APPLETONS' JOURNAL. "YOU I. HIS DOUBLE. IN TWO PARTS.-PART I. YOU have saved your beautiful oaks during all these trying times, Meyer Jochmaring." The words were addressed by a slight, delicatelyformed, simply-attired young lady, whose features were strikingly beautiful, to a sturdy old peasant, clad in a gray-ticking blouse and dark cotton-velvet knee-breeches, who sat beside her on a bench under the trees to which she referred. "Yet you are beginning to count it," said the peasant, with a crafty smile. "I didn't intend to do so, but only to remind you of it, because I like to remember it, and such an old alliance between men is no trifling thing. A thousand years have passed since Wittekind's grandson took possession of the land where we live now, and have since held as our inheritance, and it is equally long since the grandson of the man who followed Wittekind to battle settled on this farm, and both races have been faithful friends to each other until now." "That's true, princess-that's true," said the peasant, nodding; but the next instant added, frown These oaks possessed rare artistic beauty; they stood behind a long, straw-thatched house, very picturesquely situated on a sort of wide peninsula, formed by a narrow river, that nearly encircled the farm buildings, and flowed close by the rear of the dwell-ing: "But you people up at the castle always reing-house. My father," continued the lady, "would give much if he had such a group of trees in his park." The peasant looked at the thick foliage with a well-satisfied air, and then said, smiling: "Yes, they're beautiful trees. And the trees your father has in his park are fine ones, too. I've been told that there are forty or fifty thousand acres of woodland belonging to the principality, but oaks such as these are no longer to be found there. They were there once; but since-" member it most clearly when Meyer Jochmaring is to open his purse-strings." "You are ill-natured," replied the young girl, turning pale and biting her lips; "do you think it was an easy matter for me to come to you? You should not make my task more unpleasant than necessary." A pause ensued. The peasant cleared his throat, saying: "I suppose it's for your brother, Prince Adolf." "For him, as I told you, since the French, in Since," said the young girl, sighing, "the spite of the freedom from military service to which storms of time have swept them away." The peasant nodded. "But the storms of time don't touch these," he continued. "Only when a Meyer dies one of them is felled, that he may be borne to the grave in his own wood. When an axe rings against oak-wood on the farm, it's a sign that a Meyer is dead." "I know it," said the lady. You hold the old customs in honor. And it's also an old custom, I think, for a Meyer Jochmaring to stand by his prince, and the prince by the peasant; you wouldn't have escaped the French, when your son hid himself from the conscription, if the prince had not gone in person to entreat General Dusaillant to release you." “Yes,” said the peasant, "the prince went himself and made everything right. But I paid his traveling-expenses," he added. An expression of indignation flitted across the lady's face; she detected ingratitude, perhaps even a touch of sarcasm, in the answer. he is entitled as the son of a German prince, have compelled him to enter their Garde d'Honneur, as they call it, composed of the sons of the most aristocratic people in the land, that, as they say, their emperor may have a guard of honor, but really to hold them as hostages for the peace of the country.” "Yes, I know," replied the peasant; "they force them to enter it, then order them to France, and there—" They are obliged to live at their own expense." "It costs money, a pile of money," said Meyer, "yet God knows I'd give it joyfully for my boy if I knew he was safe in France in the Garde d'Honneur. They take our sons without so much ceremony, and send them to Spain, or drag them to Russia, to die or endure suffering which might move a stone to pity." 'Your boy will return, Meyer-trust in God," said the princess, tenderly. "You have news from him, I think." "Yes," replied the peasant, 'news through a against a stile. man who has returned from the war." "And then," continued the young lady, "the newspapers report that the emperor is going to recall the troops from Spain to use them here in Germany." Marianne, do you She was looking at a masculine figure leaning "How should I? He's a stranger," replied the equally-startled maid. Dear me what shall we do? We are entirely alone and unprotected—" "How can he know anything about the money?" "That they may fight against their own country- said Marianne, drawing the end of the shawl farther men." over the purse. "That you must leave in God's hands," replied the princess; "nobody knows how the war will end, and whether the allies may not soon succeed in making us free again." Well, I'll go and fetch you the money," said Meyer, rising. "Three hundred thalers. They're all the hard times have left me, but you