No More Learning

His threshold was eternally thronged when he was at home.
Amusements, banquets, and galas followed each other in rapid succession.
He was the idol whom every one courted, the great attraction of every
circle. In proportion as he, in his secluded life, had fancied living
in society to be difficult, did he to his astonishment find it easy.
Everything met his wishes. Whatever he uttered was admirable, and when
he remained silent it was like committing a robbery upon the company.
They understood the art of drawing his thoughts insensibly from his
soul, and then with a little delicate management to surprise him with
them. This happiness, which accompanied him everywhere, and this
universal success, raised him indeed too much in his own ideas, because
it gave him too much confidence and too much reliance upon himself.

"The heightened opinion which he thus acquired of his own worth made him
credit the excessive and almost idolatrous adoration that was paid to
his understanding; which but for this increased self-complacency, must
have necessarily recalled him from his aberrations. For the present,
however, this universal voice was only a confirmation of what his
complacent vanity whispered in his ear; a tribute which he felt entitled
to by right. He would have infallibly disengaged himself from this
snare had they allowed him to take breath; had they granted him a moment
of uninterrupted leisure to compare his real merit with the picture that
was exhibited to him in this seducing mirror; but his existence was a
continued state of intoxication, a whirl of excitement. The higher he
had been elevated the more difficulty had he to support himself in his
elevation. This incessant exertion slowly undermined him; rest had
forsaken even his slumbers. His weakness had been discovered, and the
passion kindled in his breast turned to good account.

"His worthy attendants soon found to their cost that their lord had
become a wit. That anxious sensibility, those glorious truths which his
heart once embraced with the greatest enthusiasm, now began to be the
objects of his ridicule. He revenged himself on the great truths of
religion for the oppression which he had so long suffered from
misconception. But, since from too true a voice his heart combated the
intoxication of his head, there was more of acrimony than of humor in
his jests. His disposition began to alter, and caprice to exhibit
itself. The most beautiful ornament of his character, his modesty,
vanished; parasites had poisoned his excellent heart. That tender
delicacy of address which frequently made his attendants forget that he
was their lord, now gave place to a decisive and despotic tone, which
made the more sensible impression, because it was not founded upon
distinction of rank, for the want of which they could have consoled
themselves, but upon an arrogant estimation of his own superior merit.
When at home he was attacked by reflections that seldom made their
appearance in the bustle of company; his own people scarcely ever saw
him otherwise than gloomy, peevish, and unhappy, whilst elsewhere a
forced vivacity made him the soul of every circle. With the sincerest
sorrow did we behold him treading this dangerous path, but in the vortex
in which he was involved the feeble voice of friendship was no longer
heard, and he was too much intoxicated to understand it.

"Just at the beginning of this epoch an affair of the greatest
consequence required my presence in the court of my sovereign, which
I dared not postpone even for the dearest interests of friendship.
An invisible hand, the agency of which I did not discover till long
afterwards, had contrived to derange my affairs, and to spread reports
concerning me which I was obliged to contradict by my presence. The
parting from the prince was painful to me, but did not affect him. The
ties which united us had been severed for some time, but his fate had
awakened all my anxiety. I, on that account, prevailed on Baron von
F------ to inform me by letter of every event, which he has done in the
most conscientious manner. As I was for a considerable time no longer
an eye-witness of these events, it will be allowable for me to introduce
the Baron von F------ in my stead, and to fill up the gap in my
narrative by the contents of his letters. Notwithstanding that the
representation of my friend F------ is not always what I should have
given, I would not alter any of his expressions, so that the reader will
be enabled to discover the truth with very little trouble. "




LETTER I.

BARON VON F----- TO COUNT VON O---------.

May 17.

I thank you, my most honored friend, for the permission you have given
me to continue in your absence that confidential intercourse with you,
which during your stay here formed my great pleasure. You must be aware
that there is no one here with whom I can venture to open my heart on
certain private matters. Whatever you may urge to the contrary, I
detest the people here. Since the prince has become one of them, and
since we have lost your society, I feel solitary in the midst of this
populous city. Z------ takes it less to heart, and the fair ones of
Venice manage to make him forget the mortifications he is compelled to
share with me at home. And why should he make himself unhappy? He
desires nothing more in the prince than a master, whom he could also
find elsewhere. But I! --you know how deep an interest I feel in our
prince's weal and woe, and how much cause I have for doing so; I have
now lived with him sixteen years, and seem to exist only for his sake.
As a boy of nine years old I first entered his service, and since that
time we have never been separated. I have grown up under his eye--a
long intercourse has insensibly attached me more and more to him--I have
borne a part in all his adventures, great and small. Until this last
unhappy year I had been accustomed to look upon him in the light of a
friend, or of an elder brother--I have basked in his smile as in the
sunshine of a summer's day--no cloud hung over my happiness! --and all
this must now go to ruin in this unlucky Venice!

