Chapter IV: Part 4

It was with a very heavy heart that Edward went to his old master. The whole destiny of mankind lay darkly and with a crushing weight upon his breast. Anguishing was the conviction he felt, that in the very sweetest and purest innocence all the roots of evil and sin were already lurking, and that there needed only chance and caprice to foster their growth, for them to put forth their calamitous fruits. His situation was so completely changed, his chief wish was that the house which had so long been his home, the country he was become so fond of, were but far behind him, that gradually and with a steady hand he might eraze all the recollections of the time he had spent there. He was resolved that at all events he would not be a witness of the disasters to which, he was persuaded, the dark spirits brooding there must infallibly give birth; that he would not stay to behold them; for he did not feel sure of being so firm, that his own passion and frailty might not lend a hand in bringing down the impending ruin. Heartily as at this moment he abhorred such a thought, he yet knew full well from observation and experience that no man is always the same, and that even the best are not braced with the same strength at all hours: he knew how the sophistry of our passions will come athwart all our good feelings and resolves, and that the more secure they feel the more easily it trips them up and overthrows them.

He found the old man in a serious mood, but without the agitation he had feared. "Come and shake hands with me," cried Balthasar as he entered, "although you choose to leave me. How I shall support your absence I cannot yet conceive, anymore than I should know how I could live without light and warmth: but nevertheless I shall be forced to learn this lesson, if nothing can alter or upset your determination."

"My fatherly friend," Edward began, "can you then persist in your determination, which to me is so utterly incomprehensible? Is it quite impossible for you to consent to what alone will make me happy, and assuredly will make your daughter so too?"

"I had hoped, my dear friend," answered the old man very mildly, "you would not have toucht on this string again, which thrills far too painfully through my whole frame. Pray convince yourself that this long-formed resolution, which you if you please may term a whim, I cannot possibly revoke; it is much too firmly intertwined with my whole being. What we do from conviction as we call it, from pondering about a matter and balancing it first in one scale and then in the other, over and over again, is seldom worth much. Whatever is permanent, characteristic, genuine in our nature, is instinct, prejudice, call it superstition;--a conclusion without question or inquiry, an act because one cannot help it. Such is this of mine! You may look upon it as a vow, a solemn oath which I have sworn to myself, and which I cannot violate without the most atrocious perjury against my own heart. I owe my poor good Eleazar much amends for having let my soul entertain and cherish disgust, bitterness, and aversion toward him for so many years.--And as to the happiness of the pair!--on this point my opinion is just the reverse of yours. He is wise, sensible, virtuous; he is happy already, and will keep so, whether he marry or not. It is an act of condescension in a person of his grave character to take up with my daughter. A man who has got the philosopher's stone can never be harmed by any of earth's paltry troubles. And my Rose! O my dear friend, the truly dreadful thing would be, if I were to give her to you to wife: this being, this child, that I cannot help loving so dearly, that I fold up with remorse and sorrow in my heart, would go to wreck like others amid the pleasures of the world, in self-will and frivolity, in dissipation and recklessness. You would indulge her out of love in all sorts of follies, and so make her and yourself miserable. No, it cannot be on any terms; and you yourself will thank me hereafter for my reasonable refusal. And now not a word more, dearest Edward, on this subject: let us come to your other request, which I can safely promise to grant you."

Edward began, with a cheerless spirit, to reckon up the damage his master had sustained from the robberies that were carried on in such an inexplicable manner, and urged the absolute necessity that, before he left the country, effective measures should at length be taken to get some trace of the thief. The old man wanted to break off the discussion; but Edward reminded him of his promise. Above all was Balthasar averse to a proposal made by his young friend, to set a spring-gun secretly in the warehouse, whereby the audacious robber might at length be caught and punisht. The old man regarded such a measure as impious, unlawful, and nearly akin to wilful murder.

