to impose tasks upon himself. For awhile, 
 I had left my past and possessed nothing but myself. Now that I 
 have returned to familiar scenes, they welcome me again. I can 
 easily realize the calm peacefulness of those who thus picture to 
 themselves the awakening to the eternal life. 
 
 The shepherd's hut is empty. The walls are bare, except where 
 the picture of our Savior hangs in the corner, waiting for the beings 
 who are to come there. It is, and ever will remain, a blessing 
 that men can thus bear with them, to desert wastes and lonely 
 heights, the image of pure and perfect man. It is this which en- 
 ables a more perfect civilization and a great history to take posses- 
 sion of the modern world. 
 
 If only the pure knowledge of the pure spirit always went with it. 
 
 (October.) Now that winter approaches, my thoughts are al- 
 ways of the lonely shepherd's hut, upon the mountain. I am 
 always there in my dreams, alone and undergoing strange experi- 
 ences. I think I must move up there next spring. I feel that 
 life will be incomplete until I have spent a whole summer with 
 plants and beasts, with mountain and brook, with the sun, the 
 noon and the stars. 
 
 Art tliou still dissatisfied, insatiate heart, always longing for 
 something else ? What can it be ? I must and will have rest ! 
 
534 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 He who needs nothing but himself to be happy, is happy indeed, 
 
 * 
 
 Here, once again, I am like the first human being that walked the 
 earth. 
 
 Man, of himself, is pure and unsullied, and out of him, flows the 
 world. There lies the secret which I shall not name. 
 
 * 
 
 It makes me happy to think that I am to go still higher ; further 
 up the mountain, where it is even quieter and more lonely than here. 
 I feel as if something were calling me there. It is neither a voice, 
 nor a sound. I know not what it is, and yet it calls me, draws me, 
 allures me, with its : " Come ! come ! " Yes, I am coming ! 
 
 I know that I am not dying. I would sooner doubt that I am 
 living. The world is no longer an enigma to me. 
 
 From my mountain height I look down on those I have wronged. 
 They are my father, my queen, and, worst of all, myself ! 
 
 Of all things in this world, untruth is the surest to avenge itself. 
 When I wrote to the king, from the convent, I vaunted my truth- 
 fulness and yet, at the same time, I was thoroughly untruthful. I 
 aimed at bringing about an act of freedom and yet, at heart, my 
 only desire was to write to him and impress him by my love of 
 liberty. I felt proud of my opposition to popular opinion and hoped 
 thus to show him that I was his strong friend. He declined my 
 proffered advice, and yet it was I who again opened the convents. 
 
 Falsehood avenges itself. 
 
 Purity and freedom can only exist where there is perfect truth- 
 fulness. 
 
 * 
 
 If I could only find words to express the delight with which to- 
 day's sunset filled me ! It is night, and as surely as the sun shone 
 on my face, so surely does a ray of sunlight shine within me. I 
 am a ray of eternity. Compared with it, what are days or years ? 
 What is a whole human life ? 
 
 * 
 
 I never rightly knew w r hy I was always dissatisfied, and yearn- 
 ing for the next hour, the next day, the next year, hoping that it 
 would bring me that which I could not find in the present. It was 
 not love, for love does not satisfy. I desired to live in the passing 
 moment, but could not. It always seemed as if something were 
 waiting for me without the door, and calling me. What could it 
 have been ? 
 
 I know now ; it was a desire to be at one with myself, to under- 
 stand myself. Myself in the world, and the world in me. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 535 
 
 The vain man is the loneliest of human beings. He is con- 
 stantly longing to be seen, understood, acknowledged, admired and 
 loved. 
 
 I could say much on the subject, for I, too, was once vain. It 
 was only in actual solitude that I conquered the loneliness of vanity. 
 It is enough for me that I exist. 
 
 How far removed this is from all that is mere show. 
 
 * 
 
 Now I understand my father's last act. He did not mean to 
 punish me. His only desire was to arouse me, to lead me to self- 
 consciousness, to the knowledge that, teaching us to become differ- 
 ent from what we are, saves us. 
 
 * 
 
 I understand the inscription in my father's library: "When I 
 am alone, then am I least alone." 
 
 Yes ; when alone, one can more perfectly lose himself in the life 
 universal. I have lived and have come to know the truth. I can 
 
 now die. 
 
 * 
 
 He who is at one with himself, possesses all. 
 
 * 
 
 What will people say ? These few words represent the world's 
 tyranny, the power that perverts our nature and temperaments, 
 and account for our mental obliquity of vision. These four words 
 rule everywhere. Walpurga is swayed by them, while Hansei has 
 quite a different standard, the only true one. Without knowing it, 
 he acts just as Gunther would have done. 
 
 Man's first and only duty is to preserve his peace of mind. He 
 should be utterly indifferent as to "what the people will say." 
 That question makes the mind homeless. Do right and fear 
 naught ! Rest assured that with all your consideration for the 
 world, you can never satisfy it. But if you will^go on in your own 
 way, indifferent to the praise or blame of others, you have con- 
 quered the world, and it cheerfully subjects itself to you. As long 
 as you care for "what the people will say," so long are you the 
 slave of others. 
 
 * 
 
 I believe that I know what I have done. I have no compassion 
 for myself. This is my full confession. 
 
 I have sinned not against nature, but against the world's rules. 
 Is that sin? Look at the tall pines in yonder forest. The higher 
 the tree grows, the more do the lower branches die away, and thus 
 the tree in the thick forest is protected and sheltered by its fellows, 
 but can, nevertheless, not perfect itself in all directions. 
 
 I desired to lead a full and complete life and yet to be in the for- 
 est, to be in the world and yet in society. But he who means to 
 live thus, must remain in solitude. As soon as we become mem- 
 
536 CIV THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 bers of society, we cease to be mere creatures of nature. Nature 
 and morality have equal rights and must form a compact with each 
 other, and where there are two powers with equal rights, there 
 must be mutual concessions. 
 
 Herein lies my sin. 
 
 He li'Jio desires to live a life of nature alone, must withdraw 
 Jiimself from the protection of morality. I did not fully desire 
 ciMicr the one or the other ; hence I was crushed and shattered. 
 
 My father 's last action was right. He avenged the moral law, 
 which is just as human as the law of nature. The animal world 
 knows neither father nor mother, so soon as the young is able to 
 take care of itself. The human world does know them and must 
 hold them sacred. 
 
 I see it all quite clearly. My sufferings and my expiation are 
 deserved. I was a thief! I stole the highest treasures of all : 
 confidence, love, honor, respect, splendor. 
 
 How noble and exalted the tender souls appear to themselves 
 when a poor rogue is sent to gaol for having committed a theft ! 
 But what are all possessions which can be carried away, when 
 compared with those that are intangible ! 
 
 Those who are summoned to the bar of justice are not always 
 the basest of mankind. 
 
 I acknowledge my sin, and my repentance is sincere. 
 
 My fatal sin, the sin for which I now atone, was that I dissem- 
 bled, that I denied and extenuated that which I represented to 
 myself as a natural right. Against the queen, I have sinned worst 
 of all. To me, she represents that moral order which I violated 
 and yet wished to enjoy. 
 
 To you, oh queen, to you lovely, good, and deeply injured one 
 do I confess all this ! 
 
 If I die before you and I hope that I may these pages are to 
 be given to you. 
 
 * 
 
 We cannot take nature for our only guide. He who follows its 
 law, has no share, no inheritance in the world of history. He 
 knows nothing of the beings who lived before him, and who 
 helped to make the world what it is. With him, the world is 
 barren ; with him, it dies. He who follows naught but nature's 
 law and persuades himself that he is thus doing right, denies 
 humanity and, at the same time, denies that the human race has a 
 history which is not represented by himself alone, but has ex- 
 isted before him and now exists without him. In spite of gloss 
 and varnish, he who denies humanity is but a savage. He stands 
 without the pale of civilization. All that he does, or wears, or 
 enjoys, of the fruits of culture, is but a theft. He should sing 
 no song but that which is natural to him. like the bird which brings 
 its plumage and its song into the world with it, and has no special 
 garb or tones ; for there all is species, all is the law of nature. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 537 
 
 In this alone lies the truth. 
 
 * 
 
 Above all right and all duty, is love, leading lover and beloved 
 to the pure unfolding of their natures. 
 
 Woe to those who desecrate its divine mission ! 
 
 * 
 
 My father's fate is also clear to me, now. He wished to live for 
 and perfect himself; and yet he had children whose love and affec- 
 tion he claimed. His death was one of the terrible consequences 
 of the life he had led. That, however, does not make me inno- 
 cent, and he dealt justly towards me. 
 
 I have no desire to offer excuses for anything I have done. I 
 rm;an to be perfectly truthful. That is my only happiness, my only 
 pride. 
 
 * 
 
 Your worth depends upon what you are ; not upon what you 
 have. 
 
 * 
 
 I have found the centre about which my mind revolves. 
 
 * 
 
 During the last few- days, it has seemed to me as if my father's 
 terrible punishment had never been executed, as if it were only the 
 guilty presentiment of my own imagination. 
 
 What has induced this sudden thought that will not leave me ? 
 
 I know ! I know ! Whatever may have happened is now atoned 
 for ! There can be a renewed life, a deliverance achieved by our- 
 selves, and I feel that this has been vouchsafed me. I am once 
 more free ! I can return to the world and remove the bandage 
 from my brow ! 
 
 To the world ! What is the world ? I have it within me. I am 
 in the world, and the world is in me. I am ! 
 
 * 
 
 I have sung again for the first time. Oh, how much good it 
 did me ! No one heard me but myself. 
 
 No bird sings for itself; it sings for its mate. Man alone can 
 sing and think for himself. He alone possesses self-consciousness. 
 
 The calm of morn, which is always so dear to me, now seems 
 to last during the whole day. 
 
 * 
 
 Yonder brook often seems to roar much more loudly than at 
 other times. It is because a sudden wind catches it and bears the 
 sound-waves towards me. 
 
 * 
 
 (At work.) When the. material on which we work is hard and 
 unyielding, we learn to make a virtue of necessity. I often 
 chance upon changes in the fibre or grain which necessitate new 
 23* 
 
538 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 beauties or deformities. I often bring out touches which I did not 
 intend, and those that I did intend become quite different from 
 what I had expected, just because the wood is master, as well as 
 my hand. Varnish, blessed friend in need, covers both beauties 
 and defects. 
 
 * 
 
 We create nothing. We merely shape and discover that which 
 already exists and which, without our assistance, cannot release 
 M self from chaos. 
 
 Oh, I feel as if I at last understand the whole world and all of 
 art and work. I feel that my longings for the infinite are satisfied. 
 
 I now know the cause of the clashing between our lofty thoughts 
 and our lives of petty detail. 
 
 Hansei, Walpurga, the king, the queen, Gunther, Emma what 
 are they all ? Mere drops in the ocean of humanity. When I 
 think of myself as a part of the whole, I forget them all. That 
 destroys love for individuals ; desire and enjoyment cease, and, 
 with them, passion and heart-ache. 
 
 And what am I ? W T hat still remains to me ? We can conceive 
 the great and complete w^hole, while our love can only be for the 
 individual, for that which is nearest to us. And the nearest of all 
 is God, the great idea of universal law. 
 
 Walpurga is quite anxious about me. She often comes to me, 
 and it seems as if she wished to say something. She looks at me 
 so strangely, and yet says nothing. She tells me, again and again, 
 how lovely it will be at the shepherd's hut, and how quiet and 
 happy I will be up there. She wishes the mountains were already 
 cleared of snow. She would like me to be away from here, and 
 says that I would soon become strong. And yet I do not feel ill. 
 but she always says : "You shine so ! " 
 
 I feel as if I had settled my accounts with the world. I am per 
 fectly calm, and it may be that this feeling casts its radiance about 
 me. I could no longer fear the world. I could again live among 
 human beings, for I feel myself free. Nothing more can wound 
 
 I feel a desire for more perfect solitude. Shall I find greater 
 seclusion, profounder silence, up there ? It seems as if I were 
 ever hearing the words "lonely as death." (mutterseelenallein). 
 Oh, thou blessed, German tongue ! W T hat a blessing it is that, 
 without effort, I bear the rich stores of my mother-tongue within 
 me, and that, when thoughts gush forth from every nook and 
 cranny of the brain, I have some word vessel at command with 
 which to receive the idea. It seems to me as if I must be always 
 speaking and writing and rejoicing because of this possession. 
 
 I must break off. Our most mysterious, our deepest thoughts, 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 539 
 
 are like the bird on the bough. He sings, but, as soon as he sees 
 an eye watching him, he flies away. 
 
 * 
 
 I can now accurately tell the season of the year and, often, the 
 hour of the day, by the way in which the first sunbeams fall into 
 my room and on my workbench in the morning. My chisel hangs 
 before me on the wall, and is my index. 
 
 The drizzling, spring showers now fall on the trees and thus it 
 is with me. It seems as if there were a new delight in store for 
 me. What can it be ? I shall patiently wait ! 
 
 * 
 
 A strange feeling comes over me, as if I were lifted up from the 
 chair on which I am sitting, and were flying, I know not whither ! 
 
 What is it ? I feel as if dwelling in eternity. 
 
 Everything seems flying towards me ; the sunlight and the sun- 
 shine, the rustling of the forests and the forest breezes, beings of 
 all ages and of all kinds all seem beautiful and rendered transpa- 
 rent by the sun's glow. 
 
 I am ! 
 
 I am in God ! 
 
 If I could only die now and be wafted through this joy to disso- 
 lution and redemption ! 
 
 But I will live on until my hour comes. 
 
 Come, thou dark hour, whenever thou wilt ! To me, thou art 
 light ! 
 
 I feel that there is light within me. Oh, Eternal Spirit of the 
 universe, I am one with thee ! 
 
 I was dead, and I live I shall die and yet live. 
 
 Everything has been forgiven and blotted out. There was dust 
 on my wings. I soar aloft into the sun and into infinite space. I 
 shall die singing from the fullness of my soul. Shall I sing ! 
 
 Enough. 
 
 * 
 
 I know that I shall again be gloomy and depressed and drag 
 along a weary existence, but I have once soared into infinity and 
 have felt a ray of eternity within me. That I shall never lose again. 
 I should like to go to a convent, to some quiet, cloistered cell, 
 where I might know nothing of the world, and could live on within 
 myself until death shall call me. But it is not to be. I am des- 
 tined to live on in freedom and to labor ; to live with my fellow 
 Deings and to work for them. 
 
 The results of my handiwork and of my powers of imagination, 
 belong to you ; but what I am within myself, is mine alone. 
 
 * 
 
 I have taken leave of everything here ; of my quiet room, of my 
 summer bench ; for I know not whether I shall ever return. And 
 
540 a\ r THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 if I do, who knows but what everything may have become strange 
 to me ? 
 
 * 
 
 (Last page written in pencil.) It is my wish that when I am 
 dead, I may be wrapped in a simple, linen cloth, placed in a rough, 
 unplaned coffin, and buried under the apple tree, on the road that 
 leads to my paternal mansion. I desire that my brother and other 
 relatives may be apprised of my death at once, and that they shall 
 not disturb my grave by the wayside. 
 
 No stone, no name, is to mark my grave. 
 
BOOK VIII. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 GUNTHER received his dismissal. Sated with his experience of 
 the world, he withdrew from its distracting and bustling turmoil. 
 
 Old and endearing associations made it no easy matter for his 
 family to transfer their affections to a new home and yet the 
 change was brought about without impairing their unity of feeling, 
 and affection. Those two pure gods, love and science, followed 
 Gunther beyond the mountains and his heart was free from rancor. 
 
 Their home circle now was once more perfect. As if returning 
 fiom a journey around the world, Gunther again found himself at 
 the starting-point for he knew that he and his would find a free 
 and self-dependent life the source of the most ennobling and 
 beautiful influences. 
 
 Naturally enough, they missed the presence of a cultured circle, 
 its refining influences and the opportunity it affords for an inter- 
 change of ideas. But he felt that they would stand the test 
 and would prove that they could give up all this without greatly 
 missing it. Immediately after his dismissal, he received a most 
 flattering offer of a professorship at one of the great universities. 
 He declined the proffered position. It had been a long cherished 
 idea of his, to improve his knowledge of certain branches of sci- 
 ence and to complete certain scientific labors, of which he had thus 
 far merely sketched the outlines. It often grieved him to think that 
 he might quit the world, incomplete in himself and leaving much un- 
 finished work behind him. Life at court, with its constant changes 
 and interruptions, renders connected thought impossible. To mount 
 guard every morning, in full armor ; to be ready, at a moment's call, 
 to discuss even the most important subject, in a light conversa- 
 tional manner : such a life, if persisted in for a number of years, 
 will, in spite of every effort to the contrary, tend to injure one's 
 inner nature. 
 
 Fortunately for Gunther, scientific studies and home influences 
 always lent him new vigor. But he was often alarmed lest he should 
 fritter away his life and gradually lose his individuality. To a cer- 
 tain extent, he was perfectly willing to be uniformed ; he even ad- 
 mitted that it was both necessary and pleasing, since it represented 
 a remnant of that mental and political discipline which combines 
 
542 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 and utilizes individuals who were otherwise incongruous and scat- 
 tered. But at the same time, Gunther endeavored to prevent any 
 change in himself. He would often, and with special stress, re- 
 mark that he who suffers any of his essential traits to be thus 
 changed has been subdued and killed by the world, and has ceased 
 to exist as himself. 
 
 When, with each succeeding day, he presented himself at court, 
 he came, as it were, from a strange and distant sphere. And it 
 was this which accounted for the severe and almost unbending 
 manner, so often observed in him. He was, nevertheless, forbear- 
 ing towards the superficiality and the mere desire to please, which 
 he encountered at court, for he well knew that where strength of 
 character or depth of culture do not feed the spring of life, there 
 must needs be some provision for every passing hour, and also an 
 inevitable tendency to make all life centre about the daily affairs of 
 a small and exclusive circle. 
 
 Gunther's so-called inflexibility also lay in the fact that he never 
 misplaced the centre of gravity, and thus, when the prop seemed 
 withdrawn, he could yet stand his ground firmly and had no need 
 to seek for strength from without. And now, when the sudden, 
 but by no means unexpected, rupture took place, it was easy 
 enough to lay aside the privy councilor and remain the doctor. 
 He had soon mastered ever) 7 trace of ill-feeling produced by his 
 great and sudden fall. He regretted to leave his many friends at 
 the capital, and the queen especially. He knew that he could still 
 have been of great benefit to her ; " but then," said he to himself, " it 
 will be far better for her to seek and gain strength from herself, 
 and without the aid of others." 
 
 Thus Gunther left the capital, and, in doing so, realized a life- 
 long wish to return to his native town. 
 
 He had almost attained his seventieth year, and looked upon the 
 remnant of life yet accorded him as a peaceful evening of rest the 
 reward of a well-spent manhood. He desired, as far as possible, 
 to close his accounts with knowledge, in order that night should 
 not overtake him. while so much was as yet incomplete. 
 
 Some years ago, Gunther had built a modest house in his native 
 town, and had intended it as a summer retreat for his family, while 
 his children were still young. And now this house was to serve as 
 a resting-place for the remainder of his life. Madame Gunther and 
 the children had cheerfully taken leave of their old associations. 
 They bade farewell to friends who were near and dear to them. 
 But their life lay in their home, and this home, with all its visible 
 and invisible treasures, accompanied them to their new abode. 
 
 Gunther's sister was the only relative he possessed in the little 
 Highland town. She was an active, bustling hostess. The father, 
 ivho had been a country physician, died while Gunther was study- 
 ing at the university. Wilhelm had ever been the idol of the fam- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 543 
 
 ily, and the sister as well as the mother, up to the time of her 
 death had always regarded him as a sort of daring and successful 
 navigator. With the assistance of her grown-up sons and daugh- 
 ters, the sister had put their new dwelling to rights. Gunther's 
 charming home soon became the centre of attraction in the little 
 town, and was, in its way, almost as important as the royal palace 
 at the capital. 
 
 Esteem and gratitude were the invisible sentries who guarded 
 the house. The respectful manner in which visitors entered it 
 proved that naught but good-breeding dare cross that threshold. 
 
 Gunther's sister, the hostess of the Rose, reaped new honors 
 and when, within a short time of each other, her two sons and one 
 daughter became betrothed, it was deemed an inestimable piece 
 of good fortune to become connected with the family of the privy 
 councilor. Every stranger who visited the town was speedily in- 
 formed of this eminent citizen and of his charming household. 
 
 A peaceful atmosphere reigned in Gunther's house. It seemed 
 a very temple of science and beauty. It was difficult to decide 
 whether it was more delightful in summer or in winter. In sum- 
 mer there was, of course, less chance to note how familiar its in- 
 mates were with all that tends to adorn home life. If the gardens 
 in the neighborhood were" less neatly arranged, their seats less 
 comfortable and cozy, the points from which views could be ob- 
 tained less artistically chosen their hedges and trees were of just 
 as bright a green and the prospect just as fine. But in winter, 
 when man adorns his home, and when he has naught about him 
 but the little world which he has himself shaped and arranged, then 
 and then only, can we see what a lovely home may be created by 
 those whose light and warmth are derived from themselves. 
 
 If a half-frozen traveler, descending from the snowy mountains, 
 had been at once conducted to Gunther's home, he would have 
 imagined that he had landed upon an oasis of civilization. 
 
 Salve! was the inscription over the doorway. Architecturally, 
 the building was an improvement on the usual country-house. 
 The roof projected considerably, for it was necessary to prevent 
 the snow from piling itself before the windows ; but this protecting 
 roof was decorated with tasteful carvings. The steps were covered 
 with winter plants, the walls were decorated with plaster copies 
 from the Parthenon, the rooms were neatly arranged, and every 
 piece of furniture properly placed. There were also finely engraved 
 copies of the choicest paintings and. alternating with them, stat- 
 uettes of the great men of all ages. On every hand, there were 
 marble, plaster, or bronze works of art which had been sent to the 
 celebrated physician by his admirers, and principally by those of 
 the fair sex. Two stuffed bears, which had been sent to him by a 
 Russian princess and served as foot-stools, had been quite the 
 talk of the town. 
 
544 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The rooms were never excessively warm. The temperature was 
 a comfortable one. in which men and plants could thrive. Large 
 leaf-plants were placed at the windows and in the corners of the 
 room. There was also a marble bust of Gunther. made by Irma's 
 t.acher, years ago. It was standing on a console and was sur- 
 rounded by flowers. 
 
 Gunther was famous as a ladies' doctor and was thus in corres- 
 pondence with many ladies of the higher classes. During the 
 summer, some of these would occasionally visit the little town, for 
 the sake of consulting him, and would sometimes prolong their 
 stay beyond the time intended. The hostess of the Rose had 
 fitted up two houses adjoining her own, and had put them in charge 
 of two of her children, subject, of course, to her own careful super- 
 vision. And here the invalid visitors dwelt, while under treatment. 
 Gunther gave a large share of his practice to a young physician 
 who had married the second daughter of his sister, but retained 
 the general superintendence in his own hands. 
 
 The little town blessed its distinguished and beneficent citizen. 
 The best of even-thing always found its way to Gunther's house. 
 Choice fish, the best game, early vegetables, and the finest fruit 
 were brought there, and Madame Gunther was at some trouble to 
 prevent people from overstocking the house. Even their servants 
 were held in honor. Since they moved into the town, they had 
 not once changed their domestics, who were constantly endeavor- 
 ing to make themselves more useful and obliging. Even the dog 
 and the mule which Gunther had procured for his mountain trips, 
 were regarded with pleasure by the citizens. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IT was in the early spring. 
 Madame Gunther and her two daughters were sitting by the 
 window and working. A light-haired little girl, nearly five years 
 old, was playing on the floor, and the three ladies often regarded it 
 with affectionate glances. Aunt Paula seemed to be her favorite, 
 and most of the child's questions were addressed to her. 
 
 Change of residence had made no alteration in Madame Gunther. 
 She was still as dignified and refined as of yore, and, as her friends 
 at the capital had been wont to say, every dress she wore seemed 
 as if she had put it on for the first time. 
 
 The professor's widow had grown somewhat stouter, and Paula, 
 who had grown in height, was the youthful image of her mother. 
 
 May 1 call grandfather now?" 'asked little Cornelia, who no- 
 ticed that the round table in the centre of the room had been set 
 for the second breakfast. 
 
 Not yet, but right soon," replied Paula. 
 
 Gunther was still in his Corking-room. It was furnished simply, 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 545 
 
 provided with a small but choice library, and embellished with 
 appropriate bronzes. Gunther's dress, while at his work-table, 
 was as scrupulously neat as if he expected to be summoned tc 
 court at any moment. He invariably rose at five o'clock, all the 
 year round, and had done a full day's work when others were just 
 commencing the day. It was only in unavoidable and exceptional 
 cases that he allowed himself to be disturbed during the morning. 
 He wrote a great deal. It was rumored at the capital that he 
 was engaged in preparing his memoirs, and he might, had he cared 
 to do so, have had much to tell ; for who was so familiar as he with 
 the secret history of the last and the present government ? But he 
 felt it his duty to write of other matters. He endeavored to con- 
 struct a science of life, using the combined results of the study of 
 nature and practical knowledge of the world, as a basis. A slight 
 glow would mantle his cheeks, and his eyes would involuntarily 
 gaze into the far distance, when some difficult problem, which had 
 hitherto eluded his grasp, became clear to his mental vision. At 
 such moments, he would, as if impelled by an inner force, rise from 
 his seat, and his chest would heave with emotion, at the thought 
 that he was laying bare the secret springs of character and habit, 
 with as much indifference to side considerations as if he were en- 
 gaged on a physiological preparation. 
 
 The view from Gunther's windows, each of which consisted of 
 a single plate of glass, extended to the distant mountains. Far up 
 the heights, there was a small clearing, scarcely visible to the naked 
 eye. Naught was noticeable but a small break in the woods, and, 
 although it was known that the freehold lay there, its broad acres 
 were out of sight. Irma had been sitting up there, working and 
 brooding over her troubles, for nearly four years, while Gunther, in 
 the meanwhile, had been sitting at his oaken table, writing his 
 " Contributions to the Science of Life." His glance often rested 
 on the distant heights, but he little dreamt that, while he was 
 calmly gathering the fruits of his experience, another soul up there 
 was spending its strength in the vain endeavor to solve the enigma 
 of life. 
 
 When he dwelt on the difficulty of assigning to nature and edu- 
 cation their relative share in determining conduct and character, 
 hundreds of varied pictures would present themselves to his imag- 
 ination. In all these investigations, the dead and the living were 
 ns one. The only question he asked himself was : To what extent 
 o they exemplify the eternal idea? Eberhard's form would often 
 ppear to him ; sometimes, in all the dewy freshness of youth ; at 
 thers, in its last, sad aspect. Irma was also summoned by the 
 spirit of knowledge and, although never mentioned by name, was 
 made to illustrate the present disturbed state of the public mind. 
 That day, many of Gunther's thoughts had been of Irma. 
 There was a gentle knock at the door. His grandchild entered 
 
546 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 and Gunther's countenance brightened at the sight of her. For 
 hours, his thoughts had been of grand abstractions, of past mem- 
 ories and of general laws, and now, blithe and cheerful childhood 
 saluted him. He went into the sitting-room with his grand- 
 daughter. 
 
 The family seated themselves at the table. Letters and news- 
 papers were left untouched until after the meal was finished. 
 
 "Did Adolph set out punctually? " enquired Gunther. 
 
 He received a full and explicit answer. Gunther's son, who 
 owned the chemical works at the capital, had been visiting his 
 parents for several days. He had left that morning, but Gunther 
 had said "good-bye," the evening before. It was a peculiar, but 
 well-weighed custom of his, to avoid the excitement of the hour 
 of parting. They had many visitors, for their house was, in the 
 best sense of the word, a hospitable one ; but Gunther would 
 suffer nothing to disturb him during the morning hour. 
 