Since your departure several changes have taken place in our
establishment. The Prince of --d----- arrived here last week, with a
numerous and brilliant retinue, and has caused a new and tumultuous life
in our circle. As he is so nearly related to our prince, and as they
are moreover at present upon pretty good terms, they will be very little
apart during his sojourn, which I hear is to last until after the feast
of the Ascension. A good beginning has already been made; for the last
ten days our prince has hardly had time to breathe. The Prince of
--d---- has all along been living in a very expensive way, which was
excusable in him, as he will soon take his departure; but the worst of
the business is that he has inoculated our prince with his extravagance,
because he could not well withdraw himself from his company, and, in the
peculiar relation which exists between the two houses, thought it
incumbent upon himself to assert the dignity of his own. We shall,
moreover, depart from Venice in a few weeks, which will relieve the
prince from the necessity of continuing for any length of time this
extraordinary expenditure.

The Prince of --d-----, it is reported, is here on business of the
Order, in which he imagines that he plays an important part. That he
has taken advantage of all the acquaintances of our prince you may
readily imagine. He has been introduced with distinguished honor into
the society of the Bucentauro, as he is pleased to consider himself a
wit, and a man of great genius, and allows himself to be styled in his
correspondences, which he keeps up throughout all parts of the world,
the "prince philosophique. " I do not know whether you have ever had the
pleasure of meeting him. He displays a promising exterior, piercing
eyes, a countenance full of expression, much show of reading, much
acquired naturalness (if I may be allowed the expression), joined to a
princely condescension towards the human race, a large amount of
confidence in himself, and an eloquence which talks down all opposition.
Who could refuse to pay homage to such splendid qualities in a "Royal
Highness? " But to what advantage the quiet and sterling worth of our
prince will appear, when contrasted with these dazzling accomplishments,
the event must show.

In the arrangement of our establishment, various and important changes
have taken place. We have rented a new and magnificent house opposite
the new Procuracy, because the lodging at the Moor Hotel became too
confined for the prince. Our suite has been augmented by twelve
persons, pages, Moors, guards, etc. During your stay here you
complained of unnecessary expense--you should see us now!

Our internal arrangements remain the same as of old, except that the
prince, no longer held in check by your presence, is, if possible, more
reserved and distant towards us than ever; we see very little of him,
except while dressing or undressing him. Under the pretext that we
speak the French language very badly, and the Italian not at all, he has
found means to exclude us from most of his entertainments, which to me
personally is not a very great grievance; but I believe I know the true
reason of it--he is ashamed of us; and this hurts me, for we have not
deserved it of him.

As you wish to know all our minor affairs, I must tell you, that of all
his attendants, the prince almost exclusively employs Biondello, whom he
took into his service, as you will recollect, on the disappearance of
his huntsman, and who, in his new mode of life, has become quite
indispensable to him. This man knows Venice thoroughly, and turns
everything to some account. It is as though he had a thousand eyes,
and could set a thousand hands in motion at once. This he accomplishes,
as he says, by the help of the gondoliers. To the prince he renders
himself very useful by making him acquainted with all the strange faces
that present themselves at his assemblies, and the private information
he gives his highness has always proved to be correct. Besides this,
he speaks and writes both Italian and French excellently, and has in
consequence already risen to be the prince's secretary. I must,
however, relate to you an instance of fidelity in him which is rarely
found among people of his station. The other day a merchant of good
standing from Rimini requested an audience of the prince. The object
of his visit was an extraordinary complaint concerning Biondello. The
procurator, his former master, who must have been rather an odd fellow,
had lived in irreconcilable enmity with his relations; this enmity he
wished if possible to continue even after his death. Biondello
possessed his entire confidence, and was the repository of all his
secrets; while on his deathbed he obliged him to swear that he would
keep them inviolably, and would never disclose them for the benefit of
his relations; a handsome legacy was to be the reward of his silence.
When the deceased procurator's will was opened and his papers inspected,
many blanks and irregularities were found to which Biondello alone could
furnish a key. He persisted in denying that he knew anything about it,
gave up his very handsome legacy to the heirs, and kept his secrets to
himself. Large offers were made to him by the relations, but all in
vain; at length, in order to escape from their importunities and their
threats of legally prosecuting him he entered the service of the prince.
The merchant, who was the chief heir, now applied to the prince, and
made larger offers than, before if Biondello would alter his
determination. But even the persuasions of the prince were fruitless.
He admitted that secrets of consequence had really been confided to him;
he did not deny that the deceased had perhaps carried his enmity towards
his relations too far; but, added he, he was my dear master and
benefactor, and died with a firm belief in my integrity. I was the only
friend he had left in the world, and will therefore never prove myself
unworthy of his confidence. At the same time he hinted that the avowals
they wished him to make would not tend to the honor of the deceased.
Was not that acting nobly and delicately? You may easily imagine that
the prince did not renew his endeavors to shake so praiseworthy a
determination. The extraordinary fidelity which he has shown towards
his deceased master has procured him the unlimited confidence of his
present one!

