“Yes, your lordship.”
“Do you know the reason why the atmosphere is so pure, Franz?”
“I do not know, your lordship.”
“Well, I will tell you,” said the young gentleman, taking off his hat, and passing his right hand through his curly hair. “The air is invigorating and fresh because it is not breathed by the ladies and gentlemen of the court. I have often observed that, whenever the caravans from the city come out here, the air becomes damp and oppressive. Nature seems to shroud its loveliness in a mourning-veil. Every shrub and flower shrinks, as it were, within itself, in the vain attempt to shut out the idle babbling of courtiers and the noxious smell of musk which they use in such quantities. To-day, however, the country is radiant in beauty; peace dwells everywhere, the most profound stillness reigns, and the Spirit of God fills the heart, therefore, Franz, I shall not return yet; you can ride home alone.”
He sprang from his horse.
“Give me my portfolio and my plaid!”
The servant handed him both.
Throwing the plaid over his shoulders, the young count turned in the direction of the woods, whose tall beech-trees covered the sides of a small hillock. The road ended in a circle surrounded by young fir-trees. Benches with comfortable backs invited the traveller to rest; but the count continued his walk until he reached a certain spot, when he seated himself upon a large moss-covered stone. Through an opening in the forest he saw the farmer, whose whole deportment and walk again expressed care and reflection.
“He also is a thinker,” said the count to himself, “and the subject of his meditation is doubtless more profitable to mankind than are those of many who make pretensions to profound learning. As he stands there, he is the very personification of care! He is evidently devising some plan by which the waters of the little brook may be led into his parched meadows. Idle work, my dear fellow! If you should succeed in turning its fertilizing streams into your land, and if you should enrich the soil with the sweat of your brow, the terrible military ordinance will devour the fruits of your labor. If you have sons who are healthy and strong, they cannot be of assistance to you, for the army will claim their service. The minister of war is insatiable in his demands, and it is necessary that he should be so, for we are living in strange times.”
He continued to gaze musingly upon the scene before him. Gradually his countenance assumed an earnest and almost solemn expression; his bright eyes became dreamy, as if communing with spirits of the invisible world, until, as though yielding to some mysterious impulse, he seized his pencil, and began to write.