 It was a merry breakfast party. Paula remarked that spring 
 had surely come, for the wood-carver, who lived in the neighbor- 
 hood, had thrown his old felt shoes out of the window, and that 
 this was even a surer token than the coming of the swallows. 
 
 After breakfast, Gunther took up his letters, carefully examining 
 the address and postmark of each, and arranging them in the 
 order in which they were to be read. 
 
 The first one he opened bore the seal of the state department. 
 It was from Bronnen who, since his elevation to the highest office 
 under the government, had kept up a regular correspondence with 
 his old friend Gunther, and had, indeed, twice visited him in his 
 new home. 
 
 Gunther's face brightened while he read the letter. After he 
 had finished it, he quietly laid it aside and said : 
 
 "Friend Bronnen intends to pay us a visit shortly." 
 
 Paula turned away quickly, and bent down to kiss her little niece. 
 Although Gunther was still reading, her movement did not escape 
 his notice. After he had looked through the rest of his letters, he 
 took up the newspapers. He was in a thoughtful mood, and 
 would now and then ask Paula to read certain passages aloud to 
 him. 
 
 "One often wishes," said he, " that is, I have often heard 
 others express the desire to be able, after death, to look down 
 upon the world again. It is a mere phrase, however, which seems 
 deep only to those who have not weighed it properly. All that we 
 possess, see, or understand, lies in the world in which we live and 
 move." 
 
 The remark seemed a singular one, and Paula was about to 
 follow it up with a question, when a sign from her mother hinted 
 that she had better not. The idea had evidently separated itself 
 from a chain of reasoning which had engaged the mind of the sol- 
 itary philosopher. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 547 
 
 " You will have to answer several letters for me," said Gunthei 
 Lo Paula, who acted as his secretary. " Come along ! " 
 
 He was about to leave the room, when a special messenger ar- 
 rived with a letter for him. It was written in blue ink and was from 
 the queen. Gunther opened it and read as follows : 
 
 " . . April $th. 
 
 " Your letter seems laden with fresh mountain breezes. If I 
 were not afraid lest you might deem it inconsistent with the dignity 
 of the subject, I should request you to give me the summary of your 
 philosophy of life, in an epistolary form. What cannot be given in 
 that way, has not yet acquired communicable shape. In a letter we 
 have the effect of the personal presence of the writer. And believe 
 me, for I know of what I speak, you cannot imagine how much your 
 ideas lose in impressiveness, when you thus, as it were, put them 
 away from yourself and cause it to seem that another might have 
 said the self-same thing. A letter has a voice of its own, and, 
 while I write, I am reminded that your friend Horace wrote letters 
 in verse and that the apostles also availed themselves of the epis- 
 tolary form. 
 
 " Your remark that the myriad forms of life which you have from 
 time to time beheld, now throng about your bark as if it were 
 Charon's, has made me quite uncomfortable. I cannot imagine 
 that you are only leading us into the realms of darkness. The 
 problem before you is the knowledge of life. I must have mis^ 
 understood your meaning. I suppose that you are treating each 
 group or epoch, as if it were an individual and that, with delicate 
 touch, you note its every pulsation. 
 
 " It is quite charming to think that you can even find place for 
 my modest doings in the grand march of human development. 
 I am well aware that my interest in beneficent institutions is epi- 
 sodical and incomplete ; and yet my whole heart is enlisted in their 
 behalf. And this I owe to you. We know how small and imper- 
 fect our life is, but we must aim at greatness and perfection, and 
 can best contribute to it by faithfully discharging the small duties 
 that lay near at hand. Working for others "escues one from in- 
 trospection, and thus expands the mind. When busied with self- 
 contemplation, we are apt to put either too flattering, or too dis- 
 paraging an estimate upon ourselves. It is only by what we are 
 able to accomplish that we can really measure our value. I often 
 ask myself whether I should ever have realized all this, if I had 
 remained possessed of perfect happiness. My bent lay in another 
 direction. I had a taste, and perhaps some talent, for the cultiva- 
 tion of the beautiful, and aimed to adorn life with festivals. Fate 
 has decreed otherwise and it is well. There should be no feasting, 
 while there is so much suffering to alleviate. I felt so happy while 
 wearing the one crown and now I must bear the other will 
 .ngly. 
 
548 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " I was, at first, pleased with your remark that the lists of the 
 members of beneficent institutions are the only true church record 
 of modern times ; but, on second thought, I could not help finding 
 that you free thinkers are terrorists as well. The church has rights, 
 too, as long as she is willing modestly to place herself side by side 
 with other educational and charitable institutions, and accord them 
 equal rights with herself. 
 
 " As patron of various charitable institutions, I have been brought 
 into personal contact with ladies of the middle class, and find 
 many of them exceptionally cultured and well-bred. As you can 
 readily imagine, it cost quite an effort to get some burgher names 
 to be used for more than mere show. Minister Bronnen has been 
 of great assistance to me. My corrtmittee for the blind asylum 
 
 includes a charming Jewess, Madame , who is just as modest 
 
 as she is firm and decided in character. I think you once men- 
 tioned her to me. 
 
 " At the last examination of the blind, I was quite indignant at 
 the clergyman, who referred to their fate as a wise dispensation of 
 Providence. The only way in which I could show my displeasure 
 at this piece of unctuous barbarism, was to ignore his presence. 
 
 " I read much religious history, and when I review past ages, I 
 feel as if sitting by the waterfall which we have so often looked at 
 together. The stream flows unceasingly and, though the water is 
 ever changing, its source and its channel are ever the same. Its 
 waves and its eddies remain in the same place ; the rocky masses, 
 where they were on the day of their creation. In time, the rocks 
 become covered with mosses and flowers, and in the course of 
 many thousand years, new channels become hollowed out by the 
 gradual action of the waters or by some sudden convulsion of 
 nature. Such is the course of history. We are mere drops flow 
 ing down the foaming, bubbling stream. 
 
 " I observe that I have left several of your enquiries unanswered. 
 You express a wish to learn my views of the various charitable in- 
 stitutions. But here I experience both the advantages and the dis- 
 advantages of my position. I am never quite sure whether my 
 visit has not been announced in advance and prepared for. The 
 advantage of my position, however, is, that the poor and unfortu- 
 nate are rendered happy by my very presence, or by a few words 
 from me. Yes, the first duty of those who are so highly favored, 
 is to be kind to the unfortunate. But there is one thought that 
 ever disturbs me. It is both right and necessary, and perhaps ex- 
 pedient, that these children should be educated and cared for in 
 common but this method unfortunately deprives them of that 
 vvhich most strengthens the young soul : solitude. 
 
 " You find that I have become cheerful, and you hope that it may 
 be something more than a passing mood. I myself believe that 
 the key note of my inner life has changed from a minor to a major 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 549 
 
 mood, out the great dissonance still remains. Do not, I beg 
 of yon. imagine that I encourage this feeling. I have a right to 
 claim that the great precept : ' If thine eye offend thee, pluck it 
 out,' expresses my inner nature. I understand it thus : if there 
 be aught in your desires and efforts which might harm yourself or 
 the world, be unmerciful towards yourself, and, instead of regard- 
 ing it as an essential element of your being, pluck it out. 
 
 " But, my friend, I cannot find the offense. I must bear the one 
 great sorrow of my life. How often I long for deliverance ! He, 
 too, suffers, and doubly, because of his guilt. The thought often 
 overwhelms me, and, even now, while I write these lines, I shudder 
 for the shadow of death stands between us. How can it be ex- 
 orcised ? " 
 
 "April 6th. 
 
 " I have not yet thanked you for that which is best in your letter. 
 That you, too, are delighted with the free and consistent changes 
 in the government, affords me great comfort. I read much that is 
 good about the new rule, but I read and heard just as much in 
 praise of the old, and there are many who maintain that there has 
 been no break, and that, although the key is changed, the tune is 
 still the same. 
 
 " What makes human beings take such a pride in never chang- 
 ing ? 
 
 " But, never mind ; as long as the good and the right are brought 
 about, it matters not. 
 
 " Those who form our immediate circle look upon the disbanding 
 of the guard as an actual revolution. I have just begun to realize 
 that it formed a privileged caste, which, although we scarcely knew 
 of its existence, had come to be looked upon as a matter of course. 
 
 " Do you remember my once asking you whether there are 
 any really happy beings on earth ? Your life is the answer to my 
 question and your greatest happiness lies in the fact that you have 
 no false part to perform, nothing which is opposed to your judg- 
 ment and convictions. 
 
 " I now see my error in regarding your mode of thought as the 
 philosophy of solitude. You hold fast to the harmony of life. But 
 I have not yet rid myself of a fear lest that which is real should, as 
 it were, become volatilized, causing the living forms of the vast 
 human multitude to disappear. In that case, the spirit alone would 
 remain, or, if I understand aright, would lose itself in matter, when 
 all individuality and all participation in actual life would cease. 
 
 " I cannot help interesting myself in individual inmates of these 
 institutions. ' I can help the cause as a whole, but I can only love 
 individuals. 
 
 " I am greatly comforted by one piece of information you give me . 
 that, in all history, there is no age that was satisfied with itself. 
 We fondly dream of a golden age, but the golden age is to-day or 
 lever. 
 
550 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " But now as to matters that concern us more nearly. You ask 
 me to tell you of my little Woldemar. v do so with pleasure, but 
 must be careful not to wean," you with a thousand and one of his 
 little sayings and traits. I follow your advice and endeavor to in- 
 terest myself in his questions, instead of teaching him that which 
 he does not care to know. He is quite decided, both in his likes 
 and dislikes. I think that this is well and let him have his own 
 way. His disposition is, to a marked degree, that of the king ; he 
 is quite fond of music. I think it good for him that he was, liter- 
 ally speaking, sung to while in his cradle, although the songs were 
 from the lips of such hypocritical specimens of culture and sim- 
 plicity. Ah, my dear friend, that one sad memory still casts its 
 dark shadow over all my thoughts and all that I behold." 
 
 " April ith. 
 
 " And now this tiresome letter is nearly at an end. We are com- 
 ing to you my dear friend. Woldemar and I, I and Woldemar. 
 
 " I told Woldemar, and he at once added in a decided tone : 
 
 " ' But Schnipp and Schnapp ' (his two ponies) ' must go, too.' 
 
 " To be brief the king has granted my request. For the benefit 
 of my health, I may pay you a visit of four weeks during midsum- 
 mer and take Woldemar with me. Orders have already been 
 given, and Minister von Bronnen has, I understand, made all the 
 necessary arrangements to have the dairy-farm in your neighbor- 
 hood prepared for a small 'suite. 
 
 " This year, we shall walk together, on Goethe's birthday. 
 
 "But my letter is long enough already, and I shall not begin 
 another sheet. If, as I am willing to admit, you really possess a 
 power over your native mountains, let them be bright and cloud- 
 less, while welcoming to you and yours, your friend, 
 
 "MATHILDE. 
 
 " Postscript. Bronnen has visited you. He had much to tell 
 me, and when I enquired about your youngest daughter, his fea- 
 ures seemed to betray his emotion. Was I mistaken ? Remem- 
 ber me to your wife and children. I trust that the queen's pres- 
 ence will not embarrass them." 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IT seems as if, even in the quietest life, there are days in which 
 the whole world has, as it were, agreed that visits and interrup- 
 tions should never cease. 
 
 Gunther was in his room and had scarcely had time to compose 
 himself, after reading the queen's letter. It was evident, he thought, 
 that the king designed to bring about a reconciliation between 
 himself and his consort, through the agency of the dismissed 
 friend. Gunther was willing to aid him in this, but not to have 
 .he even tenor of his life interfered with. The queen s hint in 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 551 
 
 regard to Bronnen accorded with his own observations, and just 
 then he could hear Paula singing for the first time this year by 
 the open window and her voice seemed expressive of a bridal 
 mood. He felt that Paula deserved to be happy and that her mar- 
 riage with his exalted friend would best promote the happiness of 
 both. But he was firmly resolved, even in that event, never again 
 to leave his birthplace. 
 
 Buried in thought, Gunther was sitting in his room. 
 
 The servant announced the freeholder's wife. 
 
 " No Walpurga ! " cried a voice, and before the servant could 
 bring the answer, Walpurga had entered the room. 
 
 " Ah, dear Doctor, you 're our neighbor ! I heard, only a min- 
 ute ago, that you were living here, and it's scarcely four hours' walk 
 from our farm. Yes, that 's the way people live hereabouts : alone 
 and away from each other, just as if one were dead." 
 
 She offered her hand to Gunther, but he was busily engaged in 
 gathering up some papers, and enquired : 
 
 " Does your mother still live ? " 
 
 " Alas ! no. Oh, if she had only lived to see Doctor Gunther 
 once more ! Who knows whether she would n't be living yet, if 
 we could have called you when she was sick." 
 
 Walpurga wept at the remembrance of her mother. Gunther 
 seated himself and asked : 
 
 " What is it you want ? " 
 
 "How? What?" asked Walpurga, quickly, drying her tears. 
 " And you never once ask how it fares with me ? " 
 
 " You 're prosperous and have changed but little." 
 
 " May I sit down ? " asked Walpurga, in an anxious voice. This 
 cold reception from one who had always been so kind to her, af- 
 fected her so deeply that she could scarcely stand. She looked 
 about her as if bewildered, and at last said : 
 
 " And is there nothing more you want to ask me ? Where I live 
 and how my husband and children are? " 
 
 "Walpurga," said Gunther, rising from his seat, "lay aside your 
 old acting." 
 
 " What ? acting ? I do n't know what you mean ! What have 
 I to do with acting? " 
 
 " That does not concern us now. Did you want to ask me any- 
 thing ? or have you anything to tell me ? " 
 
 " To be sure ; that 's just why I came." 
 
 " What is it ? " 
 
 " Yes ; but you seem so strange that my thoughts are quite 
 mixed up. Hansei does n't know that I 've come here, and not 
 another soul in the world is to know about it but yourself. I can 
 keep a secret ; I have kept one. I can be trusted." 
 
 " I know it," said the physician, in a hard voice. 
 
 " You know it ? How ? You can't know it, and I shan't tell 
 
552 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 you all of it, either. I might have told you, but .after such a re 
 ception, I can't." 
 
 " Do as you please ; speak or be silent ; but cut it short, for I 
 have very little time." 
 
 " Then I 'd rather come some other time." 
 
 " I can 't receive you for mere talk. Tell me now what you have 
 to say." 
 
 "Well then, Doctor Oh, dear me, to think that you do n't even 
 shake hands with me. I can't get over it. But I see, that 's the 
 way it is with great folk ; it 's all the same thank God, I know 
 where I 'm at home ! " 
 
 " Cease your empty talk ! " said Gunther, interrupting her still 
 more sharply. " What have you to tell me ? Can I help you in 
 any way? " 
 
 "Me? Thank God, nothing ails me. I only wanted to say 
 that under-forester Steingassinger lives out on the dairy-farm, 
 and that his wife is my friend and companion, Stasi. Early last 
 winter, she told me that the king was coming here this summer, 
 and all I wanted to say was that if he cares to pay me a visit at 
 the freehold, he 's quite welcome. I might have said something 
 more, but I see I 'd better not. I 'd rather not break an oath." 
 Gunther nodded. 
 
 " If the king wishes to pay you a visit, I will tell him what you 
 have said." 
 
 " And is n't our dear, good queen coming, too ? I Ve often been 
 kept awake at nights by anger and sorrow, when I thought that 
 she does n't concern herself about me. And she promised me so 
 solemnly that she would. I can't understand how it is ; but it 's 
 all right, I suppose. And how is the little prince ? And is it true 
 that you are not in favor and have been dismissed from the court ? 
 And is that why you are living here in this little house ? " 
 
 Gunther gave her an evasive reply, and said that he had other 
 matters to attend to. 
 
 Walpurga arose from her seat, but could not move from the 
 spot. She could not understand why she should be treated thus, 
 and it was only because she had previously made up her mind to 
 do so, that she' invited Gunther to visit her, and asked permission 
 to see Madame Gunther for a few T moments. She hoped that she, at 
 least, would receive her kindly and afford her some explanation of 
 the Doctor's repellant manner. 
 
 "Go to her," replied Gunther, turning away and taking up a 
 book. Walpurga left the room. 
 
 She stopped in the passageway and asked herself whether she 
 was not dreaming. She who had once been the crown prince's 
 nurse was now treated as" if they had never known her. She, the 
 freeholdei 's wife her pride rose, as she thought of her vast home- 
 stead was sent a\vay like a beggar. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 553 
 
 She no longer cared to speak with Madame Gunther. Her lips 
 trembled with grief at the thought of how wicked the great people 
 were. And yet they could praise this house, and she, too, had 
 once praised it, as though none but holy persons lived in it. 
 
 She left the house, and, while walking through the garden, met 
 Madame Gunther, who started back when she recognized Wal- 
 purga. 
 
 " Do n't you remember me? " asked Walpurga, holding out her 
 hand towards her. 
 
 " Indeed I do," said Madame Gunther, without noticing the hand 
 that was offered her. " Where do you come from ? " 
 
 " From my farm. I 'm the freeholder's wife and if you, Ma- 
 dame, had come to me, I would n't have let you stand out of doors 
 in this way ; I 'd have asked you to come inside, into my room." 
 
 " But I do n't ask you," replied Madame Gunther, " I put noth- 
 ing in the way of those who leave the straight path, but I do not 
 invite them into my house." 
 
 " And when did I leave the straight path ? What have I done ?" 
 
 " I am not your judge." 
 
 "Any one may judge me. What have I done ? You must tell me." 
 
 " I must not ; but I will. You will have to answer to yourself 
 how all the money was earned with which you bought your great 
 farm. Good day ! " 
 
 She went into the house. 
 
 Walpurga stood there, alone. The houses, the mountains, the 
 woods, the fields all swam before her, and her eyes were rilled 
 with bitter tears. 
 
 Gunther had been looking out of the window, during Walpurga's 
 interview with his wife, and, by the manner of the latter, felt satis- 
 fied that the peasant woman had been told some unpleasant truths. 
 He now saw Walpurga walk away ; she would stop now and then, 
 and dry her tears with her apron. The woman repents, at any 
 rate, thought he to himself, and she 's only another proof of the 
 far-reaching and all-corroding effects of evil. 
 
 It was long before Gunther could be made to believe that Wal- 
 purga had received a large sum of money in return for wicked 
 services, but it had been judicially proven that the farm had been 
 paid for in new coin, such as only passes through princely hands. 
 And just because Gunther had believed in Walpurga's simple true- 
 heartedness, and had staked his word upon it, he was all the more 
 embittered against her. 
 
 He was resolved to clear up the matter as soon as the oppor 
 tunity offered. 
 
 24 
 
554 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 PROUD and happy as Walpurga had been when she left home 
 in the morning, it was with a heavy heart that she returned 
 at evening. 
 
 She might well be proud, for no farmer's wife could present a 
 better appearance. Franz, the late cuirassier, had broken in the 
 foal. It was harnessed to the little Bernese wagon and looked 
 around as if pleased when Walpurga came out, dressed in her 
 Sunday clothes and accompanied by Burgei. Hansei helped his 
 wife into the wagon and then gave her the child. 
 
 "Come back safe and sound," said he, "and Franz, take care 
 of the horse." 
 
 " Never fear ! " was Franz's answer, and the horse started off at 
 a lively gait, as if it were mere child's play to draw such a load. 
 
 Hansei stood looking after his wife and child for awhile and then 
 turned about and went off to his work. He only nodded to Irma, 
 who was looking out of her window, and waving a farewell to 
 Walpurga. 
 
 heart, as if to re- 
 
 /alpurga. 
 
 Walpurga rode off, holding her hand to her 
 ess the joy with which it was overflowing. 
 
 press 
 
 What was there better in the world than a well-arranged house- 
 hold, like the one she \vas just leaving, and to feel, moreover, that 
 the people she met would know that she was well-to-do in the 
 world ? But Walpurga was proud of something else which the 
 people could not see. 
 
 She had, with yreat circumspection, arranged quite a difficult 
 affair. On the following morning, Irma was to go to the shep- 
 herd's hut, and all danger of discovery would be averted. It is 
 no trifling matter to keep such a secret a whole winter, for Irma 
 had judged rightly. Walpurga encouraged Irma's plan of spend- 
 ing the entire summer in deeper solitude. Stasi, whose husband 
 had heard it from the chief forester, told her that the king intended 
 to visit the neighboring village during the following summer. She 
 feared for Irma, and now her fears had taken a still more decided 
 shape. Stasi 's husband had been removed to the dairy-farm and 
 had been ordered to arrange the forest paths and drives, prepara- 
 tory to the king's arrival. 
 
 Hansei was quite willing that his wife, instead of going to the 
 neighboring village, should go to a more distant town, in order to 
 purchase the articles of use and comfort which it would be neces- 
 sary for Gundel and Irma to take with them to the shepherd's hut. 
 This afforded her an opportunity to fulfill her promise to visit Stasi 
 in her new home. He even consented that Burgei should go along. 
 And thus Walpurga drove off, her heart full of happiness, and with 
 a kindly smile of greeting for all whom she met on the road. 
 
 " I only wish," said Franz, "that we could drive along the lake, 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 555 
 
 and by our old village, for we all came from there ; you and I, Bur- 
 gei and the horse." 
 
 Franz had bestowed especial care upon his appearance. His 
 face beamed with joy, for he, too, cherished a secret thought. He 
 intended to buy a silver ring to place on Gundel's finger, before 
 she went to the shepherd's hut. 
 
 "Be careful of that horse," replied Walpurga. "He 's so very 
 young. What a fine day it is. The cherries down here are n't in 
 blossom yet, and the sapling we brought from home is blossoming 
 to-day, for the first time. Did n't you see it ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 They drove on in silence. 
 
 When they drew near to the village in which Stasi lived, Franz, 
 who drove about the country a good deal, said : 
 
 " This pretty brook flows from up near our new meadow. It 
 comes out of the rocks scarcely a rifle-shot from there." 
 
 Walpurga smiled at the thought that a stream that flowed far 
 through the country, had its source on her own land. Yes, no one 
 knows what fortune may have in store for him. 
 
 Stasi was delighted at Walpurga's arrival, and was lavish in her 
 praise of all that belonged to her friend. She declared that the 
 king himself had not a finer horse, a better behaved servant, a 
 lovelier child or a better wife, than Hansei had. Wherever she took 
 Walpurga, the laborers who were clearing the roads, or building 
 bridges, would stop for awhile to look at the farmer's handsome 
 wife and the child who, both in dress and feature, was the very 
 picture of her mother. 
 
 Stasi prepared an excellent meal. Walpurga had brought, as a 
 gift, enough butter and eggs to last for a great while. In the new 
 inspector's dwelling, as great honor was shown Walpurga as if she 
 were the queen herself. 
 
 At last, Walpurga set about making her purchases, and showed 
 that she was sensible and aware of what her position required. 
 She always bought the best of everything and did not higgle long 
 about the price. 
 
 They had returned to the dairy-farm, and Walpurga was on the 
 point of confiding a portion of her secret to Stasi, so as to put her 
 on her guard as to the king, when she heard of the distinguished 
 man who, for nearly four years past, had been living in the little 
 town. 
 
 " Dear me ! why he 's the best friend I have ! " said Walpurga. 
 She handed the child to Stasi and hurried off to Gunther's house. 
 She felt as if her heart would burst with joy, and was obliged to 
 sit down before the house, for awhile, to get her breath. 
 
 But while she walked back to the farm, she did not once raise 
 her eyes from the ground. She could not. And what annoyed 
 her most of all was that she had told Stasi : " He 's the best friend 
 I have." 
 
556 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 They expected her to tell about her visit, but all she could say 
 \vas : 
 
 "Do n't ask me to tell you what great folks are. If I were to 
 begin I could n't get through before to-morrow, and I *ve got to 
 go, or it '11 be dark before we get home." 
 
 "\Valpurga became quieter and sadder, the more Stasi and her 
 husband praised Doctor Gunther. She dared not tell what had 
 happened to her. This is all you get, thought she, if you depend 
 on the respect which others are to show you. Long after she had 
 left them, Stasi and her husband spoke of how strange and 
 changeable Walpurga was. But she was glad that she was no 
 longer obliged to look any one in the face. And now, at this late 
 day, she was reminded of something that she had long since for- 
 gotten. "Oh, dear mother! " said she aloud to herself. "You 
 were right. Everything in this world must be paid for, and now 
 the gold is to be paid for but how ? " 
 
 She seated her child upon her lap as though it was all that was 
 left to her. She hugged and kissed it and, at last, it fell asleep, 
 resting upon her heart. She grew calmer, although she keenly felt 
 the wrong that had been done her and wondered what might yet 
 be in store for her. When, while in her old home, the envy and 
 enmity of the villagers had annoyed her, she could easily console 
 herself with the fact that they were simple, ignorant people ; but 
 what could she say now ? Was she to experience her old troubles 
 over again ? And there was no one to whom she could confide 
 them ; her mother was gone ; she could not tell Hansei and, least 
 of all, Irmgard. 
 
 It was twilight when she at last caught a glimpse of home. 
 Mustering up all her courage, she said to herself: 
 
 " The best thing I can do, is to let suspicion rest on me until I 
 die, or till she dies ; for then no one will come near us, and I need n't 
 have any fear for my dear Irma, who has far more to bear than I 
 have. Thank God, I did n't betray my secret ; and how lucky it 
 is. she 's now going up into the wilds where no one will find her." 
 
 f ull of courage, she went into the house and told Hansei of her 
 visit to Stasi, but nothing more. 
 
 " I have borne it alone, thus far," said she to herself. " I '11 do 
 so. hereafter." 
 
 With great self-command, she assumed a cheerful air while 
 with Hansei and Irma, and romped with her boy, for whom she 
 had bought a little wooden horse. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 n^HE evening of preparation was an unquiet one. Hansei, who 
 
 1 had much to do, would again and again busy himself with the 
 
 cow-bells, the tones of which pleased him greatly. He had pur- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 557 
 
 chased a well-tuned set and Irma had praised them, when he 
 showed them to her. 
 
 They went to bed early, for, on the next morning, they would 
 have to rise long before daybreak. 
 
 Hansei, who had been asleep for some time, awoke and heard 
 Walpurga crying and sobbing. 
 
 " For God's sake ! what 's the matter? " 
 
 " Oh, if mother were only living ! " said Walpurga. " If I only 
 still had my mother ! " 
 
 " Do n't act so. Do n't cry, now ; it's sinful ! " 
 
 "What? A sin to mourn for my mother?" 
 
 " It all depends on how you mourn. I Ve often heard it said 
 that, so long as grass has n't grown over the grave, you may weep 
 for the dead without doing harm to them or the living. After 
 that, there should be no more weeping for the dead ; for, as the old 
 proverb says : ' It wets their clothes in the other world.' Do n't fall 
 into sinful ways, Walpurga. Your mother lived out her time, and 
 thus it is in the world. Parents must die before their children, and, 
 although I trust that our children won't forget us when we 're gone, 
 I hope they '11 be able to think of us without weeping. But now 
 Why do you let me talk so much ? Am I right, or wrong ? What 
 makes you so silent ? " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; it 's all right. But do n't, I beg of you, ask me any- 
 thing more now. My head is full of all sorts of thoughts. Good 
 night." 
 
 "Good night, and don't forget to say 'good night' to your idle 
 thoughts." 
 
 A fleeting smile passed over Walpurga's face at Hansei's kind 
 words, but in the next moment she was again a prey to sad despair 
 and a feeling of utter loneliness. She had wept for her mother, 
 because she alone could have shared Irma's secret with her ; but 
 now, when a new and crushing burden oppressed her, there was 
 no living one who could help her. 
 