Farewell, my dear friend. How I sigh for the quiet life we led when
first you came amongst us, for the stillness of which your society so
agreeably indemnified us. I fear my happy days in Venice are over, and
shall be glad if the same remark does not also apply to the prince. The
element in which he now lives is not calculated to render him
permanently happy, or my sixteen years' experience has deceived me.




LETTER II.

BARON VON F---- TO COUNT VON O------
June 4.

I should never have thought that our stay at Venice would have been
productive of any good consequences. It has been the means of saving a
man's life, and I am reconciled to it.

Some few evenings ago the prince was being carried home late at night
from the Bucentauro; two domestics, of whom Biondello was one,
accompanied him. By some accident it happened that the sedan, which had
been hired in haste, broke down, and the prince was obliged to proceed
the remainder of the way-on foot. Biondello walked in front; their
course lay through several dark, retired streets, and, as daybreak was
at hand, the lamps were either burning dimly or had gone out altogether.
They had proceeded about a quarter of an hour when Biondello discovered
that he had lost his way. The similarity of the bridges had deceived
him, and, instead of crossing that of St. Mark, they found themselves in
Sestiere di Castello. It was in a by-street, and not a soul was
stirring; they were obliged to turn back in order to gain a main street
by which to set themselves right. They had proceeded but a few paces
when they heard cries of "murder" in a neighboring street. With his
usual determined courage, the prince, unarmed as he was, snatched a
stick from one of his attendants, and rushed forward in the direction
whence the sound came. Three ruffianly-looking fellows were just about
to assassinate a man, who with his companion was feebly defending
himself; the prince appeared just in time to arrest the fatal blow. The
voices of the prince and his followers alarmed the murderers, who did
not expect any interruption in so lonely a place; after inflicting a few
slight wounds with their daggers, they abandoned their victim and took
to their heels. Exhausted with the unequal combat, the wounded man sunk
half fainting into the arms of the prince; his companion informed my
master that the man whose life he had saved was the Marquis Civitella,
a nephew of the Cardinal A------. As the marquis' wounds bled freely,
Biondello acted as surgeon to the best of his ability, and the prince
took care to have him conveyed to the palace of his uncle, which was
near at hand, and whither he himself accompanied him. This done, he
left the house without revealing his name.

This, however, was discovered by a servant who had recognized Biondello.
Already on the following morning the cardinal, an old acquaintance from
the Bucentauro, waited upon the prince. The interview lasted an hour;
the cardinal was much moved; tears stood in his eyes when they parted;
the prince, too, was affected. The same evening a visit was paid to the
sick man, of whose case the surgeon gives a very favorable report; the
mantle in which he was wrapped had rendered the thrusts unsteady, and
weakened their force. Since this event not a day has passed without the
prince's paying a visit at the cardinal's, or receiving one from him,
and a close intimacy has begun to exist between him and the cardinal's
family.

The cardinal is a venerable man of sixty, with a majestic aspect, but
full of gayety and good health. He is said to be the richest prelate
throughout all the dominions of the republic. He is reported to manage
his immense fortune in a very liberal manner, and, although prudently
economical, to despise none of the joys of this life. This nephew, who
is his sole heir, is not always on the best of terms with his uncle.
For, although the cardinal is anything but an enemy to youthful
pleasures, the conduct of the nephew must exhaust the utmost tolerance.
His loose principles and dissipated manner of living, aided unhappily by
all the attractions which can make vice tempting and excite sensuality,
have rendered him the terror of all fathers and the bane of all
husbands; this last attack also was said to have been caused by an
intrigue he had begun with the wife of the ambassador, without speaking
of other serious broils from which the power and the money of the
cardinal could scarcely extricate him. But for this the cardinal would
be the happiest man in Italy, for he possesses everything that can make
life agreeable; but by this one domestic misfortune all the gifts of
fortune are annulled, and the enjoyment of his wealth is embittered to
the cardinal by the continual fear of finding nobody to inherit it.

The whole of this information I have obtained from Biondello. The
prince has found in this man a real treasure. Every day he becomes more
indispensable, and we are continually discovering in him some new
talent. Some days ago the prince felt feverish and could not sleep; the
night-lamp was extinguished, and all his ringing failed to arouse the
valet-de-chambre, who had gone to sleep out of the house with an
opera-dancer. At length the prince determined to rise himself, and to
rouse one of his people. He had not proceeded far when a strain of
delicious melody met his ear. Like one enchanted, he followed the sound,
and found Biondello in his room playing upon the flute, with his
fellow-servants assembled around him. The prince could hardly believe his
senses, and commanded him to proceed. With a surprising degree of
facility he began to vary a touching adagio air with some fine extempore
variations, which he executed with all the taste of a virtuoso. The
prince, who, as you know, is a judge of music, says that he might play
with confidence in the finest choir in Italy.

