WALSTEIN; OR, A CURE FOR MELANCHOLY. CHAPTER I. CONTAINING A PHILOSOPHICAL CONVERSA TION BETWEEN A PHYSICIAN AND HIS PATIENT. DR. DE SCHULEMBOURG was the most eminent physician in Dresden. He was not only a physician; he was a philosopher. He studied the idiosyncrasy of his patients, and was aware of the fine and secret connection between medicine and morals. One morning, Dr. de Schulembourg was summoned to Walstein. The physician looked forward to the interview with his patient with some degree of interest. He had often heard of Walstein, but had never yet met that gentleman, who had only recently returned from his travels, and who had been absent from his country for several years. "Which is a necessary ingredient of all that is excellent,” replied Schulembourg. Walstein shrugged his shoulders, and then invited the physician to be seated. "I wish to consult you, Dr. Schulembourg," he observed, somewhat abruptly. "My metaphysical opinions induce me to believe that a physician is the only philosopher. I am perplexed by my own case. I am in excellent health, my appetite is good, my digestion perfect. My temperament I have ever considered to be of a very sanguine character. I have nothing upon my mind. I am in very easy circumstances. Hitherto, I have only committed blunders in life, and never crimes. Nevertheless, I have, of late, become the victim of a deep and inscrutable melancholy, which I can ascribe to no cause, and can divert by no resource. Can you throw any light upon my dark feelings? Can you remove them?" When Dr. de Schulembourg arrived at the house of Walstein, he was admitted into a circular hall, containing the busts of the Cæsars, and ascending a double staircase of noble proportion, was ushered into a magnificent gallery. Copies in marble of the most celebrated ancient statues were ranged on each side of this gallery. Above them, were suspended many beautiful Italian and Spanish pictures, and between them, were dwarf bookcases, full of tall volumes in sumptuous bindings, and crowned with Etruscan vases and rare bronzes. Schulembourg, who was a man of taste, looked around him with great satisfaction. And while he was gazing on a group of diaphanous cherubim, by Murillo, an artist of whom he had heard much and knew little, his arm was gently touched, and turning round, Schulembourg beheld his patient, a man past the prime of youth, but of very distinguished appearance, and with a very frank and graceful manner. “I hope you will pardon me, my dear sir, for permitting you to be a moment alone," said Walstein, with an ingratiating smile. "Solitude, in such a scene, is not very you complain?" rejoined Schulembourg. wearisome," replied the physician. "How long have you experienced them?" inquired the physician. "More or less ever since my return," replied Walstein; "but most grievously during the last three months." "Are you in love?" inquired Schulembourg. "Certainly not," replied Walstein, "and I fear I never shall be.” "There "You have been ?" inquired the physician. "I have had some fancies, perhaps too many," answered the patient; "but youth deludes itself. My idea of a heroine has never been realised, and, in all probability, never will be." "Besides an idea of a heroine," said Schulembourg, "you have also, if I mistake not, an idea of a hero ?" "Without doubt," replied Walstein. “I have preconceived for myself a character which I have never achieved." "Yet, if you have never met a heroine nearer your ideal than your hero, why should "There are moments when my vanity com are great changes in this mansion since the pletes my own portrait," said Walstein. time of your father, Mr. Walstein." ""Tis an attempt to achieve that which we are all sighing for," replied Walstein-"the Ideal. But for myself, although I assure you not a pococurante, I cannot help thinking there is no slight dash of the common place." "And there are moments when our imagination completes the portrait of our mistress," rejoined Schulembourg. 66 "You reason," said Walstein. I was myself once fond of reasoning, but the greater my experience, the more I have become con vinced, that man is not a rational animal. He is only truly good or great when he acts from passion." quiet. tions. There are no wars now, no revoluWhere can I find a career?" "Action," replied Schulembourg, “is the "Passion is the ship, and reason is the exercise of our faculties. Do not mistake rudder," observed Schulembourg. "And thus we pass the ocean of life," said Walstein. "Would that I could discover a new continent of sensation!" "Do you mix much in society?" said the physician. "By fits and starts," said Walstein. "A great deal when I first returned: of late little." "And your distemper has increased in proportion with your solitude?" "It would superficially appear so," observed Walstein; "but I consider my present distemper as not so much the result of solitude, as the reaction of much converse with society. I am gloomy at present, from a sense of disappointment of the past." "You are disappointed," observed Schulembourg. "What then did you expect?" "I do not know," replied Walstein; "that is the very thing I wish to discover.” "How do you in general pass your