.dt The Initials, by Jessica Montgomery Tautphoeus--A Project Gutenberg eBook
.de body {width:80%; margin:auto;}
// max line length
.ll 72
// Transcriber’s notes in a nice box.
.de .tnbox {background-color:#E3E4FA;border:1px solid silver;padding: 0.5em;margin:2em 10% 0 10%; }
// default indentation for .nf l blocks
.nr nfl 4
// Page numbering
.pn off // turn off visible page numbers
// .pn link // turn on page number links
// paragraph formatting, indent paragraphs by 1.0 em.
.nr psi 1.0em
.pi
.dm verse-start
.sp 1
.in +1
.fs 85%
.nf b
.dm-
.dm verse-end
.nf-
.fs 100%
.in -1
.sp 1
.dm-
// letter
.dm letter-start
.sp 1
.fs 85%
.in +4
.ll -4
.dm-
.dm letter-end
.in -4
.ll +4
.fs 100%
.sp 1
.dm-
// footnote
.dm fn-start
.ni
.fs 85%
.fn #
.dm-
.dm fn-end
.fn-
.fs 100%
.pi
.dm-
// include a cover image in HTML only
.if h
.il fn=cover.jpg w=600px
.pb
.if-
.sp 4
// 001.png
.pn +1
.h1
THE INITIALS
.nf c
A Story of Modern Life
By
THE BARONESS TAUTPHŒUS
AUTHOR OF “QUITS,” “AT ODDS,” ETC.
.nf-
.if h
.il fn=publogo.jpg w=100px
.if-
.if t
.nf c
[Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]
.nf-
.if-
.nf c
PHILADELPHIA
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY
.nf-
.sp 4
// 002.png
.pn +1
.nf c
Electrotyped and Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company, Philadelphia, U.S.A.
.nf-
.sp 2
// 003.png
.pn +1
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2
PREFACE.
.hr 20%
.sp 2
Initial, adj. [Initial, Fr.; initialis, from initium, Lat.]
1. Placed at the beginning.
2. Incipient; not complete.—Johnson’s Dictionary.
Initial, ale. adj. Il se dit des lettres, des syllables qui commencent un
mot. En termes de calligraphie et d’imprimerie, on appelle plus particulièrement
lettre initiale, la lettre qui commence un livre, un chapitre, etc.
Il s’emploie aussi substantivement, au feminin, pour lettre initiale. Il
n’a signé ce billet que de l’initiale de son nom, que de son initiale. Dans
ce manuscrit, les initiales sont en rouge.—Dictionnaire de l’Académie
Française.
.sp 2
I think these quotations authorise me to call the following
pages “The Initials.” According to Dr. Johnson, they
would be intended to be “placed at the beginning;” would
be “incipient; not complete.” It is the public who have
now to decide whether what has been placed at the beginning
is to have a continuation, whether what is incipient, and not
complete, is to be formed and completed.
Un billet signé d’une initiale gave rise to all the events here
related; proving the truth of the words of Bayley, in his
Essays on the Formation and Publication of Opinions, that,
“In everything we do we may be possibly laying a train of
consequences, the operation of which may terminate only
with our existence.” Had those initials not excited curiosity
or interest, the so-signed billet would have been thrown aside
and forgotten, or directed to the post-town from whence it
came, there to seek the writer, or to be consigned to the
dead-letter office. And so it will be with these “Initials,”
should they awake no interest, nor excite a wish to know
// 004.png
.pn +1
more; they too will be thrown aside and forgotten, or it may
be that the manuscript will be redirected to the place from
whence it came, thence to be consigned to merited oblivion
in the dead-letter drawer of an old writing-table, among a
number of truths dressed in fiction, which had been intended
for publication under the names of Journals, Reminiscences,
Tales, Novels, or whatever else they may have been entitled.
My greatest consolation, in case of failure, will be that I
have neglected no business or duty for the purpose of scribbling;
it has only been with me the means of beguiling some
idle hours, with no pretension to any other object; the wish
to give a slight sketch of German characters and life, such
as I have myself, in the course of many years, been familiar
with, or have heard them described by others, can scarcely
be considered a more serious occupation.
I have, perhaps, seen and heard enough to furnish me with
ample materials for something better. That I cannot use
them for the benefit of either myself or others, is my misfortune,
not my fault. With this excuse, (if it be one,) I
commend myself to my publisher; and, supposing so adventurous
a person to be found, through him to the public.
.sp 2
// 005.png
.pn +1
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2
CONTENTS.
.hr 40%
.sp 2
.ta r:8 h:40 r:5
CHAPTER | | PAGE
I. | The Letter | #7:ch01#
II. | The Initials | #29:ch02#
III. | A. Z. | #36:ch03#
IV. | A Walk of no Common Description | #45:ch04#
V. | An Alp | #61:ch05#
VI. | Secularised Cloisters | #71:ch06#
VII. | An Excursion and Return to the Secularised Cloisters | #89:ch07#
VIII. | An Alpine Party | #108:ch08#
IX. | Salzburg | #129:ch09#
X. | The Return to Munich | #139:ch10#
XI. | The Betrothal | #143:ch11#
// 006.png
.pn +1
XII. | Domestic Details | #160:ch12#
XIII. | A Truce | #176:ch13#
XIV. | A New Way to Learn German | #187:ch14#
XV. | The October Fête, and a Lesson on Propriety of Conduct | #195:ch15#
XVI. | The Au Fair, and the Supper at the Brewery | #220:ch16#
XVII. | Lovers’ Quarrels | #235:ch17#
XVIII. | The Churchyard | #247:ch18#
XIX. | German Soup | #251:ch19#
XX. | The Warning | #263:ch20#
XXI. | The Struggle | #268:ch21#
XXII. | The Departure | #281:ch22#
XXIII. | The Long Day | #286:ch23#
XXIV. | The Christmas-Tree, and Midnight Mass | #292:ch24#
XXV. | The Garret | #310:ch25#
// 007.png
.pn +1
XXVI. | The Discussion | #318:ch26#
XXVII. | The Sledge | #323:ch27#
XXVIII. | A Ball at the Museum Club | #339:ch28#
XXIX. | A Day of Freedom | #353:ch29#
XXX. | The Masquerade | #362:ch30#
XXXI. | Where is the Bridegroom? | #374:ch31#
XXXII. | The Wedding au Troisième | #381:ch32#
XXXIII. | A Change | #388:ch33#
XXXIV. | The Arrangement | #395:ch34#
XXXV. | The Difficulty Removed | #403:ch35#
XXXVI. | The Iron Works | #407:ch36#
XXXVII. | An Unexpected Meeting and its Consequences | #414:ch37#
XXXVIII. | The Experiment | #423:ch38#
XXXIX. | The Recall |#436:ch39#
// 008.png
.pn +1
XL. | Hohenfels | #442:ch40#
XLI. | The Scheiben-Schiessen (Target Shooting Match) | #450:ch41#
XLII. | A Discourse | #459:ch42#
XLIII. | Another Kind of Discourse | #464:ch43#
XLIV. | The Journey Home Commences | #468:ch44#
XLV. | What Occurred at the Hotel d’Angleterre in Frankfort | #474:ch45#
XLVI. | Halt! | #481:ch46#
XLVII. | Conclusion | #495:ch47#
.ta-
.sp 2
// 009.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.nf c
THE INITIALS.
.nf-
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch01
I. || THE LETTER.
.sp 2
About twelve years ago (before the building of the Bayrischen
Hof), the Golden Stag, kept by an old and very corpulent
Frenchman, of the name of Havard, was considered
the very best hotel in Munich. It was there that all crowned
heads and royal personages took up their abode; and many
and bitter were the complaints of English families obliged
to turn out of their apartments to admit of the turning in
of an emperor, king, or archduke! In the month of August,
however, such guests were unusual; and, accordingly, a
young English traveller had remained for a week in undisturbed
possession of one of the most comfortable rooms in
the house. He seemed, however, thoroughly dissatisfied
with it or with himself, walked impatiently up and down,
looked long and listlessly out of the window, and then, with
evident effort and stifled yawn, concluded a letter which he
had previously been writing. A few lines of this letter I
shall transcribe.
“I have continued to take notes most carefully of everything
I have seen or heard since I left you; but I fear, my
dear sister, the travels or wanderings, or sketches with which
I intended to astonish the world on my return home, must
be given up; for in the present day one can travel from
London to Jericho without a chance of seeing anything not
already succinctly described in the guide-books! I thought
I had discovered why my brother John never met with any
amusing adventures when my father sent him abroad. He
spoke wretched French, and no German. Poor fellow; I
// 010.png
.pn +1
did him great injustice. For even I, who, from not being
the first-born, have a sort of natural claim to intellect—even
I, who have studied German for six years, and can speak
French fluently—even I must write stupid, commonplace
letters, and acknowledge that composing a book is not so
easy as I thought. I left home three weeks ago, and, excepting
that lucky explosion of the steam-engine after we
left Cologne, nothing has occurred worthy of notice. I must
endeavour to get among these Germans; for travelling
through a country without becoming intimate with some of
the inhabitants, though it may enable me to judge of the
beauty of the scenery, will leave me perfectly unacquainted
with the manners and habits of the people. The Erskines
are not here at present, so all hopes from that quarter are at
an end. I am told that the Munich world is in the country,
and I believe it; for nothing can be more deserted-looking
than the streets which represent the west end. After all, one
cannot go on forever looking at pictures and statues, etc.”
The young man folded up and sealed his letter, with a
look of infinite vexation, and putting it in his pocket while
he murmured something about “taking it himself to the
post-office, for want of other occupation,” he slowly left the
room and sauntered down the staircase, drawing his cane
along the iron stair-railing as he went.
Hamilton, on his return, sprang lightly up the stairs, followed
by a waiter, who lit the candles and prepared to assist
him in taking off his rather tightly-fitting coat. The operation
had proceeded about half-way, when his eyes fell on a
letter which was placed conspicuously on the table. In a
moment the coat was again on his shoulders and the letter
in his hand.
“When did this come?”
“To-day, sir. Mr. Havard desired me to say it was carried
by mistake to a gentleman’s room who left this morning
early.”
Hamilton hastily opened the letter and read as follows:
.pm letter-start
“Dear Mr. Hamilton,—I have this moment read your name
among the arrivals in Munich, and write to tell you that we are for
the present at Seon, a short journey distant from you. Our house
is not at present habitable, and we have made this old monastery
our headquarters. It was some years ago a tolerably frequented
bath, but being no longer so, I shall have no difficulty whatever in
// 011.png
.pn +1
procuring an apartment for you. We shall be delighted to see you,
and show you the beauties of our neighbourhood. Perhaps, too, we
can arrange a tour in the Tyrol together. John, I know, has
joined his regiment; therefore I do not expect to see him. But
probably Mrs. Hamilton is with you; in which case I am quite
sure you will not leave Germany without having visited your sincere
friend,
.rj
A. Z.”
.pm letter-end
“How far is Seon from Munich? What sort of a place
is it?” asked Hamilton.
“I am sorry I cannot give you any information, sir. Since
I have been here no traveller has left for Seon.”
“Is there no mail or stage-coach to any place near it?
There must be a post-town, or something of that sort.”
“I really do not know, sir.”
“Try and decipher the post-mark,” said Hamilton, impatiently
handing him the envelope.
“I think it is Altenmarkt, but I am not quite sure.”
“Give me my maps, if you please, and tell Mr. Havard I
wish to speak to him for a few minutes.”
When he had left the room, Hamilton turned the letter in
every possible direction, examined the seal, which was a
small coronet with the initials “A. Z.,” read it five or six
times over, and in thought mustered his tolerably numerous
acquaintance. Not an “A. Z.” among them all! How very
provoking! “And yet the letter may be intended for me,”
he murmured, twisting it around his fingers: “It is not impossible
that the writer may have thought that I was travelling
with my aunt—why not? And John has actually
joined his regiment very lately!—or—or—it may be some
friend of my father’s; in which case, as I do not know the
name, and cannot explain by letter, I consider it a sort of
duty to go to Seon, and in his name thank the good-natured
person for the invitation. But what if it were not intended
either for me or for my father? No matter. The letter is
addressed to A. Hamilton, Esq.; if the writer intended it
for an Abraham, an Achilles, or an Anthony, the fault is
not mine. Alfred also begins with A.; the address is to the
Golden Stag; my correspondent has seen my name or my
father’s in the newspapers;—mentions my mother and my
brother. What more can I require?”
And Hamilton required nothing more, for on this occasion
he was disposed to be easily satisfied. Besides, he was
// 012.png
.pn +1
not going to force himself upon any person or persons unknown;
he was merely going to Seon instead of Kissingen.
Seon was also a place of public resort, quite as desirable for
him as any other; nor could he see anything wrong in making
some inquiries about this A. Z. when he arrived there.
Mr. Havard entered his room just as he was resolved what
course he should pursue. “Pray, Mr. Havard, can you tell
me how far Seon is from here?”
“A day’s journey, if you travel with a voiturier; half a
day with post-horses.”
“If I engage a voiturier—are the carriages good?”
“Generally, especially if you don’t require much place for
luggage. I think I can procure a light carriage and tolerable
horses for you.”
“Thank you. To-morrow morning, at six o’clock, I should
like to be off, if possible.”
An unpleasant idea just then occurred to him, and it required
an effort on his part to add, with affected indifference:
“By-the-by, Mr. Havard, perhaps you can tell me if there
have been any persons here lately whose names were the
same as mine?”
Mr. Havard looked puzzled.
“My name is Hamilton.”
“Hameeltone—Hameeltone!” he repeated, thoughtfully.
“We have a great many Hameeltone in our book. You
shall see directly. I will send it to you.”
“So,” muttered Hamilton, as he walked up and down the
room, “so, after all, the letter was not intended for me or
my father! This is in consequence of having such a common
name! And yet the name in itself is good, but the
Hamiltons have multiplied so unconscionably of late, that I
have no doubt we shall in time be quite as numerous as the
Smiths! Should, however, no Hamilton have been here for
the last week or ten days, I conceive that I have a right to
appropriate this letter; for A. Z. says distinctly that he or
she had that moment seen my name among the arrivals in
Munich, and with every allowance for irregularity of post in
an out-of-the-way place, chance, or unexpected delays, reference
at least is made to some paper of a tolerably recent
date. Oh! thank you,” he exclaimed, hurrying towards
the waiter, who at that moment entered the room with the
// 013.png
.pn +1
strangers’ book. “Before you go, show me the name of the
gentleman into whose room my letter was taken by mistake.”
He pointed to the name of “Alexander Hambledon, from
London.”
Hamilton turned back the leaves, six, eight, ten days, and
no Hamilton; before that time, as Mr. Havard had said,
“A great many Hamiltons.” He wished them, their families,
and suites very agreeable journeys, closed the book, put
A. Z.’s letter carefully into his writing-case, and, after having
desired the waiter to call him very early the next day, hurried
to bed.
The next morning proved fine, and Hamilton felt in better
spirits than he had done since he had left home, for he flattered
himself he was now about to diverge from the traveller’s
beaten path, and had a chance of seeing something new.
The rather shabby carriage and sleepy-looking horses had
not power to discompose him, and the voiturier, with his
dark-blue linen blouse and short pipe, overshadowed by a
bush of mustache, he thought absolutely picturesque. Most
careful he seemed, too, of his horses, for they had scarcely
left the suburbs of Munich when he descended from his box
to walk up a small acclivity, and Hamilton then began to protest
vehemently, but in vain, against the carriage being
closed. The coachman continued to walk leisurely on, while
he assured his impatient employer that he had purposely so
arranged it to prevent his being annoyed by the dust or sun,
and that from the open side he could see quite as much as
would be agreeable of the flat country through which they
were to travel.
“Is, then, the country so very ugly?” asked Hamilton,
anticipating nothing less than an American prairie.
“Flat—very flat; but in the evening we shall have the
mountains nearer.”
“You seem fond of the mountains!”
“I am a Tyrolean, and used to them. Life is not the same
thing in these plains,” he answered, cracking his whip, but
not touching his horses.
“A Tyrolean!” exclaimed Hamilton; “oh, then you can
sing your national songs, of course. Do, pray, let me hear
one of them.”
“What’s the use?” he said, shrugging his shoulders;
“there’s no echo for the jodel.”
// 014.png
.pn +1
“No matter; try it at all events, and you shall have an
additional glass of beer at dinner-time.”
On the strength of this promise he “lifted up his voice in
song,” and shouted out a melody which there was no manner
of doubt would have been “by distance made more
sweet;” but which, as he leaned on the door of the carriage,
and poured the whole force of his stentorian lungs into
Hamilton’s face, almost made him vibrate on his seat.
“Thank you,” cried Hamilton, hastily, “thank you—that
will do. I have long wished to hear a Tyrolean jodel, and
am sure it must sound very well in the mountains!”
“There’s no music like it in the world,” said the man, as
he seated himself again on the box; and laying aside his
pipe, he continued singing for more than an hour, interrupted
only by an occasional “Ho—he—hot!” addressed to his
horses.
The country was indeed flat, but highly cultivated, and
thickly wooded alternately—the absence of all walls or
fences giving to German scenery in general the appearance
of a domain; they passed through, and saw in the distance,
many pretty villages, while the mountains were becoming
more distinct and the scenery more interesting every hour.
Had not the day been intensely sultry, Hamilton would have
insisted on the head of the carriage being thrown back, and
the odious rattling windows opposite to him being removed;
as it was, however, the shade was agreeable, and the almost
imperceptible current of air, produced by the motion of the
carriage, as it blew on his face, had the somniferous effect
attributed to the vampire’s wing—he slept, and so soundly
that until the carriage stopped suddenly before a house on
the roadside, not all the jolting and consequent thumping of
his head against the hard side of the carriage could waken
him; he then rubbed his eyes, stretched out his legs, and
was endeavouring once more to compose himself to sleep, when
the coachman informed him that they were to remain there
two hours to rest and dine. He looked at his watch—it was
twelve o’clock; then at the inn; it did not promise much;
but near the door he caught a glimpse of a carriage in form
and colour exactly resembling his own, containing, however,
a number of packages which denoted female travellers. The
blue bandboxes and embroidered bags decided his movements.
He sprang from the carriage, and almost unconsciously
// 015.png
.pn +1
ran his fingers through his hair as he entered the
house. Passing through a large room filled with peasants,
he reached a smaller apartment containing some narrow
tables furnished at each side with benches covered with black
leather cushions. At one of these tables sat three ladies,
and an equal number of little boys. Hamilton had learned
to bow civilly on entering a room to any persons who
might be in it; after which he generally contrived to commence
a conversation, and let people know that he was an
Englishman; having ascertained that being one was a sort
of recommendation, or at least an excuse for all sorts of eccentricity.
On the present occasion his bow was returned,
but no further notice taken; scarcely even a look bestowed
on him; this was, however, not at all what he wished, for
two of the party were young and remarkably pretty.
She who seemed to be the mother of the children, a tall,
gaunt person, had her head and chin bound up with a
large pocket-handkerchief, and seemed to be suffering from
toothache, which rather puzzled Hamilton when he had discovered
that she had apparently lost all her teeth, though
by no means old, as appeared from her fresh-coloured features
and hair untinged with gray. The other two were
very young and perfect personifications of German beauty—blue
eyes, blooming cheeks, red lips, and a profusion of
brown hair most classically braided and platted. That they
were sisters scarcely admitted of a doubt, so remarkable
was their resemblance to each other—a nearer inspection
made it equally evident that one was much handsomer than
the other. They were both tall and very slightly formed,
and their dark cotton dresses were made and put on with an
exactness that proved they were not indifferent to the advantages
bestowed on them by nature.
Hamilton stood at the window, an object of interest, as it
seemed, to no one excepting the three little boys, who, with
their mouths full of roast chicken, turned round on their
chairs to stare at him, notwithstanding the repeated admonitions
of their mother, enforced by an occasional shake
of the shoulder. The young ladies, to Hamilton’s infinite
astonishment, took the chicken-bones in their fingers and
detached the meat from them with their teeth! He felt at
once convinced that they were immeasurably vulgar, thereby
forming an erroneous conclusion very common on the part
// 016.png
.pn +1
of his travelling countrymen, who are not aware that the
mode of eating is in Germany no such exact criterion of
manners as in England. His dinner was now ready, and as
he seated himself at the table one of his pretty neighbours
glanced shyly towards him in a manner that proved that
he had not been so unobserved as he imagined. With all
the vanity of youth he determined in his turn to play indifference,
traced diligently his route on the map which he had
placed beside him, and made inquiries about Seon. The
lady with the bound-up head tapped at the window and
asked her coachman if he were ready to put to the horses;
the answer was indistinct, but the words “late enough” and
“Seon” reached Hamilton’s ears. Bonnets, gloves, and
handkerchiefs were sought, and the children given in
charge of their maid to be packed into the carriage.
“I think we had better get in with the boys and arrange
ourselves comfortably,” observed the elder lady, following
them out of the room.
“Comfort!” exclaimed one of the girls, in a melancholy
voice, as she tied on her bonnet; “comfort is quite out of the
question. I wish with all my heart we were at Seon! On
such a day as this seven in a carriage is anything but
agreeable.”
“I should not mind,” answered the other, half-laughing,
“if Peppy did not insist on sitting on my knee; he kicks so
incessantly that I suffered tortures on my way here.”
Hamilton advanced towards the speakers, and observed
that he was travelling to the same place, and his carriage
was quite at their service. They blushed, and one of them
seemed disposed to laugh, which encouraged him to add
that he would promise to be perfectly quiet, and on no pretence
whatever to kick! Either his words or manner, or
both, perhaps, displeased them, for, having exchanged looks,
they murmured something unintelligible, and hastily left
the room. He followed, and saw them get into their carriage,
which was already more than sufficiently filled with
children and boxes; the maid endeavoured to follow, but was
obliged to remain long in the doorway while a place was
being prepared for her. Wishing to prove that he had
made his proposition with the intention of being civil, he
now approached the party and addressed the elder lady—told
her he was going to Seon, was travelling alone, had
// 017.png
.pn +1
scarcely any luggage, and had places for as many persons
and parcels as she chose to transfer to his carriage. She
thanked him, and hesitatingly regretted that her boys were
so unmanageable—perhaps he would be so kind as to give
her maid a place. This was not exactly what Hamilton had
intended; nevertheless he acceded with a good grace, and
assisted the spruce-looking servant-girl to descend. One of
the boys instantly commenced roaring, and declared he
must and would go with her. He was lifted out of the carriage,
and, with many apologies, Hamilton was asked to
take charge of Peppy the kicker! But Peppy was not yet
satisfied; he insisted so vociferously on his sister Crescenz
accompanying him, that his mother was at length obliged to
consent; and when Hamilton looked at the pretty blushing
face of this new addition to his party, he thought her
mother’s apologies not only tiresome but quite unnecessary.
He had to wait some time before his coachman thought
proper to depart, and made an attempt to express the
pleasure he felt at having obtained so desirable a travelling
companion; but the fair Crescenz seemed so overcome with
mauvaise honte that he thought it advisable for the present
to avoid all conversation. When once fairly off, he rummaged
out a couple of books, offered her one, and took the
other himself. This proceeding seemed to surprise her, but
had the effect he wished, of making her feel less embarrassed.
She turned over the leaves with a listlessness which
at once convinced him that she was no reader, and he ventured
to make a few remarks. The answers were at first
merely monosyllables, but they required explanation, for he
purposely misunderstood her. One subject of conversation
led to another, and in about an hour they were talking as if
they had been acquainted for months. She informed him
that her father had a situation which scarcely ever admitted
of his leaving Munich. That she and her sister had lost
their mother when they mere children, and they had been
sent to school when their father had married again. They
had returned home but a few weeks ago, and their step-mother,
having been ordered change of air, had chosen
Seon, because the baths there had been of use to her on a
former occasion. They had been very happy to leave school,
and were equally happy to go to the country—especially to
Seon.
// 018.png
.pn +1
“And why especially to Seon?” asked Hamilton.
“Oh, because I have heard so much of it from one of my
school friends.”
“Perhaps, then, you can give me some information. I
have not the least idea what sort of a place it is.”
“I believe it is a great old monastery, with long corridors,
where one might expect to meet the ghosts of the monks
stalking about—and the windows look into dark courts—and
on a moonlight night it is quite romantic walking in the
cloisters!”
“And did your friend wander about quite alone and by
moonlight in such a place?”
“Oh, she was not alone,” said Crescenz, smiling, and
shaking her head slyly.
“So I imagined—probably her mother or her sister walked
with her.”
“Her mother was not there, and her brother-in-law would
not allow her sister to walk by moonlight.”
“What a barbarian he must have been! Who, then,
could have been her companion? It could hardly have
been her father?”
Crescenz laughed outright. “Oh, no; had it been her
father, Lina would not have been sent back to school again.
They said she had done all sorts of wild things at home;
that her head was full of nonsense, and she must be cured.”
“And was she cured?”
“I suppose so, for some time after she left us again she
married an ugly old doctor. Oh, he is so ugly! His chin
sticks out so!” In explanation she thrust out her full red
underlip, forming thereby a better personification of a pretty
naughty child than an ugly old doctor. “I was allowed to
be her bridesmaid,” she continued, “and as I knew all about
Theodor, I asked her if she really were as happy as she
seemed to be. And—can you believe it?—she said that all
the fine things she had told me of Seon and first love was
stuff and nonsense—that she had invited Theodor to her
wedding, and intended to dance with him in the evening!”
“In fact, the affair with Theodor was merely a flirtation,”
observed Hamilton.
“I don’t know what that means,” she answered, looking
inquiringly in his face; “it is an English word, I suppose.”
// 019.png
.pn +1
“Quite English,” said Hamilton, laughing; “but your
friend seems to have understood the meaning perfectly.”
“And yet she did not take any lessons in English,” said
Crescenz, thoughtfully; “but I remember her saying to me
at school that, if she could not marry Theodor, she would go
into a nunnery! And then to be satisfied with ugly old Dr.
Berger?”
“You would not have acted so?” inquired Hamilton.
She was about to answer, when her eyes caught that of
the servant opposite to them; she coloured and remained
silent. Hamilton had long thought this personage a bore,
although she had been too much occupied with little Master
Peppy to have heard much of their conversation. It suddenly,
however, occurred to him to repeat his question in
French, and this removed all difficulties, for the young lady
spoke so remarkably fluently that the conversation proceeded
more flowingly than before. From the specimen given, it
may be supposed that a sufficient quantity of nonsense was
talked; however, they contrived to amuse themselves so well
that they actually drove up to the ci-devant monastery without
having seen a chimney to warn them that their journey
was drawing to a close. Crescenz’s step-mother was waiting
to receive them, and overwhelmed Hamilton with thanks,
while he, taken completely by surprise, had only time to
whisper hurriedly to his travelling companion—“I shall certainly
see you again, even if I should decide on leaving Seon
to-morrow;” and, as he assisted her out of the carriage, he
added, “We positively must try the cloisters by moonlight.”
But no answering smile played round her coral lips. Crescenz
seemed to be metamorphosed. No sooner had her feet
touched the ground than one glided gently behind the other,
and a profound curtsy, such as very young ladies are taught
to make by a dancing-master, was performed to his infinite
astonishment; a few neat and appropriate words of thanks
were added, which, had they not been accompanied by a
burning blush, he would have considered the most consummate
piece of acting he had ever witnessed. Hamilton bit
his lip, and coloured deeply, as he mechanically followed the
landlady through a side-door into the monastery.
He was conducted up a back staircase to a long corridor,
at the end of which was a small passage leading into a tolerably
large, cheerful room, to his great disappointment not
// 020.png
.pn +1
bearing any perceptible marks of antiquity. On expressing
some surprise, he was told that the monastery had been twice
almost burnt to the ground, and that only some parts of the
original building remained. His room was the most modern
of all, and had been the apartment of the abbot before the
secularisation.
“Have you many people staying here at present?” asked
Hamilton.
“Not many; several left this morning, but we expect
others next week.”
“And the names of those who are still here?” asked Hamilton
in considerable alarm.
“Still here,” repeated the landlady; but at this instant
the sounds of wheels and horses’ hoofs made Hamilton rush
to one of the windows. A small open carriage and its dust-covered
occupant attracted his attention so completely that,
without waiting for an answer to his former question, he
added, “Who is that?”
“Ah, the Herr Baron!” cried the landlady, looking out of
the window, and then quickly leaving the room.
The traveller started up in the carriage and looked around
him. He was dressed in a sort of loose shooting-jacket of
gray cloth, which completely concealed his figure; and his
dark-green felt hat was slouched over his face, leaving little
visible excepting the mustache, surmounted by a well-formed
aquiline nose. “Is no one here?” he cried, exhibiting some
very unequivocal signs of impatience; and a servant in plain
livery came at full speed, followed by half a dozen men and
women, who were soon all employed unpacking the carriage.
Carpet-bag, meerschaum pipes of different forms and dimensions,
newspapers, cigar-cases, boots, powder-horn, umbrella,
double-barrelled gun, sketch-book, a very old pistol, a very
new rifle, and some rolls of bread, followed each other in odd
confusion. Some one at a window not distant from Hamilton
laughed heartily; the traveller looked up, laughed also,
and flourished his hat in the air. “What a dusty figure!”
exclaimed the invisible. “Have you brought no trophy?
No venison for our landlady?”
“The chamois hunt was unsuccessful, although I remained
out all night; but my new rifle performed wonders at the
Scheiben schiessen.”
Another laugh from the window made him seize his rifle,
// 021.png
.pn +1
and jestingly point it upwards—it was, however, directly
thrown aside, while he half-apologetically exclaimed, “It cannot
go off, I assure you. Look here, it is not even loaded,”
and he grasped the ramrod to prove his assertion; but some
unexpected impediment in the barrel caused him to grow
suddenly red—he raised the offending weapon as if with the
intention of firing it off, but after a hasty glance towards the
window, he gave it to one of the bystanders, requesting
him to draw out the charge, and then ran quickly into the
house.
In the meantime, Hamilton’s coachman had brought up
his luggage, and a chambermaid waited to know whether or
not he intended to sup below stairs. Supper would be in the
little room through which he had passed on his entrance,
as there were too few people for the saloon. Perhaps he
wished to sup in his own room?
“By no means, I always prefer a table-d’hôte. Pray, can
you tell me the names of some of the people here? I may,
perhaps, have an acquaintance among them.”
“Major Stultz, from Munich. The family who have just
arrived are the Rosenbergs, from——”
“I know—I know,” cried Hamilton, nodding his head.
“Then there is Mr. Schmearer, landscape-painter, and
Count Zedwitz—his wife and daughter——”
“Who do you say?” said Hamilton, suddenly recollecting
A. Z.
“Count Zedwitz and the Countess, and——”
“Can they speak English?”
“Oh, no doubt; and French, too, quite perfectly; they
speak a great many languages.”
“They are not, however, invalids? That is, they are not
here on account of the baths?”
“No; I believe they came to meet some friends whom they
intended to have visited. I heard the Count’s servants saying
that their house, or the Baron’s, was full of masons and
painters.”
“Ah! exactly——”
“But the old Countess does take baths,” continued the
chambermaid, “and finds great benefit from them, too. The
Count is a favourer of Preissnitz and the Water Cure; and
when he does not go to Graefenberg, all places are alike to
him where water is good and in abundance.”
// 022.png
.pn +1
“And his daughter?” asked Hamilton, now convinced that
he had found A. Z.
“Oh, his daughter springs from her bed every morning
into a tub of cold water with a great sponge in it, to please
him; but I never heard of her having sweated, or——”
“Her having what?”
“Sweated! The Count sent his bed and tubs here the
day before he came, and his servant Pepperl must tie him
up every morning.”
“You never heard of mademoiselle’s being tied up by
Pepperl?” asked Hamilton, gravely.
“I believe she never had the rheumatism; but one day,
when she had a headache, I saw her sitting with her feet in
a tub of cold water, and wet towels around her head.”
Some one just then knocked gently at the door. “Come
in!” cried Hamilton, and, to his no small surprise, Crescenz
appeared in the doorway. She blushed, and so did he, and
then he blushed because he had blushed; and to conceal his
annoyance he had assumed a cold, haughty manner, and
waited for her to speak. She stammered something about a
reticule and pocket-handkerchief, as, with the assistance of
the chambermaid, she moved his carpet-bag, and shook his
cloak in every possible direction. Nothing was to be found,
and she was just about to leave the room when Hamilton
perceived the lost property under his dressing-case. As he
restored it, and held the door open for her to pass, he took
advantage of the opportunity, and returned her former curtsy
with an obeisance so profound that it amounted to mockery;
and as such she felt it, too, for the colour mounted through
the roots of her hair, suffusing with deep red both neck and
ears as she bent down her head, and hurried out of the room,
followed by the chambermaid. Hamilton was so shocked at
his rudeness that he felt greatly inclined to run after her
and apologise; and had she been alone he would certainly
have done so, for it directly occurred to him that she had
come herself to seek her handkerchief in order to have an
opportunity of explaining to him the cause of her sudden
and extraordinary change of manner. This made him still
more repent of his puerile conduct, and wish he had spoken
to her. He looked out of the window to see if he were
likely to meet her should he perambulate the much-talked-of
cloister, but instead of the rising moon, angry thunderclouds
// 023.png
.pn +1
were rapidly converting the remaining twilight into
darkest night. His hopes of a romantic interview and explanation
were at an end; there was no chance of moonlight,
and the acquaintance was much too new to think of a meeting
in thunder and lightning! The supper-table seemed
a more eligible place, and, spurred both by contrition and
hunger, he determined to repair to it with all possible expedition.
On leaving the small passage conducting to his room, he
entered the long corridor which he had traversed with the
landlady; on turning, however, as he thought, to the staircase
by which he had ascended, he suddenly found himself
in a small but lofty chapel. It was too dark to see distinctly
the decorations of the altar, but it seemed as if gilding had
not been spared; two small adjoining apartments he next
examined, and then completely forgetting whether he had
entered from the right or left hand, he walked inquisitively
forward until a broad gloomy passage brought him to a corridor,
which he instinctively felt to be the place where on
moonlight nights one might perchance be disposed to romance.
The doors opposite to him, placed close to each
other, had probably belonged to cells; over each was a black-looking
picture, portraits of the abbots, the faces and hands
looking most ghastly in their indistinctness. A broad staircase
was near, but fearing to lose his way completely, he
contented himself for the present with reconnoitring the
garden and a lake from a sort of lobby window. Woods
and mountains were in the distance, but every moment becoming
less distinct; the oppressive calm had been succeeded
by a wild wind which bent the trees in all directions, and
ruffled the surface of the water. Interested in the approaching
thunder-storm, he stood at the window until his revery
was interrupted by the sound of footsteps, voices, and the
clapping of doors. He turned quickly from the window,
walked to the end of the corridor, turned to the left, and
entered a very narrow passage looking into a small quadrangular
court, which seemed once to have been a garden; it
still possessed a few trees, a fountain, and a luxuriant growth
of rank grass. He mounted a flight of stone steps, which
brought him into the organ loft, whence he had a full view
of the monastery church. The lamp which hung suspended
before the altar threw fitful gleams of light on the objects in
// 024.png
.pn +1
its immediate vicinity—all the rest was in shadow; behind
the organ was a sort of vaulted, unfinished room, containing
nothing but a most clumsy apparatus for filling the bellows.
Just as he was about to leave this uninteresting place, two
persons entered the adjoining loft; recognising the voice of
his travelling companion, and perceiving she was accompanied
by her sister, he commenced a precipitate retreat by
another entrance than that next the organ; in his haste,
however, he entangled his foot in the rope communicating
with the belfry, so that his slightest movement might alarm
the whole household. While endeavouring, as well as the
darkness would permit, to extricate himself, he was compelled
to become auditor to a conversation certainly not intended
for his ears.
“And you don’t think him at all good-looking?” asked
Crescenz.
“I cannot say that his appearance particularly pleased
me, but you know I only saw him eating his dinner; he
seemed, however, to have an uncommonly good opinion of
himself!”
“At all events,” said Crescenz, “it was very obliging of
him to take us in his carriage. I am sure if you had
travelled with him instead of me, you would think quite
differently.”
“Dear Crescenz! I have no doubt that he was agreeable,
as you say so; and I agree with you in thinking him very
civil, and all that sort of thing, but you cannot force me to
think him handsome.”
“I did not say that I thought him handsome,” cried
Crescenz, deprecatingly.
“No! Something very like it, then. Let me see, hum—a—most
interesting person you ever saw; brilliant dark
eyes, with long eyelashes; magnificent teeth, beautiful
mouth, refined manners, and ever so much more! Now, I
think him an effeminate-looking, supercilious boy, and——”
“Oh, I might have foreseen,” cried Crescenz, interrupting
her sister, “I might have foreseen that he would find no
favour in your eyes, as he is not an officer with a long
sword clattering at his side.”
“Sword or no sword,” answered the other, laughing, “he
would not look like anything but an overgrown schoolboy,
perhaps a student, or—an embryo attaché to an embassy.”
// 025.png
.pn +1
Hamilton’s blush of annoyance was concealed by the
darkness.
“I intended,” began Crescenz, hesitatingly, “I intended
to have told you something, but you seem to be so prejudiced
against him that——”
“Prejudiced! Not in the least. I do not think him
particularly handsome, that’s all!”
“Well, you know I told you we talked a great deal during
our journey, and—and a—in short, just as we reached
Seon he said something about meeting me in the corridor
by moonlight.”
“Just what I should have expected from him!” cried the
other, angrily. “How presuming on so short an acquaintance?”
“He is an Englishman,” said Crescenz, apologetically;
“and certainly did not mean anything wrong, for his manner
did not change in the least when he saw mamma, while
I was so dreadfully afraid that she might observe—Oh!
Hildegarde! What is that? Did you not hear something
moving?”
“I think I did; let us listen.” A pause ensued. “It’s
only the thunder-storm, and”—taking a long breath—“the
ticking of the great clock.”
“How like someone breathing heavily,” exclaimed Crescenz,
anxiously.
“And how dark it is! We can hardly find our way out,”
said Hildegarde.
Hamilton did not venture to move; they were so near
him that he heard the hands feeling the way on the wall close
to where he stood. One reached the narrow passage in
safety, the other stumbled on the stairs; and, as Hamilton
unconsciously made a movement to assist her, the lightning,
which had once or twice enabled him to distinguish their
figures, now rendered him for a moment visible. It was in
vain he again drew back into his hiding-place. With a cry
of terror, Crescenz raised herself from the ground, and
rushed into her sister’s arms, exclaiming, “I have seen
him! I have seen him! He is here!”
“What! Who is here?”
“The Englishman! the Englishman!”
“Impossible! How can you be so foolish? Come, come,
let us leave this place.”
// 026.png
.pn +1
“I saw him, and the lightning played upon his face, and
he looked as if he were dead. I saw him, indeed I saw
him!” cried Crescenz, sobbing frantically.
“Crescenz—dear Crescenz!” said her sister, vainly endeavouring
to calm her.
Hamilton was inexpressibly shocked, and conceiving his
actual presence would relieve her mind from the fear of
having seen something supernatural, he came forward and
explained, as well as he could, the cause of his being there.
In the excess of his anxiety he seized her hand, called her
Crescenz, and talked he knew not what nonsense. Her
efforts to control her emotions were desperate. She forced
a laugh, but the attempt ended in a scream, which echoed
wildly through the building.
“Crescenz! Crescenz! have you lost your senses?” cried
her sister. “You will bring the whole house about us!”
Her words seemed likely to be verified, for lights began
to glimmer in all directions.
“Mamma will come, and we may make up our minds
to return to Munich to-morrow,” cried Hildegarde, impatiently.
Hamilton’s situation now became uncomfortable; it was,
to say the least, not favourable for a first appearance among
strangers; and the thought that “A. Z.” might be among
them was so overpowering that he stood perfectly petrified,
and still unconsciously holding Crescenz’s hand. “As to
you, the Englishman,” continued Hildegarde, angrily, “your
standing there can only increase our embarrassment. Begone!
It is still possible for you to escape observation.”
He turned mechanically towards the organ-loft.
“Not there! Not there!” she cried vehemently. “One
would really think you a fool!”
Roused by this somewhat uncivil observation, Hamilton
asked, in about as gentle a tone of voice as her own, “Where
the d—l shall I go, then, mademoiselle? You don’t wish
me to face all those lights, do you?”
“Go! go! go!” she cried, with increased violence, and
stamping the ground with her feet. “You can cross the
corridor before they reach the entrance to this passage.”
He ran, crossed the passage, stumbled up some two or
three steps to a door, which charitably yielded to his hand,
and afforded him a retreat into—the church—for there he
// 027.png
.pn +1
was again! Now completely confused, and feeling as if
under the influence of nightmare, he threw himself into a
seat, and covered his face with his hands. Steps and inquiring
voices came nearer and nearer. He heard scolding,
wondering, expostulating; then all was quiet, and only
Crescenz’s subdued sobs reached his ear. All at once, to
his no small dismay, the church became lighted; some persons
with candles were in the organ-loft opposite to him; he
could see them, however, in tolerable security, for his place
of refuge proved to be the enclosed gallery formerly occupied
by the monks. In the meantime the storm had increased;
one flash of lightning was followed so immediately
by thunder so loud that it seemed to shake the very foundations
of the monastery. It served to disperse the assembly,
for Hamilton heard soon after the retreating steps passing
the door of the gallery, the opening and shutting of several
doors, voices lost in the distance, and all was again still.
He waited merely to assure himself that no one was in the
way, and then cautiously commenced his retreat. A
juvenile reminiscence made him smile as he now moved
from his hiding-place; he remembered the time when he
had hoped his “new boots would creak,” and had even
tampered with the boot-maker’s apprentice when he had
been so lucky as to have his measure taken without witnesses.
And now, what would he not have given for a pair
of slippers, or anything but creaking boots! He had
scarcely made six strides on tiptoe when a door opened, and
a head protruded itself. He trusted to the darkness for
concealment, and leaned against the wall; the head had no
sooner disappeared, than, seizing the favourable moment,
he rushed into a dark passage, and ran, unconscious whether
he turned right or left, until he reached a large open window.
He looked out, and saw the traveller’s little green
carriage being pushed towards the coach-house. Here was
a sort of compass to steer by; his windows had the same
aspect, ergo, that door must lead to his room. Before, however,
he undertook another expedition, he thought it prudent
to get a light. This caused a few minutes’ delay; and
when he again sallied forth he seemed destined to be more
fortunate. Hildegarde and her step-mother walked before
him, as if to point the way. They disappeared at the end
of the passage, and he quickened his steps in order to overtake
// 028.png
.pn +1
them on the stairs. The latter was speaking loudly, it
seemed in continuation of a previous discourse. “You may
rest assured that your father shall have a full account of
the whole affair! Such a disgraceful scene! Count Zedwitz
sent his servant to inquire what was the matter, and
recommended immersion in cold water. A good ducking
would have most effectually quieted Crescenz’s nerves, and
I shall certainly try it next time. My health is not likely
to be much benefited by a residence here, if I have to act
duenna to you and your sister! Remember, I strictly forbid
your walking in these passages after sunset in future.
Do you hear?”
“Yes, madame.”
“As to Crescenz being so afraid of lightning, that’s all
nonsense! I should like to know if all the young ladies at
school scream in that manner whenever they see a flash of
lightning!”
“The thunder was very loud,” began Hildegarde; “and,
besides, you have not heard that she saw——”
“Well, well,” cried her mother, interrupting her, to Hamilton’s
great satisfaction, “thunder or lightning—or both—there
was no occasion for such a noise, and I give you warning
that the very first time I have cause to be dissatisfied
with you or your sister, back you shall go to school. Health
is my object at present, and every irritation of the nerves
has been expressly forbidden by my medical adviser.”
To this speech no answer was made, and Hamilton followed
them at a distance into the supper-room. He had
lost so much time in the organ-loft that almost all of the
guests were already gone. The traveller, whose arrival he
had witnessed, was in the act of lighting a cigar, with which
he immediately left the room. An elderly, red-faced, stout
gentleman, with a tankard of beer beside him, he soon discovered
to be Major Stultz; nor did it require much penetration
to recognise Mr. Schmearer, the painter, in the
emaciated, sentimental-looking young man beside whom he
seated himself. Hildegarde and her step-mother were nearly
opposite; the former, after bestowing on Hamilton a look
which might appropriately have accompanied a box on the
ear, fixed her eyes on the table; the latter bowed most
graciously, and commenced an interesting conversation about
the weather, the barometer, and her dislike to thunder-storms
// 029.png
.pn +1
in general. When these topics had been completely exhausted,
Hamilton hoped something might be said of the
present inmates of Seon; but a long and tiresome discussion
on the merits of summer and winter beer followed. Strauss’s
beer was delicious—bock had been particularly good this
year. “Bock!” cried Major Stultz, enthusiastically, “bock
is better than champagne! Bock is——” Here he looked
up with an impassioned air to the ceiling, and kissed the
first two fingers of his right hand, flourishing them in the
air afterwards. Words, it seems, were inadequate to express
the merits of this beverage.
“Did you see that picture at the Kunstverein[#] in Munich,
representing a glass of foaming bock, with the usual accessories
of bread and radishes?” asked Mr. Schmearer. “It
was exquisitely painted! I believe his majesty purchased
it.”
.pm fn-start // 1
Society of Arts.
.pm fn-end
“There is some sense in such a picture as that,” answered
Major Stultz. “I went two or three times to see it, and
could scarcely avoid stretching out my hand to feel if it were
not some deception.”
“A judicious management of reflected lights produces extraordinary
effect in the representation of fluids,” observed
Mr. Schmearer.
A pause ensued. Major Stultz did not seem disposed to
discuss reflected lights; the picture had evidently had no
value for him excepting as a good representation of a glass
of bock; and his attention was now directed towards Hildegarde,
whose flushed cheeks and pouting lips rather heightened
than detracted from her beauty.
“Perhaps you would like to see the newspapers, madame?”
he asked, politely offering the latest arrived to her step-mother.
“Thank you; I never read newspapers, though I join
some acquaintances in taking the Eilbote, on condition that
it comes to us last of all, and then we can keep the paper
for cleaning the looking-glasses and windows.”
“There are, however, sometimes very pretty stories and
charades in the Eilbote. Young ladies like such things,” he
observed, glancing significantly towards Hildegarde.
“My daughters must read nothing but French, and I have
// 030.png
.pn +1
subscribed to a library for them. Their French has occupied
more than half their lives at school, and now I intend them
to teach the boys.”
“I should have no sort of objection to learn French from
such an instructress,” said the Major, gallantly.
“Indeed, I don’t think anyone will ever learn much from
her,” said Madame Rosenberg, severely; “but her sister
Crescenz is a good girl, and the children are very fond of
her.”
“You have two daughters!” exclaimed the Major.
“Step-daughters,” she replied, dryly.
“That I took for granted,” he said, bowing, as if he intended
to be very civil. “The young ladies will be of great
use to you in the housekeeping.”
“That is exactly what has been neglected in their education;
if they could keep a house as well as they can speak
French, I should be satisfied. When we return to Munich,
they must both learn cookery. I intend afterwards to give
the children to one and the housekeeping to the other, alternately.”
“You will prepare the young ladies so well for their destination
that I suspect they will not remain long unmarried!”
“There’s not much chance of that! Husbands are not so
easily found for portionless daughters!” replied Madame
Rosenberg, facetiously; “however, I am quite ready to give
my consent, should anything good offer.”
Hamilton looked at Hildegarde to see what impression
this conversation had made on her. She had turned away
as much as possible from the speakers, and with her head
bent down seemed to watch intently the bursting of the
bubbles in a glass of beer. Had it been her sister, he would
have thought she had chosen the occupation to conceal her
embarrassment—but embarrassment was not Hildegarde’s
predominant feeling; her compressed lips and quick breathing
denoted suppressed anger, which amounted to rage, as
her step-mother in direct terms asked Major Stultz if he were
married, and received for answer that he was “a bachelor,
at her service.” With a sudden jerk, the glass was prostrated
on the table, and before Hamilton could raise his arm
its contents were deposited in the sleeve of his coat.
“Pardon mille-fois!” cried Hildegarde, looking really
sorry for what had occurred.
// 031.png
.pn +1
“You irritable, awkward girl!” commenced her mother;
but for some undoubtedly excellent reason, she suddenly
changed her manner, and added—“You had better go to
bed, child; I see you have not yet recovered from the recent
alarm in the church.”
Hildegarde rose quickly from her chair, and with a slight
and somewhat haughty obeisance to the company, left the
room in silence. Madame Rosenberg continued volubly to
excuse her to Hamilton, and, what he thought quite unnecessary,
to Major Stultz also!
The Major listened with complacence; but Hamilton’s wet
shirt-sleeve induced him to finish his supper as quickly as
possible and wish the company good-night.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch02
CHAPTER II. || THE INITIALS.
.sp 2
Hamilton thought there were few things so disagreeable
as going to bed, excepting, perhaps, getting up again. He
was incorrigibly indolent in this respect, and nothing but
the most fresh and beautiful of mornings, aided perhaps by
the transparent muslin curtains, which had admitted every
ray of light from daybreak, could have induced him to get
up and be dressed at six o’clock; and that, too, without any
immediate object in view, for three or four hours at least
must elapse before he could venture to intrude on “A. Z.”
He was not a little surprised to find Crescenz and her sister
already in the garden; but having no inclination for a renewal
of the organ-loft scene, he turned towards a row of
clumsy, flat-bottomed boats, sprung into one of them, and in
a few minutes was far out in the lake, where he quietly
leaned on his oars, and began to look about him.
Seon was originally built upon an island and received its
name from this circumstance, as is quaintly enough recorded
in the Introductio ad Annales Monasterii Seonentis,
of Benonne Feichtmaejr, Ejusdem Monasterii Professor—“When
God saw that the wickedness of man was great in
the earth, and that every imagination of the thoughts of his
// 032.png
.pn +1
heart was only evil continually, he threatened the earth with
destruction; and said unto Noah, ‘Make thee an ark,’ etc.,
etc., etc. So our blessed founder, Aribo, seeing in what unrighteousness
mankind had again fallen, resolved also to
build an ark, and to receive into it not only his own household,
but all others who were willing to quit the wickedness
of the world and save themselves from the deluge of sin.
Accordingly he changed his castle called Buergel into a
monastery under the seal of the holy patriarch Benedictus,
and recommended the same to the protection of the holy
martyr Lambertus. The monastery was then named Seon,
as the letters composing this word being reversed form the
name of Noes (Noah); and the monastery representing the
ark appeared to float in the midst of the lake, a place of
refuge for all willing to seek it.”
Of the original building of 994 nothing remains but the
church, now converted into a cellar, and the cloisters,—the
other parts having been consumed by fire in the year 1561.
In the course of time, however, and even before the secularisation
of the monastery, it had been found convenient to
connect Seon with the mainland by means of a road, over
which Hamilton must have driven the evening before. And
now, when viewed from the outside, Seon much more resembled
a middle-aged German castle than a monastery. This
impression it made on Hamilton, too, as he watched the
numerous groups of people who had begun to enliven with
their presence the pretty garden extending from it to the
lake.
Crescenz and her sister continued to walk up and down,
talking earnestly, and so often bestowing a look on the
“overgrown schoolboy,” that he felt convinced he was the
subject of discourse. Their brothers soon after joined them,
and a very outrageous game of romps ensued between them
and Crescenz. Hildegarde still turned towards the lake, her
eyes fixed on him and his boat. “Perhaps,” he thought,
with the vanity inherent to very young men—“perhaps she
regrets her rudeness to me last night. I like her all the
better for not playing with those unmannerly boys; and at
supper, too, I observed that, although strongly resembling
her sister, she is infinitely handsomer!” He rowed to the
landing-place, moored the boat, and approached her quietly;
but it did not require long to convince him that he had not
// 033.png
.pn +1
been in the least degree an object of interest to her, for she
still gazed on the lake, though his bark no longer floated on
its surface, and not even the sound of his voice when he
spoke to her sister could induce her to turn round. He
looked at his watch, and found that by the time he had
breakfasted he might prepare to visit A. Z.—that is, learn
what chance he had of making a useful or agreeable acquaintance.
He inquired for the landlady, and found her in
the kitchen sending forth detachments of coffee and rolls to
the garden. To his great surprise and pleasure, she ordered
his breakfast to be carried to the arbour, where the Countess
Zedwitz and her daughter were breakfasting, saying it was
the only place unengaged in the whole garden. With mixed
feelings of anxiety and curiosity he followed. While it was
being deposited on the table, he observed that a question
was asked by a comfortable-looking dowager, and the answer
seemed satisfactory, for she nodded her head and then looked
towards him. He bowed, and was received with a good-humoured
smile. “She knows me,” he thought, “and this
is A. Z.” It did not, in fact, signify—but—he would have
preferred the daughter, who, although not in the least pretty,
had a merry expression of countenance, and looked so fresh
that he involuntarily thought of the tub of cold water out
of which she had probably sprung half an hour before.
“I fear, madame, you will think me an intruder,” he
began, with an affection of diffidence which he was far from
feeling.
“Oh, by no mean,” cried the elder lady, in English, nodding
her head two or three times; “by no mean! You are
an Englishman; I am very glad to have occasion to spick
English. Man lose all practice in both! I estimate me very
happy to make acquaintance with you.”
Hamilton assured her he felt extremely obliged—hoped,
however, to prove that he had a better claim to her notice
than his being an Englishman. This she did not comprehend,
for, like most Germans who are learning English, she
seldom understood when spoken to, and preferred continuing
to talk herself to waiting or asking for an answer in a language
which she knew by sight but not by sound. Accordingly,
“We have a very fine nature here!” was the reply he
received to an observation which he had intended to have
led to an interesting discovery of his being the son of her
// 034.png
.pn +1
Munich correspondent. “We have a very fine nature
here!”
Hamilton looked puzzled, or she thought him a little deaf,
for she spoke louder as she said, “A very beautiful nature!”
He bowed, and coloured slightly.
“Mamma will say, our prospects are very good,” said the
younger lady, in explanation.
“Ha!—prospects!” he repeated.
“What you call lanskip—paysage? Is not good English?
No?”
“Oh, very good English,” he answered, looking round him,
prepared to admire anything or everything he could see.
Now, they were in an arbour thickly covered with foliage in
order to render it impervious to the sun’s rays, and the entrance
being from the garden, there was no view whatever
deserving the name of prospect. Hamilton knew not what
to say, and was beginning to feel embarrassed, when the
Rosenbergs luckily appeared and made a diversion in his
favour. Crescenz and her sister advanced to meet their step-mother,
who now entered the garden dressed in a most unbecoming
dark-coloured cotton morning-gown partly covered
by an old shawl thrown negligently over her shoulders, and
her hair still twisted round those odious leather things used
for curling refractory ringlets.
“Who is that?” asked the Countess, to his great relief
speaking German. “Who is that person?”
“I believe her name is Rosenberg,” he answered; “she
came from Munich yesterday.”
“Ah, I know. That is the person who screamed in the
gallery last night.”
“No, mamma, it was one of her daughters who screamed.”
“Oh, one of her daughters! They are very pretty,” said
the Countess, raising her double lorgnette to her eyes—“really
very pretty! and I think I have seen them somewhere before,
but where I cannot recollect——”
“Oh, mamma, I know where you have seen them; they
were in the same school with my cousin Thérèse, and we saw
them at the examinations last year. Don’t you remember
the two sisters who were so like each other? And as we drove
home with the Princess N——, she said that one of them
was the handsomest creature she had ever seen! I think,
too, she said she had known their mother!”
// 035.png
.pn +1
“Not that person in the odious dishabille! You are
dreaming, child!”
“No, no—their mother was noble—she was a Raimund,
had no fortune, and married a nobody, when she was old
enough to have been wiser; her relations never forgave her,
but after her death they offered to educate these two girls for
governesses; their father would not part with them; but
when he afterwards married a rich goldsmith’s daughter, she
immediately insisted on his sending them to school.”
“I believe I do remember something of this—most probably
a sister of our friend Count Raimund, Agnes?”
“Mademoiselle’s name is Agnes,” said Hamilton, quickly.
“Then, perhaps, you are the person who was so kind as to
write me the letter which—” and he searched in his pocket
for A. Z.’s letter.
“What!—what is that about a letter?” asked the old lady,
hastily.
“Some mistake, mamma.”
“But he says you wrote to him, my dear.”
“No, mamma, I did not write to him; but I think it extremely
probable that papa did. I know he wrote lately to an
Englishman in Munich. He will be glad to see you, I am sure,”
she added, turning to Hamilton; “for although he speaks
English very tolerably, he finds writing it extremely difficult;
and the little note in question occupied him nearly an hour.
When you have breakfasted, I can go with you to his room.”
Hamilton pushed away his coffee-cup, and stood up directly.
“Agnes, Agnes!” cried her mother gravely, “you know
your father is sweating!”
“Yes, mamma, I know; but papa wishes very much to see
his English correspondent. You have, probably, just returned
from Graefenberg?” she said, addressing Hamilton.
“Have you no letter from Preissnitz?”
“Letters from Preissnitz! I have no letter except that
which I received the day before yesterday from Count Zedwitz.”
“You wish, perhaps, to speak to papa before you decide on
going to Graefenberg?”
“I—I have no intention whatever of going there, mademoiselle,”
said Hamilton, who did not exactly know who
Preissnitz was, or where Graefenberg might be situated; for
// 036.png
.pn +1
ten years ago, Preissnitz’s name was little known in Germany,
and scarcely at all in England.
“Well, at all events, you had better speak to papa: I know
he expects to see you.”
“If that be the case,” said Hamilton, “I am sure I shall
be very happy to make his acquaintance—I only feared the
letter might have been intended for my father, as he has
foreign acquaintances, and I have as yet none.”
“It is quite the same thing, I should think,” said the
young Countess, as she led the way out of the garden. “You
can let your father know that you have seen us here. Papa
was only sorry that he could not receive you at home; but
our house is not at present habitable, and——”
“Ah!” cried Hamilton, springing up the stairs after her,
“that is exactly what he said in his letter.”
“Wait here until I have told him that you have arrived,”
she said, tapping gently at one of the doors, which closed
upon her immediately afterwards.
She did not return, but a tall, gaunt servant appeared to
conduct him to Count Zedwitz’s apartment. On entering, he
perceived that a figure lay on a bed, but so wrapped in blankets
and covered with down beds, that nothing was visible but
the face, down which the perspiration rolled copiously. A
reading-desk was placed on the breast, and a long quill,
tightly pressed between the teeth, served to turn over the
leaves of his book. Hamilton would have required some
time to discover the use of the quill, had it not been performing
its office as he entered.
“I am rejoice to see you—very glad you have become my
letter, and seem to profit by it. You are good on the feet
again?”
“Thank you,” said Hamilton, rather puzzled by this address,
and half-disposed to refuse the chair placed for him by
the servant.
“You have been to Graefenberg?—No?”
“No.”
“You have recover without Preissnitz?”
“Recover!” repeated Hamilton; “I have never been seriously
ill in my life, colds and all that sort of thing excepted—mere
trifles, after all!”
“Trifles! well, you Englishmen have odd idea!—Rheumatism
is trifle!”
// 037.png
.pn +1
“Gout is more common with us,” observed Hamilton,
somewhat amused.
“Well, gout, chicagra, podagra, rheumatism, what you will,
is no trifle at all! You have had the gout?”
“No; but I suppose I shall in time: it is hereditary in our
family—my father has two or three attacks every year.”
“Your father! is it your father who has had the gout?”
“Yes, and I suspect my father is your correspondent, too.
I really fear I am not the person you suppose me to be.”
“What! what, what do you mean?” he cried, endeavouring
to raise himself in his bed, and looking precisely like a writhing
caddice-worm.
“I mean that I received a letter the day before yesterday,
inviting me to come here; the seal was a coronet, and it was
signed A. Z. I arrived; made inquiries, and too hastily, it
seems, concluded that Count Zedwitz, or one of his family,
had written to me. Your daughter confirmed me in my error
by saying that you had lately written to an Englishman in
Munich, and wished very much to see him.”
“Hum, ha!—very odd!” murmured the Count, fixing his
eyes sharply on Hamilton. “May I ask your name?”
“Hamilton,” replied the Englishman, with an ill-concealed
attempt to repress an inclination to laugh.
“I have not the honour of knowing any one of that name,”
said the Count, endeavouring, as well as his blankets would
permit him, to look dignified. “I am surprised, sir, you did
not perceive the mistake sooner!”
“So am I,” replied Hamilton, his rising colour betraying
the embarrassment he endeavoured to conceal; “but every
moment some remark of yours made me doubt again; besides,”
he added, moving towards the door, “I must confess,
I wished to hear something of this water-cure, which is quite
new to me; I never heard of it until yesterday. However,
I am extremely sorry for having forced myself upon your
acquaintance, and can only regret that my correspondent had
not written his name in full; from these initials, it seems, I
have but a small chance of discovering the writer!”
“I don’t know that,” cried Count Zedwitz, suddenly changing
his manner; “it is by no means improbable that the
letter is from Baron Z—; his wife is an Englishwoman. I
should recommend your seeing them before you give up your
search. And—and,” he added—hesitatingly—“as you seem
// 038.png
.pn +1
interested on the subject of hydropathy, I shall have great
pleasure in lending you some books and giving you every
information in my power about Preissnitz and Graefenberg.
In the mean time, look over this little work—it is not
necessary to be a physician to understand it. You will find
here a description of Graefenberg, the establishment of
Preissnitz, who discovered this most rational mode of curing
all diseases; and, I doubt not, you will soon be convinced of
the uselessness of physicians and apothecaries, and place, as
I do, all your reliance on cold water. Read what is said
about perspiration, cold water drinking, and bathing; read
and judge for yourself. I shall see you at dinner-time.”
Hamilton received the book with expressions of gratitude
which were really sincere. The happy termination of this
interview made him feel that he had gained an acquaintance,
who might, perhaps, turn into a friend, if he submitted
to the ordeal by water.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch03
CHAPTER III. || A. Z.
.sp 2
As Hamilton was on his way to his room to procure his
credentials, viz., A. Z.’s letter, he chanced to meet one of
the chambermaids, who offered to conduct him to Baron
Z—’s apartment. To prevent the necessity of an explanation,
he sent her before with one of his cards, and she
returned almost immediately, saying that Baron Z—
would be very happy to see him, and begged he would come
to him as soon as possible. Hamilton immediately obeyed
the summons, and found himself in presence of the traveller
with the long rifle. In the middle of a large room was a
round table completely covered with shooting implements,
beside which stood Baron Z—, examining the identical
rifle which he had pointed upwards the evening before. He
advanced towards Hamilton with great cordiality, extended
his hand, and exclaimed in English:
“Mr. Hamilton, I am very glad to see you; my wife and
I have been anxiously awaiting your arrival; for we are
// 039.png
.pn +1
obliged to leave Seon after dinner to-day, to go to Berchtesgaden.
Now all is quite easy to arrange—you go with us—you
admire the beautiful mountains—you see the salt mines,
and then we arrange an Alp-party or a chamois-hunt together.
Are you a good shot?”
“No, I regret to say I am not,” answered Hamilton, not
a little embarrassed, for his deficiency in this respect had
furnished his brother John, greatly his inferior in other
respects, with unceasing subject for ridicule; and he half-expected
some scoffing remark in answer.
“You like to fish, or hunt on horseback, better than
chamois-hunt, perhaps?”
Hamilton acknowledged, much relieved, that he was very
fond of a hunt on horseback; he could ride, he said, much
better than he could shoot.
“And I,” answered Baron Z—, good-humouredly laughing,
“I can shoot better than I can ride. I thought it would
be interesting for you to be acquainted with our sports,
and——”
“It would interest me of all things to see anything of the
kind, even as a mere spectator,” exclaimed Hamilton, eagerly.
“I accept your invitation with many thanks.”
Baron Z— now desired his servant to let his wife know
that “Mr. Hamilton, the Englishman she expected, had
arrived. And Joseph,” he called after him, “take one of the
carriage-boxes to Mr. Hamilton’s room; he goes with us to
Berchtesgaden.”
They were in the midst of a very animated discussion of
what Hamilton knew very little about, viz., the latest
improvements in fire-arms, when the real A. Z. entered the
room. How shall we describe her? Most easily, perhaps,
by negatives. She was not tall nor short, nor stout nor thin,
nor handsome nor ugly, nor—nor—in fact, as well as Hamilton
could define his ideas at such a critical moment, he
thought the impression made on him was, that a pale, dark-haired
person stood before him, whose countenance denoted
sufficient intellect to make him conscious that he had better
produce his letter and enter into an explanation at once.
The absence of all recognition on her part made him at once
conscious that he was not the person she had expected, and
he stood before her blushing so intensely that she seemed to
feel at length a sort of commiseration for him. She bit her
// 040.png
.pn +1
lip to conceal a smile, and after a moment’s pause, held out
her hand, saying, “I confess I expected to have seen your
father, and am a little disappointed. You were such a mere
child when I saw you last, John, that you have completely
outgrown my recollection. You promised, indeed, to be
‘more than common tall,’ but I was not prepared for such a
specimen of—— You seem to be an inveterate blusher,
and very shy; perhaps that was the reason your father
wished to send you abroad before you joined your regiment?
By-the-by, I must have been misinformed, but I heard you
had already joined! Now, pray don’t waste another blush
on me, but try to feel at home as soon as you can, and prepare
to tell me directly everything about everybody!”
Hamilton moved mechanically towards the sofa, completely
confused in every sense of the word, but at the same time
greatly relieved in his mind. So, after all, the letter had
been intended for his father, and she merely mistook him for
his brother John—a common mistake, which he could easily
explain. What a fool he would have been had he not come
in person to inquire about this “A. Z.,” who was evidently
an old friend of his father. He began to breathe more freely,
and overheard a few words which she addressed to her husband
in a very low voice, in German: “Did you ever see
such a long-legged, bashful animal? He is, however, handsome,
and would be decidedly gentlemanlike if he were less
diffident. We must take him with us to Berchtesgaden
Herrmann.”
“I have already arranged everything,” he answered,
nodding his head. “He wishes to see a chamois-hunt, and
he shall, if I can manage it; at all events, he may stretch
his long legs on one of our mountains.”
“Are you a sportsman?” she asked in English, turning
towards Hamilton, and seating herself on the sofa.
“Not the least in the world, as far as shooting is concerned,”
he answered, stooping to arrange her footstool, and
feeling once more unembarrassed, “but I should like
extremely to see a chamois-hunt.”
“If you are not what is called a good shot,” said A. Z.,
“I should recommend the ascent of a mountain or alp
instead of a chamois-hunt, which is very fatiguing, and I
should think must be uninteresting to a person who cannot
shoot remarkably well.”
// 041.png
.pn +1
“Anything that is new or national will be acceptable to
me,” answered Hamilton. “I am anxious to profit by my
residence in Germany, and see and hear as much as possible;
most particularly, I wish to become acquainted with some
German family, in order to see the interior of their houses,
and learn their domestic habits.”
While he had been speaking, A. Z. had bent over a small
work-box, with the contents of which she absently played.
She now looked up, and repeated his last words: “Domestic
habits! Does that interest you?—But I had almost forgotten;
your father wrote to me on that subject, and I had
very nearly entered into an engagement for you with a
family of Munich.”
“How very odd!” exclaimed Hamilton. “My father
never mentioned a word of anything of the kind to me; I
do not think even my mother was acquainted with this plan.”
“You are mistaken. She referred to it in the only letter
I have received from her for years. Indeed, I began to
think, as my last letter had remained so long unanswered,
that I was quite forgotten by you all, and the letter which
you received in Munich was sent on chance. I purposely
wrote in general terms, and signed with my initials, knowing
that either your father or mother would recognise the handwriting,
and you, or one of your brothers would have no
difficulty in filling the blank and be glad to have our
address.”
“I assure you, however, I was extremely puzzled when I
received your letter; nor can I conceive why my father made
such a secret of an arrangement which naturally interests me
so much. He seemed indifferent whether I passed next
winter in Munich or Vienna, and left me perfectly free to
choose which I preferred.”
“Perhaps because he knew that I had left Munich.”
“But he never spoke of any German friend or acquaintance
in the least resembling you! He never, I am sure,
mentioned your name!”
“It seems, then, I am quite forgotten; but, as I have
expatriated myself, I have no right to complain, and it would
be unreasonable to expect people to remember me now, or
speak of me to their children. Nevertheless, I cannot forget
that I have experienced much kindness from your father and
mother in former times, and that I have spent months in
// 042.png
.pn +1
their house when you were at school. I shall be very glad
if I can in any way be of use to you.”
“Thank you. I cannot imagine what motive my father
could have had for secrecy and mystery on this occasion,”
said Hamilton, musingly. “The idea is excellent, if I could
only put it in practice. Perhaps you will be so kind as to
give me your advice and assistance?”
“Most willingly; and I shall begin by giving you my
advice to wait until you know something about your commission
before you negotiate with any family whatever.”
“I am not going into the army—my uncle will not allow
me to go to India, so my father intends me to try my fortune
in the diplomatic line, and my principal object is to perfect
myself in speaking German. A respectable family, could
one be found willing to receive me, would answer all my
purposes and fulfil all my wishes.”
“A diplomat! Then you must endeavour to conquer the
mauvaise honte with which you seem overpowered when
speaking to strangers, or it will never do. You are now
natural and at your ease, and I tell you honestly, I can
scarcely imagine you to be the same person who a quarter of
an hour ago stood before me, blushing and squeezing his hat
as if in an agony of embarrassment?”
“And I was in an agony of embarrassment,” answered
Hamilton, laughing. “I perceived when you entered the
room that you did not know me. I fancied that, perhaps, you
had not written this letter; or, that it was not intended for
me nor for my father; and as I had already had one scene
about it this morning, I had no wish for another, fearing that
a dénouement with you might not prove so amusing as with
old Count Zedwitz.”
Hamilton now gave a short account of that little adventure,
which amused her so much that she related it in
German to her husband before he left the room. There was
something in A. Z.’s manner towards him which peculiarly
invited confidence; a sort of mixture of friend and relation.
She appeared so interested in all his plans, understood so
exactly what he meant, without asking unnecessary questions,
that before half an hour had elapsed he had confided
to her his intention of writing a book! She exhibited no
sort of astonishment at the monstrous idea; he could not
even detect a particle of ridicule in her smile as she approved
// 043.png
.pn +1
of his intention; hoped he had taken notes, and asked him
what was to be the subject of his work.
“‘Germany, and the Domestic Manners of the Germans,’
or something of that sort.”
“I hope, however, you speak German well enough to
understand and join in general conversation, and to ask
questions and obtain information, if necessary? It is unpardonable,
people writing about the inhabitants of a country
when they are incapable of conversing with them.”
“I understand it perfectly when it is spoken, and I generally
contrive to make myself intelligible.”
“A little more than that is necessary; but, perhaps, you
are too modest to boast of your proficiency.”
“I scarcely deserve to be called modest, although I am
subject to occasional fits of diffidence. I believe I speak
German with tolerable fluency, and only want opportunities
of hearing and seeing. May I ask the name of the family
with whom you were in treaty?”
“I heard of two families, either of them would have
answered; but”—she hesitated.
“But what?”
“After everything had been arranged, and I was on the
point of writing to your father, I found that only one member
of the family wished for you, and that was the person
who on such an occasion was of the least importance. I
mean the gentleman. He wished for your society to have
an opportunity of speaking English, but as he spent the
greater part of the day in his office, and went out every
evening, you would naturally have fallen to the lot of his
wife; and, although I praised you as much as I could without
knowing how you had grown up, she told me plainly
that she should consider you a bore, and that I could not
oblige her more than by breaking off our negotiations.
Under such circumstances I had no choice.”
“And the other?” asked Hamilton.
“The other was a professor at the university. I wrote to
your father about him, but never received any answer.”
“A professor! that does not promise much, nor would it
answer my purpose. I should see little or nothing of
domestic life.”
“You are mistaken; I was half afraid you might see too
much, for he had a wife and five sons.”
// 044.png
.pn +1
“Did his wife enter no protest?”
“I did not see her; but as they were not rich, and had
already five young persons in their house, I concluded one
more or less could make little difference.”
“But a—if another family could be found, I must say
I should prefer it, and would rather not apply to the professor,
excepting as a last resource.”
“We have no longer the option, for he has left Munich.
I heard, indeed, of another family—but the objections were
insurmountable.”
“On the part of husband or wife?”
“This time the objections were on my side; there were
unmarried daughters in the house.”
“Oh, that would be no objection at all—on the contrary——”
“I considered it a very serious objection,” said A. Z.,
quietly.
“I understand what you mean; but surely you do not
think me such a fool as to fall in love with every girl I
happen to live in the house with? I assure you I am by no
means so inflammable.”
“Very possibly; but as I could not answer for your not
being inflammatory, and am aware that German girls do not
understand the word ‘flirtation,’ and are much too serious on
such occasions, I thought it better to avoid leading you into
temptation. Do not, however, be vexed; I have many friends
in Munich, and have no doubt of being able to find some
family——”
“Where there are five unlicked cubs in the house,” cried
Hamilton, petulantly, interrupting her.
“Then, John, you will make the half-dozen complete,”
she answered, laughing. “But now listen to reason. A
family who would consent to receive a young man as inmate
in their house, and who, without any degree of relationship
or connection with his family, could enter into pecuniary
arrangements with him about board and lodging, and all
that sort of thing, must either be in straitened circumstances
or in a much lower rank of life than yours. I acknowledge
that such arrangements are common here, and in some cases
they are very judicious; but when the proposal, as in this
instance, came from a widow with three unmarried daughters,
I found it very injudicious, indeed, and refused at once.
// 045.png
.pn +1
Without thinking you either a fool, or disposed to fall in
love with every girl you happen to reside with, I do think
there is some danger of your forming an attachment which
might cause you, and perhaps another person, great pain to
break off, or which might hereafter prove embarrassing.
Living in the house with three girls, who very probably
would vie with each other in their endeavours to please you
would be a severe trial for the impenetrability of so very
young a man as you are, and I doubt your standing the
test.”
“But I assure you——”
“No doubt you will assure me that you have a heart of
stone, and that at all events nothing could induce you to
form a connection with a person beneath you in rank, unworthy
the name of Hamilton, or who would be displeasing
to your father; but as you have had the good fortune to be
the firstborn, and consequently will inherit——”
“Pardon me for interrupting you, but I really must set
you right on that point—I am only number two.”
“What, are you not John?” she asked, hastily.
“Had my name been John, I should not have opened your
letter; it was directed to——”
“To Archibald Hamilton——”
“Excuse me; the address was to A. Hamilton, Esq., Goldenen
Hirsch, and——”
“True, I ought to have thought of that before,” she said,
mustering him from head to foot, while he began to feel some
very uncomfortable misgivings. “Is it—no, it is not possible
that you are little Archy?”
“I am not little Archy,” cried Hamilton, starting from his
seat, and instinctively looking towards the door.
“Then, pray, may I ask what is your name?” she said,
leaning her arm on the table, and fixing her eyes on his face
with a look of cool deliberation which completely deprived
him of all remaining self-possession.
“Alfred—Alfred Hamilton is my name,” he cried, in a
voice which he could scarcely recognise to be his own; and
unable any longer to endure so unpleasant a situation, he
seized his hat, and a pair of gloves, which he afterwards
found belonged to her, and rushed like a madman out of the
room. He heard, or thought he heard, a stifled laugh—no
matter—she might laugh if she pleased, he would laugh, too,
// 046.png
.pn +1
and he attempted it on reaching his room, but the effort
proved totally abortive; and after gasping once or twice for
breath, he commenced striding up and down the room, talking
angrily to himself. “This is too much! I certainly did
not deserve such annoyance! Could I do more to prevent
mistakes than send my card and show the letter? The disappointment,
too! I rather took a fancy to this A. Z.; had
even persuaded myself that I remembered having seen her
when I was a child! Pshaw! after all, she must be an artful
person. That sort of motherly, good-natured manner,
was all affectation to draw me out; and what a precious fool
I have made of myself, telling her all my intentions! Of
course, she and her husband will laugh at me unmercifully,
and tell everyone in the house. I must leave Seon directly—I—but
no, she was not artful! What on earth could be
her motive? No, I was altogether to blame myself, or rather
that letter—the letter, the odious letter was the cause of all!”
and he tore it angrily to atoms. At all events, this should
be a lesson to him; he never would place himself in such a
position again as long as he lived.
At twelve o’clock the great bell tolled, and Hamilton knew
it was time to descend to dinner. He was busily employed
writing, when some one knocked loudly at the door. “Come
in,” he cried, collecting the papers scattered about him, and
Baron Z— entered the room. He burst into a violent fit
of laughter on seeing Hamilton’s dolorous countenance,
shook him heartily by the hand, and assured him he thought
him a capital fellow, and had not the smallest doubt that he
would make an excellent diplomat.
“But, indeed, Baron Z—, I never meant—You must
not think I intentionally——”
“Don’t explain—pray, don’t explain—I am so obliged to
you! My wife thinks herself clever! She write what she
call ‘general terms.’ Ha! ha! ha! And when she explain
to me what meant ‘general terms,’ I told to her that pass for
our Mr. Hamilton so good as another—but she always think
herself so clever!”
“I am extremely distressed—disappointed, I must say, at
the frustration of all my hopes. I entreat you to apologise
for me—I leave Seon as soon as possible after dinner——”
“Yes; we leave Seon as soon as possible. I send Joseph
to pack for you while we go to dinner.”
// 047.png
.pn +1
“Am I to understand that you renew your invitation to
me after what has occurred?” asked Hamilton, with a feeling
of inexpressible pleasure.
“And why not? My wife write and I invite in general
terms; and now, Mr. A. Hamilton, Esquire, let us go to dinner.”
“I should wish beforehand to explain——”
“To my wife? Oh, very well; we call for her on the
way.”
“Here,” he cried, throwing wide open the door of her
apartment, “here I come to present my friend, Mr. A. Hamilton,
Esquire; he wish in general terms to explain to you, and
to kiss your hand.”
“The latter part of your speech is composed, Herrmann,”
she answered, laughing. “Mr. Hamilton does not yet know
enough of the ‘domestic manners of the Germans’ to be
aware that kissing a lady’s hand is a very common action.
Here is my hand—it is not, however, worth while blushing
about it,” she added, drawing it back again; “and Herrmann
shall be your deputy. It would be difficult to bring a
perceptible addition of colour to that sunburnt face.”
He took both of her hands, and, as he pressed them to his
lips, declared he was very content to have such a clever wife!
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch04
CHAPTER IV. || A WALK OF NO COMMON DESCRIPTION.
.sp 2
“Do you smoke, Mr. Hamilton?” asked Baron Z—, as
he assisted his wife into the carriage.
“I rather like a cigar sometimes.”
“I merely wish to explain to you, that if you wish to
smoke now, you had better mount up here,” he said, seating
himself on the front seat of the carriage. “My wife is
quite German in every respect, but she has not yet learned
to like the smell of tobacco.”
“Nor ever will,” said A. Z.; “nor shall I ever learn to
like having guns so near me. Why are they not packed, as
usual, in the long case?”
// 048.png
.pn +1
“You forget you have changed all arrangements since you
find that Mr. Hamilton is called Alfred,” said Baron Z—,
laughing.
“I only hope they are not loaded,” she said, carefully
avoiding their contact, even with the hem of her garment,
“for I have no fancy whatever to have my death announced
in the newspapers, after the words, ‘dreadful accident!’”
“They are not loaded,” said her husband, puffing strongly
from his newly-lighted cigar, as they drove off.
Hamilton was extremely amused at his comical situation,
or rather at the events which had led to it, and after a few
ineffectual efforts at suppression, he indulged in a fit of
laughter, in which A. Z. joined; and it was some time before
she could answer Baron Z—’s repeated inquiries as
to the cause of their mirth.
“I really don’t know, Herrmann, excepting that perhaps
Mr. Hamilton is amused at finding himself in our company.
By-the-by, you do not perhaps know that he speaks very
good German.”
“Like an Englishman, eh?”
“His German will prove a better medium of communication
than your English, perhaps; but,” she added quickly,
changing the subject, and speaking German, “tell me, did
you observe the new arrivals at the table d’hôte to-day.
Who are those two pretty girls?”
“Rosenthal, or Rosenberg, I believe, is their name.”
“A decided acquisition, so far as appearance is concerned.
The one who sat beside Major Stultz at dinner is decidedly
beautiful. Don’t you think so?”
“Yes, and Major Stultz thinks so too, I should think; he
made prodigious efforts to be agreeable, but could neither
obtain a smile nor look during dinner. Had I been in his
place, I should have tried the other, who is very nearly as
pretty, and seems quite disposed to receive any attentions
offered to her. I saw her looking towards our end of the
table more than once, but could not ascertain whether she
looked at me or your friend there.”
“My friend seems rather disposed to appropriate the
looks, if I may judge from that rising blush.”
“By no means,” cried Hamilton; “my acquaintance with
the young lady is of very recent date.”
// 049.png
.pn +1
“I did not know there was any acquaintance whatever,”
said A. Z.
“It scarcely deserves the name. We travelled part of the
way from Munich together; their carriage was dreadfully
crowded, and I proposed taking some of the travellers.
Mademoiselle Crescenz, the nursery-maid, and a kicking boy,
called Peppy, were consigned to my care.”
“Such civility was very unusual on the part of Englishmen;
at least, our countrymen are here generally supposed
to be selfish when travelling,” observing A. Z.
“Perhaps my motives were not quite free from an alloy
of selfishness; I rather dreaded the ennui of a long afternoon
alone in an uncomfortable carriage; and, besides, I was in
search of an adventure.”
“How did it turn out?”
“Oh, we got on famously until we reached Seon; but
from the moment Mademoiselle Crescenz saw her step-mother,
her manner totally changed; so I concluded she
intended to decline my acquaintance, now that I could be of
no further use to her.”
“Your conclusion proved how very little you know of
German girls in her rank of life.”
“Should one interpret these German girls by contraries?”
“Cela depend.”
“Perhaps, then, her sister intends to be very civil to me—our
acquaintance began by her calling me a fool; and I
overheard her saying to her sister that I seemed to have an
uncommonly good opinion of myself, and looked like an
overgrown schoolboy.”
“There is no possibility of mistaking such demonstrations,”
said A. Z., smiling, and evidently controlling an inclination
to laugh, extremely displeasing to Hamilton.
“You seem,” he said, somewhat distrustfully, “you seem
amused—perhaps at my expressing your thoughts in the
words of another person.”
“What I thought of you on your first appearance——”
“I already know. You thought me a long-legged, bashful
animal; at least you said so to Baron Z—.”
“At that time I fancied I had a sort of right to criticise;
and had you really proved to be John or Archy, as I had
supposed, you might have often been favoured with equally
flattering observations; I should have considered you a sort
// 050.png
.pn +1
of relation, and you would, undoubtedly, have thought me a
great bore. Now, the case is different, and I shall treat
you with all possible respect; but you must allow me to
laugh, and promise not to be offended at every idle word——”
“Offended!—oh, no! I should be extremely delighted if
you would act towards me as if I were John or Archy.”
“You are too young to appreciate such treatment—and—I
don’t feel disposed unnecessarily to undertake the part of
mentor.”
“You fear the task would prove too troublesome?”
“Not exactly that—I rather like giving advice; but——”
“You think I should do you no credit!”
“I really do not know, nor do I mean to try. Your search for
adventures may bring you into some embarrassments which
may not always turn out so well as on the present occasion.”
“My good fortune on the present occasion has been so
extraordinary, that I shall tempt fate no further; my plan
is formed. I shall spend the winter in Munich, studying
German and the Germans. In the domestic circle of a private
family——”
“Where there are no boys?” asked A. Z.
“As a proof of my deference to your opinion, I shall make
no objection even to five boys; and also promise to avoid a
widow with unmarried daughters.”
“I have some hope of you now!”
“Will you then be my mentor during my sojourn in Germany?”
“No.”
“But you said you liked giving advice?”
“And so I do; it is, you know, the only thing that everybody
is disposed to give, and nobody likes to take. Ask my
advice, and I shall give it; although I know beforehand you
will not make use of it.”
“Just as much as either John or Archy.”
“No such thing! My advice to them would have been
enforced by a little delegated parental authority, not to mention
the probability of their having, from hearsay, very exalted
ideas of my wisdom.”
“I doubt if their ideas on that subject could possibly be
more exalted than mine.”
“Very appropriately answered—you really are an extremely
promising young man.”
// 051.png
.pn +1
Hamilton bit his lip and blushed; there was something in
her manner so mocking, so unequivocally ironical, that he felt
mortified—his silent irritation betraying itself in spite of all
his endeavours at concealment.
“You are offended,” she observed, quietly, after a pause,
“and offended without any cause. I have, all my life, had a
particular antipathy to very young men—it is quite impossible
to talk to them without making remarks which they consider
derogatory to their dignity. I did not mean to annoy
you, and recall my words; instead of a promising, I now
think you an irritable young man. Does that please you
better?”
“Infinitely better,” he answered, laughing; “if not the
words, certainly the manner is preferable. I can bear anything
but being turned into ridicule.”
“What you now call ridicule will a few years hence take
the name of badinage; but let us talk of something else, or
still better—suppose we read. Here is the Allgemeine Zeitung,
or Blackwood’s Magazine.”
“Do you take Blackwood’s?” inquired Hamilton.
“I get it and any books I wish for from the royal library.
No one can be more magnificently liberal than the King of
Bavaria, in this respect. When you go to Munich, your
banker can sign papers making himself answerable for any
books which may be lost or injured while in your possession;
and this is the only formality necessary to insure you the unlimited
use of a library containing upwards of eight hundred
thousand volumes.”
“But you do not mean to say that I, a foreigner, may take
the books home with me?”
“Your ideas are too English to comprehend such liberality,
and so were mine when I first came to Munich; but the fact
is, you may take the books to your own apartment and read
them at your leisure. Of course you must be careful not to
injure them in any way.”
“But if many people enjoy this privilege, the books must
be spoiled in time.”
“You think, perhaps, it would be wiser if the eight hundred
thousand volumes were put into glass book-cases, and
merely exhibited to strangers, instead of being placed at their
disposition? As far as I can judge, however, from personal
observation, the books are not either spoiled or even soiled;
// 052.png
.pn +1
at least, none I have ever required; and, you see,” she said,
removing a paper cover from one of them, “they are very
nicely bound.”
“Do you read a great deal?” he asked.
“I once thought so, but on referring to the list of books
actually read at the end of the year, it was so insignificant
that I now make no pretension to being what is called a
reader—a few memoirs, travels, an occasional novel, and the
newspapers, fill up my time completely. But now you really
must take a book, or admire the country in silence, for I cannot
allow my Allgemeine Zeitung to remain longer unread. I
have only time for one each day, and I get into a fit of despair
when they accumulate.”
“I think if you won’t talk to me I should like to smoke a
cigar.”
“A most excellent idea! Take the coachman’s place beside
Herrmann, who, I am sure, will willingly drive in order
to have the pleasure of your company. You can talk over
your intended expedition, and boast of the quantity of grouse
you would have shot had you been at home this August.”
The day had already closed as they drew near the little
village of Siegsdorf; lights glanced gaily from the windows
of the houses, and from the small inn the sound of singing
and laughter was wafted far and wide.
“I don’t think we could do better than stop here for the
night,” observed Baron Z—, turning abruptly to his wife.
“I expected some such proposition as soon as I heard the
sound of the zither,” she answered.
“May I?” he asked, playing with the whip; while the
horses, apparently unwilling to pass by a stable, the comforts
of which they had probably experienced on a former occasion,
turned of their own accord into the roughly-paved
yard, and stopped at the door of the inn.
The landlady made her way with some difficulty through
the passage, which was crowded with peasants, to the door,
where she stood to receive the travellers, her rotundity of
figure placed in strong relief by the light behind her. Baron
Z— merrily returned the innumerable salutations made
him, as, followed by his wife and Hamilton, he led the way
to a room reserved for guests of the higher classes. One
table was still unoccupied, and the landlady, having with her
apron swept away the crumbs of bread, and removed some
// 053.png
.pn +1
empty glasses which were upon it, placed chairs, asked what
they chose for supper, gave the necessary directions to a girl
who was standing near her, and then, with a sort of contented
sigh, seated herself on a bench at the other end of
the table, evidently waiting to be spoken to. Baron Z—
looked round him as if in search of some one, and then said:
“Well, how goes the world with you? Are all the children
well?”
“All in good health, thank you.”
“Where is my old friend Hauser? I miss him when he
is not seated at the head of the table.”
“He is out shooting to-day.”
“Is there, then, a chance of my getting a shot, if I remain
here to-morrow?”
“Indeed I cannot promise much. They say the game is
getting very scarce. I am sometimes a whole week without
venison. You expected better news, I know, for I saw your
rifle in the carriage.”
“Not here,” said Baron Z—; “but I am on my way to
Reichenhall and Berchtesgaden, and at one place or the
other I hope to have a chamois-hunt. A friend of mine
wishes to see the sport.”
“Ah, so,” cried the landlady, looking intelligently towards
Hamilton. “I have part of a chamois in the house; perhaps
the gentleman would like a ragout of it?”
“Should you like some chamois for supper,” asked A. Z.,
turning to Hamilton.
“Oh! of all things,” he answered eagerly.
“It is rather a dry kind of meat,” she continued, “I
have eaten it but twice myself; once from curiosity, the
second time from—necessity. You remember, Herrmann?”
“Yes; when we came out of Tyrol and went to the
Klamm. I think we ought to show, at least, one of the
Klamms to Mr. Hamilton. An expedition of that kind will
be something new to him, and a day more or less is of no
consequence to us.”
“I am sure you are very kind,” said Hamilton, delighted
at the word “expedition,” but not in the least knowing what
he was to see.
“We might have the carriage to meet us at Unken, and
our landlady will get us a key of the woodman’s house.”
The landlady nodded assent.
// 054.png
.pn +1
“And cold chickens, and tongues, and coffee, and all those
sort of things. I shall take guides from Ruhpolding.”
“Herr Baron,” cried a tall peasant, who had been leaning
against the half-open door and listening attentively to every
word that had been said—“Herr Baron, you promised to
employ me the next time you went there. I could go to
Frauenstein for the key to-night, and meet you in Ruhpolding
to-morrow.”
“Off with you, then,” cried Baron Z—, “and be sure
to be there at five o’clock to-morrow.”
“Or at half-past six,” said A. Z.; “and don’t forget to
take the largest bags you can find.”
The man nodded his head, scraped one of his heavy shoes
upon the floor, and disappeared.
Baron Z—, who was one of the most restless beings
Hamilton had ever seen, now walked up and down the room,
looked out of the windows as well as the thick leaves of the
numerous cactus plants would permit, played with all the
ugly, strange dogs in the room, and after having seated himself
for a minute or two on every unoccupied chair he could
find, he finally joined the guests at the other table, and in a
few minutes was discussing politics with an elderly man who
had been poring over the pages of the newspapers; then he
listened and related sporting anecdotes to another, who from
his dress he knew must be a Jäger; with the wood-ranger
he talked of timber, the drifts of wood in the neighbourhood;
and during the first pause in the conversation, he took
up a guitar which was lying on the table and commenced
singing Tyrolean songs, with such spirit and humour that his
audience unanimously joined in chorus, each taking the part
suiting his voice with a precision so surprising to Hamilton
that he asked A. Z. if they had often sung together before.
“Never that I am aware of,” she answered examining
more attentively the singers; “I do not think Herrmann is
acquainted with even one of them.”
The music within seemed to inspire some musicians without,
for no sooner had it ceased than the gay notes of a zither
were heard—an instrument which Hamilton had never seen,
and which A. Z. told him was well worth the trouble of an
examination. He was about to leave the room for the purpose,
when he met the landlady carrying in the soup for
supper; he stopped embarrassed, but Baron Z—, without
// 055.png
.pn +1
further ceremony, called in the peasant, who was the best
performer, and gave him a place beside him at the table.
The man tuned his zither and began to play what he called
“Laendlers,” perhaps from the word land or country, simple
waltzes to which the peasants dance, and which A. Z. assured
Hamilton, when accompanied by a guitar, and the time
beaten by the dancing of feet and the snapping of fingers,
at a target-shooting match, or a wedding, was the very gayest
music she had ever heard.
They were all in high spirits the next morning, when they
met soon after sunrise, for the weather promised to be extremely
fine, indeed sultry, if an unclouded sky at so early
an hour might be depended upon. Hamilton was, therefore,
not a little surprised at the number of cloaks and shawls
with which the carriage was lumbered, and at Baron Z—’s
dress. He had on the same grey shooting jacket and green
felt hat in which he had first seen him—but he had also
black knee-breeches, and worsted stockings drawn half-way
up his thighs, but which were so elastic that they could be
pushed below the knees, where clinging to the legs, they
formed folds at a distance resembling top-boots. A large
pouch hung at his side, and in his hand he carried a long
pole with an iron point. Hamilton was also given one as he
got into the carriage, and they drove off amidst the heartiest
wishes for good weather and their enjoyment of it.
“Mr. Hamilton would have got on better without straps
and with thicker boots,” observed Baron Z—.
“It is of no consequence, for to-day we have scarcely any
ascent, if I remember right,” answered his wife.
“I ought to have equipped him,” cried Baron Z—,
laughing. “How do you think he would look?”
“As he is considerably taller than you are—there would
be at least half a yard of leg uncovered.”
“The dress is certainly very becoming,” observed Hamilton,
“but I cannot imagine it particularly comfortable.”
“If you had to climb, you would find it as comfortable as
becoming,” answered Baron Z—; “and that it is judicious
admits of no doubt; all mountaineers have something
similar; and you may be sure the dress was originally adopted
for its convenience. It is unquestionably advantageous, having
the knees uncovered in ascending and descending mountains.”
// 056.png
.pn +1
“And the monstrous shoes”—begun Hamilton——
“Give a steadier footing and preserve the feet from the
pointed stones or rocks.”
“I remember,” said A. Z., “the first time I ascended an alp,
I wore thin shoes and open-work silk stockings; I came home
nearly barefoot, of course, and with quite a new idea of an alp.”
“Oh, pray do give me some idea of one,” cried Hamilton;
“I—I must confess I have none whatever; for when people
talk of alps, I cannot help thinking of the Alps.”
“I am not surprised at your question, for I doubt if the
word be in the dictionary with the meaning attached to it here.
People call the pasture-lands on the hills or lower parts of
the mountains, ‘alp.’ Almost every farmer of any importance
has one to which he sends the greater part of his cattle
during the summer months, and there butter and cheese
are made for the winter. Where the alps are extensive, they
are held by several persons, and instead of one little wooden
residence, there are sometimes twenty or thirty.”
“A sort of inhabited common, perhaps?”
“By no means. They are inherited or bought, or given
in leases, and are sometimes very valuable.”
“The view from them is, of course, very extensive,” observed
Hamilton.
“Generally, or I should not have been on so many.”
“And I,” said Baron Z—, “always endeavour to pass
the night on one when I am on a hunting expedition; for,
besides the chance of a few hours’ sleep in a hay-loft, one can
warm one’s self at a good fire, and breakfast before daybreak.
You shall see an alp, and a chamois-hunt, also, if I can manage
it, before you return to Seon.”
“I have no doubt of being able to mount any alp you
please,” said Hamilton; “but for a person who is not a good
shot to undertake anything so dangerous as a chamois-hunt——”
“Danger! There is none whatever.”
“No danger! Why, I have read frightful accounts of
chamois-hunts!”
“Read! Oh, so have I—and I don’t deny that an accident
may occur occasionally. In Switzerland, for instance,
where the chase is free, the chamois have become so scarce
and shy that they have taken refuge in the highest parts of
the mountains. There, and perhaps in those parts of Tyrol
// 057.png
.pn +1
where they are only nominally protected, they are difficult to
be got at—but in the neighbourhood of Berchtesgaden, Ischl,
and Steyermark, a chamois is not much more difficult to
shoot than a stag or a roebuck.”
“But,” said A. Z., “you must confess that people always
think more of a chamois-hunt than of any other. You would
rather, I am sure, shoot a chamois than a deer.”
“That is true, but there is no use in making more of it
than is necessary. Mr. Hamilton, with his present ideas,
will be greatly disappointed, I fear.”
“No, for I was just going to tell him that I have been on
mountains where the chamois have been seen springing from
rock to rock in places to which I could easily have mounted
if I had put on a pair of Steigeisen.”
“What is that? What are they?”
“I scarcely know how to describe them; they look like
pattens at a distance, and are buckled over the shoes in the
same manner, but they are provided with four strong iron
spikes, to enable you to plant your feet steadily in the ground,
or in the fissures of the rocks.”
“That’s it!” cried Hamilton. “They were also in the description
which I read.”
“Do not have too exalted an idea of the danger on that
account,” answered A. Z., laughing; “for I have heard that
many people who inhabit the mountainous parts of this
country use them when they walk on the snow in winter.”
“So, after all,” said Hamilton, “a chamois-hunt is quite a
common sort of thing.”
“You are falling into the contrary extreme now,” said
Baron Z—; “for, though it is no uncommon thing, strong
sinews, good lungs, a quick eye, and a steady hand are always
required in order to be successful.”
They arrived at Ruhpolding, and found their guides waiting
for them—tall, strong-looking men, with sunburnt faces
and bushy mustaches. Their dress was of coarser materials,
but in other respects quite resembling Baron Z—’s, excepting
that their grey stockings, with a fanciful pattern in
green, were short, and left their knees perfectly bare. On
their shoulders were slung canvas bags, into which they immediately
packed the cloaks, shawls, and provisions of every
description.
A couple of miles beyond Ruhpolding the carriage was
// 058.png
.pn +1
abandoned, and the party commenced their expedition on a
footway through the Fishbach valley. The vegetation around
them was of the richest colouring, the mossy grass under
the trees of the deepest green; and wild berberry trees, with
their delicate leaves and pendent crimson berries grew luxuriantly
in every direction. A variety of beautifully delicate
wild-flowers pleased Hamilton’s eye, but he looked on with
some impatience, while A. Z. and her husband leisurely
gathered and examined some, took others up by the roots,
and placed all in a tin box, evidently brought for the purpose.
Long and serious too were the discussions about them,
which, as Hamilton did not understand, he was glad when,
in contrast to this scene of fertility, their way brought them
to the immediate base of the mountains, where it ran parallel
with the dry bed of a torrent almost deserving the name
of river when in spring it rushes from its snowy source,
sweeping away heaps of stones and trunks of torn-up trees,
which, thrown high on either side, leave the valley between
a scene of stony desolation. They continued for a considerable
time between the almost perpendicular sides of the
mountains, sometimes climbing over colossal masses of stone,
at others enjoying the shade of the thick pine-trees or over-hanging
rocks, when, on passing an abrupt turn, a foaming
waterfall seemed suddenly to prevent all further progress;
for, after passing over the very path they were pursuing, it
bounded from the rocks, which sometimes arrested, but could
not impede its progress, until having half-exhausted itself in
spray, it reached a solid bed of stone, and finally disappeared
among the dark-green fir-trees of the narrow valley below.
While Hamilton looked in silent admiration down the
precipice, A. Z., her husband, and the two guides disappeared
in the cavity of the rock behind the waterfall, and
seemed greatly to enjoy his surprise when he discovered
them sitting under the trees at the other side. While one
of the guides unpacked his canvas bag, and laid the contents
on the nearest rock, Hamilton joined them, and they
remained beside the waterfall more than an hour, enjoying
their frugal repast while resting in the shade, and tranquillised
almost to laziness by the sound of the rushing waters.
Baron Z— was, of course, the first to move.
“Ah, there is a châlet!” exclaimed Hamilton, pointing
towards some small wooden buildings on a green hill before
// 059.png
.pn +1
them; below which a second waterfall, forming natural cisterns
in the rocks, fell in cascades from one to the other.
“A châlet at last!”
“We call them Senner huts here,” said A. Z. “When
men have the charge of the cattle, they are called Senners;
when women, Sennerins. Let us go to where that girl is
standing at the door of her hut; she seems an acquaintance
of our guide’s. These Sennerins,” she continued, looking
attentively at the one who was now about to supply them
with cheese and butter—“these Sennerins are the theme of
almost all the national poetry and songs here in the mountains.”
“They would not inspire me,” said Hamilton, laughing.
“I see nothing very poetical about them, if this one may be
taken as a specimen.”
“You do not understand their manners or mode of life,”
said Baron Z—. “Their isolated situation and primitive
occupations are poetical—these mountains and endless forests
are poetical—there is poetry in the sound of the bell, which
answers to every movement of the grazing cow—in the tinkling
of the little bells, which, like castanets, denote the
quicker motions of the goats!”
“True,” said A. Z.; “and you would find that round-faced,
thick-legged girl picturesque, if not poetical, could we
remain long enough for you to hear her singing to assemble
her herd, and see her surrounded by her cows and goats this
evening.”
“Shall we not pass the night in one of these sorts of
huts?” asked Hamilton.
“Not in a Senner hut,” replied Baron Z—. “It is the
woodmen and foresters’ châlet to which we are going; the
ground is Austrian, but the woods are Bavarian; and it is
through the Klamm that the wood is drifted for the salt-works
at Reichenhall.”
“Through the Klamm,” repeated Hamilton, slowly and
musingly.
“You look as if you did not know what the word Klamm
meant,” observed A. Z.
“I must confess I do not, although I looked for it yesterday
evening in my pocket dictionary. The explanation was
a spasm in the throat; or, close, solid, narrow——”
“Exactly,” said A. Z. “The Klamm which we are now
// 060.png
.pn +1
going to see is a long, narrow passage, made by a stream of
water through a mountain of solid rock; but now let us
move on, or we shall have to inspect it by torchlight.”
They all hurried forward towards the ascent before them,
and would probably have felt considerably fatigued had not
the continual change in the scenery created unceasing interest.
Far as the eye reached, all was green; and beyond,
the deep-blue sky, unbroken by a single cloud. A new and
gigantic world of mountains rewarded them for the toil of
the ascent. Here and there a peasant’s house, with its over-hanging
wooden roof, gave life to a picture that, with all its
sunshine, would otherwise have been desolate in its loneliness,
for no human being was visible. It seemed extraordinary
that the ground was so highly cultivated, for road there
was none; nor did there seem to be any communication with
the world but by a narrow and in some places rather dangerous
footway. Cattle were to be seen further up the
mountains, on those green spots of turf described by A. Z.,
and which are to be found sometimes even among the bare
crags. These pastures can only be used for a short time in
summer; and, as the weather grows colder in autumn, the
cattle are driven down lower, until finally they are brought
home for the winter, covered with garlands of wild flowers!
While Baron Z— was enthusiastically describing “A re-return
from the alp,” they had begun to descend into the
valley, and already heard the sound of rushing water.
Magnificent masses of rock prepared them for the cavern,
into which they entered by a natural arch, over which,
carved in the stone, are the words
.pm verse-start
“‘Gutta cavat lapidem, non vi sed sæpe cadendo,’ 1833.”
.pm verse-end
“So the cave is altogether formed by the action of the
water,” observed Hamilton, looking upwards.
“Altogether, as you will soon perceive,” replied Baron
Z—. “Some years ago this was a wild place, and frightful
accidents often occurred, until our king had a way made
through it for the convenience and safety of the persons
employed in the drifting of the wood.”
The narrow bridge-like way of which he spoke was composed
of strong beams and planks; and in the twilight
which always reigns in the vaulted tunnel, it appears to
// 061.png
.pn +1
hang suspended in the air, being supported by iron cramps
driven into the solid rock underneath. The water rages,
and above the daylight enters sparingly by a few small
isolated openings.
“One could fancy this the abode of the ‘Wild Huntsman,’”
said A. Z.
“I know nothing of the Wild Huntsman,” said Hamilton,
“excepting from the scenery in Der Freyschutz. Everything
I have seen to-day, but most of all this wild cavern, reminds
me of it. I should rather like to be here on a stormy night,
to hear the wind whistling through these arches. Although
not very imaginative, I could almost bring the Wild Huntsman
to my view, just here where the sky begins to be visible.”
“Instead of the Wild Huntsman, substitute the forester
when he opens the sluices to let the wood drift through,” said
Baron Z—. “Fancy the rushing and roaring of the pent-up
torrent, the dashing of the trunks of trees against these
rocks, the terrific noise increased by the echo——”
“Oh! how I should like to see it,” exclaimed Hamilton,
eagerly.
“I prefer a quiet sunset, like the present,” said A. Z.,
beginning to ascend the steps which led out of the cavern.
“I can imagine what you have described, and acknowledge
that wild weather heightens the effect of scenery such as
this; but still just in such places I particularly enjoy the
repose of nature. There is no tameness in it, for the possible
change which may take place is ever unconsciously before
the mind’s eye.”
“That may be true,” said Hamilton, thoughtfully. “I
have seen but little wild scenery—never anything resembling
this, excepting, as I said before, at the theatre, where I
looked upon everything as very fine, but very impossible.”
“Few people in England are aware how very true to
nature the Freyschutz is. Put the Wild Huntsman and the
charmed bullets aside, and every target-shooting match in
the mountains will bring the scenery and actors before you.
Weber was in the habit of frequenting such places, and listening
for hours to the untutored singers and zither-players.”
“Who have we here?” cried Baron Z—, as they came
within view of the woodman’s house, and he perceived several
persons moving backwards and forwards.
“Another party!” exclaimed A. Z. “I only hope they
// 062.png
.pn +1
are not too numerous, and that we may be able to join them.
I have no fancy for going on to an alp this evening.”
“But if they are all strangers——” began Hamilton.
“If they are, we shall make their acquaintance. I think
I see a couple of ladies—a most fortunate circumstance for
me, as they will be sure to offer to make our coffee and
arrange everything. I am not at all useful on parties of this
kind, but very thankful to anyone who takes care of me.”
They were strangers, and considered themselves such in a
double sense—for they were Austrians! While A. Z. was
explaining the extraordinary fact of Bavarians considering
themselves foreigners in Austria, and vice versa, Baron Z—
had entered into conversation with them, and a few minutes
sufficed for him to guess the name of one who said he was
there on business; and from him he heard all he required
about the others. As to A. Z., she lost no time in seeking
two ladies who were standing at the door of the châlet, and
having confessed her want of experience in all culinary art,
they, without hesitation, made the offer she desired, and were
given the bags, which the guides were just taking from their
shoulders.
The supper, composed of the most heterogeneous materials,
was eaten under the trees near the house; and it was
not until late that they took refuge from the night air in the
kitchen of the châlet, where a bright fire burned on the high,
open hearth, which, like a long table, occupied the middle of
the room, with wooden benches round it. A zither was found
in the house, and a young student, with long, fair hair flowing
over his black velvet coat, who had brought a guitar,
slung, troubadour-fashion, over his shoulders, sang directly
he was requested. A quartette was also soon arranged; and
Hamilton, seated in a corner, out of the glare of the fire,
contemplated the party for a long time in silence.
At daybreak the next morning, long before the sun’s rays
could reach them, they were again in the Klamm; and,
passing through it, found another and much easier way than
that of the previous day, which brought them to Unken.
There they parted from their acquaintance of the evening
before, who surrounded their carriage, bowing and shaking
hands, with a mixture of formality and friendliness which
afforded A. Z. and Hamilton subject of conversation for
some time, the former observing that had two English parties
// 063.png
.pn +1
met in the same way, they would never have joined so cordially;
and, instead of conducing to each other’s amusement,
would most probably have sat apart, reciprocally watching
to detect whatever was disagreeable or vulgar. “I, for my
part,” she continued, “was exceedingly well satisfied with
my companions, who were very communicative, and related
a great many interesting particulars of their mode of life in
Tyrol. I have promised to visit them should I ever be in
their neighbourhood. Their father is a forester, and the
eldest is engaged to be married to that silent, shy man, in
the green shooting-jacket. However, he was not too shy to
wait for her at the foot of the ladder, when he supposed we
were all asleep.”
“So they really did take a walk by moonlight!”
“The moonlight did not last long; and I do not believe
they went farther than the bench outside the door, where
they found more company than they expected. Romantic
feelings and sentimental contemplations are not confined to
German women; there are few men here who would not
sacrifice a few hours’ rest on an occasion like yesterday, to
sit—and smoke in the moonbeams.”
“How ingeniously you always contrive to alloy your praise
of us,” said her husband, laughing.
“And yet I am strict to truth, for the fumes of cigars
ascended with the murmuring of voices, last night, to my
window, and obliged me to close it.”
“Well, we shall have nothing of the kind to-night, as we
are likely to be alone on the alp.”
“I have been thinking it would be as well if we were to
go to Berchtesgaden, and sleep comfortably in beds; I do not
feel quite equal to another night passed on the hay.”
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch05
CHAPTER V. || AN ALP.
.sp 2
To Berchtesgaden they went. We shall not follow Hamilton,
either when he inspected the salt-works, or visited the
beautiful lakes in its immediate neighbourhood; nor would
we accompany him to the alp, which he afterwards ascended,
were it not to give our readers a slight idea of those excursions
// 064.png
.pn +1
so common in the mountainous parts of Bavaria, and
of the little importance attached to a chamois hunt. They
were unceremoniously joined in their expedition by a number
of hunters, foresters, and some officers who were on leave of
absence. A. Z. went with them very willingly, as she heard
that an acquaintance of hers was spending a few weeks on
the alp for her health, enjoying what is called “Sommer
frisch”; and, in fact, on reaching the châlet, which was situated
in the midst of the mountains, they found a very nice-looking,
sunburnt person, sitting with her maid before the
door. She was surprised to see the Z—’s, but not in the
least to see the others, as she said scarcely a week passed that
someone did not come to hunt; and on hearing that Hamilton
spoke German she pointed upwards towards the rocks
before the house, and said that in the evening he would see
the chamois leaping about there.
“She is destroying all the mystery of a chamois-hunt,”
said Hamilton, turning to A. Z. “I could run up that
mountain, I think.”
“I would not advise you to try it; nor, indeed, can I consent
to your making any excursion on the mountain alone,
as long as you are travelling with us. Violent deaths are not
at all uncommon here; it is not long since a girl, gathering
herbs, fell over a precipice and was dashed to pieces; and a
man was found nearly starved to death, in a place to which
he had climbed, but from which he found it impossible to
extricate himself. That old man,” she added, lowering her
voice, “that old Jäger, who is now speaking to Herrmann,
had some dispute with his only son when they were on a
chamois-hunt together; people say that a push from him, in
the heat of argument, precipitated the young man thousands
of feet below; his body was found in a dreadfully mutilated
state, but there was no evidence against the old man, for they
had been alone; and as such accidents are but too common,
the exact state of the case has never been ascertained, and
his confessor alone knows what happened.”
“Well, Hamilton, are you disposed to try a shot this evening?”
asked Baron Z—; “three or four chamois have been
seen in the neighbourhood.”
“I shall go with you as a looker-on; but as I am a very
bad shot, I think one of these poles will be of more use to
me than a rifle.”
// 065.png
.pn +1
“We shall send some men up to beat them down to us,”
said Baron Z—. “There is no use in climbing more than
is necessary.”
“Can you not use dogs?” asked Hamilton.
“They could never be properly trained; for although the
chamois do not in the least mind the clattering of stones or
gravel, any unusual sound immediately attracts their attention.
A solitary hunter has only to avoid this, and to take
care that the wind blows in his face, or, at least, not from
him in the direction where he expects to find them. Their
scent is something almost incredible, and only equalled by
their shyness.”
“It is, after all, a very difficult shot,” said Hamilton.
“Yes, in Tyrol and Switzerland, where they have been
hunted until they have taken refuge in the most inaccessible
places—though even there, I doubt the truth of most of the
wonderful stories related of them, especially of their so maliciously
forcing the hunters down the precipices. It has
been proved that the chamois have no remarkable preference
for very high or cold mountains; they only choose them in
order to have a good retreat among the rocks when pursued.”