Edward tried to refute these notions, and at last said: "You owe it to yourself and to me to adopt this plan, which I too am far from approving unconditionally, but which in the present instance is the only remedy. I need not again state the amount of the sums which have been stolen from you time after time during the last three years and more; they would make a large fortune, so large a one that many a wealthy man would have been ruined by such losses. It is your unaccountable indifference that has thus emboldened the thief, who, it is clear, must be accurately acquainted with all our goings on. Whenever a watch has been set, nothing has happened. But as soon as we were off our guard again, no bolts, no bars however strong, no precautions however well-judged, availed us. William, and many other persons equally innocent, we have eyed with misdoubt. You cannot deny it; your suspicion must needs have lighted on everybody about you in turn. How can a heart so noble as yours hold fellowship with such a hateful feeling as to imagine now and then, for moments, that those on whom you bestow your friendship and esteem, may be capable of the most scandalous baseness? You are guilty of the most glaring injustice to hundreds of honest and honorable men, for the sake of screening a single villain with an indulgence which I cannot but call weakness, and a weakness under these circumstances quite unpardonable. In a few days I shall leave you. It is possible that the thief may not find any favorable opportunities hereafter, that another overseer may be more successful, that he may induce you to take stronger measures, and so to intimidate the offender: the robberies may cease: may not malicious persons, may not the offender himself perhaps, to secure himself against all chance of detection, and to frustrate every inquiry, spread a rumour that I am the heinous thief? Nay, might not such a report carry with it a very great show of probability, since assuredly no one could have got at your goods with so little risk as I? What will it profit me when far away, though you endeavour to vindicate me and to silence such a calumny? Will not your unwonted lenity, your present preposterous supineness, make the detestable rumour wear a look of the utmost speciousness, nay, of irrefragable truth? How, by what means, shall I then be able to clear myself? And, my loved, my honoured friend, who do nothing but good to mankind, and think nothing but evil of them, may not the same suspicion start up even in you, and strike deep root in the dark places of your soul, and by little and little grow into a conviction that I am the person?"

Balthasar gazed at him, and walkt several times silently up and down the room. He was evidently struggling with himself, and seemed totally lost in thought.

"You are not mistaken," he said after a long pause; "or rather you are perfectly right. You know my notions about wealth and property. I look on them with terrour. It seemed to me to be quite right, and to be a kind of slight amends to destiny for my incomprehensible luck, that what was flowing in so abundantly upon me from every side should at least have one outlet by which a part of it might run off. At times I have fancied that such a person or such another was thus making his fortune, who wanted it, and in a manner deserved it by his cleverness and sagacity in getting it. I took up a superstitious resolution to remain purposely in the dark, that I might not dissipate this strange dream and be deprived of this vague feeling. It gave me pain that I had to misdoubt so many of my people, nay all of them; but at the same time it was a pleasure that I could not feel certain about any. Yes, my friend, you too, you too have I wronged. You now know me pretty well, and I entreat your forgiveness. I have oftentimes thought in secret, without however feeling the least anger against you: 'Well, he is taking beforehand what he has richly earned, by labour, by sleepless nights, by diligence of every kind ... he cannot know for certain whether death may not snatch me away suddenly ... peradventure he has some poor relations ... he may wish to marry and set up with a handsome establishment ... he may perhaps have the same notions about property as I myself.' This has been the main ground of my lenity and weakness, as you call it; more especially when after the removal of William and several other doubtful characters all still went on just as before. Even your great anxiety, Edward, your indignation, even this turned my surmises against you. I have said to myself: 'Why does he talk so much about it, and make such a piece of work? I have given him the fullest powers in the matter: did he really take it so much to heart, he would have got hold of some clew long ago in one way or other by craft or by force. I could not possibly do otherwise than approve of whatever steps he took for my good.'"

An overpowering pain seized on Edward during this speech; he felt on the point of fainting. With a look of utter despondency he threw himself into a chair, hid his face with his hands, and bent it down upon the table, till at length a flood of tears that streamed from his burning eyes, and a loud fit of convulsive sobbing a little relieved his heart, which seemed about to break.

The old man was astonisht to see so great and unlookt for an effect produced by a speech which he had uttered with perfect calmness, and even with kindliness. He endeavoured to comfort and pacify his young friend, lifted up his head, and wiped the tears from his face, which still stared at him with an expression of the deepest grief and despair. He embraced him, he sought after words to heal the wound he had inflicted, to lull the storm he had called up.

"O my heavens!" he at length cried, when he saw that all his efforts were in vain, "what shall I do? Edward! I did not really mean any ill. I only think of others what I believe of myself. I love thee in truth, young man, above anybody I have ever known; thou art to me as a son: hence my perverse supineness under my unjust suspicions: thou must forgive me all, all, dearest Edward. I will do everything, everything you ask of me."

When Edward at length was somewhat recovered, he said with a broken voice, which was often checkt by violent sobs: "No, no, noblest, most upright of mankind, never, never could you have sunk down into a miserable thief! No want, not even hunger and nakedness, no opportunity however tempting, could have degraded your lofty mind so low. You only say it to quiet me. O heavens! this man, who treated me with the warmest affection and with unbounded confidence, who placed large sums in my hands, without ever inquiring about them, that I might become the dispenser of his bounty in feeding the hungry and taking care of the sick, this same friend could at the very same time deem me capable of such infamous wickedness. Observe now, observe what a dangerous thing it is, to admit such dark spirits and phantoms into ones soul, from which in time they utterly drive out all truth and love, and strength and faith. O thou bright pure form of Truth! O thou spotless beauty of Virtue! How changed does this man seem to me since that calamitous word, how changed am I myself! how fearfully, how dismally has the relation between us changed! It seems to me as though the very belief in the possibility of anything like what this man has believed possible of me, had cast a shade of vice and depravity over my whole life: for this noble being has hitherto been the mirror of my own worth, by looking at which I became conscious of my own well-meaning and integrity. Can everything, everything in our heart be thus transformed in a single moment? Yes, my dear, my fatherly friend, I shall evermore honour and love you; I admire you while I mourn over you; but even without any further cause this conversation would have parted us; this alone, without regard to my happiness or unhappiness, must drive me from you into the wide world."

