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At the first glance Jacobi uttered an exclamation of joyful surprise,
approached her with an appearance of the greatest cordiality, seized her
hand, which he kissed reverentially, and felicitated himself on the
happiness of seeing her again.

The little eyes of the Chamberlain's lady twinkled, and she exclaimed,
"Oh, heavens! my heart's dearest! Nay, that is very pleasant! He, he,
he, he!"

"How!" exclaimed Elise, in astonishment, "Mr. Jacobi, do you
know----Aunt W., do you know Mr. Jacobi?"

The Candidate appeared about to give an explanation of the acquaintance,
but this Mrs. Gunilla, with a faint crimson overspreading the pale
yellow cheek, and a twitch of the eyebrow, prevented, and with a quick
voice she said, "We once lived in the same house."

She then desired that the conversation which her entrance had
interrupted, and which appeared to have been very important, might
proceed. "At least," added she, with a penetrating glance on Elise and
the Candidate, "if I should not disturb you."

"Certainly not!"

The Candidate needed only the sixteenth of a hint to rush armed with
full fervour into the mysteries of his system. Mrs. Gunilla took up a
packet of old gold thread, which she set herself to unravel, whilst the
Candidate coughed and prepared himself.

CHAPTER IV.

MONADS AND NOMADS.

"All beings," commenced the Candidate, "have, as their most intrinsic
foundation and substance, a simple unity, a soul, a--in one word, a
monad."

"A--a what?" asked the Chamberlain's lady, fixing her eyes upon him.

"A monad, or a simple unity," continued he. "The monads have a common
resemblance in substance one with another; but in respect of qualities,
of power, and size, they are substantially unlike. There are the monads
of people; there are human monads, animal monads, vegetable monads; in
short, the world is full of monads--they compose the world----"

"Heart's dearest!" interrupted the old lady, in a tone of displeasure,
"I don't understand one word of all this! What stuff it is! What are
monads?--fill the world, do they?--I see no monads!"

"But you see me, dear lady," said Jacobi, "and yourself. You are
yourself a monad."

"I a monad!" exclaimed she, in disgust.

"Yes, certainly," replied he, "your Honour, just the same as any other
living creature----"

"But," interrupted she, "I must tell you, dear friend, that I am neither
a monad nor a creature, but a human being--a sinful human being it is
true--but one that God, in any case, created in his own image."

"Yes, certainly, certainly," acceded the Candidate. "I acknowledge a
principal monad, from which all other monads emanate----"

"What!" exclaimed she, "is our Lord God to be a monad also?"

"He may be so designated," said the Candidate, "on account of oneness,
and also to preserve uniformity as to name. For the rest, I believe that
the monads, from the beginning, are gifted with a self-sustaining
strength, through which they are generated into the corporeal world;
that is to say, take a bodily shape, live, act, nay even strive--that is
to say, would remove themselves from one body into another without the
immediate influence of the Principal Monad. The monads are in perpetual
motion--perpetual change, and always place and arrange themselves
according to their power and will. If, now, we regard the world from
this point of view, it presents itself to us in the clearest and most
excellent manner. In all spheres of life we see how the principal monad
assembles all the subject monads around itself as organs and members.
Thus are nations and states, arts and sciences, fashioned; thus every
man creates his own world, and governs it according to his ability; for
there is no such thing as free-will, as people commonly imagine, but the
monad in man directs what he shall become, and what in regard to----"

"That I don't believe," interrupted Mrs. Gunilla; "since, if my soul, or
monad, as you would call it, had guided me according to its pleasure, it
would have led me to do many wicked things; and if our Lord God had not
chastised me, and in his mercy directed me to something that was
good--be so good as to let alone my cotton-balls--it would have gone mad
enough with my nomadic soul--that I can tell you."

"But, your Honour," said Jacobi, "I don't deny at all the influence of a
principal monad; on the contrary, I acknowledge that; and it is
precisely this influence upon your monad which----"

"And I assert," exclaimed she, warming, and again interrupting him,
"that we should do nothing that was right if you could establish your
nomadic government, instead of the government of our Lord God. What good
could I get from your nomads?"

"Monads," said the Candidate, correcting her.

