They have even—that I may only relate an example out of my own history of the German statistic stupidity, although in the very doing of it I give one—infected Jean Paul. Is it not an old story that he has approximately assigned in degrees, by means of a Saussure's cyanometer,[[241]] the blueness of the fairest eyes into which an amoroso ever looked, and inspected the fairest drops that fell from them during the measurement, correctly enough, with a dew-measurer?—And has not his attempt to catch and prove female sighs by a Stegmann's measurer of the purity of the atmosphere found more than too many imitators among us?—
WEEK OF THE 22d POST-TRINITATIS, OR FROM NOV. 3d to 11th (EXCLUSIVE).
Almost the whole of this week he sat out at the Minister's. Many people, when they have been only four times in a house, come again daily, like the quotidian fever,—in the beginning, like the spring sun, every day earlier; afterward, like the autumn sun, every day later. He saw, indeed, that he could not contribute anything at this court-and-ministerial party, either a mystery, or property, or a heart, because it would resemble honest courts of justice, which—just as the monks call their property a deposit, and say nothing belongs to them—inversely promote every deposit into a piece of property, and say all belongs to them. But he made no account of that. "I come indeed only for fun," thought he, "and no harm can be done to me."—
The Minister, whom he met only over the table, had all the civility towards him which can be united with a face full of persiflage, and with a class of society in whose eyes all the world is divided into spies and thieves; but Sebastian perceived, nevertheless, that he looked upon him as a smatterer in medicine and the serious sciences,—as if they were not all serious,—and as an adept merely in wit and in the liberal arts. He was, however, too proud to turn to him any other than the empty new-moon-side, and concealed from him all that might convert him. Consequently, Victor must needs, in the eyes of the stupidest government-officer who had seen it, have deprived himself of all respect by the fact that, when the Minister started an interesting conversation with his brother, the Regency-President, about imposts, alliances, or the exchequer, he either did not attend, or ran off, or looked up the women.—Then, too, he loved in the Prince only the man; the Minister loved only the Prince. Victor could himself, when with January, deliver discourses on the advantages of republics, and the latter would often, in his enthusiasm, (if the supreme courts and his stomach had allowed it,) gladly have raised Flachsenfingen to a free state, and himself to the President of Congress therein. But the Minister hated all this with a mortal hatred, and fastened on all political free-thinkers—on a Rousseau, on all Girondists, all Feuillants, all Republicans, and all philosophers—the name of Jacobin, as the Turks call all foreigners, Britons, Germans, Frenchmen, etc., Franks. Meanwhile this was a reason why Victor now took a greater liking to Mat, who thought better on this subject, and why he fled from the father to the daughter.
This week he got into Joachime's good graces. She gave to the fine and fragrant duo of fools, as we do to virtue, only the second prize, and to my hero, as we do to inclination, the prize-medal. But as he respected, at most, merely a certain sentimentalism in friendship and in love, he could, he thought, have ridden through the moon with this waggish girl, without sighing for her (though he might, indeed, over her). But these jolly ones, my Bastian, have seen the old Harry; for whenever they change to anything else, one changes with them to the same thing. She told him she wanted to give pleasure, like a Lutheran holy picture, but she would not be adored, like a Catholic one. She prepossessed him most by the gift peculiar to her sex, of understanding tender allusions,—women are so easy at guessing the meaning of others, because they always oblige others to guess their meaning, and complete and conceal each half with equal success. But among her attractions I reckon also her constraint before the Princess, and before those who listened with their—eyes. For the rest, his heart, which Clotilda had rejected, was now in the situation of children who have made a bet that they will receive blows upon their hands without crying, and who still continue to smile when the tears already flow.
WEEK OF THE 23d POST-TRINITATIS, OR 46th OF THE YEAR 179-.
Now he is there even in the forenoon. It is worthy of notice, that on St. Martin's day he scraped her powdered forehead with the powder-knife, and that he applied to her for some court offices in connection with the toilet. "I can be your rouge-box bearer, as the Great Mogul has tobacco-pipe and betel-bearers, or else your cravatier ordinaire, or your sommier (i. e. prayer-cushion-bearer).—I would, if you did not kneel yourself on the cushion, myself do it before you.—I knew in Hanover a handsome Englishman who had his left knee stuffed and padded, because he did not know whom he should to-day have to adore, and how long."
It is something quite as important, that on St. Jonas's day he forced her to accept a pair of fine gloves, on which a very simple face was painted. "It was his own," he said; "she should have the face only by night, in bed, in, or on, her hand, that it might look as if he kissed her hand through the whole November night."
I go on with my pragmatic extracts from this siege-journal, and find recorded on Leopold's day that, as early as in the forenoon, Joachime said she would have her parrot, if she kept a master of languages for him, repeat nothing out of the whole dictionary except the word perfide! "Every lover," said she, "should keep a poll for himself, which should incessantly cry out to him, perfide!"—"The ladies," said my hero, "are alone to blame: they want to be loved too long; often whole weeks, whole months. The like of that is beyond our powers. Have not the Jesuits made even love to God periodical? Scotus limits it to Sunday, others to the festival days.—Coninch says, it is enough if one loves Him once every four years.—Henriquez adds a year more to it.—Suarez says, it is enough if it is only done before one's death.—To many ladies the intermediate times have hitherto fallen; but the hours of the day, the seasons of the year, the days of betrothal, of burial, form just as many different sects among the Jesuits of Love."—Joachime made a beginning of putting on an angry look. The court-physician loved nothing better with a fair one than a quarrel, and added: "C'est à force de se faire haïr qu'elles se font aimer—c'est aimer que de bouder—ah, que je vous prie de vous fâcher!"—His humor had carried him beyond the mark.—Joachime had reason enough to fulfil his prayer for her wrath.—He wanted to continue the quarrel in order to settle it, but as there are cases where the aggravation of an offence brings about forgiveness quite as little as the taking of it back step by step, he did wisely in coming away.
He wondered that he should think of her all day long. The feeling of having done her wrong brought her face with a suffering expression before his softened soul, and all her features were at once ennobled. Tacitus says, we hate another when we have offended him; but good men often love another merely on that account.