CHAPTER XX.

NEW YEAR'S EVE CONTINUED.--UNIVERSITY STORIES.--VON PLAUEN.

Hoffmann.--I will now, for a change, give some passages from the life and deeds of a hero, whom, were I a Zachariae, I would celebrate in a no less magnificent epic than he has done the exploits of his Renommist. The Herr von Plauen, to whom I allude, studied for more than ten years here, and enacted more mad pranks than the whole united university besides would have been able to do. He was a little, broad-set fellow, of prepossessing exterior and expressive countenance, who stood particularly well with the ladies. His uncommon strength; his accomplishment in all bodily exercises; his overflowing humour continually gushing forth in witty conceits, procured him a constant good reception in the student world, and in the social circles of the city; and he long played in his Chore, as well as in the ball-room, a distinguished part, till his total sacrifice of character, and his really reprehensible actions, which were all alike to him so long as they carried him to his object, completed his ruin. By his strength he frequently put to shame the travelling Hercules who exhibit their powers for money; since, poising himself on a perpendicular pole, he would stretch himself out horizontally, so as to form a right angle with the pole, and at his pleasure, could double up strong silver coins. In the gymnastic ground, which yet existed, no one could stand against him; and in the fencing-school he beat down every one's guard. As he once travelled in the Upper-Rhine country without a passport, and a _gendarme_ on horseback, would have detained him, he threw both the man and his horse into the ditch by the roadside, and so left them. He was especially expert in the then so-much-liked shooting of geese, and thus made many a Philistine the poorer. Understand me right, Mr. Traveller; to shoot, in studenten phrase, means to abstract without yet doing any thing unjust or contrary to honour; since, especially in the olden times, this was a student custom. Small things, as penknives, sticks, etc., if they were not dedicated, were shootable. One might take them from another, and with the words--"This is shot," he took possession of them. It may easily be conceived that it was only the elder students who indulged themselves in this practice against the Foxes, and no one could secure himself from this Spartan plundering but by instantly declaring a thing, which another seemed to have a design upon,--unshootable.

Von Kronen.--This expression dates itself from the practices of the schools of the fifteenth century. As then the teacher, with his helpers, was only engaged by the inhabitants of a place there for a year or so; so if the parties disagreed, the master, with his assistants, to whom generally a number of boys added themselves, proceeded from land to land, and supported themselves with alms, with singing before the houses, and with all manner of petty plunderings. The scholars, who stood expressly under the protection of the assistants, must deliver to them geese, ducks, hens, and the like, which they became very expert in carrying off from the villages, and which, in their language, they termed shooting.

Hoffmann.--I have never before heard of this custom of antiquity. It is a pity that so beautiful a practice is become obsolete, or I could, as a musician, make most profitable use of it.

Freisleben:--

Friends beloved! there were finer times once Than are these times--that must be conceded,-- And a nobler people lived ere we did.

Hoffmann.--But to come back to our story. Herr von Plauen possessed a more admirable dexterity in shooting than any of the schoolboys just referred to could possibly have; and no wonder,--as they were only schoolboys, and he was a student. Plenty of stories are related of him; how he twisted the neck of many a living goose, and popped them under his cloak; how with ladder and hook, he brought many a plucked goose down from the lofty store-room; yes, and how he came most easily at one ready stuffed and roasted.

On Holy St. Nicholas's-day, a worthy citizen of the place, whose little son also was called Nicholas, prepared a feast for some guests, the chief ornament of which was a goose, as fine as ever gabbled and screamed in the Pfalz. The goose was carried up; the guests had not, however, yet made their appearance, but the little son was impatient, and howling and crying desired a slice from the goose. The father strove in vain to quiet him; he howled and cried on. "Then," said the old man, "I will give the goose to the Pelznickel." (In our country there goes from house to house, on St. Nicholas's-day, fellows in disguise, who inquire into the past behaviour of the children, and give to the good ones apples, nuts, and little cakes, but warn the bad and threaten them with the rod. These disguised personages are styled Pelznickel.) With the word the old man set the dish with the goose in it on the outside of the window! This frightened the little one; he promised to be quiet if the father would take the goose in again; whereupon the father reached the dish in again, but to his astounding, the goose was gone! It was already rapidly on its way to the city of Dusseldorf, (a Wirthshaus in Heidelberg), where the Herr von Plauen and his companions found it smack right delectably with their red wine.

A similar passage once befell our hero in the village Schlangenbach, where he was for a long time the guest of the Amtmann. They both, he and the Amtmann, who had himself been a lusty student, made a call on the Frau Pfarrerin, the parson's lady. They talked of this and that; of husbandry, and of poultry and geese. "Ay," said the parson's lady, "I have a goose hanging above; you may match it if you can. But with what care and labour have I fed it myself; and stuffed it myself with the best Indian corn that was to be got. But, gentlemen, you shall judge for yourselves. I invite you next Sunday to discuss this famous goose."

"And yet," said Plauen, "I will wager that the Amtmann has one that is quite as good."

"Impossible!" exclaimed the Frau Pfarrerin.

"Amtmann," rejoined Plauen, "you won't admit that! I challenge you to invite the Frau Pfarrerin and her husband to-morrow, Saturday, also to eat a goose, and we will afterwards see which goose is the best."

"Done!" said the Amtmann.

"We'll see!" said the parson's lady.

The residence of the plucked goose was soon ascertained by the two. It was up in the chamber in the roof, where it hung, and made many ornamental swings and gyrations in the wind that blew through the dormant windows. It was a ravishing sight, which the world only was allowed to enjoy for this one day. It was brought away in the night, and the next day at noon, most deliciously dressed, was served up before the invited guests.

"Now, how does the goose please you, Herr Pfarrer?" asked Plauen.

"My husband understands nothing of the matter," interposed the Frau Pfarrerin, "but I tell you the goose is good, but mine is much better. You shall convince yourselves; that I promise you."

Alas! the Frau Pfarrerin was not able to keep her word; for on the morrow she became aware, to her horror, that her plucked goose had taken a greater flight than it had ever done while it was yet unplucked. She was excessively annoyed; and to propitiate her, the waggish companions sent her a handsome cotton dress. On the package was inscribed--"A dressing for the goose." The good woman was completely conciliated, and highly delighted; but her husband thought that the words would bear more than one construction.

Freisleben:--

The Pfarrer's wits were sharp and sound, So let us all drink to him round. (They drink.)

Hoffmann continued.--Another time, in a cold winter, he put, one night, the figure of Hercules, which adorns the Brunnen in the market-place, a shirt on, much to the bewonderment of the market people when they arrived in the place the next morning. Another time, as it was the fair, the students, at his suggestion, got all the strolling organists together in the fair, who each kept on playing a different tune, which, with the accompaniment of the barking of their assembled dogs, produced the most astounding effect.

I must relate yet another of his tricks, which, however, he played off in another university city directly before he came to Heidelberg. An innocent youth, who was just come raw from the school, recognised in Herr von Plauen a countryman, and begged of him, as he would go away the next day, that he would accompany him to one of the professors, in order to enter himself as an attendant of his lectures, as he really did not know how it was proper to conduct himself on such an occasion.

"With pleasure," answered Von Plauen, gave the Fox at once his arm, and conducted him to one of the professors, who was completely deaf. As they entered the room, the rogue presented the new-comer, with the words,--"Here, thou old Philistine! I bring thee a young gentleman who will do thee the favour to listen to thy lectures. Take care, however, that thou art not too tedious with him, for he is my friend."

The startled Fox seemed to have dropped at once out of the clouds as he heard his friend speak in this manner, and his astonishment mounted to its height as he heard him again say, as he took his leave--"Farewell, old Camel!" which salutation the professor answered with a very gracious bow.

"But for God's sake, then," asked the Fox, "may one then speak in this manner to a professor of the university?"

"So, and no otherwise," replied he, "must you address them all; they are accustomed to nothing else; and moreover, they soon lose all respect for him who does not cock his thumb a little at them. Besides this, I have been particularly civil to-day, that I might not astonish thee too much, as is the case generally with youths when they first come from the school. But thou wilt quickly acquire the proper tone."

