unusual expression.

Eric read on continuously, and when he was giving the close of
Othello's sorrowful confession of guilt, in a voice struggling with
tears, like one resisting the inclination to weep, great tears ran down
over the pale face of Frau Ceres.

The piece was ended.

Frau Ceres rose quickly, and requested the Mother to accompany her to
her chamber.

Fraeulein Perini and the rest of the ladies went away at the same time.
The men were standing up, and only Roland remained sitting, as if
spell-bound to the chair.

Glancing towards the Doctor, the Major said,--

"Isn't this a really wonderful man?"

The Doctor nodded.

The Priest had his hands folded together; Sonnenkamp surveyed his
whittlings, placing them in a little pile together, just as if they had
been gold-shavings, and even bending down to pick up some that had
fallen upon the floor. Now he straightened himself up and asked Eric,--

"What do you think of Desdemona's guilt?"

"Guilt and innocence," replied Eric, "are not positive natural
conceptions; they are the result of the social and moral laws of
humanity. Nature deals only with the free play of forces, and
Shakespeare's plays exhibit to us only this free play of natural
impulses in men and women."

"That's true," interrupted the priest. "In this work there's nothing
said about religion, for religion would necessarily soften, ameliorate,
and rule over the savage natures, conducting themselves just like
natural forces, or rather would bring them into subjection to the
higher revealed laws."

"Fine, very fine," said Sonnenkamp, who was quite pale; "but permit me
to ask the Captain to give me an answer to my question."

"I can answer your first question," Eric rejoined, "only in the words
of our greatest writer on aesthetics: The poet would characterize a
lion, and, in order to do it, he must represent him as tearing in
pieces a lamb. The guilt of the lamb does not come into question at
all. The lion must act in accordance with his nature. But I think that
the deep tragedy of this drama lies hidden."

"And what do you think it is?"

"This maiden, Desdemona, without mother, brother, or sister, grown up
from childhood among men, might love a hero, whose lyric, childlike
nature, craving love and clinging fast to her, would make him crouch
like a tamed lion at her feet. This submissive strength, renouncing no
element of its wild energy, but, as it were, purified and exalted,
opens th