{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_33401/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_33401","id":"gutenberg_33401","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/33401","summary":null,"tags":["Category: British Literature","Category: Novels","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Category: Romance","Fiction"],"text":"Produced by Mark C. Orton, Emmy and the Online Distributed\nProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was\nproduced from images generously made available by The\nInternet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nLITTLE SCHOOLMASTER MARK\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE SCHOOLMASTER MARK\n\nA Spiritual Romance\n\nBY J. H. SHORTHOUSE\n\nAUTHOR OF 'JOHN INGLESANT'\n\n          London\n          MACMILLAN AND CO.\n          AND NEW YORK\n          1894\n\n\n\n\n    _Part I--First Edition, October 1883. Reprinted December 1883_\n\n    _Part II--First Edition, 1884. Reprinted twice February 1885_\n\n    _Complete Edition made up from parts 1885. Reprinted 1891, 1894_\n\n\n    _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh._\n\n\n\n\nPREFACE.\n\n\nTHE readers of German autobiography (and more delightful reading cannot\nbe had) will perceive that I have made use of some passages in the\nchildhood of Heinrich Jung-Stilling to create the character of Little\nMark. The experience of the Princess as to private religious societies\nwas also that of Stilling. Should this little tale induce any one, at\npresent ignorant of Stilling's Autobiography, to read that book, they\nwill forget any grudge they may have formed against the present writer.\nAs a matter of common honesty I should wish to express the pleasure I\nhave had in reading another delightful book, _Studies of the Eighteenth\nCentury in Italy_, by Vernon Lee.\n\nThe words of the anthem in the concluding chapter are taken from a\nsermon by Canon Knox Little, \"The Vision of the Truth,\" preached in St.\nPaul's in Lent 1883, and published in _The Witness of the Passion_. They\nare so exactly in accord with the message which the shadowy beings of my\ntale seem to have left me that I cannot force myself to coin another\nphrase.\n\n                                                                J. H. S.\n\n\n\n\n          TO\n          Lady Alwyne Compton\n          BY PERMISSION\n          THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nLITTLE SCHOOLMASTER MARK.\n\nA Spiritual Romance.\n\n\n\n\nPART FIRST.\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\n\nTHE Court Chaplain Eisenhart walked up the village street towards the\nschoolhouse. It was April, in the year 1750, and a soft west wind was\nblowing up the street, across the oak woods of the near forest. Between\nthe forest and the village lay a valley of meadows, planted with thorn\nbushes and old birch trees with snow-white stems: the fresh green leaves\ntrembled continually in the restless wind. On the other side of the\nstreet a lofty crag rose precipitously above a rushing mountain torrent.\nThis rock is the spur of other lofty hills, planted with oak and beech\ntrees, through the openings of which a boy may frequently be seen,\ndriving an ox or gathering firewood on his half-trodden path. Here and\nthere in the distance the smoke of charcoal-burners ascends into the\nsky. Between the street and the torrent stand the houses of the village,\nwith high thatched roofs and walls of timber and of mud, and, at the\nback, projecting stages and steps above the rushing water. A paradise in\nthe late spring, in summer, and in autumn, these wild and romantic\nwoods, traversed only by a few forest paths, are terrible in winter, and\nthe contrast is part of their charm. The schoolhouse stands in the upper\npart of the village, on the opposite side of the street to the rest of\nthe houses, looking across the valley to the western sun. Two large\nbirch trees are before the open door. The Court Chaplain pauses before\nhe goes in.\n\nHow it comes to pass that a Court Chaplain should be walking up the\nstreet of this forest village we shall see anon.\n\nAt first sight there does not seem to be much schoolwork going on. A\nboy, or we should rather say a child, of fifteen is seated at an open\nwindow looking over the forest. He is fair-haired and blue-eyed; but it\nis the deep blue of an angel's, not the cold gray blue of a courtier's\neyes. Around him are seated several children, both boys and girls; and,\nfar from teaching, he appears to be relating stories to them. The\nstory, whatever it is, ceases as the Court Chaplain goes in, and both\nraconteur and audience rise.\n\n\"I have something to say to thee, schoolmaster,\" said the Chaplain,\n\"send the children away. Thou wilt not teach them anything more to-day,\nI suspect.\"\n\nThe children went away lingeringly, not at all like children just let\nloose from school.\n\nWhen they were gone the expression of the Chaplain's face changed--he\nlooked at the little schoolmaster very kindly, and sat down on one of\nthe benches, which were black and worn with age.\n\n\"Last year, little one,\" he said, \"when the Herr Rector took thee away\nfrom the Latin school and from thy father's tailoring, and confirmed\nthee, and thou tookest thy first communion, and he made thee\nschoolmaster here, many wise people shook their heads. I do not think,\"\nhe continued, with a smile, \"that they have ceased shaking them when\nthey have seen in how strange a manner thou keepest school.\"\n\n\"Ah, your Reverence,\" said the boy, eagerly, \"the good people are\nsatisfied enough when they see that their children learn without\nreceiving much correction; and many of them even take pleasure in the\nbeautiful tales which I relate to the children, and which they repeat to\nthem. Every morning, as soon as the children enter the school, I pray\nwith them, and catechise them in the principles of our holy religion, as\nGod teaches me, for I use no book. Then I set the children to read and\nto write, and promise them these charming tales if they learn well. It\nis impossible to express with what zeal the children learn. When they\nare perverse or not diligent I do not relate my histories, but I read to\nmyself.\"\n\n\"Well, little one,\" said the Court Chaplain, \"it is a strange system of\neducation, but I am far from saying that it is a bad one. Nevertheless\nit will not last. The Herr Rector has his eye upon thee, and will send\nthee back to thy tailoring very soon.\"\n\nThe tears came into the little schoolmaster's eyes, and he turned very\npale.\n\n\"Well, do not be sad,\" said the Chaplain. \"I have been thinking and\nworking for thee. Thou hast heard of the Prince, though thou hast, I\nthink, never seen the pleasure palace, Joyeuse, though it is so near.\"\n\n\"I have seen the iron gates with the golden scrolls,\" said the boy.\n\"They are like the heavenly Jerusalem; every several gate is one pearl.\"\n\nThe Chaplain did not notice the confused metaphor of this description.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"I have been speaking to the Prince of thee. Thou\nknowest nothing of these things, but the Prince has lived for many years\nin Italy, a country where they do nothing but sing and dance. He has\ncome back, as thou knowest, and has married a wife, according to the\ntraditions of his race. Since he came back to Germany he has taken a\nfancy to this forest-lodge, for at first it was little more, and has\ngarnished it and enlarged it according to his southern fancies; that is\nwhy he likes it better than his princely cities. He has two children--a\nboy and a girl--eight and nine, or thereabouts. The Princess is not a\ngood woman. She neglects her children, and she prefers the princely\ncities to her husband, to her little ones, and to the beautiful forests\nand hills.\"\n\nThe little schoolmaster listened with open eyes. Then he said, beneath\nhis breath:\n\n\"How Satanic that must be!\"\n\n\"The Prince,\" continued the Court Chaplain, \"is a beautiful soul\n'manque,' which means spoilt. His sister, the Princess Isoline von\nIsenberg-Wertheim, is such a soul. She has joined herself to a company\nof pious people who have taken an old manor-house belonging to the\nPrince on the farther side of the palace gardens, where they devote\nthemselves to prayer, to good works, and to the manufacture of\nhalf-silk stuffs, by which they maintain themselves and give to the\npoor. The Prince himself knows something of such feelings. He indeed\nknows the way of piety, though he does not follow it. He acknowledges\nthe grace of refinement which piety gives, even to the most highly bred.\nHe is particularly desirous that his children should possess this\nsupreme touch. Something that I told him of thee pleased his fancy. Thy\nstrange way of keeping school seemed to him very new; more especially\nwas he delighted with that infancy story of thee and old Father Stalher.\nThe old man, I told the Prince, came into thy father's for his new coat\nand found thee reading. Reading, in any one, seemed to Father Stalher\nlittle short of miraculous; but in a child of eight it was more--it was\nelfish.\n\n\"'What are you doing there, child?' said Father Stalher.\n\n\"'I am reading.'\n\n\"'Canst thou read already?'\n\n\"'That is a foolish question, for I am a human being,' said the child,\nand began to read with ease, proper emphasis, and due distinction.\n\n\"Stalher was amazed, and said:\n\n\"'The devil fetch me, I have never seen the like in all my life.'\n\n\"Then little Mark jumped up and looked timidly and carefully round the\nroom. When he saw that the devil did not come, he went down on his knees\nin the middle of the floor and said:\n\n\"'O God! how gracious art thou.'\n\n\"Then, standing up boldly before old Stalher, he said:\n\n\"'Man, hast thou ever seen Satan?'\n\n\"'No.'\n\n\"'Then call upon him no more.'\n\n\"And the child went quietly into another room.\n\n\"And I told the Prince what thy old grandfather used to say to me.\n\n\"'The lad is soaring away from us; we must pray that God will guide him\nby His good Spirit.'\n\n\"When I told all this to the Prince, he said:\n\n\"'I will have this boy. He shall teach my children as he does the\nvillage ones. None can teach children as can such a child as this.'\"\n\nThe little schoolmaster had been looking before him all the time the\nChaplain had been speaking, as though in something of a maze. He\nevidently saw nothing to wonder at in the story of himself and old\nStalher. It seemed to him commonplace and obvious enough.\n\n\"I shall send up a tailor from Joyeuse to-morrow,\" said the Chaplain; \"a\ncourt tailor, such as thou never saw'st, nor thy father either. He must\nmeasure thee for a court-suit of black. Then we will go together, and I\nwill present thee to the Prince.\"\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\n\nA FEW days after this conversation there was a melancholy procession\ndown the village street. The Court Chaplain and the schoolmaster walked\nfirst; the boy was crying bitterly. Then followed all the children of\nthe school, all weeping, and many peasant women, and two or three old\nmen. The Rector stood in a corner of the churchyard under a great walnut\ntree and looked on. He did not weep. The Court Chaplain looked ashamed,\nfor all the people took this misfortune to be of his causing.\n\nWhen they had gone some way out of the village the children stopped,\nand, collecting into a little crowd, they wept more than ever. The\nChaplain turned round and waved his hand, but the little schoolmaster\nwas too troubled to take any farewell. He covered his face with his\nhands and went on, weeping bitterly. At last they passed away out of\nsight.\n\nWhen they had gone on some distance, the boy became calmer; he took his\nhands from his face, and looked up at the Chaplain through his tears.\n\n\"What am I to do when I come to the Prince, your Reverence?\" he said.\n\n\"Thou must make a bow as best thou canst,\" said the other; \"thou must\nnot speak till the Prince speaks to thee, and thou must say 'Highness'\nsometimes, but not too often.\"\n\n\"How am I to tell when to say 'Highness' and when to forbear?\" said the\nboy.\n\n\"Ah! that I cannot tell thee. Thou must trust in God; He will show thee\nwhen to say 'Highness' and when not.\"\n\nThey went forward in this way across the meadows, and through the\nscattered forest for two leagues or more, in the mid-day heat. The boy\nwas not used to labour, and he grew very tired and unhappy. It seemed to\nhim that he was leaving behind all that was fair and true and beautiful,\nand going to that which was false and garish and unkind. At last they\ncame to an open drive, or avenue of the forest, where great oaks were\ngrowing. Some distance up the avenue they saw a high park pale\nstretching away on either hand, and in the centre of the drive were\niron gates covered with gilt scrolls and letters. The Court Chaplain\npushed the gates open, and they went in.\n\nInside, the forest drive was planted with young trees in triple rows.\nAfter walking for some distance they reached another gate, similar to\nthe first, but provided with \"loges,\" or guardrooms, on either side. One\nor two soldiers were standing listlessly about, but they took no heed.\nHere the drive entered the palace gardens, laid out in grass plots and\nstone terraces, and crossed by lofty hedges which shut out the view.\nThey approached the long facade of a house with pointed roofs and green\nshutter blinds to all the windows. Here the Chaplain left the path, and\nconducted his companion to a remote side entrance; and, after passing\nthrough many passages and small rooms, at last left him to the tender\nmercies of the court tailor and some domestics, at whose hands the\nlittle schoolmaster suffered what appeared to him to be unspeakable\nindignities. He was washed from head to foot, his hair was cut, curled,\nand frizzled, and he was finally arrayed in a plain suit of black silk,\nwith silk stockings, and delicate shoes with silver buckles, and plain\nlinen bands like a clergyman. The worn homespun suit that had become\ndear to him was ruthlessly thrown upon a dust-heap, and a message was\nsent to Herr Chaplain that his _protege_ was now fit to be presented to\nthe Prince.\n\nThe boy could scarcely restrain his tears; he felt as though he were\nwandering through the paths of a miserable dream. Ah! could he only\nawake and find himself again in the old schoolhouse, narrating the\nadventures of the Fair Melusina to the attentive little ones.\n\nThe Chaplain led him up some back stairs, and through corridors and\nanterooms, all full of wonderful things, which the boy passed\nbewildered, till they reached a small room where were two boys\napparently of his own age. They appeared to have been just engaged in\npunching each other's heads, for their hair was disordered, their faces\nred, and one was in tears. They regarded the Chaplain with a sullen\nsuspicion, and the schoolmaster with undisguised contempt. The door at\nthe farther side of the room was partly open, the Chaplain scratched\nupon it, and, receiving some answer, they went in.\n\nThe little schoolmaster dared scarcely breathe when he got into the\nroom, so surprising was all he saw. To the left of the door, as they\ncame in, was placed a harpsichord, before which was standing, with her\nback towards them, a young girl whose face they could not see; by her\nside, at the harpsichord, was seated an elderly man upon whom the boy\ngazed with wonder, so different was he from anything that he had ever\nseen before; opposite to them, in the window, hung a canary in a cage,\nand the boy perceived, even in the surprise of the moment, that the bird\nwas agitated and troubled. But the next moment all his attention was\nabsorbed by the figure of the Prince, who was seated on a couch to the\nright of the room, and almost facing them. To say that this was the\nmost wonderful sight that the little schoolmaster had ever seen would be\nto speak foolishly, for he had seen no wonderful sights, but it\nsurpassed the wildest imagination of his dreams. The Prince was a very\nhandsome man of about thirty-five, of a slight and delicate figure, and\nof foreign manners and pose. He was dressed in a suit of what seemed to\nthe boy a wonderful white cloth, of a soft material, embroidered in\nsilk, with flowers of the most lovely tints. The coat was sparingly\nornamented in this manner, but the waistcoat, which was only partly\nseen, was a mass of these exquisite flowers. At his throat and wrists\nwere masses of costly lace, and his hair was frizzled, and slightly\npowdered, which increased the delicate expression of his features, which\nwere perfectly cut. He lay back on the couch, caressing, with his right\nhand, a small monkey, also gorgeously dressed, and armed with a toy\nsword, who sat on the arm of the sofa cracking nuts, and throwing the\nshells upon the carpet.\n\nThe Prince looked up as the two came in, and waved his disengaged hand\nfor them to stand back, and the next moment the strange phantasmagoria,\ninto which the boy's life was turned, took another phase, and he again\nlost all perception of what he had seen before; for there burst into the\nlittle room the most wonderful voice, which not only he and the\nChaplain, but even the Maestro and the Prince, had well-nigh ever heard.\n\nThe girl, who was taking her music lesson, had been discovered in Italy\nby the old Maestro, who managed the music of the private theatre which\nthe Prince had formed. He had heard her, a poor untaught girl, in a\ncoffee-house in Venice, and she afterwards became, in the opinion of\nsome, the most pathetic female actress and singer of the century.\n\nThe first chord of her voice penetrated into the boy's nature as nothing\nhad ever done before; he had never heard any singing save that of the\npeasants at church, and of the boys and girls who sang hymns round the\ncottage hearths in the winter nights.\n\nThe solemn tramp of the Lutheran measures, where the deep basses of the\nmen drown the women's soft voices, and the shrill unshaded singing of\nthe children, could hardly belong to this art, which he heard now for\nthe first time. These sudden runs and trills, so fantastic and\ndifficult, these chords and harmonies, so quaint and full of colour,\nwere messages from a world of sound, as yet an unknown country to the\nboy. He stood gazing upon the singer with open mouth. The Prince moved\nhis jewelled hand slightly in unison with the notes; the monkey,\napparently rather scared, left off cracking his nuts, and, creeping\nclose to his master, nestled against his beautiful coat close to the\nstar upon his breast.\n\nThen suddenly, in this world of wonders, a still more wonderful thing\noccurred. There entered into this bewitching, this entrancing voice, a\nstrange, almost a discordant, note. Through the fantasied gaiety of the\ntheme, to which the sustained whirr of the harpsichord was like the\nsigh of the wind through the long grass, there was perceptible a strain,\na tremor of sadness, almost of sobs. It was as if, in the midst of\nfestival, some hidden grief, known beforetime of all, but forgotten or\nsuppressed, should at once and in a moment well up in the hearts of all,\nturning the dance-measures into funeral chants, the love-songs into the\nloveliest of chorales. The Maestro faltered in his accompaniment; the\nPrince left off marking the time, he swept the monkey from him with a\nmovement of his hand, and leaned forward eagerly in his seat: the\ndiscarded favourite slunk into a corner, where it leaned disconsolately\nagainst the wall. The pathetic strain went on, growing more tremulous\nand more intense, when suddenly the singing stopped, the girl buried\nher face in her hands and sank upon the floor in a passion of tears; the\nboy sprang forward, he forgot where he was, he forgot the Prince--\n\n\"It is the bird,\" he cried, \"the bird!\"\n\nThe canary, whose dying struggles the singer had been watching through\nher song, gave a final shudder and fell lifeless from its perch.\n\nThe Prince rose: he lifted the singer from her knees, and, taking her\nhands from the wet face, he turned to the others with a smile.\n\n\"Ah, Herr Chaplain,\" he said, \"you come in a good hour. This then is the\nangel-child. They will console each other.\"\n\nAnd, picking up the monkey as he passed, he left the room by another\ndoor.\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\n\nWHEN the Prince was gone the Maestro gathered up some music and turned\nto his pupil, who was drying her eyes and looking somewhat curiously at\nthe boy through her tears.\n\n\"Well, Signorina,\" he said, \"you truly sang that very well. If you could\nbring some of that 'timbre' into your voice always, you would indeed be\na singer. But you are too light, too 'frivole.' I wish we could have a\ncanary always who would die;\" and, bowing very slightly to the Chaplain,\nhe left the room.\n\nThen the Chaplain looked kindly at the young people.\n\n\"Fraeulein,\" he said, \"this is the young tutor to the little serene\nHighnesses, I will leave you together, as the Prince wished.\"\n\nWhen they were alone the boy felt very uncomfortable. He was very shy.\nThis perhaps was as well, for there was no shyness at all on the part of\nhis companion.\n\n\"So,\" she said, looking at him with a smile, and eyes that were again\nbright, \"you are the new toy. I have heard of you. You are a wonderful\nholy child; what they call 'pious' in this country. How very funny! come\nand give me a kiss.\"\n\n\"No, Fraeulein,\" said Mark, blushing still more, \"that would be improper\nin me.\"\n\n\"Would it?\" said the girl lightly; \"don't angels kiss? How very stupid\nit must be to be an angel! Come and look at poor 'Fifine' then! I\nsuppose she is quite dead.\"\n\nAnd, opening the cage, she took out the piteous heap of yellow feathers\nand held it in her delicate hand, while the tears came again into her\nlarge dark eyes.\n\n\"Ah! it was dreadful,\" she said, \"to sing and see him die.\"\n\n\"But, Fraeulein,\" said the boy, \"you sang most beautifully. I never heard\nanything so wonderful. It was heaven itself.\"\n\nThe girl looked at him very kindly.\n\n\"Oh, you like my singing,\" she said, \"I am glad of that. Do you know, we\nshall be great friends. I like you. You are a very pretty boy.\"\n\nAnd she tried to put her arm round his neck. Mark eluded her embrace.\n\"Fraeulein,\" he said, with a dignified air, which made his companion\nlaugh, \"you must remember that I am tutor to their serene Highnesses; I\nshall be very glad to be friends with you, and you will tell me\nsomething about the people in the palace.\"\n\n\"Oh!\" replied the girl, \"there is no one but our own company, but they\nare the greatest fun, and better fun here than anywhere else. It is\ndelightful to see them among these stupid, solemn, heavy Germans, with\ntheir terrible language. I shall love to see you with them, you will\nstare your pretty eyes out. There's old Carricchio--that's not his name,\nyou know, but he is called so because of his part--that is the best of\nthem, they are always the same--off the stage or on it--always\nlaughing, always joking, always kicking up their heels. You will see the\nfaces--such delicious grimaces, old Carricchio will make at you when he\nasks you for the salt. But don't be frightened, I'll take care of you.\nThey are all in love with me, but I like you already better than all of\nthem. You shall come on yourself sometime, just as you are; you will\nmake a delightful part.\"\n\nMark stared at her with amazement.\n\n\"But what are these people?\" he said; \"what do they do?\"\n\n\"Oh, you will see,\" she said, laughing; \"how can I tell you. You never\ndreamt of such things; you will stare your eyes out. Well, there's the\nPrince, and the little Highnesses, and the old _Barotin_, the governess,\nand\"--here a change came over the girl's face--\"and the Princess is\ncoming soon, I hear, with her '_servente_.'\"\n\n\"The Princess!\" said the boy, \"does she ever come?\"\n\n\"Yes, she comes, sometimes,\" said his companion. \"I wish she didn't. She\nis a bad woman. I hate her.\"\n\n\"Why? and what is her '_servente_?'\"\n\n\"I hate her,\" said the girl; \"her _servente_ is the\nCount--_Cavaliere-servente_, you know\"--and her face became quite hard\nand fierce--\"he is the devil himself.\"\n\nThe little schoolmaster's face became quite pale.\n\n\"The devil!\" he said, staring with his large blue eyes.\n\n\"Oh! you foolish boy!\" she said, laughing again, \"I don't mean that\ndevil. The Count is a much more real devil than he!\"\n\nThe boy looked so dreadfully shocked that she grew quite cheerful again.\n\n\"What a strange boy you are!\" she said, laughing. \"Do you think he will\ncome and take you away? I'll take care of you--come and sit on my lap;\"\nand, sitting down, she spread out her lap for him with an inviting\ngesture.\n\nMark rejected this attractive offer with disdain, and looked so\nunspeakably miserable and ready to cry that his companion took pity upon\nhim.\n\n\"Poor boy,\" she said, \"you shan't be teased any more. Come with me, I\nwill take you to the _Barotin_, and present you to the little serene\nHighnesses. They are nice children--for Highnesses; you will get on well\nwith them.\"\n\nTaking the boy's unwilling hand, she led him through several rooms,\nlined with old marquetterie cabinets in the Italian fashion, till she\nfound a page, to whom she delivered Mark, telling him to take him to the\nBaroness, into whose presence she herself did not appear anxious to\nintrude, that he might be presented to his future pupils.\n\nThe page promised to obey, and, giving him a box on the ear to ensure\nattention, a familiarity which he took with the most cheerful and\nforgiving air, she left the room.\n\nThe moment she was gone the page made a rush at Mark, and, seizing him\nround the waist, lifted him from the ground and ran with him through two\nor three rooms, till he reached a door, where he deposited him upon his\nfeet. Then throwing open the door, he announced suddenly, \"The Herr\nTutor to the serene Highnesses!\" and shut Mark into the room.\n\nHis breath taken away by this atrocious attack upon his person and\ndignity, Mark saw before him a stately, but not unkindly-looking lady\nand two beautiful children, a boy and girl, of about eight and nine\nyears of age. The lady rose, and, looking at Mark with some curiosity,\nas well she might, said:\n\n\"Your serene Highnesses, this is the tutor whom the Prince, your father,\nhas provided for you. You will no doubt profit greatly by his\ninstructions.\"\n\nThe little girl came forward at once, and gave Mark her hand, which, not\nknowing what to do with, he held for a moment and then dropped.\n\n\"My papa has spoken of you,\" she said. \"He has told me that you are\nvery good.\"\n\n\"I shall try to be good, Princess,\" said Mark, who by this time had\nrecovered his breath.\n\nThe little girl seemed very much insulted. She drew herself up and\nflushed all over her face.\n\n\"You must not say _Princess_ to me,\" she said, \"that is what only the\nlittle Princes say. You must say, 'my most gracious and serene\nHighness,' whenever you speak to me.\"\n\nThis was too much. Mark blushed with anger.