thou consent to go, Antonia ?" he asked, turning to his sister, who all the while had sat by in silence. A warm flush overspread the cheek of the young girl; to flee as if she were a Christian, she did not like for as yet she knew nothing of the sect beyond its association with the vulgar plebeians. "It is not as a Christian I would fly," said Antonius, who understood her feeling. "Julia must go; I am her only protector now, and Rome is such a scene of riot, debauchery, and murder, that I would not take thee thither, or go myself again, until something more human wears the imperial purple. Yes, let us all seek together those quiet shades, where fire and sword shall not penetrate. There shall our nuptials be, my Julia.” "And there," exclaimed Julia, with sudden enthusiasm, throwing one arm round Antonius, and the other round his sister," there we will examine together the new religion, and compare it with the old philosophies; and with the aid of the sacred scrolls which mine own hand has copied, we will seek and find the truth after which Socrates and Plato, and all our wise men have groped so long." Within a few hours the little party had gathered together what silver and gold and valuable things could be carried with them, had bidden farewell with aching hearts to the beautiful villa, the scene of so much happiness to them all, and were leagues on their way towards their place of refuge. Julia's hopes were realized; Antonius became a Christian. The overwhelming arguments of the Apostle of the Gentiles, who had perished a martyr to his faith in the same barbarous persecution from which Julia had fled, and whose letter to the Roman believers had been the companion of her flight, could not be resisted by a mind so clear, and so open to conviction as his. He turned from the dialogues of Plato, to find infinitely more than the "Phado" could teach, in the pure and powerful reasonings of Paul. Peace long brooded over the home of the exiles, and before the second persecution of the Christians burst forth under the cruel Diocletian, God, in his mercy, had gathered them all to that home from which they should no more go out for ever. THE BROKEN PITCHER. TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF ZSCHOKKE. I. LA NAPOULE is indeed only a little place on the gulf of Cannes, yet everybody in all Provence knows it. It lies in evergreen shades, high palms, and dark orange trees. That alone would not make it famous. But they say that there grow the richest grape-clusters, the sweetest roses, and the loveliest maidens. I don't know-nevertheless, believe it. It is a pity that La Napoule is so little, and it is impossible to produce enough rich clusters, sweet roses, and beautiful girls; otherwise we should have some from thence into our own country. If, since the building of La Napoule all its women have been beauties, without doubt the little Mariette must have been a wonder of wonders, because the Chronicle speaks of her. They called her indeed, only the little Mariette; yet she|| was not smaller than a child of seventeen years and over would wish to be, whose forehead reached to the lips of a full-grown man. The Chronicle of La Napoule had good reason to speak of Mariette. I, in the place of the Chronicle, would have done so too. For Mariette, who had hitherto lived with her mother Manon at Avignon, when she came back into her birthplace, turned it almost round;-in reality, not the houses, but the people and their heads, and if not the heads of all the people, particularly of such whose heads and hearts are always in great danger in the vicinity of two soul-speaking eyes. In such a case it is no joke. Mother Manon would have done better, had she remained in Avignon. But she had a little property in La Napoule; she had an estate with a vineyard and a neat little house in the shadow of a rock between olive trees and African acacias; so she was no poor widow. In her habitation she was as rich and happy, as if she had been Countess of Provence, or the like. So much the worse for the good people of La Napoule. They had never seen such a mischief, nor read in Homer how a pretty woman brought all Greece and Asia Minor into armour and discord. Scarcely had Mariette dwelt fourteen days in the cottage between the olive trees and African acacias, before each La Napoulen knew that Mariette lived there, and that in all Provence there lived no fairer maiden than in that house. When she went through the town, tripping lightly, like a disguised angel, in her fluttering petticoat, pale green bodice, an orange-flower or a rose-bud in her bosom, and flowers