170 THE CONFESSIONAL.

The frankness and innocence expressed in her looks, instead of soothing the Marchese, served only to increase his rage. " You are a monster!" cried he: " but these deceitful looks, this affected innocence, shall not deceive me. Your conscience will tell you what you deserve. Ask me no more questions. I know every thing. Were I to charge you with your crime, you would be sure to invent a thousand excuses: but you shall not continue your vicious courses. This is your prison," added he, pointing to the windows secured with iron bars. "Here you shall pass the remainder of that life, which ought, by right, to be forfeited."

"Stop my dear husband!" said the supplying Marchesa; "I know not how I can have offended you. But if you persist in your silence, and deem it right to punish me, consider my situation at least, and spare the innocent pledge of our love to which I shall ere long give life!"

This hint at her situation—the Marchesa was in the fourth month of her pregnancy—inflamed him still more, as it suggested the horrible idea that a stranger was possibly the father of the unborn infant. "Perish," cried he, "the offspring of guilt, and the disgrace to my house?"

With these words he rushed out, double-locked the door, and hastened to the other end of the castle to give vent to his fury, his sorrow, and his tears.

THE CONFESSIONAL.

171

The Marchesa was so thunderstruck by this unexpected reception and the cruel menaces of her husband, that she stood for a long time almost insensible, and as if rooted to the spot. When she at length recovered the use of her senses, she began to consider how she could have incurred his displeasure, but to no purpose. Tears at last came to her relief. "He believes me to be guilty!" sighed she—"and alas! he loves me! How sincerely I pity him! But innocence imparts fortitude: I will suffer with resignation." She now thought of her son, who was deprived, perhaps for ever, of the care and affection of a mother, and of her unborn infant; she recollected, with horror, the words of her husband; and all the miseries which his unhappy mistake was likely to bring upon her child presented themselves to her soul. Amid these melancholy reflections, the tears flowed incessantly for several days and nights down her so lately blooming cheeks. At length she resigned herself wholly to the will of Providence, to whose goodness she also commended her husband and her children.

After the Marchese had given directions respecting the future treatment of his wife, he ordered the question to be put to her, whether there was any thing more she wished for. "Nothing," she replied, "but the heart of my husband." He stood, unknown to her, at the

P

172 THE CONFESSIONAL.

door and heard this answer, but returned un-
moved to Genoa.

The prison of the unfortunate lady consisted
of two small rooms, the well secured windows
of which looked into a court-yard, surrounded
with a high wall. Here was a beautiful woman
of twenty-six, who had a right to calculate on
the enjoyment of all the pleasures of the world,
doomed to pass her life in dreary solitude and
everlasting confinement.

The Marchese was meanwhile a prey to the
horrors of contending passions; but amid all
the torments of jealousy and revenge, a still
small voice seemed to speak within his bosom
in favour of his wife. When he considered the
whole of her earlier years; when he recollected
all the amiable qualities by which she had made
his life a heaven on earth; when he reflected
on the patience, the resignation, and the meek-
ness with which she had borne his threats and
his cruelty; he could not help viewing in her
the innocent victim of his jealousy, and in him-
self a barbarian. But when he unluckily called
to mind the words of her confession, he thought
his treatment of her a great deal too mild, and
was more and more confirmed in his determina-
tion to keep her confined during the rest of her
life.

He visited the castle regularly once a month,
and sometimes oftener, to see that his com-

THE CONFESSIONAL. 173

mands were punctually executed. As soon as
he had arrived, he ordered the unfortunate
Marchesa to be informed of his coming, and
always placed himself near the door to hear
how she received the intelligence. Not aware
that he was present, she always enquired con-
cerning him in the most affectionate manner,
and then went back sighing into her prison.

The Marchese usually stayed a week at the
castle, and when he returned, his wife was
asked, by his desire, whether she wanted any
thing. Books of devotion were all that she de-
sired to have. He once sent her some very en-
tertaining works, but she returned them with
the assurance, that she wished for no other
works than such as were calculated to inspire
her with patience and fortitude.

In the ninth month of her pregnancy the un-
fortunate prisoner urgently solicited an inter-
view with her lord; but he peremptorily refused
to comply with her request. She then begged
him to furnish her with the materials for writ-
ing to him once more. When this favour, too,
was denied her, and she was thus cut off from
all hopes of enjoying an opportunity of pouring
out her heart to her inexorable husband; ne-
cessity, the mother of invention, suggested to
her the idea of having recourse to her skill in
working with her needle. She took a white
handkerchief, and with her hair wrought on it
the following words :

174 THE CONFESSIONAL.

“Dear Husband,

“I am now entering the ninth month of my pregnancy, and the hour of my child's birth will perhaps be the last of my life. Some evil spirit, envious of our happiness, has poisoned its source; but sooner or later truth will triumph, and I weep for the sorrows which you will have prepared for yourself, when you discover my innocence. I suffer, it is true, but less from the loss of my liberty than from the loss of your heart; and yet there is something flattering in your severity itself: it proves that you love me, and this affords me some solace. It is only through mistake that you treat me so cruelly. Would to heaven that remorse may never disturb your conscience on my account! but you have great reason to fear it on another. Consider that the infant which will soon see the light is yours. Begin then to be a father, for I am firmly convinced that heaven will one day restore my husband to me. I have nothing to solicit of you, but a person to render those offices which my situation no longer permits me to perform for myself, and a midwife to attend me at my approaching delivery. Farewell.”

When the Marchese opened the handkerchief, he paused for a moment, and was undecided whether he should deviate or not from his resolution, never to read any thing coming from or in behalf of his faithless wife. He soon deter-

THE CONFESSIONAL.

175

mined not to look at this letter. He folded it
up again, and sent the unfortunate Marchesa
the following note:

"I have received your ingenious letter, but
not perused it. Why do you show me what
inventive talents you possess? If you have
ever employed a similar stratagem to correspond
with your paramour, I shall not fail to hear of
it, and then tremble for the consequences."

The Marchesa heaved a deep sigh on reading
this cruel answer, and lamented the infatuation
of her husband; but, firmly resolved to bear
the lot that awaited her with patience, and to
resign herself to the will of Providence, she
only desired her attendant to inform her hus-
band that the hour of her delivery approached,
and to request him to furnish her with the need-
ful assistance.

On the receipt of this application, the Mar-
chesa immediately set out for the castle. The
first thing he did was to send the keeper's wife
to the Marchesa, to render her any assistance
she required. She was a very kind-hearted
woman, and her tenderness and sympathy
served, in some measure, to soothe the sorrows
of her unfortunate mistress, and to render her
situation somewhat more tolerable. He also
sent for a midwife, who, a few days afterwards,
was shut up with the Marchesa.

The unfortunate lady produced a daughter,

P 3

176 THE CONFESSIONAL.

whom the Marchese ordered to be brought to
him, and delivered to the wife of the steward.
As soon as the carriage could be got ready, he
drove with them to a village, a few miles dis-
tant, with the minister of which he was inti-
mately acquainted, and begged him to provide
a nurse by whom the child might be brought up
as a peasant. It happened that a lying-in wo-
man in the village had lost her infant, and she
readily agreed to fulfil the wish of the Mar-
chese.

When the unhappy mother was informed that
she was to part from her infant, she clasped it
to her bosom, bedewed it with her tears, and
gave it up without a murmur. Notwithstand-
ing all her sorrows, her health suffered but
little from this trial. Her husband remained
this time longer than usual at the castle, wait-
ing till the Marchesa was completely recovered.

Things now went on in their usual train, and
three years passed away, when the Conte
Ridolfi, the Marchesa's brother, a most upright
and respectable man, who some months previ-
ously to the imprisonment of his sister, had
gone as ambassador to a foreign court, and had
not heard of her fate, was expected to return to
Genoa. The Marchese impatiently awaited his
arrival, that he might make him the sole confi-
dant of his sorrows; for shame and pride had
hitherto prevented his communicating to any

THE CONFESSIONAL.

177

one the infidelity of his wife. He had told all his acquaintance that, by direction of the physicians, she was living in the country, whether he occasionally went to see her. At length the Conte arrived and alighted at the house of his brother-in-law. He flew into the arms of the Marchese and enquired after his sister. The Marchese, without replying, fixed his eyes on the ground. "Is she dead!" cried the alarmed Conte. "No, she lives," replied the Marchese, "though she is dead for me. She has dishonoured me; but I have dealt mildly with her, and merely confined her in a distant castle. I am the most wretched husband in the world!" He thereupon related to him the confession which he had overheard in the chapel; the difficulty he had to refrain from dispatching her in the first paroxysm of rage, and the resolution he had formed to keep her in confinement for the rest of her life. The Conte himself admitted that no husband could have shown greater indulgence in such a case.

The presence of the Conte, his friendship, and his efforts to cheer the Marchese, somewhat alleviated his unhappy situation. He poured forth his heart into the bosom of his brother-in-law, and was not ashamed to confess that his wife was never absent from his thoughts; that he loved and hated, adored and despised her; and that nothing could equal his misery. As

178 THE CONFESSIONAL.

they were once walking along the sea-shore,
the Marchese recollected that it was ten years
that very day since his marriage; and he was
thinking with profound melancholy on the
happy hours of his love, when the Conte di-
rected his attention to an old ecclesiastic, whose
pale but fine face appeared to him extremely
interesting. " Ah!" exclaimed the Marchese,
"that is my wife's confessor! It was to him
that she communicated the horrid secret which
has embittered my life."

The ecclesiastic came up and politely saluted
the two gentlemen. The Marchese enquired
why he looked so pale. The priest replied,
that he had been afflicted with a long illness,
which had brought him to the brink of the
grave, and that this was the first time he had
been able to go abroad to enjoy the beauties of
nature. The Marchese then asked if he was
not surprised at not having seen his wife so
long. " Probably," answered the ecclesiastic,
" her ladyship has found some one more wor-
thy of her confidence. I am sorry she has with-
drawn it from me, because I cannot help feeling
the highest regard for her." " Regard ?" ex-
claimed the Marchese—" regard, after the con-
fession she made to you ?" The priest requested
an explanation. " I cannot but commend your
silence," rejoined the Marchese, " but I must
inform you, that I overheard it all. The last

THE CONFESSIONAL.

179

time she confessed to you, I entered the chapel,
and approached, unobserved, so near to the
confessional, that I could distinctly hear her
acknowledge to you, that she had every day
had a young man in her bedchamber; so that
you need not think to deceive me.”—“O, sir!”
cried the clergyman, “under what an unhappy
mistake do you lie! I perfectly recollect that
confession; but how can you apply the cir-
cumstances to the Marchesa? The church, it
is true, enjoins everlasting silence, in regard to
confessions; but, in this instance my duty com-
mands me to disclose to you what I know.
There cannot be a more innocent creature than
your wife. At the time you mention she was
speaking of her maid, who had formed an im-
proper connection with the nephew of your
house-steward. The girl daily admitted the
young man into the chamber of her mistress,
and let him out, unobserved, at night by the
back-stairs. Out of kindness to the old stew-
ard the Marchesa did not acquaint you with
her reason for discharging her servant; because,
as he knew nothing of his nephew’s proceed-
ings, she wished to spare him your reproaches.
From a scruple of conscience she communicated
to me this circumstance, because she was not
quite satisfied with herself for dismissing the
girl under the first impulse of anger; as she
might, perhaps, by proper admonition and look-

180 THE CONFESSIONAL.

ing strictly after her, have brought her back to
her duty.”

The Marchese was like a man suddenly
awaking from a horrid dream. “Insensate,
cruel wretch that I am!” cried he, striking his
forehead. “How long, O God! has innocence
been the victim of my stupid jealousy! Come,”
said he, turning to the Conte, “come along;
let us release her from her prison!” He took
him by the arm, and without bestowing another
thought on the priest, or thanking him for his
disclosure, hurried home, ordered his chariot,
and desired the postillion to drive with the ut-
most expedition to the castle. Every moment
that the innocent Marchesa had still to languish
in confinement, seemed to him to be just so
much cut off from her existence. All her mild
virtues, which had once rendered him so happy,
presented themselves to his imagination, and
reproached him incessantly with his cruelty, so
that the Conte could scarcely prevent him from
sinking into despair.

They at length reached the castle, and hur-
ried to the room where the Marchesa had re-
tired to rest. She awoke with the noise, and
apprehensive of some accident, sprung out of
bed and hastened half-dressed to the door, to
enquire what was the matter, when it suddenly
flew open and her husband lay at her feet.
They were near fainting in each others' arms,

THE CONFESSIONAL.

and the Conte, who had not been able to keep up
with the Marchese, had some difficulty to bring
them to themselves.

An explanation ensued. The gentle Marchesa forgave her husband, and enquired, trembling, concerning her children. She heard with transport that both were alive and well, and that she should, in a few hours, embrace her daughter, as their road lay through the village where she had been placed. It was with inexpressible rapture that, on her arrival there, she pressed the lovely, healthy child, whom she had seen but once, as it were in a dream, to her maternal bosom, and bedewed her with tears of the most delicious emotion.

The re-united couple passed the remainder
of their days in unalloyed felicity. The Mar-
chesa carefully avoided every thing that could
remind her husband of his injustice towards
her; and he, on his part, strove to banish the
recollection of it by the utmost tenderness and
attention. A numerous family crowned their
renewed love, and they lived over again in their
hopeful children.