"I must dismiss this man," said he to me next morning, "for I am unable
to reward him according to his merits. " Biondello, who had overheard
these words, came forward, "If you dismiss me, gracious prince," said
he, "you deprive me of my best reward. "

"You are born to something better than to serve," answered my master.
"I must not stand in the way of your fortune. "

"Do not press upon me any better fortune, gracious sir, than that which
I have chosen for myself. "

"To neglect talent like yours--No! I can never permit it. "

"Then permit me, gracious sir, sometimes to exercise it in your
presence. "

Preparations were immediately made for carrying this proposition into
effect. Biondello had a room assigned to him next the apartment of the
prince, so that he can lull him to sleep with his strains, and wake him
in the same manner. The prince wished to double his salary, but
Biondello declined, requesting that this intended boon should be
retained in his master's hands as a capital of which he might some day
wish to avail himself. The prince expects that he will soon come to ask
a favor at his hands; and whatever it may be it is granted beforehand.
Farewell, dearest friend. I am waiting with impatience for tidings from
K-----n.




LETTER III.

BARON VON F------ TO COUNT VON O-------
June 4.

The Marquis of Civitella, who is now entirely recovered from his wounds,
was last week introduced to the prince by his uncle, the cardinal, and
since then he has followed him like his shadow. Biondello cannot have
told me the truth respecting this marquis, or at any rate his account
must be greatly exaggerated. His mien is highly engaging, and his
manners irresistibly winning.

It is impossible to be out of humor with him; the first sight of him
has disarmed me. Imagine a man of the most enchanting figure, with
corresponding grace and dignity, a countenance full of thought and
genius, an expression frank and inviting; a persuasive tone of voice,
the most flowing eloquence, and a glow of youthful beauty, joined to all
the advantages of a most liberal education. He has none of that
contemptuous pride, none of that solemn starchness, which we disliked so
much in all the other nobles. His whole being is redolent of youthful
joyousness, benevolence, and warmth of feeling. His excesses must have
been much exaggerated; I never saw a more perfect picture of health. If
he is really so wholly abandoned as Biondello represents him he is a
syren whom none can resist.

Towards me he behaved with much frankness. He confessed with the most
pleasing sincerity that he was by no means on the best of terms with his
uncle, the cardinal, and that it was his own fault. But he was
seriously resolved to amend his life, and the merit would be entirely
the prince's. At the same time he hoped through his instrumentality to
be reconciled to his uncle, as the prince's influence with the cardinal
was unbounded. The only thing he had wanted till now was a friend and a
guide, and he trusted he should find both in the person of the prince.

The prince has now assumed the authority of a preceptor towards him, and
treats him with all the watchfulness fulness and strictness of a Mentor.
But this intimacy also gives the marquis a certain degree of influence,
of which he well knows how to avail himself. He hardly stirs from his
side; he is present at all parties where the prince is one of the
guests; for the Bucentauro alone he is fortunately as yet too young.
Wherever be appears in public with the prince he manages to draw him
away from the rest of the company by the pleasing manner in which he
engages him in conversation and arrests his attention. Nobody, they
say, has yet been able to reclaim him, and the prince will deserve to
be immortalized in an epic should he accomplish such an Herculean task.
I am much afraid, however, that the tables may be turned, and the guide
be led away by the pupil, of which, in fact, there seems to be every
prospect.

The Prince of ---d------ has taken his departure, much to the
satisfaction of us all, my master not excepted. What I predicted, my
dear O-----, has come to pass. Two characters so widely opposed must
inevitably clash together, and cannot maintain a good understanding for
any length of time. The Prince of ---d------ had not been long in
Venice before a terrible schism took place in the intellectual world,
which threatened to deprive our prince of one-half of his admirers.
Wherever he went he was crossed by this rival, who possessed exactly
the requisite amount of small cunning to avail himself of every little
advantage he gained. As he besides never scrupled to make use of any
petty manoeuvres to increase his consequence, he in a short time drew
all the weak-minded of the community on his side, and shone at the head
of a company of parasites worthy of such a leader.

[The harsh judgment which Baron F----- (both here and in some
passages of his first letter) pronounces upon this talented prince
will be found exaggerated by every one who has the good fortune to
be acquainted with him, and must be attributed to the prejudiced
views of the young observer. --Note of the Count von O------. ]

The wiser course would certainly have been not to enter into competition
at all with an adversary of this description, and a few months back this
is the part which the prince would have taken. But now he has launched
too far into the stream easily to regain the shore. These trifles have,
perhaps by the circumstances in which he is placed, acquired a certain
degree of importance in his eyes, and had he even despised them his
pride would not have allowed him to retire at a moment when his yielding
would have been looked upon less as a voluntary act than as a confession
of inferiority. Added to this, an unlucky revival of forgotten
satirical speeches had taken place, and the spirit of rivalry which took
possession of his followers had affected the prince himself. In order,
therefore, to maintain that position in society which public opinion had
now assigned him, he deemed it advisable to seize every possible
opportunity of display, and of increasing the number of his admirers;
but this could only be effected by the most princely expenditure;
he was therefore eternally giving feasts, entertainments, and expensive
concerts, making costly presents, and playing high. As this strange
madness, moreover, had also infected the prince's retinue, who are
generally much more punctilious in respect to what they deem "the honor
of the family" than their masters, the prince was obliged to assist the
zeal of his followers by his liberality. Here, then, is a whole
catalogue of ills, all irremediable consequences of a sufficiently
excusable weakness to which the prince in an unguarded moment gave way.