and ribbons waving in the gray hat that shaded her beautiful face, the grave old people became talkative, and the young men dumb, and, right and left, a little window-a door-opened in succession. "Good morning;" or "Good evening, Mariette," they said. And she nodded, laughing, right and left. When Mariette came into the church, all hearts (namely, those of the young men!) left heaven, all eyes the saints, and the devout finger got confused in the pearls of the rosary. That actually must have caused great vexation, especially to the pious. At this time, no doubt all the young maidens of La Napoule became singularly devout, for it vexed them the most; and they could hardly be blamed for it. Since Mariette's arrival more than one bridegroom had become cool, and more than one suitor forsaken his beloved. There was a great deal of quarrelling and scolding, and many tears, good lectures, and refusals. They spoke no more of weddings, only of separations. They gave back love-pledges, rings, and ribbons. The old folks mixed in the quarrels of their children. Discord and strife ran from house to house. It was a pity! "It is all Mariette's fault," said the pious maidens; so said their mothers, so said their fathers; and at last all, even the young men. But Mariette, veiled in her modesty and innocence, like the bursting crimson of a rose-bud in the dark green of its calyx, did not guess all this great misery, and remained friendly towards all. That quieted first the young men, and they said, "Why should you trouble the sweet, harmless child? She is without blame!" Then the mothers said so, then the fathers, and at last all, even the pious maidens. For whoever spoke with Mari-· ette, could not help but love her. And before six months had passed, everybody had talked with her, and everybody loved her. But she did not know that she was so beloved; and before, she did not know that they hated her. Does the dim violet, often trodden in the grass, know how dear it is? Now each one wished to atone for his injustice toward Mariette Pity heightened the tenderness of their good will. And Mariette found herself greeted more kindly, she laughed more cheerfully, she joined more heartily in the country songs and dances. II. But all men have not the sweet gift of sympathy; some are stony-hearted like Pharaoh. This, doubtless, arises from the natural depravity of man since the fall; or, perhaps, because the baptism of these bad ones was not rightly administered. A memorable example of such hardness was given by young Colin, the richest farmer and householder in La Napoule, through whose vine and olive gardens, citron and orange groves, one could scarcely run in a day. One thing proved the natural corruption of his heart; that he was nearly twentyseven years old, and had never asked why a maiden was made? But all the people, especially womankind of a certain age, in which they easily forgive sin, considered Colin the best youth under the sun. His face, his gay, easy manners, his glance, his laugh, had the luck, people said, to please; so that if it had only been necessary to cry to heaven for his sins, he would have obtained absolution. But the opinion of such judges it is not well to trust. Thus while old and young at Napoule had become reconciled to the innocent Mariette; and treated her kindly, Colin was the only one who remained without compassion for the dear child. If the conversation turned on Mariette, he was dumb as a fish. If he met her in the street, he was red and white with anger, and shot a consuming glance after her. When, in the evening, the young people gathered on the sea-coast by the old ruined castle, for cheerful games, or the country dance, or to begin an alternating song, Colin was not wanting. But after Mariette came, the spiteful Colin was quiet, and would not sing any more for all the gold in the world. Pity for his charming voice! everybody liked to hear him, and he was unsurpassable in songs. All the maidens liked to see the bad Colin, and he was friendly with all. He had, they said, a roguish look, which the girls feared and loved; and when he laughed, one should have had him painted! But naturally, the often offended Mariette did not see this at all. And there she had a perfect right. Whether he laughed or not, it was the same to her. Of his roguish look she didn't like to hear, and there again she had a right. When he related stories, and he knew many, and all listened, she teased her neighbours, and threw, first at Peter and then at Paul, plucked leaves, and laughed and chattered, and would not hear Colin. That vexed his proud