OF MADRIGAL.

was simple, but extremely neat. Soon after his arrival, one of his servants robbed him of 150 ducats, and absconded. He hired another in his stead, but neither of these attendants was allowed to accompany him out of the house, as he was particularly careful to avoid every kind of ostentation. When he went abroad, he sent them before, directing one of them to wait for him at a particular spot; whence he dispatched him to overtake the other, who was to wait in like manner, while his companion repaired to a third place appointed by the master. The writer ascribes this precaution of Espinosa, on the one hand, to his wish not to have any witnesses of his actions, and on the other, to have a messenger always in readiness to procure him information relative to any thing that might interest him.

In one of these solitary walks he once met with the riding-master of a neighbouring count, leading a very fine horse by the halter. After the usual salutations, and a few words on indifferent subjects had been exchanged, the riding-master observed, that he had never met with a person who could manage the very spirited animal. Espinosa's reply proved his thorough knowledge of equitation, and he at length forgot himself so far as to comply with the request of the riding-master, and mount the horse. To the surprise of the stranger, and one of the

184 THE PASTRY-COOK

count's grooms who accompanied him, he manifested such extraordinary skill, combined with so much grace and dignity, that the riding-master could not help remarking, that Espinosa must have had a very superior education. This he, however, denied, suddenly dismounted, and saying that when he was young he had belonged to the carbineers of the king of Portugal's guard, he turned off into a lonely path, and pursued his walk.

The groom reported, that when he was at some distance he struck his brow with his open hand. This trivial circumstance, coupled with the statement of a beggar-woman, on whom he bestowed every week a liberal bounty, and who asserted that she had seen a valuable diamond ring on his finger, which, in the possession of a man dressed in so ordinary a manner, excited her suspicion that he had stolen it, induced the corregidor of Valladolid to give orders for his apprehension. This, however, was not a very easy matter, as Espinosa was accustomed to change his lodging several times a-week. He was taken in bed. His night-clothes were of the very finest Holland. In his possession were found the following jewels:—a richly decorated ivory bowl of curious workmanship; a ring with a stone, on which was engraved a portrait of King Philip II. when a child—this ring the king had, in his early life, presented to a

OF MADRIGAL.

185

rich nun in the convent of St. Mary, at Madrigal—this nun the writer calls Donna Anna de Austria, but without stating who this Austrian princess really was. Thirdly, there were some very valuable images of saints, richly set with precious stones; a large stone of inestimable value, set in gold: a small gold watch, such as it was then common to wear at the bosom, set with brilliants; a prayer-book in gold binding, and various other articles not specified.

The prisoner, on his first examination, said that his name was Gabriel Espinosa, that he was a pastry-cook of Madrigal, where he had been settled for half a year, and where the above-mentioned valuables had been put into his hands by the Princess Anna, for the purpose of being sold, and that it was this business which brought him to Valladolid. On being threatened with the torture unless he confessed the truth, he smiled, and proudly replied, that his majesty, the king of Spain, knew him too well, and would take good care not to expose him to such pain and ignominy. He thereupon complained bitterly of the treatment he had to endure, but the judge replied, that it was suited to the condition of which he alleged himself to be, and that he must of course place it to the account of his own statement.

At this time there resided in the environs of

186 THE PASTRY-COOK

Valladolid a foreign lady with two young children, who, as it was afterwards ascertained, frequently dispatched trusty messengers to Espinosa, and often received messages from him. No sooner was she informed of his apprehension, than she instantly quitted that part of the country with the children; and in spite of the strictest search, fortunately for herself and the innocent infants, they remained undiscovered.

While a courier was gone from the judge to the nun at Madrigal, one of Espinosa's servants, who were yet free, had found means to send intelligence to his residence there, and to effect the removal of a small writing-desk, of which no traces could ever afterwards be discovered. Unluckily, however, one letter was lost out of it, and this fell into the hands of the criminal judge. It was written by Miguel de los Santos, the confessor of the nun, a native of Portugal, a man greatly beloved and respected in the vicinity of Madrigal, and who had the reputation of the strictest integrity. In this letter the ecclesiastic styled the prisoner, " your majesty," and communicated to him some important family intelligence, from which it appeared, that the above-mentioned lady was his wife, and that the two children were his. It was now no difficult matter to discover with whom they had to do: for the ecclesiastic, in his first examina-

OF MADRIGAL.

187

tion, declared that the prisoner was no other
than Don Sebastian, king of Portugal, who had
been missing ever since the battle of Alcasar,
in Africa, on the 3d of August, 1578, which was
so disastrous to the Portuguese. He gives
twelve reasons in confirmation of the truth of
his statement, two of which are particularly
worthy of notice. " I knew the king person-
ally," says Miguel de los Santos, " while heir-
apparent ; his features are the very same.
But a little circumstance of which I reminded
him, namely, that when he was about eight
years old, playing one day with his brother, the
present Cardinal Henry, in the garden of the
palace of Lisbon, they lost a relic set in gold,
which was picked up by me while walking in
company with another young ecclesiastic, and
restored it to the princes ; the circumstance
that he knew the fountain near which we met
the two princes, that he could accurately de-
scribe the relic which I found, and recollected
the very words spoken in our presence by the
preceptor who attended him, together with the
lively answer of his brother—all this convinced
me that he is the person whom I assert him to
be. Nay, more—this prince, whose kingdom is
irrecoverably lost, when he sought an asylum
with me, brought two letters, one of them
written by his brother, the cardinal, and the
other by an ecclesiastic of high rank in Portu-

Q 3

188 THE PASTRY-COOK

gal, which, as I am acquainted with their
hands, thoroughly convince me that the bearer
cannot be an impostor."

These letters were delivered to the corregi-
dor, who transmitted them to the court, together
with a report of the whole affair. Soon after-
wards a commissioner arrived from the capital,
and commenced his criminal investigation with
causing the confessor of the princess to be put
to the torture. " I cannot," said he, "speak
contrary to my firm conviction: my conscience,
and my profession, alike forbid me." Fresh
tortures were applied in the third degree.—
"O, God! who knowest all things!" he at
length ejaculated, "forgive me if I violate the
truth! It is possible that the prisoner may be
an impostor, and not the king that I gave him
out to be." Neither threats, the harshest treat-
ment, hunger, nor confinement in the worst
dungeon of the prison, could extort from him
one word beyond this admission.

It was now Espinosa's turn to be examined
by the monster. He was received with an op-
probrious epithet. " I am no impostor;" said
he, "my name is Gabriel Espinosa; I was
found on the steps of St. Sebastian's church, at
Lisbon, and of course do not know my parents.
I served a long time in the cavalry of the king
of Portugal, and the languages which I speak,
I learned by associating with soldiers of dif-

OF MADRIGAL.

ferent nations. I can read, but not write, I am
a pastry-cook of Madrigal." When put to the
trial, it was found that he understood very
little of that business. He had, however,
purchased a licence to follow it; and Donna
Anna, the nun, confirmed the truth of the
statement, that she had placed the jewels in his
hands to be sold for her.

To the question, whether he knew the king
Don Sebastian, and whether he was present at
the battle of Alcasarquivir, he replied: "How
could I help knowing him? I fought on that
disastrous day among his guards." When
asked if he had not given himself out for the
lost monarch, he replied in the negative; and
he was thereupon consigned to the rack. Till
this moment he had manifested in his examina-
tion a manly firmness: he now became furious.
With the energy of despair, he defended him-
self against all who approached him, till at
length, overpowered by superior force, he was
extended on the rack. He endured all the de-
grees with fortitude, and seemed so accustomed
to command, that he could not forget to do so
even amidst the most excruciating pains under
the hands of his tormentors. All attempts to
extort from him a different confession were in
vain. The affair was referred to Madrid, where
he received sentence to be drawn to the place
of execution, hanged, and quartered, which

190

THE PASTRY-COOK

was executed on Wednesday the 2d of August,
1595, in the market-place of Madrigal.

When he was upon the ladder at the gallows,
he attempted to speak, on which the Franciscan
friar who attended him held the crucifix close
to his lips; and the executioner, coming behind
him, pushed him off the ladder, sprung upon his
shoulders, and in a few minutes he was no
more.

The ecclesiastic, Miguel de los Santos, was
publicly divested of his sacred character, de-
livered up to the civil power, carried to Madrid,
and hanged within a month, in the Plaza Mayor
of that city.

A severe lot also befel the nun. She and two
female attendants were obliged to do penance
at the altar, and the latter were then separated
from her. Donna Anna was obliged to swear
that she would not utter a word for ten
years; she was never to leave her cell unless
to go to mass, and to keep a strict fast every Friday; but before many months of this
long period elapsed she too had breathed her
last.

In order to comprehend the possibility of such
an atrocious procedure, the reader must bear in
mind, that the Duke of Alba, after the disap-
pearance of Sebastian at the battle of Alcasar,
subdued Portugal for Philip II. and conse-
quently this notoriously cruel statesman would

OF MADRIGAL.

191

not fail to treat any one who gave himself out
for Sebastian, as an usurper.

The writer of this very prolix narrative, who
seems to have been an ecclesiastic, asserts, that
he himself visited the prisoner during his con-
finement in the last days of his life, and that he
had the facts from the lips of eye-witnesses of
unquestioned veracity.

192

ON MAKING AND

ON

MAKING AND CONCILIATING

ENEMIES.

[BY AUGUSTUS VON KOTZEBUE.]

THE art of gaining friends is frequently less necessary than that of not making enemies. A friend is one who assists you to climb, an enemy, one who has not been able to prevent your climbing; but you are now on the top, where it is much more difficult to keep your balance, than below on safe ground. Your enemy comes behind you, gives you a push on the back, and down you go.

A person frequently makes ten enemies by gaining one friend, whose friendship they envy him. They then fall upon him without mercy:

CONCILIATING ENEMIES. 193

they make every weakness a crime, every fault
a vice, every individual action a practice, and
every suspicion a certainty. If you like to look
at a pretty face, you are a debauchee; if you
have the unlucky habit of being sometimes witty
at the expense of a fool, they attribute to you a
bad heart; if in the social circle you once took
a glass too much, you are a drunkard; and if
you miss going to the club for a week, it is
asserted as a fact that you have run away.

Above all, avoid making a blue-stocking lady
your enemy, which is the easiest thing in the
world; for, carry her, according to the saying,
in your arms to Rome, and set her down but a
little roughly at the gate, and she will hate
you. If she is pious, into the bargain, she will
abhor you, for piety is not content with loving
and hating, it deifies or daemonizes. You will
then hear what pains she takes to overload you
with vices, and to brand you with crimes.—
"Poor fellow!" once observed one of these
learned ladies, speaking of me, after running
through a whole catalogue of my defects; "un-
happy man! and, what is worst of all, he be-
lieves that there is but a single God!"

A very rancorous enmity is also produced
when some one forces himself upon you as a
patron, and you have the misfortune not to
want him. This, too, I have myself experienced
from a literary character, who thought it in-

194 ON MAKING ENEMIES.

cumbent on him to patronize me, and whom I
never offended in any other way than in not
wanting his patronage.

Do not fondly imagine that you can wrap
yourself up in the cloak of innocence, and
answer slander with contempt. Malice is like
the sudden storm: you may stand dry under
the shelter of your conscience, the world does
not see it—and, what is still worse, *will* not see
it. In this respect men differ from the angels :
they have more joy over the fall of one sinner,
than over one hundred righteous persons who
have never fallen.

These things, however, we must bear as well
as we can. He is wise who complains of
nobody; he thereby avoids or stifles many en-
mities. If you fail to convert by patience, you
at least disarm.

But, methinks I hear you reply, a man who
hates me without just cause, does not deserve
that I should spare him.

True; but the question is not what he deserves,
but what is best for you. For your own sake
you should soothe his enmity, not for his : and,
indeed, this is frequently an easier matter than
we may imagine. Show respect to your enemy ;
this respect flatters him, and from a bitter ca-
lumniator he will not rarely become your warm
defender.

196 FERDINAND FRANCK.

if it be part of his purpose that others should
benefit by his errors—if the monument he erects
to his own fame be not altogether of Carrara
marble of milky whiteness, but a mosaic, inter-
mingled with quartz and mica, and here and
there even with little fragments of black basalt—
truth, it is hoped, will not be the worse for the
self-narrative.

Next to candour, brevity will be my aim;
far from following the example of the veteran
Goethe, whose great celebrity warrants him in
thinking the most trifling occurrences in his
long career of sufficient importance to poste-
rity to occupy a place in the voluminous tomes
of his auto-biography, I shall make a scrupu-
lous selection from the journal which I began
on the day when the kindness of a more expe-
rienced friend performed, for the first time, a
premature tonsorian operation upon the downy
erstlings of puberty. I shall exhibit such inci-
dents only, as appear to me to have influenced,
in some degree, my future destiny; but, while I
shall be sparing in this selection of pictures from
real life, those that may be deemed fit for exhibi-
tion will not be mere outlines, or dauby sketches
of a few random strokes. I shall endeavour to
make my drawing as correct and neat as I may
be able, give it all the advantage of light and
shade, and adopt such mode of colouring as
may best suit the subject.

FERDINAND FRANCK.