"So then we are now finally severed," said the old man very sorrowfully, "by destiny, not by my fault. One may master everything, except ones own innermost self. Suspicion in me is not that bad thing into which your overstrained sense of honour, such as I never saw in any man before, converts it by the meaning you assign to it. But, my dearest friend, without whom my life will long be a mere blank, you will stay at least a few days, until you can take away the papers that will secure your fortune to you. For this compensation you must accept from me as from a father, unless you would quite overwhelm me with shame."

They embraced, and the old man gave Edward an unlimited permission to take whatever steps he thought proper for the sake of detecting and punishing the thief. Edward had regained his self-possession; and the old man was all kindness and gentleness. They talkt about other affairs; and Edward took some accountbooks under his arm to look over and correct.

"Embrace me once more with all your heart," said the old man, "and forgive me too with all your heart."

Edward turned back, and after embracing him said: "My dearest friend, what have I to forgive you for, thinking as you do? It is not the right word. What I have just endured I can never forget; and this shock will thrill through me to the latest day of my life. The human heart and soul, man and God, seem to have become totally different in my eyes since that terrific flash of lightning. Thinking as you do too, you cannot be angry with me, if I now say half in jest, that, had you not allowed me to take my measures, I might have fancied after I was gone that you had been thus ingeniously and cunningly robbing yourself, who knows with what subtle views, perchance for the very sake of throwing suspicion on some one or other."

"You are not altogether in the wrong," said Balthasar. Edward was again standing at the door. "Wait another moment, young man!" cried his master. Edward once more turned back. But when he drew nearer to the old man, he was astonisht to find how totally his countenance and the expression of his eyes were changed. A quick firy glance was sparkling restlessly upon him.

"You are fully convinced, I well know," the old man began, "of the truths of the Christian religion; you read your bible diligently and devoutly. You also believe in the historical parts of it, and regard the whole as an actual revelation: the rational, and allegorical, and learned philological interpretations do not satisfy your mind. Is it not so? you are a true Christian with all your heart and soul."

"Certainly," answered Edward.

"The story," continued the old man, "how the Saviour was tempted in the wilderness by the Evil One, is not in your opinion a parable, or an allegory, or mythical legend, without any substance? but you believe that this event actually befell Jesus Christ, the Son of God, along with the various circumstances and questions and answers recorded?"

"What are you aiming at?" askt Edward hesitatingly after a pause. "Yes, I believe this story like a sincere and orthodox Christian."

"Well!" the old man went on, while his pale closed lips wrinkled into a strange smile: "I have a double aim, though I should hardly need to say more, if you had ever thought deeply about this incident. In the first place, if our Saviour himself had to bear such things, if it was possible for him to be suspected though but by the Evil One, surely you might forgive me with all your heart, if with half or a quarter of mine I have now and then half misdoubted you. Meseems, this mysterious, marvellous story with its fathomless, untold meanings does not downrightly condemn my views of human nature. They are not mere spectres that have taken possession of my soul, unless indeed they belong to one and the same family with spirits. In the second place, do your eyes see much meaning in this wondrous story, if the success of the temptation was totally and absolutely impossible?--Now then what say you? appalling are the feelings that seize on one of us, and you too cannot escape them, when all this is brought home to the heart and mind.--There is still a third remark that I would close with:--what would have become of the world and of mankind, of heaven and earth, if the tempter had won the day? if love had faltered and been beguiled?--O young man, the doors are not closed in every place where we see them put to. You fancy you have made out everything, when you have hardly counted up to five.--I too believed, I too inquired, was absorbed in love and devotion, beheld love in my own soul and in the souls of my brethren, and this is the very delusion the breaking up of which snap my heart and life asunder, never, never to revive and reunite. Cast away your pride in your feelings, think not to soar on the wings of your imagination; but crawl along the ground like worms, and eat dust; for that is what befits you."

The old man squeezed Edward's hand, and then with a bitter smile, and a sudden laugh that scared him, tore himself away. For a while Edward continued fixt in a stupour, and when at length he lifted up his eyes, Balthasar was again immerst in deep thought, and standing at his writing table with the gloomy suffering look which he usually wore. Edward felt as if he was leaving a dying man when he went away, and shut the heavy oaken door slowly and carefully after him.

