Here the diary passes to other matters. An old portrait, for which Schoppe had sat to himself, he had retouched. A notice to be inserted in the "Pestitz Weekly Advertiser" announced the purpose of the picture:—
"The undersigned, a portrait-painter of the Flemish school, makes known that he has taken up his residence in Pestitz, and that he is ready to paint all of every station and sex that may sit to him. As a sample of his execution may be seen at his studio a portrait of himself, which represents him sneezing, and which may be compared with the original on the spot. I also cut profiles.
"Peter Schoppe,
"No. 1778."
Probably that was to move the hell-goddess to sit for once to the sneezing painter. Albano could not but be astonished in the midst of deep pain. In the beginning, he had imagined, according to the simplicity of his nature, that he himself was meant by Hanus.
At this moment, Schoppe appeared. Albano spoke first, and said, softly, "I, too, have read thy diary." The Librarian started back with an exclamatory curse, and looked glowingly out of the window. "What is the matter, Schoppe?" asked his friend. He whirled round, stared at him, and said, twisting the skin of his face apart, like one who is cleaning his teeth, and drawing up his upper lip, like a boy who bites into his bread and butter, "I am in love," and ran up and down the chamber in a flame, bewailing, at the same time, that he must live to experience such a thing in himself in these his oldest days. "Read my diary no more," he continued. "Ask not about the name, brother; no devil, no angel, not the hell-goddess, shall know it. One day, perhaps, when I and she lie in Abraham's bosom, and I on hers—thou art so troubled, brother!"
"Fly gayly in the sun-atmosphere of love!" said his friend, in that sadness of conscience which makes man simple, calm, and lowly; "I will never ask nor disturb thee! Read that!" He gave him the note of the Princess, and said to him also, while he read, "Cursed be every joy where she has none! I stay here till it is decided whether she lives or not." "I stay here too," rejoined Schoppe, with an involuntarily comic expression. "Be serious!" said Albano. "Once I could," said he, tearfully; "since day before yesterday no more!"
Meanwhile, Albano approved Schoppe's separation from the travelling company; both secured to each other, even in friendship, the most precious freedom. Of tutors' attendance neither made account. Schoppe often ridiculed tutors of much information and manners, when they assumed he educated anything out of Albano or into him. He said: "The age educated, not a ninny; millions of men, not one; properly, at most, a pedagogical group of Pleiades sent their light after him,—namely, the seven ages of man, every age into the next following. The individual resembled very much the entire humanity, whose revolutions and improvements were nothing more than retouchings of a Schickaneder's magic flute by a Vulpius. Meanwhile, however, there hovered around the silly, discordant piece a melody of Mozart, in respect to which one outstrips father and language-master."
"Wherefore do we sinners creep and buzz about here? Let us to Ratto's!" said Schoppe. With extreme reluctance, Albano agreed to it; he said the cellar had in it for him something uncomfortable, and a sultry foreboding oppressed his bosom. Schoppe referred the presentiment to the pressure of the rafters of his ruined pleasure-castle, which still lay upon his breast, and the remembrance of that Roquairol, now flying in the abyss, who had once drunk his health in the cellar, and afterwards confessed to him in Lilar. Albano followed at last, but reminded him of the fulfilment of another presentiment, which he had had on the hill above Arcadia.
"We neither of us play the best personages in love; meanwhile let us go into the cellar," said Schoppe, on the way, and, with a quite unwonted hardness, stretched his favorite upon the rack of his drollery. Once, when he was not himself in love, he was so capable of a tender, indulgent, serious silence on that subject; but now no more.