“If it is something good that you can tell me, you may earn a few more pence.”
I held out to her my hand at which she looked at very carefully, and then said, scornfully: “My good sir, you have a miserable hand which would puzzle even the best fortune-teller. Such a middling person, neither one thing nor the other, as you, I have never seen in all my life; you are neither wise nor stupid, neither bad nor good, neither fortunate nor unfortunate; without passions, mind, virtue, or vice; you are what I call a real A.B.C. scholar of Heaven’s blockheads, and you will not in all your life have the slight merit of ever perceiving your own insignificance. From your paltry hand and unmeaning countenance nothing at all can be prophesied; a dry fungus, without it is first prepared and macerated, cannot even receive a spark. Therefore, Jack Mean-nothing, your dull nature will never live to see any thing worth telling.”
My friend Francis did not laugh at the old woman’s opinion and description of my character, but being attached to me, his anger arose, and he reproved her in strong terms. She listened very calmly to what he said, and then replied: “Why are you so angry? If you will not give me something more for my trouble and wisdom, let me go quietly. No doubt men do not like to have their inner-most heart exposed to the daylight. Is it my fault that there is nothing better in your friend’s character? He is neither my son nor disciple.” Thus the prophetess meant to justify and atone for her insolence by repeating it anew. My friend was pacified, and gave her a ducat, saying: “Make merry with that,—where do you live?”
“Where do I live?” she replied; “my roof changes so often that I cannot tell or describe it to you; not unfrequently it is open, and my companion is the howling storm; where men have not built houses they usually call it nature. But I thank you, and must requite your kindness.” Quickly and forcibly taking the unwilling hand of my friend, she held it firmly between her bony fingers and considered it for some time; then letting the arm drop, with a sigh, she said in a tone of voice expressive of deep sorrow, “Son, son; you descend from wicked blood, are an evil scion of evil ancestors; but fortunately you are the last of your race, for your children would be more evil still. What begins in evil must end in evil. Ah! ah! your physiognomy; your expression; your whole countenance; I feel almost as if I saw a murderer before me. Yes! yes!—you have killed a young, beautiful, and noble maiden. On her dying bed she long struggled with grief and anguish. O ye wicked men, can you not be faithful and keep your oaths. It is not only daggers, swords, and guns, that cut and kill; looks and sweet words will also do it. Oh, those seductive words, and all that pretended affection! Now this splendid frame that first dazzled your foolish eye, breaks, and is consigned to corruption. Beauty! oh thou fatal gift of Heaven! and besides, murderer, you are handsome enough to kill others. The curses of your father follow you now whether you dwell in the forest or in your finely tapestried rooms. See you not, feel you not, how, coming from the very heart, they waft misfortune and misery towards you as the stormy wind scatters the dry leaves in the valleys between the mountains? Where is your peace, your happiness, your confidence? All scattered like the drifting sand in the barren plain; no fruit can there strike root.”
Suddenly the crazy woman shouted aloud and ran shrieking and yelling discordantly into the thickest part of the wood. When I looked round I was terrified on seeing my friend become pale as death. He shook so violently that he could not support himself, but sank on a hillock beside him. I sat down by him and endeavoured to comfort and quiet him.
“Is this madwoman,” he exclaimed; “inspired by truth? does she really see the past and the future, or are those only mad sounds which she utters in brutish thoughtlessness, and if it be so, have not such random words been perhaps the genuine oracles in all ages?”
He now gave way to tears and loud lamentations; he called loudly in the air, what hitherto he had so carefully and mysteriously locked up in his heart.
“Yes!” he exclaimed; “accursed be every talent, speech, grace, and all the gifts with which a malicious fate endowed us to ruin ourselves and others! Could I not have avoided her first kind look? Why did I suffer myself to be infatuated, to exchange glance for glance, and then word for word? Yes! she was lovely, noble, and graceful; but in my heart there arose together with better feelings, the vanity that even she, the most exalted, distinguished me. I approached her nearer, more boldly, more decidedly, and my pure exalted sentiments surprised and won her. She gave me her confidence. Her heart was so virtuous, so noble; all her youthful feelings were so tender and fervent; it was a paradise that opened to our view. Childishly enough, we thought that no higher happiness on earth could be offered us, the present heavenly moment sufficed. But now passion awoke in my heart. This she expected not, she was terrified and withdrew. This goaded my self-love, I felt unhappy, crushed, and ill. Her compassion was moved, and she no longer avoided me. By means of an attendant in our confidence, we were able to meet without witnesses. Our intercourse became more tender, our love more defined and ardent; but as these feelings were embodied in language, and expressed more definitely, the paradisiacal breath, the heavenly bloom was fled for ever. It was happiness, but changed in character; it was more earthly, more kindly, more confiding, but was not surrounded by that magic which had transported me formerly, so that I could frequently ask myself when alone, ‘are you really happy?’ Alas! my friend, as we saw each other so often, how many foolish and mad projects were then conceived!
“We talked, we conversed of the future of which those who ardently love never think in the early period of their ecstacies. Once an opportunity of an alliance likely to add to the lustre of her house presented itself. What fury and bitter rancour were aroused in me! For only appearing favourably disposed towards this illustrious alliance, she suffered much from my anger. My passion was ignoble, as she deeply felt, more from her love to me, than from the sufferings it caused her. Oh! she was never able to erase from her soul this picture of my madness. To alleviate my sufferings and completely to reconcile me, she stooped to my mean and rude nature. Our hearts harmonised again, but from the lowering clouds that now surrounded me, I looked back with yearnings to that heavenly serenity that first shone dazzlingly upon me so. In imagination we lived as though affianced, and dreamt of our union, of unexpected bliss, of varied pleasures and turns of fate never to be realised. But these were misty visions, and we considered the greatest improbabilities as near and natural. The habitual thoughts of our love gradually destroyed necessary precaution. The looks of spies were watchful, and were sharpened by our imprudence. Rumours were circulated, which perhaps never would have reached the prince himself, had not his own glance suspected and discovered our connection. He now learnt more from his questions than he desired to know, and far more than was in accordance with truth. One evening he sent for me to attend him alone in his closet, and displayed to me in this serious interview all the nobleness of his great mind. Without reproaching me, he ascribed to himself alone the immediate cause of my presumption, saying that he had treated me with too much confidence, nay, almost like a son; that he had deviated too much from his rank and the laws of etiquette; that he had foolishly rejoiced in the thought of his daughter being able by intercourse with me to improve her mind. As he became more serious, I assured the agitated father by my honour, and by all that is sacred,—which indeed was in accordance with the truth,—that our mutual passion had never led us astray, and that our better genius had never forsaken us. At this he became tranquil, and only replied by prohibiting as I had anticipated. I was not allowed to meet his daughter again privately. I was to endeavour by degrees to heal the wounds which our separation caused, to eradicate the affection, which I had so rashly kindled, by my good sense and demeanour, and thereby to make myself worthy to regain the confidence and love of the prince.
“Suddenly I felt as if the veil had fallen from my eyes,” continued Francis, “indeed, I may say, that by this interview, I was quite a changed being. Truth and reality had now, at length, with victorious power, asserted their ascendancy over me. Many periods of life may be compared to a vivid fantastic dream; we awake to sober consciousness, but still feel the reality of the vision.