197

## CHAP. II.

*A Family Picture.*

FAITHFUL to this pledge, I shall, at one leap, clear the sixteen first years of my existence, and at once introduce the reader to an honest couple, Mr. and Mrs. Franck, my uncle and aunt, who, after the death of my good parents, not only took the poor helpless orphan under their roof, but loved and cherished him as though he were their own child.

This act of charity was the more meritorious, as Mr. Franck's means were extremely slender. His annual salary, as schoolmaster in the little town of Feldberg, did not exceed the moderate sum of 70 rix-dollars, to which may be added a trifling pittance derived from the collection of a small duty on every head of cattle which entered the town, the exemption from house-rent afforded by the public school-house, and the use of a garden attached to it. The perquisites were trifling; now and then a fat goose, or a ham, from the parents of those boys whose aristocrat skins were more respected than the devoted sediments of plebeian urchins; and, at Christ-

198 FERDINAND FRANCK.

mas time, pork and sausages from every house
in the village, except the Jews.

Originally destined to be my uncle's succes-
sor, no pains were spared, on his part, to per-
fect the candidate in a calling to which he at-
tached the highest possible merit and import-
ance, and which, it must be owned, he filled
with great credit to himself. The precise ex-
tent of his Latin knowledge I was then too
young to estimate; but what he possessed of
that commodity was by no means locked up in
selfish silence; on the contrary, the most trivial
occurrences received elucidation by abundance
of proverbs and adages in prose and verse, so
frequently applied, that many of these valuable
sayings became, in sound at least, quite fami-
liar to my aunt, who would often presume to
finish the alien sentence, heedless of the in-
evitable comparison to a parrot or magpie, to
which feathered linguists, on such occasions,
Mr. Franck was pleased to liken her. The
study of numerals being a favourite pursuit,
carried on by way of relaxation, even in hours of
leisure, no wonder that in this branch he became
the theme of conversation and an oracle of con-
sultation to the whole district. In the solu-
tion of his problems he did not at all times take
the shortest road towards mathematical truth;
he was in love with figures, and so did not care
how many sixes and sevens trickled from his

FERDINAND FRANCK.

199

busy quill : but the truth he would have, in his
own way, to the last fragment of a fraction;
nothing *præter propter* ; he abhorred approxi-
mation.

Mr. Franck's study of his vernacular tongue,
the German, was carried to so high a degree of
perfection, that he talked it differently from any
other person whatsoever, and every such devia-
tion he was able and prepared to support by
argument or analogy, against any opponent,
except my aunt, whom Nature, in her wisdom,
had indemnified by the quantity, for what she
lacked in respect of the quality and purity of
her own tongue.

Among the functions connected with my
uncle's situation of schoolmaster, was also that
of precentor, or leader of the vocal effusions of
the congregation of Feldberg on Sundays, and
in that capacity it formed part of his duty to
instruct the boys in singing choral melodies.

Mr. Franck was likewise a great adept in
the science of physiognomy. A small prize in
the lottery had enabled him to purchase the
work of Lavater, much against the inclination
of Mrs. Franck; and none of the boys that
entered his school was exempt from a severe
physiognomical scrutiny, according to the rules
given by the great Swiss philosopher.

I think it necessary to be thus particular in
the enumeration of my uncle's qualifications

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200 FERDINAND FRANCK.

and occupations, because they more or less in-
fluenced my subsequent inclinations and de-
stinies. It is in this view that I feel a pride in
paying a tribute to the strict integrity which
pervaded every action of his life. To his moral
precepts, and more so to the force of his ex-
ample, I owe, thank heaven, the cheering con-
sciousness of unsullied honesty, amidst the nu-
merous aberrations of my youth as well as of a
riper age.

In Mr. Franck's bills of extras, furnished to
his scholars, not only not a quill appeared that
was not actually delivered, but every article
was charged at the price he paid for it. I also
well remember a serious difference between
him and my aunt, occasioned by the drooping
health of one of the pigs, which they were in
the habit of keeping. On her proposing to sell
the invalid before its condition became hope-
less, he started, with a look of dignified sur-
prise, from his elbow chair, and in this perhaps
solitary instance all the special pleadings and
thrifty reasonings, which flowed from her va-
luable organ of speech, not as milk and honey,
but rather like the pelting of a hailstorm, were
words to the winds. Mrs. Franck was com-
pelled to close the chromatic duet with the
wonted coda: "You are poor, and will be poor,
all the days of your life."

It may be supposed, that my uncle's quarterly

FERDINAND FRANCK.

201

accounts of the receipts of the duty on every
head of cattle that entered the gates of Feld-
berg, were models of correctness. Indeed the
rare method which his scrupulous honesty had
suggested to him in managing this trust, de-
serves to be handed down as an example worthy
of the imitation of all public accomptants. Let
them observe the simple but efficient system of
Mr. Franck, and the terms of “ Deficiency in
Balances,” and “ Public Defaulters,” will vanish
from the financial vocabulary of nations. Act-
ing upon the broad and plain principle, that all
the money he received was, not as to amount
only, but identically such as it came to him, the
property of his employers, the dues he collected
passed through his hands no otherwise than by
dropping them through a narrow aperture into
a box of block-tin. As the padlock of this box
was opened by him but once a quarter, in the
presence of his superior, the contents of the
box invariably corresponded with the accounts.
In vain would neighbours request the occasional
favour of small change for a gold piece, the tin
box remained hermetically closed from quarter-
day to quarter-day; in vain the superior's com-
plaints of the tedious operation of counting
coppers and small silver: “ Such as I had it,
such I yield it,” was the invariable reply of my
honest uncle.

Ye stewards, receivers, treasurers, paymast-

202 FERDINAND FRANCK.

ers, and commissaries! what think you of this
talisman of honesty, the tin box of Mr. Nicholas Franck, schoolmaster, precentor, and collector of cattle-dues at Feldberg?

## CHAP. III.

### *Learning by Inoculation.*

THE progress I made in scholastic studies,
enabled me at an early age to assist effectively
in the arduous task of my uncle. I wrote a
beautiful hand, and my predilection for the
Latin rendered my proficiency in that language
so striking, that, according to his own declara-
tion, I nearly equalled his attainments in the
same. In short, I was a promising youth, with
every reasonable prospect to do well in the
world, if the world would do fairly by me.
Nevertheless, my uncle occasionally let drop
some hints indicative of his doubts as to my
future prosperity in the career of tuition.—
Poor man! his own example furnished an *ar-
gumentum ad hominem*. These doubts, by de-
grees, manifested themselves more explicitly,
and I soon observed, that the secret and solemn

FERDINAND FRANCK.

203

discussions which frequently took place between
him and aunt, after dinner, had nought but me
for their object.

A newspaper from the capital brought these
discussions to a sudden and decisive termina-
tion, for a time at least. It was stated, in a
demi-official manner, " that his highness, the
Grand-Duke, fully impressed with the benefi-
cial effects which attended the new system of
mutual instruction, upon the Lancasterian plan,
graciously intended to select a few intelligent
young men, to be sent to England with a view
to study the system in all its details at the
fountain-head, in order that on their return the
same might be introduced in every part of the
grand-ducal dominions."

The paper in question was brought to my
uncle by his friend Mr. Knobelsheimer, the
doctor of the town, who jocularly observed,
that people were never too old to learn; that
my uncle, together with every schoolmaster in
the country, would have to journey to the capi-
tal, to go to school again for six months or so;
and that perhaps in a year or two there would
hardly be any occasion for schoolmasters at
all.

This intelligence acted like a thunderbolt on
the frame of Mr. Franck, who entertained the
greatest veneration for the profession of which
he was a worthy member. When he had some-

204 FERDINAND FRANCK.

what recovered from the first effects of his alarm
and indignation, he reproved the vivacious
doctor for the levity with which he could treat
a matter of such deep importance to the country
at large: "May heaven," he pathetically ex-
claimed, "guide the understanding of our gra-
cious sovereign, and turn him from a purpose
so pregnant with mischief and calamity to all
his subjects! If Germans be doomed to copy
other nations, why imitate their weaknesses in-
stead of their excellencies? Why not introduce
a constitution similar to the British, and a trial
by jury; why not imitate England in her gene-
rous and benevolent institutions, in her public
encouragements to merit of all kinds? Copy
her in these and the like things by all means,
but leave her the mania for mechanisms, so de-
structive to the prosperity of the people at
large. I tell you what, Mr. Knobelsheimer,
the English, with their steam-engines, steam-
boats, spinning-jennies, rail-ways, threshing-
machines, and a thousand other knick-knacks
of machinery for diminishing labour, have gra-
dually succeeded in putting hundreds of thou-
sands out of bread; while, on the other hand,
vaccination has rapidly augmented the bread-
less population. For this impoverished excess,
the ordinary and rational means of instruction
were deemed insufficient or too expensive, and
so they must be taught by a mechanism of a

FERDINAND FRANCK.

205

living kind. For what else can it be called
than mere mechanism when boys teach boys, as
I have seen a dozen head of cattle lick each
other on our common?—But in our dear Ger-
many, my good friend, things are not yet come
to that pass; we are not so rich as the English,
it is true, but we are less poor too: there are
enough to teach, and not too many to be taught.
Look at our boys in this place, doctor,” ……

But I have pledged brevity to the reader,
and this pledge must be violated were I to give
but the substance of the remainder of Mr.
Franck's sentiments on this occasion. In truth,
it would be out of my power so to do; for
after having held forth for an hour or so in our
parlour, he waxed gradually hoarse from the
exertion, his organs of speech became parched,
and to supply the requisite moisture, Mr. Kno-
belsheimer proposed to adjourn the debate,
until their arrival at the Three Crowns, where
probably further particulars of these sad tidings
might be collected. So forth they sallied down
the High-street, in such active discussion all
the way, that, every dozen steps, my uncle made
a dead stand to face the doctor, and held him
by a button to ensure the desired immobility.

206

FERDINAND FRANCK.

CHAP. IV.

*Two Strings to the Bow.*

As I had been accustomed to go early to bed,
I saw nothing more of my uncle until next
morning, at breakfast, when he addressed me
in nearly the following terms :

"The sad intelligence, my dear Ferdinand,
is but too true, and our profession, to which I
am sure you would have done honour, has
nothing but ruin in prospect. But the wise are
not to be dismayed by misfortune, *impavidum*
*ferient ruinæ*. As for myself, the few years I
may have to live, render the future of less con-
sequence; but it is my duty to provide for you
in the best manner my means, or rather my
judgment, (for the means are limited indeed)
may enable me to do. I do not wish you to
forsake the scholastic line entirely: times may
change, *tempora mutantur*; and, as the poet
says, *vosmet servate rebus secundis*; but I mean
you to have two strings to your bow, and thanks
to the kindness of Dr. Knobelsheimer, and to
Providence, who never sends what we mortals
deem a misfortune, without putting the remedy

FERDINAND FRANCK.

207

within our reach; the second string is found. The infirmities of the doctor render some of the laborious duties of his profession fatiguing to him, the boiling of decoctions and ointments affects his breath, and he wields the pestle with difficulty. He has in the most friendly manner offered to instruct you in his art, gratuitously, and out of friendship to me; he will spare you at such times in the day as may be required for your assisting me, as hitherto, in the business of the school, and for your own improvement in the scholastic profession. In short, you will have to attend in his shop a few hours in the day, and for the rest live and stay with us as before."

The novelty of the thing, together with an insatiable thirst for knowledge of every kind, and a high degree of ambition which lurked in my whole being, rendered this proposal perfectly welcome. My imagination already beheld the doctor's diploma, carriage and horses, in and out-door patients without number, consultations with the rest of the faculty, and splendid medical works, with the name of Ferdinand Franck, M.D. LL.D. &c.

The very next day I was seen in Dr. Kno-belsheimer's laboratory, girded with a green tammy apron, cheerfully chopping liquorice and sarsaparilla, for the purification of the juices of an elderly maiden lady. The town being

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208 FERDINAND FRANCK.

rather healthy just at that time, I had abundant
leisure to ransack the little library of my new
principal, which by that means became divested
of a thick stratum of dust, dead flies, and cob-
webs, with which a quiescence of perhaps a
quarter of a century had incrusted every tenant
of the shelves. The books were old; and books,
as I have since found, are like wine, not the
worse for their age. The difference between
old and new books, generally speaking, is, that
the former were written in times when authors
had more ideas than words; whereas, at the
present day, the case is precisely the re-
verse. The improvements in literature and
language have been so great, that now-a-days
two or three ideas, and those perhaps borrowed,
may be made to fill as many pages. The art
consists partly in expressing the same thing
over and over again in a variety of elegant and
rounded periods, and in not following the sub-
ject in a servile straight line, as Lapland mice
are said to travel; but to excurse a little to the
left, and a little to the right, like a pert idle
spaniel, sauntering through the populous Rue
St. Honoré, looking in at every open shop-door,
lapping every puddle, sniffing every corner-
stone, and ——.

But to my old books of anatomy, surgery,
pathology, botany, materia medica, &c. all
which I devoured with the indiscriminating

FERDINAND FRANCK.

209

avidity of a youth, whose ambition looked upon every folio and quarto as a step in the ladder towards fame and the doctor's degree. To these venerable tomes I owe a great part of the medical and other knowledge I ever acquired. The materials, it is true, were collected without system or judgment, but a riper age and understanding found them in store, and knew how to separate the ore from the dross, to arrange and order the chaos of crude elements, to supply deficiencies, and to extend the fabric upon the juvenile but solid foundation. It is a trite remark, but a true one, that we know nothing so well and so firmly as what we have learned while young.

