her return from school, she went to assist the | ible with modern taste, and the fustian bag in cook (their only servant) in the household which she carried her books to school, was, in affairs; for, her father being wholly immersed in his studies, and her mother having died some years before, the entire care of the household was thrown on her. After their frugal dinner she sat down to the piano to play some old sonata, or sing a song out of the well-known collection called "Arion." Sometimes her father took her a walk, but in general the professor preferred smoking his cigar of an evening, and seeking what he was pleased to call relaxation in the pages of some scientific journal. Lottchen had therefore no other alternative than to retire to her room and con over her lessons for the next day, or write a note to a female friend, or study a pattern for embroidery, or read her favorite poet. But sometimes the pen would stop, or the book drop from her hand, and she seemed as if overpowered by some anxious although pleasing presentiment, and whilst she sat thus listlessly, a smile would play over her childlike countenance, or an involuntary tear course down her cheek. All of a sudden she would start up, the shadow of her slender figure appeared on the curtains, the light was extinguished, and deep silence reigned in the professor's dwelling. It was night. What more could our young friend wish for ? Was that lovely face, that modest carriage, that expressive eye, and all the atmosphere of poetry that floated round the German maiden - was all this insufficient to attract his attention, or fix his affections? Unfortunately, our student had been born a baron, and a German baron. A long coat of arms blazoned in the aisle of the "village cathedral" of Fuhrenheim, proclaimed the length of his descent, and the unmixed purity of his blood; and in addition to this, our German baron was heir to a large property (a phenomenon becoming daily of more unfrequent occurrence). These two circumstances, coupled with naturally aristocratic propensities, produced in him an unconquerable aversion to the slightest contact with the miseries of every-day life and limited means. The unhappy youth adorned the ideal being that floated before his eyes as his future partner in life, with his baronial coronet, and clothed her delicate form in "mousseline de laine" or "gros de Naples" of the newest fashion; he spread English carpets under her feet, and put into her mouth, mixed up with the language of passionate love that his soul craved for, the thoughtless and heartless small talk of the great world. It was no wonder that with such views, although not quite indifferent, he could still look with calmness on his beautiful neighbour. Her plain muslin cap seemed to him quite incompat his eyes, the grave of all poetry. Moreover, he saw her every morning give out the things for the daily use of the household, handle the fish, examine the fruit that was brought for sale, bargain for it long, and pay the people in copper money. He observed, too, that she always wore the same cotton dress on week days, and a white cambric muslin frock on Sundays; and although she looked like an angel in this dress, and was an object of admiration to the whole university, from the rector down to the youngest student, the baron still remembered to his discomfort that she had herself made, and washed, and ironed this dress, and that the kept it like the apple of her eye, because she had no other. And when she retired to her own room of an evening, and the light glimmered from behind the muslin curtains-alas! instead of soaring on the wings of fancy, and penetrating in spirit into this little world of peace and purity, the baron only dwelt on the fact that that mysterious glimmering light proceeded from a tallow candle, and that the bed occupied by this angelic child was made of plain deal, that the sheets were coarse ticken, and that perhaps, before she lay down for the night, she spread over it a worn-out shawl. Notwithstanding all this, however, the baron took advantage of his rights of neighbourhood, and paid a formal visit to the professor on a holiday, exactly as the clock was striking twelve. Having paid no small attention to his toilette on this occasion, he was a little annoyed on entering the ante-room, only to catch a glimpse of the professor's daughter as she went out of the opposite door. "My young friend," said the learned Doctor Utriusque, after the usual greetings had passed, and he had shoved aside a bundle of musty papers, "you are welcome. You are a Cameralist, as it seems?" "I beg pardon-a Diplomat." "Ah, diplomutia cultor! You attend, then, the lectures of my learned friend and colleague, Doctor Becker." you. I possess some of the rarest editions. Yes, | pelled to practise the most rigid economy, in the my young friend," added the professor, with a housekeeping and in her own person. This, howself-satisfied smile, "works that are not easily ever, never occurred to the baron. found. Let us be good neighbours." And he held out his hand to the student with unaffected cordiality. "Do you know what?" added the professor, after a pause, "if you do n't think