We have, it is true, got rid of our rival, but the harm he has done will
not so soon be remedied. The finances of the prince are exhausted; all
that he had saved by the wise economy of years is spent; and he must
hasten from Venice if he would escape plunging into debt, which till now
he has most scrupulously avoided. It is decisively settled that we
leave as soon as fresh remittances arrive.

I should not have minded all this splendor if the prince had but reaped
the least real satisfaction from it. But he was never less happy than
at present. He feels that he is not what he formerly was; he seeks to
regain his self-respect; he is dissatisfied with himself, and launches
into fresh dissipation in order to drown the recollection of the last.
One new acquaintance follows another, and each involves him more deeply.
I know not where this will end. We must away--there is no other chance
of safety--we must away from Venice.

But, my dear friend, I have not yet received a single line from you.
How am I to interpret this long and obstinate silence?




LETTER IV.

BARON VON F------ TO COUNT VON O------.
June 12.

I thank you, my dear friend, for the token of your remembrance which
young B---hl brought me. But what is it you say about letters I ought
to have received? I have received no letter from you; not a single one.
What a circuitous route must they have taken.
In future, dear O------,
when you honor me with an epistle despatch it via Trent, under cover to
the prince, my master.

We have at length been compelled, my dear friend, to resort to a measure
which till now we had so happily avoided. Our remittances have failed
to arrive--failed, for the first time, in this pressing emergency, and
we have been obliged to have recourse to a usurer, as the prince is
willing to pay handsomely to keep the affair secret. The worst of this
disagreeable occurrence is, that it retards our departure. On this
affair the prince and I have had an explanation. The whole transaction
had been arranged by Biondello, and the son of Israel was there before I
had any suspicion of the fact. It grieved me to the heart to see the
prince reduced to such an extremity, and revived all my recollections of
the past, and fears for the future; and I suppose I may have looked
rather sorrowful and gloomy when the usurer left the room. The prince,
whom the foregoing scene had left in not the happiest frame of mind, was
pacing angrily up and down the room; the rouleaus of gold were still
lying on the table; I stood at the window, counting the panes of glass
in the procurator's house opposite. There was a long pause. At length
the prince broke silence. "F------! " he began, "I cannot bear to see
dismal faces about me. "

I remained silent.

"Why do you not answer me? Do I not perceive that your heart is almost
bursting to vent some of its vexation? I insist on your speaking,
otherwise you will begin to fancy that you are keeping some terribly
momentous secret. "

"If I am gloomy, gracious sir," replied I, "it is only because I do not
see you cheerful. "

"I know," continued he, "that you have been dissatisfied with me for
some time past--that you disapprove of every step I take--that--what
does Count O------ say in his letters? "

"Count O------ has not written to me. "

"Not written? Why do you deny it? You keep up a confidential
correspondence together, you and the count; I am quite aware of that.
Come, you may confess it, for I have no wish to pry into your secrets. "

"Count O------," replied I, "has not yet answered any of the three
letters which I have written to him. "

"I have done wrong," continued he; "don't you think so? " (taking up one
of the rouleaus) "I should not have done this? "

"I see that it was necessary. "

"I ought not to have reduced myself to such a necessity? "

I did not answer.

"Oh, of course! I ought never to have indulged my wishes, but have
grown gray in the same dull manner in which I was brought up! Because I
once venture a step beyond the drear monotony of my past life, and look
around me to see whether there be not some new source of enjoyment in
store for me--because I--"

"If it was but a trial, gracious sir, I have no more to say; for the
experience you have gained would not be dearly bought at three times the
price it has cost. It grieves me, I confess, to think that the opinion
of the world should be concerned in determining the question--how are
you to choose your own happiness. "

"It is well for you that you can afford to despise the world's opinion,"
replied he, "I am its creature, I must be its slave. What are we
princes but opinion? With us it is everything. Public opinion is our
nurse and preceptor in infancy, our oracle and idol in riper years, our
staff in old age. Take from us what we derive from the opinion of the
world, and the poorest of the humblest class is in a better position
than we, for his fate has taught him a lesson of philosophy which
enables him to bear it. But a prince who laughs at the world's opinion
destroys himself, like the priest who denies the existence of a God. "

"And yet, gracious prince--"