As Mr. Knobelsheimer rather indulged than impeded these theoretical studies, the time passed agreeably enough between his shop and my uncle's house for a considerable period. But since there is no perfect happiness in this sublunary world, various circumstances presented themselves from time to time, which acted as a drawback on the advantages of my situation.

210

FERDINAND FRANCK.

## CHAP. V.

### *A Medical Lecture.*

As there was no regular physician in Feldberg, we had but rarely to compound written prescriptions. When any were brought, they generally bore the signature of some celebrated man in the capital, and frequently directed out-of-the-way ingredients, which Mr. Knoblesheimer deemed unnecessary for the health of mankind, and therefore disdained to keep in his compendious store. In such cases I was told to substitute *quid pro quo*, and the remarks which my conscience urged me to make gave obvious offence to my principal. On other occasions, when casual applicants came for relief in his absence, I was rebuked by him for administering certain medicaments, although their successful and *speedy* effect pleaded for their propriety. This and other instances of his conduct remained inexplicable to me for some time.

One Sunday, however, Mr. Knoblesheimer asked me to partake of a goose, which my aunt had sent him; he was unusually kind, and not sparing in filling my glass with his best Hock.

FERDINAND FRANCK. 211

Towards the end of the repast, he addressed
me nearly as follows:

“The attention, my dear Ferdinand, which
you have paid to my instructions and to the
business in general, has been the theme of a
conversation between your uncle and me in
coming from church this morning. The good
soul, his face beamed with delight when I told
him what I thought of you, and I have given
him a solemn pledge, that nothing shall be
wanting on my part to lead you to fame and
fortune. I am mistaken, Ferdinand, if, with
your talents and industry, you do not one day,
and ere long perhaps, make a figure in the pro-
fession. (How I chuckled!) But talents and
industry, my boy, are not all that's required
to make one's way through the world, especially
in our calling. Every profession, my dear
Ferdinand, has its peculiarities, mysteries I
may say: and ours perhaps more than any
other. It is now time that you should be initi-
ated in these, but before I proceed I must re-
quire your solemn word of honour, that what
may now pass between us shall go no further
than these walls. (I pledged unconditional
secrecy.)

“Your own good sense must already have
convinced you that, with the exception of a very
few remedies of the most simple kind, the mul-
tifarious drugs with which we dose our patients

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212

FERDINAND FRANCK.

are either of no use to them or downright pernicious. Our livelihood, like that of astrologers, depends chiefly upon their credulity and weakness. If they are cured or relieved, it is, in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, not through our knowledge or medicaments. The self-restoring powers of nature, time, and I may add, faith, generally do the business. Faith does wonders. I have seen patients getting better from the moment they had merely consulted the doctor, or had my draughts in the house, although, from particular aversions, they had not been able to get one drop of them down their throats. What are we to collect from all this? What else, but that it behoves us to humour and foster the weaknesses upon which we exist, in all manner of ways. A great deal depends upon the first interview with the patient. Here a grave, thoughtful, sometimes mysterious countenance, tinctured with a little assumed sympathy, is essentially requisite at all times; but whether to make light of the disorder, or, what is mostly preferable, to affect to consider it in a serious point of view, is a question of some nicety depending upon a matured knowledge of mankind in general, and especially upon the particular disposition of the person we have to work upon.

“ I have found it of infinite service to begin the course, in most cases, by strong cathartics,

FERDINAND FRANCK.

213

by way of clearing the *primæ viæ*. They are
sure to lower the subject a peg or two in body
and spirits, and to prevent a too quick interposi-
tion of the restorative powers of nature; besides
that, such a method affords an opportunity of
building up again by another course of tonics,
what the course of cathartics has helped to pull
down. As a specific in the art of pulling down,
and indeed in a variety of other cases, I recom-
mend Mercury to your especial favour. What-
ever this divinity may have been with the an-
cients, who adored him as the god of thieves, to
me he has proved the god of riches. You have
already seen the liberal use I make of it, and
few that have had a *quantum sufficit* of it from
my store have long been out of my books. It
is a powerful, precious medicine; it shakes the
constitution to its very foundation, and when
once well *amalgamated* with it, will keep pos-
session of its station to the last breath, and
every now and then proclaim its stay in a thou-
sand different ways, all tending to the benefit
of the profession.

" So much for the beginning, my boy. As to
the further treatment; there is one thing I
would particularly recommend: whatever me-
dicines you think proper to send, let them be
considerably *under the quantum* absolutely ne-
cessary. I do not mean by this, that you should
stint your patient in the quantity of phials and

214 FERDINAND FRANCK.

powders, which his purse and the distance may
render it expedient to administer. It is the
quality of the remedies which I more particu-
larly allude to. Let them be as diluted with
the pure element as possible. You will by so
doing benefit your pocket and the patient too.
The cure will be slower but the more sure, be-
cause more scope is left to the operations of
Nature.

" Nature, however, aided by a good consti-
tution, although generally the doctor's best
friend, very often shews herself too officious in
her services ; in such cases it is our interest to
damp the ardour of the frisky dame. To adduce
an instance, I need only mention the case of
Apfel, the wheelwright. When, in my absence,
he came to you with the hurt in his ancle, you
gave him two kreutzers' worth of spermaceti
ointment. On looking at his leg, I could not
but marvel at the folly of such an application.
I substituted immediately the *unguentum hy-
drargyri* and experienced the best effects. The
fellow has now a regular sore, which, with pro-
per attention on my part, and the help of the
*lapis infernalis*, may last him for three or four
weeks to come.

"Another green trick of yours I heard of
but the other day. Pray what did you prescribe
to Mrs. Bartels, the sexton's wife, when she
came to consult you?"

FERDINAND FRANCK.

215

"I advised her to eat every morning, fasting, five or six figs."

"Figs indeed!—I would not give a fig for such a doctor: so you send your patients to the grocer, instead of relieving them yourself, do you?—But I ask your pardon, my zeal for the profession is carrying me from my purpose. It is not my wish to find fault, I wish to instruct, to guide you.—Here's to your future success, and may you ere long eclipse the Bigwigs in the capital, as I eclipse them with my *vital pills*. The envious fools procured a prohibition against my preparation, which has doubled their secret sale. We shall make a peck or two this week, and you will smile at the simplicity of their composition."

## CHAP. VI.

### *A Colonel of Hussars.*

THE foregoing theoretical disquisition of doctor Knoblesheimer was, fortunately for me, interrupted by a call for his practical skill. Baron Wolditz, a retired Colonel of Hussars, the

216 FERDINAND FRANCK.

greatest man in our little world, had suddenly
been taken ill at his residence, two or three
miles out of the town. The messenger, his
groom, gave but an imperfect account of the
symptoms; but Mr. K. although thus left un-
certain as to the nature of the disorder, never-
theless, immediately knew the precise potion
which it was proper for the Baron to take on
this emergency, and I forthwith prepared it
according to order. This was another rare ta-
lent in my principal. When the patient lived
at a distance, the doctor's sagacity always an-
ticipated the remedy; and, when in doubt, he
provided two or three different recipes, all
which he took with him ready prepared, and
for all which he deemed it reasonable that the
party affected should pay. This practice had
the double advantage of saving me long jour-
neys, and procuring him long bills.

As the reader will hear more of this Baron,
it may be methodical to add, that in the present
instance he was saved by the skill of ——,
his housekeeper, whose excellent liver-dump-
lings had caused the evil, and whose valuable
preparation of wormwood-cordial had removed
the most alarming symptoms before the arrival
of the professional aid, carefully stored in the
saddlebags of my master.

His absence left me at leisure to meditate on
the purport of his conversation, which had filled

FERDINAND FRANCK.

217

me with amazement and an utter contempt for
the man, and had left an indelible impression
on my mind. From that moment I secretly
gave up all thoughts of following the profession
of my worthy principal. The disgust I felt for
him may probably have influenced my subse-
quent conduct, and rendered me less attentive.
Acting now from compulsion rather than choice,
the complaint that I had relaxed in the discharge
of my services, may have been well founded.
My uncle, with his usual mildness, but not the
less seriously, questioned me once or twice
on the subject. This was the first time I had
seen him dissatisfied with me, and the thought
that I gave displeasure to the best of beings,
to my benefactor, to a man whom I adored,
harrowed my soul. What embittered my situ-
ation was, the pledge of secrecy which my
master had exacted from me. Had I been at
liberty to open my heart to my uncle, instead of
reproving me, he would have applauded my
motives, and freed me at once from the state of
misery in which my mind was plunged.

Even at this moment the remembrance of
those distressing days remains in all its vigour,
and I am sure my readers have a heart to feel
for my situation. It was that of an innocent
youth, unhappy for the first time; miserable
from no fault of his own, but rather from a deep
sense of right and wrong. Without some fa-

218 FERDINAND FRANCK.

vourable change, a frame like mine would soon
have sunk under this unmerited depression.
My spirits flagged gradually; my appetite failed.
It was in vain my good aunt's ingenuity fre-
quently prepared my most favourite dishes for
dinner. I came dejected from my prison-house,
and rose sad from table; I durst not speak my
thoughts.

CHAP. VII.

Tête-à-Tête.

KNOWST thou, reader, the guardian angel that
can pour balm into the wounded heart of man?
Hast ever unbosomed thy soul to that guardian
angel? unbosomed it in vain?

It was on a Whitsunday I had risen from
dinner and seated myself under a favourite
mulberry-tree in my uncle's garden, to muse on
my forlorn condition, while he indulged in his
usual afternoon's rest. Nature had begun to
assume her festive attire; a mild vernal sun
diffused invigorating warmth, and shed his
cheering lustre around. All was still, and the

FERDINAND FRANCK.

219

repose on the day which the christian devotes
to the Almighty rendered this stillness more
striking and more affecting. Nothing was to
be heard but the wanton sonorous buzzing of
insects resuscitated from their wintry torpor;
the dallying quavers of surrounding bull-
finches, the long and musical minims of a more
distant blackbird, and the gentle rustling of
the new-born foliage, moved, at starts, by the
transient gusts of the balmy breath of infant
summer. Multitudes of bees hummed around
the modest daisies; others quaffed deep the
hidden sweet in the polyanthus and violet: even
the beetles bustled with contentment over the
new-raked mould of my uncle's tulip-beds. All
around appeared joyous and happy; I alone
felt forlorn, destitute and friendless. This re-
verie was for a moment interrupted by the noise
of Sultan's efforts to clamber over the garden
gate. He hastened joyfully to the mulberry-
tree; the index of canine temper wagged to and
fro in vain, I was not in a mood to return his
civilities. The curly poodle, apparently sensi-
ble of the unmerited neglect, placed himself
right before me, and staring me significantly in
the face, began a bark of expostulation. He
certainly meant to say, "What ails my kind
master?" Fearful he might disturb my uncle
I paid him some little attention; but his barking
brought Lisbeth, our maid, to the spot.

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220 FERDINAND FRANCK.

Between Lisbeth and me there existed a tacit
compact of rustic but close attachment. I had
found her at my uncle's when (seven years ago)
the death of my parents had transferred me to
his care. She then cherished the orphan-boy,
her kindness ever since had been the same;
under her fostering care I had grown from a little
urchin to the verge of manhood: it was not
above a twelve-month ago that, from a sense of
decorum, she discontinued washing me in a
tub on Saturday evenings. Considering the
foible which afterwards discovered itself in my
disposition, I wonder I never fell in love with
her, for Lisbeth had fine eyes and pleasing fea-
tures.

"Again alone Master Ferdinand," she ex-
claimed, seating herself on the bench by my
side—"in bad spirits again as usual. Come,
cheer up, young blood must not be down-
hearted. What is the matter Ferdinand? What
ails you?"

"Nothing, nothing at all, good Lisbeth. I
am very well as you see."

"Very well, indeed; and have left three
parts of the sparagrass on your plate, which
you never could get enough of. Much as I like
it myself, I could not bring my heart to eat what
you left, for I was sure your being unhappy
made you leave it."

"I had no great appetite to-day."

FERDINAND FRANCK.

221

"No great appetite to-day; no appetite yesterday; no appetite all the week. There is a something I am sure; and your aunt, too, says you are not as you should be. She is now boiling some of her physic for you, which you are to take to-morrow morning, first thing."

"I have physic enough at Dr. Knoblesheim's. I don't want physic."

"So I told her; it an't the stomach, says I to my mistress, it be the heart that's out of order."

"The heart, Lisbeth. I hope the heart is sound."

"Sound or not sound, Master Ferdinand, I tell you what, I say you are in love, and that's the long and the short of it. I know what it is. I have been twice in love, I may say three times; and I never could relish a morsel all the while, nor sleep a wink but when I was dreaming. When that creature, Martens, the weaver, ——."

"I assure you, Lisbeth, you are quite mistaken, I am not in love. To say the truth, I do not even know what it is to be in love."

"There, now we have it, just because you do not know it, you are in love; now it is quite certain; and what's more, I know the girl. Did you promise Mary Dickel, the blacksmith's girl, the first handful of cherries that would be ripe in our garden."