"O! if it comes to that," said the Fox, "I'll soon be ready for the gentlemen."

Von Plauen laughed in his fist as he rode forth the next morning through the city-gate; and he soon learnt by letters that his protege, in proceeding to enter himself with the next professor, whom he addressed in the same style, was speedily sent head foremost down the steps, as he had unluckily happened to come across a professor who not only had an excellent pair of ears, but a very fiery temper.

Some pranks which our hero permitted himself afterwards, laid the commencement of his fall. Once he feigned himself delirious, raged and cried out, for no purpose, but to have the pleasure of spitting in the face of the physician who was called in, having, as it is asserted by some, betted a considerable wager on this point.

He spared the fair sex as little in his wild conceits; which were not, however, always very graciously received. He asked permission from one lady in the open street to be allowed to light his pipe at her eyes. Another time, a carriage, in which were some ladies setting out to the ball, being drawn up across a narrow street, up which he was coming, he opened the door, sprung in, and out at the other door, followed by all his companions in succession, about twenty in number. Once he went with his acquaintance to walk in the Heidelberg Castle. It began to rain heavily, and the mistress of a ladies' school, with her pupils, had taken refuge in the so-called Octagonal House, on the terrace, which was then not completely closed, and had only one entrance. This the wild troop beset, and refused egress to the young ladies, except on the condition that each student should be favoured with a kiss from one of the ladies. The ladies heard the proposal with horror, and long held out siege in the little building; but as night was fast approaching, and not a soul appeared within view, or hearing, on account of the bad weather, they were at length compelled by necessity to accept the horrid condition, and were then conducted safely home by the wilful students. By this exploit, however, Von Plauen, sunk dreadfully in credit with the world of beauty, as he was well known and immediately recognised.

Finally, our hero was counselled or ordered to withdraw himself, for a stated period, from the university on account of his repeated duels, and concluded with himself to pass the half-year of his exile in the Hessian Neckarsteinach. As he was intending to withdraw without paying his debts, he found that his testimonial was taken possession of by his landlady: for Mr. Traveller, you are perhaps aware, that if a creditor fears that a student meditates quitting the university without satisfying his just claims, he lays before the Amtmann of the university the amount of his bill, and the exit-testimonial, without which a student cannot be admitted to another university, is refused him till he has discharged his debts. Plauen immediately procured all the Hellers (each in value of the twelfth of a penny English, or two hundred and forty to the gulden, or twenty-pence English) that the place afforded, and sent them, to the whole amount of his debt, to the poor landlady in a bag, which, of so small a coin, were so many as took her several days to count them out.

On a fine spring day he was, to every one's astonishment, seen dressed as for a festival, leading in a rich silk riband, a lamb gaily adorned with flowers, along the banks of the Neckar. To those who wondered at his proceedings, he said that this was the custom of his Fatherland on that particular day. So went he on to Ziegelhausen, where he spent the night, and where he was the better entertained at the Wirthshaus, because he had attracted many people into the house by this unusual spectacle. The next morning he made a present of his lamb, which, however, was speedily reclaimed by its real owner, from whom Plauen had "shot" it; and then betook himself to Neckarsteinach. Here he played the pious Catholic. On Corpus Christi day, when the Catholics parade in solemn procession round the town, singing and praying, and say mass at certain altars which are erected in the open air, he followed the priest, himself clothed for the occasion, and carried the train of his robe. Soon afterwards he showed every where a letter sealed with black, which he professed to contain the intelligence of his mother's death. Every one took the deepest interest in his apparently deep-felt grief, and the more so as he caused masses to be said in all the churches whose priests he had before so much flattered. His mother, however, lived long afterwards, and the whole was only invented on purpose to have the masses said. Equally false was a later assertion, that he had received information that they had appointed him a canon in his Fatherland; and from that time he went about the little place in full costume, and carrying a cross.

When the period of his banishment was completed, he returned to the city on a day in the evening of which there was to be a ball. An officer who was a countryman of his, then resided in Heidelberg, and had frequently visited him in Neckarsteinach. He hastened to his house, and then found that he was absent on a journey. As an old acquaintance, he ordered his rooms to be opened, managed easily to open his commode, and to draw out a new uniform of the officer's. Into this, which was indeed much too tight for him, he forced himself, and appeared in it that evening at the ball, where he told the people one lie upon another, of his having succeeded to this new post of honour. He looked, however, comical enough in the uniform, which was so narrow that when his partner in the dance let fall her rosette, he was not able to stoop to pick it up for her.

Von Plauen soon found again a swarm of acquaintance, and again played over his old tricks. One of his acquaintances received from his native town, which was somewhere not very far distant, a large and most famous cheese, and a hamper of good wine. The others soon got wind of it, and wanted to persuade him to make a merriment over these things. But he assured them that he could not touch a single thing of them, as he expected an immediate visit from his family. His father, he said, had written him that he yet hoped to eat of the cheese with him, and to drink a glass of the wine with him; and on that account he should leave every thing untouched till they arrived.

They pressed him no farther, but one day at noon, as the lawless set knew that he was fast at his lecture in the college, they rushed into his chamber, drank the wine, and filled the bottles with water; and the cheese they scooped so skilfully out from beneath, that nothing but the outward rind remained standing. They set it again in the dish so that nothing was to be seen. It may be imagined what was the poor fellow's dismay as he set the cheese before his newly-arrived relations, and saw it, at the first cut, fall into mere fragments of peel; and what a face the old man made as he came to taste of that flat water instead of his famous Rhine-wine.

Soon afterwards, the student thus treated, missed a sum of money, of some three hundred gulden, which had been remitted him in order to defray the expenses contingent on the taking of his doctoral examination. Von Plauen, who had spent the night with him shortly before the theft was discovered, fell under strong suspicion, more especially, as, at the same time, he was accused of forging bills of exchange. He was thrown into the university prison, and his examination begun. But he did not await his sentence. One evening, as he knew that the fat beadle to whom the care of the prison was entrusted, remained alone in the house, he tore the lock from the door with his hands and hastened down into the beadle's room. The beadle had the keys belonging to the different rooms in the house, just then in his hand,--"How came you here, Herr von Plauen?" demanded he. The prisoner seized a knife that lay on the table, and warned him that if he did not deliver up to him the keys, he would stick the knife into his fat paunch. The terrified man instantly surrendered the keys; the prisoner shut him in his own room, secured him, and escaped from the house. He hastened over the bridge. There he threw himself over the gate, which then was closed every evening; but he stepped up to the window of the gatekeeper, knocked, and laid down a kreutzer, saying, "I will cheat no man of his money."

He was pursued, but without avail; and various reports are in circulation concerning his latter fortunes. Some say that he became a fencing-master in England, and yet lives there; others, that he continually gave himself more and more to drinking, and finally died in the hospital of a great German city, where, in the last hour, he called for a choppin of beer, and drank it off.

Freisleben.--So let us, in a better liquor, wish that he had left a better memory. His tricks, if they were not always the best, have at least served to amuse us; and so may it go well with him in the other world, where, as his deeds certainly could not conduct him upwards, let us hope, though somewhat against hope, that a deep and final repentance prevented his going inevitably downwards.

They touch glasses.

STORY OF THE BLACK PETER.

Mr. Traveller, the turn now comes to you to relate something; but it really is a difficult task for you to have to relate something which is connected with Heidelberg.

Mr. Traveller.--Luckily I have recently heard the history of the life of a student, who formerly studied here, and I think it is sufficiently interesting;--I shall, therefore, relate as much of it as I recollect.