time?" inquired the physician. "When I reply in doing nothing, my dear Doctor," said Walstein, "you will think that you have discovered the cause of my disorder. But perhaps you will only mistake an effect for a cause." restlessness for action. Murillo, who passed a long life almost within the walls of his native city, was a man of great action. Witness the convents and the churches that are covered with his exploits. A great student is a great actor, and as great as a marshal or a statesman. You must act, Mr. Walstein, you must act, you must have an object in life; great or slight, still you must have an object. Believe me, it is better to be a mere man of pleasure, than a dreamer." "Your advice is profound," replied Walstein, "and you have struck upon a sympathetic chord. But what am I to do? I have no object." "You are a very ambitious man," replied the physician. "How know you that?" said Walstein, somewhat hastily and slightly blushing. "We doctors know many strange things," replied Schulembourg with a smile. "Come now, would you like to be prime minister of Saxony ?" "Prime minister of Oberon!" said Walstein, laughing; "'tis indeed a great destiny." "Ah! when you have lived longer among us, your views will accommodate themselves to our limited horizon. In the mean time I will write you a prescription, provided you promise to comply with my directions." "Do not doubt me, my dear Doctor." Schulembourg seated himself at the table, and wrote a few lines which he handed to his patient. Walstein smiled as he read the prescription. "Dr. de Schulembourg requests the honour of the Baron de Walsteins company at dinner, tomorrow at two o clock.' Walstein smiled and looked a little perplexed, but he remembered his promise. "I shall with pleasure become your guest, Doctor." CHAPTER II. CONTAINING SOME FURTHER CONVERSATION. WALSTEIN did not forget his engagement with his friendly physician. The house of Schulembourg was the most beautiful mansion in Dresden. It was situated in a delicious garden in the midst of the park, and had been presented to him by a grateful sovereign. It was a Palladian villa, which recalled the Brenia to the recollection of Walstein, flights of marble steps, airy colonnades, pediments of harmonious proportion, and all painted with classic frescoes. Orange trees clustered in groups upon the terrace, perfumed the summer air, rising out of magnificent vases sculptured in high relief, and amid the trees, confined by silver chains, were rare birds of radiant plumage, rare birds with prismatic eyes and bold ebon beaks, breasts flooded with crimson, and long tails of violet and green. The declining sun shone brightly in the light blue sky, and threw its lustre upon the fanciful abode, above which, slight and serene, floated the airy crescent of the young white moon. of those frigid petty souls who are ashamed of evincing feeling in society. He felt keenly and expressed himself without reserve. But nature had invested him with a true nobility of manner as well as of mind. He was ever graceful, even when enthusiastic. "It is difficult to remember we are in the North," said Walstein to Madame de Schulembourg," amid these colonnades and orange trees." "It is thus that I console myself for beautiful Italy,” replied the lady, “and, indeed, to-day the sun favours the design." "You have resided long in Italy?” in "My friend too, I perceive, is a votary of quired Walstein. the Ideal," exclaimed Walstein. The carriage stopped, Walstein mounted the marble steps and was ushered through a hall, wherein was the statue of a single nymph, into an octagonal apartment. Schulembourg himself had not arrived. Two men moved away as he was announced, from a lady whom they surrounded. The lady was Madame de Schulembourg, and she came forward with infinite grace to apologise for the absence of her husband and to welcome her guest. Her appearance was very remarkable. She was young and strangely beautiful. Walstein thought that he had never beheld such lustrous locks of ebon hair shading a countenance of such dazzling purity. Her large and deep blue eyes gleamed through their long black lashes. The expression of her face was singularly joyous. Two wild dimples played like meteors on her soft round cheeks. A pink veil worn over her head was carelessly tied under her chin, and fastened with a white rose of pearls. Her vest and train of white satin did not conceal her sylph-like form and delicate feet. She held forth a little white hand to Walstein adorned only by a single enormous ruby, and welcomed him with inspiring ease. "I do not know whether you are acquainted with your companions, Mr. Walstein," said Madame de Schulembourg. Walstein looked around and recognised the English minister, and had the pleasure of being introduced, for the first time, to a celebrated sculptor. "I have heard of your name, not only in Germany," said Walstein, addressing the latter gentleman, "you have left your fame behind you at Rome. If the Italians are excusably envious, their envy is at least accompanied with admiration." The gratified sculptor bowed and slightly blushed. Walstein loved art and artists. He was not one "I was born at Milan," replied