\n\n\"May God forgive me,\" he said, \"if I do anything so foolish. I am here\nto teach thee and thy brother, and I will do it in my own way, or not at\nall.\"\n\nThe little Princess looked as if she were about to cry, then, apparently\nthinking better of it, she said, with a half sob, and dropping the\nstately \"_you_\":\n\n\"Well, my papa says that thou art an angel. I suppose thou must do as\nthou wilt.\"\n\nThe little boy, meanwhile, had been staring at Mark with solemn eyes. He\nsaid nothing, but he came, finally, to the little schoolmaster and put\nhis hand in his.\n\nWhat more might have been said cannot be told, for at this moment the\npage appeared again, saying that dinner was served at the third table,\nand that the Herr Tutor was to dine there.\n\nThe Baroness seemed surprised at this.\n\n\"I should have supposed,\" she said, \"that he would have dined with the\nChaplain at the second table.\"\n\n\"No,\" asserted the page boldly, \"the Prince has ordered it.\"\n\nWhen alone, the Prince seldom dined ostensibly in public; but often\nappeared masqued at the third table, which was that of the actors and\nsingers. He had given no orders at all about Mark. The arrangement was\nentirely of the Signorina's making, who desired that he should dine with\nher. It was a bold stroke; and an hour afterwards, when the Court\nChaplain discovered it, measures were taken to prevent its\nrecurrence--at least for a time.\n\nIn whatever way this arrangement came to be made, however, the result\nwas very advantageous to Mark. In the first place, it was not\nformidable. The company took little notice of him. Signor Carricchio\nmade grotesque faces at others, but not at him. He sat quite safe and\nsnug by the Signorina, and certainly stared with all his eyes, as she\nhad said. The long, dark, aquiline features of the men, the mobile play\nof humorous farce upon their faces, the constant chatter and sport--what\ncould the German peasant boy do but stare? His friend taught him how to\nhold his knife and fork, and how to eat. The Italians were very nice in\ntheir eating, and the boy picked up more in five minutes from the\nSignorina--he was very quick--than he would have done in weeks from the\nChaplain.\n\nHe was so scared and frightened, and the girl was so kind to him, that\nhis boy's heart went out to her.\n\n\"What shall I call you, Signorina?\" he said, as dinner was over. \"You\nare so good to me.\" He had already caught the Italian word.\n\n\"My name is Faustina Banti,\" she said, looking at him with her great\neyes; \"but you may call me 'Tina,' if you like. I had a little brother\nonce who called me that. He died.\"\n\n\"You are so very kind to me, Tina,\" said the boy, \"I am sure you must be\nvery good.\"\n\nShe looked at him again, smiling.\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\n\nTHE next morning early Mark was sent for to the Prince. He was shown\ninto the dressing-room, but the Prince was already dressed. He was\nseated in an easy-chair reading a small closely-printed sheet of paper,\nupon which the word \"Wien\" was conspicuous to the boy. The Prince bade\nthe little schoolmaster be seated on a fauteuil near him, and looked so\nkindly that he felt quite at his ease.\n\n\"Well! little one,\" said the Prince, \"how findest thou thyself? Hast\nthou found any friends yet in this place?\"\n\n\"The Signorina has been very kind to me, Highness,\" said the boy.\n\n\"Ah!\" said the Prince, smiling, \"thou hast found that out already. That\nis not so bad. I thought you two would be friends. What has the\nSignorina told thee?\"\n\n\"She has told me of the actors who are so clever and so strange. She\nsays that they are all in love with her.\"\n\n\"That is not unlikely. And what else?\"\n\n\"She has told me of the Princess and of her servente.\"\n\n\"Indeed!\" said the Prince, with the slightest possible appearance of\nincreased interest; \"what does she say of the Princess?\"\n\n\"She says that she is a bad woman, and that she hates her.\"\n\n\"Ah! the Signorina appears to have formed opinions of her own, and to\nbe able to express them. What else?\"\n\n\"She says that the servente is the devil himself! But she does not mean\nthe real devil. She says that the servente is a much more real devil\nthan he! Is not that horrible, Highness?\"\n\nThe Prince looked at Mark for two or three moments, with a kindly but\nstrange far-reaching look, which struck the boy, though he did not in\nthe least understand it.\n\n\"I did well, little one,\" he said at last, \"when I sent for thee.\"\n\nThere was a pause. The Prince seemed to have forgotten the presence of\nthe boy, who already was sufficiently of a courtier to hold his tongue.\n\nAt last the Prince spoke.\n\n\"And the children,\" he said; \"thou hast seen them?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said Mark, with a little shy smile, \"I did badly there. I\ninsulted the gracious Fraeulein by calling her 'Princess,' which she said\nonly the little Princes should do; and I told her I was come to teach\nher and her little brother, and that I should do it in my own way or not\nat all.\"\n\nThe Prince looked as though he feared that this unexpected amusement\nwould be almost too delightful.\n\n\"Well, little one,\" he said, \"thou hast begun well. Better than this\nnone could have done. Only be careful that thou art not spoilt. Care\nnothing for what thou hearest here. Continue to hate and fear the devil;\nfor, whether he be thy own devil or the servente, he is more powerful\nthan thou. Say nothing but what He whom thou rightly callest God teaches\nthee to say. So all will be well. Better teacher than thou my daughter\ncould not have. I would wish her to be pious, within reason; not like\nher aunt, that would not be well. I should wish her to care for the\npoor. Nothing is so gracious in noble ladies as to care for the poor.\nWhen they cease to do this they lose tone at once. The French noblesse\nhave done so. I should like her to visit the poor herself. It will have\nthe best effect upon her nature; much better,\" continued the Prince with\na half smile, and seemingly speaking to himself, \"much better, I should\nimagine, than on the poor themselves. But what will you have?--some one\nmust suffer, and the final touch cannot be obtained without.\"\n\nThere was another pause. This aspect of the necessary suffering the poor\nhad to undergo was so new to Mark that he required some time to grasp\nit. The visits of noble ladies to his village had not been so frequent\nas to cause the malign effects to be deeply felt.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nActing upon this advice so far as he understood it, Mark pursued the\nsame system of education with the little Highnesses as he had followed\nwith the village children; that is, he set them to read such things as\nhe was told they ought to learn, and encouraged them to do so by\npromising to relate his histories and tales if they were good.\n\nIt is surprising how much the same human nature remains after\ngenerations of different breeding and culture. It is true that these\nprincely children had heard many tales before, perhaps the very ones the\nlittle schoolmaster now related, yet they delighted in nothing so much\nas hearing them again. Much of this pleasure, no doubt, was due to the\nintense faith and interest in them shown by Mark himself. He talked to\nthem also much about God and the unseen world of angels, and of the\nwicked one; and, as they believed firmly that he was an angel, they\nlistened to these things with the more ready belief. Indeed, the\naffection which the little boy formed for his child-tutor was unusual.\nHe was a silent, solemn child; he said nothing, but he attached himself\nto Mark with a persistent devotion.\n\nEvery one in the palace, indeed, took to the boy: the pages left off\nteasing him; the Signorina petted him in a manner sufficient to deprive\nher numerous lovers of their reason; the servants waited on him for love\nand not for reward; but the strangest thing of all was, that in\nproportion as he was kindly treated--just as much as every one seemed to\nlove him and delight in him--just so much did the boy become miserable\nand unhappy. The kinder these people were, the more he felt the abyss\nwhich lay between his soul and theirs; earnestness and solemn faith in\nhis--sarcasm and lively farce, and, at the most, kindly toleration of\nbelief, in theirs.\n\nHad they ill-treated or wronged him, he would not have felt it so much;\nbut kindness and security on their part, seemed to intensify the sense\nof doubt and perplexity on his.\n\nIt is difficult to realise the effect which sarcasm and irony have upon\nsuch natures as his. They look upon life with such a single eye. It is\nso beautiful and solemn to them. Truth is so true; they are so much in\nearnest that they cannot understand the complex feeling that finds\nrelief in sarcasm and allegory, that tolerates the frivolous and the\nvain, as an ironic reading of the lesson of life.\n\nThe actors were particularly kind to him, though their grotesque\nattempts to amuse him mostly added to his misery. They were extremely\nanxious that he should appear upon the stage, and indeed the boy's\nbeauty and simplicity would have made an excellent foil.\n\n\"Herr Tutor,\" said old Carricchio the arlecchino to him one day, with\nmock gravity, \"we are about to perform a comedy--what is called a\nmasqued comedy, not because we wear masques, for we don't, but because\nof our dresses. It consists of music, dancing, love-making, joking, and\nbuffoonery; you will see what a trifle it is all about. The scene is in\nthe garden of a country-house--during what in Italy we call the\nVilleggiatura, that is the month we spend in the country during the\nvintage. A lady's fan is found by an ill-natured person in a curious\nplace; all the rest agree not to see the fan, not to acknowledge that it\nis a fan. It is all left to us at the moment, all except the songs and\nthe music, and you know how delightful those are. If you would take a\npart, and keep your own character throughout, it would be magnificent;\nbut we will wait, if you once see it you will wish to act.\"\n\nNo one, indeed, was kinder to Mark, or seemed more to delight in his\nsociety than the old arlecchino, and the two made a most curious sight,\nseated together on one of the terraces on a sunny afternoon. Nothing\ncould be more diverse in appearance than this strangely assorted pair.\nCarricchio was tall, with long limbs, and large aquiline features. He\nwore a set smile upon his large expressive mouth, which seemed born of\nno sense of enjoyment, but of an infinite insight, and of a mocking\nfriendliness. He seldom wore anything but the dress of his part; but he\nwrapped himself mostly in a long cloak, lined with fur, for even the\nnorthern sunshine seemed chilly to the old clown. Wrapped in this\nancient garment, he would sit beside Mark, listening to the boy's\nstories with his deep unfathomed smile; and as he went on with his\nhistories, the boy used to look into his companion's face, wondering at\nthe slow smile, and at the deep wrinkles of the worn visage, till at\nlength, fascinated at the sight, he forgot his stories, and looking into\nthe old man's face appeared to Mark, though the comparison seems\npreposterous, like gazing at the fated story of the mystic tracings of\nthe star-lit skies.\n\nWhy the old man listened so patiently to these childish stories no one\ncould tell; perhaps he did not hear them. He himself said that the\npresence of Mark had the effect of music upon his jaded and worn sense.\nBut, indeed, there was beneath Carricchio's mechanical buffoonery and\nfarce a sober and pathetic humour, which was almost unconscious, and\nwhich was now, probably owing to advancing years, first becoming known\neither to himself or others.\n\n\"The Maestro has been talking to me this morning,\" he said one day. \"He\nsays that life is a wretched masque, a miserable apology for existence\nby the side of art; what do you say to that?\"\n\n\"I do not know what it means,\" said Mark; \"I neither know life nor art,\nhow can I tell?\"\n\n\"That is true, but you know more than you think. The Maestro means that\nlife is imperfect, struggling, a failure, ugly most often; art is\nperfect, complete, beautiful, and full of force and power. But I tell\nhim that some failure is better than success; sometimes ugliness is a\nfiner thing than beauty; and that the best art is that which only\nreproduces life. If life were fashioned after the most perfect art you\nwould never be able to cry, nor to make me cry, as you do over your\nbeautiful tales.\"\n\nMark tried to understand this, but failed, and was therefore silent.\nIndeed it is not certain whether Carricchio himself understood what he\nwas saying.\n\nHe seemed to have some suspicion of this, for he did not go on talking,\nbut was silent for some time. These silences were common between the\ntwo.\n\nAt last he said:\n\n\"I think where the Maestro is wrong is in making the two quarrel. They\ncannot quarrel. There is no art without life, and no life without art.\nLook at a puppet-play--the fantoccini--it means life and it means art.\"\n\n\"I never saw a puppet-play,\" said Mark.\n\n\"Well, you have seen us,\" said Carricchio; \"we are much the same. We\nmove ourselves--they are moved by wires; but we do just the same\nthings--we are life and we are art, in the burletta we are both. I often\nthink which is which--which is the imposture and which is the masque.\nThen I think that somewhere there must be a higher art that surpasses\nthe realism of life--a divine art which is not life but fashions life.\n\n\"When I look at you, little one,\" Carricchio went on, \"I feel almost as\nI do when the violins break in upon the jar and fret of the wittiest\ndialogue. Jest and lively fancy--these are the sweets of life, no\ndoubt--and humorous thought and speech and gesture--but they are not\nthis divine art, they are not rest. They shrivel and wither the brain.\nThe whole being is parched, the heart is dry in this sultry, piercing\nlight. But when the stringed melodies steal in, and when the rippling,\nsurging arpeggios and crescendos sweep in upon the sense, and the\nstilled cadences that lull and soothe--then, indeed, it is like moisture\nand the gracious dew. It is like sleep; the strained nerves relax; the\noverwrought frame, which is like dry garden mould, is softened, and the\nflowers spring up again.\"\n\nCarricchio paused; but as Mark said nothing, he went on again.\n\n\"The other life is gay, lively, bright, full of excitement and\ninterest, of tender pity even, and of love--but this is rest and peace.\nThe other is human life, but what is this? Art? Ah! but a divine art.\nHere is no struggle, no selfish desire, no striving, no conflict of love\nor of hate. It is like silence, the most unselfish thing there is. I\nhave, indeed, sometimes thought that music must be the silence of\nheaven.\"\n\n\"The silence of heaven!\" said Mark, with open eyes. \"The silence of\nheaven! What, then, are its words?\"\n\n\"Ah! that,\" said the old clown, smiling, but with a sad slowness in his\nspeech, \"is beyond me to tell. I can hear its silence, but not its\nvoice.\"\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\n\nTHE private theatre in the palace was a room of very moderate size, for\nthe audience was necessarily very small; in fact, the stage was larger\nthan the auditorium. The play took place in the afternoon, and there was\nno artificial light; many of the operatic performances in Italy, indeed,\ntook place in the open air.\n\nYet, though the time of day and the natural light deprived the theatre\nof much of the strangeness and glamour with which it is usually\nassociated, and which so much impress a youth who sees it for the first\ntime, the effect of the first performance upon Mark was very remarkable.\nHe was seated immediately behind the Prince. Far from being delighted\nwith the play, he was overpowered as it went on by an intense melancholy\nhorror. When the violins, the flutes, and the fifes began the overture,\na new sense seemed given to him, which was not pleasure but the\nintensest dread. If the singing of the Signorina had been a shock to\nhim, accustomed as he was only to the solemn singing of his childhood,\nwhat must this elfish, weird, melodious music have seemed, full of gay\nand careless life, and of artless unconscious airs which yet were\nmiracles of art? He sat, terrified at these delicious sounds, as though\nthis world of music without thought or conscience were a wicked thing.\nThe shrill notes of the fifes, the long tremulous vibration of the\nstrings, seemed to draw his heart after them. Wherever this wizard call\nmight lead him it seemed he would have to follow the alluring chords.\n\nBut when the acting began his terror became more intense. The grotesque\nfigures seemed to him those of devils, or at the best of fantastic imps\nor gnomes. He could understand nothing of the dialogue, but the\ngestures, the laughter, the wild singing, were shocking to him. When the\nSignorina appeared, the strange intensity of her colour, the brilliancy\nof her eyes, and what seemed to him the freedom of her gestures and the\nboldness of her bewitching glances, far from delighting, as they seemed\nto do all the others, made him ready to weep with shame and grief. He\nsank back in his seat to avoid the notice of the Prince, who, indeed,\nwas too much absorbed in the music and the acting to remember him.\n\nThe beauty of the music only added to his despair; had it been less\nlovely, had the acting not forced now and then a glance of admiring\nwonder or struck a note of high-toned touching pathos even, it would not\nall have seemed so much the work of evil. When the comedy was over he\ncrept silently away to his room; and in the excitement of congratulation\nand praise, as actors and audience mingled together, and the Signorina\nwas receiving the commendations of the Prince, he was not missed.\n\nHe could not stay in this place--that at least was clear to him. He must\nescape. He must return to nature, to the woods and birds, to children\nand to children's sports. These gibing grimaces, these endless bowings\nand scrapings and false compliments, known of all to be false, would\nchoke him if he stayed. He must escape from the house of frivolity into\nthe soft, gracious outer air of sincerity and truth.\n\nHe cried himself to sleep: all through the night, amid fitful slumber,\nthe crowd of masques jostled and mocked at him; the weird strains of\nunknown instruments reached his half-conscious bewildered sense. Early\nin the morning he awoke. There had been rain in the night, and the\nsmiling morning beckoned him out.\n\nHe stole down some back stairs, and found a door which opened on gardens\nand walks at the back of the palace. This he managed to open, and went\nout.\n\nThe path on which the door opened led him through rows of fruit-trees\nand young plantations. A little forest of delicate boughs and young\nleaves lifted itself up against the blue sky, and a myriad drops\nsparkled in the morning sun. The fresh cool air, the blue sky, the\nsinging of the birds, restored Mark to himself. He seemed to see again\nthe possibility of escape from evil, and the hope of righteousness and\npeace. His whole spirit went out in prayer and love to the Almighty, who\nhad made these lovely things. He felt as he had been wont to do when, on\na fine Sunday, he had walked home with his children in order, relating\nto them the most beautiful tales of God. He wandered slowly down the\nnarrow paths. The fresh-turned earth between the rows of saplings, the\nbeds of herbs, the moist grass, gave forth a scent at once delicate and\nsearching. The boy's cheerfulness began to return. The past seemed to\nfade. He almost thought himself the little schoolmaster again.\n\nAfter wandering for some time through this delicious land of perfume, of\nlight, and sweet sound, he came to a very long but narrow avenue of old\nelm trees that led down a gradual slope, as it seemed, into the heart of\nthe forest. Beneath the avenue a well-kept path seemed to point with a\nguiding hand.\n\nHe followed the path for some distance, and had just perceived what\nseemed to be an old manor-house, standing in a courtyard at the farther\nend, when he was conscious of a figure advancing along the path to meet\nhim: as it approached he saw that it was that of a lady of tall and\ncommanding appearance, and apparently of great beauty; she wore the\ndress of some sisterhood. When he was near enough to see her face he\nfound that it was indeed beautiful, with an expression of the purest\nsincerity and benevolence. The lady stopped and spoke to Mark at once.\n\n\"You must be the new tutor to their Highnesses,\" she said; \"I have heard\nof you.\"\n\nMark said that he was.\n\n\"You do not look well,\" said the lady, very kindly; \"are you happy at\nthe palace?\"\n\n\"Are you the Princess Isoline?\" said Mark, not answering the question;\n\"I think you must be, you are so beautiful.\"\n\n\"I am the Princess Isoline,\" said the lady; \"walk a little way with me.\"\n\nMark turned with the lady and walked back towards the palace. After a\nmoment or two he said: \"I am not happy at Joyeuse, I am very miserable,\nI want to run away.\"\n\n\"What makes you so unhappy? Are they not kind to you? The Prince is very\nkind, and the children are good children--I have always thought.\"\n\n\"They are all very kind, too kind to me,\" said the boy. \"I cannot make\nyou understand why I am so miserable, I cannot tell myself--the Prince\nis worse than all----\"\n\n\"Why is the Prince the worst of all?\" said the lady, in a very gentle\nvoice.\n\n\"All the rest I know are wrong,\" replied the boy, passionately--\"the\nactors, the Signorina, the pages, and all; but when the Prince looks at\nme with his quiet smile--when the look comes into his eyes as though he\ncould see through time even into eternity--when he looks at me in his\nkindly, pitying way--I begin to doubt. Oh, Highness, it is terrible to\ndoubt! Do you think that the Prince is right?\"\n\nThe Princess was silent for a moment or two; it was not that she did not\nunderstand the boy, for she understood him very well.\n\n\"No, I think you are right and not the Prince,\" she said at length, in\nher quiet voice.\n\nThere was a pause: neither seemed to know what to say next. They had\nnow nearly reached the end of the avenue next the palace; the Princess\nstopped.\n\n\"Come back with me,\" she said, \"I will show you my house.\"\n\nThey walked slowly along the narrow pathway towards the old house at the\nfarther end. The Princess was evidently considering what to say.\n\n\"Why do you know that they are all wrong?\" she said at last.\n\n\"Highness,\" said the boy after a pause, \"I have never lived amongst, or\nseen anything, since I was born, but what was natural and real--the\nforest, the fruit-trees in blossom, the gardens, and the flowers. I have\nnever heard anything except of God--of the wretchedness of sin--of\nbeautiful stories of good people. My grandfather, when he was alive,\nused to talk to me, as I sat with him at his charcoal-burning in the\nforest, of my forefathers who were all honest and pious people. There\nare not many Princes who can say that.\"\n\nThe Princess did not seem to notice this last uncourtly speech.\n\n\"'I shall then find all my forefathers in Heaven,' I would say to him,\"\ncontinued Mark. \"'Yes, that thou wilt! we shall then be of high\nnobility. Do not lose this privilege.' If I lose this privilege, how sad\nthat will be! But here, in the palace, they think nothing of these\nthings--instead of hymns they sing the strangest, wildest songs, so\nstrange and beautiful that I fear and tremble at them as if the sounds\nwere wicked sounds.\"\n\nSo talking, the Princess and the boy went on through the lovely wood;\nat last they left the avenue and passed into the courtyard of a stately\nbut decayed house. The walls of the courtyard were overgrown with ivy,\nand trees were growing up against the house and shading some of the\nwindows. The Princess passed on without speaking, and entered the hall\nby an open door. As they entered, Mark could hear the sound of looms,\nand inside were several men and women at different machines employed in\nweaving cloth. The Princess spoke to several, and leading Mark onward\nshe ascended a wide staircase, and reached at last a long gallery at the\nback of the house. Here were many looms, and girls and men employed in\nweaving. The long range of lofty windows faced the north, and over the\nnearer woods could be seen the vast sweep of the great Thuringian\nForest, where Martin Luther had lived and walked. The risen sun was\ngilding the distant woods. A sense of indescribable loveliness and peace\nseemed to Mark to pervade the place.\n\n\"How happy you must be here, gracious Highness!\" he exclaimed.\n\nThey were standing apart in one of the windows towards the end of the\nlong room, and the noise of the looms made a continuous murmur that\nprevented their voices being heard by the others who were near.\n\nThe Princess looked at Mark for some moments without reply.\n\n\"I must speak the truth always,\" she said at last, \"but more than ever\nto such as thou art. I am not happy.\"\n\nThe boy looked at her as though his heart would break.\n\n\"Not happy,\" he said in a low voice, \"and you so good.\"\n\n\"The good are not happy,\" said the Princess, \"and the happy are not\ngood.\"\n\nThere was a pause; then the Princess went on:\n\n\"The people who are with me are good, but they are not happy. They have\nleft the world and its pleasures, but they regret them; they live in the\nperpetual consciousness of this self-denial--this fancy that they are\nserving God better than others are; they are in danger of becoming\njealous and hypocritical. I warn you never to join a particular society\nwhich proposes, as its object, to serve God better than others. You are\nsafer, more in the way of serving God in the palace, even amid the\nsinging and the music which seems to you so wicked. They are happy; they\nare thoughtless, gay, like the birds. They have at least no dark gloomy\nthoughts of God, even if they have no thoughts of Him at all. They may\nbe won to Him, nay, they may be nearer to Him now than some who think\nthemselves so good. Since I began this way of life I have heard of many\nsuch societies, which have crumbled into the dust with derision, and are\nremembered only with reproach.\"\n\nMark stood gazing at the distant forest without seeing it. He did not\nknow what to think.\n\n\"I do not know why I have told you this,\" said the Princess; \"I had no\nthought of saying such words when I brought you here. I seem to have\nspoken them without willing it. Perhaps it was the will of God.\"\n\n\"Why do you go on with this life,\" said Mark sadly, \"if it be not good?\nThe Prince would be glad if you would come back to the palace. He has\ntold me so.\"\n\nIt seemed to the boy that life grew more and more sad. It seemed that,\nbaffled and turned back at every turn, there was no reality, no sincere\nwalk anywhere possible. The worse seemed everywhere the better, the\nchildren of this world everywhere wiser than the children of light.