Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source: http://books.google.com/books?id=E1ETAAAAYAAJ&dq
The title of this book, in the German, is "Der Roman der Stiftsdame,"stiftsdame being rendered in this version canoness. It is desirableto explain that stiftsdame is the name given to a female member ofcertain religious communities or orders, originally Roman Catholic, themembers of which lived in common but without taking monastic vows.After the Reformation, Protestant houses of a similar kind wereorganized. The privileges of these communities are often secured bynoblemen for their daughters, who may at any subsequent period enterthe stift or chapter of the order, but who forfeit this right in caseof marriage.
In June, 1864, a visit I had promised to pay one of the friends of myyouth led me into the heart of the province of Brandenburg. I couldtravel by the railway as far as the little city of St. ----, but fromthis place was compelled to hire a carriage for two or three miles, asthe estate, which my friend had owned several years, did not evenpossess the advantage of a daily stage. So, on reaching St. ----,I applied to the landlord of the "Crown-Prince"--who was alsopostmaster--for a carriage, and, as it was past three o'clock in theafternoon, and the drive over shadeless roads in the early heat ofsummer would not be particularly agreeable, I begged him not to hurry,but give me time to have a glimpse of the little city and its environs.
The landlord replied that the poor little place had no sights worthlooking at. As a native of a great capital who had removed to theprovince, he displayed a compassionate contempt for his presentresidence. The situation was not bad, and the "lake" the mostabundantly stocked with fish in the whole Mark. If I kept straight onin that direction--he pointed across the square marketplace on whichhis hostelry stood--I should get a view of the water just beyond thecity-wall.
To a traveler who is less thoroughly familiar with the local history ofthe Mart than my friend, Theodor Fontane, and who suddenly findshimself transferred from the capital to the province, one of theselittle cities looks very much like another. The first feeling amid theneat little houses--most of them only a story high, while walking overthe rough pavement kept as clean as the floor of an old maid's room, orpassing through the quiet squares planted with acacias or ancientlindens, where nothing is stirring save flocks of noisy sparrows--is asecret doubt whether real people actually dwell here, people who takean active interest in the life of the present day, or whether we havenot strayed into a pretty, gigantic toy village, which has merely beenset up here for a time and will soon be taken down and packed intoboxes like Nuremberg carvings.
This