Madame de Schulembourg, "my father commanded a Hungarian regiment in garrison." "I thought that I did not recognise an Italian physiognomy," said Walstein, looking somewhat earnestly at the lady. "Yet I have a dash of the Lombard blood in me, I assure you," replied Madame de Schulembourg, smiling; "is it not so, Mr. Revel?" The Englishman advanced and praised the beauty of the lady's mother, whom he well knew. Then he asked Walstein when he was at Milan; then they exchanged more words respecting Milanese society; and while they were conversing the Doctor entered, followed by a servant: "I must compensate for keeping you from dinner," said their host, "by having the pleasure of announcing that it is prepared." He welcomed Walstein with warmth; Mr. Revel led Madame to the dining-room. The table was round, and Walstein seated himself at her side. The repast was light and elegant, unusual characteristics of a German dinner. Madame de Schulembourg conversed with infinite gaiety, but with an ease which showed that to charm was with her no effort. The Englishman was an excellent specimen of his nation, polished and intelligent, without that haughty and graceless reserve which is so painful to a finished man of the world. The host was himself ever animated and cheerful, but calm and clear-and often addressed himself to the artist, who was silent, and, like students in general, constrained. Walstein himself, indeed, was not very talkative, but his manner indicated that he was interested, and when he made an observation it was uttered with facility, and arrested attention by its justness or its novelty.-It was an agreeable party. They had discussed several light topics; at length they diverged to the supernatural. Mr. Revel, as is customary with Englishmen, who are very sceptical, affected for the moment a belief in spirits. With the rest of the society, however, it was no light theme. Madame de Schulembourg avowed her profound credulity. The artist was a decided votary. Schulembourg philosophically accounted for many appearances, but he was a magnetiser, and his explanations were more marvellous than the portents. "And you, Mr. Walstein," said Madame de Schulembourg, "what is your opinion ?" "I am willing to yield to any faith that distracts my thoughts from the burthen of daily reality," replied Walstein. "You would just suit Mr. Novalis then," observed Mr. Revel, bowing to the sculptor. "Novalis is an astrologer," said Madame de Schulembourg; "I think he would just suit you." "Destiny is a grand subject," observed Walstein," and although I am not prepared to say that I believe in fate, I should nevertheless not be surprised to read my fortunes in the stars." "That has been the belief of great spirits," observed the sculptor, his countenance brightening with more assurance. "It is true," replied Walstein, "I would rather err with my great namesake and Napoleon than share the orthodoxy of ordinary mortality." "perceiving that the discontent and infelicity of man generally increase in an exact ratio with his intelligence and his knowledge, I am often tempted to envy the ignorant and the simple." 66 "A man can only be content," replied Schulembourg, "when his career is in harmony with his organisation. Man is an animal formed for great physical activity, and this is the reason why the vast majority, in spite of great physical suffering, are content. The sense of existence, under the influence of the action which is necessary to their living, counterbalances all misery. But when a man has a peculiar structure, when he is born with a predisposition, or is, in vulgar language, a man of genius, his content entirely depends upon that predisposition being developed and indulged. And this is philosophical education, that sublime art so ill-comprehended!" "I agree with you," said Revel, who recollected the nonsense-verses of Eton and the logic of Christ Church;" all the scrapes and unhappiness of my youth, and I assure you they were not inconsiderable, are to be ascribed to the obstinate resolution of my family to make a priest out of a man who wished to be a soldier." "And I was disinherited because I would be a physician,” replied Schulembourg; "but instead of a poor insignificant baron, I am now a noble in four kingdoms and have the "That is a dangerous speech, Baron," said orders of all Europe, and that lady there was Schulembourg. not ashamed to marry me." "With regard to destiny," said Mr. Revel, who was in fact a materialist of the old school, "every thing depends upon a man s nature; the ambitious will rise, and the grovelling will crawl-those whose volition is strong will believe in fate, and the weak-minded accounts for the consequences of his own incongruities by execrating chance." a Schulembourg shook his head. "By man's nature, you mean his structure," said the physician, much, doubtless, depends upon structure, but structure is again influenced by structure. All is subservient to sympathy." "It is true," replied the sculptor; " and what is the influence of the stars on human conduct, but sympathy of the highest degree?" "I am little accustomed to metaphysical discussions," remarked Walstein; "this is indeed a sorry subject to amuse a fair lady with, Madame de Schulembourg."