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Surely this is beyond any reason?
And if we admire it, do we not deny the faculty of reason in
ourselves?'
    'But my dear Löhm, to go – as you say – "beyond reason" is
precisely what the man Goethe and his fellows would do! For
them Reason is a cage to the spirit. If you do not appreciate that
you cannot appreciate what they have achieved.'
    'You said yourself, my Lady, that it is necessary to maintain a
certain distance even as you appreciate.'
    'And so I do. I remain within reason, and beyond reason, at the
same time. It is merely a matter of existing in two places at once.
Continue, Maria. Perhaps Klopstock – it is Klopstock, is it not? –
has some further light for us. Although in truth I find allegory in
all forms most tedious.'
    Maria dutifully returned to the point at which Baron Löhm
had interrupted her.
    'My love!' she read in the concubine's voice. 'Your steed neighs
to carry you to battle. And yet your heart trembles. What is it you see? A
spirit of the dead?' And in the Prince's voice she replied. 'Not a spirit
of the dead, but . . .'
    'But a hussar!' interjected Lady Adelsheim, in a tone of mock
wonder.
    Maria looked up.
    Standing in the doorway was a tall man, a complete stranger,
in the uniform of a captain in the Prince-bishop's hussars.
    He was indeed very tall, and he had that leanness about him –
the hollowness of the neck, the prominence of the cheekbones –
that Maria associated with men who had been on the campaigns,
where food always seemed to be so scarce. His shoulders and
upper spine stooped a little, as if he were forever having to bend
to hear what people shorter than he were saying. His eyes were
dark, his brows bushy, his nose long and blunt – there was something
of the raptor in his look. His forehead was round and high,
and might have been creeping higher still into the beginnings of
baldness. His hair was light brown, unpowdered, and cut short.
    Fat old Tieschen in his frock coat was at the man's elbow,
looking agitated.
    'I am astonished,' said Lady Adelsheim, still in French. 'Is this a
hussar officer?'
    A lady, on introduction to a gentleman, should offer him her
hand. The gentleman should take it and bow over it as if to kiss
it, although his lips must not actually touch her skin or glove. The
gentleman might then be introduced to any other company
present, and conversation might proceed, upon any topic that
society considered suitable.
    Mother had not offered her hand. She was looking at the
newcomer as if he were an unexpected diversion, such as an owl
flown in from the woods or a bailiff come to report on a disagreeable
matter from one of the estates. And under her gaze the
man did indeed seem to feel out of place – even flustered.
    Of course, thought Maria. This must be the caller whom
Mother had said she would not see. And he had made his way in
despite that! Goodness!
    'Madame, I beg your pardon for this intrusion,' said the newcomer,
bowing. He spoke French – native French, and his voice
was surprisingly soft for a man who looked so gaunt. 'I do not
know if my message was correctly reported to you. I am
Capt—'
    'It is not an intrusion at all, sir,' said Mother. 'I believe a hussar
is exactly the thing we most wanted at this moment.'
    'Madame, I . . .'
    'No, come, sir. We are discussing heroism, and hussars are
heroes to a man – or so I am assured. You are a hero I hope, sir?'
    'I . . . I am a staff officer, madame,' said the man in surprise.
    'No, sir, you will not be modest. I will not allow it. See there,
Baron. A hero stands before you. You should question him.
    Demand why it is that Reason, which may make Man a god,
must yet be an encumbrance to any hero of romance or tragedy.'
    Again the tall man tried to speak. But he missed his chance
and it was gone.
    'No doubt, dear Löhm, you will tell me that, had our heroes
been possessed of more capacity for thought, they should
have been more successful in this wretched war than they were,'
said Lady Adelsheim. 'But