n of
Street-Advertisements); with only some touch of direct historical
notice sparingly interspersed: little light-islets in the world of
haze! So that, from this point, the Professor is more of an enigma
than ever. In figurative language, we might say he becomes, not indeed
a spirit, yet spiritualised, vaporised Fact unparalleled in Biography:
The river of his History, which we have traced from its tiniest
fountains, and hoped to see flow onward, with increasing current, into
the ocean, here dashes itself over that terrific Lover's Leap; and, as
a mad-foaming cataract, flies wholly into tumultuous clouds of spray!
Low down it indeed collects again into pools and plashes; yet only at
a great distance, and with difficulty, if at all, into a general
stream. To cast a glance into certain of those pools and plashes, and
trace whither they run, must, for a chapter or two, form the limit of
our endeavour.

For which end doubtless those direct historical Notices, where they
can be met with, are the best. Nevertheless, of this sort too there
occurs much, which, with our present light, it were questionable to
emit. Teufelsdroeckh, vibrating everywhere between the highest and the
lowest levels, comes into contact with public History itself. For
example, those conversations and relations with illustrious Persons,
as Sultan Mahmoud, the Emperor Napoleon, and others, are they not as
yet rather of a diplomatic character than of a biographic? The Editor,
appreciating the sacredness of crowned heads, nay perhaps suspecting
the possible trickeries of a Clothes-Philosopher, will eschew this
province for the present; a new time may bring new insight and a
different duty.

If we ask now, not indeed with what ulterior Purpose, for there was none,
yet with what immediate outlooks; at all events, in what mood of mind,
the Professor undertook and prosecuted this world-pilgrimage,--the
answer is more distinct than favourable. 'A nameless Unrest,' says he,
'urged me forward; to which the outward motion was some momentary
lying solace. Whither should I go? My Loadstars were blotted out; in
that canopy of grim fire shone no star. Yet forward must I; the ground
burnt under me; there was no rest for the sole of my foot. I was
alone, alone! Ever too the strong inward longing shaped Fantasms for
itself: towards these, one after the other, must I fruitlessly wander.
A feeling I had, that for my fever-thirst there was and must be
somewhere a healing