I had often heard this Tower of Elven
spoken of as one of the most interesting ruins of the country;
and I had never traveled over either of the two roads which lead
from Rennes, or from Jocelyn, toward the sea, without contem-
plating with an eager eye that uncertain mass which one sees
X-355
## p.
spoken of as one of the most interesting ruins of the country;
and I had never traveled over either of the two roads which lead
from Rennes, or from Jocelyn, toward the sea, without contem-
plating with an eager eye that uncertain mass which one sees
X-355
## p.
Warner - World's Best Literature - v10 - Emp to Fro
He was no dissembler;
for a selfish dissembler is aware that in order to please, one must
appear to think of others and forget self. This fictitious polite-
ness he had neither the tact to acquire nor the cunning to feign;
consequently he was devoid of all the means of pleasing. Not
that we mean to recommend dissimulation, or to insinuate that
Mr. M'Dow would in reality have been a better man had he been
able and willing to form himself on the model of the Chesterfield
school. He would merely have been less offensive in the ordi-
nary intercourse of life, and would have sinned less against the
common observances of society. But had he been earnest in
his calling, had he sought to have his mind enlightened by the
knowledge of those Divine truths which he professed to teach,
their unction would have softened and refined even the rugged-
ness of his nature, and have rendered him an object of respect
instead of a subject of ridicule.
The day arrived for the long-promised visit to the manse.
It was a thin tenement, built of rough gray stone of the
## p. 5657 (#235) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5657
usual pattern, a window on each side of the door and three above.
At one side was the garden, with cabbages and marigolds growing
pell-mell, and in the rear was the set of condemned offices, partly
thatched and partly slated. There were no attempts at neatness
in the approach to the house, which was merely a rough jog-trot
road, flanked on each side by a dike. Presently Mr. M'Dow was
seen hurrying to the door to meet his guests, and there, as they
alighted, he was ready to receive them with open hands.
Great was the joy expressed at this honor, as Mr. M'Dow led
the way to the interior of his mansion, which was just such as
might have been expected from its outward aspect. There was a
narrow stone passage with a door on each side, and there was a
perpendicular wooden stair, and that was all that was to be seen
at the first coup d'œil. But if little was revealed to the eye, the
secrets of the house were yielded with less coy reserve to the
other senses: for there was to be heard the sound of a jack, now
beginning with that low, slow, mournful whine which jacks of
sensibility are sure to have; then gradually rising to a louder and
more grating pitch; till at length one mighty crash, succeeded as
all mighty crashes are, by a momentary silence. Then comes
the winding-up, which, contrary to all the rules of the drama, is
in fact only a new beginning; and so on ad infinitum till the
deed is done. With all these progressive sounds were mingled
the sharp, shrill, loud voice and Gaelic accents of the chef de
cuisine, with an occasional clash or clang, at least equal to the
fall of the armor in the Castle of Otranto.
Then there issued forth with resistless might a smell which
defied all human control, and to which doors and windows were
but feeble barriers or outlets; till like the smoke in the 'Arabian
Nights,' which resolved itself into a genie, it seemed as if about
to quit its aerial form and assume a living and tangible substance.
Lucy would fain have drawn back as she crossed the thresh-
old, and quitting the pure precincts of sunshine and fresh air,
found herself in the power of this unseen monster,- this com-
pound of fish, fat, peats, burnt grease, kail, leeks, and onions,
reveling, too, amid such scenes and beneath such a sky!
"You see I have brought my sketch-book, Mr. M'Dow," said
she; "so I must make the most of my time, and be busy out of
doors.
. A noted sketcher, as papa calls me, minds neither
heat nor cold, and I shall easily find either a shady spot or a cool
breeze. "
## p. 5658 (#236) ###########################################
5658
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
"Well, then, since you will go out, trust yourself to me, and
I'll take you where you'll find both, and the most beautiful pros-
pect into the bargain. "
At that moment the door opened, and a thick yellow man,
with no particular features, dressed in a short coat, tartan
trews, and a very large ill-colored neckcloth, entered the room
and was introduced by the minister as his cousin and brother-
in-law, Mr. Dugald M'Dow, from Glasgow, then on a visit at the
manse.
"We're just going to take a turn in the garden, Mr. Dugald,”
said his host: "will you get your hat and join us? "
"With the greatest pleasure," replied Mr. Dugald with a
strong accent and a stiff conceited bow; then, popping down a
sealskin cap from a peg in the passage, he was instantly accou-
tred, and the party set forth.
"I wish it had been earlier in the season, Miss Lucy," said
Mr. M'Dow, as he ushered her into his kail-yard by a narrow
slimy path, overrun with long sprawling bushes; "a month ago
I could have treated you to as fine berries as perhaps you ever
tasted. They were uncommonly large and jisey, and at the same
time extremely high-flavored. I have a little red hairy berry
that's very deleeshus; and there's the honey-blobs, an uncommon
fine berry - a great deal of jise in it. I was rather unlucky in
my rasps this season; they were small and wormy, and a very
poor crop: but my currins were amazingly prolific and uncom-
monly jisey. In fact, I couldn't use the half of them, and it
was really vexatious to see them absolutely rotting on the bushes.
The want of a lady at the berry season is a great want, and one
that's sorely felt; for though my lass is an exceeding good plain
cook, yet she's not mistress of the higher branches of cookery,
such as the making of jams and jeellies, and these things; but I
would fain flatter myself, by the time the berry season comes
round again, I may have a fair lady to manage them for me.
Do you think I may venture to hope so, Miss Lucy? ”
Again she attempted to rid herself of the assiduities of Mr.
M'Dow, and was gliding away, as she hoped unperceived, when,
striding after her like a seven-league ogre, he called:- "Miss
Lucy-Miss Lucy! you're not running away from us, I hope?
This is just about the time I ordered a slight refreshment to be
ready," pulling out his watch: "you'll do me the honor to par-
take of it, I hope? "
## p. 5659 (#237) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5659
Lucy declined, on the plea of having already had ample
refreshment, and being much more inclined to sketch than to
eat; but Lucy must have been made of stone and lime to have
been able to withstand the importunities of Mr. M'Dow: he was
as urgent as though his very existence had depended upon her
partaking of his "slight refreshment," and she was at length
compelled, much against her inclination, to return to the salle à
manger.
During their absence a table had been covered; but the ar-
rangements were not finally concluded, for a stout, ruddy, yellow-
haired damsel was rattling away amongst knives and forks as
though she had been turning over so many down feathers.
"I expected to have found everything ready by this time,"
said Mr. M'Dow: "what have you been about, Jess? " But Jess
continued to stamp and clatter away without making any reply.
"I'll just show you the way to my study, till the refreshment's
put upon the table," said Mr. M'Dow; and finding all remon-
strance in vain, his guests submitted with a good grace, and
were conducted to a very tolerable room up-stairs, where were a
few shelves of books, a backgammon board, a fowling-piece, and
a fishing-rod, with shot, lines, and flies scattered about. There
was also a sofa with a dirty crumpled cover, where Mr. Dugald
seemed to have been lounging with a flute and a music-book. In
one corner stood a table with a pile of books, some of them in
bindings very unlike the rest of the furniture.
"Allow me in the mean time to lead the way to something
more substantial, Miss Lucy," cried Mr. M'Dow, seizing her
hand, as Jess put her head in at the door; and having given a
glare with her eyes, and wide opened her mouth, emitting a sort
of guttural sound, importing that "aw's ready," galloped down-
stairs again as hard and fast as she could.
"Give me leave, Miss Lucy; but the stair's rather narrow for
two; you know the way; turn to the left hand of my trance.
It's very easy for these poets to preach; but it's not so easy
always for us preachers to practice - hoch, ho! "
This sentiment uttered, a grace was hurried over; and the
company seated themselves at table, which was literally covered
- with dishes, all close huddled together. In the middle was a
tureen of leek soup, alias cocky-leeky, with prunes; at one end,
a large dish of innumerable small, clammy, fresh-water trouts; at
the other, two enormous fat ducks, stuffed to the throat with
## p. 5660 (#238) ###########################################
5660
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
onions, and decorated with onion rings round their legs and
pinions. At the corners were minced collops and tripe, con-
fronted with a dish of large old pease, drowned (for they could
not swim) in butter; next, a mess of mashed potatoes, scored
and rescored with the marks of the kitchen knife a weapon
which is to be found in all kitchens, varying in length from one
to three feet, and in uncivilized lands used indiscriminately to
cut meat, fish, fowl, onions, bread, and butter. Saucers filled
with ill-colored pickles filled up the interstices.
"I ordered merely a slight refreshment," said Mr. M'Dow, sur-
veying his banquet with great complacency; "I think it prefer-
able to a more solid mail in this weather. Of all good Scotch
dishes, in my opinion, there's none equal to cocky-leeky; as a
friend of mine said, it's both nectar and ambrosia. You'll find
that uncommonly good, Miss Lucy, if you'll just try it; for it's
made by a receipt of my mother's, and she was always famous
for cocky-leeky: the prunes are a great improvement; they give
a great delicacy to the flavor: my leeks are not come to their
full strength yet, but they are extremely sweet; you may help
me to a few more of the broth, captain, and don't spare the
leeks. I never see cocky-leeky without thinking of the honest
man who found a snail in his: Tak ye that snack, my man,' says
he, 'for looking sae like a plum-damy;' hoch, hoch, ho! There's
a roasted hare coming to remove the fish, and I believe you see
your refreshment; there's merely a few trifles coming. "
Lucy had accepted one of Mr. Dugald's little muddy trouts,
as the least objectionable article of the repast; and while Mr.