 She suddenly recalled the evening when she had stood in the 
 palace yard, feeling as if she had been transported into the heart 
 of the enchanted mountain, and awed by the dimly lighted statues 
 that seemed to be staring at her. She had come away, bringing 
 golden treasure with her ; but what had clung to it ? Resentment 
 at the injustice she had experienced gnawed at her heart. " That 's 
 the way with the great folk," she muttered, between her teeth. 
 " They condemn without a hearing. I could justify myself, but I 
 won't do it." 
 
 " Perhaps you 'd rather Irmgard would n't move out to the hut ? " 
 asked Hansei, after a while. 
 
 "Why, I thought you were asleep, long ago," answered Wal- 
 purga. "Good night, again." 
 
 She asked herself how it would be if Hansei were to learn what 
 
553 CLV THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 was said of her. How would he bear it ? And was n't it wonder- 
 ful that, thus far, nothing had been heard of it? 
 
 All her pride in the good opinion of others suddenly turned into 
 shame. The peculiar gift she possessed of imagining' what people 
 were saying and thinking, again tormented her, and everything 
 seemed confused, as if a half-waking dream. 
 
 She determined to lighten her heart by pouring out her woes tc 
 Irma. She sat up in bed and felt for her clothes, but she quickly 
 checked the impulse. How could she inflict this on the penitent? 
 Irma had sufficient strength of mind to renounce everything, and 
 even to let the world regard her as dead. How trifling was Wal- 
 purga's trouble in comparison with hers ! And was not the queen 
 also an innocent sufferer? Was not one obliged to suffer for 
 another, all the world through ? 
 
 She felt as if suddenly endo\ved with a strength she had never 
 before known. She was willing to surfer for Irma, and even to 
 sacrifice her own good name, for the sake of protecting the penitent. 
 
 She thanked fate that Doctor Gunther had treated her unkindly. 
 How would it have been if a friendly reception on his part had 
 induced her to betray a portion of her secret ? 
 
 The elements that mingled in YValpurga's character were now 
 in agitation, now in repose ; the quiet life at home, the unquiet 
 one at court, vanity, honor, humility, a desire to appear of conse- 
 quence all these were in a constant ferment. But at last all was 
 clear. 
 
 "What have you done for Irma, after all?" she asked herself. 
 "Nothing; you 've only let her live with you." 
 
 For Irma's sake, she was willing to submit to disgrace. 
 
 " It is n't what people think of you, but what you really are, 
 that 's most important," thought she to herself, and breathed freely 
 once more. 
 
 When she, at last, calmly rested her head on her pillow, she felt 
 as if her mother's hand were stroking her brow. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 IT was a mild spring night. 
 Irma was sitting by the spring and looking up at the starry 
 heavens. She felt strangely at the thought of again wandering 
 forih, for on the following morning she was to start for the shep- 
 herd's hut, there to spend the summer. How would it be with her 
 when she again sat here in the night, listening to the stream 
 rushing by? 
 
 At that moment she heard whispering. It seemed to come from 
 the dark stable, the door of which was open. 
 
 " Yes, Gundel ; our mistress is just as changeable as April 
 weather. On the way from home, she was as jolly as she could be, 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 559 
 
 and on the way back, she was just as glum as if she 'd been beaten. 
 She went to see the great doctor. Something must have happened 
 to her. But what does she matter to us, after all ? She bought 
 pots and pans, but I got something better. Let 's have your hand. 
 There ! I put this little silver ring on your finger and make you 
 fast to me, in soul and body, for life. Now you may go wherever 
 you choose ; you 're mine, all the same." 
 
 Hearty kisses were heard, and Gundel at last said : 
 
 " But you '11 come up to the meadow to see us, once in a while, 
 won't you? " 
 
 " Of course I will ! " And then there was more soft and unin- 
 telligible whispering. 
 
 " Why, just look ! " said Franz, suddenly ; "there 's 'cousin Irm- 
 gard, and she 's heard every word of what we 've said." 
 
 "That's no harm; she knows all about it, and so I '11 have 
 something to talk with her about, all summer. Come, let 's go to 
 her. You '11 see how kind she is." 
 
 They went to Irma. 
 
 She took them both by the hand and said : 
 
 " Let your love be as pure, as fresh, as inexhaustible as this 
 spring." She dipped her hand into the spring, which glittered in 
 the moonlight, and sprinkled the two lovers with water. 
 
 "That 's as good as if it came out of a holy-water pot," cried 
 Franz. " Now everything will be all right. I 've no fear. You, 
 spring, and you, elder tree, are witnesses that we both belong to- 
 gether, and will never leave each other. Good night." 
 
 Franz went back into the stable and closed the door. Gundel 
 accompanied Irma to her room and slept on the bench, for her 
 father, the little pitchman, had already gone before them to the 
 shepherd 's hut and had taken her bed and various household ar- 
 ticles with him. 
 
 It was long before Irma fell asleep. She felt as if she could not 
 help living over, in anticipation, the many days and nights she was 
 to spend upon the mountain. She was restless, and lay there think- 
 ing, until at last her thoughts became confused and bewildered. 
 
 At last, she asked in a soft voice : 
 
 " Gundel, are you still awake? " 
 
 " Oh yes, and I 'm sure Franz is awake, too. He is n't as well 
 off as I am, and has no one to talk to as I have. Oh, how thank- 
 ful I am to you ! I '11 make things as pleasant and as comfortable 
 for you as I can. Oh, what a good, honest soul Franz is. Do you 
 hear the cows lowing ? They can't rest, either. I feel as if I could 
 already hear the bells that they 're going to wear to-morrow, and I 
 think they must know all about it, too. Oh, Irmgard, if you only 
 had a sweetheart, too. I know how it will be with you. It '11 be 
 just as it says in the story and you deserve it, too. There was 
 once upon a time a king who rode through the forest and found a 
 
560 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 beautiful girl tending the flocks ; and he put her on his horse, took 
 her home with him, gave her clothes of gold, and put a diamond 
 crown upon her head. And then the queen O the bells, the 
 queen come, White-spot, the bells come, come, come and 
 
 Gundel slept, but Irma lay awake and looked out into the moon- 
 light. The whole world seemed a marvel, and vague fairy pictures 
 rilled her mind. She smiled, and her eyes sparkled until they were 
 at last closed in sleep. But the smile rested on her features, al- 
 though there was none to see it, save the moon, calmly looking 
 down from on high. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 WE often experience sadness and hesitancy in carrying out pro- 
 jects which have been wisely conceived and hopefully deter- 
 mined on. And thus it proved when the time came to set out for 
 the shepherd's hut. 
 
 It was before daybreak. Irma stood at the open hearth in Wal- 
 purga's room, and shivered with the cold. 
 
 Although Irma had overcome all longings since her return from 
 her short visit to the world, a new and deep feeling of homeless- 
 ness had come over her, just as if this was the first day of her soli- 
 tude. She often looked about her, as if she saw a figure approach- 
 ing with a light bundle under its arm and that figure was herself, 
 but oh ! how changed. She scarcely felt a desire for food or 
 drink ; nor did she care to speak. She lived entirely in and from 
 herself. But, although silent, she was cheerful and kind towards 
 every one. 
 
 The little pitchman was the first to note this change, and he was 
 of the opinion that a summer spent on the mountain meadows 
 would prove of great benefit to Irma, for he maintained that she 
 was ill, although she always seemed well and was ever at work. 
 
 If everything had been specially arranged, Walpurga's purpose 
 could not have been better served. Irma's wishes and the uncle's 
 advice were in accord. Besides this, there was danger of discov- 
 ery, on account of the king's visit to the neighboring village, and 
 wnatever danger lay in this, Walpurga meant to avert from Irma. 
 
 The morning found Walpurga gay and cheerful, as if after a 
 hardly won victory. Her eyes often rested on Irma who was look- 
 ing fixedly at the open hearth-fire. 
 
 "You '11 see," said she to her, " you '11 be quite a different being 
 up there. I can hear you singing already, and then we '11 sing to- 
 gether again." 
 
 She went on humming to herself the air 
 
 Oh ! blissful is the tender tie 
 That binds me, love, to thee. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 561 
 
 But Irma did not join in the song. 
 
 " I shall support life as long as it supports me," said Irma, as if 
 speaking to herself, and holding her hands before the fire. 
 
 It was not long before the two women, who were thus standing 
 quietly by the hearth, were called away to the stable outside. 
 Everything was in readiness. The little pitchman, who was con- 
 versant with all such mysteries, had, on the previous day, arranged 
 everything so that the cattle might be well and hearty in their new 
 abode. He had brought a clod of earth and three ants from the 
 meadow, and had mixed the earth with some sweet-scented clover, 
 St. Johnswort, lavender and salt, into which mixture he dropped 
 some oil of tar, and this w r as the last food given the cattle. The 
 little pitchman had returned from the meadow during the night 
 and, although he had not been asked to do so, had prepared the 
 mysterious fodder in order to oblige Hansei, who was not yet quite 
 familiar with the ways of this section of the country. 
 
 Now that the cattle had swallowed the magic potion, they were 
 protected against all witchcraft and sickness, and would be as 
 much at home on the meadows as if they had- been born there. 
 And now that day began to dawn, the cows became unmanagea- 
 ble. Peter sprinkled every one of them with holy water ; but 
 in spite of charms and holy water, these tame, domestic creat- 
 ures seemed to have been converted into wild beasts. All was 
 confusion within the enclosure that confined them, the cows were 
 bellowing and running about wildly, and, in the midst of the din, 
 was heard the shouting of the cowboys. The little pitchman bade 
 them let the cows have their own way and at last they were quiet. 
 Gundel put the wreath on the horns of the large brown bell-cow, 
 and fastened the leader's bell around her neck. The other cows 
 were also provided with bells. And now the leader was sur- 
 rounded by the rest of the herd, who glared at her furiously ; but 
 she seemed so proud and scornful that none ventured to challenge 
 her. 
 
 " And now let 's be off, for God's sake ! " cried the little pitch- 
 man, opening the gate. The procession started. Franz came last 
 of all, holding the powerful red bull by its strong short horns and 
 dragged by, rather than leading it. As soon as the bull was out 
 of the stable, he stood still and looked about him with quite a dan- 
 gerous air, and then, tossing up his head, stepped off alone, in 
 quite a dignified manner. But as soon as he was outside of the 
 gate, he bellowed loudly. 
 
 Although everything had been quietly arranged, there was yet 
 hurrying at the end. Walpurga and Hansei accompanied Irma 
 for a part of the way. 
 
 Irma was silent. Her step was firm, and yet it seemed to her 
 is if her will had nothing to do with this, and as if she were urged 
 imward by another. 
 24* 
 
562 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 "You look more cheerful already," said Hansei to Irma. 
 
 A nod was her only reply. 
 
 They soon overtook the herd which had gone ahead. The 
 herdsman had waited for them, for it would not do to drive the 
 cattle through the village unless the sennerin * were with them. 
 
 They might have taken the other road. It lay back of the vil 
 lage, and was somewhat shorter ; but why should they not foi 
 once show themselves and their herds before they went into soli- 
 tude? And so the cattle with their beautiful bells were driven 
 through the village, while cheers and hurrahs resounded from all 
 sides. 
 
 When they ascended the mountain on the other side of the vil- 
 lage, and struck the forest road which Hansei had cut, he could 
 not refrain from calling Irma's attention to what he had accom- 
 plished. 
 
 In the heart of the forest, where the royal arms were carved on 
 the boundary-stone for it was here that the royal preserves be- 
 gan Hansei took leave of Irma. Walpurga, who had also said 
 "good bye," still accompanied her for a short distance. There 
 was so much that she wanted to tell Irma, and yet all she could 
 say was : " Do n't be afraid ; I '11 come to see you next Sun- 
 day. If you find it lonesome, come back to us again. Nobody 
 forces you to stay up here ; but if you can stay, you '11 find it '11 do 
 you good." 
 
 Walpurga, whose heart was oppressed with her secret, bade 
 Irma a hurried farewell and left her. 
 
 Hansei was sitting on the bound ary-stone, waiting for his wife. 
 After she had joined him, they walked on for some time in silence. 
 
 "It often seems to me as if it were all a dream," said he, at last. 
 " We 've been here four years, this coming autumn, and she 's 
 been with us all the time. I can't tell you how much I like her, 
 and still I do n't know her; that is, I do know her, so to say, but I 
 do n't know her after all." 
 
 "Stop a minute, Hansei," said Walpurga. 
 
 He stood still. All was silent in the woods. A thick mist had 
 veiled the mountains, and the birds were mute. The only sound 
 that broke upon the ear was that of the bells of the distant herd 
 ascending the mountain. Walpurga drew a long breath. 
 
 Hansei," said she, at last, " you 've stood a hard test. I never 
 would have believed that any man could have done what you have. 
 And now I think I must open the door to you, at last." 
 
 "Stop ! " said Hansei, interrupting her, "not so fast. Did she 
 tell you to do so, of her own accord ? Say ' yes ' or ' no '." 
 
 "No." 
 
 * "He who goes up with the cattle into the mountains, during the good season, is a 
 Snn.' In Switzerland, this is done by men; in the Eastern Alps, in the Bavarian 
 highlands, and in Austria, generally by women the 'Sennerin,' ' Almerin.' " 
 
 BERLEPSCH.) 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 563 
 
 " Then I do n't want to know anything about her. You hold 
 her secret in trust, and no one has a right to touch it. Of course, 
 to be honest with you, it has often puzzled me terribk/. There 's 
 only one thing I want to know : I 'm sure she has n't injured any one 
 and she has n't stolen, has she ? But no matter what she may 
 have done, she 's atoned for it all. Tell me only this : Has she any 
 such trouble on her conscience ? " 
 
 " God forbid ! She 's harmed no one on earth but herself." 
 
 " All right then ; we '11 say no more about it. Did you see how 
 the deaf and dumb man in the village fell on his knees before her ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " But I did ; and I heard Babi, the root girl, say that the crazy 
 woman from the farm would never come back again. Now Babi 's 
 crazy and Irmgard is n't, but still it frightened me. I do n't know 
 but it seems to me that our home will seem empty, if we do n't 
 have Irmgard with us. She 's become one of us." 
 
 When they had returned to the house and were sitting together 
 in the front room, Hansei said : 
 
 "Do n't you remember how she advised me to place the table 
 differently, and how she helped to arrange everything, and told 
 uncle to shorten the legs of the chairs, so that they might fit 
 better to the table ? I 've never seen a farmer's room that looked 
 so beautiful as ours ; and she was a great help to you in every- 
 thing." 
 
 Hansei had much to arrange about the house, and Walpurga 
 would often come to him, with one of the children, and exchange 
 a few words with him, while at work. She did not care to be 
 alone. She missed Irma, and yet was happy to know that she was 
 safe in her lonely retreat. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE day did not clear. At noon, the mist changed into heavy 
 rain. 
 
 " I wonder if it rains as hard up there, too ; she '11 be terribly 
 wet," thought Walpurga to herself, and, indeed, it was raining 
 just as heavily up the mountain. Wild, rapid little streams ran 
 across the road and bubbled and splashed down the mountain side. 
 
 With the aid of a mountain staff which Hansei had given her, 
 Irma walked on courageously. To protect her against the rain, 
 the little pitchman had given her his great woolen rug, in which 
 there was only a hole to slip the head through. He managed to 
 cover himself with empty corn sacks. He walked at her side, and 
 often said : 
 
 " Shall I carry you ? " 
 
 Irma walked on. The staff was of little use during the ascent 
 out, now and then, they had to go down a sharp declivity a sink 
 
564 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 as the uncle called it when she was obliged to plant it firmly and 
 swing herself by it. The little pitchman was always at hand, reacty 
 to catch Irma, in case she should slip ; but she had a firm step. 
 
 As the herd were not yet used to each other, it was quite difficult 
 to keep them together ; but the little pitchman knew how to manage 
 thi- animals, and the bells, ringing merrily together, seemed like a 
 constantly ascending melody. 
 
 " The cattle are well off," said the little pitchman, " they can find 
 their fodder along the wayside. But the mistress has given me 
 something for ourselves. We '11 soon reach the 'Witch's Table/ 
 and there we can sit under shelter, while we take a bite." 
 
 They soon came upon a broad, projecting rock, resembling a 
 semicircular table. Here there was dry and sandy soil, where only 
 the lion-ant dwelt, in his funnel-shaped cell. Gundel, Franz, the 
 little pitchman and Irma sat down under shelter of the "Witch's 
 Table" and ate heartily, while the cows, that grazed outside, were 
 left in charge of one of the cowboys. 
 
 " The rain will last a long time," said Franz. The little pitchman 
 called him to account, and said that no one could tell how long the 
 rain would last. He wanted to encourage Irma. 
 
 He caught a lion-ant and showed how clever the little creature 
 was ; how it made a pitfall in the fine sand and hid itself at the point 
 of its funnel-shaped cell, and how the common ant, unconscious 
 of clanger, would come along and tumble into the pit, from which 
 it could not get out again ; for the fine sand rolls away from under 
 its feet, while the rogue who is hiding blinds the captive by throw- 
 ing sand in its eyes, and then catches and eats it. " And strangest 
 of all," said he, " next year that gray worm will be a brown dragon- 
 fly on the lake." 
 
 He well knew that such a glimpse of nature was more pleasing 
 to her than food or inspiriting words. 
 
 With renewed vigor, they went still further up the mountain. 
 As if invigorated by the herbage of the higher regions, the cattle 
 oecame livelier. At last they drew near the clearing \vhere the 
 new meadow lay. The little pitchman instructed Franz to go on 
 in advance and open the stable door. Franz obeyed at once ; soon 
 after that his call was heard, and the cows that had just reached 
 the open meadow bellowed and rushed forward. The rain and 
 mist were now so thick that the hut could not be distinguished 
 until they were within a few steps of it. " That 's lucky," cried the 
 little pitchman, " the swallows have already built their nests on our 
 cottage ; now all is safe." 
 
 He stepped forward, knocked at the door three times, opened it, 
 and offered his hand to Irma with the words : " Let joy enter and 
 sorrow^ depart ! " And thus they were home at last. 
 
 Oh, what a comfort to have a sheltering roof over one's head ! 
 Irma often looked up, and her eyes seemed to express the gratitude 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 565 
 
 she felt because of her being at last protected against the angry 
 storm. Now that she was snugly housed in the cottage, it seemed 
 far more gloomy out of doors than while they were trudging 
 through the rain. There was soon a cheerful fire on the large 
 hearth, and the little pitchman, muttering to himself, took some- 
 thing out of his pocket and threw it into the flames. 
 
 " Since the world began," said he, "no fire has ever been lighted 
 here, and no smoke has arisen to heaven. We 're the first inhab- 
 itants. But the swallows yes, the swallows that 's lucky." 
 
 tie might have said much more, if he had n't been called away 
 by Franz, who came to tell him that a cow out in the stable had 
 just calved. 
 
 Irma was alone with Gundel. She quickly undressed herself 
 and dried and warmed herself by the fire. But Gundel was called 
 away, too, so that she might know what to do on a like occasion 
 in the future. And now Irma, divested of her outer clothing, sat 
 by the fire. She felt chilled at first, but the sense of cold and of 
 fear quickly left her. She gazed calmly at the cheerful fire a soli- 
 tary child of man, alone on the heights. She had completely for- 
 gotten where she was, until she heard voices approaching. She 
 quickly covered herself with the dried clothes. The little pitchman 
 entered and offered his congratulations on the fact that they had 
 been blessed with a splendid steer-calf on the very first day. 
 
 Night came on. Franz took his departure. Gundel went with 
 him part of the way and, until she returned, they could be heard 
 calling to each other through the drizzling rain. The inmates of 
 the cottage soon repaired to rest. The little pitchman and the 
 cowboy slept in the hay-loft over the stable. Irma and Gundel 
 slept in the house. 
 
 When they awoke, on the following morning, the day was still 
 veiled in a thick mist. "We 're in a cloud," said the little pitch- 
 man. 
 
 The cows were grazing. The bells seemed scattered about, and, 
 in the distance, had a dreamlike sound as of the humming of bees. 
 
 Irma had hoped to be alone, and here she was shut up in this 
 little hut with its few inmates. The little pitchman had said 
 that they were the first dwellers on this bit of earth, and it seemed 
 as if nature resented their advances. The wind howled and drove 
 the clouds before it, but always brought fresh ones to replace them, 
 and, now and then, were heard the crash and roar of falling 
 avalanches. 
 
 Irma endeavored to work, but to no purpose. 
 
 The second night and the second day found them still enveloped 
 in impenetrable clouds. Even the cattle seemed to complain of it, 
 their lowing sounded so sorrowful. 
 
 It was early on the third morning, when Irrna awoke, feeling as 
 if something had touched her. She arose. A soft gleam of light 
 
566 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 shone through the crevice in the window-shutter. The sun has 
 awakened me," said she to herself. She hurriedly dressed and 
 went out of doors. 
 
 The fresh and dewy air of morning revived her spirits. A cow, 
 grazing near by, raised its head and looked at her, and then went 
 on eating again. 
 
 A silver-gray light gradually dawned in the east, and that wonder- 
 ful passage from Haydn's " Creation " flashed through Irma's mind. 
 She fancied that the tones assumed tangible, corporeal shapes, 
 arising out of the early gray of dawn. By degrees, the gray- 
 changed into a golden hue, and then faint streaks of red would 
 flash through it, gradually heightening in color, while down below, 
 stretching into the distance, like a dark and immeasurable stream, 
 lay the darkness of night. At last, rugged cliffs, peaks, and 
 broad mountain ridges raised their heads into the light, while 
 their bases still lay veiled in night which was gradually changing 
 into a dark gray. The rosy tint gradually extended and gained in 
 intensity until it covered the heavens. Meanwhile, the giant forms 
 of the mountains stood forth more clearly and at last, dazzling the 
 eyes, the sun appeared, bathing every height in purple and golden 
 hues, while the rolling clouds below appeared like mighty waves. 
 Bright day, warming and illumining the earth had arisen. Millions 
 of odors arose from every tree, even- blade of grass, and every 
 flower. The singing of birds was heard, and Irma opened her 
 arms as if to embrace infinity. She did not sink on her knees, but 
 remained standing upright. Involuntarily, her foot left the ground, 
 as if she could not help soaring away into infinite space. She 
 pressed both hands to her forehead, and when she touched the 
 bandage, it seemed loosened of itself and fell to the ground. 
 
 A sunbeam shone upon her brow and she felt that it was now 
 pure. She stood there for a long while, gazing at the sunlight. 
 Her eye was not dazzled by its refulgence, Calm and peaceful 
 harmonic filled her soul. A child of man had witnessed the sym- 
 bol of creation and had herself been created anew. 
 
 Now come, ye days that are still left me, be ye long or short ! 
 Where and with whom I may have to spend them, it matters not ; 
 for I am free ! I am saved ! 
 
 All that I now do is only preparation for the journey. The hour 
 draws near and, be it early or late, I am prepared for it. I have 
 lived ! 
 
 " Why, Irmgard, how strange you look ! " exclaimed Gundel, 
 coming out of the hut, and carrying the milkpail on her head. 
 " Dear me, what a forehead you 've got, so white and so beautiful ! 
 Oh, how beautiful you are ! I never saw so smooth and beautiful 
 a forehead before ! " 
 
 Irma accepted a glass of milk from Gundel, and then tucked up 
 her dress and went out into the woods. It was not until high noon 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 567 
 
 that she returned to the cottage. During the whole day, she had 
 scarcely uttered a word. 
 
 . In the cottage, she found the little pitchman standing before her 
 table, and arranging a great heap of aromatic herbs and roots. 
 
 " Just look ! " he cried, " I 've found something already. Yes, I 
 know a thing or two. I 've been gathering clover and mountain 
 parsley for the apothecary. I know everything growing hereabouts 
 that they can use, and many a time has my sister said : ' In the 
 spring, everything 's sweet and good ; and, wherever the poison lies, 
 it takes the summer heat to bring it out.' Oh, she was a clever one ! 
 Many a time she 's said : ' The best things grow up among the 
 clouds.' " 
 
 After a short pause, he began again : 
 
 " Gundel 's right ; I must say, I did n't think you were so hand- 
 some. But, somehow, you do n't look healthy ; you must eat more ; 
 why, you hardly eat anything." 
 
 A grateful smile was Irma's only reply. 
 
 " Do you know what I 'd like to have been ?" 
 
 "What?" 
 
 "Your father." 
 
 Irma answered him with a silent inclination of the head. Her 
 father's spirit had been invoked, and it seemed as if he were speak- 
 ing to her through the lips of this poor, simple-minded man, who 
 continued : 
 
 " God forgive me, but I can't help feeling, once in a while, as if 
 you had dropped down from heaven, and had neither father nor 
 mother ; and to-day you look so weak that my eyes fill with tears 
 whenever I look at you. Now, do eat a bit ! " 
 
 He went on chattering as confusedly as if he had been drinking 
 too much, but the refrain was always the same : " Now do eat some- 
 thing ! " 
 
 To please the good old man, Irma forced herself to do so. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 '"PHE days were bright and cheerful, the nights were glorious. 
 
 1 The air was pure, the view was clear, and all troubled thoughts 
 
 seemed to have lingered below in the crowded dwellings of men. 
 
 " I think you could now sing again," said the little pitchman to 
 
 Irma ; " your voice is n't so hoarse as it was. But you need more 
 
 sleep. When one is old, sleep runs away of itself. Do n't drive it 
 
 away, as long as it wants to stay with you." 
 
 The little pitchman now seemed doubly careful of her, and Irma 
 perceived that her voice was hoarse. She would sit down and 
 rest oftener than she had previously done. She would still roam 
 through the woods and valleys, wherever huntsmen or woodcutter 
 dared venture, but she vould so often stop to rest herself tha* 
 
$68 a\* THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 her wanderings resembled the flight of some young bird which, at 
 every short distance, is obliged to stop. She now remembered that 
 this weariness had been upon her ever since her return from the 
 capital. During the winter she had paid no attention to it ; but 
 now she thought she could understand Walpurga's motive in 
 urging her to go up to the shepherd's hut. It was because she 
 was ill, and in the hope that she might become well again. And 
 yet she felt no pain. One day, while in the heart of the forest, she 
 tried to sing a scale, but found that she could not. Her head sank 
 upon her breast ; and thus, after all 
 
 On Sunday morning Franz came, bringing joy with him. 
 
 "Oh, how nice it is," said Gundel, as soon as she found herself 
 alone with Franz. Irma was quite near, however, and heard every 
 word of what she said. " Oh, how nice it is ! I used to think my 
 arms were only for work, but now I can do something else with 
 them ; I can throw them around somebody's neck and hug and 
 kiss him ! " 
 
 Gundel, who was usually dull and sullen, had become active and 
 sprightly. She was bustling about all day, scrubbing, washing, 
 milking the cows, making butter and cheese, and was always sing- 
 ing or humming a tune to herself. With her, singing filled the 
 place of thinking. She was just like a bird that flutters about, 
 singing all day long. Love had awakened her soul, and the self- 
 dependent position in which she now found herself afforded a vent 
 to her native cheerfulness of temperament. 
 
 Irma regarded all that environed her as if she were a mere 
 looker-on, taking no part in the life about her. 
 
 Tradition tells us of good genii who descend to the earth, remain 
 there long enough to look about them and put things to rights, and 
 then return to heaven. They have no share in the world's cares 
 and troubles. And thus it often seemed to Irma as if she were 
 withdrawing herself from human sight, conversation and sympathy, 
 into the one great idea in which she was wholly absorbed. 
 
 She went into the hut, and with her pencil wrote these few words 
 in her journal : 
 
 " I desire my brother to give a marriage portion to Gundel and 
 Franz, after my death, so that they may establish a household of 
 their own." 
 
