THE OLD BACHELOR'S NIGHTCAP [4]
him, and yet his reception was not what he had
expected and dreamed it would be. He could not comprehend his own
feelings nor the feelings of others; but it is easily understood how a
person can be admitted into a house or a family without becoming one
of them. We converse in company with those we meet, as we converse
with our fellow-travellers in a stage-coach, on a journey; we know
nothing of them, and perhaps all the while we are incommoding one
another, and each is wishing himself or his neighbor away. Something
of this kind Anthony felt when Molly talked to him of old times.
"I am a straightforward girl," she said, "and I will tell you
myself how it is. There have been great changes since we were children
together; everything is different, both inwardly and outwardly. We
cannot control our wills, nor the feelings of our hearts, by the force
of custom. Anthony, I would not, for the world, make an enemy of you
when I am far away. Believe me, I entertain for you the kindest wishes
in my heart; but to feel for you what I now know can be felt for
another man, can never be. You must try and reconcile yourself to
this. Farewell, Anthony."
Anthony also said, "Farewell." Not a tear came into his eye; he
felt he was no longer Molly's friend. Hot iron and cold iron alike
take the skin from our lips, and we feel the same sensation if we kiss
either; and Anthony's kiss was now the kiss of hatred, as it had
once been the kiss of love. Within four-and-twenty hours Anthony was
back again to Eisenach, though the horse that he rode was entirely
ruined.
"What matters it?" said he; "I am ruined also. I will destroy
everything that can remind me of her, or of Lady Halle, or Lady Venus,
the heathen woman. I will break down the apple-tree, and tear it up by
the roots; never more shall it blossom or bear fruit."
The apple-tree was not broken down; for Anthony himself was struck
with a fever, which caused him to break down, and confined him to
his bed. But something occurred to raise him up again. What was it?
A medicine was offered to him, which he was obliged to take: a
bitter remedy, at which the sick body and the oppressed spirit alike
shuddered. Anthony's father lost all his property, and, from being
known as one of the richest merchants, he became very poor. Dark days,
heavy trials, with poverty at the door, came rolling into the house
upon them like the waves of the sea. Sorrow and suffering deprived
Anthony's father of his strength, so that he had something else to
think of besides nursing his love-sorrows and his anger against Molly.
He had to take his father's place, to give orders, to act with energy,
to help, and, at last, to go out into the world and earn his bread.
Anthony went to Bremen, and there he learnt what poverty and hard
living really were. These things often harden the character, but
sometimes soften the heart, even too much.
How different the world, and the people in it, appeared to Anthony
now, to what he had thought in his childhood! What to him were the
minstrel's songs? An echo of the past, sounds long vanished. At
times he would think in this way; yet again and again the songs
would sound in his soul, and his heart become gentle and pious.
"God's will is the best," he would then say. "It was well that I
was not allowed to keep my power over Molly's heart, and that she
did not remain true to me. How I should have felt it now, when fortune
has deserted me! She left me before she knew of the change in my
circumstances, or had a thought of what was before me. That is a
merciful providence for me. All has happened for the best. She could
not help it, and yet I have been so bitter, and in such enmity against
her."
Years passed by: Anthony's father died, and strangers lived in the
old house. He had seen it once again since then. His rich master
sent him journeys on business, and on one occasion his way led him
to his native town of Eisenach. The old Wartburg castle stood
expected and dreamed it would be. He could not comprehend his own
feelings nor the feelings of others; but it is easily understood how a
person can be admitted into a house or a family without becoming one
of them. We converse in company with those we meet, as we converse
with our fellow-travellers in a stage-coach, on a journey; we know
nothing of them, and perhaps all the while we are incommoding one
another, and each is wishing himself or his neighbor away. Something
of this kind Anthony felt when Molly talked to him of old times.
"I am a straightforward girl," she said, "and I will tell you
myself how it is. There have been great changes since we were children
together; everything is different, both inwardly and outwardly. We
cannot control our wills, nor the feelings of our hearts, by the force
of custom. Anthony, I would not, for the world, make an enemy of you
when I am far away. Believe me, I entertain for you the kindest wishes
in my heart; but to feel for you what I now know can be felt for
another man, can never be. You must try and reconcile yourself to
this. Farewell, Anthony."
Anthony also said, "Farewell." Not a tear came into his eye; he
felt he was no longer Molly's friend. Hot iron and cold iron alike
take the skin from our lips, and we feel the same sensation if we kiss
either; and Anthony's kiss was now the kiss of hatred, as it had
once been the kiss of love. Within four-and-twenty hours Anthony was
back again to Eisenach, though the horse that he rode was entirely
ruined.
"What matters it?" said he; "I am ruined also. I will destroy
everything that can remind me of her, or of Lady Halle, or Lady Venus,
the heathen woman. I will break down the apple-tree, and tear it up by
the roots; never more shall it blossom or bear fruit."
The apple-tree was not broken down; for Anthony himself was struck
with a fever, which caused him to break down, and confined him to
his bed. But something occurred to raise him up again. What was it?
A medicine was offered to him, which he was obliged to take: a
bitter remedy, at which the sick body and the oppressed spirit alike
shuddered. Anthony's father lost all his property, and, from being
known as one of the richest merchants, he became very poor. Dark days,
heavy trials, with poverty at the door, came rolling into the house
upon them like the waves of the sea. Sorrow and suffering deprived
Anthony's father of his strength, so that he had something else to
think of besides nursing his love-sorrows and his anger against Molly.
He had to take his father's place, to give orders, to act with energy,
to help, and, at last, to go out into the world and earn his bread.
Anthony went to Bremen, and there he learnt what poverty and hard
living really were. These things often harden the character, but
sometimes soften the heart, even too much.
How different the world, and the people in it, appeared to Anthony
now, to what he had thought in his childhood! What to him were the
minstrel's songs? An echo of the past, sounds long vanished. At
times he would think in this way; yet again and again the songs
would sound in his soul, and his heart become gentle and pious.
"God's will is the best," he would then say. "It was well that I
was not allowed to keep my power over Molly's heart, and that she
did not remain true to me. How I should have felt it now, when fortune
has deserted me! She left me before she knew of the change in my
circumstances, or had a thought of what was before me. That is a
merciful providence for me. All has happened for the best. She could
not help it, and yet I have been so bitter, and in such enmity against
her."
Years passed by: Anthony's father died, and strangers lived in the
old house. He had seen it once again since then. His rich master
sent him journeys on business, and on one occasion his way led him
to his native town of Eisenach. The old Wartburg castle stood