* * * * *

Edward had taken his measures with no less secrecy than judgement. None of the servants, foremen, or even of the overseers knew that he was doing anything out in the warehouse. Every interruption had been guarded against. He was quite alone, nor did anybody even know of his having left the house, when he made his arrangements; and it was dark before he came back. He could not tell whether a fresh robbery might not be committed on that very night, or not till a future one. All the watchmen had been removed from the warehouse in such a manner as not to excite suspicion.

And now amid the solitude of the night he sat down to the account books, for the sake of bringing all his thoughts to bear on a single point, and thereby recovering from the agitation he had lately undergone. It was of importance to have these matters perfectly arranged before he went away. At length he succeeded in banishing what had happened from his thoughts for the time; and he became so much engaged in his employment, he forgot that these very hours might be unravelling that unpleasant affair, which had given them so much annoyance for years.

When he had finisht and was turning over the leaves of an old book that he had taken up along with the rest, some written papers fell out of it: they were in Balthasar's hand, and had evidently been written many years. He read the following fragments.

Yes in truth weeping is a wonder, and, as they say, a gift sent
from heaven. A bliss spreads through our soul, as soon as our
flowing tears come, like the waters of a river, sweeping away
black sorrow, and disquietude, and trembling doubts. Ye are all
given back to me, ye spirits that once were mine, and that a cruel
destiny afterward severed from me.

For the sake of this, people will woo tears, and try to lure them
with coaxing when they will not come. Our day's work is over, and
now, as the rich man and the glutton will wind up his multifarious
meal with sweetmeats, so after our toil, after closing our
accounts, we court devotional thoughts and pathetical emotions, we
meditate on the dead, in order to entice this lifes-wine of tears
into our voluptuous eyes and our luxurious brain. Now a
sentimental melancholy inhaloes every ordinary object around us;
and amid the meek abasht feelings of a pining anguish and remorse,
suddenly starts up nauseous arrogance, vaunting the grandeur of a
spoilt capricious heart. O what poor wretches our fellow creatures
now seem to us in their commonplaceness, who yet all, as the
patient children and drudges of mother earth, are better than we.

But laughter! This earthquake which invisible powers heave up out
of the knotty entanglement of our dark enigmatical being! which in
boisterous senseless noises announces that within, in the unseen
world, the soul neither recks of nor knows truth or falsehood, and
has just been murdering the innocent herald who was bringing these
phantasms before it! These rude unmeaning sounds which will for a
long time distort even the best face, the most mechanically
regular mask!

How men long after this loathsome convulsion! While tears lie and
cheat by aping heavenly feelings, laughter is awkwardly trying to
let the craziness of evil demons skulk behind it, hides itself
from vulgarity for the sake of being seen, feigns terrour when our
unsubdued struggling feelings are detected, and saunters about in
the midst of whatever is disgusting and impure, perpetually
clapperclawing with some outcast among the rabble or other: one
moment our intelligent, and higher faculties, as they call them,
get the upper hand; the next they are beaten down and trod upon by
something base and profligate: and thus veering to and fro, now
toying now scolding, laughter clatters down the steps of idiocy,
which crumble with the decay of our bodily strength ... and man
grins, and is happy.

Blessed time, when there was a real existence, a life in life!
when the vast whole of eternity, being sufficient to itself, had
not splintered itself out into time! when the spirit did not need
a succession, measured out by the atoms of time and space, to
become conscious of its power and of its being! What a portentous
event was it, when eternity and life parted fellowship!--when the
band by which spirits were bound in one, burst, and that strange
creature, Death, rusht in through the chasm to domineer over all.
Now that which is firm, stedfast, enduring, has concentrated
itself in the depths of its own being, and has put on the
unvarying aspect of solid meditation. Stones, rocks, metals, bid
defiance to decay with their cold looks, and would make believe
that they know not of change. Drops of water dancing like tiny
elves along them, the sightless legions of the air, wherever they
spread, are eating into the limbs of the rigid haughty giant; the
dwarf, man, digs into his bones, and, if his strength were equal
to his fury, would reduce him to fleeting sand. May it not
peradventure be the same with the eternal stars? A little acid,
and the monster sneezes sillily, and roars, and yawns, and for the
moment remembers its spiritual nature.

And thou with thy butterfly wings in thy light summer garment,
thou that hoverest aloft, and flittest over the mountains, and
sweepest along the earth! from the airy changeling of the
caterpillar, up or down to the lion and to man, ye all of you,
fostering a brief momentary spark in you, like the glance from the
flint and steel ... gone is the red bubbling up of the spark ...
and again a mere slough is lying before us, after its short dream
of life and love, dust upon dust, rottenness upon decay ... the
great-grandfather beside his mouldering great-grandchild ... and
neither knows the other, neither has ever heard of the other.