"I see what you would say; I can break through the circle which my birth
has drawn around me. But can I also eradicate from my memory all the
false impressions which education and early habit have implanted, and
which a hundred thousand fools have been continually laboring to impress
more and more firmly? Everybody naturally wishes to be what he is in
perfection; in short, the whole aim of a prince's existence is to appear
happy. If we cannot be happy after your fashion, is that any reason why
we should discard all other means of happiness, and not be happy at all?
If we cannot drink of joy pure from the fountain-head, can there be any
reason why we should not beguile ourselves with artificial pleasure--
nay, even be content to accept a sorry substitute from the very hand
that robs us of the higher boon? "

"You were wont to look for this compensation in your own heart. "

"But if I no longer find it there? Oh, how came we to fall on this
subject? Why did you revive these recollections in me? I had recourse
to this tumult of the senses in order to stifle an inward voice which
embitters my whole life; in order to lull to rest this inquisitive
reason, which, like a sharp sickle, moves to and fro in my brain, at
each new research lopping off another branch of my happiness. "

"My dearest prince"--He had risen, and was pacing up and down the room
in unusual agitation.

[I have endeavored, dearest O------, to relate to you this
remarkable conversation exactly as it occurred; but this I found
impossible, although I sat down to write it the evening of the day
it took place. In order to assist my memory I was obliged to
transpose the observation of the prince, and thus this compound of
a conversation and a philosophical lecture, which is in some
respects better and in others worse than the source from which I
took it, arose; but I assure you that I have rather omitted some of
the prince's words than ascribed to him any of my own; all that is
mine is the arrangement, and a few observations, whose ownership
you will easily recognize by their stupidity. --Note of the Baron
von F------]

"When everything gives way before me and behind me; when the past lies
in the distance in dreary monotony, like a city of the dead; when the
future offers me naught; when I see my whole being enclosed within the
narrow circle of the present, who can blame me if I clasp this niggardly
present of time in my arms with fiery eagerness, as though it were a
friend whom I was embracing for the last time? Oh, I have learnt to
value the present moment. The present moment is our mother; let us love
it as such. "

"Gracious sir, you were wont to believe in a more lasting good. "

"Do but make the enchantment last and fervently will I embrace it. But
what pleasure can it give to me to render beings happy who to-morrow
will have passed away like myself? Is not everything passing away
around me? Each one bustles and pushes his neighbor aside hastily to
catch a few drops from the fountain of life, and then departs thirsting.
At this very moment, while I am rejoicing in lily strength, some being
is waiting to start into life at my dissolution. Show me one being who
will endure, and I will become a virtuous man. "

"But what, then, has become of those benevolent sentiments which used to
be the joy and the rule of your life? To sow seeds for the future, to
assist in carrying out the designs of a high and eternal Providence"--

"Future! Eternal Providence! If you take away from man all that he
derives from his own heart, all that he associates with the idea of a
godhead, and all that belongs to the law of nature, what, then, do you
leave him?

"What has already happened to me, and what may still follow, I look upon
as two black, impenetrable curtains hanging over the two extremities of
human life, and which no mortal has ever yet drawn aside. Many hundred
generations have stood before the second of these curtains, casting the
light of their torches upon its folds, speculating and guessing as to
what it may conceal. Many have beheld themselves, in the magnified
image of their passions, reflected upon the curtain which hides futurity
from their gaze, and have turned away shuddering from their own shadows.
Poets, philosophers, and statesmen have painted their fancies on the
curtain in brighter or more sombre colors, according as their own
prospects were bright or gloomy. Many a juggler has also taken
advantage of the universal curiosity, and by well-managed deceptions
led astray the excited imagination. A deep silence reigns behind this
curtain; no one who passes beyond it answers any questions; all the
reply is an empty echo, like the sound yielded by a vault.

"Sooner or later all must go behind this curtain, and they approach it
with fear and trembling, in doubt who may be waiting there behind to
receive them; _quid sit id, quod tanturn morituri vident_. There have
been infidels who asserted that this curtain only deluded mankind, and
that we saw nothing behind it, because there was nothing there to see;
but, to convince them, they were quickly sent behind it themselves. "

"It was indeed a rash conclusion," said I, "if they had no better ground
for it than that they saw nothing themselves. "

"You see, my dear friend, I am modest enough not to wish to look behind
this curtain, and the wisest course will doubtless be to abstain from
all curiosity. But while I draw this impassable circle around me, and
confine myself within the bounds of present existence, this small point
of time, which I was in danger of neglecting in useless researches,
becomes the more important to me. What you call the chief end and aim
of my existence concerns me no longer. I cannot escape my destiny; I
cannot promote its consummation; but I know, and firmly believe, that I
am here to accomplish some end, and that I do accomplish it. But the
means which nature has chosen to fulfil my destiny are so much the more
sacred to me; to me it is everything; my morality, my happiness. All
the rest I shall never learn. I am like a messenger who carries a
sealed letter to its place of destination. What the letter contains is
indifferent to him; his business is only to earn his fee for carrying
it. "

"Alas! " said I, "how poor a thing you would leave me! "

"But in what a labyrinth have we lost ourselves! " exclaimed the prince,
looking with a smile at the table on which the rouleaus lay. "After all
perhaps not far from the mark," continued he; "you will now no doubt
understand my reasons for this new mode of life. I could not so
suddenly tear myself away from my fancied wealth, could not so readily
separate the props of my morality and happiness from the pleasing dream
with which everything within me was so closely bound up. I longed for
the frivolity which seems to render the existence of most of those about
me endurable to themselves. Everything which precluded reflection was
welcome to me. Shall I confess it to you? I wished to lower myself, in
order to destroy this source of my griefs, by deadening the power of
reflection. "

Here we were interrupted by a visit. In my next I shall have to
communicate to you a piece of news, which, from the tenor of a
conversation like the one of to-day, you would scarcely have
anticipated.




