send him away. Who is surety for his secresy? His apparent disinterestedness, his honorable appearance, will one day cost us much. The Count Hormegg will be the slave of his servant, and a stranger, by his cunning, become the tyrant of us all. This common fellow is not only the confidant of a Count, whose race is related to princely houses, but the all-doer and head of the

but only the suffering Hortensia in all her tender inno- | even in health, we could scarcely, without disadvantage, cence swept before me. The rose came from her hand like a jewel, whose infinite worth all the crowns in the world could not outweigh. I pressed the flower to my lips-I lamented its perishable nature. I thought how I should most securely preserve it-to me the most precious of all my possessions. I opened it carefully and dried it between the leaves of a book, then had it enclosed between two round crystal glasses, surrounded | family.” with a gold band, so that I could wear it like an amulet to a gold chain round my neck.

THE BILL OF EXCHANGE.

In the meantime this event was the cause of much discomfort to me. Hortensia's hate of me spoke out more decidedly than ever. Her father, entirely too gentle, made my defence in vain. His conviction that I was an honest man, as well as my usefulness in the common affairs of his house, and his firm belief that I was indispensable to the saving of his daughter, were sufficient to render him for a long time deaf to all the whisperings which aimed at my downfall. In a short time he was the only one in the house that honored me with a friendly word or look. I remarked, that gradually the women, Dr. Walter himself, and at last the lowest servant of the family, kept shyly at a distance and treated me with a marked coldness. I learnt from the true hearted Sebald, who remained devoted to me, that my expulsion was aimed at, and that the Countess had sworn to turn any one out of her service, who dared to have any kind of intercourse with me. Her command was so much the more effectual, as from the physician and steward, to the lowest servant in the house, each one considered himself lucky to be a domestic in so rich a house; and whilst they only considered me as one of their equals, they envied me my unlimited credit with the Count.

In order still more to revolt the pride of the Count, the subordinates appeared to have conspired together to fulfil his commands with a certain reluctance and doubt, as if they were afraid of displeasing me. Some carried this artful boldness so far as to express openly the question, whether the command he gave had also my consent. This acted upon the Count so much, little by little, that he became mistrustful of himself, and believed that he had overstepped the limits of prudence.

I remarked it, however much he endeavored to conceal his change of mind. This vexed me. I had never forced myself into a knowledge of his circumstances; he had imparted them to me by degrees, craved my council, followed it, and always gained by it. He had voluntarily charged me with the whole care of the receipts and expenditures of his income; it was by me, from the state of the greatest confusion, placed in such clearness, that he confessed he never had such an insight into his household affairs. He was now in a situation to make suitable arrangements both of his money and estates. By my advice he had terminated two old perplexed family law-suits, whose end was not to be seen, by an amicable agreement, and by this compact gained more immediate advantage than he himself hoped to have won, if he had succeeded in his suit. Many times had he, in the excess of his gratitude or friendship, wished to force considerable presents on me, but I had always refused them.

For some weeks I endured to be hated and mistaken by all. My pride at last revolted. I longed to get out of this unpleasant situation to which no one any longer troubled himself to reconcile me. Hortensia, even she, who was the author of all the mischief, was the only one, who, in her transfigurations, warned me incessantly not to regard any thing she might undertake against me in her waking hours. She would despise herself for it; she coaxed me with the most flattering speeches, as if she would in these moments requite me for all the torments which she immediately after, with redoubled eagerness, would cause me.

Count Hormegg had me called one afternoon to his cabinet. He desired me to give him the steward's book, and also a bill of exchange lately received for two thou

Such a situation must of course become unpleasing to me. I lived in Venice, in one of the most brilliant houses, more solitary than in a wilderness, without a friend or familiar acquaintance. I knew my steps and motions were watched; nevertheless I endured it with patience. The noble Count suffered no less than myself from Hortensia's caprices. He often sought comfort near me. I was the most eloquent advocate for my beautiful persecutor, who treated me during her transfiguration with as much kindness, I might almost say tenderness, as she vexed me when out of this state, with the effects of her hatred and pride. It seemed as if she were governed alternately by two inimical demons: the one an angel of light, the other of darkness. At last, even the old Count began to watch me and became more re-sand louisd'ors, which sum, he said, he wished to place served; the situation was insupportable to me. I had only lately perceived how he was tormented on all sides; how particularly Dr. Walter sought to shake his confidence in me, by many repeated little malicious remarks; and what a deep impression a reproach of Hortensia's once made, when she said: "Have we all made ourselves dependant on this unknown man? They say my life is in his power; well, pay him for his trouble; more he does not merit. But he is also to be a participator in our family secrets. We are, in our most important affairs, in his charge, so that, were I