"And supposing your monads," continued Mrs. Gunilla, "do keep in such
perpetual movement, and do arrange themselves so properly, what good
will that do me in moments of temptation and need? It is far wiser and
better that I say and believe that our Lord God will guide us according
to his wisdom and good, than if I should believe that a heap of your
nomads----"

"Monads, monads!" exclaimed the Candidate.

"Monads or nomads," answered angrily Mrs. Gunilla, "it is all one--be so
good as to let my cotton alone, I want it myself--your nomads may be as
magnificent and as mighty as they please, and they may govern
themselves, and may live and strive according to their own wisdom; yet I
cannot see how the world, for all that, can be in the least the more
regular, or even one little grain the more pleasant, to look at. And why
are things so bad here? Why, precisely for this very reason, because you
good people fancy yourselves such powerful monads, and think so much of
your own strength, without being willing to know that you are altogether
poor sinners, who ought to beseech our Lord God to govern their poor
nomadic souls, in order that they might become a little better. It is
precisely such nomadic notions as these that we have to thank for all
kind of rapscallion pranks, for all uproars and broken windows. If you
had only less of nomads, and more of sensible men in you, one should
live in better peace on the earth."

The Candidate was quite confounded; he had never been used to argument
like this, and stared at Mrs. Gunilla with open mouth; whilst little
Pyrrhus, excited by the warmth of his mistress, leapt upon the table,
and barking shrilly seemed disposed to spring at the Candidate's nose.
All this appeared so comic, that Elise could no longer keep back the
merriment which she had felt during the former part of the dispute, and
Jacobi himself accompanied her hearty laugh. Mrs. Gunilla, however,
looked very bitter; and the Candidate, nothing daunted, began again.

"But, in the name of all the world," said he, "your Honour will not
understand me: we speak only of a mode of observing the world--a mode by
which its phenomena can be clearly expounded. Monadology, rightly
understood, does not oppose the ideas of the Christian religion, as I
will demonstrate immediately. Objective revelation proves to us exactly
that the subject-objective and object-subjective, which----"

"Ah!" said Mrs. Gunilla, throwing herself back, "talk what nonsense you
will for me, I know what I know. Nomads may be just what they please for
me: but I call a man, a man; I call a cat, a cat, and a flower, a
flower; and our Lord God remains to me our Lord God, and no nomad!"

"Monad, monad!" cried the Candidate, in a sort of half-comic despair;
"and as for that word, philosophy has as good a right as any other
science to make use of certain words to express certain ideas."

During the last several minutes suspicious movements had been heard at
the parlour door, the cause of which now became evident; the children
had stolen in behind the Candidate, and now cast beseeching glances
towards their mother that she should let all go on unobserved. Petrea
and Eva stole in first, carrying between them a heavy pincushion,
weighted with lead, five pounds in weight at least. The Candidate was
standing; and at the very moment when he was doing his best to defend
the rights of philosophy, the leaden cushion was dropped down into his
coat-pocket. A motion backwards was perceptible through his whole body,
and his coat was tightly pulled down behind. A powerful twitching showed
itself at the corners of his mouth, and a certain stammering might be
noticed in his speech, although he stood perfectly still, and appeared
to observe nothing; while the little rascals, who had expected a
terrible explosion from their well-laid train, stole off to a distance;
but oh, wonder! the Candidate stood stock-still, and seemed not at all
aware that anything was going on in his coat-laps.

All this while, however, there was in him such a powerful inclination to
laugh that he hastened to relate an anecdote which should give him the
opportunity of doing so. And whether it was the nomads of Mrs. Gunilla
which diverted him from his system, or the visit of the little herd of
nomads to his pockets, true it is there was an end of his philosophy for
that evening. Beyond this, he appeared now to wish by cheerful discourse
to entertain Mrs. Gunilla, in which he perfectly succeeded; and so mild
and indulgent was he towards her, that Elise began to question with
herself whether Mrs. Gunilla's mode of argument were not the best and
the most successful.

The children stood not far off, and observed all the actions of Jacobi.
"If he goes out, he will feel the cushion," said they. "He will fetch a
book! Now he comes--ah!"

The Candidate really went out for a book from his room, but he stepped
with the most stoical repose, though with a miserably backward-pulled
coat, through the astonished troop of children, and left the room.