\n\n\"I cannot go back now,\" said the Princess. \"When you are gone I shall\nforget this; I shall think otherwise. There is something in your look\nthat has made me speak like this.\"\n\n\"Then are these people really not happy?\" said Mark again.\n\n\"Why should they be happy?\" said the Princess, with some bitterness in\nher voice. \"They have given up all that makes life pleasant--fine\nclothes, delicate food, cunning harmonies, love, gay devices, and\nsports. Why should they be happy? They have dull work, none to amuse or\nenliven the long days.\"\n\n\"I was very happy in my village outside the palace gates,\" said Mark\nquietly; \"I had none of these things; I only taught the little peasants,\nyet I was happy. From morning to night the path was straight before\nme,--a bright and easy path; and the end was always light. Now all is\ndifficult and strange. Since I passed through the gates with the golden\nscrolls, which I thought were like the heavenly Jerusalem, all goes\ncrooked and awry; nothing seems plain and righteous as in the pleasant\nold days. I have come into an enchanted palace, the air of which I\ncannot breathe and live; I must go back.\"\n\n\"No, not so,\" said the Princess, \"you are wanted here. Where you were\nyou were of little good. There were at least others who could do your\nwork. Here none can do it but you. They never saw any one like you\nbefore. They know it and speak of it. All are changed somewhat since you\ncame; you might, it is true, come to me, but I should not wish it. The\nair of this house would be worse for you even than that of the palace\nwhich you fear so much. Besides, the Prince would not be pleased with\nme.\"\n\nMark looked sadly before him for some moments before he said:\n\n\"Even if it be true what you say, still I must go. It is killing me. I\nwish to do right and good to all; but what good shall I do if it takes\nall my strength and life? I shall ask the Prince to let me go back.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the Princess, \"not that--never that. It is impossible, you\ncannot go back!\"\n\n\"Cannot go back!\" cried Mark. \"Why? The Prince is very kind. He will not\nkeep me here to die.\"\n\n\"Yes, the Prince is very kind, but he cannot do that; what is passed can\nnever happen again. It is the children's phrase, 'Do it again.' It can\nnever be done again. You have passed, as you say, the golden gates into\nan enchanted world; you have known good and evil; you have tasted of the\nfruit of the so-called Tree of Life; you cannot go back to the village.\nThink.\"\n\nMark was silent for a longer space this time. His eyes were dim, but he\nseemed to see afar off.\n\n\"No,\" he said at last, \"it is true, I cannot go back. The village, and\nthe school, and the children have passed away. I should not find them\nthere, as they were before. If I cannot come to you, there is nothing\nfor me but to die.\"\n\n\"The Pagans,\" said the Princess, \"the old Pagans, that knew their gods\nbut dimly, used to say--\"The God-beloved die young.\" It has been said\nsince by Christian men.--Do not be afraid to die. Instead of your form\nand voice there will be remembrance and remorse; instead of indifference\nand sarcasm there will be contrition; in place of thoughtless kindliness\na tender love. Do not be afraid to die. The charm is working now; it\nwill increase when sight is changed for memory, and the changeful\nirritation of time for changeless recollection and regret. The body of\nthe sown grain is transfigured into the flower of a spiritual life, and\nfrom the dust is raised a mystic presence which can never fade. Do not\nbe afraid to die.\"\n\nMark walked slowly back to the palace. He could not think; he was\nstunned and bewildered. He wished the Princess Isoline would have let\nhim come to her. Then he thought all might yet be well. When he reached\nthe palace he found everything in confusion. The Princess and her friend\nthe _servente_ had suddenly arrived.\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\n\nLATER on in the day Mark was told that the Princess wished to see him,\nand that he must wait upon her in her own apartment. He was taken to a\npart of the palace into which he had hitherto never been; in which a\nluxurious suite of rooms was reserved for the Princess when she\ncondescended to occupy them. The most easterly of the suite was a\nmorning sitting-room, which opened upon a balcony or trellised verandah,\nshaded with jasmine. The room was furnished in a very different style\nfrom the rest of the palace. The other rooms, though rich, were rather\nbare of garniture, after the Italian manner--their ornaments consisting\nof cabinets of inlaid wood and pictures on the walls, with the centre of\nthe room left clear. These rooms on the contrary, were full of small\ngilt furniture, after the fashion of the French court. Curious screens,\ndepicting strange birds of gaudy plumage, embarrassed Mark as he entered\nthe room.\n\nThe Prince was seated near a lady who was reclining in the window, and\nopposite to them was a stranger whom Mark knew must be the Count. The\nlady was beautiful, but with a kind of beauty strange to the boy, and\nher dress was more wonderful than any he had yet seen, though it was a\nmere morning robe. She looked curiously at him as he entered the room.\n\n\"This, then,\" she said, \"is the clown who is to educate my children.\"\n\nAt this not very encouraging address the boy stopped, and stood silently\ncontemplating the group.\n\nThe Count was the first who came to his assistance.\n\n\"The youth is not so bad, Princess,\" he said. \"He has an air of society\nabout him, in spite of his youth.\"\n\nThe Prince looked at the Count with a pleased expression.\n\n\"Do not fear for the children, Adelaide,\" he said; \"they will fare very\nwell. Their manners are improved already. When they come to Vienna you\nwill see how fine their breeding will be thought to be. Leave them to\nme. You do not care for them; leave them to me and to the Herr Tutor.\"\n\nMark was looking at the Count. This was another strange study for the\nboy. He was older than the Prince--a man of about forty; more firmly\nbuilt, and with well-cut but massive features. He wore a peruke of very\nshort, curled hair; his dress was rich, but very simple; and his whole\nappearance and manner suggested curiously that of a man who carried no\nmore weight than he could possibly help, who encumbered himself with\nnothing that he could throw aside, who offered in every action, speech,\nand gesture the least possible resistance to the atmosphere, moral,\nsocial, or physical, in which he found himself. His manner to the Prince\nwas deferential, without being marked, and he evidently wished to\npropitiate him.\n\n\"Thou art very pious, I hear,\" said the Princess, addressing Mark in a\ntone of unmitigated contempt.\n\nThe boy only bowed.\n\n\"Is he dumb?\" said the Princess, still with undisguised disdain.\n\n\"No,\" said the Prince quietly. \"He can speak when he thinks that what he\nsays will be well received.\"\n\n\"He is wise,\" said the Count.\n\n\"Well,\" said the Princess sharply, \"my wishes count for nothing; of that\nwe are well aware. But I do not want my children to be infected with the\nsuperstitions of the past, which still linger among the coarse and\nignorant peasantry. I suppose, now, this peasant schoolmaster believes\nin a God and a hell, and in a heaven for such as he?\" and she threw\nherself back with a light laugh.\n\n\"No, surely,\" said the Count blandly, \"that were too gross, even for a\npeasant priest.\"\n\n\"Tell me, Herr Tutor,\" said the Princess; and now she threw a nameless\ncharm into her manner as she addressed the boy, from whom she wished an\nanswer; \"tell me, dost thou believe in a heaven?\"\n\n\"Yes, gracious Highness,\" said Mark.\n\n\"It has always struck me,\" said the Prince, with a philosophic air,\n\"that we might leave the poor their distant heaven. Its existence cannot\ninjure us. I have sometimes fancied that they might retort upon me: 'You\nhave everything here that life can wish: we have nothing. You have\ndainty food, and fine clothes, and learning, and music, and all the\nfruition that your fastidious fancy craves: we are cold and hungry, and\nignorant and miserable. Leave us our heaven! At least, if you do not\nbelieve in it, keep silence before us. Our belief does not trouble you;\nit takes nothing from the least of your pleasures; it is all we have.'\"\n\n\"When the Prince begins to preach,\" said the Princess, with scarcely\nless contempt than she had shown for Mark, \"I always leave the room.\"\n\nThe Count immediately rose and opened a small door leading to a boudoir.\nThe Prince rose and bowed. The Princess swept to the ground before him\nin an elaborate curtsey, and, looking contemptuously, yet with a certain\namused interest, at Mark, left the room.\n\nThe Prince resumed his seat, and, leaning back, looked from one to the\nother of his companions. He was really thinking with amusement what a\nso strangely-assorted couple might be likely to say to each other; but\nthe Count, misled by his desire to please the Prince, misunderstood him.\nHe supposed that he wished that the conversation which the Princess had\ninterrupted should be continued, and, sitting down, he began again.\n\n\"I suppose, Herr Tutor,\" he said, \"you propose to train your pupils so\nthat they shall be best fitted to mingle with the world in which they\nwill be called upon to play an important part?\"\n\nThe Prince motioned to Mark to sit, which he did, upon the edge of an\nembroidered couch.\n\n\"If the serene Highness,\" he said, \"had wished for one to teach his\nchildren who knew the great world and the cities he would not have sent\nfor me.\"\n\n\"What do you teach them, then?\"\n\n\"I tell them beautiful histories,\" said Mark, \"of good people, and of\nlove, and of God.\"\n\n\"It has been proved,\" said the Count, \"that there is no God.\"\n\n\"Then there is still love,\" said the boy.\n\n\"Yes, there is still love,\" said the Count, with an amused glance at the\nPrince; \"all the more that we have got rid of a cruel God.\"\n\nThe boy's face flushed.\n\n\"How can you dare say that?\" he said.\n\n\"Why,\" said the Count, with a simulated warmth, \"what is the God of you\npious people but a cruel God? He who condemns the weak and the\nignorant--the weak whom He has Himself made weak, and the ignorant whom\nHe keeps in darkness--to an eternity of torture for a trivial and\ntemporary, if not an unconscious, fault? What is that God but cruel who\nwill not forgive till He has gratified His revenge upon His own Son?\nWhat is that God but cruel---- But I need not go on. The whole thing is\nnothing but a figment and a dream, hatched in the diseased fancies of\nhalf-starved monks dying by inches in caves and deserts, terrified by\nthe ghastly visions of a ruined body and a disordered mind--men so\nstupid and so wicked that they could not discern the nature of the man\nwhom they professed to take for their God--a man, apparently, one of\nthose rare natures, in advance of their time, whom friends and enemies\nalike misconceive and thwart; and who die, as He died, helpless and\ndefeated, with a despairing cry to a heedless or visionary God in whom\nthey have believed in vain.\"\n\nAs the Count went on, a new and terrible phase of experience was passing\nthrough Mark's mind. As the brain consists of two parts, so the mind\nseems dual also. Thought seems at different times to consist of\ndifferent phases, each of which can only see itself--of a faith that can\nsee no doubt--of a doubt that can conceive of no certainty; one week\nexalted to the highest heaven, the next plunged into the lowest hell.\nFor the first time in his life this latter phase was passing through\nMark's mind. What had always looked to him as certain as the hills and\nfields, seemed, on a sudden, shrunken and vanished away. His mind felt\nemptied and vacant; he could not even think of God. It appeared even\nmarvellous to him that anything could have filled this vast fathomless\nvoid, much less such a lovely and populous world as that which now\nseemed vanished as a morning mist. He tried to rouse his energies, to\ngrasp at and to recover his accustomed thoughts, but he seemed\nfascinated; the eyes of the Count rested on him, as he thought, with an\nevil glance. He turned faint.\n\nBut the Prince came to his aid. He was looking across at the Count with\na sort of lazy dislike; as one looks at a stuffed reptile or at a foul\nbut caged bird.\n\n\"Thou art soon put down, little one,\" he said, with his kindly, lofty\nair. \"Tell him all this is nothing to thee! That disease and\ndistraction never created anything. That nothing lives without a germ of\nlife. Tell the Count that thou art not careful to answer him--that it\nmay be as he says. Tell him that even were it so--that He of whom he\nspeaks died broken-hearted in that despairing cry to the Father who He\nthought had deserted Him--tell the Count thou art still with Him! Tell\nhim that if His mission was misconceived and perverted, it was because\nHis spirit and method was Divine! Tell the Count that in spite of\nfailure and despair, nay, perchance--who knows?--because even of that\ndespair, He has drawn all men to Him from that cross of His as He said.\nTell the Count that He has ascended to His Father and to thy Father,\nand, alone among the personalities of the world's story, sits at the\nright hand of God! Tell him this, he will have nothing to reply.\"\n\nAnd, as if to render reply impossible, the Prince rose and, calling to\nhis spaniel, who came at his gesture from the sunshine in the window, he\nstruck a small Indian gong upon the table, and the pages drawing back\nthe curtains of the antechamber, he left the room.\n\nThe Count looked at the boy with a smile. Mark's face was flushed, his\neyes sparkling and full of tears.\n\n\"Well, Herr Tutor,\" said the Count not unkindly, \"dost thou say all\nthat?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" said the boy, \"God helping me, I say all that!\"\n\n\"Thou might'st do worse, Tutor,\" said the Count, \"than follow the\nPrince.\"\n\nAnd he too left the room.\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\n\nTHE arrival of the Princess very much increased the gaiety and activity\nof life within the palace. Every one became impressed with the idea that\nthe one thing necessary was to entertain her. The actors set to work to\nprepare new plays, new spectacles; the musicians to compose new\ncombinations of quaint notes; the poets new sonnets on strange and, if\npossible, new conceits. As the Princess was very difficult to please,\nand as it was almost impossible to conceive anything which appeared new\nto her jaded intellect, the difficulty of the task caused any idea that\npromised novelty to be seized upon with a desperate determination. The\nmost favourite one still continued to be the proposition that Mark\nshould be induced, by fair means or foul, to take a part upon the stage.\nHis own character--the _role_ which he instinctively played--was so\nabsolutely original and fresh that the universal opinion was confident\nof the success of such a performance.\n\n\"By some means or other,\" said old Carricchio, \"he must be got to act.\"\n\n\"You may do what you will with him,\" said the Signorina sadly; \"he will\ndie. He is too good to live. Like my little brother and the poor canary,\nhe will die.\"\n\nIn pursuit, then, of this ingenious plan, the Princess was requested to\nhonour with her presence a performance of a hitherto unknown character,\nto be given in the palace gardens. She at first declined, saying that\nshe had seen everything that could be performed so often that she was\nsick of such things, and that each of their vaunted and promised\nnovelties proved more stale and dull than its precursor. It was\ntherefore necessary to let her know something of what was proposed; and\nno sooner did she understand that Mark was to be the centre round which\nthe play turned, than she entered into the plot with the greatest zeal.\n\nIt is, perhaps, not strange that to such a woman Mark's character and\npersonality offered a singular novelty and even charm. The thought of\ntriumphing over this child-like innocence, of contrasting it with the\nlicence and riot which the play would offer, struck her jaded curiosity\nwith a sense of delicious freshness, and she took an eager delight in\nthe arrangement and contrivance of the scenes.\n\nIn expansion of the idea suggested by some of the wonderful theatres in\nItaly, where the open-air stage extended into real avenues and thickets,\nit was decided that the entire play should be represented in the palace\ngardens: and that, in fact, the audience should take part in the action\nof the drama. This, where the whole household was theatrical, and where\nthe actors were trained in the Italian comedy, which left so much to the\n_improvisatore_--to the individual taste and skill of the actor--was a\nscheme not difficult to realise.\n\nThe palace garden, which was very large, was disposed in terraces and\nhedges; it was planted with numerous thickets and groves, and, wherever\nthe inequalities of the ground allowed it, with lofty banks of thick\nshrubs crowned with young trees, beneath which were arranged statues and\nfountains in the Italian manner. The hedges were cut into arcades and\narches, giving free access to the retired lawns and shady nooks; and\nthese arcades, and the lofty groves and terraces, gave a constant sense\nof mystery and expectation to the scene. The ample lawns and open spaces\nafforded more than one suitable stage, upon which the most important\nscenes of a play might be performed.\n\nBeneath one of the highest and most important banks, which stretched in\na perfectly straight line across the garden, planted thickly with\nflowering shrubs and fringed at the top with a long line of young trees,\nwhose delicate foliage was distinct against the sky, was placed the\nlargest of the fountains. It was copied from that in the Piazza Santa\nMaria in Transtevere in Rome, and was ornamented with great shells,\nfish, and Tritons. On either side of the fountain, and leading to the\nterrace at the back, were flights of marble steps, with wide-stretching\nstone bases upon either side towering above the grass. In front of the\nfountain and of the steps, beyond a belt of greensward, were long hedges\nplanted in parallel rows, and connected in arches and arcades, crossing\nand re-crossing each other in an intricate maze, so that a large\ncompany, wandering through their paths, might suddenly appear and\ndisappear. Beyond the hedges the lawn stretched out again, broken by\nflowerbeds and statues, and fringed by masses of foliage and lofty\nlimes. A sound of falling water was heard on all sides; and, by\nmysterious contrivance of concealed mechanism, flute and harp music\nsounded from the depths of the bosky groves.\n\n+ + + + +\n\nMark knew little of what was going on. He occupied himself mostly with\nhis young pupils; but the conversation he had had with the Princess\nIsoline had troubled his mind, and a sense of perplexity and of\napproaching evil weighed upon his spirits and affected his health. He,\nwho had never known sickness in his peasant life, now, when confined to\na life so unnatural and artificial, so out of harmony with his mind and\nsoul, became listless and weak in body, and haunted by fitful terrors\nand failings of consciousness. He knew that some extraordinary\npreparations were being made; but he was not spoken to upon the subject,\nand paid little attention to what was going on. Indeed, had he been in\nthe least of a suspicious nature, the entire absence of solicitation or\ninterference might have led him to suspect some secret machination\nagainst his simplicity and peace, some contrived treachery at work; but\nno such idea crossed his mind, he occupied himself with his own\nmelancholy thoughts and with the histories and parables which he related\nto his pupils.\n\nOn the morning of the day fixed for the performance, then, things being\nin this condition, Mark rose early. He had been informed that it was\nnecessary that he should wear his best court-suit, which we have seen\nwas of black silk with white bands and ruffles. He gave his pupils a\nshort lesson, but their thoughts were so much occupied by the\nexpectation of the coming festivity that he soon released them and\nwandered out into the gardens alone. The performance of the play had\nbeen fixed for noon.\n\nThe day was bright and serene. The gardens were brilliant with colour\nand sweet with the perfume of flowers and herbs. Strains of mysterious\nharmony from secret music startled the wanderer along the paths.\n\nMark strayed listlessly through the more distant groves. He was\ndistressed and dissatisfied with himself. His spirit seemed to have lost\nits happy elasticity, his mind its active joyousness. The things which\nformerly delighted him no longer seemed to please, even the loveliness\nof nature was unable to arouse him. He found himself envying those\nothers who took so much real delight, or seemed to him to do so, in\nfantastic and frivolous music and jest and comic sport. He began to\nwonder what this new surprising play--these elaborately prepared\nharmonies--these swells and runs and shakes--might prove to be. Then he\nhated himself for this envy--for this curiosity. He wished to return to\nhis old innocence--his old simplicity.\n\nBut he felt that this could never be. As the Princess had told him,\nwhatever in after years he might become, never would he taste this\ndelight of his child's nature again. He was inexpressibly sad and\ndepressed.\n\nAs he wandered on, not knowing where he went, and growing almost stupid,\nand indifferent even to pain, he found himself suddenly surrounded by a\nthrong of dancing and laughing girls. It was easy, in this magic garden,\nto steal unobserved upon any one amid the bosky hedges and arcades; but\nto surprise one so abstracted as the dreamy and listless boy required no\neffort at all. With hands clasped and mocking laughter they surrounded\nthe unhappy Mark. They were masqued, with delicate bits of fringed silk\nacross the eyes, but had they not been so he was too confused to have\nrecognised them. He tried in vain to escape. Then he was lifted from the\nground by a score of hands and borne rapidly away.\n\nThe stories of swan-maidens and winged fairies of his old histories\ncrossed his mind, and he seemed to be flying through the air; suddenly\nthis strange flight came to an end; he was on his feet again, and, as he\nlooked confusedly around, he found that he was alone.\n\nHe was standing on a circular space of lawn, surrounded by the lofty\nwood. In the centre was an antique statue of a faun playing upon a\nflute. He seemed to recognise the scene, but could not in his confusion\nrecall in what part of the vast garden it lay.\n\nAs he stood, lost in wonder and expectation, a fairy-like figure was\nsuddenly present before him, from whence coming he could not tell. The\nslim and delicate form was dressed in a gossamer robe, through which the\nlovely limbs might be seen. She held a light masque in her hand, and\nlaughed at him with her dancing eyes and rosy mouth. It was the little\nPrincess, his pupil.\n\nEven now no thought of plot or treachery entered the boy's mind; he\ngazed at her in wondering amaze.\n\n\"You must come with me,\" said the girl-princess, holding out her hand;\n\"I am sent to fetch you to the under world.\"\n\nBehind them as they stood, and facing the statue of the faun, was a cave\nor hollow in the wood, half concealed by the pendant tendrils of\ncreeping and flowering plants. It seemed the opening of a subterranean\npassage. The child pushed aside the hanging blossoms and drew Mark,\nstill dazed and unresisting, after her. They went down into the dark\ncave.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nMeanwhile from early dawn the palace had been noisy with pattering feet.\nFor its bizarre population was augmented from many sources, and the\ngreat performance of the day taxed the exertions of all. As the morning\nadvanced visitors began to arrive, and were marshalled to certain parts\nof the gardens where positions were allotted them, and refreshments\nserved in tents. They were mostly masqued. Then strange groups began to\nform themselves before the garden front of the palace, and on the\nterraces. These were all masqued, and dressed in variety of incongruous\nand fantastic costumes, for though the play was supposed to be\nclassical, yet the necessity of entertaining the Princess with\nsomething startling and lively was more exacting than artistic\ncongruity. As we have seen, the Prince had always inclined more to the\nfairy and masqued comedy than to the serious opera, and on this occasion\nthe result was more original and fantastic than had ever before been\nachieved.\n\nAs the morning went on, there gradually arranged itself, as if by\nfortuitous incident, as strange a medley of fairy mediaeval legend and of\nclassic lore as eye ever looked upon. As the Prince and Princess,\nsurrounded by their principal guests, all masqued and attired in every\nshade of colour and diversity of form, stood upon the steps before the\npalace, the wide gardens seemed full of groups equally varied and\nequally brilliant with their own. From behind the green screens of the\nhedges, and from beneath the arcades, figures were constantly emerging\nand passing again out of sight, apparently accidentally, but in fact\nwith a carefully-devised plan. Strains of delicate music filled the air.\n\nThen a group of girls in misty drapery, and masqued across the eyes, the\nsame indeed that had carried off Mark, appeared suddenly before the\nprincely group. They had discovered in the deepest dell of their native\nmountain a deserted babe--the offspring doubtless of the loves of some\nwandering god. They were become its nurses, and fed it upon sacred honey\nand consecrated bread. Of immortal birth themselves, and untouched by\nthe passing years, the boy became, as he grew up, the plaything, and\nfinally the beloved of his beautiful friends. But the boy himself is\nindifferent to their attractions, and careless or averse to their\ncaresses. He is often lost to them, and wanders in the mountain\nfastnesses with the fawns and kids.\n\nAll this and more was told in action, in song, and recitative, upon the\npalace lawns before this strange audience, themselves partly actors in\nthe pastoral drama. Rural dances, and games and sacrifices were\npresented with delicately-conceived grouping and pictorial effect. Then\nthe main action of the drama developed itself. The most lovely of the\nnymphs, the queen and leader of the rest, inspires a devoted passion in\nthe heart of the priest of Apollo, before whose altar they offer\nsacrifice, and listen for guiding and response. She rejects his love\nwith cruel contempt, pining always for the coy and errant boy-god, who\nthinks of nothing but the distant mountain summits and the divine\nwhispers of the rustling woods. The priest, insulted and enraged,\ninvokes the aid of his divinity, and a change comes over the gay and\nmagic scene. A terrible pestilence strikes down the inhabitants of these\nsylvan lawns, and gloomy funerals, and the pathetic strains of dirges\ntake the place of dances and lively songs.