The plants around you prick up their ears at you in a thousand
forms; the flowers smile roguishly and sadly, in the midst of the
masquerade; and dream mingles with dream, when the lover plucks
the rose, and blushing himself holds out the blushing blossom to
his blushing maiden.

* * * * *

The beating of the pulse is not only a sign of life, it is life
itself. No feeling, no thought, no sight or hearing, no taste or
sensation flows along with a rushing stream, but all comes
skipping, wave upon wave, drop upon drop, and this is its being.
One thought is cast out by another; our feelings are only felt as
they shift between life and death: the kiss only thrills on our
lips when a chill void has already spread over them; our delight
in a picture, in music, merely gushes through us; one moment it
entrances us, the next it has vanisht. Thus the sea breathes in
its ebb and flow, time in its days and nights, its winters and
summers. If I do not forget myself this moment, I cannot recollect
myself the next.--And death....

Is this revulsion of the pulse, this alteration of strain, this
change of tune a prelude, a transition to a new piece of music?
Every living creature exists to be devoured by another; man alone
has apparently eluded these barrack-regulations, this military
duty, and fattens himself up for the earth, that shattered chaos
of stones and mould.

In love, in misfortune, in joy, in despondency, in labour and
rest, death has always been my uppermost, I might rather say my
only thought. Suicide in me would have been of all human actions
the most natural. I have never felt that any indescribable fear,
any overpowering shudder draws us back, and flings the knife from
our hands. If poor naked Joy, that is so meanly clad, she is
ashamed to walk about the earth, were once to enter our doors,
then the stab of the bright dagger would only be the last
glittering pinnacle of our joyous transport. For after that brief
pulsation is over, how bald is the earth, how black is life! It is
because I know not whither I am going, or whether I am going, or
whether there be a whither, that the act is so alluring. Only men
will not confess this, but give the name of cowardice and of
courage to what is neither the one nor the other. In dissipation,
in thoughtlessness, in indifference, the poor wretches lose both
life and death.

* * * * *

A strange dream, that is to say, a dream, has visited me. The
commonest thing is quite as strange as the uncommonest, only habit
blunts our sense.

I was dead. I knew it distinctly; and yet I lived on in my
consciousness. All my forlorn doubts, my stiff-neckedness that
would not bow to the yoke, my hard heart that closed itself so
early against love, had shut me out, so my conscience told me,
from the place to which the good hope to go. The state in which I
found myself, and numberless others along with me, was one the
common ordinariness, the dull triviality of which was quite
appalling. I was utterly unable to recollect my friends and those
whom I had loved, however intensely I strained my memory and put
it to the rack. A longing, like that of one pining with thirst
after a stream of fresh clear water, tormented me, to call up the
forms and the ideas of those beloved beings in my imagination; I
felt a yearning after them like a heavy weight that was crushing
me in the hidden places of my heart. Just as little could I bring
back those actions which during my life I might have called good.
Every thing in this region of my thoughts was like a bare parcht
waste. But everything evil rolled in whirling circles wearyingly
and dizzyingly before my inward eye. My vices and errours, all the
faults and misdeeds of my life, every wretched moment of my
temporal existence gathered round me as it were with the cries and
croaking of fierce hungry birds of prey. O these sins how hugely
and gigantically they swelled out! How horrible it was to see
their consequences unfolding themselves far, far away in the
realms of the future! how they took root and grew up riotously in
after-generations! nothing but looks of anguish, of reproach, of
pain, of bitter despair was turned upon me from thence. In like
manner I easily called to mind all the persons who had ever been
objects of my hatred or dislike; every tedious hour, the
recollection of which tortured me afresh; all the folly and
absurdity that I had ever uttered myself, or heard from others.

In the numerous vast halls countless swarms of men were sitting,
standing, or walking about, all in the same state of deplorable
woe. And no variety, no division of time, no hour, no sun or night
disturbed or changed this melancholy monotonousness. One solitary
amusement was there. Now and then some one reminded us of our
former faith, how during our lives we had feared and worshipt a
God. Then a loud burst of laughter, as at a most portentous
absurdity, pealed through the hall. Afterward they all grew grave,
and I strove with all my faculties to call back the reverence, the
sanctity of my human feelings, but in vain.

* * * * *

Edward had not observed that the morning was already dawning, so completely had he been wrapt up in these singular papers. Without doubt too he would have gone on reading much longer, unless he had now been interrupted by loud cries and a violent knocking at his door. He went to see what it was, and Conrad rusht into the room, heated, panting, and with a ferocious look.

"Now we have him!" cried the miner furiously: "did not I say long ago that this vagabond is wickedness itself? Only let him instantly be bound, master overseer, hand and foot in the heaviest chains you can get, and then have the dog flogged till he is cut to pieces, that his life and his infernal soul may crawl out of him by inches."

