ore and more the
prey of a despondency, that consumed all the happiness of his life. He
would not, nay, he could not, work any more; and thus he fell into a
state of poverty, which was the more crushing, because Angiola did not
utter a word of complaint.

"'The grief that gnawed more and more into my soul, that grief that was
the offspring of a hope, invariably deceived, when I summoned powers
that were no longer mine, soon reduced me to a state that might be
compared to madness. My wife bore me a son,--that increased my misery,
and my long suppressed discontent broke out into open, burning hate.
She--she alone had been the cause of my unhappiness. She was _not_ the
ideal which had appeared to me, but had only assumed the form and face
of that heavenly woman. In wild despair I cursed her and her innocent
child. I wished them both dead, that I might be freed from the
insupportable pains that tortured me, like so many burning knives.
Thoughts of hell arose in my mind. In vain did I read in Angiola's
corpse-like face, and in her tears, the madness and impiety of my
conduct. 'Thou hast cheated me out of my life, cursed woman!' I
thundered forth, and thrust her away with my foot, when she fell
fainting to the ground and clasped my knees.'

"Berthold's mad, cruel conduct towards his wife and child excited the
attention of the neighbours, who informed the magistrates of the
circumstance. They wished to imprison him; but when the police entered
his dwelling, he had vanished with his wife and child, without leaving
so much as a trace behind. Soon afterwards he appeared at N----, in
Upper Silesia; he had got rid of his wife and child, and cheerfully
began to paint the picture which he had vainly attempted at M----.
However he could only finish the Virgin Mary, and the children--Christ
and John--for he fell into a dreadful illness, which brought him near
the death he desired. Every thing that belonged to him, including the
unfinished picture, was sold for his subsistence; and, after he had
recovered, in some measure, he departed, a sick, miserable beggar. He
afterwards gained a poor livelihood by a few jobs of wall-painting."

* * * * *

"There is something terrible in the history of Berthold," said I to the
professor. "Although so much is not plainly expressed, I believe that
he was the reckless murderer of his innocent wife and child."

"He is a mad fool," replied the professor, "to who