 Thereupon she wrapped the journal in the bandage which she 
 had worn on her brow, and, placing her hand on it, vowed that she 
 would not write another word in it. She had recorded enough of 
 her self-questionings and of what her eyes had beheld, to reconcile 
 her with the friend whom she had so deeply injured, as well as with 
 herself. The days that still remained to her she desired to spend 
 completely, and with herself. 
 
 Franz had brought word that Walpurga would not come that 
 day, as her boy was unwell, but that she hoped to come without 
 
ON THE HEIG1 
 
 fail on the following Sunday. Irma was al 
 portunity thus afforded her to become ace 
 life, before being obliged to converse with any 
 She was now surrounded by people to whom her past was un- 
 known. They indulged her wish to be alone and only addressed 
 her when she asked them a question. 
 
 The second and third Sundays passed by, but Walpurga did not 
 come, although she sent up some bread and salt. Irma scarcely 
 cared to conjecture the cause of her absence. 
 
 How scornfully Irma had once repelled the thought of " a life in 
 which nothing happens ; " but now she realized it in herself, with- 
 out the slightest feeling, on her part, that it might have been other- 
 wise. She worked but little and would lie for hours on her favorite 
 spot on the hillside. 
 
 Nature shed its kindly influence upon her. She greeted the dews 
 of early morn, and the dews of evening moistened her locks. Like 
 surrounding nature, she was calm and happy and without a wish. 
 But in the night, when she looked up at the starry skies which, 
 from the mountain height, were clearer and brighter, her soul 
 soared into the infinite. She gazed on the mountains, unchanged 
 since the day of their creation, peaks which no human foot had 
 ever trod, which only the clouds could touch and on which the 
 eagle's eye had rested. Familiar as she was with the life of plants 
 and birds, she now scarcely regarded them. They seemed part of 
 herself, just as her limbs were part of her body. Nature was no 
 longer strange to her. She felt herself a part of it. She had 
 reached that state of calm content in which life seems a pure chain 
 of natural consequences, in which daily doubts and questionings 
 have ceased. The sun rises and sets, the grass grows, the cows 
 graze, and the law of life bids man work and reflect. The world 
 around thee is subject to law and so is thine own life. To man 
 alone is vouchsafed the knowledge of his duty, so that he may 
 learn freely to obey the dictates of his own nature. 
 
 This thought illumined her soul with a light as clear as the blue 
 sky above her. It caused her to forget that she had ever lived 
 another life, or had ever erred. 
 
 On the fourth Sunday, Irma started out at an early hour and 
 walked as far as the boundary-stone, where she waited for Wal- 
 purga and Hansei. Now that they had sent word that they would 
 surely come, Irma longed to see Walpurga, the only being who 
 new her past and could confirm to her who she was. 
 
 She was sitting on the boundary-stone. She had taken off her 
 at and her brow was bare. She sat there, with her head resting 
 on her hand, and wondering why, deep within the soul, there dwells 
 a feeling that resents the surrender of our personality and the de- 
 sire to know who and whence we are. To others, the galley slave is 
 only known by the number he bears, but, as to himself, he knows 
 
570 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 who he is and can never forget it. Why can we not freely lose 
 ourselves in nature ? 
 
 Her head drooped still lower. Presently, she heard voices and 
 hurriedly arose. 
 
 " Is n't that our Irmgard ? " asked Hansei. 
 
 "Yes, it is!" 
 
 Walpurga hurried up to her and held out her hand ; but Hansei 
 stood as if petrified. He had never before seen such a being. It 
 always seemed to him as if there were something superhuman 
 about her. Her whole face was radiant, her eyes larger, and the 
 pure, noble forehead was as white and smooth as marble. Wal- 
 purga, who had known Irma when at the height of her beauty, 
 now looked at her with a different feeling, for she was suffering for 
 her sake, in a way that Irma could little dream of. Involuntarily, 
 she pressed her hand against her trembling heart. 
 
 "Why do n't you shake hands with me, Hansei?" asked Irma. 
 
 " I I I never saw you look this way before." 
 
 A slight blush overspread her forehead. She passed her hand 
 over it. Then she offered her hand to Hansei, who, in his excite- 
 ment, pressed it so violently that he hurt her. 
 
 They walked on together towards the hut, and had gone but a 
 few steps before they were joined by the little pitchman. He had, 
 as was his wont, stealthily followed Irma. He was concerned foi 
 her sake, for he saw that something was the matter with her, and 
 was, therefore, loth to leave her alone. 
 
 " She looks splendid, do n't she ? " said he to Hansei, who had re- 
 mained with him while Irma and Walpurga walked on in front. 
 " But she lives on nothing but milk, just like a little child ; and you 
 can't make her remember that, up here, the nights get cold all of 
 a sudden. She always wants to sit out of doors in the damp, 
 night air. I often think she must be an angel and that, all of a 
 sudden, she '11 spread her wings and fly away yes, you may laugh 
 at it, but it ain't far from here up to heaven. 'We 're the Lord's 
 nearest neighbors, up here,' as my sister used to say." 
 
 Hansei and the uncle went off to look after the cattle. Besides 
 the calf born on the first day, two others had come and all were 
 doing well. It was a full hour before Hansei came to the hut and 
 his whole bearing expressed his satisfaction with all that he had 
 seen. 
 
 Meanwhile, Walpurga had examined everything in the hut and 
 she, too, had found cleanliness and order everywhere. 
 
 In the afternoon, their next neighbor, who lived at a mountain 
 meadow about an hour's distance from Hansei's, paid them a visit 
 and brought her zither with her. 
 
 It was no small condescension, on the part of the freeholder's 
 wife, to sing with Gundel and the neighbor. Franz joined in and 
 the little pitchman was also able to take part. Hansei, however, 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 571 
 
 could not sing a note ; but his want of ability added to his dignity 
 a wealthy farmer is supposed to have given up singing. 
 
 " This is the only place where you can sing, up here. You can't 
 do it over there, where the road leads into the village," cried Gun- 
 del, after the first song. " If you sing, or speak a loud word there, 
 the echo drowns it all." 
 
 She ran to the spot and sang a few notes, which were echoed 
 again and again from every mountain and ravine. 
 
 "You ought to sing, too," said Walpurga to Irma; "you 've no 
 idea how well she can sing." 
 
 " I cannot sing," replied Irma ; "my voice is gone." 
 
 " Then play something for us ; you can play the zither beauti- 
 fully," said Walpurga. 
 
 All joined in the request, and Irma was at last obliged to play. 
 The little pitchman held his breath. He had never heard such 
 beautiful playing before, and not one, thought he, knew what Irma 
 could do. She soon modulated into the familiar melody, and the 
 little pitchman was the first to start the song : 
 
 Oh, blissful is the tender tie. 
 
 It was a happy, cheerful houi. 
 
 Hansei now conducted his wife, Irma and the little pitchman to 
 the spot from which they could catch a glimpse of the lake near 
 their old home. It sparkled brightly in the sun, and Hansei 
 remarked that it seemed like the look of a human being who had 
 known him from youth up. 
 
 Walpurga was afraid lest the scene might awaken sad thoughts 
 in Irma, and turned towards her; but she only said: "It pleases 
 me, too." 
 
 Hansei now described the whole neighborhood to Irma, told her 
 where this and that place lay, and showed her the mountain where 
 he had planted so many trees. The forest itself could not be seen, 
 but the rocky peak which rose from it was visible. 
 
 Walpurga, meanwhile, drew her uncle aside, and said : 
 
 " Uncle, my mother 's dead " 
 
 " Yes, I know it, and you can't think more of her than I do. 
 Just ask Irmgard how often we talk of her. It always seems to me 
 as if she must be in the next room. It is n't far to heaven from 
 where we now are. She can hear every word we say." 
 
 " Yes, uncle ; but let me finish what I was going to say. I 've 
 got something to tell you." 
 
 It went hard with the uncle to listen quietly, for he always had 
 so much to say himself. Without noticing his repeated interrup- 
 tions, Walpurga continued : 
 
 " Uncle, you 're a sensible man " 
 
 " May be, but ft has n't done me much good in life." 
 
 ' Now I want to tell you something " 
 
 ' Very well ; out with it." 
 
572 av THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " I 'm in trouble about Irmgard " 
 
 " You need n't worry about her. I watch her. as if she was the 
 apple of my eye. Make yourself quite easy on that score." 
 
 " Yes, uncle, I know all about that ; but there are some awful 
 wicked people in. the world, and they '11 follow you up to the very 
 mountain-tops " 
 
 " Yes, I know ; the gend'arme often " 
 
 " Uncle, do listen to me patiently ! " 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I 'm not saying a word." 
 
 "Well, uncle, mother knew who Irmgard is." 
 
 " And so do I. You need n't tell me anything about that. I 
 know her, out and out. I 'm not so stupid, depend on that." 
 
 " Yes, uncle, that 's all right. I wanted to confide something to 
 you " 
 
 " You can trust me with anything. As to that matter, I can call 
 your mother in heaven to bear me witness " 
 
 " There 's no need of that. Well, as I was going to say, Irm- 
 gard has had a sad life " 
 
 " I know all about it. When I was in the city with her, I made 
 up my mind that there must be something or other of that kind. 
 It may be that they wanted her to marry somebody that she did n't 
 like. May be she 's a left-handed child, or may be she 's got a 
 husband and left him. She looked at the big houses in such a 
 queer way she always seemed as if she wanted to creep out of 
 sight." 
 
 Walpurga was surprised at her uncle, who would not permit her 
 to say a word, and suddenly it occurred to her : I was just like him 
 once and thought that I must always keep chatting, instead of 
 listening to what others had to tell me. She looked at her uncle 
 for a long while and he, taking it as a compliment, now r told her, 
 for the first time, of what he had felt on that journey with Irma and 
 of all that he had seen while with her the lions, the serpents, the 
 high priest and the "Magic Flute" were all mixed together in in- 
 extricable confusion. 
 
 Walpurga made up her mind that there was no need of divulg- 
 ing her secret, and contented herself by telling her uncle that he 
 must never leave Irma alone, and that if any stranger came no 
 matter who he might be he should take her secretly into the 
 woods, so that no one should see her. 
 
 The uncle promised to do as he was bid. 
 
 "Yes," he added, "what a strange world it is. Just think of it ! 
 The herbs I take to the apothecary in the next village are for the 
 baths of young Countess Wildenort, the daughter-in-law to the one 
 I used to know. \Vhile I was standing in front of the apothecary's 
 the other day, a man came riding by, on a beautiful, glossy black 
 horse. Its legs looked as if they 'd been turned in a lathe'. The 
 .nan had a child sitting in front of him on the horse, a boy about 
 
0V THE HEIGHTS. 573 
 
 the size of our Peter, with a blue frock, and wearing a feather in 
 his hat, and the boy was so like Irmgard it might have been her 
 own child. And the apothecary said to me that it was Count 
 Wildenort, the son of the one I used to know. And so, when he 
 rode past, I said : ' Good morning, Count ? ' He pulled up and 
 asked : ' How do you know me ? ' 
 
 " And I said : ' I knew your father, and he was a good man ' 
 And what do you think he said ? Not a word. He rode off with- 
 out so much as thanking me. They tell me he 's not so good a 
 man as his father was. and they say his mother-in-law has him 
 under her thumb, so that he dare n't move. But the child is beau- 
 tiful and the very picture of our Inna. It 's wonderful, what 
 strange things happen in the world." 
 
 Walpurga trembled, and made her uncle promise that he would 
 never mention Irma to a soul in the village. 
 
 The uncle also promised that he would not let Irmgard know 
 anything of the matter. 
 
 Towards evening, Walpurga and Hansei went home again and, 
 when night came, Fcanz returned also. The inmates of the shep 
 herd's hut were once more alone. Not a word was spoken among 
 them, for they had talked and heard enough during the day. All 
 was silent. Not a sound was heard but the tinkling cow bells in 
 the woods and on the green hillside, and the stars shone overhead. 
 Irma was seated on the spot from which the distant lake was vis- 
 ible, and it was long before she retired to rest. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 IRMA now spent but a small portion of the day at the workbench. 
 Her work had become even more irksome than at first. Hei 
 eye was constantly fixed on the vast and extended mountain pros- 
 pect, towards which she would ever return from her task w r ith 
 added zest. 
 
 The little pitchman, who was quite diplomatic in his way, begged 
 Irma to go with him while he went out to hunt plants and roots, 
 for he said that he was old and did not know but what he might 
 sometime lose his footing, and it would, in that case, be well to 
 have some one with him who could go for help. 
 
 After that, Irma spent the greater part of the day with the little 
 pitchman, wandering through the forest and over hill and dale. 
 Her greatest delight was whenever they reached the spot where 
 the brook arose. It flowed smoothly from a dark, rocky cavern and 
 then boldly galloped down the hill, striking against fragments of 
 rock by the way, now gliding over them, now forcing its way be- 
 low them, until it reached the first valley, where it formed a basin 
 encircled by tall, silver fir trees. Thence it flowed through the ta- 
 ble land and, softly murmuring, glided down over the second 
 mountain into the valley below. 
 
574 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The little pitchman plainly saw how much Irma liked to be here. 
 He even thought that he had once heard her sing, and that her 
 voice had been audible above the rushing and roaring of the wa- 
 ters, and it was a strange coincidence that most of the herbs ot 
 which he was in search could be found in the neighborhood. Novs 
 and then, he was fortunate enough to discover a bird's nest, and 
 would show it to Irma, who was as delighted with it as though she 
 were a little child. The animals here seemed as yet to be without 
 fear of man and the little pitchman maintained that the reason the 
 little birds did n't fly away when Irma looked at them, was be- 
 cause she had such kindly eyes. They flew about her as if she 
 were an old friend, and the mother bird in the nest looked at her 
 affectionately, and did not take wing. 
 
 Thus Irma would spend whole afternoons, sitting by the spring 
 and, scarcely conscious of what she was doing, would, now and 
 then, throw some flower which she had plucked into the brook. 
 
 The brook flowed through the town in which Gunther lived. A 
 beautiful boy was sitting on its banks, and a red-haired servant in 
 liven* was by his side. 
 
 The boy ordered the sen-ant to fish out a beautiful flower that 
 was floating by. The servant clambered down the -steep bank 
 and, just as he reached the edge of the stream, the boy threw a 
 stone into the water, so that it splashed, and the sen-ant ex- 
 claimed : " My young master, you 've behaved badly again ! " 
 
 " Is he at his wild tricks again ? " said a tall and handsome young 
 man, with a countenance that bore the marks of dissipation. 
 " What are you doing, Eberhard ? " 
 
 The boy looked startled and the sen-ant said : 
 
 " Nothing, sir. My young master and I were only having a little 
 fun together." 
 
 The young man took the boy by the hand and walked with him 
 through the meadow and towards a beautifully situated country- 
 house, while Fitz, the groom, followed. The man in front was 
 Count Eberhard von Wildenort, and the boy with him was his son. 
 
 Bruno had given strict orders that his boy should not go near 
 the water. He had a great dread of that" element, for it hr^d 
 brought such terrible misfortune upon his family. But, as if by 
 some evil influence, the boy was always drawn towards the wild 
 stream, and Fitz, who always let him have his own way, secretly 
 abetted and accompanied him. 
 
 Bruno looked back, shook his finger at Fitz, and then entered 
 the garden of the country-house. His wife was there, sitting 
 in a large armchair. A little girl was playing on the gravel path, 
 and a nurse was carrying an infant in her arms. The matin 
 bell was heard and presently the mother-in-law appeared at the 
 garden gate. She was followed by a sen-ant who carried an em- 
 broidered cushion and a prayer-book sparkling with jewels. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 575 
 
 The Baroness greeted her family with the calm and satisfied air 
 of one who had already fulfilled her highest duties. Bruno offered 
 her his arm and, Arabella following, they repaired to the breakfast 
 table, which had been set in the arbor. 
 
 " Dear me ! " said the Baroness. " What shall we do with our- 
 selves to-day? It is lovely, and I don't think the weather will 
 change. The apothecary tells me there is a very pretty shepherd's 
 hut a few hours distant from here, the view from which must be 
 exquisite. How would it be if we were to send our servants up be- 
 fore us, to make arrangements for our dining there ? " 
 
 " Permit me, gracious mother-in-law," replied Bruno, timidly. 
 
 " Very well ; make a suggestion ! Do n't leave everything to 
 me. What have you to propose in this deadly-lively solitude, 
 where we are thrown upon the odious privy councilor, and the 
 female philistines of his family. I beg of you, do propose some- 
 thing." 
 
 " In my humble opinion " 
 
 " Do n ; t be so long coming to the point ! " 
 
 " I think it will be to your interest if I first go myself, to see 
 whether the roads are fair and to prevent you from being disap- 
 pointed ; for, although theatrical shepherdesses are, as a rule, very 
 charming, they are apt to be great frights au naturel." 
 
 " Thanks ! you 're really amiable. When will you set out on 
 your reconnaissance ? " 
 
 "To-day, if you desire it." 
 
 " He would like to get off and be a free, single man for one day," 
 said the smiling Baroness to her daughter. "Oh, I know him! 
 Shall we give him a day? " she asked roguishly. 
 
 " You 're in a very good humor," replied Bruno. In spite of all 
 her biting remarks, he was always studiously polite towards her. 
 She had thrice paid his gaming and other debts, for Bruno had 
 not yet received his sister's fortune, as the body had not been found. 
 It was not till next year that is, five years after her death that 
 he would be allowed to take legal possession of it. 
 
 " Yes, dear Bruno," at last said Arabella, who was deeply pained 
 by her husband's position. " You 'd better go by yourself. Leave 
 Fitz here with us. Eberhard has grown so used to him, that he 
 does n't care to play with any one else." 
 
 Bruno repaired to the apothecary's, where he was informed that 
 the meadow belonged to the freeholder who lived at several hour's 
 distance. He started for the farm at once. 
 
 Walpurga was sitting by the window, and playing with the child 
 in her lap, when she saw a horseman approaching. She involun- 
 tarily raised her hand to her eyes and leaned back, as if he were 
 going to ride straight over her. 
 
 She saw him dismount and saw Hansei greet him and lead the 
 horse to the stable ; after that, Hansei and the stranger came mtc 
 the room. 
 
576 CLV THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " God greet you, Count ! " said Walpurga, composing herself anc 
 advancing towards him. " How kind of you, to pay us a visit." 
 
 She extended her hand to Bruno, who went on twisting his 
 moustache, and did .not offer his hand in return. 
 
 " Ah ! it 's you, is it ? I did n't know that you were the mistress 
 here. And so this is the farm that you paid for with gold ? You 're 
 shrewd, but do n't be alarmed. I shan't call you to account ! " 
 
 Hansei observed that his wife was growing pale. 
 
 " Who is this man ? Who js it that talks to you in this high and 
 mighty manner? " he asked, drawing himself up. 
 
 "Be quiet ! " said W T alpurga. " He 's one of the court gentle- 
 men and is fond of joking." 
 
 " That 's it, is it ? " muttered Hansei. " I want to say a word 
 to you, sir what may your name be ? " 
 
 " Count Wildenort." 
 
 " Well then, Count, I didn't ask who you were, and I bade you 
 and your horse welcome. And now I 'd like you to tell me what 
 you want and leave my wife alone. In my house and home, I allow 
 no jokes that do n't please me, and if the king himself were to come 
 and try a joke that I did n't like, I 'd put him out ! No offense, but 
 even- one must say what he thinks. Now, sir, take a seat." 
 
 Hansei put on his hat and pressed it down firmly, as if to show 
 that he was master here. 
 
 Bruno said, with a smile : 
 
 " You 've a good husband, Walpurga." 
 
 "That'll do," said Hansei, interrupting him. "What do you 
 wish, Count? " 
 
 " Nothing out of the way. They tell me you have a shepherd's 
 hut on your mountain meadow, and I hear it is the finest in all the 
 Highlands. " 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Hansei, grinning. " It is n't so bad and it 's very 
 nicely situated ; but I wont sell it." 
 
 " I do n't want to buy it. All I want is to spend the day up there." 
 
 " Why, how do you mean ? " 
 
 " Are there good roads leading to it and is the place clean ? Is 
 there a chance of coming back, without bringing a herd along on 
 one 's body? " 
 
 " You 're right, Walpurga, he 's quite funny," whispered Hansei 
 to his wife and then, turning to Bruno, he said : 
 
 " The roads are good and if you do n't mind going an hour's 
 distance out of the way, you can ride almost to the very spot. I 
 can show you the way up if you wish it." 
 
 " Certainly ; my wife and my mother-in-law would like to see the 
 place." 
 
 Walpurga was alarmed at the danger that threatened Irma, but, 
 quickly collecting herself, she said, as if jesting : 
 
 " No, Count ; women can't go up there. Such as we are can do 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 577 
 
 it, of course ; but, even then, we have to turn our petticoats into 
 breeches." She laughed heartily, and Bruno laughed, too. He 
 imagined his mother-in-law in this costume. She had tried many 
 in her life, but never such an one. 
 
 The only object of his errand had been to enable him, under 
 the pretext of having received authentic information, to dissuade 
 his mother-in-law from her plan which, if carried out, would have 
 subjected him to a day of bitter slavery. He well knew that, noth- 
 ing would be right, and that he would be obliged to swallow her 
 reproaches and scoldings, just as if it were his fault that they 
 chanced now upon a swamp, now upon a hill, and that while, at 
 the shepherd's hut, they might feed their eyes on mountains of ice, 
 they could not have vanilla ices with which to satisfy the palate. 
 He knew all about these pleasure parties, at which he generally 
 felt as if he must die of vexation. Walpurga found an oppor- 
 tunity to tell her husband to use all the means in his power to dis- 
 suade the Count from visiting their mountain meadow. And so 
 when Hansei went out into the stable with the Count, who was 
 looking for his horse, he laughed till he showed every tooth in his 
 head, while he said : 
 
 " There 's a relation of ours up there, and she 's a little bit out 
 of her mind." 
 
 Walpurga also came out into the stable, for she feared that her 
 husband might betray something. Bruno asked her whether she 
 knew what had become of her friend. 
 
 Walpurga shook her head and wept. 
 
 "Yes," said she, " I can well say no one on this earth suffered 
 more for her sake than I did." 
 
 She wept so bitterly that Bruno offered to console her. 
 
 At last he left. 
 
 It was several days before Walpurga recovered from the effects 
 of her fright. Again and again, it seemed to her that it might be 
 better if Inna were found out, for perhaps she was quite ill and 
 might die before her time. But if she were discovered, it would 
 kill her at once. This accounted for her uneasiness, while at the 
 hut on the previous Sunday, and for her having enjoined the greatest 
 caution on the uncle. She was constantly pursued by the thought 
 that there would soon be an end to it all. If one only knew how 
 and what the end would be, and whether anything could be done. 
 She could do nothing. All she could do was to let what would 
 happen. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE trees in Gunther's garden were decked witn green, and the 
 parterre was filled with lovely flowers. The birds were sing- 
 ing and the forest stream that flowed through the grounds mur- 
 mured as if regretful at being obliged to leave the spot so soon. 
 25 
 
578 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Within doors, all was joy and happiness. Bronnen and Paula were 
 betrothed. The love that had calmly grown and ripened, now sud- 
 denly burst forth in all its glory. Bronnen wished to call Paula his 
 own, before the arrival of the court, so that she might then feel less 
 constrained and have an opportunity to accustom herself to the 
 manners of the court circle. It was not without fear that Madame 
 Gunther thought of her child entering the stirring life of the cap- 
 ital, a life of which she had an unconquerable dread. Bronnen 
 told the Doctor and his wife that he had found it easier to bring 
 about reform in politics than in court etiquette. It had hitherto 
 been a time-honored and unalterable custom that wives of the cit- 
 izen class could not be presented at court, no matter what their 
 husbands' rank might be. He had not been able to effect a change 
 in this until he had made it a cabinet question. Gunther smiled 
 at this explanation. He knew how stubbornly etiquette resisted all 
 attempts at innovation. Madame Gunther, on the other hand, was 
 quite alarmed at the idea that, both at court and at the capital, 
 Paula would be the first lady after the queen. She would have 
 been far better pleased if Bronnen's position had been an humbler 
 one ; but she loved him with a maternal affection that expressed 
 itself in her every glance. She even went so far that Gunther 
 smilingly remarked : " You 've become disloyal to your own 
 country ," for she had asserted that a man so noble, so digni- 
 fied, and yet both firm and yielding in character, could only 
 be developed under a monarchical government. " In a republic," 
 said she, " there is a certain want of form and indulgence of per- 
 sonal inclination. The self-respect which never fails in the respect 
 due to others was the peculiar Truit of courts, and Bronnen had one 
 talent which was especially calculated to place every one at ease 
 while with him. He was a good listener and was always willing 
 to wait attentively until you had finished what you wanted to say." 
 
 The joy of the parents was, however, but a mild reflection of 
 that of the betrothed. After Paula had, in all sincerity, confessed 
 her fear that she might fail to satisfy a man like Bronnen, she soon 
 became calm again, for she felt that there is a depth of love which, 
 including all that is highest on earth, embraces enduring happi- 
 ness. The lovers roamed through field and forest, and Bronnen 
 was again and again reminded of the pure and radiant sentiments 
 which the refined and elevated atmosphere of her home had firmly 
 established in Paula. With every new chord that he touched, he 
 struck a rich store of thought and found her gifted with an im- 
 pressible and receptive mind. He rejoiced in the destiny which 
 had thus directed his choice, and in the conviction that all individ- 
 ual improvement is achieved and perfected by mutual effort. 
 
 Madame Gunther was with her husband in his study, and would, 
 now and then, look out of the window at the lovers, who were 
 walking in the garden. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 579 
 
 " Bronnen made a strange confession to Paula and me yester- 
 day," said she. "If another had told me of it, I would not have 
 believed it." 
 
 "What was it?" 
 
 " He told us, with a voice full of emotion, that he had once loved 
 Countess Wildenort. Did you know of it ? " 
 
 " No, but I can't find anything wrong in it. If she only could 
 have controlled her impulses, she would have been worthy of the 
 best of men, and my dear Eberhard deserved to have such a man 
 for his son." 
 
 " Tell me," asked Madame Gunther, " I Ve never found the 
 slightest thing to object to in him, but do you think it right of him 
 to tell Paula of this ? It will make her still more anxious ; she will 
 compare herself with the brilliant Countess, and " 
 
 " Do n't let that trouble you, " said Gunther, interrupting her ; " a 
 heart which, like our child's, is conscious of the full power of love, 
 possesses an inexhaustible fund of happiness which no rival, be she 
 ever so great and brilliant, can disturb. If it were possible, I would 
 think even more of him than I now do, for having told her of this. 
 It is not every man who is so fortunate as I have been and whose 
 first love is his only love. Most of us are obliged to pass through 
 disappointment and loss, and he who, like Bronnen, has come 
 out of the ordeal, pure and unscathed, may praise his lot. The 
 more I regard the world, from a distance as it were, the great- 
 est misfortune which has befallen mankind is, that a life soiled by 
 vice should go on parallel with that which is termed regular and 
 domestic, creating discord among-,*nen, as well as in the individual 
 mind. If the race is to be saved, a great revolution must take place 
 in the minds of men. We have watched over our child so long and 
 so faithfully that, in spite of all worldly happiness, it would deeply 
 grieve me to see her bestow her hand on a man who, according to 
 the counterfeit expression coined by society, has led a fast life. " 
 
 Madame Gunther regarded her husband with a look of unspeak- 
 able joy. " I find that Bronnen has converted you from your 
 aversion to the military profession," she said, in a soft voice. 
 
 "By no means," replied Gunther, "but Bronnen has not been 
 injured by it. With resolute courage and an easy sway over others, 
 he combines a deep and earnest mind. It is almost miraculous 
 that, just when I desire to produce in my work the image of a pure 
 and active man of the present day, the very traits I seek are 
 found in the man who, in the free course of nature, is to belong to 
 me. It seems as if mysterious agencies provided us with that 
 which the poetic eye endeavors to portray to itself. Bronnen 
 seems as if stepping forth from my work." 
 