"What is the matter with you?" askt Edward. "I am afraid you must be in a fever, and are stark raving."

"Hurrah!" screamed Conrad; "now my cruel illness will soon be gone, now that the miscreant has been caught at his wicked tricks. He will never carry me down again now into their rubbishy straw."

"Whom are you talking of?" Edward again began: "surely not of the Hungarian miner?"

"The very person," answered Conrad: "the monster has been stealing, and is in league with a whole gang of thieves. Hark you, to cut the matter short, I could not sleep last night, and so roamed about the woods, in part to get myself some herbs to cure my ailing. It was just beginning to dawn, when I heard something like wheels down below, along the lonely lane in the thick of the wood, and at the same time there was a moaning and groaning; for at night one hears and makes out every thing much plainlier. Off I ran. Two fellows were drawing a cart in great tribulation and fear, and the pale rascal was walking alongside, and driving them on. 'Scoundrels!' I shouted in their faces! and the word was hardly out of my throat, when the two thieves had already scampered off; but the pale skinny mountebank I held fast; the cart with the stolen goods is standing in the wood. They will soon bring it after me however; for I met a couple of workmen whom I sent for it; and the Hungarian waivode I have dragged hither with my own hand."

Meanwhile the whole house was in an uprore. The stranger was sitting handcufft at the door; and miners, spinners, and weavers came crowding; others flockt from the mills; and all were shouting, all were staring with wonder at each other; everybody wanted to tell his story, and nobody seemed to know what it was that had happened; so that Edward and Conrad began with much perplexity and annoyance to question one after another, until the miner cried out with his thundering voice: "Hold your jaws all of you. Not a soul shall speak another word, except he whom your young master shall ask."

One-eyed Michael was standing near them, and, as Edward turned to him, he said: "It may have been about three in the morning when I set off from the forge to deliver a message betimes at the smelting house up in the mountains. I was walking along the path through the wood, thinking no harm, save that when I got pretty near to the warehouse all the nightly robberies came across me which have been going on this many a long day there. 'I'd give the world to catch the rogue,' I said to myself, when all at once a gun went off. A gun! what ho! that put me to my wits. 'There are never any sportsmen hereabout,' I said, and began marching and bustling on with a little more haste and speed. In a few moments I hear cries and yells and shouts, and a pothering and squabbling. All this methinks can never be right. I get to the top, and now I see the whole business. The warehouse is open, several barrows and men are before it, they are piling up the goods: a short figure that I could not make out in the dark, panting and whining, screaming and grumbling, is shuffling and tumbling about. I make up to the fellows with the stolen goods. Then some of them seized me fast and prest down my eyes. The noise lessens, I can't cry out, nor would it do me much good. When they let me loose again, there was nothing to be seen. Even the limper, in spite of all my search, had got off and was not to be found. When I came nearer the houses I awoke every body with my shouts, telling them to go and watch the warehouse, and scour after the rogues."

"And I," cried Conrad, "have lugged the commander in chief of the cutpurses by the throat, that sapient soothsayer that was playing off his pranks with his match the other day at your forge."

Then they all set off again telling their stories, shouting and screaming, just as noisily as before. Edward however gave orders what all were to do; the stranger was to be watcht, the stolen goods to be taken into the house, and everybody was to be quiet, not to disturb their old master's rest, should he be still asleep. He himself hastened with a few others to the warehouse, to arrange matters there, and, if possible, to find out more about the thieves.

* * * * *

Edward found marks of blood in the warehouse and on the ground without, and he and his companions followed them. Anon they lost sight of them, then discovered them again in a thicket on one side, and a little after in one of the bypaths. Edward walkt on with anxious feelings; a boding prest upon his heart; he was unwilling to confess his misgivings even to himself. Ere long however they turned to certainty; for the traces led to the house of Eleazar, which lay on a green slope. When they got up to it they found all the neighbours already in motion; people were coming from the town; the priest of the parish was just passing through the door. Within everything was in confusion, and a physician and surgeon were busy upstairs.

Edward left his companions without, and with a beating heart opened the chamber door. Eleazar was lying pale and with ghastly features in his bed. His wound had just been examined, and a bandage placed on it. Everybody in the room, the physician, surgeon, priest, and servants lookt frightened and distrest; for there was something in this accident so mysterious and terrible that no one could help being struck with awe by it.

The surgeon, whom Edward took aside, shook his head, and assured him that all assistance was in vain; the patient would hardly live through the day. Eleazar now raised himself out of his stupour, lookt round, and perceived Edward. "Aha!" he cried with a strained and faint voice, "You too are already there! Well! You have at last got the better of me. This is what you have been driving at this long time. I am now lying here, and all is over, all is found out; there are no more questions and answers, no more todays and tomorrows. How it will fare with you remains to be seen hereafter. Not well most undoubtedly. So don't triumph in your imaginary virtue."

