I could eat and sleep, but I was unable to rise, and could
not utter a word. The physicians of our small town tried all the
remedies of their science to cure me. In vain! I remained dumb. Only
once, four weeks afterward, I recovered the power of speech. It was
in the night-time, and no one was with me but my poor father, who
passed nearly every night at my bedside, always hoping for a moment
when I might get better--when the spell would leave my tongue, and
the power of speech be restored. This moment had come now; I
intimated it to my father with my eyes, stared at him, and said in a
slow and solemn voice, 'Doctor Binder, at Berlin, is alone able to
cure me!'"
"Ah," exclaimed Hardenberg, drawing a deep breath, "I give you
permission to laugh at me. I was just as foolish as your father was.
Up to this time I believed in the reality of your sickness, and felt
quite anxious and alarmed. The words you uttered during that night
quiet me again, and illuminate the gloom, like a welcome miner's
lamp in a deep shaft. I hope, however, that they did not exert the
same effect upon your father."
"No, your excellency, fortunately they did not, and the proof of it
is that I rode, a week afterward--in a comfortable carriage, and
accompanied by my father--to Berlin, to place myself under the
treatment of Doctor Binder."
"Did the doctor promise to cure you?"
"He gave me hopes at least that he would be able to do so, and,
after accepting three months' pay in advance, received me into his
house, and the cure commenced.
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