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well-off Rosina, as I afterwards learned, but too late. This unsuccessful attempt raised my courage and my ambitions not a little [...] With girls of my own class my conversation was indeed, God forgive me! often all too free, but on the other hand with those who stood above me my timidity never left me and that was a great hindrance to me. For we all know how often the greatest dimwit, if he has only a bold and forward demeanour, can be lucky in this respect. But to go to so much trouble "creeping, begging, sighing and despairing" that I could not do."

From this he goes on to describe in detail a brief encounter with a girl whom he met when returning to Herisau from an assembly of the commune. He was supposed to be accompanying Ursel, but deliberately lost her in the crowd. Although no definite date is given for this episode, its place in the narrative here, the self-confidence that Bräker shows (and his mention of Ännchen as belonging to "former days") place it definitely between his return from Prussia and his marriage. His first mention of Ursel, however, dates from the days before he left home (see chapter 32), so it seems that poor Ursel was still pursuing him two years later. The passage is interesting in that it shows how it was quite easy for unmarried men and women to meet and converse without formality, but very difficult indeed for them to step over the mark of propriety, and that considerations of money and social conformity were never far away.

"There was a great crowd of young people. As dusk fell they were all drawing together and walking two by two, when suddenly I caught sight of a beautiful girl, all clear red and white, strolling along with two other like creatures. I held out my hand to her, she took it with both of hers, and soon we were marching on our way arm in arm, in dulci jubilo, singing and flirting. When we came to Herisau I offered to accompany her home. "For goodness' sake, no!" said she, "Not for the world could I be allowed to do that. But perhaps after supper I can come down for a little while to The Swan." Naturally I was well content with this alternative. At the time I did not know who my sweetheart was, and only when we were at the inn did I learn that she was the daughter of a well-to-do merchant and about sixteen years old. After about an hour the dear creature - Käthchen was her name - arrived with a pretty child - her younger sister - in her arms (otherwise she would not have been allowed to leave the house) - when all at once the accursed Ursel walked into the room and wanted to join me too - but soon she smelt a rat, reproached me bitterly - and went away.

Then the landlord gave us a room to ourselves. Käthchen was in it and I after her like the wind. I had ordered a dainty meal. Now I and this wonderful girl were alone, alone, how much meaning that single word can carry! It should have been for days, not for an hour or two that passed like so many moments. And yet the walls of our chamber, the child on Käthchen's lap - the stars in the sky can bear witness that our intimacy was sweet, tender, but innocent. I stayed there for a few more days. My angel visited me four or five times every day, with her sister. But at last my money ran out - I had to tear myself away. Käthchen, still with the child in her arms, accompanied me a long way from the town, defying all fear of her parents. The manner of our farewells can easily be imagined. I carried plenty of my darling's tears on my own cheeks as I went home. We waved our farewells with apron and handkerchief more than a hundred times, as long as we could still see each other. Let my foolishness be forgiven! These days are numbered among the most blissful and their joys among the most innocent of my life. For my good angel had inspired me with as much respect as love towards this gentle girl, so that I embraced her like a father his child, and she likewise, like a daughter with him who begot her, pressed me softly to her pure bosom and covered my face with her kisses.

Now I was at home again in the body, but in the spirit still occupied with this charming young sweetheart who outshone even the Ännchen of former days. Yet it never entered my head that I might possess her entirely, but rather I tried to drive all that had happened quite out of my mind, and succeeded in doing so. For it was always my way that whatever made an instant impression upon me, was also quickly forgotten and supplanted by new objects. But, who would have thought it? One fine evening the carrier from Herisau brought me a note from my Käthchen, in which she said, in tones of tender devotion, and yet childish and naive turns of phrase, how she

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