He beckoned and made the priest bring him a paper that was lying in the window. "Give this to the old man of the mountain," he then went on; "he will see from it how I loved him; for it is my will."

The priest now said a few words, begging to be left alone with the sick man. Edward was glad to leave the room and refresh himself in the open air. Here Conrad again ran up to him out of breath, and cried ... "Confusion worse confounded! Only think what he has been doing, our virtuous Eleazar! his last loaf has already been baked for him. Look you, this fellow, this lord and master of the country, this son-in-law of the old man of the mountain, is a scurvy thief ... Now I will forgive that white-faced Hungarian wretch for serving me as he did the other day; for what is all the reputation in the earth, all the honour in the world come to?"

The whole neighbourhood, town and country, was in consternation at this event. The most incredible thing in the world had taken place, a crime that could neither be denied nor concealed, committed by a man whom all had been forced to regard with respect, whom all had lookt upon as their future master and protector; and they could not recover from their astonishment, or fall back into their ordinary occupations; for their minds in this turmoil had for a while lost every standard by which a man measures himself.

The old man amid the general tumult had already learnt the whole story, in spite of the pains Edward had taken to prevent it. He had lockt himself up in his room and let nobody in.

Edward now interrogated the stranger. This man had for a long time had dealings with Eleazar; he lived in a town a good many miles off, and had often sent agents up the mountains and helpt in selling the stolen goods. A tradesman in another small town was also a party in the affair. The Hungarian had quarelled with Eleazar, and had come up into these parts with a view of going to old Balthasar, sounding him, and, if he found him inclined to pay well for it, disclosing the whole history of the abominable transaction. But as the old man had not shewn any mind to have recourse to superstitious devices, still less to give ear to his covert hints, so that the stranger might have brought his own neck into the noose if he had betrayed too much, he drew off and remained faithful to his confederate Eleazar, who had quieted him with a sum of money, along with large promises for the future.

The old man's great bell now rang, and Edward took up his papers and went to him. "You have lookt over and corrected all my accounts, my dear friend?" he began with outward calmness. Edward said yes, as he set down the books; but he hesitated and knew not whether to give in Eleazar's will along with them. The old man however took it himself out of his hand and cast his eyes over it.

"It is now three months," he began, "since he made me heir to all he has, in case he should die before me. He has drawn up a list of all his effects, and points out where each thing may be found. The chief article is a number of gold bars, which he says are of his own making. Read it."

Edward took the papers with some embarrassment. "Is it not true?" said the old man after some time, "does any thing but madness animate and rule the whole world? Can you understand this man and his character in any other way? To be sure this word itself does not help us to understand it. O young man, young man, do you not feel now how thoroughly right I was? I trusted this man unlimitedly, because he was not girt round with any delusive deceitful show; because nothing in my heart sallied forth to meet him, and I did not lie to myself in his behalf for the sake of pampering my own vanity. Ay, my friend, now everything is detected and noised abroad; he is going ... and in this will he gives me back what the lawyers would call my property. His will! Now forsooth it must also be time to make mine, and a different one from what I intended. Now your nice feelings of honour will no doubt condescend to stay with me a little longer ... and my child, my Rose! alas, how fearful it is that this darling of my heart is also a human being!"

"At such an hour as this," answered Edward, "which must needs strike you with horrour, I will not again declare the wishes of my heart to you; you yourself have toucht upon them, or I should have refrained even from these words. But undoubtedly I must now stay with you: destiny compells me to do so, and imposes it as a sacred duty upon me."

"Destiny with a vengeance!" said the old man with his bitter smile: "you take a fancy to Rose; you hear she is already engaged; this drives you away from me; but before you take leave, your honour must be cleared and furbisht up; and as a remembrance you shoot my most intimate friend, the man after my own soul, and tear him from my side. Now Rose is at liberty, you are your own master, your rival is got rid of; and destiny has managed the whole matter admirably. But whether this shot has not pierced through my heart, whether it has not rent and burst asunder the innermost sanctuary of my soul ... these questions are never thought of. There is as it were a huge chasm yawning in my spirit ... confidence, faith ... everything ... did not I say so? good is the only real evil ... Edward! don't look so sad ... methinks I am talking quite wildly."

He took the young man's hand. "Bring me the mayor this evening, and the priest and bailiff as witnesses. You are now my son, and this is the spirit I shall now make my will in. I feel it is high time; for it would be horrible if Helbach were to fling all my fortune to the dogs. O if I could but totally forget this shot and Eleazar! if such wild thoughts did not keep rushing about in my brain! Now you and Rose will stay with me."