\n\nThe terrified people throw themselves before the altar of the incensed\nApollo, and the god speaks again. His anger can be appeased only by the\nsacrifice of the contemptuous nymph who has insulted his priest, or of\nsome one who is willing to perish in her place. Proclamation is made\nacross the sunny lawns, inviting a victim who will earn the wreath of\nself-sacrifice and of immortal consciousness of a great deed, but there\nis no response.\n\nThe fatal day draws on; the altar of sacrifice is prepared; but there\nspreads a rumour among the crowd--fanned probably by hope--that at the\nlast moment a god will interfere. Some even speak of the wandering boy,\nif he could only be found. Surely he--so removed from earthly and\nselfish loves, so strange in his simplicity, in his purity--surely he\nwould lay down his guileless life without a pang. Could he only be\nfound! or would he appear!\n\nThe herald's voice had died away for the third time amid a fanfare of\ntrumpets. At the foot of the steps of the long terrace, by the Roman\nfountain, a delicate and lovely form stood on the grassy verge before\nthe altar, by the leaping and rushing water's side; a little to the\nleft, whence the road from Hades was supposed to come, stood the divine\nmessenger, the lofty herald--clad in white, with a white wand; behind\nthe altar stood the wretched priest, on whom the fearful task devolved,\nthe passion of terror, of pity, and of love, traced upon his face; all\nsound of music had died away; a hush as of death itself fell upon the\nexpectant crowd; from green arch and trellised walk the throng of\nmasques, actors and spectators alike, pressed forward upon the lawn\nbefore the altar.... The priest tore the fillet from his brow and threw\ndown his knife.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe darkness of the cave gave place to a burst of dazzling sunlight as\nMark and the little Princess, who in the darkness had resumed her\nmasque, came out suddenly from the unseen opening upon one of the great\nstone bases by the side of the steps. To the boy's wonderstruck sense\nthe flaring light, the mystic and awful forms, the thronged masques, the\nshock of surprise and terror, fell with a stunning force. He uttered a\nsharp cry like that of a snared and harmless creature of the woods. He\npressed his hands before his face to shut out the bewildering scene,\nand, stepping suddenly backward in his surprise, fell from the edge of\nthe stone platform some eight feet to the ground. A cry of natural\nterror broke from the victim, in place of the death-song she was\nexpected to utter, and she left her place and sprang forward towards the\nsteps. The crowd of masques which surrounded the Prince came forward\ntumultuously, and a hurried movement and cry ran through the people,\nhalf of whom were uncertain whether the settled order of the play was\ninterrupted or not.\n\nMark lay quite still on the grass, his eyes closed, the Signorina\nbending over him; but the herald, who was in fact director of the play,\nwaved his wand imperiously before the masques, and they fell back.\n\n\"Resume your place, Signorina,\" he said, \"this part of the play has,\napparently, failed. You will sing your death-song, and the priest will\noffer himself in your stead.\"\n\nBut the girl rose, and, forcing her way to where the Prince stood, threw\nherself upon his arm.\n\n\"Oh, stop it, Highness, stop it!\" she cried, amid a passion of sobs;\n\"he is dying, do you not see!\"\n\nThe Prince removed his masque; those around him, following the signal,\nalso unmasqued, and the play was stopped.\n\n\n\n\nPART SECOND.\n\n\n\n\nI.\n\n\nTHERE was no change in the bright sunlight or in the festive colours of\nthe gay crowd. The grass was as green, the sky as blue, the rushing\nleaping water sparkled as before, nevertheless a sudden change and\ndeadness fell upon the garden and its throng of guests. The hush that\nhad preceded Mark's appearance was of a far different kind. That had\nbeen a silence of awe, of expectation, of excitement, and of life; this\nwas the scared silence of dismay. Those who were most distant from the\nPrince, and who could do so with decency, began to scatter like\nfrightened children, and were lost in the arcaded hedges and walks. The\nPrince remained standing, his masque in his hand, the Signorina still\nweeping on his arm; she was too excited to admit of comfort, he stroked\nher hand kindly, as he would that of a child. The Herald, who was\nevidently exceedingly disgusted at the turn things had taken, and the\nquite unnecessary stop that had been put to the play, had retired a few\npaces, and was in conference with Carricchio, who was apparently trying\nto console him. The Princess, scared and startled, was drawing the Count\nafter her to leave the scene, when a tall and beautiful woman emerged\nfrom a trellised walk and, through the respectful crowd that fell back\nto give her passage, advanced towards the Prince.\n\n\"You may resume your play, Ferdinand,\" she said, and her voice was very\nsad but without a touch of scorn; \"you may resume your play. It is not\nyou who have killed this child; it is I.\"\n\nThen, stooping over the lifeless body, she raised it in her arms, and,\nin the midst of a yet more perfect stillness, as in the presence of a\nbeing of a holier and a loftier world, the Princess Isoline disappeared\nwith her burden into the forest depths.\n\nShe followed the path under the narrow avenue, where she had once walked\nwith Mark, till she reached her quiet and melancholy house; and,\nentering at once into the hall, she deposited her burden upon the long\ntable, where the household was wont to dine. She laid it with the feet\nat one end of the board, and, straightening the stiffening limbs, she\nknelt down before it and buried her face in her hands.\n\n\"_The good are not happy, and the happy are not good_\"--was she then\ngood because she was so miserable? Ah no! Or was this wretchedness a\nwicked thing? Again, surely not!\n\nAs she lay thus, crushed and beaten down, her form contorted with sobs,\na quiet footstep roused her, and, raising her eyes, she saw the Prince\nthrough her blinding tears. He was standing by the table, near the head\nof the child. His face was very pale, and the eyes had lost the\nhabitual languor of their expression, and were full of an earnest\ntender grief. The Princess rose, and they looked each other straight in\nthe eyes. Through the mist of tears the Prince's form became refined and\npurified, and he stood there with a beauty hitherto altogether unknown,\neven to her.\n\n\"I told this child, Isoline,\" he said; \"I told this child that I had\ndone well to send for him.\"\n\n\"Ferdinand,\" she said again, \"it is not you who have done this; it is\nI.\" She stopped for a moment to recover control, and went on more\npassionately--\"I, who pretended to the devoted life! in which alone he\ncould breathe; I, to whom he looked for help and strength; I, who\ndeserted him and gave a false report of the promised land.\"\n\nThe Prince looked at her with eyes full of compassion, but did not\nreply.\n\n\"You did what you could,\" continued his sister; \"your effort was surely\na noble one. More, in fact; you came to the help of his faith against\nevil. It is always so! The children of the world act always better than\nthe children of light!\"\n\nIn her self-abasement and despair the Princess did not remember Mark's\nwords, that the greatest trial of his faith had been the Prince: a\ntolerance which is kindly and even appreciative, and yet, as with a\nclearness of a farther insight stands indifferently aside, must always\nbe the great trial of simple faith.\n\n\"It is easier, Isoline,\" said her brother at last, \"to maintain a low\nstandard than a high. It seems to me that we have both been wrong, but\nyours is the nobler fault. You attempted an impossible flight--a flight\nwhich human nature has no wings strong enough to achieve. As for me,\nthis has been a terrible shock--more than I could have thought possible,\nI who fancied myself so secure and so serene. That such a terrible\nchance could happen shows how unstable are the most finished schemes of\nlife. I fancied that my life was an art, and I dreamed that it might be\nperfected--as a religious art. Fool that I was! How can life or religion\nbe an art when the merest accident can dissolve the entire fabric at a\nblow? No art can exist in the presence of an impalpable mystery, of an\nunknown, inappeasable, implacable Force.\"\n\n\"No,\" said the Princess; \"art is not enough!--morality, virtue, love\neven, is not enough. None of these can pierce the veil. Nothing profits,\nsave the Divine Humanity, which, through the mystery of Sacrifice, has\nentered the unseen. You know, Ferdinand,\" and she looked up through her\ntears with a sad smile, \"in your art there was always in old times a\nmystery.\"\n\nShe rose as she said this, and stood more lovely than ever in her grief\nand in her faith; and the Prince moved a step forward, and put his hand\nupon the breast of the child. As they stood, looking each other full in\nthe eyes, in the notorious beauty of their order and of their race, it\nmight have seemed to a sanguine fancy that, over the piteous victim of\nearth's failure, art and religion for the moment were at one.\n\n\n\n\nII.\n\n\nTHE pleasure Palace was deserted. Mark was buried in a shadowy graveyard\nbehind the old manor-house, where was a ruined chapel that had been a\ncanonry. The Princess Isoline gave up her house, and dissolved her\nfamily. They were scattered to their several homes. She said that her\nplace was by her brother's side. It would seem that none were sorry for\nsome excuse. The Prince could no longer endure the place; he said that\nhe had neglected his princely cities, and must visit them for a time.\nThe Signorina was inconsolable, but her singing improved day by day.\nThe Maestro began to have hopes of her. He wrote to Vienna concerning an\nengagement for her at the Imperial Theatre there, without even\nconsulting the Prince, who for the moment was disgusted with the very\nname of art. Old Carricchio said that the northern sunshine was more\nintolerable than ever, and that he should return to Italy, but would\ntake Vienna in his way. It might be supposed that this old man would\nhave been much distressed, but, if this were the case, he concealed his\nfeelings with his usual humorous eccentricity. He spent most of his time\nlistening to Tina's singing. Even the Maestro and the pages seemed to\nmiss Mark more.\n\nIn the general disorganisation and confusion the Princess even was not\nentirely unaffected. She was continually speaking of Mark, whose\nsingular personality had struck her fancy, and whose sudden and pathetic\ndeath had touched her with pity. She appeared unusually affectionate to\nher husband and to his sister, and she despatched the Count to secure a\nresidence in Vienna, where she expressed her intention of taking the\nentire family as soon as the Prince had satisfied his newly-awakened\nconscience by a sight of Wertheim. The children were delighted with the\nthought, and were apparently consoled for the absence of their tutor.\nPerhaps already his tales had begun to tire.\n\nThe Maestro and Carricchio were walking side by side upon the terrace\nwhere Mark was used to sit.\n\n\"I shall make a sensation at Vienna,\" said the Maestro; \"that little\ngirl is growing into an impassioned actress with a marvellous voice. I\nhave an idea. I have already arranged the score. I shall throw this\nstory into the form of opera--a serious opera, not one of your farcical\nthings. It is a charming story, most pathetic, and will make people cry.\nThat boy's character was exquisite: 'Ah,' they will say, 'that lovely\nchild!'\"\n\n\"I don't understand your pathos,\" said Carricchio crossly,--\"the pathos\nof composers and writers and imaginative men. It is all ideal. You talk\nof farce, I prefer the jester's farce. I never knew any of you to weep\nover any real misery--any starving people, any loathsome, sordid poor!\"\n\n\"I should think not,\" said the Maestro; \"there is nothing delightful in\nreal misery--it is loathsome, as you say; it is horrible, it is\ndisagreeable even! Art never contemplates the disagreeable; it would\ncease to be true art if it did. But when you are happy yourself, when\nyou are surrounded by comfort and luxury--_then_ to contemplate misery,\nsorrow, woe! Ah! this is the height of luxury: this is art! Yes, true\nart!\"\n\n\"It seems selfish, to me,\" said the Arlecchino surlily.\n\n\"Selfish!\" exclaimed the Maestro; \"of course it is selfish! Unless it is\nselfish it cannot be art. Art has an end, an aim, an intention--if it\ndeserts this aim it ceases to be art. It must be selfish.\"\n\nThere was a slight pause, then the Maestro, who seemed to be in great\nspirits, went on:\n\n\"I always thought the Prince a poor creature, now I am sure of it. He is\nneither one thing nor the other. He will never be an artist, in the true\nsense.\"\n\n\"He is very sorry for that poor child,\" said Carricchio.\n\n\"Sorry!\" exclaimed the Maestro. \"Sorry! I tell you when the canary died\nI was delighted, but I am still more delighted now. I predict to you a\ngreat future for the Signorina. She will be a great actress and singer.\nThe death of this child is everything to us; it was just what was\nrequired to give her power, to stir the depths of her nature. _Mio\ncaro_,\" he continued caressingly, putting his hand on Carricchio's arm,\n\"believe me, _this_ is life, and _this_ is art!\"\n\n\"He is a cold-blooded old devil,\" muttered Carricchio savagely, as he\nturned away, \"with his infernal talk of art. I would not go to Vienna\nwith him but for the Signorina. I will see her once upon the stage\nthere. Then the old worn-out Arlecchino will go back into the sunshine,\nand die, and go to Mark.\"\n\n\n\n\nIII.\n\n\nTHE Maestro's romantic opera was a success. He was at least so far a\ngenius that he knew where he was strong and where he was weak.\n\nHe reproduced with great exactness the play in the palace gardens, but\nhe kept the person and character of Mark enshrouded in mystery, allowing\nhim to appear very seldom, and trusting entirely to the singing of the\nprincipal performers, and especially of the Signorina, to impress the\naudience with the idea of his purity and innocence. He surpassed himself\nin the intense wistful music of the score; never had he produced such\npathetic airs, such pleading sustained harmonies, such quivering\nlingering chords and cadences. At the supreme moment the boy appears,\nand, after singing with exquisite melody his hapless yet heroic fate,\noffers his bosom to the sacrificial knife. But a god intervenes. Veiled\nin cloud and recognised in thunders, a divine and merciful hand is laid\nupon the child. Death comes to him as a sleep, and over his dead and\nlovely form the anger of heaven is appeased. Incapable as the Maestro\nwas of feeling much of the pathos and beauty of his own work, still,\nwith that wonderful instinct, or art, or genius, which supplies the\nplace of feeling, he produced, amid much that was grotesque and\nincongruous, a work of delicate touch and thrilling and entrancing\nsound. The little theatre near the Kohl market, where the piece was\nfirst produced, was crowded nightly, and the narrow thoroughfares\nthrough private houses and courtyards, called Durch-haeuser, with which\nthe extraordinary and otherwise impenetrable maze of building which\nformed old Vienna was pierced through and through, were filled with fine\nand delicate ladies and gay courtiers seeking admission. So great,\nindeed, was the success that an arrangement was made with the conductors\nof the Imperial Theatre for the opera to be performed there. The\nEmpress-Queen and her husband were present, the frigid silence of\netiquette was broken more than once by applause, and the Abate\nMetastasio wrote some lines for the Signorina; indeed, the success of\nthe piece was caused by the girl's singing.\n\n\"Mark is better than the canary,\" the Maestro was continually repeating.\n\nIn his hour of triumph the old gentleman presented a quaint and\nattractive study to the observer of the by-ways of art. Amid the rococo\nsurroundings among which he moved, he was himself a singular example of\nthe power of art to extract from bizarre and unpromising material\nsomewhat at least of pure and lasting fruit. He had attired his withered\nand lean figure in brilliant hues and the finest lace, and in this\nattire he trained the girl, also fantastically dressed, to warble the\nmost touching and delicious plaints. The instinctive pathos of inanimate\nthings, of forms and colours, was perceived in sound, and much that\nhitherto seemed paltry and frivolous was refined and ennobled. Mark's\ndeath, and even that of the poor canary, was beginning to bear fruit.\nNature and love were feeling out the enigma of existence by the aid of\nart.\n\nThe reference to the canary was not, indeed, made in the presence of\nTina, for the Maestro found that it was not acceptable. Nevertheless, a\nstrange fellowship and affection was springing up between these two. The\ncritics complained that the Signorina varied her notes; but, in fact,\nthe score of the opera never remained the same--at least as regarded her\nparts. As she sang, with the Maestro beside her at the harpsichord,\nimagination and recollection, instructed by the magic of sound, touched\nher notes with an unconscious pathos and revealed to her master, with\nhis ready pencil in one hand and the other on the keys, fresh heights\nand depths of cultured harmony, new combinations of fluttering,\nmelodious notes.\n\nThis copartnership, this action and reaction, had something wonderful\nand charming about it; the power of nature in the girl's voice\nsuggesting possibilities of more melodious, more artistic pathos to the\ncomposer, the girl's passionate instinct recognising the touch, and\nconfessing the help, of the master's skill. It seems a strange duet, yet\nI do not know that we should think it strange.\n\nThe girl's nature, pure and loving, was supremely moved by the discovery\nof this power of realisation and expression which it had obtained; but\nat times it frightened her.\n\n\"I hate all this,\" she would cry sometimes, starting away from the\nharpsichord; \"they are dead and cold, and I sing!\"\n\n\"Sing! _mia cara!_\" the old man would say, with, for him, a soft and\nkindly tone; \"you cannot help but sing: and when did love and sorrow\nfeel so near and real to you as when, just now, you sang that phrase in\nF minor?\"\n\n\"It is wicked!\" said the girl; but she sang over again, to the perfect\nsatisfaction of her master, the phrase in F minor.\n\n\"It is true,\" she said, after a pause. \"I knew not how to love--I knew\nnot what love was till I learned to sing from you. Every day I learn\nmore what love is; I feel every hour more able to love--I love you more\nand more for teaching me the art of love.\"\n\n\"Ah, _mia cara_,\" said the Maestro, \"that was not difficult! You were\nborn with that gift. But it is strange to me, I confess it, how\npathetically you sing. It is not in the music--at any rate, not in my\nmusic. It is beyond my art and even strange to it, but it touches even\nme.\"\n\nAnd the old man shrugged his shoulders with an odd gesture, in which\nsomething like self-contempt struggled with an unaccustomed emotion.\n\nThe girl had turned half round, and was looking at him with her bright,\nyet wistful eyes.\n\n\"Never mind, Maestro,\" she said; \"I shall love you always for your\nmusic, in spite of your contempt of love, and your miserable, cold----\"\n\nAnd she gave a little shudder. She was forming, indeed, a passionate\nregard for the old man, solely for the sake of his art.\n\nIt was not by any means the first time that such an event had occurred,\nfor unselfish love is much more common than cynical mankind believes.\n\n\n\n\nIV.\n\n\nTHE Prince soon grew tired of Wertheim. Apart from other reasons, of\nwhich perhaps we may learn something hereafter, he felt lost without the\naccustomed _entourage_ which he had attracted to Joyeuse. The death of\nMark had made a profound impression upon his delicately strung\ntemperament. It disturbed the lofty serenity of his life, it shocked his\ntaste, it was bad art. That such a thing could have happened to him in\nthe very citadel and arcanum of his carefully designed existence--and\nshould have happened, too, as the result of his own individual purpose\nand action--arrested him as with an archangel's sword; showed him\nforcibly that his delicately woven mail was deficient in some important,\nbut as yet unperceived, point; that his fancifully conceived prince-life\nwas liable to sudden catastrophe. He had lived delicately, but the\nbitterness of death was not passed. He left Wertheim, and, travelling\nwith his children and servants in several carriages and _chaises de\nposte_, he journeyed to Vienna, whither the Princess had preceded him.\n\nThe Prince travelled alone in a _carrosse-coupe_, or travelling chaise,\nat the head of his party. The Barotin and the children followed him in\nthe second carriage, which was full of toys for their entertainment; now\nand again one or the other would be promoted for a stage or two to\ntheir father's carriage, to remain there as long as they entertained\nhim. After a time they entered upon the flat plains of the Danube and\napproached Vienna.\n\nAs they crossed the flat waste of water meadows, over the long bridges\nof boats, and through the rows of poplars, a drive usually so dreary to\ntravellers to Vienna, the sun broke out gloriously and the afternoon\nbecame very fine. For many miles before him, over the monotonous waste,\nthe great tower of St. Stephen's Church had confronted the Prince,\ncrowned with its gigantic eagle and surrounded by wheeling flocks of\nbirds--cranes and ravens and daws. Herons and storks rose now and again\nfrom the ditches and pools by the wayside and flitted across the road.\nThe brilliant light shone upon the mists of the river and upon the\ndistant crags and woods.\n\nThe Prince was alone; the children were tired and restless from the long\njourney, and were sent back to the long-suffering Barotin. He lay back\nupon the rich furs which filled the carriage, and kept his eyes\nlistlessly fixed upon the distant tower. The descending sun lighted up\nthe weather-stains and the vari-coloured mosses that covered its sides;\na rainbow, thrown across the black clouds of the north and east, spanned\nthe heavens with a lofty arch.\n\nThe Prince gazed wearily over the striking scene. Existence appeared to\nhim, at the moment, extremely complicated.\n\n\"It was a terrible mistake,\" he said, his thoughts still running on the\nold disaster; \"a terrible mistake! Yet they cannot be right--Isoline and\nthe people with her--who talk of nothing but sacrifice and self-denial,\nand denounce everything by which life is not only made endurable, but by\nwhich, indeed, it is actually maintained in being. What would life be if\nevery one were as they? 'Ah!' she says, 'there is little chance of that!\nSo few think of aught save self! So few deny themselves for the sake of\nothers, you need not grudge us few our self-chosen path.' That is where\nthey make the fatal mistake. Each man should carve out his life, as a\nwhole, as though the lives of all were perfect, not as if it were a\nbroken fragment of a fine statue; each should be a perfect Apollo of\nthe Belvedere Gardens, not a mere torso; not a strong arm only that can\nstrike, not a finger only that can beckon--even though it be to God.\nBecause all cannot enjoy them, does that make assorted colour, and sweet\nsound, and delicate pottery less perfect, less worthy to be sought? He\nshould aim at the complete life--should love, and feel, and enjoy.\"\n\nThe great tower rose higher and higher above the Prince as he thought\nthese last words aloud; the screaming kites and daws wheeled above his\nhead; the great eagle loomed larger and larger in the evening light.\nThey passed over the wide glacis, threaded the drawbridges and barriers,\nand entered the tortuous narrow streets. A golden haze lighted the\ncrowded thoroughfares and beautified the carving and gables of the\nlofty houses. A motley crowd of people, from east and west alike, in\nstrange variety of costume, thronged the causeways, and hardly escaped\nthe carriage-wheels in their reckless course. The sight roused the\nPrince from his melancholy, and he gazed with an amused and even\ndelighted air from his carriage-windows. His nature, pleasure-loving and\nimaginative, found this moving life a source of never-tiring interest\nand suggestiveness. The fate, the interests, the aims, and sorrows of\nevery human figure that passed across his vision, even for a second,\nformed itself in some infinitely slight, yet perfectly real and\ntangible, degree in his mind; and he conceived the stir and tremor of a\ngreat city's life with a perfect grasp of all the little details that\nmake up the dramatic, the graphic whole.\n\nThe carriage swept through the Place St. Michael, past the Imperial\nPalace, and, pursuing its course through the winding streets to the\nimminent peril of the populace of Croats, Servians, Germans, and a mixed\npeople of no nation under heaven, reached the _Hotel_ which had been\nselected for the Prince in the Tein quarter.\n\nThough this quiet quarter is in close neighbourhood to the most busy and\nnoisy parts of the city, the contrast was striking. The Prince saw\nnothing here but quaint palaces crowded together within a space of a few\nhundred yards. Here were the palaces of the Lichtensteins, the\nFestetics, the Esterhazys, the Schoenbornes. Antique escutcheons were\nhanging before the houses, and strange devices of the golden fleece,\nand other crests and bearings were erected on the gables and roofs.\nVienna was emphatically the city of heraldry, and a tendency towards\nOriental taste in noble and burgher produced a fantastic architecture of\ngables and minarets, breaking the massive lines of fortress-like\nmediaeval palace and _hotel_. Here and there a carriage was standing in\nthe quiet street, and servants in gaudy liveries stood in the sunshine\nabout the steps and gates.\n\nThe next morning the Prince was seated at his toilette, in the hands of\nhis dresser, who was frizzling and powdering his hair. By his side was\nstanding his valet or body-servant, as he would be called in\nEngland--_Chasseur_ or _Jager_, as he was called in North or South\nGermany. This man was one of the most competent of his order, and\ndevoted to his master.\n\n\"Well, Karl,\" the Prince was saying, with his kindly air, \"thou\nbreathest again here, I doubt not. This place is more to thy mind than\nJoyeuse--_n'est ce pas_? There is life here and intrigue. It is better\neven than Rome? Is it so?\"\n\n\"Wherever the Serene Highness is,\" replied Karl graciously, \"I am\ncontent and happy. I was happy in Rome, in Joyeuse, at Wertheim; but I\nconfess that I like Wien. There is colour here, and quaintness, and\n_esprit_.\"\n\nKarl had picked up many art terms with the rest of the princely\nhousehold.\n\n\"Ah! Wertheim!