—" On the contrary," she replied, "the mystical ever delights me." "Yet," continued Walstein, "I was a swineherd in the wilds of Pomerania," said Novalis; his eye flashing with enthusiasm. "I ran away to Italy, but I broke my poor mother's heart." There was a dead painful pause, in which Walstein interposed. "As for myself, I suppose I have no predisposition, or I have not found it out. Perhaps nature intended me for a swineherd, instead of a baron. This, however, I do know, that life is an intolerable burthen-at least it would be," he added, turning with a smile to his fair hostess," were it not for occasionally meeting some one so inspiriting as you." "Come," said Madame, rising, "the carriages are at the door. Let us take a drive. Mr. Walstein, you shall give me your opinion of my ponies. CHAP. III. CONTAINING A DRIVE IN THE PARK WITH A VERY CHARMING LADY. MADAME DE SCHULEMBOURG's carriage, drawn by two beautiful Hanoverian ponies, cream in colour, with long manes and tails, like flos silk, was followed by a britschka, but despatches called away Mr. Revel, and Novalis stole off to his studio. The doctor, as usual, was engaged. "Caroline," he said, as he bid his guest adieu, "I commend Mr. Walstein to your care. When I return in the evening, do not let me find that our friend has escaped." "I am sure though unhappy he is not ungallant," replied Caroline, with a smile; and she took his offered arm, and ascended her seat. Swiftly the little ponies scudded along the winding roads. The Corso was as yet but slightly attended. Caroline passed through the wide avenue without stopping, but sometimes recognising with bow and smile a flitting by friend. They came to a wilder and woodier part of the park, the road lined on each side with linden trees, and in the distance vast beds of tall fern, tinged with the first rich hues of autumn. "Here, Mr. Walstein," said Caroline, " with your permission, I shall take my afternoon walk." Thus speaking, she stopped the carriage, which she and her companion quitted. Walstein offered her his arm, but she declined it, folding herself up in her shawl. "Which do you like best, Mr. Walstein, Constantinople or Dresden ?" said Madame de Schulembourg. "At this moment decidedly Dresden," replied her companion. "Ah! that is a compliment," said Madame de Schulembourg, after a moment's musing. 'My dear Mr. Walstein," she continued, looking up with an arch expression, never pay me compliments." "You mistake me: it was not a compliment," replied Walstein. "It was a sincere and becoming tribute of gratitude for three hours of endurable existence." "You know that you are my patient," rejoined Madame de Schulembourg. "I have orders to cure your melancholy. I am very successful in such complaints.” "But in your case?" "Very wrong." "I am determined to find it out," said Madame de Schulembourg. "I wish to heaven you could," said Monsieur de Walstein. "I think a wandering life has spoiled you," said Caroline. "I think it must be civilisation that you find wearisome.' "That would be very sublime," replied Walstein. "But I assure you, if there be one thing that disgusts me more than another, it is the anticipation of renewed travel! I have seen all that I wish, and more than I ever expected. All that I could experience now would be exertion without excitement, a dreadful doom. If I am not to experience pleasure, let me at least have the refuge of repose. The magic of change of scene is with me exhausted. If I am to live, I do not think that I could be tempted to quit this city; sometimes I think, scarcely even my house." "I see how it is," exclaimed Madame de Schulembourg, shaking her head very knowingly, "you must marry." "The last resource of feminine fancy!" exclaimed Walstein, almost laughing. "You would lessen my melancholy, I suppose, on the principle of the division of gloom. I can assure you, my dear Madame de Schulembourg," he continued, in a very serious tone, 66 that, with my present sensations, I should consider it highly dishonourable to implicate any woman in my destiny." "Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Madame; "I can assure you, my dear Mr. Walstein, that I have a great many very pretty friends who will run the risk. "Tis the best cure for melancholy, believe me. I was serious myself at times before I married, but you see I have got over my gloom." "You have indeed," said Walstein; " and perhaps, were I Dr. de Schulembourg, I might be as gay." "Another compliment! However, I ac "I have no doubt of it," replied Walstein, cept it, because it is founded on truth. The with a slight bow. fact is, I think, you are too much alone." "If we could but find out the cause!" continued Caroline. "I venture to believe that, after all, it will turn out an affair of the heart. Come, be frank with your physician. Tell me, have you left it captive with a fair Greek of the Isles, or a dark-eyed maiden of the Nile. Is our heroine a captive behind a Spanish jalousie, or in an Italian convent?" "Women ever believe that all moods and tempers of man are consequences of their influence," replied Walstein," and in general they are right." |