eauty it
was--seemed filled with naught but creeping worms and loathsome
corruption. Oh, it is terrible! I fancied there was one free being to
whom I could tell all, and from whom I could ask everything in return;
but you are not the man. Ah! there are no real men in this world. The
best are nothing more than title-bearing creatures!"

"You shall not have goaded me in vain!" muttered Gunther half aloud,
and rising from his seat.

"I didn't mean to offend you!" cried the queen. "Ah, thus it is; in
pain and sorrow, we wound those who are nearest to us!"

"Calm yourself, Your Majesty," replied Gunther, seating himself. "If
there is anything for which I may claim credit, it is that I do not
indulge my sensitiveness. I am severe toward others, because I am
severe toward myself."

The queen closed her eyes, but presently she looked at him intently and
said:

"I fear nothing more."

Thus encouraged, Gunther went on to say:

"Human fancy cannot realize how much of vice and misery, nor, on the
other hand, how much of beauty, holiness, grandeur and sublimity there
is in life.

"Your Majesty, I am here at the palace, which is a world in miniature,
a world in itself. All that is terrible, and all that is noble, is
attracted hither--and yet, with every returning spring, the flowers
bloom and the trees deck themselves in robes of green, while the stars
shine over all. There is a blooming flower, a shining star even in the
most despicable of beings. A drop descends from the clouds and falls
upon the dusty road. The drop and the dust uniting, become the mire of
the highway; but to the eye that looks deeper, the drop is still pure,
although divided and subdivided until it is almost impalpably minute,
and inseparable from the dust that darkens it. But even this image does
not suffice. No image directed to the senses, can convey an adequate
conception of the Deity. God exists even in the grain of dust. To our
eyes, it is dust; but to the eye of God, it is as pure as the water and
is equally the abode of infinity. The very people whom you regard as so
false would like to be good, if it did not entail so much trouble and
involve so many sacrifices. Most men would like to win virtue, but do
not care to earn it. They all desire to draw the great prize in the
lottery of morality. 'Oh, if I were only good!' said a lost creature to
me, one day. Your Majesty, truth tells us that hatred and contempt are
not good for they injure the soul