\" said the Prince, rather sadly as it seemed. \"I like\nWertheim, ah! so much--for a day or two. One is so great a man there. I\nknow every one, and every one knows me. I feel almost like a beneficent\nProvidence, and as though I had discovered the perfection of art in\nlife. When I walk in the garden avenue after dinner, between the\nstatues, and every one has right of audience and petition, and one old\nwoman begs that her only son may be excused from military service, and\nanother that her stall in the market may not be taken away; and one old\nman's house is burnt down, and he wants help to rebuild it, and another\ncraves right of wood-gathering in the princely forests, and another begs\nthat his son may be enrolled among the under-keepers and beaters of the\ngame, with right of snaring a hare,--and all these things are so easy to\ngrant, and seem to these poor folks so gracious, and like the gifts of\nheaven, that one thinks for the moment that this must be the perfection\nof life. But it palls, Karl; in a day or two it palls! The wants and\nsufferings of the poor are so much alike; they want variety, they are so\ndeficient in shade, they are such poor art!\" and the Prince sighed\nwearily.\n\n\"That is natural for the Serene Highness,\" said Karl, with a\nsympathising pity which was amusing; \"that is natural to the Serene\nHighness, who does not see below the surface, and to whom all speak with\nbated breath. There is plenty of light and shade in the lives of the\npoor, if you go deep enough.\"\n\n\"Ah!\" said the Prince with interest, \"is it so? Doubtless now, within a\nfew yards of us, there are art-scenes enacted, tragedies and comedies\ngoing on, of which you know the different _roles_--one of which, maybe,\nyou fill yourself. Eh, Karl?\"\n\n\"It is a great city, Highness,\" said Karl. \"They are all alike, good and\nill, love and hatred, the knave and the fool. All the world over, it is\nmuch the same.\"\n\nAt this moment, the hair-powdering being over, the Prince rose.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"to-night the Signorina sings at the Imperial Theatre.\nShe and the Maestro sup with me afterwards. The Princess sups at the\nPalace.\"\n\n\n\n\nV.\n\n\nIT is difficult at the present day to realise such scenes as that\npresented by the Imperial Theatre during the performance that evening.\nThe comparative smallness of the interior and dimness of the lights,\ncombined with the incomparable splendour and richness in the appearance\nof the audience which filled every portion of the theatre, even to the\ngallery of the servants, with undiminished brilliancy, produced an\neffect of subdued splendour and of a mystic glow of colour which we\nshould look for in vain in any theatre in Europe now.\n\nThe Empress-Queen and her husband occupied a central box, and the Court,\ngraduated according to rank, and radiating from this centre, filled\nboxes, pit, and gallery. The Prince's box was on the royal tier, not far\nfrom the Empress. He was accompanied by the Princess and his sister.\n\n\"I am delighted with Isoline,\" the Princess said; \"that poor child's\ndeath has worked wonders upon her in a way no one would have expected.\nShe seems to have thrown off her singular fancies, and behaves as other\npeople do.\"\n\n\"Isoline never was very easy to understand,\" said the Prince.\n\nWhether or not she were inspired by the presence of the Prince, the\nSignorina had never sung so wonderfully as she did that night. The\nfrigid silence of Imperial etiquette, so discouraging and chilling to\nsouthern artists, gave place, now and again, to an irrepressible murmur\nof emotion and applause. The passionate yearning of the purest love, the\npathos of unselfish grief, found a fit utterance in notes of an\ninimitable sweetness, and in melodies whose dainty phrases were ennobled\nand mellowed at once by delicate art and loftiest feeling. The house\ngave way at last to an uncontrollable enthusiasm, and, regardless of\nCourt etiquette, the entire assembly rose to its feet amid a tumult of\napplause.\n\nNot far from the Maestro, who was conducting the music from the centre\nof the orchestra, was seated Carricchio. He had, of course, discarded\nhis professional dress, and had attired himself, according to the\ngenius of his countrymen, in rich but dark and plain attire. Any one who\ncould have watched his face--that face which the little Schoolmaster was\nused to wonder at--and could have marked the quaint mingling, on the\nlarge worn features, of the old humorous movement with the new emotions\nof wonder and of love, would not have spent his moments in vain.\n\nBut the success was too complete. The Empress-Queen was shocked at the\nbreach of decorum. She was not in the least touched by the Signorina's\nsinging, and the story of the opera was unintelligible to her. It was\nsuggested by those who were offended and injured by the success of the\npiece, and by the displacement of other operas, that this arrangement\nentailed increased expense upon the royal treasury, and, amid the\npenurious and pettifogging instincts of the Court of Vienna in those\ndays, this was a fatal thrust. The theatre, it was said, was required\nfor other pieces, notably for a new opera by Metastasio himself.\n\n\"It was very beautiful, Ferdinand,\" said the Princess, as they left the\nbox; and, struck by her tone and by the unaccustomed use of his name,\nthe Prince looked at her with surprise, for it was years since he had\nseen the sweet, softened, well-remembered look in her eyes. \"I liked\nthat boy!\"\n\n\"I will convey your approbation to the Signorina,\" replied the Prince;\n\"it will complete the triumph of the night.\"\n\n\"Where do you sup to-night, Ferdinand?\" said the Princess.\n\n\"I--I sup in private with the Maestro and Tina,\" said the Prince.\n\n\"Ah!\" said the Princess, still with the same wistful, unaccustomed look.\n\"There is a cover laid for me at the Imperial table--I must go.\"\n\nIt is absurd to talk of what would have happened had the threads of our\nlives been woven into different tissues, else we might say that but for\nthat Imperial cover the issues of this story would have had a different\nclose.\n\nThe Maestro waited at the theatre till the Signorina had changed her\ndress. When she appeared she was radiant with triumph and delight, but\nthe old man was sad and depressed. Some intimation of the fatal\nresolution had been conveyed to him in the interval.\n\n\"What is the matter with you, Maestro?\" said the girl; \"you ought to be\ndelighted, and you look as gloomy as a ghost. What is it?\"\n\n\"It is nothing,\" said the Maestro. \"I am an old man, _mia cara_, and the\nperformance tires me. Let us go to the Prince.\"\n\nThey entered a fiacre, and were driven to the courtyard of the Prince's\n_Hotel_.\n\nThe supper, though private, was luxurious, and was attended by all the\nservants of the Prince. Inspired by the success of the night, the Prince\nexerted himself to please; but, apart from all other circumstances, the\nSignorina would have delighted any man. She was at that delightful age\nwhen the girl is passing into the woman; she was increasing daily in\nbeauty, she was perfectly dressed, she was radiant that night with\nhappiness, and with the consciousness of success; she was touched by the\nrecollection of the past, and profoundly affected by the power of\nexpression which she had found in song; more than this--much more--she\nwas drawn irresistibly by a feeling of pity and sympathy towards the old\nman; she could not understand his depression and gloom; she paid little\nattention to the Prince, but lavished a thousand pretty arts and\ndelicate attentions on the vain endeavour to rouse her friend. No other\nconduct could have rendered her so attractive in the eyes of the Prince.\nTo his refined and really high-toned taste, this pretty devotedness,\nthis manifestly pure affection and gratitude, as of a daughter,\ncommended by such loveliness and vivacity, were irresistible. It was\nexactly that combination of pathos and grace and art that suited his\ncultured fancy and the long habit of his trained life. He was\ninexpressibly delighted and happy. Forgetful of past mistake and\nmisfortune, he congratulated himself on his success in attaching to his\nperson and family so lively and dulcet a creature. His scheme of life\nseemed complete and authorised to his conscience by success.\n\nOnce more he uttered the fatal words, \"_I will have_ this girl.\"\n\n\"You are the happiest man I know, Maestro,\" he said; \"you are truly a\ncreative artist, for you not only create melodious sounds and\nspirit-stirring ideas, but you actually create flesh and blood sirens\nand human creatures as lovely as your sounds, and far more real. The\nSignorina is your work, and see, as is natural, how devoted she is to\nher maker.\"\n\n\"Every one thinks others happier than himself, Prince,\" said the old\nman, still gloomy. \"As for the Signorina, she has much more made me than\nI her. I shall only injure and cripple her.\"\n\nThe girl looked at him with tears in her eyes.\n\n\"The Maestro is not well,\" she said to the Prince; \"he will be more\ncheerful to-morrow. Success frightens him. It is often more terrible\nthan failure.\"\n\n\"He fears that you will forsake him, when you are courted and praised so\nmuch,\" said the Prince in a low voice, for the old man seemed scarcely\nto notice what passed; \"he fears you will forsake him,\" and as he spoke\nthe Prince kept his eyes fixed inquiringly on the girl's face.\n\nThe Signorina said nothing. She turned her dark great eyes full on the\nold man, and the Prince wanted no more than what the eyes told him.\n\n\"She is a glorious creature,\" he said to himself.\n\n\n\n\nVI.\n\n\nTHE next morning the crash came. The Maestro was informed that only one\nmore performance could be allowed at the Imperial Theatre, and that,\nfurther, there were difficulties in the way of the performance being\npermitted in any theatre in Vienna. The old man was crushed: he came to\nthe Signorina with the notice in his hand.\n\n\"_Mia cara_,\" he said, making great efforts to be calm, \"this is the\nend. I am a broken and a ruined man. I have been all my life waiting for\nthis chance--this gift of inspiration. I thought that it would never\ncome; it tarried so long, and I grew so old. At last it came, but only\njust in time. I have never written anything like this music, and never\nshall again. Now it is stopped. I must go. I cannot stay where it must\nnot be played; I must go somewhere, and take my music with me. It will\nnot be for long. The Prince will not leave Vienna. He is pleased with\nthe city and with his reception. I must leave you all.\"\n\nThe girl was on her feet before him, with flashing eyes which were full\nof tears.\n\n\"Maestro!\" she said; \"what mean you to talk in this way? Do you suppose\nthat I will ever leave you, that I will stay if you go? I owe everything\nto you. I cannot sing without you. I will follow you to\nParis--anywhere. Whatever fortune awaits you shall await us both.\"\n\n\"Ah, Tina,\" said the old man, \"you are very good, but you mistake. I am\nnot the great master you suppose. I know it too well. There is always\nsomething wanting in my notes. When you sing them, well and good. Even\nas they are they never would have been scored but for you. When I leave\nyou the glamour will be taken out of them. They will be cold and dead:\nno one will think anything of them any more.\"\n\n\"If this be true,\" said the girl, almost fiercely, \"it is all the more\nreason why I will never leave you! You have made me, as the Prince said;\nI am yours for life. Wherever you go I will go; whatever you write I\nwill sing. If we fail, we fail together. If we succeed, the success is\nyours.\"\n\nShe paused for a moment, and then, with a deeper flush and a tender\nconfidence which seemed inspired:\n\n\"And we shall succeed! I have not yet sung my best. I, too, know it. You\nhave not yet made me all you may. Whatever you teach me I will sing!\"\n\nThe old man looked at her, as well he might, deeply moved, but he shook\nhis head.\n\n\"Tina,\" he said, \"I will not have it. You must not be ruined for me. You\nmust not go. Other masters, greater than I, will finish what it is my\nhappiness to have begun. The world will ring with your name. Art will be\nenriched with your glorious singing. I shall hear of it before I die.\nThe old Maestro will say, 'Ah, that is the girl whom I taught.'\"\n\nThe girl was standing now quite calm, all trace of emotion even had past\naway. She looked at him with a serene smile that was sublime in its\nrest. It was not worth while even to say a word.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nThe decision of the Maestro and the Signorina filled the princely\nhousehold with distress. Tina had been, at Joyeuse, the light and joy of\na joyful place; and, although the household saw much less of her at\nVienna, yet the charm of her presence and of her triumphs was still\ntheir own. The Prince heard the news with absolute dismay. It was not\nonly that he had begun to love the girl, he conceived that she belonged\nto him of right. The Maestro was his; he had assisted, maintained, and\npatronised him; by his encouragement and in his service he had\ndiscovered the girl and trained her in music. They were both part of his\nscheme, of his art of life. It was bad, doubtless, that, when he had\nattempted still higher flights, when he had wished to bring, and, as he\nhad once thought, succeeded in bringing, religion, faith, and piety,\nwith all their delicate loveliness, to grace the abundance of his life's\nfeast--it was bad, doubtless, that, at the moment of success, a terrible\ncatastrophe should have cruelly broken this lovely plaything, and left\nhim with a haunting conscience as of well-nigh a deliberate murderer.\nAll this was bad, but now he seemed about to fail, not only in these\noriginal and high efforts, which perhaps had never been attempted\nbefore, but in the simplest schemes of art; and to fail, to be foiled by\nthe perversity of a girl! He had great influence in Vienna; he doubted\nnot but that he could soon overcome the opposition of interested rivals,\nor, if not exactly this, there were other masters besides this one,\nthere was other music for the Signorina to sing. He believed with him\nthat her future would be brilliant, and he considered himself the\nrightful possessor of her triumph and of her charm. He imperiously\nordered the Maestro to remain.\n\nThe old man begged to be excused.\n\nHe was old and broken down, he said; he had taught the Signorina all he\nknew. Henceforward he must pass her on to abler teachers. It was no wish\nof his that she should accompany him, he had urged her to remain.\n\nIn truth, as was not wonderful, his whole heart was in this last music\nof his; as a matter of selfish pride and enjoyment even, apart from his\nnarrow, though to some extent real, conceptions of art, he must hear it\nagain performed in a great theatre, and that soon.\n\nThe vexation of the Prince became excessive. He lost his habitual ease\nand serenity of tone. He sent for Carricchio.\n\nThe Princess Isoline was with him.\n\n\"Let the girl go, Ferdinand,\" she was saying. \"Let her go for a time.\nShe will improve by travel, and by singing in other cities. She is of a\ngrateful and affectionate nature; be sure that she will never forget\nyou: she will return when you send for her.\"\n\nThen, as Carricchio was announced, the Princess rose and left the room.\n\n\"Carricchio,\" said the Prince impetuously, \"you must stop this nonsense\nof the Banti's leaving Vienna. If the Maestro chooses to stay, well and\ngood. If he chooses to go, also good. He will be a stupid old fool! But\nit is his own business. I have nothing to do with it; but Tina shall not\ngo. She belongs to me. I will not have it. You have influence with her,\nand must stop it.\"\n\n\"Highness,\" said Carricchio, \"she will not go for long. The Maestro is\nold and broken; he will be helpless among strangers, hostile or\nindifferent. She will be friendless; she will be glad to come back;\"\nand there passed over Carricchio's face an unconscious habitual grimace.\n\n\"I tell you,\" said the Prince, \"she shall not go at all. She belongs to\nme: voice and body and soul, she belongs to me.\"\n\nHe was flushed with excitement. In spite of the habitual dignity of\nmanner and of gesture which he could not wholly lose, his appearance, as\nhe stood in the centre of the room before Carricchio, was so strange, so\ndifferent from its usual lofty quiet, that the latter looked at him with\nsurprise, and even apprehension.\n\n\"_Mon Prince_,\" he said at last, \"beware! Take the warning of an old\nman. Let her alone. God warns every man once--sometimes twice--seldom a\nthird time. My Prince, let her alone!\"\n\n\"What, Carricchio!\" said the Prince lightly. \"Are you also one of us?\nAre we all in love with a little singing-girl?\"\n\n\"My Prince,\" said Carricchio, \"it matters little what an old fool like\nme loves or does not love. I am a broken old Arlecchino, you a Prince.\nShe will have none of us. She alone of all of us--Prince and Princess\nand clown alike--has solved the riddle which that boy, whom we killed,\nwas sent to teach us. She alone has made her life an art, for she alone\nhas found that art is capable of sacrifice. She alone of all of us has\nbased her art upon nature and upon love. She is passionately devoted to\nher master--her father in art and life, for he rescued her from poverty\nand shame. She will follow him through the world. _Mon Prince_, let her\nalone.\"\n\n\"To let her go,\" said the Prince, \"would be to spoil everything. Shall\nI give up a deliberate plan of life, finely conceived and carefully\ncarried out, to gratify the whims of a foolish girl? Why is religion to\ninterfere always with art? Why is sacrifice always to be preached to us?\nLife is not sacrifice: it is a morbid, monkish idea. Life is success,\nfruition, enjoyment. Life is an art--religion also should be an art.\"\n\n\"Where there is love,\" said Carricchio, \"there must be sacrifice, and no\nlife is perfect without love. There are only two things capable of\nsacrifice--nature and love. When art is saturated with nature and\nelevated by love, it becomes a religion, but religion never becomes an\nart; for art without nature and without love is partial and selfish, and\ncannot include the whole of life. You will find, believe me, that if\nyou follow art apart from these two, you have indeed only been following\na deception, for it has not only been irreligion, it has been bad art.\"\n\n\"The sphere of religion,\" said the Prince, \"is the present, and its\nscope the whole of human life. It is, therefore, an art. If art is\nselfish, so is religion. The most disinterested martyr is selfish, for\nhe is following the dictates of his higher self. I tell you Tina is\nmine, I want her. She shall not go!\"\n\n\"You said the same of the boy, Highness,\" said Carricchio gravely; \"yet\nhe went--went a long journey from us all. _Mon Prince_, beware!\"\n\n\n\n\nVII.\n\n\nFAILING with the old Arlecchino, the Prince determined to try his own\ninfluence with the girl; but he had no intention of acting in a\nblundering and inartistic manner. He was too good an artist not to\nprepare the way. Having failed with Carricchio, he resolved to try the\nMaestro once more.\n\nHe sent for the old man. \"Maestro,\" he said, \"I regret exceedingly what\nhas happened. I do not wish to make a disturbance immediately after\ncoming to Court after so long an absence. It would not be well. But we\nshall soon put things right. Meanwhile, if you like to travel for a few\nmonths you can do so. There is no necessity for it that I know of, but\nit will be an entertainment for you, and you will gather ideas for your\nmusic, and, no doubt, fame also. If the Signorina remains here, you\nshall have letters of credit on Paris or any other city. As you will not\nbe dependent on your music, it probably will be a great success. As the\nScripture says, 'To him that hath shall be given.' When you are tired of\nwandering you can return. But Tina remains here--you understand.\"\n\n\"I have already tried to persuade her, Highness,\" said the old man.\n\n\"Well, you must try again. You shall sup with her to-night, as you are\nneither of you wanted at the opera. I will order supper for you in _la\npetite Salle_ beyond the _salon_. When I return at night I shall find\neverything arranged.\"\n\nThe Prince himself went to the opera. He did not care to be seen, as he\nwas supposed to have received a slight, but he had nothing else to do,\nand was interested in the performance, which was a new opera by\nMetastasio. Indeed, he was restless, and wanted diversion of any kind.\n\nHe sat well back in his box, across the front of which the delicate lace\ncurtains were partly drawn. Karl the _Jager_, and the valet who\nattended, had left the box and retired to their own gallery, where they\ncriticised the play and the music with more interest than did their\nmaster. The Prince lay back in his chair, watching the piece listlessly\nthrough the gauzy screen, and listening half heedlessly to the\nmusic--the wonderful music of Pergolesi.\n\nThe fairy world of song and harmony, peopled by fantastic and impossible\ncreatures who exist only for the sake of the melodies which give them\nbirth, was not devoid of powerful and pathetic phases of passion and of\ncharacter; but what made its lesson particularly adapted to the Prince's\nframe of mind, and gradually aroused his languid interest, was the\nsubordination of passion and character to the nicest art. The deepest\nsorrow warbled to exquisite airs; passion, despairing and bewildered,\nflinging itself as an evil thing across the devious paths of Romance,\nyet never for a second forgetful of the nicest harmony or capable of a\njarring note. This ideal musical world--bizarre and rococo as, in some\nrespects, it was--seemed to the Prince in some sort an allegory, or even\nparody, on the art-life he had set himself to create or to perfect. He\nthought he saw that even its faults were instinct with, and revealed,\nthe secret of which he was in search. Faultiness and feebleness, folly\nand littleness, seemed restrained, corrected, transformed, when\npresented in solemn, noble, and pure melodies. Everything in this parody\nof life was ruled by art just as, in the so-called reality, he had\nwished. The lesson was not altogether a noble one. Passion, ennobled by\nart, lost its fatal, repellent aspect, and became perfect as an artistic\nwhole. Here the poison worked readily in the Prince's mind. To sacrifice\nthe least portion of this art-life to any narrow illiterate scruples was\nto sin against its perfection, without which the whole structure were\nworthless. Better, far better, throw the entire scheme to the winds.\nImperfect art is worse than none at all. He had already forgotten, if he\nhad ever listened to it, Carricchio's warning against unreal and\nloveless art.\n\nMoreover, as the play went on, and the fantastic adventures and fortunes\nof its strange actors gradually won the Prince's attention and attracted\nhis interest, through the gauzy veil of the curtains and the haze of\ndelicious melody, his desire was excited and he longed to play out his\nown part on a real stage, and with tangible, no longer ideal, delights\nand success. Why did he sit there gazing at a mere show of life, when\nlife itself, in a form strangely attractive and prepared--life which he\nhimself had in some sort formed and created--awaited him, with parts\nand scenes, ready for the playing, compared to which all the glamour of\nthe piece before him was a mere dream-shade? Fortune had been kind to\nhim; or rather, he thought, his patient loyalty to art had wrought the\nusual result. As he had followed his steadfast course, nature, chance,\nthe confusions and spite of men, had all tended to co-operate with him,\nhad each supplied a thread of gold to perfect his brilliant woof of\ncoloured existence. The moment seemed at hand; let him no longer dally\nwith shadows, but play his own part, compared with which the piece\nbefore him was poor and tame.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n\"_La petite Salle_,\" as the Prince had called it--in which supper had\nbeen laid for Tina and the Maestro--was situated at the end of a\nsplendid \"_apartement_,\" which contained the _salon_ and the other\nreception-rooms of the _Hotel_. It communicated with other rooms and\nprivate staircases, and was therefore peculiarly suitable for purposes\nof retirement. It was decorated, with the picturesque daintiness of the\nFrench Court, in panels painted in imitation of Watteau, festooned with\nsilk, embroidered with flowers. One or two cabinets supporting plate,\nand chairs richly embroidered in vari-coloured silk, completed the\nfurniture. The supper was served on a small round table, with a costly\nservice of china and Venetian glass.\n\nTina had accepted the invitation with pleasure. She had feared that this\nevening, when the work of another was being performed at the Imperial\nTheatre, to the exclusion of his great masterpiece, would have been a\ntime of great depression with the Maestro, and she resolved to endeavour\nto cheer him. She had dressed herself with the greatest care, and\nwithout thought of cost. She had never looked so charming--every day\nseemed to mature her beauty. The supper was all that could have been\nexpected or wished; nevertheless the Maestro was distrait and even\nsulky. Tina lavished her bewitching wiles and enchantments upon him in\nvain.\n\nAfter the first course or two, which, it must be admitted, were served\nby the attendants in a somewhat perfunctory manner, the Maestro\ndismissed the servants, saying that the Signorina and he would prefer\nwaiting upon themselves: dumb waiters, containing wines and other\naccessories, were placed by the table's side, and the servants left the\nroom.\n\nStill the Maestro seemed ill at ease. Tina, finding that her sallies\nwere received with a morose indifference, relapsed into silence, and sat\nfurtively glancing at her companion, with a pouting, disconsolate air\nwhich, it might have been thought, would have been found irresistible\neven by an ascetic.\n\nAt last the Maestro, after several futile attempts, and with an awkward\nand embarrassed air, began:\n\n\"I have been thinking, Signora,\" he said, \"over my future plans, and I\nhave resolved not to try to get my music performed, at present at any\nrate, in any great city. I am old and want rest. I propose to travel\nfor a few months. It will therefore not be necessary to take you from\nVienna.\"\n\nHis manner was so constrained, and his resolution so unexpected, that\nthe girl looked at him with perplexity. It was, of course, impossible\nfor her, in her ignorance, to perceive that what was troubling the\nMaestro was the difficulty of concealing from himself that he had\naccepted a bribe to desert his art and his friend.\n\n\"Maestro,\" she said at last, \"what can you mean?--you to whom it has\nbeen given to achieve such a success? How can you talk of rest? What\nrest can be more perfect than to listen to your own wonderful music? To\nsee, to feel, the power of your glorious art over others, over\nyourself?