



Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive





[Transcriber's note:  Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/inparadiseanove00heysgoog]






                     COLLECTION OF FOREIGN AUTHORS,

                                No. XII.

                           *   *   *   *   *

                              IN PARADISE.

                                VOL. I.






                       VOLUMES ALREADY PUBLISHED:

I. _SAMUEL BROHL AND COMPANY_. A Novel. From the French of Victor
Cherbuliez. 1 vol., 16mo. Paper cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.

II. _GERARD'S MARRIAGE_. A Novel. From the French of Andre Theuriet.
Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

III. _SPIRITE_. A Fantasy. From the French of Theophile Gautier. Paper
cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

IV. _THE TOWER OF PERCEMONT_. From the French of George Sand. Paper
cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

V. _META HOLDENIS_. A Novel. From the French of Victor Cherbuliez.
Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

VI. _ROMANCES OF THE EAST_. From the French of Comte de Gobineau. Paper
cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.

VII. _RENEE AND FRANZ_ (Le Bleuet). From the French of Gustave Haller.
Paper cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

VIII. _MADAME GOSSELIN_. From the French of Louis Ulbach. Paper cover,
60 cents; cloth, $1.00.

IX. _THE GODSON OF A MARQUIS_. From the French of Andre Theuriet. Paper
cover, 50 cents; cloth, 75 cents.

X. _ARIADNE_. From the French of Henry Greville. Paper cover, 50 cents;
cloth, 75 cents.

XI. _SAFAR-HADGI_; or, Russ and Turcoman. From the French of Prince
Lubomirski. Paper cover, 60 cents; cloth, $1.00.

XII. _IN PARADISE_. From the German of Paul Heyse. 2 vols. Per vol.,
paper cover, 60 cents; doth, $1.00.






                                   IN

                                PARADISE

                               _A NOVEL_


                           FROM THE GERMAN OF
                               PAUL HEYSE



                                 VOL. I



                                NEW YORK
                        D. APPLETON AND COMPANY
                          549 AND 551 BROADWAY
                                  1878




***_It has been decided to omit from this translation the poems which
are scattered through the novel in the German. A few trifling changes
in certain passages have been made necessary by this omission; and the
translator has in two or three cases very slightly condensed the text._


                           *   *   *   *   *

                              COPYRIGHT BY
                        D. APPLETON AND COMPANY,
                                 1878.





                              IN PARADISE.





                               _BOOK I_.




                               CHAPTER I.


It was a Sunday in the midsummer of 1869.

The air, cleared by a thunderstorm the night before, was still
tremulous with that soft, invigorating warmth which, farther south,
makes breathing such an easy matter, but which, north of the Alps,
seldom outlasts the early morning. And yet the bells, that sounded from
the Munich Frauenkirche far across the Theresienwiese, and the field
where stands the great statue of Bavaria, were already ringing for high
mass. Here, outside the city, there seemed to be no human ear to
listen. The great bronze maiden stood there in the deepest solitude,
holding her wreath above her head, and with a mazed and dreamy look, as
though she might be thinking whether this were not an opportune moment
to step down from her granite pedestal, and to wander at will through
the town, that to-day raised its towers and roofs like a city of the
dead above the bare green plain. Now and then a bird flew out of the
little grove behind the Ruhmes-halle, and fluttered about the shoulders
of the giant maiden, or rested for a moment on the mane of the lion
that sat lazily listening, pressed close to the knee of his great
mistress. But away in the city the bells rang on. The air grew drowsy
with the steadily increasing heat, with the hum and the vibration of
the distant ringing, and the strong fragrance that rose from the
meadow, which had been mown the day before. At last the bells ceased;
and now not a sound was to be heard, save that there came from a house
in one of the outer streets the sound of a flute, played by fits and
starts, as though the player stopped for breath between the passages,
or as though he forgot his notes in other thoughts.

The window, from which this singular music sounded into the summer air,
opened from the upper story of a house that stood some distance back
from the street--a house of a kind of which there are many in this
western suburb. They are generally entirely unornamented, boxlike
buildings, windowless except on the northern side, and there pierced by
great quadrangular openings, supplied with all manner of arrangements
for admitting the steadiest possible light from above. In summer one
never sees above them the little cloud of smoke that betrays a domestic
hearth, and no profane smell of cooking meets the visitor upon the
threshold--as in most other Munich houses. From the open windows floats
only a light, invisible odor of tobacco-smoke, agreeably mingled with
the invigorating fragrance of varnishes, oils, and turpentine--which
shows that here only the holy fire of art is fed, and that here, upon
silent altars (three-legged easels and sculptors' pedestals) are
offered sacrifices that cannot even shelter the priests that offer them
from the pangs of hunger.

The house of which we speak turned its windowless southern side
toward a little yard, in which lay scattered marble and sandstone
blocks of different sizes. The four studio-windows of the northern side
looked into a carefully-tended, narrow