shall have them, princess, because you ought not to apply to Meyer Jochmaring in vain." "To be sure-and yet I'm trembling in every limb. But it's all nonsense. What can happen to us in broad daylight?" The young lady, summoning all her courage, walked on; Marianne followed a little closer. The stranger stood gazing at them intently with his keen eyes, as if awaiting their approach. He had a tall, powerful figure, bronzed features, and a mustache, in those days never worn by civilians. His dress was "I thank you, Meyer," replied the princess; that of a man of rank, showing a certain fastidious"you shall have a receipt to-morrow." "That isn't necessary between the prince and Meyer Jochmaring,” replied the peasant, entering the house. He soon returned with a canvas purse in his hand. An elderly person came with him, and remained standing a short distance from the princess as the peasant handed her his little treasure. She took it, and held out her hand to Meyer. "I thank you from my heart, Meyer Jochmaring." "No thanks are needed, your highness. Give it to your maid to carry; it is heavy." The maid took the purse, threw it over her arm that she might hold it more easily, and princess and servant went on their way. It was natural that the young girl, who had been forced to go on so humiliating an errand for one in her position in life, should be in no communicative mood on her way home. A cloud shadowed the beautiful brow, a bitter expression lingered around the small mouth with its delicate, rosy lips. The misery of her native land and the oft-recurring pecuniary embarrassments could not fail to weigh heavily on her young heart. After leaving the court-yard, which was surrounded by a coarse wire fence, she followed, accompanied by her maid, a path that soon brought them into the cool shade of a wood, where the sunbeams flickering through the leaves flecked the soft turf with changeful lights. It was strangely still in the forest, for the season of the year when the loud twittering of birds filled the air was over, and the yellow leaves and shells of beechnuts, whose kernels had been eaten by the squirrels, now lying scattered on the ground, showed that autumn was at hand. But the princess saw little of the scenery that surrounded her; she hurried on with elastic steps, sometimes exchanging a word with her companion, who, with the end of her shawl drawn over the purse, followed her along the path. Suddenly, at a turn in the way, she paused, ex ness in arrangement, which went far to dispel the princess's alarm at the sudden meeting. They advanced till they were close to the stile, when the stranger, approaching a few paces, asked in a somewhat brusque tone : "Is this path or that the way to Stockheim?" The princess felt her courage subjected to a severe trial. The way to Stockheim was the one along which she was herself proceeding. If she told the stranger so, she would have this unknown man for a companion, and in that case it would be difficult to conceal from him the purse Marianne was carrying. But, great as was the temptation to a subterfuge, the princess was too honorable to utter a falsehood. "The way to Stockheim is the one by which we are going," she answered, with a stifled sigh. Fortunately, a glance at the stranger's features partially soothed her fears, and led her to hope that, although he appeared before them in the depths of the forest, he might not have any nefarious designs upon her valuable package. He was about thirty years of age-at least he was so bronzed by wind and weather that he would have been taken for that; his features were manly and noble, the countenance a fine oval, and a bold, keen intellect looked forth from the blue eyes, which gleamed under half-closed lids. There was a reserved, independent expression about the face, which could not fail to interest. "Yes, that's what I mean. Man belongs to things, far more than things to man. Don't you think it ridiculous to see a weak human being stride through forests or over fields, and fancy everything belongs to him? It's just as if the caterpillar, creeping over an oak-leaf, should say, 'This tree is mine.' The Arabs have a proverb, 'When the cock crows, he believes the sun rises on his account.' Forests, fields, and meadows, will be here at the end of a thousand years, when the man who was bound to them for his support, like the caterpillar to its oakleaf, has long since gone where leaf and caterpillar are." "What of that?" replied the princess; "a man remains master of his property though he must die; after him comes his son, his family—” "Where have you studied the lives of such princesses, if I may ask?" said the young lady. "I have been in many a hut and many a palace," replied the stranger, gravely. And," rejoined the princess, "did you never, while passing through one of these palaces, feel tempted to release some longing, yearning soul from her imprisonment?" “No,” replied the stranger, smiling sorrowfully; "for I am not free myself." "Not free! betrothed, perhaps?" "Betrothed! No; but my heart is