\"\n\nThe Maestro hesitated and floundered worse than before. He was, as he\nhad said himself, when under the influence of as noble feeling as he was\ncapable of, a bad artist; but he had sufficient of the true instinct to\nbe conscious of his bad work. He was ashamed of himself and of his\n_faineantise_. He made a bungling business of it all round.\n\nHe had, before the Prince had made his offer, begun to regret that in a\nmoment of irritation he had been so precipitate in insisting upon\nleaving Vienna; but now that an offer of freedom, of a sojourn in Paris,\nof independent means, was made him, the proposal was too attractive to\nbe declined. He felt, beside, that there was so much truth in the\nPrince's bitter phrase--when he was independent of his music, he felt\ncertain that his music would be a great success.\n\n\"It will be better so, Faustina,\" he said at last; \"you will be happier\nhere. You will have plenty to sing, plenty to teach you. The Prince will\nbe pleased.\"\n\nShe was still looking at him wonderingly, but a smile was slowly growing\nin her eyes. She judged him by a nature as generous and unselfish as his\nwas paltry and mean.\n\n\"You are saying this,\" she said, \"for my sake. You fear that I shall\nsuffer hardship and want. You sacrifice yourself--more than\nyourself--for me.\"\n\nThis turn in the conversation completed the vexation of the Maestro.\nWhen you are doing a particularly mean thing, nothing is more\naggravating than to have noble and generous motives imputed to you; and\nto have a very pretty woman offer herself to you, unreservedly, when\nmotives of paltry selfishness render the offer unacceptable, is enough\nto provoke any man.\n\nThe old man lost his temper completely.\n\n\"Faustina,\" he said, \"you are a fool. I have told you already that I\nintend to travel, without thinking of work or of pay. You must stay\nhere. I shall not want you. You have everything here you can wish. The\nPrince is your lover. You have a brilliant future before you. Don't let\nme have any more trouble about you.\"\n\nStill the girl could not believe that her friend and teacher meant to\ncast her off. She was looking at him wonderingly and sadly.\n\n\"Maestro,\" she said, \"you are not well. You are cross and tired; we will\nnot speak of this any more to-night. This worry has made you ill.\nTo-morrow you will see quite differently. You can never leave your\nart--and Tina.\"\n\nThis feminine persistency, as it seemed to him--this leaving a\ndiscussion open which it was absolutely necessary should be closed that\nnight--was too much for the Maestro.\n\n\"I leave Vienna,\" he said brutally, \"the day after to-morrow. I suppose\nthat you will not insist on following me uninvited. If so, I shall know\nwhat to do.\"\n\nThis tone and look revealed to the girl, at last, that she was cast off\nand discarded by the only man for whom she really cared. She threw\nherself on her knees beside his chair, and caught his hand.\n\n\"Maestro,\" she said passionately, \"you will not be so cruel! You will\nnot leave me! What can I do? How can I live, without you? I cannot sing\nwithout you. I am your child. You took me out of the gutter; you taught\nme all I know; you made me all I am. I will do anything you tell me. I\nwill not trouble you. I will not speak even! I care for no one except\nfor you. I know you better, I can care for you, can serve you better,\nthan they all. You will not be so cruel! You will not send me away from\nyou.\"\n\nThe more passionately she spoke, the more rapid and fervent her\nutterance, the more fretful and irritated did the old man become. He\npushed her roughly from him.\n\n\"Tina,\" he said again, \"you are a fool. Get up from your knees. I don't\nwant any of this stage-acting here.\"\n\nHe rose himself, and began to wander about the room, muttering and\ngrumbling.\n\nAs he pushed her rudely from him, the girl rose and, retreating some\nsteps from the table, gazed at him with a dazed, wondering look, as of\none before whose eyes some strange unaccountable thing was happening.\n\nShe was standing, in her brilliant beauty and in her delicate and\nfantastic dress, her hands clasped before her. The jewels on her fingers\nand on her breast paled before the solemn glow of her wonderful eyes,\nwhich were dry, only from the intensity of her thought.\n\n\"No,\" she said at last, as it would seem in answer to some unspoken\nquestion. \"No. There is nothing strange in this. A woman's heart is\neasily won. I am not the first, by many, who has found that out, too\nlate.\"\n\nIt might have seemed impossible to one easily stirred, easily wrought\nupon by a woman's beauty--it would surely have seemed impossible to such\na one that any could gaze on a sight like this and harbour a selfish\nthought; but the old man was perfectly unmoved.\n\n\"It is always the way,\" he said peevishly, \"always the way with women;\nnow we shall have a scene--tears--entreaties. I shall be called all\nmanner of hard names for giving sensible advice.\"\n\nAnd he turned his back upon the girl, and stood sullenly, gazing\napparently upon one of the painted panels of the wall.\n\nFor about a minute there was a terrible pause, then the curtains that\nveiled the _salon_ were drawn forcibly back, and the groom of the\nchambers, who was a Frenchman, announced suddenly--\n\n\"_Monseigneur le Prince._\"\n\n\n\n\nVIII.\n\n\nTHE Prince came forward smiling. The Maestro made a gesture of\ninexpressible relief. He shuffled off toward the still opened curtain,\nand, turning as he reached it, he bowed to the ground before his patron\nand his pupil, and disappeared through the opening as the servant let\nthe curtain drop. We shall not care, I think, to see him again.\n\nFaustina looked still more scared and bewildered than before at this\nsudden change of actors and of parts. She would gladly have left the\nroom but she was incapable of anything of the kind--besides, where\nshould she go? The scene seemed to swim before her eyes, and the lights\nto flicker. She sank down on her chair again.\n\nThe Prince had never looked so well. He was flushed with excitement, and\nthe habitual _insouciance_ of his manner had given place to a reality\nand earnestness of purpose which rendered eloquent his every gesture and\nlook. He was exquisitely dressed in silk, embroidered with flowers. The\npriceless lace at his wrists and throat accommodated itself, with a\ndelicate fulness, to the soft outline of his dress and figure. His\nexpression was full of kindliness and protection, but of kindliness\ndelicate and refined. The girl's eyes were fascinated in spite of\nherself.\n\n\"Have you quarrelled with the Maestro, Tina?\" said the Prince. \"He\nseemed in a marvellous hurry to be gone.\"\n\nFaustina made two or three ineffectual attempts to speak before she\ncould find her voice. She burst into tears.\n\n\"He is cruel! cruel!\" she said. \"He does not love me. He will not have\nme any longer. He throws me away.\"\n\n\"Poor child!\" said the Prince, \"you will not be deserted. I am your\nfriend; we are all your friends. The Maestro even will come back to you.\nHe is cross and angry. When he finds how lost he is without you and your\nlovely voice, he will come back to you; you and he will carry all before\nyou again.\"\n\n\"Speak to him, Highness!\" cried the girl passionately. \"You are kind\nand good to all--kinder than any one to me. Speak to him! do not let\nhim go without me! He cannot live without his music, and no one surely\ncan know his music so well as I, whom he has taught!\"\n\nShe looked so indescribably attractive in her tears and her distress\nthat the Prince wondered at the sight. \"Let her go, indeed!\"\n\n\"Tina,\" he said very kindly, \"I fear that can hardly be. The Maestro is\nonly going for a time. There is, in fact, no need that he should go at\nall. It is his own wish, his own wish, Tina. He is too old to make his\nway among strangers, and will soon come back. But you we cannot spare.\nYou are too much a favourite with us all. We are too much accustomed to\nyou: every one would miss you--the Princess and all; you must stay with\nus.\"\n\n\"I cannot stay,\" said the girl, looking earnestly and beseechingly at\nthe Prince. \"I want to go with him.\"\n\nThe Prince hesitated for a moment. In an instantaneous flash of thought\nthe two paths lay open before him, plain and clear to be seen.\nCarricchio's warning struck him again with renewed force. The more\nterrible presage of Mark's death cast itself, ghostlike, before his\nsteps. He could plead no excuse of self-deception: he saw the beauty and\nthe danger of the way which lay before him on either hand. He hesitated\nfor a moment, then he deliberately chose the lower path.\n\n\"Tina,\" he said, \"I cannot spare you; you must not go. You are mine--I\nlove you; you belong to me;\" and he stepped forward, as if to take her\nin his arms.\n\nThe girl sprang to her feet. She drew herself up to her full height, and\nher splendid eyes, expanded to their full orbit, flashed upon the Prince\nwith a look of astonishment and reproach. With the entire power of her\ntrained voice, which, magnificent as it was, could still but imperfectly\nrender the reality of remonstrance and pathetic regret, she uttered but\none word--\"Prince!\"\n\nThe cadence of her voice, trembling in the passionate intensity of\nmusical tone, the whole power of her woman's nature, exerted to its full\nin expostulation and reproach--the magnetic force of her intense\nconsciousness--struck upon the conscience and cultured taste of the\nPrince with crushing effect. He lost the perfectly serene tone of pose\nand demeanour which distinguished him and became him so well. He aged\nperceptibly, incredible as it may seem, ten years. The fatal step which\nhe had taken was revealed to him in a moment as in a flash of light,\nwith all the stain and taint with which it had tarnished the fair dream\nof finished art which he had conceived it possible to perfect. He was\nutterly demoralised and crushed. Mark's death was nothing to this. That\nhad been a terrible mistake, but his part in it had been indirect, and\nhis motive, at least so he flattered himself, comparatively high; but\nthis action, so entirely his own, revealed to him, in its vulgar\ncommonplaceness, by the glorious perfection of the girl's action and\ntone, withered him with a sense of irreparable failure and disgrace. He\nmade one or two ineffectual attempts to rally; it was impossible--there\nwas nothing for him but to leave the room.\n\nFaustina was unconscious of his going. She found herself left alone. The\nsituation was still not without its difficulties. She was alone,\nunattended by servants, she knew not where to go, how to leave the\n_Hotel_. She lay for some time in a sort of swoon; then she rose and\nwandered from the room.\n\nThe only means of exit with which she was acquainted was through the\ncurtains into the _salon_. She parted them and went out, hardly knowing\nwhat she did.\n\nThe vast _salon_ was but dimly lighted, and no servants were to be seen;\nthe whole house seemed silent and deserted--more especially these state\napartments. She passed slowly and with faltering steps down the slippery\nfloor of the _salon_, with its dimly-lighted candelabra of massive\nsilver and its half-seen portraits, and, opening the great door at the\nopposite end, found herself in an antechamber which communicated with a\ngrand staircase, both ascending and descending. To descend was evidently\nuseless--she could not go out into the streets of Vienna alone at night\nand in her fanciful dress. She went up the wide staircase in the hope of\nfinding some female domestics who would help her; as she reached the\nnext flight the sound of music, subdued and solemn, fell upon her ear.\nShe knew enough of German music to know that it was the tune of a hymn.\n\nThe door of the room from which the sound seemed to come stood partly\nopen. She went in.\n\nBefore an harpsichord, with her hand carelessly passing over the keys,\nand her head turned at the sound of footsteps, stood the Princess\nIsoline. The light of a branched candelabra fell full upon her stately\nfigure, revealing the compassionate, lofty expression of her beautiful\nface. The girl crossed the room towards her and fell on her knees at her\nfeet.\n\n\"Child,\" said the Princess, \"what is it? Why are you here?\"\n\n\"I cannot tell,\" said the girl; and now at last she found it possible to\nweep. \"I do not know what has happened. The Maestro has forsaken me, and\nI have insulted the Prince.\"\n\nGradually, in a broken way, she told her story, kneeling by the\nPrincess, who stood serenely, her fingers still wandering over the\nharpsichord keys, her left hand caressing the girl's hair and cheek.\n\n\"He was a wonderful child,\" said the Princess at last, more to herself\nthan to Faustina, for as she spoke she played again the simple notes of\nthe Lutheran hymn. \"He was truly a wonderful child. A very Christ-child,\nit seems to me, in his simple life and sudden death; for, though what he\ndid was little, yet the lives of all of us seem different for his\nlife--changed since his death. As for me, since his life crossed my path\nI have seen more, it seems to me, of the mercy of God and of Christ's\nworking in paths and among lives where I never thought to look for it\nbefore.\"\n\nFaustina did not reply, and the Princess played several bars of the hymn\nbefore she spoke again.\n\n\"Do you not see,\" she said at last, \"the blessing it has been also to my\nbrother the Prince?--for the desire that he felt, surely a noble one, to\nrefine the life of art by the sacred touch of religion--the effort that\nhe made, though it seemed a failure, and was made--it may be, I dare not\njudge him--blindly, and in a mistaken fashion; yet this effort has\nto-night proved his own salvation, through you.\"\n\nShe stopped, and again the notes of the hymn sounded through the room.\n\n\"Carricchio was right,\" she went on, \"when he told the Prince that you\nalone of all of us had solved the riddle, for on you alone has art\nexercised its supreme, its magic touch, in drawing out and developing\nthe emotions, the powers of the soul. You alone possessed the perfect\ngift of nature--the untainted well-spring of natural life--which\nassimilated Mark's spirit with your spirit, and reproduced his life\nwithin your own.\"\n\nFaustina dropped the Princess's hand, which she had taken, and bent her\nhead still lower, as if shrinking from her kindly praise.\n\n\"The Prince also had something of this gift, and, in so far as he had,\nhe built up by his own action what, in his supreme need, saved him from\nhis lower self. I have come to see that the world's virtues, which, in\nmy self-righteous isolation, I despised, are often, as I blindly said to\nthe boy, nearer Christ's than my vaunted ones; that the world-spirit is\noften the Christ-spirit, and that, when we begin to see that His\nfootsteps may be traced in paths where we little expect to find them, we\nshall no longer dare to talk of the secular life. Your little brother\nthat died was not without his work, and the canary even was the type of\na nobler life, even as Mark's death was the type of a nobler death. In\nstrange and unlooked-for ways the mission of sacrifice and love fulfils\nitself, and, living in the full light of its influence, we can never\nrealise the blessing we have derived, the changed aspect of the race we\nhave inherited, from the Cross of Christ.\"\n\n\n\n\nIX.\n\n\nTHE next evening there was given, at the Imperial Palace, a ball and\nsupper, to which none but _la haute noblesse_ were invited. The dancing\nbegan with a brilliant Polonaise, which, headed by the Empress-Queen and\nher husband, passed through the rooms in stately procession, in singular\nand picturesque contrast and harmony with another faded and more solemn\nprocession and array of figures in antique armour and dainty ruffs and\ndoublets, and gold chains and princely mantles, the ancestral portraits\nwho watched the formal slow dance-movement from the walls.\n\nAfter the Polonaise came the supper, which was somewhat prolonged. The\nsupper over, a minuet was danced, and afterward, the company being now\nhappy and cheerful, and being, moreover, of sufficiently high and\nsimilar rank to dispense with somewhat of the rigid court etiquette,\nbegan to wander through the rooms in an informal manner, and to arrange\n_contre-danses_ among themselves.\n\nIn those days the _contre-danse_ had not hardened itself into the\nquadrille. It was danced, not in fours, but in sets of varying numbers,\nand of characters and figures mostly undefined.\n\nIn one of the great halls, recently erected by the Emperor-architect,\nCharles VI., in a different taste from the older rooms, with marble\nfloors and ceiling, and lined with mirrors, a very large set, composed\nof guests of the highest rank, was being watched by no inconsiderable\nnumber of their companions.\n\nIt is difficult to conceive a more magnificent or fascinating sight,\nreflected and multiplied as it was by the mirrors on the walls.\n\nThe Princess von Isenberg-Wertheim was dancing with a young noble, a\nprince of the House of Colleredo, a very handsome, but gay and reckless,\nyoung man. The dance was drawing to a close, the musicians, playing one\nof the last figures, _La Pastorelle_, to a very delicate and fine\nmovement, to which the dancers were devoting their utmost, closest\nattention and skill.\n\nAs the Princess was standing by her partner, awaiting their turn to go\ndown the dance, a slight movement caused her to turn her head, and she\nfound the Count, her friend, standing close to her.\n\n\"I am sorry to interrupt, Princess,\" he said, in a low voice, \"but I\nfear something serious has happened to the Prince. He cannot be found.\"\n\nThe Princess turned very pale. She caught her breath for a moment, then\nshe said, in the same tone, \"Where is Karl, the _Jager_?\"\n\n\"I do not know,\" replied the Count. \"I never thought of him.\"\n\n\"Then he is not here,\" said the Princess, with a relieved air. \"If Karl\nis with him the Prince is safe.\"\n\nThe Count made a very slight movement of his shoulders, but the\nPrincess turned serenely to the young man.\n\n\"We will finish the figure, Monseigneur,\" she said graciously; \"then,\nperhaps, you will excuse me.\"\n\n\"Nothing has happened to the Prince, believe me,\" said the young man\nkindly, as they moved down the room. \"He has doubtless gone on some\nprivate expedition with his servant. He probably forgot to leave a\nmessage, and will return to-morrow.\"\n\nThe Princess was so reassured, apparently, by these reflections that she\nremained for the final figure of the dance. Then she left the palace,\nand, declining the Count's company, drove to her _Hotel_ alone.\n\nShe was more strangely moved than she could have explained to herself.\nShe was, indeed, frightened and perplexed by her own feelings. She felt\nherself influenced by an hitherto unrecognised power, and, as it were,\ndriven onwards by an overpowering impulse, not her own.\n\nReturning, as she did, at an unexpected hour, her women were not in\nwaiting for her, and, leaving the servants who had accompanied her from\nthe palace in the hall of the _Hotel_, she wandered up the great\nstaircase alone. The corridors and rooms were dimly lighted, and a\nperfect stillness reigned through the house.\n\nThe Princess ascended slowly towards her own apartment, where she\nexpected to find some, at least, of her dressers, and in so doing, in a\ndimly-lighted corridor, she passed the rooms allotted to her children.\nThe thought of them was not, indeed, in her mind when, as she passed a\ndoor, she fancied that she heard a suppressed, continued crying, as of\nchildren in distress. Still more moved and troubled by this faint\npathetic sound she opened the door and went in. The room was an\nantechamber, and both it and the apartment beyond were dark. The\nPrincess procured a small lamp from the corridor and entered the suite\nof rooms.\n\nIn the bedchamber beyond the antechamber she found the children, both\nsitting up in one bed, clasped in each other's arms, and crying quietly.\nThe little boy had evidently come for shelter and comfort to his\nsister's bed.\n\n\"What is the matter, children?\" said the Princess, in a tone which\nseemed to the little ones strangely soft and kind. \"Why are you not\nasleep?\"\n\nThe children had ceased crying, and were looking at her wonderingly as\nshe stood in her jewels and ball-dress, a brilliant scarf of Indian work\nhanging from her arm, the lamp in her hand. They hardly knew whether it\nwas their mother, whom they saw so seldom, or some serene ethereal\nvisitant, who resembled her in face and form.\n\nThe little Princess, however, with the self-possession of her class,\napparently left this point undecided, and began in her quiet, stately\nlittle way to explain.\n\n\"It was dark,\" she said, \"and we were asleep, Fritz and I, and we both\ndreamed the same dream. We thought that we were walking in a beautiful\ngarden, where there were trees, and flowers, and butterflies, and wide\ncascades of water, in which rainbows were shining; and while we were\nplaying there, and were very happy chasing the butterflies, the Herr\nTutor, who was an angel, and who went to heaven, came and took us by the\nhand; and, when we saw his face, we knew that he is an angel now; and he\nled us through the garden, and talked to us of many things--of God, and\nof angels, and of heaven--just as he used to do. But I saw that, though\nhe talked so pleasantly, he was leading us out of this pleasant garden,\nand the flowers grew dim, and the butterflies flew away, and the sky\nbecame very dark. And he led us quite out of the garden into a\nburial-ground, where there were tombs, and open graves, and crosses, and\ntall dark trees that bore no flower; and the Herr Tutor told us not to\nbe afraid, and led us on through the graves without speaking any more.\nHe led us into the midst of the burial-ground, and in the midst of the\nburial-ground there was a Calvary, and at the foot of the Calvary there\nwas a bier. And on the bier we saw you and papa lying quite straight and\nstill, and we thought that you were dead. And the Herr Tutor vanished\naway; and we were so frightened that we cried. And we knelt side by\nside, and prayed to the Christ that He would come down. And the Christ\ncame down from the cross, and came to the bier, and touched it, and you\nand papa stood up beautiful and smiling, and came towards us with\noutstretched hands, and the Christ vanished away. And we were so glad\nthat we awoke; and it was dark, and there was no Christ, and no Herr\nTutor, who is an angel, and no papa, and no one to tell us what to do\nor where to go.\"\n\nAs the little Princess ceased some servants came in, with whispered\nexplanations and apologies. The Princess went to her own room. She had\nnot known what to say to the child; indeed, she hardly knew what had\npassed. She allowed herself to be undressed, and lay down.\n\nBut, in the deep silence of the hours that preceded the dawn, an\noverpowering restlessness took possession of her. A sense of strange\nforces and influences, to which she was utterly unaccustomed, seemed\npresent to her spirit: a crowd of fair and heavenly existences, which\nseemed to follow on the steps of that singular boy who had first\nattracted her wearied fancy, the Signorina's singing, which had stamped\nthis impression upon her mind, the strange tenderness she had been\nconscious of, the renewed sense of her husband's grace and beauty, his\nalarming absence, her children's mystical dream. A new world seemed to\nopen to her. She felt how poor and bare her life had been, how deserted\nby these gracious creatures of the imagination, how unblessed by the\npurest, the truest art--the art of pathos and of love.\n\nWith the streaks of dawn that stole into the chamber she was conscious\nof an irrepressible desire that took possession of her to rise and go\nforth. An irresistible power seemed to draw her to follow: she rose,\nand, dressing herself in such clothes as were at hand, she went out.\n\nThe house itself was quite still, but faintly in the distance might be\nheard the sound of a bell. In so religious a Court as that of Vienna\nthere were private chapels attached to most of the houses of the\nnobility, and there was one attached to a neighbouring palace, to which\nthere was a private communication with the _Hotel_ taken by the Prince.\n\nFollowing the sound of the bell the Princess traversed several passages,\nand reached at last a staircase, down which she turned. As she reached\nthe first landing two women came out from an open door. They started at\nthe sight of the Princess. They were the Princess Isoline and Faustina.\n\n\"Is it you, Princess?\" said the former. \"What has called you up so\nearly?\"\n\n\"Are you going to the chapel, Isoline?\" said the Princess. \"May I come\nwith you?\"\n\n+ + + + +\n\nThe three ladies entered the chapel by a private door, which led them to\na pew behind the stalls. Upon the original Gothic stone-work and tracery\nof the chapel, which was very old, had been introduced rococo work in\nmahogany and brass, angels and trumpets and scrolls. The stalls and\norgans were covered with filigree work of this description, the windows\nfilled with paintings in the same florid and incongruous taste. There\nwere few persons in the chapel, most of them being ladies from the\nadjoining palaces, together with a few musicians, for the musical part\nof the service was carefully performed by a large and well-paid staff.\n\nTwo of the ladies were Protestant, the third, Faustina, a Catholic of a\nvery undeveloped type; but the music of the Mass spoke a mysterious\nlanguage, recognisable to hearts of every creed.\n\nBefore the altar, laden with gilded plate and lighted with candles in\nsilver sconces, the priest said Mass. Above him, in the window, painted\nin a lovely Italian landscape full of figures, with towns and castles\nand mountain ranges and market-people with horses and cattle, were\nrepresented, in careful and minute painting, the three Marys before the\nempty tomb.\n\n\"The City of the Sunlight,\" sang the choir, in an elaborate anthem, with\nan allegro movement of the tenors that spoke of sunshine amid the grass\nand flowers and flashing sea, of the breezy south wind upon rippling\nwater and golden hair; and after them the bass recitative, with a\npositive assurance that knew no doubt, asserted \"The gates--the gates of\nit are many--many,\" which the tenors and altos, with a sudden\ninspiration, interpreted, \"God's purposes fulfilled--fulfilled in many\nways;\" and the whole choir, in a minor key, as with hushed and\nawe-struck voices, completed the theme, \"But the end is union in the\nheart--the heart of the Crucifix; in the City--the City of the Saints.\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nOn her return from the chapel a note from the Prince was put into the\nPrincess's hand. It merely stated that he was gone to Hernhuth to the\nCount Zinzendorf. It had been written at a tavern in the environs of\nthe city, after his sudden determination had been formed the day before,\nand had been entrusted to a servant of the inn to deliver. He had\narrived at the _Hotel_ after the Princess had left, and, on asking for\nher Highness, had been told by a careless porter that she was at the\nPalace. Wandering about the Palace courts late at night he had been\narrested as a suspicious person, and kept prisoner till the morning.