 Gunther had never before spoken thus of his work. "Do n't 
 misunderstand me," he added; "I do not look upon any one as 
 representing the ideal of perfect manhood, but I can find some 
 
58o ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 traits in every one, and many of them in Bronnen. Humanity, as 
 I find it in the actual world, is filled with beauty ; but, in truth, it 
 is still more beautiful, and I am glad to think that the next genera- 
 tion will be better than our own. And yet we may truly say that 
 the good we have achieved, lives on with them. Their enthusiasm 
 will be less than ours, but their moderation will render~it more en- 
 during. But I do not care to go too far into this subject, at pres- 
 ent. All I wanted to say was, that the feeling of discord, in modern 
 times, arises from the fact that religion has exalted faith above 
 morals, that art has pursued a similar course with beauty, and 
 politics with freedom. And yet they are one and inseparable, and 
 must ever remain so. I trust that I* may yet be able to make this 
 clear to the world, and thus contribute somewhat to the union of 
 true piety, beauty and freedom, with the morality which 'is, at 
 present, so graciously tolerated." 
 
 Their conversation was interrupted, for Count von Wildenort, 
 his wife and mother-in-law were announced. The servant was 
 instructed to ask them to the garden saloon, and, shortly after- 
 wards, the visitors, Gunther and his wife, Bronnen and his be- 
 trothed, were engaged in lively conversation. Madame Gunther 
 confined her attentions to the young Countess, who had greatly 
 improved under Gunther's treatment, while Baroness Steigeneck 
 engaged the lovers in conversation. Madame Gunther would often 
 look at Bronnen and Paula as if she would fain brush away a 
 caterpillar crawling over them. Bruno addressed Gunther quite 
 cheerfully, and told him that during the royal visit he would prob- 
 ably return by command of their majesties. This may have been 
 intended as a hint to Gunther to bring about such an order, for the 
 Baroness, greatly annoyed by her exclusion from court, intended 
 to return to her castle, with her children and grandchildren, and 
 then to vii.it some fashionable watering-place. She was eager to 
 reach the gaming-table. 
 
 They were quite long in taking their leave, and expressed their 
 gratitude for the pleasures they had enjoyed during their stay, 
 as well as their envy of those who could live here, as on some 
 happy island. At last they stepped into their carriage and drove 
 off. 
 
 After the visitors had left, Madame Gunther opened all the win- 
 dows, in order that a current of fresh air might carry away the 
 Strong perfumes of the Baroness. 
 
 Bronnen left the same evening. The family accompanied him 
 for a short distance. He and Paula walked in front, Gunther and 
 his wife behind. The empty carriage followed after them, and 
 Bronnen did not enter it until he had taken leave of his friends. 
 The parting was simple and affectionate. They were full of the 
 joyful memories of the day just past, and looked forward to future 
 happy days, for Bronnen intended to return with the king. 
 
ON THh HEIGHTS. 581 
 
 On the way home, Paula walked between her parents, her cheeks 
 glowing with excitement. Gunther, however, left his wife and 
 daughter before reaching home, for he was obliged to repair to 
 Count Wildenort's lodgings, in order to give further directions to 
 his wife. 
 
 Mother arid daughter went on alone, and when Madame Gunther 
 looked at her daughter, she saw that a silent tear was in her eye, 
 although her face was radiant with joy. 
 
 "You have a right to feel happy," said Madame Gunther, "you 
 will have a husband fit to be compared to your father. I can wish 
 you nothing better than to enjoy such happiness as has been mine, 
 and that the joy I have had in my children, and in you especially, 
 may some day be yours." 
 
 "Ah mpther ! " said Paula, " I can't realize how I could let him 
 go away alone, nor, on the other hand, that I am to leave you and 
 father and sister. But Bronnen " she always mentioned him by 
 his surname "says that he hopes father will again return to the 
 capital ; that he might select any post he pleases, for the king 
 wishes it." 
 
 " I do n't think your father will consent. But let nothing of that 
 kind distress you, my dear child. You may well be happy, for your 
 happiness is shared by us." 
 
 Before reaching home, they saw several beautiful horses and 
 carriages sent in advance of the queen, whose arrival was expected 
 within the next few clays. The highway had suddenly become full 
 of life and the little town was filled with wondering and delighted 
 crowds. The court was coming, and to Gunther they were in- 
 debted for all this. The wife and daughter were respectfully 
 greeted by all whom they met, and, even in the distance, one could 
 see the townsfolk pointing them out to the recently arrived court 
 servants, who also greeted them quite obsequiously. 
 
 Further on, they met a vehicle which seemed as if it belonged 
 to fairyland. Two tiny bay ponies, with short-clipped black manes 
 and gay trappings, were harnessed to a little, low-wheeled carriage. 
 As if divining what was going on, the children appeared at the 
 farmhouses and rushed across the meadows and fields, to admire 
 the crown prince's fairy-like equipage, and followed it through the 
 town, where the crowd of joyous, shouting children grew larger and 
 larger, until they at last reached the dairy-farm. Paula looked on 
 with a smile. She stopped with her mother before a house, the sign- 
 board on which announced that it was the new telegraph office. 
 Here, thought she to herself, the messages she would send, and 
 those she would receive after leaving her paternal home, would 
 pass. 
 
 The telegraph poles which Irma had seen the workmen putting 
 up near the farm, had been erected on account of the queen's in- 
 tended summer sojourn in the neighborhood. 
 
582 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Early on the following morning, the first telegram reached the 
 little town. It was addressed to Paula and was as follows : 
 
 " I dedicate the electric spark to the service of love. I am well, 
 and send greetings to you, your father, mother and sister. 
 
 "BROXNEN." 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE school children were ranged under the fruit trees on either 
 side of the road. Bells were ringing, music resounding, can- 
 non firing, and the rugged mountains echoed back the merry- din. 
 
 It was the queen's entry. 
 
 She sat in an open carriage drawn by four white horses. The 
 prince, a boy with golden hair and fresh complexion, sat by her 
 side. The carriage stopped at the boundary line. A maiden 
 dressed in the becoming costume of the country, welcomed the 
 queen in a poem of the schoolmaster's composition, and pre- 
 sented her with a bouquet of alpine flowers. The queen graciously 
 accepted the bouquet. She bowed in all directions and held out her 
 hand to the child. The prince followed her example, saying in a 
 voice loud enough to be heard by the town council and all the 
 catholic and evangelical ministers present : " God greet you ! " 
 
 Cheers resounded again and again, and their path was strewn 
 with flowers. 
 
 The queen drove through the little town, which was decorated 
 with flags and garlands. On her arrival, she found that the court 
 cavaliers who had preceded her were in waiting, and that Gunther 
 was among them. For the first time since his return, he wore the 
 marks of the various grand orders to which he belonged. After 
 passing under a triumphal arch, the carriage stopped and the queen 
 alighted. 
 
 She held out her hand to Gunther, who would gladly have kissed 
 it ; but he turned to the prince and kissed him. He was so agi- 
 tated that he could not speak a word. At last he said : 
 
 " I bid Your Majesty welcome to my home ! " 
 
 " Wherever you are, there is home," replied the queen. 
 
 She passed, leading her boy by the hand. 
 
 Countess Brinkenstein, Lady Constance, and other court ladies, 
 also exchanged greetings with Gunther. There were others, how- 
 ever, who were more recently appointed and whom Gunther did 
 not know. 
 
 The queen and her immediate suite soon reached the great ter- 
 race, which commanded a delightful view of mountain and valley. 
 Gunther pointed oQt the direction of the mountain range and the 
 intervening valleys. He also told her the names of the principal 
 peaks and would, here and there, add a few items of historical in- 
 terest. He was presenting the chiefs of his native home to the 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 583 
 
 queen. Evening soon set in and the lofty heights were bathed in 
 the warm hues of the glorious sunset. They were silent for a few 
 moments, while they gazed up at the heights, and little did they 
 think of her who had been dreamily looking thence out into the 
 wide world, and who had just been startled by the echo of 
 the guns from the neighboring cliffs. There must be some joyous 
 feast going on down there, she thought, and she who had once 
 moved among this circle, and had not been the least admired in it, 
 lived within herself, in silence and solitude. 
 
 It seemed as if the whole population of the town and the outly- 
 ing neighborhood had gathered at the park railing, in order to 
 catch a glimpse of the queen. All that pertained to her, be it her 
 horses, her carriages, or her servants, inspired them with wonder 
 and admiration. 
 
 At the sound of the evening bell, the men took off their hats 
 and, after a silent prayer, all proceeded homeward. 
 
 It was soon night. The party had dispersed and the queen 
 asked Gunther if there was not some way to get to his house 
 without going through the town. Gunther replied that the king 
 had had a path made around the hill. 
 
 .The queen looked down. The king's thoughtful care pleased 
 her. Had he been present at that moment, she would have spoken 
 to him more kindly than she had for many a day. 
 
 "I should like to visit your family," said the queen. 
 
 " I shall have the honor of bringing them to Your Majesty to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " The evening is so charming; let us go to them now." 
 
 The queen, attended by Gunther and numerous ladies and gen- 
 tlemen of the court, took the new path that led to the Doctor's 
 dwelling. 
 
 " Had you not better send word to your ladies that the queen is 
 about to visit them?" said Countess Brinkenstein to Gunther. 
 Although the laws of etiquette were sometimes relaxed during her 
 visit to the country, the informal manner in which the queen set 
 about paying this visit seemed opposed to all rules. 
 
 Gunther graciously declined following out her suggestion. 
 
 He was proudly conscious of the fact that, at whatever time the 
 queen and her suite might enter his house, they would find his 
 wife, his house and his children prepared to receive them. 
 
 Clever Stasi, the inspector's wife, had, however, heard where 
 they were going, and hurried to tell Madame Gunther who was 
 coining. 
 
 When the visitors arrived, the garden saloon was brilliantly 
 lighted and, at the garden gate, they were met by Madame Gun- 
 ther, who was attended by both of her daughters. Their reception 
 of the queen was respectful and reverential, although it may not 
 have Irjen strictly in accordance with that prescribed by court 
 forms. 
 
584 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " I could not wait," said the queen. Her voice seemed clearei 
 and brighter than before." 1 felt that I must see you to-day and 
 offer you my congratulations. You, I presume, are the affianced 
 of Minister Bronnen ?" said she, addressing Paula. 
 
 Paula bowed so correctly that Countess Brinkenstein could not 
 repress a nod of approval. The queen extended her hand to Paula 
 and kissed her on the forehead. 
 
 " I shall now see you often," she added, "and it will be pleasant 
 to remember that I 've known you in your home." 
 
 She beckoned Madame Gunther to draw near, and, accompanied 
 by her, walked about the garden. 
 
 " And so I see you to-day, for the first time," said the queen. 
 " I trust that you do not look upon me as a stranger ? " 
 
 " Your Majesty, it is the first time in my life that I address a 
 queen, and I entreat you " 
 
 " Your husband has been as a father to me, and I wish that you, 
 too But let us leave it to the future to determine our impressions 
 of each other. Permit me, however, to request you to cast aside a 
 little of your Swiss prejudice against royalty." 
 
 " Your Majesty, I am a citizen of your country." 
 
 " I am delighted that our first meeting is in your own house. 
 Do you still sing much ? I 've been told that you used to sing 
 beautifully." 
 
 "Your Majesty, I 've left that to the younger voices of my chil- 
 dren. Paula sings." 
 
 " How charming ! I have long regretted that none of the ladies 
 of our more immediate circle sing well." 
 
 Like a passing shadow, the thought of Irma flashed through the 
 queen's mind. She was standing by the stream that flowed down 
 from the mountain meadow, and which here noisily rushed by. 
 
 The queen remained in the pavilion but a short time. "\Yhen she 
 was about to leave, she said to Madame Gunther : 
 
 "Will you not accompany me part of the way?" 
 
 " Xo, I thank Your Majesty." 
 
 " Then I shall see you to-morrow. Good night. Let us be good 
 neighbors." 
 
 The queen left. 
 
 Gunther well knew how the ladies of the court would discuss his 
 wife's great breach of decorum in declining to comply with the 
 queen's expressed wish. But he did not say a word to his wife 
 about it, for he knew that he could permit her to have her own way. 
 He felt sure that she would always do what was right, and that, if 
 she did disregard certain conventionalities, she would nevertheless 
 manage even-thing for the best. Indeed, the very fact of her hav- 
 ing gently repelled the queen's exceedingly gracious advances, was 
 doubly reassuring to him. 
 "I am glad," said Madame Gunther to her husband, when they 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 585 
 
 were together in the drawing-room, "that Paula becomes intro- 
 duced to court life while yet in her father's house. The queen 
 really impresses me as a noble creature." 
 
 Gunther assented, and added that Paula had already proven how 
 well she had profited by Bronnen's advice. For Bronnen had told 
 her that, in order to be free at court, one must make its trifling 
 forms a sort of second nature, so that they can be practiced with- 
 out special stress or difficulty; and that, in fact, they must be 
 mastered just as one masters the grammar of his native tongue. 
 
 In the silent moonlight night, Paula was heard singing, with full 
 voice and passionate expression, the concluding verses of the song 
 of Goethe's, the song that Bronnen admired above all others : 
 
 Crown of existence, 
 Joy without rest, 
 Love art thou. 
 
 jn yonder heights, whither no voice from below reached, there 
 sat a solitary one, and through her mind there passed a song 
 of the same master's the song of songs, in which the soul is freed 
 from all its burdens, and is again united with enduring nature : 
 
 O'er hill and dale, 
 Thy splendor falls ; 
 No longer care 
 My heart enthralls. 
 
 The court ladies at the dairy-farm kept up their talk until a late 
 hour. Those who had not been permitted to accompany the queen 
 envied the others, who had enjoyed an early opportunity of meeting 
 Bronnen's affianced. What could there have been in the citizen's 
 daughter to tempt Bronnen, who might have had the hand of the 
 highest in the land ? Some pronounced her aw r kward, others too 
 confident, and doubts were expressed as to her beauty. The 
 younger ladies were jokingly informed that, for many days to come, 
 Doctor Gunther would have a parade of sentiment and universal 
 ideas, and this, too, au grand serieux. 
 
 The moon shone brightly on the mountains and the valleys. 
 Everything was hushed in slumber. The only sounds heard were 
 the gurgling of the springs, the murmuring of the stream and, now 
 and then, a mountain cry from the heights above. 
 
 A bright day dawned. 
 
 Gunther visited the queen at an early hour. For the next few 
 weeks, he had determined to sacrifice his quiet mornings. He was 
 quite willing to devote himself entirely to his friend, and looked for- 
 ward to a resumption of his wonted employments, after her depart- 
 ure. 
 
 He was again sitting on the terrace, as he had been one morning 
 five years ago ; but this time, instead of looking at the distant 
 25* 
 
586 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 mountains, he was surrounded by them, and, as she had then done, 
 the queen now again appeared in a white morning robe and greeted 
 him. But her whole being had changed ; her step was freer, her 
 words more decided. 
 
 " We shall make no programme of what we intend to do here," 
 said she, as she walked up and down the garden with Gunther; 
 " we '11 take life as it comes." 
 
 She told him how T pleased she was to have made the acquaintance 
 of his wife and daughters, and that she thought he had done 
 wisely, while at the capital, in keeping his home life and his life at 
 court, as far as possible, distinct from each other. Memories of 
 1 rma again seemed to cast a passing shadow over the bright morn- 
 ing, for the queen well knew that Gunther had introduced her to 
 his family. It seemed as if the memory of Irma were not yet fully 
 banished and buried. 
 
 " I trust Your Majesty will, nevertheless, permit me to draw up 
 a little programme," said Gunther. "It has but one paragraph. 
 Permit me to explain it. I 've never been able to express myself 
 in writing on this matter. I can only do so in person. I have to 
 accuse myself of having done you a great wrong." 
 
 " You ? A great wrong ? " 
 
 " Yes, and it relieves me to confess it to you. Your Majesty, I 
 do not enquire as to your present relations with your royal consort. 
 The fact that he has prepared all this for you, and the manner in 
 which it has been done, proves his delicate feeling." 
 
 " And I admit it willingly, but still I cannot " 
 
 " I am obliged to interrupt you, Your Majesty, for that which I 
 request of you is that we shall never more speak of your relations 
 to his majesty. Long ago, when you were torn by an inner struggle, 
 I believed that if I could only induce you to encourage freer and 
 more liberal views, a clearer mental vision would better enable you 
 to be just towards others, and would be followed by returning 
 love. And it w T as just there that I was wrong, for I offended 
 against a simple but fundamental principle : feelings cannot be 
 governed by thought. And were it otherwise, the interference of a 
 third party should always be rejected. The attempted mediator 
 only widens the breach. Husband and wife can alone repair it. 
 And now, Your Majesty, let us speak no more of this matter, for 
 thus only can we, without feeling embarrassed, meet each other, or 
 the king himself. Your own heart is your only confidant. Follow 
 its dictates and do not be frightened back by any apparent aliena- 
 tion or change of feeling ! Will you grant me the favor I ask ? " 
 
 " Yes. And now not another word on the subject." 
 
 They conversed freely and cheerfully, as if they had both laid 
 aside a burden which had heavily rested upon them. 
 
 The crown prince was brought in. Gunther was delighted with 
 his healthy appearance and promised him a playmate who was born 
 on the same day as himself. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 587 
 
 "Mamma, why haven't I a little sister?" asked the crown 
 prince. 
 
 The color rose to the queen's cheeks. 
 
 "Little Cornelia is to be your sister," she replied, and gave 
 orders that they should take the prince to visit the child at the 
 Doctor's house. 
 
 Gunther's parting instructions to Madame von Gerloff were that 
 the children should be shown the bird's nest in the rosebush. The 
 prince asked permission to take Schnipp and Schnapp with him, 
 and the two children were soon driving through the valley, in the 
 pretty little carriage, a little groom managing the horses and 
 a little outrider in front. At noon, Madame Gunther and her 
 daughters visited the queen. Little by little, a common in- 
 terest in their pleasures, aided by the invigorating influences of 
 nature, helped to bring about a uniform tone of feeling, and thus 
 to level distinctions which would be more closely observed in city 
 circles. 
 
 The days sped by pleasantly. The queen felt no craving for un- 
 wonted pleasures ; and every hour was complete in itself. 
 
 The queen, one day, told Madame Gunther that she was the first 
 citizen's wife with whom she had been on terms of familiar inti- 
 macy, and that she could not help admiring her clear, good sense. 
 
 "I must tell you something of my youth," replied Madame 
 Gunther, to whom this condescending praise was quite a surprise. 
 
 " Pray do so," said the queen, encouragingly. 
 
 " Your Majesty, I was betrothed and happy. Wilhelm was 
 traveling during his vacation and we often wrote to each other. 
 One day, I received a letter from him which offended my pride and, 
 indeed, deeply wounded me. I had indulged in excessive sensi- 
 bility and, in reply, he quoted the words of Lessing which Nathan 
 addresses to the Knight Templar : ' Mediocrity, like ours, can be 
 found in abundance everywhere ! ' ' 
 
 " And did that offend you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Your Majesty ; it offended me deeply. Gunther is with- 
 out a trace of that false modesty which is all the more vain, the 
 more modest it appears. He stood so high in my esteem that I 
 felt he had, by using this expression, committed an offense against 
 himself and, I may confess it, against myself, as well. I did n.ot 
 regard myself as mediocre, but as a highly gifted being. But 
 from that time, I began to perceive that most suffering arises from 
 1 he fact that those who have understanding, culture, and some tal- 
 c.nt, regard themselves as belonging to a higher order of beings, 
 privileged to disregard ordinary barriers and to step beyond their 
 allotted sphere of duty. To acknowledge myself as mediocre, and 
 to shape my own actions, and my judgment of others, accordingly, 
 has ever been my rule in life ; and I must beg Your Majesty to re- 
 gard me in the same way. There are thousands of women like 
 
588 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 me. It is just as it is in singing. I Ye sung in a chorus, and kncnv 
 there are many good voices who never aspire to solos." 
 
 The queen was silent. The words which Madame Gunther had 
 uttered in perfect sincerity, might be applied in so many different 
 ways to herself, to the king, and to her who was still unforgotten. 
 
 At last she looked up frankly. 
 
 " 1 have a request to make of you," she said, with faltering- voice, 
 while she took out a breastpin with a large pearl. "Oblige me 
 by accepting this memento of this hour and of the truth which 
 you have just imparted to me." 
 
 "Your Majesty," replied Madame Gunther, " I have never in all 
 my life, accepted a present of this kind. But I can easily under- 
 stand that you, as a queen, are accustomed to experience the joy 
 of bestowing gifts on others and of thus making them happy. I 
 accept it as a symbol, as if it were an unfading flower from your 
 garden." 
 
 Madame Gunther wended her way homeward, in a calm and 
 contented mood. When she arrived before the house, she sud- 
 denly stopped. The windows of the large drawing-room were 
 open. Some one was playing the piano with powerful, masterly 
 touch and expression. It could not be Paula. Who could it be ? 
 
 Madame Gunther's nephew, the young man whose song Irma 
 had sung years before, and who, on a prev ious visit to his relatives, 
 had sought the freeholder's dwelling as a refuge from the storm, 
 and had there met Irma without knowing who she was, had now, 
 as had been foretold him, become totally blind. He had become 
 a master of the piano, and bore his sad fate with manly fortitude. 
 The meeting between Madame Gunther and her nephew was 
 deeply affecting. 
 
 That evening, she introduced him to the queen, who, as her first 
 act of friendship to the Doctor's wife, appointed him " pianist to 
 the queen." All that remained was to submit the appointment 
 to the approval of the king, w r ho was expected to arrive in a few 
 days. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE king had arrived during the night. In order to avoid the 
 pomp of a reception, he came unannounced. He regarded 
 himself as the guest of the queen, for whom alone he had ordered 
 the preparation of this modest summer retreat. 
 
 On the following morning, Gunther, decorated with his orders, 
 repaired to the farm. 
 
 He felt that the tone of their little circle must suffer a change by 
 the advent of any new comer, even if possessed of a more yielding 
 disposition than that of the king. 
 
 Gunther had not seen the king since he waited upon him to 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 589 
 
 thank him for the order he had conferred upon him. He was 
 composed. One point in favor of court forms is that they are 
 fixed and unalterable, as well as independent of passing moods. 
 
 Gunther's path led along the slope of a projecting hill and, on 
 the way, his thoughts involuntarily recurred to Eberhard. The 
 early hour, the mountain air, and the close-fitting uniform all were 
 just as they had been years ago. 
 
 Eberhard had always maintained that unmeaning politeness is 
 only disguised rudeness. He required that every word and act 
 should come from the depths of one's soul, and that, at every mo- 
 mciit, life should be truthful. During the years he had spent in 
 solitude, Gunther came to perceive that the concessions he had 
 made to his surroundings, had, to a certain extent, involved failure 
 to comply with this precept. He now found his greatest happiness 
 in being perfectly truthful towards himself and the world, and for 
 this reason, in the work in which he expected to sum up the re- 
 sults of his life, he had expressed his feelings without reserve or 
 disguise. 
 
 When his eye fell on the farmhouse, he paused to collect his 
 thoughts. He was about to pay his respects to the man who had 
 endeavored to degrade him. 
 
 The king stood at the open window and, when he saw Gunther 
 approach, was greatly agitated. If the dignity that befits kings 
 had not forbidden it, he would gladly have called out a welcome 
 to the man whom he esteemed so highly ; and if kingly dignity re- 
 quires this much, it also possesses one great advantage for while 
 he who desires admittance still waits, he who grants it maintains 
 his natural freedom, or, in other words, is at home while the other 
 is as a stranger. 
 
 Gunther sent in his name, and was at once admitted. The king 
 advanced to meet him, and said : 
 
 " Welcome, my dear privy councilor ! I am heartily glad 
 He faltered at the words and, as if changing his mind, added : " I 
 am delighted to have an opportunity to wish you joy ! One 
 scarcely knows whether to say that you deserve such a son as 
 Minister Bronnen, or that he deserves such a father as you. It 's 
 all the same, I suppose," he concluded with a smile which seemed 
 somewhat forced. 
 
 " I humbly thank Your Majesty " Gunther also hesitated, for 
 it was a long while since he had used this phrase "for the inter- 
 est you have graciously manifested in me and mine." 
 
 The king and Gunther met under changed and mutually em- 
 barrassing circumstances, and congratulations on Bronnen's en- 
 gagement seemed to afford a convenient subject of conversation. 
 It was, nevertheless, followed by a pause, in which the two men 
 who had been separated for two years, eyed each other as if each 
 would again impress his memory with the features which, for many 
 
590 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 years, he had seen almost daily. Gunther had changed but little. 
 His beard was short, thick and of a snowy white. The king's 
 figure was fuller than it had been. His face wore a deep and 
 earnest expression which harmonized with his winning and amiable 
 deportment. His movements seemed to have gained, rather than 
 lost, in elasticity and vigor. 
 
 "I hear," said the king, resuming the conversation, "that you 
 are engaged on a great philosophical work, and I feel that we have 
 reason to congratulate ourselves thereat, for that will afford us an 
 opportunity to enjoy those fruits of your thought which, in our 
 daily intercourse, we are now deprived of." 
 
 " Your Majesty, I am reviewing my life and striking a balance. 
 In some respects, there is more, in others, less than I had reason 
 to hope for. I live within myself, and am happy to think that, when 
 I look out into the world, I can perceive that those who are called 
 for great purposes can show a clear balance sheet." 
 
 "Growth is slow," said the king. "While driving through the 
 fields yesterday, I thought to myself: how long it takes before the 
 blade of corn becomes the ripened ear. We cannot see how much 
 it grows with each day. We can only note the result." 
 
 Smiling, and perfectly unconstrained, he added : " I am impart- 
 ing my latest observations to you. It seems it seems as though 
 it were but yesterday, since we last met. Let us go into the 
 garden." 
 
 On the way, the king asked : " How do you find the prince ? " 
 
 " He has a well-built frame and, as far as I can judge, his mental 
 development is normal and healthy." 
 
 In consequence of the long years of separation and the linger- 
 ing feeling of reserve, there were frequent breaks in the conversa- 
 tion. 
 
 " You have again been living among the people," said the king, 
 " and has your experience satisfied you that the popular mind (or, 
 in other words, popular simplicity in thought and manners) is the 
 divinely appointed corrective of the errors of a higher civiliza- 
 tion ?"' 
 
 Gunther looked up as if amazed. \Vas the question an idle one, 
 or did a deeper significance underlie it ? Had the king not suc- 
 ceeded in conquering his dislike of popular verdicts ? Or did he 
 as a proof of returning royal favor merely intend to afford the 
 man whom he had so deeply injured, an opportunity to gratify his 
 vanity by ventilating his opinions? 
 
 Quick as lightning, these thoughts flashed through his mind. 
 After a short pause, he replied : 
 
 "With Your Majesty's permission, let me, before proceeding to 
 answer you, state the question more distinctly." 
 
 " Pray do so." 
 
 A pause ensued, just as if they were trying and tuning inner 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 591 
 
 instruments which, coming from unequal temperatures, had not yet 
 been brought into harmony with each other ; for although both 
 men were calm and self-controlled, their moodswere not in accord. 
 
 "If by the term 'popular mind,' you mean those views and 
 states of feeling which are not based upon scientific laws or art 
 traditions, but which seem as fixed and unchangeable as the forces 
 of nature ; and if, on the other hand, you apply the term 'correct- 
 ive ' to that which separates us from all that is alien or effete, and 
 leads us, as it were, back to nature I am prepared to answer 
 your question as well as I know how." 
 
 " I am entirely satisfied with the form in which you put the 
 question," replied the king. "I often think that discussions are 
 barren of results, simply because the question was vaguely or im- 
 perfectly stated at the start." 
 