Some twenty or thirty years ago, a young man came to Heidelburg, whose name was Schwartzkopf, a native of Fulda in Hesse. His father had been an officer in the Hessian service, but he died early, and his widow was compelled to straiten herself severely, in order to be able to educate her only son out of the proceeds of her small property, and still smaller pension. Nature had made amends to the son of the widow for his poverty by many fine endowments of person and mind, and proudly gazed the affectionate mother on her darling son, as with little solid cash, but on that account with the more well-intended exhortations, and with many tears, she dismissed him on his journey to the university. Many were the anxieties that filled her mind when she thought that her son indeed possessed a good heart, but was still very giddy and of easily persuaded mind. He, with joyful spirits, and full of good resolves, proceeded to his new place of residence. He studied the greater part of the first year with zeal, and he wanted not good friends with whom he could spend his hours of the Muses in the most agreeable manner. His evil angel then caused him to be involved in a duel, and on this occasion he made some acquaintances that were of disastrous influence to him. Through them he became acquainted with play, to which he soon gave himself up passionately. It is true that at first he played only in his leisure hours, when his old friends were not about him; but he soon came to neglect these, and his leisure hours soon became continually less and less able to satisfy his desire for play, and then his studies were sacrificed. His friends grew tedious to him, because they had other interests; his books were covered with thick dust; and if he sometimes attended the lectures, they showed only how far he had fallen behind in the race of knowledge, and he hastened in vexation to the kneip, in order to drown in beer and play the upbraidings of his conscience. Thus he continued to live on for a long time; he returned to his room only to pass the night, even not that always. In the morning he fled from it as early as possible, because all there looked desolate. His books were at length sold, and by degrees he had disposed of every thing to the Jews, except the wretched clothes on his back, in order to feed his unhappy passion. Many a time would he fall into a horror, when he awoke out of a dream, which had carried him back into his early life, and saw around him that empty room, or when he received a letter from his affectionate mother, which was full of tender warnings,--from his mother, who denied herself even the most necessary things, that he might not want that money which he thus consumed on his ruinous habits. But these terrible reflections drove him only for a brief space out of his wild life, for he was already too deep sunk in it, and felt no longer the strength necessary to work himself out of the gulf.

It was then that he one day received a letter addressed by a strange hand, and sealed with black. His mother was dead, and the letter was from his guardian. Far as Schwartzkopf was already fallen, yet this letter deeply shook him; it embittered the melancholy intelligence beyond words, since his guardian, a severe man, wrote him, that he had driven not a few nails into his mother's coffin; that he had wasted his property; that he should immediately return home, in order to be made acquainted with the real state of his affairs, which left him little other alternative than that of becoming a soldier in the ranks. His state of mind for the first few days was horrible, and he was at the very point of self-destruction; but this went by, and he concluded, after more quiet reflection, that it was the best to turn his footsteps homewards, in order, if possible, to move his guardian to more moderate measures, or, came it to the worst, to enlist into the army. His debts were paid, and he put up the slender remains of his possessions in his knapsack, with which, early one morning, he passed through the gate leading towards Frankfort.

In the evening of the second day he had arrived in a great wood, which extended towards Fulda. The forest seemed to stretch itself out endlessly before him. It was already nearly dark; and a violent wind against which he had to labour, bent the tall and gloomy pines, which groaned awfully. Full of melancholy he wandered forward; the memory of the past came over him with subduing power; and he almost wished that one of the mighty trees might be dashed down by the tempest, and bury him in its fall. He began to sing a song, in order to chase away those painful thoughts,--when, as he turned an angle of the path, a rough voice cried "Halt!" and at once three men sprung out of the bush. The coarse hunting-garb, the pistols and hangers with which they were armed, and the disguised faces, left him in no doubt that they were some of the gang that kept that part of the country in disquiet.

The student feared them not; fear had never been any part of his nature, and least of all now, when life to him was made indifferent by despair.

"Leave me alone," said he, "I have nothing for you."

"But with your permission," said one of the robbers, "we will make a rather nearer acquaintance with your knapsack."

"With all my heart," answered the student quietly, handing over to them the knapsack, at the same time that he filled his pipe, and asked one of them for a light, as he had himself lost his fire-apparatus. He seated himself to rest on a block of stone by the side of the road, and requested the robbers not to detain him too long, as he had yet far to go to his night's quarters. They could not refrain from a laugh at the _sang froid_ of the student.

"You seem to me sad fellows," said Schwartzkopf, "that you don't understand your business better; at thirty paces distance you might have seen very well, that you would get nothing, from me."

"Be silent, hound!" cried one of them, "or in a moment we will cut thy throat."

"And a right noble deed too," added the student, "for three men to cut the throat of one. If you were not miserable Philistines, I should be obliged to call upon one of you to give satisfaction for that word, hound!"

"By all the devils, he is right, Heiner," said another; "he has a right to it, since he has shown himself so brave, and as there is nothing in the knapsack, except a few miserable articles of covering."

"Does the fellow think I'm afraid of him?" cried Heiner.

"Ay, to be sure I do," said the student, quietly smoking on. The robber was raging, and demanded on the instant to fight the audacious student; but his comrades disapproved of it. It was too dangerous an undertaking to decide this affair on the highway. They proposed to adjourn to their encampment; and offered in a manner friendly enough to the student, if he were not killed in the combat, to give him quarters for the night. He was obliged to content himself with the matter, and so they put themselves in motion. They went on long, still deeper and deeper into the thick of the wood, and on the way made inquiries from the student, whom they watched pretty well, as to the circumstances of his life; which he related to them truly.

At length they came to an open place in the forest. Here the surrounding hills formed a sort of basin, which on the one side was shielded from the wind by a pile of rocks, and on the other by a screen of stupendous trees. A little spring gushing out from the foot of the rocks, wound itself through the carpet of grass, upon which the robber-troop, consisting of about twenty men with their wives and children, had built some huts. The sentinels on the outposts had first announced their approach, and they were speedily surrounded by the troop. When they learned the intention of Heiner and the student, they gave it their hearty applause; and as soon as all had refreshed themselves with food and drink, a battle-ground was selected; Schwartzkopf received a hanger, and the robbers formed a circle round the combatants. The women kindled great pine-torches, in order properly to light up the scene.

The robber fiercely attacked his opponent; and the whole scene had a singular aspect. The powerfully built figures of the men, whose bold features yet more strongly stood forth in the light of the torches, as they, smoking their short pipes, looked on the strife, full of expectation of its issue; and the women dispersed amongst them in singular and various attire, which they had selected for themselves out of the plundered stores. All watched the fight in deep silence; which was only broken by the clattering of the swords, the dashing of the water, and the rush of the winds as they raged through the woods. The student, by far superior to his antagonist in skill of fence, parried with the utmost coolness, quietly meeting with his sword every blow of his opponent; but as the robber began to press upon him closer and closer in a furious attack, he suddenly struck in before the stroke of his adversary, and in the same instant the robber let his sword drop, and the blood spouted hotly from the arm-wound through his sleeve.

The men had seen the contest with astonishment; the arm of the wounded robber was bound up, and the rest of them gathered together in a group in earnest consultation. The student continued standing alone, doubtful whether he should make an attempt at escape, or should wait the upshot of the consultation, which might be fatal to him. He concluded to wait.

A robber now stepped up to him, and said, "Our captain fell in a skirmish a few days ago. We have all seen, with admiration, your perfect coolness, your courage, and your swordsmanship; when you arrive at home little good awaits you; remain with us, and be our captain, and so will you find a better life than amongst those miserable soldiers." Schwartzkopf hesitated only a short time. He weighed the attraction of the proposal against the life which he had otherwise before him. He reflected how dangerous it would be to refuse; and if scruples arose in his mind, he silenced them again by the thought that he could again give up this life when he pleased. After a short rumination, he gave his pledge of adhesion and fidelity to the robbers. The intelligence spread itself with rapidity through the whole robber troop; the wives brought wine-cups, and all drank to the health and prosperity of the new captain. They caroused till deep in the night, and drank brotherhood to Schwartzkopf, who, under the name of Black Peter, was speedily known and feared through the whole country round.

About half a year from this event had flown away. The complaints of the country people in the neighbourhood of Fulda, of the oppressions of the robber band, had ceased. But from time to time it undertook greater exploits, with such calculation and astonishing boldness, as testified the new spirit that was come amongst them since they were led by the Black Peter. The real name of Peter Schwartzkopf, from which this was derived, was not recognised. The former student, of whom people had so often read in the newspapers, was believed to be dead, or to have fallen into the hands of the recruiting officer, and to serve in foreign lands. The captain, however, was known as the Black Peter, from two other causes. He always wore a black mask; and he had never been seen otherwise than riding on a black horse. The inquietudes of the war had hitherto made impossible any earnest attempt to put down those disturbers of the public security; and this was rendered the more difficult as the band never lingered long in one and the same place, but, immediately after the perpetration of some bold deed, vanished from their haunt, and exchanged it for the Bergstrasse, or the country of the Main.