“That I observed, too, last year,” said an officer, who was
of the party, “at Prince Lamberg’s, where there is the best
chamois-hunting in Germany, perhaps. They were there so
well preserved that they were not more shy or difficult to
shoot than other game; and instead of their only being to
be found in the evening, or at dawn, they rambled about all
day; and when the weather was mild, did not even seek the
shade.”
“I have heard of Prince Lamberg’s mountains,” said Baron
Z——; “he has fifteen or sixteen hundred chamois on them,
I hear; but, after all, when one can have them without much
trouble, one does not value them so highly; for instance, I
shot a chamois some years ago, in Bayrishzill, but was out
nearly twenty-four hours before I got a shot—here is his
beard, which I have preserved and worn ever since,” he
added, taking off his hat and showing a little fan-like ornament,
which Hamilton had before observed without knowing
its value.
“Then they have beards like goats?” said Hamilton.
“No,” replied Baron Z—. “This is called a beard, but
it is the hair which grows along the back.”
// 066.png
.pn +1
“I see something very like a chamois up there,” said the
officer, who held a small telescope to his eye.
Everyone wished to look—some could not find the place—others
imagined they saw something—one thought it was the
stump of a tree—but some practised eyes having pronounced
it to be the desired animals feeding, the party broke up and
the chase began.
Hamilton climbed with an ease and lightness which surprised
his companions; but he so often stopped to admire a
handsome beech-tree, or to “seek for fresh evening air in
the opening glades,” that they by degrees went on, and he
found himself at last alone in a spot where some convulsion
of Nature had split the mountain partly asunder. He saw
far, far beneath him, the road into Tyrol; the heavy-laden
wagons, which a few days before he had thought packed
dangerously high, now wound, pigmy-like, along, the motion
of the endless team of horses scarcely perceptible. Hill
rose beyond hill, until the prospect was bounded by the grotesque
masses of rocks which, rising from the wooded mountains,
increase their gigantic appearance by their partial concealment
behind those light wreaths of clouds which seldom
entirely desert their summits. For the inhabitants of the
valley, the sun had long disappeared; but around Hamilton
everything was in the glow of sunset: he seated himself
on the mossy turf and deliberately resigned himself to contemplation.
No place could have been better chosen, and he
was therefore surprised and disappointed to find that the
sublime thoughts which he had expected did not present
themselves to his mind. He admired the surpassing luxuriance
of the vegetation in the valleys, the different-coloured
foliage of the trees; the wild irregular course of the foaming
river;—he tried to think of the greatness of the Creator
in His works, the insignificance of man and his endeavours—in
vain. An agreeable feeling of general satisfaction stole
over him, while fancy conveyed him home to his family, to
his youthful friends. A handsome English residence rose
before him, with well-kept lawns, gravelled walks, and shrubberies;
groups of well-dressed people were visible among the
trees, and on the steps leading to the hall-door a large party
was assembled. Carriages and riding-horses were there;
laughing girls, in their long habits, young men carelessly
loitering near them.
// 067.png
.pn +1
They were to visit a well-preserved ruin in the neighbourhood—so
often seen, it is true, that everything was thought
of more than the nominal object. Camp-stools, servants in
livery, champagne and pine-apples began to chase each other
in pleasing confusion before Hamilton’s mind’s eye—when
the distant report of a gun destroyed the “baseless fabric”
of his “waking vision,” and he started up, remembering
with some amazement that he was engaged in a chamois-hunt!
“It is of little consequence,” he thought; “for had
I fired ten times, I should never have hit one.”
He plunged into the wood, and commenced a regular and
steady ascent, which he continued even after the fir-tree had
begun to dwindle into a dwarfy shrub, and the beautiful
wild rhododendron had disappeared altogether. His path became
steeper and more rocky, and at length he was reduced
to the necessity of creeping round the intervening obstacles,
and of supporting himself by the few plants which vegetated
among the fissures of the rocks. Not a sound broke the
silence around him; the moon slowly rose above the darkening
horizon, which was slightly streaked with a faint crimson
tinge, leaving on the dim grey of the mountain tops the still
perceptible reflection of the fading sunlight. The valleys
were in the deepest shade, and from the dispersed peasant-houses
lights began to twinkle. Hamilton looked carefully
round him, to ascertain, if possible, his position, before he
descended into the thick wood which lay beneath him. The
falling of some loose stones and a fragment of rock in his
vicinity made him start; but immediately supposing it to be
some of his former companions, he called out that if anyone
were there he wished they would wait for him: a clattering
of stones and scampering ensued, accompanied by a sharp
sound, perfectly incomprehensible to him, until on a projecting
rock far above him he perceived three chamois, standing
in strong relief between him and the cloudless sky, and gazing
irresolutely around them. They allowed him to examine
them for some time, as the distance and moonlight would
admit; but as he endeavoured to approach nearer, they suddenly
sprang up the rocks, and sending a shower of stones,
and sand over him, disappeared in a few seconds. By this
time he had lost all idea of where he might be, and although
extremely unwilling to increase his distance from the châlet,
he saw the absolute necessity of still climbing in order to see
// 068.png
.pn +1
into the Alpine valley, in which it was situated. Perfectly
unacquainted with the irregularities of the mountain, he
kept as much as possible in the light, following occasionally
what he supposed to be paths, but which were in fact the
stony beds of the mountain rivulets, formed by the thawing
snow in spring. He wandered on in this manner, sometimes
ascending, sometimes descending, for more than two hours,
looking around in every direction, but not a trace could he
find of the châlet, nor, indeed, at last, of any habitation whatever.
On reaching a part of the ridge of the mountain, he
was somewhat startled to find that the other side descended
in a perpendicular precipice of rock, apparently so smooth
and destitute of verdure that it might be supposed a wall.
He stopped—and all A. Z. had said to him recurred at once
to his memory. The moon was still too young to remain
visible to him much longer, and it would be totally dark by
the time he reached the wood; he saw no alternative but to
stay where he was until morning, and had actually chosen a
place of repose, when the distant sound of guns fired at
regular intervals, made him imagine that he, and no longer
the chamois, was the object of pursuit. A faint echo of
human voices too reached his ear, and he shouted loudly in
answer. A frightfully distinct echo from the mountain
opposite made him desist; he feared that his deliverers might
be misled, and he now hurried along in the direction from
whence the welcome sounds had first reached him. Keeping
on the top of the mountain, and avoiding any place where
the shadows of the rocks prevented him from seeing his way
distinctly, he walked and ran, and sprang and vaulted with
his long pole, until the moon, disappearing behind a mountain,
created a sort of half-night, which again forced him to
a halt. Suspecting that the echo had misled him, and fearing
that he was farther than ever from his companions,
he perceived without regret the gradual cessation of the
treacherous sounds, and at length, with a sort of desperate
English calmness, he seated himself on the ground, and
after a few not very successful efforts to place himself comfortably
against a sandy bank, he took a cigar, lighted it,
and crossing his arms, resigned himself to his fate. The
night proved darker than he expected, and he gazed on the
starry firmament until his thoughts became confused, and his
eyes closed in heavy slumber, which remained unbroken
// 069.png
.pn +1
until the cold breeze of breaking day caused a chill to pass
through his stiffened limbs. He rose, and looked about him
with astonishment for some minutes, and then, with long
strides, began a rapid descent.
Great was afterwards his annoyance to find that, instead
of arriving, as he had expected, at the châlet, he had quite
reached the base of the mountain, and that merely a narrow
ravine separated him from another of precisely the same description.
He stood for a moment irresolute, and felt—very
hungry. The sun had begun to colour vividly the eastern
sky, and after a little consideration, he found that returning
to the alp would oblige him to mount again, and he was still
very uncertain in what direction it lay; whereas, if he took
another course, he would probably in an hour or two find
some opening into one of the surrounding roads, where he
could enter the first peasant’s house he should see, and procure
something to eat. In this conjecture he was perfectly
right. Sooner than he had dared to hope, a cheerful house,
prettily situated on a green hill, and surrounded by fruit-trees,
rejoiced his eyes. Some wild sunburnt little boys and
girls announced his approach, and when he came to the door
he found a large family assembled. His wants were soon
made known; and a table, placed before the wooden bench
which ran along the front of the house, was soon covered
with a rustic, but not frugal breakfast—an enormous loaf of
dark-brown bread, a basin of milk, covered with thick yellow
cream, some pounds of butter, honey, cheese, fried eggs, and
a sort of mashed-up omelette, called Schmarn. While Hamilton
was eating, the peasant’s wife stood near, her youngest
child on her arm, and a couple of others leaning against her.
She assured him if he had not been in such a hurry she could
have made some coffee for him; she always bought coffee at
the fair, and drank it every Sunday! She was so sorry her
husband was not at home, but she expected him every moment;
he had gone up to the alp at daybreak, with fresh
rolls for the breakfast of the gentlemen who had been out
shooting.
As she spoke, a loud gay voice was heard in the distance,
jodling, and the children all rushed down the hill and disappeared
in the wood.
“That is probably your husband,” said Hamilton; “I
shall be glad to hear what sport they have had on the alp.”
// 070.png
.pn +1
“Oh! you were there, too,—perhaps—I have been thinking
and thinking where you could have spent the night; you
did not look as if you had come from the town!”
“I dare say not,” said Hamilton, laughing; “most probably
I look as if I had spent the night among the rocks, and
that is actually the case; I lost my way yesterday evening.”
The peasant soon after joined them, and to Hamilton’s
eager inquiries as to the result of the hunt, replied that a
chamois had been shot in the evening, but that the disappearance
of a young Englishman who had gone out with them
had spoiled everything; they had searched for him until
dark, and that Baron Z— had been out to look for him
before daybreak; even the ladies had joined in searching,
and one of them had been up nearly to the top of one of the
mountains with the goatherd.
“Good heavens!” cried Hamilton, springing on his feet,
“they are searching for me. I must go to them directly.”
“It will do just as well if I send Peter to let them know
you are here,” said the peasant calling one of his sons, and
giving him the necessary directions: after which, murmuring
the words, “with your leave,” he seated himself at a little
distance, and glancing towards Hamilton’s outstretched feet,
he observed with a smile, “You would never have got up
and down the alp again with those boots!”
“I believe you are right,” answered Hamilton, listlessly
moving them so as to have a better view; “they certainly do
look the worse for wear. I never was so ill shod in my life!”
“I dare say yesterday you might have danced at a wedding
in them, but for the mountains they are not the right sort.”
“Most true,” said Hamilton; “and if I ever make an excursion
of this kind again, I shall not forget it. This is the
first time in my life that I have been in a mountainous
country.”
“And yet England is a fine country, they say?” observed
the peasant, interrogatively.
Hamilton assented with a nod.
“I have heard it said at the Golden Lion in the town, that
there is no end to the riches of the English!”
“Some are very rich, and some are very poor,” answered
Hamilton. “I believe the means of living—the necessaries
of life—are more equally divided among the inhabitants of
Germany.”
// 071.png
.pn +1
“Well, that I have heard too,” said the man: “and now
that you tell me there are no mountains——”
“Stay,” cried Hamilton, laughing. “I did not say there
were no mountains; I only said that I had never seen them.”
“But all the Englishmen I have ever spoken to——”
“Are not very many,” said Hamilton, interrupting him.
“More than you think, perhaps. Before my father gave
up the house and ground to me, I was for many years with
a relation in Berchtesgaden, and used to row most of the
strangers across the lake. Queer people they were, too,
sometimes! One gentleman used to sit for hours under a
tree near the back lake, and went there regularly every day
for several summers. The last time I saw him, he said when
he died his spirit would hover around that tree—or something
of that sort. I made inquiries about him lately, and
as he has not been seen for a long time, I suppose he is dead,
and should not at all like to go to that part of the lake alone
of an evening; for though I don’t mind taking my chance
against living men, I am mortally afraid of the dead—and
that Englishman always looked half dead, with his pale face
and sunken cheeks. It was dreadful to hear him cough; and
the people at the inn said he never was quiet at night, but
wandered incessantly up and down his room. They said he
must have been crossed in love——”
“Most probably he was dying of consumption,” said
Hamilton.
“Very likely; that was what the doctor called it. He
said it was a very common complaint in England—like the
rheumatism here, I suppose. What my poor grandfather
suffered from rheumatism the last forty years of his life is
incredible; but he walked about and lived all the same to be
past ninety years of age—and celebrated his golden wedding
too!”
“His golden what?”
“Wedding. Perhaps you have no golden or silver wedding
in England?”
“I confess I never heard of anything of the kind,” said
Hamilton.
“Oh, the silver wedding is only on the twenty-fifth anniversary,
and most people can celebrate that; but to be fifty
years married, and to have a golden wedding, is a sort of
event in a family. Though but a boy at the time, I shall
// 072.png
.pn +1
never forget that day. This house was quite covered with
garlands, and all the neighbours from far and near were
assembled; and my grandfather and grandmother, dressed
in their wedding dresses, walked in procession with music
to the church, and the priest married them over again, and
preached such a sermon that everyone had tears in their
eyes. We had a dinner, too, at the Lion, and such dancing
and singing; and in the evening there was no end to the
noise and shouting when they drove off together for the
second time as bride and bridegroom!”
“How I should like to see such a wedding! Is there no
chance of one now in the neighbourhood?”
“Not that I know of. It is a rare thing, for generally a
year or two before the fifty years are at an end one or the
other dies. The very wish to live it out, carries the old
people off, I believe.”
“Do people marry early here?”
“Not often, for they must get the consent of the parish,
and prove that they can support a family. I was past forty
before my father resigned the house and land to me.”
“So he gave it to you during his lifetime? Is that often
done?”
“Very often. I was to pay him a pension, and he intended
to remove to the town; but he could not leave the
place, and so we all lived together until his death. My
mother is still alive. You may have seen her on the alp:
she is always wandering about there.”
“Was your father obliged to ask the consent of your
landlord when he resigned?”
“He was obliged to get the consent of government, and I
had to pay the usual fine of five per cent. of the value of
my house and ground.”
“Then you have no lease?”
“Lease? No, we have no lease.”
“And your land is hereditary in your family?”
“Yes; we have the usual taxes to pay, and we have fines
in cases of death, succession, or exchange of land.”
“Could you sell your property if you wished it?”
“No doubt—if I obtained the consent of government;
but who would sell their land and be without house or
home?”
“I suppose it is always the eldest son who inherits?”
// 073.png
.pn +1
“No; we can make whichever child we please our heir;
but we generally choose the eldest son, who pays the other
children what is left them by will.”
The peasant’s wife drew near, and afterwards the children
gathered round them; their mother, in the pride of her
heart, telling them to fetch their copy-books, and show the
gentleman how well they could write. He had not finished
the inspection or praised them half as much as they deserved
when the Z—s and their companions advanced from the
wood, when joyful recognition and long explanations completely
changed the current of his thoughts.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch06
CHAPTER VI. || SECULARISED CLOISTERS.
.sp 2
When Hamilton returned to Seon he found there an
addition to the guests he had left, in the person of Count
Zedwitz’s son, a young officer who had come to spend
part of his leave of absence with his family. His appearance
was prepossessing, notwithstanding his very decided
ugliness; for his yellow hair, impertinently degenerating
into red in his bushy mustachios, nearly concealed a mouth
of enormous proportions, and heightened the whiteness of
his teeth of faultless purity, but unusually large and of irregular
form. The almost flaxen eyebrows protruded far beyond
eyes which were small and light-coloured, but full of intelligence;
the nose thick, of indefinite form, and a forehead
which would have delighted Gall, Spurzheim, or Combe, but
from which a painter’s eye would have turned away to
seek some more pleasing object. His figure was tall and
well-proportioned, but, notwithstanding his youth, already
denoted an inclination to stoutness.
Hamilton found him an agreeable companion; indeed,
everyone seemed to like him, especially Mademoiselle Hildegarde,
who, Hamilton imagined, received his unobtrusive attentions
with undisguised satisfaction; nor was it long before
he discovered a sort of avoidance of his society on the part
// 074.png
.pn +1
of both sisters. Crescenz, indeed, looked at him sometimes,
but the moment her eye caught his it was averted, and a
blush was sure to follow. Hildegarde never looked at him
at all. They whispered together continually, took long
walks alone, and became every day more melancholy. In
short, there was something mysterious in their manner which
excited Hamilton’s curiosity, and he determined to see Crescenz,
if possible, alone for half an hour, and question her
on the subject; but this was not easily managed, for Hildegarde
seldom left her side, and were she present there was
no chance of hearing anything. He commenced a system
of watching, which Crescenz unfortunately misinterpreted,
while Hildegarde remained perfectly unconscious of it; he
did not apparently interest her sufficiently to make her observe
his movements; but Crescenz’s blushes increased daily,
and even her sister’s presence could not prevent her from
sometimes entering into conversation with him. He asked
her once if Seon had disappointed her—if she were tired of
it; and then, in a low voice, why she looked so sorrowful. A
blush, a reproachful look, and eyes suddenly full of tears was the
only reply he received. Hildegarde, who had partly heard the
questions, drew her sister’s arm within hers and left him alone
to think over all possible causes, but in vain; he then turned his
observations towards her step-mother, but there he was completely
at fault. She was very kind in her manner to Crescenz,
while to Hildegarde she seemed to have increased in severity.
One day Crescenz descended to dinner with eyelids so
swelled from crying that her eyes were almost closed, her
sister so pale that Hamilton expected every moment she
would faint; after a few ineffectual efforts to swallow, they
rose suddenly and left the room together. Madame Rosenberg,
who was sitting beside Major Stultz, made some hasty
remark, and followed them. She had not, however, been
absent more than a few minutes when she returned with
Hildegarde, and pointing angrily to her place at the table
desired her “to sit down there, and leave her sister in peace.”
She obeyed, but made no attempt whatever to eat. Young
Zedwitz, who had established a sort of right to sit beside
her, endeavoured to begin a conversation; without raising
her eyes, she said a few words in a low voice which at once
made him desist, and he scarcely looked at her again during
the time she remained at table.
// 075.png
.pn +1
It was a magnificent afternoon, and Hamilton was burning
with curiosity which he had determined to satisfy by some
desperate effort during the course of it; his dismay was,
therefore, great, when he found himself seized upon by old
Count Zedwitz and carried off to his room for a dissertation
on the water-cure! As a reward, or rather punishment, for
the exaggerated expressions of interest lavished upon cold
water on a former occasion, a manuscript was confidentially
produced, written by himself, intended for publication, and
of which he proposed Hamilton’s making a translation for
the benefit of his countrymen! He commenced slowly reading
aloud, occasionally stopping to make alterations and corrections,
while Hamilton gazed wistfully out of the open
window at the sunny landscape, his thoughts wandering
unrestrainedly to Crescenz and her sister. They would have
gone out to walk, and he should probably not see them until
supper-time. Zedwitz would, of course, contrive to join
their party, as he was evidently getting up a serious flirtation
with Hildegarde; he, for his part, rather preferred
Crescenz, who he was sure he could persuade to give him a
rendezvous—perhaps even in the cloisters! Five minutes—only
five minutes without her sister—he composed the most
appropriate speeches, and the running accompaniment to his
thoughts, formed by Count Zedwitz’s manuscript, almost
made him laugh in spite of himself and his annoyance.
At length the sound of gay voices in the garden beneath
brought his impatience to a crisis; he sprang from his chair,
placed his head in his hands, and declared he had such a
violent headache that he must beg to defer the conclusion
of the manuscript until the next day.
“Headache! My dear sir, if you would not think me
unfeeling, I should say that I rejoice to hear it! I shall
now be able to make a convert of you at once. Headache,
be it nervous or rheumatic, can be cured by placing the feet
in a tub of cold water, and rolling wet cloths round the
head.”
“I think a quick walk would set me to rights in a very
short time; and as I hear your son singing in the garden,
perhaps I shall be able to persuade him to join me.”
“If you don’t like the foot-bath, try a little sweating in
cloths—indeed, it will cure you—pray, try it.”
“My dear Count—my headache is of a very peculiar
// 076.png
.pn +1
kind; I am subject to it, and have given it the name of
‘bored headache.’ I know from experience that nothing
but a walk can cure me.”
“Bored headache! To bore—to penetrate—to pierce—to
bore with a gimlet! You feel, perhaps, as if some one had
been boring at your head,” and he suited the action to the
words.
“Precisely—exactly. In such cases I require violent
exercise——”
“But, I assure you,” he persisted, “the cold stupes would
have the same effect; I should still, merely to convince you,
recommend sweating in——”
“Excuse me this time,” said Hamilton, hurriedly, “and
to-morrow, if you will have the kindness to read me your
manuscript, I shall be able to appreciate its merits as it
deserves.”
While the Count was taking off his spectacles, Hamilton,
with his hand pressed on his forehead, left the room as if
he were suffering tortures. It was fortunate that the old
man’s rheumatism prevented his looking after him, as he
ran along the corridor and bounded down the staircase into
the garden! Young Zedwitz was gone, and his mother and
sister were standing so near the door that, in the eagerness
of flight, Hamilton stumbled against them. He apologised,
and then asked for Count Max, whom he said he expected
to have found in the garden.
“He was here a minute ago,” answered she, “but is gone
to look for somebody or something; I did not quite understand
what he said.”
“It is very unkind of Max not to walk with us,” observed
the young lady, with some irritation; “he knows how dreadfully
afraid I am of cows and dogs.”
Hamilton thought she looked at him as if she expected
that he should offer to accompany her in the character of
protector. This, however, he resolved not to do, and was in
the act of retiring when the old Countess exclaimed: “Oh,
Mr. Hamilton, if you are not otherwise engaged, perhaps
you will accompany us in our walk? My daughter is so
easily frightened that she cannot go any distance without
someone to chase away the cattle.”
Hamilton felt doomed. The request had not been made
in the most flattering terms, it is true, but he could not do
// 077.png
.pn +1
otherwise than acquiesce. The thought that young Zedwitz
was at that moment, perhaps, walking with the sisters, did
not make him feel amiably disposed, and he was considerably
out of temper when he commenced his walk. This could
not, however, continue, for both his companions were agreeable;
and though the old Countess suffered considerably
from asthma in ascending the hills, she contrived, nevertheless
to commence a conversation, as it appeared to Hamilton
at first, in order to learn something of him or his family.
Not, however, finding him disposed to be communicative,
she desisted from anything but indirect observations, which
rather amused him than otherwise, and then spoke unreservedly
of her own affairs.
“They lived on one of their estates, in the neighbourhood
of Munich, but they had spent the last two winters in the
latter place, on account of their daughter. It had not
agreed with the Count, and as her daughter was now braut
(a bride), that is, engaged to be married, they should in
future live altogether in the country. They had another
residence in the mountains, near Baron Z—, which she
would greatly prefer, but the Count fancied the mountain
air increased his rheumatism. She supposed her son had
told him all this, however.”
“Our conversation has been principally about Munich,
and he has persuaded me to spend next winter there.”
“Were your movements so uncertain? Do your parents
leave you completely at liberty?”
“Completely. I can spend the winter at Vienna, Berlin,
Dresden, or Munich.”
The conversation was changed, and Hamilton was so
pleased with both his companions that he was actually sorry
when they reached Seon, though the walk had been long, and
it was so late that the guests were assembling for supper.
“Where are my girls? Are they not yet returned?”
asked Madame Rosenberg.
No one had seen them.
“They were with me the whole morning,” she continued,
“and only went out half an hour ago to the church on the
other side of the water. Perhaps Mr. Hamilton will be so
kind as to call them to supper.”
“Let me go with you,” cried young Zedwitz, starting from
his chair.
// 078.png
.pn +1
“Thank you—I can find them without your assistance,”
he replied; and then added, maliciously laughing, “I know
you have been lounging about this little lake all day, my
good fellow, and must be as tired of it as a sentinel of his
post.”
Zedwitz laughed too, but he was not so easily put off—he
took Hamilton’s arm, and they sallied forth together.
“You were long on guard to-day, Zedwitz, from dinner-time
until now!”
“How did you like being caught to drive away the cows?
I saw you being led off.”
“At first I did not like it at all—afterwards, very much.
I have taken a great fancy to your mother—still more to
your sister.”
“My sister is the dearest little soul in the world. If you
but knew her as well as I do! I am very sorry she is to be
married so soon—her loss will to me be irreparable, and our
house so intolerably dull without her, that I shall be under
the necessity of choosing a wife with as little delay as possible.”
“Your mother told me she expects you will make a most
desirable marriage.”
“With my ugly face?—that is not probable.”
“I understand from the Countess, that you, as well as your
sister, were already engaged.”
“By no means—certainly not,” cried Zedwitz, with a
vehemence incomprehensible to Hamilton; “joining hands
for the purpose of joining estates is not at all to my taste.”
“I should suppose not,” observed Hamilton, carelessly;
and a long pause ensued. At length Zedwitz observed,
abruptly: “My parents are anxious for me to quit the army,
and marry; and, yet, I am convinced, that when I propose
doing so they will object to the person I have chosen. In
spite of my ugliness, or rather, perhaps, on account of it,
personal beauty has a value in my eyes beyond what it
deserves. I could not marry an ugly woman—could you?”
“I have never thought much on the subject,” replied
Hamilton, laughing. “My parents have strictly forbidden
all such thoughts on my part for the next ten years at least.”
They now began to cross the shallow part of Seon Lake,
on a narrow, wooden bridge, so narrow that it was inconvenient
for more than two persons to walk abreast. When
// 079.png
.pn +1
they had reached the slope leading up to the church on the
other side, Hamilton suddenly stopped and asked Count
Zedwitz what “Hildegarde had said to him at dinner which
had so effectually silenced him?”
“She told me not to speak to her, as she could not answer
me.”
“Was that all?”
“But she gave me some hope that she would tell me why
on some future occasion, and I was satisfied.”
“There is some mystery in the family! Don’t you think
so?” asked Hamilton.
“I am quite convinced of it. Those poor girls seem very
unhappily situated. I really pity them.”
“I both pity and admire them,” cried Hamilton; “and
moreover, I am exceedingly anxious to find out this same
mystery. Let us start fair and see who will first obtain
information.”
“Agreed.”
“My chances are but small,” observed Hamilton; “with
me both the young ladies are shy, and I myself am still
more so.”
“You shy!” exclaimed Zedwitz, laughing.
“What! You don’t believe me! You must have observed
how I blush for the merest trifle.”
“Oh, yes—you blush, but it seems to be constitutional,
however, for I never saw anyone of your age so self-possessed.”
“My dear Count, you quite mistake my character, I assure
you—it is a sort of—anomaly; a mixture of modesty and
assurance——”
“Assurance, perhaps—sometimes—the modesty I have
never observed.” He stopped and pointed to the two sisters,
who were sitting on the trunk of a prostrate tree in a neighbouring
field, their hands clasped firmly together, and each
separately exhibiting a picture of grief which, independent
of the youth and beauty of the mourners, was interesting
from the difference of its expression. Crescenz seemed quite
subdued from excessive sorrow, her whole form drooped, and
she wept in silence, the tears coursing each other over her
youthful cheeks unrestrainedly. Hildegarde held a letter
tightly pressed in her hand, and looked upwards. She might
have been praying; but it seemed to Hamilton as if the eyes
// 080.png
.pn +1
remained upturned to prevent the falling of the tears which
had gathered in the underlids—an occasional almost imperceptible
movement of the corners of the mouth, and an
evident difficulty of swallowing, confirmed this idea.
“Beautiful creature!” exclaimed Zedwitz, enthusiastically.
Hildegarde stooped towards her sister, and, it seemed,
whispered some words of comfort, for the other looked up
and attempted to smile.
“Hamilton, let us return towards the lake; it would be
cruel to take them by surprise. We must talk loud, or in
some way give them notice of our approach.” He turned
away as he spoke, and so effectually did he put his intentions
in practice, that when they again approached the sisters, they
were walking apparently unconcernedly towards the church,
and on hearing that they were expected to supper, quietly
led the way to the wooden-bridge. Zedwitz and Hamilton
now commenced maneuvring; but as their intentions were
similar, and the object not to engage the same person, they
were almost immediately successful. Zedwitz seemed, indeed,
at first determined that Hamilton should lead the way with
Crescenz; but the latter soon gave him to understand that
that would never answer, and after a few frowns, and shrugs,
and shoves, he followed Hildegarde, who was already on the
bridge.
Hamilton approached Crescenz and whispered hurriedly:
“What is the matter? Why are you so unhappy? What on
earth has occurred during my absence from Seon?”
“Nothing, nothing! Nothing has occurred which can in
any way interest you,” she replied, walking quickly on.
“You are unkind, mademoiselle,” said Hamilton, slowly
and reproachfully—“unnecessarily unkind. From the commencement
of our acquaintance, short as it has been, I have
felt the greatest interest in all that concerns you. I see you
unhappy—wish to offer any consolation in my power—and
am treated with disdain.”
“I did not mean to treat you with disdain,” said Crescenz,
softening, and walking more slowly.
“Your sister is not so cruel to Count Zedwitz.” In fact, they
were just then speaking rather earnestly. This had great effect.
“What do you wish to know?” she asked, gently.
“I wish to know the cause of your unhappiness. I wish
to know why you avoid me.”
// 081.png
.pn +1
“That I cannot tell you so easily! You will hear, perhaps—but
you will not understand what—that is—how—I
mean to say why I could not refuse. I—I cannot tell you,”
she cried, bursting into tears, and walking on so quickly that
she had nearly reached her sister before Hamilton could say
in a whisper, “To-night, at the foot of the broad staircase
leading to the cloisters—may I expect you?”
“No, no, no!”
“There will be moonlight; at nine o’clock I shall be
there.”
“Oh, no—not for the world!”
“The staircase is quite close to your room; grant me but
five minutes only.”
Her sister looked round, and, to prevent further discussion,
he added urgently, but looking at the same time with affected
unconcern across the lake—
“You must come, or I shall spend the whole night in the
cloisters waiting for you.”
It was in vain she now endeavoured to refuse; he was
deaf to all excuses, and walked purposely so near her sister
that she was obliged to give up the attempt.
Before they entered the house, Zedwitz whispered triumphantly:
“I shall know all to-morrow morning.”
“And I to-night,” replied Hamilton.
“What? when? how? where?”
“That is my affair, not yours.”
“I shall find out, you may depend upon it.”
“I defy you,” cried Hamilton, laughing; but the next
moment, heartily regretting his foolish boast, he thought for
a moment of telling him his purpose, but the fear of compromising
Crescenz deterred him, and soon afterwards perceiving
him earnestly engaged in conversation with Hildegarde,
he hoped he would forget all about the matter.
After supper, Madame Rosenberg, as usual, produced her
knitting, and Hamilton began a listless sort of conversation
with her, which lasted until her daughter had left the room;
it suddenly, however, took a turn which rendered it to Hamilton
interesting in the extreme. She had, according to her
own account, a most particular fancy for all Englishmen.
They were such agreeable companions; gave no trouble at
all; she had now reason to know, for she had had Englishmen
lodging in her house for the last three years. She had
// 082.png
.pn +1
two furnished rooms, which she always let, and from experience
she now knew that Englishmen were in every respect
desirable lodgers. Need it be said that “on this hint” Hamilton
had spoken, and that in a very short time an arrangement
for board and lodging was concluded to their mutual
satisfaction. It was then that she launched into praises of
his nation, ending with the remark that nothing would induce
her, now that her step-daughters were at home, to receive
any but Englishmen under her roof. “They were
accustomed to domestic life, to female society, and did not
think it necessary to talk nonsense to every girl with whom
they happened to be five minutes alone. Did he know Mr.
Smith?”
Hamilton believed he knew two or three Smiths.
“I mean a Mr. Howard Seymour Smyth.”
“No;” Hamilton knew more Howards and Seymours than
Smiths, he was happy in the consciousness.
“Perhaps you know Captain Black?”
“I have not the pleasure of his acquaintance.”
“He was a most delightful person; lodged with us last
year; dined, however, at Havard’s table d’hôte. You will be
the first who has actually become a member of the family,
as I may say. I wonder what Rosenberg will think of the
arrangement?”
“May I beg of you to write to him to-morrow on the subject,
as I have already given a sort of commission to the
Baroness Z— and——”
“Oh, dear! there’s no necessity for writing; I always arrange
these things alone; you have nothing whatever to do
with him!”
“In that case I may consider the affair as arranged,” said
Hamilton, rising and going towards the side-table for his
candle. She rose, too, and they ascended the stairs together.
“I shall do everything in my power to make you comfortable
and at home in our house,” she said, when wishing him
good-night.
As he entered his room, the great clock struck nine. He
placed, with some natural trepidation, his candle behind the
stove, and locked his door carefully, to prevent Zedwitz,
should he come, from ascertaining whether he were there or
not. “He will think, perhaps, that I am in bed and asleep
if he get no answer,” was his wise reflection, as he dropped
// 083.png
.pn +1
the key into his pocket, and commenced walking on tiptoe
towards the place of appointment. A few moments’ thought
convinced him that there was no necessity, whatever, for
concealment, until he had reached the lower passages, where
there were flower-stands, gardening tools, old doors, casks,
and all sorts of lumber heaped up, as if on purpose to make
places of retreat for gentlemen in his situation. He ensconced
himself behind a spacious beer-barrel and waited
patiently until he heard a step on the stairs. Keeping carefully
in the dark, he whispered, “I am here, give me your
hand.” But no hand was given; on the contrary, a scampering
up stairs, three or four steps at a time, ensued, which
was at first perfectly incomprehensible. Hamilton afterwards
supposed that Crescenz had heard some noise in the corridor,
and must wait for a better opportunity. Again he placed
himself behind the friendly cask, and waited upwards of a
half an hour. At the end of that time an odd, rustling
noise among the lumber made him start; but muttering the
word “rats,” he flung an old rake in the direction from
whence it came, and all was still again. It had become so
much darker that he now took up his post near the staircase,
and soon after Crescenz appeared, looking timidly down into
the obscurity. “I am here, do not be afraid; there is no
one near,” cried Hamilton, softly advancing towards her.
“I have only come—to say—that—that I cannot come.”
Hamilton in vain endeavoured to repress a smile. “Well,
come down the stairs, and at least tell me why!”
She descended a few steps.
“Well! why?”
“Because I have not courage; I am always afraid in the
dark.”
“But it is not dark in the cloisters; there is the most
beautiful moonlight imaginable! Come.”
“Would not to-morrow at six o’clock, in the garden, do as
well?”
“I cannot hear you,” answered Hamilton, becoming suddenly
deaf; “and you had better not speak too distinctly, as
you may be heard by some one crossing the passage.”
“To-morrow morning in the garden,” she softly repeated,
descending close to where he stood.
“I have been waiting nearly an hour!” was the answer
which he gave, in order to change her thoughts.
// 084.png
.pn +1
“I could not help it; Hildegarde has only just fallen
asleep.”
“We must not remain here, or we shall certainly be overheard.
Come,” he whispered, drawing her arm within his.
“I cannot—I cannot—to-morrow before breakfast, or when
you will; but not now. Let me go! oh, let me go!”
And he would have let her go; but the thoughts of Zedwitz’s
raillery made him resolute. His first thought was to
carry her off; but that appearing too strong a measure, he
contented himself with holding her hand fast while pouring
forth a volley of reproaches.
“And now,” he concluded with an affectation of reasoning,
“now that you are so far, why retreat? Everyone is
in bed; no human being in the cloisters. I ask but five
minutes, but I would speak with you alone—unrestrained.”
And while he was speaking he had contrived to make her
move along the passage. A moment after, they had reached
the quadrangle, and stood in silent admiration of the calm
seclusion of the spot. The echo of their footsteps was the
only sound they heard; and the bright moonbeams not only
lighted the monuments erected against the wall, but rendered
almost legible the epitaphs of those whose tombstones composed
the pavement.
He led Crescenz to a seat near the monument to the
founder of the monastery, Count Aribo, and waited for her
to speak; she had, however, no inclination to begin, but sat
in a deep revery, looking fixedly on the ground; and, as it
seemed, more inclined to be sentimental than communicative.
Hamilton, more conscious than she was of the impropriety
of her situation, and fearing that they might be seen by some
of the servants, at length exclaimed, with some impatience:
“Do not let us lose these precious moments, but tell me at
once what has occurred.”
Crescenz became agitated, covered her face with her
hands, but remained silent.
“For heaven’s sake tell me what is the matter?”
“I am very, very unhappy!” sobbed the poor girl.
“But why—why are you unhappy?”
“Because I—I am going to be married!”
“Married!—To whom are you going to be married?”
“To—to Major Stultz.”
“Major Stultz!—Why, this must be a very sudden business,
// 085.png
.pn +1
indeed. Before I left Seon he seemed much more
inclined to marry your sister than you!”
“Oh, of course he would rather have Hildegarde, because
she is so much cleverer and handsomer than I am; but she
would not listen to him, and called him an old fool!”
“I admire her candour,” said Hamilton.
“And then she got into a passion when he persevered, and
slapped him on the mouth!”
“Slapped him on the mouth!”
“Yes, when he attempted to kiss her hand; at least he
says so; and Hildegarde thinks it may be true, as she was
angry and struggled very hard to release her hand. He told
mamma that he would not marry her now if she were ten
times handsomer, and a princess into the bargain!”
“She seems of rather a passionate temperament.”
“Passionate! yes, she sometimes gets into a passion, but
it is soon over, and then she can be so kind to those she
loves! No one knows her so well as I do, excepting, perhaps,
papa, and he says, if she were not passionate, she would be
faultless; with me she is never in a passion.”
“Perhaps because you yield implicit obedience to all her
commands? But tell me why did not you follow her example,
and refuse Major Stultz, if you did not like him?”
“He did not ask me, he spoke to mamma, and wrote to
papa; and when all was arranged, I had not courage to refuse;
and he is forty-six years old, and I shall not be sixteen
until next year!”
“That is a considerable disparity, certainly.”
“I should not mind the thirty years so much if his face
were not so red and his figure so stout. I hate red-faced,
stout men!”
“If he could change his appearance to please you, I have
no doubt he would do so,” observed Hamilton, smiling.
“Hildegarde also dislikes red-faced men,” she added, pettishly.
“Whatever Hildegarde says must be right, of course,”
said Hamilton, ironically; “but I have not discovered that
she dislikes Count Zedwitz, and he rather comes under the
denomination red-faced.”
“Hildegarde says Count Zedwitz is very agreeable, and
not in the least presuming.”
“And who does she say is presuming, if I may ask?”
// 086.png
.pn +1
“She says you are—or would be, if you were allowed.”
“I think she is wrong. And were she to meet Zedwitz
here alone——”
“Hildegarde would never do such a thing—never! And
I ought not to have come, either,” she cried, starting from
her seat and looking anxiously round. Then, laying her
hand heavily on his arm, and straining her eyes as if to see
something more distinctly, she asked, in a scarcely audible
voice, “What is that?”
“What?—I see nothing.”
“There—there—in the corner! The moon’s shining on
it now—that figure.”
“Oh, that is a stone figure—a monument, or something of
that sort. Let us go and look at it.”
“Not for the universe—I saw it move.”
“You fancied it moved; one can imagine all sorts of
things by moonlight. Will you remain here and let me examine
it?”
“Oh, no—you must not leave me! I—I think it may be
something unearthly. Oh, why did I come here?—why did
I come here?”
“Don’t be unnecessarily alarmed; I am convinced it is
nothing but——”
“There, there—it moved again!” She grasped his arm
and hid her face on his shoulder.
“Come,” said Hamilton, encouragingly; “let me take you
to your room—to your sister.”
She trembled violently, but endeavoured to walk. The
figure, however, seemed to possess the power of fascination—she
would or could not remove her eyes from it; and
though Hamilton assured her he remembered having seen it
by daylight, and at first really thought so, he was soon unpleasantly
convinced of his error. They saw the outline
more and more distinctly every moment—could even distinguish
the large folds of the drapery in the moonlight.
Hamilton tried to hurry her forward; but at that moment
the figure, slowly and stiffly raising an arm, pointed
threateningly towards them. This was the acme. Crescenz
clung to him in an agony of terror, and while Hamilton
whispered to her, “For heaven’s sake, not to scream—to
think of the consequences were she to be discovered,” she
writhed as if in strong convulsions, gasped frightfully once or
// 087.png
.pn +1
twice for breath, and then sank on his arm perfectly insensible.
Shocked beyond measure, but now convinced that someone
had been amusing himself at their expense, Hamilton called
out angrily, “Cease your mummeries, whoever you are—and
see what you have done!”
The moonlight fell on Crescenz’s lifeless form while he
spoke, and in a moment Count Zedwitz stood beside him.
He endeavoured to exculpate himself by avowing that he
had no idea of playing ghost when he had followed them.
“I don’t care what you intended,” cried Hamilton, still
more angrily; “but I wish, at least, you had spared this poor
girl such unnecessary terror.”
“I did not think of the consequences. It was very foolish—it
was very wrong, if you will. But you must not think I
was a listener; I declare most solemnly I did not hear one
word of your conversation.”
“The whole world might have heard it!” cried Hamilton,
impatiently shaking off the hand which Zedwitz had placed
on his shoulder; “the whole world might have heard it.
But what is to be done now? She shows no sign of life,
and is as cold as a stone. Perhaps you have killed her!”
“Oh, no, she has only fainted; let me go for a glass of
water.”
“Are you mad?” cried Hamilton, detaining him forcibly;
“no one must ever know that she has been here with me—with
us——”
“Oh, I thought I could——”
“I wish you would think rationally, and repair the mischief
you have done.”
“Let us take her to her sister; she will never betray
her, and will know best what means to employ for her recovery.”
And between them they carried Crescenz along the passage
and up the stairs. Fortunately, the first door led to
her room, and Hamilton desired Zedwitz to knock gently,
lest other people in the neighbouring rooms might be awakened.
But it was in vain he knocked; Hildegarde seemed
to be enjoying what is called a “wholesome sleep”; and at
length, finding their efforts fruitless, Zedwitz volunteered to
go in and waken her.
Hamilton heard the sleepy voice change into a tone of
// 088.png
.pn +1
alarm, the anxious questions, and finally a request that he
would leave the room. He did so, and in less than a minute
Hildegarde opened the door in a state of great agitation.
While Hamilton laid Crescenz on the bed, Zedwitz struck a
light, and Hildegarde then asked him earnestly to tell her
what had happened.
“My odious cloak has been the cause of all,” he answered,
evasively; “she saw me standing in the moonlight, and
thought I was a ghost.”
“Saw you standing in the moonlight?—when?—where?
Oh, go away, both of you,” she cried, vehemently, as the
candle lighted her sister’s pale features; “go away, and leave
me alone with Crescenz.”
They left the room, and walked towards one of the windows
looking into the quadrangle. After some delay, Hildegarde
appeared, and a dialogue ensued which Hamilton
thought unnecessarily long, as he was not able to hear what
was said. The moment, however, that he approached the
speakers, the door was closed, and he was left to make his
inquiries of Zedwitz.
“How is she?”
“Better, or quite well, I forget which; she fancied at first
that she had been dreaming, but now she knows the contrary.”
“Hum! No doubt you exaggerated splendidly when explaining
to Hildegarde just now!”
“Not I! I was thinking the whole time of that bewitching
little nightcap, and how lovely she looked in it.”
“Pshaw! if you have any fancy for such caps, I recommend
you to go to London. In any street you please, and at
any hour, you can see half a dozen such caps on as many
Bavarian girls, whose employment is to scream ‘buy a broom,’
and who are just the most good-for-nothing creatures in the
world.”
“And how do you know they are Bavarians? I think it
much more probable that they are Dutch girls.”
“In London people call them Bavarians; and I must confess
they never interested me sufficiently to induce me to
make inquiries.”
“Very likely; but when I tell you that Bavarians do not
lightly forsake their country, that they are seldom so poor as
not to have enough to live upon—our marriage-laws provide
// 089.png
.pn +1
against that; that London is a long way from Bavaria, and
the steam-packets make it an easy matter for Dutch girls to
transport themselves there, you will also think with me that
they are more probably Dutch than Bavarian.”
“How warmly you defend your countrywomen and their
hideous caps,” cried Hamilton, laughing. “But, really,” he
added, opening the door of his room, before which they
stood, “really, the matter is not worth a dispute. The girls
are Dutch, if you will have it so, but the caps are ugly, say
what you will.”
“It depends so entirely on the wearer of the cap! For
instance, to-night I thought that cap the most becoming
thing I ever saw!”
“Perhaps you also prefer one foot in a slipper and the
other bare.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that the fair Hildegarde could only find one
slipper in the dark, and pattered about with her bare foot, as
if it were the most comfortable thing possible!”
“I did not look at her feet; but even if I had, I should
only have admired her forgetfulness of self in her anxiety
about her sister.”
“You are right, Zedwitz,” cried Hamilton, with unusual
warmth; “quite right. And though I will not, cannot, say
that I think the nightcap pretty, I must acknowledge that I
admired Hildegarde to-night more than anyone I ever saw.
She is superlatively handsome, and it is the greater pity that
she is such a devil.”
“A devil! Are you raving?”
“Not a bit of it. I advise you to take care how you make
advances to her; she will slap you on the mouth for the
slightest misdemeanour.”
“Slap me on the mouth!”
“Not the smallest doubt of it. She buffeted poor Major
Stultz when he innocently made her a proposal of marriage,
until his face, from deep red, turned to the richest
purple.”
“Nay, now I know you are inventing—joking.”
“Not so much as you think, I assure you. Her sister is
my authority. She softened the recital in some degree, it is
true, by saying that Hildegarde was not often in a passion,
and never with her.”
// 090.png
.pn +1
Zedwitz seated himself at the table, drummed on it with
his fingers, and looked at Hamilton as if he expected to hear
more.
“Perhaps, after all,” said Hamilton, “she is only a little
hot-tempered. I have heard it asserted that passionate
people were always good-hearted—in fact, most amiable,
when not actually in a passion!”
“Who would have imagined that?” said Zedwitz, thoughtfully;
“and with such an angel’s face!”
“Never trust an angel’s face!” cried Hamilton, laughing.
“My brother John, who understands such things, says that
angelic-looking women are very often devils, and, if not,
they are bores; and of the two I prefer a devil to a bore,
any day—even for a wife.”
Zedwitz rubbed his hand across his forehead, and looked
dissatisfied.
“So you think her ill-tempered?” he observed.
“I cannot exactly say ill-tempered; but I have already
seen her in something very nearly approaching to a passion.”
“You!—where?”
“No matter. But she called me a fool, and stamped with
her foot, until I ran away for very fright.”
“I dare say you had provoked her past endurance; and I
have now had an opportunity of judging how shy and
modest you are. Not that I mean to blame you for supporting
Crescenz, as you did to-night, in the cloisters. You saved
her, no doubt, from a severe fall, but you took very remarkable
good care of her.”
“It was very natural that Crescenz should cling to me
when she was frightened,” said Hamilton, seriously; “and
equally natural that I should endeavour to protect her.”
“Oh, it was altogether extremely natural; only don’t talk
any more nonsense about being shy. You were anything
but shy at the foot of the staircase——”
“Were you there, too?”
“Not very distant from you, disguised as a rat.”
“If I had managed to hit you with the rake, all this
scene would have been avoided.”
“Perhaps; but do you know that you invited me yourself
to come? I did not know where you were until you said, in
the most insinuating manner, ‘I am here—give me your
hand.’”
// 091.png
.pn +1
“So you were the person who scampered up the stairs?”
“Yes, and scampered down at the other side, and found
another way into the passage.”
“Well, I hope I shall not remain long in your debt, that’s
all.”
“Oh, your anger is over for this time, I hope. Rather let
us now swear an eternal friendship. The thing is possible,
as we are not rivals.”
“Perhaps we may be, though—I rather took a fancy to
Hildegarde to-night. Crescenz is almost too childish.”
“You are not serious, I hope,” cried Zedwitz, with what
Hamilton imagined an affectation of alarm.
“I really don’t know whether I am or not. I am only
trying to get up a sort of flirtation to make the time pass
agreeably while I am studying German; for that purpose,
in fact, one sister is as good as the other; indeed, Crescenz
suits me, perhaps, better, because the affair will have a
respectable termination when she marries Major Stultz.”
“Is she to marry Major Stultz?”
“So Hildegarde has not even told you that?”
“Not a word.”
“Well, let us open the window and smoke a couple of
cigars in the moonlight, and you shall hear all about it, and
have a full and true account of the boxing-match between
Hildegarde and the gallant Major.”
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch07
CHAPTER VII. || AN EXCURSION AND\
RETURN TO THE SECULARISED CLOISTERS.
.sp 2
Madame Rosenberg “wondered” unceasingly, the next
morning, why Crescenz was not well enough to appear at
breakfast. Zedwitz looked at Hamilton, and Hamilton
looked at Zedwitz, and then they both looked at Hildegarde,
whose eyes were fixed on the ground, leaving nothing but the
long eyelashes, which rested on her cheek, visible. About
the corners of her mouth played an expression which it was
impossible to define; but it seemed that Zedwitz was able to
// 092.png
.pn +1
interpret it to his own advantage, for he seated himself beside
her, and began a conversation in the very easiest manner
possible. Major Stultz was fully occupied with a monstrous
edition of a meerschaum pipe, and Hamilton turned
to Madame Rosenberg, who showed every disposition to be
friendly and confidential. From sundry winks and witticisms
which she exchanged with Major Stultz, Hamilton
perceived that she wished to excite his curiosity, and longed
to tell him of Crescenz’s engagement. But he pretended
stupidity, and carefully avoided all leading questions. Suddenly
it occurred to him to propose a party to the Chiem
Lake the next day, and he was immediately warmly seconded
by Zedwitz. Major Stultz took his pipe from his mouth to
say that the weather was so warm they might expect a
thunder-storm, which on that lake would be dangerous.
Madame Rosenberg, with a few wise nods, observed that,
“under existing circumstances,” she thought that Crescenz
might be allowed a little amusement, and the party was decided
upon. Hamilton took Zedwitz aside, and asked him
if he could not persuade his mother and sister to join them;
told him, however, at the same time, what had been said
about the Z—’s.
“My dear fellow,” was his answer, “the Z—’s are just
the people who would have joined the party at once; she
likes being in all sorts of company, and he amuses himself
everywhere; but nothing in the world would induce my
mother or sister to go with these people.”
“These people! Why, are they not respectable?”
“Respectable! Oh, perfectly. Come, don’t play innocence,
and force me to explain what you understand as well
as I do. The two girls are treasures, and would be presentable
anywhere, if they had but a ‘Von’ before their name;
but their step-mother is vulgarity personified, and Major
Stultz, you know, was a common soldier!”
“I know nothing at all about Major Stultz, excepting that
he is a red-faced, jolly-looking, elderly man. He must have
distinguished himself during the war, or he could not have
obtained his present rank.”
“Yes, his personal bravery is undoubted; he was also an
excellent officer——covered with wounds—made the campaign
in Russia, and was one of the few Bavarians who returned
home to relate the horrors of the retreat. I advise you,
// 093.png
.pn +1
however, to avoid the subject when he is present, as he is
rather diffuse about it. His brother, a Nuremburger tradesman,
died about six months ago, and left him a good deal
of money; his wounds afforded him a good excuse for retiring
from the service and applying for a pension. And he
told me honestly, that he has been looking for a wife ever
since, as he does not know what to do with himself.”
“The idea of taking Hildegarde to wife, in order to dispel
ennui, was a proof of great discernment,” observed Hamilton,
ironically.
“Rather say, most unpardonable effrontery,” replied Zedwitz,
growing very red.
“A man of his discrimination,” continued Hamilton, provokingly,
“must be aware that Crescenz is but a bad substitute
for her sister; Hildegarde, too, would have suited him
much better; she would have kept him in order by——”
Here he waved his hand significantly.
“How you harp on that subject, Hamilton!”
“I shall never mention it again if it distresses you. I
was really not aware——”
“Pshaw!” he exclaimed, impatiently, turning away.
“As to Crescenz, poor girl,” continued Hamilton, “I really
pity her. Such a fearful difference of age and person makes
it an odious sacrifice!”
“Not so much as you think, perhaps,” said Zedwitz,
quietly; “Stultz is a good-hearted man, and will let her do
whatever she pleases. You will see how soon she will be satisfied
with her lot in life! Perhaps even before her marriage!”
“It is at least to be hoped so,” observed Hamilton, dryly.
“The trousseau will soon occupy her mind completely, and
while exhibiting it to her friends and receiving their congratulations,
she will learn to like the cause of all the preparations,
and end, perhaps, by fancying herself a singularly fortunate
person!”
Crescenz entered the garden while they were speaking, and
blushed deeply as she passed them. Hamilton felt the blood
mount to his temples, and turned away that Zedwitz might
not observe it.
“This is the beginning of the comedy,” cried the latter,
after a moment’s pause, touching Hamilton’s arm to make
him look round. He turned, and, through the foliage of the
// 094.png
.pn +1
arbour, saw Major Stultz clasping a massive gold bracelet on
Crescenz’s arm. She appeared for a moment embarrassed
and shy; then played with a padlock or heart, or some such
thing which dangled from the bracelet, and finally she
looked up at him and smiled.
“She is a thorough-bred coquette!” exclaimed Hamilton,
indignantly. “Zedwitz, I throw down the gauntlet, and
enter the list as your rival. I prefer running the chance of
occasional chastisement from the fair hand of Hildegarde,
to having anything more to do with such a silly, vain creature
as this Crescenz seems to be.”
“Seems to be, Hamilton—and only seems. The circumstances
must also be taken into consideration. She must
marry this Stultz, whether she like him or not. That he is
not the ideal of a girl of her age, one can easily imagine.
He suspects this, perhaps, and wisely commences by giving
her a handsome present. That is probably the first gold
bracelet she has ever had clasped on her arm. She is very
young—childish, if you will—but neither silly nor very vain
for feeling a little pleasure, and honestly showing what she
feels. I see nothing reprehensible in her conduct.”
“Had you but heard her last night telling me how unhappy
she was!”
Zedwitz shrugged his shoulders.
“How she talked of his forty-six years, and declared her
hatred of red-faced men!”
Zedwitz laughed.
“She mentioned, also, that her sister had the same antipathy.”
“Sorry to hear it,” cried Zedwitz, picking up a handful
of flat pebbles and pitching them one by one with considerable
skill into the lake, watching them skimming along the
surface, with an interest that half provoked Hamilton.
“You seem to have a thorough contempt for my rivalship
by daylight.”
“What do you mean? Did you not tell me last night
that Crescenz suited you exactly, as you only wished to
amuse yourself for a time?”
“Such were my intentions. May I ask what were yours?
Or rather, what are yours?”
“Oh, certainly you may ask, but you must forgive my
not answering you, as I have not the most remote idea what
// 095.png
.pn +1
I may be induced to do. I shall most probably be guided
altogether by circumstances.”
He put an end to the conversation by walking towards
the arbour, where the arrangements for the next day’s party
were soon made—Major Stultz not venturing, before Crescenz,
to say a word about storm or danger.
They left Seon at a very early hour the next morning in
two carriages. Madame Rosenberg, as usual, took her three
boys with her, in order, as she said, to keep them out of
mischief. Fritz, the eldest, on finding himself separated
from her, immediately found amusement in climbing from
the carriage to the box, and from the box into the carriage
again, causing Hildegarde, who had charge of him, such
anxiety lest he should fall on the wheel that she could
scarcely remain a moment quiet. Zedwitz assisted her so
sedulously that he did not perceive an attack which Gustle
directly commenced on the buttons of his coat with a blunt
penknife; and Hamilton, alone unoccupied, half listened to
the desultory conversation of his companions, while admiring
in silence the scenery, than which nothing could be
more beautiful to an English eye. The fine old trees in the
domain-like meadows which were bounded by extensive
woods; the splendid lake, appearing at intervals through
openings which seemed made as if to show to advantage its
extent, and the magnificent range of mountains beyond.
The rippling of the water on the sandy shore brought at last
such a crowd of home-recollections to his mind that he
leaned back, forgetful of all around him; Fritz’s irritating
gymnastics, Gustle’s mischievous pertinacity, Hildegarde’s
angelic face, and Zedwitz’s amusingly enamoured expression
of countenance! The sudden stopping of the carriage
made him once more alive to everything going on about
him. The little maneuvres of Madame Rosenberg to place
Major Stultz near Crescenz; the determination with which
she insisted on Hildegarde’s sitting between two of her
brothers; the third she gave in charge to Zedwitz, and
Hamilton had the honour of being reserved for herself.
Hildegarde and Crescenz were, for the first time in their
lives, in a boat, and neither of them was at her ease. Crescenz
exhibited her fear by various little half-suppressed
screams, sometimes catching the side of the boat, sometimes
the arm of Major Stultz. Hildegarde sat perfectly quiet,
// 096.png
.pn +1
not venturing to look to the right or left, her colour varying
with every movement of her unruly neighbours, who
amused themselves by adding to the fears of their sisters
by balancing the boat from side to side.
They landed first on the Frauen Insel (Woman’s Island),
hoping to be allowed to see the nunnery. While waiting for
the necessary permission to enter, they wandered through
the churchyard and into the church.
On the appearance of a tall, haggard, austere-looking
man, in the long garment of a priest, Zedwitz advanced
towards him and begged admittance for the ladies, the
scowling countenance convincing him at once that for him
there was no chance whatever. He was volubly seconded
by Madame Rosenberg, who, with that want of tact not unusual
on the part of uneducated women, actually attempted
to be jocular with the awful looking personage; but neither
the polished address of Zedwitz nor the jocularity of Madame
Rosenberg could prevail. He refused without ceremony,
and in very few words told them that without bringing a
permission from the Ordinariat in Munich they could not
be admitted; the entrance of strangers disturbed the nuns,
and was against the rules of the convent.
They turned away, Crescenz observing timidly that she
would not like to be a nun where there was such a severe
confessor.
“I hope you have no thoughts of being a nun anywhere,”
observed the Major.
“I should have no objection to such a confessor,” said
Hildegarde; “I rather prefer one who has something imposing
in his appearance; it gives me the idea that he is
above the weaknesses of human nature.”
“What nonsense you talk, Hildegarde!” cried Madame
Rosenberg, with evident irritation. “It is only a spirit of
contradiction which makes you pretend to admire a man
who has been so disagreeable and uncivil to us all.”
Hildegarde walked more slowly, and Zedwitz, who had
been lingering behind, immediately joined her.
“So you like stern-looking men!” he observed, in a low
voice.
“I said I liked a confessor who had something imposing
in his manner.”
“Oh! for a confessor merely? But for a friend, a lover,
// 097.png
.pn +1
or a husband, you prefer something quite different, don’t
you?”
“Perhaps I should,” she answered carelessly.
“Or, perhaps,” said Hamilton, “you think of entering
the nunnery here out of pure admiration for that long,
gaunt man! There is no accounting for taste.”
“I do not intend to take the veil until you have become a
monk.”
“When I become a monk it will not be here; I shall
choose a more hospitable place and jolly companions, such
as one generally reads of. The incivility of your friend
with the austere countenance has greatly disgusted me.”
The buildings on the other island were very extensive.
The church had been turned into a brew-house, and not long
after its desecration it was burned. “A very proper judgment,”
as Madame Rosenberg observed, glancing meaningly
towards Zedwitz. Handsome broad marble stairs led to the
upper apartments, of which a few have been lately modernized.
The carved wood on the doors of the cells and the
picture-frames in the refectory were admirable.
“Altogether,” said Hamilton, looking out of one of the
windows across the lake, “altogether a place where one
could spend a fortnight very agreeably with a gay party.”
“Or with Hildegarde and her sister,” said Zedwitz, in a
low voice.
“If Crescenz were not so insipid, with all her prettiness.”
They adjourned to the garden and dined under the trees.
Hamilton studiously avoided Crescenz’s vicinity, although
he saw she was half disposed to be angry at his neglect.
She endeavoured, in her simplicity, to pique him by listening
with affected complaisance to Major Stultz’s commonplace
remarks. She laughed, and encouraged him to give
her brothers beer when her mother was not watching them.
This childish conduct, perhaps, Hamilton would have forgotten,
had not the consequences been somewhat remarkable.
The boys, unaccustomed to drink anything but water
or milk, soon became almost intoxicated, and on their way
to the boat Fritz, a good-humoured, handsome boy, swaggered,
sang, and shouted most boisterously; Gustle became
quarrelsome, and pinched and pummelled him unmercifully.
It was in vain Madame Rosenberg scolded and threatened
punishment; they had not left the shore more than ten
// 098.png
.pn +1
minutes when a regular scuffle took place; Gustle flung
Fritz’s cap into the water, and Fritz, merely taking time to
knock down the offender, leaned over the side of the boat,
snapped at his cap, and went heels over head into the lake!
The screams of the ladies were beyond all conception piercing;
Zedwitz, with an exclamation of horror, and regretting
that he could not swim, leaned anxiously and with
outstretched arms over the side of the boat. Madame Rosenberg
started up and, with clasped hands, called for help in a
voice of agony.
The danger was imminent. Hamilton sprang into the
water and caught the boy, as he rose for the second time, at
some distance from the boat; he was still conscious, and
grasped his preserver’s arm manfully. The scene which ensued
it is impossible to describe. Gustle was boxed, and
Fritz was kissed, and Hamilton was thanked and blessed
alternately. He declined entering the boat again, but partly
held it and partly swam to the shore, where he heard with
some surprise that the fishers who had rowed them, although
they had spent half their lives on the lake, could not swim,
so that had he not been there Fritz would inevitably have
been drowned.
From the commencement of his acquaintance with Madame
Rosenberg, she had been disposed to like him; but from
this event may be dated a sort of implicit reliance on her part
which afterwards caused him occasional qualms of conscience,
as he felt that he was trusted sometimes beyond his deserts.
Fritz’s clothes were dried at the inn. Hamilton’s, however,
not being composed of such light materials, he was
obliged to leave there, and borrow whatever he could get
from an obliging old peasant, who was profuse in the offers
of his wardrobe. It was amusing to see him in the brown
trousers, a “world too wide,” intended to be long, but which,
after tugs innumerable, could only be persuaded to half conceal
the calves of his legs, whose proportions were rendered
somewhat doubtful by the capacious gray worsted stockings
in which they were enveloped; a long waistcoat of red cloth,
and a remarkably short-waisted, long-tailed coat, in which a
second edition of himself could have found place. These
garments altogether formed a costume more original than
becoming. Crescenz and Major Stultz laughed unrestrainedly;
Madame Rosenberg repeated her thanks with a suppressed
// 099.png
.pn +1
smile; but Hildegarde, without speaking, made a
place for him beside her in the carriage, of which he incontinently
took possession. He imagined that she spoke more
to him than to Zedwitz on their way home.
Crescenz’s efforts to bring Hamilton back to his allegiance
were, for some days, as unremitting as they were various.
She would never have succeeded had Hildegarde been one jot
less quarrelsome; but either from a naturally irritable temper,
or some unaccountable antipathy on her part to Hamilton,
they never spoke to each other without saying as many
disagreeable things as possible. Hamilton felt that she disliked
him and misinterpreted his every word and action, and
this conviction, and the fear that she might discover how
much he had begun to admire her, made him, perhaps, ready
to meet her more than half way when she was disposed for
battle. Their conversation generally began civilly on his
part, but something in her manner, or some unnecessarily
sharp answer, was sure to provoke an ironical remark and a
slighting gesture, which invariably led to the commencement
of hostilities.
It was after one of these engagements, in which she had
exhibited more than usual vehemence, and he had excelled
himself in the art of tormenting, that he found Crescenz
alone in the garden. The contrast was irresistible for the
moment; it was calm and sunshine after a storm! There
she sat, busily employed knitting a stocking, which, from its
dimensions, might probably be intended for Major Stultz!
Her fingers and elbows moved with a rapidity perfectly
inconceivable; and as she had for the last four-and-twenty
hours been enacting the sentimental and offended, he was
allowed to admire her pretty face uninterruptedly as long as
he chose, her heightened colour all the time convincing him
that she knew he was looking at her. After a few significant
coughs, which remained unnoticed, he turned to go
away. She looked up and—sighed. This he imagined to
be a sort of encouragement; perhaps it was intended for
such, as the look which accompanied the sigh was reproachful.
He seated himself beside her, while he admired the
rapidity with which her work proceeded. The praises were
unheeded.
“And who is the happy person destined to wear this?”
he asked, playing with the huge piece of work.
// 100.png
.pn +1
“That cannot in any way interest you,” she answered
stiffly; but she sighed again.
“Everything concerning you interests me; from the time
I first saw you eating roast chicken even to the present
moment——”
“You have an odd way of showing your interest, then.
Hildegarde says you are always laughing at me!”
“What do you mean?” he exclaimed, though knowing
perfectly what she meant, and prepared for the answer which
he immediately received, and the implied reproaches for his
neglect, which he had expected.
“But, mademoiselle, you have told me yourself of your
engagement——”
“Well, and what of that?”
“I could not think of interfering with Major Stultz. I
dare not monopolize——”
“But, at least, you might speak to me sometimes.”
“There might be danger for me were I to do so.”
Crescenz looked immensely delighted and flattered, and
her fingers moved faster than ever.
“Is it not customary here to consider an engagement
almost as binding as a marriage?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, innocently; “I never was
engaged until now. But,” she added, hastily, “but we are
not yet affianced; that will not be until the day after our
arrival in Munich.”
“Then you are still at liberty to amuse yourself with
others?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And I may talk to you without Major Stultz having any
right to be jealous?”
“Jealous!” she repeated, blushing.
“I meant to say angry. Men at his time of life are difficult
to manage; but it seems you get on famously with him,
and have already forgotten all you said in the cloisters.”
“What did I say?” she asked, looking up.
“Merely something about being very unhappy, and so
forth.”
“What’s the use of being unhappy?” she asked, peevishly.
“Mamma says I must marry some time or other;
and such a man as Major Stultz is not to be found every
day.”
// 101.png
.pn +1
“I know not which is most to be admired—your astounding
resignation or her excellent reasoning.”
She looked at him for a moment, and then having satisfied
herself that he was not laughing, said, confidingly—
“Mamma has been very liberal, and promises me everything
in fifties and hundreds.”
“Fifties and hundreds!” repeated Hamilton.
“The smalls in hundreds—the large in fifties.”
“You will undoubtedly think me very stupid, but I have
not the most remote idea of what you mean.”
“I am to get a trousseau such as mamma herself had; all
the smaller things, such as pillow-cases, towels, and stockings,
a hundred of each! Table-cloths, and such things, in
fifties.”
“Ha! That must naturally have made you think quite
differently of Major Stultz!”
Again she looked at him inquiringly.
“No; it did not make me think differently of him. But
what can I do?”
“You cannot do better than try to like him as fast as
possible.”
“If he had only a von before his name!” she observed
sorrowfully.
“Why, what difference would that make?”
“If he were noble, I should not mind the difference of
age. My mamma was a countess!” she added, proudly.
“Then, why not wish him to be a count at once?”
“No; that I could not expect, as I have no fortune, and
papa is not a von.”
“I should like to know the exact meaning of this von.”
“It is the first grade of nobility; then comes ritter or
chevalier; then baron, count, prince, duke. I wonder how
mamma could have married any one who was not a count
or baron; but then papa was so very handsome, and that
makes a great difference!”
“Most undoubtedly! A handsome face is a good letter
of recommendation.”
“Are you noble?” she asked, abruptly.
“I have no von before my name,” answered Hamilton,
laughing.
“Are you not count or baron?”
“Neither.”
// 102.png
.pn +1
“So you are only Mr. Hameeltone?”
“Only Mr. Alfred Hamilton.”
He perceived that he had fallen deeply in her estimation,
and—he fell in his own, a few minutes afterwards, by a
fruitless attempt which he made to explain to her the nature
of the English peerage, and which he ended by the assurance
that had he been born in Germany, where every member of
a family inherits the paternal title, he should undoubtedly
have been a baron or a count. She did not understand him;
and he was glad of it, for he felt keenly the absurdity of
his oration, and the silly boast contained in the concluding
remark. Where the noblesse is so extensive as in Germany,
and where so many members of it are so extremely poor,
one would naturally think it would fall in some degree into
disrepute, or, at least, that it would be regarded with indifference.
This is, however, by no means the case; and there
is no doubt that, had her red-faced major been a count or
baron, she would have willingly overlooked the other discrepancies.
Even a von before his name would have been
a consolation, when combined with the happiness of having
had a countess for her mother. These were Hamilton’s
thoughts during a pause in the conversation, and he partly
continued to think aloud, when he asked—
“Was she handsome?”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
“I don’t know—I cannot remember her.”
“Are you—is your sister like her?”
“Hildegarde is very like papa, and people say I am very
like Hildegarde.”
“You are extremely like each other, especially at first
sight.”
“Oh, I know that Hildegarde is a great deal handsomer
than I am!”
This was a fact, and Hamilton was puzzled for an answer,
when she added, after a pause—
“But Major Stultz says I am much more lovable than
she is!”
“Major Stultz is a man of discrimination,” said Hamilton,
looking around him listlessly.
“He says, too, we shall be very happy when we are
married!”
// 103.png
.pn +1
“I hope so, most sincerely.”
“He gave me a great deal of good advice the day we were
at Chiem See.”
“Indeed! On what subject?”
“He said it was very foolish to trust very young men—that
they were very faithless, and good for nothing.”
“All! Did he say all?” cried Hamilton, in a tone of
mock deprecation.
“Yes, all,” she answered, petulantly. “He advised me
neither to trust them in words nor actions!”
“What extraordinary knowledge of the world he must
have! Altogether a remarkable person!”
“You are laughing at me—or—at him.”
“Laughing! What an idea! Only look at me for a
moment, and you will be convinced of the contrary.”
And she did look at him, and her eyes filled with tears as
they met the calm, unembarrassed gaze of his. A heavy
step on the gravel-walk announced the approach of someone,
and on turning round they perceived Major Stultz blowing
the ashes out of his meerschaum pipe, as he leisurely walked
towards a bank in the garden. Crescenz started as if she
had been detected committing a crime, and, with heightened
colour, rose to join him.
“I thought you said you were at liberty to talk to me as
much as you please,” observed Hamilton, ironically.
“And so I am,” she replied, seating herself again, while
she glanced furtively towards her future husband. “What
have you got to say to me?”
“Oh, a—what were you talking about? Major Stultz’s
excellent advice, was it not? I should really like to hear
all that he said to you, for I can hardly think he spent his
whole time in railing at men who have the good fortune to
be a score of years younger than he is.”
“Oh, we spoke of other things also.”
“It would have been very odd if you had not.”
“We—spoke—of love!”
“Very naturally. I really should like to know the
opinion of such a man as Major Stultz on so important a
subject.”
“He said,” she began with a sigh, “he said that people,
especially women, seldom had the good fortune to marry
their first love.”
// 104.png
.pn +1
“Rather a trite observation, and, on his part, unnecessary.
Surely, if any man may hope to be the object of a first love,
it is Major Stultz! You have only left school a few months—are
not yet sixteen years old. What could he mean by
talking to you about first love?”
She was silent.
“Perhaps it was as a preliminary to his confessions. Did
he give you a history of his loves? Have they been very
numerous?”
“No,” she exclaimed, almost angrily; “he told me, on
the contrary, that I was the first person he had ever wished
to marry.”
“Did you remind him of his proposal to your sister?”
This contradiction to his words seemed to have entirely
escaped her memory; she coloured violently, and the ready
tears again prepared to flow. Hamilton felt that he was
amusing himself unpardonably at the poor girl’s expense,
teasing her beyond what she could bear, and was preparing
to set all to rights again by playing a little sentiment, when
she arose precipitately, and with such ill-concealed annoyance,
to walk towards Major Stultz, that instead of picking
up her large ball of thread, she drew it rashly after her,
jerking it over the flower-beds, and entangling it so effectually
in a rose-bush as she moved quickly on, that Hamilton
ran to her assistance, and, as he restored it to her, said, in a
low voice, in French,—
“This evening I shall be in the cloisters before sunset.
Meet me there, I entreat you. I wish to ask your pardon,
if I have offended you.”
The shadows of evening had no sooner begun perceptibly
to lengthen, than Hamilton repaired to the cloisters, and
amused himself endeavouring to decipher the epitaphs on
the various tombstones, until a light step close beside him
made him look up, and he beheld, not Crescenz, but Hildegarde,
standing before him. He was about to pass her with
a slight inclination, when she stopped suddenly, and, while
she slightly blushed, said firmly,—
“I am the bearer of a message from my sister.”
“The willing bearer of her excuses, no doubt.”
“I understood it was you who were to have made excuses,”
she answered, coldly.
“Very true. I had to ask forgiveness for having offended
// 105.png
.pn +1
her in the garden to-day; as, however, the excuses are only
intended for her ear, let us consider them made, and talk of
something else.”
“I have neither time nor inclination to speak on any subject
but the one which brought me here.”
“The communication must be important, if I may judge
by the solemnity of your manner,” said Hamilton, looking
calmly into the quadrangle.
“My sister desires me to say that she feels the impropriety
of her former interview with you here most deeply,
and that nothing will induce her to consent to another. She
has told you of her intended marriage; it is almost unnecessary
to say that, under such circumstances, a continuation
of your present attentions will only serve to embarrass and
annoy her.”
“Your sister never desired you to say that,” cried Hamilton,
fixing his eyes steadily on her face.
“Of this you may be assured,” she continued, colouring
deeply, “that my sister will not again meet you alone, unless—unless——”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you are more explicit, and give her the power of
choosing between you and Major Stultz. It is not yet too
late.”
This was what may be called coming to the point at once,
and Hamilton was so taken by surprise that he could only
stammer something about the shortness of his acquaintance,
and believing that he did not quite understand what she
meant.
“I believe Crescenz does not quite understand what you
mean,” cried Hildegarde, indignantly. “How I wish she
could see with my eyes, and learn to despise you as you deserve!”
“You are really too flattering,” observed Hamilton, laughing,
“much too flattering; but may I not be allowed to wish
that you would see me with your sister’s eyes, and value me
as I deserve? However,” he continued, glad of an opportunity
to change the subject, “although you have just deprived
me of a meeting with your sister, I shall not interfere
with your intended tête-à-tête with Count Zedwitz.”
The Count advanced towards them as he spoke.
“Your good opinion is of too little importance to induce
// 106.png
.pn +1
me to disclaim or enter into any explanation,” she replied,
turning quickly from him; and bowing slightly to Zedwitz,
she disappeared through one of the entrances to the cloisters.
“Hameeltone, that is not fair play,” cried the latter,
laughing; “your presence here was not expected.”
“You do not mean to say you came here to meet Mademoiselle
Rosenberg?”
“And why not? You have met her sister here. Why
may not I hope to be equally fortunate?”
“Because—because——”
“Because you’re handsome, and I’m ugly; you think I
have no chance?”
“That was not what I meant. The difference between
the sisters would rather form the obstacle——”
“Difference, indeed!” exclaimed Zedwitz.
“The difference is in intellect,” observed Hamilton; “in
person they are extremely alike.”
“You mean, perhaps, in figure?” asked Zedwitz.
“In feature, too,” persisted Hamilton.
“Why, they have both brown hair, blue eyes, and red
lips, if that constitutes likeness; but while one has the
mere beauty of extreme youth, the other is the most perfect
model of female loveliness I ever beheld.”
“You are very far gone,” observed Hamilton, gravely.
“I am giving my opinion as an artist,” he replied, smiling.
“You will understand my enthusiasm when I tell you that
I spend all my leisure hours studying portrait-painting.”
“You came here just now, probably, to take a sketch of
this most perfect model! But tell me, honestly, did she
promise to meet you here?”
“How can you ask such downright questions? There
are different kinds of beauty, and different kinds of dispositions.
I did not exactly judge it expedient to say, ‘Meet
me this evening in the cloisters’; but I talked of the beauty
of the shadows here about sunset, and of my intention to
finish a little aquarelle drawing of the said cloisters, with a
Benedictine monk issuing from one of the adjoining passages—something
just adapted for a lady’s album. I came.
Had you not been here, I have no doubt I should have obtained
a few minutes’ attention in spite of my ugliness.”
“She came here, however, expressly to meet me,” observed
Hamilton, maliciously.
// 107.png
.pn +1
The Count stopped suddenly, and looked inquiringly in
his companion’s face.
“She came with a message from her sister,” added Hamilton,
quietly, and they again walked on together. “In fact,”
he continued, “when you joined us, we were in the midst of
a kind of altercation, which made your presence, to me at
least, a great relief.”
“An altercation! About what, may I ask?”
“About her sister. She asked me in pretty plain terms
what my intentions were, proposed my entering the lists
fairly and honourably with Major Stultz; and, when I demurred,
she talked angrily of despising me, and so forth.
Depend on it, she will call you to account before long.”
“I am quite ready to be called to account.”
“You do not mean to say you think seriously of marrying!”
“I should be but too happy! There is no such luck in
store for me!”
“You think she would refuse you?”
“I don’t know; but I know my father would refuse his
consent.”
“Run off with her, and ask his consent afterwards.”
“I wish I could, but that is impossible here. Marriage is
with us a civil as well as a religious act. You have no idea
of the formalities attending it, or the certificates necessary
to make it valid; besides which, my being in the army increases
the difficulty. That cursed caution-money!”
“Caution-money? What is that?”
“About nine hundred pounds of your money without
which no officer can obtain leave to marry. It is considered
a sort of provision for his wife and children in case of his
death, and is, probably, a very wise regulation, but is also
sometimes a source of great vexation. I am by it completely
placed in my father’s power, for although I receive
from him at present, in addition to my pay, ten times as
much as the interest of the necessary sum, and though I
know at his death I shall have more than a comfortable
maintenance, yet as Hildegarde has no fortune, and I am
not independent, our marriage is at present utterly impossible!”
“I advise you at all events to speak to your father.”
“I shall carefully avoid such a communication. Why, I
cannot even hope for my mother’s assistance, as the connection
// 108.png
.pn +1
would be in every respect disagreeable to her. I have
but one hope. Through my sister’s influence something
may be done; she is a good child, and about to marry to
please papa and mamma; first of all, however, I must
speak to Hildegarde herself.”
“There you have every thing to hope, for she is absolutely
civil to you sometimes! You will probably enter into
some interesting secret engagement?”
“That would be worse than folly. I could not be so ungenerous
as to ask her to refuse, perhaps, an eligible establishment,
should one offer, on the chance that I should
marry her, should I live to become a second edition of Major
Stultz! Suppose I wait ten years, Hildegarde’s and my
ideas would both be changed. I do not feel quite sure that
at the end of that time I might not prefer some gentle,
simple Crescenz, who would overlook my age and ugliness
provided I made her handsome presents, and supplied her
liberally with bon-bons. I wish you had seen her face of
delight just before I came here, when Major Stultz gave her
a box of bon-bons, which evidently had been ordered from
Munich expressly for her, as it contained nothing but sugar
hearts and darts, and kisses wrapped up in pink and blue
papers, and doves billing, while almost bursting with the
liquor with which they had been ingeniously filled by the
confectioner!”
“So! Now I know why the little coquette did not come
to meet me! After having called me to account for my
neglect so innocently, and talking such mysterious nonsense
about her first love, she amuses herself eating sugar-plums,
and sends her sister to me now. These German girls are
inexplicable; one cannot talk to them without quarrelling,
or being entangled in a labyrinth of sentimentality.”
“You must not judge of all from your slight acquaintance
with two,” observed Zedwitz, laughing. “You may
say what you please, but you cannot deny that they are fine
specimens of the species.”
“Hildegarde is undoubtedly handsome, but then she is
only amiable towards you,” said Hamilton, leaning against
the side of one of the arches. “I believe,” he continued,
after a pause, “I believe I am getting very tired of Seon, and
were I not engaged to these Rosenbergs, I should start at once
for Vienna. Suppose we make a tour in the Tyrol together?”
// 109.png
.pn +1
Zedwitz looked embarrassed, and said, with some hesitation,
“I—a—am—half engaged to join the Rosenbergs in
a party to an alp, and afterwards to Salzburg.”
“What! and I have never heard a word about it?”
“Oh, you will be invited as a matter of course. I had
some trouble to manage it, as I do not enjoy the good graces
of Madame Rosenberg. She expects her husband to-morrow,
who comes here for one day to make the acquaintance
of his future son-in-law. The day he leaves is fixed for our
excursion.”
“How do we travel—boys, of course, inclusive?”
“In whatever carriages we get from here. In Traunstein
we take a char-à-banc, which will accommodate us all. For
such parties it is a very agreeable vehicle, as we can all remain
together; for when a division takes place, the chances
that one gets a disagreeable companion are too great.”
“Videlicet!” cried Hamilton, laughing. “Count Zedwitz
wishes to be quite sure of enjoying the society of a certain
young lady for three whole days.”
“You are right,” he answered, taking Hamilton’s arm to
leave the cloisters. “Quite right. I trust you have given
up all idea of being my rival?”
“I believe I must give up all such idea, if I ever had it,
for Hildegarde told me just now that she despised me; had
she said she hated me, I might have some chance; but I am
not equal to a struggle against indifference and scorn. I
believe,” he added, laughing, “I must make her hate me.”
“But you won’t interfere with me, I hope?”
“Not at all. You will appear more amiable by the contrast.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“Were I to continue my present line of conduct,” answered
Hamilton, affected with solemnity, “it is possible
that hate might be produced in time; but, in order to hurry
matters, I shall be obliged to make desperate love to her sister.
Hildegarde seems very vulnerable on that point. It
will not also cause me much trouble, as Crescenz gave me a
fair challenge to-day in the garden, and cannot reproach me
hereafter.”
“Hamilton,” cried Zedwitz, stopping suddenly, and looking
at him attentively, “you are certainly older than you
acknowledge to be.”
// 110.png
.pn +1
“I understand the implied compliment,” replied Hamilton.
“You conceive my intellect beyond my years. My father
always said I was no fool; I am glad to find that others are
inclined to agree with him in this negative sort of commendation.”
“You are indeed anything but a fool; and if you fall
into good hands, I have no doubt——”
“Good hands!” cried Hamilton, interrupting him; “I
have no idea of falling into any hands, good or bad; I intend
to judge and act for myself.”
“Then you will pay dear for your experience, as others
have done before you.”
“We shall see,” replied Hamilton.
“You will feel,” said Zedwitz, seizing with both hands the
ends of his long moustaches, to give them a peculiar twirl
towards the corners of his eyes before he entered the room
where the company were assembled for supper.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch08
CHAPTER VIII. || AN ALPINE PARTY.
.sp 2
The next evening Madame Rosenberg invited Major
Stultz and Crescenz to join her in a walk to meet her husband.
Hildegarde was desired to remain behind, and take
care of the children. Poor girl! she was not yet forgiven
the atrocious crime of having refused Major Stultz; and
this punishment she seemed to feel more than Hamilton
could comprehend; for, as the trio walked off together, and
left her alone, her eyes filled with tears, and she seated herself
on the stone steps of the entrance to the church with
an air of such utter despondency that he turned towards the
lake in order not to annoy her by his presence, and even
played with the two elder boys, to prevent them from tormenting
her, until he heard the sound of wheels and horses’
feet, when, looking towards the road, he saw, at no very great
distance, a carriage, which stopped as it reached the pedestrians,
and out of which sprang a man apparently much too
young to be the father of either Hildegarde or Crescenz.
The children, however, cried “Papa! papa!” and rushed
// 111.png
.pn +1
towards him. Hildegarde—(pardon the horrible idea)—Hildegarde
moved backwards and forwards like a chafed
tigress in a menagerie, not daring to disobey her step-mother
by quitting the place assigned her, and yet exhibiting anger
and impatience in every limb.
As the party drew nearer, Hamilton observed that Mr.
Rosenberg was indeed extremely youthful looking, and must
have been eminently handsome. That he was a kind father
was evident at a glance, for the children clung to his knees
so that he could scarcely walk, and Crescenz had taken complete
possession of one of his arms. Just as he reached the
place where Hamilton stood, and after being introduced to
him as “our English friend,” his eyes turned towards the
spot where Hildegarde was so uneasily perambulating. Releasing
himself at once from his companions, he advanced
hastily a few steps, calling out, “Why, how’s this, Hildegarde?
Why don’t you come to meet me?” With a cry of
joy she rushed into his arms, and whispered in a voice almost
suffocated with emotion, “I dared not—I dared not.”
“You feel that you deserve to be scolded? Is it not so?
Naughty girl!”
“But you have forgiven me—I know you have.”
Another embrace, and a look of evident forgiveness, not
unmixed with pride and admiration, was the answer.
Madame Rosenberg bit her lip, and observed, angrily—
“You really encourage Hildegarde to give way to her
violence of temper, instead of pointing out to her the impropriety
of her conduct, as I expected.”
“What is past, is past,” he answered; “and Major Stultz
is satisfied.”
“Satisfied! I am the happiest man in the world!” exclaimed
Major Stultz.
Crescenz smiled and blushed.
“Well, then, we are all happy. You take Crescenz, who
is, if anything, too good and gentle, and I must for the
present retain this passionate, good-for-nothing girl!”
He played with her hand as he spoke, and the dullest
looker-on must have observed that she was his favourite
child.
“You will very probably retain her all your life,” observed
Madame Rosenberg.
“I don’t think I shall. Somebody will be sure to find out
// 112.png
.pn +1
that she is as good-hearted as she is passionate—ill-tempered
she is not—the darling!”
“Oh, she is very good-tempered when she has every thing
her own way. And papa to spoil her! I don’t envy the
man who may get her.”
“I shall not pity him,” said her father, gently pressing
her hand; and then turning to his wife and Major Stultz,
seemed determined to change the conversation.
Hamilton left them, and when he found himself alone in
the garden, unconsciously began to consider—was or was not
Hildegarde amiable? or was she merely a spoiled child,
whose father, dazzled by her extreme beauty, thought her
faultless? Her sister certainly loved her, and the children,
although they preferred Crescenz, assuredly did not dislike
her—in fact, her step-mother alone seemed to think her ill-tempered,
and he felt strongly inclined to come to the conclusion
that her father’s evident partiality had provoked the
jealousy of that apparently little indulgent person.
On the ensuing day, Zedwitz and Hamilton had agreed
that they would not give the Rosenbergs so much of their
society as usual, but, knowing that they could make up for
lost time afterwards, leave them to discuss their family affairs
during the sojourn of Mr. Rosenberg. They prepared, with
a very good grace, to spend the morning with Zedwitz’s
mother and sister in the garden, and to the infinite surprise
of both ladies, they seated themselves at the table in the
arbour which they were in the habit of occupying. Agnes,
who continued working with unnecessary assiduity, submitted
for some minutes to be tormented, in a boyish manner, by
her brother. He wrote upon the table with the point of her
scissors, entangled her coloured wool and silk, upset her
needle case, and finally attempted to twitch her work out of
her hand.
“You overpower me with your attentions to-day, Max,”
she at length observed, with heightened colour; “I am no
longer used to them.”
“You do not mean that you are annoyed at my playing
with this trumpery?” he cried, moving from her with affected
anxiety.
She pushed aside her work with a contemptuous shake of
the head, and then, leaning her little fresh-coloured face in
the palm of her hand, she gently but seriously reproached
// 113.png
.pn +1
him for his long neglect of her, and his totally changed
manner since he had come to Seon. He assured her, laughingly,
that he had been only trying to wean himself from
her society, as he was about so soon to lose her altogether.
His mother said that moderation should be observed in all
things, and though she did not require from him the attentions
he had been in the habit of lavishing on his sister, yet
she must say the contrast between his former and present
manner was too striking not to be most painful to poor
Agnes; and, for her part, she thought there must be some
secret reason for such conduct. Here she moved uneasily on
her chair and coughed.
“Secret reason!” he exclaimed; “what can you mean?
I am utterly at a loss to——”
“Come, Max, you must greatly underrate my intellect or
powers of observation, if you imagine that I have not seen
what has been going on for the last three weeks.”
“Going on?” he repeated.
“Yes, going on. You have been paying the most marked
attentions to one of those Rosenbergs——”
“Which of them?” he asked, with an effort to look unconcerned.
His sister laughed and said, “Confess honestly, Max, for if
you really are in love, I think I must forgive your neglect.”
“Thank you, dear. You know I once forgave you the
same offence when proceeding from the same cause.”
“It is unnecessary,” she said, glancing towards Hamilton,
and growing perceptibly paler; “it is unkind to remind me
so lightly of the most painful event of my life.”
She was about to leave them, when her brother seized her
hand, saying eagerly, “Stay, you dear good creature, and
forgive me. I quite forgot that Hamilton was present, but
never mind him—pray stay. I confess that I am desperately
in love with Hildegarde Rosenberg, and I want you to tell my
mother, and ask her to give me her assistance and advice.”
His mother, of course, had heard what he had said, and
now answered, quickly, “Assistance, Max, you cannot expect
from me; my advice is, that you return to Munich to-morrow.”
“I am engaged to ascend an alp with the Rosenbergs;
indeed, I have promised to make an excursion with them
which will last three days.”
// 114.png
.pn +1
“You will not find us here on your return,” said his
mother, resolutely; “I totally disapprove of your conduct in
every respect, and will not afford you the excuse of passing
your time with us, in order to continue it.”
“But, my dear mother——”
“I thought you were too honourable,” she continued, “to
pay attentions which could lead to nothing. You know
your father will never consent to such a connection!”
“I hoped—through your influence—in time, perhaps——”
“Hope nothing, in this case, from me; much as I desire
to see you happily married, such a daughter-in-law——”
“I defy any one to point out a single fault,” cried Zedwitz,
eagerly; “she is beautiful—Agnes, you, who understand
so well what beauty is, tell me—is she not beautiful?”
“She is the most beautiful person I ever saw,” answered
Agnes, warmly; “indeed, mamma, there is some excuse for
Max’s admiration.”
“I don’t blame him or any one for admiring her; but
Max spoke just now of more than admiration. He must
not forget that she is not noble, and that her family are
odiously vulgar.”
“But she is not vulgar,” observed Agnes, kindly; “I have
spoken to her two or three times, and think her a very nice
person.”
“Max knows that his father will never consent to such
match,” answered the mother; “therefore there is no use in
talking more about the matter.” She rose and prepared to
leave them. “Want of fortune I could have overlooked,
and you might have been sure of my assistance, although
my hopes have long been fixed on another object; but—such
a connection as this—I never can—I never will sanction.”
Zedwitz waited until his mother was out of hearing, and
then, drawing nearer his sister, said:
“Well, Agnes, what is to be done now? Do you think
she will tell my father?”
“I think not directly; she knows you can do nothing
without his consent.”
“Agnes, I have a right to your assistance, and claim it;
your reproaches led to this premature discovery——”
“Not at all; mamma has been watching you the last three
weeks.”
“And pray, why did you not tell me so?”
// 115.png
.pn +1
“I did not know it until a few days ago; and as you
never come near me, or even look at me now, I had no opportunity
of speaking to you on that, or indeed on any other
subject.”
“How well you women know how to mix up reproach and
excuse together. If you had only just called me aside——”
“If I had, you would have given me the answer which I
have so often received from you lately.”
“And what may that be?”
Agnes rose playfully from her seat, with an appearance of
extreme impatience, and exclaimed, while she looked around
her, as if seeking someone else—
“My dear creature! any other time; but you see—just
now, in fact, I am particularly engaged!”
Hamilton and Zedwitz laughed.
“You little actress!” exclaimed the latter, drawing her
towards him, and making her again sit down on the bench
beside him. “I acknowledge that I have neglected you unpardonably,
Agnes; but you have promised to forgive me,
and I now require your assistance—come, tell me, what shall
I do?”
“You really wish to marry this Hildegarde?”
“Most undoubtedly, if I can; but you know I am wholly
in my father’s power, and she has no fortune whatever.”
“The case seems rather hopeless at present,” said Agnes,
seriously. “Have you spoken to her? Would she wait a
few years?”
“I have not spoken to her,” he answered, impatiently;
“and as to waiting two or three years, I would rather give
up the idea at once.”
“That would indeed be the wisest thing you could do,”
cried his sister, eagerly; “for you may expect the strongest
opposition both from papa and mamma. Do not join this alp
party; you can easily find some excuse; and let us all go to
Hohenfels together before these Rosenbergs return here.”
“How lightly you talk, Agnes! just as if it only required
a visit to the Z—s at Hohenfels to make me forget the
last four weeks! I tell you I can never love another as I do
Hildegarde; so you must propose something else.”
“Are you quite determined to go with them to-morrow?”
“Quite.”
“Suppose when you are gone I speak to papa; mamma
// 116.png
.pn +1
will at all events tell him when she finds that you are actually
off; but you know I can generally make papa do whatever
I please, and if I explain to him that you are very
unhappy, absolutely miserable——”
“Tell him that I am in the depths of despair, or in a state to
commit any kind of excess! Say that I talked of emigrating
to America with Hildegarde; tell him whatever you like, you
dear little mediatrix! if you can only obtain his consent.”
“Suppose I succeed with papa, and mamma remains inexorable?”
“Oh, leave me to manage my mother; I have no fear of
serious opposition from her.”
“There I fear you are quite mistaken,” said Agnes; “but,”
she added gaily, “let us hope the best.”
“Yes; and let us now take a walk, and you shall hear all
my plans for the future.”
As they sauntered away together, Hamilton heard Zedwitz
say, “I shall, of course, quit the army. My father
will, probably, give me Castle Wolfstein, as he dislikes the
mountains as much as I like them. We shall be near Hohenfels
and Z—s, which will be agreeable. As a married
man, the father of a family, and all that sort of thing, I
don’t know any people I should like so much for neighbours.”
At a very early hour in the morning they all assembled
to drink coffee. Mr. Rosenberg left at the same time for
Munich. Hamilton concluded that he was satisfied with his
wife’s arrangement respecting him, as he shook his hand
warmly at parting, and hoped to see him again in the course
of the ensuing week. Madame Rosenberg gave various
parting directions and commissions, which Hamilton did not
quite understand; neither did Mr. Rosenberg, he suspected,
though he listened to his wife’s orders with a patience which
made it evident that he resembled Job in more respects than
in having daughters, than whom “no women in all the land
were found so fair.”
The char-à-banc which they were so fortunate as to obtain
in Traunstein had five seats, and accommodated the whole
party.
At the first respectably steep hill, both young men sprang
out of the carriage, and when it halted to take them up
again, Hamilton had no difficulty in ceding his place beside
Hildegarde to Zedwitz, who looked the personification
// 117.png
.pn +1
of gratitude; and well he might, for poor Hamilton had got
a most riotous companion, and was so placed that he could
scarcely avoid overhearing the whispered plans of future
happiness which were made, revised, and corrected behind
him; while before, he could observe the tactics of Zedwitz,
who, with no inconsiderable skill, was reconnoitring the
ground previous to the grand attack which he was meditating.
The afternoon was far advanced before they reached the
peasant’s house, where the coachman and his horses were to
pass the night, while they pursued their way on foot. The
ascent was steeper and longer than they had expected, and
the heat intense. Hildegarde, Crescenz, and the two boys
proved excellent pedestrians; Major Stultz toiled wearily
after them—his effort to appear vigorous deserved more success—but
alas! after having wiped the drops of perspiration
from his crimson face at least twenty times, and even removed
his stiff, black stock, in order to breathe more freely, he sank
exhausted on a fragment of rock, declaring that since his
Russian campaign of 1812, he had never been able to recover
the right use of his feet. Madame Rosenberg looked
for a moment undecided what she should do; she wished to
be civil, and offered, after some hesitation, to remain with
him until after he had rested, but on his declining, she said
at once that she would go on before, and prepare the supper.
Poor man! he looked wistfully towards Crescenz. Madame
Rosenberg understood him, but shook her head disapprovingly,
said she would leave him one of the guides, and
begged he would not hurry himself in the least. Crescenz,
who had been amusing herself with her two brothers, gathering
flowers and picking wild raspberries, now turned to
Hamilton, and giving him a handful of the latter, told him
she would show him where to get more. The invitation was
irresistible, and after telling her mother that they intended
to overtake Hildegarde, who was still in sight, they hurried
off together.
The conversation was at first desultory, interrupted by the
scrambling through the bushes, and mutually offering the
largest raspberries; by degrees, however, the fragrant fruit
was neglected, and the flowers—even the beautiful pyrolas
and sweet-scented cyclamen, gathered for and given to Major
Stultz—were thoughtlessly picked to pieces, and thrown
away, while she listened to Hamilton’s remarks, or answered
// 118.png
.pn +1
his numerous questions. She spoke without reserve of her
mode of life at school; attached a girlish importance to her
former companion’s opinions and most trifling acts; complained
of not having been allowed to speak during school-hours,
and of being obliged to run and jump about at recreation-time,
when she would rather have sat in a corner to talk
to her friend Lina; of having to listen to reading when at
dinner; but most of all, of having had all her long hair cut
off the day of her entrance, “I was quite inconsolable about
it,” she said, laughing, “and cried for several days, but
Hildegarde did not care in the least; perhaps,” she added,
“because she was a year older.”
Hamilton thought there might be another reason—the absence
of personal vanity—but, of course, he did not say so.
They had been ten years at school, without ever having been
allowed to spend a day at home.
“So,” she continued, “we knew nothing at all of my step-mother,
and very little of papa, though he used to come and
see us often, and talk to Mademoiselle Hortense about us.
At the examinations they generally both came, and mamma
used to bring us an iced tart; but Hildegarde would rather
she had stayed away, as she was ashamed of her.”
“And why was she ashamed of her?”
“Oh, because all the other girls had such nice mothers
and aunts, and Hildegarde thinks mamma so very vulgar.”
“She seems, however, a good kind of person.”
“Oh, I dare say—but Hildegarde does not like good kind
of persons.”
“Indeed! Pray, what kind of persons does she like
then?”
“I don’t know whether she would like me to tell you or
not.”
“And I don’t think you are obliged to ask her.”
“That is true; and, besides, it is no harm to like counts
and barons better than other people!”
“Not at all. You rather said that you had a fancy of the
same kind yourself, a few days ago.”
“Yes—I confess I should like to be a von, or a baroness,
or a countess—but still there is a difference, for I am afraid
of fine people, and Hildegarde likes them; I saw her getting
books from Baroness Z—, and speaking to those
proud Zedwitzes, the other day.”
// 119.png
.pn +1
“You think it, then, probable that she rather likes the
attention of Count Zedwitz?”
“I—don’t—know. Hildegarde never speaks about such
things when they concern herself, though she expects me to
tell her everything! I saw that old Countess Zedwitz talking
to her in the garden yesterday—the Countess looked
very red, and kept nodding her head continually, and Hildegarde
was very pale and haughty. I asked her what they
had been speaking about, but she did not choose to tell me.
I dare say it was something disagreeable.”
“That is not impossible,” said Hamilton, musingly; “in
fact, rather probable. So you don’t know whether or not
your sister likes Zedwitz?”
“No. She only observed once, when we were speaking
of beauty, that she did not think it necessary for a man to
be handsome.”
“That was rather applicable to him; but he is so devoted
that I should imagine him irresistible.”
“I don’t think that is the way to please Hildegarde.”
“I should have thought devotion must have been pleasing
to every woman.”
“But Hildegarde has such odd ideas! I remember hearing
her say to Mademoiselle Hortense, just before we left school,
that she rather thought she should like a man of whom she
could be afraid.”
“Strange girl,” said Hamilton.
“Strange girl, indeed!” repeated Crescenz; “and others
think so differently! I should not like to be afraid of anyone
I loved, and that is one of the reasons why I think that
only people of nearly the same age should marry!”
Hamilton turned quickly to his companion, whose deep
blush gave a special meaning to her last observation.
Hildegarde, Zedwitz, and Fritz were far before them;
Madame Rosenberg, with Gustle, and two guides, loaded
with provisions, equally far behind. They became sentimental,
often looked back to admire the view, which every
moment increased in beauty and extent. She wished to
be the inhabitant of one of the peaceful, pretty peasant-houses
which were scattered in the valley beneath them.
Hamilton, of course, wished to bear her company. She
sighed and murmured something about his understanding
her, but fearing that Major Stultz never would. Hamilton
// 120.png
.pn +1
declared, with unusual warmth, that it was dreadful to think
of such a marriage! Such a sacrifice! And he was sincere,
too, for the moment, for thought of the Major as
he had last seen him, while he looked on the blooming,
youthful face before him; and never had Crescenz looked
so pretty! A few commonplace expressions of admiration
were received with such evident pleasure, that Hamilton
found the temptation more than he could withstand, and
from admiration glided almost imperceptibly into a most
absurd, but rather indefinite, declaration of love. The
words, however, had scarcely passed his limps before he became
conscious of his folly. His dismay is not to be described,
when Crescenz, cover with blushes, confessed that
she had loved him from the commencement of their
acquaintance, and added, that she was willing, for his sake, to
brave both her father and mother’s anger by dismissing
Major Schultz!
Hamilton was perfectly thunderstruck, and for some moments
quite incapable of uttering a syllable; as soon, however,
as he could collect this thoughts, he began, in a constrained
voice, and with a manner as agitated as her own, to
explain that he was a younger son, totally dependent on his
father, and that he could not, by any possible chance, think
of marrying for at least then or twelve years.
Crescenz looked at him for a moment reproachfully, and
then, covering her face with her hands, burst into tears.
Hamilton had never been so angry with himself as at that
moment; his fault was, indeed, unpardonable, and he felt
that Crescenz was right when she pushed him from her, and
refused to listen to his excuses. The fact was, he had never
thought she cared more for him than for any other person
willing to pay her attention; and she had appeared so perfectly
happy the day before—nay, that very day—that he
had naturally imagined her now quite satisfied with her
future prospects, and had expected her to understand what
he had said more as a tribute to her youth and beauty than
as a serious proposal, the more so, as he had not made the
most distant allusion to marriage in all that he had said.
He now walked sorrowfully after the weeping girl, whose
secret he had learned by such unwarrantable thoughtlessness.
It was in vain that he tried to exculpate himself, by thinking she
was an arrant flirt, and would soon forget him; he began seriously
// 121.png
.pn +1
to doubt her being one; everything in her manner
that had led to that conclusion could now be interpreted
otherwise; her receiving Major Stultz’s presents, and her
apparent contentment, might have been affected to provoke
his jealousy; her sister’s words in the cloisters confirmed
this idea. He did not give her credit for sufficient intellect
to feel annoyed at having “told her love,” but even that
consolation was denied him; for on distantly hinting that it
was unnecessary any person should ever be made acquainted
with their late conversation, she wrung her hands, and exclaimed
bitterly:
“Oh, how could I be such a fool as to betray myself so?”
They walked on long in silence; but Crescenz was too
good and gentle to be inexorable, and before the end of their
walk he had obtained pardon and a promise of secrecy—the
latter without difficulty, as she innocently confessed she was
equally afraid of her mother’s anger and her sister’s contempt.
They reached the alp, both totally out of spirits. Crescenz’s
melancholy face was a sort of reproach from which
Hamilton would gladly have escaped; and he now heartily
repented his having made an engagement with Madame
Rosenberg. Until Crescenz’s marriage had taken place he
saw no chance of peace of mind or enjoyment of any kind,
and many were the vows he internally made to be more circumspect
in future.
“Come, Hamilton, you must look at the sunset,” cried
Zedwitz, seizing his arm and leading him away. He was in
oppressively high spirits, and talked on without waiting for
an answer, or even perceiving that his companion paid no
sort of attention to what he said. They stood on the top of
the alp; behind, and on each side of them, forming a sort
of crescent, were mountains of every possible form, from the
gigantic rocky peaks on which the snow lay, to the richly
wooded mountain and green alp; with mountains, valleys,
forests, rivers, lakes, towns, villages, in view; more than it
was possible for the eye at once to enclose or the mind to
comprehend.
Hildegarde and Crescenz joined them as the evening-prayer
bell tolled. At Seon this bell had generally been tolled while
they had been at supper. The clatter of knives and forks
and tongues had instantly ceased, and an awful stillness had
// 122.png
.pn +1
taken place, which had not been broken by word or movement
until the last sound of the bell had died away; when,
as if a spell had been broken, each person had wished his
neighbour a good evening, and renewed, with increased vigour,
the interrupted occupation. It had always struck Hamilton
as something very Mohammedan-like, this praying to
the sound of a bell, especially when it occurred in the midst
of conversation, where the difficulty of commanding the
thoughts must be tenfold increased. Not so did it appear
to him this evening; as village after village and every
church-spire far and near sent their tranquil chimes over the
plain, a feeling of enthusiastic devotion was irrepressible; it
seemed as if the solemn tones, on reaching the mountains,
paused to vibrate in the air while they collected the prayers
which they were about to bear to heaven on a thousand
echoes. Zedwitz stood with his head uncovered and arms
folded; Crescenz clasped her hands and moved her lips in
prayer. Hildegarde’s eyes were fixed so steadfastly on the
golden clouds above her, that it was impossible not to think
that at the moment she wished for the “wings of a dove to
flee away and be at rest.” A messenger from the châlet
waited respectfully for the last sound to die away in the distance
before he summoned them to supper. The interruption
was unwelcome to them all; but before they descended
it was agreed that they should return again with the guides
and make a bonfire. They found Madame Rosenberg, as
usual, bustling about, ordering and directing everybody and
everything; Fritz and Gustle stealing cake and sugar; and
Major Stultz, who seemed to have but lately arrived, was
sitting in his shirt-sleeves, wistfully eyeing a glass of beer
which he was afraid to drink in his state of heat, while to
hurry the operation of cooling, he was fanning himself with
a red and yellow pocket-handkerchief. Hamilton glanced
towards Crescenz, but as their eyes met he regretted that he
had done so, and determined that nothing should induce him
to look either at her or Major Stultz for a long time again.
Something, however, he must seek to interest him, and he
turned towards Hildegarde. A more dangerous study he
could scarcely have found. She was seated on the grass,
outside the door of the wooden pavilion, beside her brothers,
and, for the first time since he had known her, seemed occupied
with them. There was a quiet avoidance of Zedwitz
// 123.png
.pn +1
on her part, which, in contrast to the coquetry of her sister,
particularly interested Hamilton. This scarcely perceptible
avoidance was, however, unnoticed. Zedwitz was too completely
wrapt up in admiration, and had eyes and ears for
her alone. Weariness prolonged the meal, and twilight was
deepening into night before they thought of moving.
Madame Rosenberg and Major Stultz said at length that it
was time to retire to rest; the others remembered that they
intended to make a fire on the top of the hill, and insisted
on putting their plan into execution. Major Stultz, afraid
to oppose, followed Crescenz; the guides were put in requisition,
and in a short time everyone was collecting wood and
piling it in a heap.
The fire burned brightly, and coloured picturesquely the
different members of the party, as they lay dispersed around,
some seated on the stumps of trees, others extended on the
grass; all weary, yet all interested in their novel situation.
Hamilton, apart from the others, looked on without mixing
in the careless conversation which was kept up. It was to
him like a scene in a play; he understood the double plot,
and had decided on making Hildegarde the heroine; but
was Zedwitz the hero who, at the end, was to obtain her fair
hand? No—unaccountably enough, he found that to suit
his plan the old count must be perfectly obdurate. Zedwitz
was to give up the affair as hopeless; and Hildegarde!
Hildegarde was to—to—remain at home; yes, that would
do—an inmate still of her father’s house; and now, unconsciously,
Hamilton, from supposing himself a spectator, became,
in thought, an actor. He was also in that house.
Hildegarde was to become insensibly aware of his good
qualities and good looks—was, in fact, to become desperately
in love with him! he, all the while, stoically indifferent. A
feeling of honour was to make him explain to her, in a most
interesting scene, the impossibility of a—she—Crescenz—Zedwitz.
Here the party round the fire broke up. The
boys had fallen asleep, and were now being carried by the
guides to the châlet. Madame Rosenberg, Hildegarde, and
Crescenz followed; Major Stultz remained to finish his pipe,
and the two young men commenced fresh cigars. They did
not exchange a word until their companion had left them,
when Zedwitz, pitching his cigar into the still glowing embers,
asked abruptly,—
// 124.png
.pn +1
“Do you know where you are to sleep to-night?”
“Not I,” answered Hamilton. “But I do not expect the
accommodation to be even tolerable.”
“We are to sleep together in a hay-loft.”
“I have done that before; and for one night it does not
signify; but Major Stultz?”
“Sleeps also in the hay-loft.”
“And the boys?”
“In the hay-loft.”
“And the ladies?”
“In the hay-loft?”
“Nonsense, Zedwitz—you are joking.”
“I am perfectly serious; there is but one bed in the house,
and it is so little inviting that no one has courage to make
use of it. We are all to sleep together in the hay-loft. I
rather enjoy the idea. Shall we go?”
“By all means.”
“This,” thought Hamilton, as they descended the hill
together, “is something quite out of the common course of
things. I wonder what sort of a loft it is?”
The only light in the house proceeded from the kitchen
fire, which still burned on the high, open hearth; beside it
were seated one of the guides and a peasant girl, who had
come from one of the houses in the valley, and so wrapt up
were they in the evidently confidential discourse, that they
were unconscious of the presence of strangers until Zedwitz
laughingly asked the way to the hay-loft.
“This way, if you please,” said the man, looking a little
embarrassed. “Take care you don’t stumble, it is so dark.”
He was followed closely by Hamilton, and they both
quietly and cautiously mounted the somewhat rickety ladder
which led to the loft, and entered it by a trap-door. It was
very full of hay, and by the light which was sparingly
admitted through the solitary gable-window, they could see
several figures stretched in different positions around them;
but they could not tell whether or not they were sleepers.
Major Stultz was alone communicative on that point—he lay
with his mouth wide open, and was snoring profoundly.
“I suppose, Hamilton, we ought to take the places near
the entrance?” whispered Zedwitz.
“I cannot bear a draught,” replied the other, moving
towards the end of the loft, where Madame Rosenberg and
// 125.png
.pn +1
the children were lying. At his approach, two figures began
slowly to roll away from him; a stifled laugh and an angry
hush betrayed at once the sisters; and no sooner had he and
Zedwitz chosen their places, than they perceived a partition-wall
of hay was being built in their neighbourhood. Soon
convinced that Madame Rosenberg and the children slept,
Hamilton felt greatly inclined to commence a conversation
with the two girls; but which of them should he address?
From Hildegarde he had little hope of an answer—from
Crescenz he felt that he deserved none. It was in vain he
urged Zedwitz to begin, telling him that he could not sleep;
that the hay was too hot, and the loft too cold and too
uncomfortable; that he could not remain quiet, etc., etc., etc.;
his companion moved away from him, saying, in a low voice,
that he knew Hildegarde would not speak, and that he had
nothing to say to her sister. In a few minutes he, too, was
fast asleep, leaving Hamilton to compose himself as he best
could. After having tried all possible positions, he at length
resigned himself to his fate, and determined not to move
again.
After half an hour’s silence, Hildegarde and her sister
began to whisper to each other.
“Is not that man’s snoring dreadful, Hildegarde? Confess
he looked odious this evening at supper, sitting in his
shirt-sleeves like a shoemaker or tailor?”
“You see him to great disadvantage in a party of this
kind, dear; at home I am sure he is quite different—and as
to his snoring, you know even papa snores sometimes.”
“I know you are determined not to see any thing that
does not place him in an advantageous light, and I only
regret you did not discover his perfections sooner—it would
have saved me a world of misery!”
To this speech no answer was made, and a long pause
ensued.
“Hildegarde, are you angry?” asked Crescenz, timidly.
“No; I am only tired of always hearing the same thing.”
“Forgive me, dearest, and I promise you have heard it
for the last time; but now I expect that you will give me an
answer to a plain question. You cannot pretend any longer
to be blind to Count Zedwitz’s attentions—what answer do
you intend to——”
The whisperers had hitherto spoken inaudibly, but this
// 126.png
.pn +1
question, from a change of position in the speaker, distinctly
reached Hamilton’s ears. Great was his curiosity to know
the answer, but without a moment’s delay he moved and
coughed. Not a sound more was heard, not a whisper even
attempted, during the whole two long hours that he still lay
awake and motionless, waiting for morning.