 Gunther nodded a smiling approval of these words. 
 
 " And now for the answer," asked the king, all attention. 
 
 " Although I may seem to wander from the point, I shall soon 
 return to it. The event from which it dates, forms a turning point 
 in the history of mankind. Unlike all that went before, the central 
 figure which later generations have idealized, and from which they 
 have drawn inspiration, was not born on Olympic heights. Jesus 
 was born in a manger, and yet kings performed pious pilgrimages 
 to the spot. The fact that the Spirit which is innate with the pure 
 man, could even be born in a manger, among the dumb animals 
 devoted to domestic use, is an enduring proof of pure democracy, 
 or of nobility in that which is lowly. If, however, the manger 
 were, henceforth, to be regarded as alone holy, or the forms and 
 surroundings of popular life be accepted as the only abode of the 
 eternal spirit, or the embodiment of holy nature itself, it would be 
 a perversion of truth, a new orthodoxy, another schism. This much 
 always remains ; the spirit of truth appears everywhere in the 
 manger and in the pillared temple, in the library of the student 
 and on the royal throne in the glittering palace. Buddha, who 
 was one of the greatest benefactors and regenerators of mankind, 
 and who, in the realm of caste, maintained the equality of human 
 rights, was the son of a king. 
 
 " And now to return to the question. Whenever a form of civili- 
 zation has attained its highest development and begins to show its 
 defects, the idea of complete revolution suggests itself. None but 
 violent methods are thought of, and, while the only object to be 
 gained is the bringing about of regeneration, by means of strata 
 which have not yet been exhausted, and which bring new strength 
 to bear, it is deemed necessary to go back to the beginning of all 
 things. But the lower strata cannot, of themselves, effect this re- 
 generation. What is required of them is to be constantly sending 
 fresh strength to those above them. The great masses, considered 
 as such, cannot renew civilization. All that they can do is to fur 
 
592 O.V THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 nish new material. It is only in a limited sense that the masses aic 
 the hearers of the spirit of the people. Individual men, who have 
 ever preserved their childlike simplicity of soul, just as they received 
 ii from nature, and through subsequent development have retained it 
 unimpaired, will now and then rise from among the masses. But 
 the scientific spirit must be united with this childlike feeling, and 
 then an epoch, or an individual, forms a node by which this devel- 
 opment is not interrupted but from which it seems to take a new 
 start, forming, as it were, a new growth on the old stem. It is not 
 the people, as a mass, but a certain man or circle that concentrates 
 the spirit of the people within itself, and renews the same individ- 
 ually." 
 
 "Is not that aristocracy ? " asked the king, in a soft, almost hes- 
 itating voice. 
 
 " Your Majesty, I dread no term or idea that seems to be the re- 
 sult of logical consistency. Call it an aristocracy, if you will, but 
 it is a democratic one, ever renewing itself. For those who, from 
 generation to generation, represent the spirit of the people, are not 
 taken from the same sphere." 
 
 " I understand," said the king, stopping in front of a rose-bush. 
 " It is just as here, where ever)' year brings forth new shoots that 
 bear the roses. But pardon me, I interrupted you ! " 
 
 "I have only to add," said Gunther, "that while the masses, 
 considered as such, are the bearers of civilization, the highest de- 
 velopment of this civilization is brought about by the few who are 
 called and chosen for the task. To make my meaning clearer : 
 He who is of average size, is not tall, and he who possesses gen- 
 eral culture has naught that distinguishes or elevates him above 
 the rest" 
 
 " But who measures and passes upon such claims to such distinc- 
 tion ? " asked the king. 
 
 " In science and art, it is the sense of being called to do certain 
 things, the individual impulse and energy that give shape to ideas 
 which others have only imperfectly conceived, and which, when 
 they have once found utterance, the masses gladly accept as their 
 own. In state affairs, this call is conveyed by means of elections, 
 which have never before obtained to the same extent as at present. 
 It is of great advantage that the occasional call to vote is opposed, 
 or rather, held in check, by the call which is founded on historic 
 claims. But. whenever the latter fails to be at one with the for- 
 mer, it mistakes its strength, and at last falls." 
 
 The king walked on in silence, his eyes bent on the ground. 
 Even thing tended to prove that there is a united mind, or totality 
 of thought, which is and must be more powerful than any individ- 
 ual mind. There was no longer the faintest suspicion that this 
 conclusion was the result of an idle question. 
 
 Although the king walked on in silence, the break in the con- 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 593 
 
 versa! ion was not caused by an unresolved dissonance, jarring his 
 soul's depths. 
 
 lit was lost in thought, for he had learned how to make a new 
 truth his own by reflection, instead of dismissing it with light and 
 trilling conversation. 
 
 "May I ask," said the king, in a voice that betokened great 
 diffidence " may I ask whether the views which you have just im- 
 parted to me, and which have furnished me with much food for 
 future thought, are to "be more fully expounded in the work on 
 which you are now employed ? " 
 
 " Certainly, Your Majesty." 
 
 " Then allow me, at once, to pass to a question that concerns 
 our little life and that portion of history which we are to help 
 make." 
 
 The king folded his arms and continued : 
 
 " Let me be frank with you. You have refused the position 
 of Minister of Education offered you by Minister lironnen. 1 can 
 well imagine that you do not care to sacrifice science to the labors 
 of a bureau. Would you perhaps prefer excuse me," said the 
 king, with an unconstrained smile, " excuse me for using your favor- 
 ite expression, I did it quite unawares might I offer you the posi- 
 tion of President of the Academy ? " 
 
 " I humbly request Your Majesty not to consider me as ungrate- 
 ful, but I have determined never again to enter the busy world. Be- 
 sides that Your Majesty knows that I have no false modesty I 
 frankly acknowledge that my long continued attention to work of 
 a practical nature has, to so great an extent, prevented me from 
 keeping up my scientific studies, that I could not do justice to the 
 position so graciously offered me. I beg Your Majesty to permit 
 me to spend the rest of my life in retirement. I have become an 
 author and desire to remain one. " 
 
 " I should willingly accord you perfect liberty to express your 
 sentiments regardless of consequences. " 
 
 " I know that very well, Your Majesty, and at once avail myself 
 of it by telling you that liberty which is accorded us is not perfect 
 liberty. In any elevated position under the state, I would be 
 obliged to respect Your Majesty's wishes and also to have regard 
 to my son's position. I entreat you, therefore, to permit me to be 
 ai. author and remain one; nothing more. " 
 
 The king's features betrayed his displeasure. He had done his 
 utmost, had shown by deeds how glad he would be to repair the 
 effects of his former hasty conduct, and here again he was met by 
 the obstinacy he had so often encountered. Did the man expect to 
 hear the king say : " I repent ; pardon me ! " ? 
 
 An angry reply rose to the king's lips, but he checked himself. 
 Ciunther quickly saw what was going on, and esteem for the 
 changed being who was now standing before him, made his eye 
 glisten, 
 
594 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 The king had not once mentioned the queen's name. He had not, 
 as would have been so natural, asked him who had been her phy- 
 sician for many years, what he thought of her appearance. Gun- 
 ther was just on the point of mentioning her, when the king, con- 
 tracting his brows, asked : 
 
 " Have you ever committed an act which you repented of? " 
 
 " Your Majesty my name is Wilhelm Gunther. My life has been 
 a hard struggle and I have often stumbled. I have been young 
 and have grown old, and have come to see that all men receive 
 their true deserts. " 
 
 " And has it proven so in your case ? " 
 
 " Yes, Your Majesty, I thank you for asking me that question. 
 And now let me confess. What I am about to say is without the 
 slightest tinge of bitterness. When I regard a fact as accomplished, 
 I have done with it. I therefore speak of it without embarrassment, 
 just as if I were explaining the operation of some law of nature. 
 Yes, Your Majesty, I have richly deserved all that has happened to 
 me. I was most graciously dismissed from Your Majesty's favor, 
 and it was but just that it should be so. " 
 
 " That was not what I meant. I had no desire to allude to it. 
 On the contrary " 
 
 " Permit me, Your Majesty, to explain the logical line of justice, 
 as I have understood it. Under deeply painful circumstances, I 
 misconceived my duty as a man, and as the friend and servant of 
 Your Majesty." 
 
 " You ? " asked the king. 
 
 " Yes, I ! And that I meant it for the best, is no excuse. We 
 all mean to be good, but we have all of us an equal right to be 
 wise. I endeavored to lead the queen to an elevated plain, from 
 which the petty events of life would appear trifling and easily- 
 borne. It was a grievous error. It was my duty to avoid all in- 
 terference, unless I could avert the impending conflict. You acted 
 rightly and, at the same time, benefited the queen by sending me 
 away. Isolated from every influence, even that of a friend, she 
 could not but gain strength as she has done." 
 
 A tear glistened in the king's eyes. He pressed his left hand to 
 his heart, as if to repress a thought that he did not care to reveal. 
 
 "I am happy," said he at last, "that my life has made me ac- 
 quainted with such men as you and our dear Bronnen. We only 
 partially make ourselves what we are. Consciously or uncon- 
 sciously, we are formed by those with whom we associate." 
 
 He pressed Gunther's hand in his, and Gunther was happy to 
 feel that the king's heroic self-glorification was completely subdued 
 the king's confession being a convincing proof of this. 
 
 " Papa ! " called a boy's voice from the terrace, " Papa ! " 
 
 They turned in the direction from which the voice had come. 
 The queen, surrounded by the ladies and gentlemen of her court. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 595 
 
 was sitting on the terrace. With anxious eyes, she had followed 
 every movement of the two men. What might they be speaking 
 of? Were these Elysian days to be disturbed by the old and un- 
 forgotten wrong? 
 
 And now, when she saw the king take Gunther s hand in his 
 own and hold it for a long while, she embraced the prince, kissed 
 him, and then said : 
 
 " Call papa." 
 
 The two men turned around and with calm and happy counte- 
 nances, the sight of which was even more refreshing than that of 
 the beautiful and lofty mountains, came upon the terrace. The 
 king kissed the queen's hand, and, for the first time in years, she 
 pressed it against his lips. 
 
 When Gunther was taking his leave, the king said : 
 
 " Present my compliments to your wife. I shall pay you a visit 
 to-day, before dinner." 
 
 Madame Gunther was amazed when her husband informed her 
 that the king was coming. In spite of all explanations, she could 
 not understand how her husband could thus forgive and forget the 
 injury that had been put upon him for she could not help looking 
 upon it as an injury and an affront, even though Gunther did not 
 so regard it. For the first time in her life, he was unable to change 
 her opinion. In Gunther's forgiving mood, she thought she de- 
 tected a spirit of submissiveness which was only possible under a 
 monarchy. Her old republican feelings were aroused. 
 
 The king and the queen came. The king found Madame Gun- 
 ther's behavior shy and reserved. He could not know that she still 
 regarded him with suppressed wrath. Was this the man, and 
 ought there really to be one on earth, who could appoint or dismiss 
 Gunther at will ? They were standing by the stream that flowed 
 through the garden, when the king said to Gunther : 
 
 " I am told that the crown prince's nurse lives in this neighbor- 
 hood. Will you not have her come here some time ? " 
 
 " Her majesty the queen does not wish to see her," replied Gun- 
 ther. 
 
 " Do you know why ? " 
 
 "It .lies in the echo of certain sad memories," replied Gunther; 
 and this passing allusion to Irma was the only time she was men- 
 tioned. In the short pause that followed these words, the stream 
 murmured louder than before, as if it, too, had something to say. 
 
 On the second evening after the king's arrival, Bronnen came, 
 accompanied by the intendant, and found the whole circle happy 
 and complete. 
 
 A certain observance of form lent an added charm to country 
 life. With constant freedom, there was yet the protecting presence 
 of the accompanying court circle and servants. Wherever they 
 fixed their resting-place, and wherever they lighted a fire in the for- 
 
596 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 est, for the little prince's amusement, a numerous body of sen-ants 
 was always present, forming a ring" to keep off intruding strangers. 
 Paula's manner was calm and composed. Her ever)' movement 
 evinced power and grace. She neither thrust herself forward nor 
 shunned observation. The knowledge that she was in her own 
 home lent charming confidence to her deportment. 
 
 During the evening, Gunther's blind nephew, whose appointment 
 as pianist to the queen had been confirmed, played in a masterly 
 manner. 
 
 On the following morning he took his first leave of absence, in 
 order, as he said, with a smile, to look about the neighborhood and 
 visit old acquaintances. 
 
 The king prepared to go hunting. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 IT was in the morning. Gundel was telling her father how 
 strange cousin Irmgard was. She hardly ever spoke a word ; 
 she tasted scarcely anything but a little milk, fresh from the cow ; 
 and she' seemed so strange. She would lie for hours out on 
 the cliff, where she could get a glimpse of the distant lake. The 
 little pitchman was also puzzled by Irma's behavior. For some 
 time past she had done no work, and had given up going with him 
 vvhen he went out to gather herbs. 
 
 " I 'd like to ask the great doctor down there the one I fetch 
 the herbs for what I ought to do," said he, "but Walpurga says 
 I shan't. Besides that, I do n't see that there 's anything the 
 matter with our Irmgard. I thought of trying something, but I 
 don't know whether it would do any good with a human being. 
 Now if a beast gets sick, all you Ye got to do is to cut out the sod 
 that he 's lying on and turn it, and then the beast will get well 
 again. I wish I knew whether that would help a human being." 
 
 " Oh father ! " replied Gundel, " that 's awful. 1 'm afraid they '11 
 soon put the sod on our dear Irmgard. She 's so good ; and when 
 you speak to her, it seems as if she has to stop to think of what 
 you 're saying, and make up her mind what to answer." 
 
 Thus they talked together, and then separated to go about their 
 work for the day, while Irma lay on her blue rug, now looking out 
 at the wide world, now closing her eyes and thinking and dreaming 
 to herself. Her life was a voiceless calm, as if she were part of 
 the animate and inanimate world about her ; as if she always had 
 been and ever would remain here : a child of man, to whom no 
 flower, no living thing on earth, nor bird soaring in the air was un- 
 known. The mountains, the clouds, the bright day, the starry 
 night all were dear and familiar to her. 
 
 Irma, as was her wont, was lying on the mossy slope. She 
 gized into the distance and then her eyes sought the ground to 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 597 
 
 watch the busy life stirring among the blades of grass and the 
 mosses. Now and then, she would unconsciously raise the mould 
 with her finger and find pine-needles which had accumulated for 
 years and years, and, below them, the ddbris of plants that had been 
 decayed since the world began ; hers was the first human eye that 
 rested upon them. 
 
 The cows often approached, and grazed nearby without disturbing 
 her. She could hear their breathing, and yet did not move. Now and 
 then, the leading cow would stand before her and, with head lifted 
 on high, gaze at the distant landscape. Then it would go on feed- 
 ing, and, at times, would keep the fodder in its mouth as if it had, 
 while looking at the prostrate form, forgotten that it wanted to eat. 
 
 Awake or dreaming, a wonderful life opened up to Irma. The 
 more she rested, the greater was her yearning for rest. Indescrib- 
 able weariness seemed to have seized upon her. Work and thought 
 wearied her as they had never done in all the years she had passed 
 in the world. She often tried to arouse herself, but could not. 
 She found a peculiar pleasure in this feeling of heaviness, in this 
 resting on the ground. Hundreds of songs and entire musical 
 works passed through her mind. Myriad thoughts arose and 
 floated away with the light breath of air. Nothing could be seized 
 and retained. 
 
 It was hot noonday. The heat was intense. There was not a 
 breath of air, even up among the mountains, and the cows were 
 resting in the shade. Irma had walked out alone. The little 
 pitchman had gone to town to deliver some parcels of herbs. 
 Irma wandered on further and further, and at' last reached the 
 source of the brook. She was sitting by the broad basin into 
 which the water fell, and which reflected the dark shadows of the 
 overhanging trees. Irma bent forward and saw her image reflected 
 in the water. It was the first time, in many years, that she had 
 seen it and she now greeted it with a smile. Not a breath of air 
 was stirring ; not a sound was heard. 
 
 Irma looked about her, and then, hurriedly undressing herself, 
 plunged into the water. She swam about, dived and rose to the 
 surface again, and a feeling of unexpected delight came over her. 
 Only the sun that shone through the branches for a moment, be- 
 held that wondrous lovely form. 
 
 All was silent again. Irma had dressed herself and lay dreamily 
 at the edge of the woods, while sweet melodies passed through 
 her soul. 
 
 Suddenly, she heard her name called again and again, and in a 
 loud voice. She answered as loud as she could, and at last Gun- 
 del came up and said : 
 
 " Irmgard, come to the cottage right away. There 's a gentle- 
 man there with a servant, and he wants to speak to you." 
 
598 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Irma, who had partly raised herself, lay down again. She felt a 
 heart pang. What could it be ? Had her time come ? and must 
 she again return to the busy world ? 
 
 She arose to her feet and asked : 
 
 " Do n't you know who it is ? " 
 
 " No, but he says he spent the night with us some years ago. 
 He 's a tall, handsome young man ; but, poor man, he 's stone 
 blind." 
 
 "The blind man wandering? " thought Irma to herself, turning 
 towards the hut. 
 
 " God greet you ! " cried she, while still distant. 
 
 "Yes, that 's your voice," replied the blind man, stretching out 
 his arms and opening and closing his hands. " Come ! Come 
 nearer. Give me your hand ! " He quickly drew off his gloves 
 with his teeth, and his face wore a strange expression. Irma 
 drew near and took his delicate, white hand in hers. 
 
 " Your hand trembles ! " he exclaimed. " Does it frighten you 
 to see me blind ? " 
 
 Irma could not speak, and nodded as if the blind man could see 
 what she did. 
 
 The sun's rays fell directly upon the face of the unfortunate one, 
 and his sightless eyes stared into vacancy. 
 
 "You 've grown thinner than you were," said the blind man. 
 " May I pass my hand over your face ? " 
 
 "Yes," replied Irma, closing her eyes. 
 
 " You 're not as beautiful as you were two years ago. Your eye- 
 lids are hot and heavy. You must have been grieving. Can I 
 help you ? I 'm not rich, but I can still do something." 
 
 "Thank you. I 've learned to help myself." Being addressed 
 in High German, Irma had involuntarily replied in pure German, 
 without a trace of dialect. 
 
 The stranger started, turned his head to the right and left, and, 
 while doing so, stretched out his neck so far that it was almost un- 
 pleasant to look at him. 
 
 Taking him by the hand, Irma led him to the bench in front of 
 the cottage. She felt a tremor while holding this fine and delicate 
 hand in hers, but, gathering all her strength, she repressed it. She 
 sat down by the blind man, and asked him how he had happened 
 to come there. 
 
 "You remember," said he, "that when I was with you last. I 
 knew what my fate w r ould be. I wrestled with myself for a long 
 while and learned to know how to bear it. We know that W T C must 
 all die, and yet we can be cheerful ; and I knew that I must lose my 
 sight and became cheerful, too." 
 
 Irma heaved a deep sigh. 
 
 " Do you understand what I mean ? " asked the blind man. 
 
 "Yes, indeed, Go on, I like to hear your voice." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 599 
 
 ^^^ff ^ **fc .? &. J 
 
 " I knew it, and that 's why I have come to you. I was down 
 at the farm, but they were all out harvesting, and the child's maia 
 told me that you were up here, and so I came to you. I walked a 
 good part of this way before, when I was overtaken by the storm, 
 and I can now, in memory, renew the pleasure with which I once 
 beheld these mountains. What I then told you I intended to do, 
 has come to pass. I have all the beautiful landscapes within me. 
 I can see the sparkling sunlight, the brook leaping over the rocks, the 
 sparkling lake, and the trees standing s^de by side in the peace- 
 ful forest. I kept constantly telling my guide where we were. He 
 was quite beside himself to think that I knew it all so well. But 
 the best of it all is that I have beautiful human images in my 
 mind. My greatest desjre was to see you once more. I say ' to 
 see you/ I mean, to hear you speak, but I see you when you 
 speak." 
 
 Irma replied, telling him how well she understood and sym- 
 pathized with him ; and when she spoke to him of the difficulty of 
 walking, how the groping foot first seeks the ground before the 
 muscles are straightened to take a step, the blind man asked, with 
 surprise : 
 
 " And how do you know that ? " He again stretched out his 
 head and bent it back in the same unpleasant manner as before. 
 
 " I once knew a blind man who told me. It is terrible to think 
 that you 're obliged to depend upon a stranger. Blind Gloster im- 
 plores his guide not to forsake him." 
 
 " Maiden ! Who are you ? Was it you who spoke ? It was 
 your voice or is there some one with you ? How do you know 
 that ? " 
 
 " I read it once," said Irma, biting her lips till the blood almost 
 came. "I read it once," she repeated, forcing herself to use the 
 dialect again. 
 
 The blind man's head bent low and he held his hands between 
 his knees. A convulsive movement passed over his fine youthful 
 features, as if tears were ineffectually struggling to escape. He 
 leaned his head back against the wall, and at last said : 
 
 " So you can read, and so intelligently. Could you ? No, I '11 
 not ask you." 
 
 "Ask me what you will. I feel kindly towards you and have 
 often thought of you." 
 
 " Did you ? You, too ? " cried he hurriedly, while he moved his 
 head about in the same strange manner as before. " Maiden !" said 
 he, " give me your hand once more. Tell me, could you give me 
 this hand and let your eyes be mine ? " 
 
 "Good sir," said Irma, interrupting him, "I should like to feel 
 that your coming here and your going hence were for the best. 'I 
 think that I can and ought to tell you all. This is the second time 
 I 've seen you " 
 
6oo ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " I 've seen you but once, and yet I snail never forget your face, 
 said the blind man. 
 
 " Come with me. I '11 lead you, and when we 're alone I '11 tell 
 you all and prove how grateful I am for your kindness." 
 
 " There must be a spot somewhere hereabouts, from which a 
 glimpse of the lake beyond the mountains can be obtained," re- 
 plied the blind man. " Can you lead me there?" 
 
 "Certainly," said Irma, startled at this wonderful inner life. 
 She led him, across the meadow, to the mountain side. 
 
 "Sit down here," said she, "and I '11 sit beside you. What I 
 am about to tell you is for you alone. Remember, only for you !" 
 
 He raised his hand and exclaimed : " I swear ! " 
 
 " You need no oath," replied Irma. " Know then that I am one 
 \vho has vanished from the fashionable world. Ask not for my 
 name. Life in all its splendor was mine, and yet I walked in 
 darkness. I was a wretched worldling ! I had sunk so low that 
 I sought to destroy myself. If it were only possible, I would 
 gladly fly away with you just as the birds are flying through the 
 rosy, golden glow of evening, and vanish into infinite space. But 
 I 've learned to know that life is a duty, and that all we have and 
 are in this world depends upon our finding the world within our- 
 selves and ourselves in the world. You now bear the world within 
 you, where none can take it from you. We can call nothing ours, 
 unless we possess it in that way. And when death comes at last, 
 it takes nothing from us, but simply gives us back to the world " 
 
 "Maiden ! " suddenly exclaimed the blind man, "what are you 
 doing? Who are you? No mortal speaks thus! Must I be- 
 come superstitious ? Must I believe in angels ? Is there some 
 one with you ? Who can it be ? Who are you ? Give me your 
 hand ! " 
 
 "Be calm : 't is I," said Irma, offering him her hand, which he 
 kissed again and again. She withdrew it and, passing it ove. his 
 face, said : 
 
 " Be calm. I 've merely looked out into the world just as you 
 have already done, and while we sit here two children of the world 
 and yet forgotten by it we are happy, for we belong to eternity. 
 May you be happy, and may your soul, on wings of music, soar 
 far above all earthly cares ! Take my hand once more. Come, let 
 me lead you hence." 
 
 Without littering a word on the way, he suffered Irma to lead 
 him towards the cottage. 
 
 When they reached 't, he called for his guide and his servant, in 
 a tone of authority. 
 
 " Are you going already? " asked Irma. 
 
 Leaning on his servant's arm, he left the cottage without an- 
 swering her. 
 
 She again offered him her hand with the words : " The world in 
 us, and ourselves in the world ! " 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 601 
 
 His only reply was a nod, his features again twitched convulsively, 
 as if he were trying to repress his tears. 
 
 He had already proceeded as far as the edge of the woods, when 
 he turned around and called out : 
 
 " Come here, maiden. I Ve something to tell you." 
 
 She went up to him and he said : 
 
 "I 'ma nephew of Doctor Gunther, who wds formerly physician 
 to the king, and now lives but a short distance from here, in 
 yonder little town. I live with him and am pianist to the queen. 
 If you ever need help, send to me, or to my uncle. He '11 help 
 you, I am sure. But, depend upon it, I shall mention you to 
 no one." 
 
 Having said this, he hurriedly turned on his heel and, leaning on 
 his servant, descended the mountain. 
 
 Irma remained there, looking after him. 
 
 Was Gunther alive ? And in her very neighborhood ? 
 
 And now another being carried her half-disclosed life-secret 
 about with him. 
 
 The blind man entered the woods and soon disappeared from 
 view. Irma, with eyes bent on the ground, returned to her resting- 
 place, where she remained gazing into the dim distance until night 
 approached. 
 
 Over in the woods, she beheld a strange-looking, gray cloud with 
 white, glowing edges. It stood as firmly as if it were a wall. Sud- 
 denly, as if exhaled from the earth, a gust of wind arose, so violent 
 that the trees bent under its force. 
 
 She hurried towards the cottage, and found that the little pitch- 
 man had returned. 
 
 " I 'm afraid we '11 have a storm to-night," said he. " The moon 
 isn'.t up yet and doesn't rise till late, and that 's a sign of bad 
 weather." 
 
 He went out again, in order to drive in the cows. The boy had 
 gone after the goats, which had strayed off for some distance. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. ' 
 
 u TTOW the wind blows!" exclaimed Gundel, quite out of 
 11 breath. It had required all her strength to close the door. 
 "What a storm ! There never was such a gust before. Why, 
 the wind 's just as hot as if it were blown out of an oven." 
 
 She got up quickly and, filling a cup with water, emptied it on 
 tlu: fire that burned on the hearth. 
 
 " What are you doing ? " cried Irma. 
 
 "We must n't have a fire now," replied Gundel, and, after that, 
 they sat there in the dark room, almost stifled by the smoke, for 
 the storm raged so wildly that they dared not open a window. 
 
 " If father were only home," said Gundel ; " I hope, for God's 
 sake, he '11 get home safe ! " 
 26 
 
602 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Her last words were drowned by a sudden peal of thunder that 
 reverberated from the mountains, with a crash as if the whole 
 world were being destroyed. And now the wind raged and 
 stormed more violently than before. The firmly built hut seemed 
 to totter, the roof trembled, and one of the great boulders with 
 which it had been secured fell to the ground. 
 
 " Give me your hand ! " cried Gundel, in the dark. " If we must 
 die let's pray." She prayed aloud, but the crashing thunder 
 drowned her voice. Suddenly the noise changed, and it sounded 
 as if countless iron hammers were descending on the roof; the 
 rattling, pounding, and rumbling created a furious din. 
 
 "That 's hail ! " shrieked Gundel, putting her mouth to Irma's 
 ear. 
 
 The thunder and hail continued, and, ever and anon, the light- 
 ning would flash through the smoke and darkness, causing the 
 two girls to appear, in each other's eyes, as if transported to the 
 infernal regions. The hailstones seemed to impel each other for- 
 ward. Now they would descend with mighty force ; then the fury 
 of the storm would abate and they would fall more gently and 
 steadily than before, as if the raging mountain demon had stopped 
 to take breath, before again venting his ire on the mortals who had 
 ventured to build a cottage on his lofty domain. 
 
 The lowing of the cows and the ringing of their bells were heard 
 above the rattling hail. 
 
