"Damon, my shepherd," replied Ilse, "you are blinded. It is not the first time you have said this, but I like to hear it; you may still tell it often to me. But Felix," she continued, as she unloosened her hair, "there is something inspiring about such a society even where people do nothing but talk. One does not carry away much of it, but still there is a pleasure in being among them; they are all so courteous and endeavor to appear to the best advantage, and each tries to please the other."
"They do not all succeed in giving a fair idea of what they are on such occasions, least of all we book-worms," replied Felix. "But there is no doubt these gatherings give a certain similarity of language and manner, and, finally, also of ideas to persons who live in the same circle. This is very necessary, for even those who live together often differ as much in their thoughts and feelings as if they had been born in different centuries. How did you like the Chamberlain?"
Ilse shook her head. "He is the most courteous and lively of all, and knows how to say something civil to every one; but one cannot trust him, for, as with an eel, one has no hold on him, and can never for a moment look into his heart. I prefer our Prince with his stiff manner. He talked to me about his sister to-day; she must be very clever and charming. To which of your centuries does he belong?"
"To the middle of the last," replied, her husband, laughing; "he is a full century earlier than we are, of the period when men were divided into two classes--those who were fit to be received at Court, and serfs. But if you examine those about us, you will discover even greater disparities. There is our Gabriel, who in his prejudices and his poetry belongs to an age three centuries earlier than the present. His ways of thinking remind one of the time in which the great Reformers first educated our people to think. On the other hand, the hostile neighbors are, in many points of view, the representatives of two opposing tendencies which ran parallel to each other towards the end of the last century--in our house, obstinate rationalism; in the old people over there, a weak sentimentality."
"And what time do I belong to?" asked Ilse, placing herself before her husband.
"You are my dear wife," he exclaimed, trying to draw her towards him.
"I will tell you," continued Ilse, eluding him: "in your opinion, I belong to a former age, and once that made me more unhappy than I can express. But I no longer care about it. For when I can compel you to kiss my hand as often as I desire it"--the Professor was very willing--"when I see that it requires no persuasion to induce you to kiss me on the lips--it is not necessary that you should try it now,--I believe you. Further, when I observe that the learned gentleman is not disinclined to hand my slippers to me, and perhaps even my dressing gown--I do not wish to give you trouble now, but unhook my ear-rings and open the jewel-box,--and when I, besides, observe that you are anxious to please me, that at my wish you took the wife of the Consistorial Councillor to dinner, whom you could not bear, and that you have bought me this beautiful dress, although you understand nothing about buying; when I, further, see that Magnificus is quite under my sway, that I have the keys of the pantry, and even manage the accounts; and, lastly, when I bear in mind that you, good bookworm, think me, your wife Ilse, worthy of a little discussion together with your Greeks and Romans, and that it is a pleasure to you when I understand a little of your learned writings--I come to the conclusion that you belong entirely to me, you and your century, and that it is quite indifferent to me in what period of the world's history my spirit originated. Then when I, the relic of a distant century, pinch your ear, as I do now, the great master of the present and future, and his philosophizing on the different natures of men, become simply ludicrous. Now that I have held this discourse, can you sleep quietly?"
"That would be difficult," replied the Professor, "whilst the learned housewife is fluttering about the bed, holding discourses in her dressing-gown which are more lengthy than those of a Roman philosopher, and whilst she rattles the doors of the cupboards and wanders about the room."
"My tyrant requires his coffee early in the morning, so it must be given out now, and I cannot sleep if I have not all the keys near me."
"I see nothing will be of any use." said the Professor, "but a serious exorcism."