it signified.  She wished she were a boy, and managed to acknowledge, with much kindness, that she was indebted to me for a great deal of instruction.  “If I were a boy,” said she, “we would learn something good together at the university.”  The conversation continued in this strain:  she definitively resolved to take instruction in French, of the absolute necessity of which she had become well aware in the milliner’s shop.  I asked her why she no longer went there; for during the latter times, not being able to go out much in the evening, I had often passed the shop during the day for her sake, merely to see her for a moment.  She explained that she had not liked to expose herself there in these unsettled times.  As soon as the city returned to its former condition, she intended to go there again.

Then the impending day of election was the topic of conversation.  I contrived to tell, at length, what was going to happen, and how, and to support my demonstrations in detail by drawings on the tablet; for I had the place of conclave, with its altars, thrones, seats, and chairs, perfectly before my mind.  We separated at the proper time, and in a particularly comfortable frame of mind.

For, with a young couple who are in any degree harmoniously formed by nature, nothing can conduce to a more beautiful union than when the maiden is anxious to learn, and the youth inclined to teach.  There arises from it a well-grounded and agreeable relation.  She sees in him the creator of her spiritual existence; and he sees in her a creature that ascribes her perfection, not to nature, not to chance, nor to any one-sided inclination, but to a mutual will:  and this reciprocation is so sweet, that we cannot wonder, if, from the days of the old and the new [Footnote:  The “new Abelard” is St. Preux, in the Nouvelle Heloise of Rousseau.—­TRANS.] Abelard, the most violent passions, and as much happiness as unhappiness, have arisen from such an intercourse of two beings.

With the next day began great commotion in the city, on account of the visits paid and returned, which now took place with the greatest ceremony.  But what particularly interested me, as a citizen of Frankfort, and gave rise to a great many reflections, was the taking of the oath of security (Sicherheitseides) by the council, the military, and the body of citizens, not through representatives, but personally and in mass:  first, in the great hall of the Roemer, by the magistracy and staff-officers; then in the great square (Platz), the Roemerberg, by all the citizens, according to their respective ranks, gradations, or quarterings; and, lastly, by the rest of the military.  Here one could survey at a single glance the entire commonwealth, assembled for the honorable purpose of swearing security to the head and members of the empire, and unbroken peace during the great work now impending.  The Electors of Treves and of Cologne had now also arrived.  On the evening before the day of election, all strangers are sent out of the city, the gates are closed, the Jews are confined to their quarter, and the citizen of Frankfort prides himself not a little that he alone may witness so great a solemnity.