LETTER V.

BARON VON F------ TO COUNT VON O------.

As the time of our departure from Venice is now approaching with rapid
steps, this week was to be devoted to seeing everything worthy of notice
in pictures and public edifices; a task which, when one intends making a
long stay in a place, is always delayed till the last moment.

The "Marriage at Cana," by Paul Veronese, which is to be seen in a
Benedictine convent in the Island of St. George, was in particular
mentioned to us in high terms. Do not expect me to give you a
description of this extraordinary work of art, which, on the whole,
made a very surprising, but not equally pleasing, impression on me.
We should have required as many hours as we had minutes to study a
composition of one hundred and twenty figures, upon a ground thirty feet
broad. What human eye is capable of grasping so complicated a whole, or
at once to enjoy all the beauty which the artist has everywhere
lavished, upon it! It is, however, to be lamented, that a work of so
much merit, which if exhibited in some public place, would command the
admiration of every one, should be destined merely to ornament the
refectory of a few monks. The church of the monastery is no less worthy
of admiration, being one of the finest in the whole city. Towards
evening we went in a gondola to the Guidecca, in order to spend the
pleasant hours of evening in its charming garden. Our party, which was
not very numerous, soon dispersed in various directions; and Civitella,
who had been waiting all day for an opportunity of speaking to me
privately, took me aside into an arbor.

"You are a friend to the prince," he began, "from whom he is accustomed
to keep no secrets, as I know from very good authority. As I entered
his hotel to-day I met a man coming out whose occupation is well known
to me, and when I entered the room the prince's brow was clouded. "
I wished to interrupt him,--"You cannot deny it," continued he; "I knew
the man, I looked at him well. And is it possible that the prince
should have a friend in Venice--a friend who owes his life to him, and
yet be reduced on an emergency to make use of such creatures? "

"Tell me frankly, Baron! Is the prince in difficulties? It is in vain
you strive to conceal it from me. What! you refuse to tell me! I can
easily learn from one who would sell any secret for gold. "

"My good Marquis! "

"Pardon me! I must appear intrusive in order not to be ungrateful.
To the prince I am indebted for life, and what is still more, for a
reasonable use of it. Shall I stand idly by and see him take steps
which, besides being inconvenient to him, are beneath his dignity?
Shall I feel it in my power to assist him, and hesitate for a moment to
step forward? "

"The prince," replied I, "is not in difficulties. Some remittances
which we expected via Trent have not yet arrived, most likely either by
accident, or because not feeling certain whether he had not already left
Venice, they waited for a communication from him. This has now been
done, and until their arrival"

Civitella shook his head. "Do not mistake my motive," said he; "in this
there can be no question as to diminishing the extent of my obligations
towards the prince, which all my uncle's wealth would be insufficient to
cancel. My object is simply to spare him a few unpleasant moments. My
uncle possesses a large fortune which I can command as freely as though
it were my own. A fortunate circumstance occurs, which enables me to
avail myself of the only means by which I can possibly be of the
slightest use to your master. I know," continued he, "how much delicacy
the prince possesses, but the feeling is mutual, and it would be noble
on his part to afford me this slight gratification, were it only to make
me appear to feel less heavily the load of obligation under which I
labor. "

He continued to urge his request, until I had pledged my word to assist
him to the utmost of my ability. I knew the prince's character, and had
but small hopes of success. The marquis promised to agree to any
conditions the prince might impose, but added, that it would deeply
wound him to be regarded in the light of a stranger.

In the heat of our conversation we had strayed far away from the rest of
the company, and were returning, when Z-------- came to meet us.

"I am in search of the prince," he cried; "is he not with you? "

"We were just going to him," was our reply. "We thought to find him
with the rest of the party. "

"The company is all together, but he is nowhere to be found. I cannot
imagine how we lost sight of him. "

It now occurred to Civitella that he might have gone to look at the
adjoining church, which had a short time before attracted his attention.
We immediately went to look for him there. As we approached, we found
Biondello waiting in the porch. On coming nearer, we saw the prince
emerge hastily from a side door; his countenance was flushed, and he
looked anxiously round for Biondello, whom he called. He seemed to be
giving him very particular instructions for the execution of some
commission, while his eyes continued constantly fixed on the church
door, which had remained open. Biondello hastened into the church. The
prince, without perceiving us, passed through the crowd, and went back
to his party, which he reached before us.

