found he had drained his father’s money-casks to their very lees. He ordered his steward one day to pay a large sum: he was not, however, in a condition to meet the demand, and he returned the bill. This was a severe reflection upon the young spendthrift; but he flew into a violent passion with his cashier, instead of blaming himself. He gave himself no kind of trouble to inquire into the cause; like too many thoughtless characters, he heaped reproaches upon his steward, and shrugging up his shoulders, ordered him, in very laconic style, to “find means!”
Now was the time for the old usurers and brokers of the city. They furnished Franz with means to continue his mad career, though on very exorbitant terms. In the eye of a creditor, a room well paved with dollars was then better security than bills upon an American house, or even upon the United Provinces. It served as a good palliative for a period; but it shortly got wind that the silver pavement had disappeared, and was replaced with one of stone. Judicial inquiry on the part of the creditors followed, and it was ascertained to be the fact. No one could deny that a floor of variegated marble, like mosaic, was more elegant for a banqueting-hall than one of old worn-out dollars; but the creditors, entertaining little reverence for his improved taste, one and all demanded their money. This not being paid, a commission of bankruptcy was issued against him; and forthwith an inventory was made of all the property,—the family mansion, the magazines, grounds, gardens, furniture, &c. All was then put up to auction, and Franz found himself deprived of all he possessed. He had saved a few of his mother’s jewels, however, from the general wreck, and with the help of these he contrived to prolong existence for a period, though not in a very enviable manner.
He now saw clearly through his past errors. He lamented and repented of his faults, and tried his best to resign himself to his altered lot. He took up his abode in a retired quarter of the city where the sunbeams seldom shone, except towards the longest day, when they occasionally glanced over the high-built roofs. Here he found all he looked for in his present reduced circumstances. He dined at his host’s frugal board; his fire-side was a protection against the cold; and he had a roof to shelter him from the effects of rain and wind: here, too, a new object awakened his attention and engaged his thoughts. Opposite his window, in the same narrow street, lived a respectable widow, who, in expectation of better times, gained a scanty livelihood, by means of her spinning-wheel, on which, with the assistance of a marvellously fair maiden, her only daughter, she produced every day such a quantity of yarn that it would have reached round the whole city of Bremen, ditch, walls, suburbs and all. These two spinners were not born for the wheel; they came of a good family, and had lived, at one time, in opulence and prosperity. The husband of Brigitta, and the father of young Mela, had been the
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