bound. It lies under the spell of a single glance once bestowed on me, and now written in characters of fire on my soul-a glance which, if I were to live an eternity, would never fade from my memory." "Oh, that sounds romantic beyond all measure!" cried the princess; "a single glance which had power to bind you forever-what a magical look! And who was the enchantress who bestowed it?" "The enchantress was a poor Spanish nun in a rough, brown-woolen cowl, and she gazed at me with a look full of mortal terror, beseeching aid, when one of my comrades thrust her back into her burning convent, from which she was trying to fly; gazed at me when already seized by the flames, no longer to be saved, for a blazing heap of beams and rafters had fallen between me and her.” "Oh!" cried the princess, pausing in her walk; are you telling me the truth?" "Yes, the simple truth. Why should I tell falsehoods to one whom I don't know, and may never see "To lie under the same spell. The forests belong-you gave me no information about it-to Prince von Idar. Can you deny that he is a poor man, bound to his uncomfortable old ancestral castle with its horribly cold, draughty corridors, and spacious, ill-lighted rooms, surrounded by poisonous ditches of stagnant water as moats, bound by a thousand ties, which, with much vexation and little pleasure, chain him to this property to which he belongs, and which will not release him? Transport yourself into the soul of such an envied land-owner. Imagine him on dark, rainy days, standing in one of the deep window-niches formed by the thick walls, gazing at the leaden sky, and hearing the melancholy voices of the wind wail around his towers. Do you suppose such a man has no soul? Do you suppose he has no longing for bright, beautiful, sunny landscapes? But his castle, his forests, his mead-again?" ows, his peat-moors, his sheep-folds, his smoky farmhouses, hold and will not release him. And beside him, in the other window-niches, sit three or four unmarried daughters, their faces pale and haggard with ennui, blue circles under their weary eyes, and idle hands resting on their laps. They, too, gaze at the leaden sky, whose clouds veil the horizon, as the hopelessness of their lives clothes the future in tints of gray; they, too, listen to the melancholy wailing of the wind. Do you think no longing for life and happiness throbs in the veins of these poor girls, no yearning for light and love, a free life among free human souls? Do you suppose these poor, imprisoned creatures would not also gladly look as bright and joyous as you do now, my dear young lady?" The princess had at first turned slightly pale, and felt strongly tempted to grow angry at the words of the strange philosopher by her side; then he began to amuse her, and now, at this direct personal turn in his lecture, she burst into a merry laugh. "Well," said he, "you laugh at these poor creatures, sitting in their old castle because they belong to it, because their property keeps them imprisoned within its walls. You ought to lead the life of such a princess just one short year." The princess again laughed merrily, and, with an extremely significant glance, turned to Marianne, putting her finger on her lips. The maid looked at her in surprise, and then returned the smile. "And was the poor creature burned?" "With half a dozen of her companions. I could do nothing to save her. The only thing left was to take my pistol and send a bullet into the brain of the comrade who had acted so cruelly." "O Heaven!" exclaimed the princess, fairly beside herself. But," she added, regaining her selfcommand, "I am very foolish to be so alarmed. If this were all true, you wouldn't tell it to the first stranger you met in the forest." Her companion walked beside her a few steps in silence. It seemed as if he were thinking of totally different things. Suddenly he said: "Can't you imagine that, after living alone a long time, obliged to shut up everything within his own heart, a man may be carried away by the longing to talk, and even tell things better left unsaid, when he finds himself in the presence of a person who inspires a feeling of sympathy?" He fixed a peculiarly thoughtful, melancholy glance on the princess's features. 66 If you don't believe my story," he continued, after a pause, " why, so much the better. Imagine I related something to entertain you on the way.—Is this Margaret's Linden? I don't want to go quite to Stockheim; only to Margaret's Linden." “No,” replied the princess; “it is some distance farther.