When he returned, the coat sate quite correctly; the cushion evidently
was not there. The astonishment of the children rose to the highest
pitch, and there was no end to their conjectures. The Queen-bee imagined
that there must be a hole in his pocket, through which the pincushion
had fallen on the stairs. Petrea, in whose suggestion the joke
originated, was quite dismayed about the fate of the cushion.

Never once did it enter into the innocent heads of the children that the
Candidate had done all this in order to turn their intended surprise on
him into a surprise on themselves.

"How came you to be acquainted with Mrs. Gunilla W.?" asked Elise from
Jacobi when the lady was gone.

"When I was studying in----," replied he, "I routed a small room on the
ground-floor of the same house where she lived. As I at that time was in
very narrow circumstances, I had my dinner from an eating-house near,
where all was supplied at the lowest price; but it often was so
intolerably bad, that I was obliged to send it back untasted, and
endeavour, by a walk in the fresh air instead, to appease my hunger. I
had lived thus for some time, and was, as may be imagined, become meagre
enough, when Mrs. W., with whom I was not personally acquainted,
proposed to me, through her housekeeper, that she should provide me with
a dinner at the same low charge as the eating-house. I was astonished,
but extremely delighted, and thankfully accepted the proposal. I soon
discovered, however, that she wished in this way to become my benefactor
without its appearing so, and without my thanks being necessary. From
this day I lived in actual plenty. But her goodness did not end here.
During a severely cold winter, in which I went out in a very thin
great-coat, I received quite unexpectedly one trimmed with fur. From
whom it came I could not for some time discover, till chance gave me a
clue which led me to the Chamberlain's lady. But could I thank her for
it? No; she became regularly angry and scolded me if I spoke of the
gratitude which I felt and always shall feel for her kindness."

Tears filled the eyes of Jacobi as he told this, and both Elise's eyes
and those of her husband beamed with delight at this relation.

"It is," said Judge Prank, "a proof how much goodness there is in the
world, although at a superficial glance one is so disposed to doubt it.
That which is bad usually noises itself abroad, is echoed back from
side to side, and newspapers and social circles find so much to say
about it; whilst that which is good likes best to go--like
sunshine--quietly through the world."

CHAPTER V.

DISAGREEABLE NEWS.

The "skirmish"--as Mrs. Gunilla called the little strift she had with
the Candidate, about monads and nomads--appeared to have displeased
neither of them, but rather, on the contrary, to have excited in them a
desire for others of the same kind; and as Elise, who had no great
inclination to spend her evenings alone with him, used frequently to
invite Mrs. Gunilla to drink tea with them, it was not long before she
and the Candidate were again in full disputation together. If the
Assessor happened also to come in, there was a terrible noise. The
Candidate screamed, and leapt about almost beside himself, but was
fairly out-talked, because his voice was weak, and because Mrs. Gunilla
and the Assessor, who between them two selves never were agreed, leagued
themselves nevertheless against him. Jacobi, notwithstanding this, had
often the right side of an argument, and bore his overthrow with the
best temper in the world. Perhaps he might have lost his courage,
however, as well as his voice in this unequal contest--he himself
declared he should--had he not suddenly abandoned the field. He vanished
almost entirely from the little evening circle.

"What has become of our Candidate?" sometimes asked Mrs. Gunilla. "I
shall be much surprised if his monad or nomad has not carried him off to
the land of the nomads! He, he, he, he!"

Judge Frank and wife also began to question with some anxiety, "What has
become of our Candidate?"

Our Candidate belonged to that class of persons who easily win many
friends. His cheerful easy temper, his talents, and good social
qualifications, made him much beloved and sought after, especially in
smaller circles. It was here, therefore, as it had been in the
University--he was drawn into a jovial little company of good fellows,
where, in a variety of ways, they could amuse themselves, and where the
cheerful spirit and talents of Jacobi were highly prized. He allowed
himself, partly out of good-nature and partly out of his own folly, to
be led on by them, and to take part in a variety of pranks, which,
through the influence of some members of the Club, went on from little
to more, and our Candidate found himself, before he was aware of what he
was about, drawn into a regular carouse--all which operated most
disadvantageously upon his affairs--kept him out late at night, and only
permitted him to rise late in the morning, and then with headache and
disinclination to business.

There was, of course, no lack of good friends to bring these tidings to
Judge Frank. He was angry, and Elise was seriously distressed, for she
had begun to like Jacobi, and had hoped for so much from his connexion
with the children.