And when the morning came, Hamilton slept soundly; he
saw not the sisters as they passed his couch on tiptoe; he
heard not the proposal of Fritz to cover him with hay, or of
Gustle to tickle him, or the admonitions of Madame Rosenberg,
and her threats of leaving them always at home in
future, should they dare now to make a noise. When he
awoke he found himself the sole occupant of the loft, and
had at first some difficulty in recollecting how he had got
there. It was still very early, and in the hope of seeing the
sun rise from the top of the alp, he hurried out into the
fresh morning air. The sun was, however, beyond the horizon,
and bright day-beams already tinted the mountain-tops.
A few minutes brought him to the spot where they had all
sat round the fire the preceding evening; the charred wood
marked the spot, and had Hamilton found there the society
he expected, he would probably have taken time to have
once more admired the prospect which had so delighted him
a few hours before, and which was now even more beautiful
in the distinctness of early morning; but he was a gregarious
animal, and finding himself unexpectedly alone, a hasty
glance of admiration was all he now bestowed on the diversified
plain which lay beneath him, and then, with hasty
steps, he retraced his way to the châlet. One of the guides
met him at the door, and informed him that Madame Rosenberg
and the others had been gone some time, and were to
dress and breakfast at the farm-house where they had left
the carriage. A short time sufficed to enable him to overtake
the last detachment, consisting of Madame Rosenberg,
Crescenz, and Major Stultz, and they pursued their way
leisurely together. Hildegarde had been sent on before to
order breakfast, and on finding that Zedwitz intended to
accompany her, had taken her two brothers. On reaching
the farm-house, they found her busily occupied at a table
placed under the trees, preparing bread and milk for the
children—Zedwitz officiously assisting her.
“What! are you already dressed for Salzburg, Hildegarde?”
// 129.png
.pn +1
cried Madame Rosenberg. “You must have walked
very quickly; I hope the boys are not overheated!” and she
carefully placed her hand on their foreheads to ascertain the
fact.
“Oh, mamma,” cried Fritz, boastingly, “we could have
walked much faster! We could have been down the mountain
in half the time! It was Zedwitz who was tired; he
wanted us twice to rest on the way.”
“It would have been better than running the risk of giving
the children colds,” observed Madame Rosenberg, glancing
towards Hildegarde.
“Oh, we did not wish to rest, or Hildegarde, either,
though Zedwitz said he had ever so much to say to her.”
“Indeed!” cried his mother, looking inquisitively from
one to the other; “indeed!” She turned to Hamilton, who
stood beside her, and whispered, “I shall not be five minutes
dressing; you will greatly oblige me by remaining here
until I return.”
Hamilton made no answer; waited, however, only until
she was fairly out of sight, and then, nodding good-humouredly
to Zedwitz, walked into the house. Madame Rosenberg’s
ideas of five minutes for dressing were not very
defined. She was one of those persons who, at home the
most incorrigible of slatterns, when they go out make it a
point to be almost overdressed. Hamilton, Crescenz, and
Major Stultz had long been waiting for her before she appeared,
and to begin breakfast without her would have been
an unpardonable offence. The delays seemed to have no
end, for, as she approached the table, Zedwitz, who had
been standing apart, went towards her and requested to
speak a few words to her alone. Major Stultz proposed
waiting until after breakfast, but Zedwitz persisted in his
request with a seriousness which scarcely admitted of a refusal,
and the audience was accordingly granted. Hamilton
wished to look at Hildegarde, but he refrained: had he
done so, his conjectures might have taken another turn, for
surely had Hildegarde imagined herself the subject of conversation,
she could not have leaned so calmly on her elbow
without exhibiting the slightest particle of emotion! Crescenz
did not seem to think her sister’s imperturbability a
conclusive argument—her eyes anxiously followed her step-mother’s
form, and nothing but the shortness of the conference
// 130.png
.pn +1
and ocular demonstration that they were simply
arranging accounts, could have convinced her that she had
been mistaken in her supposition that Zedwitz was formally
asking permission to pay his addresses to her sister. She
had dressed in a room at the front of the house, and from
the window had seen them standing at the spring together.
Zedwitz had spoken long and eagerly, and Hildegarde had
apparently listened very calmly, but with evident interest, to
what he had said. Her answer was short and decided, and
she had left him abruptly to interfere between her brothers,
who were flinging the remains of their bread and milk at
each other. It had cost both sisters considerable trouble to
purify their garments before their mother saw them.
A small carriage was now drawn up to the front of the
house, and a youthful peasant led out a young, strong-built
gray horse, and began to arrange the harness. Zedwitz advanced
quietly towards the party, and surprised them not a
little by saying that he was about to take leave of them—he
did not feel well, and would return to Seon.
“You are ill!” cried Hamilton, starting up from the
bench where he had been reclining; “you are ill, and think
of returning alone!—that must not be allowed. I am quite
ready to accompany you.”
“It is not necessary,” replied Zedwitz, laying his hand
heavily on his arm, while he continued to take leave of the
others, and hoped their tour might prove in every respect
agreeable. “The fact is,” he said, drawing Hamilton
towards the little carriage, which it appeared had been got
ready for him; “the fact is, I am ill in mind, but not in
body. Hildegarde has refused my suit so decidedly that I
dare not renew it. The best thing I can now do is to return
to Seon, and perhaps I may arrive in time to prevent my
sister from speaking to my father. My rash haste may
have injured my cause. How could I expect her to get
accustomed to my ugliness and to care for me in so short a
time?”
“I think,” said Hamilton, “it is more than probable that
her fear of the opposition of your family may have caused
her refusal.”
“Not a bit of it; she never referred to my family, nor,
indeed, had I time to mention them. She said she liked me
very well as an acquaintance, but nothing more; she was
// 131.png
.pn +1
sorry if her manner had led me to think otherwise. Now I
was obliged, in justice, to exonerate her from even a shadow
of coquetry, which in this case was disagreeable, as it was
tantamount to charging myself with egregious vanity; but
the most annoying and disheartening thing in the whole
business was her coolness and decision of manner; it led me
at once to form the conclusion that I was not the first person
who had spoken to her on the same subject. Do you
think it possible that her affections are already engaged?”
“I neither think it possible nor even probable. Why, she
has not left school more than two months.”
“Her sister left school at the same time, is a year
younger, and yet has contrived to fall in love with you, and
to promise to marry another in exactly half the time,” said
Zedwitz, bitterly.
“Pray do not imagine anything of that kind,” said Hamilton,
colouring deeply; “she is merely one of those soft,
yielding sort of beings, who, with a more than sufficiency of
vanity and coquetry in their nature, are ready to fancy
themselves and others in love without rightly knowing what
the feeling is. This Hildegarde is worth a hundred such.
I like her decision of character, and she is certainly very
handsome.”
“Handsome! she is perfectly beautiful!” cried Zedwitz;
“and I am convinced she is as amiable as beautiful!”
“If you are convinced of that, you are very wrong to give
her up as you are doing. Try what time and perseverance
will do.”
“My dear Hamilton, if you had spoken to her, if you had
even seen her when I pleaded my cause, you would think
differently. When we meet again, it will be as common acquaintances.
But every moment is precious, and I must now
be off. I shall take post-horses at the next town, and hope
to reach Seon in the afternoon. I hope most sincerely that
my sister has had no opportunity of speaking to my father.
I shall scarcely be at Seon when you return; but you know
my address in Munich, and I shall expect to see you directly
you arrive there. Adieu!”
He sprang into the carriage, bowed to the occupants of
the breakfast-table, and drove off, while Hamilton, leaning
against the door of the house, looked after him. “So,” he
thought, “this is the man I fancied full of German romance
// 132.png
.pn +1
and enthusiasm! Why, my brother John could not have
resigned himself to his fate more easily; but then he would
have made a parade of his indifference. Englishmen are
fond of doing so, while Germans, I suspect, are disposed to
pretend to more feeling than they possess. Yet, after all,
what could he have done? Shoot himself, like Werter?
Absurd? What should I have done? I have not the most
remote idea; but, then, I have never got beyond temporary
admiration for anyone. Very odd, too. Jack says he was
in love before he was twelve years old. Precocious fellow!
Zedwitz was right the other day when he said that my feelings
and ideas were not those of a man of my time of life.
However, I flatter myself that what I have lost in what he
calls freshness of feeling, I have gained in other respects, and
can now, in spite of my youth, calmly contemplate what is
going on about me, while Zedwitz, so many years my senior,
has been acting with all the rash impetuosity of a boy.”
In all the proud consciousness of premature knowledge of
the world, Hamilton seated himself at the breakfast-table,
and allowed Madame Rosenberg to pour out his coffee, and
wonder without interruption what could be the matter with
the Count, who, she insisted, had been quite well all the
morning. His eyes glanced mischievously towards Hildegarde,
but she apparently did not observe it. Madame
Rosenberg now began deliberately to pack up the remaining
sugar in her reticule. Half an hour later they were seated
in the char-à-banc on their way to Salzburg. Zedwitz’s
absence was greatly felt, for he was cheerful and good-natured.
Hamilton had determined not even to look at
Crescenz, while Hildegarde appeared to have formed the
same resolution with regard to him. A sort of discontent
seemed to pervade the whole party for some time, but by
degrees it yielded to the beauty of the scenery. Madame
Rosenberg, having once spent some months at Salzburg, was
now able to name each mountain as it appeared in the fore-ground,
or made itself remarkable by its form in the distance.
But the Untersberg interested her two sons more
than anything else. This mountain, which here rises abruptly
out of Walser fields, and is of enormous extent, was, she told
them, the prison and tomb of Frederick Barbarossa, or, as the
peasants said, of Charlemagne. The questions and answers
on this fruitful subject lasted until they reached Salzburg.
// 133.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch09
CHAPTER IX. || SALZBURG.
.sp 2
While waiting for dinner at the hotel, Hamilton amused
himself turning over the leaves of the “strangers’ book,”
and saw among the latest arrivals the name of an uncle he
had wished much to meet when he had been last in Salzburg;
he would then have been glad to have had an opportunity of
presenting some respectable relations to Baron Z—, after
the old manner in which their acquaintance had commenced.
He now wished to see his relations from more natural motives,
without either the wish or intention of making them acquainted
with his travelling companions. There is something
peculiarly agreeable in hearing the voices of one’s
countrymen speaking one’s own language in a foreign country;
even if they be merely common acquaintances, they rise
at once to the rank of friends: if friends, to relations—if
relations, we are astonished at the excess of our affection for
them! Something of this kind Hamilton experienced as he
heard his uncle saying, “A young gentleman inquiring for
me! What is his name?” In a moment he had quitted the
table, and was in the lobby before the question could be answered.
The surprise, perhaps, heightened the pleasure felt
by his two young and pretty cousins, and their reception of
him was so unreservedly affectionate, that as they came near
the door of the dining-room, Hildegarde and Crescenz exchanged
glances, and then fixed their eyes on them with a
slight expression of curiosity.
“What a pity you did not arrive earlier, Alfred; we have
spent the whole morning sight-seeing, and now the horses are
being put-to, and we have scarcely ten minutes to ask each
other the thousand questions which——But come to our
rooms—we cannot possibly talk before these people.”
“They would not understand us,” said Hamilton, following
them up the stairs, by no means displeased with the
arrangement.
Madame Rosenberg soon became impatient at the duration
// 134.png
.pn +1
of his absence, and leaving word with the waiter that
Mr. Hamilton might follow them to St. Peter’s cellar, she
proposed herself as guide, and they set out on their excursion.
Hamilton accompanied his uncle and cousins to their very
handsome travelling-carriage, and as he bade them adieu
for the twentieth time, his uncle called out, “God bless you,
Alfred! I shall tell your father and uncle Ralph that I
found you greatly improved. If they had kept you in London,
your brother John would have spoiled you, and made
you just as good-for-nothing as he is himself. Nothing like
travelling for enlarging the ideas. Good-by!”
The waiter informed Hamilton that the ladies were gone
to St. Peter’s cellar.
“Major Stultz, you mean?” said Hamilton.
“No, sir—the ladies—perhaps they have gone to look at
the excavation in the rock. The cellar is in the mountain,
and is worth seeing.”
The monks of St. Peter are the actual proprietors of this
cellar, which adjoins, and in fact is still a part of the monastery;
it is the wine from their Hungarian vineyards which
is there sold, and the entrance to the drinking-rooms is from
the principal quadrangle. Arrived there, Hamilton immediately
accosted a man who, in a jacket and apron, and with
a green velvet cap on his head, stood before the entrance of
the excavation.
“Ladies! Oh, ha—yes—they are within,” he answered,
leading the way, through a small, dark passage, to two low
rooms, filled with the fumes of tobacco. Hamilton entered,
and found his travelling companions actually seated at a
table, drinking wine, in a room crowded with Hungarian
officers, who seemed equally surprised and amused at the
unusual appearance of such an addition to their society.
Madame Rosenberg was quietly sipping her wine, and talking
earnestly to Major Stultz near a window, quite unconscious
of the sensation which she and her party had created
and the by no means whispered exclamations of admiration
which were echoed on all sides, and which produced most
opposite effects on the objects of them. Crescenz looked
half-frightened, half-pleased, and blushed incessantly. Hildegarde’s
countenance denoted annoyance, bordering on
anger, as she sat biting her under lip, while every trace of
// 135.png
.pn +1
colour had forsaken her face. Hamilton felt extremely irritated,
and looked round the room with a portentous frown,
to see if any one had been more forward than the others;
but in vain—broad, sallow, good-humoured faces, and small,
sparkling black eyes met his angry glance wherever he
turned; and as the conversation was now principally carried
on in their native language, he could only surmise, but no
longer be certain of, the subject of discourse. The eyes of
all were still turned on the two sisters; and Hamilton, after
a moment’s hesitation, proposed escorting them to the Maximus
chapel, which was near, and where they could wait for
their mother. Hildegarde started up without asking the
permission, which, however, was accorded without difficulty;
and the two boys, to their infinite annoyance, were also
ordered off. On perceiving their mother engaged in confidential
conversation with Major Stultz, they had freely
helped themselves to wine, and were now in outrageous
spirits. On entering the St. Peter’s churchyard, they commenced
springing over the graves in a most irreverent manner,
declaring they had never before seen so jolly a churchyard!
Crescenz looked infinitely shocked, entreated they
would not make so much noise; and finding her remonstrance
useless, she turned to the St. Margaret’s chapel, a
small building in the middle of the burying-ground, and
leaning against the iron railing which formed at once its
door and gable-end, she folded her hands reverently, and
prayed. The custom in Roman Catholic countries of leaving
the church-doors constantly open, most certainly conduces to
promote piety. Many a giddy girl whose thoughts have
wandered as unrestrained as her glances down the crowded
aisle, has sought the same spot afterwards in solitude, to
offer up supplications and thanksgivings as fervent, perhaps,
as ever were breathed. Much as has been said of the imposing
ritual of the Church of Rome—of the almost irresistible
effect of high mass, when properly celebrated—it is
nothing in comparison to the solemn silence of a week-day
afternoon, when the stillness around makes the solitary footfall
echo, and those who come to pray can bend the knee and
clasp the hand, without exciting the inquisitive gaze of a
less piously disposed neighbour.
Hamilton had gone in search of the person who had the
keys of the Maximus chapel. On his return he found Hildegarde
// 136.png
.pn +1
standing thoughtfully opposite a newly-made tomb,
on which a placard was placed, with the words:—“This
tomb is to be sold.”
“I should like extremely to know your thoughts,” he said,
quietly placing himself beside her.
“Should you? They would scarcely repay you for the
trouble of listening.”
“I am quite willing to make the trial.”
“But I am much too lazy to attempt collecting all the
scattered thoughts of the last ten minutes.”
“The very last I can guess, perhaps,” said Hamilton;
“your eyes were fixed on that placard, and you thought——”
“Well, what?”
“Where are now the future occupiers of that tomb? Am
I not right?”
“Quite right. Wherever they are, and whoever they
may be, they certainly have no wish to enter here. The
buyers of tombs are seldom disposed to enter into actual
possession. But where is this Maximus chapel? You said
it was in the mountain, and I see nothing in the least like
an entrance, although there are three windows and a wall
up there.”
“The windows were formerly mere holes made in the rock,
and ought never to have been glazed. Through the largest
of them fifty monks, who had taken refuge with Maximus,
were thrown headlong down the mountain by the barbarians
who took possession of Salzburg in the fifth century.”
“And Maximus?”
“He was hung.”
“That was a pity—I dare say he would have preferred
being thrown over the precipice.”
“Do you think so? As it all came to the same in the
end, I should imagine it must rather have been a matter of
indifference to him.”
“But I do not,” cried Hildegarde, stopping suddenly.
“I think the manner in which one is put to death of great
importance; I am sure you would prefer being beheaded to
being hung.”
“The choice would be distressing; but I believe you are
right; I should certainly choose being beheaded, as the more
gentlemanlike death of the two, though I remember reading
in some book of the horrible hypothesis—that the eye could
// 137.png
.pn +1
see, the ear hear, and the brain think, for some moments
after the head had been severed from the body.”
The guide jingled his keys. He probably thought the
discussion of such subjects might be deferred until he had
received his Trinkgeld, and he now threw open the gate and
motioned to them to ascend. The tolerably numerous steps
leading to the former abode and chapel of the anchorite were
hewn in the mountain, the passage somewhat dark, and Hildegarde
having declined any assistance, Hamilton, notwithstanding
all his good resolutions to avoid Crescenz in future,
turned towards her, was greeted with a soft smile, and his
arm accepted as willingly as it was offered. He now took
upon himself the office of guide, exhibited the chapel with
its solitary Roman pillar, the sleeping-room of Maximus, and
the place from which his companions had been precipitated.
He was obliged to hold Crescenz, while she childishly stretched
as far as possible over the mountain side, all the while declaring
that she could not stand on the brink of a precipice
without feeling an almost irresistible inclination to throw
herself down it. No sooner had her two brothers heard this,
than they rushed forward and thoughtlessly pushed her
with a violence that might have had most fatal consequences
had not Hamilton at the moment thrown his arm quite
around her and drawn her back. Crescenz screamed
violently, Fritz and Gustle laughed immoderately, Hildegarde
remonstrated angrily, and in the midst of the clamour
Madame Rosenberg and Major Stultz joined them. Crescenz
blushed deeply, and, with a voice trembling from agitation,
related what had occurred, and complained bitterly of
her brothers’ rudeness. Madame Rosenberg scolded her for
having looked down the precipice; Hildegarde for not having
watched her brothers and prevented such a scene in such a
place; and concluded by seizing both the brothers by the
shoulders and shaking them violently, while she declared
that she had a great mind to send them back to the inn, and
not let them see either the Don church or the fountain.
She turned to thank Hamilton for having taken charge of
so riotous a party, but he had disappeared, annoyed at what
had occurred, and internally vowing never to take charge of
Crescenz or her brothers again.
Major Stultz had suddenly become jealous and out of
temper; all the efforts of Madame Rosenberg to turn “the
// 138.png
.pn +1
winter of his discontent” to “glorious summer” were vain;
he followed her, half whistling, with his hands clasped behind
him, intending to look extremely unconcerned; while
his heightened colour, as they overtook Hamilton, betrayed
to all the cause of his annoyance. Crescenz seemed perfectly
indifferent, or rather, half disposed to brave his anger; for
as they stood by Haydn’s monument, in the St. Peter’s church,
she placed herself beside Hamilton, and spoke to him in
French. It is true, the conversation was about the skull of
Haydn, and the black marble urn which contained it; but
Major Stultz could not be aware of this circumstance; and,
with increased anger, he strode down the aisle, seeming disposed
to quit them, had not Hamilton, weary of these misunderstandings,
and provoked by Crescenz’s coquetry, said
that he would meet them at the hotel in an hour; he was
going to the cavalry stables to see the horses, which, of
course, would not be interesting to them, and without waiting
for an answer, he walked away.
Hamilton’s absence did not seem to have much improved
the state of affairs, for on his return to the inn, no one but
Madame Rosenberg seemed disposed to be loquacious; and
when they got into the char-à-banc, which was to take them
to Berchtesgaden, Crescenz absolutely maneuvred to avoid
Major Stultz; and on being ordered by her mother to sit
beside him, pouted in the most significant manner. Madame
Rosenberg chose this time to take charge of her two sons
herself; she thought their vicinity might interrupt the reconciliation
between Major Stultz and Crescenz, which she evidently
wished to promote, but which seemed less likely than
ever to take place, as Crescenz chose now to appear or to be
excessively offended. This line of conduct had the effect of
making poor Major Stultz imagine that he had been, perhaps,
too hasty—unjust—uncivil—in short, he very soon accused
himself of being a savage! and as these thoughts passed
through his brain, his manners and words softened; he
became humble, and even entreated forgiveness for the
unknown offence; but all in vain—Crescenz scarcely answered
him—in fact, she had not heard him, for her whole attention
was absorbed in the conversation of her sister and Hamilton,
who were immediately before her; she fancied that neither
had disliked the arrangement which had placed them together.
The latter, especially, seemed determined to amuse and be
// 139.png
.pn +1
amused, and for more than an hour and a half the conversation
never flagged. Madame Rosenberg occasionally joined
in it, and Major Stultz also chimed in when he found all his
efforts to obtain answers from Crescenz fruitless. They had
nearly reached Berchtesgaden, and Hamilton had just begun
to congratulate himself on having at length discovered the
possibility of talking to Hildegarde without quarrelling,
when Major Stultz abruptly asked him if he had been to
see the summer riding-school.
“Can you doubt it? It is the prettiest thing of the kind
I have ever seen—the beau ideal of an ancient theatre.
That the tiers of seats for the spectators are hewn out of
the mountain, enhances its grandeur, and makes one forget
that it is only a riding-school. What a place for a tournament!
or for gladiators; or what an arena for wild beasts!”
“Exactly what we all said when we were there to-day,”
exclaimed Hildegarde.
“Yes,” said Crescenz, for the first time joining in the conversation;
“we all said that; but Hildegarde and I thought
of Schiller’s Ballad of the Glove; didn’t we, Hildegarde?”
Hildegarde nodded.
“It is odd enough, I thought of it too,” said Hamilton;
“the tiger attacked by the two leopards; the lion rising to
join in the combat—I saw it all in imagination—fancied
myself the Knight Delorges, and looked round to see if no
Cunigunde were there to throw her glove amid the combatants.”
“Did you think of any particular person as Cunigunde?”
asked Crescenz, softly, and with a slight blush.
“Perhaps I did,” replied Hamilton, laughing.
“Oh, I should like so much to know whom you thought
of! Should not you, Hildegarde?”
“If Mr. Hamilton wish to tell——” began Hildegarde.
“I prefer walking up the hill into the town,” said Hamilton,
springing out of the open side of the carriage.
“Let us all walk,” cried Madame Rosenberg, desiring the
coachman to stop; “my feet are quite cramped.”
Hamilton had hoped to escape further questioning, but
Crescenz commenced again as they walked along together.
“Your avoidance of my question has raised my curiosity,
and you positively must tell me of whom you thought in the
riding-school, to-day.”
// 140.png
.pn +1
“Pray, Crescenz,” said Hildegarde, “do not force Mr.
Hamilton to give an answer; it must be totally uninteresting
to you—remember the number of acquaintances he must
have in England whose names are unknown to us.”
“If it had been anyone in England, or anyone unknown
to us, he would have answered my question at once, and
without hesitation,” replied Crescenz, with unusual decision
of manner.
Hildegarde, struck with the reply, experienced herself a
feeling of curiosity which greatly surprised her. She walked
on in silence, and soon heard her sister continue in a very
low voice—
“I am sure you did not think of me!”
“Certainly not,” he replied, in the same tone; “you are
too kind and too gentle to place the life even of an enemy in
such jeopardy.”
Crescenz seemed not quite to know whether she were satisfied
or disappointed. She would have liked to have been his
lady-love, would have wished to imagine that he would have
picked up her glove at such an imminent risk; yet his manner
and words implied nothing flattering to the supposed
Cunigunde; and although she did not quite understand his
meaning, she knew that he had said that she was kind
and gentle, and she felt that she ought to be satisfied. Not
so Hildegarde; she understood well the vanity and callousness
of the character sketched in a few words by Schiller;
she fancied that Hamilton disliked her, and an irresistible
impulse made her turn on him, and say, abruptly, “You
thought of me!”
The blood mounted to his temples, and seemed to take
refuge in his hair, as he returned Hildegarde’s glance, yet
hesitated in answering; but he could not deny it, and replied,
after a moment’s consideration: “Thoughts are not
subject to control; you have no right to make me answerable
for them.”
“I have no intention of doing so,” she replied; “I care
too little about you to give myself the trouble of convincing
you that you do not understand my character in the least.
On the contrary, I confess that were you disposed to play
the part of the knight, perhaps I might throw down my
glove, and be glad to get rid of you on any terms.”
“Even were I to be torn to pieces in your presence by the
// 141.png
.pn +1
wild beasts? I did not think you were so cruel!” said
Hamilton, amused at her irritated manner.
“The danger for you would not be very great. You are
the last person in the world to do any thing of that kind.”
“Do you doubt my personal courage?”
“No; but I doubt your possessing knightly feelings.”
“I am, it is true, no ‘Don Quixote,’ no knight of the sorrowful
countenance——”
“No, indeed; you much more deserve the name of the
knight of the scornful countenance—that is, if one could
fancy you a knight at all.”
“I have no doubt, mademoiselle, that were your fancy to
form one, he would in no respect resemble me; however, we
need not quarrel on the supposition of what we should have
done had we been born a few hundred years sooner; it is
evident you would not have chosen me for your knight—nor
I—perhaps—you, for my lady-love.”
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Crescenz, “if I had thought that
you two would have quarrelled, I would not have asked any
questions; though I do not understand why Hildegarde is so
offended at being thought like Cunigunde, who, I dare say,
was the handsomest lady present.”
“Your sister is not satisfied with being merely handsome;
she wishes to be thought amiable also, and seems disposed to
force people to say so, whatever they may think to the contrary.”
Hildegarde walked haughtily towards her step-mother,
and reached her just in time to hear the concluding words
of what appeared to be Major Stultz’s remonstrances.
“His being an Englishman does not, in my opinion, alter
the case, or make him a less dangerous companion for your
daughters. I do not presume to dictate. I merely offer advice,
which you do not seem disposed to take; and nothing
now remains for me but to beg of you to hurry as much as
possible the preparations for Crescenz’s marriage. A few
scenes such as we have had to-day would soon cure me of all
fancy for her. You told me she was good-tempered, and I
have found her so sullen since we left Salzburg, that it is
impossible to obtain a word from her.”
“My dear Major, you may depend upon my reprimanding
her severely for such conduct——”
“By no means, madame; I don’t wish her to be reprimanded.
// 142.png
.pn +1
I shall speak to her myself, and tell her that I
have a comfortable home to offer her; that I am supposed to
be an indulgent husband, but that I am too old to play lover,
and altogether decline entering into competition with such a
rival as that tall Englishman, who, however, I can also tell
her, has no more idea of marriage than the man in the
moon!”
“But, my dear Major, I really must beg of you not to
mention the Englishman to her. It will only put an idea
into her head which I am convinced has never entered it.
You forget what a mere child she is—not yet sixteen!”
Major Stultz turned round suddenly to look at his betrothed;
the moment was unpropitious for removing jealous
doubts. She was walking alone with Hamilton, and speaking
with an earnestness totally foreign to her character,
while the expression of her upturned eyes denoted anything
but childishness.
“This will never do!” exclaimed Major Stultz, angrily.
“You wrong her most assuredly,” cried Madame Rosenberg,
with a sort of blind reliance on Crescenz’s childishness,
which this time, however, did not deceive her: “You wrong
her, and I will prove it by asking her what she is talking
about. Crescenz, my love, we wish to know the subject of
your discourse—it seems to be interesting.”
Crescenz answered without hesitation, “I am defending
Hildegarde; Mr. Hamilton and she have quarrelled about
the Ballad of the Glove. He says she was rude; and I
think he was rude; for he said if he had been a knight he
would not have chosen her for his lady-love. I do not
think of being angry, and he did not choose me either,” she
added, glancing half reproachfully.
On another occasion Madame Rosenberg would have inquired
further, and given, perhaps, an edifying lecture on
politeness and propriety of language; she was now too well
satisfied with Crescenz’s answer to think of anything of the
kind, and turning triumphantly to Major Stultz, she whispered,
“You see I was right. I cannot answer for Hildegarde.
Rosenberg says I do not understand her; but Crescenz
is a good girl—almost too good and docile. You can
make whatever you please of her.”
They all walked together to the inn, and The Glove
seemed to be quite forgotten.
// 143.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch10
CHAPTER X. || THE RETURN TO MUNICH.
.sp 2
Hamilton’s journey to Munich proved more agreeable
than the commencement had promised. Hildegarde, the
maid, Peppy, and Fritz were his companions; the others
occupied the second carriage and chose to be together, as
Fritz sapiently observed, in order to talk secrets about
Cressy’s wedding. Hildegarde exhibited her dislike to
Hamilton so artlessly that he could scarcely preserve a
serious countenance, while he endeavoured to overcome it.
The averted head, short, careless answers, and pertinacious
discourse with brother Fritz, could not, however, long resist
his efforts. He was possessed of no inconsiderable advantages,
both of mind and manner, and of this he was, perhaps,
but too well aware, sometimes unnecessarily under-valuing
the intellect of others, while he indulged in a vein
of satire most displeasing when it became evident. Hildegarde
had noticed this in his intercourse with her sister, and
was at first extremely guarded in her answers; but his manner
was so unconstrained, his account of himself and his
ideas so amusing and simple, that at length she also became
communicative, and unconsciously displayed an extent of
intellect for which Hamilton had not been prepared—her
acquirements were considerable for a girl of her age, and
she spoke with enthusiasm of the continuance of her studies
when she returned to Munich. Her father had quite an
excellent library of his own, which he had promised to let
her use, and her mother intended to subscribe to a circulating
library, on condition that none but French books
should be sent for or read. On Hamilton’s inquiring further,
she said, with a slight blush, that she was extremely
fond of novels and poetry.
“Poetry!” he exclaimed, thrown off his guard; “poetry!
I should have imagined that more suited to your sister’s
taste than yours.”
No sooner had the word “sister” passed his lips than he
// 144.png
.pn +1
saw a sudden change in the expression of his companion’s
countenance; he had, in fact, awakened a train of unpleasant
reflections, rendered more disagreeable by a feeling
of self-reproach for previous forgetfulness. Hildegarde retired
from him as far as the limits of the carriage permitted,
looking out of the window, without noticing his remark, and
rendered all his attempts to renew the conversation abortive
by entering into a disquisition with her brother on the impropriety
of bringing snow-balls into the house in winter!
With a smile, which Hildegarde would perhaps have denominated
a sneer, had she seen it, Hamilton leaned back in the
carriage, and was soon occupied in mental speculations on
the change which one word had been able to produce, although
the cause was by no means difficult to surmise.
They did not speak again until they entered the inn where
they were to dine. Madame Rosenberg was his companion
in the afternoon, and so effectually did she contrive to beguile
the time with a history of herself and her family, that
he was actually sorry when, at a late hour in the evening,
their journey ended, and both carriages began somewhat
tumultuously to pour forth their contents.
The apartments were on the third story, and on bounding
up the stairs to them, Hamilton was received by Mr. Rosenberg
with almost as much cordiality as his future son-in-law,
who had followed more slowly. A good deal of calling and
running, and dragging about of furniture ensued, but at the
end of an hour, or thereabouts, they were all comfortably
seated round a supper-table, which, although of the plainest
description, and lit by a couple of tallow candles in brass
candlesticks, more than satisfied Hamilton; and nothing could
exceed the pleasure with which he looked around him. The
novelty of the situation, and the realization of his wish to be
domesticated in a private family, aided, no doubt, considerably
to produce this frame of mind, for he was, by nature and
education, fastidious; and had he not had an object in view,
it is more than probable that the extreme homeliness of the
house arrangements would have more disgusted than amused
him. Madame Rosenberg stood with a napkin pinned over
the front of her dress while she carved a large loin of veal,
and distributed to each, beginning with her husband, the
portion which she judged sufficient for their supper; a potato
salad, which she had also prepared in their presence, with oil
// 145.png
.pn +1
and vinegar, was added; and Hildegarde and Crescenz carried
around the plates, to Hamilton’s surprise and, indeed, discomfort;
it was in vain he jumped up and offered to assist
them. Madame Rosenberg begged him to sit still, that
Hildegarde would bring him all he wanted, and Crescenz, as
in duty bound, would see that the Major had every thing he
required. With a coyness which would have been graceful
had it not been slightly tinctured with affectation, Crescenz
performed the required services, Major Stultz declaring he
had never in his life been so waited upon; that she was a
perfect Hebe, and ending by catching her hand and kissing
it passionately. Crescenz looked across the table, and on
finding Hamilton’s large dark eyes fixed upon her, drew
back, and, behind the chair of her lover, impatiently wiped
the kiss, and with it some portion of gravy and potato,
which had probably adhered to his moustache, from her fair
hand. On again looking towards Hamilton, half expecting
some sign of approval, she found that he had turned to her
father, and seemed altogether to have forgotten her presence.
With some indignation she took her place at the
table, and commenced her supper, internally vowing never to
bestow either a word or look more on him; and, if possible,
to convince him, without delay, of her extreme dislike to
him. She listened with apparent interest, while her mother
and Major Stultz settled the day but one after for their
solemn betrothal, which was to give her the name of bride, a
title only used in Germany during the term of engagement, and
never after the ceremony of marriage has been performed.
Major Stultz rose to take leave, whispered a little while,
ostentatiously with Crescenz, and retired. Hamilton was
accompanied by the whole family when he took possession
of the two rooms appropriated to his use at the back of the
house; they looked into another street, and were accessible
by a back staircase, which Madame Rosenberg informed him
was considered a great convenience for single gentlemen,
especially as she would give him a skeleton-key which would
open the house-door and admit him at all hours without the
servants being obliged to sit up for him. Crescenz scarcely
answered when he wished her good-night, and he divined
pretty accurately what was passing in her mind. He was
heartily glad that she had adopted this line of conduct; was
fully prepared to believe in her indifference; in fact, he gave
// 146.png
.pn +1
her more credit for coquetry than she deserved, and determined
in no way to interfere with her good resolutions or
Major Stultz in future.
The next morning was wholly occupied by a visit to his
banker, the library, securing a place for six months at the
theatre, and purchasing some toys for Fritz, Gustle, and
Peppy. He reached home some time after twelve o’clock,
and found that they had waited dinner for him—Madame
Rosenberg delicately informing him of the fact by shouting
from the nursery-door—
“You may bring in the soup now, Wally, for Mr. Hamilton
is come.”
As far as Mr. Hamilton was concerned, the soup might
have remained in the kitchen all day; he had not yet learned
to eat ordinary German soup, which, when not thickened
into a “family broth,” very much resembled the weak beef-tea
decocted by careful housekeepers for invalids; he therefore
played with his spoon until the boiled beef, which invariably
succeeds, had made its appearance, and finished his repast
with a piece of zwetschgen cake, which he found excellent,
and much more easy to eat than to pronounce. The whole
family rose from table at the same moment, and Hamilton
was in the act of opening the door leading into the drawing-room,
when he heard Madame Rosenberg call out—
“Hildegarde, pick up Mr. Hamilton’s napkin; don’t you
see it lying on the floor?”
Hamilton sprang forward, raised, and threw it with a jerk
across the back of his chair, not clearly understanding what
possible difference it could make, and thinking Madame
Rosenberg very unnecessarily particular. His surprise was
therefore great when he saw Hildegarde take the crumpled
towel and, having endeavoured to lay it in the original folds,
bind it with a piece of blue ribbon which had been placed
on the table beside him for the purpose.
“Mr. Smith told me that people did not generally use
napkins in England,” said Madame Rosenberg, sagaciously
nodding her head.
“Not use napkins! you surely must have misunderstood
him; perhaps he said people did not use the same napkin
twice!”
“Not use a napkin twice!” cried Madame Rosenberg.
“If that were the case I should have a pretty washing at
// 147.png
.pn +1
the end of the three months! Rosenberg gets but two a
week, and has moustaches. I expect that you will be able
to manage, like the girls, with one.”
“I shall certainly cultivate a moustache forthwith, if it were
only for the purpose of getting the two napkins a week!” said
Hamilton, good-humouredly laughing as he left the room.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch11
CHAPTER XI. || THE BETROTHAL.
.sp 2
The afternoon of the next day the betrothal took place.
Hamilton had expected an imposing ceremony, but not one
of the many persons assembled appeared to consider it as anything
but an occasion for drinking wine or coffee and eating
cake. Crescenz and her sister must be excepted; they both
looked greatly alarmed; and when the certificates of birth,
baptism, vaccination, and confirmation had been laid on the
table, and the marriage contract read aloud and presented
for signature, Crescenz fairly attempted to rush out of the
room. She was brought back with some difficulty; and it
was from Hamilton’s hand that she received the pen with
which she wrote her name. A present of a very handsome
ring from Major Stultz seemed in some degree to restore her
equanimity, and a glass of champagne, judiciously administered
by her father, enabled her to receive the congratulations
and enjoy the jokes of her bridesmaids. As evening
drew on, the pianoforte was put in requisition, and dancing
proposed. Hamilton immediately engaged Hildegarde; he
was in England considered to dance well, and was, therefore,
not a little surprised and mortified when, after a few turns,
she sat down quietly, saying he was a most particularly
disagreeable dancer.
“You are the first person who has told me so,” he observed,
somewhat piqued; for Englishmen are vulnerable on
this point.
“Others have thought so, perhaps,” said Hildegarde, carelessly,
and following with her eyes Crescenz and Major
Stultz; the latter, forgetful of the hardship of his Russian
// 148.png
.pn +1
campaign, and unmindful of the stoutness of his figure, was
whirling round the room with a lightness which would have
done credit to a man of one-and-twenty.
“How very well Major Stultz dances!” said Hamilton,
when Crescenz and her partner soon after stopped near
them.
“And you—why do you not dance?” asked Crescenz.
“Your sister says I dance badly.”
“I said you were a disagreeable dancer,” said Hildegarde;
“other people may think differently; but I particularly dislike
being held so close, and having——”
Hamilton’s face became crimson, and she left her sentence
unfinished.
“Perhaps people dance differently in England,” suggested
Crescenz.
“Most probably they do not waltz at all there,” said Major
Stultz.
Hamilton explained with extraordinary warmth.
“Well, at all events—it is—and will ever remain, a German
national dance; and, so I suppose, without giving offence,
I may say that we Germans dance it better than you
English. I have no doubt that you dance country-dances
and Scotch reels perfectly, but——”
“I have never danced either the one or the other,” said
Hamilton, with a look of sovereign contempt.
“Well, Francaise’s quadrilles, or whatever you call those
complicated dances now coming into fashion here.”
Hamilton did not answer; he had turned to Crescenz, and
was now insisting on her waltzing with him, that she might
tell him the fault in his dancing. She murmured the words,
“Extra tour,” which seemed to satisfy Major Stultz and
then complied with his request. It was singular that Crescenz
did not complain of being held too closely; she was
not disposed to find any fault whatever with his performance;
and it was with some difficulty that he induced her
to say that there was something a little foreign in his manner,
and that she believed he did not dance quite so smoothly
as a German.
“Your sister’s personal dislike seems to influence her
judgment on all occasions,” said Hamilton, glancing towards
Hildegarde, who, still seated in the same place, was watching
them with evident dissatisfaction.
// 149.png
.pn +1
“Hildegarde, come and help me to put candles in the
candlesticks,” cried Madame Rosenberg; “we cannot let our
friends grope about in the dark any longer.”
Hildegarde rose; as she passed Hamilton, she said, in a
low voice—
“For personal dislike, you may say detestation, when you
refer to yourself in future.”
“Most willingly, most gladly,” cried Hamilton, laughing.
“I wish you to hate me with all your heart.”
“Then your wish is gratified; I feel the greatest contempt——”
“Halt!” cried Hamilton, still laughing, for her anger
amused him. “I did not give you leave to feel contempt;
I only said you might hate as——”
“Hildegarde! Hildegarde!” cried Madame Rosenberg,
impatiently—“Why, what on earth is the girl about?”
“Quarrelling as usual,” muttered Major Stultz, shrugging
his shoulders.
“Oh, she is not quarrelsome!” exclaimed Crescenz; “you
don’t understand her; she is right—quite right.”
“Right to hate me without a cause!” cried Hamilton,
pretending great astonishment.
“I did not exactly mean—that is—I think—I believe—I
am sure Hildegarde does not hate you or anybody,” said
Crescenz, confusedly, and retiring hastily to that part of the
room which seemed by common consent appropriated to the
unmarried female part of the company. At this moment
the door opened, and Madame Rosenberg, followed by Hildegarde
and the cook, entered the room, carrying lighted candles.
A loud ringing of the house-bell was heard, and the
cook, having deposited her candles, rushed out of the room
to open the door.
“I dare say it’s the Bergers,” said Madame Rosenberg, as
she walked towards the pianoforte with her candles. “Better
late than never. I’m glad she’s come, for she plays
waltzes charmingly; and as such days as this do not often
occur in a family, we may as well keep it up.”
Hamilton looked towards the door, and saw an elaborately
dressed and extremely pretty person, with very long and
profuse blonde ringlets, leaning on the arm of an elderly man
with a protruding chin. His recollection of having heard
something about her companion was brought more distinctly
// 150.png
.pn +1
to his mind, when he saw Crescenz start forward and embrace
her, while she eagerly exclaimed,—
“Oh, Lina! I have so longed to see you! so wished for
your advice!”
After she had spoken with great animation to the Rosenbergs
and other acquaintances, she turned to Crescenz, who,
continuing to hold her hand, reproached her for having
neglected her.
“My dear creature! I have been in Starnberg, or you
should have seen me long ago. The Doctor came for me
this afternoon, and I have not been more than an hour in
town. On such an occasion I was obliged to make myself
smart, and you have no idea how I hurried! Isn’t this
dress a love? the Doctor’s choice—he bought it at Schultz,
and surprised me with it on my birthday! Conceive my
being nineteen years old!” she continued in a whisper, leading
Crescenz apart; “I am really glad that I am married;
I should have been obliged to wait an eternity for Theodor;
he is now studying with the Doctor, visits the hospitals with
him, and dines with us every Sunday! Heigho!——”
“Is not the Doctor jealous?”
“Jealous! oh, dear, no—why should he be jealous? If
Theodor had been rich, I should have preferred him, of
course! but a poor student!—the thing was absurd! And
yet I did love him—with all my heart, too!”
“I can easily imagine it,” said Crescenz, pensively; “and
in Seon, of all places in the world!” and she sighed very
expressively.
“Why surely, dear, you did not find anyone at Seon with
whom you could fall in love! I beg Major Stultz’s pardon,
but—a—the company at Seon is a——”
“Oh, there were some very nice people there this year;
Count Zedwitz and his family—his son, I am almost sure,
proposed to Hildegarde, though she won’t acknowledge it.”
“Count Zedwitz! why, surely, Hildegarde would not be
such a fool as to refuse such a——”
“Hush, dearest—it’s the greatest possible secret; and
Hildegarde would never forgive me if she knew——”
“I don’t believe a word of it,” said the Doctor’s wife, arranging
a stray ringlet; “I don’t believe a word of it.
Hildegarde would have talked if there had been even a
shadow of probability of such a thing. As to her having
// 151.png
.pn +1
refused him, that is out of the nature of things! I suppose,
dear,” she added, shaking back her curls, “I suppose he
turned to you when he was tired of Hildegarde? Did she
frighten him with a fit of fury, as she did me the day I read
the letter from her father, which she had mislaid in the
school-room? Do you remember how she stormed and called
me dishonourable, and said I was capable of any horrible
act? I never forgave that Mademoiselle Hortense for not
taking my part; but all the governesses were so proud of
Hildegarde’s beauty, after her picture was painted, that she
was allowed to do as she pleased.”
“Don’t talk of her,” said Crescenz, in a low voice; “I
know you never liked her.”
“They called us the rival beauties at school, you know,
which was quite enough to make us hate each other all our
lives; but now that I am married, all rivalry has ceased. I
have got a position in society, especially since the Doctor has
been called in to attend the royal family, and——”
“You don’t say so,” exclaimed Crescenz, interrupting her.
“Yes, my dear, he is not exactly appointed, but when the
other physicians were out of town, he was sent for to attend
one of the ladies of the court, who had been obliged to
remain behind from illness, and she promised to use all her
influence for him; indeed, his practice is so extensive that he
does not require anything of the kind—but then for appearance’
sake—and it sounds well, you know—it sounds well!”
and she played with her pocket-handkerchief, which was
trimmed with very broad cotton lace. “But I forgot, you
were going to tell me that you had fallen in love with somebody
at Seon; if it were not this Count Zedwitz, who was
it?”
“Nobody,” said Crescenz, wiping her eyes with her little
cotton handkerchief, ornamented with a few coarse indigo-dyed
threads for a border; “Nobody!”
“I assure you, Cressy, as a married woman, I can give you
much better advice now than in former days, when I was
silly as yourself. You had better confide in me.”
“I have nothing to confide,” replied Crescenz, diligently
biting the before mentioned blue thread border of her handkerchief.
“Well, if you don’t choose to be confiding, perhaps you
will be communicative, and tell me who is that very tall, very
// 152.png
.pn +1
young, and singularly handsome man talking to your father
near the window?”
“That’s he,” said Crescenz, blushing.
“Who?”
“The Englishman.”
“What Englishman?”
“The Englishman that we met at Seon.”
“So!” whistled, rather than exclaimed, the Doctor’s
wife.
“So!—hem!—a—some excuse for a little sentiment, I
must allow, Cressy. How does he happen to be here this
evening?”
“He is living with us; he boards with mamma this winter.”
“So! Can he speak German?”
“Oh, yes, very well.”
“Introduce him; I should like to know him.”
“I cannot.”
“You cannot! Why I could have introduced Theodor
to all the world, and have ordered him about everywhere.
Beckon, or call him over, like a dear.”
“Not for worlds!”
“I do believe you are afraid of him!”
“Afraid of him! What an idea!” said Crescenz, laughing
faintly.
“Yes, afraid of him,” persisted her friend; “and yet he
is not at all a person to inspire terror.”
“Oh, no, not at all,” said Crescenz; “I don’t think I am at
all afraid of him. Why should I?”
“Why, indeed! See, Crescenz, he is looking this way
now; just turn towards him and make some sign, or else I
must apply to Hildegarde.”
“Oh, go to Hildegarde, if you like,” said Crescenz, half
laughing; “but most probably they have just been quarrelling,
and, in that case, she will send you to papa or
mamma.”
“For that matter, I might as well go to your father at
once, as he is standing beside him; for a married woman it
would be of no consequence, you know; but, still, I should
prefer the introduction to appear accidental. Men are generally
vain—especially Englishmen, they say.”
“Oh, he is not at all vain, though Hildegarde insists that
// 153.png
.pn +1
he is; and says, too, that he ridicules everybody. She took
an inveterate dislike to him at first sight.”
“Well, that does surprise me, for his appearance is certainly
prepossessing; but I think also he has a tolerably good
opinion of himself: in so far I must agree with her; but
why should he not? He is certainly good-looking, probably
clever, and no doubt rich!”
“Oh, he is very clever,” said Crescenz; “even Hildegarde
allows that.”
“Well, my dear, to return; will you introduce him or
not?”
“Pray, don’t ask me.”
The Doctor’s wife shrugged her shoulders, shook back her
blonde ringlets, and walked, with an evident attempt at unconcern,
across the room.
“Hildegarde,” she said, tapping the shoulder which had
been purposely turned towards her, “Hildegarde, will you
introduce me to your Englishman? Crescenz says he is very
clever; and you know I like clever people, and foreigners.
But you must maneuvre a little, and not let him know that I
particularly requested to make his acquaintance.”
“I never maneuvre,” replied Hildegarde, bluntly; “you
might have known that by this time.”
“I did not just mean to say maneuvre; I only wished you
to understand that you were to manage it so that he should
not think I cared about the matter; in short, it ought to be
a sort of chance introduction.”
“Will you by chance walk across the room with me?”
“Impossible!”
“Shall I call him over here by chance?”
“Call—no, not call; but look as if you expected him to
come. He will be sure to understand.”
“He will not; for I do not expect him in the least. Crescenz
could have told you that we are not on particularly good
terms. You had better ask mamma.”
“Mein Gott! What a fuss the people make about this
Englishman. I think you are all afraid of him. Crescenz
certainly is.”
“I dislike him; but I am not afraid of him, as you shall
see. Mr. Hamilton,” she called out distinctly, and Hamilton,
though surprised, immediately approached her. Madame
Berger shook her hand and the pocket handkerchief most
// 154.png
.pn +1
playfully, and then took refuge on the sofa at some distance.
Hildegarde followed, quietly explaining that Madame Berger
wished to make his acquaintance, because he was a foreigner,
and supposed to be clever. Hamilton smiled as he seated
himself beside his new acquaintance, and in a few minutes
they were evidently amusing each other so much that Crescenz
observed it, and said, in a low voice, to her sister, “You
were quite right, Hildegarde; Lina is a desperate flirt. Do
look how she is laughing, and allowing Mr. Hamilton to
admire her dress.”
“He is making a fool of her. Now, Crescenz, if you are
not blind, you can see that expression of his face I have so
often described to you.”
“I only see he is laughing, and pulling the lace of her
handkerchief, which she has just shown him. I dare say he
is admiring it, for it is real cambric, and very fine.”
“He is not admiring it; his own is ten times finer.”
“Indeed! I have never remarked that; how very odd
that you should!”
“Not at all odd,” said Hildegarde quickly; “everyone
has some sort of fancy. You like bracelets and rings, and
I like fine pocket handkerchiefs.”
“Well, that is the oddest fancy,” said Crescenz, “the very
last thing I should have thought of. I don’t care at all for
pocket handkerchiefs.”
“Nor I for rings or bracelets,” replied Hildegarde.
“Come here, girls,” cried Madame Rosenberg; “what are
you doing with your two heads together there? Come and
help me to make tea. Hildegarde, there is boiling water in
the kitchen. Crescenz, you can cut bread and butter, or
arrange the cakes.”
Tea was then a beverage only coming into fashion in Germany,
and, in that class of society where it was still seldom
made, the infusion caused considerable commotion. Hildegarde
and her step-mother were unsuccessful in their attempt;
the tea tasted strongly of smoke and boiled milk. Everybody
sipped it, and wondered what was the matter, while
Madame Rosenberg assured her guests that she had twice
made “a tea,” and that it had been excellent; the cook,
Walburg, or, as she was called familiarly, Wally, must have
spoiled it by hurrying the boiling of the water. Mr. Hamilton,
as an Englishman, would, of course, know how to make
// 155.png
.pn +1
tea; he really must be so good as to accompany her to the
kitchen, and they would make it over again.
Hamilton agreed to the proposition with some reluctance,
for he had found his companion amusing; but, as she proposed
accompanying him, he was soon disposed to think tea-making
in a kitchen as amusing as it was new to him.
Madame Rosenberg, Hildegarde, Crescenz, and Major Stultz
followed, forming a sort of procession in the corridor, and
greatly crowding the small but remarkably neat kitchen
where they assembled. If it had not been for the stone
floor, it was as comfortable a room as any in the house; the
innumerable brightly shining brass and copper pans and
pots, pudding and pie models, forming the ornaments.
Round the hearth, or rather what is in England called a
hot-hearth—for the fire was invisible—they all stood to watch
the boiling of a pan full of fresh water, which had been
placed on one of the apertures made for that purpose. They
looked at the water, and then at each other, and then again
at the water; and then Wally shoved more wood underneath.
Still the water boiled not; and Madame Rosenberg and
Major Stultz returned to the drawing-room, Madame Berger
having undertaken, with Hamilton’s assistance, to make the
most excellent tea possible.
“It is an odd thing,” she observed, seating herself on the
polished copper edge of the hearth, and carefully arranging
the folds of her dress, “it is an odd thing, but nevertheless
a fact, that when one watches, and wishes water to boil, it
won’t boil, and as soon as one turns away it begins to bubble
and sputter at once. Now, Mr. Hamilton, can you explain
why this is the case?”
“I don’t know,” said Hamilton, laughing, “excepting that,
perhaps, as the watching of a saucepan full of water is by
no means an amusing occupation, one easily gets tired, and
finds that the time passes unusually slowly.”
“All I can say is—that as long as I look at that water, it
will not boil——”
“Then pray look at me,” said Hamilton, who had seated
himself upon the dresser, one foot on the ground, the other
enacting the part of a pendulum, while in his hands he held
a plate of little macaroni cakes, which Crescenz had just
arranged; “pray look at me. German cakes are decidedly
better than English—these are really delicious.”
// 156.png
.pn +1
“Oh, I am so fond of those cakes,” she cried, springing
towards him, “so excessively fond of them. Surely,” she
added, endeavouring to reach the plate, which he laughingly
held just beyond her reach, “surely you do not mean to
devour them alone.”
“You shall join me,” said Hamilton, “on condition that
every cake with a visible piece of citron or a whole almond
on it belongs to me.”
“Agreed.”
Her share proved small, and a playful scuffle ensued.
Crescenz turned towards the window, Hildegarde looked
on contemptuously. At this moment, Walburg exclaimed,
“The water boils!” and they all turned towards the hearth.
“How much tea shall I put into the teapot?” asked Madame
Berger, appealing to Hamilton.
“The more you put in the better it will be,” answered
Hamilton, without moving.
“Shall I put in all that is in this paper?”
Hamilton nodded, and the tea was made.
“Ought it not to boil a little now?”
“By no means.”
“Perhaps,” said Walburg, “a little piece of vanilla would
improve the taste.”
“On no account,” said Hamilton.
“The best thing to give it a flavour is rum,” observed
Madame Berger.
“I forbid the rum, though I must say the idea is not bad,”
said Hamilton laughing.
Hildegarde put the teapot on a little tray, and left the
kitchen just as her step-mother entered it.
“Well, the tea ought to be good! It has required long
enough to make it, I am sure!” she observed, while setting
down a lamp, which she had brought with her. “Crescenz,
your father, it seems, has invited a whole lot of people without
telling me, and he wishes to play a rubber of whist in the
bedroom. I have no more handsome candlesticks, so you
must light the lamp; the wick is in it, I know, for I cleaned
it myself before I went to Seon, so you have only to put in
the oil and light it.” She took Madame Berger’s arm, saying,
“This is poor amusement for you, standing in the
kitchen all the evening,” and walked away without perceiving
Hamilton, who was examining the construction of the hearth
// 157.png
.pn +1
and chimney with an interest which greatly astonished the
cook.
“Oh, Wally—what shall I do?” cried Crescenz, “I never
touched a lamp in my life, and I am sure I cannot light it.”
“It’s quite easy, Miss Crescenz; I’ll pour the oil, and you
light those pieces of wood and hold them to the wick.”
Crescenz did as she was desired.
“Stop till the oil is in, miss, if you please,” said Wally.
The oil was put in, the wick lighted, the cylinder fixed,
and Crescenz raised the globe towards its place, but either it
was too heavy for her hand, or she had not mentally measured
the height, for it struck with considerable force against
the upper part of the lamp, and broke to pieces with a loud
crash.
“Oh, heavens, what shall I do!” she cried in her agitation,
clasping the pieces of glass which had remained in her
hand. “What shall I do! Mamma will be so angry! I
dare not tell her—for my life I dare not. What on earth
shall I do!”
“Send out and buy another as fast as you can,” said
Hamilton. “Is there no glass or lamp shop near this?”
“I don’t know,” said Crescenz, blushing deeply.
“Yes, there is,” said Walburg, “in the next street, just
round the corner, you know, Miss Crescenz—but a——” and
she stopped and looked confused.
“I must tell mamma, or get Hildegarde to tell her. Oh,
what a misfortune! what a dreadful misfortune!”
“Go out and buy a globe, and don’t waste time looking
at the fragments,” said Hamilton, impatiently to Walburg.
“There is no necessity for saying anything about the
matter.”
“But,” said Walburg, hesitatingly, and looking first at
Crescenz, and then at Hamilton, “but I have no money.”
“Stupid enough my not thinking of that,” said Hamilton,
taking out his purse.
“That is at least a florin too much,” cried Walburg, enchanted
at his generosity.
“Never mind, run, run; keep what remains for yourself,
but make haste.”
“Oh, indeed I cannot allow this,” said Crescenz faintly;
“it would be very wrong—and——” but the door had already
closed on the messenger.
// 158.png
.pn +1
“Suppose, now—mamma should come,” said Crescenz,
uneasily.
“Not at all likely, as everyone is drinking tea.”
The drawing-room door opened, and the gay voices of the
assembled company resounded in the passage.
“I knew it, I knew it; she is coming,” cried Crescenz;—but
it was only Hildegarde, who brought the empty teapot
to refill it.
She looked very grave when she heard what had occurred,
and proposed Hamilton’s accompanying her to the drawing-room,
as he might be missed and Major Stultz displeased;
he felt that she was right, and followed silently. His tea
was unanimously praised, but Madame Rosenberg exhibited
some natural consternation on hearing that the whole contents
of her paper cornet, with which she had expected to
regale her friends at least half-a-dozen times, had been inconsiderately
emptied at once into the teapot!
“It was no wonder the tea was good! English tea, indeed!
Anyone could make tea after that fashion! But
then, to be sure, English people never thought about what
anything cost. For her part she found the tea bitter, and
recommended a spoonful or two of rum.” On her producing
a little green bottle, the company assembled around her with
their tea-cups, and she administered to each one, two, or
three spoonfuls, as they desired it.
In the meantime Mr. Rosenberg sat in the adjoining dark
bedroom at the card-table—sometimes shuffling, sometimes
drumming on the cards, and whistling indistinctly. Hildegarde
had observed an expression of impatience on his
face, and, to prevent inquiries about the lamp, she quietly
brought candles from the drawing-room and placed them
beside him.
“Thank you, Hildegarde,” said her father, more loudly
than he generally spoke; “thank you, my dear; you never
forget my existence, and even obey my thoughts sometimes.”
“Why, where’s the lamp?” cried Madame Rosenberg;
“where’s the lamp? What on earth can Crescenz have done
with the lamp?”
“Broken it, most probably,” said Mr. Rosenberg, dryly.
“Hildegarde, place a chair for Major Stultz. She’s a good
girl, after all, Major! a very good girl, I can tell you.”
// 159.png
.pn +1
“No doubt, no doubt,” replied the Major, bowing over the
proffered chair.
“Go and see why your sister does not bring the lamp,”
cried Madame Rosenberg impatiently.
As Hildegarde slowly and with evident reluctance walked
to the door, she unconsciously looked towards Hamilton; he
was listening very attentively to the rhapsody of sense and
nonsense poured forth by the Doctor’s wife, who occasionally
stopped to shake back, with a mixture of childishness and
coquetry, the long fair locks which at times half concealed
her face. Hamilton, however, saw the look, understood it,
and gazed so fixedly at the door, even after she had closed
it, that his companion observed it, and said abruptly: “Why
did you look so oddly at Hildegarde; and why do you stare
at the door after she has left the room?”
“If you prefer my staring at you, I am quite willing to
do so.”
“You know very well I did not mean any such thing,”
she cried with affected pettishness; “can you not be serious
for a moment, and answer a plain question?”
“I dislike answering questions,” said Hamilton absently,
and once more looking towards the door.
“Now, there you are again with your eyes fixed on that
tiresome——”
He turned around, took a well-stuffed sofa-cushion, and,
placing it before him, leaned his elbows upon it, while he
quietly but steadily fixed his eyes on her face, and said:
“Now, madame, if it must be so, I am ready to be questioned.”
“You really are the most disagreeable person I ever
met.”
“That is an observation, and not a question.”
“You are the vainest——”
Hamilton looked down, and seemed determined not to interrupt
her again.
“Are you offended at my candour,” she added, abruptly.
“Not in the least.”
“Put away that cushion, and don’t look as if you were
getting tired.”
“But I thought you were going to question me?”
“No, I am afraid.”
“Well, then I must question you,” said Hamilton, laughing.
// 160.png
.pn +1
“Why may I not look at Mademoiselle Rosenberg, and
why may I not look at the door, if it amuse me?”
“You may not look at the door, because in so doing
you turn your back to me, which is not civil,” she replied
readily.
“Very well answered; but now tell me why I may not
look at Mademoiselle Rosenberg?”
“Oh, you may look at her, certainly; but—but—but—the
expression of your face was not as if you disliked her.”
“And why should I dislike her?”
“I don’t know, indeed—only Crescenz told me that you
often quarrelled with her; and as Hildegarde knows no
medium, she most probably hates you with all her soul.
You have no idea of the intensity of her likings and dislikings!”
“Indeed?”
“At school she took a fancy to one of the governesses,
the most severe, disagreeable person imaginable; can you
believe it? This Mademoiselle Hortense was able to do
whatever she pleased with her; her slightest word was a
command to Hildegarde. I have seen her, when in the
greatest passion, grow pale and become perfectly quiet when
Mademoiselle Hortense suddenly came into the room. It
was, however, not from fear, for Hildegarde has no idea of
fearing anybody; she is terribly courageous!”
“Altogether rather an interesting character,” observed
Hamilton.
“Do you think so? I cannot agree with you. At school
we all liked Crescenz much better.”
“Very possibly—I can imagine your liking the one and
admiring the other.”
“As to the admiration,” said Madame Berger, looking
down—“as to the admiration of the girls at school, that was
very much divided: Hildegarde headed one party and I the
other.”
“You were rivals, then?”
“We were, in everything—even in the affection of her
sister. It was through Crescenz alone that I was able to
tease her when I chose to do so.”
“But you did not often choose it, I am sure.”
“Oh, I assure you, with all her love for Crescenz, she
often tyrannised over the poor girl, and scarcely allowed her
// 161.png
.pn +1
to have an opinion of her own on any subject. Crescenz was
a little afraid of her, too, at times. Cressy is the dearest
creature in the world, but not at all brilliant; we all loved
her, but we sometimes laughed at her, too; and you can
form no conception of the fury of Hildegarde when she used
to find it out. Crescenz has confessed to me, when we were
alone, that her sister had often lectured her on her simplicity,
and had told her what she was to do and say when we attempted
to joke with her. Nothing more comical than seeing
Crescenz playing Hildegarde.”
“Mademoiselle Rosenberg was considered clever?” asked
Hamilton.
“Clever! why yes—as far as learning was concerned she
was the best in the school, and that was the reason that
madame and the governess overlooked her violence of temper;
she is very ill-tempered.”
“That is a pity,” said Hamilton, “for she seems to have
excellent qualities.”
“I never could discover anything excellent about her,”
said Madame Berger, biting her lip slightly.
“Perhaps,” observed Hamilton, “she is more violent than
ill tempered; and you say that she can control herself in the
presence of anyone she likes.”
“But it is exactly these likings and dislikings that I find
so abominable; for instance, she loves her father—well, he
is a very good-looking, quiet sort of insipid man—she, however,
thinks him perfection, and is outrageous if people do
not show an absurd respect for all his opinions. What he
says must be law for all the world! On the other hand, she
dislikes her step-mother; who is nothing very extraordinary,
I allow—rather vulgar, too; but still she has her good qualities.
Hildegarde cannot see them, and will not allow Crescenz
to become aware of them either! Is not this detestable?”
“It is a proof that she has strong prejudices; but——”
The door just then was opened, and Crescenz entered the
room, carrying the lamp, and smiling brightly. It was heavy,
and Hamilton rose to assist her in placing it on the table
before the sofa where they sat.
“Thank you, oh, thank you!” cried Crescenz, with a fervency
which Madame Berger thought so exaggerated that
she found it necessary to explain.
// 162.png
.pn +1
“That dear girl is so grateful for the most trifling attention!
It is generally the case with us all for a short time
after we leave school.”
“There’s the lamp!” exclaimed Madame Rosenberg, “and
not broken! What do you say now, Rosenberg? I declare
it burns better than usual;—the globe has been cleaned, eh,
Crescenz?”
“Yes, Wally cleaned it a little; it was very dusty,” replied
Crescenz, looking archly at Hamilton, and seeming to enjoy
the equivocation.
Hildegarde blushed deeply, and walked into the next
room.
Hamilton saw the blush, and looked after her, while
Madame Berger whispered:
“Did you see that?—she is jealous of the praise bestowed
on her sister.”
“Jealous! oh, no!” said Hamilton, still following her with
his eyes.
“I beg your pardon!” cried Madame Berger; “I was not
at all aware that I was speaking to an adorer; I really must
go and tell her the conquest she has made.”
Perhaps she expected him to detain her, or she feared a
rebuff from Hildegarde; for she waited a moment before
she proceeded into the next room. Hamilton followed just
in time to hear Hildegarde say:
“Pshaw! you are talking about what you don’t understand,”
as she turned contemptuously away.
Madame Berger, to conceal her annoyance at Hildegarde’s
imperturbability, turned to Crescenz, who had been placed
next Major Stultz, at his particular request, in order to bring
him luck. Her presence, however, not having produced the
desired effect, he was told by Madame Rosenberg that those
who were fortunate in love were always sure to be unfortunate
at cards, which seemed to afford him great consolation;
while Crescenz smiled and played with his counters and
purse.
“I am sure, Crescenz,” said Madame Berger, “I am sure
you are thinking what sort of purse you will make for Major
Stultz this Christmas! You cannot allow him in future to
use leather. I can teach you to make a new kind of purse,
which is very strong and pretty.”
“Oh, pray do!” cried Crescenz, starting up; “you know
// 163.png
.pn +1
I like making purses, of all things. When will you begin it
for me?”
“To-morrow, if you like. I say, Cressy,” continued
Madame Berger, in a whisper, “what makes Hildegarde so
horribly savage this evening?”
“I did not observe it.”
“She is most particularly disagreeable, I can assure you.
I attempted some most innocent badinage about Mr. Hamilton,
and she——”
“Oh, about him you must not jest; she hates him so excessively——”
“Not a bit of it—and he does not hate her either.”
“You don’t say so?”
“I say so, and think so; and you will see that I am right.
Why, he already makes as many excuses as your father for
her ill-temper. If you had only heard him!”
“I did not think Hildegarde capable of playing double,”
cried Crescenz, with emotion.
“She is capable of anything. Had you but seen the look
of intelligence that passed between them when she left the
room to inquire about you, and the lamp, it would have
convinced you at once. And then he watched the door,
and——”
“Ah, yes!” exclaimed Crescenz, apparently greatly relieved;
“I understand. No, Lina, this time I am right, and
you are wrong, I know why he looked at Hildegarde, and
at the door.”
“You do!—do you? Then, come and tell me all about
it. By-the-by, I should like to have a long talk with you,
to learn how matters stand. This Mr. Hamilton is uncommonly
good-looking and amusing; I should like to know
what brought him to Seon, and how it happened that he
came to live with your mother, and all that. If we have
not time to-night, you can tell me to-morrow, while you are
learning the purse-stitch.”
An appointment was made for the next day, and the party
soon after broke up.
// 164.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch12
CHAPTER XII. || DOMESTIC DETAILS.
.sp 2
Hamilton had gone out early to visit Zedwitz, and look
at a horse recommended by Major Stultz. On his return,
when walking towards his room, he heard some one singing
so gayly in the kitchen that, as he passed the door, he could
not resist the temptation to look in. Crescenz was standing
opposite the hearth, a long-handled wooden spoon in her
hand, her sleeves tucked up, and her round, white arms embellished
with streaks of smut and flour; while a linen apron,
of large dimensions, preserved the greater part of her dress
from injury. Her face was flushed, partly from heat, but
more from pleasure. As soon as she perceived Hamilton in
the doorway, she at once ceased singing, laughed merrily,
and invited him to enter. Now to this kitchen Hamilton
had taken rather a fancy; he thought it by many degrees
the best furnished room in the house; in fact, it was a
pretty and cheerful apartment, and kept with a neatness
common in Germany, where it is usual to see the female
members of the burghers’ families employed in culinary
offices.
“I have got my first lesson in cookery to-day,” she exclaimed
joyfully; “and I have assisted mamma to make a
tart, and you see I am cooking these vegetables,” she added,
plunging her wooden spoon into one of the pots.
“Oh, yes, miss,” cried the cook, “that’s the soup, and the
noodles will be all squashed if you work them up after that
fashion.”
“Well, this is the sauer-kraut,” she said, eagerly drawing
one of the saucepans towards her; “this is the sauer-kraut.”
“I could have told you that myself,” cried Hamilton,
laughing; “the smell is too odious to admit of a doubt.”
“But the taste is very good,” said Crescenz.
“I cannot agree with you; taste and smell are horrible in
the extreme.”
“I never heard of anyone who did not like sauer-kraut,”
// 165.png
.pn +1
said Crescenz, with some surprise; “do people never make
it in England?”
“I never saw it, excepting at the house of a friend who
had been long ambassador at one of the German courts, and
then it was handed about as a sort of curiosity.”
“How odd! England seems to be altogether different
from Germany?” she half asked, while shaking her head inquiringly.
“The difference is in many things besides the eating or
not eating of sauer-kraut,” answered Hamilton; “but as you
are such a famous cook, I must beg you to give me something
else to-day, for I cannot eat your kraut.”
“Oh, yes!” cried Crescenz delightedly; “Wally, what shall
we cook for Mr. Hamilton? I am sure I never thought I
should have liked this cooking so much!” As she spoke,
she with difficulty repressed an inclination to dance about
the kitchen.
“Indeed, as you are learning it, Miss Crescenz,” said Walburg,
“it must be very agreeable. To think that you will
so soon have a house of your own, and a rich husband who
will let you have everything you like to cook. Tarts and
creams every day. The Major knows what’s good, or I am
greatly mistaken.”
This speech completely sobered Crescenz; had Hamilton
not been present she might have been loquacious; but she
now looked confused, and turned to leave the kitchen, saying
it was time to wash her hands for dinner.
“But I thought you were going to find me a substitute
for the sauer-kraut.”
“Wally will send in something,” she answered, rubbing
her arm with her apron to avoid looking up as she walked
into the passage. Hamilton was so near to her as she entered
her room that a feeling of politeness prevented her
from shutting the door, and he saw Hildegarde sitting at a
small deal table between her brothers Fritz and Gustle; a
few books and a slate were before her, and as the door
opened she was returning a book to the former, with the remark,
“This will never do, Fritz. You have not learned
one word of your lesson!”
“Kreuz! Himmel! Saperment!” exclaimed Fritz, pitching
the book up to the ceiling; “this is exactly too much!
when a fellow has been all the morning at school, and comes
// 166.png
.pn +1
home for an hour or so to eat and amuse himself, to be set
down in this way to learn French. I tell you what, Hildegarde,
I shall begin to hate the sight of you if you plague
me with these old grammars.”
“What shall I do with him?” asked Hildegarde, appealing
to her sister.
“Fritz, learn your lesson—there’s a love!” interposed
Crescenz; “see what a good boy Gustle is!” and she carelessly
placed her hand on the shoulder of the latter, who was
industriously rolling the leaf of his book into the form of a
trumpet, and yawning tremendously.
“I will give up all idea of ever entering the cadet corps,
or ever being an officer,” cried Fritz, kicking the book as it
lay upon the ground, “rather than write these odious exercises
and listen to Hildegarde’s long explanations.”
“But think of the sword and the uniform, Fritz,” said
Crescenz, coaxingly.
“Donner und Doria!—what is the use of a sword and uniform,
when I must learn vocabulary and write French exercises?”
“Come, Fritz,” cried Hildegarde, authoritatively, “let me
hear no more of this absurd swearing; it does not at all become
a boy of your age. If you will not learn your lesson,
I can, at least, correct your exercise.”
She stretched out her hand for the slate. Fritz anticipated
her, seized and flung it up in the air, as he had done
the grammar; but it did not fall so harmlessly. Hamilton,
who had been standing at the open door, rushed forward, but
was too late to prevent its descending with considerable
force upon her temple, where it made a wound, from which
the blood instantly began to trickle in large dark drops.
Hildegarde started up angrily, while Fritz, after the first
moment of dismay had passed, ran towards her, and throwing
his arms round her, exclaimed, “Forgive me, forgive me—indeed
I did not intend to hurt you.”
“If papa has come home from his bureau,” said Crescenz,
preparing to leave the room, “I’ll go this moment and tell
him.”
“Stay,” cried Hildegarde, hastily; “he says he did not
do it on purpose; and after all, I am not much hurt. You
must not tell papa or mamma either.”
“Well, you certainly are the best fellow in the world,
// 167.png
.pn +1
Hildegarde,” cried Fritz. “I declare I would rather be
cuffed by you than kissed by Crescenz.”
“And cuffed you would have been, had you been near
enough,” said Hildegarde, laughing, while she poured some
water into a basin.
“Mamma will be sure to see the cut, and ask how it happened,”
said Crescenz.
“I can easily hide it under my hair when it has stopped
bleeding.”
“Now just for that, Hildegarde,” cried Fritz, “I promise
to learn as many lessons as you please for the next fortnight.”
Madame Rosenberg’s step and the jingling of her keys
alarmed them all. Hamilton turned to meet her in the passage,
saying, “Can I speak to you for five minutes?”
“To be sure you can, and longer, if you like,” she replied,
hooking her keys into the string of her apron. “Just
let me look how things are going on in the kitchen, and I
am at your service as long as you please. Put a cover on
that pot, Walburg, and tell Miss Crescenz not to forget the
powdered sugar for the tart, and the apples for the boys’
luncheon. And now,” she said, turning to Hamilton, and
leading the way to her room, “what have you got to say?
You look so serious that I suspect you are going to tell me
that you dislike your rooms, as they look into a back street,
and are near a coppersmith’s. Captain Black left me for
that reason, although I told him he could look out of the
drawing-room windows as much as he pleased, and receive
all his visitors there. I could not make the coppersmith
leave his shop, you know; though this much I must say,
that in winter the nuisance is less felt than in summer, when
the workmen, during the fine weather, hammer away all day
in the lane, but in winter they work in the house, and shut
the doors, so that they are scarcely heard at all.”
“I have slept too soundly to hear the coppersmiths,” said
Hamilton, smiling; “and during the day I have been too
seldom in my room to be disturbed by them. In fact, I find
so much to amuse—I mean to say, so much to interest me
as a foreigner in your house, that I do not think half a dozen
smiths could induce me to leave you at present.”
“I am glad to hear it, for I like you very much, and so
does Rosenberg.”
// 168.png
.pn +1
“Then I hope you will not be offended if I request to
have wax candles in my room, and—a—fresh napkin every
day,” said Hamilton, with some embarrassment.
“This can easily be managed,” said Madame Rosenberg.
“Neither Mr. Smith nor Captain Black ever asked for wax
candles; but I suppose you have been brought up expensively.
Now, don’t you think spermaceti candles would do
just as well for a young man of your age—such candles as
you may have seen in my silver candlesticks for company?
Of course, I only mention this on your account.”
“You are very kind. I shall be quite satisfied with spermaceti—but
I have still something to request.”
“I can save you the trouble,” said Madame Rosenberg,
interrupting him. “You are not satisfied with your dinner,
and wish to go to a table d’hôte.”
“By no means!” cried Hamilton, eagerly. “There you
wrong me. I do not in the least care what I eat.”
“But, indeed,” said Madame Rosenberg, “I don’t think it
would be a bad plan were you to do so, after all, for you see
the girls must learn to cook, and things will be spoiled sometimes.
It is quite enough to have Rosenberg discontented,
without——”
“Oh, I promise never to be discontented,” said Hamilton,
laughing good-humouredly. “You have no idea how indifferent
I am on this subject.”
“I must say, Crescenz seems to have great taste for
cookery,” observed Madame Rosenberg, complaisantly;
“very great taste indeed; but I rather expect to find that
Hildegarde has no talent that way. I suspect we shall often
have burned cakes and spoiled pudding when her turn comes.
But you were going to say something else, I believe.”
“I was going to say, that I have been looking at horses
this morning which I feel greatly disposed to purchase, if I
were sure of finding a stable near this, and a respectable
groom.”
“Why, how lucky!” cried Madame Rosenberg. “There
is now actually a stable to let in this house; the new first
floors don’t keep horses, so you can have it all to yourself;
and old Hans asked me only yesterday if I could not recommend
his son to some one who wanted a groom or coachman!
I will go down with you at once, and look at the stable, and
you can speak to old Hans about his son.”
// 169.png
.pn +1
The arrangements were soon completed, and as they
ascended the stairs together, they met two very well-dressed
women, who bowed civilly, but distantly to Madame Rosenberg.
When they had passed, she observed to Hamilton—
“The new lodgers for the first floor; they come on the
29th of this month, and have been looking at their apartments,
which are being papered and painted. On the second
floor we shall find our landlord, who has the warehouse below
stairs, as he has six or eight children, and they make a
tremendous noise; I am better pleased to live above than
below them, though it is not so noble.”
After dinner, Hamilton, finding himself alone with Crescenz
in the drawing-room, insisted on her giving him a lesson
in German waltzing; she had just completed her instructions,
and they were whirling around the room for the first
time when the door was opened, and Hildegarde, having
looked in, closed it again without speaking.
“There, now!” cried Crescenz, walking with a look of
great vexation towards the open window; “was there ever
anything so provoking! and after our explanation last night,
too, but she really requires too much!”
“What does she require?” asked Hamilton, taking possession
of the other half of the window, and leaning on one
of the cushions, which, as usual in Germany, were conveniently
placed for the elbows of those who habitually gazed
into the street. “What does she require?”
“That I should never, for one moment, forget that I have
promised to marry Major Stultz. I know quite well that
she disapproves of my having danced with you.”
“And if you were to go to a ball now, would you not be
at liberty to dance with whomsoever you pleased?”
“Oh, of course.”
“Then, why not with me?”
“Oh, because—because—she knows that—I—that you—”
“In fact,” said Hamilton, “you have told her of my inexcusable
conduct the day we were on the alp.”
“No,” replied Crescenz, blushing deeply, “I have only
told her that you cannot marry without your father’s consent—that
the younger sons of English people cannot marry—just
what you told me yourself.”
“The recollection of that day will cause me regret as long
as I live,” said Hamilton, blushing in his turn; “thoughtless
// 170.png
.pn +1
words on such a subject are quite unpardonable. I hope
you have forgotten all I said!”
“I cannot forget,” said Crescenz, looking intently into the
street to hide her emotion—“I cannot forget—it was the
first time I had ever heard anything of that kind, and was
so exactly what I had imagined in every respect.”
Hamilton bit his lip, and replied gravely: “It was the
novelty alone which gave importance to my words; I am
convinced, had you considered for a moment, you would
have laughed at me as I deserved. Major Stultz must often
have said——”
“Major Stultz,” said Crescenz, contemptuously, “never
speaks of anything but how comfortably we shall live together,
and what we shall have for dinner, and how many
servants we shall be able to keep, and all those sorts of
things, which make it impossible to forget one year of his
age, or one bit of his ugliness.”
“He is a very good-natured man,” said Hamilton, “and
Zedwitz told me, has been a very distinguished officer.”
“You are just beginning to talk like Hildegarde,” cried
Crescenz, impatiently, “and from you, who are the cause of
my unhappiness, I will not bear it.”
“The cause of your unhappiness!” repeated Hamilton,
slowly; “if I really could believe that possible, nothing
would induce me to remain an hour longer in this house.”
“Oh, no,” cried Crescenz, hastily, “no! I did not mean
what I said. Oh, no! you must have seen that I am not
unhappy! I—I—am very happy,” and she burst into tears
as she spoke.
“Well, this is a punishment for thoughtlessness!”—exclaimed
Hamilton, starting from his place at the window,
and striding up and down the room. “Surely, surely, such
vague expressions as mine were did not deserve such a
serious construction!”
“Vague expressions,” repeated Crescenz, looking up
through her tears—“serious construction? Did you not
mean what you said?”
“By heaven! I don’t know what I said, or what I meant,”
cried Hamilton, vehemently.
Crescenz’s sobs became frightfully audible.
“Crescenz—forgive me,” he said hastily; “once more I
ask your pardon, and entreat of you to forget my folly. Let
// 171.png
.pn +1
this subject never again be mentioned, if you would not
make me hate myself.”
“But,” sobbed Crescenz, “but tell me, at least, that you
were not, as Hildegarde said, making a fool of me. Tell me,
oh, tell me, that you love me, and I am satisfied.”
“You—you do not know what you are saying,” cried
Hamilton, involuntarily smiling at her extreme simplicity.
“You are asking me to repeat a transgression which I most
heartily repent. Situated as you are, such a confession on
my part, now deliberately made, would be little less than—a
crime.”
“You mean because I am betrothed!”
He was spared an answer by Hildegarde’s entrance with a
small tray and coffee-cups. It was in vain that Crescenz
turned to the window to conceal her tears; Hildegarde saw
them, and, turning angrily to Hamilton, exclaimed:
“This is most unjustifiable conduct—dishonourable——”
“Oh, stop! Hildegarde!” cried Crescenz, beseechingly:
“Pray stop! You are, as usual, doing him injustice, and
misunderstanding him altogether.”
“Do not attempt a justification,” cried Hamilton, impatiently;
“she will not believe you. And,” he added in a
whisper, “in fact, I do not deserve it.”
Walburg interrupted them by half opening the door, and
informing them mysteriously, that an officer was without
who had asked for Mr. Hamilton.
“Show him into my sitting-room, and say I shall be with
him in a moment.”
“My visit is only partly intended for you, Hamilton,” said
Zedwitz, entering the room. “I wish also to pay my respects
to Madame Rosenberg.”
He had scarcely time to glance towards Hildegarde before
she left the room, followed by her sister.
“The young ladies are not particularly civil to you,” observed
Hamilton, seating himself on the sofa.
“Why, you did not expect them to remain here with us,
did you?”
“To be sure I did.”
“I did not, but I expect them to return with their mother.”
Crescenz did. Hildegarde did not. And in consequence
Zedwitz’s visit to Madame Rosenberg was very short, and he
soon adjourned to Hamilton’s room.
// 172.png
.pn +1
“Why, what’s this?” cried Madame Rosenberg, peeping
into the coffee-pot. “I do declare, Mr. Hamilton has forgotten
to drink his coffee!”
“Let me take it to him,” said Crescenz, advancing towards
the table.
“You will do no such thing,” said her step-mother, waving
her hastily back. “No such thing—and I think—that is,
the Major—but it is not necessary to explain. Call Hildegarde.”
Hildegarde came and was desired to carry the tray to
Hamilton’s room.
“May I not send Walburg?”
“You may not, because I have sent her on an errand, and
the coffee is too cold to be kept waiting until her return,
now that the fire is out in the kitchen.”
“But—but——” hesitated Hildegarde, “Mr. Hamilton is
not alone.”
“Count Zedwitz is in his room, but he won’t bite you, so
go at once, and don’t be disobliging.”
Half an hour afterwards Hamilton was in the corridor,
looking for his cane, which the children had mislaid. He
turned into the nursery, and while rummaging there, Madame
Rosenberg joined him, and hoped he had not found his coffee
too cold.
“Coffee! no—yes! When, where did I drink it?”
“In your own room,” replied Madame Rosenberg, laughing.
“Your memory must be very short; I sent it to you by
Hildegarde, about half an hour ago.”
He looked inquiringly towards Hildegarde. She raised
her eyes slowly from her work, and looking at him steadily
and gravely, said in French:
“I threw it out of the window rather than take it to you.”
“Next time I advise you to drink it,” said Hamilton,
laughing, as he left the room with Zedwitz. While descending
the stairs, he observed:
“Well, that is the oddest girl I ever met—perfectly original.
You have no idea how she amuses and interests me.”
“I can easily imagine it,” said Zedwitz, dryly.
“But you can not imagine how intensely she hates me.”
“That was what you desired, if I remember rightly; and
for your sake I hope you continue as indifferent as formerly.”
“Not exactly; I believe I rather feel inclined to like her
// 173.png
.pn +1
unpolished sincerity and straightforward vehemence; she
really would be charming sometimes, if she were a little less
quarrelsome.”
“I never found her quarrelsome,” said Zedwitz.
“Of course not, when you were enacting the part of
adorer. That makes all the difference in the world! But
what are you looking at?” asked Hamilton, seeing his companion
stop short at the street-door. “I see nothing but a
couple of officers lounging about the windows of that brazier’s
shop opposite, which cannot contain anything particularly
interesting, I should think.”
“Did you think they were admiring the coffee-pots and
candlesticks?” asked Zedwitz. “That’s only a feint—I saw
them looking up at the Rosenberg windows. It is a regular
window parade, and they have been here nearly an hour;
for I saw them in the street, as I entered the house. Let us
cross over and see whether it be intended for Hildegarde, or
Crescenz.”
They crossed the street, looked up, and saw Madame
Berger sitting at the window, teaching Crescenz the promised
pretty and strong purse-stitch. Although the latter appeared
extremely intent on her work, she was evidently aware
of what was passing in the street, for, as Zedwitz and Hamilton
saluted, she bowed and blushed deeply.
“She, at least, has not yet learned to play unconscious,”
observed Zedwitz, laughing; “Madame Berger can give her
some instruction.”
“Do you know Madame Berger?” asked Hamilton.
“Of course; her husband is our physician. She is very
pretty, and the greatest coquette in Christendom. I say,
Raimund, what are you admiring in that shop?” said Zedwitz,
stopping suddenly opposite the brazier’s and addressing
one of the officers.
“The kitchen utensils, Max! I shall soon be obliged to
purchase such things, and they have a kind of mysterious
interest for me now.”
“You don’t mean to say that you are going to keep house—going
to be married?”
“My father says so, which is much more to the purpose,”
replied Raimund.
“And who is the happy woman destined to make you a
respectable member of society?”
// 174.png
.pn +1
“They tell me she lives in that house,” replied Raimund,
pointing to the one they had just left.
“The third story?” asked Zedwitz, quickly.
“No, Max, for a wife I do not look so high,” replied the
other, ironically.
“And when may I offer my congratulations?”
“Not just now, if you please, for, as I have never yet
spoken to the lady, something might occur to prevent the
thing; but I have very nearly made up my mind.”
Zedwitz laughed and walked on with Hamilton. “I hope
he has told the truth,” he said, musingly; “I hope he has
told the truth, for I should be very sorry if he made his
way into the Rosenberg family. He is very clever, but a
great reprobate; has already seduced two girls of respectable
connections, and is not ashamed to boast of his success.”
“Were there no fathers, no brothers, no cousins, to compel
him to make reparation?” asked Hamilton.
“As it happened, there were none,” replied Zedwitz;
“but even if there had been, he has not the caution-money,
and could not marry. If he were serious just now, I suppose
his father has discovered some rich partie for him, and
that he will succeed, I do not for a moment doubt. He pretends
to have a regular system of seduction, which consists
in several gradations of improper books—it is disgusting to
hear him descant on the subject.”
“But he will carefully avoid anything of that kind with
his future wife?” said Hamilton.
“I was not thinking of his wife, for I do not know her; I
fear for the Rosenbergs—Hildegarde would be sure to attract
him.”
“He would, however, have no chance of success in that
quarter, I am sure,” said Hamilton.
“It is hard to say; her nature is passionate, and I should
be sorry to see her an object of attention to such a man.
The fact is, I find it impossible to forget her, and as long as
I know her to be free, I cannot cease to indulge hopes that
she may eventually be mine. What I most apprehend is a
sudden and violent passion on her part for some person as
yet, perhaps, unknown; for I believe her capable of loving
desperately.”
“And you very naturally wish to be the object of this
// 175.png
.pn +1
desperate love? But how are you to obtain your father’s
consent to your union?”
“Of that I have no hope whatever; but as I am an only
son, I have every chance of pardon were I once married.
My mother’s opposition is much less violent, but quite as
determined as my father’s, and the astonishment of both was
indescribable when I confessed that I had been refused without
explanation or chance of recall. All my hopes are now
centred in my sister, who is a dear, good little soul, and has
promised to assist me when she can. By-the-by, she made
a remark which may, perhaps, interest you.” Zedwitz
stopped and looked very hard at Hamilton.
“Pray let me hear it.”
“She said she was sure I should not have spoken in vain
had not Hildegarde loved another——”
“Well, that was your own modest idea, was it not?” said
Hamilton, interrupting him.
“Yes; but it was not my idea that you were the object of
her preference.”
Hamilton laughed.
“Perhaps you are already aware of it?” asked Zedwitz,
growing very red.
“No, indeed,” replied Hamilton, trying to look serious, “I
am only amused at your sister’s strong imagination; were
she, however, to see us together, and hear us speak, she
would soon think differently.”
“You forget that my sister was at Seon, and had opportunities
of making observations.”
“But she is not aware how desperately we quarrel; she
does not know——”
“I have told her all that, and she insists that Hildegarde
likes you without being herself conscious of it.”
“But I assure you she has told me more than once that
she hates me.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said Zedwitz, dryly, and immediately
after he changed the subject.
This conversation, notwithstanding the little impression it
had apparently made on Hamilton, took complete possession
of his thoughts, as he walked home late in the evening.
However incredulous he might at first have felt, the idea was
too flattering to his vanity to be lightly abandoned; and no
sooner had he admitted the possibility, than it became probability:
// 176.png
.pn +1
nay, almost certainty. It is extraordinary what a
revolution these reflections made in his feelings. Hildegarde
was so remarkably handsome that he had been compelled
to admire her person; her odd decided manners had always
amused him; but now that he imagined himself so much
the object of her preference as to cause her to refuse the addresses
of Zedwitz, his admiration began to verge towards
love; and the manners which had before caused him amusement
became the subject of deep interest, as affording a key
to the mind which, with secret satisfaction, he felt he had
always considered of no common stamp. Pleased with himself,
and unconsciously prepared to be more than pleased
with the subject of his thoughts, he bounded up stairs, rang
the bell, and was admitted by Hildegarde herself.
“Mr. Hamilton,” she said, with some embarrassment, “I
wish to speak to you alone for a few minutes, if you are at
leisure.”
“I am quite at leisure,” replied Hamilton, following her
towards the drawing-room. She walked directly to the window,
and desired him so haughtily to “shut the door,” that
he felt half inclined to be angry. After waiting some time
in vain expectation that she would begin the conversation,
he observed, with some pique at her apparent imperturbability—
“To what extraordinary event, or to what singular good
fortune, am I indebted for this interview, mademoiselle?”
No sooner had he spoken than he perceived that her composure
had been forced, that she was in fact struggling with
contending emotions, and quite unable to utter a word.
After some delay, she at last began in a constrained voice—
“Believe me, Mr. Hamilton, that nothing but my affection
for my sister could have induced me to trespass on your time,
or,” she added more naturally, “subject myself to your
sneers.”
Hamilton remained silent, and she again commenced with
evident effort. “You are aware that my sister’s feelings
towards you are more favourable than——”
“Than yours?” he asked, interrupting her.
“I have not requested this interview to speak of my own
feelings,” she answered, sternly and turning pale. “I wish
to point out to you how ungenerous, how cruel your conduct
has been to my gentle, confiding sister. You know the influence
// 177.png
.pn +1
you have acquired over her—you are aware that she is
on the eve of marriage with another, and that other person
she has yet to learn to love; instead of pointing out to her any
estimable qualities he may possess in order to reconcile her
to her fate, you turn him on all occasions into ridicule, and—and—not
content with changing her indifference for her
future husband into positive dislike, you take every opportunity
of paying her attentions, which, knowing the state of
her feelings towards you, is a refinement of cruelty that you
must acknowledge to be unpardonable.”
“You speak like a book, mademoiselle! Your affection
for your sister makes you absolutely eloquent! but would it
not have been better had you consented to marry Major
Stultz, and so saved your gentle, confiding sister from this
unwished-for connection? You would, no doubt, easily have
learned to love him and esteem any amiable qualities he may
possess!” He spoke calmly and ironically; but the idea of
the beautiful creature before him, as the wife of Major Stultz,
inflicted a pang of jealousy which sufficiently punished him
for his impertinence. Hildegarde was perfectly unconscious
of the feelings of her tormentor; he had intended to have
irritated her, for her self-possession wounded his vanity, while
her too evident dislike cut him to the quick. He failed,
however, for the first time, and most completely; either her
affection for her sister, or the consciousness of right, prevented
her from exhibiting even impatience when she again
spoke.
“You seem to have forgotten that Major Stultz’s proposal
to me was made after a two-days’ acquaintance. I refused
him because I did not like him, and I knew it could give no
pain to a man whose mere object was to have a wife to
manage his household concerns. It never occurred to me
that he would turn, half an hour afterward, to my sister,
and that my vehemence would only serve to make him more
cautious, and her fate more certain. You know he applied
to my step-mother, and wrote to my father. The answer
was a letter, full of reproaches to me, and of entreaties and
commendations to Crescenz, which, to her yielding nature,
were irresistible; and I do believe, if given time, and were
you not here, she might be reconciled to her lot. However
little Major Stultz may have cared for Crescenz at first, it is
impossible for him to remain long indifferent to so much
// 178.png
.pn +1
goodness. I think he already begins to be sincerely attached
to her; in time, gratitude and habit will enable her to return
his affection, and they may, eventually, be very happy. At
all events, my sister’s fate is now irrevocable.”
She paused for a moment, and then added: “Oh, Mr.
Hamilton, be generous! Spare her! Leave Munich—or,
at least, leave our house——”
“You require a great and most unnecessary sacrifice on
my part, mademoiselle. Suppose I were able to convince
you that my absence is unnecessary?”
“You cannot do so,” replied Hildegarde, with a slightly
impatient gesture.
“I have listened to you with patience and expect in my
turn to be heard,” said Hamilton, handing her a chair, which,
however, she indignantly refused.
“Your sister has most probably told you——” he began.
“My sister has told me nothing,” cried Hildegarde, interrupting
him angrily, “excepting that you said you could not
marry, or even think of marriage! The conversation which
preceded such a declaration I can imagine!”
“Indeed! It seems you have had experience in these
matters.”
Hildegarde bit her lip and tapped with her foot on the
floor, while Hamilton smiled provokingly, and watched her
varying colour.
“Ungenerous, unfeeling Englishman!” she cried at length;
“I—I see you are trying to put me into a passion—but I
am not angry, not in the least, I assure you,” she said, seating
herself on the chair he had before placed for her. “You
said,” she added in a constrained voice, “you said you were
able to convince me——”
“You have convinced me that you are a consummate
actress!” cried Hamilton, contemptuously.
“I am no actress!” she exclaimed, starting from her chair
with such violence that it fell to the ground with a loud
crash. “I am no actress! For Crescenz’s sake, I have
endeavoured to be calm, in the hope of making some impression
on you, but you are even more thoroughly selfish than I
imagined. This is the last time I shall ever speak to you!”
“Don’t make rash vows,” said Hamilton, coolly. “I dare
say you will often speak to me in time—perhaps condescend
to like me!”
// 179.png
.pn +1
“Never! I do not think there exists a more unamiable
being in the world than you are! I now see you are determined
not to leave our house, and only wonder I could have
been such a fool as to expect you to act honourably.”
Hamilton turned to the window to hide his rising colour.
“You are vindictive, too,” she continued, “cruelly vindictive.
It is because you dislike me; it is in order to make
me unhappy that you trifle with my sister’s feelings. You
do not, you cannot love her. She is not at all a person likely
to interest a man such as you are!”
“When did you discover that?” asked Hamilton, turning
suddenly round.
“No matter,” she replied, moving towards the door, somewhat
surprised at the effect her words had produced on him.
“No matter; I now see that these conferences and quarrels
are worse than useless, and——”
“I agree with you,” said Hamilton, quickly, “and am
most willing to sign a treaty of peace, on reasonable terms.
Suppose I promise never by word or deed to disparage Major
Stultz in future, and totally to abstain from all further attentions
to you sister?”
“That—is—better—than—nothing,” said Hildegarde,
slowly, “and as I am acting for the benefit of another, I
ought not to refuse a compromise. If you promise,” she
added, hesitatingly, “I—I think I may trust you.”
“And are you satisfied without my leaving the house?”
“I suppose I must be,” she replied, stooping to raise the
chair she had thrown down; Hamilton moved it from her,
and leaning on the back of it, asked if he might not now
hope, in case he conscientiously performed his promises, that
she would in future be at least commonly civil to him.
“You have advised me to make no rash vows,” said Hildegarde.
“The wisest thing we could both do would be never
to look at or speak to each other again.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Hamilton, gravely, “but
such wisdom is too great for me——”
She left the room while he was speaking, without even
looking at him.
“Zedwitz and his sister were totally mistaken,” thought
Hamilton, “but I am determined, since they have put it
into my head, to make her like me!”
// 180.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch13
CHAPTER XIII. || A TRUCE.
.sp 2
“Does Mr. Rosenberg never spend his evenings at home?”
asked Hamilton, after having waited three weeks in expectation
of becoming better acquainted with him.
“Oh, no; what could he do at home?” asked his wife,
seemingly surprised at the question.
Hamilton was silent; he remembered that he had never
seen Mr. Rosenberg converse with his wife.
“He never drinks his beer or reads the papers at home,”
she continued; “but you can go out with him whenever you
like—I wonder you do not, for it is very natural that you
should find it dull here when you cannot go to the theatre.”
“I do not find it dull,” said Hamilton; “and I should
not go so often to the theatre if I had not heard that it was
the best means to perfect one’s self in a foreign language.
By-the-by, I received a letter from my father this morning,
and he desires me forthwith to engage a German master;
he expects me to write German as well as English when I
return home, and says I should study German literature. I
wished to have asked Mr. Rosenberg to recommend me to
someone, for as I am not quite a beginner, I should like to
have a person really capable of directing my studies during
the winter. One can read a good deal in six months when
the dictionary is no longer in requisition.”
“If you wish to study French, Hildegarde could give you
instructions, for she understands it thoroughly; but German
has been rather neglected in her education. I really
think I must let her take lessons at the same time with you.”
“I shall be very much obliged to you,” said Hildegarde,
bestowing, for the first time, a look of regard on her step-mother;
“very much obliged indeed.”
“That will be delightful,” said Hamilton, eagerly. “I
have always received my German lessons with my sister, and
am particularly fond of learning in company.”
“May I not learn too, mamma?” asked Crescenz, timidly.
// 181.png
.pn +1
“What for?” asked her mother, with a laugh. “Have
you not already secured a good husband, who is satisfied
with you as you are? It would be time and money thrown
away, and you have enough to do preparing your trousseau
at present. The workwoman comes to-morrow, and we must
then begin in earnest. As to Hildegarde, she has thrown
away an opportunity which I hope she may not hereafter regret.
Husbands will not fall down from heaven to be picked
up just when she is in the humour to marry; she must try
in every way to improve herself now, as a time may come
when she may be obliged to give instruction. Life is precarious;
if anything should happen to your father——”
“My father!” exclaimed Hildegarde, anxiously. “Has he
been complaining lately? Do you fear a return of——”
“Your anxiety is unnecessary; he is at present perfectly
well,” answered her mother dryly. “I wish, when I am
really suffering, you would sometimes show a little of the attention
and anxiety which you bestow at times so unnecessarily
on him; it would become you better, Hildegarde, than
the cold heartlessness which you evince for everything that
concerns me. Crescenz is quite different, and therefore I feel
for her as if she were my own child.”
“But, mamma,” said Crescenz, in a very low voice, “you
are always kind to me!”
“Am I not kind to Hildegarde?”
Crescenz blushed, stammered, and looked anxiously towards
her sister.
“No,” said Hildegarde, courageously, “you are not kind
to me; perhaps I do not deserve it. I have no right to expect
you to love me, but I have a right to expect you to be
just.”
“I was disposed to be more than just to you at first, Hildegarde,
if you allowed me. Mr. Hamilton shall be judge between
us.”
“Excuse me,” said Hamilton, “I do not feel competent to
give an opinion on such a subject.”
“Chance has, however, placed you exactly in a position to
act as umpire; we must be satisfied with your decision, because
we know you to be an unbiassed looker-on. My step-daughters
were with me but a few weeks before I met you at
Seon; since that time you have been constantly with us.
Hildegarde, shall I go on?”
// 182.png
.pn +1
Hildegarde murmured something about “strangers” and
“family dissensions.”
“Mr. Hamilton is no longer a stranger; and as to the dissensions,
such as they are, he has been a witness to them.
For my part, I should like to explain, but if you acknowledge
that you have been unjustly and unnecessarily prejudiced
against me, I shall be silent.”
“Mr. Hamilton is not so unbiassed an arbitrator as you
suppose,” observed Hildegarde, looking up steadily while she
leaned on the table.
Madame Rosenberg looked from one to the other with a
puzzled air, until Hildegarde added: “He will find it difficult
not to lean to your side, and take your part, even if he
wished to be just, because he dislikes me personally.”
“Another argument against you, Hildegarde!” cried
Madame Rosenberg, triumphantly. “Why should he dislike
you more than another, if you were not less amiable?
Your own words condemn you!”
“Be it so,” said Hildegarde, with some emotion. “No
one loves me but—but—my father.”
“I love you, Hildegarde,” whispered Crescenz, gently
taking her sister’s hand, and, at the same time, looking
timidly towards her step-mother, “I love you too.”
“I shall soon see your affection decline; it cannot be
otherwise,” said Hildegarde, bending over her work to conceal
the large tears which stood in her eyes, ready to fall
when she could permit them to do so unperceived.
Madame Rosenberg was not a person of much observation,
although possessed of a good deal of common sense.
She heard the words, and answered to them. “Of course,
when Crescenz marries, you cannot expect any longer to be
her first object; Major Stultz will, and ought to take your
place in her affections—it is the way of the world—the law
of nature!”
Hildegarde’s work dropped from her hands. Hamilton,
who was sitting beside her, picked it up; and as she stooped
to take it from him, the tears which he had been watching
in stolen glances, now, to his infinite dismay, fell slowly on
his hand. He started, as if they had hurt him; and then,
under pretence of seeking a book, left the room, hoping to
find the discussion at an end on his return. He was mistaken;
on again opening the door, Madame Rosenberg was
// 183.png
.pn +1
speaking with even more than usual volubility. “The fact
is, Hildegarde, you cannot pardon my being a smith’s daughter;
although I was a much better match for your father
than his first wife, with all her fine relations! What’s the
use of being a countess when one is penniless? Your mother
had not even a respectable trousseau—there is scarcely anything
remaining to be given to Crescenz; and you know
yourself, your relations have been so unkind that your father
never intends to allow you to visit them; and I am quite
sure were you to meet them in the street they would look
away to avoid bowing to you. Take my advice, Hildegarde,
forget that your mother was a Countess Raimund, remember
that your father is plain Franz Rosenberg; and though your
mother is a smith’s daughter, you ought not to forget that
many of the comforts of your home come from her, and the
produce of the much despised iron works. Cease to fancy
yourself a martyr to a cruel step mother; I might be a great
deal worse than I am; if you find me sometimes a little
strict, it is only for your good, and necessary, too, at your
age! As to your refusal of the Major, I shall never mention
it again—he has not gone out of the family, you know; if
he had not proposed to Crescenz, I could not have got over
the loss or forgiven you so easily. You must endeavour to
correct your irritability of temper, and I am sure in time
everyone will like you; even Mr. Hamilton will overcome
his dislike to you.”
Hildegarde’s varying colour showed how much she suffered
during this speech; and Hamilton was again on the
point of leaving the room, when Madame Rosenberg called
out: “You need not run away again, we have talked the
matter out, and intend to be good friends in future, eh, Hildegarde?
Come here and give me a kiss to prove that you
bear no malice.”
Hildegarde put aside her work, approached her step-mother,
and received her hearty kiss with an evident effort
at cordiality.
“May I hope to be included in this reconciliation?” asked
Hamilton, holding out his hand, with a smile.
Hildegarde pretended not to understand him; and again
took her place at the table.
“Hildegarde,” said her step-mother, “you may give your
hand to Mr. Hamilton—he is an Englishman, and will put
// 184.png
.pn +1
no wrong construction on the action. Captain Smith told
me that shaking hands is a common English custom, and
means nothing more than kissing a lady’s hand here.”
“I should think it must mean a great deal less,” said
Hamilton, laughing, while Hildegarde, after a moment’s consideration,
placed her hand in his, and unreservedly returned
his firm pressure.
“Ah! here comes the Major,” cried Madame Rosenberg,
as a slight knock was heard at the drawing-room door.
“Come in, Major, and tell us what you have been doing with
yourself the whole afternoon; we expected you to supper,
and I should not be surprised if Crescenz were to scold you
a little for your unusual absence.”
“I cannot imagine Crescenz scolding me, even if I deserved
it, which, however, in this instance, is not the case,” said
Major Stultz. “I have spent the whole day in lodging-hunting.
The sooner I am established the better, as Crescenz
must assist me to choose our furniture.”
“Why, what a hurry you are in,” said Madame Rosenberg,
with evident satisfaction. “Quite an ardent lover, I
declare. However, I shall not be behindhand in performing
my part. The workwoman comes to-morrow, and then we
shall work our fingers to the bone, eh, Crescenz?”
Crescenz blushed, and smiled faintly.
“I should like very much to talk over the different lodgings
with you, Crescenz,” said Major Stultz, growing very
red. “I have noted them for that purpose in my pocket-book.
That is,” he added, in a whisper, “if we can go to
another table.”
Madame Rosenberg heard the whisper, pushed a candle
towards him, and pointed to a card-table at the other end of
the room. No sooner were they established at it than she
jingled her keys once or twice, as a sort of tacit excuse, and
then left the room.
Hamilton, who was, as usual, sitting near the stove, pretended
to be wholly occupied with a book; his eyes, nevertheless,
wandered perpetually over it, towards Hildegarde,
who now began strangely to interest him. As the door closed
on her mother, her hands fell listlessly on her lap, and by
degrees became clasped round her knee, while she gazed
steadfastly on the floor for several minutes. She then raised
her head, and having looked at her sister for some time,
// 185.png
.pn +1
turned towards Hamilton, but so slowly that he was able to
fix his eyes on his book, although he coloured violently in
doing so; he thought she must perceive his confusion, and
continued pertinaciously to read the words, although they
conveyed no idea whatever to his mind. When he had
reached the end of the page, he became curious to know
whether or not she was still looking at him, and, after a
moment’s hesitation, he half turned over the leaf, and at the
same time raised his eyes without moving his head; he had
given himself unnecessary trouble to catch her glance—her
eyes met his with the most unconcerned expression possible,
and though he felt that he continued to blush, she either did
not observe it, or attributed it to the heat of the room.
“I wonder that you can sit so near the stove, and that
you can read at such a distance from the candle,” she observed,
quietly.
“I am rather surprised at it myself,” answered Hamilton,
pushing his chair close to hers, so as to form a tête-à-tête.
“Perhaps if I snuff the candle you will be better able to
read.” She snuffed the candle out.
“Thank you,” said Hamilton, vainly attempting to repress
a laugh; “I have no doubt I shall be better able to read
now. Perhaps you have done this on purpose to make me
feel that I ought to have snuffed the candle myself.”
“Oh, no, indeed,” said Hildegarde, joining half unwillingly
in the laughter, “I happened to overhear something which
Crescenz said, and then I looked up and——”
Crescenz rose from her chair, looked at them for a moment,
and then, in a voice of ill-suppressed emotion, stammered
out: “They—they—are laughing at me—at us!”
“No, oh no!” cried Hildegarde, eagerly, taking up the
extinguished candle to light it. “No, indeed, Mr. Hamilton
is laughing because I have snuffed out the candle, and I am
laughing I don’t know what for,” she added with a sigh. “I
am sure I never felt less inclined to be merry in my
life.”
Crescenz sat down again, but followed her sister with her
eyes as she turned to her place. Major Stultz in vain talked
of his yellow sofa and six chairs, and asked her whether
he should buy a long or a round table for her drawing-room;
or proposed purchasing both, if she wished it. She heard
him not, for Hildegarde was again beside Hamilton, and he
// 186.png
.pn +1
was leaning on the arm of his chair, and looking at her as
Crescenz had never seen him look at anyone before.
“Crescenz! you do not hear a word I am saying,” exclaimed
Major Stultz at length. “Not one word! If you
wish it, we can return to the other table, and then you can
watch your sister playing with the snuffers and the wick of
the candle at your leisure.”
Crescenz did not answer.
“Perhaps,” he continued, yielding to an unconquerable
feeling of jealousy, “perhaps I have mistaken the object of
your attention—I do believe you are admiring the bold black
eyes of that long-legged English boy!”
Crescenz blushed deeply and turned away.
This was stronger confirmation than he had expected, and
he now continued, in the low voice of suppressed anger: “I
have long suspected something of this kind, Crescenz—your
mother desired me to say nothing to you about it, as she
imagined you too innocent to be capable of such perfidy—I
cannot, at my age, expect you to love me as I do you—but I
did imagine that in time I should gain your affection—if
this be not possible, tell me so at once, for I will not be made
a fool of by you or any one else!”
“I don’t understand you!” cried Crescenz, terrified at his
constrained manner and flushed face, “I don’t in the least
understand you!”
“Then I will speak to your mother,” he cried, rising
hastily, and pushing back his chair with great violence.
“She will understand me quickly enough.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t complain of me!” cried
Crescenz beseechingly, while the tears started to her eyes.
“I will do anything you please, and pay the greatest attention,
if you will only promise not to tell mamma.”
“Then you did understand me, and know what I was
about to say to her?” he asked, frowning.
“Oh, yes—you were going to tell her that I would not
talk about the furniture, and that I looked at Hildegarde
playing with the snuffers—and—Mr. Hamilton with his foot
on the stove, instead of listening to you!”
This speech was made with consummate cunning—a more
common ingredient in the composition of weak characters
than is generally supposed. Major Stultz’s manner had
frightened Crescenz—she feared the anger of her step-mother
// 187.png
.pn +1
and the reproaches of her father, for she was essentially
timid, and the want of moral courage made her affect
a simplicity which, although in perfect keeping with her real
character, was on the present occasion mere acting, as she
had perfectly understood Major Stultz’s meaning. She could
not have answered better; he was deceived, and while wiping
the perspiration from his crimson face, he begged her to forgive
his impatience, said that he had been guilty of entertaining
odious suspicions, and though Crescenz continued to
blush while he spoke, and would not raise her eyes from the
table, he was too generous to distrust her again, and attributed
her subsequent embarrassment altogether to timidity.
Partly from a jealous recollection of the expression of Hamilton’s
eyes, partly from shame at her own duplicity and annoyance
at the unmerited praises now lavished on her by her
lover, Crescenz began to weep bitterly, and poor Major Stultz
was obliged to talk a deal of youthful nonsense in order to
restore her equanimity, and induce her to continue the interrupted
conversation.
In the meantime, the unconscious cause of all the disturbance
had indulged in a long scrutiny of Hildegarde’s beautiful
profile. She put an end to it by turning to him, and
saying with a glance at his book: “You must have been
reading French or English—our German letters at such a
distance from the light would have been illegible.”
“I have been reading Bulwer’s last novel. It is extremely
interesting.”
“Indeed! I wish you would lend it to me before you send
it back to the library.”
“Is it possible you understand English, and have never
spoken one word to me!” exclaimed Hamilton.
“I do not see anything extraordinary in that,” replied
Hildegarde, smiling.
“You speak French so remarkably well, that I know you
have a talent for languages. I dare say you speak English
perfectly!”
“I cannot speak a word.”
“You have not had enough practice, perhaps, but you
understand it when it is spoken.”
“Not a syllable.”
“Then may I ask you what you intend to do with this
novel when I lend it to you?”
// 188.png
.pn +1
“Read it from daybreak until seven o’clock, and at night
as long as my candle lasts,” replied Hildegarde, taking the
book from him and looking at the title page.
“If you can read that book, and understand it, you must
be able to speak a little,” observed Hamilton.
“I tell you I can neither speak nor understand English
when it is spoken, and yet I can read this novel, if you will
lend it to me, quite as well as if it were French or German.”
