with a kind
of embarrassment which was at other times quite foreign to him, and from
which one might infer how unpleasant confessing any imperfection was to
him, "I do not swim."

"That must be learned in summer!" said Wilhelm.

"There is so much to learn," answered Otto; "swimming will certainly be
the last thing." He now suddenly turned toward the fortress, and
stood still. "Only see how melancholy and quiet!" said he, and led the
conversation again to the surrounding scenery. "The sentinel before the
prison paces so quietly up and down, the sun shines upon his bayonet!
How this reminds me of a sweet little poem of Heine's; it is just as
though he described this fortress and this soldier, but in the warmth
of summer: one sees the picture livingly before one, as here; the weapon
glances in the sun, and the part ends so touchingly,--'Ich wollt', er
schoesse mich todt!' It is here so romantically beautiful! on the right
the animated promenade, and the view over the Sund; on the left, the
desolate square, where the military criminals are shot, and close upon
it the prison with its beam-fence. The sun scarcely shines through those
windows. Yet, without doubt, the prisoner can see us walking here upon
the wall."

"And envy our golden freedom!" said Wilhelm.

"Perhaps he derides it," answered Otto. "He is confined to his chamber
and the small courts behind the beam-lattice; we are confined to the
coast; we cannot fly forth with the ships into the mighty, glorious
world. We are also fastened with a chain, only ours is somewhat longer
than that of the prisoner. But we will not think of this; let us go down
to where the beautiful ladies are walking."

"To see and to be seen," cried Wilhelm. "'Spectatum veniunt; veniunt
spectentur ut ipsae,' as Ovid says."

The friends quitted the wall.

"There comes my scholar, little Jonas!" cried Wilhelm. "The boy was
better dressed than at his last appearance; quickly he pulled his little
cap off and stood still: a young girl in a wretched garb held him by the
hand.

"Good day, my clever lad!" said Wilhelm, and his glance rested on the
girl: she was of a singularly elegant form; had she only carried herself
better she would have been a perfect beauty. It was Psyche herself who
stood beside Cupid. She smiled in a friendly manner; the little lad had
certainly told her who the gentlemen were; but she became crimson, and
cast down her eyes when Wilhelm looked back after her: he beckon