Edward withdrew. He went to look for Rose in her room. She burst out a-crying, jumpt up from her chair, and threw herself into the young man's arms with an expression of the fondest affection. "Alas Edward!" she cried sobbing, and hid her face on his breast: "only look now at what I have to go through in my youth. This was never sung over me in my cradle, that I should lose my husband in so shocking a manner, and even before our wedding. And the last thing I should have thought of was that you were to shoot him dead, you, the dearest and kindest of all men.--Alas! poor, poor Eleazar! when he came from nature's hands, such an odious misshapen abortion of a man! And now into the bargain to steal, to lie, and to cheat! to rob my good father, who meant to give him everything! What will become of his poor soul now? Oh yes, he has perisht still more cruelly, he is much more unhappy than my cat with her kittens, that he shot so barbarously on the orange tree. Alas Edward! are you then in real truth such a good creature, as I have always believed you? or are you perchance very wicked too? You did not mean it, did you? that Eleazar should die so?"

Edward took pains to explain the nature of the whole affair to her. "Be composed," he continued; "the course of our lives here has suddenly undergone a violent change; we must all overcome this shock, to get back again into the path of our ordinary duty. A few days since you were sorry that I was going away; if it can give you any comfort, let me assure you that for the present at least I shall and must stay here. Do you still wish that I should?"

She gazed at him affectionately and seemed comforted. "So then that is settled now!" she exclaimed: "ah yes, I always thought you would stay; for I can't live without you; and my father can't live without you; and all our poor workmen and spinners, our good miners, for whom you are always saying and doing something, and who, when they come for their wages or for relief, look with their whole souls into your kind eyes, these above all can never live without you."

"This calamity," said Edward, "may hereafter make you, your father, me, and all of us happy. The discovery was inevitable; and perhaps, if it had not taken place now, it would have come at a time when it would have plunged us all in misery."

"If my father now," said Rose, "were to have no objection, I might perhaps in time accustom myself to look upon you as my future husband. If I could but feel a little more respect and awe for you! If you would behave very roughly to me now and then, not always so kindly, but angrily and savagely at times, I might by and by grow reconciled to it."

Edward went to his business. The uprore had ceast, and the whole house was now quiet and silent: it seemed as if people were afraid of even breathing: all walkt about softly and on tiptoe. News came that Eleazar was dead.

Toward evening Edward went with the mayor and witnesses into old Balthasar's room. He was surprised to find him in bed. On being spoken to by his visitors he lifted himself up, stared fixedly at them, and seemed to know no one. "Aha! reverend Sir," he cried out after a while, "you are come to fetch away a second poor sinner today. It is a busy time in your vocation. Is master Eleazar come with you?"

He beckoned to Edward. "Thou yellow blockhead!" he whispered to him; "what am I to do with thy gold bars that thou hast left me? don't thrust thy stupid cheat into men's eyes so ... it is far too glaring. But beware of Edward, he is wise and good. If he should ever suspect thee, thou art lost."

He talkt to the others, but still quite at random, and was taken up with the phantoms of his own brain. The mayor and witnesses retired, and Edward went after the physician. The business of drawing up the will was put off, until the sick man should have recovered and be restored to his perfect consciousness.

The physician found the patient's state very alarming. Edward was called up in the night; but when he entered the room Herr Balthasar had already breathed his last.

The dismay, the sorrow was universal. The mayor sent to have everything sealed up. In the midst of this confusion, it seemed a matter of very little moment that the Hungarian had found means to escape from his prison.

* * * * *

In the town where the extravagant counsellor Helbach lived, there was a great feast at which all the epicures famous for their love of good eating and their knowledge of good dishes were assembled. The counsellor himself was the soul of such parties: his word was law in them; and he it was that had managed the present banquet.

The dinner was nearly over; some of the guests, who had business to call them away, were gone: the company had grown quieter; and it was only at the upper end of the table, where the counsellor and some of the scientific eaters were sitting, that the conversation was carried on with any spirit.

"Believe me, my friends," said the counsellor with great earnestness, "the art of eating, the skill men may attain in it, has its epochs, its classical ages, and its decline, corruption, and dark ages, just as much as every other art; and it seems to me that we are now again verging to a kind of barbarism in it. Luxury, profusion, rarities, new dishes, overpeppering, overspicing, all these, my good sirs, are the artifices now commonly made use of to obtain admiration for a dinner; and yet these are the very things from which a thinking eater will turn away with contemptuous slight. In the whole of this department indeed much still remains to be done; and the stories we read of the old gormandizer, Heliogabalus, and others who lived during the decrepitude of the Roman empire, stories at which many men stare with stupid astonishment, ought only to excite our pity."

"It must always be difficult no doubt," said one of the guests, "to frame any distinct conception of the dishes and the delicacies of a former age. If we dress them by such receits as remain, the result will always have something absurd in it, like the dinner which Smollett describes so humourously in his _Peregrine Pickle_."