“You have had an odd kind of master!”
“I have had no master at all—mamma thought English
an unnecessary study, though I should have greatly preferred
it to music. The master too was expensive, so I was obliged
to give up all hope of instruction; but I had heard of some
person who had learned to read and understand a language
perfectly without being able to pronounce a word, and who
found it very easy, when chance gave him an opportunity to
learn the pronunciation afterwards. I begged papa to buy
me a grammar and dictionary, borrowed all the English
books I could get from my school-fellows, learned them
almost by heart from having read them so often; and when
the Baroness Z— lent me some English novels at Seon, I
scarcely missed my dictionary, which I had left in Munich.”
“What extraordinary perseverance!” exclaimed Hamilton,
with undisguised admiration.
“Mamma would call it obstinacy,” said Hildegarde quickly.
“Nothing would induce me to tell her that I had dared to
learn English, after she had refused to let me take lessons.”
“There is a great difference between obstinacy and perseverance,”
said Hamilton.
“The difference is sometimes difficult to define—my step-mother
says I am obstinate!”
“I really do think your organ of firmness must be tolerably
well developed,” said Hamilton, laughingly placing his
hand on the top of her head.
Hildegarde coloured, and hastily pushed back her chair—he
saw she did not understand him, but he was too lazy to
explain. The thought passed quickly through his mind,
that it was odd his not as yet having met a single person
who understood or was interested about phrenology in Germany—the
country of Gall and Spurzheim!—while in England
most people had read Combe’s works, attended lectures
on, or had at least heard phrenology spoken of sufficiently to
// 189.png
.pn +1
understand what he had just said. “You can keep the book if
you wish it,” he observed, in order to renew the conversation.
“But you have not quite read it,” said Hildegarde, “and
I can imagine nothing more disagreeable than resigning a
novel before one knows how it ends. Perhaps other people
do not feel the same degree of interest that I do, but——”
“I have often sat up until four o’clock in the morning to
read an interesting novel,” said Hamilton.
“It must be very pleasant to have a light as long as one
pleases at night! Mamma is quite surprised when I ask for
a candle oftener than every three days, and then she always
observes that sitting up at night is very injurious to the
health and eyes, and I get nothing but little ends of candle
for a fortnight afterwards.”
“I will give you as many candles as you can burn,” said
Hamilton, laughing.
“That was not what I meant,” said Hildegarde in great
confusion. “I dare say mamma is right. For in summer,
though I only read in bed from daylight until six o’clock, I
have often felt terribly fatigued during the day afterwards—I
heard mamma tell papa, that if you were her son, she
would go into your room every night at ten o’clock, and put
out your candles.”
“I do not exactly wish her to be my mother, for the sake
of having a living extinguisher, which I should consider
rather a bore than otherwise,” said Hamilton, “but if she
were my mother, you would of course be my sister, and I
should have no objection to that relationship.”
“Have you a sister?” asked Hildegarde, abruptly.
“Yes, an only sister, and I like her better than all my
brothers put together.”
“And do you not quarrel with her?”
“Never. She is my most intimate friend when I am at
home, my principal correspondent when I am abroad. She
is the most amiable, the most excellent of human beings!”
“Older? much older than you?” asked Hildegarde, with
some appearance of interest.
“Only a year or two,” replied Hamilton. “We learned
French as children together, and afterwards Italian and
German. You will take her place to-morrow or the day
after, when we begin our studies, and if you wish to learn to
speak English, I am quite willing to assist you.”
// 190.png
.pn +1
“Oh, delightful!” cried Hildegarde, unconsciously moving
her chair quite close to his, and leaning her hand
confidentially on the arm of it; “delightful! that is exactly
what I have long wished for; but,” she added hesitatingly,
“but I fear you will expect me to—to—that is,
not to——”
“What?” asked Hamilton, with a smile.
“Not to say what I think; or—or quarrel in future.”
“I made the offer unconditionally; we can fight our battles
all the same, whenever you feel disposed.”
“If that be the case,” said Hildegarde, apparently much
relieved, “I accept your offer, thankfully, and I hope I shall
not give you much trouble.”
“Suppose you take your first lesson now,” said Hamilton.
“As you merely require the pronunciation, let us begin with
this book.” He laid it before her as he spoke, and they both
turned towards the table. Hildegarde began at once to read,
but with the most unintelligible foreign accent he had ever
heard. He used his utmost effort to suppress his laughter,
and did not venture to correct a single word. At the end
of the page she looked up rather surprised, and encountered
Hamilton’s eyes brilliant with suppressed mirth, while every
other feature of his face was drawn into a forced seriousness
of expression, forming altogether so extraordinary a distortion
of countenance that she threw herself back in her chair
and burst into a fit of laughter.
“Why don’t you laugh out, if you feel inclined?” she
asked, as Hamilton half covered his face with his pocket-handkerchief.
“I really was afraid of offending you,” he replied.
“Oh! you never can offend me by laughing openly; it is
only by speaking ironically or sneering that you can annoy
me, and make me feel almost inclined at times to give you a
box on the ear.”
“I give you leave to do so whenever you please,” said
Hamilton; “but you will incur a penalty of which I shall
most certainly take advantage.”
“And what may that be?”
“If my lips may not explain otherwise than by words,
they decline the office.”
Hildegarde bent her face over her book, shaded her eyes,
and remained silent.
// 191.png
.pn +1
“Go on,” said Hamilton; “now that you have given me
leave to laugh I have lost all inclination.”
Hildegarde continued to read, looking up, however, at the
end of every sentence, and asking for the necessary corrections.
When Major Stultz stood up to take leave, he put an end
to the first of the English lessons, which were, however, continued
with unfailing regularity every day from that time
forward. A young medical student, recommended alike for
his talent and poverty, was engaged to give German lessons,
and the drawing-room being found too subject to interruptions,
Hamilton’s sitting-room was converted into a study.
The youthful preceptor seemed to enjoy his pupil’s society,
and often remained long to discuss literary and philosophical
subjects with Hamilton, and not unfrequently to smoke a
cigar, Hildegarde having had the complaisance to profess to
like the smell of tobacco when it was good.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch14
CHAPTER XIV. || A NEW WAY TO LEARN GERMAN.
.sp 2
One day Madame Berger proposed spending the afternoon
with the Rosenbergs, as her husband was to be absent until
late in the evening: the offer was of course accepted, and
she was received by Crescenz with delight and conducted to
her room. After removing her bonnet and carefully arranging
her hair and dress, Madame Berger repaired to the
drawing-room, seemed exceedingly surprised to find it unoccupied,
and having opened the door of the adjoining bedroom
and finding it equally deserted, she tapped Crescenz
playfully on the arm, exclaiming, “Well, my dear child, what
have you done with your Englishman?”
“Nothing,” replied Crescenz despondingly. “I begin to
think you were right, Lina; he certainly admires Hildegarde,
and she now scarcely ever quarrels with him, and has even
begun to ask his opinion on different subjects. They do
nothing but read English and German together, and talk of
their books until it is quite tiresome. Yesterday evening,
// 192.png
.pn +1
when they were both discussing Faust and Mephistopheles,
which I remember papa once said few people could altogether
understand, I could not help reminding them of Schiller’s
Ballad of the Glove, about which they had once quarrelled
so desperately; and can you believe it? they both began to
laugh; but I saw that Hildegarde grew red, and I am sure
she found it difficult not to fight the battle over again!”
“My dear Crescenz, you must take my advice, and put
this Englishman quite out of your head. As to his studies,
I know all about them, and I have heard that he is extremely
clever and possessed of extraordinary information for his
age; he can talk of history, politics, commerce and all those
sort of things, like a professor! I can set your mind quite
at ease with respect to Hildegarde; her whole mind is bent
upon profiting as much as possible by the instruction which
she is receiving, and if your Englishman has any fancy for
her, she is as yet quite unconscious of it. Heaven help him!
when she finds it out, that’s all—she will be a proper tyrant!
For so far, however, nothing of the kind has become apparent
on either side, and I have repeatedly made the most particular
inquiries.”
“From whom? How did you hear all this? I don’t
understand——”
“Why, my dear creature, who of all persons in the world
do you think has been engaged as teacher? Theodor!
Theodor Biedermann! my Theodor! he has told me that the
hours he spends here are his greatest recreation, that Mr.
Hamilton is the most noble, charming, intellectual person in
the world, and that he already feels a friendship for him
which can only end with his life.”
“And so Mr. Biedermann is Theodor,” said Crescenz; “I
should never have thought it.”
“Of course not, as I never spoke of him, excepting by
his Christian name; you could not know him by inspiration!”
“No—but he is not at all what I fancied.”
“And pray what did you fancy him?”
“Indeed, I don’t exactly know, but as you said he wrote
beautiful verses and sang to the guitar, I thought he must
look like a poet, a troubadour, or something of that sort.”
“Ha, ha, ha! what a child you are!” cried Madame
Berger superciliously, but at the same time colouring
// 193.png
.pn +1
slightly. “What a complete child! and pray, my dear, can
you inform me how a poet or troubadour ought to look?”
“Not in the least like Mr. Biedermann,” cried Crescenz,
apparently roused to something like anger by her friend’s
manner. “Not in the least like Mr. Biedermann, who is
just the most commonplace of commonplace students, with
his open shirt-collar and long Henri-quatre beard, and his
light hair and eyes, and red face! and——”
“Stop—stop—my dear, I understand you now—Theodor
is not tall enough to please you—he ought to have dark hair,
black eyes, long eyelashes, and a pale complexion, all very
interesting no doubt, but people answering to this description
cannot always write verses, or sing to the guitar; and I can
tell you that Mr. Hamilton can neither do one nor the other.
Your sentimental love and admiration are all thrown away
on him, Cressy; he does not think of you, and the sooner
you put him out of your little head the better.”
“You are unkind, Lina!”
“And you still more so, Crescenz, to disparage poor Theodor
so unnecessarily.”
“But he is nothing to you now?”
“Oh, of course not—and still I must always have a very
sincere regard for him—he, poor soul, is as desperate about
me as ever! Heigho! I must confess, I half feared he
would waver in his allegiance when I heard that he came
here every day. Men are so fickle!”
“Why, surely, you did not think that I——”
“Oh, not at all, my dear—you are engaged, you know, so
I never thought of you, but Hildegarde——”
“I can tell you, Hildegarde would never think of him,”
cried Crescenz, triumphantly.
“Nor he of her, I assure you,” said Madame Berger; “he
will scarcely allow her to be handsome!”
“Well, to be sure!” said Crescenz. “That does surprise
me. I never heard of anyone who did not think Hildegarde
handsome!”
“Beauty, my dear, is a matter of taste. Theodor does
not deny her having regular features, but it is exactly that
which he cannot admire; he says there is something statue-like
in her whole appearance, a certain proud expression in
the drawn-down corners of her mouth—in short, he said she
was a person a man could admire, but never love. There
// 194.png
.pn +1
is a great difference, as you will understand a few years
hence.”
“I should like to know,” said Crescenz, somewhat impatiently,
“I should like to know if I shall be as much changed
by marriage as you are, Lina! I am sure I hope not; for,
instead of springing about or talking good-humouredly as
you used to, you are always lecturing and calling me child,
which, I must say, is very disagreeable. I shall soon be
sixteen years old, and married too; and I won’t be called
child any longer.”
“I vow, Cressy, you have taken a lesson from your sister,
and are working yourself into a passion. The Doctor says
child to me very often, and I am not at all offended; but
instead of quarrelling, you ought to try and amuse me, as I
am your guest to-day. Where are Hildegarde and Mr.
Hamilton?”
“They are studying German with Mr. Biedermann.”
“I know that already; but where are they?”
“In Mr. Hamilton’s room.”
“Indeed! Oh, then, we may go there too, I suppose?”
“Better not—they left this room on account of the interruptions;
and mamma has desired me not to go there.”
“Very proper as a general rule; but when I am here to
chaperon you, the case is different.”
“I don’t think I ought to go,” said Crescenz, drawing back.
“Pshaw! nonsense! When Hildegarde is there, there can
be no impropriety for us!” and as she spoke she drew the
only half-reluctant Crescenz after her down the passage.
“Are not the large rooms at the end his?” asked Madame
Berger.
“Yes; but indeed it is not right to interrupt them; I am
sure mamma will be angry.”
“Tell her I insisted on seeing Theodor,” replied Madame
Berger, as she knocked loudly at the door, but received no
permission to enter.
“I told you they were too busy to receive visitors,” said
Crescenz.
“What an odd noise they make!” cried Madame Berger,
listening at the door before she again knocked, “what a
very odd noise!” Her curiosity was excited, and without
waiting for an answer to her second summons, she opened
the door and discovered Hamilton and his German master
// 195.png
.pn +1
completely equipped with foils and visors, fencing most energetically.
Chairs and tables were heaped up in a corner,
and so well matched and eager were the combatants that
they long remained unconscious of the presence of spectators.
“A new way to learn German!” said Madame Berger to
Hildegarde, who was sitting at the window reading.
“Our lesson is long ended,” she replied, closing her
book.
“Then pray why did you not come to the drawing-room?”
asked Madame Berger.
“Because it is quieter here,” replied Hildegarde.
“Quieter! Do you call this quiet? I could not read a
word if I heard the clashing of swords.”
“They are only foils; and I have got used to the sound—boxing
is quieter; but they are not well matched, I believe,
as Mr. Biedermann is only a beginner.”
“Why, Theodor, is it possible you are learning to box like
an Englishman? I should like of all things to know what it
is like. Pray do box a little for me.”
“No, thank you; I do not appear to advantage. In fencing
we are well-matched,” he said, playing with the foil as
he looked towards Hamilton for confirmation; “but you
must not forget that you have promised to come to my room
some day and try how you can manage a sabre.”
“Your horse is saddled, sir,” cried Hans, in a loud voice,
at the door.
“Well, come in,” cried Hamilton, “and put the chairs
and tables in their places; and, next time, when you see I
have visitors, say nothing about the horse.”
“Beg pardon, sir, I thought only our young ladies were in
the room.”
“Oh, promise to ride up and down the street to show
your horse to us,” cried Madame Berger, “I am so fond of
seeing horses. Come, Crescenz, let us look out of the window—and
you may come too,” she added graciously to Theodor
as she left the room.
When Hamilton was about to mount, he looked up towards
the house, but saw so many heads looking out of so
many windows that he desired Hans to parade the horse for
him. It was in vain Madame Berger opened the window
and called out to him—he stood with his arms folded, admiring
the animal himself while it was being put through all
// 196.png
.pn +1
its paces, and then quietly mounting, rode very slowly from
the door.
“Why, Theodor you told me he was a famous rider,” cried
Madame Berger, with evident disappointment.
“And so he is; but he does not like to show off, it seems.”
“It would have been a vast deal civiller if he had stayed
at home to amuse us to-day. It is going to rain, too, and I
am sure he will be wet through and through—it is a comfort
to think he deserves it.”
“He does not mind being wet,” said Crescenz, stretching
her head as far as possible out of the window; “he sometimes
goes out when it is actually raining—Ah!” she exclaimed,
faintly screaming, while she drew back and covered
her eyes with her hand, “his horse started frightfully
at the corner of the street—if he had been thrown on the
pavement!”
“Let me see,” cried Madame Berger, pushing past her
to take her place—“how provoking, he has turned the corner!
But Cressy, I say, come here;” and she whispered a
few words, and pointed downwards towards the street, where
the same officer who had been addressed by Zedwitz again
stood near the brazier’s shop, looking towards the window
where they were assembled.
“I wonder who he is!” exclaimed Madame Berger, returning
his gaze with a steadiness almost amounting to effrontery.
“Do you know that officer, Theodor?”
“No; but he will know you again,” he replied, laughing.
“I can pardon his looking towards this window,” said
Madame Berger, intending to be ingenuous, while her manner
betrayed considerable levity, “I can pardon his looking
towards this window, for I dare say he has not often seen
three such pretty faces as ours together,” and she attempted
to draw Hildegarde towards her as she spoke.
“I don’t choose to be exhibited,” cried Hildegarde, drawing
back. The next moment she began to laugh, while she
added, “I can inform you, however, that you are quite mistaken
if you think this window parade be intended for you.
I met that officer yesterday evening on the stairs when I was
coming from the cellar with Walburg, and she told me he is
to be married in spring to the daughter of the new lodger—so
you may be sure he is waiting to see Mademoiselle de
Hoffmann, and not thinking of either you or Crescenz.”
// 197.png
.pn +1
“I am not quite so sure of that,” said Madame Berger;
“for you remember, Crescenz, we saw him standing there
more than a fortnight ago, and before these Hoffmanns were
in the house.”
“Very true,” said Crescenz, “but he is certainly looking
at the windows on the first floor now.”
“And he certainly was looking up here when I first observed
him,” persisted Madame Berger. “Pray what sort
of a person is this Mademoiselle de Hoffmann? Has anyone
seen her?”
“Walburg has seen her,” replied Crescenz, “and she says
she is not at all pretty; but the servants say she is very
amiable and an excellent housekeeper.”
“Probably not young,” observed Madame Berger, arranging
her ringlets at the glass—“probably not young, if she
be amiable and a good housekeeper; these qualities belong
to riper years.”
“She is not very young, I believe.”
“I thought as much,” cried Madame Berger, laughing,
“and he is certainly not thirty—do you think he is?”
“He seems to be young,” said Crescenz, peeping carefully
from behind the muslin curtain.
“Crescenz, come away from the window,” said Hildegarde,
authoritatively; “it is not right to watch anybody in that
way.”
“Well, Cressy, I can now congratulate you from my heart
on your approaching marriage,” said Madame Berger, maliciously,
“for I can assure you Major Stultz will not require
half so much obedience from you as Hildegarde; your marriage
will be quite a relief from thraldom.”
“You are right,” said Crescenz, colouring. “Hildegarde
certainly does treat me as if I were a child,” and she walked
resolutely towards the window as she spoke.
“You are now acting like a child, and a silly child into
the bargain,” cried Hildegarde, with evident annoyance, as
she left the room.
“Dreadful temper!” said Madame Berger, shrugging her
shoulders; “if she were my sister, I should soon teach her
to pay me proper respect; but look here, Crescenz, the officer
has bowed to the first floor, and is now crossing the street, as
if he were coming into the house; I begin to think Hildegarde
was right.”
// 198.png
.pn +1
“I am sure she was right, and I ought not to have looked
out of the window—I will go at once and tell her so.”
“Before you go, let me give you a piece of advice. You
have spoiled your sister, and taught her to make a slave of
you—don’t give your husband such bad habits. Above all
things—never confess that you have been in the wrong, and
make him on all occasions beg your pardon.”
“But when I feel that I have done wrong, I ought at least
to confess it.”
“No such thing; you must always insist on being right—yield
once, and you must yield ever after. I have had some
desperate battles I assure you, but the Doctor has been
obliged to give way, and we now get on charmingly together.
Whenever I have been giddy or extravagant, he must beg my
pardon, ha, ha, ha!”
“But, Lina, how can that be? for the Doctor is a very sensible
man, and were he to act as you say, he must be a fool!”
“You do not understand me, child. You see, when I do
anything he disapproves, he remonstrates or lectures, and
then I sulk until he begs my pardon for having remonstrated
or lectured. My offence in the meantime is forgotten. Do
you understand?”
“Partly,” said Crescenz, thoughtfully.
“Do not listen to such advice, mademoiselle,” said Mr.
Biedermann. “I am sure Madame Berger is joking.”
“I am not joking,” said Madame Berger, tossing back her
head.
“Then you have taught your husband to treat you as if
you were either a simpleton or a spoiled child, to whom he
yields for the sake of peace, while he loses all respect for
your understanding.”
“Theodor,” said Madame Berger, with a slightly scornful
laugh, “I advise you to keep your opinions on such subjects
in future until you are asked for them. You are talking of
what you do not understand. Crescenz is about to marry a
man thirty years older than herself—I have done the same,
and speak from experience. Had I married a man of my
own age, the case and my advice would have been different.
For instance, had I married you, I should have been quite a
different person.”
“I don’t think you would, Caroline—nothing would have
made you other than you are.”
// 199.png
.pn +1
“Am I not very charming as I am?”
“Charming? Yes, with all your levity—but too charming,”
said Mr. Biedermann, preparing to leave the room.
“Well, for that acknowledgment I am inclined to pardon
your former impertinence; but never while you live attempt
a repetition of the offence.”
“I thought our former intimacy gave me a sort of right
to——”
“Our former intimacy,” said Madame Berger, laughing,
“gives you no right excepting that of being my very obedient
humble servant.”
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch15
CHAPTER XV. || THE OCTOBER FÊTE, AND A LESSON ON PROPRIETY OF CONDUCT.
.sp 2
It was the first Sunday in October, and Major Stultz had
just driven up to the door in a carriage, which he had hired
to take his betrothed and her family to the October fête. In
order to increase Crescenz’s pleasure, he had promised to take
the three boys also, and though Mr. Rosenberg had declared
his intention to walk, their party was still uncomfortably
large. Fritz in his cadet uniform mounted the box, fully
convinced that the equipage had considerably gained in
appearance by his presence, and the others were endeavouring
to wedge in the children between them, when a servant
came running to the door, bearing a message from Madame
de Hoffmann, who offered a seat in her carriage to one of the
young ladies, if they did not mind going a little later.
“Oh, dear,” cried Madame Rosenberg, “now really that’s
very civil—before I have returned her visit, too! Hildegarde,
you will accept that offer, of course; and to tell the
truth, I am glad you do not leave home so soon; Mr. Hamilton
has not returned from church, and I wish you to see that
he gets his dinner comfortably served. I know you don’t
mind being an hour or so later, and the races don’t begin
until three o’clock.”
Hildegarde descended from the carriage, seemingly satisfied
// 200.png
.pn +1
with the arrangement, and the others drove off. She
stopped on her way upstairs at the first floor, and requested
to see the Hoffmanns in order to thank them, and ask when
they intended to leave. Mademoiselle de Hoffmann came to
meet her, and took her hand eagerly, while she exclaimed:
“Ah, I knew you would be the one to go with us. Your
sister, of course, could not leave Major Stultz—but surely
you will come in and stay here until we are ready to go—in
fact we are ready now, and I am only waiting for my bridegroom,
who is to accompany us—I do not know if you are
aware that I, like your sister, am a bride.”
“I have heard so,” replied Hildegarde. “Mamma intends
to offer her congratulations in form to-morrow.”
“I don’t like being congratulated,” said Mademoiselle de
Hoffmann abruptly; “it would be better if people waited a
year or so, until they knew how a marriage turned out. It
is, after all, an awful sort of lottery for a woman, and if she
draw a blank——but pray, come into the drawing-room; this
is no place to discuss such subjects.”
“I am sorry to say that I have some arrangements to
make at home, but I shall return as soon as possible.”
“Pray do,” said Mademoiselle de Hoffmann. “I may as
well tell you that I have taken such a fancy to you, that I
cannot help hoping that we are destined to be very good
friends.”
“I hope so too,” replied Hildegarde with unusual warmth
of manner, and laughing gayly. Hamilton passed the door
at the moment, on his return from church, and seemed not
a little surprised to find her bestowing so much friendliness
on a person he had supposed nearly a stranger. Hildegarde
followed him up the stairs, and on entering their apartments,
took off her bonnet, and prepared to obey her mother’s directions
by bringing in his dinner herself. Hamilton had
already become accustomed to these attentions, and therefore
her appearance—with a napkin pinned on her dress in the
form of an apron, and carrying a little tureen of soup—by
no means astonished him. Having placed it on the table,
she walked to the window, took up a book, and began to read.
“Have you all dined?” asked Hamilton.
“Yes, and all are gone too,” replied Hildegarde.
“You don’t mean to say that you must remain at home?”
asked Hamilton, turning round quickly.
// 201.png
.pn +1
“Oh, no, I am to go with the Hoffmanns.”
“How did you happen to make that arrangement?”
Hildegarde came towards him to explain, stood for a moment
behind his chair, then seated herself at the table near
him, and while performing her office of waiter, entered into
an unusually unrestrained conversation. They talked long
and gayly, Hamilton at length beginning to think he would
prefer staying at home with her to going to the fête, and was
actually as much annoyed as she was surprised, when the
Hoffmanns’ servant announced the carriage, and said they
were waiting for her.
The day was clear and warm, the sky cloudless, and of
that deep blue almost unknown in England. The sun shone
brightly on the groups of merry pedestrians, who still continued
to pour out of the town and its environs, towards the
Thérèsian meadows. Notwithstanding the warm sunbeams,
each peasant carried under his arm an enormous red or yellow
umbrella. Many were furnished with cloaks, and some
were dressed in the mountain costume, with which Hamilton
had become acquainted at Berchtesgaden; but, in strong
contrast to their picturesque appearance, there were others
from the plains, with their long coats almost reaching to
their heels—two large buttons between their shoulders, as if
to mark the waist, and broad-brimmed, low-crowned hats.
The cloth of which these most ugly garments were made was
good, and in many cases fine. The hats, too, were shining,
and decorated with thick gold tassels, and even the most
careless observer could not fail to remark the absence of any
appearance of poverty.
Hamilton rode as fast as the crowd would permit, wishing,
considerately, that all nurses and children had remained at
home, and wondering what business they could have at an
agricultural fête and races. Then he thought of Hildegarde—Hildegarde
as he had last seen her, gay and unrestrained,
laughingly giving her opinion of the Hoffmanns, and relating
with what self-possession Mademoiselle de Hoffmann had
spoken of her intended marriage; and then she had taken
the half of his bunch of grapes with a sort of unconscious
familiarity flattering from its rarity. He had for some time
been aware of a change in her manner, and he now began to
hope that a feeling of good-will towards himself had been
the cause; in this, he was, however, partly mistaken—the
// 202.png
.pn +1
reconciliation or explanation with her step-mother had mostly
effected the change. She felt that she had been unjustly
prejudiced against both, and, ever ready to act from impulse,
she now went from one extreme to the other, and at once
gave Madame Rosenberg credit for virtues which she scarcely
possessed—blamed herself unnecessarily, and received any
remains of severity on the part of her step-mother, as a
deserved punishment for her former unwarrantable dislike.
Madame Rosenberg had not been insensible to the alteration
which had taken place—she had more than once observed to
her husband, “That Hildegarde was really a warm-hearted
girl, and not nearly so often in a passion as she used to be.
There was nothing like a mother’s care to form a girl’s
character; she now understood how to manage her, and
expected in time to like her quite as well as Crescenz.”
Hamilton, on reaching the Thérèsian meadow, looked
round for the object of his thoughts—in a crowd of eight or
ten thousand persons, the search was not immediately successful.
The royal family had long been on the tribune, and
the King was distributing the last prizes as Hamilton arrived.
A movement in the crowd soon after commenced, which
denoted preparations for the races; Hamilton rode towards
the place where the jockeys were assembled, but when there,
his horse became suddenly restive—he shied, reared, pranced,
leaped forwards and sideways, and Hamilton, had he not
been a practised rider, would have found it no easy matter
to keep his seat. At length the animal seemed to become
aware of the power of his rider, for his capers ceased by
degrees, and he merely bent his head and tore up the ground
with his fore-foot. Hamilton was about to return to the
interrupted inspection of the jockeys and their horses, when
a voice close to him observed, “You seemed alarmed for the
safety of your English friend, mademoiselle—ask him if he
will not give his horse to our servant, and look at the races
from the carriage.”
Hamilton turned quickly round, and found that these
words had been addressed by Madame de Hoffmann to Hildegarde;
he rode close up to the latter, and said in a low voice,
“I have been looking for you in vain the last half-hour, and
just as I had given up the search, I find myself beside you—pray,
present me to your friends; you have made me
really wish to be acquainted with them.”
// 203.png
.pn +1
Hildegarde complied with his request, while an officer,
who was sitting opposite to her, and who was instantly recognised
by Hamilton as the admirer of the candlesticks and
coffee-pots in the brazier’s shop, waited for a moment and
then said, “I hope you mean to include me; if you do not
choose to allow me to come under the denomination of friend,
you cannot refuse to admit my right to that of relation, and
very near relation, too.”
Hamilton looked astonished, and Hildegarde coloured
slightly as she laughingly added, “My cousin, Count Raimund.”
Hamilton bowed with apparent indifference; but all that
Zedwitz had said of Count Raimund flashed across his mind;
he now felt convinced that there was no doubt of his gaining
admittance to the Rosenberg family, and on the most dangerous
footing possible—as cousin! He himself knew from
experience all the advantages of this relationship, and the
unreserved intimacy which it permitted; and though he tried
to convince himself that Count Raimund, being already engaged
to Mademoiselle de Hoffmann, would have neither time
nor opportunity to pay Hildegarde extraordinary attention, a
feeling of incipient jealousy, to which, however, he gave in
thought the name of disinterested friendship, took possession
of his mind, and he turned with something more than
curiosity, to examine this cousin, this Raimund, said to be so
dangerous. He was a slight young man with rather regular
features, his mouth alone remarkably handsome, though his
lips were, perhaps, too red and full for a man, his eyes light
blue, hair and moustache remarkably fair; his complexion,
which varied with every passing emotion, sometimes almost
pale, sometimes sanguine, gave an appearance of perpetual
animation to a countenance which would otherwise have,
perhaps, failed to interest at first sight. He immediately
addressed Hamilton, spoke of England, hunting, horses, races—of
English customs and sports, with such correctness that
Hamilton could not help exclaiming, “You must have been
a long time in England to understand these things so well!”
“My information is altogether acquired from reading,”
replied Raimund, smiling, and evidently flattered at Hamilton’s
remark; either encouraged by it, or the approving
smiles of his companions, he gave a description of races in
different countries, from the most ancient to the present
// 204.png
.pn +1
day, discovering considerable information, well applied, but
brought it forward with such ill-concealed arrogance that
Hamilton, already predisposed to dislike him, was soon disgusted,
and taking advantage of the first pause and some
confusion among the bystanders, he suddenly and violently
checked his horse, threw him on his haunches, and backing
him out of the crowd, galloped across the field. The races
began, and although the horses did not promise much, it
was impossible not to feel in some degree interested; he
crossed the field several times at full speed, and in doing so
he passed and repassed the carriage in which Hildegarde
sat, when having met some Englishmen with whom he was
slightly acquainted, he began to talk to them not very far
distant from her.
“My fair cousin follows with her eyes, and rather seems
to admire her English friend,” said Raimund with a laugh.
“He certainly is handsome, but I never saw more haughty
manners or prouder looks in my life. How does he contrive
to get on with step-mamma?”
“Exceedingly well,” answered Hildegarde. “She gives
him occasional lectures on his extravagant habits, which he
receives with the most perfect good temper; but they do
not seem to have much effect. I rather think his parents
must be very rich, although he never speaks on the subject,
for they send him large sums of money, which he leaves at
his banker’s, as he says, with the best intentions possible he
can find no opportunity of spending it.”
“It seems the lectures on extravagance were scarcely necessary,”
observed Raimund, with a slight sneer; “from your
account, he is more disposed to hoard than spend.”
“And yet he is really generous,” cried Hildegarde, warmly.
“Mr. Biedermann, who is giving him lessons in German, says
that he has been munificent to him; and I know that he
gave old Hans, only the other day, a complete suit of clothes
for the winter, to keep him warm when he is sawing wood
in the yard; not to mention a great many occurrences in
our house, where, had he not been disposed to give, he would
have acted quite differently.”
“You are eloquent in his praise,” said Mademoiselle de
Hoffmann, “and will force me to think well of him; though,
to tell the truth, I feel half inclined to agree with Oscar in
thinking him proud. It is true, I have only seen him for a
// 205.png
.pn +1
few minutes, and on a very restive horse; but the glance
which he bestowed upon us all was more scrutinising than
agreeable, and he certainly did appear to have a tolerably
good opinion of himself.”
“I cannot dispute that point,” replied Hildegarde, laughing;
“but I wish to do him justice when I can, as I am only
by degrees getting over an inveterate dislike which I took to
him at first sight, without any reasonable cause.”
“So,” exclaimed Raimund, “if that be the case, I am satisfied.
It must, however, be extremely disagreeable to have
such a Don Magnifico forced into one’s domestic circle. I
wonder your father did not rebel; but of course he must do
whatever your mother chooses.”
“Oh! papa, mamma, and Crescenz liked him from the
first,” said Hildegarde. “I was the only person who quarrelled
with him, because I imagined that he was laughing at
us, or seeking amusement at our expense, while he considered
himself far, far above us. On a nearer acquaintance,
it is impossible not to think him agreeable, clever, and, I
must say, perfectly unaffected.”
“My dear, if you continue in this strain,” said Mademoiselle
de Hoffmann, laughing slyly, “you will force us to
think you altogether in love with him!”
“By no means,” observed Raimund; “were that the case,
she would be more reserved in her praise. I am rather disposed
to think that this Englishman, by some unaccountable
perversion of taste, must have given the preference to my
other cousin. Come, confess, Hildegarde! As to his living
in your house, and not taking a fancy to one or the other,
the thing is absolutely and totally impossible.”
“I believe,” replied Hildegarde, “he—he rather admired
Crescenz until she was engaged to be married to Major
Stultz.”
“Then he admires her still, you may depend upon it.”
“Perhaps he does; it is difficult to know Crescenz, and
not both admire and love her,” replied Hildegarde; “but at
all events he has ceased to pay her any attention, and does
not speak more to her than to me.”
“You may be sure he makes up for lost time when he
sees her alone,” cried Raimund, laughing. “By Jove, I
envy him his recent position; what capital fun to—to supplant
that stout old major!”
// 206.png
.pn +1
“He never thought of such a thing,” cried Hildegarde,
eagerly; “he explained at once that he could not marry.”
“Better and better,” said Raimund, laughing oddly, “he
seems perfectly to know what he is about.”
“I don’t understand you,” began Hildegarde, but Madame
de Hoffmann called her attention to the races, and when they
were over she had no time to think about the matter.
Hamilton could scarcely conceal his vexation, on his return
home, when he heard that Hildegarde was engaged to
spend the evening with the Hoffmanns. Mr. Rosenberg left
them, as usual, immediately after supper; Major Stultz altogether
monopolised Crescenz, Madame Rosenberg busied herself
with a pack of cards, which she shuffled, cut, and spread
out on the table before her with extraordinary interest, while
Hamilton, accustomed as he now was to talk or read with
Hildegarde, and missing her more than he liked to perceive,
held a newspaper in his hand, and employed his thoughts in
forming uncomfortable surmises respecting her and her cousin.
“Very odd,” said Madame Rosenberg, thoughtfully, holding
a card to her lips; “very odd indeed;—the marriage is
not in the cards!”
“I thought you were playing patience,” said Hamilton,
looking up.
“Oh, no, I have been cutting the cards for Crescenz,” she
said, in a low voice; “and oddly enough, her marriage is
not in them. I must try it again,” she said, gathering up
the pack and shuffling energetically.
Hamilton drew his chair to the table, and watched her as
she slowly and thoughtfully placed the cards in regular rows
before her, while murmuring, with evident dissatisfaction:
“This is Crescenz and this is the Major, but ever so far
asunder! And the marriage and love cards are all near him,
while Crescenz’s thoughts are occupied about a present. Oh,
ah! here is a letter full of money coming to our house; but
I suppose it will be, as usual, from England, and for you,
Mr. Hamilton. You are laughing at me, I see! Perhaps
you don’t believe that I can tell fortunes?”
“I am convinced you can do so quite as well as anyone
else.”
“That is saying too much,” said Madame Rosenberg.
“Our washerwoman is very expert; but I know some who
could astonish you!”
// 207.png
.pn +1
“I like being astonished,” said Hamilton, “and promise
to be so if what you foretell comes to pass; but then you
must predict something more surprising than that I should
receive a letter containing money. This is more than probable,
as my father is very liberal, and I said something about
intending to buy a sledge this winter when I last wrote.”
“But suppose Crescenz’s marriage should be broken off—which
Heaven forbid—what would you say then?”
“It will not be broken off, but it may be postponed. You
said yourself yesterday that her trousseau could not be ready
at the time expected; and as to her thoughts being occupied
about a present, we all know that she is making a purse and
cigar-case for Major Stultz.”
“Oh, if you explain everything in that way, I need not
go on,” said Madame Rosenberg, laughing. “Here, for
instance, is a false person in our house—a very false person;
he is followed, too, by a number of unlucky, disagreeable
cards; now, who can that be?”
“I hope you do not suspect me of being this false person?”
“Most certainly not,” repeated Madame Rosenberg, seriously.
“I know few people of whom I think so highly; I
always liked my English lodgers, and was sorry when they
left me; but I feel as if you were a part of our family.
You must observe that I talk to you and consult you about
all our affairs a hundred times more than Major Stultz, who
is actually about to become my son-in-law!”
“I am exceedingly flattered by your good opinion,” said
Hamilton, “and am greatly relieved to find you do not
suspect me to be this false friend, followed by ill-omened
cards!”
“Set your mind at rest; this person seems in some way
related to our family, and has light hair.”
“And you can see all this in these cards!” said Hamilton,
laughing.
“Look here, and I will explain it easily,” said Madame
Rosenberg. “You see this ace is our house——”
“Is that an ace?” said Hamilton. “The German cards
are as difficult to learn as the handwriting. I do not know
a single one of these cards.”
“They are easily learned. These are acorns, and these
bells; these trifles, and these hearts.”
// 208.png
.pn +1
“But this ace of hearts is double; and what is the meaning
of the basket of flowers and the blinded cupid?”
“Only for ornament.”
“This, then, I suppose, is the king of hearts; but where
is the queen?”
“This, I believe, answers to your queen.”
“What! the man leaning on his sword?”
“I see you do not want to learn——”
“And yet I should rather like to know what these acorns
and bells are intended to represent,” said Hamilton.
“Crescenz, come here and explain in French,” cried
Madame Rosenberg.
Crescenz came most willingly. In a few minutes Hamilton
imagined he knew the cards, and began to play some childish
game which Crescenz taught him; they played for six-kreutzer
pieces, and, as he continually mistook the cards, in
the course of half an hour he had lost some florins. Crescenz’s
exclamation of delight and triumph caused Madame
Rosenberg at last to look round, and no sooner did she perceive
how matters stood, than she took the money which
Crescenz had won, returned it to Hamilton, notwithstanding
all his protestations; and, taking some red and white
counters out of her work-table drawer, divided them
equally between them, while she observed that they
might fancy them florins if they wished,—“it would be
much more proper for young people than really playing for
money.”
Crescenz did not know whether to be satisfied or vexed—but
when her mother added a few words of reproach about
her playing without her having the means of paying her
debts, should she lose, she blushed deeply and stammered,
“I—I have more than a florin pocket-money—and besides,
Mr. Hamilton would have waited until Christmas, when papa
always gives me a crown!”
“Oh, certainly,” said Hamilton, laughing, “I could have
waited until Christmas without the least inconvenience.”
“I hope,” said Major Stultz, “that before Christmas,
Crescenz will have made me her banker.”
“At all events,” Hamilton said to Madame Rosenberg,
“you cannot treat me so like a child as to force me to take
back what I have lost; but if you forbid our continuing to
play, of course we must obey.”
// 209.png
.pn +1
“Well, play for kreutzers or pfennings, if you like, but it
is a bad habit.”
The permission granted, Crescenz seemed to have lost all
inclination to continue. She and Hamilton were soon after
employed in building card-houses, while they kept up a sort
of murmured conversation in French, possibly very interesting
to them, but unintelligible to Madame Rosenberg and
Major Stultz—the former had commenced knitting, the latter
sat watching the varying countenance of his betrothed, as
she, sometimes lowering her voice to a whisper, seemed to
speak pensively, and quite forgot her occupation; the next
moment, however, with childish delight, slyly blowing down
the Chinese tower which had apparently cost Hamilton a
world of trouble to erect. How long this occupation might
have continued to interest them, it is impossible to say, for
Hildegarde’s return caused Crescenz instantly to leave her
place, and though Hamilton still continued to play with the
cards, it was unconsciously. Crescenz’s eager inquiries of
how Hildegarde had amused herself, if the Hoffmanns had
pleased her on a nearer acquaintance, and if she had seen
the future husband of Mademoiselle Hoffmann, were
answered quickly and decidedly.
“I have spent a delightful day, the Hoffmanns are the
most charming people I ever met, and the bridegroom is,
without any exception, the most amusing and the cleverest
person in the world!”
“Phew-w-w-w,” whistled Major Stultz.
“What is his name?” asked Crescenz.
“Count Raimund. He is our very nearest relation—our
first cousin!”
“Our cousin! But—but—I thought the Raimunds did
not wish to know us?”
“We have no right to make him answerable for the unkindness
of his parents, Crescenz; and all I can say is, that
he spoke at once of our near relationship, and as it was
impossible to refuse to acknowledge it, we became intimate
immediately. In fact, he gave me no choice, for he called
me Hildegarde, and spoke of you as if he had known you
all his life. He intends to call here to-morrow, to visit
mamma!”
“Does he?” said Madame Rosenberg, dryly.
“He says you are his aunt, as you have married papa.”
// 210.png
.pn +1
“It is singular he never discovered the relationship until
to-day! During your mother’s lifetime, I have heard, too,
that the Raimunds pretended at times to forget your father’s
name. The fact is, my dear, he thought it would flatter me
to fancy myself aunt to a count, although there is actually
no relationship whatever, and you thought so too, Hildegarde,
or you would not have repeated so absurd a remark.”
Hildegarde’s face became crimson. “These were his
words,” she said, with the quivering lips of half-subdued
anger. “You may, of course, put what construction you
please on them.”
“The words and their meaning are easily understood,” said
Madame Rosenberg, laughing. “But why he has so suddenly
chosen to acknowledge a relationship with you and
Crescenz, and force upon me the honour of being his aunt,
is more difficult to comprehend.”
“Not at all, ma’am,” said Major Stultz, glancing from
Hildegarde to Crescenz, “not at all. A young man is always
glad to gain admittance to a house where there are young
ladies.”
“But, my dear Major, the man is engaged to be married
to Mademoiselle de Hoffmann in January, and all other
young women must be indifferent to him now!”
“Some men never become indifferent to young women,
ma’am; and, if I am not mistaken, this Count Raimund is
one of these persons. I think I have heard that he has been
a very—a——”
“Very what?” asked Madame Rosenberg, quickly.
“Very wild—if not very profligate,” replied Major Stultz,
distinctly.
“Then I shall take good care that if he comes to-morrow,
it shall be his last as well as his first visit. But you are
quite sure of what you say? Otherwise you know Rosenberg
might be dissatisfied, and think that I was uncivil from
personal dislike, for I do dislike these Raimunds, and that’s
the truth. Fancy their pretending to think that I treated
Hildegarde and Crescenz harshly after my marriage, and
proposing to take them altogether from me!”
“I wonder why you did not resign us,” said Hildegarde,
bitterly.
“For two reasons,” replied Madame Rosenberg. “First,
you were never to be allowed to see your father, and he did
// 211.png
.pn +1
not like that part of the arrangement. Secondly, you were
to be educated to become governesses, and were to remain at
school until you were given a situation in some foreign
family, as they only wanted to get you out of the way on
account of the relationship. Now, I had a promise of one
free place at the same school, and did not despair of working
out the other, while by coming home for a time there was a
chance of your marrying into the bargain. And I was right,
for here is Crescenz well provided for, and if you continue
to improve as you have done of late, I foresee that I shall
not long have you on my hands either. But to return to
this Count Raimund, Major—tell me all you know or have
heard about him.”
“I have heard more than I can tell you at present,” said
Major Stultz, mysteriously, “such things are not a proper
subject of conversation before young ladies.” Crescenz
blushed. Hildegarde threw herself back in her chair and
laughed contemptuously, as Madame Rosenberg adjourned
to the next room with Major Stultz. “This is the first time,”
she said, looking after them, “the first time that I have
seen him attempt to act the part of son-in-law.”
“He is acting as a friend,” said Hamilton, gravely.
“How do you know that?”
“Perhaps I have heard more of Count Raimund than you
imagine.”
“And suppose you have,” said Hildegarde, folding her
hands together and looking Hamilton steadily in the face;
“suppose, even, you have heard all that can be said against
him, what does it amount to? Failings, faults, if you will,
which, as he himself said this evening, every young man
has been guilty of——Have you, yourself, been so immaculate
that you feel authorised to judge him?”
Hamilton blushed deeply, but did not answer.
“I know,” continued Hildegarde, with increased warmth,
“I know you think yourself superior to other people, but
your present confusion proves that you have your weaknesses,
too, with this difference, that you the while pretend to be
a pattern of perfection, and others honestly confess their
faults!”
“Oh, Hildegarde!” cried Crescenz, deprecatingly.
Hamilton crushed the card which he held in his hand,
looked vexed, but still did not attempt to speak.
// 212.png
.pn +1
“It is hard,” continued Hildegarde, more quietly, though
her cheeks flushed deeply, “it is hard to judge a young
man like Oscar without knowing the temptations to which
he has been subjected.”
Hamilton still remained silent; he began once more to
build a tower with the cards.
“Do you not hear me?” she asked, impatiently.
“I am listening most attentively.”
“Then why don’t you say something?”
“Because a reply would only provoke another taunt on
your part, and can answer no purpose whatever?”
“I see—you think I have been hasty—I did not mean it—I
am sorry if I have offended you.”
Hamilton looked up and smiled, and Hildegarde continued—“We
have so few relations—so very few. Oscar is
our only cousin. I cannot tell you how I felt to-day when
he called me Hildegarde, and told me to consider him a
brother. You will think me romantic when I assure you
that I experienced an instantaneous prepossession in his favour,
or rather a sort of affection which I thought it quite
impossible to feel for a stranger! I suppose the recollection
of my mother, faint though it be, partly caused this feeling.
At all events, I have found it impossible not to think him
the most amusing, clever—in short, the most fascinating person
I ever met.”
“Oh dear! How I should like to know him!” exclaimed
Crescenz.
“Then he is so very accomplished!—speaks French so perfectly—and
plays the pianoforte as I have never heard it
played. Fancy his being able to compose for hours together
without ever being at a loss! able to follow all his thoughts,
and express them beautifully in music! sometimes so sad, so
melancholy, then gay and passionate, according to the impulse.”
“I was not in the least aware that you cared for music,”
said Hamilton, interrupting her with a look of unfeigned
surprise, “you play the pianoforte so seldom, and——”
“And so badly,” said Hildegarde, interrupting him in her
turn, “so badly, that you concluded I must be incapable of
appreciating good music when I heard it? On the contrary,
I am so sensitively alive to its beauties that I cannot
endure mediocrity, and beyond that I know I should never
// 213.png
.pn +1
arrive, when I take into consideration my want of time and
patience!”
“Of your want of patience you are the best judge—time
you have enough, if you want to employ it on music—for
instance, you read enormously. Were the hours which you
devote to——”
“Ah, bah!” cried Hildegarde, impatiently; “why should
I plague myself studying music, which, after all, is half mechanical
expertness most difficult to acquire, when in reading
I gain information and amuse myself at the same time.
If I could hope to play like Oscar, it would be different, but
nothing else would satisfy me.”
“Then you do not care for vocal music,” said Hamilton.
“I rather give it the preference; because one has words
to direct the thoughts; but then the voice is also an instrument—requires
incessant practice, and so—and so—but you
know very well that I have no patience!”
“So I thought, until I discovered that you had learned
English so perfectly without an instructor; this proves that
you have both patience and perseverance.”
“But, then, think of the reward! a new and extensive
literature!”
“And if you really liked music, would it not also have rewarded
you?”
“I see you have got the best side of the argument; and I
must therefore suppose that I have no real talent for music.
To appreciate Oscar’s playing, however, only requires feeling—it
is a sort of thing one never could get tired of—something
like the conversation of a person who talks well. I
only hope you may soon have an opportunity of judging for
yourself. I wish, too, you could hear him read aloud. I
never imagined anything like it. He read for Mademoiselle
de Hoffmann and me, and we both felt cold and warm alternately—it
was too delightful!”
“What did he read?” asked Crescenz.
“Heine’s poems,” answered Hildegarde, drawing from her
pocket a small volume—“this is called the Book of Songs;
and he has given it to me. Shall I read you The Dream?”
“By all means,” said Hamilton.
Hildegarde began, her voice trembling from eagerness.
She had, however, scarcely read a couple of verses, when her
// 214.png
.pn +1
mother entered the room, and asked directly, “What have
you got there, Hildegarde?”
“A book, mamma.”
“That is evident: but what book? You know I do not
wish you to read anything but French; and this is German,
and poetry into the bargain—and Count Raimund’s too!”
she said, taking it out of Hildegarde’s unwilling hand—“You
see, Major, he has already begun with his books, just as you
told me. I dare say it is full of improprieties!”
“As well as I can recollect, you are mistaken,” said Hamilton.
“Some of the poems are beautiful, and all original,
and full of talent.”
“If that be the case, I suppose I may let her read them—but
the book must be returned as soon as possible.”
“But——” began Hildegarde.
Crescenz pulled her sleeve, and whispered: “Don’t say he
gave it to you.”
Hildegarde shook off her sister’s hand, while she said,
“The book is mine: he gave it to me; and if I may read it,
I may keep it, I suppose.”
“You may do no such thing,” cried her mother, with considerable
irritation. “Should Count Raimund come to-morrow,
I shall return him his book, and request him to keep
the remainder of his library for his own perusal. He would
have done better had he given it to his betrothed instead of
you: and I shall tell him so.”
“I see you are determined to affront him,” said Hildegarde,
angrily; “and, as you mean to return this book to-morrow,
I may as well tell you that I shall not go to bed
to-night until I have read every line of it.”
“Hildegarde! Hildegarde! I am afraid you are about to
have one of your old fits of anger and obstinacy. It is unpardonable
your being so childish, now that you are near
seventeen years old! However, since you are a child, I must
treat you as one; and you shall not have more candle than
will light you to bed.”
Hildegarde put the book into her pocket, shoved her chair
hastily back, and walked towards the stove. Major Stultz,
while wishing Crescenz good-night, observed, in an audible
whisper, “What a lucky man am I that you have fallen to
my lot!”
Madame Rosenberg accompanied him out of the room,
// 215.png
.pn +1
first stopping at the door to say to Hildegarde and Crescenz,
“You must not think that I am actuated by personal dislike
to Count Raimund if to-morrow I forbid him our house—he
is a most dangerous person—has brought dishonour on
two respectable families, and his last exploit was going off
with the wife of one of his friends.”
Crescenz seemed utterly confounded by this speech, and
turned to her sister, while she said, “Oh, Hildegarde! if
this be true!”
“It is true.”
“Why, you praised him just now, and——”
“Well, I am ready to praise him again; and yet it is true.
He intends, however, henceforward to lead a different life,
and honestly confessed all his misdemeanours to Marie de
Hoffmann and to me this evening. He did not spare himself,
I can assure you!”
“His confession must have been very edifying,” observed
Hamilton.
“It was very amusing,” replied Hildegarde, slightly laughing.
“He related with such spirit, described such comical
situations, and begged Mademoiselle de Hoffmann to forgive
his thoughtlessness with such fervour, that she was not
only obliged to pardon him, but also forced to confess that
perhaps others would not have acted differently, had they
been subjected to the same temptations.”
“He seems to have proved himself a sort of victim,” said
Hamilton, without looking up.
“Almost,” said Hildegarde. “He was given all sorts of
encouragement by the young ladies, who met him alone, and
Madame de Sallenstein actually herself proposed going off
with him.”
“He told you that, and the names also?”
“Certainly; he did not conceal the slightest circumstance,
related all the conversations and adventures—no book could
be more amusing! His first love was a daughter of a Captain
Welden—there were four daughters, and they all took
a fancy to him at the same time—the youngest was much
the prettiest, and so——”
“Excuse my interrupting you,” cried Hamilton, “but really
I cannot endure to hear you talk in this light manner—Count
Raimund must be a fiend incarnate, if he can change you so
completely in one day!”
// 216.png
.pn +1
“Indeed, I do think Hildegarde is changed,” chimed in
Crescenz: “I never heard her talk so oddly before—and oh,
Hildegarde, do you remember how hardly you judged Mr.
Hamilton, when you only suspected that he—that I—I mean
we—on account of Major Stultz, you know? Oh, think of
all you said in Berchtesgaden!”
Crescenz’s eloquence did not seem to make much impression
on Hildegarde—she merely shook her head impatiently.
“I find I have altogether mistaken your character,” said
Hamilton, approaching her, and leaning his elbow on the
stove, “altogether mistaken, it seems.”
“How do you mean?”
“I thought that, if from a false and romantic idea of
generosity or liberality, you could be induced to overlook
conduct like Count Raimund’s, you would at least be shocked
to find him boasting of his villainy, and throwing the blame
on his victims.”
Hildegarde blushed so deeply that it must have caused her
acute pain—she threw herself into a chair, and turned away.
“Mr. Hamilton is quite right,” said Crescenz, “it was not
honourable of Count Raimund to throw the blame on Captain
Welden’s daughter, who, I dare say, was not the first to
propose a rendezvous—and then to repeat everything and
laugh! Oh! Hildegarde, he may be very amusing, but he
cannot have a good heart!” She bent down towards her
sister, and added in a whisper, “Mr. Hamilton would never
have acted so!”
“Mr. Hamilton is, most probably, in no respect better than
other people,” replied Hildegarde, quickly, but without turning
round.
“Why, Hildegarde, you seem to forget that you said only
yesterday—that he was superior to other people—so like
somebody in a book you know, the hero who was too perfect
to be natural, because he never was angry or——”
“Crescenz!” cried Hildegarde, literally bounding from her
chair, “are you purposely trying to irritate me? or are you
really what Lina Berger has often called you, a simpleton—a
fool? Anything so nonsensical or silly as your remarks, I
never in my life heard!”
“Now, Hildegarde, don’t be angry, you know these were
your own words.”
“I shall in future carefully avoid making any remark to
// 217.png
.pn +1
you which I do not intend to be repeated to the whole world,”
said Hildegarde, walking up and down the room, and speaking
hurriedly. “Everything that I say is misunderstood,
and stupidly brought forward in the most provoking manner!
Until to-night, I had no idea of your excessive silliness!”
“You are right—I see—I understand now,” cried Crescenz,
with tears in her eyes: “I ought not to have repeated what
you said before Mr. Hamilton, because he might think, perhaps,
you liked him as I do—did, I mean to say—that is, he
might fancy——”
“You tiresome girl, can you not at least be silent?” cried
Hildegarde, stamping with her foot. “Mr. Hamilton may
fancy what he pleases, but he knows that I disliked him from
the commencement of our acquaintance, and if I did begin
to think better of him, I have again returned to my first
opinion—he is in no respect better than others; and had he
anything to boast of, I am sure he would do so quite as
inconsiderately as Oscar or anyone else.”
“I hope you are mistaken,” said Hamilton, quietly lighting
his bedchamber candle, “but as I have never been put to the
proof, I cannot answer for myself.”
Crescenz hung her head, and looked uneasily towards her
sister, who was about to reply, when Madame Rosenberg
appeared at the door, and they all prepared to retire for the
night. Hamilton did not, as was his usual custom, linger at
the door to continue the interrupted conversation, or talk
some nonsense not adapted for the rational ears of their
mother; he walked quickly to his room, seated himself at
the table, and taking out his journal, was soon employed in
writing the events of the day, with copious reflections. He
was angry, very angry with Hildegarde, and yet, by some
strange process of reasoning, he firmly persuaded himself
that not a particle of jealousy was mixed with his just indignation.
He began to suspect that his admiration for her
person had induced him to give her credit for virtues which
she did not possess; he was even ready to allow that he had
greatly overrated her in every respect; but still the idea of
her becoming his first love had that day so completely taken
possession of his mind that it would not be banished, and
imagining himself, as a younger son, privileged to fall in and
out of love as often as he pleased, with perfect impunity, he
determined at once to enter the lists, and break a lance with
// 218.png
.pn +1
Count Raimund. In England his position was known; Crescenz
had already forced him to be explicit on the subject,
and had, he supposed, informed her sister; he therefore conceived
he had a right to pay to Hildegarde all the attention
she would accept, while her opinion of Count Raimund’s
conduct that evening would, he thought, exonerate him from
self-reproach, or future blame on her part. This was arguing
most sophistically, and judging a few thoughtless words too
harshly. He seemed to have forgotten that her mother had
accused her of inordinate family pride, and it was this, perhaps,
alone which had made her blind to her cousin’s faults,
and explained, if it could not excuse, the utterance of
opinions so unlike any that Hamilton had ever heard her
express. He recollected, however, with peculiar complacency,
the words which Crescenz had repeated respecting himself,
and which Hildegarde had not denied. She had found a
resemblance between him and some hero in a novel; that is,
she was beginning to make a sort of hero of him, and he
had not read and studied with her for so many weeks, without
discovering that she had a warm imagination, romantic
ideas, and passionate feelings. She did not, it is true, remind
him of any particular heroine, nor, on consideration, did she
seem adapted to form one at all, for who ever heard of a
heroine whose passions “oozed out,” like Bob Acres’ courage,
“at the palms of her hands,” or found vent in the clapping
of doors and upsetting of chairs—not to mention considerable
fluency of language when irritated? But then, her
perfect face and figure covered a multitude of faults, her
occasional violence of temper was rather amusing than otherwise,
and on taking into consideration her extreme youth, it
merely proved an energy of character far more interesting
than the gentle insipidity of her sister. He perceived that
her cousin had made a deep impression on her, and imagined,
in consequence, that his quiet and respectful manner had not
been appreciated—he remembered having heard his brother
say, that very young or very elderly women prefer audacity
to deference, and he wished with all his heart that it were
morning, that he might begin a new line of operations. A
knock at the door surprised him in the midst of these reflections,
and made him hastily throw down his pen—scarcely
waiting for permission to enter, Hildegarde had partly opened
the door, and stood before him, her candle burned down in
// 219.png
.pn +1
the socket, and already emitting the fitful gleams of light
which precede extinction.
“I dare say you are surprised to see me at this hour,” she
began.
“Not at all,” cried Hamilton, pushing away his table, “not
at all, for I have just been thinking of you, and I suppose
some sort of sympathy has made you think of me.”
“No, not exactly of you,” replied Hildegarde, with a
smile, “but I have thought of your candles! You have
often offered me one when I wished to read at night, and I
always feared it would be dishonourable to take advantage
of your offer, as it would be deceiving mamma. To-night,
however, I have given her fair warning, so if you will permit
me——”
Hamilton pushed a candle towards her, and was rather
puzzled what to say next: she, in the mean time, very
calmly extinguished her light and began to arrange the new
one.
“I suppose you have half read your book by this time?”
said Hamilton at length.
“No,” said Hildegarde, while she rolled a piece of paper
round the candle. “No, I have been employed in making
apologies to Crescenz. You must have thought me abominably
rude to her this evening?”
“Rather,” replied Hamilton, greatly vexed to find that the
determination to be audacious had made him more than
usually restrained—almost timid in his manner.
“I thought you would have blamed me more,” continued
Hildegarde, fastening the candle steadily, “but even your
judgment, with all its severity, cannot equal my own in
rigour, when the moment of anger is past. Crescenz forgave
me directly, and in her good nature tried soon to excuse my
loss of temper, and to reconcile me to myself.”
“A fault must be forgiven when so acknowledged,” said
Hamilton, lightly. “But instead of talking of faults, which,
by-the-by, is not the most agreeable subject of conversation,
suppose you read me this dream, which was so unpleasantly
interrupted this evening.”
“Not now,” said Hildegarde, “but I intend to write it out,
and we can read it together to-morrow when Mr. Biedermann
is gone.”
“No time like the present,” said Hamilton, pointing to a
// 220.png
.pn +1
place beside him on the sofa. “Come, suppose we read the
whole book?”
“If it were not so late, I should have no objection.”
“From your conversation this evening, I should not have
expected you to make difficulties about such a trifle.”
“Conversation this evening,” repeated Hildegarde, thoughtfully.
“Have you then already forgotten all you said in defence
of your cousin?” asked Hamilton, half laughing, while with
his hand he gently induced her to take the unoccupied place
beside him. “I thought your memory was more retentive.”
“But my defence of Oscar has no sort of connection with
my remaining here until two or three o’clock in the morning
to read Heine’s poems!” said Hildegarde, quietly fixing her
large blue eyes on Hamilton’s face, with an expression of
such perfect confidence, that his previous resolutions and his
brother’s opinion lost at once all influence over him, and not
for any consideration would he have shaken the reliance on
his integrity legible in every feature of his companion’s face.
He blushed deeply, as he answered evasively—“Perhaps
there is more connection than you are aware of; but you
must wait until to-morrow, and then if you wish it, I will
tell you what I meant.”
“But why not now? I detest delay—besides, I shall forget
to ask you to-morrow.”
“No, you will not forget,” said Hamilton, laughing.
“But why will you not tell me now?” asked Hildegarde.
“Because I fear to shock you unnecessarily.”
“But I am not easily shocked,” observed Hildegarde.
“So I perceived from what you said this evening.”
“It is really not generous of you to harp continually on
my defence of Oscar; I am willing to acknowledge that you
were quite right in what you said about him—I know, too, I
was wrong to be angry with mamma and Crescenz—but I do
not like to be so perpetually reminded of my faults by you—you
are not old enough—and—and—you bore me with
your real or affected superiority.”
“Did I affect superiority we should never have quarrelled,”
replied Hamilton, with evident vexation; “I only
quarrel with my equals.”
“I quarrel with everybody,” said Hildegarde, with a sigh;
“a passionate temper is a great misfortune—but I can and
// 221.png
.pn +1
will learn to control it. Perhaps the fear of my losing my
temper, and not the fear of shocking me, prevented you
from telling your thoughts just now? Do not wait until to-morrow,
but speak freely and at once.”
“Excuse me,” said Hamilton, rising, “I have changed my
mind, and will neither speak now nor to-morrow—I have no
right to correct, and certainly no wish to bore you.”
“I might have guessed what your answer would have
been,” cried Hildegarde, petulantly. “You store up every
hasty word to bring forward just when I wish it forgotten!
If you will not tell me, I may as well wish you good-night.”
She took up the candle and walked to the door.
“Good-night,” said Hamilton, approaching as if to close
it after her, and making no attempt whatever to detain her.
“As you feared to shock me,” said Hildegarde, stopping
suddenly, “I suppose I have done something very wrong?”
and she looked up inquiringly.
“I really do not know,” replied Hamilton, stiffly.
“You—you most disagreeable person—” she began angrily,
but seeing that Hamilton was endeavouring to suppress
a smile, she exclaimed: “Well, if this is not affecting
superiority, I do not understand you at all!—What must I
say to you? I was wrong to defend Oscar, he is unfortunately
a—a—great reprobate, I suppose, but he is my
cousin, my only cousin, and I admire him more than anyone
I have ever seen.”
“You had better tell him so,” said Hamilton, ironically.
“It is not necessary, he is perfectly aware of his advantages,”
she replied in the same tone.
“So I perceived at the races to-day.”
“That he did not please you I saw at once,” said Hildegarde,
playing with the lock of the door. “You looked so
unfriendly and haughty that the Hoffmanns could hardly
believe all I said in your praise.”
“So you undertook my defence,” said Hamilton quickly.
“Of course, I always defend the absent, especially when
they are censured by people who do not know them. If
Oscar had not been attacked this evening, I should never
have attempted to take his part—Perhaps you don’t believe
me?”
“I do believe you—but I cannot understand how Madame
de Hoffmann could allow him to speak so freely.”
// 222.png
.pn +1
“She is very deaf and he was seated at the pianoforte;
Marie at one side of him, and I at the other—he spoke very
gently, and sometimes played a few chords, which gave the
appearance of a sort of recitation. Exactly what I imagined
an improvisatore must be! I am sure he would make an
excellent actor!”
“And I am sure he will prove a dangerous man,” said
Hamilton.
“If he keeps his promises, Marie will nevertheless be
very happy with him—he is a person one must admire, and
might easily love—but I am keeping you from writing, and
I dare say you would rather hear what I have to say to-morrow.”
“By no means—if you have anything more to say, I
should like to hear it.”
“Oh, yes, I want to speak to you—about myself, not
Oscar.”
“A much more interesting subject,” observed Hamilton.
“But then,” said Hildegarde, hesitating, “you will probably
give me some severe answer, and make me repent my
humility.”
“I promise to give you no severe answer,” said Hamilton,
exceedingly flattered.
“Then I must beg of you to forget what I said just now.
I am quite aware that I have more faults than people generally
have, and if you will take the trouble to correct them,
I shall be obliged to you. I have spent almost the whole of
my life at school among girls of my own age, so, of course,
I must know very little of the manners and customs of the
world. I see Crescenz’s simplicity quickly enough, and to
avoid falling into her errors, I try to act differently in every
respect. Now, Crescenz, with all her weaknesses, makes
herself beloved—not more than she deserves, for she is the
most amiable creature in the world, while I am universally
disliked. I think, therefore, that something must be
wrong; I have no person whose advice I can ask. Papa
overrates as much as mamma underrates me, and neither of
them understands me at all. Do you remember one evening
mamma’s saying that you, as an unbiassed looker-on,
could judge between us? I refused you as arbitrator then,
because I knew you liked mamma better than me; but I
am now willing to accept of you as judge, Mentor, or whatever
// 223.png
.pn +1
you please, for I am convinced that you only dislike me
just enough to see my faults without exaggerating them; so
I promise to bear your corrections with as much patience as
my natural impatience will allow.”
During this speech Hamilton had been leaning against the
wall, endeavouring to look as sage as Hildegarde evidently
thought him; his eyes were bent on the ground, but a smile
of ineffable satisfaction played round his mouth. Not for a
moment did he hesitate to undertake the dangerous task.
He would direct her studies, correct her faults, and make
her mind as perfect as her form! What words he made use
of to express this most magnanimous resolution he himself
never could recollect; that he had spoken intelligibly was
evident, for Hildegarde held out her hand and smiled brilliantly
as she once more turned to the door. “I think,” she
said, with some hesitation, “I think I could sleep more
soundly to-night if you would begin your office at once, and
tell me what I have done to-day that is reprehensible.”
“I must of course, if you desire it.”
“Let me guess. It is not Oscar’s defence?”
“No; we have already discussed that subject,” replied
Hamilton.
“My—my losing my temper this evening, when mamma
made the remark about Oscar’s saying she was his aunt?”
Hamilton shook his head.
“Well, then, my obstinacy about reading the book?”
“Humph!—obstinacy is certainly a fault, but was not
what I meant on the present occasion.”
“Ah! now I know—because I asked you for a candle,
and as I did not tell mamma I could get one from you, you
think that I have acted dishonourably? Perhaps you are
right, so I shall not take it, but go to bed in the dark as a
punishment. Are you satisfied?”
“I ought to be, for you have not only confessed your fault,
but imposed penance on yourself; and yet I must still say
that you have not discovered the error to which I alluded.”
“Then, now you must tell me, for I can think of nothing
else.”
“Is it possible,” said Hamilton, the colour as usual,
mounting impetuously to his forehead, “is it possible that
you are not aware of the impropriety of coming to my room
at this hour?”
// 224.png
.pn +1
“I—I—came for—for the candle,” stammered Hildegarde,
in painful confusion.
“I know you did; but you have remained here some
time, and people——”
“Let me go—let me go,” she cried, impatiently pushing
back the hand which he had placed on the lock of the door
in order to have time to add a few words. “Let me go; I
desire—I insist.”
He drew back, and she rushed past him into the dark
passage without turning round or stopping until she reached
the door of her room. He merely waited until she entered,
and then once more sat down to write.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch16
CHAPTER XVI. || THE AU FAIR, AND THE SUPPER AT THE BREWERY.
.sp 2
“Will you go with us to the Au fair?” said Madame
Rosenberg to Hamilton, the next day, after dinner.
“Of course, but what is the Au? I never heard of it?”
“One of the suburbs—at the other side of the Isar. There
is a beautiful Gothic church there, which you can look at
while I buy ticking to make Crescenz a mattress.”
“When do we set out?”
“The sooner the better, for the Major has proposed a
party to the Stuberwoll Brewery afterwards; we are to sup
there.”
“At the brewery?”
“Yes; the Major says the beer is excellent, and the roast
geese delicious; Rosenberg enjoys the idea, of all things; he
has a passion for roast goose!”
“Oh, what fun!” cried Gustavus, jumping about the room.
“Mamma has promised to take me with her. It is a pity
that Fritz has gone to grandpapa.”
“And may I go too?” asked Peppy.
“You are too young,” replied his brother, demurely; “you
cannot walk so far.”
// 225.png
.pn +1
“I can, I can,” cried Peppy, commencing a roar.
“Hush,” said Madame Rosenberg; “what is the child
crying about?”
“Peppy wishes to go with us, mamma,” said Crescenz; “I
will take charge of him, if you have no objection.”
“You will probably have to carry him half the way home;
but you may do as you please,” replied her mother with a
smile of satisfaction strangely in contradiction to her words.
“Off, and get ready, all of you.”
There was a joyous and noisy rush down the passage, while
Madame Rosenberg, turning to Hamilton, observed: “A
very good girl is Crescenz. She shall not be a loser for
liking my boys, that is certain.”
Madame Rosenberg was herself always the last to appear;
she generally dressed her children, and had a long consultation
with her cook before she went out. Hamilton found
the rest of the party, with the exception of Hildegarde, assembled
in the drawing-room, and it was not long before he
observed that Crescenz was making him the most unaccountable
signs and grimaces. He approached her, apparently
occupied in forcing his fingers into a tight glove, and
said in French, “Why are you making such horrible faces?”
Crescenz laughed good-humouredly, but while pretending
to look at his glove, answered hurriedly: “Hildegarde is at
the Hoffmanns to return the book to Count Raimund. Go—go
for her before mamma comes.”
He left the room, descended quickly the flights of stairs,
stood before the Hoffmanns’ apartments, and rang the bell.
He now regretted not having as yet visited them, for though
he would have particularly liked to see how Hildegarde and
her cousin were occupied, he could not make his appearance
for the first time so unceremoniously, and was, therefore,
obliged to send in the servant with a request that Mademoiselle
Rosenberg would return home immediately. He thought
he heard Hildegarde speaking as the door opened, and perceived,
from the sound of the moving of chairs, that she was
taking leave at once. Not wishing to be seen, he left the
passage where he had been standing, and retired to the landing-place
on the stairs without. Hildegarde was accompanied
by her cousin, who spoke French, that the servant
might not understand him: “Adieu, dearest Hildegarde;
your step-mother may forbid me her house, but she cannot
// 226.png
.pn +1
change the course of nature, and prevent our being cousins.
I shall see you here, and often; promise me that at least.”
Hildegarde was about to answer, when she perceived Hamilton.
The two young men bowed haughtily, mutual dislike
legible in every feature.
“I suppose I may accompany you to the door, Hildegarde,
even if it be closed against me.”
“It is quite unnecessary,” she replied, moving up the stairs,
evidently endeavouring to get rid of him.
Raimund, however, followed, and, before he turned to descend,
gently took her hand and kissed it, with a mingled
expression of respect and admiration.
Hamilton scarcely waited for him to be out of hearing,
before he observed: “This, I suppose, is the most approved
manner for cousins German.”
“It is less remarkable than the manners of cousins English,”
replied Hildegarde. “I have not forgotten your meeting
with yours at Salzburg.”
“That was after a separation of several months, and——”
“Yes; but it was something more than hand kissing,
which means nothing at all, you know, and, I hear, is rather
going out of fashion.”
“And yet it is a pleasant fashion,” said Hamilton. “I
never kissed anyone’s hand, but should have no objection to
make a beginning now.”
Hildegarde held out her hand without a moment’s hesitation.
“Not that one,” said Hamilton, hesitating; “your cousin’s
kiss is still upon it.”
The door opened suddenly, and she ran laughingly past
him towards the drawing-room, just in time to enter it before
her mother.
A few minutes after, they were in the street, Hildegarde,
as usual, close to her father’s elbow, but without taking his
arm. Hamilton at first imagined Mr. Rosenberg’s presence
would be a restraint, but he found, on the contrary, that he
encouraged Hildegarde to talk and give her opinion freely,
enjoying even nonsense when it came from her lips, and laughing
with a heartiness which Hamilton had imagined impossible
for a person who had always appeared so calm and reserved.
Everything and everybody who passed afforded
amusement; it was in vain Madame Rosenberg called to
// 227.png
.pn +1
order; the laugh was partly stifled for a moment, to be renewed
the next with double zest. Hamilton was extremely
surprised, and began to think he should never be able to understand
her character, and yet the simple fact was merely,
that, being naturally gay, she only required the certainty of
being able to please to induce her to yield to her innate inclination.
She was not herself aware of this, for, on Hamilton’s
making some remark to express his surprise, she said:
“She believed she was only by degrees getting over the
restraint of her school habits, all conversation being forbidden
there, excepting during the recreation hours.”
The crowd at the fair was immense. It was the first time
Hamilton had seen anything of the kind, and he found it
difficult to believe that in the paltry booths around him
there could be anything for sale as good as might be had
with less trouble in the town. The noise, the talking, and
the bargaining amused him not a little, especially the latter;
and he stood beside Madame Rosenberg for more than half
an hour, while she haggled about the price of some muslin.
At the end of this time she was at the point of walking off,
(or, as she explained afterwards, pretending to do so,) when
the shopman called her back, and with an assurance that he
was giving her the “article” for next to nothing, prepared
to measure what she required. This was a bargain! She
had gained twenty-one kreutzers, about seven pence, and had
the annoyance of carrying a large package home, for porters
there were none. To anyone accustomed to English tradesmen,
the almost positive necessity of bargaining in the generality
of German shops is extremely tiresome and disagreeable.
It is more than probable that the tradesmen would
gladly establish fixed prices, were not the habits of bargaining
as yet too strong in the middle and lower orders to be
overcome.
The vociferous invitations of the Jews to inspect their
wares were equally novel to Hamilton. “Ladies, step here,
if you please. Cheap gloves, elegant ribbons, scissors, bracelets,
or soap. Have I nothing that I may show you, madame?
Flannels, merinos, or cloth for the young gentlemen?
Winter is coming, madame, and I promise you as great bargains
as you will get anywhere!”
To all these speeches Madame Rosenberg gave an answer,
generally of a facetious description; and while Hamilton
// 228.png
.pn +1
thought her more than usually vulgar, he sometimes could
not avoid laughing, the more so as everything she said was
taken in good part, and a few words seemed to reconcile the
vendors to her passing their booths without purchasing. The
two little boys had become weary and hungry; they leaned
against the counters, occasionally upset the piles of goods
ranged outside the booths, cuffed each other when their
mother was not watching them, and when forced to stand
quietly beside her, yawned until the tears ran down their
cheeks. Hamilton took pity on them, and finding a toyshop,
soon filled their pockets and hands with playthings, making
them by many degrees the happiest of the whole party.
“So!” cried Madame Rosenberg, as they returned to her,
radiant with smiles, “this is what you have been about; I
thought Mr. Hamilton had gone to look at the church. We
must all go together, it seems, and the less time we lose
there the better, for the days are short, and we have a long
walk home after supper.”
They were not exactly the persons with whom Hamilton
could enjoy seeing anything of the kind, and on entering the
church he walked up the aisle alone. They all, however,
followed him, and Crescenz observed, in a dissatisfied tone
of voice, “And is this the church that everyone admires so
much? It is not half so handsome as the Allerheiligen. I
declare, if it were not for the painted windows with the sun
shining through them, I should say it was the most sombre
church I had ever seen.”
“You have seen very few, my dear,” said her father, looking
round him, and drawing nearer Hamilton.
“I have seen all the churches in Munich,” said Crescenz,
“and several of them are larger than this.”
“It would be difficult to form an opinion of the size of
this building,” said Hamilton, thoughtfully, “for the proportions
are so admirably observed that nothing strikes the
eye or distinguishes itself above the rest. There is no point
from which one can take a mental measure, and I am convinced
it appears infinitely smaller than it really is.”
“But I expected to see a quantity of painted pillars, and
bright colours, and gilding, when I heard it was Gothic,”
observed Crescenz.
“I know nothing of architecture,” said Hamilton, turning
to Mr. Rosenberg, “but I form exactly a contrary idea when
// 229.png
.pn +1
I hear of a Gothic church; the painted windows are the
only colours which are admissible without destroying my
ideal.”
“And yet,” said Mr. Rosenberg, “Gothic buildings often
combined colour with form. In northern countries, either
from stricter simplicity of taste, or on account of the climate,
the absence of colours is usual, and sculpture takes
their place; but in the south, beside the painted ceilings,
mosaics, and frescoes inside, the outsides of the churches
were ornamented with coloured marble. It is a mistake to
suppose that the Gothic and Byzantine architecture refused
the assistance of colours; on the contrary, the most brilliant
and strongly contrasted painting is common. To begin with
the windows——”
“Rather let us dispense with them altogether,” said his
wife, moving towards the door.
“I have no objection,” said Mr. Rosenberg, turning round
to look back into the church, “for they do not suit the grey
monotony of the walls, and the gaudy colours playing so
uncertainly on the cold surface have something, to me, altogether
disharmonious. In almost all the old cathedrals,” he
added, “the walls and pillars were formerly gorgeously
painted; and it is only in the later centuries that, either
from want of taste or poverty, they have been whitewashed.”
“I was not aware of that,” said Hamilton. “It cannot,
however, make me change my ideas all at once. A Gothic
church is always handsome, with its light pillars and pointed
steeple and windows. I have never travelled in southern
countries, and my taste for bright colours has not yet been
made. Since I have been in Munich, I have begun merely
to tolerate them by degrees; and for this reason paintings
of the Middle Ages do not please me, no matter how celebrated
they may be. I cannot endure the bright red and
blue draperies, or the terribly shining gold backgrounds
which are so common in those pictures. I dare say it is
great want of taste on my part, but the hard outlines appear
to be unnatural, and the glaring colours offensive.”
“Very probably, when viewed deliberately in a picture-gallery;
but exactly these pictures were intended for
churches, and churches with painted walls. You must allow
that duller colours would have appeared weak, or would have
been completely lost, when submitted to the glowing stream
// 230.png
.pn +1
of light which would have fallen on them from windows of
blue, red, and amber-coloured glass!”
“All this never occurred to me,” said Hamilton; “but I
suspect, as you so warmly defend these bright colours, that
you have seen and admired them in more southern climes.
Have you been in Italy?”
“Many years,” he replied, while a sudden flush passed
across his face.
“Papa has been in Spain and in Greece too,” said Hildegarde.
“And yet you never speak of your travels!” exclaimed
Hamilton, surprised.
“Because I regret them,” said Mr. Rosenberg, sorrowfully.
“I did not travel expensively, and yet I wasted my whole
patrimony and the best years of my life in foreign countries.
I know not what I should have become at last, had I not by
chance met Hildegarde’s mother in Tyrol.”
“She—she was probably very beautiful,” said Hamilton,
glancing unconsciously towards their companion.
“No,” replied Mr. Rosenberg, thoughtfully. “She was
interesting looking, but no longer young when we married.
She was clever and warm-hearted—like Hildegarde here—and
could love with a warmth perfectly irresistible to a man
who had wandered for years, and was without a friend or
near relation in the world. She gave me an object in life;
but her affection, though of incalculable benefit to me, subjected
her to trials and privations which only ended with her
life. I was not worthy of such love!”
“Oh, papa! I am sure you were,” cried Hildegarde, eagerly.
“And what are trials and privations when shared with those
we love! It must be a compensation for everything when
one is really loved! I should like someone to love me—not
in a commonplace, rational, every-day sort of way—but permanently—desperately——”
“My dear girl, you don’t know what you are saying!
What will Mr. Hamilton think of you!”
“He will think I am talking nonsense,” replied Hildegarde,
laughing, “or, perhaps he will not understand me.
Mr. Hamilton is much too rational to love unwisely—and as
to passion of desperation, I do not think it possible for him
to form a tolerably correct idea of the meaning of the words!”
“Hello!” shouted Major Stultz, “where are you three
// 231.png
.pn +1
going? We are all waiting for you, and the roast goose is
nearly ready.”
They turned back and Hildegarde said in a low voice to
Hamilton, as they passed through the yard of the brewery,
“I am glad that there are not many people here, for, though
I like a garden party exceedingly, I think supping in a brewery
must be vulgar. I wonder you came with us!”
“I like to see everything,” replied Hamilton, “and besides
a man may go anywhere and everywhere.”
“Ah, how I should like to be a man!” she said sighing.
“You are too young for such a wish,” said Hamilton;
“rather like the Prince de Linge, desire to be a woman until
you are thirty, a soldier until you are fifty, and to spend the
rest of your life as a monk.”
“I think,” said Madame Rosenberg, bustling past them,
“I think that as the evening air is cool, we had better take
possession of the little room at the end of the garden; there
is a window in it which looks out on the road, and we can
see everybody who goes by. Do you remember, Franz, we
supped there with my father on pork-chops and sauer-kraut
the evening before we were married?”
Mr. Rosenberg’s previous conversation seemed to have
made him somewhat oblivious—he confessed having forgotten
the pork-chops, but said that he had probably thought
more of her than of them, at such a time.
“I don’t know that,” said his wife, “for you scarcely spoke
a word, and eat enormously. Now that I think of it, I dare
say that was the reason you looked so miserably ill the next
day.”
“I dare say it was,” replied Mr. Rosenberg, rubbing his
forehead hastily, and then turning to little Peppy, who was
dragging from his pocket the toys given him by Hamilton.
“Ah, those are childish things,” cried Gustavus, pushing
him aside, and leaning against his father’s arm, while he
endeavoured, with more haste than dexterity, to open a little
wooden box. “Those are childish things, but here are swans
and fish made to follow a magnet, and they swim about in
the water as if they were alive. Crescenz says I may swim
them in her basin to-morrow.”
“Papa, look at my drum,” cried Peppy, in his turn endeavouring
to push aside his brother, “look at the nice large
drum which Hamilton has given me.”
// 232.png
.pn +1
“Say Monsieur de Hamilton, or Herr von Hamilton,” said
Madame Rosenberg; “you and Gustle take great liberties.”
“We have no von in England,” said Hamilton, slightly
colouring, “and if the children may not call me Hamilton,
I must teach them my Christian name.”
“What is your Christian name?” asked Gustle.
“Alfred. I hope you like it?”
“And what is your name?” asked Crescenz, turning to
Major Stultz.
“My name is Blazius.”
“Blazes!” cried Hamilton. “What an odd name!”
“Not at all odd,” said Major Stultz, “the name is a good
one, to be found in all almanacks on the third of February,
which is my name’s day. Next year, I expect it to be properly
celebrated too—eh, Crescenz?”
Crescenz as usual smiled, but looked embarrassed, and was
evidently greatly relieved by the entrance of the roast goose
and salad.
They supped, and Mr. Rosenberg and Hamilton had just
lit their cigars, and Major Stultz drawn forth a pocket edition
of a meerschaum pipe, which he prepared to smoke as an
accompaniment to his third tankard of beer, when the sound
of a number of gay loud voices, and approaching steps,
made Madame Rosenberg hastily open the window which
looked into the garden, and stretch her long thin neck to its
utmost extent. She seemed half vexed as she drew back
again, exclaiming: “Well, to be sure! wherever we go—we
are sure to see him. If he were alone, I shouldn’t care a
straw; but he will, no doubt, bring all the others with him.”
“Who?” asked Mr. Rosenberg, very quietly continuing to
puff at his newly-lighted cigar.
“Count Zedwitz, of course—he is always sure to find out
where we are going, and pursues us like a shadow!” replied
his wife, glancing half-suspiciously towards Hildegarde, who,
however, sprang from her chair with even more than her
usual vivacity, while she said to Hamilton: “Can you not
assist us to escape? This window is so close to the ground
that I think we could easily leap on the road. Pray persuade
mamma to walk home with us, and leave papa to follow.”
Hamilton threw open the window, and in a moment was
on the ground, holding up his arm towards her; she sprang
// 233.png
.pn +1
down lightly without assistance, the two boys followed, but
when it came to Crescenz’s turn, she drew back, saying she
was afraid.
“Oh, Crescenz! choose some other time and some better
occasion for timidity,” cried Hildegarde, impatiently.
“If you cannot jump, make a long step,” said Madame
Rosenberg, laughing, while she put her advice in practice by
extending towards the ground nearly a yard of formless
bone, and with Hamilton’s assistance, and a slight totter,
reached the road.
A tremendous clatter of swords in the garden seemed to
alarm Crescenz; she threw herself completely upon Hamilton;
and while he was endeavouring to place her steadily on
her feet, the sound of wheels made him look around. A
dark-green open carriage was at the moment turning round,
and in the corner of it, vainly endeavouring to suppress a
fit of laughter, sat A. Z.
Hamilton coloured violently as he approached her, and
expressed his astonishment at seeing her at Munich.
“Herrmann called on you a couple of hours ago,” she
replied, “but you were not at home; and as we only remain
a few days here, and I may not see you again, I must not
forget to renew my invitation to Hohenfels. You must not,
however, expect to see an English country-house, a park, or
anything of that kind—prepare yourself for one of the
simplest of German establishments, if you do not wish to be
horribly disappointed. I should like you to see Hohenfels
before the snow comes on, or after it is gone. When will
you come to us?”
“In spring, if you please,” said Hamilton, “I have at
present so many engagements——”
“I need not ask you to drive back with me,” she said, looking
after the Rosenbergs, “but I can take those children and
leave them at home—it is a great distance for them to walk.”
Hamilton was the bearer of a message to Madame Rosenberg,
who no sooner heard of the proposal than she turned,
back, approached the carriage, and commenced such a torrent
of exaggerated thanks and apologies, accompanied by
curtsies and bows, that Hamilton, who had lately begun to
feel a sincere regard for her, was vexed, and looked at A. Z.
as if to deprecate her mirth, while he silently lifted the two
boys into the carriage.
// 234.png
.pn +1
It was unnecessary. A. Z. seemed to find nothing unusual
in Madame Rosenberg’s manner; and when the latter raised
her finger threateningly, and told the children, “For their
life to keep quiet, and not soil the baroness’s beautiful silk
dress,” she replied, quietly, that “she was well accustomed
to such youthful company to be in the least inconvenienced
by a pair of dusty little shoes more or less.”
“An exceedingly civil person,” observed Madame Rosenberg,
as the carriage drew off, “an exceedingly civil person
is your countrywoman. I am sorry we did not get better
acquainted at Seon, for I liked her a great deal better than
those Zedwitzes, who were uncommonly grand, and seemed
to think their son demeaned himself when he spoke to our
girls. I did not court his company, I am sure, and I let him
see it.”
“It is hardly just to make him suffer for his parents’
faults of manner,” said Hamilton; “Zedwitz is extremely
gentlemanlike and good-humoured, and has not a particle of
pride in his composition. Will you not assist me to defend
the absent?” he added, turning somewhat maliciously to
Hildegarde.
“My defence would be as injudicious as useless,” she said,
but in so low a voice that only Hamilton could hear her
words; “he is indeed all you have said, and much more—excellent
in every respect, I believe.”
“You do him justice,” began Hamilton, though he would
have preferred praise less warm in its expression; but at
this moment they were overtaken by Mr. Rosenberg and
Major Stultz, accompanied, to the surprise of all, by Count
Zedwitz and Count Raimund.
“I have brought you two of the party from whom you
ran away,” said Mr. Rosenberg, laughing, as he joined them.
“Count Zedwitz came into the room just in time to see
Crescenz fly out of the window, and both he and Count
Raimund prefer walking home with us to drinking the superlatively
excellent Stuberwoll beer, although I praised it
as it deserved.”
“It was truly delicious,” said Major Stultz. “I should
have had no objection to another glass.”
“Hildegarde! Crescenz!” cried Mr. Rosenberg, “this is
your cousin, Count Raimund.”
Crescenz turned round and blushed. Hildegarde took her
// 235.png
.pn +1
usual place beside her father, while she said, without hesitation,
that she had already made her cousin’s acquaintance at
the Hoffmanns’. Hamilton saw a glance of such meaning
pass between them as she spoke, that he indignantly walked
forward towards Madame Rosenberg. Major Stultz and
Crescenz soon joined them; and the former explained that
Count Raimund had, in the free-and-easiest manner possible,
claimed relationship with Mr. Rosenberg. That he had
spoken of his aunt—said that he recollected her perfectly—hoped
he would present him to his cousins and his present
wife, and allow him occasionally to visit his family.
“And Franz was as usual all civility,” said Madame
Rosenberg, with considerable irritation.
“Why, to tell you the truth, it was not easy to be otherwise,”
replied Major Stultz; “his manner was so off-hand
and sincere when he said that he trusted Rosenberg would
not make him a sufferer for family differences which had
occurred when he was a mere child. They shook hands,
and I was obliged to do the same, as he congratulated me
on my approaching marriage, and said——” here Major
Stultz diligently sought for his pocket handkerchief, as he
spoke—“said he was particularly happy at the prospect of
being so nearly allied to an officer of whose personal bravery
he had heard so much—or something to that purport.”
“It is too late to attempt opposition now,” said Madame
Rosenberg. “I intended to have refused his acquaintance,
and forbidden him our house, without ever mentioning his
name—it is now impossible. As to Franz, he has acted exactly
as was to be expected; but after all you said yesterday
evening I did not think you would cultivate his acquaintance,
on Crescenz’s account.”
“Crescenz will, I hope, do me the favour not to speak much
to him,” began Major Stultz; but Crescenz interrupted him
by exclaiming, in a voice wavering between crying and
laughing:
“I shall really be obliged to talk to myself at last! Every
day a new prohibition!”
“What does the child mean?” said Madame Rosenberg,
appealing to Major Stultz, whose colour visibly deepened.
“What on earth does she mean? Has she not her brothers,
her sisters, and you, and Mr. Hamilton to talk to?”
“No!” cried Crescenz, while tears of vexation started to
// 236.png
.pn +1
her eyes, “he forbid my speaking to Mr. Hamilton before
we came out to-day; and I am sure I don’t know why!”
“Then I must tell you why,” said Major Stultz, restrained
anger evident in the tone of his voice. “It is because I
have just begun to discover that you give yourself a vast
deal too much trouble to please this Mr. Hamilton—your—your
vanity is insatiable; and, I must say, you are the
greatest coquette I ever saw!”
Crescenz burst into tears.
Major Stultz seemed immediately to repent his speech. He
attempted to draw Crescenz’s arm within his, while he commenced
an agitated apology; but she shrank from him, and
between suppressed sobs stammered, “If—if such be your
opinion—of me—the—the sooner we break off our engagement
the—the better.”
“Crescenz, are you mad!” cried her step-mother, catching
her arm, but Crescenz broke from her, and hurried on
alone.
“Oh, pray, Mr. Hamilton, do have the kindness to talk a
little reason to that headstrong girl,” said Madame Rosenberg,
turning to Hamilton, who had been walking close behind
them.
“Excuse me,” he said, quietly. “Now that I know Major
Stultz’s wishes on the subject from himself, he may be quite
sure of my not speaking much to Mademoiselle Crescenz in
future. I have no right whatever to interfere with his
claims.”
“We know you never thought of such a thing. Don’t
we, Major!”
“Mr. Hamilton certainly admired Crescenz when at Seon,”
observed Major Stultz, sullenly.
“A mere jealous fancy on your part,” said Madame
Rosenberg, eagerly.
“Not quite,” said Hamilton, “I plead guilty to the charge;
in fact, I admire every pretty face I see, and both Mademoiselle
Crescenz and her sister are remarkably handsome.”
“You see Mr. Hamilton treats the whole affair as a joke.”
“It is no joke to me, however—I have been a precipitate
fool, and ought never to have thought of marrying such a
girl as Crescenz—perhaps I do Mr. Hamilton injustice—but——”
“I am sure you do,” cried Madame Rosenberg, interrupting
// 237.png
.pn +1
him, and then touching Hamilton’s elbow, she whispered,
“Say something to him.”
“What can I say? Major Stultz can hardly expect that
because he intends to marry a very pretty girl, everyone is
to find her ugly and disagreeable, in order not to provoke his
jealousy! I can avoid speaking to her, but I cannot think
her one bit less pretty than she really is.”
“Come now, Mr. Hamilton,” said Madame Rosenberg,
jocosely, “I see you are trying to tease the Major, but you
must not go too far, or he will not understand you. Crescenz
is very good-looking, but I have no doubt you have seen
many prettier girls in England.” She turned towards him
once more, and said in a very low voice: “I shall be greatly
obliged if you will say that you admire Hildegarde still more
than her sister.”
Hamilton found no difficulty in complying with her request,
and was so eloquent on the theme given him, that he
not only convinced Major Stultz that he had been mistaken,
but induced him even to banter him on his apparently hopeless
love. Madame Rosenberg did not wait for this result;
she no sooner perceived that Hamilton intended to comply
with her request than she walked on beside Crescenz, and
began a severe reprimand. Had she delayed a few minutes,
she would have found the young lady more disposed to listen
to her and profit by her advice.
Unfortunately, Crescenz had overheard what Hamilton had
said before Hildegarde’s name was mentioned, and her mind,
buoyed up on a thousand vague hopes, would not now yield
to the pressing reasonings of her mother; she said sullenly,
“that Major Stultz was intolerably jealous—that his age
rendered him unable to make allowances for younger people,
and that he expected more than was reasonable if he thought
she could marry him for any other cause than in order to
obtain a home. She would tell him so the first convenient
opportunity.”
“You will tell him no such thing,” cried Madame Rosenberg,
turning back, in order to try the effect of her eloquence
on Major Stultz. She was a clumsy maneuvrer—but she
generally gained her point, for she always meant well, and at
times spoke with much worldly wisdom. On the present
occasion, she took her future son-in-law’s arm, and walked
quickly on with him, leaving Hamilton, to his great annoyance,
// 238.png
.pn +1
with Crescenz. He would willingly have joined the
others, but there were too many to walk abreast, and neither
Zedwitz nor Raimund seemed disposed to resign their places.
They walked together in silence for some time, Crescenz
with an air of triumphant satisfaction, Hamilton with ill-concealed
impatience.
“I hope,” she began at last, “I hope that I have seriously
offended Major Stultz this evening: nothing would give me
greater pleasure than the breaking off of this odious engagement.”
“It would have been more honourable had you done so
before you left Seon.”
“Better late than never,” said Crescenz, gayly.
“To act dishonourably, do you mean?” asked Hamilton,
gravely.
“Ah, bah!” cried Crescenz, with imperturbable good-humour.
“You are talking exactly like Hildegarde, now.”
“You are not acting as Hildegarde would,” said Hamilton,
still more seriously.
“Don’t praise her too much, you are out of favour with
her just now, I can tell you.”
“What do you mean?” asked Hamilton, quickly.
“I mean that I am sure you must have been very uncivil
to her last night when you refused her the candle, for she
cried a good half-hour before she went to bed; and Hildegarde
does not cry for nothing! Perhaps if I had gone for
the candle, you would have given it.”
“Perhaps,” answered Hamilton, absently.
“I am sure you would,” she persisted.
“Oh, of course, of course.”
“Well, I told her so, and wanted to get up and go to you—but
she would not allow me.”
“She was right,” said Hamilton, endeavouring to overtake
Madame Rosenberg, while she was speaking.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake don’t bring me again to mamma!
I have been so lectured by her already—perhaps you heard
what she said?”
“No, I was speaking to Major Stultz.”
“And he was so—so very rude to me—you have no idea.”
“He told you some unpleasant truths.”
“Truths!” exclaimed Crescenz.
“Yes, truths,” repeated Hamilton. “You are very pretty,
// 239.png
.pn +1
and very good-natured, but you certainly are a—a coquette—what
we call in England a flirt.”
“Well, how odd!” exclaimed Crescenz. “Do you know—I
don’t at all mind your telling me that—and I was so very
angry with him! I declare now I should like to hear all my
faults!”
“I dare say Major Stultz will enumerate them, if you
desire it,” said Hamilton, now determinedly joining Madame
Rosenberg, and remaining beside her the rest of the way
home.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch17
CHAPTER XVII. || LOVERS’ QUARRELS.
.sp 2
The moon was shining brightly on their house, as they
lingered in the street to speak a few parting words. Mademoiselle
de Hoffmann sat at an open window, and gazed
pensively upwards.
“Should you not like to know the thoughts of your
betrothed at this moment?” asked Mr. Rosenberg, turning
to Raimund.
“Not at all,” he replied, carelessly glancing towards the
house, “I am sure they are commonplace, for a more matter-of-fact
person does not exist than Marie de Hoffmann.”
“So,” cried Zedwitz, “it is really true that you are going
to be married! I am glad to hear it, and congratulate you
with all my heart.”
“Thank you,” said Raimund musingly, while he turned
from Zedwitz to Hamilton, and then to Hildegarde, as if
they, and not Mademoiselle de Hoffmann, occupied his
thoughts.
“When is it to take place?” asked Zedwitz.
“What! ah! my execution? Some time in January, they
say; I wish it were sooner.”
“Of course you do,” said Zedwitz, laughing.
“That is,” said Raimund, the colour mounting to his forehead,
“I am afraid, if it be put off long, I shall get tired of
the concern, and in the end prove refractory.”
Mademoiselle de Hoffmann had recognised and now
// 240.png
.pn +1
addressed them from the window. Raimund was invited to
supper, and entered the house with the Rosenbergs, while
Mr. Rosenberg, who never spent an evening at home, walked
off with Zedwitz.
The moonlight was so bright in the drawing-room, that on
entering Madame Rosenberg declared it would be folly to
light the candles. She gave Crescenz a gentle push into the
adjoining room, telling her to “be a good girl, and make up
her quarrel with the Major,” and then went to “look after
her boys.”
Hamilton looked out of the window, and hummed an air
from Fra Diavolo.
“I am very tired,” said Hildegarde, taking off her bonnet;
“our walk has been long and dusty: and besides I have
talked a great deal, which is always fatiguing,”—she stood
beside and leaned out of the window with him.
Hamilton’s hum degenerated into a half-suppressed whistle,
accompanied by a drumming on the window-cushion, while
his upturned eyes were fixed on the moon. They remained
several minutes without speaking, until a murmuring of
voices from the window beneath them attracted their attention.
Hamilton leaned farther out to see the speakers, but
on recognising Count Raimund and Mademoiselle de Hoffmann,
he drew back with a slightly contemptuous smile,
while he said, “Your cousin’s observations this evening on
his intended bride were by no means flattering.”
“He scarcely knows her yet,” said Hildegarde, seating
herself on the window-stool.
“Scarcely knows the person to whom he is to be married!”
exclaimed Hamilton. “You Germans have the oddest ideas
on these subjects.”
“I see nothing odd in the matter; it is an acknowledged
mariage de convenance. Oscar proposes to marry Mademoiselle
de Hoffmann because he has debts and she has a large
fortune; and she accepts him because she is not very young,
and not at all pretty, and wishes for a good connection; they
are not, however, to be married until January, and are to
endeavour in the meantime to like each other as much as
possible. Can anything be more reasonable?”
“Nothing, excepting, perhaps, their having delayed their
engagement until the trial was over. I should like amazingly
to know what the sensations of a man may be who sees, for
// 241.png
.pn +1
the first time, a person to whom he is beforehand engaged to
be married. A lady in such a situation is still more awkwardly
placed.”
“There was no awkwardness whatever in this case. Marie
was pointed out to Oscar in the theatre, he did not find that
her appearance was disagreeable, heard that she was amiable,
and consented to marry her. His father made the proposal
for him, and Marie was given a whole week to consider before
she was required to decide.”
“A whole week!” repeated Hamilton, laughing ironically.
Hildegarde rose abruptly, and was about to leave the window,
when he exclaimed, “Excuse my ignorance of German
customs. I am really interested in what you have been
telling me, and should like to know what finally induced
Mademoiselle de Hoffmann to accept your cousin.”
“What induced her! They met at the house of a mutual
friend, and though you do not know how agreeable Oscar
can be when he chooses, you—you must have perceived that
he is uncommonly good-looking.”
“Why, yes, he certainly is not ugly; but good looks on
the part of a man is a matter of minor importance!”
“A handsome face is always an advantage. Don’t you
think so?” asked Hildegarde, laughing.
“An advantage? oh, certainly; but from what you have
told me of Mademoiselle de Hoffmann, I thought her far too
rational to attach much importance to personal advantages.
I should have imagined her just the sort of a person to appreciate
a man like Zedwitz.”
“You do her but justice,” said Hildegarde; “and I think
that, were she given the choice, with time and opportunity
to form an opinion, she would decide in favour of Count
Zedwitz; but he has no debts, requires no fortune, and is not
likely to marry in this way; he certainly will not employ his
father as suitor!”
“You seem to know him thoroughly; I was not aware
that you had such an exalted opinion of him until to-day,”
said Hamilton, biting his lip.
“If we had ever spoken of him when mamma was not
present, I should not have hesitated to say that, with the
exception of my father, I do not think there is a more
amiable or generous-minded person in the world than he is.”
Hamilton attempted to smile, in order to hide the jealousy
// 242.png
.pn +1
which at the moment he keenly felt, and answered with
affected eagerness, “Will you allow me to tell Zedwitz what
you have said? I know it will make him inexpressibly
happy.”
“No, thank you,” replied Hildegarde, calmly, though even
in the pale moonlight her deep blush was perceptible. “It
is equally unimportant now what he thinks of me or I of
him.”
A pause ensued, which was broken by Hamilton saying
abruptly, “If you really think Zedwitz so estimable, may I
ask you why you refused his proposal of marriage the day
we were on the alp?”
Hildegarde seemed utterly confounded, and remained silent.
“You may speak without reserve,” added Hamilton, “for
Zedwitz has told me everything.”
“I am not going to speak at all, unless,” she added, half
laughing, “unless you intend to begin your office of mentor;
you seem altogether to have forgotten that you undertook
last night to tell me my faults, and assist me to correct them.
Have I done nothing reprehensible to-day?”
“Yes,” replied Hamilton, “I saw you bestow on your
cousin this evening when he joined us a glance that gave me
the idea of a previous understanding with him——”
“Go on,” said Hildegarde.
“Can you not explain or exculpate yourself?” asked
Hamilton with some embarrassment.
“Oh, of course—but I thought you would naturally say
something about my having bestowed a glance of nearly the
same kind on you, when mamma talked of the pork-chops
and my father’s illness the day of his marriage; that was in
fact more reprehensible than the other, and shall not occur
again.” She paused for a moment, and then continued:
“When you came for me to the Hoffmanns’ to-day, I had
just returned that unlucky book of poems to Oscar, and to
prevent an unpleasant scene in our house, I partly told him
what mamma had said—he, however, resolved immediately
to try what he could do with papa, who he knew was too
gentlemanlike to be rude to him. I suppose he overheard
me tell Marie where we were going this evening, and followed—his
success was complete, it seems, and I could not resist
the temptation to let him know that I perceived and was glad
of it. What else?” she asked, gayly.
// 243.png
.pn +1
“Your mother seemed to think it was odd that Zedwitz
always knew where you were to spend the evening. Have
you ever in any way let him know, or——”
“Really, this is too much,” cried Hildegarde, angrily; “I
will not be questioned in this manner—or on this subject——”
“You are right,” said Hamilton, quietly, “and I resign
my most absurd office of corrector and improver. You have,
however, no just cause for anger, for you not only proposed
the plan yourself, but reminded me of my promise.” He
leaned out of the window, and had recourse again to Fra
Diavolo and the moon.
“You are a horrible tyrant!” she exclaimed after a pause,
“and I suppose, if I leave your question unanswered, you
will think me capable of making Count Zedwitz acquainted
with all our walking-parties!”
“What matters it what I think?” said Hamilton, without
turning round.
“Your question is exceedingly offensive, and yet I must
answer it, and tell you that I am as much surprised as
mamma at meeting him so often. If I could avoid seeing
him, I should greatly prefer it.”
“Indeed!” cried Hamilton. “Then you have no wish to
renew the—the——”
“None whatever,” replied Hildegarde, smiling.
“But if you think so highly of him,” persisted Hamilton,
“surely you must like him!”
“Like him!” she repeated, “why, have I not told you
that I like him exceedingly?”
“Something to that purport, certainly,” said Hamilton;
“you are altogether inexplicable, and I dare not ask an explanation.”
“You have no right,” said Hildegarde; “what occurred
before yesterday does not come under your cognisance.”
“I am completely at fault,” said Hamilton, in a low voice,
as if reasoning with himself. “Zedwitz told me that you
had said you liked him as an acquaintance, but nothing more.
This, I know, is not the case; therefore there must be some
misunderstanding—he suspected a prior attachment, but that
seemed to me improbable.”
“Rather say impossible,” cried Hildegarde, laughing, “for
the object of it must have been either Major Stultz—or you!
ha, ha, ha!”
// 244.png
.pn +1
Hamilton did not laugh with her, and another long pause
ensued—his jealousy, or, as he to himself termed it, his
curiosity, prompted him to make another effort, and he again
began: “I told Zedwitz he ought not to resign all hope;
that probably the fear of opposition on the part of his family
had influenced you.” He stopped, for Hildegarde bit her
lip, and seemed agitated. She stood up—sat down—stood
up again—and after a moment’s hesitation, said, “I do not
know whether I had better tell you all or nothing.”
“Tell me all,” cried Hamilton, eagerly; “no one can feel
more interested than I do, in everything that concerns you.”
“The all is easily told,” she said, slowly—“I have no confession
to make. You were right in your supposition—it
would be dreadful to me to enter a family unwilling to
receive me, for I am very proud, and his mother’s unnecessary
haughtiness—rudeness, I may say, to us all at Seon,
showed me what I might expect. It was her evident avoidance
of me that made me first aware of his intentions.”
“So,” Hamilton almost whistled, while an indefinable sensation
of actual bodily pain passed through his frame, “so
after all you loved him!”
“No,” replied Hildegarde, turning away, “but I believe I
could in time have loved him.”
“No doubt,” said Hamilton, sarcastically, “with his
parents’ consent the match would be unexceptionable, and I
only wonder you did not, on the chance, make a secret
engagement with him. The old Count is killing himself as
fast as he can with cold water, and were he once out of the
way, I suppose there would be little further difficulty. It is
really a pity you were so taken by surprise, that you had not
time to think of all this!”
Hildegarde’s eyes flashed, and, in a voice almost choked
by contending emotions, she exclaimed: “I deserve this
insult for trusting you—these insidious expressions of contempt
are more than I can bear, and to prevent a repetition
of them, I now release you most willingly from your promise
of last night, and request you will in future altogether banish
me and my faults from your thoughts.”
Hamilton would gladly have revoked his last speech, had
it been possible—he felt that anger and jealousy had dictated
every word—but it was too late; Hildegarde gave him no
time for a recantation, she had left the room with even more
// 245.png
.pn +1
than her usual impetuosity. He no longer attempted to
deceive himself as to the nature of his feelings towards her;
it only remained for him to consider how he should in future
act. That she did not care for him was evident, and the
little advance which he had made in her good opinion and
confidence, he feared he had now lost. For a moment he
thought of a retreat to Vienna, but then the idea of flying
from an incidental and perfectly harmless flirtation was too
absurd! Besides—could he hope that chance would be again
so favourable, and place him on the same terms of intimacy
with another family? It was not to be expected; so he
resolved to remain where he was—but to employ his time
differently. He would study more with Biedermann—attend
lectures at the university, ride, walk, call at the English
Ambassador’s, be presented at court, make acquaintance with
the English in Munich, and accept evening invitations.
Hildegarde’s indifference should be met with at least apparent
indifference on his part, and he would take care she
should never discover the interest which he now knew he
could not help attaching to her most trifling actions. A low
murmuring of suppressed voices from the adjoining room,
which he had indistinctly heard, at length ceased altogether,
leaving nothing but footsteps of an occasional passenger
through the solitary street to break the silence of the night.
He felt irritated and impatient, and, hoping that a walk by
moonlight might have a tranquillising effect, he turned
quickly from the window. Great was his astonishment on
discovering Crescenz standing beside him—tears stood in her
eyes, as she laid her hand on his arm to detain him, and said
in a scarcely audible voice, “I must ask you a question—will
you answer me?”
“Certainly,” replied Hamilton, much surprised.
“Did you tell Major Stultz this evening that you had never
admired—never liked me?”
“No—I rather think I said I admired both you and your
sister exceedingly.”
“I know you did,” cried Crescenz, “I heard what you
said, and remember it perfectly—and now he—he wants
to persuade me that I am mistaken, and assures me you
greatly prefer Hildegarde, and that you said so to him most
explicitly this evening!”
“Must I then account for every idle word!” cried Hamilton,
// 246.png
.pn +1
impatiently. “Surely it ought to be a matter of indifference
to you what I said!”
“Hush—do not speak so loud—he is there.”
“Who?”
“Major Stultz. He is waiting for me. I have such reliance
on you, that I have told him I cannot believe what he
has said. And now answer my question quickly. Have you
ceased to care for me? and do you prefer Hildegarde?”
“Pshaw,” cried Hamilton, taking up his hat, and endeavouring
to conceal his embarrassment, “I like you both and
admire you both; but when Major Stultz was jealous this
evening, I gave, of course, the preference to Hildegarde.”
“Is this the very truth?” asked Crescenz.
Her manner was unusually serious, but Hamilton was not
in the habit of paying much attention to anything she said,
and answered with a careless laugh, “What importance you
attach to such a trifle!”
“If you can laugh, I have indeed mistaken you!”
“What do you mean?” asked Hamilton, exceedingly bored.
“At the beginning of our acquaintance,” said Crescenz,
almost whispering, “Hildegarde said you were amusing yourself
at my expense; this I am sure was not the case; but
Major Stultz not only says that you never cared for me, but
insists that you have openly acknowledged a preference for
Hildegarde.”
“And if this were true?” said Hamilton, twirling his hat
on the end of his cane.
“If it be—I—can—never trust any man again!”
“A most excellent general rule, at all events; we are in
fact not worthy of trust, and your sister says I am not better
than others, you know!”
“Is this your answer?” asked Crescenz.
“If you will consider it one I shall be infinitely obliged to
you, for I am really at a loss what to say.”
“It is enough,” she said, turning away.
“Stay!” cried Hamilton, perceiving at length that something
unusual had occurred. “Stay—and tell me quickly
what is the matter. What have you been saying to Major
Stultz?”
“He accused me of liking some—other—better than I liked
him—and I did not deny it; he named you—and—and——”
“I understand,” said Hamilton, quickly; “and he told
// 247.png
.pn +1
you that you were slighted. Come, I will explain everything
to him satisfactorily.”
They entered the next room, but Major Stultz was no
longer there.
“He has gone to mamma!” cried Crescenz, clasping her
hands, and then sitting down, she added, with a sort of desperate
resignation, “I don’t care what happens now!”
“But I do,” cried Hamilton. “I will not be the cause,
however innocent, of separating you and Major Stultz. I
see I must go to him this moment and take the whole blame
on myself; if you afterwards refuse to fulfil your engagement
with him, that is your affair. This must, however, be
the very last time we ever speak on this subject. It seems
I must pay dearly for my thoughtlessness; but it will be a
lesson which I am not likely to forget as long as I live.”
At one of the windows of the corridor Madame Rosenberg
and Hildegarde were standing—the former was speaking
loudly and angrily. “I never knew anything so absurd as
Crescenz’s conduct! To choose Mr. Hamilton of all people
in the world for the object of a sentimental love! If she
had not been a simpleton, she might have easily perceived
that he thinks of everything rather than of such nonsense.
As to what the Major hinted about his having said that he
liked you, that was said at my particular request; so don’t
you begin to have fancies like Crescenz.”
“There is not the slightest danger,” said Hildegarde, with
a scornful smile.
“Where is Major Stultz?” said Hamilton, hastily opening
the hall-door.
“He is gone home, I am sorry to say. Oh, Mr. Hamilton,
this is a most unpleasant business! If Crescenz’s marriage
should be broken off now, it will be an actual disgrace.”
