See what a cunning,
shameless rascal this is. He boasts of powers which he does not
possess, and carries on sorceries and Jewish deceptions, for which he
ought to be burned at the stake like Lippolt the Jew.' Turnhaeuser had
been a goldsmith by trade, and this came out. Then everybody said he
had none of the knowledge imputed to him, though he had given the most
incontrovertible proofs of it in open day. They even said that he had
never, himself, written any of the sage and clever books and important
prognostications which he published, but had paid others to do them. In
short, envy, hatred, and calumny brought matters so far that he was
obliged to leave Berlin in the most secret manner, to escape the fate
of the Jew Lippolt; then his enemies said he had gone to the Catholics
for protection. But "that is not true. He went to Saxony, and worked at
his trade there, though he did not give up the study and practice of
his science."

Edmund was wonderfully attracted to this old goldsmith, who inspired in
him a reverential trustfulness and confidence. Not only was he a critic
of the most instructive quality, though severe; but he told Edmund
secrets concerning the preparation of colours and the combining of them
known to the old masters, and of the most precious importance when he
put them to the test of practice. Thus there was formed, between these
two, one of those alliances which come about when there is on the one
hand hopeful confidence, in a young disciple, and, on the other,
affectionate paternal friendship on the part of a teacher.

About this time it happened, one fine summer evening, that Herr
Melchior Bosswinkel, Commissionsrath, who was taking his pleasure in
the Thiergarten, could not manage to get a single one of his cigars to
draw. He tried one after another, but every one of them was stopped up.
He threw them away, one after another, getting more and more vexed and
annoyed as he did so; at last he cried out: "Oh, God! and those are
supposed to be the very finest brands to be got in Hamburg. Damme! I've
spared neither trouble nor money, and here they play the very deuce
with every idea of enjoyment--not one of the infernal things will draw.
Can a man enjoy the beauties of nature, or take part in any sort of
rational conversation, when these damnable things won't burn? Oh, God!
it's terrible!"

He had involuntarily addressed these remarks to Edmund Lehsen, who
happened to be close beside him with a cigar whi