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Page 10
"Yes, one marries," he continued, after a pause; "but whom?"
His thoughts now took a more direct course; but the pictures in
his mind's eye had not become plainer. Again the horizon widely
around was rose-colored, and between the tinted cloud-layers
angel-heads peeped out--not Bible angels, which are neither man
nor woman; but angelic girls, whom he didn't know, and who didn't
know him. The truth was, he didn't know anybody to whom he could
give his heart, but longed, with a certain twenty-four-year power,
for her to whom he could offer it,--her who was worthy to receive
his whole self-made being, and in exchange give him all that queer
imagined bliss, which is or ought to be in the world, as every one
so firmly believes.
"Oh, I am a fool!" he said, as he suddenly became conscious that
he was merely dreaming and wishing. He tried to think of something
practical, thought upon a little picnic that was to be held in the
evening; but the same dream returned and overpowered him, because
the season of spring was in him, because life thrilled in him as
in trees and plants when the spring sun shines.
He leaned upon the window-seat--it was in an attic--and let the
wind cool his forehead. But while the wind refreshed, the street
itself gave his mind new nourishment. Down there it moved, to him
unknown, and veiled and hidden as at a masquerade. What a treasure
might not that easy virgin foot carry! What a fancy might there
not be moving in the head under that little bonnet, and what a
heart might there not be beating under the folds of that shawl!
But, too, all this preciousness might belong to another.
Alas! yes, there were certainly many amiable ones down there!--and
if destiny should lead him to one of them, who was free, lovely,
well-bred, of good family, could any one vouch that for her sake
he was not giving up HER, the beau-ideal, the expected, whose
portrait had shown itself between the tinted clouds? or, in any
event, who can vouch for one's success in not missing the right
one?
"Oh! life is a lottery, a cruel lottery; for to everybody there is
but one drawing, and the whole man is at stake. Woe to the loser!"
After the expiration of some time, Fritz, under the influence of
these meditations, had become melancholy, and all bright, smiling,
and sure as life had recently appeared to him, so misty,
uncertain, and painful it now appeared. For the second time he
stroked his forehead, shook these thoughts from him, seeking more
practical ones, and for the second time it terminated in going to
the window and gazing out.
A whirlwind filled the street, slamming gates and doors, shaking
windows and carrying dust with it up to his attic chamber. He was
in the act of drawing back, when he saw a little piece of paper
whirled in the dust cloud coming closely near him. He shut his
eyes to keep out the dust, grasping at random for the paper, which
he caught. At the same moment the whirlwind ceased, and the sky
was again clear. This appeared to him ominous; the scrap of paper
had certainly a meaning to him, a meaning for him; the unknown
whom he had not really spoken to, yet had been so exceedingly busy
with, could not quite accidentally have thus conveyed this to his
hands, and with throbbing heart he retired from the window to read
the message.
One side of the paper was blank; in the left-hand corner of the
other side was written "beloved," and a little below it seemed as
if there had been a signature, but now there was nothing left
excepting the letters "geb."
"'Geb,' what does that mean?" asked Fritz Bagger, with dark humor.
"If it had been gek, I could have understood it, although it were
incorrectly written. Geb, Gebrer, Algebra, Gebruderbuh,--I am a
big fool."
"But it is no matter, she shall have an answer," he shouted after
a while, and seated himself to write a long, glowing love-letter.
When it was finished and read, he tore it in pieces.
"No," said he, "if destiny has intended the least thing by acting
to me as mail-carrier through the window, let me act reasonably."
He wrote on a little piece of paper:
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