Already the storm of war had retired many weeks from the neighbourhood of Fulda, and the robber band appeared also to have left the country, perhaps out of fear of a more vehement pursuit. The inhabitants of the little city of Schluechten rejoiced themselves in the prospect of the enjoyment of a more refreshing rest than they had for a long time been favoured with.

One afternoon a heavily loaded travelling-carriage rolled slowly into the city, and aroused universal attention as it drew up before the Gasthaus Zum-Stern. A swarm of lounging Bauers collected about it, and out of every window peered curious countenances. But how much greater was the astonishment as the people learned from the coachman and valet, who, both of them clad in military costume, looked, in their mustaches, most formidable fellows, that their master, a Graf of high standing, had been attacked on the way by robbers, and now lay severely wounded in the carriage; and that they only owed their escape and life to the fortunate interposition of a patrol party belonging to the Graf's own regiment.

At this intelligence the whole city was thrown into an uproar, and not the least the landlord of the Star, who with his loud and eager orders for the proper care of the noble gentleman, made the heads of all his people dizzy. The stranger Graf was finally lifted out of the carriage by his servants, aided by some of the others. He was a tall, stately man, pale with the loss of blood; his eyes were closed, and many deep wounds in the head were only rudely and hastily bound up. While he was carried to his bed and given into the care of the surgeon, who was called in, the Amtmann was hastily sent for; and, from the statements of the coachman, who caused at the same time his own arm-wounds to be bound up, dictated to his clerk a long protocol. The whole police corps, with an addition of some armed Bauers, immediately set out in pursuit of the robbers, without, however, being able to discover the least trace of them.

In the meantime the stranger lay in the most frightful delirium. The servants forbade any one, besides the surgeon, from entering the room; such, they said, being the orders of their lord. The surgeon wondered sometimes at the fearful phantoms that haunted the imagination of the strange nobleman, which the servants calmly remarked proceeded entirely from the last battle, and from the attack of the robbers.

For some days the Graf hovered between life and death, but shortly a decided improvement manifested itself in him; and after many weeks he was so far recovered, as to be able to receive the visits of the first people of the place, who anxiously desired to make the acquaintance of so distinguished a personage; and indeed, shortly afterwards, to return them. He styled himself Graf Pappenheim; gave out that he was a native of the north of Germany, and had quitted his regiment on account of a difference with his superior officer, and was about to retire to his estate. He possessed a great partiality for Hesse, as his mother was a native of that state, whence he himself had a Hessian accent in his speech, which was strong enough to strike the ear of the people. In short, the Graf was a most genteel man in society, had the most agreeable manners, and was soon a favourite in all the circles of the little city. When the Bauers had at first seen the many heavy chests of the stranger, they said, "he is a rich man, the Graf;" and said they again, with one accord, as they saw him first ride out on a black horse, purchased of the Chief Forest-master, "he is a very handsome man, the Graf."

The Graf brought a new life into the little city; he was the soul of all companies, and himself gave the finest entertainments in the Star; in short, he had always something new with which to entertain society. He treated every one with the most condescending courtesy, but above all the lovely daughter of the Chief Forest-master, who was not a little envied on that account by the other ladies. As it now one day became known that the Graf had proposed for the Forester's lovely daughter, and contemplated buying an estate for himself in the neighbourhood for his future abode, many of the young ladies made truly a sour face; but all said, "We have long thought that," and hastened to present to the young lady their congratulations.

The marriage was immediately afterwards celebrated at the new castle of the Graf, with the greatest eclat. About five miles from the city lay, in the midst of a wood--a former hunting castle of the prince--a wide-stretching building. This the Graf had recently purchased. The Chief Forest-master thought indeed the castle much too solitary, and of too great an extent; but his son-in-law quieted him on that head, with the prospect of the noble hunting which they could here enjoy together. That the carriage was always at the command of his wife, and he hoped constantly to have company from the city with him. The extensive accommodation was, moreover, very convenient to him, as, on account of the not yet perfectly restored security of the country, he should send home for the greater part of his servants to attend him here. And it was not long, in fact, before the rooms of the castle were filled with about a score of fresh servants. They were altogether strong, wild-looking fellows; and the Graf said that he had selected these expressly, because people yet, here and there, talked of the robber band; and it was possible that they might some day attempt an attack on his house or property. It was the more necessary for him to do this, as he was himself a restless spirit, and could not live without now and then making a little expedition. But this he could not do unless he felt at the same time that he left his house in perfect security.

The people in the city considered this all very reasonable, and conceived a still greater opinion of the affluence of the Graf, who was able to maintain so great an establishment. The Forest-master's daughter lived with her husband in the happiest manner; and when he sometimes, accompanied by some of his servants, made a little excursion into the country round, she invited always some of her friends from the city, and never sent them back without the most beautiful gifts. The Graefin, indeed, wondered with herself, that her husband, who otherwise gratified all her desires the moment they were uttered, never took her with him on these little excursions; but she loved him too well to chagrin him by pressing entreaties. The winter was now come, and yet the excursions of the Graf did not cease. They were it is true, more seldom, but they often stretched themselves into weeks; and the young wife frequently felt herself excessively solitary when she, with her maid, the only other female who was in the castle, sate in the large room, and the wind without shook the naked branches of the trees fearfully.

During this period the vicinity was not at all disturbed by the robber band, notwithstanding the repeated accounts of housebreaking and highway robberies in the countries of the Main and the Neckar. The Graf seemed almost totally at ease on that subject, for he often took with him all the servants, with the exception of two or three, in his journeys. The young wife made many reflections on this strange conduct of her husband, who always so suddenly resolved on these marches; yes, sometimes even was awoke by a servant in the night, and at once went forth numerously accompanied. It also struck her that many of the presents which he brought her were clearly not new; and if she asked him the cause of it, he told her that they had been sent for by him from his native seat, and that he had been in a neighbouring city to fetch them.

In that part of the castle in which the servants resided, was a room which was always closed to the women, as there, the Graf said, were preserved family documents of the highest importance, to which none but himself must have access. Strange did it seem when Lisette, the chambermaid, asserted to her lady, that she had often seen one of the servants in that room with her lord; and the Graefin was equally annoyed at the familiarity between master and servants, when the Graf, till late in the night, in one of the rooms appertaining to the servants, was accustomed to talk and drink with them. "They are true souls," said he, "who have been brought up with me, and I must be good to them, as I have caused them to come into a country so strange to them."

All this, and the relations of Lisette, who, amongst other things, asserted that she had seen the Graf, on his entering the house, take off a black mask, disturbed the poor lady in the highest degree, and she resolved at last to throw light on the mystery, let it cost what it would, but till then to conceal her anxiety from her relations.

One evening, as she heard the Graf and his followers come riding in, she hastened quickly into the neighbourhood of the suspected room, into which her husband was accustomed always to go first, and concealed herself in an unused fireplace. With beating heart she saw the Graf enter with two servants. With light steps she approached the mysterious door and listened. What she then heard was sufficient to inform her of her dreadful fate. The Graf, and the notorious robber-captain, the Black Peter, were one and the same person. Near to fainting, the unhappy wife glided away to her own room. Soon after the Graf appeared, and expressed his regret that, on account of family intelligence which he had received, he must yet ride out again this night, but would be back by break of day.