in the bank of Venice, since his residence in Italy would be continued for the year. I took the opportunity to beg him to confide to another the whole of the business with which he had charged me, since I was determined, so soon as the health of the Countess would permit, to leave his house and Venice. Notwithstanding he remarked the irritability with which I spoke, he said nothing, except requesting me not to neglect his daughter and her cure; but as to what regarded the other affairs, he would willingly disburden me from them.

This was sufficient. I saw he wished to make me unnecessary to him. I went, out of humor, to my room, and took all the papers, as well those which he had not demanded as those which he had; but I could not find the bill of exchange; I must have mislaid it amongst some papers. I had a dim recollection that it was enclosed by me in a particular paper, and with some other things put on one side. My search was in vain. The Count, hitherto accustomed to see his wishes executed with the greatest promptitude by me, would certainly be surprised that I this time delayed. The next morning he reminded me of it again.

"Probably you have forgotten," said he, "that I asked you yesterday for the steward's book and the bill of exchange." I promised to give them to him at mid-day. I looked through the writings, leaf by leaf, in vain. Mid-day came; I had not found the bewitched bill of exchange. I excused myself with the Count that I must have mislaid a couple of sheets which hitherto had not happened to me; probably in my anxious hasty search, I had either overlooked some or taken the papers for others and placed them away. I asked for a delay till the next day, since they could not be lost, but only mislaid. The Count made, it is true, a discontented face, but yet replied, "There is time enough! Do not hurry yourself."

The Count Hormegg wrinkled his brow. Dr. Walter cried: "I beg you, do not trouble the Countess in this situation with such things."

I was silent; but Hortensia appeared thoughtful, and said, after some time, "Thou, Emanuel, hast not lost the bill; it was taken from thee! Take this key, open the closet there in the wall. In my jewel casket lies the bill."

She drew out a little golden key, reached it to me and pointed with her hand to the closet. I hurried there. One of the women, called Elenora, sprang before the closet and wished to prevent the opening of it. "Your lordship," cried she anxiously to the Count, "will not allow any man to rummage amongst the effects of the Countess!" Ere she had yet ended the words, she was with a strong arm pushed away by me; the closet opened, the casket likewise, and behold, the bewitched bill of exchange lay there on the top. I went with a face shining with joy to the old Count, who was speechless and motionless from astonishment. "Of the rest, I shall have the honor of speaking to you hereafter,” said I to the Count, and went back with a light heart to Hortensia, to whom I gave back the key.

"How thou art metamorphosed, Emanuel!” cried she, with a countenance of delight, "Thou art become a sun-thou floatest in a sea of rays."

"Com

The Count called to me in violent emotion: mand the Countess, in my name, to say how she came by these papers."

I obeyed. Elenora sank down fainting on a chair. Dr. Walter hurried to her, and was in the act of leading her from the room as Hortensia began to speak. The Count commanded, in an unusually severe tone, silence and quiet. No one dared to move.

What time I could spare, I employed in searching. It lasted till night. The following morning I commenced anew. My anxiety increased. I must at last believe, that the bill was either lost, stolen, or perhaps, in a moment of absence, employed by myself as useless paper. Except my servant, who could neither read nor write, and who never had the key to my sitting room, no person entered those apartments. The fellow asserted that he had never allowed any one to enter "Out of hate, beloved Emanuel, the sick had the bill whilst he was cleaning the room, still less, had he ever taken. She foresaw, maliciously, thy difficulty, and touched a paper. Except the Count, no stranger came hoped to induce thy flight. But it would not have hapto me, since from my retired life I had made no acquaint-pened, since Sebald stood in a corner of the corridor, ance in Venice. My embarrassment rose to the high- whilst Dr. Walter, with a double key, went in thy est pitch.

THE SINGULAR TREACHERY.

chamber, took the bill which thou hadst put in some letters from Hungary, and gave it on going out to Elenora. Sebald would have betrayed it all, so soon as it was known that some papers of importance had been lost. Dr. Walter, who had seen the bill of exchange with thee, made the proposition to the sick to purloin

Elenora offered her assistance. The sick herself encouraged them both to do so, and could scarcely wait for the time when the papers could be brought to her."