\n\n+ + + + +\n\nIn course of time (posts were slow in those days) the Princess received\na long letter from her husband, giving an account of Hernhuth, and of\nhis conversations with the Count, and concluding with these words:--\n\n\"From all this you will, doubtless, conclude that Hernhuth does not\nsuit me very well, and that the Count and I do not always agree. It\nwould be more after Isoline's taste. I like the children's dream, as you\ntell it, best. We have been dead, and laid upon a bier; but we will,\nplease God, live hereafter for the children and the Christ.\"\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n          _Printed by_ R. & R. CLARK, _Edinburgh._\n\n\n\n\nBY THE SAME AUTHOR.\n\nCrown 8vo, Cloth, 3s. 6d. each.\n\n\nJOHN INGLESANT: A Romance.\n\n\nSIR PERCIVAL: A Story of the Past and of the Present.\n\n_THE LITERARY WORLD._--\"It is the work of a man who to great literary\npower unites a deep insight into the hidden mysteries of spiritual\nlife.\"\n\n\nA TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN, and other Tales.\n\n_THE SPECTATOR._--\"No one who takes up this volume will be likely to\nleave it unfinished.... All the stories are of delicate workmanship.\"\n\n\nTHE COUNTESS EVE.\n\n_THE SPECTATOR._--\"Mr. Shorthouse has written nothing since 'John\nInglesant' so good as this little tale.... It is a remarkable little\nstory, dealing with the mystical aspects of temptation in a manner\nwhich, though perfectly pure and free from any kind of dangerous\nfascination, produces a profound impression on the reader's mind.... The\nstory is quite worthy of the author of 'John Inglesant' in the same\nsense in which we may say that 'Janet's Repentance' is worthy of the\nauthor of 'Middle-march.'\"\n\n\nBLANCHE, LADY FALAISE.\n\n_GLOBE._--\"The style is so smooth, the tone so high, the atmosphere so\nrarefied, and the art of the narrator so skilful, that one cannot choose\nbut read.\"\n\n_SCOTTISH LEADER._--\"A work of conspicuous ability, displaying at times\ngenuine beauty of description and masterly analysis of character.\"\n\n          MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.\n\n\n\n\nENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS.\n\nEDITED BY JOHN MORLEY.\n\nCrown 8vo. Cloth, 1s. 6d.; sewed, 1s.\n\n_WESTMINSTER REVIEW._--\"These excellent biographies should be made\nclass-books for schools.\"\n\n_BRITISH QUARTERLY REVIEW._--\"This admirable series.\"\n\n_ACADEMY._--\"Enjoyable and excellent little books.\"\n\n\n          ADDISON.\n            By W. J. COURTHOPE.\n\n          BACON.\n            By Dean CHURCH.\n\n          BENTLEY.\n            By Professor R. C. JEBB.\n\n          BUNYAN.\n            By J. A. FROUDE.\n\n          BURKE.\n            By JOHN MORLEY.\n\n          BURNS.\n            By Principal SHAIRP.\n\n          BYRON.\n            By Professor NICHOL.\n\n          CHAUCER.\n            By Professor A. W. WARD.\n\n          COLERIDGE.\n            By H. D. TRAILL.\n\n          COWPER.\n            By GOLDWIN SMITH.\n\n          DEFOE.\n            By W. MINTO.\n\n          DE QUINCEY.\n            By Professor MASSON.\n\n          DICKENS.\n            By Professor A. W. WARD.\n\n          DRYDEN.\n            BY G. SAINTSBURY.\n\n          FIELDING.\n            By AUSTIN DOBSON.\n\n          GIBBON.\n            By J. C. MORISON.\n\n          GOLDSMITH.\n            By WILLIAM BLACK.\n\n          GRAY.\n            By EDMUND GOSSE.\n\n          HAWTHORNE.\n            By HENRY JAMES.\n\n          HUME.\n            By Professor HUXLEY, F.R.S.\n\n          JOHNSON.\n            By LESLIE STEPHEN.\n\n          KEATS.\n            By SIDNEY COLVIN.\n\n          LAMB, CHARLES.\n            By Rev. A. AINGER.\n\n          LANDOR.\n            By SIDNEY COLVIN.\n\n          LOCKE.\n            By THOMAS FOWLER.\n\n          MACAULAY.\n            By J. C. MORISON.\n\n          MILTON.\n            By MARK PATTISON.\n\n          POPE.\n            By LESLIE STEPHEN.\n\n          SCOTT.\n            By R. H. HUTTON.\n\n          SHELLEY.\n            By J. A. SYMONDS.\n\n          SHERIDAN.\n            By Mrs. OLIPHANT.\n\n          SIDNEY.\n            By JOHN A. SYMONDS.\n\n          SOUTHEY.\n            By Professor DOWDEN.\n\n          SPENSER.\n            By Dean CHURCH.\n\n          STERNE.\n            By H. D. TRAILL.\n\n          SWIFT.\n            By LESLIE STEPHEN.\n\n          THACKERAY.\n            By ANTHONY TROLLOPE.\n\n          WORDSWORTH.\n            By F. W. H. MYERS.\n\nCARLYLE. By JOHN NICHOL. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d.\n\n          MACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.\n\n\n\n\nGolden Treasury Series.\n\nUniformly printed with Vignette Titles by Sir J. E. MILLAIS, Sir NOEL\nPATON, T. WOOLNER, W. HOLMAN HUNT, ARTHUR HUGHES, etc., engraved on\nSteel.\n\nIn uniform binding, Pott 8vo, 2s. 6d. each, net.\n\n\n          THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF THE BEST SONGS AND LYRICAL\n          POEMS IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE. Selected and\n          arranged, with Notes, by Professor F. T. PALGRAVE.\n          _Large Paper Edition_, 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\n          THE CHILDREN'S TREASURY OF LYRICAL POETRY.\n          Selected by Professor F. T. PALGRAVE.\n\n          THE CHILDREN'S GARLAND FROM THE BEST POETS.\n          Selected by COVENTRY PATMORE.\n\n          POEMS OF WORDSWORTH. Chosen and edited by MATTHEW\n          ARNOLD. _Large Paper Edition._ 8vo. 9s.\n\n          POETRY OF BYRON. Chosen and arranged by MATTHEW\n          ARNOLD. _Large Paper Edition_, 9s.\n\n          POEMS OF SHELLEY. Edited by S. A. BROOKE. _Large\n          Paper Edition._ 8vo. 12s. 6d.\n\n          THE POETICAL WORKS OF JOHN KEATS. Edited by\n          Professor F. T. PALGRAVE.\n\n          CHRYSOMELA. A Selection from the Lyrical Poems of\n          Robert Herrick. By Professor F. T. PALGRAVE.\n\n          SELECTED POEMS OF MATTHEW ARNOLD.\n\n          BALLADS, LYRICS, AND SONNETS. From the Works of\n          HENRY W. LONGFELLOW.\n\n          LYRIC LOVE: An Anthology. Edited by WILLIAM\n          WATSON.\n\n          SCOTTISH SONG. Compiled by MARY CARLYLE AITKEN.\n\n          THE SONG BOOK. Words and Tunes selected and\n          arranged by JOHN HULLAH.\n\n          THE BALLAD BOOK. Edited by WILLIAM ALLINGHAM.\n\n          THE FAIRY BOOK. Selected by Mrs. CRAIK.\n\n          THE JEST BOOK. Arranged by MARK LEMON.\n\n          SHAKESPEARE'S SONGS AND SONNETS. Edited, with\n          Notes, by Professor F. T. PALGRAVE.\n\n          LAMB'S TALES FROM SHAKESPEARE. Edited by Rev.\n          ALFRED AINGER, M.A.\n\n          SELECTIONS FROM COWPER'S POEMS. With an\n          Introduction by Mrs. OLIPHANT.\n\n          LETTERS OF WILLIAM COWPER. Edited, with\n          Introduction, by Rev. W. BENHAM.\n\n          THE BOOK OF PRAISE. Selected by ROUNDELL, EARL OF\n          SELBORNE.\n\n          THE SUNDAY BOOK OF POETRY FOR THE YOUNG. Selected\n          by C. F. ALEXANDER.\n\n          LA LYRE FRANCAISE. Selected and arranged, with\n          Notes, by G. MASSON.\n\n          DEUTSCHE LYRIK. The Golden Treasury of the Best\n          German Lyrical Poems. Selected by Dr. BUCHHEIM.\n\n          BALLADEN UND ROMANZEN. Being a Selection of the\n          best German Ballads and Romances. Edited, with\n          Introduction and Notes, by Dr. BUCHHEIM.\n\n          THEOCRITUS, BION, AND MOSCHUS. Rendered into\n          English Prose by ANDREW LANG. _Large Paper\n          Edition._ 9s.\n\n          THE REPUBLIC OF PLATO. Translated by LL. DAVIES,\n          M.A., and D. J. VAUGHAN. _Large Paper Edition._\n          8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\n          THE TRIAL AND DEATH OF SOCRATES. Being the\n          Euthyphron, Apology, Crito, and Phaedo of Plato.\n          Translated by F. J. CHURCH.\n\n          PLATO--PHAEDRUS, LYSIS, AND PROTAGORAS. A New\n          Translation, by J. WRIGHT.\n\n          BACON'S ESSAYS, AND COLOURS OF GOOD AND EVIL. With\n          Notes and Glossarial Index by W. ALDIS WRIGHT,\n          M.A. _Large Paper Edition._ 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\n          THE CAVALIER AND HIS LADY. Selections from the\n          Works of the First Duke and Duchess of Newcastle.\n          With an Introductory Essay by EDWARD JENKINS.\n\n          THE PILGRIM'S PROGRESS FROM THIS WORLD TO THAT\n          WHICH IS TO COME. By JOHN BUNYAN. _Large Paper\n          Edition._ 8vo. 10s. 6d. net.\n\n          SIR THOMAS BROWNE'S RELIGIO MEDICI; LETTERS TO A\n          FRIEND, ETC., AND CHRISTIAN MORALS. Edited by W.\n          A. GREENHILL, M.D.\n\n          THE ESSAYS OF JOSEPH ADDISON. Chosen and edited by\n          JOHN RICHARD GREEN.\n\n          SELECTIONS FROM WALTER SAVAGE LANDOR. Edited by\n          SIDNEY COLVIN.\n\n          TOM BROWN'S SCHOOL DAYS. By an _Old Boy_.\n\n          BALTHASAR GRACIAN'S ART OF WORLDLY WISDOM.\n          Translated by J. JACOBS.\n\n          THE SPEECHES AND TABLE-TALK OF THE PROPHET\n          MOHAMMAD. Translated by STANLEY LANE-POOLE.\n\n          THE STORY OF THE CHRISTIANS AND MOORS IN SPAIN. By\n          CHARLOTTE M. YONGE.\n\n          A BOOK OF GOLDEN DEEDS OF ALL TIMES AND ALL\n          COUNTRIES. By C. M. YONGE.\n\n          A BOOK OF WORTHIES. By C. M. YONGE.\n\n          A BOOK OF GOLDEN THOUGHTS. By SIR HENRY ATTWELL.\n\n          GOLDEN TREASURY PSALTER. THE STUDENT'S EDITION.\n          Being an Edition with Briefer Notes of \"The Psalms\n          Chronologically Arranged by Four Friends.\"\n\n          THEOLOGIA GERMANICA. Translated by S. WINKWORTH.\n          Preface by C. KINGSLEY.\n\n\nMACMILLAN AND CO., LONDON.\n\n\n\n\nMACMILLAN'S THREE-AND-SIXPENNY LIBRARY OF BOOKS BY POPULAR AUTHORS\n\nCrown 8vo.\n\n\n_THIS SERIES comprises over four hundred volumes in various departments\nof Literature. Prominent among them is an attractive edition of_ The\nWorks of Thackeray, _issued under the editorship of Mr. Lewis Melville.\nIt contains all the Original Illustrations, and includes a great number\nof scattered pieces and illustrations which have not hitherto appeared\nin any collected edition of the works._ The Works of Charles Dickens,\n_reprinted from the first editions, with all the Original Illustrations,\nand with Introductions, Biographical and Bibliographical, by Charles\nDickens the Younger, and an attractive edition of_ The Novels of Charles\nLever, _illustrated by Phiz and G. Cruikshank, have also a place in the\nLibrary. The attention of book buyers may be especially directed to_ The\nBorder Edition of the Waverley Novels, _edited by Mr. Andrew Lang,\nwhich, with its large type and convenient form, and its copious\nillustrations by well-known artists, possesses features which place it\nin the forefront of editions now obtainable of the famous novels._ The\nWorks of Mr. Thomas Hardy, _including the poems, have also been added to\nthe Three-and-Sixpenny Library._\n\n_Among other works by notable contemporary authors will be found those\nof_ Mr. F. Marion Crawford, Rolf Boldrewood, Mr. H. G. Wells, Mrs.\nGertrude Atherton, Mr. Egerton Castle, Mr. A. E. W. Mason, Maarten\nMaartens, _and_ Miss Rosa Nouchette Carey; _while among the productions\nof an earlier period may be mentioned the works of_ Charles Kingsley,\nFrederick Denison Maurice, Thomas Hughes, _and_ Dean Farrar; _and the\nnovels and tales of_ Charlotte M. Yonge, Mrs. Craik, _and_ Mrs.\nOliphant.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WORKS OF THACKERAY\n\n  _Reprints of the First Editions, with all the Original\n  Illustrations, and with Facsimiles of Wrappers, etc._\n\nMessrs. MACMILLAN & CO., Limited, beg leave to invite the attention of\nbook buyers to the Edition of THE WORKS OF THACKERAY in their\nThree-and-Sixpenny Library, which is the Completest Edition of the\nAuthor's Works that has been placed on the market.\n\nThe Publishers have been fortunate in securing the services of Mr. LEWIS\nMELVILLE, the well-known Thackeray Expert. With his assistance they have\nbeen able to include in this Edition a great number of scattered pieces\nfrom Thackeray's pen, and illustrations from his pencil which have not\nhitherto been contained in any collected edition of the works. Mr.\nMelville has read all the sheets as they passed through the press, and\ncollated them carefully with the original editions. He has also provided\nBibliographical Introductions and occasional Footnotes.\n\n\nList of the Series.\n\n          VOL.\n\n          1. Vanity Fair. With 190 Illustrations.\n\n          2. The History of Pendennis. With 180\n          Illustrations.\n\n          3. The Newcomes. With 167 Illustrations.\n\n          4. The History of Henry Esmond.\n\n          5. The Virginians. With 148 Illustrations.\n\n          6. Barry Lyndon and Catherine. With 4\n          Illustrations.\n\n          7. The Paris and Irish Sketch Books. With 63\n          Illustrations.\n\n          8. Christmas Books--MRS. PERKINS'S BALL: OUR\n          STREET: DR. BIRCH AND HIS YOUNG FRIENDS: THE\n          KICKLEBURYS ON THE RHINE: THE ROSE AND THE RING.\n          With 127 Illustrations.\n\n          9. Burlesques: From Cornhill to Grand Cairo: and\n          Juvenilia. With 84 Illustrations.\n\n          10. The Book of Snobs, and other Contributions to\n          _Punch_. With 159 Illustrations.\n\n          11. The Yellowplush Correspondence: Jeames's\n          Diary: The Great Hoggarty Diamond: Etc. With 47\n          Illustrations.\n\n          12. Critical Papers in Literature.\n\n          13. Critical Papers in Art; Stubbs's Calendar:\n          Barber Cox. With 99 Illustrations.\n\n          14. Lovel the Widower, and other Stories. With 40\n          Illustrations.\n\n          15. The Fitz-Boodle Papers (including Men's\n          Wives), and various Articles. 8 Illustrations.\n\n          16. The English Humourists of the 18th Century:\n          The Four Georges: Etc. 45 Illustrations.\n\n          17. Travels in London: Letters to a Young Man\n          about Town: and other Contributions to _Punch_\n          (1845--1850). With 73 Illustrations.\n\n          18. Ballads and Verses, and Miscellaneous\n          Contributions to _Punch_. With 78 Illustrations.\n\n          19. A Shabby Genteel Story, and The Adventures of\n          Philip. With Illustrations.\n\n          20. Roundabout Papers and Denis Duval. With\n          Illustrations.\n\n\n\n\nMACMILLAN'S\n\nEDITION OF THACKERAY\n\nSOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS\n\n\n_EXPOSITORY TIMES._--\"An edition to do credit even to this publishing\nhouse, and not likely to be surpassed until they surpass it with a\ncheaper and better themselves.\"\n\n_WHITEHALL REVIEW._--\"Never before has such a cheap and excellent\nedition of Thackeray been seen.\"\n\n_ACADEMY._--\"A better one-volume edition at three shillings and sixpence\ncould not be desired.\"\n\n_GRAPHIC._--\"In its plain but pretty blue binding is both serviceable\nand attractive.\"\n\n_DAILY GRAPHIC._--\"An excellent, cheap reprint.\"\n\n_PALL MALL GAZETTE._--\"The size of the books is handy, paper and\nprinting are good, and the binding, which is of blue cloth, is simple\nbut tasteful. Altogether the publishers are to be congratulated upon a\nreprint which ought to be popular.\"\n\n_GLOBE._--\"The paper is thin but good, the type used is clear to read,\nand the binding is neat and effective.\"\n\n_LADY'S PICTORIAL._--\"The paper is good, the type clear and large, and\nthe binding tasteful. Messrs. Macmillan are to be thanked for so\nadmirable and inexpensive an edition of our great satirist.\"\n\n_WORLD._--\"Nothing could be better than the new edition.\"\n\n_BLACK AND WHITE._--\"The more one sees of the edition the more enamoured\nof it he becomes. It is so good and neat, immaculate as to print, and\nadmirably bound.\"\n\n_SCOTSMAN._--\"This admirable edition.\"\n\n_LITERARY WORLD._--\"The paper and printing and general get up are\neverything that one could desire.\"\n\n_ST. JAMES'S GAZETTE._--\"A clear and pretty edition.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE\n\nWORKS OF DICKENS\n\nReprints of the First Editions, with all the original Illustrations, and\nwith Introductions, Biographical and Bibliographical, by CHARLES DICKENS\nthe Younger.\n\n   1. THE PICKWICK PAPERS. With 50 Illustrations.\n   2. OLIVER TWIST. With 27 Illustrations.\n   3. NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. With 44 Illustrations.\n   4. MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT. With 41 Illustrations.\n   5. THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP. With 97 Illustrations.\n   6. BARNABY RUDGE. With 76 Illustrations.\n   7. DOMBEY AND SON. With 40 Illustrations.\n   8. CHRISTMAS BOOKS. With 65 Illustrations.\n   9. SKETCHES BY BOZ. With 44 Illustrations.\n  10. DAVID COPPERFIELD. With 40 Illustrations.\n  11. AMERICAN NOTES AND PICTURES FROM ITALY. With 4 Illustrations.\n  12. THE LETTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS.\n  13. BLEAK HOUSE. With 43 Illustrations.\n  14. LITTLE DORRIT. With 40 Illustrations.\n  15. A TALE OF TWO CITIES. With 15 Illustrations.\n  16. GREAT EXPECTATIONS; AND HARD TIMES.\n  17. OUR MUTUAL FRIEND. With 40 Illustrations.\n\n\n\n\nMACMILLAN'S\n\nEDITION OF DICKENS\n\nSOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS\n\n\n_ATHENAEUM._--\"Handy in form, well printed, illustrated with reduced\nre-productions of the original plates, introduced with bibliographical\nnotes by the novelist's son, and above all issued at a most moderate\nprice, this edition will appeal successfully to a large number of\nreaders.\"\n\n_SPEAKER._--\"We do not think there exists a better edition.\"\n\n_MORNING POST._--\"The edition will be highly appreciated.\"\n\n_SCOTSMAN._--\"This reprint offers peculiar attractions. Of a handy size,\nin one volume, of clear, good-sized print, and with its capital comic\nillustrations, it is a volume to be desired.\"\n\n_NEWCASTLE CHRONICLE._--\"The most satisfactory edition of the book that\nhas been issued.\"\n\n_GLASGOW HERALD._--\"None of the recent editions of Dickens can be\ncompared with that which Messrs. Macmillan inaugurate with the issue of\n_Pickwick_.... Printed in a large, clear type, very readable.\"\n\n_GLOBE._--\"They have used an admirably clear type and good paper, and\nthe binding is unexceptionable.... May be selected as the most desirable\ncheap edition of the immortal 'Papers' that has ever been offered to the\npublic.\"\n\n_MANCHESTER EXAMINER._--\"These volumes have a unique interest, for with\neach there is the story of its origin.\"\n\n_QUEEN._--\"A specially pleasant and convenient form in which to re-read\nDickens.\"\n\n_STAR._--\"This new 'Dickens Series,' with its reproductions of the\noriginal illustrations, is a joy to the possessor.\"\n\n\n\n\n  _Complete in Twenty-four Volumes. Crown 8vo, tastefully bound in\n  green cloth, gilt. Price 3s. 6d. each._\n\n  _In special cloth binding, flat backs, gilt tops. Supplied in Sets\n  only of 24 volumes. Price L4 4s._\n\n  _Also an edition with all the 250 original etchings. In 24 volumes.\n  Crown 8vo, gilt tops. Price 6s. each._\n\n\nTHE LARGE TYPE\n\nBORDER EDITION OF THE\n\nWAVERLEY NOVELS\n\n          EDITED WITH\n\n          _INTRODUCTORY ESSAYS AND NOTES_\n\n          BY\n\n          ANDREW LANG\n\n          SUPPLEMENTING THOSE OF THE AUTHOR.\n\n          _With Two Hundred and Fifty New and Original Illustrations by\n          Eminent Artists._\n\nBY the kind permission of the Hon. Mrs. MAXWELL-SCOTT, of Abbotsford,\nthe great-granddaughter of Sir WALTER, the MSS. and other material at\nAbbotsford were examined by Mr. ANDREW LANG during the preparation of\nhis Introductory Essays and Notes to the Series, so that the BORDER\nEDITION may be said to contain all the results of the latest researches\nas to the composition of the Waverley Novels.\n\n\nThe Border Waverley\n\n          1. WAVERLEY. With 12 Illustrations by Sir H.\n          RAEBURN, R.A., R. W. MACBETH, A.R.A., JOHN PETTIE,\n          R.A., H. MACBETH-RAEBURN, D. HERDMAN, W. J.\n          LEITCH, ROBERT HERDMAN, R.S.A., and J. ECKFORD\n          LAUDER.\n\n          2. GUY MANNERING. With 10 Illustrations by J.\n          MACWHIRTER, A.R.A., R. W. MACBETH, A.R.A., C. O.\n          MURRAY, CLARK STANTON, R.S.A., GOURLAY STEELL,\n          R.S.A., F. S. WALKER, R. HERDMAN, R.S.A., and J.\n          B. MACDONALD, A.R.S.A.\n\n          3. THE ANTIQUARY. With 10 Illustrations by J.\n          MACWHIRTER, A.R.A., SAM BOUGH, R.S.A., R. HERDMAN,\n          R.S.A., W. M'TAGGART, A.R.S.A., J. B. MACDONALD,\n          A.R.S.A., and A. H. TOURRIER.\n\n          4. ROB ROY. With 10 Illustrations by R. W.\n          MACBETH, A.R.A., and SAM BOUGH, R.S.A.\n\n          5. OLD MORTALITY. With 10 Illustrations by J.\n          MACWHIRTER, A.R.A., R. HERDMAN, R.S.A., SAM BOUGH,\n          R.S.A., M. L. GOW, D. Y. CAMERON, LOCKHART BOGLE,\n          and ALFRED HARTLEY.\n\n          6. THE HEART OF MIDLOTHIAN. With 10 Illustrations\n          by Sir J. E. MILLAIS, Bart., HUGH CAMERON, R.S.A.,\n          SAM BOUGH, R.S.A., R. HERDMAN, R.S.A., and WAL.\n          PAGET.\n\n          7. A LEGEND OF MONTROSE and THE BLACK DWARF. With\n          7 Illustrations by Sir GEORGE REID, P.R.S.A.,\n          GEORGE HAY, R.S.A., HORATIO MACCULLOCH, R.S.A., W.\n          E. LOCKHART, R.S.A., H. MACBETH-RAEBURN, and T.\n          SCOTT.\n\n          8. THE BRIDE OF LAMMERMOOR. With 8 Illustrations\n          by Sir J. E. MILLAIS, Bart., JOHN SMART, R.S.A.,\n          SAM BOUGH, R.S.A., GEORGE HAY, R.S.A., and H.\n          MACBETH-RAEBURN.\n\n          9. IVANHOE. With 12 Illustrations by AD. LALAUZE.\n\n          10. THE MONASTERY. With 10 Illustrations by GORDON\n          BROWNE.\n\n          11. THE ABBOT. With 10 Illustrations by GORDON\n          BROWNE.\n\n          12. KENILWORTH. With 12 Illustrations by AD.\n          LALAUZE.\n\n          13. THE PIRATE. With 10 Illustrations by W. E.\n          LOCKHART, R.S.A., SAM BOUGH, R.S.A., HERBERT\n          DICKSEE, W. STRANG, LOCKHART BOGLE, C. J. HOLMES,\n          and F. S. WALKER.\n\n          14. THE FORTUNES OF NIGEL. With 10 Illustrations\n          by JOHN PETTIE, R.A., and R. W. MACBETH, A.R.A.\n\n          15. PEVERIL OF THE PEAK. With 15 Illustrations by\n          W. Q. ORCHARDSON, R.A., JOHN PETTIE, R.A., F.\n          DADD, R.I., ARTHUR HOPKINS, A.R.W.S., and S. L.\n          WOOD.\n\n          16. QUENTIN DURWARD. With 12 Illustrations by AD.\n          LALAUZE.\n\n          17. ST. RONAN'S WELL. With 10 Illustrations by Sir\n          G. REID, P.R.S.A., R. W. MACBETH, A.R.A., W. HOLE,\n          R.S.A., and A. FORESTIER.\n\n          18. REDGAUNTLET. With 12 Illustrations by Sir\n          JAMES D. LINTON, P.R.I., JAMES ORROCK, R.I., SAM\n          BOUGH, R.S.A., W. HOLE, R.S.A., G. HAY, R.S.A., T.\n          SCOTT, A.R.S.A., W. BOUCHER, and FRANK SHORT.\n\n          19. THE BETROTHED AND THE TALISMAN. With 10\n          Illustrations by HERBERT DICKSEE, WAL. PAGET, and\n          J. LE BLANT.\n\n          20. WOODSTOCK. With 10 Illustrations by W. HOLE,\n          R.S.A.\n\n          21. THE FAIR MAID OF PERTH. With 10 Illustrations\n          by Sir G. REID, P.R.S.A., JOHN PETTIE, R.A., R. W.\n          MACBETH, A.R.A., and ROBERT HERDMAN, R.S.A.\n\n          22. ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN. With 10 Illustrations by\n          R. DE LOS RIOS.\n\n          23. COUNT ROBERT OF PARIS and THE SURGEON'S\n          DAUGHTER. With 10 Illustrations by W. HATHERELL,\n          R.I., and W. B. WOLLEN, R.I.\n\n          24. CASTLE DANGEROUS, CHRONICLES OF THE\n          CANON-GATE, ETC. With 10 Illustrations by H.\n          MACBETH-RAEBURN and G. D. ARMOUR.\n\n\n\n\nThe Border Waverley\n\nSOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS\n\n\n_TIMES._--\"It would be difficult to find in these days a more competent\nand sympathetic editor of Scott than his countryman, the brilliant and\nversatile man of letters who has undertaken the task, and if any proof\nwere wanted either of his qualifications or of his skill and discretion\nin displaying them, Mr. Lang has furnished it abundantly in his charming\nIntroduction to 'Waverley.' The editor's own notes are judiciously\nsparing, but conspicuously to the point, and they are very discreetly\nseparated from those of the author, Mr. Lang's laudable purpose being to\nillustrate and explain Scott, not to make the notes a pretext for\ndisplaying his own critical faculty and literary erudition. The\nillustrations by various competent hands are beautiful in themselves and\nbeautifully executed, and, altogether, the 'Border Edition' of the\nWaverley Novels bids fair to become the classical edition of the great\nScottish classic.\"\n\n_SPECTATOR._--\"We trust that this fine edition of our greatest and most\npoetical of novelists will attain, if it has not already done so, the\nhigh popularity it deserves. To all Scott's lovers it is a pleasure to\nknow that, despite the daily and weekly inrush of ephemeral fiction, the\nsale of his works is said by the booksellers to rank next below\nTennyson's in poetry, and above that of everybody else in prose.\"\n\n_ATHENAEUM._--\"The handsome 'Border Edition' has been brought to a\nsuccessful conclusion. The publisher deserves to be complimented on the\nmanner in which the edition has been printed and illustrated, and Mr.\nLang on the way in which he has performed his portion of the work. His\nintroductions have been tasteful and readable; he has not overdone his\npart; and, while he has supplied much useful information, he has by no\nmeans overburdened the volumes with notes.\"\n\n_NOTES AND QUERIES._--\"This spirited and ambitious enterprise has been\nconducted to a safe termination, and the most ideal edition of the\nWaverley Novels in existence is now completed.\"\n\n_SATURDAY REVIEW._--\"Of all the many collections of the Waverley Novels,\nthe 'Border Edition' is incomparably the most handsome and the most\ndesirable.... Type, paper, illustrations, are altogether admirable.\"\n\n_MAGAZINE OF ART._--\"Size, type, paper, and printing, to say nothing of\nthe excessively liberal and charming introduction of the illustrations,\nmake this perhaps the most desirable edition of Scott ever issued on\nthis side of the Border.\"\n\n_DAILY CHRONICLE._--\"There is absolutely no fault to be found with it,\nas to paper, type, or arrangement.\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE WORKS OF\n\nTHOMAS HARDY\n\nCollected Edition\n\n           1. TESS OF THE D'URBERVILLES.\n           2. FAR FROM THE MADDING CROWD.\n           3. THE MAYOR OF CASTERBRIDGE.\n           4. A PAIR OF BLUE EYES.\n           5. TWO ON A TOWER.\n           6. THE RETURN OF THE NATIVE.\n           7. THE WOODLANDERS.\n           8. JUDE THE OBSCURE.\n           9. THE TRUMPET-MAJOR.\n          10. THE HAND OF ETHELBERTA.\n          11. A LAODICEAN.