11. XI.
“When he unclosed his eyes, which he did
in the fullest consciousness of his situation, and
consequently in the extremest terror, he was rejoiced
to find himself alone. The grave stone, at
the foot of which he lay, was untenanted. The
abbey was silent, and though he dreaded, at every
step which he took while making his way out, to
hear the dreadful laugh, and to behold the hellish
visage, he yet suffered no farther interruption
while in the abbey. When he had left it, however,
and was about to enter the main street of the village,
he was encountered by a drunken man.
“`Hallo, friend!' exclaimed the bacchanal,
`whither so fast? Stop and hear a song — stop
and be merry.'
“And, in the voice of one satisfied with himself
and all the world, the drinker carolled with
tolerable skill, one of those famous dithyrambics
in which the German muse has frequently excelled.
The eye of the unhappy Carl was turned, half
in hope, and half in despair, upon the man. He
had heard of the soporific effects of wine — of its
ability to drown care, and produce a sweet forgetfulness
of his sorrow, and he felt inclined to the
temptation; but a sudden thought of Matilda shot
through his brain, at that lucky instant, like an
arrow. He knew not the lateness of the hour, and
was ignorant how long he had been from her.
He knew that he had swooned away, and knew
not how long he had remained in his stupor. It
might be near daylight, and what, — if such were
the case, — what must be her fears? Domestic
love came to his succor, and he rejected the overtures
of the bacchanalian, who nevertheless continued
to pursue him. He followed the unhappy
Carl to his very door, now persuading, and now
striving to provoke him by every manner of taunt
and sarcasm, to partake of the intoxicating cup
which he proffered. But the sufferer was firm,
though more than once it came to his thought that
wine was good against sorrow. He was not yet
so deficient, however, in other resources, as to fly
to this doubtful succedaneum.
