whole, be so constituted that he can show himself in his true character without being disagreeable." CHAPTER X. In the first days of his wanderings through the quaint old streets--for he avoided, as far as possible, the new and deserted quarters of the town--Felix felt to the full the charm of South German life; that robust, unrestrained power of enjoyment, that perpetual holiday-mood, whose motto is "You may do what you choose." That this cheerful state also has its dark sides; that it is not possible, without the sacrifice of some higher benefits, to establish an average of character and education which makes all classes mingle easily; that the lack of a proletariat brings with it the lack of a rich and powerful intellectual aristocracy--all such political and social speculations never entered our friend's head, in spite of the fact that his travels about the world had given him a keen insight into the civilization of different countries. In a spirit of quiet defiance, he took delight in doing here the very things which would have been most severely frowned on in that native town from which he had fled. He visited the dingiest restaurants and the most modest beer-gardens, ate from an uncovered table, and drank from the mug which he had himself washed under the water-pipe; and it seemed as if the only thing wanting to make his happiness complete was, that the highly aristocratic society with which he had quarreled should happen by and see, in silent horror, how happy the fugitive was in his self-imposed exile. And yet, since everything inspired by pique carries with it a secret feeling of dissatisfaction, he was after all not quite contented. Jolly as it looked to wander about again at his own sweet will, it was, after all, very different from what it had been years before when he first spread his wings. In short, in his moments of reflection, when he neither cared to forget nor to deceive himself, he was forced to admit, with a kind of shame, that he was no longer young enough to goon looking upon life as a brilliant adventure amid shifting scenes, and that, in riper years, more depended upon the piece and the _rôle_ which one played in it than upon the scenes and the spectators who sit before the footlights. True, he had from the first devoted himself zealously to his new apprenticeship. But his conscience was too delicate to forget what Jansen had said in regard to his fitness for art. Had his friend congratulated him upon his decision, who knows but what, in spite of all that was wanting to his happiness, he might have felt as contented as it is possible for any man to feel in this imperfect world? But his proud heart told him that the people who were now to be his associates did not, in their hearts, consider him quite genuine, but looked upon him as a singular being, who, from mere whim, had taken up with art instead of with some other noble passion more suitable to his rank.