“It will not be broken off. I can explain everything.”
“Let me give you a hint what to say,” cried Madame
Rosenberg, detaining him, “for he is exceedingly angry, and
says we have all been deceiving him. Can you not just set
matters right—say that you have paid Crescenz some attentions,
and that you did admire her some time ago!”
“Of course I shall say that,” replied Hamilton, endeavouring
to get away.
“Say, too, that she does not really care at all for you, and
was only trying to make him jealous this evening because he
// 248.png
.pn +1
called her a coquette. And then, to frighten him, you may
as well add that you will renew your addresses to-morrow if
he do not at once make up his quarrel with her.”
“I shall tell him the truth and blame myself—even more
than I deserve,” said Hamilton, closing the door and running
down stairs.
“He certainly is an excellent young man!” exclaimed
Madame Rosenberg, “and notwithstanding his youth, I see I
may transfer the arrangement of this disagreeable affair to
him. At all events, I can do nothing more to-night, and
may as well go to bed. Tell Crescenz I do not wish to see
her until to-morrow. What is said cannot be unsaid, and
scolding now would be useless. What will your father say
when he hears what she has done?”
Hamilton was longer absent than he had expected. He
had overtaken Major Stultz just as he was about to enter his
lodgings, had walked up and down the street with him more
than an hour in earnest conversation, and had afterwards accompanied
him to his rooms. It was past midnight as he
quietly entered the house by means of the latch-key given
him by Madame Rosenberg, whose voice he heard calling
him the moment he had opened the door, and immediately
after, her husband, in a long flowered cotton dressing-gown
and slippers, appeared and invited him to enter their room.
Hamilton hesitated; but on being again called by Madame
Rosenberg he courageously advanced. A few oblique rays
of moonlight and a dimly-burning night-lamp contended for
the honour of lighting the apartment and showing Hamilton
a chair near Madame Rosenberg’s bed, which she requested
him to occupy while he related circumstantially where he
had overtaken Major Stultz, what he had said to him, what
Major Stultz had answered, and what chance there was of
his forgiving and forgetting Crescenz’s sentimental confession.
Hamilton related as much as he thought necessary,
and then said he was the bearer of a letter.
“A letter! give it to me; that will explain all,” cried
Madame Rosenberg.
“It is for—for Mademoiselle Crescenz,” said Hamilton,
hesitating.
“No matter; on such an occasion parents have a right to
make themselves acquainted with the true state of the case;
besides, I don’t quite trust Crescenz just now, although her
// 249.png
.pn +1
father, for the first time in his life, has lectured her severely
while you were absent. Franz, light the taper, and let me
see what the Major has written.”
Hamilton most unwillingly gave up the unsealed letter
committed to his charge, and watched Madame Rosenberg
with some irritation, as she, with evident pleasure, perused it.
A more extraordinary night-dress he had never seen than
that on which the light of the taper now fell; he was, as
may be remembered from his remarks at Seon, rather fastidious
on the subject of nightcaps. Madame Rosenberg’s was
interesting from the peculiarity of its form, resembling a
paper cornet, the open part next her face being ornamented
by a sort of flounce of broad lace, and the whole kept on
her head by a foulard kerchief tied under her chin. She
wore a jacket of red printed calico, of what she would herself
have called a Turkish pattern, the sleeves of which were
enormously ample at the shoulders, proving that the fabrication
was not of recent date. Her husband held the taper,
looked over her shoulder, and seemed exceedingly pleased
with the contents of the letter, which Madame Rosenberg
returned to Hamilton, saying, “I perceive you have very
nearly said what I recommended, and we are very much
obliged to you. It really would have been a most unpleasant
business had this marriage been broken off, and the
Major more than hinted he would do so.”
“You are detaining Mr. Hamilton, my dear Babette,” observed
Mr. Rosenberg, mildly.
She laughed—pulled and thumped her pillows, and again
wished him good-night.
Hamilton found the door of Crescenz’s room open, she and
her sister had evidently expected him—they were seated at
the window, and either for the purpose of enjoying the
moonlight, or as Hamilton afterwards supposed, to make
their features less distinct, they had extinguished their candle.
Hildegarde pushed back her chair, Crescenz hung her
head at his approach. “I have brought you a letter,” he
said to the latter, “which I hope will give you pleasure.
Major Stultz will be here early to-morrow, and trusts in the
meantime you will try to forget all that has passed between
you this evening. He sees that his absurd jealousy was
enough to provoke you to say all, and more too, than you
have said to him, and he is ready to believe that you spoke
// 250.png
.pn +1
under the influence of extreme irritation. In short, he is
sincerely attached to you, and it will be your fault if a perfect
reconciliation do not take place to-morrow.”
“I suppose he must have been very angry,” said Crescenz,
in a low voice, while she twisted the letter round in her
fingers. “I suppose he must have been very angry, as you
remained out so long.”
“Yes, at first; but then I told him he had no right to be
angry with you because you happened to be loved by others.”
“Indeed! Did you say that?” cried Crescenz.
“That is,” said Hildegarde, with a slight sneer, “you
have said exactly what mamma recommended.”
Hamilton felt extremely angry, but resolved not to let
Hildegarde perceive it. He answered calmly, though a slight
frown contracted his eyebrows: “No, mademoiselle—not exactly—for
I said only what was the truth.” While he spoke,
as if to brave her, he seated himself deliberately on the chair
beside Crescenz, and took her hand, while he added: “I told
Major Stultz how much I admired you, how thoroughly
gentle and forgiving you were; but I explained to him also,
without reserve, my own position in the world, and all the
miseries entailed on a younger son in England.” Hamilton
here explained at some length the difference between the
equal division of property among children so general in Germany,
and the apparently unjust privileges of primogeniture
in England; dwelt long and feelingly on the struggles and
vexations of a younger son brought up in luxury, and then
cast with all his expensive habits in comparative poverty on
the world; the necessity of pushing himself forward by his
talents; the impossibility of an early marriage! He spoke
long and eloquently, and made an evident impression on both
his hearers. Crescenz’s tears fell fast on the letter, which
she had unconsciously crumpled in her hand, without having
thought it worthy of perusal. Hildegarde leaned on a small
work-table, her eyes fixed intently on Hamilton, her lips
apart, and an expression of strong interest pervading her
whole form; she followed him with her eyes, but remained
immovable as he rose to leave them, and watched with what
Hamilton thought a look of subdued anger, while he pressed
Crescenz’s hands in both his, whispering his wishes for her
happiness, and his hopes that she would not misunderstand
him in future.
// 251.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch18
CHAPTER XVIII. || THE CHURCHYARD.
.sp 2
Hamilton experienced a sort of satisfaction in avoiding
both sisters for some time—the idea that he was endeavouring
to cure Crescenz of her too evident partiality was almost
sublime, and would probably have turned his youthful head
had not Hildegarde formed a counterpoise. Her former dislike
to him seemed to have returned with redoubled force.
She scarcely looked at, never spoke to him, and seemed not
in the least to observe that he no longer passed the evenings
at home. He had found no difficulty in disposing of his time;
introductions to a few German families had been followed by
general invitations, of which he availed himself at first with
eager pleasure, but soon afterwards with a feeling of indescribable
ennui; he missed Hildegarde’s society, and began
to consider in what way he could imperceptibly renew their
former intimacy; but this was more difficult than he had
imagined, for the sisters seemed to have formed an alliance
offensive and defensive against him. Crescenz no longer sang
when learning to make pies and puddings in the kitchen;
and if he looked in, she retreated behind the dresser. Hildegarde’s
door was now always shut, perhaps because the
weather had become colder, but Hamilton imagined it was
to prevent his leaning against the door-posts, to watch her
giving her brothers instruction until the dinner was announced.
The rarity and shortness of his present intercourse
served but to keep her in his memory, and perpetually
renew his regret for their last most unnecessary quarrel.
One cold fine morning, as he was leaving the house to
keep an appointment with Zedwitz, he perceived her standing
with Crescenz and her father at the passage-window
looking into the court. They were dressed in deep mourning,
and held in their hands large wreaths of ivy, interspersed
with clusters of red berries; they contemplated them
with evident satisfaction, while their father spoke so earnestly
that Hamilton’s approach was at first unperceived, and he
// 252.png
.pn +1
heard Mr. Rosenberg say, “You can easily imagine why I
prefer going alone, and at some other time. As long as you
were at school, gratitude for my wife’s attention forced me
to accompany her to the churchyard—the task of placing
the wreaths now devolves on you, and I wish you both to
thank her as she deserves. You will not surely find it difficult
to comply with my request.”
“I hope nothing unexpected has occurred——” began
Hamilton, looking at the sable garments of the sisters.
“Nothing whatever,” replied Mr. Rosenberg, smiling.
“It is All Saints’ Day, and my girls are going to place
wreaths on their mother’s grave. I suppose you too are on
the way to the churchyard, like all the rest of the world?”
“No,” said Hamilton, “why should I go there?”
“I don’t know, indeed,” replied Mr. Rosenberg, “excepting
as a stranger it might interest you to see the decorated
graves.”
“If there be anything to see, I shall certainly ride to the
churchyard after I have kept my appointment with Zedwitz,”
said Hamilton, stooping to examine the wreath which hung
on Hildegarde’s arm.
“My wife surprised Hildegarde with this wreath and a
bouquet of superb dahlias this morning, and I have just
been telling her that her mother’s grave has been decorated
every year in the same manner.”
“I am fully aware of my step-mother’s kindness,” said
Hildegarde, with some embarrassment, “and am sorry I ever
did her injustice.”
“That’s right, Hildegarde,” replied her father. “Now I
know you will say all I wish—to-morrow we can go alone
together, but to-day you must accompany your step-mother.”
Hamilton desired his servant to meet him at the churchyard,
and rode off to the barracks; he had no difficulty in
persuading Zedwitz to accompany him, after having told him
Hildegarde was there. “I will go to meet the living,” he
said, “but not to pray for the dead, inasmuch as I not only
doubt the efficacy of my prayers, but the existence of purgatory.”
“Hush!” said Hamilton, laughing; “no good Catholics
should entertain a doubt on the subject. I hope I shall not
find you as unbelieving as my friend Biedermann, who has
// 253.png
.pn +1
substituted philosophy for religion, and talks of the soul resolving
itself into the eternal essence after its separation
from the body.”
“No,” said Zedwitz, “I am a good Catholic, and believe
more than many professors of my religion. I go to mass
every Sunday and holiday, and my mother takes care that I
confess my sins once a year at least.”
“That same confession must be rather a bore,” observed
Hamilton.
“Sometimes—rather,” replied Zedwitz, making his horse
dance along the road.
“It seems as if all Munich had turned out in mourning,”
said Hamilton; “the crowd, too, reminds me of the October
fête, but the faces do not exactly suit the garments. Is it
not necessary to look a little sorrowful on such an occasion?”
“How can you be so unreasonable!” exclaimed Zedwitz;
“many of these persons are about to visit the graves of relations
who have been dead a dozen years! For my part, I
find something respectable, almost praiseworthy, in the dedication
of one day in the year to the memory of the dead,
even though tearlessly spent.”
“I quite agree with you,” said Hamilton, “and the idea
of praying for their souls is poetical in the extreme. Had
I been a Catholic, that is one of the tenets I should most
tenaciously have believed. But,” he resumed after a long
pause, “it seems odd that All Saints’ Day instead of All
Souls’ Day, should be chosen—can you tell me why?”
“No,” replied Zedwitz, “you must ask someone better informed
on these subjects than I am; all I know is, that the
observance itself was instituted by one of the popes about
twelve hundred years ago.”
“But I should have thought that as none of the relatives
of these people have been saints—to-morrow, being All
Souls’ Day, would be the proper day to choose.”
“Very likely,” answered Zedwitz, laughing. “I have never
thought about the matter, but I suppose the first of November
is what you would in England call the most fashionable day.
Ask my mother the first time you see her, and she will tell
you everything about it. By-the-by, when do you intend to
visit us?”
“As soon as I have a second horse and a sledge. I enjoy
the idea of sledging so much that I wish with all my heart
// 254.png
.pn +1
it would begin to snow to-morrow. But here we are, and I
hope Hildegarde may prove a very loadstone to you, otherwise
we shall scarcely find her among all these people.”
The crowd was immense, and they made their way slowly
through it, but Hamilton was interested in the novelty of
the scene; his companion’s eyes wandered toward the different
groups of dark moving figures, who occasionally
stopped to sprinkle the graves of departed friends with
water placed near for the purpose. Hamilton was occupied
with the tombstones and crosses, which were variously and
tastefully decorated with wreaths, festoons, bouquets of flowers,
and coloured lamps. Even the graves of the poorest
were strewn with charcoal, and ornamented with red berries
and moss, while tearful groups surrounding those newly
made, gave an additional shade of solemnity to a religious
rite which Hamilton had been taught to consider superfluous.
The attempt to find the Rosenbergs, or rather Hildegarde,
among the moving multitude, was long fruitless, and might
have proved altogether so, had not they met the Hoffmanns
and Raimund, who led them at once to the object of their
search. Madame Rosenberg was preparing to depart, and
held in her hand a brush dipped in water, which she shook
over the grave. Hildegarde and Crescenz followed her example,
before they spoke to Zedwitz or Hamilton; but directly
they laid it aside, the two boys, finding themselves
unwatched, began a contest for it, which became so loud,
that their mother, turning quickly towards them, and perceiving
their irreverent conduct, seized the subject of dispute,
and bestowing a thump upon each, shoved them on
before her, while she exclaimed: “I ought to have left you
at home, you tiresome children; you have never ceased
plaguing me since we came out. Only imagine,” she said,
addressing Hamilton; “Gustle was twice nearly run over,
and Peppy fell so often, that the Major was at last obliged
to carry him!”
Zedwitz and Raimund had immediately joined Hildegarde.
Raimund, whose mouth had been distended by a frightful
yawn when they had met him, was now smiling radiantly,
and evidently endeavouring to monopolise his cousin, who,
however, seemed rather indisposed to listen to him, and bestowed
her attentions almost exclusively on Zedwitz. Raimund
// 255.png
.pn +1
at length rejoined his betrothed, saying, loud enough
for Hamilton to hear, “Hildegarde knows what she is about;
when Zedwitz is present she has neither word nor look for
her poor cousin!”
“You get words and looks enough from her every evening
when she is with us,” observed Madame de Hoffmann,
with some bitterness.
Hamilton turned round, and saw Mademoiselle de Hoffmann’s
glance of reproach towards her mother, and Raimund’s
confusion. The words “every evening” grated on
his ear, and before he could arrange the unpleasant ideas
which had at once entered his mind, they had reached the
churchyard gate, and Zedwitz, approaching him, whispered
hurriedly, “I would not lose this walk home for any consideration.
Your advice about Hildegarde was excellent, and I
am determined to follow it. Pray let your servant take
charge of my horse.”
“My advice!” repeated Hamilton, with a forced smile,
but Zedwitz had left him, and the crowd had closed between
them. Murmuring some directions to his servant, Hamilton
sprang upon his horse—the animal, always restive, no sooner
felt his impetuous spring than he plunged violently, and
on receiving an angry check, reared—lost his balance—and
fell backwards—rolling over his rider to the horror of
all the bystanders.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch19
CHAPTER XIX. || GERMAN SOUP
.sp 2
Hamilton was taken up senseless. Zedwitz rushed to
his assistance. Madame Rosenberg could not leave her
children, but was obliged to hold them fast by their hands.
Major Stultz endeavoured with a half-offended air to tranquillise
Crescenz, whose screams had begun to subside into a
flood of tears. Raimund coolly exclaimed to Mademoiselle
de Hoffmann that Hamilton had been aware of the viciousness
of the horse when he purchased it, but had imagined
himself too good a rider to be thrown. Hildegarde, having
// 256.png
.pn +1
obtained a flacon de l’eau de Cologne from a stranger, was
soon beside Zedwitz, endeavouring to restore Hamilton to
consciousness; he very soon opened his eyes, looked around
him, and on Zedwitz asking him where he was hurt, began
to speak incoherently in English.
“We must get a carriage and take him home as soon as
possible,” said Zedwitz; “he seems more seriously injured
than I imagined from the slight wound on his temple.”
“Well, this is really dreadful!” exclaimed Madame Rosenberg;
“and there is not a soul in our house, for I gave Walburg
leave to go out. Here is the key of the door—what
can I do with the boys?”
“Let me take charge of them,” said Madame de Hoffmann.
“I am as much obliged to you for the offer as if I could
accept it,” replied Madame Rosenberg, “but unfortunately
they are so unruly that I cannot leave them with you more
than with their sisters and the Major. There is no help for
it. Hildegarde, you must go in the carriage, and send old
Hans directly for Doctor Berger.”
“May I not go, too?” said Crescenz, timidly; “I am so
tired!”
“Oh, of course,” replied her mother, ironically; “another
fit of screaming would greatly benefit Mr. Hamilton. Here,
Hildegarde, take the key and be off.”
On their way home, Hamilton alone was loquacious; he
spoke English incessantly, sometimes murmuring, sometimes
vehemently. Hildegarde blushed deeply, and appeared unusually
embarrassed, which Zedwitz interpreted to his own
advantage, totally unconscious that she understood the ravings
of Hamilton, which had already revealed much he was
anxious to conceal from her; his last thought before his fall
had been of her, his last feeling annoyance on her account,
and he now unreservedly poured forth both with wild volubility.
“I think we had better bind a handkerchief over his forehead,”
said Hildegarde at last. “The motion of the carriage
has made the blood flow.”
“I ought to have thought of that,” said Zedwitz, assisting
her; “he does not seem to know either of us, and evidently
thinks you some other person. Who is this Helene of whom
he is speaking now?”
// 257.png
.pn +1
“Some one in England, I suppose.”
“Poor fellow! most probably he fancies himself at home.
I am very glad to perceive that he is beginning to be exhausted.
There is something frightful in this sort of raving,
even when one does not understand it.”
“Do you think there is any danger to be apprehended?”
asked Hildegarde, calmly.
“I hope not; but his brain must be affected in some way,
or he would not talk as he has done.”
Directly on reaching the house they sent for Doctor Berger,
who came, accompanied by Mr. Biedermann; the latter
declaring at once his intention of remaining to take care of
his friend. Hamilton looked inquiringly from one to the
other as they entered the room, and then said quickly in
German, “I know you.”
“I am glad to hear it,” said the Doctor, adjusting his
spectacles, and turning to Biedermann, he whispered, “They
have been unnecessarily alarmed, it seems.”
“Yes, I know you. You are the ugly old doctor with the
protruding chin who married Crescenz, after she had walked
by moonlight at Seon.”
The Doctor shook his head and turned to Zedwitz for an
explanation of the accident. This was quickly given, and
he and Hildegarde waited with evident anxiety to hear the
Doctor’s opinion. It was not so favourable as they had expected—severe
remedies were necessary, and a fortnight
elapsed before Hamilton was pronounced quite out of danger.
During this time nothing could equal the attention
bestowed on him by the Rosenberg family and his friend
Biedermann, who passed every night on a sofa in his room.
Zedwitz, too, spent daily hours with him—perhaps the visits
of the latter were not quite disinterested, for he often met
Hildegarde, who was employed to amuse Hamilton, as he
was neither allowed to hear reading, nor to attempt to read
himself. As soon as he was pronounced convalescent, he had
a constant succession of visitors every day; not only his own
acquaintance, but everyone who had seen him with the
Rosenbergs; he felt at times perhaps quite as much bored as
obliged, and remembered occasionally with regret that more
dangerous part of his illness when Hildegarde had sat alone
in his darkened chamber, and Crescenz gently opened the
door every quarter of an hour to ask if he were better—her
// 258.png
.pn +1
mother, at Major Stultz’s instigation, having strictly forbidden
her to enter the room. Even the fussy visits of Madame
Rosenberg, who invariably insisted on half making his bed
and thumping all his pillows, were recollected with pleasure,
and he wondered at the impatience with which he had received
these well-meant civilities, having once forgotten himself
so far as to wish in very correct German that the devil
would come in ipsissimâ personâ and take her out of his
presence! which speech had so alarmed her for the state of
his brain that she had immediately sent off for the doctor.
The period of convalescence was not without its pleasures
either, and Hamilton knew how to appreciate them. Hildegarde
was obliged to read or talk to him whenever he choose,
was forbidden to contradict or quarrel with him, and, when
on one day he complained of cold hands, she had been ordered
to knit cuffs for him, and had done so with apparent
pleasure—then she had learned to play chess in order to take
Biedermann’s place when he could not come, and had to submit
to be checkmated as often as Hamilton pleased without
losing her temper. He had insensibly grown tyrannical, too—upbraided
her if she remained long out walking—refused
to eat his dinner if she did not bring it to him, and insisted
on the whole family spending the evenings in his room,
thereby effectually preventing her from going to the Hoffmanns.
Among Hamilton’s most constant visitors was Madame
Berger, and she was always welcome, for she amused him. “I
should like to know,” she said one day, seating herself on
the sofa beside him, “I should like to know how long you
intend to play invalid? It is astonishing how desponding,
almost pusillanimous, you men become when you are in the
least ill! I lose all patience when I see the Doctor feeling
his own pulse fifty times a day, and consulting half a dozen
good friends if his heart beat a little quicker than usual—while
I have palpitations every day of my life, and never
think of complaining or fancying that I have a diseased
heart! My father was even worse than the Doctor; if he
had but a cold in his head, he immediately mounted a black
silk nightcap with a tassel pendant, wrapped himself up in
his dressing-gown, and wandered about the house discovering
all sorts of things not intended for his eyes or ears, and finding
fault with everybody and everything that came in his
// 259.png
.pn +1
way, although at other times the best-natured man imaginable.
He had a habit, too, on such occasions, of eating a
bowl of soup every half hour, and then imagining it was illness
which prevented him from enjoying his meals!”
Hamilton laughed, and at the same moment Hildegarde
entered the room, carrying a tray, on which was placed a
double-handled china basin, the contents of which, notwithstanding
the cover, emitted a most savoury odour; the little
slice of toasted bread on a plate beside it seeming intended
to correct any doubts which might arise as to its being an
invalid soup. She placed it on the table before him, removed
the cover, and stood in waiting, as he first played
with the spoon, and then fastidiously tasted it.
“You have not prepared this for me yourself,” he said,
looking up discontentedly.
“No,” she replied; “I—I heard papa’s voice, and begged
Walburg to——”
“I knew that,” cried Hamilton, pettishly. “Walburg
always forgets the salt. Just taste it yourself, and you will
be convinced that I cannot swallow it in its present state.”
“Let me try it,” cried Madame Berger; “I am an excellent
judge of soup, have learned cookery, and all that sort
of thing. Let me see,” said she, playing with the spoon exactly
as Hamilton had done; “let me see; the smell is excellent,
but the taste?—hum! might require a little more
salt, perhaps, but—but still it is eatable. After a few spoonfuls
one scarcely remarks the defect—and,” she continued, raising
the bowl to her mouth, “and when one swallows it
quickly, it is really quite refreshing this cold afternoon.”
Hamilton laughed; Hildegarde grew angry. “You may
consider this a good joke, Lina,” she exclaimed, “but I find
it very, very impertinent.”
“Now don’t get into a passion, my dear, about a miserable
bowl of soup,” said Madame Berger, laughing maliciously;
“it is really not worth while. Just go to the kitchen and
bring another, and I promise not even to look at it.”
“But there is no more.”
“Ah, bah! as if I did not know that there was soup put
aside for supper.”
“But not such soup as that,” cried Hildegarde, ingenuously;
“mamma and Crescenz cooked it together, and I was
not allowed to touch it for fear of its being spoiled.”
// 260.png
.pn +1
“What an opinion they must have of her cookery,” remarked
Madame Berger, looking towards Hamilton.
“It is of no consequence,” he said, laughing; “I do not
deserve any for having been so difficult to please.”
“I can bring you a cup of beef-tea—it is better than
nothing,” said Hildegarde, leaving the room.
“Most careful nurse!” cried Madame Berger, smiling
ironically.
“Most indefatigable—most kind,” exclaimed Hamilton,
warmly.
“And most domineering,” added Madame Berger.
“I have not found her so.”
“Because you have never contradicted her, perhaps. For
instance, what would you take now to refuse this cup of
beef-tea when she brings it to you?”
“That would be ungrateful—almost rude,” said Hamilton.
“It will be bad enough to afford you an excuse, and I
promise to assist you to brave her anger,” said Madame
Berger, laughing.
Hamilton shook his head and looked a little embarrassed.
“Tell the truth, and say at once you dare not do it. She
rules you, I perceive, as she does her sister Crescenz, all in
the way of kindness, but no thraldom can be more complete.
How I shall enjoy seeing you swallow the scalding water
dignified with the name of beef-tea. I dare say this time
there will be salt enough in it.”
“How mischievous you are,” cried Hamilton; “I do believe
you want us to quarrel merely for your amusement,
after having remained for three weeks the best of friends
possible.”
“You are more than friends if you cannot take the liberty
to refuse a cup of bad soup.”
Hamilton was about to reply, when the door was opened
by Hans to admit Count Zedwitz.
“You have played truant to-day, Zedwitz,” said Hamilton,
holding out his hand; “I expected you an hour ago.”
“I have been skating on the lake in the English Garden.
There was a famous frost last night, and——”
“Skating! Here, Hans, look for my skates directly,
there is nothing I enjoy more than skating. We will go out
together.”
// 261.png
.pn +1
“But,” said Zedwitz, hesitating, “is it advisable to go out
so late? Remember, you have been more than three weeks
confined to the house. What will the Doctor say?”
“Hang the Doctor,” cried Hamilton, rising.
“I am sure I am exceedingly obliged to you,” said his
wife, pretending to look offended.
“By way of precaution, and not to lose time, we will drive
to the lake in a hackney coach,” said Hamilton. “Come
with us,” he added, turning cavalierly to Madame Berger.
“I have no objection, provided you leave me at home on
your way back.”
“Agreed,” cried Hamilton, entering his bedroom to make
the necessary change in his dress.
Madame Berger was standing opposite a long glass,
arranging her bonnet, Zedwitz turning over the leaves of
some new book, and Hamilton issuing from his room, when
Hildegarde again appeared, carrying another bowl of soup.
She was so surprised at the appearance of the latter that she
stopped in the middle of the room, and looked inquiringly
from one to the other without speaking.
“Mr. Hamilton is going out to take a drive,” began Madame
Berger, fearing Hildegarde might try to make him alter
his intention.
“I am going with Zedwitz to skate in the English Gardens,”
said Hamilton.
“Perhaps, Hildegarde, you will go with us; I can play
chaperon on the occasion,” said Madame Berger.
Hildegarde did not vouchsafe an answer, but turning to
Zedwitz, she said reproachfully: “This is not an hour to
tempt an invalid to leave the house for the first time.”
“I assure you I have not tempted him,” replied Zedwitz;
“I only mentioned having been skating to excuse my coming
so late.”
“You surely will not think of going out this cold day,”
she said, turning to Hamilton.
“The weather,” said Madame Berger, “is not likely to
grow warmer at this time of the year, and I suppose he must
leave the house some time or other.”
“In fact, I am no longer an invalid,” said Hamilton, “and
the air, though cold, will do me good.”
“At least drink this beef-tea before you go,” said Hildegarde,
approaching him.
// 262.png
.pn +1
“How on earth can you expect Mr. Hamilton to swallow
such slop as this!” cried Madame Berger, raising the cover
as she spoke.
Hildegarde angrily pushed away her hand.
“The carriage is at the door,” said Hans.
“Come,” cried Madame Berger, laughing, “you have no
time to drink this hot water at present, and if you do not
make haste I must decline going with you to admire your
skating, for it will be too late for me. Have you courage?”
she asked, giving Hamilton a look of intelligence.
Hildegarde had perceived that he wished to avoid drinking
the beef-tea. She had placed it on the table, and was
now standing near the stove apparently tranquil, but a slight
contraction of her brows, and the extraordinary brilliancy
of her eyes as she followed the motions of each speaker
betrayed the anger with which she was struggling.
“I perceive you are annoyed,” said Zedwitz, when about
to leave the room; “but,” he added, quickly, while the colour
mounted to his temples, “you need not be uneasy about your
patient; I will bring him back as soon as possible.”
“You are mistaken as to the cause of my annoyance,” said
Hildegarde, with a forced smile; “I am angry with myself
for having been such a fool as to prepare that soup.”
“You must excuse Hamilton this time. Madame Berger
is such an impertinent little person!” said Zedwitz, as he
closed the door.
In the meantime Hamilton had nearly descended the stairs.
“I can tell you,” said Madame Berger, “that Hildegarde is
in a towering passion. Did you not see her eyes flashing,
and her lips grow blue? I should not wonder if at this
moment she were literally dancing in your room!”
“I should like to see her,” said Hamilton, stopping suddenly.
“But if you go back you will have to swallow the soup as
a peace-offering,” said Madame Berger.
“Do you think so? Zedwitz, will you assist Madame
Berger into the carriage?—I must return to Hildegarde; but
I promise not to detain you more than a minute.” He rushed
up the stairs as he spoke, entered without noise by means of
his skeleton key, and, passing through his bedroom, was able
to ascertain the partial truth of Madame Berger’s assertion.
Hildegarde was walking up and down the room with flushed
// 263.png
.pn +1
cheeks, talking angrily to herself, and pushing everything
that came in her way. “What a fool—what an egregious
fool I was—to make a fire with my own hands to warm that
soup!” She kicked the leg of the table as she spoke, making
the plates and spoons clatter. “If ever I warm soup for
him again I hope, yes, I hope, I may burn my arm as I have
done this time.” She raised her sleeve and looked frowningly
at the suffering limb, which in fact was extremely red
and covered with blisters. While she endeavoured with her
handkerchief to remove the long streaks of smut which still
bore testimony to the origin of the mischief, Hamilton
advanced; and, scarcely conscious of what he was doing,
seized her hand, and held it firmly, while he gulped down
the soup as fast as he was able. It was, as Madame Berger
had said, very hot; and when he had deposited the bowl on
the plate, tears actually stood in his eyes from the excess of
his exertions.
“I feel quite warm now,” he said, turning to Hildegarde,
who stood beside him in great confusion, fearing that she
had been overheard, and, as usual, ashamed of her violence,
now that it was over. She had covered her arm, and was
endeavouring to release her hand, as he added, “You were
quite right when you said it was too late for skating to-day.
I shall merely drive out for half-an-hour, by way of a beginning.
This sacrifice I make to your better judgment.”
Hildegarde looked up; her lips were no longer blue, and
her eyes had regained their usual serenity. “To-morrow,”
she observed, with evident satisfaction, “to-morrow you can
go out directly after dinner, when the sun is shining.”
“Exactly; pray don’t forget to bespeak a little sunshine
for me,” he cried, laughing, as he ran out of the room.
“Where is my little tormentor?” he asked, on perceiving
that the carriage was unoccupied.
“How could you expect her to wait for you?” said
Zedwitz, gravely. “She has had the good sense to go
home.”
“I am glad of it,” cried Hamilton, springing gayly into
the carriage, “very glad.”
“It is confoundedly cold,” said Zedwitz, impatiently throwing
the folds of his cloak over his shoulder. “I must say
your minute was a long one.”
“Why, my dear fellow, considering that I had to drink all
// 264.png
.pn +1
that hot water, and put Hildegarde in good humour again, I
do not think I required much time.”
Zedwitz looked out of the window in silence. Hamilton
leaned back and indulged in reflection of no disagreeable
kind.
“Halt!” cried Zedwitz, suddenly, “we are at the lake.”
“Let us drive on. I don’t mean to skate to-day,” said
Hamilton.
“You don’t mean to skate!” exclaimed Zedwitz.
“No. I promised Hildegarde merely to take an airing.”
“Why did you not tell me that before?”
“Because I feared being deprived of your agreeable
society.”
“Halt!” cried Zedwitz, vehemently; and the carriage
stopped. “I can tell you,” he said, kicking the door to
assist Hans in opening it, “I can tell you that you have just
received an extremely great proof of my friendship, for if
there be any one thing I particularly detest in this world, it is
driving about in a machine of this kind. I have an inveterate
antipathy to a hackney coach.”
“I understand and share your feelings on this subject,
generally speaking,” said Hamilton, amused at his violence;
“but after being confined to one’s room for three or four
weeks, the air enjoyed even through the windows of a hackney
coach is agreeable and refreshing. Come, you may as
well drive back with me.”
“Sorry, I have a most particular engagement,” began Zedwitz,
who was now standing on the road, and stamping his
feet on the frozen ground, as if they had been cramped.
“You forget you intended to skate with me,” cried Hamilton,
laughing, while he jumped out of the carriage, took
Zedwitz’s arm, and walked off quickly with him, neither
speaking for several minutes.
“Are you jealous?” asked Hamilton, at length.
“You know best whether or not I have cause to be.”
“You have no cause—although I am sorry to be obliged
to confess to you that I too begin to find Hildegarde altogether
irresistible, but she does not care in the least for me,
and even were it otherwise, my case is more hopeless than
yours. Your parents will at least vouchsafe to make a flattering
opposition, which, as you are an only son, must terminate
in consent if you are firm—mine would overwhelm me
// 265.png
.pn +1
with scornful ridicule were I to hint at anything so preposterous
as an early marriage. It is I, in fact, who ought to
be jealous, and desperately jealous too, if you knew but all.”
“But her anxiety about you just now——”
“Was more natural than flattering,” said Hamilton; “she
has got the habit of taking care of me during my illness,
and even lately exacts a sort of obedience in trifles, which,
however, I willingly pay, as she allows me to tyrannise in
other respects.”
“But still, I consider you so very dangerous a rival——”
began Zedwitz.
“By no means, for though I wish to gain some of Hildegarde’s
esteem, if not affection, I can never speak to her
seriously on that subject which alone could interfere with
your wishes.”
“Do you advise me then to persevere?” asked Zedwitz.
“I must in future decline advising,” replied Hamilton;
“my confession just now was in fact tantamount to an acknowledgment
of my incapacity to do so.”
“Ah, bah!” cried Zedwitz, “your manner has convinced
me that your love is not very deep-rooted—my fears are
more for her than for you. If she once liked you, and confessed
it, there is no saying how serious the affair might become.”
“Very true,” said Hamilton, “you might in that case prepare
for a voyage to the moon, where you would be sure to
find my senses in a little phial, nicely corked and labelled.”
“Pshaw! Tell me seriously, what would you do in such
a case?”
“Seriously—I believe I should act like a fool. Apply to
my father with the certainty of being refused, and laughed
at into the bargain—write to my Uncle Jack, that he might
have time to make a new will and disinherit me—and then,
perhaps, enter into a seven years’ engagement.”
“Hildegarde would never consent to anything so absurd.”
“Not at present—but I thought you supposed her to
return my——”
“Hang the supposition!” cried Zedwitz, impatiently, and
they walked on in silence until Zedwitz again spoke: “I
wish, Hamilton, that at least you would promise to tell me
if ever you do enter into any kind of engagement with Hildegarde.”
// 266.png
.pn +1
“No,” said Hamilton, firmly, “I will make no such
promise. Let us start fair, we both love her, each after his
own manner. I will be honourable, and tell you that you
stand high in her estimation, and that the fear of the opposition
of your family, and not indifference on her part,
caused her former refusal. I have had to combat with her
personal dislike, and if I have overcome it, a very lukewarm
kind of regard has taken place. To counterbalance your
advantages, I live in the same house, and see her daily—hourly—often
alone.”
“Let us start fair in good earnest,” cried Zedwitz, eagerly,
“but in order to do so, you must establish yourself in my
quarters. The rooms which belong to my father when he is
in town are at your service; neither he nor my mother
comes to Munich this season, as Agnes’s marriage takes place
before the carnival. We will live together—visit the Rosenbergs
together, and at the end of two or three months write
a letter to Hildegarde, and——”
Hamilton began to laugh. “Had you proposed this plan
at Seon, I might have agreed to it—but now it would be
absurd to think of such a thing. Putting all other feelings
out of the question, Hildegarde has become absolutely necessary
to me. When I am ill, she tends me—when I am well,
she reads with me, or for me, and amuses me; and when I
am out of temper, she quarrels with me!”
“In the last particular I could supply her place,” said
Zedwitz, “for I could quarrel with you easily enough. If I
thought you really loved her, I should not so much mind, but
you are deliberately seeking a few months’ amusement at her
expense, and endeavouring to gain her affection without any
object whatever; for as to your seven years’ engagement, I
cannot for a moment believe you serious. Perhaps Englishwomen
may consider this pardonable, but my countrywomen——”
“Your countrywomen unfortunately do not understand the
meaning of the word flirtation,” said Hamilton, interrupting
him. “I wish I had time and opportunity to explain it to
them.”
“Explain to me what flirtation is,” said Zedwitz, gravely.
“No,” said Hamilton, “I shall do no such thing, for I see
by your face that you are ready to preach a sermon upon the
crime of endeavouring to please any of your fair countrywomen
// 267.png
.pn +1
without having both the intention and power to
marry with all possible despatch; and now, will you come
upstairs with me?”
Zedwitz shook his head.
“I do not mean to press you,” said Hamilton, “for I must
say I never found you less amusing than to-day. I wish you
would make an agreement never to mention Hildegarde’s
name to me.”
“It is an excellent idea,” said Zedwitz, “but, as I am sincerely
attached to her, I hope you will consider it no breach
of confidence, should I warn her against this flirtation love
of yours.”
“None whatever,” replied Hamilton, laughing. “You
cannot say more and will not probably say half as much in
your warning as I have already said, when she was present,
to her sister Crescenz.”
“You are incomprehensible,” said Zedwitz, shrugging his
shoulders, and walking off with a slight frown on his usually
good-humoured countenance.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch20
CHAPTER XX. || THE WARNING.
.sp 2
Hamilton prided himself upon being an excellent skater;
it was, therefore, with no little satisfaction that he perceived,
the next day, that he had been followed to the lake by the
Rosenberg and Hoffmann families—no sooner, however, had
Zedwitz seen the former, than his skates were thrown aside—a
place beside Hildegarde secured, and he accompanied
them home. This occurred several days successively, and
Zedwitz at length, on finding that he had regained his former
intimacy, ventured to give the proposed warning. Hamilton
was at the moment sweeping before them, “on sounding
skates a thousand different ways,” and exhibiting more than
usual grace and animation. Zedwitz began judiciously by
praising his rival—commended his person, his varied information
and talents, the more extraordinary from his extreme
// 268.png
.pn +1
youth, and then regretted that he had lost almost all the
freshness belonging to his time of life, that his ideas were
altogether those of a man of the world, that the society of
an elder brother, an accomplished vaurien, had evidently
been of great disadvantage to him, and had given him
opinions, especially with respect to women, which were dangerous
in the extreme. Hildegarde had listened with a composure
so nearly verging on indifference, that Zedwitz, almost
reassured, regretted having said so much, and had she continued
silent, would have, perhaps, softened his last remark,
but she looked up suddenly, and said with her usual energy,
“Mr. Hamilton has never spoken of his brother to me,
therefore I know nothing about him. You are, however,
mistaken as to his opinion of women—he thinks much more
highly of them than men generally do, and that he likes
their society is evident by his remaining so much at home
with us. Mamma says she never knew any young man so
perfectly well educated, and so excellent in every respect.”
Zedwitz was not aware of the peculiarity in Hildegarde’s
disposition which led her invariably to defend the absent;
he was, therefore, greatly vexed, and with difficulty stammered,
“And you—you—perhaps—think equally highly of
him?”
“Perhaps I do—the more I know him, the better I like
him,” replied Hildegarde, bluntly.
“I am answered,” murmured Zedwitz, biting his lip, “my
warning comes too late—he knew it when he gave me leave
to speak.”
“Who gave you leave? What warning?” asked Hildegarde,
quickly.
Zedwitz had gone too far to recede, and he now became
perfectly explicit. Hildegarde again listened calmly, and
when he ceased, observed half reproachfully, “When Mr.
Hamilton speaks of you, it is not to warn me—but let us
pass over that. I must, however, tell you that you have not
in your warning said anything which I have not already
heard from himself.”
“That’s it!” cried Zedwitz, with ill-concealed impatience,
“he acted honourably in putting you on your guard, but he
now considers himself at liberty to win your affections if he
can!”
Hildegarde seemed struck by this remark, and walked on
// 269.png
.pn +1
in silence. Zedwitz excused himself for having spoken
against his friend on the plea of jealousy, and then urged
his own cause with great fervour. While thus speaking,
they had taken a wrong turn, and were loudly recalled by
Madame Rosenberg, “who wondered what on earth they could
have been thinking about!” Zedwitz had no opportunity of
renewing the conversation, but he was apparently satisfied on
finding that she was not displeased.
When Hamilton returned home that evening, Hildegarde
was at the Hoffmanns’: she had not visited them for a long
time, and on her return, he inquired with extreme affability
after each member of the family, cousin Oscar included. She
seated herself as far distant from him as possible, and while
answering his questions seemed to think more of a coloured
wool, which she was arranging in a basket, than of what she
was saying.
“Did your cousin read for you this evening?” asked Hamilton,
moving his chair towards her.
“No, he tried a quantity of new music which Marie had
just received. Crescenz, do tell me how you distinguish
your greens at night? They all appear blue to me!”
“The names and numbers are pinned on each colour,” replied
Crescenz, pushing forward her neatly arranged basket
for inspection.
Major Stultz said something about young women of orderly
habits making good wives, which she did not seem to hear,
but when Hamilton in returning the basket observed, that
the colours were so judiciously arranged, that they reminded
him of a rainbow, a smile of childish delight brightened her
youthful features and made her look so pretty, that he playfully
held back the basket, and began a series of questions
on the different colours, exhibiting an excess of ignorance
on the subject which seemed to amuse her infinitely more
than Major Stultz, who first drummed on the table, then
pushed back his chair, and finally told her somewhat testily,
that “she was preventing Mr. Hamilton from reading his
newspaper.”
Hamilton understood the hint, and resigned the basket
with a slight laugh; Crescenz blushed, and, with evident
displeasure, followed Major Stultz to another table, where he
proposed reading her the letters which he had that day received
from Nuremberg.
// 270.png
.pn +1
Hamilton drew his chair close to Hildegarde’s, while he
observed, “I am very glad that you have no one who has
a right to forbid your speaking to me.”
Hildegarde bent over her work for a minute, and then looking
up asked abruptly, “What sort of a person is your eldest
brother?”
“The best-natured fellow in the world, good-looking, and
amusing. You would be sure to like him, if you could pardon
his speaking the most execrable French imaginable.”
“Is he amiable?”
“Amiable? oh, very amiable!”
“And not a vaurien?”
“Tant soit peu,” said Hamilton, laughing, “but not half
so bad as your cousin Raimund.”
“Is he much older than you?”
“Several years; but may I ask why my brother has so
suddenly become an object of interest to you?”
“He does not interest me in the least,” began Hildegarde,
but at that moment, Hamilton, whose hand had been wandering
through the entangled skeins of wool in her basket,
suddenly drew forth a small book which had been concealed
beneath them; her first impulse was to prevent his opening
it, but she changed her mind, and though blushing deeply,
continued to work without uttering a syllable.
Hamilton turned over the leaves for some minutes in silence.
“Who recommended you to read the works of Georges
Sand?” he asked, as he placed the book beside her on the table.
“Oscar; he told me they were interesting, and extremely
well written.”
“They are both the one and the other, and yet nothing
would have induced me to advise you to read them, especially
this volume. I am surprised you did not yourself perceive
that it was not suited for a person of your age or——”
“Pshaw!” cried Hildegarde, impatiently. “Mamma wishes
me to read French that I may not forget the language; the
best writers of the day are, of course, the best for that purpose,
and Oscar says all French novels are more or less of
this description. He told me that I need not have any
scruples, for that these works were written by a woman, and
might therefore be read by one.”
“So, then, you had scruples?”
“I have none at present,” said Hildegarde, taking up the
// 271.png
.pn +1
volume, “besides,” she added, drawing her chair close to the
table, “I positively must know whether or not the heroine
marries the young poet.”
“Marry!” cried Hamilton, laughing, ironically, “there is
not one word of marriage in the whole book—that would be
much too unpoetical. I can hardly, however, imagine that
this heroine really interests you—a heroine whose thoughts
and reasonings are those of a woman who has plunged into
the whirlpool of earthly pleasures, and from satiety learned to
despise them. I wish it were any of the other works of
Sand, or—or that, for your sake, Madame Dudevant had
been less gloriously graphical in some parts of her work. If,”
he added, half inquiringly, “if you merely read to know the
end of the story, it is easily told; the events are few, and I
am ready to relate them to you.”
“Oscar has a much higher opinion of my intellect than
you have,” observed Hildegarde, slowly turning over the
leaves; “he says my character is so decidedly formed, that
I may read, without danger, whatever I please.”
“That was gross flattery,” said Hamilton, “for no girl of
seventeen can read a work of this description without danger.
The religious speculations alone make it unfit for you—but
stay, I can prove it; read half a dozen pages aloud for me—where
you please; the chances are in my favour that I prove
myself right.”
“It is not exactly adapted for reading aloud,” said Hildegarde
with some embarrassment.
“That is an infallible criterion by which you may know
what to read for the next ten years,” said Hamilton.
“But I dare say I could find many parts which I should
have no objection to read aloud.”
“Read then,” said Hamilton, with a provoking smile.
Hildegarde began. “The style at least is faultless,” she
observed, at the end of a few minutes.
“Perfect,” said Hamilton; “but go on.”
She continued. By degrees her voice became less firm; a
deep blush overspread her face; she turned away her head
from him, and his eyes rested on her small and now perfectly
crimson ear, and yet she persevered until the words almost
seemed to suffocate her, when, throwing down the book, she
exclaimed, “You were right. I will not read any more of it,
nor any of the others recommended by Oscar.”
// 272.png
.pn +1
“May I write you a list?” asked Hamilton, eagerly.
“Pray do,” cried Hildegarde, turning round. “I promise
to read them all.”
A leaf was hastily torn out of his pocket-book, a pencil
carefully pointed, and two hours scarcely sufficed to bring
this most simple business to a satisfactory conclusion, so
various were the observations and discussions to which it
gave rise.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch21
CHAPTER XXI. || THE STRUGGLE.
.sp 2
The following Sunday Hamilton saw the whole Rosenberg
family, with the exception of Hildegarde, walking in the English
Gardens. It appeared odd that she should have remained
at home when her father was present, and he, for a
moment, thought of asking the reason; on consideration,
the hope of finding her alone made him turn his horse’s head
directly homeward, and, on riding into the yard, he looked
up to her window, expecting, as usual, to find her there ready
to greet him and admire his horse—but not a human being
was visible; even his servant, not expecting his return so
early, had disappeared, and he was obliged to lead his horse
into the stable himself. He entered the house by the back
staircase, visited all the rooms, and even the kitchen, but
found all deserted. Madame Rosenberg’s room was also unoccupied,
but through the partly open door of it he saw
Hildegarde sitting on the sofa in the drawing-room, reading
so intently that she was perfectly unconscious of his presence.
The deep folds of her dark-blue merino dress, with its
closely-fitting body, gave a more than usual elegance to her
tall, slight figure, as she bent in profile over her book, and
Hamilton stood in silent admiration, unconsciously twisting
his riding-whip round his wrist, until his eyes rested for the
second time on the book which she held in her hand. He
started, hesitated, then hastily strode forward and stood before
her. Doubt and uncertainty were still depicted on his
countenance as Hildegarde looked up; but her dismay, her
// 273.png
.pn +1
deep blush, and the childish action of placing the hand containing
the volume behind her, were a confirmation of his
fears that she was reading the forbidden work. “Excuse
me for interrupting you,” he said, with a forced smile;
“but I really cannot believe the evidence of my own eyes,
and must request you to let me look at that book for a moment.”
“No, you shall not,” she answered, leaning back on the
sofa, and becoming very pale while she added, “It is very
disagreeable being startled and interrupted in this manner.
I thought you told mamma you would meet her at Neuberhausen.”
“Very true; perhaps I may meet her there; but before I
go I must and will see that book. On it depends my future
opinion of you.”
“You shall not see it,” cried Hildegarde, the colour again
returning to her face.
“The book,” said Hamilton, seizing firmly her disengaged
hand. “The book, or the name of it!”
“Neither; let me go!” cried Hildegarde, struggling to
disengage her hand.
Like most usually quiet tempered persons, Hamilton, when
once actually roused, lost all command of himself; he held
one of her hands as in a vice, and, when she brought forward
the other to accelerate its release, he bent down to
read the title of the book, which was immediately thrown
on the ground, and the then freed hand descended with
such violence on his cheek and ear that for a moment
he was perfectly stunned; and, even after he stood upright,
he looked at her for a few seconds in unfeigned
astonishment. “Do you think,” at length he exclaimed
vehemently—“Do you think that I will allow you to
treat me as you did Major Stultz, with impunity?” And
then, catching her in his arms, he kissed her repeatedly,
and with a violence which seemed to terrify her beyond
measure. “I gave you fair warning more than once,”
he added, when at length he had released her. “I gave
you fair warning, and you knew what you had to expect.”
She covered her face with her hands, and burst into a
passion of tears.
“I cannot imagine,” he continued, impetuously walking
up and down the room—“I cannot imagine why you did
// 274.png
.pn +1
not, with your usual courage, tell me at once the name of
the book, and prevent this scene.”
Hildegarde shook her head, and wept still more bitterly.
“After all,” he said, seating himself with affected calmness
opposite to her, leaning his arms on the table, and
drumming upon the book, which now lay undisputed between
them, “After all, you are not better than other people! Not
more to be trusted than other girls, and I fancied you such
perfection! I could have forgiven anything but the—the
untruth!” he exclaimed, starting up. “Anything but that!
Pshaw! yesterday when you told me that the books had been
sent back to the library, I believed you without a moment’s
hesitation—I thanked you for your deference to my opinion—ha,
ha, ha! What a fool you must have thought me!”
Hildegarde looked up. All expression of humility had
left her features, her tears ceased to flow, and, as she rose to
leave the room, she turned almost haughtily towards him,
while saying:
“I really do not know what right you have to speak to
me in this manner. I consider it very great presumption on
your part, and desire it may never occur again.”
“You may be quite sure I shall never offend you in this
way again,” he said holding the book towards her. “What
a mere farce the writing of that list of books was!”
“No, for I had intended to have read all you recommended.”
“And all I recommended you to avoid, too! This—this,
which you tacitly promised not to finish——” He stopped;
for, while she took the book in silence, she blushed so deeply,
and seemed so embarrassed, that he added sorrowfully, “Oh,
how I regret having come home! How I wish I had not
discovered that you could deceive me!”
“I have not deceived you,” said Hildegarde.
Hamilton shook his head, and glanced towards the subject
of dispute.
“Appearances are against me, and yet I repeat I have not
deceived you. The books were sent to the library yesterday
evening——but too late to be changed. Old Hans brought
them back again, and I found them in my room when I went
to bed. I did not read them last night.”
“But you stayed at home for the purpose to-day,” observed
Hamilton, reproachfully.
// 275.png
.pn +1
“No; my mother gave the servants leave to go out for the
whole day, and as she did not like to leave the house unoccupied,
she asked me to remain at home. I, of course,
agreed to do so; without, I assure you, thinking of those
hateful books. I do not mean to—I cannot justify what I
have done. I can only say in extenuation that the temptation
was great. I have been alone for more than two hours—my
father’s books are locked up. I never enter your room
when you are absent, and I wished to know the end of the
story which still interests and haunts me in spite of all my
endeavours to forget it. The book lay before me; I resisted
long, but at last I opened it; and so—and so——”
“And so, I suppose, I must acknowledge that I have
judged you too harshly,” said Hamilton.
“I do not care about your judgment. I have fallen in
my own esteem since I find that I cannot resist temptation.”
“And is my good opinion of no value to you?”
“It was, perhaps; but it has lost all worth within the last
half-hour.”
“How do you mean?”
“I have seen you in the course of that time suspicious,
rough, and what you would yourself call ungentlemanlike.”
“A pretty catalogue of faults for one short half-hour!”
exclaimed Hamilton, biting his lips.
“You were the last person from whom I should have expected
such treatment,” continued Hildegarde, while the
tears started to her eyes, and her voice faltered, “the very
last; and though I did get into a passion and give you a
blow, it was not until you had hurt my wrist and provoked
me beyond endurance.” She left the room and walked
quickly down the passage.
“Stay,” cried Hamilton, following her, “stay, and hear
my excuses.”
“Excuses! You have not even one to offer,” said Hildegarde,
laying her hand on the lock of her door.
“Hear me at least,” he said eagerly. “I could not endure
the thought of your being one jot less perfect than I had
imagined you—that made me suspicious; the wish for proof
made me rough; and though I cannot exactly justify my
subsequent conduct, I plead in extenuation your own words,
‘the temptation was great.’”
Hildegarde’s dimples showed that a smile was with difficulty
// 276.png
.pn +1
repressed, and Hamilton, taking courage, whispered
hurriedly, “But one word more—hear my last and best
excuse; it is, that I love you, deeply, passionately; but I
need not tell you this, for you must have known it long, long
ago. Hildegarde, say only that our perpetual quarrels have
not made you absolutely hate me!”
Hildegarde, without uttering a word more, impetuously
drew back her hand, sprang into her room, and locked the
door. He waited for a minute or two, and then knocked,
but received no answer. “Hildegarde,” he cried, reproachfully,
“is this right—is this kind? Even if you dislike me,
I have a right to expect an answer.”
“Go,” she said, in a very low voice; “go away. You
ought not to be here when I am alone.”
“Why did you not think of that before?”
“I don’t know. I had not time. I——”
“Nonsense. Open the door, and let me speak to you for a
moment.”
No answer, but he thought he heard her walking up and
down the room.
“Only one moment,” he repeated.
“I cannot, indeed I cannot. Pray go away.”
He retired slowly to his room; even before he reached it
he had become conscious of the absurdity of his conduct,
and the prudence of hers. That she no longer disliked him,
he was pretty certain; that she had so discreetly avoided a
confession of other feelings was better for both, as it enabled
them to continue their intercourse on the same terms, while
the acknowledgment of a participation in his affection would
have subjected her to great annoyances, and placed him in a
most embarrassing situation. He was angry with himself—recollected,
with shame, that he had repeated the error which
he had so much cause to regret on a former occasion, and
mentally repenting his own loquaciousness and rejoicing at
Hildegarde’s taciturnity, he resolved never to refer to the
subject again. A ring of the bell at the entrance-door induced
him to stop and await her appearance. She did not
answer the summons, and it was repeated, accompanied by
a few familiar taps on the door. Still she did not move.
Again the bell was rung; the knocks became louder, as if
administered by some hard instrument, and finally her name
was loudly and distinctly pronounced.
// 277.png
.pn +1
“I am coming, papa,” she cried at last, running forward,
and opening the door precipitately.
Count Raimund sprang into the passage, closed the door
with his shoulder, leaned upon it, and burst into a fit of
laughter at the dismay legible on the features of his cousin.
“Oscar,” she began, seriously, “you must come some other
day, mamma is not at home, and I have been left to——”
“I know, I know,” he cried, interrupting her. “I saw
them all in the English Gardens—your chevalier Hamilton,
too, galloping about like a madman; and for this reason,
my most dear and beautiful cousin, I have come here now,
hoping for once to see you alone. Do not look so alarmed, I
am only come to claim the advice which you promised to
give me on the most important event of my life.”
“Not now, not now,” said Hildegarde, glancing furtively
towards the end of the passage, where, in the shadow of his
door, she distinguished Hamilton’s figure leaning with folded
arms against the wall; “some other time, Oscar.”
“What other time? I never see you for a moment alone—even
at the Hoffmanns, although my good Marie is too
rational to bore me with useless jealousy, does not her deaf
old mother watch every movement and intercept every glance
with her cold, grey, suspicious eyes? I sometimes wish the
old lady were blind instead of deaf, she would be infinitely
less troublesome.”
“Oh, Oscar!”
“Conceive my being doomed to live in the vicinity of such
eyes, dearest creature, and you will pity me, at least!”
“You are not in the least to be pitied—for the Hoffmanns
are most amiable,” said Hildegarde, hurriedly. “But now
I expect you will leave me.”
“Expect no such thing! On the contrary, I expect you
will invite me to enter this room,” he replied, advancing
boldly towards her.
“If you enter that room,” said Hildegarde, sternly, “I
shall leave you there, and take refuge with Madame de Hoffmann,
who, I know, is now at home.”
“Don’t be angry, dearest, all places are alike to me where
you are. All places are alike to me where I may tell you
without reserve that I love you more than ever one cousin
loved another.”
“The time is ill chosen for jesting, Oscar; I never felt less
// 278.png
.pn +1
disposed to enjoy anything of the kind than at this moment.”
“Indeed! then let me tell you seriously that I love you to
distraction.”
“Oscar, even in jest I do not choose to hear such nonsense.”
“By heaven, I am not jesting.”
“Then, betrothed as you now are, your words are a crime.”
“Be it so; there is, however, no crime I should hesitate
to commit were you to be obtained by it. As to breaking
my engagement with Marie, that is a trifle not worth considering;
but what am I likely to obtain by doing so?”
“Dishonour,” said Hildegarde, firmly and calmly.
“Hildegarde,” he exclaimed, fiercely, “do not affect a coldness
which you cannot feel; do not drive me to madness.
My love must not be trifled with; it is of no rational every-day
kind, but violent as my nature, and desperate as my
fortunes.”
“That is,” thought Hamilton, “exactly what she wished.
If he continue in this strain she will not shut the door in
his face. But I have had enough of this raving, and will
no longer constrain her by my presence.” He entered the
room, and closed the door.
For more than half an hour he impatiently paced backwards
and forwards, stopping only when he heard Raimund’s
voice suddenly raised. At length he thought he heard a
stifled scream, and rushed to the door, scarcely knowing what
he feared or expected. Hildegarde was holding her cousin’s
arm with both hands, while she exclaimed, “For heaven’s
sake, Oscar, do not frighten me so horribly.”
A loud ringing of the house-bell, and the sound of many
voices on the stairs, seemed to be a relief to her, while Raimund
appeared considerably agitated. “Hide me in your
room, Hildegarde; I am lost if the Hoffmanns find me here.”
“And what is to become of me should you be found
there?” she asked, while a deadly paleness overspread her
features, and she irresolutely placed her hand on the lock of
the door, then glanced down the passage, and beckoning Raimund
to follow, she led the way to Hamilton’s room. “Mr.
Hamilton,” she said, with a trembling voice, “will you allow
Oscar to remain a few minutes in your room, and when no
one is in the passage, have the goodness to open the door
leading to the back staircase for him?”
// 279.png
.pn +1
“The part which you have assigned me in this comedy,
mademoiselle, is by no means agreeable, but I will not be the
means of causing you embarrassment; Count Raimund may
easily be supposed to have voluntarily visited me, and there
is no necessity for a retreat by the back staircase, unless he
have some motive for wishing to give his visit an air of
mystery.”
“Ah, very true,” said Hildegarde, in a hurried, confused
manner, while she moved aside to let her cousin pass.
Hamilton’s speech made more impression on Raimund; he
looked furious, and seemed to hesitate whether or not to
enter the room. Again the bell rang, and Hildegarde was
in the act of springing forward, when Raimund caught her
arm, and while a fearful frown contracted his brows, with
closed teeth, and in the low voice of suppressed rage, he
whispered, “One word; is it Zedwitz? or—or——” he looked
towards Hamilton.
Hildegarde’s face became crimson, she flung off his detaining
hand, and ran to the hall-door, which she threw wide
open, leaving him to retreat precipitately into Hamilton’s
room, where, with folded arms, he strode toward the window,
after having murmured the words, “Sorry to intrude in this
manner.” Hamilton moved a chair towards him; he sat
down for a moment, but the next jumped up, and going to
the door, partly opened it and looked into the passage.
“I saw Count Raimund enter the house more than half
an hour ago,” observed a very loud voice, which Hamilton
recognised as Madame de Hoffmann’s, “and as I knew you
were all out walking, and only Mademoiselle Hildegarde at
home, I expected to see him leave it again immediately.”
“I think, mamma, you must have been mistaken,” said
Mademoiselle de Hoffmann, putting her mouth close to her
mother’s ear.
“I have the misfortune to be somewhat deaf, Marie, but
my eyes are as good as yours, and with these eyes I saw him
enter this house.”
“You are quite right,” said Raimund, advancing with the
easiest manner and most unconcerned smile imaginable. “I
knew that Marie had gone out with Madame Rosenberg, and
not imagining that my future mother-in-law could be so much
interested in my movements, I ventured, without informing
her of my intentions, to visit my friend Hamilton.”
// 280.png
.pn +1
“But Mr. Hamilton is out riding,” cried Madame de Hoffmann.
“Perhaps he was out riding, but I have had the good
fortune to find him at home, nevertheless.”
“Then he must have come up the other staircase, or I
should have seen him through the slit in our door, where I
watched you walking upstairs.”
“Very possibly,” said Raimund, contemptuously.
“Marie,” said Madame de Hoffmann, in what she intended
for a whisper, but which was audible to all, “Marie, my child,
I don’t believe a word of all this. The Englishman is no
more in the house than the man in the moon.”
“Confound your suspicions,” muttered Raimund, angrily.
“I suppose, then,” he added with a frown, “I shall be obliged,
in order to satisfy you, to ask Mr. Hamilton to show himself
to the assembled household.”
He seemed, however, so very unwilling to make the request,
that Madame de Hoffmann’s suspicions received confirmation;
she turned from him, saying, with a laugh of derision,
“Perhaps Hildegarde can assist you in making him appear!”
Her words acted like a charm. Hamilton, who had been
an immovable listener of all that had passed, no sooner heard
her name mentioned, than he mechanically rose, and taking
his hat and whip, issued forth. He forced a smile as he
passed the Hoffmanns and Madame Rosenberg, which, on
approaching Hildegarde, changed into an expression of contempt
that neither her swelled and tearful eyelids nor her
excessive paleness could mitigate.
After his return home, he remained in his room until
supper was announced, and even then delayed some minutes,
to insure Madame Rosenberg’s being in the drawing-room
when he reached it. She was endeavouring to persuade
Hildegarde to leave the stove, near which she was sitting
with closed eyes, leaning her head in her hands.
“If you would only eat your supper, Hildegarde, it would
quite cure your headache, which is probably caused by your
having spent the day in a heated room. Next time I shall
leave old Hans in charge of the house, for had you been out
walking with us as usual, you would have had no headache,
I am sure. Don’t you think so too, Mr. Hamilton?”
“I think it very probable,” he answered, seating himself
beside Madame Rosenberg.
// 281.png
.pn +1
“And don’t you think if she took some soup she would
be better?”
“Perhaps.”
“Hildegarde, I insist on your trying it—or go to bed at
once. You make your head worse by sitting so close to the
stove.”
Hildegarde, without speaking, moved to the vacant chair
at the other side of Hamilton, and slowly and reluctantly
sipped a few mouthfuls of soup.
By some singular anomaly, Hamilton found himself suddenly
in remarkably high spirits—he looked at Hildegarde,
and congratulating himself on being free from thraldom,
gazed with a gay smile on her pale features until they were
suffused with red, and great was his triumph to feel and
know that there was no sympathetic blush on his own countenance.
He told Madame Rosenberg of an engagement he
had made with Zedwitz to accompany him to Edelhof on the
following morning, to attend the marriage of his sister, and
requested to have his breakfast at an early hour the next
day.
“And you intend to remain away a whole fortnight! How
we shall miss you!” cried Madame Rosenberg.
“You are very kind to say so,” replied Hamilton, laughing.
“And I think so too, though you seem to doubt me. You
know I like you better than any of the Englishmen I have
had in my house. Captain Black was not to be compared to
you, nor Mr. Smith, either, although he used to tell me so
often that he was noble even without a von before his name,
and that he could be made a chamberlain here if he wished
it, as he was related to the Duke of Buckel,[#] which always
appeared to me such an odd name for a duke that I was half
inclined to doubt there being any such person.”
.pm fn-start // 1
Buckel means in German back, or more generally humpback.
It seems that Madame Rosenberg took it in the latter sense.
.pm fn-end
“We have a Duke of Buccleugh——” began Hamilton.
“Very likely he pronounced it that way; I am sure I
heard it often enough to know, but I never can learn an
English word until I see it written; and never should have
learned his name if he had not constantly left his cards lying
about on the tables; I dare say I shall find some of them in
the card-basket still.” She commenced a diligent search
// 282.png
.pn +1
while speaking, and soon held up a card on which was printed
in large German letters the name of Mr. Howard Seymour
Scott Smith.
“He used to sometimes say that the last word ought to be
left out, for that his real name was Scott.”
“Perhaps he inherited property with the name of Smith?”
“No; he said something about a marriage certificate
having been lost—that before he was born there was great
irregularity in such things in England.”
Hamilton laughed.
“Is it not true?” asked Madame Rosenberg.
“Oh, very possibly.”
“He told us, too, that in Scotland people could be married
without any certificate of birth, baptism, or confirmation—without
even the consent of their friends. Franz says this
is a fact, and that the existence of such a law is a great
temptation to thoughtless young people.”
“I have no doubt it is,” replied Hamilton; “I would not
answer for myself were I led into temptation. A great-uncle
of mine made a marriage of this kind and it proved a
very happy one—his friends, to provide for him quickly,
used all their interest to send him out to India, where he
made an enormous fortune, and as he has no children, has
been, ever since his return, a sort of lawgiver in our family.
I should not have been here now, if old Uncle Jack had not
said that travelling was necessary to make me a man of the
world, and that in Germany alone I could learn to speak the
German well.”
“But,” said Madame Rosenberg, “this marriage was a
fortunate exception, for,” she added, with sundry winks and
blinks towards Hildegarde, “for marriages against the consent
of relations seldom or never turn out well. Let me give
you some more salad, and then, as you are to leave so early
to-morrow, I may as well pack up your things to-night.”
“By no means,” cried Hamilton, “I must beg of you to
send for Hans.”
“Oh, young Hans is much too awkward, and the old man
is gone to bed hours ago. I have been thinking, if you intend
to keep Hans, that I will begin to teach him to be
handy, and instead of Hildegarde’s arranging your linen, he
must learn to do it from this time forward.”
“That would be very kind of you,” said Hamilton.
// 283.png
.pn +1
“For the sewing on of buttons, and all that,” continued
Madame Rosenberg, delighted at the idea of giving instruction,
“he must of course still apply to you, Hildegarde.”
Hildegarde, who had been leaning back on her chair, diligently
puckering and plaiting her pocket handkerchief, looked
up for a moment, and replied:
“Yes, mamma.”
“I shall send for Hans, and give him his first lessons to-night,”
said Madame Rosenberg, moving towards the door.
“Wait a moment and I can accompany you,” cried Hamilton,
quickly. “I shall be ready directly.”
“Don’t hurry yourself,” said Madame Rosenberg; “you
will have time enough before Hans comes up; and I must
first see if Peppy has fallen asleep, and if he is properly covered.
Don’t hurry yourself.”
Why did Hamilton bend over his plate? and why did the
colour mount to his temples as the door closed? Did he
begin to entertain doubts of his indifference, or did he dread
an explanation with Hildegarde? He scarcely knew himself,
but he felt uncomfortable, and gave himself a quantity
of trouble to prevent his companion from observing it.
The distant roll of carriages had already informed them
that the opera was over; but it was not until the sound of
voices in the usually quiet street had made the immediate return
of her father, sister, and Major Stultz probable, that
Hildegarde summoned courage to say, in a very low voice,
and without looking up, “What must you think of me——”
“Do you wish to know what I think of you?” asked Hamilton,
with affected negligence.
“Yes; but do not again judge too harshly.”
“I think,” he said, facing her deliberately, “I think you
are very beautiful.”
“Pshaw!” cried Hildegarde, pushing back her chair angrily,
“I expected a very different answer.”
“Something different,” said Hamilton, in the same tone.
“Something about distraction and committing crimes, perhaps.”
“What occurred to-day is no subject for a jest,” she said
seriously.
“So I thought a few hours ago, also,” said Hamilton;
“but now the whole affair appears to me rather amusing than
otherwise. Perhaps, however, your cousin alone is privileged
// 284.png
.pn +1
to speak to you in this manner, in which case you must pardon
me for endeavouring to recollect what he said; but it was so
well received that——”
“It was not well received!” cried Hildegarde, interrupting
him. “You know it was not; and I am ready,” she added,
after a pause, “ready to repeat to you every word of our
conversation.”
“Thank you,” said Hamilton, coldly, “but I have already
heard enough to enable me to imagine the remainder.”
“Perhaps,” said Hildegarde, hurriedly, “perhaps you
heard—and saw——”
“I heard a declaration of love after the most approved
form, a proposal to commit any crime or crimes likely to
render him interesting and acceptable to you. I remembered
to have once heard you tell your father that you wished to
be the object of a love of this kind; but I did not wait to
hear your answers, it was your half-suppressed scream which
made me foolishly imagine you wished for my presence.
When I saw you I perceived at once my mistake, and returned
to my room.”
“Then you did not see the—the dagger——”
“What dagger?” asked Hamilton, his curiosity excited in
spite of himself.
“Oscar’s dagger—he threatened to stab himself!”
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Hamilton. “I really did not
think him capable of acting so absurdly. I gave him credit
for too much knowledge of the world to treat you to such an
insipid scene.”
“Then you do not think he was serious!”
“I am sure he was not. The dagger was purposely brought
for effect. He has proved himself an excellent actor to-day—tragic
as well as comic, it seems.”
“It was cruel of him deliberately to frighten me,” said
Hildegarde, thoughtfully.
“It was unpardonable—inexcusable his doing so,” cried
Hamilton, “for he thought you were alone, and took advantage
of finding you unprotected.”
“Most men take advantage of finding us unprotected.
After the events of to-day I may say all men do so,” replied
Hildegarde, with so much reproachful meaning in her glance
that Hamilton rose from his seat and began to perambulate
the room, occasionally stopping to lean on the stove, until
// 285.png
.pn +1
her father’s voice and approaching steps made him suddenly
move forward towards her, as if he expected her to speak
again. She remained, however, silent and motionless; and
at length, overcome by a mixture of anxiety and curiosity,
and with an ineffectual effort to appear indifferent, he said
quickly, “I thought you were going to tell me what you said
that could have given your cousin an excuse for producing a
dagger.”
“You did not choose to hear when I was willing to tell
you; and now——”
Here Madame Rosenberg entered the room, and Hildegarde
rose, saying, “that her head ached intolerably, and
she would now go to bed.”
“Good-night!” said Hamilton. “I hope your headache
will be cured by a long sleep, and that you will be quite well
when we meet again.”
“Thank you; before that time I shall most probably have
altogether forgotten it,” said Hildegarde.
That means, thought Hamilton, she will not pour out my
coffee to-morrow at breakfast.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch22
CHAPTER XXII. || THE DEPARTURE.
.sp 2
Hildegarde did not appear the next morning, and Hamilton
breakfasted with Madame Rosenberg sitting opposite to
him in a striped red and white dressing-gown; her hair, as
usual, twisted up to the very roots with hair-pins, to prepare
curls which, however, seldom made their appearance at home,
excepting on the evenings which the Hoffmanns spent with
her. She sat opposite to him, and watched while he vainly
endeavoured to improve his coffee by adding alternately cream
and sugar. “One never enjoys a breakfast at this early
hour,” she observes at length, “the coffee is, however, quite
as good as usual; I made it myself.”
“I have no doubt of it,” said Hamilton, “but the fact is,
I am so accustomed to your daughter Hildegarde’s preparing
it for me, that I do not know the quantity of cream and
// 286.png
.pn +1
sugar necessary—by-the-by, I hope her headache is better
this morning?”
“She said so,” replied Madame Rosenberg, “but I found
her so feverish, and looking so wretchedly ill, that I have
forbidden her getting up until Doctor Berger sees her.”
“You do not apprehend any serious illness, I hope?”
“Oh, no—but Crescenz tells me that she slept very uneasily—had
frightful dreams, and at one time during the
night fancied someone intended to stab her! Such an idea!
I suppose,” she added, after a pause, “you expect Count Zedwitz
to call for you?”
“I believe so,” said Hamilton, absently.
“I am beginning rather to like him,” observed Madame
Rosenberg.
Hamilton did not appear to hear her.
“You are going to a gay house,” she added, “at least it
will be gay on such an occasion.”
“What occasion?” asked Hamilton, looking up.
“Why, did you not tell me that the only daughter was
going to be married? And is not a wedding a very gay
thing?”
“Not always,” said Hamilton, “for brides generally shed
tears and infect the bridesmaids, and the mamma half faints,
and the papa is agitated, and when the bridal party leave,
the house is immensely dull, until it fill with new people
again. Altogether, a wedding is a very deadly-lively festivity,
excepting to the two principal actors.”
“I will prove the contrary,” said Madame Rosenberg, “you
shall see how gay our wedding will be—that is, Crescenz’s!
Did I tell you that it must be deferred until the carnival?”
“Not a word—I thought it was to take place before
Christmas.”
“Marriages are seldom or never celebrated before Advent,”
said Madame Rosenberg, “but at all events, Major Stultz’s
sister has died suddenly, and he must leave for Nuremberg
to-morrow.”
“I am sorry he has lost his sister,” said Hamilton, compassionately.
“Why, in fact, the loss is rather a gain,” said Madame
Rosenberg. “He knew very little about her—she was unmarried,
rich, and stingy—always on the point of making a
fool of herself by marrying some young student or officer.
// 287.png
.pn +1
Now the Major quietly inherits all her property—a very
pretty addition to what he already has. I told Crescenz
yesterday evening that she had drawn a greater prize than
she expected.”
“And what did she say?”
“Why, not much, but she looked exceedingly pleased—her
father has told me since that he thinks she is glad that her
marriage is put off, and does not care in the least about the
money, of which she has not yet learned the value. This
may be partly true—Crescenz may have no objection to a
delay, but she is now quite satisfied with the Major, and has
no wish whatever to break off her engagement. Count
Raimund has been of great use to her!”
“How do you mean?” asked Hamilton surprised.
“Why, his unpardonable negligence towards Marie de
Hoffmann forms a fine contrast to the Major’s attention and
handsome presents. Crescenz is very childish, but she has
perceived the difference, nevertheless, and I have not neglected
the opportunity to tell her that all young men are
careless lovers, and still more careless husbands, and that I
am sure she will be much happier when she is married than
Marie.”
“The carriage is come! The carriage is come for Hamilton!”
cried Peppy, rushing into the room; “and Count
Zedwitz is coming up the stairs! and Crescenz is hiding
behind the kitchen-door! and Walburg is gone with Gustle
to school! and Dr. Berger is in Hildegarde’s room! and
papa is putting on his coat! and he wants you to come to
him!”
“Well, have you any more news to tell me before I go?”
said his mother, taking up her bunch of keys from the breakfast-table.
“Good-morning, Count Zedwitz—you must excuse
me—Dr. Berger is here, and——”
“No one ill, I hope?” said Zedwitz.
“Hildegarde is ill,” replied Hamilton; “have you any
objection to waiting until we hear what the Doctor says?”
“Quite the contrary,” said Zedwitz, sitting down, evidently
alarmed.
“In the meantime, I can tell Hans to carry down my luggage,”
said Hamilton.
Hans was despatched with the portmanteau, carpet-bag,
and dressing-case; but Hamilton, instead of returning to his
// 288.png
.pn +1
friend, watched until Madame Rosenberg and the Doctor had
left Hildegarde’s room, and walked up the passage together.
A moment after he was at her door, and had knocked.
“Come in,” said Hildegarde, almost gayly. “I am not so
ill as you suppose!”
“I am very glad to hear it,” said Hamilton, entering as he
spoke.
“I—I—expected papa,” said Hildegarde, blushing deeply.
“I more than half suspected the permission to enter was
not intended for me,” said Hamilton, “but I really cannot
leave you without having obtained pardon for having offended
you last night. I cannot quit you for so long a time, without
the certainty of your forgiveness.”
“It is granted—or rather I have nothing to forgive,”
replied Hildegarde, “for you were quite right not to listen to
my confession, though I remained up on purpose to favour
you with it.” She had become very pale while speaking,
and Hamilton was forcibly reminded of all her long and
unwearied attentions to him during his illness. He wondered
how he could ever, even for a moment, have forgotten them,
and remained lost in thought, until, slightly pointing towards
the door, she wished him a pleasant journey and much
amusement. Instead of obeying the sign, he walked directly
forward, saying, “You must not expect me to believe that I
am forgiven until you have told me all I refused to hear
yesterday evening.”
“How very unconscionable you are,” she said, with a faint
smile. “When, however, I tell you that I wish you to leave
my room, that I am too ill to talk, I am sure you——”
“Oh, of course, of course,” said Hamilton, quite aware of
the reasonableness of her demand. “Only one thing you
must tell me, and that is, what you said to Raimund which
could induce him to threaten to kill himself.”
“Do not ask me,” said Hildegarde, uneasily.
“But that is exactly what I insist upon knowing,” persisted
Hamilton.
“You said you came to ask forgiveness, but it seems you
have fallen into your usual habit of commanding, and——”
“I do not command,” cried Hamilton, interrupting her,
“I do not command; but,” he added in a very low voice,
and approaching still nearer, “I entreat, I entreat you to tell
me what you said to him.”
// 289.png
.pn +1
“I reminded him that he was betrothed to my friend,”
began Hildegarde, slowly and unwillingly.
“Well, well; and then——”
“And then—I said—I could not like him otherwise than
as a—cousin.”
“But surely, situated as he is, he must have expected just
such an answer from you. Were he free and independent,
you would probably have spoken differently. Did you not
console him by telling him so?”
Hildegarde remained silent, her eyes almost closed.
“And if you told him that,” continued Hamilton, “there
was no possible excuse for the dagger-scene; he might have
been despairing, but not desperate, on such an occasion. Tell
me, Hildegarde, did you say that?”
“No,” she replied, almost in a whisper, “no; for though
I admire Oscar, I do not love him at all.”
“Then you must have said something else!”
“You are worrying me,” she murmured, with an expression
of pain.
“I see I am,” cried Hamilton. “Forgive me, but I must
ask one question more. Did he not ask you if you loved
another?”
“Yes,” said Hildegarde, turning away her face, which was
once more covered with blushes.
“And you acknowledged?”
“I acknowledged. I confessed my folly, to put an end to
the wildest ravings and most impracticable schemes imaginable.”
“And you named the object of your preference?”
“Oh, no, no, no!”
“Hildegarde,” cried Hamilton, hurriedly, “tell me at once—answer
me quickly, have you chosen Zedwitz?”
Hildegarde turned still more away, but did not answer.
“I understand your silence. You have chosen well—and,”
he added, after a slight struggle, “wisely.”
Hildegarde made an impatient gesture with her hand.
“Do not mistake me,” he continued, eagerly; “I am convinced
your choice has not in the least been influenced by
interested motives. Zedwitz is in every respect worthy of
your regard.”
Hildegarde raised herself quickly on her elbow, and
seemed about to speak, but the words died on her lips when
// 290.png
.pn +1
she perceived Crescenz, who had, as usual, entered the room
noiselessly, standing between them. She shrank back, her
colour changed several times with frightful rapidity, but her
voice, though faint, was perfectly calm as she requested her
sister to close the window shutters, and every trace of emotion
disappeared as her father entering, seated himself beside
her bed, and observed that she looked more like a marble
statue than a living person.
Hamilton was at the moment unable to articulate; he
shook Mr. Rosenberg’s hand, and left the room precipitately.
In the drawing-room he found the Doctor assuring Madame
Rosenberg that Mademoiselle Hildegarde would be perfectly
well in a day or two. Hamilton, nevertheless, requested her
to write to him, and having obtained a promise, he began to
hurry Zedwitz’s departure.
“Does your servant not go with us, Hamilton?” asked
Zedwitz.
“He is to follow with Madame Rosenberg’s letter to-morrow.
Be sure to bring the letter, Hans!” said Hamilton, as
he wrapped himself in his cloak, and sank back in the corner
of the carriage.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch23
CHAPTER XXIII. || THE LONG DAY.
.sp 2
Hamilton could not help feeling flattered at the evident
pleasure which his return caused to every member of the
Rosenberg family. The two little boys began immediately
to tell him that the Christmas-tree was expected the next
day. Gustle said that he had written a list of all the toys
he wished for, had placed it under his pillow, and that the
little child Christ had come for it and carried it off; “So,
you see, I must have been very good, or he would not have
taken the list, and I shall get all the things I wrote for.”
“And,” said Peppy, “mamma met the infant Christ in the
Ludwig Street, and he asked if I had been a good child, and
// 291.png
.pn +1
when mamma said yes, he promised to fly into the nursery
to-morrow evening and light the candles, and bring me a
gun, and a cart, and bon-bons, and gingerbread.”
“To-morrow is Christmas-eve,” said Madame Rosenberg,
“a great day with us. Captain Smith told me that you do
not celebrate it in the same manner as we do. As to Gustle,”
she added in a whisper, “he is a cunning little fellow, and
only half believes what he says, but Peppy has still all the
innocent faith of childhood. I, for my own part, firmly
believed that Jesus gave me all my Christmas presents until
I was nearly ten years old; but children now are not so
easily made to believe what we say.”
“I don’t quite like this idea,” said Hamilton. “Speaking
in this way seems to me to be irreverent, and must oblige
you to tell the children a number of untruths.”
“Ah, bah!” cried Madame Rosenberg, laughing, “you
are all too particular in this respect.”
“I think,” said her husband, “that as long as they can
believe it, they may, and when they cease to do so, they
naturally think that it is God who has given us the means
of gratifying their wishes, and so the gifts after all come
from him.”
“Oh, how I enjoy the idea of my Christmas-tree this
year,” exclaimed Crescenz.
“Of course you do,” said Madame Rosenberg, “as you
know that you will get so many presents. The Major returns
to-morrow in order to give you the gold chain and topaz
ornaments he promised you, and perhaps he may bring something
of his sister’s for you from Nuremberg.”
“And what do you expect to get?” said Hamilton, turning
to Hildegarde.
“I don’t know,” she replied, looking with a smile towards
her father, “but I have a sort of idea that I shall get my
first ball dress and some books. Mamma has promised me a
tree for myself, so perhaps I shall give you some of my bon-bons.”
“How I wish to-morrow were come!” cried Gustle.
“I wish dinner were on the table,” said Mr. Rosenberg,
“although we get nothing now but veal to eat, which my
wife considers as a sort of preservative against cholera.”
“You are just as much afraid of cholera as I am, Franz,”
she said, and then added in a whisper to Hamilton, “He
// 292.png
.pn +1
laughs at me, but he takes drops and pills every night.
While you were at Edelhof, we had some scenes which would,
perhaps, have alarmed you. First, I thought I had got the
cholera, but it was only some fat of roast lamb which had
disagreed with me. Then the cook made herself ill by
eating the apples which I had given her that the children
might not ask for them. Then Peppy——”
“Dinner is on the table,” cried old Hans, merely putting
his grey head into the room.
“That’s right,” cried Mr. Rosenberg, “and now I request
that the cholera be no more named among us. A fine of six
kreutzers for every time the word is said.”
“Oh, as to not saying the word ‘cholera,’” began his wife.
“A fine, a fine,” cried Mr. Rosenberg; “the money shall
be put into a box and given to the poor.”
“Oh, dear,” exclaimed Crescenz, “I must take great care,
or all my pocket-money will be spent on the cho——”
Hildegarde’s hand was on her mouth before the word was
pronounced. The little boys clapped their hands, Hamilton
laughed, and Mr. Rosenberg said he was sure that his wife
and Crescenz would prove themselves the most charitable by
their contributions.
The next morning Hamilton spent in choosing his presents;
he was for some time exceedingly puzzled, and wavered long
between books and bronze, glass and gold; at length he
recollected having heard Hildegarde once say that she wished
for nothing in this world so much as a little watch, but that
she feared she never would be in possession of one. This
decided at once his doubts, and as the others interested him
less, he had soon completed his purchases with a large box
of toys for the children.
On his return, he found Fritz at home for the holidays;
he was sitting at the drawing-room window with his brothers,
all three yawning and looking most melancholy. “What
o’clock is it?” was the exclamation as he entered.
“Four o’clock,” said Hamilton; “but why do you look so
sorrowful?”
“Two whole hours to wait,” sighed Fritz.
“Two long hours,” yawned Gustle.
“Two hours before the angel comes to light the candles
and ring the bell,” said Peppy.
“Pshaw, mamma might light the candles at five o’clock;
// 293.png
.pn +1
it will be dark enough, I am sure,” said Fritz, in a whisper
to Hamilton.
“Where are your sisters?”
“They are with mamma, hanging the bon-bons and fastening
the wax tapers on the trees, I suppose; but when the
presents are being brought in they will be sent off too,
though Crescenz thinks herself old enough to light the
candles and do everything.”
“In what room are they?”
“In the school-room, but you need not expect to get in;
both doors are locked.”
“What do you think the little child Jesus will send you?”
asked Peppy, approaching Hamilton confidentially. “Did
you, too, put a list under your pillow, like Gustle? Next
year, if I can write, I shall ask for so many things. Trumpets,
and drums, and harlequins. What do you think you
will get?”
“Bon-bons, probably.”
“And something else, too,” said Gustle, nodding his head.
“You promised not to tell,” cried Fritz, threateningly
approaching his brother.
“Don’t you think,” cried Gustle, boldly, “that because
you wear a uniform, I’m afraid of you. I’ll tell what I
like——”
Fritz caught him by the collar, Gustle threw off his arm,
and a considerable scuffle ensued.
“Hildegarde has not finished the travelling-bag,” shouted
Gustle, angrily, “and papa says it is just as well, as it was
not a civil sort of present.”
At this moment Hildegarde and Crescenz entered the
room.
“Turned out! turned out!” cried Fritz and Gustle, unanimously
joining in the attack on their sisters.
Hildegarde smiled, Crescenz grew red, and observed that
everything was ready; there was nothing more to be done.
“Turned out all the same,” said Fritz, “though you are
nearly sixteen, and going to be married. Ha! ha! ha!”
“You are very ill-natured, Fritz, always talking of my
going to be married, though you know I dislike its being
spoken of.”
“Not you! Didn’t I see you playing grand with Lina
Berger when I was at home last Sunday? You both seemed
// 294.png
.pn +1
to consider Hildegarde beneath your notice, and she is worth
a dozen such as you, and a hundred such as Lina Berger.”
“I was learning to make a new kind of purse.”
“As if I did not know the purses were all made! No,
you were talking of old Count Zedwitz, who was so ill that
the Doctor had to visit him at his castle. I heard all you
said, and understood you, too, though you spoke French.”
Crescenz blushed deeply. Hildegarde became very pale,
turned suddenly to her sister, and said, in a scarcely audible
voice, “Crescenz, you surely have not had the cruelty to explain
to Lina Berger, or gratify her curiosity?”
“Lina suspected almost everything, and asked me so many
questions that I did not know what to say. You forget that
the Doctor was sent for, and that the old Count was ill from
mental agitation; I dare say he told him everything.”
“What he left untold you have supplied. It is the last
time I shall ever confide in you.”
“Don’t be angry, Hildegarde,” cried Crescenz, with tears
in her eyes; “surely it is no disgrace to you that such a man
as Count Zedwitz wished to——”
“Silence!” cried Hildegarde, sternly, “and never mention
his name again.”
“Whew,” whistled Fritz; “Hildegarde is in a passion;
look at her eyes! Fight it out, Cressy, and then make it up
again!”
But Crescenz threw herself on her knees before her sister,
and, seizing her hands, faltered, “Oh, Hildegarde, forgive
me; I have done wrong, but you know that Lina always
makes me do as she pleases. Forgive me—only say that you
forgive me this time!”
“I forgive you,” said Hildegarde, “but I never can trust
you again.”
The sound of Madame Rosenberg’s voice speaking to
Major Stultz in the adjoining room made Crescenz spring up
and follow the children, who ran to meet him.
Hamilton looked at Hildegarde, but did not utter a word.
Every feature of her face expressed intense annoyance, as
she slowly turned to the window and leaned her head against
it. The greetings in the next room were cordial; the children
boisterously reminded Major Stultz of the presents
which he had promised to bring them from Nuremberg.
“They are come or coming,” he answered; “I had them
// 295.png
.pn +1
all packed up; and only think, the infant Christ met me on
my way here, took them all from me, and promised to place
them all under the Christmas-tree this evening himself.”
“Well,” cried Fritz, “I must say that this 24th of December
is the very longest day in the whole year.”
“And yet it is generally supposed to be one of the shortest,”
said Major Stultz, laughing; he advanced towards
Hamilton and shook his hand.
“You are a new arrival as well as myself, I hear. All my
people in Nuremberg tried to persuade me to stay there in
order to be out of the way of the cholera, and they would,
perhaps, have succeeded, had not my impatience to see Crescenz
again been so great; besides, I hope to hurry matters
by my presence, and that in about a fortnight at furthest,
Madame Rosenberg——”
“I have no objection, my dear Major, but Franz has taken
it into his head that Crescenz ought to wait until after her
birthday, and go to one ball with her sister before her marriage.
We do not yet know when the first museum ball will
take place.”
“Pooh, nonsense! She can go to the ball after our marriage,
just as well as before it; eh, Crescenz?”
Crescenz smiled unmeaningly, and Hildegarde turned the
conversation by telling her mother that the Hoffmanns had
requested permission to come to the Christmas-tree in the
evening, to see the presents.
“You have invited them, of course. The Bergers are
coming too, and old Madame Lustig; I invited her because
I intend to ask her to take charge of you all some day next
month, as I have promised to visit my father at the iron-works;
besides, she has taken a deal of trouble about workwomen
for Crescenz, and all that sort of thing; I expect her
to offer to stay here to-night and take care of the children
until we return from the midnight mass. I hope, Major, you
can remain awake until twelve o’clock.”
“In Crescenz’s society I can answer for myself; otherwise
I must say I consider nine o’clock as the most rational hour
for retiring to rest.”
“But you will go with us to hear the high mass at midnight,
won’t you?”
“Oh, of course.”
“Come, girls, assist me to arrange the tea things; we will
// 296.png
.pn +1
not, however, employ Mr. Hamilton to make tea this time,
but he may help to carry the long table out of the next room
for us.”
Hamilton and Major Stultz carried in the table, and everything
was soon arranged for the expected guests.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch24
CHAPTER XXIV. || THE CHRISTMAS-TREE, AND MIDNIGHT MASS.
.sp 2
The Hoffmanns arrived, and with them Count Raimund.
Hamilton watched Hildegarde’s reception of the latter, and
forgetting the three weeks he had passed at Edelhof, was
surprised to find that she met her cousin without the slightest
embarrassment; he perceived, too, that Raimund had
contrived to ingratiate himself with Madame Rosenberg; she
greeted him with a familiar nod, as he entered, and the children’s
manner (no bad test of intimacy) convinced him that
Raimund’s visits must have been numerous during his
absence. Fritz smiled saucily, and raised his hand to his
forehead in military salute; Gustle, with his usual rudeness,
seized his coat, and began to swing himself backwards and
forwards by it: while Peppy took possession of the unbuckled
sword, and rode round the room upon it, until his
mother, irritated by the noise, forcibly took it from him, and
shoving him with his brother Gustle into the next room, declared
that if they were so ill-behaved, the infant Christ
would pass by their house, and they would get neither Christmas-boxes
nor bon-bons. “Do you know,” she said, turning
to Count Raimund, “that Mr. Hamilton is quite shocked at
my telling the children such stories? He says——” but
the entrance of the Bergers and Madame Lustig gave her
thoughts another direction. The latter was a red-faced,
stout, jolly-looking widow of at least fifty years of age; her
nose was extremely thick, and her forehead extremely low;
she seemed very glad to see everybody, and made tremendously
low curtsies in all directions. Madame Berger immediately
// 297.png
.pn +1
took possession of Hamilton, saying that she had
a lot of messages to deliver from Theodor Biedermann.
“I hope he intends to come here to-morrow; I shall be
glad to see him, and commence my studies again.”
“If we may believe him,” said Madame Berger, laughing,
“Hildegarde has made great progress during your absence;
he says she writes German as well as French now, and that
is saying a good deal; but he complained bitterly of the noise
which the children made while he was giving his lessons, and
regretted the tranquillity of your room. Of course, I reminded
him of the day I found you fencing!”
“Our lesson was over when you arrived; I assure you we
were always exceedingly attentive and well-behaved.”
“And Hildegarde sitting there reading, as if she were
quite alone. By-the-by, have you begun your English
studies with her again?”
“Not yet; but I am quite ready, if she feels disposed.”
“You intend, perhaps, to enter the ranks of her adorers?”
“I only aspire to being among her friends at present.”
“But I can tell you she will not be satisfied with anything
less than the most unlimited devotion.”
“I dare say she will find people enough willing to comply
with her demands.”
“Do you think so? If everything ends like the Zedwitz
affair, it would be better if she turned her mind to something
rational. You know,” she added, lowering her voice
confidentially, “you know that at Seon, and also here, she
encouraged Count Max Zedwitz in every possible manner;
met him in the cloisters, and sat beside him at table every
day at Seon, and here let him know every time she went on
a walking party——”
“I think,” said Hamilton “you are rather mistaken in
supposing that she——”
“Oh, I am not at all mistaken. She made him, in the
most artful, deliberate manner, so in love that he actually
took it into his head to marry her. Such an idea, you know!
And his father a knight of St. George, and all that.”
“I was not aware that his father being a knight of St.
George could make any difference.”
“What! When they can prove sixteen noble generations
on both sides! When Count Max can become a knight of
St. George whenever he pleases! When marrying a person
// 298.png
.pn +1
who is not noble would deprive his children and children’s
children of the right of claiming an order which can be obtained
on no other terms.”
“Ah, I understand.”
“Hildegarde,” continued Madame Berger, “was always
desperately proud, and her greatest ambition is to marry
some one of rank. A man must be a count or baron at least
before she thinks him worthy of her notice. Now, such a
man as Count Zedwitz was just what she wished, and she
persuaded him to write a letter making her a formal offer of
his hand; this she exhibited in triumph to her father, who,
however, had received about the same time from the old
Count a most furious epistle, telling him that his son’s fortune
and rank entitled him to look for a wife among the first
families in Germany—that a marriage with Mademoiselle
Rosenberg now, or at any future period, was totally out of
the question. He supposed that Mr. Rosenberg would not
desire any other sort of connection for his daughter, and therefore
had better join him in putting an end to any further
intimacy. This, with a few other impertinences of the same
description, made even good, quiet Mr. Rosenberg outrageous,
and he insisted on Hildegarde’s refusing Count Max—if that
be called a refusal where marriage was a chimera!”
“Not so much a chimera as you imagine,” said Hamilton,
“for Zedwitz had procured the necessary security—as I happen
to know, for he himself told me so at Edelhof—and his
father cannot disinherit him.”
“So! Well, if that be the case, Mr. Rosenberg might as
well have pocketed the affront—namely, the letter, and let
his daughter marry him. Perhaps, after his anger has
cooled, he may wish he had acted differently, or at least wish
that he had left an opening for a renewal of the affair.”
“Hildegarde has made a great sacrifice to please her
father,” observed Hamilton.
“Not so great as you suppose; for Crescenz told me that
she was quite as angry as her father about the letter.”
“Of that I have no doubt; but, nevertheless, the sacrifice
was great.”
“You mean on account of his rank, or the fortune which
his miserly old father is always increasing? Hildegarde has
such an exalted idea of her beauty that she imagines she
can find a Count Zedwitz whenever she pleases. Crescenz
// 299.png
.pn +1
says she took the whole business very coolly after the first
burst of anger was over. When Count Zedwitz had left,
her father, as usual, praised her conduct extravagantly, and,
with tears in his eyes, thanked her for her compliance with
his wishes. What do you think she did? Told him in her
customary ungracious manner that she did not deserve either
his praises or thanks, for that it had caused her no great
effort to dismiss Count Zedwitz!”
“Extraordinary—inexplicable girl,” murmured Hamilton.
“Not at all,” cried Madame Berger, colouring, “not at
all; for, added to her pride, she is naturally violent and has
strong passions. I am convinced she will never marry anyone
who is not of rank, but it is both possible and probable
that she may take it into her head to fall desperately in love
with some one whom she considers beneath her. I have
strong suspicion that she has done so, and that Theodor
Biedermann is the favoured individual.”
“Biedermann!” repeated Hamilton, amazed.
“Yes, Theodor Biedermann; but with him she will find
all her arts and vehemence useless. He scarcely even allows
her to be good-looking!”
“I think you are altogether mistaken about her,” began
Hamilton. “I never perceived the slightest——”
“You have been absent more than three weeks,” said
Madame Berger, interrupting him. “If I have made a
right guess, Hildegarde will receive a severe lesson, which I
hope may be of use to her.”
“How do you mean?”
“I mean that Theodor will treat her love with the scorn
which it deserves.”
Hamilton shook his head and laughed—rather ironically.
“How long are we to continue in the dark?” asked Mr.
Rosenberg from the other end of the room. “Pray, Babette,
let us have at least a pair of candles, that we may not
be blinded when your tree dazzles our astonished eyes!”
The candles were unwillingly granted, and Madame Rosenberg
left the room mysteriously with Madame Lustig.
“Come here, boys,” cried Mr. Rosenberg. “Let us take
our station near the door, that we may enter first.”
Doctor Berger came towards Hamilton, and began a conversation
about the different ways of celebrating Christmas
in different countries, and the habit of giving presents at
// 300.png
.pn +1
that time or on New Year’s Day, while Hamilton’s eyes involuntarily
strayed towards Hildegarde, who, sitting at the
other end of the room with Count Raimund and Mademoiselle
de Hoffmann, was speaking eagerly with the latter, all
unconscious that her cousin was gazing at her with an emotion
which his sanguine temperament betrayed in rapid
changes of colour, although he did not seem to take any part
in the conversation.
At length a bell was rung, and the door thrown open
which led to the school-room. The children rushed forward
with shouts of joy, followed, somewhat tumultuously, by
their father and his guests. Hamilton was the last, and had
more time to prepare his eyes for the blaze of light which
they had to encounter. In the middle of the room was a
large round table, on which was placed a tall fir tree, hung
with a profusion of bon-bons, of the most varied colours, and
sparkling like gems as they reflected the light of the hundreds
of wax tapers which were fastened on the dark green
branches in their vicinity. On the top of the tree was a
diminutive angel, dressed in gold and silver; in the moss
which covered the root was a wax infant, surrounded by
lambs. The table itself was covered with toys of every description,
from drawing-books and boxes for Fritz, to drums
and trumpets for Peppy. There were two other tables with
smaller trees, to which Madame Rosenberg conducted Hildegarde
and Crescenz. The noise was excessive; everyone
spoke and nobody listened. Old Hans and the cook were
not forgotten; they stood, with their Christmas-boxes and
pockets of gingerbread, laughing spectators near the door.
Hamilton received a cigar-case from Madame Rosenberg,
which she had worked most elaborately for him during his
absence, and from Crescenz a scarlet purse, glittering with
steel beads; this he particularly admired, while Major Stultz
told him he was half inclined to be jealous, it was so much
prettier than the one which she had made for him. The
presents which Hamilton offered in return were accepted
with the best grace imaginable, and he now amused himself
watching Crescenz’s face, as she opened the various parcels
and inspected the contents of the numerous boxes and caskets
on her table. Some natural disappointment was at
times legible when, instead of the expected jewels, respectable
rows of forks and spoons met her eager eyes; but at
// 301.png
.pn +1
length a case of red morocco disclosed such treasures, that
Hamilton, after having listened to her expressions of rapture
for a few minutes, moved towards Hildegarde, who stood before
her table turning over the leaves of some books, which
had been placed beside the expected ball dress and wreath
of roses.
“I have nothing to offer you,” she said, slightly blushing
as he approached, “nothing but some bon-bons,” and she
began to untie some from her tree as she spoke.
Hamilton took them, and with unusual diffidence presented
the case containing the watch. She had no sooner opened
it, than she blushed excessively, and endeavouring to replace
it in his hands—failing in her endeavour, she put it on the
table, saying, “Mr. Hamilton, I cannot possibly accept anything
of such value.”
“Your mother and sister have not pained me by making
any difficulties,” he said, reproachfully.
“Then you must have given them something very different.”
This was undeniable, and Hamilton was silent. Mr. Rosenberg
came to his daughter’s assistance, to Hamilton’s annoyance
agreed with her, and “hoped the watch was not definitely
purchased.”
“Of course it is,” said Hamilton; “I never dreamed of
such a trifling thing being refused.”
“It is only trifling in size,” said Mr. Rosenberg holding it
toward his wife, who had joined them. “Fortunately, however,
a watch will be quite as useful to you as to Hildegarde,
as you can use it yourself.”
“But unfortunately, I have already two, one which I
received from my uncle, and one from my mother,” said
Hamilton, in a tone of great vexation.
“If that be the case,” said Madame Rosenberg, in a low
voice to her husband, “perhaps——”
“Babette!” he exclaimed, “you don’t know the value of
such a watch as this!”
“Englishmen do not consider value as we do—I only
thought if Mr. Hamilton had really bought it for Hildegarde,
and cannot use it himself, it will be ungracious if she
refuses it.”
“Very ungracious, indeed!” cried Hamilton eagerly.
Madame Rosenberg drew her husband aside, and began a
// 302.png
.pn +1
whispered discussion. Hildegarde leaned against her table
in painful embarrassment, while Hamilton quietly withdrew
from his pocket a long gold chain which he had not before
ventured to produce, and attached it to the watch.
“I shall not be allowed to accept it,” said Hildegarde,
shaking her head.
“You will,” said Hamilton.
He was right; her father, in a reluctant, half-annoyed
manner, gave his consent. “Thank you! Oh, thank you!”
cried Hamilton, with such warmth that Madame Berger came
skipping from the other side of the room, exclaiming, “I
positively must know what Hildegarde has given you; you
seem so uncommonly pleased!”
“That is a secret,” said Hamilton, laughingly turning
away, while she pursued him with guesses.
“It is not the half-finished travelling-bag, at all events, for
you could not put that into your pocket. Nor is it a purse,
or a cigar-case. Oh, I know, a pair of slippers, or a portfolio
worked on canvas! You may as well tell me, for I shall
hear at all events from Crescenz! Have you seen what
splendid ornaments the Major has given her? And the
three bracelets? And then such droves of coffee-spoons as
her god-mother has sent her from Augsburg—and Cressy is
so childish that she does not care in the least for spoons?”
Madame Rosenberg went round the room distributing bon-bons
and trifling presents, which sometimes caused amusement
when they contained an allusion to well-known foibles
or peculiarities. The tapers on the tree were nearly burned
out. Mr. Rosenberg desired old Hans to extinguish them,
and having placed candles on the table, the children were
left to play with their newly-acquired treasures, and the rest
of the party adjourned to the drawing-room.
Everyone seemed happy excepting Raimund, who, with a
flushed face and contracted brow, took the place assigned him
beside his betrothed, and poured into her ear at intervals his
discontented observations; her good-humoured laughing
answers appearing to act like fuel on the malevolent fire
burning within him. At length he suddenly started from
his chair, and pleading business of importance at the barracks,
he left the room with little ceremony, and negligently
trailed his sword after him along the corridor.
“Well,” said Madame Rosenberg, as she carved a prettily-decorated
// 303.png
.pn +1
cake into neat slices; “well, we can do without
him, now that the Major is here to take his place at whist or
taroc, but I cannot conceive what has put him out of temper!”
“Who is out of temper?” asked Madame de Hoffmann,
who, as usual, had only heard the last words.
“Nobody, mamma,” answered her daughter quickly.
“Poor Oscar,” she added, turning to Hildegarde; “I believe
he is annoyed at not being able to give such presents as your
sister has received from Major Stultz. It would have been
better had we not come to your Christmas fête; I had no
idea it would be so splendid.”
“That is a fancy which papa and mamma have in common,”
answered Hildegarde; “Crescenz being a bride has
made our Christmas unusually brilliant, I suppose. I dare
say, however, your tree was very handsome. Why did you
not invite us to see it?”
“Oscar did not wish it—and he forbade my saying that
this bracelet was from him, when Crescenz showed me hers.
I hope he does not think I expected or wished for such presents
as she has received! By-the-by, dear, do tell your
mother not to make any remarks when he is a little odd at
times; for mamma, who, you know, at first so wished and
promoted our marriage, has lately been endeavouring, under
all sorts of pretences, to break it off. If it were not for
Oscar’s father’s extraordinary patience with her, I do believe
our engagement would be at an end at once. I dare not tell
her how sombre and dissatisfied he has become of late; she
would attribute it to the supposed preference for you, which
I cannot persuade her is an absurdity, although she begins
to see that it is not returned on your part. Madame Berger
has been endeavouring to enlighten her——”
“By telling her something very ill-natured of me, most
probably,” said Hildegarde, colouring.
“She told us a long story about that good-natured Count
Zedwitz this morning, of which I do not believe anything,
excepting that he wished to marry you, and that his family
perhaps were opposed to the match; and she ended by saying
that you had taken a fancy to that young student, Biedermann,
who is giving you lessons in German.”
“Just like her!” exclaimed Hildegarde, indignantly.
“Oscar, who was present, laughed excessively; indeed, he
was so amused at her chattering that he became quite gay,
// 304.png
.pn +1
and was more amiable than I have known him for a long
time, until he came here and saw Crescenz’s bracelets and
that watch which Mr. Hamilton gave you.”
Hildegarde bent down her head to hide a blush of which
she was but too conscious. “I have no intention of keeping
the watch longer than this evening,” she said, after a
thoughtful pause; “it is a much too valuable present to accept
from a—a stranger—but that is of no consequence to
Oscar, who might easily have found some better employment
than laughing at me with Lina Berger!”
“My dear creature, he was laughing at her! He says
she was jealous about that little Biedermann!”
“Pshaw!” cried Hildegarde, impatiently.
“Will you not at least tell me the true state of the case
about Count Zedwitz?”
“Not now—not now, Marie—in fact I never wish to mention
the subject again,” said Hildegarde, arising abruptly
and going towards the door, which, however, she had no
sooner reached than she was recalled by her mother, and desired
to carry round the cake to the expectant company, who
had been already supplied with weak tea strongly perfumed
with vanilla.
Hamilton was so occupied by Madame Berger that he did
not observe Hildegarde as she passed him; his companion’s
eyes followed her for some time furtively, and then turning
to him she observed with a laugh, “Did you not see how Hildegarde’s
hand trembled as she offered us the cake? I am
sure she has been in a passion, though I cannot imagine
about what, as she has only been speaking with her friend
Mademoiselle de Hoffmann! Berger has become physician
to the Hoffmanns ever since your illness; they took such a
fancy to him, and are so civil to me, that I often visit them
now. By-the-by, that Count Raimund is charming, but he
does not seem to care in the least for his betrothed, who certainly
is not at all pretty. She did not look half pleased at
his talking so much to me this morning! A little pug-faced
person such as she is has no sort of right to be jealous, you
know, and the sooner she learns to bear his paying attentions
to other women the better!”
“How kind of you to give her such a lesson?”
“I see, by your manner that you think me ill-natured,”
said Madame Berger.
// 305.png
.pn +1
“Or malicious!” said Hamilton.
“Perhaps I was a little,” said Madame Berger, with an
affectation of repentive pensiveness. “After all, Mademoiselle
de Hoffmann is a good-natured, a most inoffensive
person!”
“She is sensible and well-informed, too,” said Hamilton,
warmly.
“You take your opinion from Hildegarde, who you know
has no medium. Pray don’t ask her what she thinks of me,
that’s all. See, she will not offer us any cake this time, because
we took no notice of her when she passed before.”
“I did not see her,” said Hamilton; “I believe I was admiring
the ring which you told me had been given you by
one of the Doctor’s patients.”
“But the ring was still on my finger, and perhaps she
thought——”
“What?” asked Hamilton, laughing, as he followed Hildegarde,
and obtained the piece of cake which he requested.
Madame Lustig, who did not perceive his vicinity,
observed to Dr. Berger, “Your wife is getting on at a great
rate with that young Englishman to-night.”
“It’s a way she has,” he replied, shrugging his shoulders,
“opposition only makes her worse, so I generally pretend
not to see her. At all events, I have discovered long ago
that the Englishman’s heart and thoughts are elsewhere,
even when he is apparently completely engrossed in my
Lina.”
Hamilton looked at Hildegarde, and thought he perceived
something like a smile playing around the corners of her
mouth as she turned away; he walked slowly to his seat,
and began to eat his cake with an earnestness which soon
became offensive to his lively neighbour.
“I suppose she forbade you talking anymore to me?”
she observed, after some time.
“Do you mean Madame Lustig?”
“Madame Fiddlestick!—you know I mean Hildegarde.”
“She did not speak to me.”
“Perhaps a look was sufficient?”
“She did not look at me.”
“But you looked at her?”
“Undoubtedly—I like looking at her—and at you, too, if
you have no objection.”
// 306.png
.pn +1
“I see I shall be obliged to complain of you to the Doctor—and
I tell you he is horribly jealous at times!”
“How very considerate of him to stand with his back to
us all this time,” said Hamilton, laughing; “one would almost
think he did it on purpose! But see, the children are
coming to say good-night, and the Hoffmanns seem to be
going——”
“I suppose the Doctor will insist on my going, too!” said
Madame Berger; “he has no sort of consideration for me,
and the idea will never enter his old head, that I should like
to go to the midnight mass with you—all.”
The Doctor did insist, and the company departed together.
Mr. Rosenberg at once declared his intention to go to bed;
his wife said she would doze on the sofa until it was time to
go to church; Major Stultz placed himself, as usual, beside
Crescenz and her work-basket, and began a whispered conversation,
which, however, in time perceptibly flagged, for
Crescenz’s fingers moved more quickly than her tongue—the
monotony of his own voice on the otherwise unbroken stillness
in the room naturally produced drowsiness, with which
the Major long and valiantly combated—but it was in vain
he endeavoured to sit bolt upright in his chair, occasionally
staring wildly around him. After having made a succession
of sleepy obeisances, of such profundity that Crescenz’s demure
smile almost verged into laughter, his arms sank at
length heavily on his outspread legs, his head sought support
on the uncomfortable low back of his chair, his jaw fell,
and the long-drawn breathing degenerated into snores both
loud and long.
Such influence had Hildegarde acquired over Hamilton,
that the fear of incurring her displeasure prevented him
from laughing aloud, or at first even looking up; after some
time, however, pressing his lips firmly against his book, his
eyes glanced over it with a mixed expression of mirth and
curiosity, from one sister to the other. Crescenz seemed
embarrassed, but there was not a particle of either dislike or
impatience in the look which she bestowed on the sleeper.
She bent towards her sister, and said in a whisper, “If I
could manage to put a sofa cushion on the back of the
chair!”
“An excellent idea,” said Hildegarde, taking up one, and
preparing to assist her.
// 307.png
.pn +1
“Give me the cushion, and do you move his head,” said
Crescenz, timidly.
“No, dear, that is your office,” replied her sister, half
laughing.
“But if he should wake,” cried Crescenz, drawing
back.
“He will scarcely be angry,” said Hildegarde, approaching
with the cushion.
Crescenz took it from her, and began to insinuate it between
his head and the chair—her movements were so gentle
that she succeeded without awakening him—his mouth
closed with a slight jerk, while uttering a grunt of sleepy
satisfaction, as his chin dropped on his breast.
Nothing could be less attractive than Major Stultz’s face
at this moment, with his puffed-out crimson cheeks and
wrinkled double chin—but Crescenz saw him not; with a
good-humoured smile she tried to arrange still better the
supporting cushion, and then stood behind him with all the
immovable serenity of a Caryatid. Hildegarde walked to
the window, and holding her hands at each side of her temples,
endeavoured to look out into the darkness. “We shall
have rain, I fear,” she observed to Hamilton, who had followed
her.