Scarcely had the Graf and his troop ridden away, when the poor wife called her maid, communicated to her the dreadful truth, and both determined on instant flight. They left the lights burning in the chamber, and stole silently down into a room below. Happily the one robber whom they had left behind, was yet within the mysterious chamber. They escaped through the window, and made directly for the nearest way to the Forest-master's house. Like two alarmed roes they hastened on through the night, and often shrunk together when the moon lighted up a distant tree, so that they fancied one of the robbers stood behind it. Continually looking round to see that no one was pursuing them, they at length came distantly into view of the Forest-master's house. Their anguish became almost insupportable when so near the goal; they thought to themselves they might yet be overtaken. At last they reached the house, full of joy that they yet saw a light in the room of the Chief Forest-master. He rose up in amaze, when he heard a knocking at so late an hour; but how much greater was his astonishment as his daughter flew to him, and sunk breathless in his arms.

As soon as the old man was able from his exhausted daughter to learn the cause of her thus wandering in the night, his wrath burnt fiercely at the false son-in-law. He called up his huntsmen: the Bauers in the little city were armed, and with all possible speed they set out for the wood castle. But the robber had vanished with the mysteries of the closed chamber. It was empty. All the other rooms were still just in the state that the fugitives had left them, but gold there was none to find.

The next day, the castle was surrounded by soldiers that were sent out from Fulda, but the robbers had evacuated the country, and came not again. After many vain attempts, it occurred at last that one of the robbers was seized on the Bergstrasse. This led to further discoveries; and finally, they had the good fortune to take prisoner the captain himself. He was confined over the Manheimer Gate in Heidelberg, and was to be delivered over to the Hessian authorities, when he escaped in a most extraordinary manner out of his prison, but was speedily recaptured. After an examination, in which he was hard pressed without their being able to bring any confession from him, he was dismissed at eight o'clock in the evening. At half past nine o'clock the same evening, the gaoler announced to the magistrate who had presided on the inquiry that the Black Peter had escaped from his confinement. The watch had shot at him, but had missed him.

It was found that, without any negligence on the part of his keepers, he had got out in a scarcely imaginable manner, in his shirt only. He had taken the whole of the circular window of his prison with its frame out. By means of a sharp holdfast, with which the frame of the window had been secured, he had broken the two new and good locks of the chain with which he was chained crossways; taken off the chains; torn up his bedclothes, and twisted them into a rope-ladder, from ten to twelve feet long, and had slipped through the wonderfully narrow opening of the strong window-shutters, which, by proof made there and then, would admit the passage of no other head. When he had reached the bottom of his rope he had still nine or ten feet to drop to the earth; and the shot, which was instantly fired at him, passed close to him.

Immediately on his escape be sprung into the neighbouring Neckar, and concealed himself under the floor of a swimming-school, which was erected on a boat, where he continued many hours up to the mouth in water. He saw the pursuers on both banks of the Neckar, and in the swimming-school itself. It was not till after midnight that he attempted to wade through the Neckar, which, luckily for him, was then very low; but he had not reached the other bank of the river when he became aware of the watchers placed there also. He continued yet for a long time sitting on a rock in the middle of the flood. Finally, he made another attempt, reached the bank, sprang up it, and by a rapid and breathless flight succeeded in reaching, in spite of all the straining efforts of his pursuers, the hills and the woods.

In order to make his appearance in the wood the less striking to people that he might happen to meet, he slipped his legs through the sleeves of the shirt, and held the lower part of the shirt about his neck with his hands. He thus ran on to a great distance. He met two Bauers in the woods, to whom he feigned himself crazed and dumb, and begged of them by signs, and was so lucky as not only not to be seized, but to obtain an alms from them, with the pity of the givers. With this alms he purchased some bread at a solitary mill in the mountain. The people inquired the cause of his singular dress, or rather want of it; and he invented a lie which answered his purpose. He fled still farther; till, at evening, he was arrested by some Bauers of less easy faith, and who had already became apprised of his flight, and the reward offered for his recapture. He was brought back to his prison, and soon afterwards delivered over to the Hessians, and confined in a high tower. But even from this he effected his escape in the most ingenious manner possible.

One morning, the sentinel who was on duty at the foot of the tower looking up, observed a hole worked in the wall, from which a tolerably long rope hung. He immediately and with all speed gave intelligence of the circumstance to the police officers. All hastened up into the tower, and saw with amazement a hole made through the wall, of the width of a man's body of ordinary size. Into the wall, a piece of iron, part of the broken chain, was driven, and to this the rope was fastened; the rope itself was made from the torn up cover and tick of the prisoner's straw bed.

They could not sufficiently wonder how a man could pass through such a hole; how he could trust himself at such a terrific height to such a brittle rope; and how he could by any possibility, when he reached the end of this rope, the length of which was insignificant in comparison with the height of the tower, drop to the ground without certain destruction.

While they were thus lost in these wonders, the prisoner, who all the time was in the room concealed under the straw taken out of his bed and heaped up behind the door, crept silently out, passed the open standing door unobserved, descended the stairs, and completely effected his escape.

He lived afterwards in various places and by various means; and on the breaking out of the war, enlisted for a soldier. The Battle of Waterloo, which cost so many honourable men their lives, ended also his.

"And his former wife?" asked Hoffmann.

"She soon died of grief, or, as they say in England, of a broken heart."

THE STUDENT STARK.

After a short pause, Freisleben addressed himself to the telling of his story: and for that purpose drew forth a letter. After he had seen that the company were supplied with glee-wine, he said--

We have had enough of evil and evil deeds, and it may, therefore, be permitted me to relate something out of the life of a good man; namely, out of the life of my friend Stark, whom you have become acquainted with in his passing through here lately, face to face.

His father was the pastor of the village of Greenwiesel, and had, as is only too much the case with the country clergy, a very scanty income. The boy received his first instruction in the Folks'-school of the place, and afterwards from his father, who, being an industrious man, contrived to spare so much time from the duties of his office, as was necessary to the due progress of his son. Private teachers he could not afford, nor the expense of his maintenance in a neighbouring town, so that he might attend the Gymnasium there. This was only an advantage to Stark, as he could not easily have enjoyed an education which was at once so well grounded, and so free from all pedantry, as that which his father gave him. An old officer who had long spent his pension in the village, and was a friend of the pastor's, spared no pains to instruct him in the mathematics, which he loved above all things. But the scholar listened with still more delight to his instructor when he talked to him of the armies in which he had served, and of the battles in which he had been engaged against the French. The intercourse with the old officer, and the books which he put into his hands, contributed not a little to inflame the boy's enthusiasm for liberty and Fatherland. With avidity he devoured the German history of Kohlrousch, and was accustomed then to rush forth into the wood, in order that he might stretch himself under the German oak, and felt altogether as German should. Nowhere was he so delighted to be, as abroad amid God's free nature; and as the other boys of the village could not understand his internal feelings and impulses, he was thus daily accustomed to roam about alone, which occasioned him many a reproof from his father. If it was fine weather, he used to take out his Tacitus with him, his favourite author, or he recited with a loud voice a passage from Ossian, of which the old officer had given him a German translation. Nothing, however, gave him greater pleasure than to battle with the winds; and the more it thundered and lightened, the more drenchingly poured down the rain, the more exulting was his feeling of the strength of his youth. When wet through, and looking wild, he returned home, his mother would clasp her hands in wonder at his foolishness, as she termed it. Yet she loved him extremely, as he on his part, above all things, loved his parents and his sister, and did every thing to please them that he could discern would be acceptable to them.

The first bitter tears that he shed, and bitter ones indeed they were, was when his old friend and instructor, the old officer, died. But a still greater misfortune soon befell him and his family. At the time that young Stark should have entered one of the higher classes of the Gymnasium of a neighbouring town, the old pastor was seized with an apoplectic stroke, as he returned from preaching. His speedy death spared him the painful reflection, that he left a widow and two uneducated children helpless in the world. The family removed to the next town, and there hired a poor dwelling in a small side street. The young Stark, who attended the Gymnasium, felt, indeed, that he must consider himself as the head of the family, and must provide for it. He discharged his duty in the most exemplary manner. Besides that, he received his school instruction free, he also enjoyed a stipend which was awarded him in consequence of his having passed a brilliant examination. It was very small indeed, but Stark knew how to circumscribe his wants. He laboured zealously, in order to advance as rapidly as possible, while at the same time he devoted every leisure hour to instruct a considerable number of boys in the city, in their elementary learning. With the united proceeds of this stipend and these labours he maintained his family; and thus, when he had toiled through the day as learner and teacher, the evening found him by his study-lamp, where he sate fixed till late in the night. But he was cheerful and contented. His strongly-grounded constitution enabled him to support these exertions, and the glad consciousness of being able to stand independent, and to provide for the necessities of his mother, and of one dearly beloved sister, made sweet to him that monotonous life.