heart: he often broke off the story, and went away gloomy. Revenge is sweet. The daughter of Frau Manon might well have triumphed but Mariette was too good a child and her heart was too tender. When he was silent it made her sorry. If he was sad, she could not laugh. If he went away, she did not stay long; and when she got to the house, she wept brighter tears of repentance than Magdalene, and yet had not sinned half so much. III. The Pastor of La Napoule, Father Jerome, a grayheaded man of seventy, had all the virtues of a saint, and only one fault,-that, on account of his age, he was very deaf. But for all that, he preached so much the more instructively to the ears of his baptized children and his penitents, and they heard him gladly. He only preached on two subjects, as if all religion dwelt therein. One was, "Little children, love one another," the other, "Little children, the dispensations of Heaven are wonderful." Yet truly, therein lay so much faith, love, and hope, that one, if necessary, would become truly contented with it. The "little children" loved each other very dutifully, and hoped in the dispensations of Providence. Only Colin, with his hard heart, would know nothing about it. Even when he seemed to be friendly, he had bad intentions. The Napoulens go to the yearly fair in the town of Vence. They have a merry life, and if they get little gold, yet they have many goods. Mariette went also to the fair with Mother Manon; Colin was there also. He bought many nick-nacks and kickshaws for his friends, but for Mariette not a sou's worth. And yet he was everywhere at her heels. But he spoke not to her, nor she to him. One could see he meditated evil. Mother Manon stood before a shop, and said, "Oh Mariette, see this beautiful pitcher! A queen need not be ashamed to put it to her lips. Only see, the rim is of shining gold, and the flowers thereon bloom no brighter in the garden, and yet they are only painted. And in the middle is Paradise! Only look, Mariette, how the apples laugh from the trees! one really longs for them. And Adam cannot resist, as the sly Eve offers him one to his cost. And see how charmingly the lamb frolics with the proud tiger, and the snow-white dove with gold-green neck stands before the vulture as if he would caress him." Mariette could not see it enough. "Had I such a pitcher, mother," said she, "it would be much too beautiful to drink out of; I would put my flowers in it, and always look into Paradise. We are in the market of Vence, but when I see the picture, it is to me as though we were in Paradise." So said Mariette, and called all her friends to gaze at the pitcher, and soon by the friends female, stood the friends male, and at last, almost half the population of La Napoule, before the won derful pitcher. And truly beautiful it was, the costly, transparent porcelain, with golden handle and glowing colours. Timidly they asked the shopman, "Sir, how much is it?" And he answered, "It is worth a hundred livres among brothers." Then they were all silent and walked off. When no more from La Napoule stood at the shop, Colin came secretly, put down a hundred livres on the counter for the shopman, put the pitcher in a box full of cotton, and carried it off. Nobody knew his wicked plan. Near La Napoule, on his homeward way, as it grew dusk, he met the old Jacques, the judge's servant, as he came from the fields. Jacques was a good old man, but rather simple. "I will give thee some drink-money, Jacques," said Colin, "if thou wilt carry this box to Manon's house and leave it there. And if any one should notice thee, and ask, "From whom comes this box?" say, "A stranger gave it to me." But do not mention my name, or I shall be for ever angry with thee." Jacques promised, took the drink-money and the box, and went toward the cottage amid the olive trees and African acacias. "Because Mr. Colin would be for ever angry with me." "It is well that thou canst keep a secret. But it is very late. Give me the box; in the morning I shall go to Frau Manon. I will carry the box and not tell that it comes from Colin. It will save thee a walk, and give me good employment." Jacques gave the box to his master, for he was accustomed to obey him in all things without gainsaying. The Judge carried it into his chamber and looked at by the light with great curiosity. Upon the cover was written neatly in red chalk: "To the lovely and beloved Mariette." Herr Hautmartin knew very well that this was only some jest of Colin's, and that a bad trick lurked behind it. So he opened the box carefully: a rat or a mouse might be concealed