He opened the window—it was a cold, cheerless night, the
flickering lamps throwing unsteady gleams of light across
the street.
“The weather is not very inviting,” said Hildegarde,
drawing back into the warm room with a slight shudder.
Hamilton leaned out for some time in silence, and then
whispered—“Who is that?” He pointed to the opposite
side of the street, where a figure, muffled in a cloak, had
been standing opposite the house, and now began to walk
quickly away. “Do you know who that was?”
“I think it was Count Zedwitz,” answered Hildegarde.
“You knew he was there? You came to the window to
see him?”
“No,” said Hildegarde, quietly.
“Then how could you know him so directly?”
“I recognised the cloak he used to wear at Seon.”
“Ah—yes—true—poor fellow!” said Hamilton.
“How inclined you are to suspect me!” said Hildegarde,
reproachfully.
// 308.png
.pn +1
“One might suspect, without blaming you, for giving
Zedwitz a gleam of hope to lighten his despair.”
“I should blame myself, for it would be unpardonable
coquetry!”
“Coquetry! when you really love him!”
“Love him!” repeated Hildegarde, hastily—“No—yes—that
is, I like him—I like him very much.”
At this moment the church bells in Munich began simultaneously
to send forth loud peals. Madame Rosenberg
raised herself on her pillow, and exclaimed, “What are you
about, Hildegarde? Shut the window, and don’t let the
cold night air into the room.”
Hamilton closed the window. When he looked round he
perceived Major Stultz with the sofa-cushion on his knees,
offering a profusion of thanks to Crescenz, who stood smiling
beside him.
In a few minutes they were on their way to the Frauen
church. It was crowded to excess, and brilliantly lighted,
chiefly by the number of wax tapers which had been
brought with the prayerbooks, and now burned brightly before
each kneeling or sitting figure.
The music was excellent: and as Hamilton soon observed
that extraordinary devotion was chiefly practised by the
female part of the congregation who occupied the pews, and
that those in his vicinity who stood in the aisle amused
themselves by looking around them in all directions, he by
degrees followed their example, and his tall figure enabling
him to overlook the sea of heads about him, he gratified his
curiosity to the fullest extent. He observed that Crescenz’s
eyes stole not unfrequently over her prayerbook to bestow a
furtive glance on him or on Major Stultz who stood near
her, but Hildegarde was immovable—her profound devotion
surprised him. She spoke so much less of religion than her
sister, that he had come to the erroneous conclusion that she
was less religious. The burning taper threw a strong light
on her bent head and clasped hands; and as he suddenly
recollected some remark of Zedwitz’s about the Madonna-like
expression of her regular features, he unconsciously
turned to seek his friend, to ask him when and where he
had so spoken. His astonishment was lost in emotion on
perceiving that Zedwitz was actually not far distant from
him, his whole appearance wild and disordered, his haggard
// 309.png
.pn +1
eyes fixed on Hildegarde’s motionless figure. The service
ended, she closed her book, and rose calmly, while Madame
Rosenberg extinguished the three tapers and deposited them
in her reticule. As the lights one after another disappeared,
there was a universal move towards the nearest doors.
Hamilton was about to follow the Rosenbergs when he felt
himself drawn in a contrary direction by a powerful arm,
and Zedwitz whispered, “One word before you go home;”
and they were soon brought outside the church with the
crowd. It was raining torrents; and several persons attempted
to return again into the aisle, while they despatched
messengers or servants for umbrellas. The carriages rolled
rapidly away in all directions, and Hamilton in a few minutes
was walking with his friend under the leafless trees in
the promenade platz.
“I am ill,” said Zedwitz, “really ill—this sort of life is
not to be endured—I shall get a fever, or go mad, if I remain
here.”
“You do look ill,” said Hamilton, “and change of air
and scene might be of use to you—but is it advisable to
remain out in this rain if you are feverish?”
“Certainly not advisable—but I cannot set out on my
travels without taking leave of you.”
“Travels! where do you mean to go?”
“To Paris—or Rome—or Athens—or Jerusalem.”
“Will your father consent?”
“I think so. To-morrow I intend to go to Lengheim and
commence negotiations—I have determined on quitting the
army at all events; for I have no fancy for country quarters,
and as to remaining in Munich, the thing is impossible.
What are all my resolutions when I see her? and see her I
do—continually—although unseen by her, or any of her
family.”
“You were in the street this evening, I know. She
recognised your cloak immediately.”
“My cloak, ah! very true—I must have another—adieu,
Hamilton, I will not detain you longer in the rain—we shall
scarcely meet again before I leave——”
“Write to me then,” said Hamilton. “I should like to
know where you are to be found. Perhaps I may join you
in the spring.”
“You shall hear from me,” cried Zedwitz, seizing his
// 310.png
.pn +1
hand and holding it firmly. “One word more—promise me
to act honourably by Hildegarde, and not to take advantage
of her isolated situation when her sister has left the house.”
“I have never thought of acting otherwise,” replied
Hamilton, calmly.
“I suppose I must be satisfied with this answer,” said
Zedwitz, wringing his friend’s hand as he hurried away.
It was too late to overtake the Rosenbergs, nevertheless
Hamilton walked quickly home. He was surprised to find
the house-door open, the staircase perfectly dark, and several
persons speaking at different distances upon it. On the
third story Walburg, who was endeavouring to open the
door of the Rosenbergs’ apartment, was loudly assuring her
mistress that when she left the house with the umbrellas the
lamp had been burning—she had trimmed it on her way
downstairs. Major Stultz and Crescenz were not far distant,
for they occasionally laughed, and joined in the conversation.
Hamilton began to grope his way along the passage;
as he gained the foot of the stairs, Hildegarde, who
had probably only reached the first landing-place, exclaimed:
“Is that you, Mr. Hamilton? You had better wait until
we have a light.”
Before he had time to speak, a voice quite close to her
answered for him.
“You have startled me,” cried Hildegarde, “I thought
you were at the foot of the stairs.”
Not a little surprised to find himself in the presence of a
second self, he stood still to hear what would follow.
“How did you happen to be separated from us?” asked
Hildegarde.
“Met some friends at the church door, and stopped to
speak to them,” replied the voice in French.
“You must be completely wet!”
“Not at all.”
Hildegarde laughed.
“You do not believe me! Feel my arm—not even
damp!”
A pause ensued—perhaps the arm was felt—the midnight
representative lowered his voice and spoke eagerly. Hamilton
advanced a few steps and heard the concluding words—“Surely,
surely, if you consider me a friend, you will let me
know the true state of the case. Is it friendship for Mademoiselle
// 311.png
.pn +1
de Hoffmann that makes you of late avoid your
cousin with, I may say, such exaggerated care?”
“Exaggerated care!” repeated Hildegarde, with evident
surprise.
“Well, well—never mind that—we have no time to weigh
words just now; but, tell me quickly, was it to please your
father—or in anger—or indifference—that you refused Zedwitz?”
“Have you any right to question me in this imperious
manner?” cried Hildegarde, moving quickly on.
“No,” replied the stranger, striding after her. “No; and
it is a great relief to my mind to find that I have not. I
was beginning to fear you had a—misunderstood me—would
think perhaps I had trifled with your feelings: in short, I
thought you were unkind to your cousin and had refused
Zedwitz from having formed expectations which can never
be realised. Painful as it is to me to say so, I must nevertheless
tell you that nothing was further from my thoughts
than——”
“Villain!” cried Hamilton, springing forward. “How
dare you take advantage of the darkness to traduce me in
this manner! Who are you?”
A violent and silent struggle ensued, but the darkness was
so complete that the stranger contrived to free himself from
Hamilton’s grasp, bounded down the stairs, and closed the
hall-door with such violence that the whole house shook.
Hamilton would have followed, but Hildegarde’s hand
grasped his arm, and she entreated him, almost breathlessly,
to remain quiet. “Do not go after him; it will serve no
purpose whatever. I ought to have known,” she added,
walking up the now lighted staircase, “I ought to have felt
at once that it was not you!”
“It would have shown extraordinary discernment on your
part,” said Hamilton, “for not only did he whisper, and
choose a foreign language which he probably knows we often
use, and in which you could not easily detect the difference
of expression—but he also asked the very questions which I
should have asked long ago, had I dared!”
Hildegarde hurried forward, while Madame Rosenberg
called from the top of the stairs: “You were determined to
let us know that you had shut the house-door after you,
Mr. Hamilton, but I was glad to hear that you were at
// 312.png
.pn +1
home, for it is raining torrents, and, as you have neither
cloak nor umbrella, you must be wet to the skin.”
“I believe I am rather wet,” said Hamilton, composedly
allowing himself to be felt by his attentive hostess.
“Take off these clothes directly, or you will get one of
your English colds.”
“A cold never lasts more than a day or two here; I am no
longer afraid,” said Hamilton, following her into the drawing-room
in the hope of speaking a few words more with
Hildegarde; but Madame Rosenberg insisted on his going to
bed, and as a bribe, promised herself to bring him a piece of
cake and a glass of wine.
The whole family were in the deepest sleep, and not a
sound was heard in the house, when suddenly, about three
o’clock in the morning, the Rosenberg bell was rung loud and
violently. A great commotion ensued, and the cook having
been sent downstairs to open the house-door, returned in a
minute or two, preceded by Count Zedwitz’s servant, who,
running towards Hamilton’s room, seemed only able to pronounce
the word cholera.
“Who is that?” cried Madame Rosenberg, drawing a little
black shawl tightly over her shoulders, and following him
with hasty steps. “What does the man mean?”
She found him standing in Hamilton’s room, explaining
that his master had returned home ill about one o’clock;
that he had gradually become worse, and had now the
cholera; he had refused to send for Mr. Hamilton, but the
doctor had said some one ought to be with him, who could
write to Edelhof directly.
“I must say I think it very unnecessary that Mr. Hamilton
should be exposed to any danger of the kind,” interposed
Madame Rosenberg. “I dare say Count Zedwitz has
other friends or relatives to whom he can apply.”
The man said he had not been long with Count Zedwitz—he
had seen him more with Mr. Hamilton than anyone
else—and then he looked inquiringly towards Hamilton,
who, having sprung out of bed the moment the bell
rang, had finished his hasty toilet undisturbed by the
presence of Madame Rosenberg. His answer was throwing
his cloak over his shoulders, and advancing towards the
door.
“Surely you will not run the danger of getting the cholera,
// 313.png
.pn +1
for a mere acquaintance of yesterday,” she cried, anxiously
placing herself before him.
“The danger is by no means so great as you suppose,”
said Hamilton. “I doubt the cholera being contagious.”
“But I don’t in the least doubt it,” cried Madame Rosenberg,
“and I feel quite sure you will bring it into our house.
Have some consideration for us, if you have none for yourself!”
“The best plan will be not to return for a week or so,”
said Hamilton. “In fact, not until you let me know that
you no longer fear infection. Hans must bring me whatever
I require, as soon as it is daylight.”
“But he must not go backwards and forwards,” began
Madame Rosenberg.
“Oh, mamma!” exclaimed Hildegarde, who was standing
in the passage; “will you not speak to papa about it? I
am sure——”
“Go to your bed,” cried her mother, interrupting her
testily, “and don’t stand shivering there until you get the
cholera, too; go to your bed. I assure you,” she said, turning
apologetically to Hamilton, “I assure you I don’t mean
to be unkind, but I have a family, and it would be awful
were the cholera to come among us. Suppose I were to lose
Franz, or one of my boys, or even Hildegarde——”
“Do not speak of anything so dreadful,” cried Hamilton,
instantly seizing the last idea. “Nothing will induce me to
return until even the shadow of danger has past.”
“And you do not think me ill-natured?”
“Not in the least!”
Hildegarde was at the door of her room as he was about
to pass—he stopped to take leave.
“Use whatever precaution you can against infection,” she
said, warmly returning the pressure of his hand, “and,” she
added, hurriedly, “and don’t be angry when I send you the
watch you gave me last night. Papa agrees with me in
thinking such a present too valuable to be accepted from a—an
acquaintance. Don’t forget to let me know as often as
you can by old Hans, how Count Zedwitz is!”
Hamilton dropped her hand with an impatient jerk, and
hurried from the house, without speaking another word.
// 314.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch25
CHAPTER XXV. || THE GARRET.
.sp 2
“Stop, stop, if you please,” cried Zedwitz’s servant to
Hamilton, who was beginning to run down the street, “Count
Max is not in his own house—he is here just opposite—at
the brazier’s.”
“At the brazier’s!” exclaimed Hamilton, “what induced
him to go there?”
“Don’t know, sir,” replied the man, “he has been lodging
there the last week or two.”
“Lodging there?” repeated Hamilton, as he crossed the
street, “that is an odd idea.”
The man opened the house-door with a latch-key, took up
a candle which was burning on the staircase, and walked up
to the very top of the house. They passed through two or
three empty garrets before they reached the one which Zedwitz
had chosen for his sleeping apartment. The furniture
contrasted strangely with the whitewashed walls, sloping
ceilings, and windows protruding from the roof. A handsome
bedstead, wardrobe, sofa, several large arm-chairs, and
tables covered with writing and drawing materials, found
with difficulty, place in the ill-shaped room. A stranger was
sitting by the bed; he rose as Hamilton approached.
“So they have brought you here, after all,” said Zedwitz;
“I hope at least that you have been told the true state of the
case—that you know that I have the worst description of
cholera?”
“You know I do not consider it infectious,” replied Hamilton,
“and if I can be of any use, I am prepared to remain
with you.”
Zedwitz pressed his friend’s hand.
“If I am not better in a few hours,” he said slowly, “that
is, when there is no hope of my recovery, you may write to
Edelhof—I do not wish to see any of my family—not even
Agnes—coming from the country, they would be too liable
to infection.”
// 315.png
.pn +1
“But,” said Hamilton, “I do not see Doctor Berger—why
have you not sent for him?”
“Because I am here, and not in my own house, and he
tells everything to his chattering wife, who relates, with
interest, all she hears to whoever will listen to her.”
“But why are you here?” asked Hamilton.
A violent spasm put an end to the conversation, nor was it
possible to renew it. Zedwitz hourly became worse, Hamilton
proportionably anxious. At length he sent not only for
Doctor Berger, but also for his friend Biedermann, and when
they had declared Zedwitz’s case almost hopeless, he wrote
as he had been desired to Edelhof, and employed his servant
Hans as courier.
Late in the evening Zedwitz lay motionless from exhaustion.
Biedermann had more than once held a feather under
his nostrils to ascertain if he still breathed. Hamilton rose
slowly from his station by the bed, and walked cautiously to
one of the small windows. On reaching it, he stumbled over
a large telescope which was pointed against a round hole,
evidently cut in the curtain—he was about to remove the telescope
to avoid a recurrence of the noise which he had just
made, but, on second thoughts, he seated himself on a chair
conveniently placed beside it, and applied his eye to the glass.
In a moment, he was in Madame Rosenberg’s drawing-room;
the muslin curtains were not closed, and he saw the
preparations for the rubber of whist—the candles and counters
arranged, the entrance of the Hoffmanns, accompanied
as usual by Raimund. The latter soon seated himself at the
pianoforte, and from the different movements of his person
and hands, Hamilton tried to imagine the music to which the
others (not the card-players) listened apparently with the
most profound attention. He had heard so much from
Hildegarde of her cousin’s extraordinary talent for music,
that he expected to see her immediately move towards him.
Great was, therefore, his surprise, when she walked to the
window most distant from him, and drawing still further
aside the small transparent curtains, turned her face upwards
exactly in the direction of the window from which he
was looking out. He could not any longer see her features,
but he imagined her looking at him, and he involuntarily
pushed back his chair. Did she know where he was? Or
had she already known that Zedwitz was in her neighbourhood?
// 316.png
.pn +1
He tried to remember if she had been in the habit
of going to the window—he believed not—but he recollected
her immediate recognition of Zedwitz in the street the evening
before. The scene on the stairs recurred to his memory
with extraordinary exactness, and a sudden suspicion, like a
flash of lightning, made him see Zedwitz as his midnight
traducer. He strode towards him, but the angry question
died on his lips, when he beheld the livid features convulsed
with pain. Zedwitz was not only perfectly conscious of his
dangerous state, but everything passing around him; he
glanced towards the window, and asked in a low hoarse
voice, “Have you seen her?”
“Yes, she is looking at the windows of this room.”
A long silence ensued, and then Hamilton was called out
of the room to speak to old Hans, who had been sent by
Hildegarde to make inquiries about Zedwitz.
“How does Mademoiselle Hildegarde know that we are
here?” asked Hamilton.
“She inquired of my son this morning when he was
packing your clothes. She hopes that you will take care of
yourself, and says you must be sure to smell this little silk
thing, as it will save you from infection.”
Hamilton smiled as he received from the old man a sachet
containing camphor.
“Perhaps you will give me a line for mademoiselle; she
is very uneasy.”
Hamilton wrote a few lines with his pencil.
“She said,” remarked old Hans, “you must hang it on
your neck, and that she would pray for the wearer every
morning in the Frauen church.”
“Did she say that?” cried Hamilton, hastily. “At what
hour will she be there?”
“Between six and seven o’clock, I should think,” answered
the man, with a look of intelligence by no means agreeable
to Hamilton.
“You need not say that I asked you this question, Hans;
it might prevent her from going to church, you know.”
“If you please, I can say you don’t think of going to the
Frauen church to-morrow morning.”
“Say nothing at all, excepting that I am obliged to her
and shall wear the amulet,” replied Hamilton, abruptly
turning away.
// 317.png
.pn +1
The Countess Zedwitz, her daughter, and son-in-law,
arrived before daybreak the next morning. They were at
first so agitated that they could not speak a word; Zedwitz,
on the contrary, was perfectly calm. “I expected you,
mother,” he said, kissing her hand; “I knew you would
come to me, but I wish that dear Agnes and Lengheim had
remained at home. You must send them back in the course
of the day.”
The Countess spoke long and earnestly with Doctor
Berger, and then returned to her son’s bedside. She told
him that his father continued ill and confined to his room;
that he wished to see him again; was ready to forget all
cause of difference between them, and she hoped, as soon as
he could be removed, he would return with her to Edelhof.
Zedwitz was too weak to discuss his plans for the future,
although immediately after the arrival of his relations he had
had a change for the better. At five o’clock Doctor Berger
gave hopes of his recovery, and an hour afterwards Hamilton
was on his way to the Frauen church.
The rain had turned to sleet, and the sleet to snow since
he had last been out. Large flakes now fell noiselessly
around him; he saw them not—Hildegarde alone, and alternate
hopes and fears that he should not, and hopes that he
should, see her, occupied his thoughts.
There were not many people assembled, but the church is
large, the altars numerous, and it was some time before he
discovered the kneeling figure of her he sought.
Walburg, with her shining braided hair, silver head-dress,
and large market-basket on her arm, was standing in the
aisle; her prayers seemed ended, for she gazed cheerfully
around her, and even nodded occasionally to her basketed
acquaintances as they passed. She immediately recognised
Hamilton, and stooped down to whisper to Hildegarde, who
instantly rose, and Hamilton saw her face suffused with
blushes as she walked towards him. They left the church
together, and Hildegarde’s first words were, “How pale and
tired you look; I hope you are not ill.”
“Not in the least,” said Hamilton; and it did not escape
his observation that her principal anxiety seemed about
himself. “You will be glad to hear that Zedwitz is better
at last; we had no hopes of his recovery until about an hour
ago.”
// 318.png
.pn +1
“So I have already heard from Mr. Biedermann, who was
so kind as to call just before I left home.”
“Ah, you have seen Biedermann?”
“Yes,” and then she added after a pause, “now that
Count Zedwitz’s family have arrived, you ought to think of
yourself, for even if you do not fear infection, you must
remember that unusual fatigue is dangerous at present. You
have been two nights without rest—you who require so much
more sleep than anyone else, as I heard you tell mamma
more than once.”
“That was only an excuse for my unpardonable laziness,”
replied Hamilton, smiling; “I intend to go to Havard’s to
dress and breakfast before I return to Zedwitz. Have you
any message for him. I shall deliver it faithfully.”
“None, excepting my good wishes,” said Hildegarde,
turning away. “Walburg, you may now go to the grocer’s—I
can walk home alone. Good-morning, Mr. Hamilton.”
Hamilton bowed gravely, waited with due propriety until
Walburg was quite out of sight, and then ran after Hildegarde,
and endeavoured, while still panting for breath, to
thank her for the amulet, and her kind anxiety on his account.
“My father more than shares my anxiety about you,” she
said, calmly; “he was greatly distressed at hearing that
mamma had in a manner banished you from our house.
Should you get the cholera now, and not be properly taken
care of, how could we write to your family? What could we
say to them?”
“You mean in case of my death? By-the-by, I never
thought of that. Do not walk so fast—I want to speak to
you, and I know you must dismiss me at the next turn.
Should I die of cholera——”
“It is time enough to talk of death when you are ill,”
said Hildegarde, hastily.
“No, it will be too late then. Twenty-four hours are
more than enough to finish a man’s life now. Will you undertake
to write to my sister and arrange my effects?”
“Are you joking?”
“Not in the least. You will find in a rosewood case a
number of papers—a journal in fact. These papers must
be carefully sealed and addressed to my sister. There is
also a miniature——”
“I know,” said Hildegarde.
// 319.png
.pn +1
“How do you know,” cried Hamilton, stooping forward
to catch a glimpse of her features, “how do you know anything
about that?”
“Lina Berger examined your dressing-case one evening
when she was in your room. Crescenz was present, and
naturally told me of the miniature—I often reminded her
of it.”
“Indeed! And for what purpose?”
“To prevent her forgetting that you had not even a heart
to bestow on her.”
“You are right. But to return to the miniature; the original
possesses, indeed, a large portion of my affection——”
Hamilton stopped; he had flattered himself that his companion
would, in some way, betray feelings either of jealousy
or curiosity, but she walked on steadily without looking
at him; and when he paused, she observed, “You must
make haste; we are just at the corner; you need not tell me
about the original, but say what you wish me to do with the
picture.”
“Should we never meet again, unfeeling girl,” said Hamilton,
half laughing, “you must send the picture to my
father, for it is my sister Helen’s portrait.”
As he spoke, they had reached the place where he knew
he must leave her; she stopped, and said quickly, “Mr.
Hamilton, I have in this instance done you great injustice;
I thought your heart was bestowed on the original of the
miniature. Without this explanation I should certainly
have regarded your conduct towards us as unpardonably—heartless!”
“Not quite,” said Hamilton, lightly; “I really had a
heart at my disposal some time ago; younger sons are allowed
to have hearts in England, and to give them away as
they please; few people here think it worth while to accept
so worthless a thing as a heart alone. In Germany, the
same rational idea seems to prevail——”
“Not so,” cried Hildegarde, warmly; “a heart is always
of value—must be of value to every one, especially to every
woman.”
“You are making a collection of such valuables, I think,”
said Hamilton. “Your cousin’s has been forced upon you;
Zedwitz’s, to say the least, you tacitly accepted; what you
intend to do with mine——”
// 320.png
.pn +1
“I must go home now,” said Hildegarde, glancing uneasily
down the street; “it may be remarked if I stand here so
long with you——”
“Do not be alarmed,” said Hamilton, smiling; “I have
no intention of ever again favouring you with avowals of
affection as absurd as useless. You are quite right not to
listen to me, but you must have the kindness not to listen to
my midnight representatives either. Such men must not
speak for me.”
“Do not think about that any more,” said Hildegarde;
“I dislike the recollection of my stupidity.”
“If I only knew who it was,” said Hamilton, contracting
his brows.
“You possibly suspect Oscar, but when I referred to the
subject yesterday evening, he did not in the least understand
what I meant, and afterwards denied having seen me from
the time I had received my Christmas presents.”
“So, then, it was Zedwitz,” said Hamilton, musingly. “I
am sorry for it; our friendship is at an end.”
“Oh, no,” cried Hildegarde; “perhaps it was not Count
Zedwitz; it is not like him to act so; besides, he never
speaks French with me, and—and his manners are always so
respectful. Oh, no, I do not think—I am quite sure it could
not have been Count Zedwitz.”
“How can you, who are always so rational and candid,
talk so? You know it must have been one or the other;
no one else could have any motive for asking those questions;
I only wish——”
“And I wish,” said Hildegarde, interrupting him, “I wish
you would not either think or speak again about this disagreeable
affair. Oscar has denied knowing anything about
it; therefore you have no pretence to seek a quarrel with
him. You have scarcely a right on suspicion to withdraw
your friendship from Count Zedwitz.”
“On suspicion! No; but I shall certainly ask him if he
was on the stairs of your house on Christmas Eve.”
“He will say that he was not.”
“If he do, I shall believe him.”
“And I also,” said Hildegarde, moving onwards.
“You think highly of Zedwitz?”
“Most highly. I have already told you so.”
“And of your cousin?”
// 321.png
.pn +1
Hildegarde was silent.
“And yet you continue intimate with him, and tolerate
his rhapsodies!”
“He is my cousin—he loves me—and—if you must know
all, I fear him now!”
“You! you fear him?”
“Yes; I fear his love and his jealousy—his frightful
bursts of passion—his horrible threats. But, look, there is
Walburg just now coming home; I must enter the house
before her. Adieu.”
The Zedwitzes were profuse in their thanks to Hamilton,
and used all their eloquence to induce him to return with
them to Edelhof; no argument, however, could prevail on
him to quit Munich. Before Zedwitz left, he gave Hamilton
the assurance that he had not been in the Rosenbergs’ house
on Christmas Eve. “If you require proof,” he added, “I
can give it. You may remember I told you that I felt very
ill. Could a man in the state I was then in think of such
mummeries? besides, when we parted, I went home, that is,
to our house in —— Street, changed my clothes, which were
wet, and drank some wine. You can inquire of our old
housekeeper.”
“It is quite unnecessary,” said Hamilton. “I should
rather apologise for having thought you capable of such
conduct, even in joke. Hildegarde did not for a moment
suspect you, although she had heard her cousin’s denial.”
“Excellent girl!—she did me but justice. Much as I
should like to know her feelings towards me, I never, even
if I had an opportunity, would resort to such means of obtaining
information.”
“And what do you think of this denial of Raimund’s?”
asked Hamilton.
The carriage rolled to the door. Hamilton assisted his
friend down the narrow staircase. “What do you mean to
do with yourself until you are allowed to return to the
Rosenbergs?” asked the latter as he pressed heavily on his
arm.
“I shall buy another horse and a sledge. If the snow
last, I rather expect some amusement.”
Arrived in the street, Zedwitz was obliged to lean exhausted
against the house. He was with great difficulty
lifted into the carriage, and as he sank back into the corner,
// 322.png
.pn +1
his languid eyes turned slowly to the windows of the opposite
house. Crescenz and her brothers were looking out.
Hildegarde was not visible; he slightly touched his cap and
turned away. His mother and sister were making a final
effort to induce Hamilton to remove to Edelhof or Lengheim.
Zedwitz saw the uselessness of their endeavours, and
calling Hamilton to his side, whispered, “If you should be
ill, remember your promise to send for me directly.” He
then placed his hands on his shoulders, and kissed him on
both sides of his face. Completely abashed by this proceeding,
Hamilton blushed excessively, and stammered a few
incoherent words as the carriage drove off.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch26
CHAPTER XXVI. || THE DISCUSSION.
.sp 2
“Oh, Hildegarde!” cried Crescenz, pushing back her
work-table in order to be able to see better from the window.
“Oh, Hildegarde—look, look! There is Mr. Hamilton
driving such a beautiful sledge up our street; and the horses
are prancing and dancing, and shaking their red tassels and
silver bells! Oh, how pretty! How I wish he would take
me out with him!”
“Babette!” cried Mr. Rosenberg, from the next room,
“Mr. Hamilton is just passing our house, and seems in perfect
health. How long do you mean his quarantine to
last?”
“I have no objection to his returning to-morrow,” answered
Madame Rosenberg, who was arranging one of the
chests of drawers in the drawing-room. “You may tell him
so, if you like, this afternoon.”
“Not I!” said her husband. “You banished him, and
you may recall him, too; if, however, you really wish him
to return, you had better make haste, for he seems to be
amusing himself very well at Havard’s, and is always surrounded
by a number of acquaintances. I must confess I
miss him more than I expected.”
// 323.png
.pn +1
“I wish him to return, of course,” said Madame Rosenberg,
pushing in the drawers with some violence; “but, for
another week or so, I must say I have no objection to his
remaining where he is. I can hardly believe that he will
escape the cholera—he is so careless! Always going out
without a cloak, and being wet through!—wearing thin
boots and no flannel waistcoat! Heating his stove and opening
his windows! Running out in the middle of the night
every time there is an alarm about a house on fire! What
can one expect from such doings?”
“As you please, my dear,” said Mr. Rosenberg, contentedly.
“You know I never had any fancy for lodgers in our
house; he is the first I have been able to tolerate. I think,
however, you should not allow him to pay for his apartments
here and at Havard’s too!”
“Oh, of course not,” said his wife; “though I am sure
that is the very last thing he would think about—he is excessively
careless about money.”
“So it seems—and I suspect he is spending more than is
necessary at present. He gives suppers every night.”
“I don’t believe that!”
“You may believe it—or rather believe me, for I supped
with him after the theatre yesterday.”
“You?”
“Yes. There were also three young Englishmen and that
little Lieutenant-major who goes everywhere, playing cards
and making himself agreeable.”
“Lieutenant-major! How did Hamilton become acquainted
with him?”
“Oddly enough; he met him in the English Gardens one
evening before he went to Seon, and either knocked him
down or was knocked down by him—I really forget which;
but a fact it is that Hamilton invited him to supper without
remembering his name, and they insisted on my introducing
them formally to each other.”
“Well, to be sure!” said Madame Rosenberg. “If ever
I heard of such a thing!”
“He wishes exceedingly to return to us,” continued her
husband; “he said so when I was leaving—indeed, he gave
me to understand that his guests were merely invited to prevent
him from thinking too much of our quiet household!”
“Oh, if that be the case, I consider it a sort of duty to
// 324.png
.pn +1
bring him back here and out of the way of temptation,” said
Madame Rosenberg, joining her husband, and leaving Hildegarde
and Crescenz alone.
They had been interested auditors of this conversation as
they sat together working.
“How I like him for inviting that Lieutenant-major to
supper without knowing his name! Don’t you? It is so
English! I am very glad he is coming back to us!”
“His return ought to be a matter of indifference to you,”
said Hildegarde, without looking up.
“But I cannot be so indifferent as you are!” said Crescenz,
petulantly. “And, though I am going to be married to
Major Stultz, Lina Berger says that Mr. Hamilton may still
be ‘mein schatz’ just the same, and no harm!”
“Lina Berger talks great nonsense,” said Hildegarde,
with heightened colour. “This is, however, worse than
nonsense.”
“And yet she could give you some good advice, if you
choose to listen to her,” observed Crescenz, nodding her head
sagaciously.
“I do not require any advice from a person I so thoroughly
dislike and despise.”
“Oh, that’s just the same with her; she says she always
disliked you, but that she despises you now that you have
fallen in love with Theodor Biedermann!”
“What an absurd idea!” said Hildegarde, contemptuously.
“Marie de Hoffmann has already told me something of that
kind.”
“Lina told me long ago that Mr. Biedermann did not
think you at all handsome!”
“That I think very probable,” said Hildegarde.
“And she says now, he is just the person to teach you not
to fall in love without provocation!”
“I think he is more likely to teach me to write German
grammatically,” answered Hildegarde, with a careless laugh.
“And do you really not care for anybody, and you a whole
year older than I am!” exclaimed Crescenz, with unfeigned
astonishment. “Lina first thought you liked Mr. Hamilton,
until I assured her you hated him. Then she said you had
taken a wild kind of fancy to our cousin Oscar. Then she
thought you were pretending to like Count Zedwitz on
account of his rank and——”
// 325.png
.pn +1
“I am sure I ought to be obliged to you, Crescenz, for
discussing my affairs in this manner with my great enemy,”
said Hildegarde, indignantly.
“Oh, don’t be angry. I assure you she talked all herself.
I did not say a single word——”
“You forget having confessed that you told her all I confided
to you about Count Zedwitz.”
“But you never confided in me at all, Hildegarde! All I
know was what I overheard when you were so angry about
the letter, you know!”
“I remember speaking to you about that letter, and telling
you to rejoice that you had never any annoyance of the
kind.”
“But I assure you, Lina had heard everything from the
Doctor——”
“Pshaw!” cried Hildegarde, pushing back her chair,
“there is no use talking to you!”
“I am quite prepared for remarks of this kind,” said
Crescenz, with a ludicrous imitation of Hildegarde’s natural
dignity of manner; “Lina says there is no bearing you since
I have been engaged to be married!”
“So,” said Hildegarde, throwing down her work; “but I
do not quite understand the——”
“Oh, it is easily understood—you are older, and think you
ought to have been first.”
“This is really too absurd,” cried Hildegarde, laughing
good-humouredly.
“Oh, laugh as much as you please—but since we have
returned from Seon—you have become quite a different
person!”
“Did Lina put that into your head also?” asked Hildegarde,
quickly.
“Oh, no,” cried Crescenz, while her eyes filled with tears,
“I did not require Lina to point that out to me. Silly as
you think me—I can feel—you are quite changed.”
Hildegarde bit her lip—walked to the window—came
hastily back again, and throwing her arms round her sister,
kissed her cheek, while she whispered: “Dear girl, I am not
in the least changed in my affection for you; but you know
yourself that every word I speak to you is repeated to Lina
Berger; and how can you expect me to trust you?”
“But,” said Crescenz, looking up, “but you know I often
// 326.png
.pn +1
repeated what you said when we were at school, and you
only scolded a little sometimes. Now you scarcely ever get
into a passion, and are so cold and so careful what you say—just
like Mademoiselle Hortense!”
“Like Mademoiselle Hortense?”
“Oh, I don’t mean that you have her thick nose and high
shoulders,” said Crescenz, smiling through her tears, “but
you scarcely take any notice of me, and are always talking
of books with Hamilton!” Hildegarde was silent. “And
then you speak English now more than French, and Lina
says——”
“Don’t tell me what she says, don’t name her to me again,”
cried Hildegarde, impatiently.
“No—no, I won’t,” said Crescenz, alarmed.
“Odious person,” continued Hildegarde, turning away, “I
can never forgive her for having embittered the last weeks
we shall probably ever spend together.”
“Well,” said Crescenz, drying her eyes, “at all events, we
shall get on better after my marriage. You know you must
have a sort of respect for me then.”
Hildegarde turned round to see if her sister were joking;
but Crescenz looked perfectly serious.
“Respect is due to married persons,” she continued, neatly
folding up the work which her sister had thrown on the
chair. “Mamma says so—and then, you know, I shall be
quite another sort of person, when I am the mother of a
family——”
Hildegarde laughed unrestrainedly.
“Madame Lustig says I may have a dozen children! They
shall all have pretty names—not one of them shall be called
Blazius, that I am determined—they shall be Albert, Maximilian,
Ferdinard, Adolph, Philibert.”
“Philibert is not a pretty name,” said Hildegarde, interrupting
her merrily.
“Don’t you think so? Well, we can choose another,
Conrad for instance?”
“Or Oscar?”
“Oh, no, because I should imagine a sort of resemblance
to cousin Oscar, and I don’t—quite like him—that is, not
very much, though he is my cousin. He is very cross sometimes,
indeed almost always to your friend Marie—but, oh!
Hildegarde, one very pretty name we have forgotten, and of
// 327.png
.pn +1
a very handsome person too—Alfred! Mr. Hamilton, you
know—is not Alfred a pretty name?”
“Yes.”
“And he is certainly handsome? Even you must allow
that?”
Hildegarde was spared the answer, for Madame Rosenberg
entered the room, and having discovered that the tip of
Crescenz’s little nose was red, immediately declared it was
from want of exercise, and sent both sisters to play at battledore
and shuttlecock in the nursery with their brothers.
She then despatched a messenger to Hamilton which
caused his immediate return to her house.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch27
CHAPTER XXVII. || THE SLEDGE.
.sp 2
Hamilton’s sledge was the subject of discussion the very
first evening of his return—he of course proposed their
making use of it, and assured Madame Rosenberg that she
might trust herself and her daughters to his care without
fear.
“Oh, dear,—I’m sure I should not be in the least afraid,”
cried Crescenz.
“And yet you are the greatest coward in the house,” said
her mother. “I am sure you will scream so often that Mr.
Hamilton will refuse to take you a second time.”
“Allow me to observe,” said Major Stultz, his face increasing
in redness as he spoke—“and I conceive I have
some right to give an opinion on the subject—that I totally
disapprove of Crescenz’s going out in Mr. Hamilton’s
sledge.”
“Are you afraid to trust her to my care?” asked Hamilton,
laughing.
Major Stultz rapped on the table with his fingers, and
looked significantly towards Madame Rosenberg.
“You surely do not think I shall be so awkward as to
upset the sledge?” continued Hamilton.
“I have the highest opinion of you, Mr. Hamilton, the
// 328.png
.pn +1
highest opinion—where horses are concerned,” began Major
Stultz, with some embarrassment, while Hamilton rubbed
his upper lip to hide a smile. “Had you a carriage instead
of a sledge, the case would be different, and I—but I see
you understand me.”
“Not in the least,” said Hamilton, looking up in unfeigned
astonishment.
“Crescenz does, however,” said Major Stultz, turning to
his betrothed, whose face was suffused with blushes.
Madame Rosenberg had been occupied with little Peppy—she
was arranging the broken harness of a wooden carthorse,
which had been dragged somewhat roughly round the
room. She now looked up, and observed in a low voice, and
with a sort of expressive wink at Major Stultz, “Mr. Hamilton,
being an Englishman, knows nothing about sledging
rights. Keep your own counsel, and he will never think of
claiming it.”
“He may claim it from whoever he pleases,” cried Major
Stultz, bluntly; “but not from my Crescenz, that’s all.”
“What is it—what is my right? What may I claim?”
asked Hamilton, quickly.
No one seemed disposed to explain, until at length Madame
Rosenberg replied, laughing, “Neither more nor less
than a kiss, which is a sort of old privilege allowed a gentleman
if he drive a lady in a sledge! Now I know that
from me you will not claim it, because I am neither young
nor pretty—nor from Hildegarde, because you don’t like her
well enough—nor from Crescenz, because she is betrothed.
So really, Major, I see no reason for making such a serious
face.”
“I intend to drive Crescenz myself in a sledge,” said
Major Stultz; “I take it for granted she will enjoy it as
much with me as with Mr. Hamilton.”
Crescenz bent her head over her work, and said not a
word.
A heavy fall of snow during the night, and a clear blue
sky the next day, proved most propitious; and after dinner
the sledge was brought to the door. Madame Rosenberg
and her son Gustle were carefully assisted by Hamilton into
the light fantastic vehicle, while Hans, not unnecessarily,
held the horses’ heads. No sooner were the spirited animals
released than they bounded forward with a vehemence which
// 329.png
.pn +1
caused Madame Rosenberg to utter an only half-suppressed
scream, while the child, participating in his mother’s alarm,
seized Hamilton’s arm, and clung to it with all his strength.
One of the horses reared dangerously. “Gustle, you must
not touch my arm or the reins!” cried Hamilton, shaking
him off. “They will be quiet in a moment,” he added to
Madame Rosenberg, who had closed her eyes and compressed
her lips as if prepared for the worst; but notwithstanding
all his endeavours, the horses pranced and danced
and bounded, to the great admiration of the passers-by,
while poor Madame Rosenberg sat in a sort of agony. She
did not speak a word until they had reached the Nymphenburg
road, but there every sledge they met increased her
terrors, and at length she spoke—“Oh, dear, good, excellent
Mr. Hamilton—turn back and take me home again—I know
you are too good-natured to enjoy my anxiety—if it were
only for Gustle’s sake, see——Oh!——Ah! The child is
frightened to death almost, and no wonder! I declare if I
had not come out in my slippers I would walk home—oh,
pray stop—turn—before we meet that sledge coming towards
us. When your horses hear the bells of the other
sledges, they get quite wild! Dear, kind Mr. Hamilton, I
shall love you all my life if you will only take us home
again.”
Gustle, shocked by his mother’s unwonted humility of
manner, and imagining himself in the most imminent danger,
commenced roaring with all his might, and Hamilton
turned his horses, while assuring Madame Rosenberg they
were the gentlest animals in the world, and it was only the
fine weather that had put them in spirits.
On their return they found a respectable-looking hackney
coach placed on a sledge waiting at the door. Crescenz,
her little brother Peppy, and Major Stultz were preparing to
enter it.
“I will go with you,” cried Madame Rosenberg, joining
them, “Gustle must not lose his drive—Mr. Hamilton’s
horses are much too wild for me!”
“I thought as much,” said Major Stultz, with evident
satisfaction.
“Am I permitted to ask Mademoiselle Hildegarde to go
with me?” asked Hamilton.
“Yes, but you must tell her how your horses have frightened
// 330.png
.pn +1
me, and you must promise to drive on the Nymphenburg
road where we can see you, and you must not go farther
than the palace, and back again.”
“Agreed,” said Hamilton.
“And you must on no account quit the sledge, or enter
the inn.”
“Of course not.”
Hildegarde was surprised to see him so soon again. He
explained, and asked her if she were afraid to trust herself
to his care.
“No, I believe you drive well.”
“Rather—but I have never had a sledge until now—and
they seem slippery concerns.”
“I have heard that being thrown out of one is more uncomfortable
than dangerous,” said Hildegarde, laughing as
she entered her room to dress herself.
The horses pawed the half-frozen snow, and were even
more impatient than before—but this time no hand was laid
on his arm, no stifled scream vexed his ear. Hildegarde admired
the silver serpents which ornamented the front of the
sledge—the silver bells which glittered on the harness, and
the gay scarlet tassels which the horses flung in the air with
every movement—the blue sky—the dazzling snow; and
Hamilton, perfectly reassured, was soon able to prove to his
horses that he no longer feared to correct them.
In a few minutes they had overtaken and passed the
hackney sledge, containing the rest of the party, nor was it
long before they reached Nymphenburg.
“What shall we do now?” said Hamilton. “I promised
your mother not to go farther than the palace; I am sure
the others are not yet half-way here; must we go home so
soon?”
“Drive round and round this enclosure until they come,
it will amuse us and exercise the horses,” replied Hildegarde.
They drove round several times, each time quicker than
the preceding, while Hans, with extraordinary energy,
cracked the pliant leather whip peculiar to sledges. Several
people collected to look on, among others a carter, with an
empty wagon. One of his horses was young and unbroken;
as the sledge passed, it plunged, and rattled its heavy harness;
Hamilton’s horses shied, dashed into the deep snow
heaped up beside the road, upset the sledge, and then struggled
// 331.png
.pn +1
violently to make themselves free. Hamilton still contrived
to hold the reins until his servant came to his assistance,
and then rushed to Hildegarde, who had been thrown
to some distance. A crowd had soon gathered round her.
“Hildegarde, dearest, are you hurt?” he asked, anxiously.
“Not in the least,” she answered, laughing, while she
shook the snow from her cloak, “not in the least; I was
thrown at the first jerk into the fresh snow, and every time
I attempted to get up I fell back again, until I received
assistance, for which I thank you,” she said, turning to some
strangers; and then she added hurriedly to Hamilton, “Let
us go home.”
The sledge had been easily set to rights, and they once
more drove off at a furious pace.
“As wild a young pair as ever I saw,” observed an officer
to his wife, as they turned towards the inn to rest, and refresh
themselves with a cup of coffee.
“We have disobeyed your mother,” began Hamilton,
“unintentionally indeed, but——”
“How do you mean?”
“Why, she forbade our leaving the sledge on any account
whatever,” said Hamilton, laughing; “now, I don’t in the
least mind being lectured by her, but I confess I do not enjoy
the idea of Major Stultz’s triumph. How unmercifully I
shall be laughed at!”
“I don’t see any necessity for saying anything about the
matter,” said Hildegarde; “if you choose to be silent, I
shall never refer to the subject; in fact, I was altogether to
blame, it was my proposition driving round that enclosure,
and it was I who encouraged you to worry the horses, in
order to show you that I was not afraid of them.”
“The carter and his young horse were to blame,” said
Hamilton; “he ought not to have come so close to us; but
I should be very glad to escape Major Stultz’s heavy raillery.
Do you hear, Hans—you fell out of the sledge in your sleep—not
even to your father must you say otherwise than that
my horses are as steady as oxen. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Perhaps the fear of being questioned induced Hamilton
when returning to pass the others so quickly that he did not
hear their cries to him to stop and return to Nymphenburg.
Perhaps the wish to be once more alone with his companion
// 332.png
.pn +1
for half an hour made him urge his horses to their hardest
trot: if the latter had been his object, his annoyance may
be conceived when, on reaching home, just as they had
begun to ascend the stairs together, gayly laughing, he perceived
Count Raimund standing above them. He had seen
their arrival from the Hoffmanns’ window, and rushed out
under pretence of a joke, but, in reality, to waylay them.
Hamilton could not conceal his vexation; he frowned, and
muttered the words “Everlasting bore!” which made Hildegarde’s
countenance change in a manner that irritated her
cousin. “Hildegarde, I must speak to you,” he began abruptly.
“Speak on,” she said, continuing to ascend the stairs.
“I must ask you a question—and—we must be alone.”
“You are peremptory—ask differently, and per—haps I
may comply with your request.”
Count Raimund grasped—not gently—his cousin’s arm—she
turned round—became very pale—and requested Hamilton,
in a low voice, to go up stairs—she would follow him
directly.
“Do you really wish me to go?” he asked, hesitatingly.
“Do you remain willingly with your cousin? Remember,”
he added indignantly, “the nearest relationship cannot
authorise such——”
Count Raimund made a violent gesture—Hildegarde
placed herself between them, and said hurriedly, “I—I do
wish to speak to Oscar,” and Hamilton instantly left them.
Directly he was gone her manner totally changed. “Your
question, Oscar, and quickly,” she said, haughtily, “I have
no intention of remaining on the cold staircase more than a
few minutes.”
“Gently, gently, Hildegarde—you think the danger is
over now your treasure is out of sight—but you see how
ready he is to quarrel, with all his coolness—be careful,
for——”
“Your question,” said Hildegarde, leaning against the
wall, with a sigh of resignation.
“Did this a—this Englishman condescend to claim his
sledging right from you?”
“No.”
“Did he not think it worth while?” said Raimund, sneeringly.
// 333.png
.pn +1
“Very probably. Have you anything else to observe?”
“Yes, false girl!” cried Raimund, vehemently, “you
know this is not the case—you know this is not the case—you
know he loves you—his every look betrays him; but, by
heaven, if you grant him what I, your nearest relative, have
so long implored in vain—his life shall be the forfeit——”
“Always threatening!” exclaimed Hildegarde, indignantly.
“It is my only means to obtain a moment’s attention from
you. He little knows that to his influence alone I am indebted
for every favour—for every common civility I receive
from you!”
“He little knows that, indeed!” said Hildegarde, bitterly,
“were he aware of it, he would soon release me from my
thraldom.”
“Tell him—tell him. I desire nothing more than that
matters should come to extremities. Your look incredulous,
Hildegarde. Hear me, and judge for yourself. Pecuniary
difficulties have often made men put an end to their existence—and
you know what mine are! Add to this a violent
and hopeless love, and the certainty of being obliged, in a
week or ten days, to marry a person for whom I never can
feel a particle of either affection or admiration!”
“But who is worthy of both!” cried Hildegarde.
“Perhaps so—I wish Marie every happiness with another—for
myself,” he added, folding his arms and looking
musingly down the stairs; “I wish to die, to die soon—and
quickly—but not by my own hand. They say it is a fearful
crime to commit suicide. Were I certain of being shot by
Hamilton, I should not hesitate—he must then leave Bavaria
and you for ever—but the chances are I should shoot him—I
hate him so intensely that the temptation would be
more than I could resist.”
“Horrible!” cried Hildegarde, covering her face with her
hands. “How can you deliberately think of committing
murder?”
“That’s it—that’s what I mean; you see, Hildegarde,
death is my only resource; but I shudder at the thought of
staining my hands with other blood than my own. The
double crime is more than I can resolve upon.”
“Ah, I see now,” said she, forcing a smile; “you are
only trying to frighten me, as you have often done before.”
// 334.png
.pn +1
He shook his head, and continued. “As long as I had
the faintest hope of obtaining your affection, I was a different
being; you might have made of me what you pleased—and
I should have gained your love but for this supercilious
Englishman, for you were disposed to like me at first.”
“As a relation—yes.”
“More than that—much more, Hildegarde,” cried Raimund,
vehemently.
“And had I loved you more than as a cousin, what purpose
would it have served? Our relationship is too near to
permit of a marriage.”
“Nothing easier than obtaining a dispensation,” cried
Raimund, eagerly, and in a moment losing all violence of
manner and voice.
“But we are both without fortune,” said Hildegarde.
“I could quit the army. There are many situations
which I could obtain. We should be poor, indeed, very
poor; but what is poverty when—— Oh! Hildegarde, has
this consideration caused your coldness, or are you—— What
a fool I am!” he exclaimed, passionately. “She
treats me like a madman from whom she would escape without
witnessing a paroxysm! Go, you have tortured me—deliberately—most
horribly. Go, I would hate you if I
could!”
Hildegarde began slowly to ascend the stairs; as she
turned to the next flight an unusual sound made her look
downwards, and she perceived her cousin vainly endeavouring
to suppress the fearful emotion which agitated his whole
frame. A man’s tears are a phenomenon too rare to be
seen unmoved. Hildegarde stopped, and held out her hand.
“Oscar, dear Oscar, what I said was not in heartlessness, but
in the hope of convincing you of the utter impossibility of
our ever being more to each other than cousins. Think of
your solemn engagement to Marie—of your promises to
your father. Remember that no situation you could ever
obtain would enable you to pay your debts!”
“True—most true. I was dreaming just now,” said Raimund,
with forced composure. “I am sorry to have kept
you so long here—in the cold. Go, Mr. Hamilton is waiting
for you!”
“He is not. I shall most probably not see him until
evening.”
// 335.png
.pn +1
Raimund looked up, smiled mournfully, and then rushed
down the stairs.
A minute later Hildegarde was in her room; her cloak
and boa almost suffocated her, and she shook them off impatiently,
sank on a chair, and murmured: “What shall I
do? What ought I to do? Oscar will quarrel with him—kill
him, and I shall be the cause. He must leave Munich—leave
us, and return to England.” Here she sprang from
her chair, and walked up and down the room for a few minutes.
“Is there, then, no other way of keeping him out of
danger? Suppose he could be induced to go to the Z—’s?
He said he intended to visit them. If he only could go
until after Oscar’s marriage? A fortnight—only two weeks,
and all danger would be over! I must speak to him, even
if he insists on knowing everything. I wonder if he is in
the drawing-room?”
He was not, nor in the school-room, and she had not the
courage to seek him in his apartment. She hoped to find an
opportunity in the course of the next day, although with
female quickness she had already observed that he no longer
sought to be alone with her, or in any way to occupy her attention.
Hamilton’s motives were honourable, but he could
scarcely have chosen a more judicious mode of conduct in
order to facilitate their intercourse; it had already convinced
Mr. Rosenberg of his indifference to his daughter just when
he had begun to entertain suspicions to the contrary, and
confirmed Madame Rosenberg in the idea that Hamilton
actually disliked her.
After wandering about the house for some time, Hildegarde
returned to her room, and endeavoured to arrange her
thoughts, and her balls of coloured worsted and silks, until
the return of her family. They came late, and talked loudly
and gayly on their arrival. When Crescenz entered the
room, she immediately exclaimed, “Oh! Hildegarde, we
have had such a pleasant party—such a number of people,
and such good coffee! and the Bergers. Oh dear, I was so
sorry that you and——but I had almost forgotten, mamma
says you must make tea directly for Mr. Hamilton, he is
going to the theatre, there is an opera, and he wishes to hear
the overture.”
Hildegarde pushed back her work-frame, and left the
room to seek the breakfast service of highly gilt china, which
// 336.png
.pn +1
Madame Rosenberg had received as a wedding-present, and
which, though certainly intended by the donor to have been
“kept for show,” she had latterly appropriated to Hamilton’s
use, whenever he drank tea alone, and this was generally
the case the evenings he went to the theatre. When
she carried it to the drawing-room, she found her father,
mother, and Major Stultz with him, and as she poured out the
weak beverage, and arranged the plate of bread and butter,
her mother continued speaking—“We thought you did not
choose to hear us—but then what motive could you have?”
“What! indeed!” said Hamilton.
“The Major shouted the word Nymphenburg and coffee
as loud as he could; he thought they might give you an
idea what we meant.”
“We heard nothing. The confounded bells made such a
noise.”
“The bells are very useful when it grows foggy, or dark,
as we found this evening,” observed Major Stultz.
“Hildegarde, you may light the candles—Mr. Hamilton
cannot find the way to his mouth.”
Hildegarde brought them, while Crescenz, who had joined
the others, continued repeating: “So pleasant, so gay! So
many people! And then about the upset—did you relate
about that?”
“No,” cried Hamilton, looking up; “pray tell me about it.
You don’t mean to say you were upset?”
“Oh, no! But a young Englishman and his wife were
thrown out of their sledge to-day when they were driving
around the palings at Nymphenburg. Captain What’s-his-name
told us all about it, and they were so young and so
handsome, he said.”
“Your countrymen can drive mail-coaches better than
sledges,” said Major Stultz, laughing.
“It is not proved that they were English,” said Hamilton,
with a smile only perceptible to Hildegarde. “They may
have been Germans.”
“Zimmermann said they were certainly English, and he
understands the language. The lady thanked him in French
for extricating her out of the snow; he says she was quite
English-looking, and uncommonly handsome!”
“I have no doubt of his judgment on that subject,” said
Hamilton.
// 337.png
.pn +1
“And,” said Crescenz, “her husband seemed so fond of
her, and said all sorts of things to her when he assisted her
into the sledge again!”
“All sorts of things!” cried Hamilton, laughing; “such
as, for instance——”
“Oh, I cannot say the English words—I have never heard
you say anything that sounded like them.”
“Of course not—I must wait until I have a wife, I
suppose.”
Hildegarde’s face had flushed during this conversation.
Hamilton seemed so much amused with it, that he forgot
the overture he had been so anxious to hear. “Your friend
did not know at all who they were?” he asked, bending over
his tea-cup.
“Not in the least,” answered Major Stultz; “but the lady
made a great impression on Zimmermann, he seemed altogether
to have fallen in love with her?”
“Oh, ho!” exclaimed Mr. Rosenberg, “what did his wife
say to that?”
“She said she had no cause for jealousy, the Englishwoman
did not look at anyone—she only seemed anxious to
assure her husband that she was not in the least hurt, though
she must have been considerably bruised, and she appeared
to wish everyone else at the bottom of the sea! A good
example for you, Crescenz, next month, eh?”
Crescenz looked silly, and turned away.
“Half-past six!” cried Mr. Rosenberg, looking at his
watch; “I must be off. Mr. Hamilton seems to forget that
he intended to go with me to the theatre. The overture will
be over.”
“But not the ballet,” said Hamilton, “and the ballet in
Robert is what I like best; if I be in time for that and
the Princess’s aria, I am satisfied.”
Mr. Rosenberg, who went regularly four times a week to
the theatre, and particularly disliked arriving late, partly
from the fear of being obliged to walk over his neighbors’ feet
in order to reach his chair, partly from long habits of punctuality,
after a few minutes’ indulgence of civilly expressive
impatience, quitted the room, bowing over his watch, which
he still held in his hand, as a sort of excuse to Hamilton.
“I thought you intended to go to?” said Crescenz to Major
Stultz.
// 338.png
.pn +1
“Yes, Zimmermann has given me his place to-night, but
I believe I shall wait for Mr. Hamilton.”
“I shall be delighted,” said Hamilton, “but you must not
expect me to leave this warm room for an hour at least.”
“An hour!” exclaimed Major Stultz; “why, half the
opera will be over.”
“Very likely, but I have heard it so often.”
“Do you forget the ballet?”
“Very likely I shall,” said Hamilton.
“I knew,” cried Crescenz, “I knew he did not really care
for the ballet.”
“Excuse me, but I do care for the ballet, and I should
care more for it if the dancers were prettier, and had not
such thick ankles!”
“Smooth waters run deep,” said Major Stultz. “It is a
pity, Crescenz, your mother did not hear that speech, she
would hardly have believed her own ears!”
“Why not?” said Hamilton. “Do you mean to say that
you do not, or did not formerly, like seeing a ballet and
pretty women too?”
“We will not discuss this subject in the presence of the
young ladies,” said Major Stultz.
“There is nothing to discuss,” said Hamilton, carelessly;
“I like seeing pretty faces, and pretty ankles, and graceful
figures, and I believe I am not singular in my taste; perhaps,
however, you prefer the flowing hair which will be exhibited
to-night. By-the-by, one girl has the very longest and thickest
hair I ever saw. Have you not observed it?”
“Yes; Crescenz’s, however, is nearly as long, I should
think,” replied Major Stultz, touching the thick plaits which
were wound round the back of her head.
“She would make a charming ballet-dancer in every respect,”
murmured Hamilton in French, while he laughingly
glanced at her.
“What does he say?” asked Major Stultz, who observed
that Crescenz blushed and smiled alternately. “What does
he say?”
“To think of his caring so much for a ballet!” answered
Crescenz, evasively, while she still blushed, and then laughed
as she added, “and you know all mamma said about his
being religious, and not going out in the evenings, or on
Sunday to the theatre.”
// 339.png
.pn +1
“I suspect your mother has a better opinion of him than
he deserves,” whispered Major Stultz. Crescenz, however,
shook her head so incredulously, or so coquettishly, that he
added, “Do not think me jealous; it is impossible, now that
I know who is the real object of his devotion.”
“Ah, you mean Hildegarde,” said Crescenz, carelessly.
“Oh, no.”
“Who then?” asked Crescenz, turning towards him
quickly, curiosity depicted in every feature, “who?”
“I can scarcely tell you—as he has chosen a married
woman——”
Crescenz looked aghast. Major Stultz’s jealousy conquered
his usual circumspection—the moment was too favourable
for making an impression—he bent towards her and
whispered, “No other than your friend, Madame Berger.”
“Impossible!”
“Certain, nevertheless. When your mother forbade his
returning here, he was invited to spend his disengaged evenings
at her house. He knows the Doctor well; besides,
Berger is Zedwitz’s physician, and they have often met
lately. Had the thing been feasible, Hamilton would, I
have no doubt, have taken up his quarters in their house!”
Crescenz for once in her life seemed to think, and think
deeply. All Major Stultz’s efforts to continue the conversation
were fruitless; she bent her head over her work, and
scarcely heard his excuses and regrets that he was going to
the theatre without her. After he had left the room, there
was a long pause. Hildegarde had been leaning her head
on her hand for the last half hour, apparently unconscious
of what was going on about her. Crescenz moved softly
towards her, and on pretence of consulting her about her
work, contrived to relate what she had just heard.
Hildegarde became so suddenly and remarkably pale, that
Hamilton, who was in the habit of watching her, immediately
perceived it, and exclaimed, “What is the matter?
Are you ill?”
“Not in the least,” she answered, hastily rising and walking
to the other end of the room.
“But is it not odious?” cried Crescenz, indignantly; “she
is the very last person I should have thought of!”
“And the very first I should have suspected,” said Hildegarde.
// 340.png
.pn +1
The house-bell rang, and a slight noise in the passage was
followed by the entrance of the person who had been the
subject of conversation. “How very odd!” exclaimed Crescenz,
while Madame Berger, advancing towards Hamilton,
held out her hand, saying, “A l’Anglaise; how I like your
English custom of shaking hands—it is so friendly! Bon
soir, Hildegarde. Give me a kiss, Cressy. Here I am, come
all in the snow on foot to talk over our first ball, eh? and to
arrange the party of which we spoke,” she added, turning to
Hamilton.
“How provoking—and I am just preparing to go to the
theatre!”
“You most uncivil person! Can you not bestow half an
hour on me?”
“An hour—two hours, if you in the slightest degree wish
it. My regrets were for myself.”
Hildegarde and Crescenz look at each other.
“I have not,” he continued gayly, “forgotten the pleasant
evenings which I spent in your house during my banishment—they
will ever remain among my most agreeable recollections.”
“Perhaps I may give them a place among mine too,” said
Madame Berger, seating herself on the sofa, and taking her
knitting apparatus out of her pocket. Her fingers were soon
in such quick motion, that it was impossible to follow them,
but so expert was she in this kind of work, that her head
turned in every direction, and her eyes wandered round the
room as if she had been totally unoccupied. “Why, girls,
what is the matter with you both this evening? I never saw
you so dull. We can fancy ourselves tête-à-tête,” she said,
laughingly, to Hamilton, “if you would only cease playing
with your teaspoon and sit down beside me here.”
Hamilton immediately took the offered place, and Madame
Berger, half playfully, half maliciously, turned quite away
from the sisters. “Well,” she continued, glancing covertly
toward them; to-morrow is our first ball; “of course you
have heard of our muslin dresses and wreaths of roses?”
“No,” said Hamilton, “I only returned here yesterday evening,
and have heard nothing about it. Where is the ball?”
“At the Museum. You are a member of the club, I
believe—it is there you read the foreign newspapers, you
know. I shall keep a waltz or galop for you.”
// 341.png
.pn +1
“To-morrow, did you say? and I am invited to a private
ball at Court! If it were only the day after!”
“This all comes from cholera!” cried Madame Berger, in
a tone of vexation. “Everything heaped together at the
end of the carnival! There is to be a masquerade at the
theatre on Monday; you said you wished to go to one; let
us at least arrange something about that.”
“Can you not promise to be of the party?” said Hamilton,
turning to Hildegarde.
“It will altogether depend upon papa,” she answered
coldly, and then left the room without looking towards the
speakers.
“Come here, Crescenz,” said Madame Berger, “come
here, and I will tell you how we can manage it: your
mother intends to go some day or other to see her father.
Why not on Monday, if Mr. Hamilton offers his sledge?”
“Oh, she is so afraid of his horses, that nothing would
tempt her to take them.”
“Well, then, the Doctor must lend his old greys, for on
Monday both she and your father must be out of the way.
Don’t be so stupid as to say this to Hildegarde, however!”
“Oh, mamma will never trust us with you alone,” said
Crescenz.
“I suspected as much, and have engaged old Lustig to go
with us; she will do whatever we please, and I have promised
to arrange a ‘bat’ for her like my own; we will all go
as bats. Shall we be black or white?”
“Which is the most becoming?” asked Crescenz.
“Becoming! why, child, I do believe you don’t know
what I mean. A bat as mask means a domino so arranged
that one cannot see even the form of the head, the smallest
lock of hair, or even quite know whether the person be a
man or woman.”
“I thought we should have had something pretty,” said
Crescenz, disappointed, “such as Grecian costumes.”
“You may dress yourself as a Greek or a Turk, if you
like, but you may be recognised and tormented. For my
part, I go to worry others, and have decided on a black
domino—a complete capuchin; Mr. Hamilton and Madame
Lustig the same; you and Hildegarde may of course arrange
as you please.”
// 342.png
.pn +1
“Oh, dear! I am afraid Hildegarde will not go without
asking papa’s leave.”
“Don’t say a word more about the matter to her; she will
think we have forgotten it, and—when papa and mamma are
gone, I will come and arrange everything.”
“Oh, dear, how nice!” cried Crescenz, seating herself
confidentially beside her friend, but a moment after she
sprang up, assumed a dignified air, and walked towards the
door.
“You don’t mean to leave us, Cressy?” exclaimed Madame
Berger, surprised.
“I am going to tell mamma that you are here,” she replied,
stiffly.
“Oh, my dear creature, she has heard from Walburg long
ago. She is engaged with the children, or counting linen,
or something of that sort. Stay here like a love, and play
propriety.”
“But I don’t choose to play propriety,” said Crescenz,
angrily, as she left the room.
Madame Berger looked amazed for a moment, and then
burst into a fit of laughter. “I do believe the child is
jealous!” she exclaimed. “How ridiculous! how amusing!
I wish it were Hildegarde—I would give—what would I not
give to make her jealous for half an hour! It would be
sublime! Theodor could assist me if he chose.”
“You think she likes him?” said Hamilton.
“He says not, but I can discover no other person. Can
you believe that she cares for no one?”
“She cares a great deal for her father?” answered Hamilton.
“Ah, bah—a person of her violent temperament must
have a grande passion before this time.”
“I have not lately seen anything like violence,” said
Hamilton.
“A certain proof that she is desirous of pleasing some
one.”
“I should have no objection to be the person she is
desirous of pleasing,” said Hamilton; “she is perfectly
amiable with her father; should she bestow one of the looks
intended for him upon me, I confess I should be——”
“And has she really never tried to make you say civil
things to her?” asked Madame Berger, quickly.
// 343.png
.pn +1
“On the contrary, she has provoked me to say very uncivil
things sometimes.”
“And so you have been obliged to amuse yourself with
poor simple Crescenz?”
“Who,” said Hamilton, “is the most innocent being in
the world—a pretty child——”
“A pretty fool!” cried Madame Berger, “but let us talk
of our masquerade—you will go at all events?”
“Certainly.”
“And dressed in black—and masked?”
“Agreed.”
“You have no idea how amusing it is! One can say all
sorts of impertinent things—even to the royal family when
they are present. Masks are allowed perfect impunity.”
“But should you be discovered afterwards?”
“I shall deny knowing anything about the matter, of
course.”
Hamilton had not time to reply by word or look, for at
this moment supper was announced.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch28
CHAPTER XXVIII. || A BALL AT THE MUSEUM CLUB.
.sp 2
“I hope we shall have no visitors,” said Crescenz the next
day, after having examined herself for some time attentively
in the glass which was between the windows in the drawing-room.
“I hope we shall have no visitors, for these curl-papers
are certainly not becoming. If mamma had allowed,
I should have passed the day in my own room, that nobody
might see them. Don’t you think me very ugly to-day?”
she added, turning to Hamilton, who, as usual, was close to
the stove.
“You are not ugly, but the curl-papers are,” he answered,
looking at her over his book.
“But we shall look so well with long curls in the evening,”
she said, half appealing to her sister, who was standing at
the window with some intricate piece of work. “What a
pity one cannot have curls without curl-papers.”
// 344.png
.pn +1
“They are dearly bought if you are obliged to wear your
hair twisted up in that manner all day,” said Hamilton.
“I thought Englishwomen very often had long curls.”
“So they have—but they never appear in a drawing-room
with curl-papers.”
“They certainly are very unbecoming,” said Crescenz, again
inspecting herself in the glass. “I have a great mind to
arrange my braids again. After all, my hair will perhaps
fall out of curl during the first waltz. You know, Hildegarde,
at the examinations I was obliged to fasten up the
curls with a comb?”
“Yes, but I remember the curls became you extremely——”
“Hildegarde,” whispered Crescenz, coming close to her
sister, “you know Mr. Hamilton cannot go to the ball, and
if he thinks the curl-papers so very ugly——”
“I should think Major Stultz’s opinion of more consequence
to you,” answered Hildegarde; “and,” she added
loud enough to be heard, “you know if Mr. Hamilton dislike
so much seeing curl-papers, he has only to avoid looking
at us for the remainder of the day.”
Hamilton closed his book, looked out of the window at the
thickly-falling snow, and then left the room. Crescenz immediately
exclaimed, “Oh, Hildegarde, you have offended
him! How can you be so unkind?”
“Is it unkind to tell him not to look at us for a few
hours?” Hildegarde asked, laughing.
“You are so unnecessarily rude to him sometimes—yesterday
evening, for instance, you scarcely answered him when
he spoke to you.”
“Because I was occupied with my father. I hope you
have no objection to my preferring his conversation to Mr.
Hamilton’s!”
“But you were only talking about the opera to papa, who
would have been very glad if you had allowed him to hear
what Mr. Hamilton was telling Lina Berger about a picnic
party on the Thames. Lina says he is the most fascinating
young man she ever met, not even excepting Theodor Biedermann!”
“And Mr. Hamilton will tell you, if you ask him, that
Madame Berger is the most fascinating young woman he
ever met with, not even excepting Crescenz Rosenberg.”
“Oh, dear; I forgot to tell you that Major Stultz was
// 345.png
.pn +1
quite mistaken. Lina explained everything before she left
yesterday evening. Mr. Hamilton only went to hear her
play waltzes!”
Hildegarde shook her head incredulously.
“You do not believe her?”
“No.”
“Well, I do; and I will manage to find out from Mr.
Hamilton the whole truth.”
“Don’t attempt anything of the kind, Crescenz; you will
only make yourself ridiculous.”
“We shall see,” said Crescenz, nodding her head as she
left the room.
When she returned to the drawing-room her hair was
braided in the usual manner; and she rather unwillingly
confessed that she had seen Hamilton, who had said that he
“thought braids infinitely more becoming than curls for
young and pretty persons!”
“I greatly fear Mr. Hamilton is beginning to amuse himself
again at your expense,” observed Hildegarde, with some
irritation.
“He did not seem to be amusing himself; he spoke quite
gravely, and papa, who was present, agreed with him.”
Hildegarde’s hand rose to her head, and her fingers impatiently
contracted themselves round the offending curl-papers.
“If I had known that papa thought so, I should never have
curled my hair, but now it is too late; Mr. Hamilton will
think I have tried to please him, and——”
“Oh, dear, no,” cried Crescenz; “he did not seem in the
least to think I had braided my hair to please him. He
was talking to papa about religion and philosophy, and some
acquaintances of the name of Hegel and Schelling.”
Hildegarde smiled. “If they were talking of Hegel and
Schelling, I dare say he has forgotten us and our curls. I
could not possibly think of sacrificing my ringlets to please
him, and papa I shall probably not see until evening.”
Hamilton took her advice more literally than she just then
wished: he remained in his room the rest of the day, and
thus avoided seeing her again. She felt that a few words
spoken in a moment of irritation had deprived her of all
chance of seeing him alone for a few minutes, in order to
induce him to avoid her cousin, and go the ensuing week to
the Z—’s; but she consoled herself by thinking that at
// 346.png
.pn +1
least they were not likely to meet during that evening, as
Raimund had not been invited to the ball at Court, and was
to accompany his betrothed to the Museum.
As soon as it was dusk, the sisters disappeared. Madame
Rosenberg in vain sent to request they would come to supper.
They were not hungry. They could not eat. “Quite natural!”
observed their father, helping himself to some salmi
and cold turkey. “Quite natural! Who ever heard of a
girl eating before she went to her first ball? I suppose,
however, they will soon be dressed; so I think, Babette, you
might now put on your own brown silk dress and pink turban;
it would be a pity if they were to lose a dance! Mr.
Hamilton has offered to leave us at the Museum, on his way
to the palace.”
Madame Rosenberg poured out a glass of beer, drank it
quickly, and left the room. A few minutes afterwards,
Hildegarde and her sister entered, in all the charms of youth
and white muslin. “Is she not beautiful?” exclaimed Crescenz,
for a moment forgetting herself in her admiration of
her sister. “Is she not beautiful? Ah, I knew you would
admire curls,” she added as a sort of reply to Hamilton’s
look of most genuine admiration. “Curls are prettier than
braids after all!” She drew her hand, as she spoke, over
her smooth, shining hair, and glanced regretfully towards
the looking-glass.
Hildegarde turned from Hamilton with a slightly conscious
blush. Never had he seen or imagined anyone so
lovely as she appeared to him at that moment. The long,
waving ringlets of her rich brown hair relieved the slightly
severe expression of her almost too regular features, while
her beautifully-formed figure, seen to advantage in her light
ball-dress, attracted equally by its roundness and delicacy.
Had Hamilton seen her for the first time that evening, he
would have been captivated. When we, however, remember
that she had been for months the object of his first love,
that he had resided in the same house, and had had opportunities
of knowing and judging her by no means commonplace
ideas, as they had studied together, and that he was at
a time of life when the feelings are most impetuous, we may
form some idea of the emotion which, for some minutes,
deprived him of the power of utterance. Hildegarde was
so perfectly independent in thought and action; she required
// 347.png
.pn +1
so little of that protection which her sex usually
seek, that had she not been eminently handsome, she would
probably have found more people disposed to admire her
character than love her person. Men especially do not often
bestow affection on such women; but, when they do, it is
with a degree of passion which they seldom or never feel
for the more gentle or weaker of the sex. And so, irresistibly
attracted by her beauty, and perhaps hoping to find
feelings as strong as her mind, three men now loved her
with characteristic fervour; her cousin, with an intensity
bordering on insanity; Zedwitz with the glowing steadiness
of his disposition and years, and Hamilton with all the
ardour of extreme youth.
“I thought Hildegarde would have worn one of my
bracelets this evening,” said Crescenz. “I offered her the
choice of them all!”
“That was very kind of you, Crescenz,” said her father,
“but Hildegarde does not care for ornaments of that
kind.”
“But look at that ugly little hair-bracelet which she insists
upon wearing,” said Crescenz, laughing. “If she had
bracelets of her own, she would wear them, I am sure.
Everyone must like bracelets!”
Mr. Rosenberg took Hildegarde’s hand, and raised her
passive arm towards his eyes, in order to inspect the bracelet.
“It is not ugly, nor ill chosen either,” he observed, smiling;
“a black bracelet makes an arm look fairer still; but I own
I did not think my treasure studied such things!”
Hildegarde, with a look of annoyance, hastily unclasped
the bracelet, and threw it into her work-basket.
“Don’t be offended, Hildegarde. Every woman should
endeavour to improve her appearance as much as possible.
Your arm is round and white, and the bracelet pretty; it
ought, perhaps, to have been a little broader, but the horsehair
was scarce, it seems! However, you can wear it very
creditably; at a little distance, people will think it the hair
of some very dear friend!”
Madame Rosenberg made her appearance at this moment,
in a state of ludicrous distress; she had tried to force her
large hands into a pair of small French gloves. One, from
its elasticity, had been drawn somewhat over the half of one
hand, leaving the other half and the wrist quite bare; but
// 348.png
.pn +1
the other had burst asunder across the palm, and she now
held it towards her husband, with a look of mock despair.
“Try another and a larger pair,” he said, laughing.
“I have not another pair in the house. You know I
never want white gloves, and I was obliged to send to
Schultz for these, after I had begun to dress!”
“Oh, I can mend it in a moment,” cried Crescenz, bringing
a needle and thread. “Only keep it on your hand—it
will never do if you pull it off again.”
Hamilton had in the meantime been playing with the discarded
bracelet; Hildegarde attempted to take it out of his
hand, but he held it nearer the light, observing in a low voice,
“This is not horse hair. It cannot be your father’s or your sister’s,
for they have brown hair; nor your cousin’s; nor——”
“Give me my bracelet,” said Hildegarde, impatiently. He
held it towards her with both hands, and a look of pretended
alarm. She half smiled, and extended her arm, while with
a degree of trepidation which he in vain endeavoured to
overcome, he placed the tongue in the serpent’s head which
formed the clasp. When he looked up her head was averted,
and she was jesting with her father about her chance of finding
partners or being left sitting.
“Pray, keep one waltz or galop in reserve for me,” cried
Hamilton. “I shall be at the Museum between ten and
eleven o’clock.”
Hildegarde murmured a sort of assent, but the expression
of her countenance denoted anything but satisfaction. She
became grave and thoughtful. It was impossible not to perceive
the change, and with ill-concealed mortification Hamilton
turned to her father: “Your daughter does not know,
perhaps, that I have learned to waltz since I came here. I
am no longer a bad dancer.”
“Oh, dear! I always thought you danced extremely well,”
said Crescenz.
“I may depend upon your keeping a waltz free for me; if
Major Stultz will permit it.”
“Oh, yes; that is,” said Crescenz, correcting herself, “if
you can remember your engagement with me when Lina
Berger is present.”
“Madame Berger has no influence whatever upon my
memory.”
“No, but upon your heart.”
// 349.png
.pn +1
“None whatever. She is very pretty, very amusing, very
flattering, everything you please but lovable.”
“Well, if she only heard you say that!” began Crescenz.
“The carriage has been at the door this long time,” cried
Madame Rosenberg, tying a large handkerchief over her ears
and pink turban. “Let us be off.”
Crescenz touched her sister’s hand, and whispered: “You
see, dear, I was right.”
Hildegarde bent her head, but did not speak.
Hamilton heard, saw, but only partly understood. Had
Hildegarde been jealous!
The ball at Court was not in the least less brilliant than
any of the preceding, but Hamilton was not disposed to
admire the rooms, or the fresco paintings, or the candelabra,
or even his own form in the long glass, placed so conveniently
at the door of one of the reception-rooms. Figures in blue
and pink crape passed and repassed him scarcely observed, so
completely had a form in white, with a wreath of roses in
her hair, taken possession of his imagination. His abstraction
attracted even the notice of royalty, and it was with
a deep blush that Hamilton stammered some excuse when
asked why he did not dance as usual.
At ten o’clock he withdrew, bounded down the stairs which
he had thought so tiresome to mount a couple of hours before,
found his carriage waiting, and drove to the Museum.
The contrast was great, but he heeded it not; Hildegarde
was every thing to him. He glanced quickly round the room,
and immediately discovered the object of his search walking
composedly towards the dancers with a tall officer in the
Guards; he was about to leave the room again in a fit of uncontrollable
irritation, when he remembered his engagement
with Crescenz. The moment she saw him, she spoke a few
words eagerly to Major Stultz, smiled, and then walked a step
or two towards him. “I knew you would come,” she said
with evident pleasure, and showing her little ball-book; “see,
you were written for two dances, that I might be quite sure
of being disengaged.”
“Thank you,” said Hamilton; “you are very kind. I
can remain but one hour, and as your sister seems to have
forgotten her engagement with me, perhaps you will give me
the second waltz also!”
“Oh, I dare not; Major Stultz will never consent. I am
// 350.png
.pn +1
sure I wish he would go home, he is so sleepy already. But,”
she added after a pause, “I am quite sure that Hildegarde
will dance with you.”
In the course of the dance, Hildegarde and her partner
came close beside them. Hamilton at first pretended not to
observe it, but Crescenz naturally spoke to her sister.
“Mr. Hamilton fancies you will not dance with him, but
I am sure he is mistaken; he says he cannot remain more
than an hour, so you must promise him the next waltz or
galop, whichever it may be.”
“If he really wish it,” said Hildegarde; “but he looks so
very seriously English to-night, that if I were to propose
dancing with him, I am sure he will say no!”
“Try me,” said Hamilton; “or rather write my name in
your book, that I may be sure you are in earnest.”
“You must not trust to my memory, for I have neither
ball-book nor tablets. I have no one,” she added, looking
archly toward her sister, “I have no one to supply me with
ball-books and bouquets,” and she bent her head over her
sister’s hand, which could scarcely clasp the geraniums, heliotropes,
and China roses with which it was filled.
A moment after, she had joined the dancers, and Hamilton
stood thoughtfully beside his partner.
“Do you not admire my bouquet?” she asked, holding it
coquettishly towards him.
“Exceedingly; for the time of year it is beautiful.”
“Major Stultz waited at the door to give it to me. It was
an attention I never expected from him.”
“Why not?” asked Hamilton, absently.
“Oh, because he was so many years a soldier and in the
wars, and in Russia, and all that. I thought it was only
young—a—a—persons—with whom one danced—who gave
bouquets.”
“Very true,” said Hamilton, laughing, “and it is disgracefully
negligent of young—a—persons to forget such things
sometimes.”
“I assure you,” stammered Crescenz, “I did not mean—I
did not think——”
“I know you did not,” said Hamilton.
“He knows you never think, my dear,” said Madame
Berger, who had overheard the last words when taking the
place behind them.
// 351.png
.pn +1
“She never thinks or says anything unkind,” said Hamilton,
warmly.
Madame Berger looked up saucily, and then turned to her
partner, a gay student, to listen to some nonsense about her
long blonde ringlets.
“Lina is angry that you have not asked her to dance,”
said Crescenz, as she returned to join her mother. “Suppose
you were to waltz with her next time; I know Hildegarde
will not be in the least offended.”
Hamilton shook his head. “I am not so much afraid of
giving offence as you are; besides, you may be mistaken.”
“No,” said Crescenz, “I am sure I am right, for I remember
her saying she would keep a waltz for you, and you said
you could not come at all. Oh, I remember it, for I was so
sorry when you said so, that I did not care at all for the ball,
or my new dress, or——”
Hamilton unconsciously pressed Crescenz’s hands, her
heightened colour immediately reprimanded him for his imprudence,
and he turned to Madame Rosenberg, and asked
her how she liked playing chaperon?
“Better a great deal than I expected,” she answered, laughing;
and then lowering her voice, she added, “our girls are
certainly very pretty; you have no idea how civil all the men
are to me on their account. Franz is enjoying a sort of
triumph to-night, but the Major is not quite satisfied; he
says the young officers have been talking nonsense to Crescenz,
for she has been blushing every moment. Now, I have
told him a hundred times it is from the heat of the room and
the exertion of dancing. It would be better if he would go
down to the club-room and smoke his pipe; he cannot expect
the child to sit beside him all the evening as she does at home.
She has very properly done her duty, and already danced
twice with him, and more he cannot require. He has no sort
of tact, the Major. Fancy his wanting her to fix her wedding-day
just now, when she is thinking of anything in the
world but her marriage. I never knew anything in the world
so injudicious.”
Poor Crescenz had been condemned to a place between her
mother and Major Stultz. Hildegarde had emancipated herself
completely; she hung on her proud father’s arm, walked
about the rooms, and talked unrestrainedly. Hamilton had
to seek her when the music again commenced; she left her
// 352.png
.pn +1
father directly, and walked towards the dancing-room, but
scarcely had she entered it when Count Raimund approached,
exclaiming, “Where are you going, Hildegarde? do not forget
that this galop is mine.”
“No, Oscar, it was the second that I promised you.”
“That cannot be, Hildegarde, for I am engaged to dance
it with a—Marie. I believe—I am quite certain—you
promised me this one.”
“And I am quite sure, Oscar, that you are mistaken.
Quite sure!” began Hildegarde, with her usual decision of
manner, but the angry expression of her cousin’s countenance
made her hesitate. “Perhaps, however,” she added,
looking from one to the other, “perhaps, as Mr. Hamilton is
an Englishman, and does not care about dancing, he will be
rather pleased than otherwise in being released from what he
probably considered a duty dance.”
“By no means,” said Hamilton, firmly holding the hand
which she endeavoured to withdraw, “I am not so indifferent
as you seem to imagine. You have promised to dance with
me, and I am not disposed to release you from your engagement.”
“Nor I, either,” said Count Raimund, while the blood
mounted to his temples, and was even visible under the roots
of his fair hair.
“You think, perhaps, I ought to feel flattered,” said
Hildegarde, scornfully, “but I do not—on the contrary I
think you both, I mean to say—Oscar extremely disagreeable.
I shall not dance with either of you,” she added,
seating herself on a bench, and beginning to tap her foot
impatiently on the floor. The two young men placed themselves
on either side of her.
“I hope,” she said, turning to Count Raimund, “I hope
you are satisfied, now that you have deprived me of the
pleasure of dancing a galop, to which I have been looking
forward for the last half hour?”
“My satisfaction depends entirely on who the person may
be with whom you anticipated so much pleasure in dancing.”
“You know perfectly well that I was not engaged to you,
and did not think of you.”
Count Raimund played with the hilt of his sword, which
he had laid on the form beside him.
“Oscar,” continued Hildegarde, after a pause, in a low
// 353.png
.pn +1
voice, “don’t be so unjust, so tyrannical as to deprive me of
my galop. Choose somebody else. See, there is Marie still
disengaged—go quickly, before anyone else can——”
“Thank you,” said Raimund, interrupting her; “you are
very kind, but I have no inclination whatever that way.
Marie may be very good for household purposes, but I must
say I rejoice in the idea that our marriage will free me from
these ball-room duties towards a person I have scarcely
learned to tolerate. In fact, I believe I detest her, so has
she been forced upon me!”
“Oscar, Oscar—take care! Do not speak so loud. What
would people think of you, were you to be heard? Someone
may tell Marie, and make her repent her disinterested conduct
towards you—she does not deserve to be made unhappy,
especially by you?”
“What did you say, sir?” cried Raimund, speaking
angrily, across Hildegarde to Hamilton.
“I have not had time to say anything,” he replied, laughing.
“But you looked as if you agreed with my cousin?”
“My looks are expressive, it seems,” said Hamilton,
coolly.
“Perhaps you intend to inform my betrothed of what I
have just now said?” cried Raimund, still more angrily.
“My acquaintance with her is of too recent a date to
admit of my doing so.”
“Do you mean deliberately to insult me?” asked Raimund,
in a voice of suppressed rage.
“No, Oscar,” cried Hildegarde, laying her hand hastily on
his arm. “It is you who are endeavouring to commence a
quarrel with Mr. Hamilton. You feel that you are in the
wrong, and that you ought not to have made such a remark
in public of a person to whom you are to be married in less
than a week.”
“You may say what you please to me, Hildegarde, but
neither Mr. Hamilton nor anyone else shall dare by word or
look to imply——”
Hamilton turned away with a smile of unequivocal contempt.
“What do you mean, sir?” cried Raimund, starting from
his seat, and facing him while he folded his arms.
“I mean that this is no place for such words—still less for
// 354.png
.pn +1
such gestures,” replied Hamilton, glancing round him. The
loudness of the music, however, had prevented them from
being heard.
“Oscar,” cried Hildegarde, vehemently, “sit down beside
me. Listen to me—you must listen to me. You are altogether
in the wrong—you are rude and irritating, and ought
to be ashamed of yourself. Do not try Mr. Hamilton’s patience
further.”
“I have no intention of doing so,” said Raimund, biting
his lip, and frowning fearfully.
Hildegarde looked anxiously, first on her cousin and then
at Hamilton, to whom she said in a low voice: “I don’t
know which is most to be feared, your coolness—or Oscar’s
ungovernable temper! But this I have determined, that
neither shall stir from this place until a reconciliation has
taken place. You, Oscar, are bound to apologise for your
unprovoked rudeness, and——”
“Ha, ha!” laughed Raimund. “You are a most excellent
mediatrix, my charming cousin, but believe me, explanations
are better avoided. See, we have already forgotten the
whole affair.”
Hildegarde looked uneasily towards Hamilton, he appeared
to be intently watching the dancers as they flew past him.
“It is useless your trying to deceive me,” she began, once
more turning to Raimund; but he immediately interrupted
her by saying, “Pray, is all this unnecessary anxiety on my
account, or—on his?”
“My anxiety is divided. Surely,” she continued, almost
in a whisper, “you will not be so foolish as to commence a
quarrel in this unreasonable manner? What will Marie and
her mother think, should they hear of it? What right had
you to ask for an explanation of Mr. Hamilton’s looks?
You are seeking a quarrel, and do you think by acting in
this manner you are likely to increase my regard for you?
Oh, Oscar! have you forgotten what you said about a double
crime——” The music played loudly, and Hildegarde bent
towards her cousin, and continued to speak for some time.
Raimund’s countenance cleared by degrees, he raised his eyes
to her face with an expression of undisguised admiration and
love, and then whispered an answer, which made her blush
and turn away.
“You know your influence with me is unbounded. On this
// 355.png
.pn +1
condition I will do or say whatever you please,” he added,
endeavouring to catch her eye.
“It is ungenerous of you to take advantage of my fears,”
said Hildegarde, rising.
Hamilton asked her if she wished to return to her father;
she seemed scarcely to hear him, appearing lost in thought
for some moments. She again consulted the countenance
of her two companions, again became anxious, and finally
turning to Raimund, said, with some embarrassment, “After
all, it is not worth talking so much about—I accept the condition—perform
your promise.”
“Time and place to be chosen by me?” said Raimund,
loud and eagerly.
“Do not make any more conditions,” cried Hildegarde,
impatiently, “but perform your promise at once.”
“This must be understood,” said Raimund, “or else——”
Hamilton felt himself growing very angry; he turned to
leave them, when Count Raimund called him back: “Mr.
Hamilton, a moment, if you please. Hildegarde has convinced
me that I have been altogether in the wrong just now.
If I have offended you, I am sorry for it; I hope you do not
expect me to say more!”
“I did not expect you to say so much,” replied Hamilton,
coldly.
A sudden flush once more overspread Raimund’s face, an
internal struggle seemed to take place, but after a glance
towards Hildegarde, he said calmly, “If I did not feel that
I had been the aggressor, not even the offered bribe could
have induced me to apologise.”
“Bribe—offered!” exclaimed Hildegarde, almost indignantly.
“No, not offered. Favour conceded, if you like it better—we
will not dispute about words. Mr. Hamilton, my
cousin is free, and can dance when she pleases.”
“I imagine she could have done so before, had she wished
it,” said Hamilton, haughtily.
Raimund walked away as if he had not heard him, and
buckled on his sword with an air of perfect satisfaction.
Hamilton stood by Hildegarde as if he were turned to stone.
The words which had been so mysteriously spoken seemed to
have completely petrified him. Hildegarde, too, stood immovable
for a minute, and then turned as if to leave him.
// 356.png
.pn +1
“Do you not wish to dance?” asked Hamilton, in a constrained
voice.
“No—I mean yes—yes, of course,” she replied, moving
mechanically towards the dancers.
Hamilton’s feelings at this moment would be difficult to define.
As he put his arm round her slight figure, intense hatred
was perhaps, for the instant, predominant—he was in such a
state of angry excitement that he had gone quite round the
room before he perceived that he was actually carrying
Hildegarde, who was entreating him to stop.
“Get me a glass of water,” she said, moving unsteadily
towards the refreshment-room, and sinking on a chair behind
the door. She had become deadly pale, and was evidently
suffering, but seemed determined to conquer the unusual
weakness which threatened to overcome her.
When Hamilton again stood by her, he no longer felt
angry; bending towards her he whispered, “If you repent
any hasty promise which you may have made to your cousin,
I shall be happy to be the bearer of any message or explanation.”
“Repent!” murmured Hildegarde, “no; I have promised,
and I don’t repent; but you—you must not speak any more
this evening to Oscar; he has apologised for his rudeness,
and I know you are too generous ever to refer to the subject
again.”
“But he spoke of some bribe—some favour,” began
Hamilton.
“That is my affair, and not yours,” replied Hildegarde,
rising as the dancers began to pour into the room. “And
now take me to my father. After all,” she added, forcing a
smile, “I believe I have wasted a great deal of genuine
alarm on a pair of very worthless young men.”
“So it was not repentance about this promised favour, but
anxiety about us, which has nearly caused you to faint?”
“Just so—my fears perhaps magnified the danger—but
there was danger, more than you were aware of. Avoid my
cousin,” she added, earnestly, “he is reckless now, but I trust
better times are in store for him.” Though still fearfully
pale, she walked steadily towards the end of the room where
her father and mother were standing.
Raimund saw Hamilton leaving the room a few minutes
afterwards, with hasty steps and a disturbed countenance.
// 357.png
.pn +1
He looked after him and observed, with a sarcastic smile, to
an acquaintance who was near him, “I have spoiled that
Englishman’s supper; he is not likely to enjoy his pâté de
foie gras or champagne under the orange-trees at Court to-night!”
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch29
CHAPTER XXIX. || A DAY OF FREEDOM.
.sp 2
Some days passed over remarkably tranquilly. Crescenz’s
marriage was to take place in a fortnight, and she and
Hildegarde had promised to be bridesmaids to Marie de
Hoffmann the beginning of the ensuing week. Hildegarde
made no further effort to warn Hamilton about her cousin;
perhaps she now deemed it unnecessary, as the young men
openly showed their mutual antipathy, and avoided even the
most formal intercourse.
One fine afternoon, when Hamilton was about to drive out
in his sledge, he perceived Crescenz hovering about him mysteriously.
Major Stultz, who was in the room, seemed to
embarrass her, but at length she murmured, in French, “I
have something to say to you.”
“I have been aware of it for the last half hour, and have
remained here on purpose to hear it,” said Hamilton.
“You always forget that Mr. Hamilton speaks German
perfectly well, Crescenz,” observed Major Stultz. “I take
it for granted you have no secret from me!”
“Oh, dear, no,” said Crescenz, with a slight laugh, “I
always speak French when I am not thinking of anything in
particular. You know for many years I never spoke any
other language;” and while she spoke, she carelessly upset
her work-basket, the contents of which rolled in all directions
on the painted floor.
“Dear me! How awkward I am!” she exclaimed, half
laughing, while Major Stultz, with evident difficulty, began
to pick up the dispersed articles. “My scarlet wool is behind
the sofa; Mr. Hamilton, will you be so kind——”
Hamilton moved the sofa. There was no scarlet wool,
// 358.png
.pn +1
but a slip of paper dropped from Crescenz’s hand; he immediately
took possession of it, and her eyes sparkled with
pleasure. “Thank you, thank you, I believe I have everything
now. Oh, by-the-by, Mr. Hamilton, if you have time,
I wish you would call on Lina Berger, and ask her why she
has not been here since the ball?”
Hamilton hesitated.
“Tell her my wedding-day is fixed, and I want to consult
her about my veil. You will go to her, I hope?”
“If—you—wish it—but——”
“No buts, I hate buts,” said Crescenz, laughing, and then
making an inexplicable grimace to him apart.
When out of the room, he inspected the slip of paper, on
which was written in French:
“You have offended Lina Berger by not dancing with her.
Make up your quarrel as fast as you can, or we shall lose all
chance of going to the masquerade.”
“I had forgotten all about the masquerade,” thought
Hamilton, “and must make my peace directly with the
little person. She shall drive out with me this very day to
arrange matters. Fortunately, she has said at least half a
dozen times that she likes sledging—I ought to have taken
the hint long ago——”
What his excuses were is not recorded—they did not seem
to interest him particularly, as only the result is known.
Madame Berger drove out in his sledge, the party was
arranged, and the next morning, at breakfast, a note was
brought to Madame Rosenberg, offering Dr. Berger’s carriage
and horses for the day of the masquerade.
“How good-natured of Lina to remember that I wished
to see my father and introduce the Major to him,” she
exclaimed, handing the neatly-written note to her husband;
“I would rather it had been any other day than Monday,
as you know Mademoiselle de Hoffmann’s marriage is to
take place on Tuesday, and it will be disagreeable returning
home so early the next day; however, that cannot be
avoided.”
“Easily enough, I should think,” observed Mr. Rosenberg,
quietly; “Mr. Hamilton has often proposed lending
us his horses, and all days are alike to him, I know.”
Before Hamilton could answer, Madame Rosenberg exclaimed,
“His horses? Not for any consideration in the
// 359.png
.pn +1
world! Besides, his sledge is only for two persons and a
servant, and I wish to take the boys and the Major with us.”
“In that case, I think we had better take a job carriage
for a day and a half.”
“No use in paying for what we can have for nothing,”
said Madame Rosenberg; “so if you have no objection, I
shall accept the offer.”
“As you please,” said her husband. “A visit to the iron-works
is not exactly what I enjoy most in the world.”
“Crescenz,” said Madame Rosenberg, taking no notice of
this remark, “Crescenz, just put on your bonnet, and slip
over to old Madame Lustig’s; ask her if she can take
charge of you and Hildegarde on Monday; but she must
spend the whole day here, and promise to sleep in the
nursery.”
Crescenz left the room, not without slightly glancing towards
Hamilton, and primly pressing her lips together to
repress a smile.
“I don’t like Madame Lustig,” said Hildegarde, abruptly.
“Why?” asked Hamilton.
“Because she so evidently tries to please everybody.”
“Better than evidently trying to please no one,” said her
mother, sharply. “However, whether you like her or not,
if she take charge of you and Crescenz on Monday, I expect
you will do whatever she desires, and consider her as in my
place.”
Hildegarde looked up as if about to remonstrate, caught
her father’s eyes, and then bent over her coffee-cup without
speaking.
Madame Lustig made no difficulties and many promises.
She arrived the next morning, when they were all breakfasting
together, at an unusually early hour, listened patiently
to Madame Rosenberg’s directions about locking the house-door,
and fastening the windows, and examining the stoves,
and then accompanied them to the carriage with Hamilton,
Hildegarde, and Crescenz. Major Stultz seemed very much
inclined to remain behind, but Crescenz whispered rather
loudly, “that mamma had been so kind about her trousseau,
that he ought to visit grandpapa.”
“What an artful little animal it is, after all!” thought
Hamilton, “and how different from——” He looked towards
Hildegarde, who, all unconscious of their plans, after
// 360.png
.pn +1
having twisted a black silk scarf round her father’s neck,
stood rubbing her hands, and slightly shivering in the cold
morning air.
“Adieu, adieu,” was repeated in every possible tone, while
the carriage drove off. A moment afterwards, Crescenz was
scampering up the stairs, dragging Madame Lustig after
her; and when Hamilton and Hildegarde, who followed
more leisurely, reached the door, they were obliged to remain
there, for Crescenz, dancing a galop with Madame
Lustig, was now forcing her backwards the whole length
of the passage at a tremendous pace, the jolly old woman
keeping the step, and springing with all her might for fear
of falling. Hamilton and Hildegarde looked on, laughing.
At length they stopped for want of breath. “Well—what—shall
we—do first?” said Crescenz, twisting up her hair,
which had fallen on her shoulders.
“Do!” panted Madame Lustig, as she leaned against the
wall. “You have nearly—killed me—this is not the way
to make me able to go to the masqu——”
In a moment Crescenz’s apron was over her head, and a
new struggle began.
“I asked you what we should do first?” cried Crescenz,
laughing, “suppose—suppose we make ice-cream? Mamma
has left me the keys, and allowed me to take whatever I like
from the store-room. You have a good receipt, I am sure;
let us make the cream, and Mr. Hamilton and Hildegarde
can turn it round in the ice-pail!”
“Shall we not first arrange with Walburg about the
dinner?”
“Oh, dinner! how very disagreeable to be obliged to eat
dinner! Cannot we for once, just by way of a joke,” she
said coaxingly, “have something instead of dinner?”
“Soup, boiled beef, and steam noodles are, however, not
to be despised; and that is what your mother ordered,” said
Madame Lustig; “besides, on Mr. Hamilton’s account, you
ought——”
“Oh, I have no objection to dining on ice-cream,” said
Hamilton, laughing.
“You see!” said Crescenz, “Mr. Hamilton is so—so——You
see he will do whatever we wish. Let us make some
cakes out of the cookery-book, and then we can all be merry
together in the kitchen!”
// 361.png
.pn +1
A sort of compromise was made. The soup and boiled
beef were allowed, but the ice-cream and several kinds of
cakes were to be forthwith fabricated. Madame Lustig was,
like most Germans in her station in life, an excellent cook;
she was also a good-humoured, thoughtless person, and soon
became quite as unrestrained as her young companions.
Her cap and false curls were laid aside, her sleeves tucked
up, a capacious white apron bound over her black silk dress,
and she was immediately employed in beating up eggs and
pounding sugar. Hamilton amused himself singing aloud
the cookery-book in recitative, until, in the course of time,
he was duly established with Hildegarde near a window in
the corridor, a large bucket of ice between them, in which
was placed the pail containing the cream. They turned it
round alternately, and Crescenz occasionally inspected the
process, dancing with delight as it began to freeze.
“Oh, dear! how nice! I hope it will not melt before
Lina Berger comes. Is this window cool enough?”
“Cool!” said Hildegarde, laughing; “try it for a few
minutes, and you will say cold, I think.”
“Could you not spare Mr. Hamilton for a little while,
Hildegarde? We want him to pound sugar; our arms positively
ache, and Walburg is not yet come back from market.”
Hildegarde made no objection, and Hamilton was conducted
back to the kitchen, from whence, immediately,
repeated bursts of laughter issued.
The arrival of Madame Berger seemed to increase the
noise; she closed the kitchen-door, but Hildegarde distinctly
heard the words: “Congratulate—freedom for one day at
least—make good use—amusement—Hildegarde—hush.”
A short whispering ensued, and at length Madame Lustig
made her appearance, inspected the ice-cream, and proposed
putting it outside the window. “There is no use in your
tormenting yourself longer, my dear,” she said, smiling;
“we have something else to interest us; come, we must hold
a consultation.”
“About what?” asked Hamilton.
“About a masquerade; were you ever at one?”
“Oh, yes, at school we had one almost every year; I was
always ordered to be a Greek or a Circassian.”
“Ah, that was children’s play among ourselves; but I
mean a real masquerade!”
// 362.png
.pn +1
“You mean the public masquerades—at the theatre, perhaps?”
“Just so; should you like to go to one?”
“To be sure I should, of all things!” cried Hildegarde,
eagerly. “When is it?”
“To-night.”
Her countenance fell. “Oh, if we had only known it
sooner. If we had only been able to ask papa!”
“There! I told you,” cried Madame Berger, coming out
of the kitchen, followed by the others, “I knew she would
make all sort of difficulties, and spoil Crescenz’s pleasure!”
“I am sure,” said Madame Lustig, “neither your father
nor mother would have any objection; when I go with you,
and Madame Berger, and Mr. Hamilton.”
“It is true mamma said I was to do whatever you desired
me——” began Hildegarde, with some hesitation.
“Oh, I will command your attendance, if that will be
any relief to your conscience,” cried Madame Lustig, with a
loud laugh.
Hildegarde coloured deeply, and looked towards Hamilton;
he was eating almonds and raisins from a plate, which
Madame Berger held towards him. “Let us talk about our
masks, and not about our consciences,” cried the latter. “I
must go home to dinner, or the Doctor will be impatient.
We are to be black bats; black silk dresses; black dominoes,
with hanging sleeves, and hoods; masks half black, and a
knot of white ribbon under the chin, that we may know
each other. How many dominoes shall I order?”
“For us all, Lina, for us all!” cried Crescenz, eagerly.
“We may as well dress at your house,” cried Madame
Lustig. “It is not necessary that Walburg should know
anything about the matter. The Doctor will have gone out
before seven.”
“Oh, yes, you may come at half-past six; I must have
time to dress Mr. Hamilton as well as myself, you know!
Adieu, au revoir.”
Immediately after dinner, Hildegarde put on a black
dress, and came to the drawing-room where Hamilton was
sitting, or rather reclining, on the sofa, reading; she leaned
slightly over him, and almost in a whisper asked if he were
disposed to give her advice, should she request it.
“I don’t know,” answered Hamilton, looking up with a
// 363.png
.pn +1
smile; “I have been so long dismissed from the office of
preceptor, that I have quite got out of the habit of giving
advice.”
“Forget that you have been preceptor, and take the name
of friend,” said Hildegarde; “we shall get on better, I
think.”
“I like the proposition,” cried Hamilton, quickly rising
from his recumbent position, “our ages are suitable. Let us,”
he added, laughing, “let us now swear an eternal friendship.”
“Agreed,” said Hildegarde, accepting his offered hand.
“And now, tell me, shall I go to this masquerade or not?”
“I thought you had already decided!”
“Not quite. I wish very much to go, that is the simple
truth; but I fear, that under the name of obedience to
Madame Lustig I am trying to persuade myself, that I am
following my mother’s injunctions; while, in fact, I am only
seeking an excuse to do what I wish. Do you understand
me?”
“Perfectly.”
“And you think, perhaps, I ought not to go?”
“I think—indeed I am sure, that I can give you no advice
on the subject. I am too much interested in your
decision, to be a ‘righteous judge.’”
“How are you interested?”
“Simply thus; if you do not go, the whole party is spoiled
for me.”
Hildegarde was silent for more than a minute. She did
not disclaim; she knew he had spoken his thoughts. “If,”
she said at length, “if I had only known it in time to have
asked my father’s leave, I really do think he would have
had no objection.”
“If you think that, you may decide on going with a clear
conscience.”
“Is this your opinion—advice?”
“I give no advice,” said Hamilton, laughing, “I only wish
you to go.”
“Then—I—will go,” said Hildegarde, thoughtfully; “go—notwithstanding
a kind of misgiving which I cannot overcome,
a sort of a warning—a presentiment——”
“I should rather have suspected your sister of having
misgivings and warnings, than you,” said Hamilton; “yet
she seems to have none.”
// 364.png
.pn +1
“She is governed by her wishes, and Lina Berger; besides,
it is not likely that anything unpleasant should occur
to her!”
“And to you?” asked Hamilton, surprised.
“Not likely, either,” said Hildegarde, gayly; “for, thank
goodness, Oscar must spend the evening with Marie, when
they are to be married to-morrow.”
Raimund had been but once at the Rosenbergs’ since the
ball, and had played cards the whole evening. Hamilton
knew that she had not since spoken to him. Yet, no sooner
had she pronounced her cousin’s name, than all his feelings
changed; he bit his lip, and walked to the window.
“I wish——” began Hildegarde, but she suddenly stopped,
for she recognised Raimund’s voice speaking to her sister in
the passage. Hamilton strode across the room.
“Oh, stay! stay, I entreat of you!” she cried, anxiously.
“Do you not wish to be alone with your cousin?”
“No, no, no—that is,” she added, hurriedly, “yes—perhaps
it is better——”
“As you please,” said Hamilton, moving again towards
the door.
Hildegarde seemed greatly embarrassed. “If you would
only promise not to say anything to make——”
“I really do not understand you,” cried Hamilton, impatiently.
“When he has been here for a minute or two,” she said,
quickly, “go for Crescenz and Madame Lustig, say they
must come here—must remain——” Her cousin entered
the room while she was speaking.
“I am sorry to interrupt you, my dear Hildegarde,” he
said, with a stiff and evidently forced smile, “but I come to
take leave——”
“Take leave! what do you mean?”
“I am to be executed to-morrow, you know.”
“Ah!—so——”
“It is particularly kind of you and Crescenz to put on
mourning for me beforehand,” he continued, glancing gravely
at her black dress.
“Oscar, how can you talk so?” said Hildegarde, reproachfully;
“such jesting is, to-day, particularly ill-timed.”
“By heaven, I am not jesting. I never was less disposed
to mirth than at this moment,” he answered, falling heavily
// 365.png
.pn +1
into a chair, and drawing his handkerchief across his forehead.
“Have you been with Marie?”
“Yes.”
“And you will return to her?”
“I suppose I must.”
Here Hamilton precipitately left the room to summon
Madame Lustig and Crescenz, but they were much too
busily engaged in the manufacture of a complicated cake
to follow him, so he hurried back alone to the drawing-room,
and found Hildegarde——in her cousin’s arms. She was
not struggling, she did not even move as he entered, while
Raimund, not in the least disconcerted by his presence,
passionately kissed her two or three times. At length she
suddenly and vehemently pushed him from her, exclaiming,
“Go, I hate you!”
“You hate me! hate me, did you say? Let me hear that
once more, Hildegarde,” he said, losing every trace of colour
as he spoke.
“No, no—I don’t hate you—but you have acted very—very
ungenerously,” said Hildegarde, with ill-suppressed
emotion.
“I understand you; but you will forgive me this last
offence, I hope?”
“Yes, I forgive you, and will try to forgive you all you
have done to worry and alarm me since our acquaintance
began,” said Hildegarde, bitterly, “but this must indeed be
the last offence.”
“It will be, most certainly,” said Raimund; and, taking
both her hands, he looked at her long and earnestly, and
then left the room without in any manner noticing Hamilton.
A long pause ensued. Hamilton’s eyes were riveted on
his book, which he had again taken up; but he never turned
over the leaf, nor did he move when he became conscious
that Hildegarde was standing beside him.
“That was the fulfilment of the promise made at the ball
on Saturday,” she at length said, in a very low voice. “I
knew that his mind was in a state of unusual irritation, and
his claiming a dance which I had not promised him proved
his wish to quarrel with you. My fears alone made me consent.”
Hamilton turned round. A light seemed suddenly to
// 366.png
.pn +1
break upon him; and Hildegarde’s motives for many inexplicable
actions became at once apparent. His first impulse
was to tell her so, and to assure her of his increased admiration
and affection; but he recollected, just at the right
moment, that all such explanations from him were a waste
of words and time; that he had told her so more than once
himself. So, after a short but violent internal struggle, he
said, with forced serenity, “My reliance on you will henceforth
be unbounded.”
She seemed perfectly satisfied with this answer. Notwithstanding
its laconicism, she fully understood the extent of
confidence which would in future be placed in her, and she
left the room with a light heart.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch30
CHAPTER XXX. || THE MASQUERADE.
.sp 2
Four muffled figures quitted the Rosenbergs’ apartments
about six o’clock in the evening, and not long after, a light
figure bounded up the stairs, and knocked with closed hand
on the door. Walburg cautiously looked through the grated
aperture; but on recognising Count Raimund, she immediately
opened it.
“Where are your ladies gone? I saw them leaving the
house a few minutes ago.”
“They are gone to spend the evening with Madame
Berger, I believe.”
“Did you hear them say anything about going to the
masquerade?”
“No; but Miss Crescenz did nothing but run about and
whisper the last half hour, and Madame Lustig took the
house-keys with her, and said I might go to bed if they
were not home before ten o’clock. I am almost sure they
intend to go to the masquerade; and Miss Crescenz might
have trusted me, as I should never have said anything about
it.”
“Perhaps you are mistaken,” said Raimund, absently.
// 367.png
.pn +1
“At all events, it is better to say nothing about it to Madame
Rosenberg,” and he slowly descended the stairs, and walked
towards Dr. Berger’s house, remaining in the street near it
until he saw the five black masked figures enter a carriage.
Though all studiously dressed alike, he easily recognised
Madame Berger’s small and Madame Lustig’s stout figure,
while Hildegarde and Crescenz were sufficiently above the
usual height to make the group remarkable.
It was early when they entered the theatre, but the house
was already crowded, the tiers of boxes were filled with
spectators, who, later in the evening, joined the masks in the
large ball-room formed by the junction of the pit and stage.
Crescenz became alarmed when surrounded by a number of
speaking masks, and clung to Hamilton’s arm. Madame
Berger and Madame Lustig, on the contrary, laughed and
talked with a freedom which rather shocked Hamilton.
Hildegarde at first answered gayly all who addressed her;
for she felt that she was perfectly unknown; but after some
time she perceived that two masks had joined their party,
and seemed determined to remain with them. A slight
young Turk had attached himself to Madame Berger, while
a mysterious black domino followed her like a shadow.
“How much pleasanter it must be to look on from above!”
she observed, at length; “one has all the amusement without
the press and anxiety of the crowd.”
“Oh, dear! I have got quite used to it now,” said Crescenz,
“and I am not at all afraid.”
“If there are places in the boxes to be had,” said Hamilton,
“and you are willing to leave this turmoil, I am quite
sure I can procure them for you.”
“Oh, thank you, let us ask Madame Lustig.”
But Madame Lustig protested against the plan. She
could not allow them to leave her—it would be quite improper
if they were to be seen alone with Mr. Hamilton—indeed,
she would rather they were not seen at all, and she
positively could not leave Madame Berger with that troublesome
Turk, not having the least idea who he might be!
“There is no use in asking Lina,” said Crescenz to Hamilton,
who had moved towards Madame Berger. And, indeed,
all his arguments proved vain. “People should not go to
masquerades who did not know how to enjoy themselves!
She had no idea of coming to the theatre to mope away the
// 368.png
.pn +1
evening in a box—she could do that four times every week;
besides, the presence of Mr. Hamilton was necessary for
propriety’s sake, and she could not, and would not dispense
with his attendance.” All this was poured forth with a
volubility, in French, that attracted the attention of the bystanders.
“No, the gay little devil of a masque must not
think of going, nor her corpulent friend either!” and they
were again drawn on with the crowd: Hamilton followed
with the sisters, who now ceased altogether to speak. Crescenz
had also become aware that they were followed by a
black, taciturn figure, which, as she whispered to Hamilton,
put her in mind of the Inquisition, and all sorts of horrors.
“But,” said Hildegarde, who had heard her remark, “we
are also quite black, and probably make the same disagreeable
impression on other people.”
“He seems quite unknown! I have not seen him speak
to any human being,” said Crescenz.