Another removal of the little family was necessary when the young man went to the High School. For the rest, his family continued to live after that removal as they had done before, and Stark pursued his studies with double diligence, in order yet better to maintain them. His teachers in the university took an interest in the brave youth, and amongst the students he found congenial friends, who, more favoured by fortune, took a pleasure in procuring him many enjoyments of life, without touching too closely on the delicacy of his feelings. They visited him gladly in his modest room, where, besides the most necessary articles of furniture, there was nothing to be found but books, and some maps which he made use of in his studies, and which hung on the whitewashed walls. Yet was no one happier than he when he shared the frugal meal in the evening with his family, or with a friend chatted over a glass of beer and a pipe. He went very simply, but yet very neatly dressed. His tall, strong figure; that earnest, somewhat pale countenance, to which the slightly aquiline nose, the friendly, thoughtful eye, and a background of black whiskers, gave interest and effect, produced on the beholder a highly favourable impression. Every one with pleasure heard him speak, for his voice was strong and well-toned, his speech fluent, and when he became zealous, carried you irresistibly along with it. But when he sung, he affected every one. His bass voice was, however, too powerful for a small room. It made every window vibrate, and was, indeed, a voice made to sing the songs of German freedom under the German oak.

Cruelly did fate startle him out of this monotonous yet quiet and happy life. A nervous fever which then raged, snatched away his mother; and his only sister, who had been her true nurse on her sick bed, soon followed her. Stark was strongly bowed down by these severe losses. So much the more did he attach himself to a maiden, whom he had now known for some years, and to whom he had now been for half a year affianced.

The father of Emily, his promised bride, lived near the city. Emily had a very attractive person, was always merry and good-humoured, and possessed many good qualities; but was in the highest degree giddy and fickle. My friend would never admit the last characteristic. He was blind enough only to see in the maiden, noble and beautiful qualities, which he worshipped. But he came to be bitterly convinced to the contrary. A wealthy merchant's son, who just then was commencing business for himself, announced himself as a lover of Emily to her father. The father, although pleased with the proposal, yet gave his daughter free choice, and she was heartless enough to prefer the characterless, pretty, and glib-tongued merchant, to the poor Stark, who, since his recent trials, truly had become more grave, and might possibly have wearied her with many melancholy retrospections of his lost mother and sister. Emily shrunk from writing herself to my friend, but informed him, apparently in an unfeeling manner, through a third person, that the connexion must be broken off; and assigned as reasons, besides some other unimportant things, that her father was favourable to the pretensions of the other lover, and had forbid her to hope for his consent to a union with Stark.

Her father, who through the whole affair conducted himself as an honourable man, answered a letter which my friend addressed to him. This answer kept strictly to the truth; but at the same time expressed a wish that it might be the last; moreover, requesting the return of the letters of Emily. I will here communicate to you the letter which my friend wrote to the false one. He permitted me, as I was long the confidant of his attachment, and frequently the bearer of his letters, to take a copy of this, and also to show it to any good and tried friend. You may in it see the real nature of his character.

"Emily!--Thy father has requested me to renounce our verlobment; to break off the correspondence. I had already written to give him this assurance, but he had not the goodness to receive the letter. Consequently I have not given it him, and his will is for me no unconditional law.

"But thou appearest to be of the same mind, and thy wishes shall be sacred to me till my last breath. Fear not that I will embarrass thee with further importunities: only I cannot deny myself the melancholy pleasure, once more, in this last letter, to speak to thee from my heart. I will justify myself to thee, justify thou also thyself to thyself. My heart shall and must be silent: I have cause to fear that its language will no longer be understood; and I will not desecrate its sensibilities. It has for some time been my employment to read over again all thy letters with a bitter feeling. It is as if the lovely deception yet still played round my heart; as if it could not awake out of the sweet dream. I know many kinds of doubts, but none gives such a scorpion sting as the doubt with which thou hast inspired me. I have been happy,--happy in my vain belief! and I thank thee for it. Thou mayst be proud;--no other woman has made me so happy as thou. Thou mayst be very proud;--none can henceforward make me happy. Thou bringest me back to my old philosophy respecting the fair sex, and indeed at the right time.

"Emily, thou hast not dealt nobly, not honestly, with me, not wisely with thyself. Why hast thou not told me the truth? Thinkest thou that I shun the truth, even when it strikes me to the earth? I observed thy change immediately with the holiday. I ran to and fro, full of anguish, like one possessed. No greeting came from thee--no affectionate inquiry--no question after a letter, which I had, in fact, written seven times and tore again to pieces. My spirit was on the rack. Then informed me, Neuburg, that the connexion must cease; that thou wished it--thou! who only a fortnight before, sent me the most sacred protestations! Thy father had taken away all hope from thee; had menaced thee with his curse!

"Of all this nothing was true, as I learned from thy father's letter. What course, thinkest thou, then was left me to pursue in accordance with my character, but to write to thy father directly, as from thy messenger I must understand that he knew all. Hadst thou but said the truth to me, I should, after a short struggle, have returned every thing to thee.

"Thou complainest of my pride, and takest great pains to humble me. Perhaps thou mayst succeed; perhaps not. Thy father will receive no further letter from me; thy mother, none; thou thyself perhaps, none. That cannot humiliate me. I find my conduct tolerably consistent,--as consistent as a man in my state of mind can be.

"What shall I now do? It was thy desire,--thine, and thine only to break off. Thou wouldst have spared me, and thyself, and thy parents, many painful feelings, if thou hadst acted with somewhat more consideration. It seems as if thou hadst made it thy pleasure to wind up my sensibilities to such a height, in order then to make me feel my nothingness. Thou hast succeeded. The maiden who, but shortly before, hung on my neck, and prayed assurances of my truth, has now not once the courage to say that she loves me. I am too serious for gallantry; and thou hast wofully erred, if thou hast classed me amongst such men. It seems we have neither of us known each other, and need therefore make no complaints of each other. That I have disturbed thy peace, forgive me. That thou hast created in me so many beautiful hopes, only again to destroy them; that through thee my joys are dashed to the ground, that will I forgive thee; lament my simplicity, and again class thee amongst the ordinary crowd of maidens.

"Could I but do that, Emily, I should yet be happy enough. My seriousness has not pleased thee; and, in order to cure it, thou hast poured bitterness into it. I complain not of thy parents; they act according to their notions of duty; but how thou actest according to thy conception of duty, I cannot perceive. Thou hast neither acted towards thy father nor towards me as thou shouldst. The reasons which thy father gives are valid enough, as thou givest weight to them; but one thing more than all has struck me--it is called the fickleness of women.

"Thy father does thee justice. Emily, thou shouldst have been honest with me. I am not the man that will abuse the tender heart of a maiden. I challenge thee to speak the truth. Have I not been open-hearted with thee? Have I stolen thy affections? My whole soul hangs yet on thee, and never will it be able to loose itself from thee. If thou wert unworthy of me, would I weep and lament over thee? Tell me then candidly thy desires, and trust me that I have generosity enough to satisfy them all, even if it cost me my life. Thou canst charge nothing upon my honour. Thou would long ago have had thy letters, if thy father had not demanded them. He shall not receive them, but he shall read them if he desires it, for his own satisfaction and thy justification. Hast thou written any thing that thou art ashamed to acknowledge? Hast thou cause for shame? Then are we both to be pitied; thy father and I, and thou most of all. Then shall they, to extinguish all mistrust, be destroyed in thy presence. If I am reluctant to come into thy father's presence, yet I will not be ashamed before him. I am wont to compel respect, if indeed I can acquire no attachment. I can well imagine how many disadvantageous things people will tell thee at my expense. If thou canst believe them without examination, then, indeed, have I expended on thee every sentiment of my heart in vain. I pity thee in all my misery far more than myself, since I shall probably so long as I live continue a living reproof to thee. My conduct will be thy punishment. I assure thee, love, that I shall never lose thee out of my soul. I have with no other maiden stood in a nearer relationship. Thou art the only one that has firmly fixed herself in my heart. Go whither thou wilt, I shall bear thee with me to the grave. Thirty years hence thou wilt most probably hear from me exactly the same tone, if thou art by any circumstance reminded of me.