"It won't do, it won't do," grumbled Judge Frank. "There shall very soon
be an end to this! A pretty story indeed! I shall tell him--I, if
he----But, my sweet friend, you yourself are to blame in this affair;
you should concern yourself a little about him; you are so _fiere_ and
distant to him; and what amusement do you provide for him here of an
evening? The little quarrels between Mrs. Gunilla and Munter cannot be
particularly amusing to him, especially when he is always out-talked by
them. It would be a thousand times better for the young man if you would
allow him to read aloud to you; yes, if it were romances, or whatever in
the world you would. You should stimulate his talent for music; it would
give yourself pleasure, and between whiles you could talk a little sound
reason with him, instead of disputing about things which neither he nor
you understand! If you had only begun in that way at first, he would
perhaps never have been such a swashbuckler as he is, and now to get
order and good manners back into the house one must have scenes. I'll
not allow such goings on!--he shall hear about it to-morrow morning!
I'll give that pretty youth something which he shall remember!"

"Ah!" said Elise, "don't be too severe, Ernst! Jacobi is good; and if
you talk seriously yet kindly to him, I am persuaded it will have the
best effect."

Judge Frank made no reply, but walked up and down the room in very ill
humour.

"Would you like to hear some news of your neighbour the
pasquinade-writer?" asked Assessor Munter, who just then entered with a
dark countenance. "He is sick, sick to death of a galloping
consumption--he will not write any more pasquinades."

"Who looks after his little girl?" asked Elise; "I see her sometimes
running about the street like a wild cat."

"Yes, there's a pretty prospect for her," snorted out the Assessor.
"There is a person in the house--a person they call her, she ought to be
called reptile, or rather devil--who is said to look after the
housekeeping, but robs him, and ruins that child. Would you believe it?
she and two tall churls of sons that she has about her amuse themselves
with terrifying that little girl by dressing themselves up whimsically,
and acting the goblins in the twilight. It is more than a miracle if
they do not drive her mad!"

"Poor wretch!" exclaimed Judge Frank, in rage and abhorrence. "Good
heavens! how much destruction of character there is, how much crime,
which the arm of the law cannot reach! And that child's father, can he
bear that it is so treated?"

"He is wholly governed by that creature--that woman," said Munter;
"besides, sick in bed as he now is, he knows but little of what goes on
in the house."

"And if he die," asked the Judge, "is there nobody who will look after
that girl? Has he a relation or friend?"

"Nobody in this world," returned Jeremias. "I have inquired
particularly. The bird in the wood is not more defenceless than that
child. Poverty there will be in the house; and what little there is,
that monster of a housekeeper will soon run through."

"What can one do?" asked the Judge, in real anxiety. "Do you know
anything, Munter, that one could do?"

"Nothing as yet," returned he; "at present things must take their own
course. I counsel nobody to interfere; for he is possessed of the woman,
and she is possessed of the devil: and as for the girl, he will have her
constantly with him, and lets her give way to all her petulances. But
this cannot long endure. In a month, perhaps, he will be dead; and he
who sees the falling sparrow will, without doubt, take care of the poor
child. At present nobody can save her from the hands of these harpies.
Now, good night! But I could not help coming to tell you this little
history, because it lay burning at my heart; and people have the very
polite custom of throwing their burdens upon others, in order to lighten
themselves. Adieu!"

The Judge was very much disturbed this evening. "What he had just heard
weighed heavily on his heart.

"It is singular," said he, "how often Mr. N.'s course and mine have
clashed. He has really talent, but bad moral character; on that account
I have opposed his endeavours to get into office, and thus operated
against his success. It was natural that he should become my enemy, and
I never troubled myself about it! but now I wish--the unhappy man, how
miserably he lies there! and that poor, poor child! Stroem," said he,
calling to his servant, "is the Candidate at home? No? and it is nearly
eleven! The thousand! To-morrow he shall find out where he is at home!"

CHAPTER VI.

HERO-DEEDS.

On the following morning, as Judge Frank drew aside his window-curtains,
the sun--the sun, so powerful in its beams and its silence--shone into
his chamber, lighting it with its glorious splendour. Those sunbeams
went directly to his heart.