M'Dow's mouth was stuffed with prunes and leeks, silence ensued.
But having dispatched a second plateful and taken a bumper of
wine, he began again:-"I can answer for the ducks, Miss Lucy,
if you'll do me the favor to try them. A clean knife and fork,
Jess, to Mr. Dugald to cut them. I prefer ducks to a goose; a
goose is an inconvenient sort of bird, for it's rather large for one
person, and it's not big enough for two. But my stars, Jess!
what is the meaning of this? the ducks are perfectly raw! " in
an accent of utter despair. "What is the meaning of it? You
must take it to the brander, and get it done as fast as you can.
How came Eppy to go so far wrong, I wonder! "
Jess here emitted some of her guttural sounds, which being
translated amounted to this: that the jack had run down and
Eppy couldn't get it set going again.
## p. 5661 (#239) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5661
"That's most ridiculous! " exclaimed Mr. M'Dow indignantly;
"when I was at the pains to show her myself how to manage
her. She's the Auchnagoil jack, which I bought, and a most
famous goer.
But you see how it is, Miss Lucy; you must make
allowance for a bachelor's house: there's a roasted hare coming.
Jess, take away the fish, and bring the hare to me. " The hare
was herewith introduced, and flung, rather than placed, before her
master. "Oh, this is quite intolerable! There's really no bear-
ing this! The hare's burnt to a perfect stick! The whole jise is
out of its body! "
"Your cook's not a good hare-dresser; that's all that can be
said," quoth Mr. Dugald.
"Very well said-extremely good," said Mr. M'Dow, trying
to laugh off his indignation; "and after all, I believe, it's only a
little scowthered. Do me the favor to try a morsel of it, Miss
Lucy, with a little jeelly. Jess, put down the jeelly. Oh, have
you nothing but a pig to put it in? " demanded he, in a most
wrathful accent, as Jess clapped down a large native jelly-pot
upon the table.
"Where's the handsome cut-crystal jeelly-dish I
bought at the Auchnagoil roup? "
Jess's face turned very red, and a downcast look of conscious
guilt told that the "handsome cut-crystal jeelly-dish" was no
more.
"This is really most provoking! But if you'll not taste the
hare, Miss Lucy, will you do me the kindness to try the minced
collops? or a morsel of tripe? It's a sweet, simple dish-a great
favorite of my mother's; both you and the captain are really
poor eaters, so you and I, Mr. Dugald, must just keep each
other in countenance. "
And another pause ensued, till at last an order was given, to
take everything away. "And bring the few trifles-but will you
make less noise? there's no hearing ourselves speak for you;"
but Jess rattled away, nevertheless, till she vanished, leaving the
door wide open. A few minutes elapsed before she reappeared,
with the greasy apparition of Eppy at her back, standing on the
threshold with her hands full.
"Now take the pigeon pie to Mr. Dugald; bring the puddin'
to me; put the puffs and cheesecakes at the sides, and the cream
in the middle. I'm sorry I've no jeellies and blaw mangys for
Miss Lucy. If you won't taste the pie, do me the favor to take
a bit of this puddin'; it's quite a simple puddin', made from a
recipe of my mother's. "
## p. 5662 (#240) ###########################################
5662
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
Lucy accepted a bit of the "simple puddin'," which, as its
name implied, was a sort of mawkish squash, flavored with peat-
reek whisky.
"I'm afraid the puddin's not to your taste, Miss Lucy; you're
making no hand of it; will you try a jam puff? I'm sure you'll
find them good; they come from Glasgow, sent by my good
mother; I must really taste them, if it were only out of respect
to her. Oh! Miss Lucy, will you not halve a puff with me? "
The minister and his friend having now ate and drank copi-
ously of all that was upon the table, Captain Malcolm said: -"My
daughter has not yet accomplished the object of her visit here,
and we must soon be returning home; so you have no time to
lose, my dear," to Lucy, who started up from the table like a
bird from its cage; "if indeed it is not lost already," he added,
as Lucy and he walked to the window. The bright blue sky
had now changed to one of misty whiteness, showers were seen
drifting along over the scattered isles, and even while they
spoke, a sudden gust of wind and rain came sweeping along, and
all the beauteous scenery was in an instant blotted from the sight.
Captain Malcolm was not a person to be disconcerted by
trifles; but on the present occasion he could not refrain from
expressing his regret, as he every moment felt an increasing
repugnance to the company of Mr. M'Dow and his friend, and
still more on Lucy's account than his own,-it seemed like con-
tamination for so fair and pure a creature to be seated between
two such coarse barbarians. Mr. M'Dow affected to sympathize
in the disappointment; but it was evident he was exulting in the
delay.
Shower after shower followed in such quick succession that
Lucy found the object of her visit completely defeated. At
length the clouds rolled away, but the day was too far advanced
to admit of further tarriance; and besides, both the father and
daughter were impatient to extricate themselves from the over-
powering hospitalities of Mr. M'Dow.
"I hope you will have many opportunities of taking drawings
here," said he, with a significant tenderness of look and manner,
as he assisted Lucy to mount her pony; «< and when the manse
is harled, and I get my new offices, the view will be much im-
proved. "
Lucy bowed as she hastily took the bridle into her own hands,
and gladly turned her back on the manse and the minister.
## p. 5663 (#241) ###########################################
5663
OCTAVE FEUILLET
(1821-1890)
CTAVE FEUILLET was the darling of the Second Empire. In
the days when realistic fiction was beginning its struggle
for a hearing, he treated court circles to romantic tales of
the Faubourg Saint-Germain. To himself and to his audience, lovers
of social elegance, the sordid commonplace world of tradespeople was
uninteresting. He contributed to the aristocratic spirit which main-
tains that rich and well-born men and women have an exclusive pos-
session of mental and moral refinement. His pleasure-seeking readers
were not interested in broad social prob-
lems, but the mental struggles of spoiled
beauties and the sentimental hair-splitting
of chivalric young noblemen supplied just
the sugar-plums they craved. Perhaps a
touch of effeminacy in his own nature es-
pecially fitted Feuillet to understand the
women of his world, and to portray the
vagaries of idle ardent girls, who have been
his most admiring readers.
Moreover, he was an avowed moralist
of a conventional morality, such as is suit-
able for discussion in the salon. While scru-
pulously respecting prejudices, he managed,
almost unobserved as it were, to offer stim-
ulating expositions of unorthodox subjects. But unquestionably he
always aims to inculcate respect for nobility of mind and action.
Perhaps the reproach oftenest brought against him touches this
evident didacticism. But he points his moral so delicately that the
indirect sermonizing is never aggressive. Although severely criti-
cized by Sainte-Beuve, George Sand, Lemaître, Zola, and other critics
who sometimes treated him with contemptuous mockery, Feuillet was
always a popular novelist. For more than forty years he pursued his
own ideals with courage and success, meeting distinguished consid-
eration, being made member of the Legion of Honor; and in 1862
accepted into the French Academy as the successor of Scribe.
Feuillet obtained his early education in his native town, Saint Lô,
where his father was secretary of the prefecture. Then he was sent
to Paris; where first at the Collège Louis le Grand, and later at the
-
OCTAVE FEUILLET
## p. 5664 (#242) ###########################################
5664
OCTAVE FEUILLET
University, he proved himself both studious and talented. Unlike
most student habitués of the Quartier Latin, he found no pleasure in
Bohemian dissipations. His calm, refined nature shunned low asso-
ciations and coarse jollity. He was reserved and exclusive like his
favorite heroes, and absorbed in imaginative ideals.
At twenty-four he began to write, and in collaboration with Borage
and Aubert composed 'Le Grand Vieillard,' a novel which appeared
as a serial in Le Nationel. A devoted disciple of Dumas fils, and
stimulated by the example of Scribe, he next tried the theatre; and
with Vavin and Xazier wrote 'Une Nuit Terrible,' played at the
Gymnase in 1845. All his early plays (and they were many), though
sometimes clever, are so crude and experimental that Feuillet did
not include them among his complete works. After he became
devoted to Alfred de Musset, he wrote the 'Scènes et Proverbes,'
which, published in the Revue des Deux Mondes, made his first
assured success. Of these, 'La Fée,' 'Alix,' 'La Clef d'Or,' and
others, are dainty dramatic tales, showing his vigor of characteriza-
tion and delicacy of style. In 1848 his first long story, 'Onesta,' an
Italian tale of passion, delighted the readers of the Nouvelle Revue,
and was followed by many tales so successfully dramatized that his
name became equally familiar to readers and theatre-goers.
His well-known 'Roman d'un Jeune Homme Pauvre' (Romance of
a Poor Young Man) is a characteristic piece of work. Its Musset-
like delight in emotion, its striking situations, stamped it as a prod-
uct of the aging romantic school. Of course it incurred the disfavor
of his more progressive fellow-craftsmen, although, as Lanson says,
Feuillet is far more a realist than is commonly supposed. His char-
acters do not experience exaggerated rewards or punishments, and
their fate seems the natural outcome of their qualities. In spite of
the optimistic spirit which maintained his faith in innate human
nobility, Feuillet thoroughly appreciated the tragedy of life. Nearly
all his stories are sad, and sometimes dramatically tragic.