it a bore to chat with an old man, come and dine with us today." Contrary to his usual habits of thinking, the baron was at first pleased at this invitation. "I shall see his," thought he to himself; and then immediately afterwards added, "perhaps this walking folio only wants to bring me into contact with his daughter; maybe he is at this very moment looking forward to a marriage, and speculating on my fortune. No doubt he has found out that I weigh pretty heavy." The taste of a glass of wine, especially good wine, always inspires a German; under its influence he seems to grow young again; he begins to talk and to open his heart; and as a child rejoices in its playthings, so does a German in the remembrance of bygone days. And thus two hours fled unnoticed. The professor told of his examination, his studies, his first connexions with his learned colleagues, his youthful follies, his mute love, his marriage, his retired and laborious life, and ended with a tribute of tears, offered to the memory of his much-loved, true, and neverto-be-forgotten wife, the partner of all his joys and woes. The student listened attentively; the nobler part of his nature comprehended and sympathized with, the better part of the simple life of the German Professor. By an involuntary transition his eyes became fixed on the tranquil expression of the youthful maiden's countenance. So much innate beatitude, so much epic tranquillity was reflected there, that every unquiet emotion was stilled in her presence, and all mundane thoughts purified by the atmosphere that surrounded this graceful being. Two opposite feelings took possession of the baron, the contest between which sorely puzzled him. When he looked at Lottchen he felt that he must love her, but when he thought of the sphere in which she moved, he thought he could not love her. Without her, he felt unhappy; near her, not at ease. Sometimes gazing earnestly into her dark blue The truth was, the honest professor had not the slightest idea of the fact. He was a friend of the students, and took a pleasure in assisting them when and how he could. The baron, however, accepted the invitation, but took his leave for the present. At the proper time he made his appearance again, and found the fat cookmaid in the act of laying the dinner-table, whilst the professor was walking up and down the room in his long olive-green surtout and a snow-white neck-cloth. Lottchen was seated in one of the windows, knitting, and as their guest entered the room, she blushed deeply, rose from her seat, and made a somewhat awkward courtesy. The professor commenced a scientific discourse on the weather, and then invited his guest to sit down to table. The maid brought in a large tureen-eyes, he transported her with him into those full of soup, groats swimming in milk, of which the professor partook with evident appetite, and his daughter too; but the baron swallowed his mess with bitter feelings. A bad dinner is a bad thing at all times, but especially when one is hungry, and even in the presence of a beloved object; perhaps it is because love soon flies away, but hunger always remains with us. After the soup came a piece of meat, swimming in a lake of butter, with roast potatoes, and the dinner ended with thin omelettes and some cheese. The conversation during dinner had been equally scanty, being confined to invitations to partake of sauce, milk, or powdered sugar. "Now, then, Lottchen," said the professor, "bring up a bottle in honor of our young friend here." Lottchen went, and returned in a few minutes with a long-necked flask of old Rhenish wine, of which the professor, like all learned people, was a great fancier. Rhine wine and cigars were the only luxuries in which he indulged, and to procure this earthly bliss, his daughter was com magic realms of fancy, where all is harmony and bliss; and then his dreams would be annihilated by the prosaic reality before him. The cotton dress, the tallow candle, the groat soup, and certain complaints of the dearness of articles of food, let fall by this simple girl-all came with an icy chillness over his heart, like the north wind sighing over the steppes. And thus our baron went on from day to day, making every morning a fresh resolution to discontinue his visits to the professor's house, and finding himself as certainly there the same afternoon, either drinking Rhine wine and smoking cigars with the old man, or playing four-handed sonatas with his daughter. Some months thus elapsed, and all sorts of tea-table gossip on the subject were whispered round the town, announcing, with divers commentaries and additions, the baron as Lottchen's betrothed. These reports came to his ears at length, and his honorable feelings were much outraged by this idle gossip. In his eyes, matrimony appeared like a far-distant haven, to be steered for only after a long voyage on the sea of life, the navigation of which he had hardly as yet entered on. And yet the idea that another might marry Lottchen was most disagreeable to him. To his honor be it said, he did struggle with this thought, because, perhaps, he still felt that youthful enthusiasm for virtue, which unfortunately wears away