“Neither have we, for the last half hour,” answered her
sister.
“Oh, my dear, if you have no objection to having him at
your elbow all the evening, I have nothing more to say,”
cried Crescenz; “that is quite a matter of taste.”
“Is he annoying you in any way?” asked Hamilton.
“Not in the least,” answered Hildegarde. “The crowd is
so great that he could not easily leave us, even if he wished
it.”
In the meantime, Madame Berger and Madame Lustig,
encouraged by the masks around them, had begun to follow
the unmasked groups who had descended from the boxes.
They knew the private histories of most persons, and were
so unmerciful in their remarks—so mischievous in the distribution
of their bon-bons and devices, that they at length
found it expedient to plan a retreat, which was no longer
easy, as they were followed by several persons who wished to
find out who they were. A dance which was to be performed
by the corps de ballet, in costume, seemed to favour them.
They had only time to whisper to each other, “Home, as
fast as possible, by the front door of the theatre,” when they
were pushed about and separated in all directions. Several
coaches were in attendance, Hamilton immediately procured
one, and they were soon in it laughing merrily over their
adventures.
// 369.png
.pn +1
“How well we all managed to come together, after all!”
cried Madame Berger; “I really had begun to fear we should
not get rid of my Turk—who could he have been!”
“I don’t know,” said Madame Lustig, yawning, “but I am
glad that we five are safely together again, and not running
about looking for each other, which might easily have
happened.”
“It often does happen,” said Madame Berger, counting
her companions, “one, two, three, four, five——There was a
black familiar of the Inquisition following Hildegarde all
night; I really was afraid he might have been among us.”
To her house, according to agreement, they all repaired to
change their dresses. Hamilton assisted them to descend
from the carriage; the last person sprang unaided to the
ground, threw the black domino back, with a quick wave of
the hand, and discovered the figure of the Turk. “Good-night,
Madame Berger,” he cried in a feigned voice, “good-night—good-night,”
and with a gay laugh he darted down
the street.
“Was there ever anything so provoking!” exclaimed
Madame Berger, in a voice denoting great annoyance.
“What have I said to him to-night? or rather, what have I
not said to him? How vexatious—he must have borrowed
a domino from a friend in order to get among us!”
“But,” cried Madame Lustig, in a voice of alarm, “one
of us must have been left behind.”
“It must be Crescenz,” cried Hamilton. “I will return
to the theatre directly for her.”
“It must be Hildegarde,” cried Crescenz, who stood beside
him.
Without uttering a word, he sprang into the carriage, and
the coachman drove off. His anxiety was indescribable; in
the crowd he had felt the absolute necessity of releasing the
arm of one of the sisters, and deceived by the extreme likeness
in their figures, had almost forcibly retained Crescenz,
who chanced to be at the moment followed by the silent
mask, and whom he consequently mistook for her sister.
At the theatre he dismissed the coachman, and began
making inquiries. “A black domino alone, separated from
a party of friends?” Numbers of black dominoes had been
seen—many had been separated from their friends! was the
usual answer. At length, a footman who had been lounging
// 370.png
.pn +1
at a distance, observed, that about half an hour before, a
black domino—a lady, had been stunned by a blow from the
pole of a carriage, and had been carried off by another
black domino.
“That may have been Hildegarde!” cried Hamilton, in
a state of fearful anxiety.
“I think that was the name he called her,” said the man,
preparing to walk away.
“He! Who is he?” asked Hamilton.
“I don’t know—he said he lived close by, and that he was
a near relation.”
“Raimund!” almost groaned Hamilton, as he rushed out
of the theatre towards the lodgings, which he knew were in
one of the adjoining streets.
The door at one side of the entrance-gate was slightly ajar,
it had probably been left so by some servants who had stolen
off to the masquerade, and did not wish to announce their
return by ringing the bell. Raimund’s rooms were on the
ground floor, a couple of steps led to them. Hamilton ascended—the
door was open—he entered a narrow passage, and
stood opposite the entrance to one of the chambers, knocked
first gently, then loudly; shook the door; no sound reached
him; at length he moved towards another door and called
out, “Hildegarde, for heaven’s sake, if you are here, answer
me?” He thought now he heard some one moving in the
room.
“Let me in—open the door,” he cried, pushing with all
his strength against it.
“Wait a moment,” said a voice which he with difficulty
recognised as Hildegarde’s, “wait—I must—take the key
from——”
“Heaven and earth, Hildegarde! How can you be so
calm, when you know how anxious we must be about you!
Are you alone?”
“No—yes,” she answered, quite close to the door.
“Count Raimund, you have no right to make a prisoner
of your cousin. Open the door directly,” cried Hamilton,
shaking it until the hinges rattled.
He heard at length the key placed, with a trembling hand,
in the lock—it turned and Hildegarde stood before him.
The hood of her capuchin was thrown back, and her features,
deadly pale and rigid in an expression of horror, met his
// 371.png
.pn +1
view. She pointed silently towards a figure lying on the
ground, which, when Hamilton approached, he found to be
the corpse of her cousin! He must have shot himself
through the mouth, for the upper part of his head, hair,
and brain were scattered in frightful bloody masses around.
A more hideous object could hardly be imagined; he turned
away, and seizing Hildegarde’s hand, drew her out of the
room, while he whispered, “What a dreadful scene for you
to have witnessed!”
Scarcely were they in the street when, putting her hand to
her head, she exclaimed, “My gloves—mask—handkerchief,
are in his room—is it of any consequence?”
“Of the greatest,” cried Hamilton. “If your name be
on the handkerchief, it may lead to most unpleasant inquiries.
Wait here. I must return to the room.”
As he entered the room for the second time he observed
an appearance of confusion in it which, in his haste and
anxiety about Hildegarde, had before escaped his observation.
Her gloves and handkerchief he found near the stove,
and not far from them, to his great surprise, a dagger! On
the table, beside the small shaded lamp, stood a wine bottle
and tumblers, writing materials, and several letters were
heaped together; and, on glancing towards them, he found
one addressed to Hildegarde, which he immediately put in
his pocket, and then prepared to leave; but, to his dismay,
he heard the sound of approaching voices, and at once his
unpleasant, perhaps dangerous, situation occurred to him.
His known enmity to Raimund made it absolutely necessary
for him to endeavour to leave the house without being recognised,
and, having tied on Hildegarde’s mask, he took
refuge in a small wood-room, ready to escape the first opportunity
that should offer. The persons whose voices he had
heard were servants; one of them, a French girl, was
speaking while he gained his hiding-place, and he heard her
say, “The old lady desired me to call her son, I would not
go into his room for all the world at this time of night.”
“What does she want with him?”
“Oh, she says she heard the report of a gun or pistol a
short time ago, and is alarmed. She asked me if I had not
heard it too?”
“And did you hear it?”
“How could I when I was not in the house? The best
// 372.png
.pn +1
thing I can do is to say that Count Oscar is not yet returned
home. I am afraid she won’t believe me, as he never remains
late at those Hoffmanns’.”
“But you may tell her that I saw him going to the masquerade
at nine o’clock in a black domino. We can knock
at the door, and if we get no answer, he is not there.”
“And if he should answer?”
“Why, then, we can speak to him together!”
While they knocked at the door, Hamilton glided out;
but not, as he had hoped, unseen, for they turned and ran
after him into the street, calling out, “Count Oscar! Count
Oscar! Madame la Comptesse wishes to speak to you.”
Hamilton shook his hand impatiently towards them, which
made them desist, and then breathlessly joined Hildegarde,
who was standing motionless on the spot where he had left
her.
“I ought not to have allowed you to return,” she said,
clasping her hands convulsively round his arm, “it was
thoughtless—selfish of me. Had you been seen!”
“I have been seen, but not recognised,” said Hamilton;
“I put on your mask, and some servants mistook me for
Count Raimund.”
“Can that lead to a discovery?” asked Hildegarde, stopping
in the middle of the cold, cheerless street.
“On the contrary, I rather think it will prevent any discovery
being made until to-morrow morning.”
“His wedding-day!” said Hildegarde, with a stifled groan.
“Oh, what will Marie de Hoffmann think of him?”
“She will perhaps guess the truth,” said Hamilton. “I
believe this marriage was the immediate cause of the rash
act.”
“Perhaps I am also to blame,” said Hildegarde, in a
scarcely audible voice.
“It may be; but most innocently, I am sure. It was not
your fault that your cousin loved you so madly.”
“I—I—did not exactly mean that,” said Hildegarde, with
a shudder.
“Then, what did you mean? Tell me all that occurred.
That is,” added Hamilton, for the first time since he had
joined her recurring to his former fears, “that is, if you
can.”
“I can, and will, though the recollection is most painful,”
// 373.png
.pn +1
said Hildegarde, in an agitated manner; and, after a moment’s
pause, she began: “Having been separated from you
all, I naturally endeavoured to reach the front door of the
theatre, where we had agreed to assemble as soon as possible;
always, to my great annoyance, followed by the black
domino, who, in the end, proved to be Oscar. Had I known
it sooner, it would have saved me a world of horrors. I was
excessively alarmed, as you may imagine, and, forgetting
my character as mask, inquired, in my natural voice, of
everyone I met if they had seen four black dominoes together?
Everyone had seen dominoes such as I had described; and
after hearing that some had left in carriages and some on
foot, I at length determined to walk home alone. Taking
advantage of the confusion caused by several parties endeavouring
to drive off together, and hoping by that means
to escape from the domino who had become an object of
terror to me—like a thing in a dream—I ran at full speed
out of the theatre. In order to reach the quieter streets, I
unfortunately turned towards the advancing line of carriages;
the crowd was enormous, and I was buffeted about in all
directions, until at length the pole of a carriage threw me
down and completely stunned me.”
“So it was you! And were you hurt?” asked Hamilton,
anxiously, and stopping to look at his companion. Strange
to say, he had, until that moment, forgotten what he had
heard at the theatre!
“No, not much; my shoulder is bruised, I believe, but
my head fell on the ground, and I was insensible for some
minutes. Some one, probably Oscar, must have seized the
horses’ heads and forced them backwards. When I recovered,
I felt myself supported by him, and recognised his
voice immediately. There was a terrible stamping of horses,
and noise, and swearing about us, and I made a violent effort
to walk. With Oscar’s assistance, I reached the next street;
he proposed my going into his lodgings for a few minutes
until I felt stronger, which I at first refused, but becoming
so faint when we were passing his house that I could scarcely
stand, I thought it better to go willingly than perhaps be
carried there in a state of insensibility. A lamp was burning
in the room when we entered, and wine was on the
table; he poured me out a glass without speaking, which I
immediately drank, and then sat down on the sofa to rest.
// 374.png
.pn +1
In the meantime, he walked silently up and down the room,
and then returned to the table, where he quickly swallowed
several tumblers of wine. Alarmed by his manner, I immediately
stood up, and declared that I was quite able to
return home. If he were not disposed to accompany me,
I would go alone. His answer was locking the door and
placing the key in his pocket.”
“And you?” asked Hamilton, quickly, “what did you
do?”
“I cannot describe the undefined terror which this proceeding
caused me; but, on seeing the dagger, with which
he had once so frightened me, lying on the table, I suddenly
seized it and retreated towards the stove. He asked me
what I meant; but I only answered by repeating the words,
‘Open the door—let me go—let me go.’ He, however, then
informed me that he had no intention of doing either the
one or the other; he was determined for once that I should
hear him, and answer him; and he ordered me peremptorily
to give him the dagger. I, of course, refused, and—and——”
“Well,” said Hamilton, breathlessly.
“A violent struggle ensued; he wrested it forcibly out of
my hand, and, I believe, in trying not to hurt me, was
wounded himself, for I saw blood trickling down the blade as
he held it triumphantly up in the air. In springing to the
other side of the stove I found a bell-rope. Perhaps I wrong
Oscar, but I believe the fear of that bell alone preserved me
from further insult.”
“He must have been perfectly desperate,” observed
Hamilton, taking a long breath.
“He appeared so to me,” continued Hildegarde, shuddering.
“I saw him change colour as I grasped the rope;
but, with wonderful coolness, he advised me to refrain from
summoning witnesses to my being in his room at such an
hour of the night; that I had entered willingly, and no
human being would believe my assertion of innocence, as
unfortunately his reputation was such that mine would be
lost should I be seen and recognised. Though trembling
with anger, I perceived the justice of his remark, and carefully
avoided ringing, though I held the cord tighter than
ever. He came nearer and nearer, and talked long about
his love, and hatred of you. I was too much agitated to
// 375.png
.pn +1
understand much of what he said; and I believe he perceived
it at last, for he threw himself at my feet and declared
he would die there. I pushed back his hands with disgust,
and told him that he need not hope again to terrify me—I
knew he had no thought of dying, but I once more requested
him to open the door and give me my liberty. He started up
frantically, and taking a small pistol from the table, again
approached me. I asked him if he intended to murder me.
He looked capable of that or anything else at the moment,
and when he pointed it towards his own head, I——” Hildegarde
paused, and covered her face with her hands. Hamilton
did not speak, and she again continued. “I did not—indeed,
I did not for a moment think him serious, he was
such a consummate actor! I had seen him in less than half
an hour change from calm to furious so often, that I thought
this was only a new effort to work upon my feelings; I never
could—had I dreamed of the consequences—at all events, I
shall never, never be able to forgive myself!”
“You have not told me what you did,” said Hamilton, in
a low voice.
“I—laughed—and no sooner had he heard the horrid
mocking sound of my forced laughter, than he pulled the
trigger, and fell, so horribly mangled, to the ground!” She
leaned against the corner of a house, and gasped for breath.
“Do you think,” she asked, at length, “do you think that I
was the immediate cause of his death?”
“No,” said Hamilton. “I can give you nearly the
assurance that he had intended to commit suicide—this very
night perhaps—his table was covered with letters, and one,
addressed to you, I brought away with me.”
“Now, heaven be praised that this sin is not on my soul!”
she cried, fervently, and then added, “I have nothing more
to tell you: I don’t know how the time passed until you
came—it appeared very long, but I never thought of going
away. You will understand why I was so dilatory in opening
the door, when you recollect that the key was in the
pocket of his waistcoat.”
“And now,” said Hamilton, hurrying towards Madame
Berger’s house, “let me recommend secrecy. I do not think
anyone will imagine that we know of this melancholy affair.
Should we speak of it, we might be suspected of knowing
more than we may be disposed to relate.”
// 376.png
.pn +1
“I quite agree with you,” said Hildegarde, “and have not
the slightest wish to speak of it to anyone, not even to my
father, for, never having spoken to him about Oscar, my
confidence, coming too late, might offend him, as it did about
Count Zedwitz.”
“You will have to make a great effort, and conceal every
appearance of agitation from your sister and Madame Lustig,”
said Hamilton. “I think we had better avoid the
proposed supper at Madame Berger’s. Give me your capuchin,
and I will bring you your bonnet and cloak.”
Hildegarde seated herself on the stairs, and leaned her
face on her hands.
Hamilton’s appearance without her caused instantaneous
and great alarm; but when he said she was waiting for them
on the stairs, they became almost angry.
“So she won’t come to supper!” cried Madame Berger.
“Just like her, an eternal spoilsport.”
“I fear she has caught cold,” said Hamilton, looking round
for the cloak; “you forget how long she has been in the
streets in her light dress.”
“But,” said Madame Lustig, “she must say she caught cold
making the ice-cream at the passage-window. I shall never
have courage to confess that we have been at this masquerade,
and that she has been running about the streets at this hour
of night. Was she far from the theatre when you met her?”
“I found her in —— Street,” replied Hamilton, evasively,
and beginning to heap up cloaks and boas on his arm.
“Not so fast, if you please,” cried Madame Lustig. “Give
me my cloak—I have no fancy for catching cold.”
“This is too provoking,” exclaimed Madame Berger; “I
thought we should have had such a merry supper; the
Doctor in bed, and everything so nice! Take a glass of wine,
at least, before you go, Mr. Hamilton.”
He quickly drank the wine, and then ran downstairs.
Hildegarde stood up, and allowed him to put the cloak on
her shoulders, fasten it, throw her boa round her throat, and
even place her bonnet on her head; she merely asked: “Are
they coming?”
“Hildegarde,” cried Madame Berger, who accompanied
the others with a candle in her hand, “I take it very ill of
you to spoil my supper in this manner; you might have come
up, if only for half an hour.”
// 377.png
.pn +1
“You have caught cold—you are ill,” whispered Hamilton
in English.
“I am sorry to spoil your supper party, Lina, but I am
really ill, and must go home,” said Hildegarde, in so constrained
and husky a voice that Madame Lustig, mistaking
it for hoarseness, hurried down the stairs, exclaiming: “Good
gracious, the child can hardly speak! What will her father
say to me?”
About an hour after, while Hamilton was still walking
uneasily up and down his room, he heard some one knock at
the door. On opening it he was scarcely surprised to see
Hildegarde. No trace of colour had returned to her face,
but her features had regained their usual calm, statue-like
expression.
“I knew I should still find you in this room,” she said,
with a faint smile. “You may give me my letter; I can
read it now.”
It was on the table, and Hamilton pushed it towards her.
She sat down, drew a candle near her, and, shading her eyes
with one hand, held the letter steadily with the other. When
she had finished reading it, she gave it to Hamilton, saying:
“That is a wild piece of composition; how fortunate that it
fell into your hands! Had it been sent to me, I should have
been placed in a most unpleasant position. My father, my
mother, would have read it; I must have explained, and
Marie de Hoffmann would perhaps have heard of Oscar’s
dislike to her, and have blamed me more than I deserve.”
Hamilton read the letter, and when she took it out of his
hand, she tore it to pieces. “I wish I could burn these
remnants,” she said, crushing them together in her hand.
“Nothing more easy,” said Hamilton, pointing towards
the stove. They walked to it, and deliberately burned the
pieces, one by one; the incoherent sentences becoming once
more legible in a charred state before they crumbled into
ashes.
“Thank you,” said Hildegarde, turning away; “and now,
good-night.”
“Will you not take a candle; or, shall I light you?” asked
Hamilton.
“Neither: I do not wish to wake Walburg.”
As Hamilton held the door open, he recollected vividly
the last time she had been in his room at night. She was
// 378.png
.pn +1
too much preoccupied to think of it; but, stopping suddenly,
she turned to him, and said: “Do you remember my warning,
my presentiment of evil?”
“Perfectly,” he answered; “but I think the idea was
caused by your imagining you were about to do something
which your father perhaps might not quite approve.”
“You account for everything rationally, and will of course
not believe me when I tell you that I knew and felt beforehand
that Oscar would come to our house yesterday, and act
precisely as he did.”
“I do believe you; but it was your natural understanding
which made you think he would take advantage of your
parent’s absence to claim your promise. Then the almost
certainty of my presence, to give the performance a zest.
Perhaps, however, the strongest motive of all, but which
you could not have known, was to take leave of you. I
must do him the justice to say, I believe he thought he saw
you for the last time then.”
“Would that it had been!” said Hildegarde. “I could
at least have regretted him as a near relation, and felt pity
for his untimely end.”
“And do you not feel this?” asked Hamilton.
“No,” answered Hildegarde, sternly. “In recalling calmly
his words and actions this night, I find him wholly unworthy
of esteem. My recollection of him, now stained with blood,
is hideous, most horrible.” She shuddered while she spoke,
and then walked down the dark passage without looking at
Hamilton, who held his door open until she had entered her
room.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch31
CHAPTER XXXI. || WHERE IS THE BRIDEGROOM?
.sp 2
Hamilton’s slumbers were disturbed by confused dreams
of Hildegarde and Raimund; but towards morning he fell
into a heavy sleep, from which he was awakened by the
return of Mr. Rosenberg, his wife and children; the latter,
probably to indemnify themselves for their forced good
// 379.png
.pn +1
behaviour during their absence, now scampered riotously
up and down the corridor, blowing little wooden trumpets,
which had been given them by their grandfather just before
they had left him.
When Hamilton was dressed, he found the whole family
assembled at breakfast, all in high spirits. Crescenz sprang
to meet him in her bridesmaid’s dress, looking so pretty that
Major Stultz’s laboured compliments were for once not only
pardonable, but even allowable.
“Only think!” she exclaimed, “Hildegarde does not like
being bridesmaid, though Marie is much more her friend
than mine! She says she has got a headache, and a cold.”
“I knew,” observed Madame Lustig, “I knew she would
catch cold, when I saw her turning the ice-cream yesterday.
I ought not to have permitted it.”
“The cold is not of much importance,” observed Madame
Rosenberg; “I rather think she dislikes putting on a thin
white muslin dress in the morning.”
“A very natural dislike at this time of year,” said her
husband. “It makes me freeze only to look at Crescenz.”
“Oh, I don’t feel at all cold,” cried Crescenz; “I was
down at the Hoffmanns’ too, and there is such a splendid
déjeûner laid out—and Marie really looks quite lovely in her
white silk dress and orange flowers!”
“You must excuse my doubting your last assertion, Crescenz,”
observed her father, smiling. “Mademoiselle de
Hoffmann is a most amiable, excellent person, but as to
looking quite lovely in any dress, the thing is impossible.”
“This day week,” said Major Stultz, pompously, “we
shall see a bride who looks lovely in every dress!”
At this moment Hildegarde entered the room; her paleness
was still more apparent than the night before, and her
drooping eyelids showed plainly that she had not slept. She
wished Hamilton good morning without looking at him, and
then turned to her father.
“My dear child,” said the latter, taking her hand compassionately,
“you seem really ill. Shall I send for Doctor
Berger?”
“Oh, no!” she answered, “I—I—am only cold,” and she
walked shivering to the stove.
“It will soon be time to go downstairs,” said Madame
Rosenberg. “I think we had better dress ourselves for the
// 380.png
.pn +1
occasion. This hint,” she added, “is intended for the Major
too—he seems to forget the present, in anticipation of the
future.”
Major Stultz laughed, bowed to Crescenz, who was not
looking at him, and left the room with his future father-in-law.
The moment the door closed, Crescenz bounded towards
her sister. “Oh, Hildegarde, you have no idea how beautifully
arranged everything is downstairs! What a pity there
are to be so few people! It was very stupid of Oscar to
prefer driving off into the country at this time of year, to
having a gay dance in the evening. However, Marie is quite
satisfied. Do you know, the old Countess Raimund was
below, looking so red and apoplectic. She did not take the
least notice of me, though I heard her ask who I was. I
dare say her husband would not acknowledge us either; but
he was not there. They said he was to come with Oscar.
Another carriage has just driven up to the door. Perhaps
that may be Oscar. I wonder, will he be married in uniform?
No—these are some acquaintances of the Hoffmanns’—we
don’t know them.”
As she continued at the window, her sister approached
Hamilton. “Is not this a melancholy mummery?” she said,
glancing at her bridal dress. “I feel as if I were under the
influence of a frightful dream, forced to act against my inclination,
and in momentary expectation of some dreadful
catastrophe. Am I then really awake?” she added, extending
her cold hand to him.
“I hope at least I am not dreaming,” he said, holding it
firmly, and looking at her until a transient flush passed
across her pale features.
“It will be impossible for me to appear surprised when I
hear what I already know but too well,” she said.
“No one will observe you in such a moment, and I will
endeavour to remain near you.”
Here Madame Rosenberg summoned them, and they all
descended the stairs together. There were about twenty
persons assembled, to whom Madame de Hoffmann was
talking in her usual loud, sharp manner, while she paid
particular attention to a grand, stiff-looking, elderly woman,
in whom Hamilton immediately recognised the mother of
Raimund. Hildegarde and Crescenz went into the adjoining
// 381.png
.pn +1
room, where the bride was loitering until the arrival
of the bridegroom. Hamilton walked to the window, and
awaited in anxious silence the expected scene; a minute
after, Count Raimund’s carriage drove to the door. Without
waiting to see who descended from it, Madame de Hoffmann
conducted her daughter into the drawing-room, and
while occupied in receiving the congratulations of her
assembled friends, the poor girl did not perceive that her
mother had been somewhat mysteriously called out of the
room; soon after the Countess Raimund was summoned,
and she returned no more; Hamilton saw her assisted into
her carriage, and driven off. Then a couple of elderly
gentlemen and Mr. Rosenberg were sent for; the latter
alone returned, deprived of his usual serenity, and evidently
at a loss what to say. He approached Mademoiselle de
Hoffmann, looked round the room, and then said: “I am
sorry to be the bearer of unpleasant tidings—but—Count
Raimund has become so suddenly and alarmingly ill, that
his mother has been obliged to return home—and—the
marriage—cannot possibly take place—to-day.”
“Ill!” exclaimed Marie, growing very pale. “Where is
my mother?”
She entered at the moment, and Hamilton saw from her
extreme agitation that she knew all. She spoke hurriedly
and confusedly with her guests, unconsciously showing her
impatience to get rid of them. The Rosenbergs were the
last, and were about to retire, when Marie laid her hand on
Hildegarde’s arm, and begged her to remain with her.
“Mademoiselle Hildegarde will not be able to offer you
much consolation, Marie,” said her mother, bitterly; “there
is little or no chance of Count Raimund’s recovery.”
“While there is life there is hope,” said the poor girl,
bursting into tears. “I suppose he has got the cholera, but
many people have recovered from it, and why should not he?”
Madame Rosenberg left the room, followed by her husband,
Crescenz, and Hamilton.
About an hour afterwards, Hildegarde returned home, and
changed her dress. She found her father, mother, and Major
Stultz talking eagerly in the drawing-room; the moment she
appeared, her father exclaimed, “See there is Hildegarde
already in mourning! I am sure a natural feeling of propriety
induced her to put on a black dress.”
// 382.png
.pn +1
“A natural feeling of pride,” cried Madame Rosenberg;
“she wishes people to know that a Count Raimund was her
cousin; her aunt, however, the Countess, examined her superciliously
enough through her lorgnette to-day, without in the
least appearing to remember the relationship.”
“What is the matter?” said Hildegarde appealing to her
father.
“The matter!” cried Madame Rosenberg. “Your father
most absurdly wishes you and your sister to put on mourning
for your worthless cousin, and proposes Crescenz’s marriage
being deferred until after Easter. Heaven knows, in
these cholera times, where we may all be in six or seven
weeks.”
“Babette!” said her husband reproachfully, “this is going
too far.”
“Well, I did not quite mean to say so much, but I am
against any further delays; let the girls wear mourning if
you wish it, and I promise to arrange the wedding so quietly
that no one will know anything about the matter.”
“This is a reasonable proposal,” said Major Stultz. “Crescenz
can put on her mourning after her marriage and wear
it for six months, if you wish it.”
“A few weeks, for decency’s sake,” said Mr. Rosenberg,
“I certainly do desire. Count Oscar at least acknowledged
the relationship, and his parents’ neglect cannot alter the
position of my daughters, or prevent them from mourning
the unhappy end of their mother’s nephew.”
In the meantime Hamilton had approached Hildegarde.
and asked her how her friend had borne the intelligence.
“We did not venture to tell her. She still thinks and
talks of cholera; but,” she added, in a low voice, “imagine
Madame de Hoffmann taking me aside, and in the most
abrupt and unfeeling manner informing me of the real facts,
fixing her small inquisitive eyes on my face the whole time.
She little knew how well prepared I was for her intelligence.”
“What did you say?”
“Very little. That it was a melancholy affair altogether.
That Oscar had possessed some good and many brilliant
qualities, but that, had he lived, I feared he was not calculated
to have made Marie happy.”
“Did she agree with you?”
“More than I wished. She said, that after the first month
// 383.png
.pn +1
she had endeavoured to draw back, but that the Raimunds
had not allowed her. She had long perceived that Oscar
did not care for her daughter, and had suspected that I was
the object of his love, and that I returned it too, but she
said she was now convinced of her error, and begged my
pardon for her unjust suspicion.”
“And you?”
“I pardoned her without difficulty, as you may suppose.
Indeed, Oscar’s conduct must have alarmed and irritated
any reasonable mother. Marie’s blindness has been incomprehensible
to me.”
“You forget that love is blind.”
“Yes, to faults, but not to flagrant neglect.”
“To weaknesses, faults, ill usage, to everything,” said
Hamilton.
“I suppose it is so,” said Hildegarde, thoughtfully. “Marie
certainly was blind to all his errors, and will probably ever
remain so. I was dazzled myself at first, as you may remember.”
“Perfectly,” said Hamilton, dryly.
“I know I have a sad habit of taking likings and dislikings,”
she continued, listlessly.
“Yes, and on such occasions you are not exactly blind;
you can even mistake faults for perfections.”
“I am afraid that it is true,” said Hildegarde, leaning
back in her chair, with half-closed eyes, and speaking very
slowly. “I remember for some time thinking Madame de
Hoffmann agreeable and entertaining; her severe remarks I
mistook for wit, until they were directed against myself.”
“And what an antipathy you took to me at first sight!”
observed Hamilton.
“You have no idea how she disliked you,” cried Crescenz,
who had, unperceived, approached them. They both started,
and then blushed, as she continued, “if you had only heard
her in Berchtesgaden railing at the cold, proud Englishman.”
“Crescenz,” said Hildegarde, with evident effort, “don’t
let us talk of that now; I cannot defend myself against you
both to-day, I am too tired.”
“Perhaps you begin to think differently of him,” said
Crescenz, archly; “Lina Berger may after all be right.
When we were waiting for you last night at her house, she
said she thought your hatred might in the end turn into——”
// 384.png
.pn +1
“Oh, Crescenz,” gasped Hildegarde, in so unnatural a tone
that her father called out, “Why, what’s the matter there?”
“Hildegarde is getting into a passion,” said Madame Rosenberg.
“Do you not see how she is changing colour?”
And changing colour she was with frightful rapidity; no
one but Hamilton knew that she had been twenty-four hours
without eating, for in the hurry of preparing for the wedding,
her not breakfasting had passed unobserved. None
but he knew the shock which her nerves had received the
night before, the constraint under which she had been labouring;
he alone understood that Crescenz’s last remark was
the drop which made the cup of bitterness to overflow, and
yet he was quite as much shocked as the others when,
stretching out her arm, and vainly grasping the air for support,
she fell senseless on the floor.
“Crescenz, what have you said to your sister?” cried her
father, rushing forward.
“I don’t know—I don’t remember. What did I say?”
she cried, appealing with a look of alarm to Hamilton.
Mr. Rosenberg raised Hildegarde, who, however, gave no
sign of returning life; he was so alarmed and trembled so
violently, that Hamilton was obliged to assist him to lay her
on the sofa, while Crescenz opened the window, and Madame
Rosenberg went for water. Their united efforts at length
brought her to consciousness; she opened her eyes, perceived
her father’s terror as he hung over her, and while
assuring him that she was quite well again, relapsed into a
state of insensibility, which lasted until she had been removed
to her room, and placed on her bed.
Doctor Berger was sent for. He hoped her illness might
prove of no consequence, but she must be kept very quiet;
there were symptoms which might lead to typhus or brain
fever. Crescenz repeated this opinion to her sister, who, on
hearing it, immediately desired to see Hamilton.
“But not now—not here,” said Crescenz.
“No, I believe I must write a few lines, and you can give
my note to him as he passes on his way to his room.”
Crescenz brought a pencil and paper, and Hildegarde wrote
in English:
“You have heard the doctor’s opinion of my illness; I
think, myself, it will only prove a severe cold. Should it,
however, end in fever, and should I become delirious, you
// 385.png
.pn +1
must go to Mademoiselle Hortense, one of the governesses in
our school, tell her my situation, and say I request her to
come and take charge of me. My step-mother will be satisfied
with the arrangement, and you have no refusal to fear;
my motives you will easily guess.”
“May I read it?” asked Crescenz as she received the
paper from her sister—“ah! it is English; how fond you
are of everything English.”
“It is a commission to Mademoiselle Hortense; you may
see her name,” said Hildegarde. “Mr. Hamilton can more
easily go to her than you can.”
“Oh, if that be all, I am glad you have chosen him, for
you know I am horribly afraid of her.”
“I know,” said Hildegarde, pressing her hand on her
forehead, and turning away.
The next two days were passed over in uncertainty, and
Hamilton wandered about disconsolately enough; but on
the third, Hildegarde appeared to relieve his mind; and so
great was her father’s joy at her recovery, that he actually
spent the whole evening at home, without even requiring a
rubber of whist.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch32
CHAPTER XXXII. || THE WEDDING AU TROISIÈME.
.sp 2
Several days passed over. Count Raimund’s death had
been much discussed among his acquaintance, who almost
unanimously agreed in thinking he had committed the rash
act to avoid a connection so much beneath him. He was
more regretted than he deserved; his various talents having
made him unusually popular, and, in the society in which he
had moved, people were not generally in the habit of studying
character, or seeking motives of action. His circle was,
however, so completely unknown to the Rosenbergs; they
were so totally without any sort of communication with any
member of it, now that Count Zedwitz had ceased to frequent
their house, that they heard none of the remarks—not one
of the particulars. It spared Hildegarde much anxiety, for
his wounded hand, the blood-stained dagger, and open door,
// 386.png
.pn +1
had caused many inquiries; and had it not been for a letter
which he had written to his father (in the vain endeavour to
exculpate himself), might have led to suspicions of murder.
The Rosenbergs heard nothing, and the preparations for
Crescenz’s marriage began; they were conducted with ostentatious
secrecy to please Mr. Rosenberg, who had consented
to its taking place sooner than had been expected, as the
Hoffmanns had left the house, and removed altogether to Augsburg.
Madame Berger had promised to play waltzes if the
company should prove numerous enough to enable them to
dance, and Madame Lustig had spent two or three afternoons
cooking for the supper. On the wedding-day, Hamilton was
not a little surprised to find Crescenz sitting composedly at
breakfast in her gingham morning wrapper, while her father
left the room to go to his office as usual.
“I believe I have dressed too early,” he said, glancing at
his studied toilet; “may I ask at what hour——”
“At five in the afternoon,” answered Hildegarde. “Mamma
has determined to keep her promise, and has desired our
friends to meet us at the Frauen Church. On our return it
will be almost dark, and no one will know that we have a
wedding in the house.”
“But we shall dance,” cried Crescenz, “and Major Stultz
said I might waltz as often as I pleased with you this
evening!”
“How very kind!” said Hamilton, smiling; “and how
often do you intend to make use of the permission?”
“That depends upon you, I should think,” she answered,
blushing.
“You had better not trust to my discretion. I shall be
tempted to make up for lost time, and dance with you the
whole evening. You have put no sugar in my coffee,” turning
with a look of mock distress to Hildegarde. “Did you
forget it on purpose to punish me for being so late?”
“No. I—I was thinking of something.”
“And that something?”
“Is not of much importance. I was thinking that, had
you made that speech to Crescenz a few months ago, I should
have been angry, for I should have imagined you were
amusing yourself at her expense—whereas I now know that
you mean nothing, but that you will dance with her two or
three times this evening.”
// 387.png
.pn +1
“And,” said Hamilton, warmly, “and that I like to dance
with her, and am obliged to her for wishing to dance with
me. I mean that, too.”
“I knew you did,” cried Crescenz, triumphantly. “I am
sure I always understood you better than Hildegarde, notwithstanding
all her cleverness; but from the time that
Count Zedwitz told her that you were already quite a man
of the world, a—a—what was the word, Hildegarde?”
“I don’t remember the word,” she answered, calmly.
“It meant, I remember,” said Crescenz, “a person who
was too cold and calculating for his years—who was too
worldly to have much feeling.”
“That was unjust—that was saying too much,” cried
Hamilton, colouring.
“So Hildegarde thought also, but she has always insisted
that you are proud and calculating, and that you seek to
amuse yourself with other people’s feelings and weaknesses.”
“Is this your opinion of me?” said Hamilton, turning to
Hildegarde.
“It was,” she replied, steadily.
“Oh, Hildegarde is not afraid to say what she thinks;
her opinion of you must have greatly changed, if it be what
you would like to hear.”
Hildegarde moved behind her sister to hide the intense
blush which now spread over her features, and, placing her
hand on her shoulder, perhaps to prevent her from turning
round, she said, in a low voice, and with an embarrassed
manner, “Crescenz, you have no idea, I am sure, how you
are paining me at this moment. You are forcing me to
confess, that I have not in this instance acted towards you
with my usual candour. I have the very highest opinion of
Mr. Hamilton.”
“Well, to be sure!” exclaimed Crescenz, while she endeavoured
to catch a glimpse of her sister’s face, but Hildegarde
moved still further back, and continued: “That I disliked
him at first is most true, more on your account, however,
than on mine; for his open hostility to me was excusable—his
covert attentions to you unpardonable.”
“But,” said Crescenz, who seemed altogether to have forgotten
Hamilton’s presence; “but when did you begin to
think differently of him?”
“From the time that he has ceased to be the subject of
// 388.png
.pn +1
altercation between us,” answered Hildegarde, bending over
her sister, and kissing her forehead.
“But, Hildegarde,” cried Crescenz, turning round with
unexpected energy, “before we went to the ball, do you
remember, when I told you that Lina Berger had said that
Mr. Hamilton might still be my scha——”
Hildegarde’s two hands closed over her mouth, and the
word was stifled in utterance. “Good gracious! I quite
forgot he was still here,” she cried, making a slight effort to
laugh, and then running out of the room.
A long pause ensued. Hildegarde began to arrange the
cups and saucers on a tray, until Hamilton, without looking
up, asked her if she could remember the very time when her
opinion of him had changed.
“Perfectly; it was the night of Crescenz’s quarrel with
Major Stultz. Your explanations by moonlight in our room
were upright and honourable.”
“And you forgave my having flirted with her at Seon?”
“Yes; and I forgave your having tried to do the same
with me here.”
“The case is totally different,” began Hamilton.
“There is some difference, I allow,” said Hildegarde; “you
warned me so well, that it would have been inexcusable my
not understanding you—besides, I had the advantage of
hearing from Count Zedwitz, that you considered yourself at
liberty to act as you pleased after having so fairly warned
me.”
“Zedwitz’s love for you made him forget his friendship
for me altogether,” said Hamilton, with some irritation.
“I do not blame your conduct to me,” said Hildegarde;
“you wanted to improve yourself in German, and found
quarrelling or flirting with me the most exciting method.
I have profited by your society also, for I have not only
learned to pronounce English, but,” she added, with an
arch smile, “I begin to understand something of the art
of flirting, too, of which, I do assure you, I knew nothing
when our acquaintance began.”
“Oh, do not say that,” cried Hamilton; “you are only
joking, I am sure, for you have no inclination that way, but
your sister Crescenz——”
“My sister Crescenz knew nothing of your propensities
that way at Seon, and, therefore, I blame your conduct towards
// 389.png
.pn +1
her. Your love, if you ever felt any, was pardonable;
people cannot help that, I believe—but your endeavours to
make her dislike Major Stultz were quite unpardonable.”
“I acknowledge it,” said Hamilton, gravely, “and regret
it.”
“That fault you were able in a measure to repair,” continued
Hildegarde, “but, perhaps, you are not aware that
you have been the cause of frequent altercations between
me and my sister—and that almost total estrangement has
taken place between us in consequence.”
“And is that my fault, too?” asked Hamilton.
“I don’t know,” she replied, sorrowfully. “Before we
became acquainted with you, we never had the most trifling
difference of opinion—and now we never think alike, and all
confidence is at an end!”
“You take the matter too seriously,” said Hamilton; “I
am convinced your sister is not aware of your estrangement.”
“I am afraid you are mistaken——” began Hildegarde, but
at this moment Crescenz entered the room; she was dressed
to go out, and asked her sister to accompany her.
“Let us be off,” said Hildegarde, “we have no time to
lose.”
“May I go with you?” asked Hamilton.
“N—o, I rather think not,” replied Hildegarde.
“But he may come for us in an hour or so,” said Crescenz,
nodding to him with a smile.
“Tell me where I shall find you.”
Crescenz coloured and hesitated. “In——in my——in
the——in Major Stultz’s apartments.”
“We are going to arrange the furniture,” said Hildegarde,
closing the door.
The hour had scarcely half elapsed, when Hamilton
found himself again with the two sisters; he was without
ceremony desired to make himself useful, and immediately
employed in assisting to arrange a press which was to be
filled with linen—afterwards the chairs and tables were
moved about in all directions, the étagère admired, and
finally they adjourned to the kitchen, where Crescenz, with
amusing exultation, exhibited, one by one, her culinary
utensils to Hamilton, explaining their uses, and assuring
him that though her mother intended to give her Walburg
as servant, she was determined to cook everything herself.
// 390.png
.pn +1
While she was yet speaking, old Hans came to say she was
expected home—they were to dine earlier than usual, and
the hair-dresser was expected before two o’clock. She became
very pale, and after having dismissed him, sat down
on a little wooden stool, and began to cry. Hildegarde
silently made a sign to Hamilton to leave them, and greatly
wondering at the sudden change, he walked back to the
drawing-room.
On glancing round at the furniture which Crescenz considered
so splendid, he could not help smiling at the frugality
of her taste. Was he to be envied for his more lavish ideas?
Assuredly not. Everything in this world, from the diamond
to the first thing beyond the absolute necessaries of life, is
valued fictitiously. The actual worth depends on the mind
of the possessor, and is regulated in civilised countries by
unconsciously made comparisons—the mental effort losing
itself in the result. To Crescenz the thin white muslin
curtains were quite as desirable, even on a cold day in February,
as to Hamilton the richest silk—the yellow sofa,
with its hard-stuffed cushions and perpendicular sides, was
intended to be a seat of honour for a guest, and was not
adapted for reclining—even Hamilton must have failed in
discovering a posture of repose upon it, and he had a most
decided talent for making himself comfortable. The six
chairs had long thin legs, but the wood which had been
spared on the legs had been conscientiously bestowed on
the backs, which were tastefully formed to represent hearts.
A table, two chests of drawers, and the étagère completed
the furniture of the room. As Hamilton stood before
the latter, trying to admire the cups, saucers, glasses, and
bronze candlesticks arranged upon it, and reflected in the
looking-glasses which for that purpose formed the back,
Hildegarde and her sister entered; Crescenz, with the traces
of recent tears on her face, nevertheless looked complacently
around her, for the twentieth time arranged the folds of the
curtains, dusted the table with her handkerchief, and then
led the way downstairs.
At five o’clock, a party of about sixteen or eighteen persons
assembled in the private chapel of the Frauen Church to
witness the marriage of Major Stultz and Crescenz Rosenberg.
The bride shed no tears, she looked very pretty and
very shy—the bridegroom rather stouter and redder than
// 391.png
.pn +1
usual. Madame Rosenberg openly expressed her satisfaction,
and hoped the day was not far distant when she
should be in the same place, and for the same purpose, on
Hildegarde’s account. Hildegarde was pale and silent, and
Mr. Rosenberg alone showed that he was endeavouring to
control his emotion.
On their return home, they found the rooms lighted, and
supper prepared under the superintendence of Madame
Lustig. They spent three hours at table, and then they
danced, and then they ate, and then they danced again
until past midnight, when, to conclude the festivity, punch
was made. Let it not be supposed that this was, as in
England, a simple mixture of water, sugar, and Cognac, or
rum. In Germany, it is a complicated business, and notwithstanding
the previous preparations of Madame Lustig,
Madame Rosenberg and three or four matrons accompanied
her to the kitchen to assist in the brewing. Each had a
different receipt—and a separation of the parties became
absolutely necessary, as one proposed using black, another
green tea, for the mixture, while the others were for rice-water
or wine. Hamilton, who had become a sort of
authority in the house on all subjects, was consulted, but
on his venturing to suggest pure water, Madame Rosenberg
laughingly pushed him towards the drawing-room, saying,
it was evident he knew nothing about the matter—he might
dance until the punch was ready!
Most excellent it proved to be, however concocted, when
at length Madame Rosenberg appeared with a soup-tureen
full, and dispensed it ladlewise to the surrounding company,
who then crowded round Major Stultz and Crescenz, in order
to clink their glasses, and partake of a colossal sponge-cake,
which the latter distributed in ample portions.
A short time afterwards, old Hans announced, “The
carriage for Miss Crescenz,” and she retired with evident
reluctance to put on her shawl. The whole company prepared
to leave at the same time, and were soon altogether in
the corridor. Crescenz embraced her step-mother, and somewhat
formally thanked her for her kindness and generosity.
She held out her hand to Hamilton, and then threw herself
into her sister’s arms, and burst into tears. “Come, come,
Crescenz,” cried her father, with an attempt at gayety he
was far from feeling, “this will never do—you are taking
// 392.png
.pn +1
leave as if seas and not streets were to separate us. Come,”
and he drew her arm within his, and led her downstairs.
The others followed, all but Hildegarde, and after a moment’s
hesitation, Hamilton. They returned to the deserted drawing-room,
where Hildegarde threw open the window and
leaned out.
They soon heard Crescenz’s voice saying cheerfully,
“Good-night, Lina—good-night, papa—good-night, Hildegarde.”
“Good-night,” answered her sister from the window, and
the carriage drove off.
“Well, have we not spent a merry evening!” cried Madame
Rosenberg, triumphantly, as she almost breathlessly entered
the room a few minutes afterwards. “This has been a gay
wedding after all, you see, Franz.”
“It has,” he answered, sinking dejectedly on the sofa; “I
am quite provoked with myself for feeling so low-spirited.
I believe I am not well.”
“Ah, bah,” cried his wife, laughing, “if you had been ill,
you could not have supped as you have done. Perhaps,
however, you have eaten too much fish, or turkey, or ham?
At all events, I am sure you are tired and sleepy, so you
may go to bed, while we put everything in order again.”
Mr. Rosenberg, as usual, followed his wife’s advice without
contradiction. He held Hamilton’s hand for a moment as if
he intended to say something more than the good-night which
was scarcely audible.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch33
CHAPTER XXXIII. || A CHANGE.
.sp 2
Hamilton was wakened about three o’clock in the morning
by Hildegarde rushing into his room, and exclaiming,
“For heaven’s sake, get up—get up, and come to my father—I
am afraid he has got the cholera. You have seen
people ill, and know the symptoms. Oh, come—we do not
know what to do!”
“Send for the Doctor,” cried Hamilton. “I shall be with
you in a moment.”
// 393.png
.pn +1
On entering Mr. Rosenberg’s room, Hamilton found Hildegarde
standing beside his bed, while Madame Rosenberg
was walking up and down the room, gesticulating like a person
in a state of mental derangement.
“Oh, Mr. Hamilton,” she exclaimed, the moment she perceived
him, “tell me, only tell me that Franz has not got
the cholera, and I shall be grateful as long as I live! It
would be too hard were he to have it now, when people say
there is nothing more to fear. Last week, only one man—quite
a decrepit old man, died of it? I am sure Franz has
only eaten too much supper yesterday evening. Don’t you
think so? Say that he has not got the cholera, and I shall
believe you implicitly.”
But Hamilton could not say so, nor unfortunately Doctor
Berger either; the case was at once pronounced a bad one,
and, in a fearfully short time, quite hopeless. Consternation
and dismay pervaded the whole household, when, on the
morning of the third day, poor Mr. Rosenberg was no more.
Completely overpowered by the suddenness of her own bereavement,
Madame Rosenberg retired to her room, unable
to speak to anyone.
Major Stultz immediately undertook the necessary arrangements
for the funeral, and gave directions for the printing
of circular letters to announce the death to distant relations
and friends, a custom which saves the mourning family the
performance of a most painful duty. Hamilton took the
two little boys to their sister Crescenz. Her married life
had begun in anxiety and sorrow, and Hamilton felt some
natural trepidation at seeing her again, under such painful
circumstances; but her grief was of the most tranquil description,
the tears flowed unrestrained over her round rosy
cheeks, and when they ceased left not a trace behind. Although
but a few days had elapsed since she had left her
family, a not quite willing bride, she had already begun to
repeat her husband’s words as oracles. Hamilton half smiled
as he heard her: “Thank goodness, that she at least was
provided for, and had a home! She hoped poor dear Hildegarde
would not now begin to repent having refused such a
man as Major Stultz, the more so, as that refusal precluded
the possibility of her ever residing with them!”
Poor Hildegarde! She had not bestowed one thought,
much less a regret, on Major Stultz. Hamilton, on his return,
// 394.png
.pn +1
found her sitting in her room, perfectly motionless, with
parched lips, and eyes devoid of tears. He hoped she had
at length begun to think of herself—recommended her to
try to eat something, and go to bed. She looked at him as
if his words had not conveyed the slightest sense to her
mind—walked uneasily up and down the room for a few
minutes, and then said, with a shudder, “I am so afraid of
his being buried alive! Do you think he was quite—quite
dead? If I could only see him once more.”
“And who could be so cruel as to prevent you?” exclaimed
Hamilton. “If it be any relief to your mind, I will remain
in his room to-night?”
“In his room!” she cried, clasping her hands convulsively:
“he is no longer there—they have taken him away to the
deadhouse.”
“The deadhouse! Where is that?”
“In the burying-ground. They have watches there, I
believe, but still he is among all the frightful corpses, and
should he come to himself—imagine how horrible! You
will go with me—you will let me see him once more? I
cannot else believe that he is really dead!”
“I will go with you there, or anywhere you please,” said
Hamilton, completely overcome by her evident wretchedness.
The weather was unusually inclement; a storm of falling
sleet almost blinded them as they waded through the half-melted
snow which lay on the road outside the town; but
Hildegarde seemed unconscious of all these impediments,
hurried on silently until she reached the churchyard, where
she turned to a building, which had escaped Hamilton’s observation
on a former occasion, and walked directly up to a
row of glass doors, and stood as if transfixed with horror.
Hamilton was in a moment at her side, and it must be confessed
that to those who were not inured to the various
aspects of death, the scene which presented itself was shocking
in the extreme. On tables in the interior a long row of
open coffins were arranged, their ghastly tenants dressed
with a care that seemed to mock the solemnity of death and
interment. A young officer was in uniform, as if about to
appear on parade—an elderly gentleman dressed for a ball—a
young girl whose half-open mouth and eyes showed the
struggle with which soul and body had parted, was crowned
with flowers, and a long white veil lay in white folds over
// 395.png
.pn +1
her bare arms and white dress, reaching almost to the satin
shoes which covered the stiff, cold feet as they protruded
beyond the coffin in hideous rigidity.
Mr. Rosenberg was now scarcely recognisable; his livid
features were contracted, and not a trace remained of that
beauty for which he had been so remarkable. Hamilton
turned away, but again his eyes encountered death. Another
and lighter room was filled with the corpses of poorer persons
and children; the latter indeed seemed to sleep, and on
them the wreaths of flowers did not appear misplaced.
Hildegarde seemed unable to tear herself from the spot,
nor did Hamilton feel disposed to disturb her until he perceived
a number of persons hurrying to and fro, and torches
glimmering in the churchyard; he then asked a woman, who
appeared with a bunch of keys in her hand, if there was to
be a funeral.
“I believe the Countess Raimund is to be buried this
evening,” she answered.
“Not one of these?” cried Hamilton, pointing to the
place where Hildegarde stood.
“Yes; just there beside the gentleman who died of cholera—that
old lady in black satin with her mouth wide open—it
was shameful negligence of those about her not to close
it before the jaw stiffened.”
“Hildegarde,” said Hamilton, drawing her arm within his,
“you must now leave this place. There is to be a funeral.”
“I know—I heard,” she said, allowing herself to be led
away, with her head still turned towards the chamber of
death. “The only precedence which the Countess Raimund
can now claim of my father,” she added, bitterly, “is that
of first descending into the grave! How absurd all pride
appears when standing at the threshold of a charnel-house!”
“Very true,” said Hamilton, “but how seldom the proud—how
seldom anyone thinks of such a place. Where are
you going now?”
“To my mother’s grave.”
He made no opposition, for he hoped that some sudden
recollection would put an end to the unnatural calmness of
her manner, and was, for this reason, not sorry to perceive
that the grave-digger had already been at work; the place
was measured, and some shovelfuls of earth had been thrown
over the grave she came to visit.
// 396.png
.pn +1
She seemed for a few minutes to pray, and then sat down
beside the stone cross, and began assiduously to arrange the
leaves of the still green, though withered, ivy wreaths which
she had placed on it in November.
“I am trying your patience unpardonably,” she observed
at length, rising from her cheerless occupation, “and it is all
to no purpose.”
“What do you mean?” asked Hamilton.
“I expected to feel something like sorrow for my father’s
loss. You will be shocked when I tell you that I cannot feel
anything resembling it. Before I came here I thought my
odious apathy was caused by doubts of the reality of his
death—those doubts are all removed—I know that he is dead;
that in a few hours he will be in the grave, and moulder
beside my mother’s skeleton, and I do not, cannot feel anything
like grief!”
“You are too much stunned by the suddenness,” began
Hamilton.
“Not so,” said Hildegarde, quietly, “I assure you I never
felt more perfectly contented than at this moment; were it
not that I shudder at my total want of sensibility.”
“If it be insensibility,” said Hamilton; “but you have
so much decision, so much firmness of character, that——”
“No, no,” she cried, hastily interrupting him; “this is not
firmness. Do not imagine that I feel emotion which I am
endeavouring to conceal, or suppressing tears ready to flow;
I only feel an almost irresistible inclination to walk or run
without stopping!”
“I am surprised that you do not find yourself completely
exhausted,” said Hamilton. “It would certainly be more
natural, when one takes into consideration that you have not
slept for three nights, or eaten anything for nearly three
days!”
“And you also have passed three sleepless nights,” said
Hildegarde, “and without the hopes and fears which made
the want of rest imperceptible to me. I ought to have remembered
that sooner.”
“I was not thinking of myself,” cried Hamilton. “And
your hopes and fears,” he added, in a lower voice, “I have
most truly participated. Will you never believe that your
joys are my joys, your sorrows my sorrows?”
He waited in vain for an answer; Hildegarde leaned
// 397.png
.pn +1
heavily on his arm, and breathed quickly; he at length
caught a glimpse of her face, and was so shocked at the
convulsive workings of her features that he beckoned to one
of the numerous hackney coachmen returning from the
churchyard, and silently placed his unresisting companion in
the carriage. She sighed so deeply, and then gasped so fearfully
for breath, that he let down all the windows, and experienced
the most heart-felt pleasure when at length she
burst into a passion of tears.
She wept unrestrainedly until they reached home, but,
even on the stairs as they ascended, Hamilton perceived a
return of her former unnaturally composed manner.
During the next day Madame Rosenberg was almost constantly
surrounded by her friends and acquaintance. Towards
evening Crescenz drew her sister aside, and whispered: “Oh,
my dear Hildegarde, this is an irreparable loss for you!”
“Irreparable indeed!” said Hildegarde, moving her head
dejectedly; “I wish it had pleased God to let me die instead
of my father—few would have mourned for me!”
“I’m sure, dear, I don’t know what is to become of you
now! I can’t bear to think of it, but I suppose you will
have to apply to Mademoiselle Hortense to get you a situation
as governess; you know she promised to do so whenever
you wished it——”
“I know,” said Hildegarde, rubbing her forehead with her
hand, and biting her under lip with an expression of great
distress. “Let us talk about that some other time—I cannot
think yet.”
“It was Lina Berger who talked about it; she said she
was sure that mamma would not propose your remaining with
her, and Major Stultz says that——”
“Crescenz,” said Hildegarde with some impatience, “say
what you please to me from yourself, I am ready to hear you;
but do not torture me now with the opinions of either Lina
Berger or Major Stultz.”
“Well, to be sure! And how often have you said that
you considered him a sensible man!”
“I have not changed my opinion, but as I know he can
feel no sort of interest in anything that concerns me, I do not
wish to hear what he has said.”
“Ah, I see Mr. Hamilton has been telling you—he smiled
so strangely when I was speaking to him yesterday, that I
// 398.png
.pn +1
was sure he would tell you everything—but indeed I wished
to have had you with me directly; it was my first thought,
but Blazius said that what occurred at—at Seon—you know,
made it quite impossible!”
“Mr. Hamilton told me nothing of all this,” said Hildegarde.
“I thank you for your kind intentions, dear Crescenz;
I can imagine that Major Stultz’s refusal to comply
with your wishes has pained you; but you may set your
mind at rest, for I feel even more intensely than he can, the
impossibility of my ever becoming an inmate of his house.”
“Well,” said Crescenz, apparently greatly relieved; “I’m
sure I am glad to hear you say so, for though he talked very
sensibly, and all that, this morning, I could not help crying,
and was quite uncomfortable at the idea of speaking to you
about it; I was afraid you might think that now I am married,
I love you less.”
“Four days is too short a time to work such a change, I
hope,” said Hildegarde, with a melancholy smile; then suddenly
seizing her sister’s hands, she exclaimed, “Oh, Crescenz,
love me! Love me still—as much as you can—think how I
shall miss my father’s affection!”
“Very true, indeed, as Blazius says; my father bestowed
his whole affection on you, and quite overlooked me!”
Hildegarde gazed at her sister for a moment in silence, and
then turned away with tearful eyes. She saw that Crescenz
would soon be lost to her forever. Major Stultz already
directed her thoughts and words, as completely as she herself
had done when they were at school together. She
watched her returning to their step-mother’s room, and then
walked slowly towards the door leading to the passage.
Hamilton was standing at the stove—had heard the sisters’
conversation, and filled with compassion for her deserted
position, he seized her hand as she passed, and passionately
pressed it to his lips without speaking. When she raised her
heavy eyelids to look at him, she saw that his eyes were
suffused with tears.
“I—thank you—for your sympathy,” she murmured with
trembling lips, as she withdrew her hand, and hurried out of
the room.
// 399.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch34
CHAPTER XXXIV. || THE ARRANGEMENT.
.sp 2
After the interment of Mr. Rosenberg, some time passed
over in melancholy monotony. Madame Rosenberg employed
herself principally in the inspection and arrangement of
papers; Hildegarde wandered about the house, endeavouring
in an absent manner to make herself useful. She even tried
to assist the new cook, but her efforts were so entirely unsuccessful,
that her mother begged she would desist, as she had
no sort of talent in that line.
Mr. Rosenberg had been a kind husband and an affectionate
father; Hamilton had invariably found him an agreeable
companion, but his constant occupation in his office, and an
inveterate habit of going out every evening, had made his
society an occurrence of such rarity, that Hamilton in a short
time became quite resigned to his loss; in fact, but for the
mourning dresses, Hildegarde’s unconquerable dejection, and
the never-failing tears of Madame Rosenberg, as she circumstantially
related to every visitor the history of her husband’s
illness and death, he would soon have forgotten that he had
ever existed. He attended the college lectures, studied
German with his friend Biedermann, rode, walked, in short,
continued all his former occupations, with the exception of
his quarrels with Hildegarde—these had now entirely ceased;
he obeyed her slightest directions, anticipated her wishes with
a sort of quiet devotion so completely directed to her alone,
but so unobtrusive, that Madame Rosenberg failed to observe
more than that they had learned to live peaceably in the same
house together, and praised them both more than once for
having ceased their silly and useless quarrels.
One day, about the beginning of April, Hildegarde recalled
him just as he was about to leave the house, saying
that her mother wished to speak to him; he laughingly
demanded if the probably not very important communication
could not be deferred to another day, as he had promised
// 400.png
.pn +1
to meet some friends at Tambosi’s in the Hofgarten. Hildegarde
gravely shook her head, and said she believed her
mother was waiting for him.
“What a bore!” he exclaimed, striding along the passage;
“I suppose I shall be detained half an hour to hear a lecture
about having forgotten to extinguish the candles last night,
or having burned my boots on the stove! I really wish,
Hildegarde, you would give your new cook instructions about
my room—it is not at all necessary that your mother should
be informed every time an accident occurs there.”
Madame Rosenberg was sitting at an old-fashioned scrutoire
furnished with innumerable diminutive secret and
apparent drawers; she had a small packet of bills beside
her, and various heaps of money before her. When Hamilton
entered, she immediately moved back her chair, and
pointed to another beside her, which she wished him to
occupy. Now that Hamilton had already become a little
spoiled by Madame Rosenberg’s indulgence, praises, and
deference to his opinion, he had learned to like her and
even overlook her vulgarity; but in proportion as his affection
had increased his respect had decreased, and like the
spoiled son of a weak mother, he now stood leaning against
the door, refusing with an impatient gesture the offered
chair, and murmuring some unintelligible words about business
and disappointments.
“I shall not detain you long,” said Madame Rosenberg,
drawing out of her pocket an enormous linen handkerchief,
and wiping away two large tears, which were obtrusively
rolling down her cheeks. “I ought to have spoken to you
long ago, but I have been thinking over and over the means
of rendering my communication less disagreeable.”
“So,” cried Hamilton, closing the door, and advancing
towards her, “so it is not about the boots you are going to
lecture me?”
“No,” she replied, half laughing, “though I must say——”
“I know all you are going to say,” cried Hamilton, laughing,
“extravagant habits, horrible smell, danger of burning
the house, and all that! Suppose it said—I am very contrite
indeed, and promise not to burn either shirt or boots
for three weeks to come, and not at all when the weather is
warmer and the stove is not heated.”
// 401.png
.pn +1
“In three weeks, and when the weather is warmer, we
shall be too far apart for me either to lecture or detain you
in my room against your will!”
“My dear Madame Rosenberg,” exclaimed Hamilton,
springing towards her, and not only seating himself on the
previously disdained chair, but drawing it so close to hers
that she involuntarily drew back; “my dear Madame Rosenberg,
you surely do not mean that I must leave you?”
“I do, indeed,” she answered, nodding her head slowly
and despondingly, and again the monstrous handkerchief was
put in requisition. “I’m sure,” she added, somewhat surprised
at the varying emotions depicted on his countenance,
“I’m sure it’s very kind of you to be so sorry to leave us—I
thought the loss was wholly on our side.”
“I have spent seven of the happiest months of my life
in your house,” began Hamilton.
“Six months and one week,” said Madame Rosenberg,
interrupting him; “you were three weeks at Havard’s, you
know, and when we are settling our account the three weeks
must be deducted, for, as poor dear Franz said——”
“I should like to know your intentions with respect to
Hildegarde,” said Hamilton, who had not heard one word
of the explanation.
“Hildegarde goes with me to the Iron Works, as people
now call them; poor Franz was so uneasy about her on his
death-bed, that I promised him she should never leave my
house excepting with her own free will, and always have the
power of returning to it when she chose, and that she should
receive on her marriage a trousseau in every respect like her
sister’s.”
“This promise must have been a great relief to his mind,”
observed Hamilton.
“It was,” said Madame Rosenberg, and the tears flowed
fast as she added: “I would have given him everything I
had in the world to have made him contented in his last
moments. We lived so happily together during the twelve
years which we passed in this house. I cannot remain here
any longer—the house—the furniture—Munich itself has
become odious to me. I intend to return to my father.
Fritz will be made a gentleman, as his father wished it, at
the military school. Gustle must be his grandfather’s successor
at the Iron Works; he has, at all events, no great
// 402.png
.pn +1
love of learning; and Peppy is too young to be taken into
consideration at present.”
“Take me with you to the Iron Works,” said Hamilton,
abruptly.
Madame Rosenberg looked at him as if she did not quite
comprehend.
“Take me with you to the Iron Works,” he repeated.
She shook her head. “It is no place for you,” she said,
steadily, “nor is my father, though an excellent man, a companion
for you. Your parents would be dissatisfied, and
with reason, were you to bury yourself in an insignificant
village, just so many miles from Munich as to prevent your
being able to avail yourself of the advantages which you
told me you had found here for the completion of your
education.”
Hamilton felt the justness of her remark, and did not
attempt to contradict it; he had, however, no intention of
quitting a family of which Hildegarde was still to be a
member; nor did he much concern himself about the satisfaction
or dissatisfaction of his parents just at that moment.
He understood Madame Rosenberg perfectly, and changed
his tactics. Throwing himself back in his chair, he said,
with apparent resignation: “Well, I suppose I must spend
the ensuing five months at Havard’s, that’s all!”
“At Havard’s! What an idea!” exclaimed Madame
Rosenberg; “to be giving suppers and drinking champagne
every night! I never heard of anything so absurd!”
“Why, where else can I go? I cannot well take a lodging
and engage a cook and housemaid for myself, can I?”
“No,” replied Madame Rosenberg, half laughing, “not
exactly that—but a lodging, or a family might be found.
Suppose, for instance, that Madame Berger should have proposed
taking you, in case the Doctor have no objection, eh?”
“I am sure I have none,” said Hamilton, vainly endeavouring
to suppress a smile as he added, “she is one of the
prettiest little women I ever saw, and with time and opportunity
I have no doubt I shall fall desperately in love with
her. You will not be there to sustain me with your good
advice—and—a—but at least you will be answerable for the
consequences, as you will have led me into the temptation!”
“Good heavens! Not for all the world would I take such
a responsibility upon myself!” cried Madame Rosenberg,
// 403.png
.pn +1
with a look of amazement; “Lina, too, so giddy and thoughtless,
and the Doctor never at home! It would never do, I
see. But who would have imagined that you would think
of such a thing at your age!”
“I am just at the age to act more from impulse than
reason, and I consider you too much my friend not to speak
candidly to you. If Major Stultz were not so insufferably
jealous, you could make me over to Crescenz—my regard
for her is really of the most blameless description, and will
never be otherwise.”
“Oh, the Major would never listen to such a proposal.”
“Then I have no alternative but Havard’s—Havard’s or
your house,” he continued, taking her large hard hand and
pressing it fervently; “dear Madame Rosenberg, let me go
with you; I have a sort of presentiment that it is the only
means of keeping me out of mischief; besides, I can ride or
drive into Munich two or three times a week.”
“But I have no room for you,” she cried, with a look of
distress; for the earnestness of his manner had begun to
move her.
“You must make room for me,” urged Hamilton.
“And as to your horses and Hans——”
“Oh, I can easily find quarters for them in the neighbourhood.”
“You will have to sleep in a room without a stove——”
“I don’t want a stove in summer.”
“Well, then,” she said hesitatingly, “if you think that
you can be satisfied with the accommodation which I have
at my disposal, you can accompany us to the country.
Should our manner of living, or what I fear more, my
father, not suit you, you can leave us, you know; we will
part friends at all events.”
“Don’t talk or think of parting,” cried Hamilton, gayly.
“I am sure I shall find your father a most worthy person—we
shall get on famously together. When do you leave?
It will be quite delightful to breathe the country air. I
assure you I feel already impatient to be off.”
“On the 24th I purpose leaving Munich,” said Madame
Rosenberg, once more drawing her chair towards her scrutoire,
and beginning to count her little heaps of money.
“Are those Iron Works romantically situated?” asked
Hamilton.
// 404.png
.pn +1
“N—o. They are on the high road at the end of the
village; but there is a fine old oak wood quite close to us.”
“Ah! an oak wood,” repeated Hamilton, thoughtfully.
“We have also a garden and orchard behind the house;
the smoke from the forge indeed spoils the flowers greatly,
but there is an arbour under the trees where we can breakfast,
and drink coffee after dinner, in summer—the arbour is
quite covered with roses and honeysuckles.”
“Ah, that is delightful!” cried Hamilton, in vision imagining
himself sitting with Hildegarde in the rose and
honeysuckle arbour.
“But you are forgetting your appointment,” observed
Madame Rosenberg, who had been in vain endeavouring to
correct a fault in her reckoning.
“A civil way of telling me to leave you in peace,” said
Hamilton, laughing.
“Not at all, I assure you. If you have really no appointment,
I shall be glad to talk over my plans with you.”
“I had an appointment,” he said, looking at his watch,
“for which I am too late. I have another, for which I am
a few minutes too early.”
“A few minutes,” repeated Madame Rosenberg. “That
will never do for me. In your ‘few minutes’ I can only
inform you that you must go for a few days at least to
Havard’s, until I have got everything in order. Hildegarde
and the children I intend to pack off the day after
to-morrow.”
“Oh, pack me off, too, with Hil——with the children,”
cried Hamilton, eagerly. “I wish you would consider me
really as one of them.”
“Well, I am sure I have always done so since you have
been with me. Poor Franz often said I took great liberties
with you.”
“I cannot remember anything of the kind.”
“Why, have you forgotten the Sunday Fritz broke the
window in the drawing-room, when you were teaching him
to box?”
“I remember you boxed his ears, poor fellow, which he
certainly did not deserve, as he was not really the cause of
the mischief. It was I who pushed him against the window,
and, if I recollect right, both Mr. Rosenberg and I protested——”
// 405.png
.pn +1
“Yes, you protested, and that made me still more angry;
but if you don’t remember what I said to you, so much the
better. Franz said he believed you never heard it, as you
were laughing with Madame Berger, and I was afterwards
very sorry for having said so much, especially about the
rough English plays.”
Hamilton smiled. “I suppose,” he said, turning towards
the door, “Hans may pack up my chattels; you will send
me to the country with the children.”
“No, no, no,” cried Madame Rosenberg, hastily, “that
will never do; I must write to my father and explain. If
he knew the sort of person you are—he would never consent
to your becoming an inmate of his house!”
“Am I, then, so very disagreeable?” asked Hamilton.
“Quite the contrary—but you do not understand my
father. In short, it is better to tell you at once—why should
I be ashamed to say it? He was a common journeyman
smith—so extremely industrious, of such enormous strength,
and with so much talent for mechanics, that he made himself
not only useful, but altogether indispensable to my
grandfather, who, rather than lose him, gave him his
daughter in marriage. Our forge became in time an iron
work, and he is now the richest man far and wide. To see
him, you would not suppose so; he is neither changed in
manner nor dress——” Madame Rosenberg paused.
“Well?” said Hamilton.
“Well!” she repeated, a little impatiently. “It is plain
enough, I think, that such a man will not suit you—or you
suit him.”
“I don’t know that,” said Hamilton. “A man who has
turned a forge into an iron work, and who from having
nothing has become rich by honest means, must be possessed
of good sense and good talents, too. As to his appearance
or dress—a man’s coat——”
“That’s just what I am afraid of,” cried Madame Rosenberg.
“Do you think I attach much importance to a coat? I
assure you that I am determined to like your father with and
without a coat.”
“I will write him that, and it will at once put an end to
our difficulties, for if I say that he will never imagine you are
so fastidious——”
// 406.png
.pn +1
“I don’t quite understand——” said Hamilton with a
puzzled air.
“It would never do—you see—were we to inconvenience
him,” said Madame Rosenberg, “or force him to change his
mode of life. He likes to work and dine in his shirt-sleeves,
and is not over particular how his meals are served—this I
can change, perhaps, but against the shirt-sleeves I can do
nothing, and I know it is very vulgar; Franz told me so
often enough.”
“I have no sort of objection to his shirt-sleeves,” said
Hamilton, “provided he allow me to wear a coat. What
matter! If this be the reason why I should not go with
Hildegarde and the children the day after to-morrow, I think
you may waive all ceremony and tell your father that I
belong to the family. You have made an agreement to keep
me for six months longer.”
“This is a good idea,” said Madame Rosenberg, laughing.
“I will write to him to-morrow, and I dare say I shall have
an answer in a day or two.”
Hamilton perceived he had gained every concession he
could reasonably demand, and left the room quietly and
thoughtfully.
Hildegarde had prepared her brothers for their afternoon
walk, and was waiting with some indications of impatience
for his appearance. He had been forbidden to walk with
her, but had established a sort of right to be informed where
she intended to go—that he should ride near her, or at least
become visible during her walk, was a sort of tacit agreement.
“The Nymphenburg road,” cried Gustle, springing towards
him. “May I have one of your canes?”
“And may I, too, have one to ride upon?” asked Peppy.
“Yes,” said Hamilton, “Hildegarde will show you those
you may take.”
“Oh, come, Hildegarde,” cried Gustle, pulling her rather
roughly; “come and choose the canes for us. I must have
the little black one with the horse’s head on it.”
But Hildegarde showed no inclination to move.
“You were a long time in my mother’s room,” she said at
length, with some embarrassment.
“Not longer than was necessary to make her consent to
take me with her to the country. Oh, Hildegarde, what
pleasant walks we shall have in the oak wood, and how much
// 407.png
.pn +1
happier we shall be there than here. Were you ever at these
Iron Works?”
“Not since I was a child,” answered Hildegarde, smiling
as she had not smiled since her father’s death; “I remember
the noise of the hammers was incessant, and the house shook
a good deal, and the white window-curtains were very soon
soiled.”
“We shall get used to the hammers, I dare say,” said
Hamilton, laughing. “As to the house shaking, that must
be imagination; and the window-curtains can be easily
changed, you know.”
“But mamma said nothing in the world would induce her
to take you with us. How did you persuade her?”
“I can tell you all that when I return home. Excuse me
as well as you can, should I be late for supper. Good-by.”
“Where are you going?” asked Hildegarde.
He whispered a few words, and then hurried downstairs.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch35
CHAPTER XXXV. || THE DIFFICULTY REMOVED.
.sp 2
It was late in the evening, and Hamilton had not yet
returned. Madame Rosenberg began to get a little uneasy,
and very impatient, when fortunately Madame Berger arrived
to complain bitterly of her husband, who had declined receiving
Mr. Hamilton as an inmate of his house on any terms.
“He says I am too young—and he is too often absent—and
people might talk! Did you ever hear anything so absurd?”
“I believe he is right,” said Madame Rosenberg, “you are
too young——”
“I wonder it never occurred to you that your step-daughters
were still younger!” cried Madame Berger, glancing
towards Hildegarde, who was sitting at the window looking
into the street.
“The case is quite different,” said Madame Rosenberg;
“we are a large family, and where the father and mother are
in a house——”
// 408.png
.pn +1
“Pshaw!” cried Madame Berger, impatiently; “Cressy
liked him, for all that, better than she will ever like her
husband, I suspect!”
“Who told you that?” cried Madame Rosenberg, with a
look of amazement.
“My own eyes,” replied Madame Berger, with a slight
laugh; “and not Hildegarde,” she added, in answer to a look
of suspicion which Madame Rosenberg had cast on her step-daughter.
“Believe me, neither the presence of father nor
mother can prevent these things.”
“Crescenz is most happily married,” began Madame
Rosenberg.
“So am I—but I preferred Theodor Biedermann to the
Doctor, as you well know. You need not look so astonished
at hearing me speak the truth, Hildegarde. I vow one would
almost imagine you heard this for the first time! As if
Cressy had not betrayed me long ago, not to mention Mademoiselle
Hortense, who of course used me as a scarecrow for
the whole school! Excepting, perhaps, the dear, good old
Doctor,” she continued, “there is not one of my acquaintances
who does not know that I nearly cried my eyes out
about Theodor.”
“And is it possible you have not told Dr. Berger?” cried
Hildegarde, turning quickly round. “Did you not feel
bound in honour——”
“No, mademoiselle,” replied Madame Berger, sharply;
“I did not feel myself bound in honour deliberately to destroy
my domestic peace—I leave it to you to make such a
confession when you are going to be married, if you think
it necessary!”
“I am afraid Hildegarde is not likely to be married at all,
now that we are going to live at the Iron Works,” sighed
Madame Rosenberg. “The only neighbour we have is the
Förster, and he——”
“Lord bless you!” cried Madame Berger, “Hildegarde
would never look at a Förster if he were not by chance a
count or baron. Had Mr. Hamilton only been a Milor, she
would never have thought of quarrelling with him, I can
tell you!”
“Caroline!—madame!” exclaimed Hildegarde, with a vehemence
that made Madame Berger retreat a few steps from
the window, while she cried, with affected fear, “Good
// 409.png
.pn +1
heavens! I had no idea you could get into a passion about
him! And here he is,” she added, springing again to the
window as she heard the sound of a horse’s hoofs on the
pavement; “here he is, and I suspect there are few Milors
to be compared to him; he certainly is the handsomest
creature I ever saw! An ideal of an Englishman! Un
amour!”
“Lina!” said Madame Rosenberg, reproachfully, “you
must forgive my observing that this language is not proper
for a young married woman.”
“Ah, bah! as if I were serious! Have you forgotten
that you used to say I always spoke without thinking?
Now, Hildegarde there thinks without speaking, perhaps!”
“Not of Mr. Hamilton!” said Madame Rosenberg, “for
she did not even look out of the window at your amour, or
whatever you call him. Hildegarde, go and tell him we
have waited nearly two hours for him, that supper is ready,
and that I beg he will come just as he is, and not make an
evening toilet for once in a way.”
She had not time to deliver her message, for Hamilton
entered the room with unusual precipitation, and handed
Madame Rosenberg an enormous, ill-folded, long-wafered
letter.
“From my father!” she exclaimed, with surprise.
“Yes; he has no sort of objection to my accompanying
you to the Iron Works; he says you may take me instead
of Fritz.”
“A good idea,” cried Madame Berger, as she came from
behind the window-curtain; “it is, however, Mr. Hamilton’s,
and not your father’s.”
“It is in the letter, however,” said Madame Rosenberg,
eagerly perusing the inelegant specimen of penmanship;
“but I do not see anything about Hans or the horses.”
“Oh, I said nothing about them, they can go to the inn.”
“But we have a stable——” began Madame Rosenberg.
“I know you have, and a pair of stout greys in it. Your
father has promised me a lift into Munich every Saturday,
when he sends in his iron.”
“On the cart?” asked Madame Berger.
“Yes,” said Hamilton, “there are places for two on the
seat in front. The offer was very civil, considering the
shortness of our acquaintance.”
// 410.png
.pn +1
“It is a proof, at all events, that he has taken a great
fancy to you,” said Madame Rosenberg, with an air of great
satisfaction; “and as you wish to go with the children,
Hildegarde must arrange your room for you. Do you hear,
Hildegarde?”
“Yes, mamma.”
“I must give you a green curtain to hang up before the
alcove where the bedstead is to be put, and it will be nearly
as good as two rooms. You must make new muslin curtains
for the windows as soon as possible.”
“Your grandfather made most particular inquiries about
you,” observed Hamilton, turning to Hildegarde.
“He is not my grandfather; he is no relation whatever
of mine,” she answered in French, while her colour heightened
rapidly, and seemed to be reflected in Hamilton’s face,
which became crimson.
“I don’t understand French,” said Madame Rosenberg,
looking at them alternately; “but I think I can guess;
however, it is no matter—read this letter, Hildegarde; in it
you will find everything, and more than you could have
heard from Mr. Hamilton. My father is willing to act towards
you as a relation; do not, by an ill-timed exhibition
of pride, turn his kindly feelings towards you into dislike.”
She received the letter and the not undeserved rebuke in
silence; while Hamilton, to divert Madame Berger’s attention,
began a description of his meeting with Mr. Eisenmann,
of their discourse, and supper.
“It must have been delicious, the whole scene,” cried
Madame Berger; “I shall pay you a visit at the Iron
Works the very first day the Doctor can let me have the
horses.”
“Pray bring the Doctor with you when you come,”
said Madame Rosenberg, unconsciously glancing towards
Hamilton.
Madame Berger saw the glance, observed that Hamilton
laughed, and immediately inquired the cause. Madame
Rosenberg refused to tell her, and she appealed to Hamilton,
who immediately, with the most perfect composure, and
without the slightest reserve, repeated all the part of their
morning conversation which related to her. She seemed to
enjoy the recital and Madame Rosenberg’s face of horror
equally. “One thing is certain,” she said, when he had
// 411.png
.pn +1
ended, “had you been so many months in the same house
with me, as you have been with Hildegarde, we should
have——”
“You seem altogether to forget the Doctor,” said Madame
Rosenberg, interrupting her, almost angrily.
“To tell the truth, I sometimes do forget that I am married;
but Mr. Hamilton understands badinage perfectly, so
you need not look so shocked at my bavardage.”
“I wish you would speak German,” said Madame Rosenberg,
fidgeting on her chair; “you use so many French
words, that I cannot understand the half of what you say.”
“I believe I had better go home,” cried Madame Berger,
good-humouredly. “Allow me to hope you will be civiler to
me when I visit you in the country! Bon soir.”
“Good-night,” said Madame Rosenberg, dryly, without
making the slightest effort to detain her.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch36
CHAPTER XXXVI. || THE IRON WORKS.
.sp 2
In a few days, Hildegarde, the children, and Hamilton
were established at the Iron Works; her recollections proved
tolerably correct, the noise of the hammers was almost incessant,
not even ceasing during the night, and as the house
adjoined the Iron Works, it shook at times until the windows
rattled. Hamilton did not much notice the white curtains,
but from pure sympathy with Hildegarde, he regretted the
smuts which fell, flake-like, in the garden, and seemed destined
to rob the coming flowers of half their beauty. Old
Mr. Eisenmann was not a little proud of his garden, and
great was his satisfaction when he found Hildegarde willing
to assist him in cultivating it. The plants which most interested
Hamilton were the numerous cactuses which filled
all the windows in front of the house, and whose brilliant
flowers already made every passer-by stop to gaze at them.
Nothing could equal the old man’s delight on such occasions;
if the weather were warm enough, he generally opened the
window and related how he had managed his plants during
// 412.png
.pn +1
the winter, in order to make them blow so early, and it had
been Hamilton’s unaffected admiration of these cactuses, as
he had walked up to the house, which had formed the commencement
of their acquaintance.
During the fortnight which preceded Madame Rosenberg’s
arrival, Hamilton enjoyed the most unrestrained intercourse
with Hildegarde; he watched her making the coffee in the
morning, sat beside her at the open window looking into the
garden, and accompanied her in her walks with her brothers
in the oak wood; here there was a small chapel in which she
daily prayed, while Hamilton, leaning against the entrance,
stared absently at the votive offerings hung around, or endeavoured
to decipher the old German prayers, and texts of
Scripture, with which their inhuman illustrations were pasted
on the walls. The two boys generally scampered about, but
joined them when they sat down on one of the numerous
benches under the trees. Hamilton usually held a book in
his hand, out of which he sometimes read a few lines, especially
when any obtrusive wanderers made their appearance,
though on week-days, pilgrims to the little chapel, who
afterwards came to beg a few kreutzers, were the only interrupters
of their studies, meditations, or conversation, as the
case may have been.
“I wish,” he said, as they loitered through the fields on
their way home, the evening before Madame Rosenberg’s
arrival, “I wish I were certain of spending the next six
months as I have done the last fortnight. I cannot tell you
how I have enjoyed myself. Much as I like your step-mother,
and notwithstanding all her kindness and indulgence
to me, I dread her coming more than I can express. Everything
will be changed, and any change must diminish my
happiness.”
“You have nothing to apprehend but a removal of the
furniture in your room,” replied Hildegarde, with a quiet
smile; “but I cannot expect any longer to eat the bread of
idleness; I must learn to cook, and wash, and iron!”
“You will never be able to endure such work,” exclaimed
Hamilton.
“I shall try it for a few months at all events, and as long
as you are here,” she added, frankly, “I think I can bear it,
as your society and friendship will be an indemnity for most
annoyances.”
// 413.png
.pn +1
Hamilton’s expressions of gratitude she interrupted by
continuing, “After all, what shall I do more than girls in my
rank of life must always do? Even Crescenz, since her
marriage, has learned to iron. Did you not see her ironing
Major Stultz’s shirts when we went to take leave of her?”
“Yes, but he is her husband; and it was a mere ostentation
of usefulness on her part, for your mother told me she
need not do anything of the kind if she did not wish it.
Crescenz, however, does not appear misplaced when so employed,
but you——”
“Strictly speaking, I am not more misplaced than she is.
We have both received an education beyond our station in
the world. I have, perhaps, profited more by the instruction
bestowed on me than she has; but you must allow that she
has shown infinitely more capacity for the necessary duties
of life.”
“If it be her duty to iron her husband’s shirts,” answered
Hamilton, laughing, “I must say she performs it in the
most charming manner possible. Nothing could be more
coquettish than the black silk handkerchief twisted round
her head to prevent her from feeling the draught of air, or
the sleeves tucked up just enough to exhibit the dimples in
her white arms! I must say, Crescenz is perfectly aware of
all her personal advantages!”
“And who is not aware of them?” said Hildegarde, “or
rather who does not overrate them?”
“You do not, most certainly!” cried Hamilton. “I am
convinced you do not think——”
“That I am handsome?” said Hildegarde, interrupting
him quietly; “I know it perfectly well. You are shocked
at my candour,” she added, after a pause, on observing that
he continued silent; “it would have been more proper to
have disclaimed—but, after all, what worth have regular
features, when they are inanimate? And mine are so, I
know.”
“You are mistaken,” said Hamilton; “I have never known
anyone whose features have expressed so many various emotions
as yours have during the few months of our acquaintance.”
“That I have felt more than during the whole of my
previous life, is most certain,” she said, thoughtfully. “It
seems, then, I have not been able to acquire that composure
// 414.png
.pn +1
of mind and feature which Mademoiselle Hortense so often
told me would be essentially necessary for my happiness.”
“I am rather inclined to hate that Mademoiselle Hortense
without ever having seen her,” cried Hamilton; “I think
she wished to make an actress of you!”
“No, she wished to make a good governess of me, as my
step-mother desired her, and she saw that my pride and
violence of temper would prove serious obstacles. My gratitude
to her is unbounded for all her care and attention during
so many years. She is my only hope for the future too—on
her I depend to find me some respectable situation, should
my residence here become uncomfortable.”
“Have you ever seriously thought of taking such a step?”
“I believe I have talked more than thought on the subject.
One thing I have resolved upon, and that is, to go as far as
possible from home.”
“Should you like to go to a foreign country?”
“Foreign, as you understand the word—no, but I am not
likely to have the power of choosing. Mademoiselle Hortense’s
connections are all in Alsace, and my destination will
probably be Strasburg.”
They walked on in silence, each absorbed in thoughts of
no very agreeable description. As they drew near the house,
Mr. Eisenmann came to meet them, accompanied by the
Förster, who had begun to drop in regularly every evening,
to drink a glass of beer with the old man. Hamilton greatly
approved of the arrangement, as it left him at liberty to talk
unreservedly in English to Hildegarde, who, however, would
have preferred his absence, from the time that Hamilton had
made her observe that his eyes were fixed upon her incessantly,
and followed her wherever she went.
“This is the last evening you will be my housekeeper,
Hildegarde,” said Mr. Eisenmann, as she pushed his arm-chair
to the table, and placed his newspaper, which seemed
to contain nothing but advertisements, beside the small brass
lamp. “I can give you a good character, girl; you have a
way with you that has made the people here obey you at
once. She will make a good wife one of these days—eh, Mr.
Hamilton? Eh, Förster Weidmann?”
Hildegarde smiled, and continued to perform her different
evening duties. She gave her brothers their bread-and-milk,
assisted the awkward maid-servant to arrange the supper-table,
// 415.png
.pn +1
made the salad, carved the fowl, and presented each
his plate with such quiet unobtrusiveness, that her motions
were only apparent by the rustling of the large bunch of keys
she was to resign to her mother the next day, but which now
hung glittering in steel chains at her girdle à la châtelaine.
Hamilton had been agreeably surprised at finding Mr.
Eisenmann by no means so illiterate as he had expected.
On every subject relating to his trade he was perfectly well
informed, and in other respects his opinions were those of a
shrewd, intelligent man. He spent the greater part of each
day at the Iron Works, his hands thrust into his pockets, a
short and very brown meerschaum pipe between his teeth,
and his eyes following the movements of his workmen; and
sometimes, when provoked by their want of skill, or too
dilatory movements, after a few impatient ejaculations,
throwing aside his coat and working with them. In his
house, too, Hamilton had now frequently seen him in his
shirt-sleeves, without feeling any of the horror expected by
Madame Rosenberg; in the evening he generally mounted
a black silk nightcap, and when he had finished smoking his
pipe and drinking his tankard of beer, and the Förster had
taken leave, overcome by the fatigue of early rising and his
daily exertions, he usually fell fast asleep, leaving his two
companions to whisper, until the Scharwald clock struck nine,
when wakening without any apparent effort, he sent them to
bed, and retired for the night himself.
This evening—this last evening, as they choose to call it—the
Förster showed no inclination to move, and his eyes now
seemed to follow the motions of Hildegarde’s lips, as she
murmured an occasional sentence to Hamilton; he tried in
vain to join in their conversation, spoke of bringing his
zither, proposed teaching them to play it, if they desired,
and not finding either of them disposed to appreciate either
his conversational or musical talents, he turned to the now
drowsy old man, whom he contrived to waken completely by
some reference to the eternal “good old times.”
“Pray, Hildegarde, turn away from that man,” said Hamilton,
bending down to her, as she sat in one of the children’s
low chairs beside him; “as long as he can look at you he finds
it impossible to tear himself away—it is absolute cruelty—he
is depriving Mr. Eisenmann of his sleep this evening.
Unpardonably inconsiderate!” he added, almost angrily.
// 416.png
.pn +1
Hildegarde, without an attempt at deprecation, lit a taper,
and retiring to the other end of the room, where there was
a thin-legged rickety table, she took from a cupboard the
large house account-book, a hideous leaden ink-bottle, and a
well-worn pen, and began to add and subtract with a diligence
which would have put Hamilton’s temper to the proof,
had not the Förster almost directly stood up to take leave;
but the old man was now quite roused, and, moreover, disposed
to be loquacious; he let his visitor stand before him
in the awkward posture of a shy man, wishing to get away,
and not knowing how to manage it, while he observed:
“When people say the old times were good, and the present
times are bad, I always feel obliged to contradict them. No
offence, good Mr. Weidmann, but in my youth I have often
heard just the same thing said, and in those times as in
these, the greater part of mankind had to earn their bread
in ‘the sweat of their face.’”
“I suppose so, sir,” said the Förster, trying to move, but
restrained by the old man’s continuing to address him. “I
wish you a good-night.”
“All I know is,” resumed Mr. Eisenmann, addressing
Hamilton, “that Bavaria, of all the countries I have seen,
appears to me to be the happiest. Of England I know
nothing, excepting the manufacturing towns——”
“When were you there?” asked Hamilton.
“Soon after the peace—I went there on business.”
“And what did you think of England? I should like to
know what impression was made on you by our great manufacturing
districts?”
“I saw much to admire, but nothing to make me think
the English a happier people than the Bavarians,” replied
Mr. Eisenmann, with a low, satisfied laugh. “I would
rather have been born a smith here than there, for, besides
the instructions which I received for nothing in my childhood,
I had, during my youth, my Sunday and holiday pleasures,
my merry dances, and my pot of beer in good company, and
with good music, too, of an evening—and a lot of other
things of which your English workmen had not an idea
when I was amongst them. It may be different now——”
“I am afraid it is not,” said Hamilton; “but surely our
manufactories must have astonished you!”
“I should have understood very little of my business if
// 417.png
.pn +1
they had not,” replied Mr. Eisenmann. “In this respect
England is a giantess, but, like a giantess, ought to be
admired at a distance and not examined in detail.”
“I perceive,” said Hamilton, “that the people with whom
you associated have made an unpleasant impression on you.”
“Perhaps so, but I am inclined to think it was a correct
one. I mixed with people whose habits and mode of life
are, and will ever remain, totally unknown to you—it was
probably before you were born, too, and may, as I said
before, be quite different now—at all events it is too late to
talk more about it to-night; I must look after my workmen,
and then it will be time to go to bed.” He lit his candle
and walked towards an office which communicated with the
Iron Works.
“What a different person Mr. Eisenmann is from what I
expected!” observed Hildegarde.
“He is different from what I expected, too,” answered
Hamilton.
“I am beginning to have quite a respect for him,” she
continued, “in short, I think him a remarkably clever man.”
“You are always in extremes, Hildegarde—first you
unnecessarily underrated, and now you overrate him!”
“I suspect,” said Hildegarde, laughing, “you are annoyed
at his not thinking the English workmen happier than the
Bavarian; his remarks, however, appeared to me very intelligent;
he is quite willing to allow England her superiority
in manufactures, though not in the felicity of her lower
orders. For a person in his station of life, you must
allow——”
“Yes,” said Hamilton, “for a person in his station in life,
I do think him unusually well-informed and rational, but
what I find most to admire about him is, that he has not
stood still between his thirtieth and fortieth year, as most
men who are not actually moving in the world do, and
which I verily believe is the cause of those never-ending
praises of the good old times.”
“He is the first person,” said Hildegarde, “that I have
heard actually give the present times the preference to those
of his youth!”
“He has followed the changes of the world,” said Hamilton,
“and that is a proof of intellect less often given than
people imagine. Everybody’s youth must be, I should think,
// 418.png
.pn +1
more agreeable than their old age. The world is full of
pleasures for youth, which by degrees, slowly but surely,
even under the most fortunate circumstances, cease for the
aged. Happy those who, like Mr. Eisenmann, can understand
and appreciate the improvement in the world—still
more happy those who, when old, can find enjoyment in
witnessing pleasures in which they can no longer participate.”
“But there are some fortunate persons who never appear
to grow old,” said Hildegarde.
“Oh, don’t call them fortunate,” cried Hamilton; “age
must be felt by everybody, though by some it may be borne
cheerfully. Nothing is so disgusting as the affectation of
youth in an old person. I consider it a positive misfortune
to those who retain their youthful manners in old age! To
grow old with dignity is not so easy as people imagine—I
could write a pamphlet about it——”
“Pray do,” said Hildegarde, smiling, “I should like to
learn to grow old—I—who have never really felt what it
was to be young!”
“I am waiting to bid you good-night,” said Mr. Eisenmann
at the door. “This is the last time I shall go the
rounds, for I mean to resign my office to my daughter to-morrow—she
locked all the doors, and bolted all the windows,
for many a year before she was married!”
“He has just come in time,” said Hamilton, rising, “I
believe I was getting very prosy.”
“And I very melancholy,” said Hildegarde.
The old man bade them good-night, and watched them
gravely as they ascended the stairs and separated on the
lobby.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch37
CHAPTER XXXVII. || AN UNEXPECTED MEETING AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.
.sp 2
Madame Rosenberg took possession of her father’s
house more quietly than had been expected; he resigned
his keys and authority with a solemnity which quite subdued
her, and a whole week elapsed before any extraordinary
bustle was perceptible; at the end of that time a scrubbing,
// 419.png
.pn +1
and washing, and painting began, which drove the old man
to the neighbouring inn, and Hamilton into Munich, for
some days. It was very disagreeable, but certainly the
house appeared metamorphosed when it was at an end, and
no complaints were heard, excepting a few faint murmurs
from Mr. Eisenmann about the vine which was trained
against the front of the house being covered with whitewash.
Hildegarde, to her infinite satisfaction, was not obliged to
learn cooking—she had shown a too decided distaste and
want of talent; she became, however, a tolerably expert
ironer, and it was amusing to see Hamilton sitting, day after
day, beside the table covered with heaps of linen, a volume
of Schiller on the philosophy of Herder in his hand, reading
aloud, in order (as he explained to Madame Rosenberg) to
improve his German accent, about which his family had
become very anxious of late, and from which he concluded
they had some hopes of placing him at one of the German
courts; however, he did not feel particularly interested on
that subject, nor, indeed, on anything that had reference to
the future; he lived from day to day, reckoning the time
profitably or unprofitably spent, according to its having been
or not having been spent in Hildegarde’s society; he might
truly say with Proteus of Verona—
.pm verse-start
“I leave myself, my friends, and all for love.
Thou, Julia, thou hast metamorphosed me;
Made me neglect my studies, lose my time,
War with good counsel, set the world at nought—”
.pm verse-end
And three months passed like so many days, and three
more would have followed them in blissful monotony, had
not a circumstance, trivial in itself, led in its consequences
to an abrupt termination of this mode of life, or waste of
life—whichever the reader may consider it.
The Munich midsummer fair had commenced, and Madame
Rosenberg, not having found time in one day to make her
usual purchases, decided upon going a second; she put it off,
however, until the very last, and when the morning came
was suffering so much from headache that she was obliged to
remain at home. As they had promised to dine at twelve
o’clock with the Major, she thought it better to send Hildegarde
and Gustle, and though at first she insisted that they
were to go in their grandfather’s little old carriage, she at
// 420.png
.pn +1
length yielded to Hamilton’s remonstrances and entreaties,
and after he had passed a good half hour at her bedroom
door, making promises of the most varied description, allowed
them to drive with him, and be under his care during the
day.
Crescenz received them, as usual, with childish delight;
her greatest pleasure on such occasions was to astonish them
with a variety of tarts and sweetmeats, and they always
found it difficult to get away. On this day it was easier, for
she intended to accompany them to the fair. Blazius had
insisted on her buying some new muslin dresses, he was so
thoughtful, and so generous! In fact, they were a very
merry party; for Major Stultz had ceased to be jealous; his
wife now really liked him, and was more obedient than a
child; the thought of disputing his will had never entered
her mind, and she appealed to him in the most infantine
manner on every occasion, while, captivated by her beauty
and innocence, he was invariably indulgent and generous
almost to prodigality. She assured her sister, therefore, with
the most perfect sincerity, as they walked together through
the fair, that she considered herself the most fortunate
woman in the world, that she could never have been so
happy with anyone as with Major Stultz—no, not even with
Mr. Hamilton—Blazius had quite convinced her of that!
They loitered about nearly two hours, and Hamilton, unutterably
wearied, was slowly following Hildegarde, carrying
her various little parcels of ribbons and pins, until the arrival
of Hans with the carriage should relieve him, when he was
suddenly seized by both arms and familiarly addressed by
some persons behind him. They were two of his nearest
relations, passing through Munich on their way home from
Italy, and were evidently more glad to see him than he to
see them.
“Where have you been hiding yourself, Alfred? We
were at your supposed lodgings, and no one could tell us
anything about you. Any letters left would be called for,
which sounded very mysterious, as, had you left for Vienna
or Berlin, your letters would have been forwarded sans façon,
I suppose. Come, give an account of yourself. I shall be
asked a thousand questions, you know, when I go home—that
is, if you don’t accompany us, which you might as well
do, all things considered, and—Uncle Jack——”
// 421.png
.pn +1
No, Hamilton had no intention of returning home until
the very last day of his leave of absence had expired.
“Well, as we start in a day or two, you will spend the
evening with us at least?”
At this moment Hans appeared, and said, “the carriage
was ready.” Hamilton desired him to wait at the termination
of the booths, and then turning to his companions said,
with some embarrassment, “Spend the evening with you! oh,
of course; but I have promised to drive home a lady who
lives a little out of the town.”
“Oh, there’s a lady, is there?”
“Yes: she is at present with her sister, making some
purchases.”
“Ah, perhaps these are also some of them?” cried one of
his cousins, peeping with an affectation of extreme care into
one of the parcels; “ribbons, I declare, and hair-pins! ergo,
young—where is she?”
“I don’t—know,” replied Hamilton, looking down the row
of booths, at one of which Hildegarde was standing.
“It’s that tall girl with the small waist, I’m certain.”
“Well, it is that tall girl,” said Hamilton, half laughing;
“the sooner you let me go take her home, the sooner I shall
be back with you.”
“Let him go, let him go,” cried his other cousin; and
Hamilton, with an impatient gesture, walked quickly on,
followed at a little distance by both. He took a hasty leave
of Major Stultz and Crescenz, and hurried Hildegarde to the
end of the fair. Just as they were seated in the phaeton,
and Hamilton was taking the reins in his hand, his cousin
called out, “Hollo, Alfred! you never asked where we were
stopping. I think you are going to give us the slip!”
“You are at Havard’s, I suppose,” said Hamilton, not in
the least endeavouring to correct the impatient movements
of his horses.
“Yes. Wait a moment, I want to ask you a question.”
Hamilton bent down; his face, by degrees became crimson,
and he glanced furtively at Hildegarde, as if he feared she
might have overheard the whisper; but she, quite unconscious
that so many eyes were fixed upon her, was leaning
back, and absently twisting her purse round her fingers.
Hamilton drove off at a furious rate, but scarcely were
they out of the town, when, throwing the reins to Hans,
// 422.png
.pn +1
he stepped over the seat and placed himself beside Hildegarde.
“I am surprised,” she observed, with a smile, “that you
did not remain with your friends, and send us home with
Hans.”
“It would have been the wisest thing I could have done:
it was confoundedly stupid, my not thinking of doing so.
Stop!” he cried to Hans; but directly after, sinking back on
his seat, he added, “No—go on,” and then murmured, “it
is too late now. The best plan will be not to return. The
less he knows, the less he can talk about.”
Hildegarde bent forward. “Talk about what?” she asked.
“You cannot understand,” he answered, quickly.
“No: I perceive I cannot. I have not the most remote
idea whether or not you were glad to see these friends.”
“They are my relations, my cousins; and that one who
last spoke to me—did you observe him?”
“Not particularly.”
“That is Harry Waldcott, a great friend of my brother
John’s, the most amusing, worthless, extravagant fellow in
the world. Were he to find out where I am, he would come
to the Iron Works to-morrow, establish himself at the inn,
use my horses, abuse myself, laugh at your step-mother, bully
Mr. Eisenmann, and, for all I know, fall in love with you!”
“Dreadful person!” cried Hildegarde, laughing.
“As it is, he has seen enough—too much, unfortunately, I
think,” he continued, with increasing irritation of manner.
“I think I hear his exaggerations to my father, his insinuations
when talking to my uncle! No: he shall never know
where I am—nothing shall tempt me into Munich for a fortnight
at least!”
“You think, perhaps, that your father and uncle would
disapprove of your being at the Iron Works?”
“Think!” cried Hamilton, “I am sure of it. My father
would say I was losing my time; my uncle, that I was
making a fool of myself.”
Neither of them spoke a word until they reached home,
and Hamilton was remarkably thoughtful during the remainder
of the evening.
The next day he was as cheerful as ever; and having from
his window seen Hildegarde walking towards the arbour with
some paper and an ink-stand in her hand, he took up the
// 423.png
.pn +1
book they were reading together, and followed her. She had
just finished making a pen when he entered, and throwing it
on the table, she leaned forward and began, rather formally:
“Mr. Hamilton——”
“Pray, call me Alfred—I have long wished it, and we are
quite intimate enough to admit of your doing so. I called
you Hildegarde the first month I was in your house.”
“It is perhaps an English custom,” she said, half inquiringly.
Hamilton did not answer. The fact was, at the commencement
of their acquaintance he had considered both
Hildegarde and her sister so infinitely beneath him in rank
that he had almost immediately called them by their Christian
names.
“I suppose,” she continued, “if I know you well enough
to call you Alfred, I may venture to say——”
“You may venture to say anything you please.”
“Well, then—Alfred—I think the sooner you leave us—leave
the Iron Works—the better.”
“Do you?” he said, with a tolerably successful effort to
appear unconcerned. “I suppose what I said yesterday,
when I was vexed, has made you come to this conclusion.”
“Yes; and though I cannot perceive that you have
exactly been making a fool of yourself, I think it very
evident that you have been losing your time here.”
“I wish I could lose the remainder of my life in the same
way. I have been immeasurably happy lately.”
“You said your cousin would exaggerate—would insinuate——”
“Did you understand what I meant when I said that?”
cried Hamilton, quickly.
“I believe I did; and I half wished you had allowed him
to come here, and see that he was mistaken; he would soon
have perceived that your friends have no cause for anxiety—that
friendship alone exists between us.”
“He would have seen no such thing, Hildegarde, at least
as far as I am concerned, and that you know as well as I do.
That you have limited your measure of regard for me is a
proof—of—of—no matter what; I am most happy that it is
so.” And Hamilton felt at that moment as unhappy and
indignant as he had ever been in his life.
“Do you not think,” said Hildegarde, bending over the
// 424.png
.pn +1
table, as she played with the pen, “do you not think it
would be better to leave us before you are ordered to do so?”
“No,” answered Hamilton, almost harshly.
“But,” she continued, bending still lower, to conceal her
heightened colour, “but suppose I were not here, would you
still remain?”
“Can you doubt it?” cried Hamilton, ironically. “How
could I ever willingly quit this tranquil retreat? The pastoral
beauties of these grounds! The society in every way
so suited to my tastes and habits! The——”
“Enough, enough!” cried Hildegarde, seizing her pen,
and with burning cheeks, but steady hand, she rapidly
wrote a letter, while Hamilton, standing at the entrance,
watched her with an odd mixture of anger and admiration.
He waited until she had signed her name, and then
placing his hand on the paper, asked if the letter concerned
him.
“I might easily equivocate, and say no, as you are neither
directly nor indirectly mentioned in it; but that would not
be the truth. The letter is to Madame Hortense. I am
now quite resolved to leave——this place.”
“May I read it?”
“If you insist——”
He took the letter; it was in French, short and forcibly
written, as most letters are when composed under the influence
of excited feelings. Hamilton’s anger increased as
he read; her proud determination of manner irritated him
beyond measure, and, ashamed of the agitation which his
trembling hands betrayed, he first crushed and then tore it
to pieces.
“My letter!” cried Hildegarde, starting up with all her
former vehemence of manner. “How dare you——” she
stopped and sat down, breathing quickly and audibly.
“You are in a passion,” said Hamilton.
“I was,” she replied, taking a long breath; “it is
over.”
“Oh, no; be angry, I entreat; say—do something outrageous
or I can have no hope of forgiveness. We have
changed characters; you have learned to control your anger,
and have me now in your power; be merciful!”
“Rather tell me to be candid,” she replied, rising;
“writing that letter in your presence was an unnecessary
// 425.png
.pn +1
display of self-control; I was not so calm as I wished you
to suppose me.”
“Well, you certainly are the most honourable——”
“Don’t praise me,” she said, hastily; “I cannot listen to
you when I am so dissatisfied with myself. I fancied my
temper was corrected; I find it has merely not been tried.”
“Your temper is a very good one,” said Hamilton. “That
you doubt yourself, and are on your guard, is rather an
advantage than otherwise. I always have been considered
so good-tempered, that when I feel angry it never occurs to
me to conceal it, and the consequence is that you have seen
me forget myself more than once.”
Just then Madame Rosenberg entered the garden, holding
a very diminutive note in her hand. “I am come,” she said,
“to remind you of a promise which you made to a lady, I
hope with the consent of her husband.”
“I don’t know any lady likely to remind me of a promise,
excepting, perhaps, Madame Berger.”
“Exactly; the Doctor will not be at home to-morrow,
and as the weather is so fine she proposes spending the day
here.”
“Well,” said Hamilton.
“Well, and Crescenz and the Major write to know if you
will take them also in your phaeton when you drive into
Munich for Lina.”
“Oh, certainly,” said Hamilton, laughing; “it was to
Crescenz I made the offer, and it was Madame Berger who
accepted it. You may remember, Hildegarde, the beginning
of the month, when we all went to drink coffee at the Stultzs’,
and had such excellent ices afterwards. I wonder they did
not say anything yesterday when we were with them.”
“I suppose,” observed Madame Rosenberg, “that they
saw Lina after you left; but at all events you will go for
them?”
“Yes, and at a very early hour.”
“Oh, of course,” she cried, nodding her head jokingly;
“that means at ten o’clock, I suppose.”
“It means at five o’clock.”
“Ah, bah! as if you could get up at four!”
“I can and will. Crescenz must give me breakfast, and I
hope to be out of Munich before seven, for various reasons!”
“The dust, perhaps!”
// 426.png
.pn +1
“Dust or dirt,” said Hamilton, carelessly. “If Madame
Berger cannot leave so early, we can send Hans with the
carriage at a later hour; though I would rather she would
stay at home as far as I am concerned.”
“I cannot believe that,” said Madame Rosenberg, “for I
never saw you get on with anyone as you do with her; if I
were the Doctor I would not allow it.”
“Nor I either, if I were the Doctor,” said Hamilton,
laughing; “but he is not, perhaps, aware that her usual
vivacity degenerates into romping when she is here, and she
is much too young and much too pretty for anyone to expect
that I——”
“Oh, after all there is no great harm; you only scamper
about like a pair of children, but I should not like to see
either Crescenz or Hildegarde doing the same.”
Hamilton looked at Hildegarde; there was something in
the expression of her face which made him imagine that
she, perhaps, had not quite approved of the scampering
about of which her mother spoke.
“Am I to write an answer to this note?” she asked, as she
took it out of Madame Rosenberg’s hand.
Her mother nodded her head, and left the garden. Hildegarde
wrote, and Hamilton again leaned against the
entrance of the arbour and looked in.
“Are you waiting for this letter too?” she asked, smiling.
“I was not thinking of it,” he replied. “I want to know
if you, at least, believe that I would rather Madame Berger
did not come here to-morrow?”
Hildegarde began to scribble on the blotting paper with
great diligence.
“I see you do not believe me.”
“I do, partly, especially if you think you must be quieter
than on former occasions, now that mamma has remarked
it. The fact is, I think Lina altogether to blame, and I
have often admired your forbearance.”
“Thank you,” cried Hamilton, “I am quite satisfied
now.”
“Do not be quite satisfied with yourself,” said Hildegarde,
“for I must tell you honestly that I am quite disposed to be
unjust to Lina; more than ready to put an unkind construction
on all she does or says.”
“Why?” asked Hamilton, with a blush of pleasure, as a
// 427.png
.pn +1
faint vision of the “green-eyed monster” approaching Hildegarde
floated before his imagination. “Why?”
“Because I dislike her. We waged war with each other
for nearly ten years.”
“Ah, I remember, she told me you were rival beauties at
school.”
“There was no rivalry on my part,” said Hildegarde
quietly; “I never hesitated to acknowledge her beauty: it is
of the most captivating description, and even when she is
most disagreeable to me I admire her person.”
“You dislike her mind—her disposition, which is so
different from yours,” said Hamilton.
“I cannot tolerate her want of truth and honour; her, to
me, unfathomable cunning. In one word, I despise her.”
“You have been at no pains to conceal it,” observed
Hamilton.
“There was no necessity,” said Hildegarde, beginning to
fold up her note; “but,” she added, “you must not let my
opinion weigh with you; you know I have strong, and often
unreasonable, prejudices. At all events, Lina’s faults are not
of a description to prevent one from passing a long summer’s
day very agreeably in their society.”
“She is certainly an amusing person,” said Hamilton.
“She is clever,” said Hildegarde, gathering up her writing
materials to carry into the house; “no one can deny that she
has intellect; at school there were few to be compared to her.”
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch38
CHAPTER XXXVIII. || THE EXPERIMENT.
.sp 2
The morning was bright and still cool, though promising
a sultry day, as Hamilton prepared to leave the Iron Works.
To the astonishment of Madame Rosenberg, it was so early,
that she was obliged to wish him good-morning from one of
the windows, her nightcap yet on her head. Hildegarde was
standing before the horses, giving them lumps of sugar,
which they had learned to expect from her, and looking so
// 428.png
.pn +1
fresh and beautiful that Hamilton began to grudge the few
hours which civility required him to absent himself from her.
Kneeling on the seat of the phaeton, he looked up towards
Madame Rosenberg, and asked if it would not do just as
well if he sent the carriage with Hans?
“Lina Berger will never forgive you,” she answered from
the window.
“Dear Crescenz will expect you to breakfast,” said Hildegarde,
pushing away the head of one of the horses which
had been resting on her arm, “I am sure she has already
arranged all her prettiest cups and saucers for you—don’t
forget to admire them.”
Hamilton drove off. He found Crescenz not only waiting
for him, but with her head stretched far out of the window,
watching for his arrival. She ran to meet him, exclaiming,
“How good-natured of you to come on so short a notice, and
so early too! Blazius is not dressed—he is so lazy in the
morning—he never gets up until past six! We shall not
wait breakfast for him, however. Which cup do you choose?”
“I don’t know,” said Hamilton, thoughtfully. “This is
the largest, but that is the prettiest—I think I must have
both, first this and afterwards that one.”
Crescenz laughed; and between the history of her cups,
and a discussion about her new half-mourning, the time
passed until her husband made his appearance to eat a hearty
breakfast, for he was quite as anxious as Hamilton to leave
Munich early, he so very much disliked both heat and dust.
They called for Madame Berger: she was dressed in the very
extreme of fashion, and bounded lightly up to the seat
beside Hamilton.
“Let me see how your horses can step out,” she cried,
while leaning back to offer Crescenz her little, tightly gloved
hand.
