Only a Girl: or, A Physician for the Soul.

by Wilhelmine von Hillern

High up upon the platform of her observatory, fanned by the pure night-breeze and bathed in starry radiance, stood Ernestine, waiting for the moon to rise. On her serious brow and in her maidenly soul there was self-consecration, and peace. The heated vapour of passion that was gathering like a thunder-cloud about her name in the world beneath her, the poisonous slander of lips that mentioned her only to defame her, could not ascend hither. Unconscious, assailed by no sordid temptations, she stood there in vestal purity,--elevated physically but a few feet from the earth, but soaring in mind worlds above it.

Slowly and solemnly the moon's disc arose from the horizon and mounted upwards, lonely and quiet, in soft splendour. Thousands of little moons were reflected in the telescopes of astronomers in thousandfold diversity of aspect; but they were all images of the one orb slowly sailing through the air. Ernestine was not busied with her telescope, for no mortal quest could aid her in what she was seeking to-night. It was to be found only in her own breast. It was not the material, but the immaterial, that she was now longing to grasp; no single sense could be of any avail. She needed all the powers of her being harmoniously co-operating. And, as she gazed there, full of dreamy inspiration, it was as if the moon had paused in its course to mirror itself in those eyes. Oh that we could die when and as we choose! that we could breathe out our souls in a single sigh! No human being could pass away more calmly and blissfully than Ernestine could have done at that moment, as she gazed at that serene moon and breathed forth a yearning sigh after the Unfathomable.

Happiness, pure and unspeakable, descended into her soul from the sparkling canopy of night This was her holiday, her hour of enfranchisement from the fetters of toil and study. She was alone beneath the starry sky,--a lone watcher, while all around were sleeping,--thinking while others were unconscious. She seemed to herself appointed to keep guard over the dignity of humanity, while all beside were sunk in slumber. She could rest only when others were roused to consciousness. The fever of night, that brings remorse to so many tossing upon restless couches, never assailed her. All earthly phantoms recede from the heart bathed in starlight, for in that light there is peace. In view of immensity, eternity is revealed to us, and every earthly pain vanishes like a shadow before it. But when star after star faded, and the moon had paled, the first rosy streak of dawn kissed a brow pale as snow, and a weariness as of death assailed her. The sacred fire of her soul had devoured her bodily strength and was extinguished with it. Then she sank to rest silently and uncomplainingly, like the lamps of night at the approach of day. So it was at this hour. As the darkness vanished, she descended to her apartments, and sought in brief repose the strength that would suffice for a day of constant labour.

"The more time I spend in sleep, the less of life do I enjoy," she said in answer to the remonstrances of her anxious attendant. "Everything in the world is so beautiful that we should not lose one moment of it,--so short a time is ours to enjoy it."

"Enjoy! Good heavens! What do you enjoy? you do nothing but work."

"That is my enjoyment, my good Willmers. For my work is nothing less than the constant study and discovery of the beauties of the world. An immortality would not suffice to enjoy it all,--and what can we accomplish in our brief span of existence? Shall we curtail it by sleep? Has not nature, who gives us eighty years of life, robbed us of almost half of it by imposing upon us the necessity of spending from seven to nine hours out of the twenty-four in a state of unconsciousness? I will defy her as long as I can, and maintain my right to enjoy her gift as I please, and not as she please."

Frau Willmers looked with intense anxiety at the pale cheeks of the speaker. As she lay in her bed, white as the snowy draperies around her, her thin hands fallen wearied upon the coverlet, her breath coming short and quick, the faithful servant's heart misgave her; for she saw that nature had already begun to revenge herself for the disobedience of her laws. She covered her up carefully in the soft coverlet. "Do not talk any more, my dear Fräulein von Hartwich,--you are worn out."

"And you are wearied too, my good Willmers. Why do you rise whenever you hear me going to bed?"

"Because I always hope that I may force you, out of consideration for me, to do what you will not do for yourself,--retire earlier and grant yourself the repose which is needful even for the strongest man,--how much more so for such a delicate creature as you are!"

Ernestine languidly held out her hand. "You are kind and unselfish, my dear Willmers, but you cannot understand me. And, if you will insist upon sacrificing your night's rest to me, I must give you a room at a distance from mine, where you cannot hear what I am doing. Thank you for your care. Good-night."