"God help you, Melitta!" he said, and the voice of the proud, stern man sounded soft and mild like a father's voice.
When Melitta heard the door close behind him, she started up from her chair and stepped forward hurriedly. But halfway she paused.
"No, no!" she murmured; "it is better so; I must not leave him a ray of hope."
She went slowly back to her chair. She sat down again and covered her face once more with her hands. And now the long pent-up tears broke in streams from her eyes. "I know it will come so," she murmured, "but why must he cruelly break the short dream of my happiness?"
CHAPTER IV.
The postman who carried Helen's letter in the evening to town, had been there once before in the morning of the same day. He had brought Oswald a letter from one of his friends in Grunwald, who was at the same time one of the few with whom Professor Berger was intimate. This gentleman, a teacher at the University, wrote Oswald that he thought he was bound to inform him promptly of an event which had created, the day before, the greatest consternation in the city. Professor Berger had suddenly become insane; at least no one had had the slightest suspicion of his affection. He had come, as usual, at four o'clock to deliver his lecture on Logic, and had commenced his discourse as ably and ingeniously as ever. Then his words had gradually become more and more confused, so that one student after the other had laid down his pen, staring at his neighbor in wonder and terror. "Do you know, gentlemen," he had said, "what the youth of Saïs beheld when he raised the veil that hid the great secret?--the great secret which was to be the key to all the confused riddles of life? You see, gentlemen, I take my head, I open it thus, one-half in this hand, the other in that hand, what do you see in this head of the great Professor Berger, at whose feet you sit listening to his wise words, and taking them down with hideously grating pens in your tiresome note-books? What do you see? Exactly what the youth of Saïs saw, when he raised the veil of truth: Nothing! Absolutely nothing, nothing in itself, nothing for itself! And this lesson, that all our best endeavors amount to nothing, that we spend our life's blood for nothing, that, gentlemen, deprived the youth of Saïs of his senses, that has made me mad, and will one of these days send you to an asylum, if you have any brains in your empty heads. And now, gentlemen, shut up your stupid note-books, so that the scribbling may come to an end, and join me in the noble and significative song: There is a fly on the wall, a fly, a fly!" Berger had then commenced to sing in a loud voice, beating his desk with his hands; had run along the walls of the lecture-room, trying to catch imaginary flies, and had each time opened the hand cautiously, looked in, and cried out triumphantly: "Nothing, gentlemen, you see nothing, and ever nothing!"
Oswald's correspondent closed with the news that Professor Berger had immediately been sent to the celebrated Insane Asylum of Doctor Birkenhain, in N., and that he had allowed his friends to dispose of him as they thought best, after they had persuaded him that he was going to see there the Original Nothing.
Oswald was deeply moved by the contents of that letter. He had loved and honored Berger as a friend; he had won his good-will in an unusual degree, and been allowed to see more than anybody else, perhaps, of the inner life of the eccentric man. How often had he listened to his marvellous eloquence, when he, suddenly leaving the world of logic, had entered upon a world of which all we know has been revealed to us by intuition; a world so fantastic, so fabulous, but also so divinely beautiful and pure, that Oswald forgot everything else, and fancied he was walking bodily about in this Fata Morgana, till the magician let the gorgeous image sink and vanish by a word of bitter contempt and wild despair! And now this noble mind, with all its wealth, was destroyed! This lofty intellect buried in the hideous night of insanity!
Oswald felt as if the world was out of joint--so fearful, so inconceivable appeared to him this calamity. Must not all fall to ruin if such a magnificent pillar could stand no longer? Then friendship and love also were probably nothing but fables--then it was, perhaps, also more than a mere accident which betrayed to him this morning Oldenburg's present whereabouts?--For when Oswald had glanced at the letters which the postman had taken out of his mail-bag, to select his own, he had noticed one, which was evidently directed in Oldenburg's peculiar and unmistakable handwriting. The letter was for his steward at Cona. Why should the baron not write to his steward? But Oswald also noticed the stamp, which showed where the letter came from; and that was the same town to which Berger had just been sent--the same place where Baron Berkow had been living for seven years--the same place where Melitta had now been a fortnight, two days longer than Oldenburg's mysterious journey! Melitta, in her long letter which Oswald had received through Baumann, had not said a word about the baron; Bemperlein, however, must have written Baumann all about it, and hence the old man had been so embarrassed when he mentioned the persons who had been present at Melitta's visit to her husband. Why this mysterious manner in a man who looked like frankness and candor itself? Had he received orders to the purpose, or did he know his mistress so perfectly, that he preferred not to tell the whole truth in a case like this?
These were the evil thoughts which filled Oswald's heart, as he was standing bareheaded in the hot afternoon sun, staring at the water in the fountain with the Naiad, while Miss Helen, at her writing-table, was wondering whether she was perhaps herself the cause of this troubled state of mind. But before she could come to any satisfactory conclusion about it, there came a knock at the door. The young lady immediately locked her portfolio, and seemed to be deep in Lamartine's Voyage en Orient, when upon her invitation the door opened and the baroness entered.