The pov-
erty-stricken young nobleman of the 'Romance,' with his lofty ideals
and sensitive self-respect, ruled his life with the pride which actuated
Feuillet himself. There were critics to deride as well as critics to
honor the antique virtue of the novelist, when upon the downfall of
the Empire he resigned his lucrative position as librarian of the
Château of Fontainebleau when the catastrophe had made that posi-
tion a sinecure merely. For this sentimental "Family Musset" was
sincere. One of his characters somewhere remarks that ideality glo-
rifies ugly prose duty and acts as a stimulus to endeavor. So Feuillet
wishes to picture a world in which men and women find in self-
respect and religion compensation for suffering and self-sacrifice.
## p. 5665 (#243) ###########################################
OCTAVE FEUILLET
5665
A LEAP IN THE DARK
From the Romance of a Poor Young Man ›
YES
ESTERDAY I set out on horseback early in the morning to over-
see the felling of some timber in the neighborhood. I was
returning toward four o'clock in the direction of the château,
when at a sharp turn of the road I found myself face to face
with Mademoiselle Marguerite. She was alone. I bowed, and
-
was about to pass, but she stopped her horse.
་
"A beautiful autumn day, monsieur," said she.
"Yes, mademoiselle. You are going to ride? »
"As you see, I am using my last moments of independence,
and even abusing them; for I feel a little troubled by my soli-
tude. But Alain was wanted down there- my poor Mervyn is
lame. You do not wish to replace him, by chance ? »
"With pleasure. Where are you going? "
"Why I had the idea of pushing my ride as far as the
Tower of Elven. " She pointed with the end of her riding-
whip to a dark summit which rose within sight of the road. "I
think," she added, "that you have never made such a pilgrim-
age. "
"It is true. It has often tempted me, but I have put it off
till now, I hardly know why. "
"Well, the Tower is easily found; but it is already late; we
must make a little haste, if you please. "
I turned my horse's head and we set out at a gallop.
As we rode I sought to explain to myself this unexpected
whim, which I could not but think premeditated. I concluded
that time and reflection had weakened in Mademoiselle Mar-
guerite's mind the first impressions made by the calumnies which
had been poured into her ear. She had apparently ended by
doubting Mademoiselle Helouin's veracity, and contrived to offer
me, by chance, under a disguised form, a kind of reparation
which might possibly be due me.
In the midst of the thoughts that besieged me, I attached
slight importance to the particular end we proposed to ourselves
in this strange ride.
I had often heard this Tower of Elven
spoken of as one of the most interesting ruins of the country;
and I had never traveled over either of the two roads which lead
from Rennes, or from Jocelyn, toward the sea, without contem-
plating with an eager eye that uncertain mass which one sees
X-355
## p. 5666 (#244) ###########################################
5666
OCTAVE FEUILLET
towering upward in the middle of distant heaths like an enor-
mous stone bank; but time and occasion had been wanting to me.
The village of Elven that we traversed, slackening our pace a
little, gave a striking representation of a town of the Middle
Ages. The form of the low dark houses has not changed for
five or six centuries. One thinks himself dreaming when he
sees, through the large gaps, arched and without sashes, which
take the place of windows in the houses, groups of women with
wild eyes, spinning from distaffs in the shadow, and conversing
in low voices in an unknown language. It seemed now as if all
these gray spectres had quitted their monumental slabs to enact
some scene of another age, of which we were to be the sole
living witnesses. The little life that was visible in the single
street of the village bore the same character of antiquity and
faithful representation of a vanished world.
A little distance beyond Elven we took a cross-road, which
led us up a barren hill; we saw from its summit, although at
some distance from us, the feudal ruin overlooking a wooded
height in front of us. The heath where we were, descended
sharply toward marshy meadows surrounded with thick young
woods. We descended the slope and were soon in the woods.
There we took a narrow road, the rough unbroken pavement of
which resounded loudly under our horses' feet. I had ceased for
some time to see the Tower, the locality of which I could not
even conjecture; when it rose out of the foliage a few steps
before us, with the suddenness of an apparition. This Tower is
not decayed; it has preserved its original height, which exceeds
a hundred feet, and the regular layers of granite which compose
its magnificent octagonal structure give it the aspect of a formida-
ble block, cut yesterday by the keenest chisel. Nothing more
imposing, more proud and sombre, can be imagined than this old
donjon, impervious to the effects of time, and alone in these
thick woods. The trees have grown close to its walls, and their
tops reach to the openings for the lower windows. This growth
of vegetation conceals the base of the edifice, and increases its
appearance of fantastic mystery. In this solitude, surrounded by
forests, with this mass of extraordinary architecture in front of
us, it was impossible not to think of enchanted castles where beau-
tiful princesses sleep a hundred years.
"Up to this time," said Mademoiselle Marguerite, to whom I
tried to communicate this idea, "I have seen no more than what
## p. 5667 (#245) ###########################################
OCTAVE FEUILLET
5667
we now see; but if you wish to wake the fairy princess, we can
enter. For all I know, there may be in the neighborhood a
shepherd or shepherdess who is furnished with a key.
Let us
fasten our horses and seek for them-you for the shepherd and
I for the shepherdess. "
The horses were accordingly fastened in a little inclosure near
the ruin, and we separated for a moment to search around the
Tower. But we had the vexation to meet neither shepherd nor
shepherdess. Our desire to see the interior naturally increased.
with all the force of attraction of forbidden fruit, and we crossed
a bridge thrown over the moat, at a venture. To our great satis-
faction, the massive door of the donjon was not shut; we needed
only to push it open in order to enter a corner, dark and incum-
bered with rubbish, which was probably the place for the body-
guard in former times. From thence we passed into a vast
circular hall, the chimney-piece of which still showed, on its
coat of arms, the besants of the crusade; a large open window,
traversed by the symbolic cross, plainly cut in the stone, lighted
distinctly the lower part of this room, and the
eye failed to
pierce the uncertain shadows of the lofty broken roof. At the
sound of our steps an invisible flock of birds flew out from the
darkness, shaking down upon us the dust of centuries.
On mounting up the granite steps ranged one above the
other round the hall, into the embrasure of the window, we
could overlook the deep moat and the ruined parts of the for-
tress; but we had noticed on our entrance a flight of steps cut in
the thick wall, and we felt a childish impatience to push our
discoveries further. We therefore undertook to ascend this rude
staircase. I led the way, and Mademoiselle Marguerite followed
bravely, holding up her long skirts as well as she could. From
the top of the flat roof the view was vast and delicious. The
soft tints of twilight were creeping over the ocean of half-golden
autumn foliage, the dark marshes, and the green mossy ground
near us, and the distant ranges of hills mingling with and cross-
ing each other.
other. As we gazed down upon this melancholy land-
scape, infinite in extent, we felt the peace of solitude, the silence
of evening, the sadness of the past, descend into our hearts.
This charm was increased, for me at least, by the presence of
a beloved being: all who have loved will comprehend this. This
hour even of mutual contemplation and emotion, of pure and
profound enjoyment, was without doubt the last that would be
## p. 5668 (#246) ###########################################
5668
OCTAVE FEUILLET
given me to pass near her and with her, and I clung to it with
a sad earnestness. For Marguerite, I know not what passed
within her; she was seated on the ledge of the parapet, gazing
silently at the distance. I heard only the sound of her quick-
ened breath.
I do not know how long we remained thus. When the mists
spread over the low meadows and the far-off hills became indis-
tinct in the increasing darkness, Marguerite rose.
"Let us go,"
said she, in a low voice, as if the curtain had fallen on some
regretted pageant; "it is finished! » She began to descend the
staircase and I followed her.
We attempted to leave the Tower, but to our great surprise
we found the door closed. Apparently the young keeper, igno-
rant of our presence, had turned the key while we were on the
roof. Our first impression was that of gayety. It now actually
was an enchanted castle! I made vigorous efforts to break the
enchantment; but the enormous bolt of the old lock was solidly
fastened in the granite, and I was compelled to give up the at-
tempt to unfasten it. I then attacked the door itself; the mass-
ive hinges and the oak panels, banded with iron, resisted all my
strength. Two or three pieces of rough stone which I found.
amongst the rubbish, and which I threw against this insuperable
obstacle to our egress, had no other result than to shake the roof,
fragments of which fell at my feet. Mademoiselle Marguerite
would not allow me to pursue an enterprise so evidently hope-
less, and not without danger. I ran to the window, and shouted
for help, but nobody replied. During the next ten minutes I
repeated these cries constantly, with the same lack of success.
We then employed the remaining daylight in exploring minutely
the interior of the castle, but we could discover no place of
egress except the door, as solid as the wall to us, and the great
window, thirty feet above the bottom of the moat.
Night had fallen over the country, and darkness invaded the
ruin. Rays of moonlight penetrated the window, and fell upon
the stone steps beneath it. Mademoiselle Marguerite had gradu-
ally lost all appearance of sprightliness; she ceased to reply to
the conjectures, reasonable or otherwise, with which I endeavored
to dispel her anxiety. She sat in the shadow of the window,
silent and immovable; I was in the full light of the moon on
the step nearest the window, at intervals sending forth a cry of
distress. But in truth, the more uncertain the success of my
## p. 5669 (#247) ###########################################
OCTAVE FEUILLET
5669
efforts became, the more an irresistible feeling of joyfulness seized
upon me.
I saw suddenly realized the endless and almost impos-
sible dream of lovers;
was alone in a desert with the woman
whom I loved! For long hours there were only she and I in the
world, only her life and mine! I thought of all the marks of
sweet protection, of tender respect, that I should have the right
and the duty to lavish upon her; I pictured her fears calmed,
her confidence, her sleep; I said to myself that this fortunate
night, if it did not give me the love of this dear girl, would at
least assure to me her most lasting esteem.
