Memories | Page 9

estranged us. Other circumstances combined to weaken our young
friendship. Like every young man who perceives for the first time the
lack of unity in the German folk-life, and the defects of German rule, I
had caught up some phrases of the Liberal party, which sounded as
strangely at court as unseemly expressions in an honest minister's
family. In short, it was many years since I had ascended those stairs,
and yet a being dwelt in that castle whose name I had named almost
daily, and who was almost constantly present in my memory. I had
long dwelt upon the thought that I should never see her again in this life.
She was transformed into an image which I felt neither did nor could
exist in reality. She had become my good angel--my other self, to
whom I talked instead of talking with myself. How she became so I
could not explain to myself, for I scarcely knew her. Just as the eye
sometimes pictures figures in the clouds, so I fancied my imagination
had conjured up this sweet image in the heaven of my childhood, and a
complete picture of phantasy developed itself out of the scarcely
perceptible outlines of reality. My entire thought had involuntarily
become a dialogue with her, and all that was good in me, all for which I
struggled, all in which I believed, my entire better self, belonged to her.
I gave it to her. I received it from her, from her my good angel.
I had been at home but a few days, when I received a letter one
morning. It was written in English, and came from the Countess Marie:
_Dear Friend_: I hear you are with us for a short time. We have not met
for many years, and if it is agreeable to you, I should like to see an old
friend again. You will find me alone this afternoon in the Swiss

Cottage. Yours sincerely, MARIE.
I immediately replied, also in English, that I would call in the
afternoon.
The Swiss Cottage constituted a wing of the castle, which overlooked
the garden, and could be reached without going through the castle yard.
It was five o'clock when I passed through the garden and approached
the cottage. I repressed all emotion and prepared myself for a formal
meeting. I sought to quiet my good angel, and to assure her that this
lady had nothing to do with her. And yet I felt very uneasy, and my
good angel would not listen to counsel. Finally I took courage,
murmuring something to myself about the masquerade of life, and
rapped on the door, which stood ajar.
There was no one in the room except a lad whom I did not know, and
who likewise spoke English, and said the Countess would be present in
a moment. She then left, and I was alone, and had time to look about.
The walls of the room were of rose-chestnut, and over an openwork
trellis, a luxuriant broadleaved ivy twined around the whole room. All
the tables and chairs were of carved rose-chestnut. The floor was of
variegated woodwork. It gave me a curious sensation to see so much
that was familiar in the room. Many articles from our old play-room in
the castle were old friends, but the others were new, especially the
pictures, and yet they were the same as those in my University
room--the same portraits of Beethoven, Handel and Mendelssohn, as I
had selected--hung over the grand piano. In one corner I saw the Venus
di Milo, which I always regarded as the masterpiece of antiquity. On
the table were volumes of Dante, Shakspeare, Tauler's Sermons, the
"German Theology," Ruckert's Poems, Tennyson and Burns, and
Carlyle's "Past and Present,"--the very same books--all of which I had
had but recently in my hands. I was growing thoughtful, but I repressed
my thoughts and was just standing before the portrait of the deceased
Princess, when the door opened, and the same two servants, whom I
had so often seen in childhood, brought the Countess into the room
upon her couch.
What a vision! She spoke not a word, and her countenance was as
placid as the sea, until the servants left the room. Then her eyes sought
me--the old, deep, unfathomable eyes. Her expression grew more
animated each instant. At last her whole face lit up, and she said:

"We are old friends--I believe; we have not changed. I cannot say
'You,' and if I may not say 'Thou,' then we must speak in English. Do
you understand me?"
I had not anticipated such a reception, for I saw here was no
masquerade--here was a soul which longed for another soul--here was a
greeting like that between two friends who recognize each other by the