i know not if men would say that the face of basil wolgemuth was beautiful. there were no darkly gleaming eyes, no sculptured features, no clustering raven locks; all was fair, clear, and sunny as his own soul. and what a soul was that! it lighted up his whole countenance, as the sun lights up a landscape,——making that which would else have been ordinary most glorious. it was mirrored in his eyes; it shone in his every gesture; it made music in his voice; it accompanied him like a fair presence, giving life, love, and beauty wherever he moved.
he sat in a low-roofed, half-darkened chamber, whose gloomy recesses looked almost fearful. now and then passing sounds of human voices rose from the street below, and ever and anon the great bell of cologne cathedral boomed out the hours, making the after silence deeper still. the student——for such he evidently was——leaned his slight and rather diminutive form in the[84] attitude of one wearied; but there was no lassitude visible in his expressive face, and his eyes were fixed with a dreamy and thoughtful gaze on the blazing fagots that roared and sparkled on the hearth before him.
the fire was his sole companion; and it was good company, in sooth. not mute either; for it seemed to talk like a human voice. how the live juices hissed out, when the damp pine-wood caught the blaze, and chattered and muttered like a vexed child! how furiously it struggled and roared, as the flames grew stronger! how it sunk into a low, complaining sound, and then into a dead stillness, being conquered at last, and breathing its life out in a ruddy but silent glow. such was the voice of the fire, but the student beheld its form too. quaint and mysterious were the long fiery alleys and red caverns which it made, mingled with black hollows, out of which mocking faces seemed to peep; while the light flames waving to and fro were like aerial shapes moving in a fantastic dance. beautiful and mystic appeared the fire.
basil wolgemuth was a student and a dreamer. he had pierced into the secrets of nature and of philosophy, not as an idle seeker, mechanically following the bent of a vague curiosity, but as an enthusiastic lover, who would fathom the depths of his beloved’s soul. he knew that in this world all things bear two meanings; one for the common observer, one for the higher mind of him who, with an earnest purpose and a steadfast but loving heart, penetrates into those mines of hidden riches,——the treasures of science and of imagination.[85] basil was still young; and yet men of learning and power listened with deference to his words; wisdom, rank, and beauty had trodden that poor chamber, and felt honored,——for it was the habitation of genius.
and was all this sunshine of fame lavished upon a barren tree, which brought forth at best only the dazzling fruits of mere intellect, beautiful to the eye but deceptive to the heart as the jewelled apples of aladdin, or was it rich in all good fruits of human kindness? ask the mother, to whom the very footsteps of her dutiful son brought light and gladness; ask the sister, whose pride in her noble kinsman was even less than her love for the gentle and forbearing brother who made the sunshine of their home. these would speak for basil. there was one——one more; but he knew it not then.
the fire sank to a few embers, and through the small window at the farther end of the apartment the young moon looked with her quiet smile. at last the door was half opened, and a girlish face peeped in.
“are you sleeping, basil, or only musing?”
“is that you, margareta?” said the student, without changing his attitude.
“yes; it is growing late, brother; will you not come to supper?”
“i do not need it, dear margareta, thank you.”
“but we want you, basil; my mother is asking for you; and isilda, too, is here.”
a bright smile passed over the young man’s face; but his sister did not see it, and continued:[86]——
“come, brother; do come; you have studied enough for to-day.”
he rose cheerfully: “well, then, tell my mother i will come directly.”
margareta closed the door, and basil stood thoughtfully by the fire. at that moment a bright flame, springing up from some stray brand yet unkindled, illumined his face,——it was radiant with the light of love. his finely curved lips, the sole beautiful feature there, were trembling with a happy smile, as they murmured in low tones one beloved name,——“isilda, isilda!”