And then, as I abandoned myself with all the egotism of
passion to my secret ecstasy, some reflection of which was per-
haps painted on my face, I was suddenly roused by these words,
addressed to me in a tone of affected tranquillity:- "Monsieur
le Marquis de Champcey, have there been many cowards in your
family before you? "
I rose, but fell back again upon my stone seat, turning a
stupefied look in the direction where I saw the vague outline of
the young girl. One idea alone occurred to me, a terrible idea
that fear and anxiety had affected her brain- that she was
becoming crazy.
"Marguerite! " I cried, without knowing even that I spoke.
This word completed her irritation, doubtless.
"My God! How odious he is!
Oh, what a coward! Yes, I
repeat it, what a coward! »
The truth began to dawn upon me. I descended one of the
steps. "Pray, what is the matter? " said I, coldly.
"It is you," she cried with vehemence, "you who have bribed
this man or this child-to imprison us in this tower. To-mor-
row I shall be lost-dishonored in public opinion- and I can
belong only to you: such is your calculation, is it not? But this
plan, I assure you, will not succeed better than the others. You
know me very imperfectly if you think I shall not prefer dis-
honor, a convent, death-all-to the disgrace of uniting my
hand, my life, to yours. And when this infamous ruse had suc-
ceeded, when I had had the weakness-as certainly I shall not
have to give you my person, and what is of more importance
to you, my fortune, in return for this beautiful stroke of policy
-what kind of man are you, to wish for wealth and a wife,
acquired at such a price as this? Ah, thank me still, monsieur,
for not yielding to your wishes: they are imprudent, believe me,
――――
## p. 5670 (#248) ###########################################
5670
OCTAVE FEUILLET
for if ever shame and public derision shall drive me into your
arms, I should have so much contempt for you that I should
break your heart! Yes, were it as hard, as cold as stone, I
should draw tears of blood from it. "
"Mademoiselle," said I, with all the calmness I could assume,
"I beg you to recover yourself, your reason. I assure you, upon
my honor, that you insult me. Will you please to reflect? Your
suspicions have no probable foundation. I could not possibly
have arranged the base treachery of which you accuse me, and
how have I given you the right to believe me capable of it? "
"All that I know of you gives me this right," cried she, cut-
ting the air with her riding-whip. "I will tell you for once what
has been in my soul for a long time. You came to our house
under a borrowed name and character. We were happy, we were
tranquil, my mother and I. You have brought us trouble, dis-
order, anxiety, to which we were before strangers. In order to
attain your end, to repair the loss of your fortune, you have
usurped our confidence. -you have been reckless of our repose-
you have played with our purest, truest, most sacred feelings.
You have broken our hearts without pity. That is what you
have done or wished to do, it matters little which. I am very
weary of it all, I assure you. And when, at this hour, you come
and pledge me your honor as a gentleman, I have the right not
to believe it -and I do not believe it! ”
—
-――――――
-
I was beside myself; I seized both her hands in a transport
of vehemence which controlled her. "Marguerite, my poor child,
listen! I love you, it is true, and never did love more ardent,
more disinterested, more holy, enter into the heart of a man.
But you also, you love me; you love me, unfortunate, and you
kill me! You speak of a bruised and broken heart. Ah, what
have you done with mine? But it is yours; I leave it with you.
As to my honor, I will keep it it is untouched. I will force
you to acknowledge it. And upon this honor, I swear to you
that if I die, you will weep for me; that if I live, never,—
adored as you are- were you on your knees before me
will I marry you till you are as poor as I, or I as rich as you!
And now pray; ask God for miracles-it is time! "
never
I pushed her away from the embrasure of the window; I
sprung upon the upper step. For I had conceived a desperate
plan, and I executed it with the precipitation of actual madness.
As I have before said, the tops of the beeches and oaks growing
-
## p. 5671 (#249) ###########################################
OCTAVE FEUILLET
5671
in the moat reached the level of the window. With the aid of
my bent riding-whip, I drew toward me the extremity of the
nearest branches; I seized them on a venture, and leaped into
I heard above my head my name,
space;
«< Maximilian! " uttered
suddenly, with a distracted cry. The branches to which I was
clinging bent with their whole length toward the abyss; then
there was a crashing sound; the tree broke under my weight, and
I fell heavily to the ground.
The muddy nature of the earth lessened the violence of the
shock, for though I was wounded, I was not killed.
One of my
arms had struck against the sloping masonry of the tower, and I
suffered such sharp pain in it that I fainted. I was roused by
Marguerite's frightened voice: -"Maximilian! Maximilian! For
pity's sake! In the name of the good God, speak to me! For-
give me! "
I rose, I saw her in the opening of the window in the full
moonlight, with her head bare, her hair disheveled, her hand.
grasping the arm of the cross, and her eyes earnestly fixed upon
the ground below.
"Fear nothing," said I to her. "I am not hurt. Only be
patient for an hour or two. Give me time to go to the château;
it is the surest. Be certain that I will keep your secret—that I
will save your honor as I have saved mine. "
I scrambled out of the moat with difficulty, and went to mount
my horse.
I suspended my left arm, which was wholly useless
and very painful, with my handkerchief. Thanks to the light of
the moon, I easily found my way back, and an hour later I reached
the château. I was told Dr. Desmarests was in the saloon. I
went in at once, and found there some dozen persons, whose
countenances wore an expression of anxiety and alarm.
"Doctor," said I gayly, on entering, "my horse took fright at
his own shadow and threw me on the road, and I am afraid my
left arm is sprained. Will you see it? ”
"How, sprained! " said M. Desmarests, after unfastening the
handkerchief. "Your arm is broken, my poor boy. "
Madame Laroque gave a little cry, and approached me.
"This is, then, a night of misfortune," said she.
I feigned surprise. "What else has happened? " I cried.
"Mon Dieu! I fear some accident has happened to my
daughter. She went out on horseback at three o'clock, and it is
now eight, and she has not yet returned. "
## p. 5672 (#250) ###########################################
5672
OCTAVE FEUILLET
"Mademoiselle Marguerite? Why, I saw her-"
« How? Where? At what time? Forgive me, monsieur; it
is the egotism of a mother. "
"I saw her about five o'clock, on the road. We met. She
told me she thought of riding as far as the Tower of Elven. "
"The Tower of Elven! She must be lost in the woods. We
ought to go there promptly. Let orders be given. "
M. de Bévallan at once ordered horses to be brought out. I
affected a wish to join the cavalcade, but Madame Laroque and
the doctor positively prohibited it, and I allowed myself to be
easily persuaded to seek my bed, of which, in truth, I felt great
need.
Dr. Desmarests, after having applied a first dressing to my
injured arm, took a seat in the carriage with Madame Laroque,
who went to the village of Elven, to await there the result of
the diligent search that M. de Bévallan would direct in the
neighborhood of the Tower.
It was nearly ten o'clock when Alain came to announce to me
that Mademoiselle Marguerite was found. He recounted the his-
tory of her imprisonment, without omitting any details, save, be it
understood, those which the young girl and I would alone know.
The account of the adventure was soon confirmed by the doctor,
then by Madame Laroque herself. I had the satisfaction to see
that no suspicion of the exact truth entered the mind of any one.
I have passed the night in repeating, with the most fatiguing
perseverance, and with the oddest complications of fever and
dreams, my dangerous leap from the old tower window. I can-
not become accustomed to it. At each instant the sensation of
falling through space rises to my throat, and I awake-breath-
less.
## p. 5673 (#251) ###########################################
5673
JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE
(1762-1814)
BY EDWARD FRANKLIN BUCHNER
N THE 18th of August, 1791, a manuscript work entitled 'An
Attempt at a Critique of all Revelation was laid before
Immanuel Kant by a young man twenty-nine years of age,
Johann Gottlieb Fichte. This irresistible letter of introduction, com-
posed by Fichte in four weeks, turned his life of effort and failure
into the channel it had been vainly seeking, and thus profoundly
modified the intellectual and political development of Western Europe
in the nineteenth century.
JOHANN G. FICHTE
The early childhood of Fichte, who was
a descendant of a Swedish soldier of the
army of Gustavus Adolphus, left by the
fortunes of war within the bounds of Sax-
ony, was passed in herding geese and in a
reverie, looking into vacancy. Born at
Rammenau in Upper Lusatia, on May 19th,
1762, as the son of a weaver, he was by
accident removed from the bondage of
parental poverty and transferred to the
favor of a wealthy patron, thereby receiv-
ing the benefits of the celebrated seminary
at Schulpforte. He entered the University
of Jena at the age of eighteen, and pursued
the study of theology for three years. His passion for influencing men
was checked by poverty, whose buffetings he endured seven years
longer. The outcome of a last short tutorship at Warsaw paved the
way for a visit to the aged sage at Königsberg. Kant's initial cool-
ness to the young stranger soon gave place to a genial influence. It
secured a publisher for the above-mentioned essay. Appearing in 1792,
the work placed its anonymous author, when he became known, in the
first rank of philosophical thinkers. The blind alley Fichte had been
treading for years suddenly opened into a broad highway. Some
months after his marriage, Fichte began in May 1794 a pronounced.
career as a professor at Jena. In the few succeeding years he dis-
played keen, prolific literary qualities, and rapidly brought to its first
maturity one of the world's greatest systems of reflective thinking.