as years advance, but too often. of excess. All of a sudden he gave up his visits at the professor's, and plunged headlong into all the dissipation of a student life. The young baron went the most extensive lengths in every kind With his cap perched on one ear, and his schläger in his hand, he spent whole days in the fencing school, and commenced walking arm in arm with the most desperate Renommists. His hitherto obscure name was soon heard at every corner; the Foxes stared at him, with reverential awe, and the daughters of the townspeople with evident curiosity. But however much he tried to fall in love, and however easy it generally is to do so at his age, he could not find one girl amongst them to please him. One was pretty, but a baker's daughter; another was in every respect a lovely creature, but he observed, one day, that her aristocratically beautiful hands were very ignobly dirty; a third was too short and fat; a fourth too tall and thin; one was too "blonde," another too "brunette;" in short, after having gone through the entire phalanx of civic beauties, he found that the tenderest feelings of his heart remained fixed on the professor's daughter. And even she could fix his affections only at intervals, because something prosaic in her associations or position every now and then disgusted him. Meanwhile her retired and monotonous existence continued as before. She, however, appeared carefully to avoid meeting the baron in the streets, and she spent more of her time than usual alone, in her own room. Fuhrenheim fancied once or twice, when she did meet him, that she appeared displeased with him, and he was annoyed. "What right has she to be angry with me?" thought he, although most probably if she had appeared indifferent, he would have been still more annoyed. And thus for some time his life was spent in a tumult of dissipation, and the vain endeavour to forget himself. In the morning, he listened, perhaps, with half attention, to a lecture, and from thence he went to the dangerous exercises of the "Fecht Boden." In the afternoon, he made excursions into the country, with a host of wild companions, who returned with him late at night, to wake up the sleeping citizens with their Bacchanalian songs. The anniversary of the foundation of the university occurred about this time. The students celebrated the event as usual, with cavalcades, commerces, and processions by torch-light, and Fuhrenheim was scarcely ever at home. One evening, a crowd of half-drunken Burschen assembled under the windows of the professor's lodging. A student stood up to harangue, and, after a long speech, it became evident that his object was to incite the students to give the professor a "Pereat," in revenge for his having, a short time before, ordered the speaker to desist from interrupting his lecture by scratching on the floor. Suddenly the speaker was interrupted and brought to silence by another, who expatiated, in warm and eloquent language, on the professor's kindness to the students, and how well he deserved at their hands. The tide was turned; a voice in the crowd shouted out, "Fuhrenheim is right! the old man has a pretty daughter. Vivat!" "Vivat! crescat! floreat in eternum!" shouted the Burschen, in concert. The first speaker made his way up to Fuhrenheim, for it was indeed he who had put him to silence. A few words were hastily exchanged in a low tone; some of the others appeared to interpose such words as "Geschärfte forderung"* "to come off this week"-"Fuhrenheim has to fix the day". were heard amongst the crowd. At this moment the professor came to the window, and there was immediate silence below. He thanked the students, his voice trembling with emotion; he expressed the deep interest he felt in their welfare; spoke of his own academic career, and said that his greatest consolation was the hope that his labors in behalf of his young friends were not thrown away. He concluded with an invitation to the students, and his speech was loudly applauded. A heap of burning torches was piled up before the house, and the students poured into the professor's rooms, and set too heartily at his Rhine wine and cigars. The old man was in childish glee, and almost emptied his cellar. At length, as the bottles emptied, his house was cleared. One morning that same week, Fuhrenheim was brought home with a deep wound on his breast, reaching up to his shoulder; he was seized with violent fever, and in his dreams he often fancied that he heard Lottchen's voice, and that her face flitted before him. One day as he awoke with a deep sigh, he heard a hasty rustling through the room, as if of a female dress. He looked round, and the professor stood before him "A severe wound, my young friend; must have been a diagonal hurt;' we were really much alarmed for you. Just let us know if you wish for any thing." * A duel carried to greater lengths than usual. and it was absolutely necessary that he should return home to arrange his affairs. His academic career was at an end. Fuhrenheim now, once more wholly engrossed by egotistic feelings, made immediate preparations for his journey, and the third day from the receipt of the letter was fixed for