"Emily, thou shouldst have dealt more honestly with me. By God! I would have sacrificed every thing for thee. Wilt thou be happy when at thy wedding I sing a song of sorrow, that my friends may weep with me?

"Emily, I pray thee, for God's sake, by the happiness that thou yet hopest, be worthy of thyself: I cannot believe any thing bad of thy heart. Be the friend of thy father, if thou canst no longer be my beloved. If my kiss has not ennobled thee, then am I an outcast, or thou a creature without mind. Do nothing--nothing secret. What I did was done on thy account; otherwise I walk ever in the light. For my sake, also, show this letter to thy parents; I will not, when occasion requires it, conceal from them that I have written this letter.

"Allow me once more to deceive myself with the sweet delusion of the harmony of our souls. Thou hast destroyed a beautiful work, love, which thou shouldst not have done, or shouldst not have helped to build it up. Thou askest what I think, and not what I feel? I am infinitely sorrowful; and of what kind my affections are thou mayst read hereafter in my countenance. I may, perhaps, never again be so happy as to speak another syllable with thee, but my heart will accompany thee, since I am unchangeable!

"S. ----."

It is an old, old story, Yet bides for ever new; And he to whom it chances, It breaks his heart in two. _Heyne_.

It came not truly so far with my friend; but happiness of his life was for a long period destroyed: the manly and high-toned character of his mind, however, saved him from sinking permanently under the weight which would have prostrated many a one of equally sensitive and strongly-devoted temperament. But, as an English poet has said, he resolved not to sacrifice

His name of manhood to a myrtle shade.

The fervour of his passion for political liberty, his admiration of heroic actions, and his pride in his native country, were very near, in the excited state of his mind, leading him to involve himself in the grand but ill-digested plans of the Burschenschaft for the consolidation of Germany into one magnificent empire; and probably the blowing up of those plans by the government measures which followed on the wild deeds of Sand and others, just at that crisis, saved him from the fate which most probably would have awaited one so ardent and qualified to take a prominent part--flight, or exile, from his native country. Therefore, turning his eyes away from this hopeless track, he studied with renewed severity, passed a splendid examination, and soon after wrote a work on the German political constitution, which at once attracted attention, and excited the admiration of all the lawyers in Germany. It was soon translated into most of the languages of Europe, and brought him a call from the principal university of one of the first states of Germany, where he now occupies the chair of jurisprudence with the most splendid reputation. He is no less distinguished by the clearness and grasp of his reasoning powers, than by the eloquence of his style, by which he contrives to diffuse a charm and a life into the driest topics; and he is equally so for the liberality of his principles, and the ardent devotion of his mind to the liberties of mankind. He is beloved by the students who attend his lectures, for the affability of his manners, and by his cordial readiness on all occasions to give them his advice in any of their troubles or perplexities. Having himself fought his way through a narrow and a rugged path, he knows how to sympathize with others in the same circumstances. His triumphs over his own impediments have not inspired him with arrogance; nor the sorrows and disappointments of his dearest hopes seared his sensibilities, but on the contrary, softened and mellowed his heart. In public, he wears in his pale and grave countenance traces, not only of his native tone of mind, but of the shattering baptism of spirit that he has passed through; but in the social circle, though often on his first entrance silent and reserved, the warmth of his imagination and heart are sure to triumph over the sadness of habitual reflection; and he charms every one with the poetry and the animated references to the great deeds and great men of his Fatherland, that show you that he is still at heart the same as when he listened in breathless attention to the stories of the old officer, or sung out Ossian on the forest hills.

Of Emily, we have little to say. Hidden, herself, in the retirement of private life, she would have seen with an inextinguishable regret the splendid career and wide fame of the man whom she had abandoned, had she possessed a mind worthy of becoming the companion of such a man and of such a destiny; but the great error of Stark's life was that of investing a lovely but not high-minded woman, with the poetry and the magnanimity of his own spirit. But he himself is a striking example of the virtues, the talents, and the indefatigable labours by which many a German Professor fights his way out of narrow circumstances, and through the shades of native obscurity, into the broad light of fame and public usefulness. Such instances are not rare, and they----but, hear I right? it even now strikes twelve!

In confirmation of this was heard on all sides the reports of fire-arms.

"Prost Neu-Jahr! gentlemen," cried Freisleben. "Prost Neu-Jahr!" resounded they in reply. Freisleben declared that his story was at an end; they drank off their glasses _anstossing_ for the first time in the new year, and hurried into the street.

* * *

CONCLUSION OF NEW YEAR'S EVE--THE TORCH TRAIN--THE EXPLOIT OF THE RED FISHERMAN.

Following the distant sound of the fire-arms, they soon came to the troop of students, which was marching round to bring to the Prorector, and to some of the most popular professors, a "Vivat!" Music went before, accompanied with torches; and a noisy swarm of students followed it,--some in cloaks and great coats; some in dressing-gowns, and with their long pipes in their mouths. You could easily see that they had all of them suddenly started away out of their kneips, where they had celebrated the termination of the old year. They now arrived at the dwelling of a professor. The musicians placed themselves in the centre of the street, surrounded by the torches; the students closed in around them in a dense circle, and the music played a tune. A student then stepped forward, and gave a loud "hoch!" to the Professor. All joined in it three times, while the music blew a flourish, and the pistols thundered off all round. As the third "hoch!" ceased, a window opened above, a dark figure showed itself, and immediately below "Silentium" was commanded. All were still, and the Professor spoke as follows:--

"Gentlemen! Ever since I have resided in Heidelberg as teacher, have you annually paid me this testimony of your respect and esteem; but were I to live to be as old as Methuselah, and was this scene every year renewed, it would give me a fresh satisfaction.

"Gentlemen! Let the world judge of our worth as men; let the republic of the learned, which you are growing up to become a part of, decide on our services as learned men, on our ability as teachers,--the means of alone coming to a just conclusion oh those points will still lie constantly in the hands of the student youth. May they always use them with wise consideration, and free from all party spirit. So long as we are able to labour with the vigour of men for the good of the High-School, will our honest endeavours to fill our posts worthily as teachers, not be in vain; and we rejoice in this glad consciousness that we find in the acknowledgments of the student youth, only an echo of that which our inner self declares. But when the zenith of our career is past, so comes by degrees the weakness, and with it the doubtfulness of age; and then does it delight us to find in the acknowledgments of others, the conviction that, although our hair has become whitened with the snow of age, yet our labour still preserves its freshness and its green. And the Ruperto-Carola is also an ancient and venerable stem, which ages in their flight have already visited with their storms; but, if these storms have often and fiercely shook it, they have never been able to uproot it. So long as teachers dwell under the shadow of this tree, who, anxiously seeking its prosperity, cherish and nourish the old trunk; so long as scholars make to it their pilgrimage, who seek knowledge earnestly, so long shall Ruperto-Carola flourish and bloom."

[Here the Professor went over the past year in review, and stated what it had brought both of good and evil to the university, and then continued.]

"May Ruperto-Carola ever possess scholars, of whose approval an honest man will be proud! May yet many an age on the festive day resound the cry of--'Vivat Ruperto-Carola!'"

The sons of the Muses here joined in with their thundering "vivats!" The music made a flourish--the pistols resounded.

"Once more," cried the Professor, in conclusion, "my hearty thanks for this proof of your love. May your Fatherland receive you in a while with pride from our arms, where it yet only reluctantly leaves you for your good. May you live long and happy!"

The professor withdrew from the window; the music played yet another tune, and the troop then marched onwards. The four friends having separated themselves from the throng, in order to return home, heard yet for a long time, the distant uproar of the merry students, and the sounding of the fire-arms.