222 FERDINAND FRANCK.

"I did, because she is the best writer at
uncle's evening school, and does me the most
credit. I never spoke two words with her, but
what I may have said in school-time in the
hearing of all the girls. I assure you, upon my
word, it is not what you call love that affects
my spirits."

"I know you always speak true, therefore I
believe you. (After a solemn pause.) Ferdi-
nand, have you done any thing wrong? Tell it
to your friend Lisbeth; it can't be so bad that
there shouldn't be a help for it. Come, tell it
all. There is perhaps a something on your
conscience."

"My conscience is as clear as the pure sky
over our heads."

"Dear, dear, what can it be? What can it
be?—Now I have it; them musty books that he
be reading all day long at the doctor's have
turned the youth's brain. Aye, aye, books are
sad things for young people. God forgive me;
I wish all the books were burnt, but just the
Bibles and Catechisms and such like. There
be no good coming from any on 'em. For one
good thing in 'em, there be bushels of bad ones:
and the Latin books, I am told, are the worst of
all. I wish you had never been at that doc-
tor's."

"You are right, Lisbeth, I too wish I had
never seen him."

FERDINAND FRANCK.

223

“ And so says your aunt; and I can tell you there has been high words about it last night after you went to bed. He is a fine one, with a smooth face and a wicked heart; I am sure, *(sobbing)* but for him I should now be married to poor Bob, whom he killed by his drugs; and do you know, the wretch had the impudence to make up to me, not three weeks gone. What d'ye think he put in my hand ? A six-batzner,* forsooth; but I flung the money in his nasty face. He was artful enough to get me to promise not to tell, but I told it all to your aunt after the quarrel last night, when she and I went to set the speckled hen; and I told her that I'd rather leave the house than see you any longer with Dr. Knob. I am sure he treats you like a dog behind your uncle's face.”

“ I have no particular reason, dear Lisbeth, to complain of his treatment; but his principles are not those which uncle taught me to regard. He is a man of bad character, in every respect. Thus much I am at liberty to say to you; for I too have pledged my word to him about certain things, and I mean to keep it better than you did Lisbeth. Even what *has* passed you must promise not to let go further, for my sake.”

At these words the kind-hearted girl, with a tear in her eye, pressed my hand with fervent

* A German coin, worth about nine-pence.

T 3

224 FERDINAND FRANCK.

emotion, exclaiming, "For your sake, dear Ferdinand? For your sake I will tell all the world, that he wants to make as great a rogue of you as he is himself!"

It was with the utmost difficulty I obtained from this excellent creature the promise to observe for a few days only an absolute silence, with regard to the conversation that had passed between us. As the time for afternoon-service was near, and her longer absence from the house might be noticed by my aunt, she left me with the most affectionate exhortation to cheer up my spirits, as she was sure a favourable change could not be far distant.

CHAP. VIII.

*A Clear Sky.*

ALTHOUGH the comparison between sorrows and a heavy burthen is hackneyed, its practical use is often neglected. As the pressure of the latter is lightened when shared with others, so does grief lose its corroding poignancy, whenever we find, or rather when we choose to find

FERDINAND FRANCK.

225

a sympathising heart to which to impart our sorrows. The act of communication alone operates beneficially, whereas grief, buried in the breast, like foul air locked up in a subterranean cavern, augments its deadly poison. Man is destined to be communicative; his sorrows are lightened as his joys are enhanced by communication. The selfish, the unfeeling part alone of our species keep both to themselves, and thus it is that their joys are barren, their sorrows most bitter.

After the interview with Lisbeth, every surrounding object, as if by magic, appeared in gayer colours; a cheering spark of hope re-animated my breast; it seemed as if the bonds between me and the rest of the human race were tied anew. Refreshed and light in heart I re-entered the house, at the moment when my uncle was descending the staircase, wig in hand, to prepare for the afternoon-service. Methought I saw him wipe a tear from his eye, but his countenance looked placid and benevolent. “Art ready Peg?” said he, with his usual kindness; and in a few minutes he and aunt and I crossed the rural church-yard, where the rose-trees which I had planted on the grave of my parents were vigorously budding into leaf.

In spite of the best efforts I made to assist my uncle in the hymn, my intonation seemed

226 FERDINAND FRANCK.

unusually unequal and faulty; the youth's advancing muturity was in conflict between the waning female diapason and the approaching tenor scale of manhood. Our good parson's pulpit eloquence was generally of the homelier kind; nevertheless his plain language and delivery made a forcible impression on my mind, for his text was, "Blessed are they which are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven."

The instrument which is tuned in harmonics accordant with the tonic in which a performance takes place upon another, by a process of mystic sympathy, covibrates in sweet concord. In the same manner did the simple but pure illustrations of this text vibrate to my very soul; they were balm to my heart, and completed the process of mental re-invigoration which had so happily begun in my whole frame. Upon my uncle too, the effects of our minister's sermon were forcibly obvious, prepared as he had been in my favour by the conversation which had passed between Lisbeth and me under the mulberry-tree, and which, as I afterwards learned, he had overheard from his bed-room window.

FERDINAND FRANCK.

227

## CHAP. IX.

### A Conjugal Promenade.

No sooner had we left church, than Mr. Franck proposed a walk to the country, observing that he wished to discuss some matters of importance on the way. My aunt had no objection to the walk, provided her spouse would not run before, all the way; but as for talking upon serious matters, she observed that home was the best place for such a purpose. In this proposal of my uncle's there might have been an innocent little stratagem. He foresaw objections to the arrangements he had in view, and he knew that the argumentative eloquence of his better half was irresistible when displayed in her own parlour, where the *vis motrix* could be exclusively concentrated in her tongue; whereas, when this moving power was in part assigned to the legs, the volubility of the former, by a plain law of mechanics, must lose some of its force, the more so as my aunt frequently suffered from a shortness of breath.

The particulars of the peripatetic discussion which ensued I must omit for brevity's sake.

228 FERDINAND FRANCK.

Its topic, as may be supposed, was my stay at
Dr. Knobelsheimer's. His doubtful character
being now admitted nem. con. my aunt insisted
on my being instantly withdrawn from the in-
struction and society of a man, whose principles
and example might contaminate my innocence.
But uncle, at all times averse to rash steps and
desirous of saving appearances with the doctor,
was of opinion, that the very cause of the pre-
sent consultation afforded sufficient proof, if any
were necessary, of principles so honourable and
incorruptible on my part, that it would be per-
fectly idle to apprehend danger on that score,
and that it was the essence of virtue to remain
virtuous in situations of temptation and diffi-
culty. He then observed, that considering the
great progress I had already made in medical
studies, it would be a thousand pities to forsake
them rashly, instead of increasing my stock of
knowledge while an opportunity offered, and
while there was no immediate prospect of ap-
plying my abilities to some other useful pursuit.
His opinion therefore was, that for the moment
I should continue to attend at Dr. Knobelshei-
mer's as I had done before, and endeavour to im-
prove myself in the profession to the best of my
power; until something else might present itself,
or until I found it impossible to go on with-
out trenching upon those principles of upright-
ness which had more than ever endeared me to

FERDINAND FRANCK.

him on the present occasion. He added, that,
with the understanding which now subsisted
between us on this matter, and with the know-
ledge that my attendance at the doctor's was
to be considered as merely temporary, he made
no doubt, I would see how much the case was now
altered; and that under these circumstances, my
stay with the doctor would not be attended with
the difficulties and uncomfortable feelings which
I had experienced before.

Not one of these plausible positions being
conceded on the part of Mrs. Franck, the dis-
cussion by degrees grew animated, and soon
changed into warm and vehement dispute. At
first her rejoinders exhibited much oratorical
regularity, and a suitable extent of close rea-
soning; but in proportion as my uncle put his
best foot foremost, and walked as fast as she
talked, Mrs. Franck lost ground and breath,
and her arguments became more laconic, al-
though not less forcible. In this crisis, how-
ever, her good sense soon discovered the default
caused in her organs of speech by the pedes-
trian exertion; and by a bold manœuvre, she
sat herself down on the bank by the road-side.
In this position, with my uncle upon his legs,
buttressed in the back upon his long walking
cane, right opposite to her, Mrs. Franck soon
recovered her lost ground in the debate, and
appeared a perfect Amazon in argument.

230 FERDINAND FRANCK.

As it now appeared more than probable that
this controversy would soon proceed to an un-
pleasant rupture, I interposed my mediation ;
when, to my utter surprise, peace was restored
in a few minutes, and the two contending par-
ties agreed, as the dispute had arisen on my
account, that it should be amicably terminated
by a casting vote on my part; that I should
choose myself, whether I would go back to the
doctor's, or leave him at once; each party
pledging itself to rest quite satisfied with my
resolution whichever way it went. I pro-
nounced for the temporary return to my Æscula-
pian studies; we walked home contentedly, and
supped heartily; and on the following day, I re-
sumed my chemical functions, as if nothing had
occurred, with a lightened heart and good
spirits.

CHAP. X.

The Queue.

SOME time after this restoration of matters in
statum quo, a circumstance occurred, which, al-
though trifling in itself, gave a decisive turn to
my future destinies.

FERDINAND FRANCK.

The reader has, in one of the preceding chap-
ters, been introduced to the acquaintance of
Baron Wolditz, the retired Hussar colonel in
our neighbourhood. His only son, a wicked
dog of about twelve or thirteen, was one of
the few Latin pupils my uncle's school could
boast of, previously to his removal to the college
in the capital. His Latin, it is true, like all his
other literary accomplishments, (except reading
and writing a hieroglyphic sort of penmanship)
was absolutely nominal; but as the father, al-
though priding himself upon being able to read
Cornelius Nepos, conceived literary attainments
to be but secondary considerations in the edu-
cation of a young Baron, destined to be a cornet
of hussars; young Wolditz was pretty much
left to his own inclination, in regard to serious
studies. One thing only gave the father real
cause for regret. Baron Fritz had no ear for
music, except that of drums and fifes; while the
father had been one of the greatest amateurs in
his regiment, played the flute very respectably,
and sang opera-airs with an expression and
grace peculiar to the tottering tremor of a wea-
ther-beaten colonel of sixty. Baron Fritz re-
ceived lessons from my uncle on the piano-forte,
whenever the former could be found at the ap-
pointed hour of tuition, or the condition of the
instrument admitted of any instruction at all;
for he would often hide himself in the hay-loft

U

232

FERDINAND FRANCK.

to escape the hour of musical drill; and, like
Orpheus, whose lyre subdued ferocious animals,
Baron Fritz would sometimes employ the bigger
wires of the piano to make neat little chains to
confine owls and sparrow-hawks.

I had at times been permitted to accompany
my uncle in these his professional walks to the
Baron's, whose hospitable treats in hock and cin-
namon-cakes I still remember as the nectar and
ambrosia of my youthful palate.—They do not
make these cakes near so good at the present
day.—On the above occasions, when, after a
fruitless search and lusty call after Fritz, a writ
of “non est inventus” was returned by the
sheepish groom, who well knew where his fa-
vourite might have been found; the Baron, after
uttering various tremendous cavalry oaths, and
swearing by all that is sacred to put the de-
serter twenty-four hours into the stocks, gene-
rally proposed to fill up the time by a little
music of his own. He then sang an air or two
of Hasse or Jomelli, and I was sometimes al-
lowed to join in a duet. The Baron always
praised both my voice, as one of the finest so-
pranos, and my natural talent for music; and
he often tried to persuade my uncle to bring
me up to the art, offering to contribute fifty rix-
dollars per annum towards my musical education
in the capital. But Mr. Franck's views, in re-
gard to my future destinies, if at all settled,

FERDINAND FRANCK. 233

were directed another way. He observed, not
without some truth, that out of one hundred
bred to the profession, scarcely one possessed
sufficient genius to arrive at real eminence, and
the remaining ninety-nine were doomed to linger
in obscurity, and drag on a laborious and pre-
carious existence—mere mechanics of wires and
catgut.

One day, however, Baron Fritz, to our great
surprise, was at his post; and to my uncle's
astonishment and his father's rapturous delight,
went through the manual exercise of crotchets
and quavers with much apparent perseverance.
This act of resignation was rewarded, not only
with abundance of parental kisses, but with a
bran new six-batzen coin, by way of further
encouragement. After the lesson, Fritz, in
great confidence, solved the mystery of his seem-
ing reformation: his father's birthday was to be
next week, on which occasion a little previous
accommodation would not fail to procure him a
handsome donation; and to make sure of an
abundant harvest, as his father was very fond
of Latin, he requested I would frame a Latin
speech of congratulation, which, provided it
were very short, he would learn by heart against
next Wednesday. I was expressly charged to
allude to the sire's military valour and achieve-
ments, and particularly to the battle of Rosbach,
in which the old Baron had a horse shot under

234 FERDINAND FRANCK.

him, and was saved from decapitation by the
miraculous intervention of his notable German
hair queue, which one out of the three French
dragoons cut clean in twain, leaving a dreadful
and everlasting gash on the os humeri, so that
from that day the man of war never held up his
head; but, like the Macedonian hero and the
great Frederic himself, under whose banners
Herr von Wolditz then and there so bravely
did fight, was forced to incline it forward to the
left.