therein! But when he beheld the wonderful pitcher that he had himself seen at Vence, he was frightened! For Herr Hautmartin was a man well skilled in justice, as well as in injustice, and knew that the thoughts and deeds of men's hearts are evil from their youth up. He saw immediately that Colin wished to bring Mariette into trouble with this pitcher; that when it was in her hands, he would give out that it was a present from some lover in the city, and that all good people must avoid Mariette. Thereupon Herr Hautmartin, the judge, decided that he would put down this suspicion, by confessing that he was the giver thereof himself. Besides, he loved Mariette, and would gladly have witnessed that she had more closely observed towards him the command of the gray Father Jerome, "Little children, love one another." Herr Hautmartin was, it is true, a little child of fifty years, and Mariette thought that the advice was past application to him. On the contrary, Mother Manon found the Judge to be an understanding little child, who had money and reputation in Napoule from one end of the town to the other. And when 1 www the Judge spoke of matrimony, and Mariette ran away in fear, Mother Manon remained sitting, and feared not, before the tall, honoured man. And one must grant, that in his whole body there was no fault. Although Colin would fain have been the handsomest man in the town, the Herr Judge had the advantage over him in two things, namely, his great years, and a great, great nose! Yes, this nose, that went before the Judge like a yeoman of the guard, to announce his approach, was truly an elephant among human noses. With this elephant, his good intentions, and the pitcher, the Judge went the following morning to the house amid the olive trees and African acacias. "For the beautiful Mariette," said he, "nothing is too costly to me. Yesterday you admired the pitcher at Vence. Permit me, sweet Mariette, to lay that, and my loving heart at your feet." Manon and Mariette were enraptured and astonished when they saw the pitcher. Manon's eyes sparkled, but Mariette was beside herself, and said, "I wish to take neither your pitcher, nor your heart." Then Mother Manon got angry, and said, "But I take pitcher and heart too. Oh, thou fool, how long wilt thou scorn thy good luck? For whom waitest thou? Will a Count of Provence make thee his bride, that thou despisest the Judge of La Napoule? I know better how to care for thee. Herr Hautmartin, I count on having the honour to call you my son-in-law." Then Mariette went out and wept bitterly, and hated the beautiful pitcher with all her heart. But the Judge struck himself with his flat hand across the nose, and spake wisely: "Mother Manon, do not over-hurry things. The little dove will be entirely submissive when she learns to know me better. I am not impatient. I understand womankind, and before a quarter of a year passes, I will steal into Mariette's heart." "His nose is too big for that!" whispered Mariette, who, behind the door, heard and secretly laughed. In truth, a quarter of a year had passed, and Herr Hautmartin had not with the tip of his nose pierced into her heart. V. But during this quarter of a year, Mariette had | other affairs. The pitcher made her much vexation and trouble, and moreover, something besides. Fourteen days long they talked of nothing but the pitcher in La Napoule. And everybody said, "It is a present from the Judge," and the wedding is already agreed on. But when Mariette solemnly assured her companions that she would sooner her body should lie in an abyss of the sea, than marry the Judge, the maidens went away angry, and teased her, saying, “Ah, how happily she will rest in the shadow of his nose!" This was vexation first! Then Mother Manon went on the cruel principle of forcing Mariette to carry the pitcher to the spring at the rock every morning, to fill it with fresh flowers. She hoped thereby to accustom Mariette to the pitcher and the heart of the giver. But it only led her to hate gift and giver. And the labour at the spring was a real punishment to her. Vexation second! Then when she came in the morning to the spring, twice in the week lay upon a ledge of the rock the most beautiful flowers, beautifully arranged, ready to make the pride of the pitcher. And round the flower-stalks a strip of paper was wrapped, and on it was written: "Dear Mariette!" Now some one, the little maiden knew, must do it for her, since in the world now, there are no magicians or fairies. Consequently the flowers and the sweet speech came from Herr Hautmartin. Mariette would never smell