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Updated: June 18, 2025
He called her his little jackanapes, and said she was the fortune of his old age. To himself he said that she was a genuine Carovius destined to great deeds. “You don’t have to get married,” he said with the urge of a zealot of old, and rubbed his hands. “Oh, of course, if a Count comes along with a few millions and a castle in the background, why, you might think it over.
He turned the conversation to a discussion of the superiorities of birth, and lauded the distinction of the hereditary classes. He said it was from them only that the people could acquire civic virtue. The brethren scorned his point of view. Herr Carovius came back at them with an annihilating jest.
Andreas Döderlein rose to his full stature, see-sawed a bit on the tips of his toes, and looked down on Herr Carovius as one might look down upon a flea that one had caught and was just in the act of crushing between two finger nails. “Oh, ho,” he said, “how interesting! Upon my word, brother Carovius, you are an interesting individual.
He could not exactly express it in words; he merely felt that it was the unknown realm of tones, the unknown melting of melodies, the ringing order of the music transformed into soul. At the beginning of June, Sylvia went back to Nuremberg with Eberhard and her parents. A few days later the betrothal took place in the baronial residence. Herr Carovius had been paid.
The first sight that caught his eyes was that of the young Baron as he rose to his feet and limped over toward his host to-be. The horror of Herr Carovius at once became real. With the diligence of a seasoned flunkey, he stooped over, picked up the Baron’s hat, dusted it, stammered all sorts of apologies, gazed at high heaven like a martyred saint, and brushed the dirt from Eberhard’s trousers.
“I am not a bit interested in what you have been eating,” said the Baron arrogantly, and kept on reading. Herr Carovius continued with an imbecile sulk: “When you left me recently because of that little quarrel we had about the Goose Man, it never occurred to me that you were going to take the matter so seriously. Lovers like to be teased, I thought.
Bangs had gone out of fashion, so she built her hair up into a tower and looked like a Chinese. She visited Herr Carovius occasionally, and always found him alone, for Dorothea Döderlein had been sent by her father to Munich to perfect herself in her art.
And one day even Herr Carovius came around to inquire how mother and child were doing. Philippina received him; and Philippina was having a hard time of it at present: she was not allowed to enter Gertrude’s room; Gertrude would have nothing to do with her; she refused to see her.
But there was no banter in the expression; it was much more like a complaint, a revelation of anguish: “Little Brother!” Daniel had left the city long ago. Eleanore chanced to meet Herr Carovius. He forced her to stop, conducted himself in such a familiar way, and talked in such a loud voice that the passersby simpered. He asked all about the young master, meaning Daniel.
It had been the expression that comes out, so to speak, from between the curtains of a sleeping room: something was up, make no mistake, something was going on. For quite a while Herr Carovius had harboured the suspicion that there was something wrong. Twice he had met Daniel and Eleanore walking along the street in the twilight, talking to each other in a very mysterious way.
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