The same morning, as I went to the Countess, to remain near her, during her transfiguration, and render her, in this state, the accustomed service, I thought I remarked in the countenance of the Count a cold se-it. riousness, which spoke more than words. The thought, that he perhaps suspected my honesty and truth, increased my disquiet. I walked before the sleeping Hortensia, and at the same moment it struck me, that perhaps by means of her wonderful gift of sight, she might inform me where the papers were. It was indeed painful to me, to confess, before Dr. Walter and the women, the charge of neglect or disorder.

Whilst I was yet struggling with myself, what I should do, the Countess complained of the insupportable coldness which blew from me towards her, and which would cause her sufferings if it did not change. "Thou art pained by some disquiet. Thy thoughts, thy will, are not with her!" said she.

"Dear Countess," replied I, "it is no wonder. Perhaps it is in your power, from your peculiarity of being able to discover what is most concealed, to restore me again my peace. I have lost amongst my papers, a bill of exchange, which belongs to your father."

During these words Dr. Walter stood quite beside himself, leaning on Elenora's chair; his countenance betrayed uneasiness, and shrugging his shoulders, he looked towards the Count, and said, "From this, one may learn that the gracious Countess may also speak erroneously. Wait for her awaking, and she will explain herself better how the papers came into her hands."

The Count made no answer, but calling to a servant, ordered him to bring old Sebald. When he came, he was asked whether he had ever seen Dr. Walter during my absence go into my room.

"Whether in the absence of Mr. Faust I know not, but it may well have been so last Sunday evening, since he at least unlocked the door. Miss Ellen must know better than I, as she remained standing on the stairs until the Doctor came back and gave her some notes, whereupon they talked softly together and then separated."

Sebald was now permitted to go; and the Doctor | of her views; sometimes from their incomprehensibility. with the half fainting Elenora were obliged on a motion She could give us no information of the how, though from the Count to depart. Hortensia appeared more she sometimes endeavored and sought by long reanimated than ever. "Fear thee not from the hatred flection to do so. She knew by actual sight, as she of the sick" said she many times; "she will watch said, all the interior parts of her body, the position of over thee like thy guardian angel." the superior and inferior intestines, of the bony structure, of the ramifications of the muscles and nerves; she could see the same in me or any one to whom I only gave my hand. Though she was a highly educated young lady, yet she had no knowledge, or only the most confused and superficial, of the structure of the human frame. I mentioned the names of many things, which she saw and described exactly; she on the contrary, corrected my ideas when they were not accurate. Her revelations upon the nature of our life interested me most, since to me, her absolutely inexplicable state, led me most frequently to question her on it. I wrote down each time, after leaving her, the substance of her answers, although I must omit much which she gave in expressions and images not sufficiently intelligible.

The consequence of this memorable morning was, that Dr. Walter, as well as Elenora, with two other servants, were on that same day dismissed by the Count and sent from the house. To me, on the contrary, the Count came and begged my pardon, not only on account of his daughter's fault, but also for his own weakness, in listening to the malicious whisperings against me and half crediting them. He embraced me, called me his friend, the only one which he had in the world and to whom he could open himself with unlimited confidence. He conjured me not to forsake his daughter and himself.

"I know," said he, "what you suffer, and what sacrifices you make on our account. But trust with confidence to my gratitude as long as I live. Should the Countess ever be restored to perfect health, you will certainly be better pleased with us than hitherto. Look at me! is there on earth a more desolate, unfortunate man than myself? Nothing but hope supports me. And all my hopes rest on your goodness and the continuance of your patience. What have I already gone through! what must I yet endure! The extraordinary state of my daughter often almost deprives me of reason. I know not, if I live, or if destiny has not made me the instrument of a fairy tale."

I will not mention here all that she spoke at different times, but will only select and place in a better connection what she revealed concerning things which excited my sympathy or curiosity.

As I once remarked, that she lost much in not being able to recollect, in her natural and waking state, what she, during the short time of her transfiguration, thought, saw and spoke, she replied:

"She loses nothing, since the carthly waking is only one part of her life, that terminates in certain, single The distress of the good Count moved me. I recon- ends; it is only a circumscribed outward life. But in ciled myself to him and even to my situation, which the true, unlimited, interior, pure life, she is as conwas by no means enticing. On the contrary, the igno-scious of what is passing in this, as of what has passed ble disposition of the Countess much weakened the enthusiasm in which I had hitherto lived for her.