We resolved to sup in an open pavilion of the garden, where the marquis
had, without our knowledge, arranged a little concert, which was quite
first-rate. There was a young singer in particular, whose delicious
voice and charming figure excited general admiration. Nothing, however,
seemed to make an impression on the prince; he spoke little, and gave
confused answers to our questions; his eyes were anxiously fixed in the
direction whence he expected Biondello; and he seemed much agitated.
Civitella asked him what he thought of the church; he was unable to give
any description of it. Some beautiful pictures, which rendered the
church remarkable, were spoken of; the prince had not noticed them. We
perceived that our questions annoyed him, and therefore discontinued
them. Hour after hour rolled on and still Biondello returned not. The
prince could no longer conceal his impatience; he rose from the table,
and paced alone, with rapid strides, up and down a retired walk. Nobody
could imagine what had happened to him. I did not venture to ask him
the reason of so remarkable a change in his demeanor; I have for some
time past resigned my former place in his confidence. It was,
therefore, with the utmost impatience that I awaited the return of
Biondello to explain this riddle to me.

It was past ten o'clock when he made his appearance. The tidings he
brought did not make the prince more communicative. He returned in an
ill-humor to the company, the gondola was ordered, and we returned.
home.

During the remainder of that evening I could find no opportunity of
speaking to Biondello, and was, therefore, obliged to retire to my
pillow with my curiosity unsatisfied. The prince had dismissed us
early, but a thousand reflections flitted across my brain, and kept me
awake. For a long time I could hear him pacing up and down his room; at
length sleep overcame me. Late at midnight I was awakened by a voice,
and I felt a hand passed across my face; I opened my eyes, and saw the
prince standing at my bedside, with a lamp in his hand. He told me he
was unable to sleep, and begged me to keep him company through the
night. I was going to dress myself, but he told me to stay where I was,
and seated himself at my bedside.

"Something has happened to me to-day," he began, "the impression of
which will never be effaced from my soul. I left you, as you know, to
see the church, respecting which Civitella had raised my curiosity, and
which had already attracted my attention. As neither you nor he were at
hand, I walked the short distance alone, and ordered Biondello to wait
for me at the door. The church was quite empty; a dim and solemn light
surrounded me as I entered from the blazing sultry day without. I stood
alone in the spacious building, throughout which there reigned the
stillness of the grave. I placed myself in the centre of the church,
and gave myself up to the feelings which the sight was calculated to
produce; by degrees the grand proportions of this majestic building
expanded to my gaze, and I stood wrapt in deep and pleasing
contemplation. Above me the evening bell was tolling; its tones died
softly away in the aisles, and found an echo in my heart. Some
altar-pieces at a distance attracted my attention. I approached to look
at them; unconsciously I had wandered through one side of the church, and
was now standing at the opposite end. Here a few steps, raised round a
pillar, led into a little chapel, containing several small altars, with
statues of saints in the niches above them. On entering the chapel on the
right I heard a whispering, as though some one near was speaking in a low
voice. I turned towards the spot whence the sound proceeded, and saw
before me a female form. No! I cannot describe to you the beauty of this
form. My first feeling was one of awe, which, however, soon gave place to
ravishing surprise. "

"But this figure, your highness? Are you certain that it was something
living, something real, and not perhaps a picture, or an illusion of
your fancy? "

"Hear me further. It was a lady. Surely, till that moment, I have
never seen her sex in its full perfection! All around was sombre; the
setting sun shone through a single window into the chapel, and its rays
rested upon her figure. With inexpressible grace, half kneeling, half
lying, she was stretched before an altar; one of the most striking, most
lovely, and picturesque objects in all nature. Her dress was of black
moreen, fitting tightly to her slender waist and beautifully-formed
arms, the skirts spreading around her like a Spanish robe; her long
light-colored hair was divided into two broad plaits, which, apparently
from their own weight, had escaped from under her veil, and flowed in
charming disorder down her back. One of her hands grasped the crucifix,
and her head rested gracefully upon the other. But, where shall I find
words to describe to you the angelic beauty of her countenance, in which
the charms of a seraph seemed displayed. The setting sun shone full
upon her face, and its golden beams seemed to surround it as with a
glory. Can you recall to your mind the Madonna of our Florentine
painter? She was here personified, even to those few deviations from
the studied costume which so powerfully, so irresistibly attracted me in
the picture. "

With regard to the Madonna, of whom the prince spoke, the case is this:
Shortly after your departure he made the acquaintance of a Florentine
painter, who had been summoned to Venice to paint an altar-piece for
some church, the name of which I do not recollect. He had brought with
him three paintings, which had been intended for the gallery in the
Cornari palace. They consisted of a Madonna, a Heloise, and a Venus,
very lightly apparelled. All three were of great beauty; and, although
the subjects were quite different, they were so intrinsically equal that
it seemed almost impossible to determine which to prefer. The prince
alone did not hesitate for a moment.