## p. 5674 (#252) ###########################################
5674
JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE
By the darling wish of his mother, Fichte was destined for the
ministry; but the fate of his young manhood closed the way to the
pulpit after his uncompleted theological studies. He came in touch
with his age through the vocation of an educator. His career as a
teacher may be divided into four periods.
for a selfish dissembler is aware that in order to please, one must
appear to think of others and forget self. This fictitious polite-
ness he had neither the tact to acquire nor the cunning to feign;
consequently he was devoid of all the means of pleasing. Not
that we mean to recommend dissimulation, or to insinuate that
Mr. M'Dow would in reality have been a better man had he been
able and willing to form himself on the model of the Chesterfield
school. He would merely have been less offensive in the ordi-
nary intercourse of life, and would have sinned less against the
common observances of society. But had he been earnest in
his calling, had he sought to have his mind enlightened by the
knowledge of those Divine truths which he professed to teach,
their unction would have softened and refined even the rugged-
ness of his nature, and have rendered him an object of respect
instead of a subject of ridicule.
The day arrived for the long-promised visit to the manse.
It was a thin tenement, built of rough gray stone of the
## p. 5657 (#235) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5657
usual pattern, a window on each side of the door and three above.
At one side was the garden, with cabbages and marigolds growing
pell-mell, and in the rear was the set of condemned offices, partly
thatched and partly slated. There were no attempts at neatness
in the approach to the house, which was merely a rough jog-trot
road, flanked on each side by a dike. Presently Mr. M'Dow was
seen hurrying to the door to meet his guests, and there, as they
alighted, he was ready to receive them with open hands.
Great was the joy expressed at this honor, as Mr. M'Dow led
the way to the interior of his mansion, which was just such as
might have been expected from its outward aspect. There was a
narrow stone passage with a door on each side, and there was a
perpendicular wooden stair, and that was all that was to be seen
at the first coup d'œil. But if little was revealed to the eye, the
secrets of the house were yielded with less coy reserve to the
other senses: for there was to be heard the sound of a jack, now
beginning with that low, slow, mournful whine which jacks of
sensibility are sure to have; then gradually rising to a louder and
more grating pitch; till at length one mighty crash, succeeded as
all mighty crashes are, by a momentary silence. Then comes
the winding-up, which, contrary to all the rules of the drama, is
in fact only a new beginning; and so on ad infinitum till the
deed is done. With all these progressive sounds were mingled
the sharp, shrill, loud voice and Gaelic accents of the chef de
cuisine, with an occasional clash or clang, at least equal to the
fall of the armor in the Castle of Otranto.
Then there issued forth with resistless might a smell which
defied all human control, and to which doors and windows were
but feeble barriers or outlets; till like the smoke in the 'Arabian
Nights,' which resolved itself into a genie, it seemed as if about
to quit its aerial form and assume a living and tangible substance.
Lucy would fain have drawn back as she crossed the thresh-
old, and quitting the pure precincts of sunshine and fresh air,
found herself in the power of this unseen monster,- this com-
pound of fish, fat, peats, burnt grease, kail, leeks, and onions,
reveling, too, amid such scenes and beneath such a sky!
"You see I have brought my sketch-book, Mr. M'Dow," said
she; "so I must make the most of my time, and be busy out of
doors.
. A noted sketcher, as papa calls me, minds neither
heat nor cold, and I shall easily find either a shady spot or a cool
breeze. "
## p. 5658 (#236) ###########################################
5658
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
"Well, then, since you will go out, trust yourself to me, and
I'll take you where you'll find both, and the most beautiful pros-
pect into the bargain. "
At that moment the door opened, and a thick yellow man,
with no particular features, dressed in a short coat, tartan
trews, and a very large ill-colored neckcloth, entered the room
and was introduced by the minister as his cousin and brother-
in-law, Mr. Dugald M'Dow, from Glasgow, then on a visit at the
manse.
"We're just going to take a turn in the garden, Mr. Dugald,”
said his host: "will you get your hat and join us? "
"With the greatest pleasure," replied Mr. Dugald with a
strong accent and a stiff conceited bow; then, popping down a
sealskin cap from a peg in the passage, he was instantly accou-
tred, and the party set forth.
"I wish it had been earlier in the season, Miss Lucy," said
Mr. M'Dow, as he ushered her into his kail-yard by a narrow
slimy path, overrun with long sprawling bushes; "a month ago
I could have treated you to as fine berries as perhaps you ever
tasted. They were uncommonly large and jisey, and at the same
time extremely high-flavored. I have a little red hairy berry
that's very deleeshus; and there's the honey-blobs, an uncommon
fine berry - a great deal of jise in it. I was rather unlucky in
my rasps this season; they were small and wormy, and a very
poor crop: but my currins were amazingly prolific and uncom-
monly jisey. In fact, I couldn't use the half of them, and it
was really vexatious to see them absolutely rotting on the bushes.
The want of a lady at the berry season is a great want, and one
that's sorely felt; for though my lass is an exceeding good plain
cook, yet she's not mistress of the higher branches of cookery,
such as the making of jams and jeellies, and these things; but I
would fain flatter myself, by the time the berry season comes
round again, I may have a fair lady to manage them for me.
Do you think I may venture to hope so, Miss Lucy? ”
Again she attempted to rid herself of the assiduities of Mr.
M'Dow, and was gliding away, as she hoped unperceived, when,
striding after her like a seven-league ogre, he called:- "Miss
Lucy-Miss Lucy! you're not running away from us, I hope?
This is just about the time I ordered a slight refreshment to be
ready," pulling out his watch: "you'll do me the honor to par-
take of it, I hope? "
## p. 5659 (#237) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5659
Lucy declined, on the plea of having already had ample
refreshment, and being much more inclined to sketch than to
eat; but Lucy must have been made of stone and lime to have
been able to withstand the importunities of Mr. M'Dow: he was
as urgent as though his very existence had depended upon her
partaking of his "slight refreshment," and she was at length
compelled, much against her inclination, to return to the salle à
manger.
During their absence a table had been covered; but the ar-
rangements were not finally concluded, for a stout, ruddy, yellow-
haired damsel was rattling away amongst knives and forks as
though she had been turning over so many down feathers.
"I expected to have found everything ready by this time,"
said Mr. M'Dow: "what have you been about, Jess? " But Jess
continued to stamp and clatter away without making any reply.
"I'll just show you the way to my study, till the refreshment's
put upon the table," said Mr. M'Dow; and finding all remon-
strance in vain, his guests submitted with a good grace, and
were conducted to a very tolerable room up-stairs, where were a
few shelves of books, a backgammon board, a fowling-piece, and
a fishing-rod, with shot, lines, and flies scattered about. There
was also a sofa with a dirty crumpled cover, where Mr. Dugald
seemed to have been lounging with a flute and a music-book. In
one corner stood a table with a pile of books, some of them in
bindings very unlike the rest of the furniture.
"Allow me in the mean time to lead the way to something
more substantial, Miss Lucy," cried Mr. M'Dow, seizing her
hand, as Jess put her head in at the door; and having given a
glare with her eyes, and wide opened her mouth, emitting a sort
of guttural sound, importing that "aw's ready," galloped down-
stairs again as hard and fast as she could.
"Give me leave, Miss Lucy; but the stair's rather narrow for
two; you know the way; turn to the left hand of my trance.
It's very easy for these poets to preach; but it's not so easy
always for us preachers to practice - hoch, ho! "
This sentiment uttered, a grace was hurried over; and the
company seated themselves at table, which was literally covered
- with dishes, all close huddled together. In the middle was a
tureen of leek soup, alias cocky-leeky, with prunes; at one end,
a large dish of innumerable small, clammy, fresh-water trouts; at
the other, two enormous fat ducks, stuffed to the throat with
## p. 5660 (#238) ###########################################
5660
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
onions, and decorated with onion rings round their legs and
pinions. At the corners were minced collops and tripe, con-
fronted with a dish of large old pease, drowned (for they could
not swim) in butter; next, a mess of mashed potatoes, scored
and rescored with the marks of the kitchen knife a weapon
which is to be found in all kitchens, varying in length from one
to three feet, and in uncivilized lands used indiscriminately to
cut meat, fish, fowl, onions, bread, and butter. Saucers filled
with ill-colored pickles filled up the interstices.
"I ordered merely a slight refreshment," said Mr. M'Dow, sur-
veying his banquet with great complacency; "I think it prefer-
able to a more solid mail in this weather. Of all good Scotch
dishes, in my opinion, there's none equal to cocky-leeky; as a
friend of mine said, it's both nectar and ambrosia. You'll find
that uncommonly good, Miss Lucy, if you'll just try it; for it's
made by a receipt of my mother's, and she was always famous
for cocky-leeky: the prunes are a great improvement; they give
a great delicacy to the flavor: my leeks are not come to their
full strength yet, but they are extremely sweet; you may help
me to a few more of the broth, captain, and don't spare the
leeks. I never see cocky-leeky without thinking of the honest
man who found a snail in his: Tak ye that snack, my man,' says
he, 'for looking sae like a plum-damy;' hoch, hoch, ho! There's
a roasted hare coming to remove the fish, and I believe you see
your refreshment; there's merely a few trifles coming. "
Lucy had accepted one of Mr. Dugald's little muddy trouts,
as the least objectionable article of the repast; and while Mr.
M'Dow's mouth was stuffed with prunes and leeks, silence ensued.