We must here further observe, that not only such night-music is brought; but also on some occasions, in order to do the more honour to the professors, the so-called solemn night-music, attended by a greater procession of the students, who carry torches, and have their appointed marshals and officers, to maintain order in the procession. The description of a torch-train will yet follow. Before this arrives at the house of the Professor, two or three deputies proceed thither in a carriage. These, in full gala costume, wait upon him for whom the compliment is intended, and make him a short address. The Professor returns them his thanks, and as he has always become aware of the intention of the students, he has his bottle of champagne ready, which he sets before the deputies, and _anstosses_ with them. They retire as the torch-train approaches the house, and when the customary hochs! have been given: first, by the students to the honour of the Professor; and then by the Professor in his speech to the prosperity of the university, the officers who have stepped forward for the purpose clash their swords wildly together. Before retiring they generally sing--"Stosst an! Heidelberg live thou!" and the torch-train marches away.

In some places, as in Munich, it is the custom that the Prorector when the New-Year's-night "Hoch!" is brought him, invites the students in, and treats them with punch. It may readily be imagined how much of this liquor is consumed on such an occasion, and into what a predicament a Professor once fell in Munich, who had prepared his punch, but waited for the students in vain, who out of dislike omitted to pay him this visit of honour.

But it was destined that the Englishman and his three friends, to whom we must now return from this digression, should not on this night yet retire to rest. They had just arrived in the Karl-platz, as a man galloped past, crying out with all his might,--"The ice goes! The ice goes!"

This messenger was from Neckargemuend, sent to announce to the inhabitants of Heidelberg this event, which the people living on the banks of the river, and especially the boat-people, always look forward to with great anxiety, and take their measures of precaution accordingly. But especially in that winter were people full of apprehension, as the ice-covering had acquired an extraordinary thickness; and indeed, in some places, could no longer be called a covering, since the flood in shallow places was completely frozen to the bottom. After a fierce and early-occurring season of severity, the actual warmth of spring suddenly broke out, and the soft south wind melted the snow so rapidly on the hills that the waters ran in streams down their sides. But all was in readiness; and as soon as the four students reached the bridge, they saw, wherever the houses on the banks of the Neckar did not completely occupy its strand to the edge, groups of men, who had provided themselves with cressets with rolls of pitched torches, called pitch garlands, and awaited the spectacle with eager looks. The bridge itself was covered with men, and scarcely a place at the balustrade was to be fought out. From this place an interesting scene presented itself. So far as you could see the banks of the Neckar, the torches flamed, and threw their flickering lights on the surface of ice, on the crowding spectators, and on the neighbouring landscape.

In the city itself, most of the houses were lit up for the festival, while above them, in the country, the mountains and the old castle shrouded themselves in the deepest gloom. Most of those who had assembled on the bridge, were men in their ordinary dress, who had, on the announcement of the ice-break, hastened hither from the punch-bowl. But others had been roused from their beds, and exhibited themselves in costumes singular enough, over which they had hastily thrown their cloaks; out of which their nightcaps peeped above.

The explosion, as of distant thunder, was now heard, and the floods of water that rushed up through the disrupted ice were seen pouring over the surface. The ice in the neighbourhood of the bridge cracked and groaned aloud; deep fissures opened, and ran with lightning speed far and wide. But as the mass of waters still rushed nearer and nearer, and the ice continued to resist its pressure, the floods rose, and forcing into the streets, made the people assembled on the banks flee back precipitately. On the other side of the bridge, all hands in the mean time were busy removing the piles of fire-timber which were ranged there, and in conveying them to a safe distance. The huge fragments of the already up-torn ice were sent with fury over the ice-surface that yet resisted; in some places, piling itself up into actual bulwarks, and in others was heaved into the streets. Thus it happened, that a little boy who, forgotten of the rest in their flight, had escaped to the top of a pile of wood, above the bridge, was, by one of the masses of ice which was forced forward by the water and driven directly under the pile, carried aloft, together with the pile. Ere any one could spring to his assistance, the moment was come when the opposing ice could no longer maintain its resistance to the accumulating flood. It burst with loud explosions, and raising itself furiously with the other fragments rushed forward towards the bridge. Through the long contest, the water had acquired the most terrible agitation, and when the victory came at once, it formed itself into a headlong stream, which carried the mass of ice on which the boy was, rapidly towards the middle of the flood. The boy, surrounded by the raging element, shrieked in the most fearful manner for help. His cries of misery were scarcely to be heard, but they were not necessary to fill every spectator with terror and commiseration. But who shall help him! Many an able swimmer was there, but none would undertake so desperate an enterprise. Some cried out to throw a rope from the bridge, that the boy might lay hold of, but this was impracticable, for in the moment in which the ice-masses struck the piers of the bridge, they were scattered into fragments, and the stone bridge itself trembled with the shock of their dashing against it. Already the ice-mass, on which the boy sate in despair, approached the piers. Every spectator watched the horrible catastrophe with breathless expectation; when the masses of ice which now passed in countless numbers, blocked up first one and then another arch of the bridge. There was a momentary pause in the progress of the ice. At the crisis of this terrific spectacle, a band of lively music approached the bridge. It was the wild troop of students, who, having completed their round, and finished all their Vivats! and Lebe Hochs! were marching past with their torches, and amongst them was seen the Red Fisherman, who holding in one hand a torch, and in the other a pipe, was striding on with open breast, and in his shirt-sleeves.

"Ackermann! Ackermann!" shouted the multitude, "he must help! He alone can do it!"

The approaching train rushed upon the bridge; the torch-bearers flew to the balustrades to cast a light upon the scene--the music ceased in an instant The Red Fisherman, on whom all eyes were turned, cast but one glance towards the child; threw his torch on the ice below, and ran down from the bridge to the banks of the Neckar. It was high time, for the ice-masses again began to put themselves in motion. Boldly the fisherman sprung from one block of ice to another; already was he near the boy, when the ice broke beneath him; yet he fought desperately against the rushing water. He reached the boy, and endeavoured to raise himself upon the ice-mass;--at the same moment it went to pieces, and both the fisherman and the boy disappeared for some seconds. The people gave them up as lost for ever, when a voice was heard from the other side of the bridge, crying "A rope! a rope!" It was the fisherman himself, who stood on the basement at the foot of the pier with the boy in his arms! He stood up to the middle in water, but he held fast by a projection of the pier. A rope with a large piece of wood tied to it was speedily let down by some of the fishermen, and Ackermann with the boy was hauled up with the help of the students. As soon as his head appeared on a level with the parapet, he handed over the boy to the people, and then himself leaped over the iron balustrade. With a loud "Vivat!" he was here received; and the musicians blew the finest flourish that they had executed on this remarkable New-Year's night. The troop of students accompanied the Red Fisherman with loud acclamations, who quickly put himself in dry clothes; not regarding some slight wounds which he had received from the ice-masses. The students took him into their midst, and "Free-night! free-night!" resounded on all sides.

This cry of triumph means that they will revel the whole night through; and this takes place either at the room of some student, or at a kneip. In the last case, the permission of the police is necessary. These free-nights are only held on extraordinary occasions, or, as in many cases, when without any particular cause the sons of the Muses find themselves in a thoroughly joyous humour.

These were especially frequent formerly amongst the so-called Lumpia. This means a union of students, who bind themselves for a certain time to give themselves up to the Lump; that is to doing nothing, and to the wildest pleasures,--to drinking, playing at hazard, and so on. To the honour of the students these wild engagements are rare, and are in the strictest manner prohibited by the laws.

The Red Fisherman warmed his stiffened limbs at the kneip with punch, and a collection was made on the spot, whose proceeds were handed to him as his reward. The four friends in the mean time had taken the child, and brought it into a neighbouring inn, where it was undressed and put to bed, until the mother, who did not till some time afterwards learn the whole of the circumstances, could be fetched.

After the many events of the night, the wearied party hastened home, to dream over again what they had witnessed, variously metamorphosed by fancy, and one image mixed up and exchanged with another.