"Dear Elise," said he, when his wife was awake, "I have a great deal to
do to-day. Perhaps it would be better if you would speak with Jacobi,
and give him his lecture. Ladies, in such circumstances, have more
influence on men than we men can have. Besides this, what can be bent
must not be broken. I--in short, I fancy you will manage the affair
best. It is so beautiful to-day! Could you not take the children a long
walk? It would do both them and you good, and upon the way you would
have an excellent opportunity for an explanation. Should this be of no
avail, then I will--but I would gladly avoid being angry with him; one
has things enough to vex one without that."

The Judge was not the only person in the house whom the sun inspired
with thoughts of rambling. The Candidate had promised the children on
some "very fine day" to take them to a wood, where there were plenty of
hazel-bushes, and where they would gather a rich harvest of nuts.
Children have an incomparable memory for all such promises; and the
little Franks thought that no day could by any possibility be more
beautiful or more suitable for a great expedition than the present, and
therefore, as soon as they discovered that the Candidate and their
parents thought the same, their joy rose actually as high as the roof.
Brigitta had not hands enough for Petrea and Eva, so did they skip about
when she wished to dress them.

Immediately after noon the procession set forth; Henrik and the
Queen-bee marched first, next came Eva and Leonore, between whom was
Petrea, each one carrying a little basket containing a piece of cake, as
provision for their journey. Behind the column of children came the
mother, and near her the Candidate, drawing a little wicker-carriage, in
which sate little Gabriele, looking gravely about with her large brown
eyes.

"Little Africa"--so the children called their little dark-eyed neighbour
from the Cape--stood at her door as the little Franks tripped forth from
theirs. Petrea, with an irresistible desire to make her acquaintance,
rushed across the street and offered her the piece of cake which she had
in her basket. The little wild creature snatched the piece of cake with
violence, showed her row of white teeth, and vanished in the doorway,
whilst Elise seized Petrea's hand, in order to keep her restless spirit
in check.

As soon as they had passed the gate of the city the children were
permitted full freedom, and they were not much more composed in their
demeanour than a set of young calves turned out for the first time into
a green meadow. We must even acknowledge that the little Queen-bee fell
into a few excesses, such as jumping over ditches where they were the
broadest, and clapping her hands and shouting to frighten away
phlegmatical crows. It was not long, however, before she gave up these
outbreaks, and turned her mind to a much sedater course; and then,
whenever a stiff-necked millifolium or gaudy hip came in her way, she
carefully broke it off, and preserved it in her apron, for the use of
the family. Henrik ran back every now and then to the wicker-carriage,
in order to kiss "the baby," and give her the very least flowers he
could find. Petrea often stumbled and fell, but always sprang up
quickly, and then unaffrightedly continued her leaping and springing.

The Candidate also, full of joyous animal spirits, began to sing aloud,
in a fine tenor voice, the song, "Seats of the Vikings! Groves old and
hoary," in which the children soon joined their descant, whilst they
marched in time to the song. Elise, who gave herself up to the full
enjoyment of the beautiful day and the universal delight, had neither
inclination nor wish to interrupt this by any disagreeable explanation;
she thought to herself that she would defer it a while.

"Nay, only look, only look, sisters! Henrik, come here!" exclaimed
little Petrea, beckoning with the hand, leaping, and almost out of
herself for delight, whilst she looked through the trellis-work of a
tall handsome gate into pleasure-grounds which were laid out in the
old-fashioned manner, and ornamented with clipped trees. Many little
heads soon looked with great curiosity through the trellis-gate; they
seemed to see Paradise within it; and then up came the Candidate, not
like a threatening cherub with a flaming sword, but a good angel, who
opened the door of this paradise to the enraptured children. This
surprise had been prepared for them by Elise and the Candidate, who had
obtained permission from the Dowager Countess S * * * to take the
children on their way to the nut-wood through her park.

Here the children found endless subject for admiration and inquiry, nor
could either the Candidate or their mother answer all their questions.
Before long the hearts of the children were moved at sight of a little
leaden Cupid, who stood weeping near a dry fountain.

"Why does he cry?" asked they.

"Probably because the water is all gone," answered the Candidate,
smiling.

Presently again they were enchanted by sight of a Chinese temple, which
to their fancy contained all the magnificence in the world--instead of,
as was the case, a quantity of fowls; then they were filled with
astonishment at trees in the form of pyramids--they never had seen
anything so wonderful, so beautiful! But the most wonderful thing was
yet to come.

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