 " I opened the stable-door, but the wind must have blown it 
 shuf," exclaimed Gundel ; and, forgetting her own trouble, she 
 hurried out. She came back in a hurry and, placing an inverted 
 pail on her head, went out again. Irma followed her example, and 
 the two of them ducked their heads while the great hailstones 
 rattled against the pails. Gundel tried to open the stable-door, but 
 the cows crowded about her so that she was thrown to the ground. 
 In the midst of the noise, Irma heard Gundel's piercing cry. The 
 bellowing, trembling leader cow was standing near Irma. 
 
 "Come along! " said Irma, seizing the cow by one of its horns. 
 It obeyed her, and the other cows made way. Irma found Gundel, 
 and, having helped her up, the two opened the stable-door, but 
 were almost crushed to death, for the cows all tried to get in at 
 once. They each had but one hand free, as the other was needed 
 to hold the pail. They succeeded in getting to the wall and, at 
 last, when all the cows were in the stable, the two girls waded 
 through the hail with which the ground was thickly covered, and 
 regained the cottage. They groped about until they found the 
 hearth and sat down by it. And the two lonely, forlorn children 
 sat there in the dark, while the storm raged without. 
 
 "I feel sure," cried Gundel, "that father must have found shel- 
 ter somewhere. He knows even" overhanging rock and O God ! 
 she suddenly cried, "just think of the poor blind man, out in such 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 603 
 
 weather ! Has the hail cut your hand and back, the way it did 
 mine? " said she, crying, and nestling close to Irma. 
 
 "No, I feel nothing," replied Irma, and it really seemed as if 
 physical pain could not affect her. She, too, had thought of the 
 blind man, and also of the king whom filial ingratitude had turned 
 out into the stormy night. But hail or wind were not half so vio- 
 lent as her regret that, yielding to pity, she had allowed a man to 
 pass his hand across her face. 
 
 Is all lost again ? Is all that has cost so great a struggle, sacri- 
 ficed ? wofully asked an inner voice and yet she felt conscious of 
 her purity. 
 
 " Thank God ! it 's only raining now," said Gundel, at last. She 
 struck a light, and the two looked at each other, as if they had just 
 emerged from depths of darkness. The floor was wet with the 
 water that had dripped from their clothes. 
 
 "Are you at home ?" exclaimed a voice from without. The 
 door opened and the little pitchman entered, carrying a young kid 
 in his arms. 
 
 " Thank God ! you 're safe and sound," he exclaimed, laying 
 the kid down by the empty fireplace. With his sleeve, which 
 was far wetter than either, he wiped the water from his eyes and 
 forehead. Then he took a bottle of gentian brandy from the up- 
 per shelf and, after taking a drink, and forcing Gundel and Irma to 
 do likewise, he went on to say : " I Ve gone through a good deal 
 in my time, but never anything like this. I know every tree and 
 every rock for miles, but I seemed to have lost my way. While I 
 stood there in the midst of the storm, I heard a chamois doe bleat- 
 ing pitifully, and I went up to her and there she stood, with the 
 young kid that had just been born. It had hardly come into the 
 world, before the hail tried to beat it to death. When the mother 
 saw me, she ran away, but came back again and placed herself over 
 the young kid, so that the hail should n't strike it, but her instead. 
 I went near her, but the mother ran away again. I picked up the 
 young one and, just as we were going on to look for shelter, I 
 heard human voices. Two people were calling to a third one, who 
 was roaring and screaming. When the lightning flashed, I saw 
 that he was lying on the ground, unable to move. 
 
 "'Honored master, just lean on us; we '11 soon find shelter,' I 
 heard them saying, and when the lightning flashed again, I saw that 
 we were near the Witches' Table. So I called out to them: ' The 
 Witches' Table is over yonder.' Then there was another flash, 
 and I saw that the two men who had been standing had also fallen 
 down. They told me, afterward, that they had been afraid of me, 
 and I couldn't think hard of them. In such a storm, and on such 
 a night, one would almost believe in anything. I went up to them, 
 told them who I was. and offered to lead them. It was hard work, 
 though, to get along, for the blind man went on as if crazed, and 
 
6o4 a\* THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 kept talking about a lost child. At last, safe and sound, but drip- 
 ping with water, we got under the Witches' Table, and there we 
 lay. And whenever it lightened we could see the hailstones danc- 
 ing on the rocks and beating against the trees. We waited until 
 it stopped hailing, and the blind man told me that the next time I 
 came down to the apothecary's, in the town, he would give me a 
 gold piece. The king 's there and so is the queen. He promised 
 to see to it that I should get the medal for saving a life, and a pen- 
 sion, in the bargain, for the rest of my days. And now, children, 
 get to bed, for you 're soaking wet. What ails you, Irmgard? 
 Why do you shiver so ? " 
 
 The little pitchman scolded Gundel for having let cousin Irmgard 
 sit about in her wet clothes. Now and then the little kid would 
 cry piteously and shiver all over, so that the little pitchman brought 
 down his bed cover from the hay-loft and wrapped the kid in it. 
 Then, with three fingers, he cleverly fed it with milk from a dish. 
 
 The little kid was soon asleep, and, in the room within, Irma was 
 sleeping too. 
 
 " Thank God, you 've had a good sleep," said Gundel, who was 
 standing at Irma's bedside, late on the following morning. " How 
 strange it seems! The hail didn't hurt you a bit; and just see 
 how I look." She showed the marks, but quickly added : " That 's 
 no matter; it'll soon be over. Just look at the sky! Don't it 
 look as if it never could do any harm. Over by the stream, the 
 lightning struck a tree and split it in two, and places where it used 
 to be dry are covered with water. If I did n't feel it in every bone 
 of my body, and could n't see it, I 'd hardly believe there had ever 
 been a storm. But we were lucky, after all. None of the cattle 
 were hurt, and the cowboy is here, too. He crept away, down the 
 valley, where there was no storm at all." 
 
 It was a clear, bracing morning. Here and there, there were 
 still some large hailstones lying in the crevices of the rocks. The 
 cows were grazing on the meadow, and the cowboy was singing 
 merrily. He was proud that the goats were the best judges of the 
 weather ; while grazing, they had moved down towards the valley, 
 and that was the surest sign that a storm was brewing. 
 
 At noon, Franz came up from the farm. The torrents of water 
 that had rushed down into the valley, had led them to suppose that 
 something had happened, and Walpurga had sent Franz to find out 
 all about it. The hot, midday sun soon dried up even-thing, and 
 the waters did not long remain on the heights. Irma went out to her 
 favorite resting-place and, spreading her blue rug on the ground, 
 lay down. 
 
 Suddenly, she heard the sounds of a bugle horn. What was it ? 
 Was it royalty, or a dream ? 
 
 The sounds were repeated. Irma's heart beat violently. Some- 
 thing drew near. She could hear it panting, as it forced its way 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS 605 
 
 through the crackling brush. She looked up and saw a stag rush- 
 ing through the clearing near by, and the huntsmen pursuing and 
 gaining upon it. Irma passed her hand over her eyes she looked 
 once more It was the king and his suite. 
 
 Springing from his horse, the chief piqueur exclaimed: "The 
 stag broke through here, Your Majesty. Here is the trail." He 
 dipped his finger in the blood and showed it to the king. The 
 king looked around Did he feel the glance directed upon him 
 from the thicket ? The glance that had once made him so happy, 
 but that had, for him, been so long extinguished ? He missed his 
 stirrup ; the horse reared wildly. Irma bent down, with her face 
 against the mossy turf. She felt as if the whole hunt, as if all the 
 horses' hoofs, were passing over her. She bit the grass on which 
 she lay. She dug her hands into the earth. She feared to shriek 
 aloud. 
 
 When she got up, all was quiet. She stared about her. Had it 
 been a dream ? In the distance, she heard the report of a gun 
 and the sound of the bugle. ' The stag had fallen. 
 
 If one could die in that way, thought Irma to herself, sinking 
 back on the moss, and weeping. 
 
 She arose. A storm-laden cloud had once more arisen within 
 her soul, but it was for the last time. About her, all was clear 
 and sunny. Hail and storm and lightning were forgotten. She 
 went back to the hut, and often turned to look at the sun sinking 
 in the west. And now, for the first time, she repaired to rest be- 
 fore nightfall. She was shivering with a fever-chill, and soon her 
 cheeks were hot and red. She called the little 'pitchman to her 
 bedside and asked him to give her a sheet of paper. Her hand 
 trembled, while she wrote in pencil : 
 
 "Eberhard's daughter sends for Gunther." 
 
 She told the little pitchman to hurry to town, to give this paper 
 to the great doctor in person, and to conduct him to her at once. 
 Then she turned away and was calm again. 
 
 " I '11 give you something good," said the little pitchman, while, 
 with broad-brimmed hat on his head, and mountain-staff in his 
 hand, he stood before her. " You '11 see, it '11 do you good. I '11 
 lay the kid down here at your feet ; that '11 do both o' you good. 
 Shall I ?" 
 
 Irma nodded assent. 
 
 The little pitchman did as he said he would. The kid looked 
 up sleepily at Irma, and she smiled on it in return. Both soon 
 closed their eyes. 
 
 Wandering in the dark, the little pitchman descended into the 
 Valley. 
 
606 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 DOWN in the valley, it had been raining all clay long. What 
 had been hail and thunder up among the mountains, had 
 tumid to rain, and occasional gleams of blue sky served to show 
 that there was fair weather above. 
 
 Towards evening, the storm cleared away. The queen, accom- 
 panied by the ladies of her court, among whom Madame Gunther 
 and Paula were now included, was sitting in the large music-room, 
 the doors of which were open. Paula had been singing to the 
 queen, for the first time, and, on account of her embarrassment, 
 Madame Gunther begged that she might not be asked to sing again 
 that day. 
 
 The relation between the queen and Madame Gunther was a 
 peculiar one. The queen was charmed with her sincerity and 
 thoroughness, but she found it difficult to accustom herself to the 
 presence of one who was so independent of her. She was, at one 
 time, tempted to regard this as pettiness, for, on the very day that 
 Madame Gunther had accepted the breastpin, she had said to the 
 queen : " Your Majesty, it will never do, unless you accept a present 
 from me in return," saying which, she gave the queen a hand- 
 somely-bound book, which a brother of hers, a physician residing 
 in America, had written, on the subject of slavery. The queen 
 accepted it with thanks, and Madame Gunther felt quite relieved, 
 although it frequently cost her an effort to translate, as it were, all 
 that she wished to say, in order to clothe it in the proper court 
 costume, for she took a pride in rejecting prescribed forms. 
 
 The queen enquired why they saw so little of the elder daugh- 
 ter, the professor's widow. Madame Gunther replied that, as 
 Bronnen and their nephew were visiting them, and as there was 
 much to look after in the house, Cornelia had gladly assumed 
 these duties. It always seemed like a new truth to the queen, or 
 like tidings from some strange world, to find that the daily wants 
 of life required special attention and did not provide for them- 
 selves. 
 
 The weather exerted a depressing influence on the spirits of all. 
 Here in the country, and especially in this little dairy-farm, where 
 they missed many comforts, and where, on account of the small 
 amount of room, they were prevented from scattering and seeking 
 various diversions, the effects of the weather were all the more no- 
 ticeable and unpleasant. 
 
 Their delight in anticipation of the morrow was all the greater, 
 as it promised to be a bright day. 
 
 It was agreed that they should all meet, at dinner, near the sec- 
 ond waterfall, and that the king would join them there. 
 
 The king was in his cabinet, engaged with Bronnen. The new 
 wdegraph was carrying many messages to and fro. Gunther, the 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 607 
 
 intendant, Sixtus and several other gentlemen were smoking theii 
 cigars and walking under the drooping trees of the avenue, whicr 
 the evening sun was now lighting up with a thousand brilliant hues : 
 
 The ladies in the music-room maintained that the Alpine glow 
 (Alpengliihen) could be seen that day. They naturally expected 
 to see it daily, although it is an exceedingly rare phenomenon. 
 
 The night had come on, and the king was sitting at the card- 
 table, with Gunther and two of the gentlemen-in-waiting. 
 
 A servant came in and informed Gunther that there was a man 
 outside who wished to speak with him at once. Gunther gave his 
 cards to the ever-obliging intendant, and went out where, leaning 
 on his great Alpine staff, his broad-brimmed, crumpled hat in his 
 hand, and his rug thrown over him, stood the little pitchman. He 
 kept his left hand in his pocket, and when Gunther came up to 
 him, he said : 
 
 " Here 's a paper for you." 
 
 Gunther read the note, and then rubbed his eyes and passed 
 his hand across his face, as if to awaken himself. 
 
 " Who sent you ? " he asked. 
 
 " I guess that '11 tell you Our Irmgard." 
 
 Gunther started at the mention of the name, here before the 
 very door, when within sat the king and the queen 
 
 He went up to the lamp in the corridor, and read the note again, 
 There it stood : 
 
 " Eberhard's daughter sends for Gunther." 
 
 This man, who had a right to boast that he was always calm 
 and composed, was obliged to support himself by the balusters, 
 and it was some time before he could utter a word. When he 
 looked up, his glance met that of the little pitchman. 
 
 " Who are you ? " he asked, at last. 
 
 " I 'm from the freehold farm. Walpurga 's my niece " 
 
 " Very well ; go outside and wait for me. I '11 be there di- 
 rectly." 
 
 The little pitchman went out, and Gunther summoned all his 
 self-command, in order to return to the card-room to excuse him- 
 self, and say that he had been summoned to the bedside of one 
 who was dangerously ill. He scarcely knew how he could, with- 
 out betraying his emotion, mention this to those who were so di- 
 rectly concerned, but he hoped to do so, nevertheless. 
 
 At that moment, he fortunately met Paula and Bronnen, who 
 had been walking in the garden and were just about to enter the 
 house. 
 
 " The very thing ! " exclaimed Gunther, addressing them. 
 
 " Paula, send me my hat ; and you, dear Bronnen, present my ex- 
 
 . cuses to their majesties, and tell them I am required instantly, by 
 
 one who is dangerously ill. Pray do this without exciting atten- 
 
608 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 tion ; and, Paula, don't mention it to your mother until you 're on 
 the way home. I shall be gone all night." 
 
 "Can't Dr. Sixtus go? " asked Bronnen. 
 
 " Xo. Pray ask me no more. I shall be home early to-morro\v 
 morning ; but if I don't come, I will meet you by the waterfall, at 
 dinner-time." 
 
 Bronnen and Paula w r ent into the house, and, a few moments la- 
 ter, a lackey brought Gunther his hat. 
 
 Gunther hurried off with the little pitchman. Only once did he 
 turn back to look at the brilliantly-lighted windows, and to think 
 of those who were sitting within, void of care and foreboding 
 naught. How startled they would be if they had heard the tidings 
 that affected him so powerfully. On the way to his house, he had 
 but little to say to the little pitchman. He did not care to ques- 
 tion him more closely, for he feared lest some answer might be 
 overheard, and thus prematurely betray the secret. He was 
 still, in his own mind, endeavoring to devise some plan by which 
 all could be arranged and adjusted. 
 
 It was not until they drew near the house, that Gunther asked : 
 
 " What ails the patient ? What does she complain of? " 
 
 " She do n't complain of anything. She 's got a hot fever, and 
 she has been coughing for a long time." 
 
 " Has she her perfect senses? " 
 
 " Just the same as ever ; but Gundel, my daughter, says she 
 sometimes calls out in her sleep : ' Victory ! ' ' 
 
 "Just wait here," said Gunther, when they reached the house. 
 " I '11 send you something to eat and drink ; but tell no one who 
 sent you here.'-' 
 
 Cornelia was sitting near the lamp and reading to her blind 
 cousin. He had only told her of the terrors of the hailstorm ; his 
 heart-sufferings he had kept to himself. He had been sleeping 
 nearly all day, and now felt refreshed. Cornelia was alarmed 
 when she saw her father, but he soon quieted her. His medicine- 
 chest and some well-sealed packages of refreshing and strength- 
 ening food, were soon in readiness, and were packed upon the 
 mule. Gunther rode off, the little pitchman walking by his side. 
 The face of the latter was scarcely visible, for his broad-brimmed 
 hat had not yet recovered from the effects of yesterday's storm. 
 It was not until they had left the to\vn behind them, that Gunther 
 asked : 
 
 " How far have we to go ? " 
 
 " It takes three hours on foot, but on horseback it 's a full hour 
 more." 
 
 When they entered the forest, Gunther halted and said : 
 
 " Come near. So you are Walpurga's uncle ? " 
 
 " To be sure. I 'm her mother's own and only brother, for the 
 two others died young." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 609 
 
 "What do you call the sick girl? " 
 
 " Irmgard ; that's her name." 
 
 " And how long has she been with you ? " 
 
 " Ever since Hansei bought the farm. She came with us then 
 from the lake. She was sick, and they say she 's a little bit out of 
 her mind ; but I do n't believe a word of it. She 's got her right 
 senses ; rather too much than too little." 
 
 " And do n't you know her family name ? " asked Gunther. 
 
 " I never asked," and the little pitchman, with great volubility, 
 went on to tell all he knew of Irmgard's life and how, for years, 
 she had worn a bandage on her forehead, and had never taken it 
 off until she had gone up to the mountain meadow. He described 
 her life so touchingly that Gunther stopped and, taking the old 
 man by the hand, said : 
 
 " You 're a good man." 
 
 Uncle Peter did not dispute this, but maintained that, in all the 
 world, there was no one so good as Irmgard. 
 
 Rapid rivulets crossed their path in many places, and the little 
 pitchman told Gunther of the storm of the previous night ; how 
 terrible it is when, all of a sudden, the air seems filled with stones 
 that pound away at one, and how he had helped the blind man, 
 and also what had been promised him. He would often take hold 
 of the mule's bridle and guide it down some steep descent, through 
 a brook and then up the hill again. 
 
 " You must have gone through a good deal yourself, Doctor," 
 said the little pitchman. He would have liked his companion to 
 entertain him by the way. He thought that one sitting on the 
 mule could talk far more comfortably than he who Was walking by 
 his side. He could feel it in his chest that to talk while going up 
 hill, was no easy matter. As if divining this, Gunther alighted 
 when they reached a level place, and made the little pitchman 
 mount. After much persuasion, Uncle Peter at last consented 
 and got up ; but as soon as they began to ascend again, he dis- 
 mounted, and insisted on Gunther's riding. 
 
 " If our Irmgard wants to leave us now," said the little pitch- 
 man, " I 'd willingly give her up to you, Doctor. She can play 
 the zither splendidly, and when she 's well again, you can teach 
 her anything. Everything comes easy to her. But I hope she '11 
 stay with us. She 's shy and does n'< like to go among people." 
 
 It seemed as if he had divined Gunther's very thoughts, for the 
 Doctor had been asking himself how he could take Irma to his 
 house, and yet keep the court ignorant of her existence. In his 
 mind's eye, he already saw her sitting beside his wife and Cornelia, 
 and he felt that he had gained a daughter who would fill Paula's 
 place. 
 
 It was dark in the forest and the stars were gleaming overhead. 
 
 " It 's past midnight," said the little pitchman, when they reached 
 26* 
 
6io ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 the crest of a projecting hill. "The moon's coming up over 
 there." 
 
 Gunther looked back and saw the half-moon rising and looking 
 like a ruin suspended in the vast firmament. 
 
 "There 's some of our cows already," said the little pitchman, 
 and his voice grew brighter. "That 's Blackbird, with the ding- 
 dong bell. She always strays furthest of all; but we '11 be home 
 in less than half an hour, at any rate." 
 
 They went on in silence, and at last reached the hut. A ray oi 
 light shone through the opening in the closed window-shutter. 
 
 Gunther entered. 
 
 " I '11 go in first and tell her the gentleman 's here," said the 
 little pitchman, softly. 
 
 Gunther assented. 
 
 He soon came out again and said : 
 
 "She 's asleep, but her cheeks are as red as fire, and Gundel 
 says that she often called out, in her sleep : ' Father ! ' and some- 
 times, 'Victory.' She must be having pleasant dreams." 
 
 Gunther entered the cottage. 
 
 At the sight of Irma he seemed as if paralyzed. 
 
 " What 's that ? " he asked the little pitchman, when the kid at 
 Irma's feet raised its head and stared at him. 
 
 " It 's a little chamois kid that I found yesterday. She 's very 
 fond of it," answered the little pitchman in a whisper. 
 
 Gunther requested the little pitchman and Gundel to leave the 
 room and then sat down silently at Irma's bedside. He felt her 
 pulse and touched her forehead, and the little pitchman, who had 
 lingered in the room, asked : " How is she ? " 
 
 Gunther shrugged his shoulders and beckoned him to go out. 
 
 The little pitchman hurried up to the hay-loft, awakened Franz, 
 and ordered him to hurry down to his master and mistress and tell 
 them to come up directly, for Irmgard was very sick. 
 
 He lay down on the hay, feeling as if every bone in his body 
 were broken. He had never before been so tired, but he could 
 neither rest nor sleep, and was soon standing in front of the cot- 
 tage, listening at the window. 
 
 Meanwhile, Gunther remained with the patient. She moved 
 now and then, but did not open her eyes. The kid, at her feet 
 was also sleeping again. 
 
 Gunther had removed the fight from the room, and now sat in 
 the dark. 
 
 " The day is coming, let me see the daylight ! " cried Irma, sud- 
 denly starting up. 
 
 A gray streak of light fell through the opening in the shutter. 
 
 "Let me see the daylight," said Irma again, and the little pitch- 
 man outside opened the shutters. A flood of light poured into the 
 chamber. A radiant glow passed over Irma's countenance. She 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 611 
 
 stretched out both hands to Gunther. He clasped them, and 
 she kissed his hands with her feverish lips. 
 
 "You have achieved great results," said Gunther. "You have 
 shown a power that I cannot but admire. Hold fast to it." 
 
 " I thank you ! Through you, my father returns to me. Lay 
 your hand upon my forehead." 
 
 " I place my hand upon your forehead and, in your father's spirit 
 I bless you, and with this kiss I kiss away all your burdens. You 
 are free ! " 
 
 Irma lay there quietly, and Gunther's hand lay on her brow, 
 while, out of doors, the rosy tint of morn ascended higher and 
 higher, and at last the light flooded the room with its golden glow. 
 
 Gunther went out and brought a tonic draught for Irma. It re- 
 vived and refreshed her. 
 
 " I know that I am about to die," she said in a clear voice, "and 
 I am happy that I have lived in consciousness and can die in con- 
 sciousness." 
 
 She gave her journal to Gunther and told him that the wish she 
 had there expressed, in relation to her place of burial, need not 
 be regarded ; that the uncle knew which had been her favorite spot, 
 and that she wished to be buried there, with nothing to mark her 
 grave. 
 
 Gunther had, before this, said that he had held many a dying 
 hand in his he had never sat by a deathbed like Irma's. 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ' ' T KNEW it ! I felt it must come ! " cried Walpurga when Franz 
 1 brought the news of Irma's illness. " I knew she 'd never 
 
 come back ! " she repeated again and again, weeping, wringing 
 
 her hands, and praying by turns. 
 
 "That won't help any," said Hansei, laying his hand on her 
 
 shoulder. " Get up ; you 're not like this at other times. Come, 
 
 may be it is n't so bad after all ; and even if it should be, this is nc 
 
 time to cry and weep ; we must do all that can be done." 
 
 " What'can I do ? What shall I do?" said Walpurga, turning 
 
 her tearful face to Hansei. 
 He helped her up and said : 
 " Franz says there 's a doctor up there, who has a medicine chest 
 
 with him. And now let 's eat something and then go up to her." 
 " Oh dear Lord, I can't walk three steps ; I feel as if my limbs 
 
 .vere broken." 
 
 " Then you 'd better stay here and I '11 go up." 
 " Would you leave me here alone ? What am I to do then ? " 
 " I do n't know what. Go to bed ; perhaps you can sleep." 
 " I do n't want to go to bed ; I do n't want to sleep ; I do n't 
 
 want anything. I '11 go along, too, and, if I die on the way, I can't 
 
 help it." 
 
612 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Do n't talk so ! you wrong me and the children when you do," 
 Hansei \vas about to say, but he made a rapid movement, as if to 
 repress the words. "There's no need of saying that," thought 
 he; "when womerr, filled with pity for themselves, begin to com- 
 plain of their lot, they do n't know what they say." 
 
 Hansei brought his wife her best clothes, for she was so agitated 
 that she scarcely knew where they were, or how to put them on. 
 Hansei proved quite a clever valet. 
 
 " Now you must put your shoes on yourself," said he, at last. 
 
 Walpurga could not help smiling through her tears. It was not 
 until then that she perceived how kindly and faithfully he had 
 helped her, and, with a bright voice, she said : " Yes, so I can , 
 you 've helped me, and now I feel that I can walk." 
 
 Hansei had the meal brought in and, after placing his mountain 
 staff, his hunting bag and his hat in readiness, he sat down to eat. 
 Walpurga was also obliged to sit down, although she ate but little. 
 One of Hansei's great virtues was that he could eat heartily at any 
 time. He did full justice to the meal, and his manner seemed to 
 say that when one has satisfied his hunger, he is better prepared 
 for any undertaking. 
 
 Before leaving, he cut off a large piece of bread and put it in his 
 pocket. 
 
 The children were consigned to the care of the upper servant, 
 and one of the laboring women was also charged to remain in the 
 house. Hansei and his wife started for the meadow. 
 
 They had already gone some distance, when Burgei came run- 
 ning after, them, crying : " I want to go along ; I want to go to 
 Cousin Irmgard." 
 
 There was no help for it. They were obliged to take the child 
 with them, for they were afraid to let her go back alone and neither 
 of them cared to take her back. 
 
 " You 're a naughty child, a very naughty child ! And now I 've 
 got to carry you, a big girl like you," said Walpurga, taking the 
 child in her arms. Hansei nodded, with a pleased air. It was 
 well the child was with them, for then his wife, who was apt to go 
 off into extremes, would not become so violent if the worst should 
 happen. 
 
 Walpurga, who had at first thought that she could not walk 
 alone, now carried the child and stepped out bravely. 
 
 " Let Burgei walk for awhile, and when she gets tired again, I '11 
 carry her," said Hansei. 
 
 As long as the path was wide enough, the child walked between 
 its parents, and when it grew narrower, they let her run on ahead. 
 When they found that they could get on but slowly, on account of 
 the child, Hansei took her up in his arms, where she soon fell 
 asleep. 
 
 Walpuiga then softly whispered to Hansei : 
 
 "I must tell you now who our Irmgard is." 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 613 
 
 " And I tell you I do n't want to know. She must tell me her- 
 self, it she lives ; and if she 's dead, you can tell me then, just as 
 well." 
 
 " Dead ! " cried Walpurga, " Do you know more than I do 3 
 Did Franz tell you anything in secret ? " 
 
 " Franz told me nothing but what you 've heard." 
 
 " But why do you talk about death in that way ? " 
 
 " Because one who 's very sick can easily die. But do be calm." 
 
 " Yes, yes ; I hardly know that we are in the woods and I feel as 
 if I could n't see a thing. Stop a moment ! There 's a doctor up 
 there. He knows her, and others who know her will come, too. 
 The man who came to see us the other day is her brother, and now 
 they '11 go and take our Irmgard away with them." 
 
 "If she 's in her right mind, and wants to go of her own free 
 will, we can't say anything against it," said Hansei, " but this I do 
 say, and no one will move me from it. As long as she 's so sick 
 that she can't say what she wants, I won't let them do a thing to 
 her. I 'm Hansei, and I 'm her protector ; nothing shall happen to 
 her All I ask of you, is to stand by me and not interfere. You 
 know when I say a thing, I mean it." 
 