But having dispatched a second plateful and taken a bumper of
wine, he began again:-"I can answer for the ducks, Miss Lucy,
if you'll do me the favor to try them. A clean knife and fork,
Jess, to Mr. Dugald to cut them. I prefer ducks to a goose; a
goose is an inconvenient sort of bird, for it's rather large for one
person, and it's not big enough for two. But my stars, Jess!
what is the meaning of this? the ducks are perfectly raw! " in
an accent of utter despair. "What is the meaning of it? You
must take it to the brander, and get it done as fast as you can.
How came Eppy to go so far wrong, I wonder! "
Jess here emitted some of her guttural sounds, which being
translated amounted to this: that the jack had run down and
Eppy couldn't get it set going again.
## p. 5661 (#239) ###########################################
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
5661
"That's most ridiculous! " exclaimed Mr. M'Dow indignantly;
"when I was at the pains to show her myself how to manage
her. She's the Auchnagoil jack, which I bought, and a most
famous goer.
But you see how it is, Miss Lucy; you must make
allowance for a bachelor's house: there's a roasted hare coming.
Jess, take away the fish, and bring the hare to me. " The hare
was herewith introduced, and flung, rather than placed, before her
master. "Oh, this is quite intolerable! There's really no bear-
ing this! The hare's burnt to a perfect stick! The whole jise is
out of its body! "
"Your cook's not a good hare-dresser; that's all that can be
said," quoth Mr. Dugald.
"Very well said-extremely good," said Mr. M'Dow, trying
to laugh off his indignation; "and after all, I believe, it's only a
little scowthered. Do me the favor to try a morsel of it, Miss
Lucy, with a little jeelly. Jess, put down the jeelly. Oh, have
you nothing but a pig to put it in? " demanded he, in a most
wrathful accent, as Jess clapped down a large native jelly-pot
upon the table.
"Where's the handsome cut-crystal jeelly-dish I
bought at the Auchnagoil roup? "
Jess's face turned very red, and a downcast look of conscious
guilt told that the "handsome cut-crystal jeelly-dish" was no
more.
"This is really most provoking! But if you'll not taste the
hare, Miss Lucy, will you do me the kindness to try the minced
collops? or a morsel of tripe? It's a sweet, simple dish-a great
favorite of my mother's; both you and the captain are really
poor eaters, so you and I, Mr. Dugald, must just keep each
other in countenance. "
And another pause ensued, till at last an order was given, to
take everything away. "And bring the few trifles-but will you
make less noise? there's no hearing ourselves speak for you;"
but Jess rattled away, nevertheless, till she vanished, leaving the
door wide open. A few minutes elapsed before she reappeared,
with the greasy apparition of Eppy at her back, standing on the
threshold with her hands full.
"Now take the pigeon pie to Mr. Dugald; bring the puddin'
to me; put the puffs and cheesecakes at the sides, and the cream
in the middle. I'm sorry I've no jeellies and blaw mangys for
Miss Lucy. If you won't taste the pie, do me the favor to take
a bit of this puddin'; it's quite a simple puddin', made from a
recipe of my mother's. "
## p. 5662 (#240) ###########################################
5662
SUSAN EDMONSTONE FERRIER
Lucy accepted a bit of the "simple puddin'," which, as its
name implied, was a sort of mawkish squash, flavored with peat-
reek whisky.
"I'm afraid the puddin's not to your taste, Miss Lucy; you're
making no hand of it; will you try a jam puff? I'm sure you'll
find them good; they come from Glasgow, sent by my good
mother; I must really taste them, if it were only out of respect
to her. Oh! Miss Lucy, will you not halve a puff with me? "
The minister and his friend having now ate and drank copi-
ously of all that was upon the table, Captain Malcolm said: -"My
daughter has not yet accomplished the object of her visit here,
and we must soon be returning home; so you have no time to
lose, my dear," to Lucy, who started up from the table like a
bird from its cage; "if indeed it is not lost already," he added,
as Lucy and he walked to the window. The bright blue sky
had now changed to one of misty whiteness, showers were seen
drifting along over the scattered isles, and even while they
spoke, a sudden gust of wind and rain came sweeping along, and
all the beauteous scenery was in an instant blotted from the sight.
Captain Malcolm was not a person to be disconcerted by
trifles; but on the present occasion he could not refrain from
expressing his regret, as he every moment felt an increasing
repugnance to the company of Mr. M'Dow and his friend, and
still more on Lucy's account than his own,-it seemed like con-
tamination for so fair and pure a creature to be seated between
two such coarse barbarians. Mr. M'Dow affected to sympathize
in the disappointment; but it was evident he was exulting in the
delay.
Shower after shower followed in such quick succession that
Lucy found the object of her visit completely defeated. At
length the clouds rolled away, but the day was too far advanced
to admit of further tarriance; and besides, both the father and
daughter were impatient to extricate themselves from the over-
powering hospitalities of Mr. M'Dow.
"I hope you will have many opportunities of taking drawings
here," said he, with a significant tenderness of look and manner,
as he assisted Lucy to mount her pony; «< and when the manse
is harled, and I get my new offices, the view will be much im-
proved. "
Lucy bowed as she hastily took the bridle into her own hands,
and gladly turned her back on the manse and the minister.
## p. 5663 (#241) ###########################################
5663
OCTAVE FEUILLET
(1821-1890)
CTAVE FEUILLET was the darling of the Second Empire. In
the days when realistic fiction was beginning its struggle
for a hearing, he treated court circles to romantic tales of
the Faubourg Saint-Germain. To himself and to his audience, lovers
of social elegance, the sordid commonplace world of tradespeople was
uninteresting. He contributed to the aristocratic spirit which main-
tains that rich and well-born men and women have an exclusive pos-
session of mental and moral refinement. His pleasure-seeking readers
were not interested in broad social prob-
lems, but the mental struggles of spoiled
beauties and the sentimental hair-splitting
of chivalric young noblemen supplied just
the sugar-plums they craved. Perhaps a
touch of effeminacy in his own nature es-
pecially fitted Feuillet to understand the
women of his world, and to portray the
vagaries of idle ardent girls, who have been
his most admiring readers.
Moreover, he was an avowed moralist
of a conventional morality, such as is suit-
able for discussion in the salon. While scru-
pulously respecting prejudices, he managed,
almost unobserved as it were, to offer stim-
ulating expositions of unorthodox subjects. But unquestionably he
always aims to inculcate respect for nobility of mind and action.
Perhaps the reproach oftenest brought against him touches this
evident didacticism. But he points his moral so delicately that the
indirect sermonizing is never aggressive. Although severely criti-
cized by Sainte-Beuve, George Sand, Lemaître, Zola, and other critics
who sometimes treated him with contemptuous mockery, Feuillet was
always a popular novelist. For more than forty years he pursued his
own ideals with courage and success, meeting distinguished consid-
eration, being made member of the Legion of Honor; and in 1862
accepted into the French Academy as the successor of Scribe.
Feuillet obtained his early education in his native town, Saint Lô,
where his father was secretary of the prefecture. Then he was sent
to Paris; where first at the Collège Louis le Grand, and later at the
-
OCTAVE FEUILLET
## p. 5664 (#242) ###########################################
5664
OCTAVE FEUILLET
University, he proved himself both studious and talented. Unlike
most student habitués of the Quartier Latin, he found no pleasure in
Bohemian dissipations. His calm, refined nature shunned low asso-
ciations and coarse jollity. He was reserved and exclusive like his
favorite heroes, and absorbed in imaginative ideals.
At twenty-four he began to write, and in collaboration with Borage
and Aubert composed 'Le Grand Vieillard,' a novel which appeared
as a serial in Le Nationel. A devoted disciple of Dumas fils, and
stimulated by the example of Scribe, he next tried the theatre; and
with Vavin and Xazier wrote 'Une Nuit Terrible,' played at the
Gymnase in 1845. All his early plays (and they were many), though
sometimes clever, are so crude and experimental that Feuillet did
not include them among his complete works. After he became
devoted to Alfred de Musset, he wrote the 'Scènes et Proverbes,'
which, published in the Revue des Deux Mondes, made his first
assured success. Of these, 'La Fée,' 'Alix,' 'La Clef d'Or,' and
others, are dainty dramatic tales, showing his vigor of characteriza-
tion and delicacy of style. In 1848 his first long story, 'Onesta,' an
Italian tale of passion, delighted the readers of the Nouvelle Revue,
and was followed by many tales so successfully dramatized that his
name became equally familiar to readers and theatre-goers.
His well-known 'Roman d'un Jeune Homme Pauvre' (Romance of
a Poor Young Man) is a characteristic piece of work. Its Musset-
like delight in emotion, its striking situations, stamped it as a prod-
uct of the aging romantic school. Of course it incurred the disfavor
of his more progressive fellow-craftsmen, although, as Lanson says,
Feuillet is far more a realist than is commonly supposed. His char-
acters do not experience exaggerated rewards or punishments, and
their fate seems the natural outcome of their qualities. In spite of
the optimistic spirit which maintained his faith in innate human
nobility, Feuillet thoroughly appreciated the tragedy of life. Nearly
all his stories are sad, and sometimes dramatically tragic.
The pov-
erty-stricken young nobleman of the 'Romance,' with his lofty ideals
and sensitive self-respect, ruled his life with the pride which actuated
Feuillet himself. There were critics to deride as well as critics to
honor the antique virtue of the novelist, when upon the downfall of
the Empire he resigned his lucrative position as librarian of the
Château of Fontainebleau when the catastrophe had made that posi-
tion a sinecure merely. For this sentimental "Family Musset" was
sincere. One of his characters somewhere remarks that ideality glo-
rifies ugly prose duty and acts as a stimulus to endeavor. So Feuillet
wishes to picture a world in which men and women find in self-
respect and religion compensation for suffering and self-sacrifice.