his departure. The pleasing prospect of riches, honors, and distinction were before him, and he hastened to take leave of all his acquaintance. When he informed the professor of the change in his prospects and his altered position, and thanked him, at parting, for all his kindness, the old man was visibly affected. He had attached himself to the youth as to a son, and never dreamt of the possibility of their being separated. The baron, not find Fuhrenheim nodded thanks, and the professor took his leave. Three weary months was the youth confined to bed, and although his pretty neighbour never showed herself, still her care and attention was visible in every thing. Light food, fresh linen, amusing books, the flowers of the season, all those little luxuries never thought of by a heedless bachelor, were offered daily to the sick man in the professor's name, and soothed his lonely hours. Lottchen was the invisible guardian that hovered round him, and all his thoughts were involuntarily directed towards her. She herself had become so accustomed to this tender solicitude, and felt so happy in setting down the secret inclination of her heart to the score of mere compassion, that it almost seemed to her as if she had been deprived of an enjoy-ing Lottchen at home, begged of her father to ment, when Fuhrenheim appeared, on his reconvalescence, to pay his first visit to the professor, and thank his neighbour for all her kindness. Tired of his Burschen extravagances, the young baron now began, to the delight of his worthy old friend, to apply himself in earnest to his studies. His long illness and his severe application drove by degrees all his baronial pride out of his head; he acquired a truer estimate of life, and forgot his foolish prejudices. He became more and more intimate with the professor, and in the end truly attached to him. Lottchen he loved like a sister; their intimacy was never disturbed by any accident that might have fanned the latent spark of passion to a blaze. They seemed created for one another, although they did not appear to think so. In his leisure hours he played the piano with her, or read about her favorite poet. She loved Schiller, and he was an ardent admirer of Goethe; and this difference of opinion sometimes led to warm discussions between them. Though habitually much together, their tone of feeling seldom harmonized, for strangely enough, when he was angry, she got into high spirits; but if he was merry, she became pensive; however, they were generally unspeakably happy and light of heart in each other's society. salute her in his name, and to assure her that he would never forget her; most probably she had purposely avoided the pain of meeting and parting. On the morning of the day fixed for his departure, all the students, with whom Fuhrenheim was a general favourite, assembled in the market-place, to give him the usual convoy on his journey. The baron appeared for the last time in his Burschen costume, two of the elder students sat with him in his carriage, the remainder formed a cavalcade on horseback and in carriages, and they moved on, singing the touching strophes of that beautiful "Burschen lied" "Es zieht der Bursch in's weite Sie geben ihm das geleite," &c. &c. There was an air of melancholy in these tones, reminding one of a funeral dirge; and does not the parting comrade sink all his youthful fire, all his joyous "insouciance," and the entire poetry of his life, into the darkness of the grave, as he passes into the cold and stern realities of life? The baron sat silently in a corner of his carriage, engrossed in his own thoughts: a thousand contradictory feelings agitated his breast; well-known faces appeared at every window, and saluted the Burschen with melancholy smiles. As they passed the professor's house, Fuhrenheim looked up. She stood at the window, dressed in her white frock, as if in gala for the occasion. She looked paler than usual, and her arms hung listlessly by her side; the baron saluted her, but she did not appear to remark it, but grew still paler, and fixed her eyes on the long cavalcade, as if she hoped to see it stopped by some miracle. At length a flood of tears burst forth, and streamed down her pale cheeks. The baron received news of the death of his Fuhrenheim turned round at the moment, and predecessor in the property. He was now mas-immediately comprehended her distress. A sharp ter of a large fortune, and head of the family; and sudden pang passed through his soul—“ She The baron was puzzled by these contradictory feelings which he could not account for, and still he felt himself irresistibly attracted towards his fair neighbour; for even when engaged in study, he would suddenly leave his books, walk to the window, look at Lottchen for a moment, and then turn away and seat himself at his desk. This was, however, all in all the happiest period of his life, and would probably have induced total change in his habits of thinking, if another accident had not occurred, which spoiled all. loves!" thought he, and his head sunk on his breast. And the cavalcade moved on slowly, and the solemn tones of the parting song echoed through the streets, until at length