The aforesaid fierce encounter hung, fairly
depicted, framed and glazed, in the Baron's
saloon, in which on every anniversary of the
battle of Rosbach, a sumptuous entertainment
was given to the neighbouring gentry, including
some old comrades in arms from the capital.
At half-past three, the time of the above catas-
trophe, as nearly as could be guessed, the
Baron, with a solemn step, advanced towards
the picture, and touched a secret spring in the
frame; when, lo! part of the dark foreground
consisting of cannon dismounted, powder-
waggons, dead and wounded, &c. would, as by
magic, detach itself from the upper part, sink
into the deep frame and exhibit to the assembly
of heroes the identical queue, the sacred relic
of Wolditzian prowess. At that moment the
company would rise on their legs, and the
Baron, in audible voice, exclaim, "Es lebe der

FERDINAND FRANCK.

zopf!” (The queue for ever!) and drink a bumper of old Hock.

But to return to the birth-day address, demanded by Baron Fritz: flattered vanity prompted me to accept a task from which a common degree of modesty ought to have made me shrink. It was my first literary essay, and moreover was to be in Latin! a language in which, whatever my uncle might think, I had made but moderate progress, and in which the colonel was reputed to be so great a proficient, that any fault of mine would not escape his classic ken, and at once lower me in his estimation. But, like thousands I have since met with, what I wanted in knowledge was compensated by unblushing assurance. In short, that same evening I penned the oration in German, and before breakfast the next day it was translated into a very homely sort of Latin, beginning with

“Carissime pater, patriæ ornamentum, inimicorumque terror!”

(*Cetera desunt*)

Baron Fritz, as if he had been a publisher, declaring the composition to be much too long, a painful curtailment was necessary to adapt it to his slender powers of memorizing. Several rehearsals took place, the last of which, on the eve of the important day, gave fair promise.

U 3

236

FERDINAND FRANCK.

## CHAP. XI.

### A Gap.

THERE are moments in life, the most minute circumstances of which will never be effaced from our recollection. I was papering pill-boxes in Mr. Knobelsheimer's shop the next morning, when Jacob, the Baron's groom, entered, and in a solemn official tone delivered to me an invitation to dine with his master and Baron Fritz. The sudden communication of the delightful message almost overpowered my spirits. This unexpected distinction, the almost certain inference of the successful result of my literary labour, quite set me beside myself. With my principal's consent I forthwith left the pill-boxes in their crude chip, and hastened home to make the suitable preparations of dress; for the Baron, as has already been mentioned, invariably had great company on his natal day.

Aunt was in ecstacy; and uncle, instantly called from school, now for the first time heard, with inward delight and surprise, the cause to which I was indebted for the approaching honour. He desired, forthwith, to see the spe-

FERDINAND FRANCK.

cimen of my Latin oratory; but Mrs. Franck
prudently interposed a word of infinite force
and import in female rhetoric—" *Nonsense*,
my dear, there's no time now for reading Latin
speeches, let him be dressed first; dressed,
aye; what's the lad to put on for God's
sake?"—

The latter sentence, like a blight over vernal
blossoms, in an instant blasted the buoyancy of
my joy. I had never given it a thought that
my wardrobe was miserably imperfect, owing
partly to the slender means of the family and to
the rapid growth of my age. My best coat had
become fashionably short behind, but the cuffs
had unfortunately made vast strides in their
advances towards the elbows; the breeches
might perhaps, by merciless bracing, be
brought into some approximation with their
upper neighbour, if that had been of reasonable
length; but the scarlet waistcoat, in which I
had been confirmed, had, months ago, shewn a
reluctancy of amicable contact.

My uncle readily and generously offered the
loan of his own black satin, but on trial it was
found to be in the other extreme, the protecting
powers of its two pocket flaps extending to but
a short distance from the knees. Under all cir-
cumstances, therefore, the scarlet was deemed
preferable to the black satin; and, this settled,
my uncle returned to his scholastic duties, after

238

FERDINAND FRANCK.

divers instructions as to conduct among my betters; instructions, which dated from the *bon genre* of half a century ago, and were remarkable for the honeyed politeness and unbounded submissiveness which they inculcated.

Hair-powder being deemed indispensable on so exalted an occasion, aunt exerted a degree of plastic powers on my pericranial environs, which, in the metamorphose they effected, truly surprized and delighted me. In order to create a brace of side-buckles, resembling in length and shape a Brunswick *cervelat*, she imitated those skilful financiers who borrow of their own, a proceeding which at all events is no robbery. My usual queue being of goodly thickness, she contrived to borrow part of its contents, which being, by means of a diagonal advance, brought from the rear to both flanks, admitted, by the help of powder and stiff pomatum, to be comfortably rolled up with the shorter hair encircling my ears, and fixed by three hair-pins of black japan. I was a very Adonis in the looking-glass, thus far.

But the scarlet, on actual trial, gave alarming uneasiness. All the powers of mechanism inherent in straps were incapable of effecting the wished-for union with its lower neighbours; a *hiatus valde deflendus*, resembling one of the lunulæ of Hypocrates, and not unlike the space between the ecliptic and the equa-

FERDINAND FRANCK.

tor, presented itself at the slightest upright motion, and the evil was aggravated by the coarseness of the shirt, made of home-spun and home-bleached hemp. Here again female dexterity devised an ingenious remedy. The lawn handkerchief with which aunt hid her virgin blushes at the altar, the only one she possessed, (the others being all blue and red striped,) this nuptial relic was neatly stitched to my shirt about the hypochondriac region, and tucked into the ecliptic zone below, thus affording the consolation, that on the eventual, and probably unavoidable exposure of the *hiatus*, the ecliptic space would exhibit a goodly sight of the purest white, a very *via lactea*.

## CHAP. XII.

### Amelia.

THUS arrayed, thus comforted, I proceeded with placid self-content to the Baron's, and was met in the hall by Baron Fritz, eager to introduce me to the company. He would scarcely leave me time to ask the particulars of the suc-

240 FERDINAND FRANCK.

cess of the Latin oration, but held up a new
double louis d'or, the reward his exertions had
earned him, and handed to me a sealed note
from his father. Before I had time to open
it, I heard the old Baron's voice exclaiming,
"Walk up, Mr. Ferdinand, walk up."

While we were ascending the ancient oak
stair-case, Baron Fritz kept tittering and
chuckling in a strange manner, and from his
puffed cheeks burst those sonorous blasts, the
tell-tale relics of a repressed horse-laugh.—
Naturally imagining these unseemly sounds to
be caused by the state of my costume, I lost
much of the consequential self-possession I had
conjured up while walking alone from the
village of Feldberg; and with awkward bows,
and deep blushes, presented my rural indivi-
duality before the Colonel and a company of
ten or twelve guests of both sexes. Before I
had time to survey the convivialists, the Baron
took me by the hand, and with blunt affability
introduced me to his guests as the friend of
Baron Fritz, an accomplished scholar, a musical
genius—in short, a prodigy of youthful perfec-
tion. “By G—, Gentlemen,” he exclaimed,
“Mr. Ferdinand is the pride of our district;
I’ll match him against any youth in the capital;
and if his uncle will let me have my wish, he
shall not rot among the cabbages and bean-
stalks of Feldberg.”

FERDINAND FRANCK.

Gross as this flattery was, it gave me a great opinion of my importance, and helped to restore my lost countenance. Recovering my powers of observation, I noticed, amidst two or three couple of an advanced age, two young sparks, whose fashionable appearance sadly contrasted with my rustic costume, and three young ladies, nymphs in the most graceful attire. My eyes, when they durst look up, were rivetted on the charms of one of these, Miss Amelia Waldheim, a goddess, as I thought, in human form, Hebe personified. Methought I was in a new world; all seemed magic to me. A look from Miss Waldheim at once raised to an immeasurable height the standard of female beauty, which hitherto the rustic charms of Mary Dickel, the blacksmith's daughter, had fixed in my imagination. This look, like the Promethean torch, kindled for the first time the latent fire of a sensation I had never experienced before; if it did not engender love, it certainly quickened the embryo of the passion.

In these contemplations of the beautiful I was often interrupted, and sorely annoyed, by one of the dandies of the capital, who deeming my exterior fair game for the display of his wit, more than once succeeded in exposing me to the ridicule of his companions. At first I patiently bore the brunt of his jokes, but when my forbearance augmented his impudence, and

242 FERDINAND FRANCK.

Miss Waldheim's remarks in my behalf gave
me some assurance, I determined, if possible,
to pay the essenced Cornet in his own coin.
Among other questions, I still remember his
asking me, what was the greatest number of
turnips I had ever pulled in one day?—to which
I replied, “twice as many as he probably could
count.” Although my answer raised a laugh
against the man of colours, he prudently joined
in it, and exclaimed, with feigned satisfaction,
“Come, that’s not amiss—smart, excessively
smart.” Soon after, he paid me some ironical
compliments on my scholarship, and asked
whether I did not intend to publish something
soon, in which case he would feel proud to be-
come a subscriber. My answer was, “that I
might probably be induced to write something
on impudence, which, with his permission, I
would dedicate to him.”—“Bravo!” exclaimed
Baron Wolditz, “bravo, Mr. Ferdinand! I
told you what sort of metal he was made of.
You had better sound a retreat, Cornet, or else
you will find you have the wrong pig by the
ear.”

The entrance of a servant with the informa-
tion that dinner was on the table, put an end
to this skirmish of rustic wit with the man of
colours, who for the rest of the day conducted
himself towards me with respectful discretion.
Mindful of the wise instruction of uncle, in

FERDINAND FRANCK.

matters strange to my experience, always to
wait and see what others might do, I stood de-
murely behind the door, eyeing at a distance
certain cards placed upon each napkin, from
which I concluded that some social game was
to precede the play of knives and forks. This
erroneous induction, however, was dissipated
by a summons from Miss Waldheim to seat my-
self at her left, conformably to the directions of
the cards. The Baron soon discovered that
Fritz, in a frolic, had entirely changed the pre-
concerted order of sitting. Matters were re-
organized, but Miss Waldheim insisted upon
retaining the neighbours whom chance or
Fritz's whim had assigned her. To this excel-
lent creature I became indebted for many va-
luable hints touching the bon genre. Thus
when I sat at arm's length from the table,
spooning the craw-fish soup slowly and cau-
tiously towards its distant destination, she
kindly whispered, " Come close, Mr. Ferdi-
nand, do in all things as I do."—" Then," I
rejoined, " I shall do well indeed; but I fear
it will be Vulcan imitating the graceful move-
ments of the Queen of Love."

The man of colours, opposite, observing the
sudden blush on Amelia's cheeks, swore that
Mr. Ferdinand must have said a good thing,
which the company had a right to hear. " Not

X

FERDINAND FRANCK.

been taught by uncle to perform in a hard
homely style, slow, with a precision of time
equal to clock-work, and with innumerable em-
bellishments of turns, tremolos, and shakes of
all lengths.

When Amelia began to prelude, it seemed as
if her soul had transfused itself over her
fingers; every passage had a meaning and
spoke to the heart; but when she came to the
adagio I was plunged into a trance of raptures.
The most powerful, the sweetest emotions, al-
ternately seized my frame, and as I turned the
leaf, an involuntary tear dropped on the key-
board. She observed the tribute which her
sensibility had exacted, and never shall I for-
get the transient glance of ineffable sweetness
with which she looked up to me.

When the sonata was over, the Baron de-
sired I would join in a vocal duet with Miss
Waldheim. A book of an Italian opera was
produced, in which, from my ignorance of the
language, I begged to be excused from taking
a part. The Cornet, with a sneer, observed
that Mr. Ferdinand perhaps could favour the
company with a Latin song.—" And so he
shall," exclaimed Miss Waldheim. I have a
beautiful duett from a Mass of Haydn's, if Mr.
Franck will be kind enough to join me."

"Aye," said the Baron, "he'll sing that
equal to Cicero himself."

246 FERDINAND FRANCK.

I had to begin; and, in spite of my best efforts, I became conscious of the hardness and dryness of my performance, when Amelia, with a feeling and expression to which I had hitherto been an utter stranger, repeated the same strain; but matters mended rapidly as we proceeded. Like the nightingale which, in soft responses, imitates the sweet and lengthened notes of her neighbouring mate, I caught every expression, every feeling of my lovely model; our hearts seemed to melt into each other, our souls swam upon our mutual sounds; two beings seemed united in one.

"Bravo!" exclaimed the Baron—"Bravo!" resounded from the whole of the audience, the man of colours not excepted. The Baron proffered, with an oath, that Cornelius Nepos could not have given more expression to the Latin words, and that next to the birthday speech of Baron Fritz, no Latin composition had so much affected him as this duet. He himself now favoured the company with a sample of his vocal powers. Here the guests displayed the full force of the friendship and devotion they bore to their kind host; for, although the Cornet, full of his antics behind, inflated the left cheek by the fulcrum of his tongue, and tried by divers wry faces to put the audience out of countenance, the utmost silence reigned until the conclusion of the Aria, when

FERDINAND FRANCK.

all simultaneously joined in a roar of applause,
and a clapping of hands, so tremendous, that
the dogs in the yard felt called upon to contri-
bute their mite in praise of their master, by a
woeful barking and howling, to which the
poultry, and especially the geese, forthwith
added a further *tutti* of harmonious accents of
approbation.

"Your very dogs, Baron, are musical," ex-
claimed the Cornet. "But, pray Baron, how
do you contrive to give all this energy of ex-
pression, and again this melting softness to
your intonation?"

