ness of their delusion is nothing but the sick
doubting of Humanity immeshed and enslaved in the Earthly. And in the
preface which I am speaking of, the writer touches upon the second part
of the 'Kreuz an der Ostsee,' admitting this."

"Please don't make such horrible faces, Lothair! Sit still on your
chair, Ottmar; don't drum the Russian Grenadiers' March on the elbow of
your seat, Vincenz. I really think that the author of the 'Soehne des
Thales' deserves to be discussed rationally and quietly by us, and I
must confess that my heart is very full of this subject, and I cannot
help letting the froth which is seething there boil thoroughly over."

"Ha!" cried Vincenz, very loudly and pathetically, "how the froth
seethes!--now that is a quotation from the 'Kreuz an der Ostsee,' where
the heathen priests sing it in fearful and horrible strains. My dear
Serapion-Brother Theodore, you may rage, revile, curse and blaspheme
as much as you please, but I must just introduce into this many-sided
discussion one little anecdote, which will throw, at all events,
a momentary glimpse of sunshine over all those corpse-watchers'
countenances. The author of whom we are speaking had got together a few
friends that he might read to them the 'Kreuz an der Ostsee' from the
manuscript. They had heard some passages from it before, which had
raised their expectations to the highest pitch. The author had, as
usual, seated himself in the centre of the circle, at a small table
where two candles were burning in tall candlesticks. He had taken his
manuscript out of his breast-pocket, and laid down before him his big
snuff-box, and his blue-and-white checked pocket-handkerchief. Profound
silence reigned. Not a breath was audible. The author, making one of
his extraordinary faces, which defy all description, began as
follows:--

"'Bankputtis!--Bankputtis!--Bankputtis!'

"Of course you remember that, in the opening scene, at the rising of
the curtain, the Prussians are discovered, assembled by the seashore,
collecting amber; and they invoke the deities who preside over this.
Very well. The author, as I have said, began with the words--

"'Bankputtis! Bankputtis!"

"Then there was a short pause; after which there came forth out of a
corner the soft voice of a member of the audience, saying: 'My dearest
and most beloved friend! Most glorious of all authors; if you have
written the whole of this most admirable poem of yours in that infernal
langua