quiet—­I had an older brother too, yet did not have him.  When his beard was first beginning to grow, he was given by our gracious Duke to Chevalier von Brand as his esquire, and sent to Spain, to buy Andalusian horses.  John Frederick’s father had learned their value in Madrid after the battle of Muhlburg.  Louis was a merry fellow when he went away, and knew how to tame the wildest stallion.  It was hard for our parents to believe him dead, but years elapsed, and as neither he nor Chevalier von Brand appeared, we were obliged to give him up for lost.  My mother alone could not do this, and constantly expected his return.  My father called me the future heir and lord of the castle.  When I had passed beyond boyhood and understood Cicero tolerably well, I was sent to the University of Jena to study law, as my uncle, the chancellor, wished me to become a counsellor of state.

“Oh Jena, beloved Jena!  There are blissful days in May and June, when only light clouds float in the sky, and all the leaves and flowers are so fresh and green, that one would think—­they probably think so themselves—­that they could never fade and wither; such days in human existence are the period of joyous German student life.  You can believe it.  Leonhard has told you enough of Jena.  He understood how to unite work and pleasure; I, on the contrary, learned little on the wooden benches, for I rarely occupied them, and the dust of books certainly didn’t spoil my lungs.  But I read Ariosto again and again, devoted myself to singing, and when a storm of feeling seethed within my breast, composed many songs for my own pleasure.  We learned to wield the sword too in Jena, and I would gladly have crossed blades with the sturdy fencing-master Allertssohn, of whom you have just told me.  Leonhard was older than I, and when he graduated with honor, I was still very weak in the pandects.  But we were always one in heart and soul, so I went to Holland with him to attend his wedding.  Ah, those were days!  The theologians in Jena have actively disputed about the part of the earth, in which the little garden of Paradise should be sought.  I considered them all fools, and thought:  ’There is only one Eden, and that lies in Holland, and the fairest roses the dew waked on the first sunny morning, bloom in Delft!’”

At these words Georg shook back his waving locks and hesitated in great embarrassment, but as no one interrupted him and he saw Barbara’s eager face and the children’s glowing cheeks, quietly continued: 

“So I came home, and was to learn for the first time, that in life also beautiful sunny days often end with storms.  I found my father ill, and a few days after my return he closed his eyes in death.  I had never seen any human being die, and the first, the very first, was he, my father.”

Georg paused, and deeply moved, passed his hand over his eyes.

“Your father!” cried Barbara, in a tone of cordial sympathy, breaking the silence.  “If we can judge the tree by the apple, he was surely a splendid man.”