 " Yes, yes, you 're right ! " said Walpurga. Hansei's resolute 
 words seemed to infuse her with new strength, for she went up 
 the steep mountain path without the slightest difficulty. It almost 
 seemed as if Hansei had been carrying her as well as the child. 
 Moved by this thought, she suddenly said : 
 
 " Do you remember when you once wanted to carry me, at home 
 by the lake ? Oh, dear me, it seems as if we must have been very 
 different beings then, for we knew nothing at all of the world." 
 
 " We 're none the worse off, for knowing and having some of 
 it ! " replied Hansei, in a loud voice, and awakening the child. 
 "There, now ; run along again," said he to Burgei. 
 
 They rested for a little while. Hansei remembered the piece of 
 bread that he had put in his pocket and, cutting off a bit of it, he 
 said, while pointing towards the valley with his knife : " Our brook 
 runs down through there, and it 's only an hour's distance from 
 here to the little town where Stasi lives." 
 
 " Only an hour from here ? " exclaimed Walpurga. " Then I '11 
 wak over there. She 's the best, the only help. You go on with 
 the child, straight up to the hut. I '11 soon follow you by way of 
 the town, and I '11 bring something good with me." 
 
 " Wife ! Have you gone mad ? Do n't make me crazy, too. 
 Do you want to run off, when you 're so near the dying one ? " 
 
 " Then I must tell you. The queen is down there and she alone 
 ?.an help her. God be with you, Hansei, and with you too, Burgei. 
 1 'ii soon follow after you." 
 
 Away she ran, through the forest, along the stream, and towards 
 the town. 
 
6u ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " Where 's mother? Mother! mother ! " cried the child. 
 
 "Be quiet!" said Hansei, "Mother has another child down 
 there, and he 's a prince and will send you golden clothes." 
 
 " Is it an enchanted prince that mother is going to free fron 
 a spell? " asked the child. 
 
 "Yes, he 's enchanted," said Hansei, endeavoring to quiet her. 
 
 " But what was he changed into ? " asked the child. 
 
 " Into a cuckoo ; but not another word now ; be quiet." 
 
 Filled with strange thoughts, the father and child went up the 
 mountain. Hansei could not understand how, at such a moment, 
 his wife could leave her friend and go to the queen . Perhaps 
 they were bound together in some way? He shook his head. 
 Matters that he could not disentangle, he always put away from 
 him. The only thing was to see what could be done for the sick 
 one; that was the most important matter. He squared his 
 shoulders and was ready, if the physician thought well of it, 
 to carry Irmgard in his arms, all the way down to the farm. 
 
 The child ran along, looking about it with wondering eyes. 
 " He 's calling ! he 's calling ! " whispered she. " My mother will 
 free you." 
 
 A cuckoo was really crying in the wood through which the noon- 
 day sun was gleaming. His cry was sometimes near and then 
 more distant, and at last, uttering his peculiar note, he flew over the 
 travelers' heads. 
 
 Hansei, with the child, at last reached the shepherd's hut, where 
 the uncle and Gundel, with sorrowful countenances, came forward 
 to meet him. 
 
 " She 's still alive, but she can't last long," said the uncle, wiping 
 away his tears with his sleeve. " The doctor won't let any of us 
 go in to her. But where 's Walpurga?" 
 
 "She '11 soon be here," replied Hansei. It was all he could do 
 to keep off the cows, who knew their master and came up to him, 
 as was their wont, in order to get a handful of salt. But he had 
 forgotten to bring it with him, and all the salt they had up here 
 was in the room that no one was permitted to enter. 
 
 Hansei ordered the cowboy to drive the cows off for some dis- 
 tance, so that the sick one might not hear the sound of the bells. 
 That was all he could do for Irma. He sat down sadly on the 
 bench before the hut, and, taking up a piece of carved wood 
 which lay on the ground, he looked at it as carefully as if it were 
 marble, and turned it again and again. He sat there for a long 
 time. Then he put Burgei in Gundel's charge, and, hoping to 
 meet his wife, went out along the road that led towards the little 
 town. But it was long before she came. He went further into 
 the forest, and was vexed, as he always was whenever he came up 
 here, to ihink of yonder fine trees that were his own property, but 
 which could not be felled, because no one could get up to the rocks 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 615 
 
 on which they were. A chattering magpie, sitting on the high 
 oranches of a beautiful pine, seemed to be making sport of him. 
 After he had again and again passed his hand over his face, Hansel 
 became conscious of the thoughts that had engaged him in the 
 midst of all this trouble. There was nothing wrong in it he was 
 sure of that ; but this was not the time to think of such things, 
 and, as if the trouble were now dawning on him for the first time, 
 he was overwhelmed with grief. 
 
 He turned back and went towards the hut. The Doctor was 
 j \iSt coming out. 
 
 "You are the freehold farmer, I suppose?" 
 
 " Yes ; and you 're the doctor ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " How is she ? " 
 
 " I don't think she will die before evening." 
 
 Hansei's eyes filled with tears. 
 
 The uncle asked Gunther to allow him to fetch out the little kid. 
 He granted his request. Stepping softly, he brought it out, gave 
 it something to drink and, carrying it back again, placed it at the 
 sick girl's feet. 
 
 " She opened her eyes and nodded to me, but she did n't say a 
 word ; and then she closed her eyes again," said the uncle. 
 
 Hansei begged that he might be permitted to see Irmgard once 
 more. He was allowed to look through the crevice in the shutter. 
 When Gunther again returned to the sick room, Hansei, weep- 
 ing as if his heart would break, walked out along the road that led 
 towards the town. 
 
 " Uncle 's right: she 's become like an angel," said he to him- 
 self. 
 
 The calf that was born on the first day that they had come up 
 to the shepherd's hut, seemed conscious of its special claims on 
 Hansei. In spite of all he could do, it kept running after him for 
 salt. Hansei succeeded in satisfying it, by giving it the last morsel 
 of bread that he had about him. 
 
 When he reached the woods, he was obliged to sit down ; and 
 there he wept and would, now and then, look about him as if be- 
 wildered. How could it be possible that the sun was still shining, 
 the cuckoo ciying, and the hawk screaming, while she who was 
 up there was breathing her last 
 
 What could Walpurga want of the queen ? " Her place is up 
 there," thought he to himself, agair and again. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIK 
 
 "HOLLOWING the course of the brook, Walpurga had hurried 
 1 down the mountain-side. She soon saw the little town and 
 the farm house, on the roof of which a bright flag was fluttering. 
 
616 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Walpurga sat down on a rock by the stream, to recover her 
 breath and rest for a few moments. A cuckoo flew over her head 
 and up the mountain. 
 
 "That 's a bad beginning," said she to herself. 
 
 She walked on towards the dairy-farm. Looking through the 
 iron railing, she saw a boy playing about the garden. His hair fell 
 over his shoulders, in long, fair curls. He wore a light dress and a 
 hat with a feather. She felt as if her heart must burst and, with, 
 convulsive grip, she held fast to one of the iron rails of the fence, 
 in order to support herself. Then she walked on towards the gar- 
 den-gate. 
 
 "Frau von Gerloff the prince my child! my child!" she 
 cried, while she rushed towards the prince and, kneeling down in 
 the grass, kissed and embraced him. 
 
 The boy screamed. 
 
 "Oh, that 's his voice ! " cried Walpurga. 
 
 Startled for a moment, Frau von Gerloff stood there as if.rooted 
 to the spot. Then she approached and ordered Walpurga away. 
 The servants also advanced and ordered her to go. The prince 
 nestled against Frau von Gerloff, as if to hide himself. 
 
 Walpurga was still kneeling in the grass, and could not rise. 
 
 " He do n't know me any more, and I 'm his nurse ! " she cried, 
 looking around confusedly at those about her. Her voice seemed 
 to exert an influence on the child. It turned its face toward her. 
 It was flushed with red and a tear still hung on his eyelashes, al- 
 though his face was wreathed in smiles. 
 
 " God greet you ! " said he. He had been taught this expression, 
 on account of their sojourn in the country. 
 
 "He can say 'God greet you' Oh, he can speak ! Dear me, 
 he can speak! Now just say, 'Walpurga,' child. Can you say, 
 ' Walpurga ? ' ' 
 
 " Walpurga," repeated the child. 
 
 The queen approached, attended by Countess Brinkenstein and 
 Paula. Walpurga was about to hasten towards her, but the queen 
 motioned her away, and ordered Frau von Gerloff to remove the 
 prince. The prince was led out of the garden but he looked back 
 at Walpurga, who nodded to him and quite forgot that she was in 
 the presence of the queen, until the latter said : 
 
 " You have thrust yourself in here. You must certainly be 
 aware that we did not desire to see you, and you know why." 
 
 " I do n't want to defend myself now. I Ve come for something 
 else," urged poor Walpurga. 
 
 " What is it ? " asked the queen. 
 
 Breathing heavily, and with frequent pauses, Walpurga hurriedly 
 said: 
 
 "Your Majesty, one may be looked upon as wicked, or may not 
 De looked upon at all, and yet be honest. You and I are both of 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 617 
 
 us in good health and can settle that some other time. But I have 
 a few words to tell you quite alone. Dear queen ! for mercy's 
 sake ! You '11 be glad of it to your dying hour. Dear queen, you 
 must die as well as the rest of us I beg you, for pity's sake, listen 
 to me alone, only for one minute ! Send the others away, there 's 
 no time to lose ! " 
 
 The queen motioned Countess Brinkenstein and Paula to with- 
 draw. She was alone with Walpurga, and the latter, with throb- 
 bing heart, said : 
 
 " Irma lives ! " 
 
 " What do you say? " 
 
 " She 's dying ; perhaps she 's dead by this time ! " 
 
 " I do n't understand you. Are you mad ? " 
 
 " No, dear queen. Sit down here on this seat. You 're trem- 
 bling all over. I Ve been awkward about it, but I could n't help it. 
 But it does n't matter about me, now. Do with me what you 
 :hoose-^Irma lives perhaps only this day, perhaps not even that 
 long. Dear queen, you must go with me. You must go to her. 
 It 's all that 's left her on earth A single word a hand 
 
 Countess Brinkenstein and Paula, who saw that the queen was 
 leaning back, as pale as death, hurried to her assistance. As soon 
 as she heard the rustling of their dresses, she raised herself and 
 said: 
 
 " Walpurga, repeat what you have just told me." 
 
 Walpurga repeated that Irma was still alive, and added that she 
 had been concealed with her for nearly four years, and that Gun- 
 ther was now with her. 
 
 The two ladies seemed dumb with surprise, but Walpurga again 
 turned to the queen and exclaimed : 
 
 " For God's sake, do n't lose a minute ! Come with me. Stasi, 
 who once turned a prayer for the queen to me, lives in there. Dear 
 queen, if you can't forgive others, how can they still pray for you ? 
 Just think how you felt in that solemn night, dear queen. Stand 
 up, put all else away from you and hold fast to your good heart 
 alone ! Dear queen " 
 
 "Do not annoy her majesty," said Countess Brinkenstein, inter- 
 rupting her. 
 
 But Walpurga continued : 
 
 " Your Majesty, when you die, neither court ladies, nor anything 
 else can help you. Leave all behind you, for one short hour of 
 your life ! Come with me alone, and ask me nothing more. 
 She '11 be dead before night. This very day, you can perform a 
 good deed which will last for ever." 
 
 " I will I must go to her ! " said the queen, rising from her seat 
 and walking towards the house. Her step was quick, her cheeks 
 Hushed with excitement. 
 
 ' /our Majesty/' said Countess Brinkenstein, remonstrating, 
 
618 CLY THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 " the gracious king- is out riding, and will be at the waterfall at din 
 ner lime. Will Your Majesty not wait until then? " 
 
 No," replied the queen, in a determined voice, as if the ques- 
 ion had interrupted a train of thought. " I desire," said she, 
 "to be permitted to act upon my own responsibility." 
 
 " Your Majesty, there is no carriage-road to the mountain 
 meadow," mildly added Countess Brinkenstein. 
 
 But there 's a bridle-path almost all the way up to the cottage," 
 replied Walpurga. " And there 's Stasi's husband ; he 's a for- 
 ever and knows all the roads ; I '11 call him." 
 
 She hurried to the inspector's office and brought him out with 
 her. He confirmed her statement that they could drive tor a good 
 distance, and that then they could ride. 
 
 The queen ordered him to precede them with saddle-horses. 
 She retired to her apartments, and soon afterward, accompanied by 
 Paula, Sixtus, and Walpurga, drove up the mountain. Two lack- 
 eys were sitting upon the rumble. 
 
 The betrothed of the man who had once loved Irma, and the 
 wife of him whose love Irma had returned, sat side by side, hum-- 
 ing to her death-bed. It was not until they were well on their 
 way that they regained their composure. 
 
 There was but little that Walpurga could tell them about Irma's 
 simple life, and she, therefore, made so much the more of the 
 uncle's account of how Irma had traveled to the capital with him, 
 in disguise, and how, at the summer palace, she had once more 
 beheld the queen and the prince. Her recital was frequently in- 
 terrupted by tears, while she went on to tell them how Irma had 
 nursed her dying mother, and how her mother, who had known 
 all, had, on her death-bed, given Irma her blessing. 
 
 The queen held her handkerchief to her eyes and silently ex- 
 tended her hand to Walpurga. 
 
 The more Walpurga told them, the more pure and exalted did 
 Irma appear. Turning to Paula, the queen said : 
 
 "That is life in death it must have required inconceivable 
 courage." 
 
 "There are saints even in our days," replied Paula. "All that 
 olden times knew of the great, the beautiful and the true, still ex- 
 ists in the world, even though it be scattered and hidden from 
 view." 
 
 In the depth of her sorrow, the queen's eye beamed with con- 
 scious delight at the thought that, although Gunther was no longei 
 with her, tha* which was best in him was now beside her in his 
 child. 
 
 Walpurga was again obliged to tell them of that morning by the 
 lake. And then she went on to speak of Irma's beautiful work, 
 but she soon noticed that the queen was not listening, and stopped. 
 
 They drove on in silence. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 619 
 
 They reached the end of the carriage road, and now continued 
 the journey on horseback. 
 
 Soon after the queen's departure, the king and Bronnen returned 
 from the chase. They felt refreshed and invigorated by the sport, 
 and the king enquired whether the queen had already repaired to 
 the waterfall, for she had expressed a desire to sketch there. 
 
 For the first time in her life, Countess Brinkenstein was so em- 
 barrassed that she almost lost her presence of mind. She, of 
 course, felt a proper sympathy for Irma, but as long as she had 
 lived in concealment, she should have died in concealment. Why 
 should she thus agitate them all anew ? She shook her head, in 
 deprecation of this eccentric being who, long after one had mourned 
 and forgotten her, was not even decently dead. 
 
 With faltering voice, she informed the king of what had hap- 
 pened, and scarcely ventured to tell him that, on her own re- 
 sponsibility and contrary to all court regulations, the queen had 
 fone away, attended by no one but Paula and privy councilor 
 ixtus. 
 
 For some moments, the king neither moved nor uttered a word, 
 but stood there with his eyes bent on the ground. The very earth 
 at his feet seemed to tremble. Everything seemed unsteady as if 
 in an earthquake, and terrors and despair 6verwhelmed him. 
 
 All that he had experienced, during long years of suffering and 
 expiation, now rose before him again. He had striven and wres- 
 tled and made sacrifices, and no one had thanked him for all this ; 
 least of all his own heart, for he was burdened with guilt and yet 
 anxious to do good, and forced to acknowledge, in all humility, 
 that the power to do good was yet left him. 
 
 Trembling with agitation, he pressed his clenched hand against 
 his brow. His cheeks burned, while his limbs shook with a fever- 
 ish chill. God be thanked, she still lives ! The guilt of death is 
 lifted from my soul ; and she, too, will see what I have suffered, 
 and what I have become 
 
 During the last few moments, he had lived the secret torments 
 of past years over again. He now looked about him, as if emerg- 
 ing from another world. There had been no earthquake; the 
 trees, the houses, the mountains still stood in their old places. He 
 looked at Bronnen and, offering his icy cold hand, whispered al- 
 most inaudibly : 
 
 " And so tfie presentiment that you expressed at the hunting- 
 seat, is true." 
 
 His voice was thick. He ordered fresh saddle-horses and a 
 second carriage to be sent after him. 
 
 A few moments later, Bronnen and he were following in the 
 wake of the queen. 
 
620 OX THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE queen rode up the mountain, while Walpurga walked on hy 
 her side. The sun was already sinking in the west. Its stat- 
 ing rays shone though the tree tops and on the road which Guu- 
 ther and the little pitchman had taken on the night before, and 
 there were now but few signs of the rivulets that had yesterday 
 traversed the path. 
 
 The queen did not utter a word, but she often gazed at Wal- 
 purga, and many old memories and associations were awakened in 
 her mind. There, walking along beside me, is a woman who was 
 brought from her home at my request. In those days, when, with 
 the king and Gunther, I was sitting under the weeping ash, I was 
 gentle and forgiving towards the fallen, and Gunther said I de- 
 served that thousands should pray for me. Did I really deserve it 
 then ? Do I deserve it now ? At that time, no one had ever of- 
 fended or injured me, and it was easy to appear forgiving. But as 
 soon as I was wronged, I gave way to scorn and hatred, and pride 
 in my own virtue, and encouraged myself in that feeling. He 
 changed his whole life, put all that was trivial and vain away from 
 him, and devoted his whole mind to faithful labors for the sake of 
 his people, while I became more and more austere and inflexible 
 just because I was so virtuous. Are you so virtuous after all? 
 What is the virtue that lives for itself alone ? And she who erred 
 so bitterly ; has she not expiated still more bitterly ? Sinner 
 though she be, she stands far above me. She died for my sake, 
 and yet what has her death profited me ? I have left my husband 
 to achieve his difficult work, unaided and alone, deserted him in 
 the hour of greatest need. I have lived for myself alone, for to live 
 for my child was to live for myself. I have had charity for the 
 poor and helpless. But how as to my first duty ? I could not 
 conquer myself and am I the one who dares say that I am 
 capable of the highest, and "if thine eye offend thee, pluck it 
 out " ? Gunther was right. No one can save you but yourself, for 
 no one else can so often tell you the truth. 
 
 During the many years in which she has been striving to perfect 
 herself, and in which he has strengthened himself in noble deeds for 
 .his people, what have I been doing ? It is I who have sinned. You 
 shall not die, Irma ! You must still live, so that I can tell you that 
 I am lost if you die without having forgiven me. 
 
 The queen gladly gave way to these thoughts, for they gradu- 
 lly lightened the burden which had so long exerted a depressing 
 influence upon her. 
 
 " Have we much further to go ? " she asked Walpurga. 
 
 Fear again seized her. If Irma were dead ! -If it were too late 
 for the meeting that would free them both ! She pressed her 
 hand to her throbbing heart, as if it, too, must cease to beat when 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 62J 
 
 the heart up there had ceased to live. In her mind's eye, she be- 
 held Irma, as if glorified and transfigured, while she herself seemed 
 so pitifully small. 
 
 " We '11 soon be there," said Walpurga. 
 
 A voice above was heard, calling : 
 
 " Walpurga ! " 
 
 The sound was echoed again and again from the mountains. 
 
 "That 's my husband," said Walpurga to the queen and. in ar 
 equally loud voice, she called out : 
 
 " Hansei ! " 
 
 He answered again from above. 
 
 Hansei drew near and when he saw the grand gentlemen, the 
 ladies on horseback, and the liveried servants, he took off his hat 
 and passed his hand over his eyes, as if to satisfy himself that he 
 saw aright. 
 
 "How is it with her?" asked Walpurga. 
 
 " She 's still alive, but she won't last long. I left about an hour 
 ago, and who knows what may have happened since then ? The 
 doctor 's with her, though." 
 
 " We can't ride any farther," said the inspector. The queen and 
 Paula alighted. Sixtus and the servants followed, while they 
 climbed the last hill. 
 
 " That 's the queen there, in the light silk shawl," said Walpurga, 
 addressing Hansei, with a significant gesture. 
 
 " It 's all the same to me," he answered. " Our Irmgard 's better 
 than any of them. What matters the queen ? When death comes, 
 we 're pretty much the same all round. We '11 all of us have to 
 die one of these days, and then it won't matter what we 've been 
 in these few years." 
 
 Bestowing a hurried glance on Hansei, and beckoning Paula to 
 remain behind, the queen hastened forward. She was unattended, 
 but yet, at her right and her left, before and behind her, were the 
 spirits of fear and of deliverance. Fear cried : " Irma is dead ; 
 you are too late " and it seemed as if this would arrest her steps 
 and deprive her of her breath. Deliverance cried : " Hurry on 
 why loiter ? You are free, you bring freedom with you, and shall 
 gain freedom for yourself." 
 
 She put forth her hands, as if to wave off the powers that were 
 contending within and about her. 
 
 Fear gained the mastery and, with a wailing shriek for help, she 
 cried out : 
 
 "Irma! Irma!" and "Irma, Irma," was echoed again and 
 again from the mountains. The whole world was shouting Irma's 
 name. 
 
 Irma was still lying within the room, and Gunther was sitting at 
 her bedside. Her breathing was difficult. She scarcely ever 
 turned her head, and only now and then slightly opened her eyes, 
 
622 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Gunther had taken Eberhard's note book with him and found 
 an opportunity to read these words of his to Irma : " May thig 
 serve to enlighten me on the day and in the hour when my mind 
 becomes obscured." 
 
 When he read the words : " God yet dwells in that which, to us, 
 seems lost and ruined," Irma raised herself, but she soon leaned 
 back again and beckoned him to proceed. He read : " And should 
 my eye be dimmed in death I have beheld the eternal one My 
 eyes have penetrated eternity. Free from distortion and self- 
 destruction, the immortal spirit soars aloft." 
 
 Gunther stopped and laid the note book on Irma's bed. She 
 rested her hand upon it. After awhile she raised her hand and, 
 pressing it to her brow, said, while she closed her eyes : 
 
 " And yet he chastised me ! " 
 
 " Whatever he may have done to you, was not done with his free, 
 pure will. A paroxysm, a relapse into mortality, affected it. In 
 the spirit of your father, and as surely as I hope that truth may 
 dwell with me in my own dying hour, I forgive you. You have 
 achieved your own pardon. Forgive him, as he has surely forgiven 
 you. He would bless you now, as I bless you. Remember him 
 lovingly, for the sake of the love he bore you." 
 
 Irma seized the hand which Gunther had laid upon her brow, 
 and kissed it. Then, without turning around, and as if speaking 
 to herself, she said : "Stay with me," again and again. 
 
 For hours, Gunther sat by her bedside. Not a sound was heard 
 but her painful breathing, which was gradually becoming more and 
 more difficult. 
 
 And now, when the mountains echoed her name again and 
 again, Irma raised her head and looked to right and left. " Do 
 you hear it, too?" she asked, "My name voices, voices every- 
 where ! Voices " The door opened, and the queen entered the 
 room. 
 
 " Oh ! at last you are here ! " gasped Irma, with a deep sigh. 
 Gathering all the strength yet left her, she raised herself up and 
 knelt in the bed. Her long hair fell over her, her eyes sparkled 
 with a strange lustre. She folded her hands and, stretching out 
 her arms, she cried, in heart-rending tones : 
 
 " Forgive me ! Forgive me ! " 
 
 " Forgive me, Irma ! My sister ! " sobbed the queen, clasping 
 Irma in her arms and kissing her. 
 
 A smile passed over Irma's face. Then, uttering aloud cry, she 
 fell back and was no more. 
 
 The queen knelt at her bedside and Walpurga, who had stood 
 in the background, stepped forward and closed Irma's eyes. 
 
 All was hushed. Not a sound was heard, save the sobbing of 
 the queen and Walpurga. 
 
 Steps were heard approaching. 
 
ON THE HEIGHTS. 623 
 
 "Where ? Where is she ? " cried the king-. 
 
 Gunther opened the door and with both hands motioned him to 
 be silent. 
 
 " Dead ! " cried' the king. 
 
 Gunther nodded affirmatively. He beckoned to Walpurga, and 
 she left the room with him. 
 
 The king knelt down silently beside the corpse. 
 
 The queen arose and, placing her hand on her husband's head, 
 said : 
 
 "Forgive me, Kurt, as I am forgiven ! " 
 
 He seized the proffered hand, and, hand in hand, they stood 
 there for a long while, gazing at Irma, on whose face there rested 
 a gentle smile, even in death. It seemed as if they could not turn 
 away from the sight. At last, the queen removed her white shawl 
 and spread it over Irma. 
 
 They left the hut. The sun was setting in purple glory, and all 
 about them was hushed in silence. 
 
 Gunther approached the queen, gave her the journal wrapped in 
 the bandage, and said : " This is Irma's bequest to Your Majesty." 
 
 The queen went up to Walpurga, silently offered her hand, and 
 kissed the child that she was carrying in her arms. 
 
 The king offered his hand to Hansei and said : " I thank you ; 
 I shall see you again." 
 
 The little pitchman went up to the king and queen and said : 
 
 " May God reward you for having come to her. She deserved it.' 
 
 The king and queen walked away in the direction of the forest. 
 Their retinue kept in the background. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE king and queen went into the forest. 
 They were walking hand in hand. 
 
 Night drew on. The wind rustled through the tree-tops. 
 
 The queen stood still for a moment and then, impelled by the 
 ardent love she had so long repressed, embraced her husband, 
 kissing his eyes, his mouth and his brow, and said : 
 | " I 've asked the departed one to forgive me ! She died with my 
 kiss on her lips. I now ask you who still live, to forgive me. You 
 have both expiated she, alone, by herself ; you, alone while at 
 my side ! " 
 
 She tcok out an amulet which she had worn hidden next to her 
 heart. It was the betrothal ring which the king had given to her. 
 
 "Take this ring, and put it on your hand," she said. 
 
 "We are united anew," replied the king, while he put the ring 
 on his fingfT and embraced the queen. He clasped her in his arms 
 and her held rested against his heart. 
 
 With a firm step, they descended the mountain unto where their 
 carriages were waiting for them. 
 
624 ON THE HEIGHTS. 
 
 Followed by the servants, Bronnen, Sixtus, and Paula also de 
 scended the mountain. 
 
 The king and queen were in the first carriage ; Paula and Sixtus 
 in the second. Bronnen \vent back with Gunther to the cottage. 
 
 The newly espoused arrived at the dairy-farm. The first thing 
 they did was to go to the crown prince's apartments and, while 
 they stood at the child's bed, the king said : 
 
 "He. sleeps, and his innocent, infant mind knows nothing of 
 our differences. It is well for us that, with his dawning powers, 
 he will see in us only love and harmony, enduring unto death." 
 
 During all that night, the king and queen sat by the lamp, read- 
 ing the journal of the solitary worldling. 
 
 Gunther and Bronnen had lingered in the hut above. Gunther 
 sat with Walpurga for awhile, holding her hand in his, while he told 
 her that her perfect innocence had now been brought to light. A 
 silent nod was her only reply. 
 
 The cows gathered about the hut. Their bellowing and snort- 
 ing proved that their unerring instinct told them of the presence 
 of death, and scarcely were they driven away, before they returned 
 again. 
 
 The little pitchman dug a grave during the night. It was up at 
 the spot where Irma had so often rested. He shed many a tear 
 over his work, and once, when he paused to take breath, said 
 to himself: " When the kid is old enough to run of itself, I '11 le* 
 it go back into the woods." 
 
 Irma was buried at early dawn. Hansei, the little pitchman, 
 Gunther and Bronnen carried her, Walpurga and the child follow- 
 ing after them. Gundel and Franz had covered the sides and the 
 bottom of the grave with Alpine roses. Wrapped in the queen's 
 white mantle, Irma was silently laid to rest, just as the rosy dawn 
 appeared in the east. 
 
 Down in the valley, the king and queen had been reading Irma's 
 journal. Day was breaking. They gazed at the rosy dawn and 
 lifted their eyes to the mountains to where Irma w r as being buried 
 on the hrigr ts. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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