"It is more a gift of nature, my dear Cornet,
than any thing else; the flute, to be sure,
affords some advantages. But all this is no-
thing to what I used to do before I lost my two
front teeth. *(Further canine intonations be-
low.)*—I'll have every one of these rascals
shot."

X 3

248 FERDINAND FRANCK.

CHAP. XIV.

A Crash.

THE concerto grosso in the yard, although gradually growing fainter, like the roar of cannon and small arms at the close of a battle, lasted long enough to put an end to the vocal concert; a dance was proposed, the Baron brought his flute, and one of the senior gentlemen took the piano-forte. As I was the best dancer in Feldberg, my waltzing, bating perhaps a little of rustic coarseness, afforded no cause for harsh criticism; unfortunately Miss Waldheim was already engaged with a partner when I bent my steps towards her; but I received her promise for the next dance. In the hands of another, whom I was already presumptuous enough to consider as my rival, her graceful movements failed to make great impression on me; I felt even piqued to see her dance so well as she did.

As ill luck would have it, the next dance was to be a cotillon, a dance which I knew not even by name: a country-dance I might probably have ventured, having seen it danced once or

FERDINAND FRANCK.

twice before. Here again, however, Amelia's instructions, and the anxious sagacity of the pupil, enabled me to achieve wonders in my eyes; the figures I executed with geometrical precision, and mindful of her former charge, “to do in all things as she did,” my steps visibly gained grace and lightness; but to my sorrow I observed, that with every encreased exertion, the hiatus valde deflendus, the via lactea to the south of my scarlet, gained ground imperceptibly, an unsightliness which I determined to remedy by a little stooping. But with the angelic form before me, an antelope in graceful swiftness, this prudent resolution, to my cost, was soon forgotten.

My male companions, as if, in their wickedness perhaps, to excite me to more strenuous exertions, leaped up and down, and sideways and forwards, with surprising spring and agility. In trying to do as well as they, unmindful of the frailty of my attire, one calamitous effort burst the braces with a tremendous crash, up flew the scarlet waistcoat, down flew its southern neighbours, and out flew the nuptial relic of my good aunt, the lawn handkerchief, a floating banner of shame and confusion. Figure to thy imagination, gentle reader, the woeful plight, the anguish of disconsolate Ferdinand Franck, exposed with his baker's apron to the sneers of the Cornet, and the tit-

250 FERDINAND FRANCK.

terings of the whole company. The ladies, in-
cluding Miss Waldheim, ran out of the room;
the Cornet, the villain, with hypocritical sym-
pathy, offered his assistance in stopping the
breach.

This was more than my humbled vanity and
my sensitive nerves could bear. With the ra-
pidity of lightning I made my exit, leaped down
the stairs, crossed the yard, Fritz calling, and
all the dogs barking after me. Like a pursued
criminal I ran homewards through the long
chesnut avenue, until my breath failed me, and
I began to be a little sensible of the ridicule of
my situation and conduct.

CHAP. XV.

The Restorative.

EXHAUSTED, I sat down on one of the mossy
stone benches between the trees in the avenue.
The stillness of the night, illumed by a cloud-
less full moon, amidst myriads of glittering
stars, while it formed a sad contrast with the
harassed feelings of my mind, tended probably

FERDINAND FRANCK.

to soothe my agitated frame. On reaching for
my handkerchief to wipe the cold perspiration
from my forehead, the Baron's note dropped
from my pocket. Its contents, read in the
bright moon-light, fully completed the work of
restoration :—

“ My dear Mr. Ferdinand,

“ I cannot describe to you the pleasure I felt
at the beautiful Latin congratulation which you
were good enough to pen for Baron Fritz. Its
language and sentiments do credit to your head
and heart. Accept the enclosed trifle as an
earnest of my good wishes for your future wel-
fare, to promote which you may ever depend
upon the active assistance and friendship of

“ Yours, &c.

“ WOLDITZ.

The enclosure consisted of a bran-new ducat,*
a sum ten times greater than that which at any
former time I could call my own. This tangible
token of the Baron's good intentions, together
with the kind assurance of his future protec-
tion, completely recalled the buoyancy of youth-
ful spirits, liable to be easily depressed, but
capable of being as readily revived. I could
have felt sufficiently strong to return to the

* A gold coin, worth about 10s.

252 FERDINAND FRANCK.

company at the Baron's, but upon mature reflection, a continuation of my route homeward appeared preferable. I resumed my steps cheerfully, building castles in the air with the treasure I possessed; whatever could singly be procured with the ducat, was collectively incorporated in the catalogue of my personal property, which thus at first was encreased in imagination a hundredfold; but a simple arithmetical consideration soon afforded the disappointing result, that the acquisition of one article must exclude the ninety-nine others in simultaneous contemplation. To select this one became a perplexing dilemma, until a chance-look at the hiatus below decided the question, by suggesting the paramount necessity of replacing the scarlet by a smart waistcoat of at least three inches additional length, in case I might have to dance another cotillon.

The scene at home on my relating to uncle and aunt the adventures of the evening, the sympathizing distress of the latter, and the stoic calmness of the former, shall for once be left to the depictive imagination of my readers. Mrs. Franck fully approved the immediate acquisition of the new article of dress; but her philosophic spouse voted for delay, inasmuch as, according to Valerius Maximus, “*Gravia graviorem curam exigunt negotia*,” that is to say, “Great resolves demand great considera-

FERDINAND FRANCK.

253

"The prize obtained for the Latin oration was therefore carefully put by, until the important question of its appropriation should be finally decided."

## CHAP. XVI.

### *Birth-Day Ode.*

BARON FRITZ, the next morning, called upon me at Mr. Knobelsheimer's, to condole, as he said, on my last night's misfortune, and to present me, on the part of his father, with a beautiful old apron of flowered satin, from the late Baroness's wardrobe, which I was to get made into a new waistcoat at the Baron's expense. I took this opportunity to enquire again how the young gentleman had acquitted himself of his oratorial task; and now, for the first time, received the detailed account of a scene not unworthy of the reader's attention.

The Baron's waking was invariably attended with an obstinate morning cough, accompanied by a variety of sonorous rattles and gargarizations. These matin rumbles were as invariably

254 FERDINAND FRANCK.

re-echoed by a stout barking of his favourite
Spitz, and the barking of Spitz was a signal for
Hans, the invalid corporal, to enter with a pair
of hussar boots in one hand, and a razor appa-
ratus in the other, with which he forthwith pro-
ceeded to shave his master's beard in bed.

On the present solemn occasion, instead of
Hans, Fritz stepped in, boldly took his stand
at the foot of the bed, drew the curtains, bowed
respectfully, and spake as follows :

“ Carissime pater, patriæ ornamentum inimi-
corumque terror !

Spitz, the spaniel, wroth probably at this in-
fraction of the regular order of things, had
already expressed his disapprobation by some
passages of angry half-smothered growlings;
his canine sagacity, moreover, distinguished
perhaps sounds altogether different from the
German idiom; in short, he barked lustily, as
in duty bound—the enraged Baron flings the
candlestick at the loyal beast, and poor Fritz’s
retentive powers, slender at all times, are flown
at once. In vain he repeats over and over
again the above exordium, the sequel obsti-
nately remains a *non sequitur*.

In this excruciating dilemma, an ordinary
youth would have retired with shame and con-
fusion, but Fritz was a genius. With a pre-
sence of mind, which has since distinguished
his military career, he recollected a Latin rule

FERDINAND FRANCK.

255

of grammar—the only one he knew perfectly—
thanks to the cane of my uncle—it was his
rightful property, for he had purchased its ac-
quisition with bruises, and so he was deter-
mined to bring it forthwith into practical use.
Undauntedly, therefore, he bowed once more
and recommenced :

“ Propria quæ maribus tribuuntur, mascula
dicas; ut sunt Divorum; Mars, Bacchus, Apollo:
Virorum ut, Cato, Virgilius: Fluviorum; ut,
Tibris, Orontes; Mensium; ut October: Ven-
torum; ut Lios, Notus, Auster. Propria femi-
neum referentia nomina sexum femineo generi
tribuuntur: sive Dearum sunt * * * *. Exci-
pienda tamen sunt quædam urbium.”

The whole of this “ neat and appropriate
speech” being impressively delivered, with
suitable emphasis and vehement energetic ges-
ticulation, the Baron’s heart was moved to the
quick, a tear of paternal wonder and delight
meandered over his grey mustachios.

“ Kiss me, my dear boy,” he exclaimed with
a stifled sob, “ this is a delightful surprise—
indeed I call it one of the happiest moments of
my life—I thank you for all the good wishes
you have expressed towards your father’s health
and happiness, and no less for the filial pro-
mises which this beautiful speech holds out.

Y

256 FERDINAND FRANCK.

I hope, nay I am sure, you will keep all you
have promised. Kiss me again, you sly rogue,
you are quite an orator—By G—, Julius
Cæsar, at the battle of Cannæ, could not have
addressed his legions with more energy; it
puts me in mind of the great Frederic when he
harangued the Prussian guards at the battle of
Rosbach. Our regiment was drawn up at a
small distance—but of this another time,
stop a moment —.”

Here the prince of German hussars arose
from his bed, and in his shirt, went to the
bureau to give to his “promising” offspring the
reward already alluded to. He enquired next
for the writer of this supposititious oration, and
Fritz, for his own credit’s sake, mentioned the
author—not of the very grammatical speech
actually delivered, but of the composition that
was intended to have been spoken, but suffered
abortion.

The information thus obtained from Baron
Fritz was any thing but satisfactory to my
feelings. My pride was hurt in seeing my first
labour thus shipwrecked; the high eulogiums
I had received from the Baron now sat light
upon me, and a serious scruple arose whe-
ther I could in conscience retain possession of
the ducat presented to me. The case, there-
fore, was referred to my uncle and aunt at
dinner. The latter thought me perfectly crazy

FERDINAND FRANCK.

in entertaining any scruple at all, but uncle
considering the matter as liable to arguments
on both sides, promised to give it a few hours
of serious reflection. The question, therefore,
was gravely resumed at supper, when he ad-
judged the ducat to be fairly mine; for not to
advert to the exposure of Baron Fritz, and the
cruel disappointment to the father's feelings,
which must be the inevitable consequence of
my returning the money; it was evident that
the remuneration had been awarded and in-
tended for that which I had actually performed,
and that the trial of substitution, on the part of
the younker, to which I had not been a party,
could in no way affect the justice of my claim.
Upon these grounds, enforced with a variety of
other reasoning, I was pleased to find that I
could, with the best conscience, retain the
meed of my Latin scholarship.

258

FERDINAND FRANCK.

## CHAP. XVII.

### The Brain-Fever.

AFTER the above incidents, some months, which may be set down as a blank in my youthful biography, passed away pleasantly enough. I continued my medical studies at the doctor's with assiduity, and without much vexation on his part; assisted my uncle in his scholastic duties, and received many marks of the favour of the Baron, who in vain tried every means to persuade my uncle to send me to the capital, in order to study music in all its branches. Although his mind was not fully made up whether I should exclusively devote myself to the medical art, his aversion to my becoming a musician or composer was not to be overcome. Besides the reasons already mentioned, he insisted that, according to his oracle, the great Lavater, my physiognomy presented no one indication favourable to harmony, nor any feature of that genial enthusiasm, which in the fine arts he held to be indispensable towards future greatness.

It was about this time that the craniological

FERDINAND FRANCK.

259

system of Dr. Gall began to attract the notice
of the learned in Germany. Some articles on
the subject occasionally appeared in the
"Hamburgh Correspondent;" and the affinity
between the new theory and the physiognomi-
cal speculations of his idol Lavater, had
already excited an intense degree of curiosity
in the breast of my uncle, when one day he
saw (at the Three Crowns) an advertisement
in that paper announcing the publication of a
book in illustration of Gall's Doctrine of the
Brain, followed by a very favourable report of
the bookseller's as to the high merit and in-
terest of the work.

Mr. Franck came home so full of the subject,
that instead of eating his supper quietly, he
entertained his spouse and me with the great
importance of the new psychological discovery
concerning the faculties and functions of the
human brain, and expressed the most poignant
regret at the insufficiency of his pecuniary
means to procure the valuable book in question.
My aunt asked whether he had not books
enough, in reason, to satisfy the wants of a
schoolmaster, and plainly hinted at the utter
impossibility of his having read through " all
the rubbish" upon which such a deal of money
had already been spent, and which after his
death would not fetch the amount of a decent
burial.

Y 3

260 FERDINAND FRANCK.

"You do not understand these matters, my dear Margaret," replied my uncle, calmly; "the work I am speaking of is altogether an extraordinary production, and considering the plates, surprisingly cheap. What is three guilders, thirty kreutzers*, in comparison to the important knowledge purchased with it?"

"I'll tell you, Mr. Franck, what is three guilders thirty kreutzers; it is more than we have in the house at this moment."

"True, dear, but not more than we could command, if we chose. If we were to sell one of those pigs . . . ."