## p. 5665 (#243) ###########################################
OCTAVE FEUILLET
5665
A LEAP IN THE DARK
From the Romance of a Poor Young Man ›
YES
ESTERDAY I set out on horseback early in the morning to over-
see the felling of some timber in the neighborhood. I was
returning toward four o'clock in the direction of the château,
when at a sharp turn of the road I found myself face to face
with Mademoiselle Marguerite. She was alone. I bowed, and
-
was about to pass, but she stopped her horse.
་
"A beautiful autumn day, monsieur," said she.
"Yes, mademoiselle. You are going to ride? »
"As you see, I am using my last moments of independence,
and even abusing them; for I feel a little troubled by my soli-
tude. But Alain was wanted down there- my poor Mervyn is
lame. You do not wish to replace him, by chance ? »
"With pleasure. Where are you going? "
"Why I had the idea of pushing my ride as far as the
Tower of Elven. " She pointed with the end of her riding-
whip to a dark summit which rose within sight of the road. "I
think," she added, "that you have never made such a pilgrim-
age. "
"It is true. It has often tempted me, but I have put it off
till now, I hardly know why. "
"Well, the Tower is easily found; but it is already late; we
must make a little haste, if you please. "
I turned my horse's head and we set out at a gallop.
As we rode I sought to explain to myself this unexpected
whim, which I could not but think premeditated. I concluded
that time and reflection had weakened in Mademoiselle Mar-
guerite's mind the first impressions made by the calumnies which
had been poured into her ear. She had apparently ended by
doubting Mademoiselle Helouin's veracity, and contrived to offer
me, by chance, under a disguised form, a kind of reparation
which might possibly be due me.
In the midst of the thoughts that besieged me, I attached
slight importance to the particular end we proposed to ourselves
in this strange ride.
I had often heard this Tower of Elven
spoken of as one of the most interesting ruins of the country;
and I had never traveled over either of the two roads which lead
from Rennes, or from Jocelyn, toward the sea, without contem-
plating with an eager eye that uncertain mass which one sees
X-355
## p. 5666 (#244) ###########################################
5666
OCTAVE FEUILLET
towering upward in the middle of distant heaths like an enor-
mous stone bank; but time and occasion had been wanting to me.
The village of Elven that we traversed, slackening our pace a
little, gave a striking representation of a town of the Middle
Ages. The form of the low dark houses has not changed for
five or six centuries. One thinks himself dreaming when he
sees, through the large gaps, arched and without sashes, which
take the place of windows in the houses, groups of women with
wild eyes, spinning from distaffs in the shadow, and conversing
in low voices in an unknown language. It seemed now as if all
these gray spectres had quitted their monumental slabs to enact
some scene of another age, of which we were to be the sole
living witnesses. The little life that was visible in the single
street of the village bore the same character of antiquity and
faithful representation of a vanished world.
A little distance beyond Elven we took a cross-road, which
led us up a barren hill; we saw from its summit, although at
some distance from us, the feudal ruin overlooking a wooded
height in front of us. The heath where we were, descended
sharply toward marshy meadows surrounded with thick young
woods. We descended the slope and were soon in the woods.
There we took a narrow road, the rough unbroken pavement of
which resounded loudly under our horses' feet. I had ceased for
some time to see the Tower, the locality of which I could not
even conjecture; when it rose out of the foliage a few steps
before us, with the suddenness of an apparition. This Tower is
not decayed; it has preserved its original height, which exceeds
a hundred feet, and the regular layers of granite which compose
its magnificent octagonal structure give it the aspect of a formida-
ble block, cut yesterday by the keenest chisel. Nothing more
imposing, more proud and sombre, can be imagined than this old
donjon, impervious to the effects of time, and alone in these
thick woods. The trees have grown close to its walls, and their
tops reach to the openings for the lower windows. This growth
of vegetation conceals the base of the edifice, and increases its
appearance of fantastic mystery. In this solitude, surrounded by
forests, with this mass of extraordinary architecture in front of
us, it was impossible not to think of enchanted castles where beau-
tiful princesses sleep a hundred years.
"Up to this time," said Mademoiselle Marguerite, to whom I
tried to communicate this idea, "I have seen no more than what
## p. 5667 (#245) ###########################################
OCTAVE FEUILLET
5667
we now see; but if you wish to wake the fairy princess, we can
enter. For all I know, there may be in the neighborhood a
shepherd or shepherdess who is furnished with a key.
Let us
fasten our horses and seek for them-you for the shepherd and
I for the shepherdess. "
The horses were accordingly fastened in a little inclosure near
the ruin, and we separated for a moment to search around the
Tower. But we had the vexation to meet neither shepherd nor
shepherdess. Our desire to see the interior naturally increased.
with all the force of attraction of forbidden fruit, and we crossed
a bridge thrown over the moat, at a venture. To our great satis-
faction, the massive door of the donjon was not shut; we needed
only to push it open in order to enter a corner, dark and incum-
bered with rubbish, which was probably the place for the body-
guard in former times. From thence we passed into a vast
circular hall, the chimney-piece of which still showed, on its
coat of arms, the besants of the crusade; a large open window,
traversed by the symbolic cross, plainly cut in the stone, lighted
distinctly the lower part of this room, and the
eye failed to
pierce the uncertain shadows of the lofty broken roof. At the
sound of our steps an invisible flock of birds flew out from the
darkness, shaking down upon us the dust of centuries.
On mounting up the granite steps ranged one above the
other round the hall, into the embrasure of the window, we
could overlook the deep moat and the ruined parts of the for-
tress; but we had noticed on our entrance a flight of steps cut in
the thick wall, and we felt a childish impatience to push our
discoveries further. We therefore undertook to ascend this rude
staircase. I led the way, and Mademoiselle Marguerite followed
bravely, holding up her long skirts as well as she could. From
the top of the flat roof the view was vast and delicious. The
soft tints of twilight were creeping over the ocean of half-golden
autumn foliage, the dark marshes, and the green mossy ground
near us, and the distant ranges of hills mingling with and cross-
ing each other.
other. As we gazed down upon this melancholy land-
scape, infinite in extent, we felt the peace of solitude, the silence
of evening, the sadness of the past, descend into our hearts.
This charm was increased, for me at least, by the presence of
a beloved being: all who have loved will comprehend this. This
hour even of mutual contemplation and emotion, of pure and
profound enjoyment, was without doubt the last that would be
## p. 5668 (#246) ###########################################
5668
OCTAVE FEUILLET
given me to pass near her and with her, and I clung to it with
a sad earnestness. For Marguerite, I know not what passed
within her; she was seated on the ledge of the parapet, gazing
silently at the distance. I heard only the sound of her quick-
ened breath.
I do not know how long we remained thus. When the mists
spread over the low meadows and the far-off hills became indis-
tinct in the increasing darkness, Marguerite rose.
"Let us go,"
said she, in a low voice, as if the curtain had fallen on some
regretted pageant; "it is finished! » She began to descend the
staircase and I followed her.
We attempted to leave the Tower, but to our great surprise
we found the door closed. Apparently the young keeper, igno-
rant of our presence, had turned the key while we were on the
roof. Our first impression was that of gayety. It now actually
was an enchanted castle! I made vigorous efforts to break the
enchantment; but the enormous bolt of the old lock was solidly
fastened in the granite, and I was compelled to give up the at-
tempt to unfasten it. I then attacked the door itself; the mass-
ive hinges and the oak panels, banded with iron, resisted all my
strength. Two or three pieces of rough stone which I found.
amongst the rubbish, and which I threw against this insuperable
obstacle to our egress, had no other result than to shake the roof,
fragments of which fell at my feet. Mademoiselle Marguerite
would not allow me to pursue an enterprise so evidently hope-
less, and not without danger. I ran to the window, and shouted
for help, but nobody replied. During the next ten minutes I
repeated these cries constantly, with the same lack of success.
We then employed the remaining daylight in exploring minutely
the interior of the castle, but we could discover no place of
egress except the door, as solid as the wall to us, and the great
window, thirty feet above the bottom of the moat.
Night had fallen over the country, and darkness invaded the
ruin. Rays of moonlight penetrated the window, and fell upon
the stone steps beneath it. Mademoiselle Marguerite had gradu-
ally lost all appearance of sprightliness; she ceased to reply to
the conjectures, reasonable or otherwise, with which I endeavored
to dispel her anxiety. She sat in the shadow of the window,
silent and immovable; I was in the full light of the moon on
the step nearest the window, at intervals sending forth a cry of
distress. But in truth, the more uncertain the success of my
## p. 5669 (#247) ###########################################
OCTAVE FEUILLET
5669
efforts became, the more an irresistible feeling of joyfulness seized
upon me.
I saw suddenly realized the endless and almost impos-
sible dream of lovers;
was alone in a desert with the woman
whom I loved! For long hours there were only she and I in the
world, only her life and mine! I thought of all the marks of
sweet protection, of tender respect, that I should have the right
and the duty to lavish upon her; I pictured her fears calmed,
her confidence, her sleep; I said to myself that this fortunate
night, if it did not give me the love of this dear girl, would at
least assure to me her most lasting esteem.