it passed out of the city gate, and all was still. CHAPTER III. If a Russian has been given to drinking up to his twenty-fifth year, he remains a drunkard for the rest of his life. Not so a German. It frequently occurs that a German gets drunk every day of his life up to the end of his twenty-fourth year; but on the first day of the twenty-fifth, when he has slept away the effects of his overnight debauch, he becomes all of a sudden a sober man, and drinks nothing but water for the rest of his days. Yesterday he was a regular scamp, full of tricks and wantonness; to-morrow he is a settled, steady man. Yesterday he was an arrogant, careless "Bursch," scattering his money right and left; to-morrow he is a discreet "Philister," making a profit out of everything he undertakes. In fact, the passions of a German are confined to regular periods, like an inevitable toll, that must be paid at certain stations on his journey through life. This peculiarity of the German character is most observable at the close of his "university life." One of my fellow-students at a German university was so desperate a duellist that his body was completely covered with wounds. Even the very tapsters professed that they had never seen a man that could drink so much. I never saw his equal as a gambler. He was a regular Don Juan amongst the ladies, and his exploits were constantly involving him in scrapes. Moreover, up to the very day of his leaving the university, he was a dreadful blasphemer. But as we drank our parting glass together, a sudden change came over him; his heart was softened, a tear stole down his cheek and mingled with the sparkling wine, and he exclaimed "Adieu, golden youth!" The next day he entered on his duty as pastor of a parish in a remote country: he preached, heard confessions, and distributed the sacrament; and looked back to his former life as to a dream that had long since passed away. And thus it happened with Fuhrenheim. The fiery student became a calculating diplomatist, and he determined to settle himself at St. Petersburgh, in the persuasion that the only two roads by which he could hope to attain the objects of his ambition and the gratification of his vanity, namely, the public service and the "societé du grand monde," had both of them their startingpoints in the capital. It, however, never entered into his head to deceive himself with false notions of its being his duty to serve his country, or with romantic ideas of the good he might have it in his power to do for his fellow-subjects; on the contrary, he was simply convinced that it was the way to attain his own particular ends and objects, and if he did that he wanted nothing more. The Russian frequently bears ill-will to his German brother because the latter almost always makes out a snug place for himself under government, and attains to what the Russian only expects and hopes for. But is it not his own fault? The German pursues his object steadily; the Russian soon loses sight of it. The former strives perseveringly and indefatigably; the latter wastes all his energy at the commencement of his career, and then wastes the rest of his life in idle despondency. Is it then a wonder that the German should distance the Russian in the race of competition, and snatch away out of the very mouth of the latter the employments and distinctions that he so ardently covets? The baron chose an advantageous branch of the public service; he sacrificed salary to the chances of quicker promotion; he acquired the friendship of the chef-du-departement; flattered the director, and obtained the good graces of the minister. It seemed as if he had been born expressly to fill his official uniform, to work in an office, and to sit at a desk. He was polite to the cashier, the accountant, and the protocolist; he gave liberal presents to the porters and messengersin a word, although he really did but little, he neverthelesss contrived, in a short time to get the name of being an excellent man of business. The baron pursued the same system of tactics in the "grand monde." He never appeared but in full saloon dress, except when obliged to wear his official costume. As in duty bound, he began with the old dowagers; listened to them with reverence and attention, cloaked and shawled them, and paid them regular visits. He was most tasteful in his selection of birthday presents, and he played whist with them, and always lost. Of course, the birth-day presents and the losses at whist were always duly proportioned to the degree of influence possessed by his old protectresses, who were all of them enchanted with him. Next to these Fuhrenheim turned his attention to the fashionable beauties of the day, and although, to say the truth, they were by no means to his taste, he still made it a point to be on good terms with them, and thereby fortify his position in society. He would sink gracefully in a chair alongside of them, and whisper into their ears all sorts of small talk about nothing, appearing all the time to be deeply engaged in carnest conversation with them. The ladies laughed the moment he opened his mouth, no matter whether what he said was witty or not; and one followed the oth |