\n          12. DESPERATE REMEDIES.\n          13. WESSEX TALES.\n          14. LIFE'S LITTLE IRONIES.\n          15. A GROUP OF NOBLE DAMES.\n          16. UNDER THE GREENWOOD TREE.\n          17. THE WELL-BELOVED.\n          18. WESSEX POEMS, and other Verses.\n          19. POEMS OF THE PAST AND THE PRESENT.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WORKS OF\n\nCHARLES KINGSLEY\n\n          WESTWARD HO!\n\n          HYPATIA; or, New Foes with an old Face.\n\n          TWO YEARS AGO.\n\n          ALTON LOCKE, Tailor and Poet. An Autobiography.\n\n          HEREWARD THE WAKE, \"Last of the English.\"\n\n          YEAST: A Problem.\n\n          POEMS: including The Saint's Tragedy, Andromeda,\n          Songs, Ballads, etc.\n\n          THE WATER-BABIES: A Fairy Tale for a Land-Baby.\n          With Illustrations by LINLEY SAMBOURNE.\n\n          THE HEROES; or, Greek Fairy Tales for my Children.\n          With Illustrations by the Author.\n\n          GLAUCUS; or, The Wonders of the Shore. With\n          Illustrations.\n\n          MADAM HOW AND LADY WHY; or, First Lessons in Earth\n          Lore for Children. With Illustrations.\n\n          AT LAST. A Christmas in the West Indies. With\n          Illustrations.\n\n          THE HERMITS.\n\n          HISTORICAL LECTURES AND ESSAYS.\n\n          PLAYS AND PURITANS, and other Historical Essays.\n\n          THE ROMAN AND THE TEUTON.\n\n          PROSE IDYLLS, New and Old.\n\n          SCIENTIFIC LECTURES AND ESSAYS.\n\n          SANITARY AND SOCIAL LECTURES AND ESSAYS.\n\n          LITERARY AND GENERAL LECTURES AND ESSAYS.\n\n          ALL SAINTS' DAY: and other Sermons.\n\n          DISCIPLINE: and other Sermons.\n\n          THE GOOD NEWS OF GOD. Sermons.\n\n          GOSPEL OF THE PENTATEUCH.\n\n          SERMONS FOR THE TIMES.\n\n          VILLAGE SERMONS, AND TOWN AND COUNTRY SERMONS.\n\n          THE WATER OF LIFE: and other Sermons.\n\n          WESTMINSTER SERMONS.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NOVELS\n\nOF\n\nF. MARION CRAWFORD\n\n\n       1. MR. ISAACS: A Tale of Modern India.\n       2. DOCTOR CLAUDIUS: A True Story.\n       3. A ROMAN SINGER.\n       4. ZOROASTER.\n       5. MARZIO'S CRUCIFIX.\n       6. A TALE OF A LONELY PARISH.\n       7. PAUL PATOFF.\n       8. WITH THE IMMORTALS.\n       9. GREIFENSTEIN.\n      10. TAQUISARA: A Novel.\n      11. A ROSE OF YESTERDAY.\n      12. SANT' ILARIO.\n      13. A CIGARETTE-MAKER'S ROMANCE.\n      14. KHALED: A Tale of Arabia.\n      15. THE THREE FATES.\n      16. THE WITCH OF PRAGUE.\n      17. MARION DARCHE: A Story without Comment.\n      18. KATHARINE LAUDERDALE.\n      19. THE CHILDREN OF THE KING.\n      20. PIETRO GHISLERI.\n      21. DON ORSINO.\n      22. CASA BRACCIO.\n      23. ADAM JOHNSTONE'S SON.\n      24. THE RALSTONS.\n      25. CORLEONE: A Tale of Sicily.\n      26. VIA CRUCIS: A Romance of the Second Crusade.\n      27. IN THE PALACE OF THE KING: A Love Story of Old Madrid.\n      28. CECILIA: A Story of Modern Rome.\n      29. MARIETTA: A Maid of Venice.\n      30. THE HEART OF ROME.\n      31. SOPRANO: A Portrait.\n      32. \"WHOSOEVER SHALL OFFEND----\"\n      33. A LADY OF ROME.\n      34. ARETHUSA.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NOVELS\n\nOF\n\nROLF BOLDREWOOD\n\n\n          1. ROBBERY UNDER ARMS: A Story of Life and\n          Adventure in the Bush and in the Gold-fields of\n          Australia.\n\n          2. A MODERN BUCCANEER.\n\n          3. THE MINER'S RIGHT: A Tale of the Australian\n          Gold-fields.\n\n          4. THE SQUATTER'S DREAM.\n\n          5. A SYDNEY-SIDE SAXON.\n\n          6. A COLONIAL REFORMER.\n\n          7. NEVERMORE.\n\n          8. PLAIN LIVING: A Bush Idyll.\n\n          9. MY RUN HOME.\n\n          10. THE SEALSKIN CLOAK.\n\n          11. THE CROOKED STICK; or, Pollie's Probation.\n\n          12. OLD MELBOURNE MEMORIES.\n\n          13. A ROMANCE OF CANVAS TOWN, and other Stories.\n\n          14. WAR TO THE KNIFE; or, Tangata Maori.\n\n          15. BABES IN THE BUSH.\n\n          16. IN BAD COMPANY, and other Stories.\n\n\nBy H. G. WELLS\n\n    THE PLATTNER STORY: and others.\n    TALES OF SPACE AND TIME.\n    THE STOLEN BACILLUS: and other Incidents.\n    THE INVISIBLE MAN. A Grotesque Romance.\n    LOVE AND MR. LEWISHAM. A Story of a very Young Couple.\n    WHEN THE SLEEPER WAKES.\n    THE FIRST MEN IN THE MOON.\n    TWELVE STORIES AND A DREAM.\n    THE FOOD OF THE GODS AND HOW IT Came to Earth.\n    KIPPS: The Story of a Simple Soul.\n\n\nBy A. E. W. MASON\n\n    THE COURTSHIP OF MORRICE BUCKLER.\n    THE PHILANDERERS.\n    MIRANDA OF THE BALCONY.\n\n\nBy EGERTON CASTLE\n\n    \"LA BELLA\": and others.\n    \"YOUNG APRIL.\"\n    MARSHFIELD THE OBSERVER.\n    By AGNES and EGERTON CASTLE\n    THE BATH COMEDY.\n    THE PRIDE OF JENNICO. Being a Memoir of Captain Basil Jennico.\n    THE SECRET ORCHARD.\n\n\nBy MAARTEN MAARTENS\n\n    THE GREATER GLORY. A Story of High Life.\n    MY LADY NOBODY. A Novel.\n    GOD'S FOOL. A Koopstad Story.\n    THE SIN OF JOOST AVELINGH. A Dutch Story.\n    HER MEMORY.\n    AN OLD MAID'S LOVE.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NOVELS OF\n\nROSA N. CAREY\n\n\n          _WESTMINSTER GAZETTE._--\"A clever delineator of\n          character, possessed of a reserve of strength in a\n          quiet, easy, flowing style, Miss Carey never fails\n          to please a large class of readers.\"\n\n          _STANDARD._--\"Miss Carey has the gift of writing\n          naturally and simply, her pathos is true and\n          unforced, and her conversations are sprightly and\n          sharp.\"\n\n          _LADY._--\"Miss Carey's novels are always welcome;\n          they are out of the common run--immaculately pure,\n          and very high in tone.\"\n\n          Over 700,000 of these works have been printed.\n\n     1. NELLIE'S MEMORIES. 52nd Thousand.\n     2. WEE WIFIE. 38th Thousand.\n     3. BARBARA HEATHCOTE'S TRIAL. 35th Thousand.\n     4. ROBERT ORD'S ATONEMENT. 28th Thousand.\n     5. WOOED AND MARRIED. 38th Thousand.\n     6. HERIOT'S CHOICE. 27th Thousand.\n     7. QUEENIE'S WHIM. 32nd Thousand.\n     8. NOT LIKE OTHER GIRLS. 41st Thousand.\n     9. MARY ST. JOHN. 27th Thousand.\n    10. FOR LILIAS. 26th Thousand.\n    11. UNCLE MAX. 34th Thousand.\n    12. RUE WITH A DIFFERENCE. 24th Thousand.\n    13. THE HIGHWAY OF FATE. 23rd Thousand.\n    14. ONLY THE GOVERNESS. 37th Thousand.\n    15. LOVER OR FRIEND? 27th Thousand.\n    16. BASIL LYNDHURST. 24th Thousand.\n    17. SIR GODFREY'S GRAND-DAUGHTERS. 25th Thousand.\n    18. THE OLD, OLD STORY. 27th Thousand.\n    19. THE MISTRESS OF BRAE FARM. 30th Thousand.\n    20. MRS. ROMNEY and \"BUT MEN MUST WORK.\" 14th Thousand.\n    21. OTHER PEOPLE'S LIVES. 5th Thousand.\n    22. HERB OF GRACE. 25th Thousand.\n    23. A PASSAGE PERILOUS. 22nd Thousand.\n    24. AT THE MOORINGS. 21st Thousand.\n    25. THE HOUSEHOLD OF PETER. 21st Thousand.\n    26. NO FRIEND LIKE A SISTER. 18th Thousand.\n    27. THE ANGEL OF FORGIVENESS. 17th Thousand.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NOVELS AND TALES OF\n\nCHARLOTTE M. YONGE\n\n\n          THE HEIR OF REDCLYFFE. With Illustrations by KATE\n          GREENAWAY.\n\n          HEARTSEASE; or, the Brother's Wife. New Edition.\n          With Illustrations by KATE GREENAWAY.\n\n          HOPES AND FEARS; or, Scenes from the Life of a\n          Spinster. With Illustrations by HERBERT GANDY.\n\n          DYNEVOR TERRACE; or, the Clue of Life. With\n          Illustrations by ADRIAN STOKES.\n\n          THE DAISY CHAIN; or, Aspirations. A Family\n          Chronicle With Illustrations by J. P. ATKINSON.\n\n          THE TRIAL: More Links of the Daisy Chain. With\n          Illustrations by J. P. ATKINSON.\n\n          THE PILLARS OF THE HOUSE; or, Under Wode, under\n          Rode. Two Vols. With Illustrations by HERBERT\n          GANDY.\n\n          THE YOUNG STEPMOTHER; or, a Chronicle of Mistakes.\n          With Illustrations by MARIAN HUXLEY.\n\n          THE CLEVER WOMAN OF THE FAMILY. With Illustrations\n          by ADRIAN STOKES.\n\n          THE THREE BRIDES. With Illustrations by ADRIAN\n          STOKES.\n\n          MY YOUNG ALCIDES: A Faded Photograph. With\n          Illustrations by ADRIAN STOKES.\n\n          THE CAGED LION. With Illustrations by W. J.\n          HENNESSY.\n\n          THE DOVE IN THE EAGLE'S NEST. With Illustrations\n          by W. J. HENNESSY.\n\n          THE CHAPLET OF PEARLS; or, the White and Black\n          Ribaumont. With Illustrations by W. J. HENNESSY.\n\n          LADY HESTER; or, Ursula's Narrative; and THE\n          DANVERS PAPERS. With Illustrations by JANE E.\n          COOK.\n\n          MAGNUM BONUM; or, Mother Carey's Brood. With\n          Illustrations by W. J. HENNESSY.\n\n          LOVE AND LIFE: an Old Story in Eighteenth Century\n          Costume. With Illustrations by W. J. HENNESSY.\n\n          UNKNOWN TO HISTORY. A Story of the Captivity of\n          Mary of Scotland. With Illustrations by W. J.\n          HENNESSY.\n\n          STRAY PEARLS. Memoirs of Margaret de Ribaumont,\n          Viscountess of Bellaise. With Illustrations by W.\n          J. HENNESSY.\n\n          THE ARMOURER'S 'PRENTICES. With Illustrations by\n          W. J. HENNESSY.\n\n          SCENES AND CHARACTERS; or, Eighteen Months at\n          Beechcroft. With Illustrations by W. J. HENNESSY.\n\n          CHANTRY HOUSE. With Illustrations by W. J.\n          HENNESSY.\n\n          A MODERN TELEMACHUS. With Illustrations by W. J.\n          HENNESSY.\n\n          BYWORDS. A collection of Tales new and old.\n\n          BEECHCROFT AT ROCKSTONE.\n\n          MORE BYWORDS.\n\n          A REPUTED CHANGELING; or, Three Seventh Years Two\n          Centuries Ago.\n\n          THE LITTLE DUKE, RICHARD THE FEARLESS. With\n          Illustrations.\n\n          THE LANCES OF LYNWOOD. With Illustrations by J. B.\n\n          THE PRINCE AND THE PAGE: A Story of the Last\n          Crusade. With Illustrations by ADRIAN STOKES.\n\n          TWO PENNILESS PRINCESSES. With Illustrations by W.\n          J. HENNESSY.\n\n          THAT STICK.\n\n          AN OLD WOMAN'S OUTLOOK IN A HAMPSHIRE VILLAGE.\n\n          GRISLY GRISELL; or, The Laidly Lady of Whitburn. A\n          Tale of the Wars of the Roses.\n\n          HENRIETTA'S WISH. Second Edition.\n\n          THE LONG VACATION.\n\n          THE RELEASE; or, Caroline's French Kindred.\n\n          THE PILGRIMAGE OF THE BEN BERIAH.\n\n          THE TWO GUARDIANS; or, Home in this World. Second\n          Edition.\n\n          COUNTESS KATE AND THE STOKESLEY SECRET.\n\n          MODERN BROODS; or, Developments Unlooked for.\n\n          STROLLING PLAYERS: A Harmony of Contrasts. By C.\n          M. YONGE and C. R. COLERIDGE.\n\n\n\n\nWorks by Mrs. Craik\n\n\n  Olive: A Novel. With Illustrations by G. BOWERS.\n  Agatha's Husband: A Novel. With Illustrations by WALTER CRANE.\n  The Head of the Family: A Novel. With Illustrations by WALTER CRANE.\n  Two Marriages.\n  The Laurel Bush.\n  King Arthur: Not a Love Story.\n  About Money, and other Things.\n  Concerning Men, and other Papers.\n\n\n\n\nWorks by Mrs. Oliphant\n\n\n  Neighbours on the Green.\n  Kirsteen: the Story of a Scotch Family Seventy Years Ago.\n  A Beleaguered City: A Story of the Seen and the Unseen.\n  Hester: a Story of Contemporary Life.\n  He that Will Not when He May.\n  The Railway Man and his Children.\n  The Marriage of Elinor.\n  Sir Tom.\n  The Heir-Presumptive and the Heir-Apparent.\n  A Country Gentleman and his Family.\n  A Son of the Soil.\n  The Second Son.\n  The Wizard's Son: A Novel.\n  Lady William.\n  Young Musgrave.\n\n\n\n\nThe Works of Dean Farrar\n\n\n          SEEKERS AFTER GOD. The Lives of Seneca, Epictetus,\n          and Marcus Aurelius.\n\n          ETERNAL HOPE. Sermons preached in Westminster\n          Abbey.\n\n          THE FALL OF MAN: and other Sermons.\n\n          THE WITNESS OF HISTORY TO CHRIST.\n\n          THE SILENCE AND VOICES OF GOD, with other Sermons.\n\n          \"IN THE DAYS OF THY YOUTH.\" Sermons on Practical\n          Subjects.\n\n          SAINTLY WORKERS. Five Lenten Lectures.\n\n          EPHPHATHA; or, the Amelioration of the World.\n\n          MERCY AND JUDGMENT: a few last words on Christian\n          Eschatology.\n\n          SERMONS & ADDRESSES DELIVERED IN AMERICA.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WORKS OF\n\nFrederick Denison Maurice\n\n\n          SERMONS PREACHED IN LINCOLN'S INN CHAPEL. In six\n          vols.\n\n          SERMONS PREACHED IN COUNTRY CHURCHES.\n\n          CHRISTMAS DAY: and other Sermons.\n\n          THEOLOGICAL ESSAYS.\n\n          THE PROPHETS AND KINGS OF THE OLD TESTAMENT.\n\n          THE PATRIARCHS AND LAWGIVERS OF THE OLD TESTAMENT.\n\n          THE GOSPEL OF THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN.\n\n          THE GOSPEL OF ST. JOHN.\n\n          THE EPISTLES OF ST. JOHN.\n\n          THE FRIENDSHIP OF BOOKS: and other Lectures.\n\n          THE PRAYER BOOK AND THE LORD'S PRAYER.\n\n          THE DOCTRINE OF SACRIFICE. Deduced from the\n          Scriptures.\n\n          THE ACTS OF THE APOSTLES.\n\n          THE KINGDOM OF CHRIST; or, Hints to a Quaker\n          respecting the Principles, Constitution, and\n          Ordinances of the Catholic Church. 2 vols.\n\n\nBy J. H. SHORTHOUSE\n\n          JOHN INGLESANT: A Romance.\n          SIR PERCIVAL: a Story of the Past and of the Present.\n          THE LITTLE SCHOOLMASTER MARK.\n          THE COUNTESS EVE.\n          A TEACHER OF THE VIOLIN.\n          BLANCHE, LADY FALAISE.\n\n\nBy GERTRUDE ATHERTON\n\n          THE CONQUEROR.\n          A DAUGHTER OF THE VINE.\n          THE CALIFORNIANS.\n\n\nBy HUGH CONWAY\n\n          A FAMILY AFFAIR.\n\n\nBy W. CLARK RUSSELL\n\n          MAROONED.\n\n\nBy ANNIE KEARY\n\n    A YORK AND A LANCASTER ROSE.\n\n    CASTLE DALY: the Story of an Irish Home thirty years ago.\n\n    JANET'S HOME.\n\n    OLDBURY.\n\n    A DOUBTING HEART.\n\n    THE NATIONS AROUND ISRAEL.\n\n\nBy THOMAS HUGHES\n\n          TOM BROWN'S SCHOOLDAYS.\n          TOM BROWN AT OXFORD.\n          THE SCOURING OF THE WHITE HORSE.\n          ALFRED THE GREAT.\n\n\nBy ARCHIBALD FORBES\n\n          BARRACKS, BIVOUACS, AND BATTLES.\n          SOUVENIRS OF SOME CONTINENTS.\n\n\nBy MONTAGU WILLIAMS\n\n          LEAVES OF A LIFE.\n          ROUND LONDON.\n          LATER LEAVES.\n\n\nBy E. WERNER\n\n          FICKLE FORTUNE.\n\n\nBy W. E. NORRIS\n\n          THIRLBY HALL.\n          A BACHELOR'S BLUNDER.\n\n\nThe Works of SHAKESPEARE\n\n  VICTORIA EDITION. In Three Volumes.\n  Vol. I. COMEDIES. Vol. II. HISTORIES. Vol. III. TRAGEDIES.\n\n\nUNIFORM EDITION OF THE\n\nNOVELS OF CHARLES LEVER\n\nWith all the Original Illustrations.\n\n          1. HARRY LORREQUER. Illustrated by PHIZ.\n\n          2. CHARLES O'MALLEY. Illustrated by PHIZ.\n\n          3. JACK HINTON THE GUARDSMAN. Illustrated by PHIZ.\n\n          4. TOM BURKE OF OURS. Illustrated by PHIZ.\n\n          5. ARTHUR O'LEARY. Illustrated by G. CRUIKSHANK.\n\n          6. LORD KILGOBBIN. Illustrated by LUKE FILDES.\n\n\nBy W. WARDE FOWLER\n\n          A YEAR WITH THE BIRDS. Illustrated.\n          TALES OF THE BIRDS. Illustrated.\n          MORE TALES OF THE BIRDS. Illustrated.\n          SUMMER STUDIES OF BIRDS AND BOOKS.\n\n\nBy FRANK BUCKLAND\n\n          CURIOSITIES OF NATURAL HISTORY. Illustrated. In\n          four volumes:\n\n          FIRST SERIES--Rats, Serpents, Fishes, Frogs,\n          Monkeys, etc.\n\n          SECOND SERIES--Fossils, Bears, Wolves, Cats,\n          Eagles, Hedgehogs, Eels, Herrings, Whales.\n\n          THIRD SERIES--Wild Ducks, Fishing, Lions, Tigers,\n          Foxes, Porpoises.\n\n          FOURTH SERIES--Giants, Mummies, Mermaids,\n          Wonderful People, Salmon, etc.\n\n\nWorks by Various Authors\n\n          Hogan, M.P.\n\n          Flitters, Tatters, and the Counsellor\n\n          The New Antigone\n\n          Memories of Father Healy\n\n          CANON ATKINSON.--The Last of the Giant Killers\n\n          ---- Playhours and Half-Holidays; or, further\n          Experiences of Two Schoolboys\n\n          SIR S. BAKER.--True Tales for my Grandsons\n\n          R. H. BARHAM.--The Ingoldsby Legends\n\n          REV. R. H. D. BARHAM.--Life of Theodore Hook\n\n          BLENNERHASSET AND SLEEMAN.--Adventures in\n          Mashonaland\n\n          LANOE FALCONER.--Cecilia de Noel\n\n          W. FORBES-MITCHELL.--Reminiscences of the Great\n          Mutiny\n\n          REV. J. GILMORE.--Storm Warriors\n\n          MARY LINSKILL.--Tales of the North Riding\n\n          S. R. LYSAGHT.--The Marplot\n\n          ---- One of the Grenvilles\n\n          M. M'LENNAN.--Muckle Jock, and other Stories\n\n          LUCAS MALET.--Mrs. Lorimer\n\n          G. MASSON.--A Compendious Dictionary of the French\n          Language\n\n          MAJOR GAMBIER PARRY.--The Story of Dick\n\n          E. C. PRICE.--In the Lion's Mouth\n\n          LORD REDESDALE.--Tales of Old Japan\n\n          W. C. RHOADES.--John Trevennick\n\n          MARCHESA THEODOLI.--Under Pressure\n\n          ANTHONY TROLLOPE.--The Three Clerks\n\n          CHARLES WHITEHEAD.--Richard Savage\n\n\n\n\nENGLISH MEN OF LETTERS\n\nEDITED BY JOHN MORLEY.\n\n_Arranged in 13 Volumes, each containing the Lives of three Authors._\n\n          I. Chaucer. By Dr. A. W. WARD. Spenser. By Dean\n          CHURCH. Dryden. By Prof. SAINTSBURY.\n\n          II. Milton. By MARK PATTISON. Goldsmith. By W.\n          BLACK. Cowper. By GOLDWIN SMITH.\n\n          III. Byron. By Professor NICHOL. Shelley. By J. A.\n          SYMONDS. Keats. By SIDNEY COLVIN.\n\n          IV. Wordsworth, By F. W. H. MYERS. Southey. By\n          Prof. DOWDEN. Landor. By SIDNEY COLVIN.\n\n          V. Charles Lamb. By Canon AINGER. Addison. By W.\n          J. COURTHOPE. Swift. By Sir LESLIE STEPHEN, K.C.B.\n\n          VI. Scott. By R. H. HUTTON. Burns. By Principal\n          SHAIRP. Coleridge. By H. D. TRAILL.\n\n          VII. Hume. By Prof. HUXLEY, F.R.S. Locke. By THOS.\n          FOWLER. Burke. By JOHN MORLEY.\n\n          VIII. Defoe. By W. MINTO. Sterne. By H. D. TRAILL.\n          Hawthorne. By HENRY JAMES.\n\n          IX. Fielding. By AUSTIN DOBSON. Thackeray. By\n          ANTHONY TROLLOPE. Dickens. By Dr. A. W. WARD.\n\n          X. Gibbon. By J. C. MORISON. Carlyle. By Professor\n          NICHOL. Macaulay. By J. C. MORISON.\n\n          XI. Sydney. By J. A. SYMONDS. De Quincey. By Prof.\n          MASSON. Sheridan. By Mrs. OLIPHANT.\n\n          XII. Pope. By Sir LESLIE STEPHEN, K.C.B. Johnson.\n          By Sir LESLIE STEPHEN, K.C.B. Gray. By EDMUND\n          GOSSE.\n\n          XIII. Bacon. By Dean CHURCH. Bunyan. By J. A.\n          FROUDE. Bentley. By Sir RICHARD JEBB.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GLOBE LIBRARY\n\nCrown 8vo. 3_s._ 6_d._ each.\n\n_The volumes marked with an asterisk (*) are also issued in limp\nleather, with full gilt back and gilt edges. 5s. net each._\n\n\n          *Boswell's Life of Johnson. With an Introduction\n          by MOWBRAY MORRIS.\n\n          *Burns's Complete Works. Edited from the best\n          Printed and MS. Authorities, with Memoir and\n          Glossarial Index. By A. SMITH.\n\n          *The Works of Geoffrey Chaucer. Edited by ALFRED\n          W. POLLARD, H. F. HEATH, M. H. LIDDELL, and W. S.\n          MCCORMICK.\n\n          *Cowper's Poetical Works. Edited, with\n          Biographical Introduction and Notes by W. BENHAM,\n          B.D.\n\n          Robinson Crusoe. Edited after the original\n          Edition, with a Biographical Introduction by HENRY\n          KINGSLEY, F.R.G.S.\n\n          *Dryden's Poetical Works. Edited, with a Memoir,\n          Revised Texts, and Notes, by W. D. CHRISTIE, M.A.\n\n          *The Diary of John Evelyn. With an Introduction\n          and Notes by AUSTIN DOBSON, Hon. LL.D. Edin.\n\n          Froissart's Chronicles. Translated by Lord\n          BERNERS. Edited by G. C. MACAULAY, M.A.\n\n          *Goldsmith's Miscellaneous Works. With\n          Biographical Introduction by Professor MASSON.\n\n          Horace. Rendered into English Prose, with\n          Introduction, Running Analysis, Notes, and Index.\n          By J. LONSDALE, M.A., and S. LEE, M.A.\n\n          *The Poetical Works of John Keats. Edited, with\n          Introduction and Notes, by WILLIAM T. ARNOLD.\n\n          Morte Darthur. The Book of King Arthur, and of his\n          Noble Knights of the Round Table. The Original\n          Edition of Caxton, revised for modern use. With\n          Introduction, Notes, and Glossary. By Sir E.\n          STRACHEY.\n\n          *Milton's Poetical Works. Edited, with\n          Introduction, by Professor MASSON.\n\n          *The Diary of Samuel Pepys. With an Introduction\n          and Notes by G. GREGORY SMITH.\n\n          *Pope's Poetical Works. Edited, with Notes and\n          Introductory Memoir, by Dr. A. W. WARD.\n\n          *Sir Walter Scott's Poetical Works. Edited, with\n          Biographical and Critical Memoir, by Prof. F. T.\n          PALGRAVE. With Introduction and Notes.\n\n          *Shakespeare's Complete Works. Edited by W. G.\n          CLARK, M.A., and W. ALDIS WRIGHT, M.A. With\n          Glossary.\n\n          *Spenser's Complete Works. Edited from the\n          Original Editions and Manuscripts, with Glossary,\n          by R. MORRIS, and a Memoir by J. W. HALES, M.A.\n\n          *Tennyson's Poetical Works. [Also in extra cloth,\n          gilt edges. 4_s._ 6_d._]\n\n          Virgil. Rendered into English Prose, with\n          Introductions, Notes Analysis, and Index. By J.\n          LONSDALE, M.A., and S. LEE, M.A.\n\n\n\n\nILLUSTRATED\n\nSTANDARD NOVELS\n\nCrown 8vo. Cloth Elegant, gilt edges (Peacock Edition). 3_s._ 6_d._\neach.\n\nAlso issued in ornamental cloth binding. 2_s._ 6_d._ each.\n\n\nBy JANE AUSTEN\n\n    _With Introductions by_ AUSTIN DOBSON, _and Illustrations by_\n    HUGH THOMSON _and_ C. E. BROCK.\n\n          PRIDE AND PREJUDICE.\n          SENSE AND SENSIBILITY.\n          EMMA.\n          MANSFIELD PARK.\n          NORTHANGER ABBEY, AND PERSUASION.\n\n\nBy J. FENIMORE COOPER\n\n    _With Illustrations by_ C. E. BROCK _and_ H. M. BROCK.\n\n          THE LAST OF THE MOHICANS. With a General Introduction by\n             Mowbray Morris.\n          THE DEERSLAYER.\n          THE PATHFINDER.\n          THE PIONEERS.\n          THE PRAIRIE.\n\n\nBy MARIA EDGEWORTH\n\n    _With Introductions by_ ANNE THACKERAY RITCHIE, _and Illustrations\n    by_ CHRIS HAMMOND _and_ CARL SCHLOESSER.\n\n          ORMOND.\n          CASTLE RACKRENT, AND THE ABSENTEE.\n          POPULAR TALES.\n          HELEN.\n          BELINDA.\n          PARENT'S ASSISTANT.\n\n\nBy CAPTAIN MARRYAT\n\n    _With Introductions by_ DAVID HANNAY, _and Illustrations by_\n    H. M. BROCK, J. AYTON SYMINGTON, FRED PEGRAM, F. H.\n    TOWNSEND, H. R. Millar, _and_ E. J. SULLIVAN.\n\n          JAPHET IN SEARCH OF A FATHER.\n          JACOB FAITHFUL.\n          PETER SIMPLE.\n          MIDSHIPMAN EASY.\n          THE KING'S OWN.\n          THE PHANTOM SHIP.\n          SNARLEY-YOW.\n          POOR JACK.\n          THE PIRATE, AND THE THREE CUTTERS.\n          MASTERMAN READY.\n          FRANK MILDMAY.\n          NEWTON FORSTER.\n\n\nBy THOMAS LOVE PEACOCK\n\n    _With Introductions by_ GEORGE SAINTSBURY, _and Illustrations\n    by_ H. R. MILLAR _and_ F. H. TOWNSEND.\n\n          HEADLONG HALL, AND NIGHTMARE ABBEY.\n          MAID MARIAN, AND CROTCHET CASTLE.\n          GRYLL GRANGE.\n          MELINCOURT.\n          MISFORTUNES OF ELPHIN AND RHODODAPHNE.\n\n\n_BY VARIOUS AUTHORS_\n\n          WESTWARD HO! By CHARLES KINGSLEY. Illustrated by\n          C. E. Brock.\n\n          HANDY ANDY. By SAMUEL LOVER. Illustrated by H. M.\n          Brock. With Introduction by Charles Whibley.\n\n          TOM CRINGLE'S LOG. By MICHAEL SCOTT. Illustrated\n          by J. Ayton Symington. With Introduction by\n          Mowbray Morris.\n\n          ANNALS OF THE PARISH. By JOHN GALT. Illustrated By\n          C. E. Brock. With Introduction by Alfred Ainger.\n\n          SYBIL, OR THE TWO NATIONS, ETC. By BENJAMIN\n          DISRAELI. Illustrated by F. Pegram. With\n          Introduction by H. D. Traill.\n\n          LAVENGRO. By GEORGE BORROW. Illustrated by E. J.\n          Sullivan. With Introduction by Augustine Birrell,\n          K.C.\n\n          ADVENTURES OF HAJJI BABA OF ISPAHAN. By JAMES\n          MORIER. Illustrated by H. R. Millar. With\n          Introduction by Lord Curzon.\n\n\n\n\nTHE NEW CRANFORD SERIES\n\n_Crown 8vo, Cloth Elegant, Gilt Edges, 3s. 6d. per volume._\n\n\n          =Cranford.= By Mrs. GASKELL. With Preface by Anne\n          Thackeray Ritchie and 100 Illustrations by Hugh\n          Thomson.\n\n          =The Vicar of Wakefield.= With 182 Illustrations\n          by Hugh Thomson, and Preface by Austin Dobson.\n\n          =Our Village.= By MARY RUSSELL MITFORD.\n          Introduction by Anne Thackeray Ritchie, and 100\n          Illustrations by Hugh Thomson.\n\n          =Gulliver's Travels. With Introduction= by Sir\n          Henry Craik, K.C.B., and 100 Illustrations by C.\n          E. Brock.\n\n          =The Humorous Poems of Thomas Hood.= With Preface\n          by Alfred Ainger, and 130 Illustrations by C. E.\n          Brock.\n\n          =Sheridan's The School for Scandal and The\n          Rivals.= Illustrated by E. J. Sullivan. With\n          Introduction by A. Birrell.\n\n          =Household Stories.= By the Brothers GRIMM.\n          Translated by Lucy Crane. With Pictures by Walter\n          Crane.\n\n          =Reynard the Fox.= Edited by J. JACOBS. With\n          Illustrations by W. Frank Calderon.\n\n          =Coaching Days and Coaching Ways.= By W. OUTRAM\n          TRISTRAM. With Illustrations by H. Railton and\n          Hugh Thomson.\n\n          =Coridon's Song;= and other Verses. With\n          Introduction by Austin Dobson and Illustrations by\n          Hugh Thomson.\n\n          =The Fables of AEsop.= Selected by JOSEPH JACOBS.\n          Illustrated by R. Heighway.\n\n          =Old Christmas.= By WASHINGTON IRVING. With\n          Illustrations by R. Caldecott.\n\n          =Bracebridge Hall.= With Illustrations by R.\n          CALDECOTT.\n\n          =Rip Van Winkle and the Legend of Sleepy Hollow.=\n          With 50 Illustrations and a Preface by George H.\n          Boughton, A.R.A.\n\n          =The Alhambra.= With Illustrations by J. Pennell\n          and Introduction by E. R. Pennell.\n\n  MACMILLAN & CO., LTD., LONDON.\n  J. PALMER, PRINTER, CAMBRIDGE.                     20. 8. 10\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nTranscriber's notes:\n\nItalic and bold text is denoted by _ and = respectively. This book had\ntwo different kinds of break in the text. One was set off by extra white\nspace between paragraphs and the other by a line of asterisks. The break\nfor white space has now been represented by a line of +.\n\nObvious punctuation errors repaired.\n\nPage 198, \"began\" changed to \"begun\" (begun to regret)","title":"The Little Schoolmaster Mark: A Spiritual Romance","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":35316}