FRAGMENTS OF HORTENSIA'S CONVERSATIONS.

Through the kind and attentive care of the Count, it happened that I now never saw Hortensia when awake, for which I felt little inclination. I even did not learn how she thought or spoke of me, though I could easily imagine it. In the house strict order reigned. The Count had resumed his authority. No one ventured again to make a party with Hortensia, against either of us, since it was known that she would become the accuser of herself and confederates.

Thus I saw the extraordinary beauty only in those moments when she, raised above herself, appeared to be a being of a better world. But these moments belonged to the most solemn, often to the most moving of my life. The inexpressible charm of Hortensia's person was heightened by an expression of tender innocence and angelic enthusiasm. The strictest modesty was observed in her appearance. Only truth and goodness were on her lips; and notwithstanding her eyes were closed-in which, otherwise, her feelings were most clearly expressed-yet one read the slightest emotion by the fine play of her countenance as well as in the varied tones of her voice.

What she spoke of the past, present or future, so far as the keen prophetic vision of her spirit reached, excited our astonishment; sometimes from the peculiarity

in her waking state.

"That internal, pure life and consciousness continues in every person unbroken, even in the deepest fainting, as in the deepest sleep, which is only a fainting of another kind and from other causes. During sleep, as in a fainting fit, the soul withdraws its activity from the instruments of the senses back to the spirit. One is also then conscious to himself, when without, he appears unconscious, because the lifeless senses are silent.

"When thou art suddenly aroused from a deep sleep, on waking, a dark remembrance will sweep before thee, as if thou hadst thought of something before awaking, or, as thou thinkest, dreamt, though thou knowest not what it is. The sleep-walker lies in the fast sleep of the outward senses; he hears and sees, not with eyes and ears, nevertheless he is not only in the utmost perfection conscious of himself and knows exactly what he thinks, speaks or undertakes, but he remembers also every thing of his outward waking, and knows even the place where he, waking, laid his pen.

"The outward, limited life, may suffer interruptions and pauses; the true, inner consciousness, has no pauses and needs none.

"The sick knows very well that she now appears to thee perfect; but in fact, the powers of her mind and soul are not more exalted or commanding than formerly, though less bound or crippled by the restraints of the outward senses. An excellent workman works with imperfect tools more imperfectly than he should do. Even the most fluent human speech is tedious and difficult, since it neither can represent all the peculiarities

of the thoughts and feelings, nor the rapid changes and loosened from their path; the body without the soul is course of the ideas, but only single parts of the onflow-dust. ing current of thought.

"The body has its own life, as every plant lives; though the earthly powers of life must first be awakened through the spirit. These rule and move themselves according to their own laws, independent of the soul. Without our will and knowledge, without the will and knowledge of the body, it grows, digests its nourishment, makes the blood flow, and changes in manifold ways its inheritance. It inhales and exhales; it eva

"In the purer life, although the tools of the senses rest, there is a more complete and exact remembrance of the past, than in the earthly waking. Since at the earthly waking, the ALL streams through the open doors of perception too powerful-almost stunning. Therefore, Emanuel, thou knowest when we wish during our earthly waking, deeply and seriously to think, we seek solitude and quiet and withdraw our-porates and draws invisible nourishment for its wants selves as it were from without, and neither see nor hear.

"The more the mind can be removed from outward life, the nearer it approaches to its purer state; the more it is separated from the activity of the senses, the more clear and certain it thinks. We know that some of the most remarkable discoveries have been made in a state betwixt sleeping and waking, when the outward doors were half closed and the spiritual life remained undisturbed by foreign intermixture.

from the atmosphere. But like other plants, it is dependant upon the outward things, by which it nourishes itself. Its condition changes with day and night, like the condition of every flower; it raises or relaxes itself; its powers of life consume themselves like an invisible fire which demands fresh nourishment.