-So you only wanted to entertain me? Do you imagine you selected any specially pleasant subject?" "Must you not with such tales of horror?" "If I was forced to experience, surely you can hear them." "But when I grow pale, and, with features haggard with ennui, listen to the melancholy voices of the wind wailing around our ancient towers, suppose then that I am forced to hear in imagination, amid the moans of the storm, the heart-rending shriek of the nun hurled back into the flames, fancy her look of horror, her eyes dilated with agony-" "Ah! how is that possible?" "That I have told you this, your highness, will be sufficient, will it not?" he answered, gravely. "It will," she replied, hastily meeting the eyes fixed intently upon her. "I surely will not betray you, if it is so; and now adieu-farewell." With a slight bend of the head, and a smile that showed that the whole interview, in spite of the last tragical assurance, had produced an amusing rather than a serious impression upon her mind, she took leave of him, and walked away. The stranger went slowly to the superb old linden-tree which had been pointed out to him as Margaret's Linden, and sat down on the stone bench placed under the spreading branches. "Ah! you-in your ancient towers! Are you-" "There is your Margaret's Linden. What do you want there? Have you a ghostly appointment? A witch is said to have been burned in yonder glade.— "Thank Heaven," said the maid, when they were Farewell." out of hearing-" thank Heaven that we have at last "But," he said, quickly, as she turned to go, got rid of that mysterious man! I didn't dare to "pray tell me who you are." "One of the unhappy enchanted princesses of whom you spoke with such touching and melancholy sympathy. I am the Princess Elizabeth von Idar." "Impossible-you!" he exclaimed. "Well, it would be foolish for me to attempt to beg your pardon, your highness. What I have said harmonizes so ill with your radiant youth, the bright, fresh courage that sparkles in your eyes, that I need waste no words upon it. You are the Princess Elizabeth! I have heard of you. You are the jewel of your house, its good genius, the prince's Egeria, the favorite of all, even Meyer Jochmaring; ay, Meyer Jochmaring, whose cool, reflective mind considers the over-valuation of anything on earth the worst misfortune that can befall a man-this embodied realist of a peasant is enthusiastic about you, so enthusiastic that he inspired me with an actual longing to see you, if only at a distance. And now I find you here-here where one would expect to meet only fairy princesses -deep in the heart of the forest, and the time during which I was permitted to walk by your side has been spent-" move this heavy bag from the left arm to the right, and now my left arm feels perfectly numb.” "He was the strangest person I ever met," replied the princess; "he seemed exactly as if that look from the poor Spanish nun had thrown him out of the usual grooves of life." "Oh, believe me, your highness," rejoined Marianne, “he surely invented the story to make himself more interesting. Nobody could be hurled into a burning building, because no other person could approach near enough to do it without being scorched." "Let us see his name," observed the princess, drawing out the card he had given her, and reading the words "Ulrich Gerhard von Uffeln." "Oh!" she cried, pausing, “Marianne, this is stranger still.” "What is it, your highness-what is it?" "Dear me, I mustn't let any one see the cardmust not tell you. But I can say one thing: this man is a double-a Doppelgänger." "A Doppelgänger!" "Yes, indeed, really and truly." "I should much sooner believe he was a swindler," replied Marianne. “I'll wager that he knew you perfectly well. That's why he intentionally The princess interrupted the compliment paid turned the conversation upon the castle, just to make with such fluency and ease. "How do you know Meyer Jochmaring so well -who are you?" she said, in a tone whose sternness suggested that he was on the verge of giving offense. "Who am I? I am who I am. Those are Biblical words. Does that satisfy you? No? You want to know the name that fetters me, to which I belong, as Meyer Jochmaring belongs to his old oaks. Well, I'll give you my card, since by so doing I can give so much-” "So much! Is the name so famous or so aristocratic?" she asked, sarcastically. "No, neither. But with this card I give you a great proof of my implicit confidence." He had drawn out his pocket-book, and now handed the princess the card taken from it. “I am glad to be able to do so," he continued. "No one must see the card—no one here must know my name. It would endanger my life." himself more interesting." Princess Elizabeth shook her head very emphatically. She really did not know what to think of the matter. The appearance of this man, who did not seem to her at all like a swindler, was an enigma to which she possessed no key. She walked on in silence. She could say no more about him—that she had promised. Therefore she at last sternly forbade Marianne, who was constantly returning to the subject, to ask or talk any more about this mysterious being. II. HALF an hour's walk from the little city near which stood the castle of Prince von Idar was an ancient edifice, a most picturesque structure. The entrance was through an arched gateway; on the right and left were low stables, from which rose small, thick towers. As all these portions of the main edifice united at the gate, they formed a sort of escutcheon for the main building behind. And this es |