them, merely because the living breath from the Judge's nose had breathed over them. She indeed took the flowers, because they were better then field-flowers, but she tore the paper into a thousand pieces, and strewed them on the place where the flowers were accustomed to lie. But this did not vex the Judge Hautmartin at all, whose love was as great in its place, as his nose in its place. Vexation third! But at last she discovered, in conversation with Herr Hautmartin, that he was not the giver of the flowers. Who could it be now? Mariette was astonished at the unexpected revelation. From that time she took the flowers carefully from the rock, smelt them, but who put them there? Mariette, like all young girls-else they are not worth anything-was very curious. She guessed this and that young man in La Napoule. Yet she did not stop at guessing. She waked and watched late in the night-she rose earlier-but she spied out nothing. And yet twice in the week, in the morning, lay the magic flowers on the rock, and wound round them the strip of paper, ever with the quiet sigh on it, "Dear Mariette !" This would have made the most indifferent curious. But curiosity becomes at last a burning pain. Vexation fourth! VI. Now on a Sunday, Father Jerome had preached again on this subject: "The dispensations of heaven are wonderful." And the little Mariette thought, would that it might ordain that I should discover the invisible flower-bringer! Father Jerome was not wrong. On a summer's night, when it had become very warm, the little Mariette was awake early, and could not go to sleep again. She sprang up lightly from her couch, as the first morningred shone into the window of her little chamber over the waves of the sea, and the shining island. She dressed herself, and went out to wash face, breast, and arms in the cool spring; she took her hat, with a desire to wander an hour by the sea. She knew there a retired place for a bath. But in order to get to the retired place, she must go over the rocks behind the house, and then downward among the pomegranate trees and the palms. This time Mariette did not get by. For under the slimmest and youngest of the palm trees, there lay in sweet sleep a slender young man,-near him a nosegay of most beautiful flowers. Also; there was a white paper there, on which, probably, a sigh was left. How could Mariette go by? She stood fixed, and trembled for fear in all her limbs. She would go back again to the cottage. Scarcely had she gone two steps, when she looked again at the sleeper, and remained stationary. Yet so far off she could not see his face. Now or never she must discover the secret. She tripped lightly nearer the palm tree. But he appeared to move. Then she ran back toward the cottage. Yet his motion was only Mariette's timid fancy. Again she took the path to the palm. But perhaps he feigned sleep. Quickly she hastened toward the house. But who would fly for a mere perhaps? She trod with a bold heart the way to the palm. By these fluctuations of her timid and irresolute soul between fear and curiosity, by these hitherand-thither trippings between the cottage and the palm trees, by degrees her little steps had come nearer to the sleeper, while at once curiosity conquered fear. 66 Why should he affect me? The path carries me by him. Whether he sleeps or wakes, I will certainly go past." So said Manon's daughter. But she did not go by, she remained standing, for now the face of the flower-bestower is sufficiently in sight to be certain of the whole affair. Still he sleeps on; he cannot have had a sound sleep for four weeks. And who was it? Now who else should it be but that arrant villain, Colin? There! it was he who, out of his old enmity to the good maiden, had brought on her so much vexation with the pitcher, and had got her into this vexatious affair with Herr Hautmartin; it was he who came here and teased her with flowers to he came to Manon, and shrieked so loud that it echoed wonderfully through his nose, "How! did you suffer her? Did my bride present the young farmer, Colin, with her hat-ribbon? It is high time that we should celebrate our wedding. When it is past, then I shall have a right to speak." "You have the right," answered Mother Manon. "If affairs stand so, the wedding must be soon." "But, Mother Manon, your daughter refuses her consent." "Only prepare the wedding-feast." "But she will not look favourably on me, and when I seat myself by her, the little wild thing jumps up and runs away." "Herr Judge, only prepare the wedding-feast.” "But if Mariette resists?" We will "We will take her by