"Only by a sufficient supply of the vegetative powers of life, is the body fitted for the soul to enter into a close union with it, otherwise it is a heterogeneous substance. If its powers become too much consumed "Sleep is not to be regarded as an interruption of the or exhausted, the spiritual life draws itself back from perfect conscious life; but the earthly waking is to be the outward to the interior part: that we call sleepregarded as such an interruption, or rather as a limita- an interruption of the activity of the senses. The soul tion of it. Since by earthly waking the soul's activity returns again into the union with the outer parts, so is directed as it were to fixed paths and limits, and on soon as the vegetative department has recruited its the other side, the attractions of the outward world powers. It is not the soul which becomes fatigued or influence it so powerfully, that the remembrance of the exhausted, but the body; the soul is not strengthened pure life disappears; still more so, since on the earth-by rest, but the body. So there is a constant ebb and ly waking the attention of the spirit itself is distracted, and is attracted to the guarding of the body in all its single parts. Yes, Emanuel, sleep is properly the full awaking of the spirit; the earthly waking, as it were, a slumber or a stunning of the spirit. The earthly sleep is a spiritual sunset for the outward world, but a clear sunrise in the inner world.

flood, an outstreaming and retreating of the spiritual essence in us, perhaps conformable to the changes of day and night.

"The greater part of our existence we watch outwardly; we should do so, since the body was given us on earth, on condition of our activity. The body and its inclinations give our activity a determined direction. There is something great and wonderful in this economy of God.

tain in all its parts its intimate union with the soul. The instrument formerly ductile and supple, stiffens and becomes useless to the spirit. The soul withdraws itself again into the interior. To the spirit remains all its inward activity, even till all union with the body is impeded; this arrives only through the destroying power of age or sickness. The loosening of the soul from the body is the restoration of the freedom of the first. It frequently announces itself by predictions at the hour of death and other prophesies.

"Yet even amidst the distractions of the earthly waking, we perceive occasionally glimpses of another life we have passed through, though we do not always "With age the body loses the faculty of re-estabknow how to express it. So one sees from high moun-lishing its powers of life in a sufficient degree to sustains in a summer night the late or early red of a sun and of a day that has departed, which is the portion of other countries on the globe. Often, with wonderful quickness, in extraordinary accidents, thoughts and resolutions occur to men necessary to their safety, without foregone considerations-without reflection. We know not from whence they spring. Connection fails between our previous ideas and this sudden and commanding one. Men usually say it is as if a good spirit or a divinity had inspired me with the thought. At other times we see and hear in our daily life some- "The more healthy the body, so much the more is thing that we seem already to have seen and heard; the soul entirely united with all parts of the body; and and yet we cannot fathom how, or when, or where, and the more closely it is bound to it, so much the less cawe imagine it to be a singular repetition, or some re-pable is it of predicting; it is then, as if the soul in semblance to a dream. extraordinary moments of enthusiasm, unshackled as it were, sees into futurity.

"It is not extraordinary, Emanuel, that our conscious being never ends; that is, that whether sleeping or "The retreat of the soul from the outer world, prowaking, it ever advances; since it is so, how can it duces a peculiar state of the human substance. It is cease? But wonderful is the change-the ebb and the dream. To fall into a slumber, produces the last flow-the hither and thither turning of life from the attraction of the senses, and the first activity of the free inner to the outward and from the outward to the inner. interior life. By the waking, the last ray of the inner "The spirit, clothed by the soul, as the sun is by its world mixes itself with the first light of the outward rays, flying through the firmament of the world, can world. It is difficult to disentangle what particularly exist as well without a body, as the sun without foreign appertains to the one or the other; but it is always inworlds. But the worlds without the sun are dead-structive to observe dreams. Since the spirit, even in

He had hitherto in fact lived like a hermit, depressed by Hortensia's misfortune and kept in a constant constrained and anxious state by the miracles connected with her illness. Therefore, he had become confined to an intercourse with me. Besides, from want of firm-cence and her ingratitude. If there were moments ness of mind and through my influence over Hortensia's life, and by a kind of superstitious respect for my person, he allowed himself to be willingly pleased with what I directed. He yielded to me, if I may so call it, a kind of government over himself, and obeyed my wishes with a degree of submission which was unpleasant to myself, though I never abused it.

when the charms of her person affected me-who could remain insensible to so many?—there were many more in which her offensive behavior entirely disgusted me, and caused in my heart a bitterness which bordered on aversion. Her indifference towards me was as strong a proof of the want of grateful feelings in her disposition as her former aversion. At last I avoided HortenNow that Hortensia's recovery restored to him asia more assiduously than she did me. Could she have mind free from care and the long denied enjoyment of regarded me with indifference, she must have discovered brilliant pleasures, his deportment towards me changed. in my whole behavior how great was my scorn of her.