Here the knife and fork involuntarily dropped from the hands of the horror-struck Mrs. Franck. She looked aghast at her husband, heaved a deep sigh, bit her lips as if her speech were going to fail. But an oral bankruptcy being a misfortune very unlikely to befal her on this side of the grave, she relieved the paroxysm by exclaiming with calm but bitter formality:

"Mr. Franck! if you were to do such a thing, I should think you the last man that wanted a book on brains. What! sell the pig for a book? When we are all half-starving, when your poor wife is nearly in rags, ashamed to shew herself among her neighbours at church,

* About 7s.

FERDINAND FRANCK.

261

(in tears.) Oh, Nicholas, Nicholas! you have no more feeling for your wife than for your schoolboys' skins."

Such a pathetic *argumentum a posteriori*, my good uncle, kind-hearted as he was, even to the brute creation, could not resist. He at once gave up all idea of the acquisition of the fondly desired work.

The thought instantly struck me of devoting my ducat to the gratification of this worthy man's anxious wishes. With inward delight I changed my coin, and by the carrier sent an order for the book, with the money, to the capital.

## CHAP. XVIII.

### Apollo and the Muses.

It was the evening before Christmas-eve—such scenes cannot be forgotten—just as my uncle was putting on his wig to attend his evening-school of young girls, and put the last hand to the writing exercises they were to present to their parents before the close of the

262 FERDINAND FRANCK.

year, when I entered the room with the cranio-
logical volume, and requested his acceptance of
the new-year's gift.

Spare me, ye readers of better feeling, a de-
scription of this bright, this happy moment in
my checkered career. Let your fancy, let your
hearts seize the pencil, and sketch a scene
which words cannot pourtray.

Even my aunt's astonishment and vexation
"at the folly I had committed," finally gave
way to the impulse of her better nature; my
aunt even did justice at last to the motives
which had induced me to "throw away so
much money, a sum which, with a very little
to it, would have been sufficient to buy her a
stuff gown for the winter."

As to Mr. Franck, as soon as the varied
emotions of surprize, delight, gratitude, and
affection had settled into a sort of repose,
so as to allow some scope for curiosity the most
eager and intense, he again put by his wig,
wiped his spectacles, called for the luxury of
a tallow candle in addition to the ordinary illu-
mination in oil, fixed himself immoveably in the
old leathern arm-chair, and said,

"My dear lad, the girls have just but to
finish their writing-pieces, you can see them do
it as well, and better than I; only look to that
vixen Jenny Weber, dip her pen yourself, she
is so apt to make blots. Go over and manage

FERDINAND FRANCK.

263

this matter, while I take a little peep at your
kind present.”

Proud of the trust reposed in me, and in-
wardly happy and contented with what I had
done, I entered the school-room with buoyant
spirits, and took the command of the nymphs ;
a very Apollo among the Muses, allowing for one
supernumerary in this rustic Pierian assemblage.
The unexpected appearance of Mr Ferdinand
was cordially greeted, and every nymph pro-
mised to take extraordinary pains to do credit
to my charge. To stimulate the exertions of
the fair votaries of the quill I, in return, hinted
that if they accomplished their task to my sa-
tisfaction, I might be induced to allow a little
innocent game, a bit of blind-man's-buff, by way
of breaking up, when the work was done.

There was magic in this hint. Not a blot
sullied the characters of Jenny Weber, or of
any of the Pierian Ten; Mary Dickel, my old
favourite, wrote like copper-plate, and the
efforts of all were so praiseworthy and success-
ful, that what they had previously done under
my uncle admitted of no comparison with their
exertions under the auspices of the nephew.
In less than half an hour the tables and benches
stood piled upon each other, and Apollo, meta-
morphosed into the blind son of Venus, cau-
tiously strode, groping with extended arms in
chace of the nimble nymphs of Feldberg. The

264 FERDINAND FRANCK.

pursuit, however, soon grew brisker, and a wan-
ton push from one of the Bacchantes impelled
the head of their Orpheus with such a momen-
tum against the huge German stove, that had it
not been for the protecting bandage, his fate
would have been similar to the deplorable end
of the Grecian lyrist. As it was, the contusion
on the left temple for some seconds deprived
me of all recollection, and when I opened my
eyes for the first time I beheld Mary, the of-
fender, in a flood of tears, and the rest of her
companions anxiously striving to restore ani-
mation. The pain was great, but to calm their
fears, I made light of the accident, and the
game not only soon resumed its former vivacity,
but encreased in noise and clamour. My turn
came again, and I had just caught, and was
saluting Mary Dickel, when the venerable Mr.
Franck, roused from his craniological spe-
culations by the uproar, entered the school-
room.

At any other time such a scene would have
been deemed unpardonable; but the grateful
recollection of the book, and probably his eager-
ness to return to it, produced but a friendly re-
buke on the present occasion. I took care to
present to his view the right profile only, lest
he might espy the hurt on the left; the pieces
were looked over and highly lauded, the
nymphs dismissed to their homes, and in com-

FERDINAND FRANCK.

265

pliance with a previous invitation I went to sup
with Mary's father, the blacksmith, upon new-
made sausages and cabbage-sallad.

CHAP. XIX.

Organic Researches.

ON my return, Mrs. Franck, tired of sitting a
mute spectator of her husband's lucubrations,
had long retired to solitary rest; for she was a
soporescent woman of an evening, when not
talked to. Having bid my uncle a transient
good night, through the half-open door, which,
without raising his eyes from the book, he
kindly acknowledged by exclaiming "wonder-
ful!" I followed the example of my aunt.

Like a notable housewife, she had taken to
bed the keys which would have enabled her
husband to enlighten his subject, perhaps,
until day-light. The tallow candle having long
ceased its functions, and the lamp, instead of
dispensing light, beginning to give out a vile
smoke, Mr. Franck found himself reluctantly
compelled to shut the book, and rejoin his con-
jugal partner in the dark.

266 FERDINAND FRANCK

By this time the cranium of Dr. Gall's disci-
ple had become so overcharged with craniolo-
gical notions, that without some vent or other
by way of safety-valve, the ferment of the con-
densed materials might have produced danger-
ous consequences. On passing my door, which
was ajar, and hearing me breathe, the happy
thought suddenly struck him of making on the
skull of his nephew a practical experiment of
the tenets of the German philosopher.

Figure to thyself, gentle reader, the horror
I felt at being roused from my first sleep and
a sweet dream by the craniological manipula-
tions of a dry bony hand, resembling an anato-
mical preparation. With a loud scream I
started from my bed and seized the tall spectre
by the throat.—The words “Nonsense, boy,
don’t be frightened,” to my amazement pro-
claimed the vision to be my uncle.

My screams had by this time brought to the
spot Mrs. Franck and Lisbeth in their nocturnal
draperies. After a brief and rather obscure
explanation, the former exclaimed, “Why, sure
you’re mad Nicholas; the book has turned his
brain already, it shall be burnt the first thing
to-morrow morning.

All the answer the calm Mr. Franck made to
this threatening invective was, “The organ of
amorousness—the organ of harmony—the organ
of murderousness—all in a decisive degree;

FERDINAND FRANCK.

267

besides a number of organs less distinctly pro-
nounced.” “There are no organs in the room,
my dear Nicholas,” replied my aunt, in a sooth-
ing tone of intense distress of mind, fully con-
vinced of the truth of her husband’s mental
aberrations. “The Lord have mercy upon thee,
dear Nick, thou’rt wandering in thy senses;
come to bed, my dear, come along, and let us
pray against the fiend’s temptations.”

After a night of more or less agitation to the
parties concerned, we sat down to a silent
breakfast, until my uncle, in a serious, but af-
fectionate tone, addressed me as follows :

“My dear Ferdinand! much as I regret the
fright which I caused to you and your good
aunt last night, the anxiety I long felt for your
future destinies will sufficiently justify my hav-
ing seized the first opportunity of ascertaining
your mental and moral qualifications, by the
test of Dr. Gall’s important discoveries; the truth
of which this first trial, compared with previous
observations I made in silence, has confirmed
in a surprising manner. I had time before you
awoke to examine every part of your skull, and
the result is briefly this: “You possess (point-
ing to the bump I had received in falling against
the German stove the night before) you possess,
in a decided degree, the organ of murderous-
ness. (Here my aunt heaved a deep sigh, and
bit her lips.) Don’t be alarmed, my dear, the

Z

268 FERDINAND FRANCK.

lad cannot help the conformation of his skull.
It is for craniology to take warning by such
hints, and act accordingly. He would make
an excellent carcase-butcher, if we were in-
clined that way. Our wish had hitherto partly
been to make him a practitioner. There's an
end of this at once, he would kill more than
cure. (With this deduction, however errone-
ous, I was not disposed to quarrel, having had
quite enough of surgery and Dr. Knobelsheimer;
nor was my aunt inclined to any objection.)
This almost unnatural prominence, (putting his
finger to the nape of my neck,) I am sorry to say,
indicates the organ of amorousness in an ex-
treme state."

*Mrs. F.*—“ Nonsense, Mr. F. don't put wick-
ed ideas into the child's head.”

*Mr. F.*—“ He can’t help it, my dear. Feel
the bump yourself; and let me tell you, what-
ever may as yet be the doubts concerning some
of the cranial protuberances, this one is indis-
putably made out; and, what is more, decisive-
ly confirmed by what I saw last night, when I
came to the school-room unawares, were you
not kissing Mary Dickel, the blacksmith’s
daughter ?”

“ It was all in fun.” (Here aunt, with a dark
frown, nodded her head most significantly.)

“ Fun, I dare say it was; but be this as it
may, now I tell you of the enemy, it is your

FERDINAND FRANCK. 269

part to beware of him. 'Principiis obsta, sero
medicina paratur.' This organ is so tremendous
with you, that, unless you take great care, I
fear it will bring you a world of trouble.
(Here every word of my uncle, as I afterwards
found, spoke oracular truth. I had often sad oc-
casion to remember his caution.) For the pre-
sent I am in hopes, that by the steps I am go-
ing to propose, any immediate danger will be
averted.

"Between your eyes and ears," continued
uncle, "I perceived a third very remarkable
rise, just here: this, I am happy to tell you, is
of a promising description, it is the organ of
harmony; and although I was hitherto ignorant
of this predisposition of yours; Baron Wolditz,
perhaps instinctively, (for what does he know
of craniology?) seems to have been fully aware
of its existence. He wishes you to be brought
up to music, he has kindly offered his assist-
ance; if your aunt agrees to it, let us follow
the guide thus pointed out to us, and avail our-
selves of his good intentions. He wishes to
send you to the capital to commence your mu-
sical career; much as I shall regret the absence
of one I so dearly love, it is for your good, and
so let it be; and when I consider that this
measure will have the additional advantage of
separating you from Mary Dickel, for whom it
seems you have a premature kindness, I feel

270 FERDINAND FRANCK.

the more reconciled to the idea of parting with
you, my dear boy. The distance is not so great
but that we may contrive to meet now and then,
and my legs are not too old to carry me to the
capital to see you during the school vacations."

CHAP. XX.

Farewell.

THE plan of my uncle fully coincided with
my own wishes; I expressed my instant consent:
aunt too, for a wonder, approved of her hus-
band's proposal; and Baron Wolditz received,
with delight, the tidings of our united acqui-
escence in his views concerning my future ca-
reer. He immediately wrote to a friend in the
capital to effect the necessary arrangements,
and an agreement was made with Mr. Bauer,
an excellent musician and theorist, for my in-
struction, including board and lodging under
his own roof. Another fortnight passed in pro-
viding a stock of equipment, in which the mi-
nute attentions of Mrs. Franck omitted nothing
within the compass of her scanty means, not

FERDINAND FRANCK.

271

excepting a few darning needles and thread,
and a pot of her excellent domestic ointment.
My uncle's best razor was the only gift in the
power of this excellent man to bestow.

My trunk, an immense family ark, crammed
with worthless lumber, being sent on by the
carrier, and an affectionate leave taken of my
kind patron, who presented me with a louis d'or
for travelling expences and pocket money, the
day after twelfth night the heavy morning of
parting presented itself. I left a house of tears,
and I well remember the last words of my good
uncle, uttered through the half stifled sobs :

"God in heaven bless you, my dear Ferdi-
nand, and keep you in the path of virtue!
Farewell, my boy, and mind the bump in the
nape!"

With this first grand epoch in my Journal, I
must, for the present, take leave of my kind
readers· likewise. If it meet their favour, the
remainder shall be at their service at a future
opportunity.

F. F.

z 3

273

Genealogy

OF THE

EUROPEAN SOVEREIGNS

AND OF

*the Living Members of their Families.*

GREAT BRITAIN AND HANOVER (Protestant).

King George IV. Frederic Augustus, b. Aug. 12, 1762; declared Regent, Jan. 10, 1811; suc. his father, King George III. Jan. 29, 1820. Widower, Aug. 7, 1821, by death of Caroline Amelia Elizabeth, d. of Duke Charles William Ferdinand of Brunswick-Wolfenbüttel.

*Brothers and Sisters.*

1. Frederic, Duke of York and Albany, here-tofore Bishop of Osnabrück, b. Aug. 16, 1763. Widower, Aug. 6, 1820, by death of Frederica, d. of Frederic William II. K. of Prussia.

2. William Henry, Duke of Clarence and St. Andrew's, Earl of Munster, b. Aug. 21, 1765; m. July 11, 1818, to the

Pr. Adelaide, d. of George, Duke of Saxe-Meiningen, b. Aug. 13, 1792.

3. The Queen-dowager of Würtemburg.