The German Classics of The Nineteenth and Twentieth Centuries, Vol. II | Page 3

of her spiritual sister Mignon, is
irradiated by a light that never was on sea or land. She is a creature of
romance, and we learn without much surprise that her dead body
performs miracles. One is reminded of that medieval lady who is
doomed to eat the heart of her crusading lover and then refuses all other
food and dies. That Edward is quite unworthy of the girl's love, that the
death of the child is no sufficient reason for her morbid remorse, is
quite immaterial, since at the end of the tale we are no longer in the
realm of normal psychology. A season of dreamy happiness, as she
moves about in a world unrealized; then a terrible shock, and after that,
remorse, renunciation, hopelessness, the will to die. Such is the logic of
the tale.

THE ELECTIVE AFFINITIES
TRANSLATED BY JAMES ANTHONY FROUDE AND R. DILLON
BOYLAN

CHAPTER I
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PART I

CHAPTER I

Edward--so we shall call a wealthy nobleman in the prime of life--had
been spending several hours of a fine April morning in his
nursery-garden, budding the stems of some young trees with cuttings
which had been recently sent to him.
He had finished what he was about, and having laid his tools together
in their box, was complacently surveying his work, when the gardener
came up and complimented his master on his industry.
"Have you seen my wife anywhere?" inquired Edward, as he moved to
go away.
"My lady is alone yonder in the new grounds," said the man; "the
summer-house which she has been making on the rock over against the
castle is finished today, and really it is beautiful. It cannot fail to please
your grace. The view from it is perfect:--the village at your feet; a little
to your right the church, with its tower, which you can just see over;
and directly opposite you, the castle and the garden."
"Quite true," replied Edward; "I can see the people at work a few steps
from where I am standing."
"And then, to the right of the church again," continued the gardener, "is
the opening of the valley; and you look along over a range of wood and
meadow far into the distance. The steps up the rock, too, are excellently
arranged. My gracious lady understands these things; it is a pleasure to
work under her."
"Go to her," said Edward, "and desire her to be so good as to wait for
me there. Tell her I wish to see this new creation of hers, and enjoy it
with her."
The gardener went rapidly off, and Edward soon followed. Descending
the terrace, and stopping as he passed to look into the hot-houses and
the forcing-pits, he came presently to the stream, and thence, over a
narrow bridge, to a place where the walk leading to the summer-house
branched off in two directions. One path led across the churchyard,
immediately up the face of the rock. The other, into which he struck,

wound away to the left, with a more gradual ascent, through a pretty
shrubbery. Where the two paths joined again, a seat had been made,
where he stopped a few moments to rest; and then, following the now
single road, he found himself, after scrambling along among steps and
slopes of all sorts and kinds, conducted at last through a narrow more
or less steep outlet to the summer-house.
Charlotte was standing at the door to receive her husband. She made
him sit down where, without moving, he could command a view of the
different landscapes through the door and window--these serving as
frames, in which they were set like pictures. Spring was coming on; a
rich, beautiful life would soon everywhere be bursting; and Edward
spoke of it with delight.
"There is only one thing which I should observe," he added, "the
summer-house itself is rather small."
"It is large enough for you and me, at any rate," answered Charlotte.
"Certainly," said Edward; "there is room for a third, too, easily."
"Of course; and for a fourth also," replied Charlotte. "For larger parties
we can contrive other places."
"Now that we are here by ourselves, with no one to disturb us, and in
such a pleasant mood," said Edward, "it is a good opportunity for me to
tell you that I have for some time had something on my mind, about
which I have wished to speak to you, but have never been able to
muster up my courage."
"I have observed that there has been something of the sort," said
Charlotte.
"And even now," Edward went on, "if it were not for a letter which the
post brought me this morning, and which obliges me to come to some
resolution today, I should very likely have still