mann’s irony, Falk addressed the hostess:—
“In reply to your query, I may say that the greater part of New Year’s wishes are but empty ceremonial, mere compliment, from which no result is either intended or expected. I might also have added, that I attribute a magical power only to those wishes offered at the hour of midnight, which will considerably diminish the number of those unfulfilled; but I’ll do my best, and take Herrmann’s side of the question, allowing that it was only by way of prelude, and therefore (our worthy host permitting), declare beforehand my hope and belief, that the sincere good wishes we shall presently mutually interchange, will be so many expressed predictions of what may befall us in the ensuing year.”
“You cannot be serious,” said the hostess; “I think you are inclined to retract your opinion. You either do not think your audience worthy to participate in your view of the subject, or you are half ashamed of your own opinions; now make your choice. Which suspicion would you rather incur?”
“Unquestionably the latter,” he replied; “you are not far from guessing the truth. The hour which precedes the entrance of the New Year, is certainly not the moment to place a New Year’s wish in an equivocal light; for the rest, my remark was merely the effect of chance, engendered by the run, or rather spring of conversation.”
“That,” said the hostess, “leads us easier to conceive how presentiments, as you lately expressed yourself, arise between the bier and the cradle of the two years, appearing not in the form of wishes only, but by way of remark, opinion, or some similar casualty. See how attentively yon affianced pair are listening to us, they are living in the very spring-time of happiness. Ask the professor, dear Elisa, to explain this magic to us; he cannot refuse the request of so lovely a betrothed.”
Elisa seconded the proposal of the hostess, and Falk, importuned on all sides, at length began:—
“My error has induced you to raise your expectations too high, and they will consequently remain unsatisfied. During our conversation, I bethought me of the old belief in the import of words and signs, involuntarily made or uttered, at certain periods. The Ancients, it is known, placed implicit faith in this belief; traces of which remain among us at the present day. The Glückauf, or ‘Good-be-with-you’ of the mountaineers, thence draws its origin, as also many other village customs, particularly those in mountainous districts, where the peasantry scrupulously avoid making use of expressions implying misfortune; still more do they shun words of doubtful, or double import, which, however innocently spoken, may be misapplied by evil spirits in the opposite sense, and lead to a miserable fulfilment. And such, methought, may be the fate of many an aspiration; like the prophecies in Macbeth, realized to the letter, only to destroy.”
“Are you really in earnest?” exclaimed several voices at once, whose eyes, with incredulous looks, were turned upon the professor.
“It is certain,” said Anselm, “that many singular instances of this kind have occurred.”
Falk, halting between jest and earnest, remained silent; the rest patiently waited for him to continue.
At length, Herrmann said with a smile—“Suppose we take up the catalogue of legendary lore. I believe there exists no popular belief without its explanatory example. Quick, therefore, give us proof of the magic power of words.”
“An interesting little tale of that description might easily be found,” said Anselm; “with your permission, I will experimentalize on the professor’s lecture; requesting you to observe that I offer you only a simple illustration, and not a brilliant chef-d’œuvre; in fact, I only relate what I have myself seen and heard. In Carlsbad, several years ago, I formed the acquaintance of the Countess Amalia Von Kulm. She had recently become a widow, and with her daughter, a child of five years, visited the baths for the sole purpose of accompanying an aged valetudinarian uncle, for she was herself in the fairest bloom
K—VOL. XIV.—FEBRUARY, 1839.