And then, as I abandoned myself with all the egotism of
passion to my secret ecstasy, some reflection of which was per-
haps painted on my face, I was suddenly roused by these words,
addressed to me in a tone of affected tranquillity:- "Monsieur
le Marquis de Champcey, have there been many cowards in your
family before you? "
I rose, but fell back again upon my stone seat, turning a
stupefied look in the direction where I saw the vague outline of
the young girl. One idea alone occurred to me, a terrible idea
that fear and anxiety had affected her brain- that she was
becoming crazy.
"Marguerite! " I cried, without knowing even that I spoke.
This word completed her irritation, doubtless.
"My God! How odious he is!
Oh, what a coward! Yes, I
repeat it, what a coward! »
The truth began to dawn upon me. I descended one of the
steps. "Pray, what is the matter? " said I, coldly.
"It is you," she cried with vehemence, "you who have bribed
this man or this child-to imprison us in this tower. To-mor-
row I shall be lost-dishonored in public opinion- and I can
belong only to you: such is your calculation, is it not? But this
plan, I assure you, will not succeed better than the others. You
know me very imperfectly if you think I shall not prefer dis-
honor, a convent, death-all-to the disgrace of uniting my
hand, my life, to yours. And when this infamous ruse had suc-
ceeded, when I had had the weakness-as certainly I shall not
have to give you my person, and what is of more importance
to you, my fortune, in return for this beautiful stroke of policy
-what kind of man are you, to wish for wealth and a wife,
acquired at such a price as this? Ah, thank me still, monsieur,
for not yielding to your wishes: they are imprudent, believe me,
――――
## p. 5670 (#248) ###########################################
5670
OCTAVE FEUILLET
for if ever shame and public derision shall drive me into your
arms, I should have so much contempt for you that I should
break your heart! Yes, were it as hard, as cold as stone, I
should draw tears of blood from it. "
"Mademoiselle," said I, with all the calmness I could assume,
"I beg you to recover yourself, your reason. I assure you, upon
my honor, that you insult me. Will you please to reflect? Your
suspicions have no probable foundation. I could not possibly
have arranged the base treachery of which you accuse me, and
how have I given you the right to believe me capable of it? "
"All that I know of you gives me this right," cried she, cut-
ting the air with her riding-whip. "I will tell you for once what
has been in my soul for a long time. You came to our house
under a borrowed name and character. We were happy, we were
tranquil, my mother and I. You have brought us trouble, dis-
order, anxiety, to which we were before strangers. In order to
attain your end, to repair the loss of your fortune, you have
usurped our confidence. -you have been reckless of our repose-
you have played with our purest, truest, most sacred feelings.
You have broken our hearts without pity. That is what you
have done or wished to do, it matters little which. I am very
weary of it all, I assure you. And when, at this hour, you come
and pledge me your honor as a gentleman, I have the right not
to believe it -and I do not believe it! ”
—
-――――――
-
I was beside myself; I seized both her hands in a transport
of vehemence which controlled her. "Marguerite, my poor child,
listen! I love you, it is true, and never did love more ardent,
more disinterested, more holy, enter into the heart of a man.
But you also, you love me; you love me, unfortunate, and you
kill me! You speak of a bruised and broken heart. Ah, what
have you done with mine? But it is yours; I leave it with you.
As to my honor, I will keep it it is untouched. I will force
you to acknowledge it. And upon this honor, I swear to you
that if I die, you will weep for me; that if I live, never,—
adored as you are- were you on your knees before me
will I marry you till you are as poor as I, or I as rich as you!
And now pray; ask God for miracles-it is time! "
never
I pushed her away from the embrasure of the window; I
sprung upon the upper step. For I had conceived a desperate
plan, and I executed it with the precipitation of actual madness.
As I have before said, the tops of the beeches and oaks growing
-
## p. 5671 (#249) ###########################################
OCTAVE FEUILLET
5671
in the moat reached the level of the window. With the aid of
my bent riding-whip, I drew toward me the extremity of the
nearest branches; I seized them on a venture, and leaped into
I heard above my head my name,
space;
«< Maximilian! " uttered
suddenly, with a distracted cry. The branches to which I was
clinging bent with their whole length toward the abyss; then
there was a crashing sound; the tree broke under my weight, and
I fell heavily to the ground.
The muddy nature of the earth lessened the violence of the
shock, for though I was wounded, I was not killed.
One of my
arms had struck against the sloping masonry of the tower, and I
suffered such sharp pain in it that I fainted. I was roused by
Marguerite's frightened voice: -"Maximilian! Maximilian! For
pity's sake! In the name of the good God, speak to me! For-
give me! "
I rose, I saw her in the opening of the window in the full
moonlight, with her head bare, her hair disheveled, her hand.
grasping the arm of the cross, and her eyes earnestly fixed upon
the ground below.
"Fear nothing," said I to her. "I am not hurt. Only be
patient for an hour or two. Give me time to go to the château;
it is the surest. Be certain that I will keep your secret—that I
will save your honor as I have saved mine. "
I scrambled out of the moat with difficulty, and went to mount
my horse.
I suspended my left arm, which was wholly useless
and very painful, with my handkerchief. Thanks to the light of
the moon, I easily found my way back, and an hour later I reached
the château. I was told Dr. Desmarests was in the saloon. I
went in at once, and found there some dozen persons, whose
countenances wore an expression of anxiety and alarm.
"Doctor," said I gayly, on entering, "my horse took fright at
his own shadow and threw me on the road, and I am afraid my
left arm is sprained. Will you see it? ”
"How, sprained! " said M. Desmarests, after unfastening the
handkerchief. "Your arm is broken, my poor boy. "
Madame Laroque gave a little cry, and approached me.
"This is, then, a night of misfortune," said she.
I feigned surprise. "What else has happened? " I cried.
"Mon Dieu! I fear some accident has happened to my
daughter. She went out on horseback at three o'clock, and it is
now eight, and she has not yet returned. "
## p. 5672 (#250) ###########################################
5672
OCTAVE FEUILLET
"Mademoiselle Marguerite? Why, I saw her-"
« How? Where? At what time? Forgive me, monsieur; it
is the egotism of a mother. "
"I saw her about five o'clock, on the road. We met. She
told me she thought of riding as far as the Tower of Elven. "
"The Tower of Elven! She must be lost in the woods. We
ought to go there promptly. Let orders be given. "
M. de Bévallan at once ordered horses to be brought out. I
affected a wish to join the cavalcade, but Madame Laroque and
the doctor positively prohibited it, and I allowed myself to be
easily persuaded to seek my bed, of which, in truth, I felt great
need.
Dr. Desmarests, after having applied a first dressing to my
injured arm, took a seat in the carriage with Madame Laroque,
who went to the village of Elven, to await there the result of
the diligent search that M. de Bévallan would direct in the
neighborhood of the Tower.
It was nearly ten o'clock when Alain came to announce to me
that Mademoiselle Marguerite was found. He recounted the his-
tory of her imprisonment, without omitting any details, save, be it
understood, those which the young girl and I would alone know.
The account of the adventure was soon confirmed by the doctor,
then by Madame Laroque herself. I had the satisfaction to see
that no suspicion of the exact truth entered the mind of any one.
I have passed the night in repeating, with the most fatiguing
perseverance, and with the oddest complications of fever and
dreams, my dangerous leap from the old tower window. I can-
not become accustomed to it. At each instant the sensation of
falling through space rises to my throat, and I awake-breath-
less.
## p. 5673 (#251) ###########################################
5673
JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE
(1762-1814)
BY EDWARD FRANKLIN BUCHNER
N THE 18th of August, 1791, a manuscript work entitled 'An
Attempt at a Critique of all Revelation was laid before
Immanuel Kant by a young man twenty-nine years of age,
Johann Gottlieb Fichte. This irresistible letter of introduction, com-
posed by Fichte in four weeks, turned his life of effort and failure
into the channel it had been vainly seeking, and thus profoundly
modified the intellectual and political development of Western Europe
in the nineteenth century.
JOHANN G. FICHTE
The early childhood of Fichte, who was
a descendant of a Swedish soldier of the
army of Gustavus Adolphus, left by the
fortunes of war within the bounds of Sax-
ony, was passed in herding geese and in a
reverie, looking into vacancy. Born at
Rammenau in Upper Lusatia, on May 19th,
1762, as the son of a weaver, he was by
accident removed from the bondage of
parental poverty and transferred to the
favor of a wealthy patron, thereby receiv-
ing the benefits of the celebrated seminary
at Schulpforte. He entered the University
of Jena at the age of eighteen, and pursued
the study of theology for three years. His passion for influencing men
was checked by poverty, whose buffetings he endured seven years
longer. The outcome of a last short tutorship at Warsaw paved the
way for a visit to the aged sage at Königsberg. Kant's initial cool-
ness to the young stranger soon gave place to a genial influence. It
secured a publisher for the above-mentioned essay. Appearing in 1792,
the work placed its anonymous author, when he became known, in the
first rank of philosophical thinkers. The blind alley Fichte had been
treading for years suddenly opened into a broad highway. Some
months after his marriage, Fichte began in May 1794 a pronounced.
career as a professor at Jena. In the few succeeding years he dis-
played keen, prolific literary qualities, and rapidly brought to its first
maturity one of the world's greatest systems of reflective thinking.
## p. 5674 (#252) ###########################################
5674
JOHANN GOTTLIEB FICHTE
By the darling wish of his mother, Fichte was destined for the
ministry; but the fate of his young manhood closed the way to the
pulpit after his uncompleted theological studies. He came in touch
with his age through the vocation of an educator. His career as a
teacher may be divided into four periods.