surprise. go to Father Jerome. On Monday morning, when it is early and quiet, the ceremony shall be performed. We will persuade him to that, provoke her curiosity. Why? He hated Mariette. I am the mother. You, the first magistrate of La In all companies he behaved towards the poor Napoule. He will submit. But Mariette must not child in an unaccountable manner. He avoided know anything about it. On Monday early, I her when he could; when he could not, he dis- will send her to Father Jerome, all alone, on an tressed the innocent little one. Towards all the errand, so that she will suspect nothing. Then maidens of La Napoule he was friendly, talkative, the pastor shall appeal to her heart. Half an hour pleasant, all but Mariette. Only think! he had afterwards, we will come along. Then imme never asked her for a dance, and she danced en-diately to the altar. And even if Mariette says chantingly! Now, there he lay, caught, entrapped. No, what difference will that make? The old Revenge awoke in Mariette's breast. What dis- man cannot hear. But till then, do not let Mariette grace could she do him? She took the bunch of or La Napoule know of it." flowers, untied them, and revengefully scattered his present, in just anger, all over the sleeper. Only the paper on which was the sigh, "Dear Mariette!" she took, held, and then thrust hastily into her bosom. She would keep this proof of his handwriting for a future occasion. Mariette was sly. Now, she must go. But her revenge seems not yet satisfied. She could not go from the place without punishing Colin's wickedness with something similar. She tore from her hat the violetcoloured silk ribbon, and threw it lightly round the sleeper's arm, and round the tree, and tied Colin, with three knots, fast to the palm. When he awoke, how astonished he would be! how his curiosity would be aroused to know who had played him the trick! It would be impossible for him to guess. So much the better. It served him right. Mariette was only too merciful towards him. She seemed to repent her work as soon as she had finished it. Her breast heaved. I really believe that tears came into her eyes as she looked with too much compassion on the transgressor. Slowly she went back from the pomegranate trees over the rocks, often looking round; slowly up the rocks, often looking down at the palm tree. Then she hastened to the calling Mother Manon. VII. So they both rested. Mariette did not dream of the destiny that awaited her. She thought only of Colin's unkindness, who had made her the talk of all the people in the place. Oh, how she repented her thoughtlessness about the hat-ribbon, and yet, in her heart, she forgave the wicked wight his sin. Mariette was much too good. She said to her mother, to all her companions, “Colin has found my lost hat-ribbon. I did not give it to him. He only wants to tease me with it. You know that Colin has always been unkind to me, and has always tried to vex me." Ah! the poor child! she knew not what new villany the malicious man meditated. VIII. Very early, Mariette went to the spring with the pitcher. No flowers as yet lay on the rock. It was too early; the sun had scarcely come out of the sea. Footsteps rustled. Colin made his appearance; flowers in his hand. Mariette blushed. Colin stammered, "Good morning, Mariette." But the greeting came not from his heart, he could scarcely bring it from his lips. "Why dost thou so openly wear my ribbon, Colin?" said Mariette, and set her pitcher on the rock. "I did not give it to thee." "Thou gavest it not to me, dear Mariette?" asked he, and was white from inward rage. Mariette was ashamed of her falsehood, cast But that same day, Colin played a new trick. What did he do? He would openly mortify the poor Mariette. Ah, she had not thought that every-down her eyelids, and said, after a while, "Well, body in La Napoule knew her violet-coloured ribbon! Colin knew that too well. He twisted it proudly round his hat, and wore it before all the world for a show, like a trophy. And everybody said, "He had it from Mariette." And all the maidens said, angrily, "The wretch!" And all the young men who liked to see Mariette said also, "The wretch!" "How, Mother Manon!" shrieked the Judge, as I gave it to thee; but thou shouldst not have worn it as a show. Give it back to me." He slowly unbound it; his vexation was so great that he could not conceal the tears in his eyes, or the sighs in his breast. "Dear Mariette, let me have the ribbon," said he gently. "No!" answered she. Then his anger changed to despair. He glanced to Heaven with a sigh, then sadly at Mariette, who |