Hamilton was quite willing to gratify her, his horses ready
to second him; at that early hour the road was but little
encumbered by carts or carriages, and past the few they met
the phaeton rolled with a velocity that made Madame Berger
laugh so heartily, that poor Crescenz’s stifled screams were
for some time inaudible. At length Major Stultz spoke:
“Mr. Hamilton, may I beg of you to drive a little slower—Crescenz’s
nerves are not in a state to bear——”
“Why, good gracious, Crescenz!” exclaimed Madame
// 429.png
.pn +1
Berger, “you don’t mean to say you are frightened? Mr.
Hamilton drives so well that there is not the slightest danger.”
“Oh, no; I dare say not,” said Crescenz.
“I should not be afraid,” continued Madame Berger, “if
it were night, and pitch dark into the bargain!”
“How very courageous!” observed Crescenz, timidly.
In the meantime, Hamilton endeavoured to “draw in his
flowing reins,” but——
.pm verse-start
“a generous horse
Shows most true courage when you check his course.”
.pm verse-end
.ni
His horses were no longer to be restrained, and their impatient
springing and dancing alarmed Crescenz more than
ever. At length she could endure it no longer; and when
little more than half way, insisted on getting out of the
phaeton; and Hamilton had the mortification of seeing her
take her husband’s arm, and with a look of infinite relief,
begin to walk off as fast as she could.
.pi
“You always lead me into mischief of some kind or other!”
cried Hamilton, provoked at Madame Berger’s laugh of
derision. “I shall keep out of your way as much as I can
the rest of this day!”
“You will do no such thing,” she answered, saucily.
“Those two fools trudging along the road there only live for
each other at present—Hildegarde will not talk to me, and I
have not the slightest intention of spending the day with
either Madame Rosenberg, who lectures me about my duties
towards the Doctor, or old Mr. Eisenmann, who talks of
nothing but cactuses and iron! If you don’t mean to be
civil to me, turn back and leave me at home again.”
“Civil! oh, I have every intention of being civil, but I
would rather avoid such scenes as we had the last day you
were with us; I was obliged to explain and excuse——”
“And who has a right to demand an explanation, I should
like to know? Hildegarde, perhaps?”
“No,” answered Hamilton, colouring; “it was Madame
Rosenberg, who seemed to think——”
“Never mind what she thinks, we mean no harm, and I do
not see why we should not amuse ourselves; but I must tell
you something which I observed the last time I was with
you—Hildegarde certainly does not like our being such good
friends!”
// 430.png
.pn +1
“I don’t think she cares.”
“You don’t know her as well as I do. Without particularly
caring for you, she may—in fact she must, have become
accustomed to your attentions—for who else have you to
talk to? Now, any lessening of the homage one has been
used to is sure to irritate—should you like to make her
jealous?”
“Jealous!” repeated Hamilton, and he thought of what
had occurred the day before in the garden. Could he in any
way provoke her jealousy, he should be able perhaps to judge
of the state of her feelings towards him; if, as she professed,
but which he could not quite believe, friendship was really
all she felt for him, why then, the magnanimous plans, the
colossal sacrifices he had lately so often meditated, would be
thrown away, and he might after all share the fate of Zedwitz.
Here was an opportunity of making the trial, without
committing either Hildegarde or himself. The temptation
was strong to make the experiment, and he again repeated,
very thoughtfully, the word “Jealous!”
“Yes, jealous; jealous of your allegiance. She will at
first think I am to blame, but you must show her the contrary.
You——”
“Stay,” cried Hamilton, “what will Madame Rosenberg
say?”
“No matter what; I shall give her no opportunity of lecturing
me. She is too good-natured to tell the Doctor, and
Biedermann will never hear anything about the matter.”
“Biedermann?”
“Yes, Theodor; he would be much more angry than the
Doctor, I suspect.”
“But what right has he——”
“Oh, none in the world; but, you see I have got accustomed
to his attentions, and cannot do without them—he is
enormously prosy sometimes—but then he loves me; even
when he is scolding I can observe it, and attribute half his
lectures to jealousy. One likes a little sentiment sometimes,
you know, and once accustomed to these sort of petit soins,
it is impossible to resign them without an effort, of which I
confess I am incapable; I should die of ennui.”
“But,” said Hamilton, “do you not think there is danger
in a connection of the kind?”
“Danger! not the least. He knows that I loved him
// 431.png
.pn +1
formerly in a foolish, girlish sort of way, and had we been in
England, I have no doubt we should have gone off together,
and been miserable for life. The Doctor is a very kind, indulgent
husband, but he has not time to be attentive, and as
I have no family to occupy my time, I require someone to
talk to, and amuse me. Theodor is well educated, clever,
honourable, and all the sermons of my relations and friends
together will not make me give him up. The world may
talk, and perhaps condemn me—I care not, for I know that
I never have done, and never mean to do anything wrong.”
“And,” said Hamilton, “if Biedermann were to marry?”
“Not very probable for many years; but if he were, I
should find someone else. You, for instance, would suit me
very well, if you were likely to remain here; though I am
afraid I should find you troublesome.”
“I am afraid you would,” said Hamilton, as he drew up
his horses before the Iron Works.
Hildegarde ran out expecting to see her sister; her disappointment
changed into surprise when she heard what had
occurred, and she said at once that she would go to meet
her. Perhaps she expected Hamilton to accompany her, but
he either was, or pretended to be, too much occupied with
Madame Berger to hear what she said, and she set out alone.
More than an hour elapsed before Crescenz, Major Stultz,
and Hildegarde appeared, all a good deal overheated, for the
day had already become warm. They joined the others in
the garden, and began to saunter up and down the narrow
gravel walks, or to seek the shade under the apple-trees in
the orchard. Mr. Eisenmann immediately gathered a bunch
of fresh roses for Crescenz, and Madame Berger, turning to
Hamilton, desired him to bring her some also.
“I don’t know whether or not I can obey you,” he answered,
laughing; “I have been forbidden to pull flowers
without leave, ever since the day I beheaded some scores of
roses with my riding-whip.”
“Your punishment is at an end,” said Hildegarde, smiling:
“I am glad to perceive you have not forgotten it;”
and, as she spoke, she pulled a half-blown rose and gave it
to him.
“Ah! that is just the one I was wishing to have,” cried
Madame Berger, holding out her hand.
“You shall have another, but not this one,” said Hamilton.
// 432.png
.pn +1
“That, and no other,” cried Madame Berger; and after
some laughing and whispering, he gave her the flower.
Hildegarde was surprised, although, by a sort of tacit
agreement, she and Hamilton usually avoided any exhibition
of their intimacy or friendship when Madame Berger was
present; the latter continued, “I have an odd taste, perhaps,
but my favourite flower is the common scarlet geranium. I
do not see one here.”
“The only plant I had,” said Mr. Eisenmann, “I gave to
Hildegarde, and she gave it to Hamilton to put on his flower-stand.”
“Oh, if it belongs to you,” said Madame Berger, with a
light laugh, “I must have a branch of it directly,” and she
bounded into the house as she spoke.
“This is too much,” cried Hamilton, running after her.
A minute or two afterwards a violent scream was heard from
his room, of which both windows were open.
“Shall we go and see what has happened?” whispered
Crescenz to her sister.
“No, it is better to leave them alone.”
“Lina is growing worse and worse every day,” said Crescenz.
“Blazius does not at all like my being with her, since
people have begun to talk so much about her.”
“What do people talk about?”
“They say that Mr. Biedermann is now constantly with
her; never out of the house. In fact——”
At this moment Hans ran past them towards a shed, at
the end of the orchard, where garden utensils and flower-pots
were kept, and having taken one of the latter, was returning
to the house, when Crescenz asked what had happened.
“I don’t exactly know, ma’am; I believe Mr. Hamilton
put a geranium on the top of the wardrobe, and Madame
Berger, in trying to take it down, let it fall, and it is broken
to pieces.”
“The pot or the plant?” asked Hildegarde.
“Both, I believe, mademoiselle,” answered Hans, hurrying
into the house.
“How long is she likely to remain with him upstairs?”
asked Crescenz.
“Until dinner-time, perhaps,” answered Hildegarde, carelessly;
“he has got a number of paintings on china and
// 433.png
.pn +1
new books to amuse her. But now you must come and see
what a quantity of work I have done lately; you have no
idea how useful I can be; even mamma praises me sometimes!”
The afternoon amusement was, as usual, a walk in the
oak wood. Hamilton and Madame Berger soon wandered
away from the sisters, and after waiting for their return
more than an hour near the little chapel, Hildegarde and
Crescenz began to walk home. “Well, Hildegarde, what do
you think of this?” asked the latter, looking inquiringly at
her sister’s grave countenance.
“Nothing,” she replied quietly.
“So Blazius was quite mistaken, it seems; he said that
Mr. Hamilton has long liked you, and that you were beginning
to like him.”
“He was quite right,” said Hildegarde, “we do like each
other very much, especially since my father’s death; he was
so very kind at that time.”
“Blazius said it was more than mere liking. Now if you
cared for him as Blazius supposed, his conduct to-day must
vex you, you could not help feeling jealous.”
“I have no right.”
“Oh, one never thinks of right on such occasions,” said
Crescenz, smiling; “I remember the time I used to suffer
tortures whenever he whispered and laughed with Lina.
There was a time, too, when I could not have endured his
preferring you to me, but now——”
“Now?” repeated Hildegarde, inquiringly.
“Now, I don’t think about him, and I like Blazius so
much that I never think of comparing them. Mr. Hamilton
is certainly very handsome, but, as Blazius says, one gets
so accustomed to good looks, that at last it makes no impression
at all. By the by, how improved Peppy is since he
has been in the country,” she added, as the child ran to
meet her; “I declare he will be quite as handsome as Fritz—it
is impossible not to like such noble-looking creatures.
I must say they are both a thousand times more lovable
than Gustle, who promises to be extremely plain, and not in
the least like either of us.”
Hildegarde smiled at the discrepancy between the commencement
and end of her sister’s speech, but took no notice
of it, and they spent the rest of the day in the arbour, talking
// 434.png
.pn +1
over their school adventures, Crescenz’s house affairs, and
Hildegarde’s plans for the future.
Hamilton and Madame Berger did not return until just
before supper-time; they entered into no explanation, and
made no excuses; the latter merely observed, when arranging
her hair in Hildegarde’s room, “I really never spent
a pleasanter day; Mr. Hamilton is positively charming—quite
a love. I must not forget to wear the wreath of ivy
he took such trouble to choose for me,” and, while speaking,
she twisted a long light branch with its deep green leaves
among the tresses of her fair hair, and pushing back with
both hands the mass of ringlets which covered her face, bestowed
a glance of satisfied vanity on the looking-glass, and
flourishing her pocket handkerchief left the room.
“I never saw Lina look so pretty as she does to-day,” observed
Hildegarde.
“And do you really not feel angry with her?” asked
Crescenz, as she put her arm around her sister’s waist, and
they began to descend the stairs together.
“Angry with her for having taken a long walk with Mr.
Hamilton?”
“Ah, bah! you know very well what I mean.”
“No, dear Crescenz, I am not in the least angry,” whispered
Hildegarde, with a gay laugh, as she entered the room
where the others were just placing themselves at table.
Hamilton looked up, and beheld her clear brow and cheerful
smile with painful uncertainty; Madame Berger bent towards
him, and whispered “You were right.”
“How? when?”
“She does not care a straw for you. I never believed it
until to-day.”
Hamilton bit his lip, and slightly frowned.
“Oh, don’t be annoyed about it; you cannot expect to
succeed with all the world, you know. I suppose, having
nothing else to do here, you have given yourself some trouble
to please her, and it is disagreeable to find one’s self mistaken;
but you may remember I told you long ago that she
would exact a kind of love which few men are capable of
feeling; a sort of immaculate devotion not to be expected
from your sex, now that the times of knighthood are passed.
She will never, in these degenerate days, find anyone to love
her as she imagines she deserves.”
// 435.png
.pn +1
“And yet,” said Hamilton, “she has so little personal
vanity.”
“That I consider one of her greatest defects. What is a
woman without personal vanity? Avoid during the rest of
your life all who have not, at least, a moderate quantity of
it; without it we are abnormous, unnatural, and it is impossible
to know how to manage us.”
“You have really given me a great deal of information
to-day,” said Hamilton, laughing; “a few walks with you,
and I should become a perfect tactician.”
“If you choose, however, to try Hildegarde further,” said
Madame Berger, “you must manage it yourself. She may
think you now, for all I know, a victim to my arts and wiles,
and more worthy of pity than anger.”
Partly from pique, partly because he was amused, Hamilton
devoted himself altogether to Madame Berger for the
rest of the evening. He drew his chair beside hers after
supper, and they continued together in the little dark parlor,
even after all the family had withdrawn to enjoy the long
warm July evening in the garden.
It was almost night when Crescenz came timidly into
the room, and in an embarrassed manner said that she was
too much afraid of Mr. Hamilton’s horses to drive home
with him, and that Mr. Eisenmann had offered his carriage——
“His cart, my dear, you mean,” said Madame Berger, interrupting
her, without moving a feature of her face. “I
recommend you to have a few bars of iron laid at the back,
the horses will be all the quieter; they are accustomed to
the sound, you know.”
“I—I thought,” said Crescenz, “that you would, perhaps,
prefer going home with me instead——”
“Oh, not at all, my dear; I would not separate you and
Major Stultz for the world; besides, I am not in the least
afraid either of Mr. Hamilton or his horses. You see,” she
added, turning to Hamilton, “I take it for granted that you
will leave me at home.”
“Of course. I am only sorry,” said Hamilton to Crescenz,
“that you will not go with us; I can almost promise
that the horses will be quieter than in the morning.”
“Thank you,” said Crescenz, rather stiffly, “but even if
they were I should now decline your offer, as Lina has
// 436.png
.pn +1
shown so plainly that she does not wish for my company, or,
indeed, for anyone’s excepting yours.”
“I am overpowered at the severity of your remarks,”
cried Madame Berger, catching her arm, with a light laugh;
“how fortunate that the darkness hides my blushes. I say,
Cressy,” she added, in a lower voice, “is it for yourself or
for Hildegarde that you have entered the lists?”
“I—I—don’t understand you,” said Crescenz, releasing
her arm, and hurrying out of the room.
“Order your carriage,” said Madame Berger, turning
back for a moment to Hamilton: “order your carriage as
soon as possible, or I shall get a lecture from Madame Rosenberg,
and I am not in a humour for anything of the kind
just now.”
The carriages were at the door together. “Hans may
drive,” cried Hamilton, springing into the phaeton after
Madame Berger; and as long as they were in sight he
seemed to be wholly occupied with the arrangement of her
shawl.
“Hildegarde! Hildegarde! where have you hidden yourself?”
cried Madame Rosenberg, about an hour afterwards,
and a voice from the very end of the orchard answered,
“Here, mamma, I am coming directly;” but even while
speaking, Hildegarde turned again, and with folded arms
and lingering steps continued her sentinel-like walk.
The next day Hamilton felt very uncertain whether or
not he had acted wisely. Hildegarde was so upright and
free from coquetry herself that he feared she would not
easily understand his motives were he, in exculpation, to explain
them; and even if he made them evident, she would
condemn them. He met Madame Rosenberg on his way to
breakfast; heard the half-joking, half-serious expostulations
he had expected, and replied to them as usual, with a mixture
of petulance and impertinence.
He approached Hildegarde, hoping sincerely that he
should find her angry, or at least offended, but all his efforts
to discover anything of the kind failed; she was, perhaps, a
little less cheerful than usual, but not enough to admit of
his questioning her. Before dinner she received a letter;
the handwriting was unknown to him, but though burning
with curiosity to know from whom it came when he saw her
unusual trepidation on receiving it, he dared not ask her,
// 437.png
.pn +1
though he would not have hesitated to have done so the day
before. In the afternoon, when he expected her to walk,
she sent Gustle to tell him that she had a long letter to write,
and could not go out. The next few days she chose to assist
her mother in preserving fruit, and then appeared an interminable
quantity of needlework to be done. Hamilton felt
the change which had taken place in their intercourse without
being able to cavil at it. He felt that he was to blame,
but he nevertheless got out of patience, and began to drive
into Munich every day. No one seemed to think he could
be better employed, and many and various were the commissions
given him by different members of the family.
One day, just as he was telling Hildegarde that he should
not return until late at night, as he intended to go to the
opera, Madame Rosenberg entered the room; she held in her
hand a silver hair-pin of curious filigree work, and exclaimed
rather triumphantly, “Well, here is Lina Berger’s silver pin,
after all; not found in the garden, where she said she lost it,
but in your room, under the wardrobe. Monica saw it when
she was scouring the floor.”
“Very likely,” said Hamilton; “Madame Berger mounted
a chair to get at my scarlet geranium, which I hoped to have
placed out of her reach on the top of the wardrobe; by
making a spring she caught the flower-pot, but descended on
the edge of the chair, which fell with her to the ground. I
was greatly alarmed, as after the first scream of fright she
became unusually quiet, and although she said she was not
hurt, she lay on the sofa without moving or opening her eyes
long after I had transplanted my poor geranium, and
mourned over it,” he added, looking towards Hildegarde.
Madame Rosenberg laughed. “That was a trick to prevent
you from scolding her about the plant, which she saw
you rather valued.”
“Perhaps it was,” said Hamilton, colouring, “and I never
suspected it.”
“Well, you can tell her your present suspicions to-day
when you give her the hair-pin, you know;” and she held it
towards him as she spoke.
“I never go to Madame Berger’s,” said Hamilton, and he
was glad to be able to say so, “but if you choose to give it
to Hans, he can leave it at her house when I go to the
theatre.”
// 438.png
.pn +1
“Hildegarde, make a little parcel of it, and write her a
line,” said Madame Rosenberg.
Hildegarde took her brother Gustle’s pen, and on a leaf
of his copy-book wrote her a few severe words, which not
even the usual “dear Lina,” or the schoolfellow tutoiment
could soften.
Hamilton smiled, and unconsciously pulled his glove towards
his wrist until he tore it. “These are the worst gloves
I have ever had,” he cried, impatiently throwing them on
the table; “that is the second pair I have spoiled to-day.”
“The gloves seem to be very good,” observed Madame
Rosenberg, taking them up, “and as they are a very pretty
colour, Hildegarde may as well mend them for you, but while
she is doing so you must seal and direct this parcel to Lina,”
and leaving them thus employed she walked out of the
room.
“Permit me,” said Hamilton, half jestingly, a few minutes
afterwards, as Hildegarde returned him the gloves, “permit
me to kiss your hand;” and then he added, “this seals our
reconciliation I hope?”
“We have had no quarrel, and require none,” answered
Hildegarde.
“Yet you have been displeased—angry with me—have
you not?” asked Hamilton.
“I have had no cause—I have no right——”
“But you know what I mean?”
“I think I do,” replied Hildegarde, half smiling, and
quite blushing.
“And what did you suppose were my motives? What
did you think of me?”
“I thought, after all your professions of regard for me,
you might have waited until you reached England before
you began a new—flirtation.”
“Then you were a little—a very little jealous, perhaps?”
“I think not—I hope not,” said Hildegarde, quickly, “for
it would be very absurd, most ridiculous. In fact,” she
added, frankly, “I did not care how much you devoted yourself
to Lina, until I perceived that you wished me to observe
it.”
“I did wish you to observe it. I hoped to have elicited
some spark of feeling from you in that way, after having
failed in all others.”
// 439.png
.pn +1
“And Lina Berger was the person chosen as assistant—as
confidant, perhaps?”
“I had nothing to confide. I have never made any secret
of my feelings towards you.”
“So you wished to show Lina Berger and everyone else
what you supposed were my feelings towards you? It was
an ungenerous intention, Mr. Hamilton, all things considered,
as any weakness on my part would have merely served to
give you a useless triumph; but,” she added, with heightened
colour, “I am not offended, not in the least angry with you—or
jealous; and for the short time we are likely to be now
together, I hope we may be as good friends as we have been
for the last few months. The whole affair is really not worth
talking about.”
“I hope, however, you do me the justice to believe me
perfectly indifferent to Madame Berger?”
“About as indifferent as she is towards you. You flatter
each other, and vanity draws you together.”
“And you do not mind our being drawn together?”
“Not in the least,” said Hildegarde, composedly.
“I believe you, I believe you. I am thoroughly convinced
of your indifference, and require no further proof. I am
sorry for it, but—perhaps it is all for the best.” At the door
he turned back, and added, “We have not quarrelled, Hildegarde?
we are friends at least?”
“Friends! oh, certainly, though ever so far apart,” answered
Hildegarde, with a forced smile. “One so poor in
friends as I am grasps even at the name.”
Hamilton noiselessly closed the door, and she bent over
her work until some large tears began to drop on it, and a
choking feeling in her throat induced her to go to the open
window, where she leaned out as far as the numerous plants
would permit, and gazed long into the orchard without distinguishing
a single object that lay before her.
// 440.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch39
CHAPTER XXXIX. || THE RECALL.
.sp 2
About a fortnight after the foregoing events, as Hamilton
was one morning sitting listlessly in the arbour at the end of
the garden, Hildegarde came towards him carrying a large
packet of letters, which Hans had just brought from Munich.
As she placed herself beside him he looked at the different
handwritings, and murmured, “My sister Helen—my father—John,
and—from Uncle Jack, too! With what different
feelings should I have received these letters a short time
ago! Don’t go away, Hildegarde; I have no intention of
making you any reproaches or speeches, and I may, perhaps,
want your advice about fixing the day of my departure.”
She sat down on the steps leading into the arbour, leaned
her elbow on her knee and her head in her hands, and remained
perfectly immovable for more than half an hour.
She was not musing on the past, or thinking of the future;
she heard her heart beat distinctly, and would, perhaps, have
endeavoured to count its throbs had she not felt irresistibly
compelled to listen to a most inharmonious and lamentable
ditty sung by the cook as she scoured her kitchen furniture
near an open window. Some vague ideas of the happiness
of those whose thoughts never soar beyond the polishing of
pots and pans, or the concocting of meats within them,
floated through her mind; and then appeared a vision of a
nunnery garden, with very green grass and long gravel
walks; and then Hamilton rustled the paper of his letters,
and she expected him to speak, and when he did not she
again listened to the monotonous song, and wondered if it
had no end.
The song continued, but she ceased to hear it, for Hamilton
spoke at length, and she turned round to answer him.
“These letters contain the recall I have been expecting,”
he said, folding them up, “and also a large sum of money
for my journey, more, much more than I shall require; my
uncle measures my expenses by my brother’s. In short,
// 441.png
.pn +1
neither he nor any of my family have in the least degree
comprehended my position here; their ignorance would
shock you——” He stopped, evidently embarrassed. His
uncle’s letter would, indeed, have shocked her; he had
offered to send Hamilton any sum of money necessary to
buy off the claims which Hildegarde or her family might
have upon him.
“I suppose,” said Hildegarde, “they expect you home
directly.”
“They rather wish me to visit the Z—’s, as they have
become acquainted lately with some of their connections.”
“And you intend to do so?”
“Yes, I have no particular wish to return home directly,
though I see they expect me in about a fortnight or three
weeks.”
“In that case you will have to leave us soon—very soon.”
“How soon?” asked Hamilton, endeavouring to catch a
glimpse of her face, which was, perhaps purposely, averted.
“You are the best judge of that,” she answered, rising
from her lowly seat; “if leaving us be disagreeable to you,
the sooner you get over it the better.”
“It is more than disagreeable—it is painful to me.” He
paused, and then added, hastily, “I shall take your advice
and leave to-morrow.” More than a minute he waited for
her to speak again, one word or one look might at that
moment have changed all his plans, but finding that she
remained silent, he slowly gathered up his letters, and
walked thoughtfully into the house.
Madame Rosenberg talked more than enough; she thought
it necessary to put the whole house in commotion, and was
so anxious to prove to him that all his clothes were in order,
that she followed him to his room, and actually herself
packed all his portmanteaux and cases; she then seated
herself on one of the former, and began to question him
about what he intended to do with Hans, the horses, and
phaeton.
“I shall take Hans to England with me, and leave the
horses at Munich to be sold. I dare say Stultz will take
the trouble of looking after them for me.”
“Dear me, how surprised he will be—and Crescenz—and
Lina Berger. Really, the whole thing is so unexpected,
that one has no time to think, or feel, or understand——”
// 442.png
.pn +1
“That is just what I wished,” said Hamilton; “I hope
not to have time to think or feel, for I leave your house
most unwillingly, but leave it I must, as my father and
uncle expect me home in a week or two, and I am going first
to the Z—’s.”
“Pray give the Baroness my compliments,” said Madame
Rosenberg; “it was very civil of her taking the children
home—that evening, you know.”
Hamilton remembered the evening, but he thought it was
very probable he should forget the compliments.
“Sorry as I am to lose you,” continued Madame Rosenberg,
“I must say I think your relations are right to insist
on your return; as my father said yesterday, a young man
with your capabilities being allowed to waste your time as
you have been doing, is perfectly incomprehensible.”
“My object was to learn German, and I have learned it,”
said Hamilton.
“It would have been better for you if Hildegarde and
Crescenz had not spoken French so well. My father says,
too, you speak English now with Hildegarde; I’m sure I
don’t know how she learned it. I never could learn French,
though I have often tried, and I am not a stupid person in
other things. I’m very glad, however, that she has learned
English, though I formerly thought it unnecessary. Four
languages for a girl not yet eighteen is pretty well, as poor
dear Franz used to say, and——”
“Four languages,” repeated Hamilton; “what is the
fourth?”
“Why, do you not know that she speaks and writes
Italian quite as well as French? Mademoiselle Hortense
is a half Italian, and she spared no pains in teaching her,
most fortunately, as it has turned out, for the lady with
whom she is likely to be placed particularly requires Italian,
as she is going to Italy next year.”
“So Hildegarde is to leave you also?”
“Yes. I was at first very unwilling, and, indeed, should
not have consented were I still in Munich; but, you see,
here she is never likely to marry, and after her sister has
made such an excellent match, she would not be satisfied
with our Förster, Mr. Weidmann, I am afraid.”
“I should think not,” said Hamilton.
“Now, as she is certainly remarkably handsome,” continued
// 443.png
.pn +1
Madame Rosenberg, “and within the last year greatly
improved, too, I should not at all wonder if, at Frankfort or
Florence, she were to pick up someone——”
“Not at all unlikely,” observed Hamilton.
“Or if old Count Zedwitz were to die, perhaps his son
might again——”
Hamilton began to stride up and down the room with
unequivocal signs of irritation.
“I see all this is uninteresting to you,” said Madame
Rosenberg, placing her hands on her knees to assist her in
rising from her low, unsteady seat. “How can I expect you
to care who she marries, or where she goes, or, indeed, what
becomes of any of us now? In a few weeks you will have
forgotten us altogether!”
“How little you know me!” cried Hamilton, taking her
hand as she was passing him; “I shall never forget you, or
the happy days passed in your house, and am so sincerely
attached to you and all your family, that nothing will give
me greater pleasure than hearing of or from you. I shall
leave you my address in London, and hope that you, and
your father, and the children, will often write to me. When
Fritz comes home for the holidays I shall expect a long
letter, not written from a copy, and in his best handwriting,
but unrestrained, and telling me everything about you all.”
“Well, I really believe you do like us,” cried Madame
Rosenberg, the tears starting to her eyes; “but, after all,
not as well as we like you; and now, I think I had better
leave you, or else I shall make an old fool of myself.”
Hamilton’s hours that day were winged; they flew past
uneasily, like birds before an approaching storm. The afternoon,
evening, and night came; Mr. Eisenmann dozed,
Madame Rosenberg inspected her sleeping children, and
Hildegarde and Hamilton for the first time sat gravely and
silently beside each other; neither of them had courage to
attempt the mockery of unconcerned conversation; each
equally feared a betrayal of weakness, and it was a relief to
both when the time for moving arrived. Mr. Eisenmann
retired quietly to his room on the ground floor; Madame
Rosenberg, after wishing Hamilton good-night, took the
house-keys out of the cupboard and commenced her usual
nightly examination of all the windows and doors. Hamilton
sprang up the stairs, and watched at the door of his
// 446.png
.pn +1
chamber until he heard Hildegarde separate from her
mother and begin to ascend; he waited until she had
deposited her candle and work-basket on the table in her
room, and as she afterwards advanced to close the door, he
called her out on the lobby, and said, hurriedly, “Hildegarde,
I shall have no opportunity of speaking to you alone to-morrow,
and must take advantage of this to ask you to
forgive and forget all my faults and failings.”
“I cannot remember any,” said Hildegarde.
“You say so, but I know you think that I endeavoured to
gain your affections without any fixed purpose. That is true—I
mean, this was true until lately—but that is of no importance
now. Then, I must confess I—I was not sorry for
the unpleasant termination of the affair with Zedwitz. I
now, too, see that I ought not to have come here with you,
still less should I have endeavoured to make you jealous
or——”
“Oh, I give you absolution for all,” cried Hildegarde,
interrupting him, “and hope you will endeavour to forget
how often you have seen me impatient or in a passion.”
“I have already forgotten it, and wish I could forget
everything else besides that has occurred during the last
eleven months. We have been eleven months together, have
we not?”
“I believe so,” answered Hildegarde, thoughtfully. “It
appears to me much longer; my life has been so different
from what it was before that time, I feel almost as if I had
known you eleven years.”
The sound of closing doors no longer distant made Hamilton
whisper anxiously, “I shall not find it easy to part from
you with becoming firmness before so many witnesses to-morrow,
Hildegarde; still less should I have courage to
entreat you once more to accept the little watch which you
so unkindly returned to me last Christmas. Will you again
refuse it?”
“No,” she replied, “although I should have greatly preferred
something of less value; I only wish I had something
to bestow in return; but I have nothing, absolutely nothing.”
“Stay,” said Hamilton, with some hesitation, “you have
something which you value highly, though I do not know
why; a little mysterious bauble, which I should like to
possess.”
// 447.png
.pn +1
“Name it, and it is yours,” said Hildegarde, eagerly.
He placed his finger on the hair bracelet which she constantly
wore.
“Ah! my bracelet!” cried Hildegarde, with a look of
surprise, “if you wish for it, certainly; in fact it is better.”
She held her arm towards the door of her room, that the
light from the candle might fall on it, and Hamilton thought
he saw tears in her eyes as she endeavoured to unclasp it.
“I only value it because you appear so attached to it,” he
said, half apologetically. “Before it comes into my possession,
however, you must tell me whose hair I am about to
guard so carefully for the rest of my life; not Mademoiselle
Hortense’s I hope.”
“No,” said Hildegarde, holding it towards him.
“Tell me whose hair it is!” he cried eagerly, for Madame
Rosenberg’s heavy step and the jingling of her large keys
became every moment more audible. As she approached the
staircase, he again repeated, “Whose hair?” but Hildegarde,
instead of answering, sprang into her room just as a long ray
of light from her mother’s candle reached the spot where
they stood. Madame Rosenberg found Hamilton’s door shut,
and Hildegarde on her knees beside her bed, with her head
buried in her hands.
And Hamilton never suspected that the bracelet he examined
so long and earnestly that night was made of his
own hair, obtained at the time he had been wounded in the
head, by the fall from, or rather with, his horse.
The whole family were assembled at an early hour the
next morning to witness his departure. Madame Rosenberg
unreservedly applied her handkerchief to her eyes; her
father looked grave; the two little boys, half frightened at
the unusual solemnity of the breakfast table, whispered and
nudged each other, while Hildegarde, pale as the wife of
Seneca, was apparently the only unmoved person present.
Hamilton took leave of all the workmen and servants,
shook hands with Mr. Eisenmann, was kissed in the most
maternal manner on both cheeks by Madame Rosenberg,
embraced the little boys, and held Hildegarde’s hand in his
just long enough to cause a transient blush to pass over her
features and make her look like herself.
After he had driven off, he turned round in the carriage
to take a last look, and it seemed to him as if her beautiful
// 448.png
.pn +1
features had turned to marble, so cold and statue-like were
they. Madame Rosenberg was returning into the house,
talking to her cook; the old man was gayly playing with
the children; Hildegarde stood alone, motionless, on the spot
where he had left her.
“Is that indifference?” thought Hamilton.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch40
CHAPTER XL. || HOHENFELS.
.sp 2
It was late on the evening of the ensuing day when
Hamilton reached Hohenfels, a moderate-sized, high-roofed
dwelling-house, having two dark-coloured massive square
towers as wings. It was beautifully situated on the side of
a rocky mountain, from which circumstance it probably
derived its name. Avenue there was none; the narrow
private road which conducted to it (though passing through
woods with open glades, which, even without their splendid
mountain background, would have successfully rivalled any
avenue Hamilton had ever seen in England) was evidently
intended to serve equally as an approach to several comfortable
peasants’ houses, which, apparently, more than the
genius of an engineer, had originally directed its course.
The buildings, at a little distance from Hohenfels, Hamilton
now instinctively knew to be a brewery and its appendages,
and he examined them with less curiosity, but infinitely
more interest, than on a former occasion. If he did not
quite consider beer (as some one has not inaptly pronounced
it) a fifth element in Bavaria, he had at least so frequently
heard its merits, demerits, and price canvassed, that he began
to attach considerable importance to the subject, and rather
prided himself on being able to talk about it.
On driving into the court, he looked up along the range
of windows, and discovered with great pleasure A. Z. standing
at one of them. He had not had time to write, or in anyway
to announce his visit, therefore her first look of surprise
rather amused him; when they met, and she regretted that
her husband was on a hunting expedition, and would not be
// 449.png
.pn +1
at home until the next day, he was glad that no letter from
him had interfered with the arrangement. They supped
together under a large chestnut tree, commanding an extensive
view of woods, mountains, and a part of the Chiem
Lake, now glittering in all the radiance of a magnificent
sunset.
“I had no idea,” said Hamilton, “that you were so near
home when I met you at Seon last summer. I understand
now why you were always on the move, and we saw so little
of you. By the by, I should like to hear something of the
Zedwitzes; they are relations or intimate friends of yours, I
believe?”
“Distant relations, but very near and dear friends,” answered
A. Z. “I am sorry I have nothing satisfactory to
tell you; the old Count is killing himself as fast as he can
with perspiration and cold water; his wife had a fit of
apoplexy this summer, from which she is, however, nearly
recovered; and Maximilian has, you know, been constantly
from home since that unpleasant business with the Rosenberg
family. He was with us for a few weeks, and I never in my
life saw a man in such a state of desperation; his only consolation
was talking to me about this ‘cunningest pattern of
excellent nature,’ this Hildegarde, and as I had a great deal
to do in my house, and could not always find time to listen
to him, he used to wander about, writing sonnets, I should
imagine, from the poetical expression of his dear ugly face.”
“So he told you all about it?” said Hamilton.
“Yes, and about you, too; that is, all he knew about you.
He seemed to have dreaded you excessively as a rival; indeed,
he does so still, for were his father to die, I have not the
smallest doubt he would renew his proposal, and perhaps be
accepted.”
“I admire his patience and perseverance,” said Hamilton,
ironically; “one downright refusal such as he received would
have satisfied me.”
“Circumstances might materially alter the state of the
case,” said A. Z. “Suppose this flirtation with you quite
over—you have left, most probably, without any sort of
serious explanation; now I have no doubt you are very
charming, but, you know, people do get over hopeless affairs
of this kind in the course of time, and in the course of time,
too, Maximilian will be at liberty to marry whoever he pleases.
// 450.png
.pn +1
I cannot imagine his being refused again, he is so exactly
the sort of man most women like.”
“He does not think so himself,” observed Hamilton.
“That is his great charm,” said A. Z. “Diffident enthusiastic
men are almost always popular. I have a decided
predilection for them.”
“I think, however, you are singular in your taste,” said
Hamilton.
“Not at all,” rejoined A. Z.; “the secret may be that
such men think less of themselves, and more of the person
they wish to please; but in nine cases out of ten, you will
find that it is an ugly man who inspires real affection. It is
very creditable to our sex, you must allow; one so very
seldom hears of a man who loves a really ugly woman.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Hamilton. “My experience
has not been great. I only know that I am now very
seriously, and, I fear, hopelessly in love with a very young
and very beautiful woman.”
“You will get over it,” observed A. Z., laughing. “A few
months in London, if it were not so late in the year——”
“You are mistaken,” said Hamilton, gravely; “neither a
few months nor a few years either are likely to change my
feelings.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” said A. Z., thoughtfully; “never
will I sign a letter with my initials again.”
“I had quite forgotten that your note was the cause of
all this evil,” said Hamilton, smiling, “but there would be
no evil at all if Hildegarde liked me.”
“So it is all on your side,” observed A. Z., with some
surprise.
“I don’t know, but I am afraid so. If it will not bore
you, I should like to explain, and ask your advice——”
“Stay,” cried A. Z., “I don’t at all know this Hildegarde,
and I now do know something of you and your family, and
shall therefore certainly recommend you to break off the
affair, if you can do so with honour; and that you can do
so is scarcely to be doubted, if you imagine her indifferent
to you.”
“But suppose she had been indifferent only because I said
I could not marry.”
“It would prove that she is as prudent as she is pretty,
and that is saying a great deal,” answered A. Z., gayly; “and
// 451.png
.pn +1
as you can not marry, the least said about the matter the
better.”
“You do not quite understand the state of the case,”
began Hamilton. “You see I have a grand uncle——”
“Called Jack,” observed A. Z.
“Exactly,” said Hamilton; “and this Uncle Jack made a
fortune in India, in those times when fortunes were to be
made there, and added to this fortune by speculations in the
funds at the end of the last war; we have consequently a
great respect for him.”
“Of course,” said A. Z.; “people always have a respect
for rich uncles, both in books and real life. I never had
one, but I can imagine the thing.”
“As he had no children,” continued Hamilton, “my
father prudently chose him as godfather to his eldest son,
who was accordingly afflicted with the name of John, but
even in his earliest youth it was found that the name would
not cover the multitude of his sins, poor fellow, and while I
was still a mere child my uncle declared that John would
inherit from his father more than he would ever deserve,
and that I, and I alone, should be his heir. He defrayed
all the expenses of my education, gave me ponies, and
pocket money, and would have paid my debts, I do believe,
without hesitation, if I had had any at Cambridge. Since
I have been here, too, he has sent me large remittances
through my father, and latterly, I suspect, forbidden the
words of wisdom which usually accompanied them. The
first letter I ever received from him was the day before
yesterday; he had heard—more than was necessary, more
than was true—of Hildegarde, and you can imagine his
proposing to send me money to buy off—to pay—to satisfy—pshaw!
where is the letter? You must read it, or you
will never understand——”
“He does not understand, that is very evident,” observed
A. Z. “You need not show me the letter, but go on.”
“When I told Hildegarde that I must return home, she
recommended my leaving directly; she had, indeed, advised
me to do so before the letter arrived.”
“And did she give you this advice without any apparent
effort?”
“Without apparent effort, yes; but she is not to be judged
from appearances. She has been educated by a Mademoiselle
// 452.png
.pn +1
Hortense, who has given her the idea that, besides controlling
her temper, which is naturally hasty, she should endeavour
to conceal all her feelings, and, if possible, stifle them altogether.
If Hildegarde had not been naturally warm-hearted,
hot-tempered, and intellectual, such an education would have
completely spoiled her.”
“But,” said A. Z., “after having lived nearly a year in
the same house, if you can have any doubts about her caring
for you——”
“Stay,” cried Hamilton, interrupting her, “you are not,
perhaps, aware that I proclaimed myself a younger son, and
said I could not marry, even before I entered the Rosenbergs’
house, and, as, until very lately, I never seriously thought of
sacrificing my really brilliant prospects, Hildegarde is still
unconscious that even, with the best intentions, I could have
acted otherwise than as I have done. I have been more
calculating and worldly-minded than befits such an attachment,
but latterly, as the time drew near when I knew we
must part, I was ready to brave all my family and be disinherited
by my uncle if she had only said one word, given me
one look, from which I could have felt certain that she loved
me.”
“I suppose,” said A. Z., rising, and walking towards the
house, “I suppose, from what you have just said, that you
have some fortune independent of your family—enough, at
least, to buy bread and butter?”
“I have five thousand pounds. A legacy left me by a
distant relation, but it is not at my disposal for two years.
This would not be enough for England; but I think here,
as you say, it would perhaps buy bread and butter——”
“Oh, yes!” said A. Z., laughing, “and roast veal and
pudding into the bargain, but that is not all that is to be
considered. You ought not to make so great a sacrifice
without considering long and carefully both sides of the
question.”
“Oh, I have considered only too long,” answered Hamilton,
“but I see you cannot understand me, or know Hildegarde
without reading my journal. I had some intention of
leaving it under your care, at all events, and I shall only beg
of you never to refer to that part of it which relates to
Count Oscar Raimund.”
“I think I already know,” said A. Z., “his father showed
// 453.png
.pn +1
me the letter he had written the day he had shot himself.
Does Mademoiselle Rosenberg know that she was the cause?”
“But too well, as you will perceive from my journal,”
answered Hamilton; “you really seem to know everybody
and everything, which, however, no longer surprises me, as
I am myself willing on so short an acquaintance to confide
in you. I suppose other people have done the same.”
“Not exactly,” answered A. Z., “but as I know the Zedwitzes,
the Raimunds, the Bergers, and even Mr. Biedermann,
and as you, from the peculiarity of the commencement
of our acquaintance, rather interested me, I have
thought it worth while to listen, and remember all I have
heard about you.”
“How very kind!” said Hamilton.
“You say that thoughtlessly,” observed A. Z., laughing,
“but it really was kind of me, for I greatly prefer talking to
listening on most occasions.”
“Will reading my journal bore you?”
“Not in the least. I shall be curious to know the impression
made on you by all you must have seen of the domestic
manners you were so anxious to become acquainted with last
year. Have you given up all idea of writing a book on the
subject?”
“I have been a much too greatly interested actor to have
thought of anything of the kind, as you will see.”
“Before I read your journal,” said A. Z., “that is before
I feel any interest in this Hildegarde, you must allow me to
point out to you all the disadvantages of the step you propose
taking, and remind you that the sacrifice of parents,
relations, the friends of your youth, your country, and your
native language, ought not to be lightly made. I speak from
experience.”
“But you told me,” said Hamilton, “that you felt quite
naturalised—that you had become a very Bavarian! I
know, too, you are more than contented; you are happy.
The Countess Zedwitz told me so.”
“Very true,” answered A. Z., “but I am a woman, and
that alters the case materially; both our nature and education
induce us to conform to the habits of those about us—we
have no profession, no career in life to give up, we have
only to learn to enlarge or contract our sphere of action,
according to the circumstances in which we may be placed.
// 454.png
.pn +1
For instance, Mademoiselle Rosenberg would most probably,
without hesitation, go with you to England were your uncle
to consent to your marriage.”
“I cannot help thinking that—perhaps—she would,”
answered Hamilton.
“And if she did, she would never have any cause to regret
having done so, for besides being united to the person she
loved, she would only have to learn to live luxuriously, and
habits of that kind are easily acquired; but after having so
lived, frugality is more difficult of acquirement—and that
would be your task.”
“But I have tried it,” cried Hamilton, eagerly; “I have
made the trial this last year. I see that riches are not
necessary to my happiness—I am convinced, that with
Hildegarde and a cottage——”
“So you would live in the country?”
“Of course.”
“And in the mountains?”
“Here, in your neighbourhood, if possible.”
“You are bribing me,” cried A. Z., “more than you know.
I am in want of such neighbours, and although it is getting
cool,” she added, drawing her shawl around her, “still, as it
is not yet dark, we may as well return to the chestnut tree,
and perhaps walk to the beech-wood, which you saw from it.”
On ascending a slight acclivity, a more extensive view of
the Chiem Lake became visible, and a peasant’s house, with
its over-hanging roof and long balcony, stood before them—it
was built almost in the mountain, at least it appeared so
at a little distance; a noisy stream rushed out of the rocks
beside it, and formed a series of cascades, while endeavouring
to reach the green fields, and dark wood beneath. Under
the numerous fruit trees which surrounded the house, with
their overloaded branches bending to the ground, were
several wooden benches; on one of these A. Z. seated herself,
while Hamilton, attracted by the light from some windows
on the ground-floor, seemed disposed to inspect the
premises more closely. A loud chorus of voices made him
hesitate.
“They are at their evening prayers,” observed A. Z., “it
is better not to disturb them. Come here, and listen to me.
You have not often seen a house more beautifully situated
than this, most probably!”
// 455.png
.pn +1
“Never.”
“The mountain peasants know how to choose a site! You
have no idea how highly they value a view of this kind, or
how they feel the beauty of their scenery; their eyes and
minds are from infancy accustomed to grand and striking
forms—the want of them causes the ennui and listlessness
called Maladie du pays, Nostalgie or Heimweh, from which
all mountaineers suffer, more or less, when in a town or distant
from their mountains. I can understand it, as I have
actually felt this maladie, for which, by the by, we have no
English name, when I was obliged to remain in Munich for
some time, about two years ago. The peasant to whom that
house and all those fruitful fields below us belong, is about
deliberately to die of this most lingering and melancholy
disease; he intends to emigrate to America!”
“Oh, what a fool!” cried Hamilton.
“I have said as much to him, but in rather more civil
terms,” answered A. Z.; “but all to no purpose; perhaps,
when you know his motives, you may think differently,
though I cannot. The extreme cheapness of education in
Bavaria is a great temptation to the peasants, when their
sons distinguish themselves at the German schools, to let
them continue their education, learn Latin, and afterwards
study at the University. It is a common thing for them to
rise to eminence in the learned professions, and the eldest
son of my friend Felsenbauer here would most probably have
done so, had it not chanced that when he had nearly completed
his studies, that revolutionary attempt of the students
took place in the year 1830, of which you may, perhaps,
have heard. Whether or not he was implicated, is unknown;
but after having concealed himself for some time, and found
that all his most intimate friends had been imprisoned, he
wrote to his father for money, and went off to America.
He has married an American, and is so advantageously
placed at Cincinnati, that he is most desirous to have his
family near him, and his letters are from year to year more
pressing. The old man is now only waiting to find a purchaser
for his house and grounds!”
“I understand,” said Hamilton, laughing; “you think
that house, with a few alterations, might be made as comfortable
as it is pretty. What price does he demand?”
“About twelve hundred pounds; but he will not get more
// 456.png
.pn +1
than a thousand for it; and is therefore likely to have to
wait for a year or two before he finds a purchaser; so you
have plenty of time either to buy it, or change your mind,
which I suspect you will do after your return home. At all
events I recommend your inspecting it some day with Herrmann,
who understands such things perfectly—it will not be
uninteresting to you to know the financial position of a peasant
of this kind, and if he have the smallest hopes of your
ever being a purchaser, he will unreservedly show you all
his accounts.”
While they were speaking, the peasant and his wife, followed
by their second son and daughter, came out of the
house, and a long conversation ensued. It was so dark
when A. Z. proposed leaving, that the old man insisted on
accompanying her home with a lantern.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch41
CHAPTER XLI. || THE SCHEIBEN-SCHIESSEN (TARGET SHOOTING MATCH).
.sp 2
Baron Z— returned the next day, was delighted to see
Hamilton, and went about with him everywhere, showing
and explaining whatever he thought likely to interest him.
One of their excursions was to the marriage of a wood-ranger
with the daughter of an innkeeper, who lived deep
in the mountains. There was to be a dance and target
shooting match as wedding festivities; and it was with no
small satisfaction that Hamilton, at an unmentionably early
hour in the morning, followed Baron Z— to his room to
choose one of his rifles for the latter. Hamilton did not, as
on a former occasion, listen with indifference while he descanted
on their merits, but examined them carefully, poised
them in his hand, and pointed them out of the windows at
the little belfry of the house he had visited with A. Z., and
which he now chose as a target.
“You really look as if you understood what you were
about,” observed A. Z., who was pouring out their coffee.
“If you have gained nothing else by your residence in Bavaria,
// 457.png
.pn +1
you have at least learned to get up in the morning,
and to use a rifle!”.
“Both decidedly German accomplishments,” replied Hamilton,
laughing, “and learned, in both cases, from ladies.
Madame Rosenberg and the Baroness Waldorf have been
my instructresses, as you will find when you look over my
journal.”
“Which I intend to do to-day, when I am alone and
quiet,” said A. Z., “and then we can talk about it whenever
you are disposed.”
“Time to be off!” cried Baron Z—; and Hamilton
found himself, soon after, driving through the wildest passes
of the mountain at an hour which he had formerly considered
ought to be devoted to sleep in a darkened chamber.
The road was still in shadow, though the sun shone
brightly on the rocks above them, and it was only through
an occasional cleft in them, or a widening of the pass
through which the road lay, that the warm rays occasionally
tempered the bracing morning air. For the first time since
Hamilton had left the Rosenbergs, he felt exhilarated—disposed
to enjoy life as he had formerly done. It must not be
supposed that he was beginning to forget Hildegarde—quite
the contrary—his mental struggles were over; absence, that
surest test of affection, had proved to him that without her
the best years of his life would be clouded; so completely
had the world, and all relating to it, been changed to him
during the last year, so different were all his ideas from
what they had been, that his recollections of home were becoming
ruins, and it was with difficulty that his imagination
supplied the broken walls and crumbling windowsills of his
former splendid visions of pomp and riches. His only fears
now were of Hildegarde herself, he half dreaded a repulse;
but he had resolved to brave even that; and since his resolutions
had been formed, he had again begun to feel pleasure
in everything surrounding him. When Baron Z— stepped
out of the little low carriage, which he called a “sausage,”
to gather bunches of the beautiful wild rhododendron, commonly
called Alpen rosen, Hamilton sprang joyously up the
side of the mountain with him, and experienced a boyish
satisfaction in scrambling higher and higher still, to obtain
a branch with deeply-coloured flowers, or a few sweetly-scented
cyclamens.
// 458.png
.pn +1
Their destination was a village, which as nearly resembled
a nest as could well be imagined, so completely was it surrounded
by mountains, all wooded nearly to the summit;
there were about thirty houses and two large inns. Baron
Z——’s brewery supplied the place with beer, and it was, as
he informed Hamilton, in the characters of a brewer and his
friend that they that day appeared. They were, however,
persons of considerable importance, as Hamilton soon discovered,
for the marriage had been delayed until their arrival,
and the gay procession was then first formed, with
which preceded by loud music, in which a flageolet contended
in vain with a couple of horns for predominance, they
marched to the church. Hamilton, on perceiving that all
the men had large bouquets of flowers, and streaming ribbons
in their hats, immediately decorated his with Alpen
rosen. As to Baron Z—, neither he nor any of the other
numerous gentlemen who came in the course of the day to
shoot, could be distinguished at a little distance from the
peasants. The strong shoes, worsted stockings, black
breeches, leather belts, with their curiously worked initials,
loose grey shooting-jackets, and slouched hats with black
cock feathers, were common to all. A nice observer might,
perhaps, have discovered a difference in the materials, but
even that was generally avoided. If ever a German nobleman
feels that those who are not in his class are equal or
superior to him, it is at a Scheiben-Schiessen. There the best
shot is the best man. The consciousness of strength and
power, which the free use of arms, and the habit of seeking
pleasure and fame in their dexterous use beget, is not without
its national importance; such men can scarcely fail to make
good soldiers, or defend their mountain homes in time of
war.
Excepting while they dined, Baron Z— never ceased
shooting. Hamilton, contented with having acquitted himself
creditably, began at the end of a couple of hours to wander
about; he first looked into the room where the wedding
banquet was being slowly served: it had already lasted more
than three hours, which is scarcely to be wondered at, as between
the courses, the more youthful part of the company
made their way up the crowded staircase to a large room
under the roof, where they danced; the measured sound of
the waltz step forming a sort of metronome to the musicians,
// 459.png
.pn +1
who, at times, seemed more attentive to the movements of
those about them than their occupation, thereby occasionally
producing such extraordinary and wild sounds that Hamilton
allowed himself to be pushed up the stairs into their immediate
vicinity. Finding a quiet corner, he tranquilly
smoked his cigar and looked on, an amused spectator of a
scene which formed for him a picture of the most interesting
description from its novelty and thoroughly national
character.
The room, spacious and well-floored, was immediately
under the roof, of which the rafters and, on close inspection,
the tiles were visible. The musicians, placed in a corner
and well supplied with beer, blew, whistled, and scraped
with all their might, the violoncello, with its eternal tonic,
dominant, and subdominant, acting as whipper-in to the
other instruments. The trumpet, occasionally raised to one
of the windows in the roof, informed the absent of the opportunity
they were losing, or served as an invitation to the
lazy. Diminutive beer barrels, connected with strong planks,
formed seats along the walls, and on them the half breathless
dancers, in their picturesque costumes, occasionally sat
and rested; a few elderly peasants were established round a
table behind the door, and near them stood a fine specimen
of a rustic exclusive, with his arms folded, and bright blue
eyes audaciously following each dancing pair as they passed;
he lounged against the wall, until seeing some known, or
loved, or pretty girl, he was moved to touch her partner on
the shoulder, and however unwilling the latter might be, he
was obliged in courtesy to resign her until she had taken
some turns round the room with the interloper, who, on returning
her to her partner, thanked him, and the flushed and
panting girl invariably looked delighted at this most approved
mode of publicly doing her homage. Hamilton observed
about half a dozen beauties who never were allowed
to rest for one moment.
Light and shade were disposed as the most fastidious
painter could desire; the rays of the afternoon sun, as they
entered by the open windows, rendered even the tremulous
motion of the air and the usually imperceptible particles of
dust apparent, while the gradually dispersing light made the
silver-laced bodices of the women glitter, and the beaming
faces of the men to glow more deeply. Here for the first
// 460.png
.pn +1
time Hamilton saw the real Ländler danced, the waltz in all
its nationality—as unlike anything he had ever heard so
denominated as could well be imagined. It was a German
fandango with nailed shoes instead of castanets, but there
was life, energy, and enjoyment in every movement. The
origin of the name of waltz for this dance is from walzen,
to turn round, and this the dancers did regularly, though not
quickly when together, but they often separated, and then
the movements were as uncertain as various, accompanied on
the part of the men by the snapping of fingers, clapping
their knees with both hands, and springing in the air, while
ever and anon they uttered a piercing peculiar cry, something
between shouting and singing. During the time the men
performed these wild gesticulations, their partners waltzed on
demurely before them, and when they joined each other
again it was usually with a few decided foot stampings that
they recommenced their rotary motions.
It was long before Hamilton felt disposed to leave this
scene of rustic festivity; when he did so, it was but to witness
another of a different kind, for as the evening approached,
and the noise of the rifles began by degrees to
cease, all the singers and zither players in the neighbourhood
assembled in the garden; it was in the midst of them
that Hamilton was found by Baron Z—, and though he
soon after joined the latter and his friends at another table,
he still turned round and endeavoured to hear the words or
hum the chorus of their songs.
“Our national music seems to interest you,” observed an
elderly gentleman in a green shooting jacket, drawing his
chair close to Hamilton’s.
“Very much, but I find it rather difficult to understand
the words, though I hear them very distinctly.”
“Of course you do; a foreigner must always find it difficult
to understand our different dialects, and we have
many.”
Baron Z— took a little book of songs out of his pocket
and handed it to Hamilton, who, after a few unsuccessful
attempts, at length was able to read and understand one of
them. “Are these songs ancient or modern?” he asked
after a pause.
“These,” answered Baron Z—, “are of an uncertain
age, and are common in the Bavarian highlands; but we
// 461.png
.pn +1
have some national songs of the same description which are
extremely ancient.”
“We know,” observed the elderly gentleman, “we know
from the poems of Walter von der Vogelweide that even at
the end of the twelfth century the peasants had their own
songs, which, to the great annoyance of the celebrated poet,
were gladly heard and highly valued by the princes and
knights of his time. The highest nobles then danced to
their own songs, as you may sometimes see the Austrian
peasants do to this day. The rhymes of the Niebelungenlied[#]
and other old German epic poems are precisely of the
same description as these songs, which is also a proof of their
antiquity.”
.pm fn-start // 1
The Niebelungenlied is a very ancient poem, greatly valued but little
read—like the works of Chaucer and Spenser in England.
.pm fn-end
“And is the music as old as the poetry?” asked Hamilton.
“I believe so,” replied Baron Z—; “it was intended
for dancing as well as singing, as the universal name of
Schnadder-hüpfen denotes; the word schnadder means to talk
or chat, and hüpfen to jump or dance about.”
“And is all your old national music of this gay Schnadder-hüpfen
description?” asked Hamilton.
“Oh, no, we have melancholy and sentimental too, but our
mountaineers are too gay and happy a people to allow the
mournful to predominate, or even to have its due share in
their music; the sorrowful thought of one verse is sure to
find consolation in the jesting contradiction in the next.
The Alpine songs are generally of this description, and the
girls who have the charge of the cows on the Alps sing them
together, and continue to do so after they have left the
mountains, which has caused them to become familiar to the
inhabitants of the valleys. Then there is the jodel, the song
without words, which has so much resemblance to the ranz
des vaches of the Swiss, and which requires both practice and
compass of voice.”
“Oh, I remember,” said Hamilton, “what you and some
of the others sang when we were on the chamois hunt last
year; sometimes it sounded like water bubbling, and then
came some queer high notes and a sort of shout—it was
quite adapted to the mountains—quite beautiful when there
was an echo. I should like to learn it.”
// 462.png
.pn +1
“You will find it more difficult than you imagine,” said
Baron Z—, “that is if you have ever learned to sing; my
wife has never been able to manage it, and she has often
tried.”
“I shall learn to jodel and play the zither, too,” said Hamilton,
“that is if I ever come to reside in Germany.”
“If,” said Baron Z—, and then he joined in the chorus
of the song which was being sung at the table nearest
them.
.tb
“How different the same scene looks in the gradually
increasing light of early morning, and the deepening shades
of approaching evening!” observed Baron Z—, as he
leaned back in the carriage on their way home, and looked
along the valley through which the road lay; it had become
so narrow that it seemed about to close altogether, while a
towering mountain, facing them as they advanced, appeared
to prevent all further progress; “and yet I scarcely know
which is to be preferred in a country of this description.”
“The evening, certainly the evening,” said Hamilton,
looking round; “but a little earlier; the sun should still be
on those rocks above us and make them successively yellow,
red, copper-coloured, and violet, as I have seen them every
evening from the garden of Hohenfels.”
“I wish,” said Baron Z—, “I wish that we could see
them from the top of our alp to-night; we cannot expect
this unclouded weather to last much longer.”
“Have you an alp of your own?” asked Hamilton.
“No; but I have rented one for the last two years, and
find it answers very well, the greater part of my cattle are
there now. It was not, however, of my cows and calves that
I was thinking, but of the chamois on the mountain near the
alp, of which the Förster from G— told me this morning.
Now, as you acquitted yourself so well to-day at the Scheiben-Schiessen,
I do not see why you should not become a sportsman
at once.”
“Do you think I should have any chance?”
“Why not? You must make a beginning some time or
other.”
“I suppose game is very plentiful here?” said Hamilton.
“Not what you call plenty, at least we have not grouse or
black cocks as my wife tells me you have in Scotland.”
// 463.png
.pn +1
“But I have heard of splendid battues in the neighbourhood
of Munich.”
“I dare say, in the royal chase, where eight or nine hundred
hares, and other game in proportion, have been shot in
one afternoon—but that is not my idea of sport. I prefer a
chamois hunt to all others, next to that, black cock; and I
am quite satisfied if I shoot three or four during the season.”
“Are the black cock so difficult to get at?”
“More troublesome than difficult, though I have occasionally
found them almost as high on the mountains as the
chamois! It is the waiting and watching—the being up
before sunrise, that gives me an interest, though it generally
disgusts others whose actual profession it does not happen
to be.”
“I suppose,” said Hamilton, “it is the actual profession
of those Försters? There was one near the Iron Works, and
he always supplied Madame Rosenberg with game;—she paid
him for it, however.”
“Of course she did,” replied Baron Z—, laughing;
“and if you shoot a chamois you must pay for it too, that
is, if you wish to keep it. I have myself no game whatever,
but as the Förster rents the whole chase in my neighbourhood
from government, I have as much sport as I please,
and in fact as much game too; I pay for whatever I retain,
and so do all the others to whom he has given the permission
to shoot; but I suspect his profits are not great, for we have
a number of Wildschützen, wild hunters—poachers you call
them, I believe, in England.”
“Yes, one hears of them continually in the country; I
begin to have a faint idea that they may be great nuisances.”
“I have no intention of exactly undertaking their defence,”
said Baron Z—, “but here in the mountains, where almost
every man is a good shot, and the ideas of some are rather
confused as to the better right which one man may have
more than another to shoot an animal roaming about among
the rocks—the crime is, to say the least, venial. I, for my
part, would never pursue a Wildschützen with the wish to
catch him; but between them and the Försters there is the
most implacable hatred and deadly war. When they meet
without witnesses, it not unfrequently happens that they fire
at each other! If the Förster fall, he is immediately missed;
if the Wildschütz, it often remains long undiscovered. Last
// 464.png
.pn +1
winter the body of a young man was found on one of the
mountains here, several weeks after his friends had first
privately, and then publicly, sought him. There is little
doubt that he was shot by one of our wood-rangers, and the
man was immediately arrested, but no sort of proof could
be obtained; the day of the young man’s death was unknown,
the wood-ranger had been on that mountain, but also on
others about the supposed time—shots had been heard by
some wood-cutters, but not more than could be accounted for
by the game brought home; in short, he was set at liberty;
but the fate of the Wildschütz, who was a handsome, good-humoured
fellow, created much interest and pity; so you see
there is so much danger, and so little profit, so much romance,
and so little vulgarity about them altogether, that they are
not unfrequently the subject of a song or the hero of a
legend. I am not even quite sure that the suspicion of a
young man being at times a wild hunter would injure him
in the opinion of any girl born and bred among the mountains!”
“I dare say not,” said Hamilton; “women higher born,
and better bred, have not unfrequently similar feelings, and
the very word is in itself the essence of romance! You
must allow that it sounds a vast deal better than Förster, or
Förstmeister, or Förstcommissioner, or Förstinspector. Everybody
seems to be Först something in this part of the world.”
“And are we not surrounded by forests? Are not all
our mountains covered with wood?” asked Baron Z—,
laughing; “can you wonder that, in a country where wood
is used as fuel, the care and culture of it should be of the
greatest importance?”
“Then these Försters are not a—exactly game-keepers?”
“No; the preserving of the game is, however, always in
connection with the woods and forests. The Förstmeister,
Förstactuar, Försters, and Förstpracticants are appointed by
government; the under Förster, or wood-ranger, is the only
thing at all answering to your idea of game-keeper.”
“And what have they all to do?” asked Hamilton.
“Can you not imagine the care of all these woods giving
a number of people employment?” asked Baron Z—,
looking round him. “The never-ending felling and drifting,
and selling and planting; the corrections of the rivers used
for drifting; the care of the game, and a hundred other
// 465.png
.pn +1
things, which I do not just now remember. The Förstwesen, as
we call it here, requires as much, and as peculiar study at
the University, as theology, philosophy, law, physic, or any
other branch of learning. Had I been given my choice, I
should have preferred it to all others.”
“And what did you study? I mean especially?”
“Law,” answered Baron Z—, and while he spoke the
carriage rolled into the paved court of Hohenfels.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch42
CHAPTER XLII. || A DISCOURSE.
.sp 2
There had been a thunder-storm during the night, and
the rain descended the next morning in torrents. “I fear,
Hamilton, our party must be put off for a short time!”
observed Baron Z—, as he walked from one window to
the other, in a disconsolate manner, after breakfast. “How
I detest a hopeless day of this kind!”
“I remember,” said A. Z., “that when I was an accomplished
young lady, I rather liked a day of rain when I had
a drawing to finish, or a new song to study—I do not dislike
it to-day either, but for a very different reason. Had it been
fine, I must have gone to the alp, to do the honours of my
dairy to Mr. Hamilton, and now, without any incivility on
my part, I can stay at home and quietly inspect the making
of a hundred-weight of soap, which cannot be any longer
delayed, and I expect,” she added, turning to Hamilton, “or
rather I hope, on your way from the brewery, where of
course you will go to smoke with Herrmann, you will visit
me—in the wash-house.”
“And can you really make soap?” asked Hamilton, rather
surprised.
“I really can, and really do, as you shall see—but, perhaps,
you don’t care about soap-boiling?”
“I—rather hoped—that, perhaps, to-day you would have
had time to talk to me about——”
“Oh! I always find time to talk,” said A. Z., “my soap
will be ready before dinner; it was begun yesterday evening,
// 466.png
.pn +1
and has been boiling all the morning, so you see after
our coffee we shall have the whole afternoon, and no chance
of visitors!”
Just as all the bells in the neighbourhood were chiming
noon, Hamilton walked into the wash-house, and there found
A. Z. standing beside an immense boiler, filled with a substance
very much resembling porridge; she was examining
some of it, as it trickled down a piece of flat wood, which
she held in her hand, and having dipped her finger into it,
and found that it formed what she called a thimble, she appeared
satisfied. Some few directions she gave to a little
old woman, who seemed very learned on the subject of soap-boiling,
and then she wound her way through the surrounding
tubs and buckets and pails to Hamilton, and with him
went unceremoniously to dinner.
When Hamilton, a couple of hours afterwards, joined
A. Z. in the drawing-room, he found her turning over the
last leaves of his journal, as she sat in a large arm-chair, beside
the slightly heated stove. She turned round immediately
and observed: “Well, Mr. Hamilton, you ‘rather
hoped I should find time to talk.’ I have time now, and
only wait to hear what is to be the subject of conversation.”
He drew a chair close to her, and said, “First of all—your
opinion of Hildegarde. Does she care for me?”
“I am afraid she does,” answered A. Z.
“How can you say, ‘afraid,’ when you know it is what I
most wish—my only chance of happiness! I fear nothing
but a refusal now. Have you not observed that she has never
said a word which could make me for a moment imagine she
cared in the least for me?”
“Judge her actions, and not her words,” answered A. Z.
“And if her actions should denote more friendship than
love?”
“The friendship of a girl of eighteen for a man of one-or
two-and-twenty is very apt to degenerate into love.”
“And you call that degenerating?”
A. Z. nodded her head, and said, “We have no time to
discuss that matter now, nor is it necessary; but there is
something I should like to say to you, if you will allow
me.”
“I allow you—wish you to say anything, everything you
please.”
// 467.png
.pn +1
“Before I read your journal,” she continued, turning
quite round to him, “I was disposed only to think of you,
and your interests, and recommended you to return home,
without again seeing Mademoiselle Rosenberg, or entering
into any engagement with her. I give you the same advice
now—but—for her sake—on her account!”
“And this you say, supposing her attached to me, and
knowing that I am willing to sacrifice everything I most
value for her!” said Hamilton.
“Yes, I consider the whole affair as the purest specimen
of first love that it is possible to imagine; so sincere on both
sides, that, were there no impediments to your marriage, I
think you might pass your lives very happily together; but
the sacrifices you are about to make she will not, I fear, be
able properly to estimate, and you must be very different
from most young men of your age and position in the world,
if you have steadiness enough, after two whole years’ absence,
to return here, change all your habits, and bury yourself
in these mountains for the rest of your life!”
“I think—I am almost sure, that for Hildegarde I can do
so.”
“If you do, I shall have a colossal respect for your character;
but in the meantime forgive my doubting it. Your
uncle will send you to Paris, give you unlimited command of
money, the temptations are great there, and with your
brother John, and your cousin Harry as companions, I fear
that at the end of the first year you will write Mademoiselle
Rosenberg a letter to say, ‘that finding it impossible to obtain
the consent of your family to your union, you will not
drag the woman you love into poverty!’ I believe this is the
usual phrase used on such occasions? And you can do this,
without even incurring the censure of the world, for who
knows anything of Hildegarde? No one will ever hear
that, for your sake, she has refused Max Zedwitz, and that
she will again do so, if engaged to you, is a matter of course;
and no one will know that your desertion will condemn her
either to being a governess or to a nunnery for the rest of
her life, for she will never marry a Major Stultz, or a Förster
Weidmann!” A. Z. paused, but as Hamilton did not
speak, she continued, “I see my doubts rather offend you,
but such conduct is, I am sorry to say, common, and I know
you too little to estimate your character as it, perhaps, deserves.
// 468.png
.pn +1
And now let us consider the other side of the question—I
mean Hildegarde’s—she has never, you say, betrayed
herself to you, still less, I am sure to anyone else. To most
women, the feeling of wounded pride, the sense of shame at
being publicly slighted and forsaken, is quite as painful to
bear as the real loss of the love on which all their visions of
future happiness are built—all this may still be spared Hildegarde.
You have left her without explanation, she thinks
highly of you, for she does not know that you could have
acted otherwise than as you have done—none of her family
have the least idea that she cares for you, she even flatters
herself that you are not aware of it—she will long remember
you after you have ceased to think of her, but the remembrance
will be unmixed with pain. When Maximilian
again meets her, she will tell him that she never can return
his affection, that she never can feel anything but friendship
for him—but she will marry him, make an excellent wife,
too—and may, some fine day, in this room, beside this very
stove, quietly talk of you, and wonder that she could ever
have preferred anyone to her excellent husband, whom we
may suppose sitting just where you are now!”
“Really a most agreeable picture!” cried Hamilton, with
ill-concealed irritation of manner. “And pray what is to
become of me?”
“I have already said you will forget more quickly than
she can; and so, after enjoying the world and its pomps and
vanities for a few years, you will marry a Lady Jane or Lady
Mary Somebody, who will be quite as amiable—if not as
beautiful as Hildegarde?”
“You are considering this affair much too lightly,” cried
Hamilton, starting from his chair almost angrily. “You
talk as if it was a mere flirtation!”
“No: I have ceased to consider it as such,” rejoined A.
Z. gravely. “I wish to save you from self-reproach, and
Hildegarde from real unhappiness hereafter. The bitterness
of parting is now over on both sides. With the best
intentions in the world, circumstances might induce you to
write the letter I spoke of—Hildegarde’s feelings now are
very different from what they will be when she has accustomed
herself to think of you as her companion for life. I
would willingly save her youth from a blight which, however
her pride and strength of mind may enable her to conceal it,
// 469.png
.pn +1
will prevent the development of all her good qualities, and
perhaps turn her generous confidence into suspicious distrust,
her warmth of heart into callousness forever—but I have
now said enough—too much, perhaps;” and she walked to
the window which she opened, to ask Baron Z—, who was
in the court-yard, what he thought of the weather.
“No chance of a change,” he answered; “the barometer
is still falling, and it will not clear up until there is snow on
the mountain tops, most probably.”
“That is the only disagreeable thing in a mountainous
country,” observed A. Z., turning to Hamilton. “When it
begins to rain, it never knows how or when to stop. I am
sorry, on your account, that the fine weather has not lasted
a little longer; but to-morrow we shall have a box of new
books, and perhaps you may find something to interest you
among them.”
“I am sure,” said Hamilton, “that you will agree with
me in thinking that I ought not delay my return to Munich
even a day longer, now that I have quite decided on my
future plans. I wish, if possible, to prevent Hildegarde
from going to Frankfort, where that Mademoiselle Hortense
intended to send her.”
“I scarcely know what I ought to say,” replied A. Z.
“It is not to be expected that you will remain here listening
to my long stories and the rain pattering against the windows,
when you have a good excuse for leaving.”
“A reason—not an excuse,” said Hamilton.
“Well then,” said A. Z., as she closed the window,
“though I do not ask you to give me a lock of your hair,
I feel so much interested in your affairs, that I hope you
will ‘Trust me, and let me know your love’s success,’ in a
few lines which you may find time to write to me after you
have reached home.”
// 470.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch43
CHAPTER XLIII. || ANOTHER KIND OF DISCOURSE.
.sp 2
Twenty-four hours afterwards, Hamilton was in Munich
on his way to Major Stultz’s. He had not yet taken leave
of Crescenz, and hoped, when ostensibly doing so, to obtain
from her some information about her sister’s plans and prospects.
His old acquaintance, Walburg, was delighted to see
him, informed him that “her mistress was at home, quite
alone—the Major had gone to sup with some officers who
had been in Russia with him;” and while speaking, she
threw open the drawing-room door. Crescenz turned round,
and then, with a blush of pleasure, rose quickly and advanced
towards Hamilton, exclaiming, “I knew you would not leave
Bavaria without coming to see me! I said so to Blazius,
and to Hildegarde too!”
“So you have spent another day at the Iron Works, and
can tell me how they all are.”
“No,” replied Crescenz; and the smile faded from her
features as she added, “Hildegarde was here, on her way to
Frankfort.”
“So she is gone—actually gone!” cried Hamilton.
“She left us the day before yesterday. Blazius says he
is glad our parting is over, for I could do nothing but cry
all the time she was here.”
“And Hildegarde?” asked Hamilton.
“She appeared quite contented with her future prospects,
and tried to make me so too.”
“Quite contented,” repeated Hamilton.
“Yes; Blazius says she has not much feeling, and that I
am a fool to waste so much affection on her; but he does
not know how kind she was to me for so many years at
school, helping me out of all my difficulties, and taking my
part on all occasions—he has no idea what Hildegarde can
do to those she loves!”
“Nor I either,” said Hamilton.
“Of course not,” said Crescenz, smiling, “as she only
// 471.png
.pn +1
latterly began to like you; but for ten years she was everything
to me! After we left school, indeed, or rather from
the time we were at Seon, she changed a good deal, certainly.
You know the time that——”
“I know,” said Hamilton.
“But when she was here last week, she was just what she
used to be; I could have fancied we had gone back two or
three years of our lives.”
“So she was quite cheerful!” said Hamilton, with a constrained
smile. “It seems she felt no regret at quitting the
Iron Works?”
“Not much, I should think, when you were no longer
there,” answered Crescenz.
“What! What do you mean?” asked Hamilton, eagerly.
“Why, as you were the only person who could talk to her—she
must have found it very dull after you were gone, I
suppose.”
“Oh!” said Hamilton, “is that all? Perhaps she did not
say as much—did not speak of me at all?”
“Oh yes; we often spoke of you,” said Crescenz, nodding
her head.
“I flattered myself, at one time, that Hildegarde liked
me——” began Hamilton.
“She does like you—she said so repeatedly, and quite
agreed with me in everything about you, but she does not
like you as Blazius thought she would when you first went
to the Iron Works. He said then it was very inconsiderate
of mamma to take you there—that she ought to have insisted
on your leaving the house when papa died!”
“She did propose my leaving,” said Hamilton.
“Yes, I know—that was after Blazius had spoken to her—and
he was so angry, when he heard you were going to
the country, after all! He said—he said——”
“What?” asked Hamilton.
“That with such opportunities, he should not be at all
surprised if you and Hildegarde went to—the—devil! He
sometimes does use such very improper words!”
Hamilton could not help smiling.
“You think I am joking,” she continued, “but I assure
you, he said such dreadful things, that I cannot repeat them—and
I was so glad, when I went to the Iron Works, to
perceive that Hildegarde did not like you—in that way——”
// 472.png
.pn +1
“In what way?” asked Hamilton, irresistibly impelled to
talk to her as he had in former times. She blushed so
deeply, however, and became so painfully confused, that he
added gravely, “You mean that you saw she only liked me
as an acquaintance, or friend, and I believe you are right.”
“Yes, that is exactly what I meant,” said Crescenz, apparently
greatly relieved, “for that last day, when you seemed
to like Lina Berger more than you had ever done either of
us, she did not in the least mind it—quite laughed at the idea!”
“Did she?” said Hamilton, with a look of annoyance,
which Crescenz alone could have failed to observe.
“Hildegarde never will tell me anything!” she continued,
“but I have made a discovery all the same!”
“Have you?” cried Hamilton, with a look of interest,
which her observations were seldom calculated to produce.
“What is it?”
“I have found out, at last, who it is that she really loves.”
“Indeed! Are you quite sure?”
“You shall hear how I found out. Lina Berger came
here, not to take leave of Hildegarde, for you know they
dislike each other—but because she wished to hear something
about you. Now, Hildegarde answered all her questions
with the greatest composure, and when Lina found
that she could not embarrass or annoy her about you, she
suddenly turned the conversation and spoke of Count Zedwitz.
The moment she pronounced his name Hildegarde’s
whole countenance changed, and then Lina went on, and
told her that the old Count was dying, that Doctor Berger
had been several times to see him, and said he could not
live more than a week or ten days, and that, as his son had
been written for, and was probably on his way home, she
now seriously advised Hildegarde not to leave Munich, or at
least Bavaria until all chance was over of his renewing his
proposal of marriage to her—that is, if she had still the
slightest hope that such an unheard of good fortune was in
store for her—above all things she ought to avoid going to
Frankfort, as, notwithstanding all Count Zedwitz’s professions
of liberality, the idea of her having been a governess might
be revolting to him!”
“Poor, dear Hildegarde!” cried Hamilton, compassionately.
“Was she very angry?”
“She became so pale and agitated that I expected some
// 473.png
.pn +1
terrible scene, such as we used to have at school; but to my
great surprise, she thanked Lina for her good advice, though
she did not mean to follow it; said she considered being a
governess no sort of disgrace—rather the contrary, as it led
to the supposition at least, that her acquirements were more
than common, and that what Count Zedwitz might think on
the subject was at present a matter of indifference to her—and
then she went out of the room, and did not return until
Lina was gone.”
“But, surely, you do not infer from this that she loves
Zedwitz!” cried Hamilton, cheerfully. “It seems to me as
if the contrary conclusion might be drawn.”
“You have not heard all,” said Crescenz. “After Lina
was gone, though I knew she had only been trying to vex
Hildegarde, I thought the advice might be good, as Blazius
had said several times that it would be such an excellent
thing if that cross old Count would die at once, and leave
his son at liberty to marry Hildegarde. It is very wrong to
wish anybody to die, but Blazius does not mind saying things
of that kind—I don’t think he means all he says though,
about the devil, or people being damned—it would be very
terrible if he did—and I am sure he learned all those odious
expressions in that frightful Russian campaign——”
“Well, a—and so—” said Hamilton, “when Hildegarde
again came into the room, you probably recommended her
remaining here?”
“Yes—but you know, I never could expect Hildegarde to
follow my advice! and when she refused, I only just ventured,
in a whisper, to ask her if she thought that Count
Zedwitz still loved her—and she said, ‘Yes, better than any
one ever loved, or will love me—better than I deserve,’ and
then she went to the window and pretended to look out, but
I saw that she was crying. I am quite sure she has made
up her mind to marry him, but I don’t understand why she
is so unhappy about it, especially as he is a count, and Hildegarde
is so fond of rank!”
“Is she?” said Hamilton, absently.
“Oh yes, rank, riches, station, and somebody to love her
exclusively—and Count Zedwitz can give her all these
things, you know!”
“Very true—your arguments are conclusive,” said Hamilton,
“and now it is time for me to go——”
// 474.png
.pn +1
“But you will come again!” said Crescenz; “you will
come to take leave of Blazius?”
Hamilton shook his head.
“Are you really going away forever?” asked Crescenz,
and her eyes filled with tears as she added, in a slightly
tremulous voice, “Hildegarde said we should never hear of,
never see you again!”
“And she said it, I am sure, with less regret than you do!”
exclaimed Hamilton, bitterly.
“I dare say you think me very foolish,” said Crescenz,
trying to smile, while large tears coursed each other down
her cheeks.
“I think you very kind,” said Hamilton.
“If Blazius were at home, you would have stayed a little
longer, perhaps. I wish Blazius were here.”
Hamilton thought it was quite as well he was not, but did
not say so; and after taking leave of her, much more affectionately
than he had dared to do of her sister, he left the
house considerably more thoughtful than he had entered it.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch44
CHAPTER XLIV. || THE JOURNEY HOME COMMENCES.
.sp 2
Hamilton left Munich the next day in the mail for
Frankfort; he had secured the place beside the conductor in
the front part of the coach, which formed a kind of open
carriage, and where he intended to smoke, and think, and
sleep undisturbed. His late conversation with Crescenz had
made a deep impression on him; it had again filled his mind
with doubts and fears, which deprived him of his habitual
cheerfulness, while his usual source of amusement when
travelling—studying the characters or foibles of his companions—had
lost all interest for him. He did not ask the
name or condition of any one of the persons with whom he
moved under the same roof a whole night and two days, and
no one contradicted the young student, who, on leaving at
Wurtzburg, observed with a glance towards Hamilton, “As
// 475.png
.pn +1
unsociable a fellow as ever I met! A thorough Englishman!”
He wandered about the streets until the coach was again
ready to start, and then, although the weather had completely
cleared up, and the country, refreshed by the rain,
was by no means uninteresting, he sunk back into his corner,
and overpowered by weariness, fell fast asleep. When he
awoke it was quite dark, and as he raised himself slowly
from his slumbers, the conductor called out, “Halt!—who is
booked for Aschaffenburg? Who gets out here?”
Some passenger from the inside of the coach spoke, and
Hamilton asked, “Is there a good hotel here?”
“Very good.”
“Then let me out—my legs are cramped, and my head
and shoulders battered and bruised. I say, Hans, you can
go on to Frankfort, and bespeak rooms for me at the Hotel
d’Angleterre. Give me my carpet-bag and dressing-case, as
fast as you can,” and Hamilton was stamping his feet on the
ground with a feeling of relief amounting to pleasure, when a
man with a lantern came up to him and demanded his passport.
“My passport?—directly—I shall be in Frankfort about
twelve o’clock to-morrow, Hans,” cried Hamilton, as the
coach drove off; and having delivered up his passport, he
watched the man with the lantern enter an adjacent house,
saw the light pass from one window to the other, until it
finally disappeared, and all was dark.
“This is pleasant,” he said, looking around him, “and I
don’t know the way to the hotel, or even the name of it!”
“I am here sir, with a wheelbarrow for the luggage,” said
a voice near him, and Hamilton’s eyes now becoming accustomed
to the darkness, he perceived a man standing close to
him, and a dark figure at a little distance sitting among
some trunks and boxes.
“Can you show me the way to the best hotel?” asked
Hamilton.
“To be sure I can—for what else am I here every night,
wet or dry!” answered the man, good-humouredly, as he
placed Hamilton’s luggage in the wheelbarrow. “If you
have no objection, sir, I’ll take the lady’s things too.”
“By all means,” said Hamilton, looking towards the dark
figure, which now rose and endeavoured to assist the man to
move a rather large trunk.
// 476.png
.pn +1
“Allow me,” said Hamilton, instantly taking her place;
and everything was soon arranged.
“Thank you a thousand times,” whispered the lady, placing
her arm within his almost familiarly; and Hamilton, half
surprised, half amused, looked somewhat curiously at his
companion as she afterwards unreservedly drew closer to him,
and at last clasped her small well-gloved hands over his arm.
They followed for some minutes in silence the man with the
wheelbarrow, who trudged on before them whistling; but as
they drew near to one of the miserable street lamps Hamilton
leant forward and endeavoured rather unceremoniously to
peer under his companion’s bonnet; a thick veil rendered
the effort fruitless.
“You wish to see my face,” she said, in a voice that made
him stop suddenly, with an exclamation of astonishment;
and when she pushed aside her veil the flickering light
played dimly over the well-known features of Hildegarde.
And where were Hamilton’s doubts and fears at that
moment?—removed?—dispersed? No; but they were dormant—sleeping
as soundly, perhaps as uneasily, as he had
been doing about an hour before. He scarcely understood
Hildegarde, as with repeated assurances that she was very,
very glad to see him again, she incoherently related that she
had travelled to Wurtzburg with some friends of Mademoiselle
Hortense’s; they had been very kind, and had
insisted on her remaining with them a couple of days, to
recover from the fatigue of her night journey; that they
had accompanied her to the coach, and advised her to sleep
at Aschaffenburg; that she had recognised Hamilton’s voice
when speaking to Hans, had seen his face when the man
demanded his passport, “And then,” she added, “I knew
that all my difficulties about travelling were at an end; so I
sat down on my trunk and waited to see when you would
recognise me!”
“How could I recognise your voice when you whispered,
or your face, when covered with that impervious veil?
Indeed, it is impossible to see anything at a few feet distance
from these lamps, which seem but intended to make the
‘darkness visible.’ The moment you spoke I knew you.”
“That I expected,” said Hildegarde; “otherwise I should
have been tempted to preserve my incognito a little longer.”
“I am very glad you did not—but where is the man with
// 477.png
.pn +1
our bags and boxes?” he cried, looking round. He was no
longer visible, though they could still indistinctly hear the
sound of the jogging of the wheelbarrow over the rough
paving-stones in the distance. With a merry laugh they ran
together down the street, and overtook him just as he rolled
his clumsy little vehicle under an archway, lighted by two
handsome lamps, and where their arrival was immediately
announced by the ringing of a large bell.
They reached Frankfort the next day, just in time to dine
at the table d’hôte; but Hildegarde’s appearance caused so
many inquiries, that Hamilton followed her to her room to
advise her not dining there in future.
“I shall scarcely be here to-morrow,” she said, pushing
back her bonnet, while she rummaged a little writing-desk
for some paper. “Oh! here it is,” she added, “Hortense’s
letter of introduction. I am sure you will be so kind as to
go with me to find out the house of this lady—this Baroness
Waldorf!”
“Who?” cried Hamilton.
“Baroness Waldorf.”
“Why did you not tell me it was to her you were
going?”
“Because I did not think it could interest you in any way—I
never heard you speak of her. Have you seen her?
Do you know anything about her?”
“I met her at Edelhof—Zedwitz is guardian to her
daughter.”
“Oh, tell me something about her,” cried Hildegarde,
eagerly, to Hamilton’s surprise quite indifferent to the latter
part of his speech. “Tell me all you know about her. Is
she a person to whom I am likely to become attached?”
“I don’t know—I rather think not. Oh, Hildegarde, let
me advise you, as a friend, to give up this plan altogether,
and go back to your step-mother—If you would only listen
to me patiently for ten minutes——”
“I cannot listen to you,” said Hildegarde, interrupting
him, “for I have made an engagement—a promise to remain
a whole year, under all circumstances, with the Baroness
Waldorf. She would not make any other sort of agreement,
as she is going to Florence for the winter. She alone can
release me from this promise—but I cannot say I wish it, as
I rather enjoy the idea of going to Italy.”
// 478.png
.pn +1
“Under other circumstances I could easily imagine it.”
“And under what other circumstances am I likely to see
Italy—or even the Rhine, near as it now is to me?”
Hamilton was silent.
“Let us go,” said Hildegarde, taking up her gloves. “You
will not, I am sure, try to dissuade me any longer, when I tell
you that I cannot endure the life I should have to lead at
the Iron Works; my habits and education have unfortunately
made me totally unfit for it. I have made the trial,
and must now with regret confess that the details of domestic
life are not only tiresome, but absolutely disgusting to me.”
“So, then,” said Hamilton, “you have discovered that
riches are necessary to your happiness?”
“Not exactly riches,” replied Hildegarde, little aware of
the importance attached to her answer, “but something
beyond the actual means of subsistence—enough at least to
insure me from the vulgar cares of life, and to enable me to
associate with people whose habits and manners are similar
to mine.”
“And how much would be necessary for this?” asked
Hamilton, gravely.
“Oh, indeed I don’t know,” she answered carelessly,
laughing, “nor is it necessary to calculate. That I have it
not is certain; and in being a governess I see the only means
of satisfying my wishes at present, and securing a competence
hereafter. If I remain ten years with the Baroness
Waldorf, I shall receive a pension for the rest of my life.”
“And do you think you could not endure these vulgar
cares of life, as you call them, even with a person you loved?”
asked Hamilton, still more earnestly.
“I shall never be tried in that way,” answered Hildegarde
firmly, and while she walked on, wholly occupied with her
immediate concerns, Hamilton altogether misunderstanding
the meaning of her words, concluded she referred to a marriage
with Zedwitz at some future period. Thus unconsciously
tormenting each other, they reached the Baroness
Waldorf’s house, and finding a burly porter lounging outside
the door, they asked if she was at home.
“No—she was not—she had gone to Mayence.”
“And when is she expected to return?” asked Hildegarde,
anxiously.
“We do not in the least know, Mademoiselle, she left very
// 479.png
.pn +1
suddenly, in consequence of a letter which she received. She
is sometimes not more than a few days absent, and most
of the carriages and horses are still here. Who shall I
say——?”
“It is of no consequence,” said Hamilton, “we merely
wished to know if a young lady from Munich was not expected
about this time?”
The man said he would inquire, entered the house, but
returned almost directly, saying, that no one was expected,
excepting perhaps Count Zedwitz on his way home.
Hamilton and Hildegarde walked on together for some
minutes in silence; at length the latter observed, half inquiringly,
“I suppose I have no right to be offended with
this Baroness Waldorf? It must have been urgent business
which could make her leave Frankfort just when she appointed
me to be here?”
“I should think so,” said Hamilton, “but she might have
made some arrangement for your reception during her absence.
This thoughtlessness about you will scarcely prepossess
you in her favour.”
“Rich people are seldom considerate,” began Hildegarde,
as if she intended to moralise; but suddenly stopping, she
added: “You are right—she has placed me in a very unpleasant
position—if she do not return in a day or two, I
shall neither have the means of remaining here nor returning
home.”
“Our fortunate meeting at Aschaffenburg,” said Hamilton,
“will save you from all annoyances of that description, as
you know I can arrange everything with your mother. At
all events, I shall not leave you now until you are either at
home again or residing with this—to say the least—very
thoughtless person.”
“But will not delay inconvenience you?” asked Hildegarde.
“Not in the least. As far as I am concerned I should be
glad that the Baroness would not return for six weeks! All
places are alike to me where you are; and much as we were
together at the Iron Works, you have more time to bestow
on me here; and therefore I am proportionably happier.”
This kind of speech she never answered; and after a short
pause Hamilton proposed showing her the gardens which
surrounded the town, and in their shady walks they wandered
until evening.
// 480.png
.pn +1
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch45
CHAPTER XLV. || WHAT OCCURRED AT THE HOTEL D’ANGLETERRE FRANKFORT.
.sp 2
The next day after dinner, while Hamilton went to his
banker’s, Hildegarde looked out of her window, and watched,
with a sort of quiet indifference, the arrival of two travelling
carriages at the hotel. Out of the first sprang a tall large
man, who, merely raising two fingers to his travelling cap by
way of salutation, instantly disappeared—and even while the
heated and tired horses were still being led up and down the
yard others were brought out, and the servant, after great
bustling and hurrying, followed his master into the hotel.
Again the cracking of the whips and ringing of bells became
audible, and another and larger carriage arrived—decidedly
English. The well-built vehicle swung easily with all its weight
of imperials and servants’ seats behind, and out of it stepped
a tall, thin gentleman, with a grey hat, a grey coat, grey
trousers, grey gaiters, and grey whiskers! An elderly lady
followed, her face half concealed by her pendent lace veil,
and two young and pretty girls stopped for a moment to
inspect the building they were about to enter. Hildegarde
looked at her watch, it was the hour that Hamilton told her
he would return, so she locked her door, and began slowly to
walk along the corridor and descend the stairs. The English
family were just turning into a large suite of rooms on the
first floor as she passed—the gentleman in grey had stopped
at the door, his hat fast on his head; he turned to his wife,
who was entering, and observed, quite loud enough for Hildegarde
to hear, “By Jove, that’s the handsomest girl I
have seen for a long time!” The lady turned round and
deliberately raised her lorgnette to her eye, while their two
daughters, after a hasty glance, exclaimed, “Oh, papa, I
really do think she understood you.” Hildegarde walked
quickly on, but met so many servants and strangers that she
took refuge at last in the large dining-room, which at that
hour was generally quite unoccupied.
One solitary individual sat at the enormous table. He
// 481.png
.pn +1
seemed to have been dining, and Hildegarde walked to one
of the windows without looking at him. Soon after she
heard him striding up and down the room, and as the waiter
entered with some fruit and confitures, he asked rather impatiently,
“Has my servant not yet dined? Tell him to make
haste—he knows we have no time to lose.”
The voice was familiar to Hildegarde, she unconsciously
turned round to look at the speaker, and was instantly recognised
by Count Zedwitz, who, with a look of astonishment,
hurried toward her, exclaiming, “Mademoiselle Rosenberg!
What on earth has brought you to Frankfort?”
“I came here intending to go to a Baroness Waldorf as
governess to her daughter—she has gone to Mayence, I hear,
and——”
“And you are here alone, unprotected, and I cannot offer
to stay with you—I do not know if you have heard that my
father is dying—no hope whatever of his recovery; I only
received the intelligence yesterday, and am now travelling
night and day to reach home in time to see him once more!”
At this moment the servant entered to say that the carriage
was ready.
“Very well: you may go—and—shut the door—Hildegarde,
I mean Mademoiselle Rosenberg—do not remain here.
Give up this idea of going to Ida Waldorf; it will never
answer—believe me you will be most unhappy!”
“It must answer,” said Hildegarde, “and I shall not be
unhappy, for the idea of being a governess is familiar to me
from my infancy, and has therefore lost all its terrors.”
“Excuse my questioning you,” cried Zedwitz quickly, “but
may I ask how you happen to become acquainted with the
Baroness Waldorf?”
“I do not know her at all—I never saw her—it was all
arranged by Mademoiselle Hortense, one of the governesses
of our school.”
“Did the Baroness Waldorf know your name?” asked
Zedwitz, eagerly.
“At first, perhaps not,” answered Hildegarde, with a look
of surprise, “but in the letter which told her that I had left
Munich, Mademoiselle Hortense must have mentioned it—I
should think my name a matter of very little importance!”
“In this instance, you are mistaken—I—I fear the Baroness
is not likely to return for some time—I——”
// 482.png
.pn +1
“Her servant said she would not be long absent—that her
leaving was quite a sudden thing,” observed Hildegarde.
“Her leaving when she expected you was unpardonable,
cruel, ungenerous!” exclaimed Zedwitz, vehemently.
“I was rather shocked at first myself, but I afterwards
thought she had not perhaps received the letter in time——”
“She did receive it, I am sure she did—it was the letter
which—Oh, Mademoiselle Rosenberg, do not remain here
any longer—return to your relations, return with me now—at
once.”
Hildegarde blushed intensely.
“I shall send my servant with the carriage,” he added
quickly, “and we can travel in the diligence, or in any way
you please.”
“You are very kind,” said Hildegarde, “but I consider
myself engaged to this Baroness Waldorf, and until I hear
from her——”
“You will not hear from her, you will never hear from
her!” he cried, impatiently, “and I must leave you; I cannot,
dare not delay my return home now!”
Again Hildegarde blushed, she endeavoured to name Hamilton,
but the words died on her lips, and her confusion increased
every moment. Some people began to stray into the
room, and Zedwitz added in an agitated whisper: “God
forgive me for thinking of anything but my father when he
is lying on his death-bed; the peculiarity of our position
must be my excuse for telling you at such a time, that my
feelings toward you are unchanged, unchangeable. Return
to your family, and let me hope that time may so far overcome
your dislike, or indifference, whichever it be——”
“Oh, Count Zedwitz, it is neither,” said Hildegarde, with
evident effort. “I should be unworthy of such regard as
you feel for me, were I not now to tell you that—I have—long—loved
another.”
“Hamilton of course—I always feared it.”
Hildegarde was silent.
“If you are engaged to him, tell me so; it is the only
means of effectually crushing all my hopes at once!”
“We have no engagement, he cannot enter into any; he
does not even know that I regard him otherwise than as a
friend!”
“Then listen to me, Hildegarde: notwithstanding all the
// 483.png
.pn +1
admiration, all the love which he undoubtedly feels for you
now—when he has been some time at home among the
friends and companions of his youth—he will forget you!”
“I think he will,” said Hildegarde with a deep sigh.
“And you too will forget this youthful fancy,” continued
Zedwitz.
“Youthful fancy!” she repeated slowly, “I fear I have
neither youthful fancies nor youthful feelings; I have had
no youth!”
“It will come like a late spring, and bestow on you at once
those blessings which others receive so gradually, that they
are insensible to them.”
Hildegarde shook her head and turned to the window.
Zedwitz seemed to wish to say something which embarrassed
him. “In case you should find this hotel more expensive
than you expected,” he began in an hesitating manner.
“Oh, not at all expensive,” said Hildegarde. “I had no
idea one could live so cheaply at such a place!”
Zedwitz looked surprised; he would have been more so if
he had seen the bill which she had paid Hamilton with such
childish satisfaction a couple of hours before. It is needless
to say that it had been written by him, as soon as he had
discovered that she had not the most remote idea of the
expenses of travelling, that he had taken advantage of her
ignorance to prevent her feeling any annoyance or uneasiness.
“I cannot tell you how unwilling I am to leave you,” said
Zedwitz, after a pause; “but go I must. Until we meet again,
let me indulge the hope that a time may come——”
Just at that moment the hotel-keeper entered the room
and approached the window where they were standing.
Zedwitz turned round, and Hildegarde in her anxiety to
undeceive him, and fearing he was leaving her under a false
impression, stretched out her hand to detain him; the action
was misunderstood, he caught it between both his, and while
she endeavoured in vain to stammer a few words of explanation,
he whispered, “Thank you a thousand times, you do
not know how even this faint ray of hope will lighten the
gloominess of my present journey!”
He then took the innkeeper aside, and spoke long and
earnestly to him about her, said he knew her family—requested
him to let her know every opportunity that might
offer for a return to Munich in respectable society—gave him
// 484.png
.pn +1
his address, the name of his banker, and unlimited credit on
her account; and just as the innkeeper, with an only half
suppressed smile of amusement, was about to explain to him
that he need not be so uneasy about the lady, as she was
already under the protection of a young Englishman, Zedwitz,
reproaching himself for the delay which had occurred,
sprang into the carriage, and a moment after it rolled from
under the archway past the window where Hildegarde still
stood, a prey to the most distressing and contending emotions.
After waiting more than half an hour longer, and Hamilton
not appearing, she retired to her room, supposing some
unexpected business had detained him; but when several
hours elapsed, and he was still absent, she became uneasy.
A feeling of delicacy prevented her from making any inquiries,
and she sat at her window, long after dusk, trying
to discover him in every tall dark figure she saw moving
near the entrance or in the court below. A sensation of
utter loneliness came over her, thoughts of the most melancholy
description chased each other through her mind; when,
from a reverie of this kind, she recognised the well-known
quick step, and a low knock at the door made her conscious
that Hamilton was near; all the painful reminiscences—uncertainties—Zedwitz—everything,
was in a moment forgotten;
and she rose quickly and joyously from her chair to
meet him. It was too dark for Hamilton to see the tears
which still lingered in her long eyelashes, and too dark for
her to observe the flushed and irritated expression of his
whole countenance.
“Shall I light the candles?” she asked cheerfully.
“If you wish it, but I prefer the room as it is.”
She sat down near him, and after a pause observed, “You
were long absent; was there any difficulty at the banker’s?”
“None whatever.” Another pause—then suddenly turning
towards her, he said quickly, “I have been thinking that as
the Baroness Waldorf has a house at Mayence, she may be
longer absent than her servants supposed. A few hours
would take you to Mayence.”
“Do you think it necessary to follow her there?”
“Not exactly necessary, but why not? You have often
wished to see the Rhine.”
“Oh, it would be too delightful!” exclaimed Hildegarde.
// 485.png
.pn +1
“If you think so,” said Hamilton, every trace of annoyance
disappearing from his face, “why, the sooner we go the
better.”
“But the expense,” said Hildegarde, hesitatingly.
“Will not be greater than remaining here; do not let that
weigh with you for a moment.”
“Perhaps I ought to write to my mother, or Hortense?”
“You cannot have an answer for several days, and it is
better to wait until you have seen the Baroness Waldorf; I
should think whether you were here or at Mayence must be
a matter of indifference to them, and I am sure your mother
would be quite satisfied if she knew that you were under my
care!”
“That I think too,” said Hildegarde, “and I should like
to put an end to my present state of uncertainty as soon as
possible. I do not,” she continued, half laughing, “I do not
feel any sort of scruples about travelling with you; I suppose,
because we have lived so long in the same house, and
I know you so well; but when Count Zedwitz to-day proposed
my returning home with him——”
“Zedwitz! To-day!” repeated Hamilton, amazed.
“Yes. In passing through Frankfort to-day, he dined and
changed horses here. I saw him for a few minutes when I
was waiting for your return; he strongly advised me not to
go to the Baroness Waldorf, and seemed, oddly enough, to
think she had gone away on purpose.”
“Not impossible—not improbable. Did he explain, in any
way, the cause of his suspicions?”
“No, he had not time, his father is dying, and he is, of
course, most anxious to get home. He—he went away just
as I was going to tell him that you was here——” she
stopped, embarrassed.
“Hildegarde, let us go to Mayence,” cried Hamilton,
abruptly.
“As early as you please to-morrow morning,” she answered,
cheerfully.
“Not to-morrow morning—this evening—in an hour—in
half an hour!”
“But—but it is night—almost dark already.”
“Well, what difference does that make?”
“They told me never to travel at night; it was to avoid
doing so that I stopped at Aschaffenburg.”
// 486.png
.pn +1
“That was when you were alone, and travelling in a public
carriage.”
“I do not, however, see any necessity for such haste,” she
said quietly, “and, therefore, if you have no objections, I
should greatly prefer waiting until morning.”
“But I have an objection, and you will greatly oblige me
by leaving to-night.”
“I suppose you have some very good reason for what
appears to me a most unnecessary exercise of the power
which chance has given you over me?”
“I have a reason,” began Hamilton, and there he stopped.
How could he tell her that he had recognised his own coat-of-arms
on a carriage in the yard—that he had questioned
the courier, who was unpacking it, and discovered that the
same uncle who had been in Salzburg the year before, was
now on his way to Baden-Baden with his wife and daughters;
that he dreaded their discovering Hildegarde’s being with
him, feared the ungenerous conclusions they might draw
from her present position; and that, to avoid a chance
meeting, he had wandered about the least frequented streets,
until the shades of evening, and the certainty of their being
engaged at the tea-table, had enabled him to pass their apartments,
with the hope of not being discovered. To attempt
an explanation with Hildegarde would be sufficient to make
her insist on his leaving her instantly; his only chance was
to use his personal influence and try to persuade her to leave
Frankfort that night, before they had been seen—before
the “strangers’ book” had given rise to any inquiries about
them.
“Well,” said Hildegarde, “I have surely a right to hear
your reason?”
“Right! Oh, if we talk of rights, it is you alone who
should name the day and hour of departure—you alone who
have a right to dictate; but I was asking a favour, I wish
most particularly to be in Mayence at a very early hour to-morrow.”
“And if we leave at three or four o’clock in the morning,
will not that be early enough?”
Hamilton looked only half satisfied.
“I do not like the appearance of going off at night in so
sudden and mysterious a manner—not even—with you,” said
Hildegarde, candidly.
// 487.png
.pn +1
“Perhaps you are right—but at three o’clock in the
morning if the exertion be not too great.”
“Oh,” said Hildegarde, laughing, “you will find it more
difficult to be ready than I shall.”
“Not to-morrow,” said Hamilton; “I shall be at your
door waiting for you, even before the clock strikes.” And
in the morning, when she opened her door, there he stood.
He unconsciously stepped lighter as he passed the rooms
containing his sleeping relations. Hildegarde pointed to
them, and said they were occupied by English people; she
had seen them arrive the day before, had passed them on
her way down stairs, and, while still talking of the grey man
and the veiled lady, Hamilton hurried her into the carriage
and they drove off.
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch46
CHAPTER XLVI. || HALT!
.sp 2
It was still early when Hildegarde and Hamilton reached
Mayence; so early, that, after lingering over their breakfast
an unusually long time, the latter said he would make some
inquiries about the Baroness Waldorf, and Hildegarde could
go to her at a later hour. After a very short absence he
returned, and throwing himself into a chair, exclaimed,
“Well, certainly this is the most unaccountable conduct!”
“What is the matter?” asked Hildegarde, turning very
pale, “has she left Mayence too?”
“Yes—gone again; and without leaving any message for
you!”
“There must be some extraordinary mistake or confusion
either on her part or Hortense’s! I could almost agree with
Count Zedwitz, and think she was purposely avoiding me, if
I had not read the letters which she wrote—her hopes that
we should be long together—her regrets that I was not a
few years older—her entreaties that Hortense would not let
me leave Munich until she had found some person to take
charge of me: and now to leave me to wander about after
her in this way! So apparently to forget my existence!
It is quite incomprehensible!”
// 488.png
.pn +1
“She has gone to Waldorf,” said Hamilton, “and a—Waldorf
is not far from Coblentz.”
“You surely would not advise me to pursue her farther!”
cried Hildegarde, indignantly.
“Oh, no! I have advised, and still advise you to go
home.”
“And yet I shall make one effort more, though most unwillingly,”
said Hildegarde; “I should be ashamed to go
home after a wild-goose chase of this kind; I must know at
least what to say to my relations. Suppose I were to write
to the Baroness, and await her answer here? That will—that
must explain everything.”
“Write,” said Hamilton, “and we can take it to the post
ourselves, when we go out with a valet de place, who must
show us everything worth seeing. I dare say we can spend
two or three days very pleasantly here.”
“I shall be dreadfully in your debt!” observed Hildegarde,
blushing.
“Not at all,” said Hamilton, with the most serious face
imaginable. “You have more than enough money for all
your expenses here, though perhaps not quite enough to
take you home.”
The letter was written, and they sallied forth, preceded by
a loquacious valet de place, to whose remarks, after the first
five minutes, they did not pay the slightest attention.
When they were returning to the hotel, by a newly-made
walk along the banks of the Rhine, Hildegarde stopped to
look at a new and beautifully-built steamboat, on which
there was a placard hung up to say that she would sail the
next morning for Cologne.
“Should you like to see the interior, Hildegarde?”
“Oh, of all things!” and the steamboat was examined
with a degree of curiosity, interest, and admiration, of
which those accustomed to the sight from infancy can form
no idea. The captain of the ship, who happened to be on
board, attracted probably by her appearance, had every
drawer and cupboard opened for her inspection, and Hamilton
was beginning to find his explanations rather long and
tiresome, when he suddenly concluded them by hoping that
she was to be one of his passengers the next day.
“We have not yet quite decided,” said Hamilton, laughing
at her embarrassment; “though I do not,” he added,
// 489.png
.pn +1
turning to her, “I do not in fact see what there is to prevent
us.”
“We shall have fine weather,” observed the captain, “and
shall be in Cologne in good time in the evening.”
“I don’t think we could do better, Hildegarde,” said
Hamilton, in a low voice in English.
“I am afraid it would be improper—wrong, without any
object but amusement! just consider for a moment.”
“I cannot,” said Hamilton, “see any greater impropriety
in your passing a day or two in a crowded steamboat, than
at a hotel along with me—rather less, perhaps, but I deny
the impropriety altogether, when I take into consideration
that I have been one of your family for the last year, and
that you have learned so completely to consider me a friend—almost
a relation.”
“That is true,” said Hildegarde, “but still——”
“Then,” continued Hamilton, “you cannot have an answer
to your letter for three days at least—we shall be back just
in time to receive it. Whether we pass to-morrow night at
Cologne or Mayence, is quite unimportant, and I should
like to show you the Rhine scenery. Let it be hereafter
associated in your mind with your recollections of me!”
This last sentence was pronounced half pathetically, half
beseechingly, and Hildegarde made no further opposition to
a plan which accorded but too well with her own inclinations.
We will spare our readers the description of the impression
made on her by the Rheingeau, Johannisberg, the Lurlei,
Coblentz, Rolandseck, the Drachenfels, etc., etc., etc.
“What a pretty room!” said Hildegarde to Hamilton,
who had followed her up the stairs of the Hôtel Bellevue at
Deutz. “What a pretty room! We have a complete view
of the Rhine, and quite overlook the garden. I really
should like to stay here a week—if I dared.”
“I have no objection,” said Hamilton, laughing, “though
I have just heard there are so many princes and serene
highnesses in the house that I must sleep on the sofa in
this room, if you have no objection; for only this and the
bedroom adjoining are to be had.”
The waiter entered the room just at this moment to inquire
if M. and Madame would sup there, or at the table d’hôte.
“Here,” said Hamilton, and he blushed deeply, as he
// 490.png
.pn +1
turned to Hildegarde, who was sitting on the window stool,
but no longer looking at the Rhine, or into the garden—she
had fixed her eyes on the door as the waiter closed it, and
with parted lips and slightly contracted brows, seemed expecting
to hear more.
“You look quite shocked at that man’s stupid mistake,”
said Hamilton, with affected carelessness.
“It was not a stupid mistake; it was a very natural
conclusion.”
“You mean on account of the rooms, perhaps? Don’t let
that annoy you, for you shall have undisturbed possession
of both—I dare say I can get a bed at one of the inns at
the other side of the river—indeed, I should have proposed
it at once, only I did not like to leave you here alone.”
“I am afraid you will think me very selfish,” said Hildegarde.
“Not at all.”
“Unnecessarily prudish, then?”
“Rather.”
“You are right,” she said with a sigh, “after having gone
off with you in this—this very—thoughtless manner, any
attempt at prudery is preposterous—ridiculous! There is,
in fact, nothing to prevent your sleeping in this room, if you
do not fear the sofa being too uncomfortable.”
“There is something to prevent me,” said Hamilton, “and
that is, you do not wish it. I will go at once across the
bridge, and if there be any room to be had, not quite at the
other end of the town, I shall not return until morning.”
“But had you not better wait until after supper?”
“It is scarcely advisable, for at this time of the year
there are so many travellers, that nothing in the neighbourhood
may be to be had; and you know we start early.” While
he spoke, however, the waiter appeared with the tray containing
their supper, and half blushing, half laughing, they
sat down together, and between talking and eating, in the
course of a few minutes, forgot all about the matter.
It was the waiter, the “stupid man,” who was again to
remind them of the impropriety of their conduct. He had
returned to say that the band of one of the regiments at
Cologne would play in the garden—perhaps Madame would
like a table and chair to be kept for her?
Hamilton did not venture to look at his companion, as he
// 491.png
.pn +1
refused the offered civility, but snatching up his hat, hurried
away as fast as he could.
But he returned, and very soon too, and great was his
annoyance to find Hildegarde already in her room, and the
door closed; he walked backwards and forwards, not very
patiently or quietly, for about ten minutes, and then knocked.
“Good night,” said Hildegarde.
“I am sorry to tell you that I have not been able to find
a room, excepting in a very out-of-the-way place: as the
packet leaves so early, and I am so apt to be late, I thought
it better to ask you what I should do?”
“I am very sorry,” began Hildegarde.
“So am I,” said Hamilton, “but as it cannot be helped, I
think you might just as well come out here for an hour, and
talk over our journey back.”
“I am going to bed; I am tired.”
“Have you any objection to my smoking a cigar, if I open
the window?”
“None whatever, you may smoke a dozen if you like.”
He opened the window and leaned out to watch the gay
scene which was passing below him. The garden was crowded
with guests, and well lit with candles, protected from the
wind by glass globes; the murmuring of voices, and gay
laughter reached him, and had he not still entertained a
faint hope of seeing Hildegarde again, he would have joined
the revellers, not in the hope of actual enjoyment, but to
banish thoughts which were crowding thick upon him, and
producing a state of nervous irritation most unusual to him.
He felt so provoked at Hildegarde’s tranquil, friendly manner;
it contrasted so painfully with his own state of feverish
uncertainty, that the jealous vision of Zedwitz unrepulsed,
rose, more and more distinctly before him. Would not the
situation of governess be intolerable to one of her proud
nature?—and after having tried it, would she not joyfully
accept the hand of Zedwitz, who, she said, “loved her better
than anyone ever did—better than she deserved?” These
thoughts at length became intolerable, and with one bound
he was again at her door.
“Hildegarde, the band is beginning to play in the garden;
will you not come to listen to it?”
“No, thank you.”
“But you have not yet gone to bed, I hope?”
// 492.png
.pn +1
There was no answer audible.
“You have not yet gone to bed? I want to speak to you—open
the door, I beg—I entreat.”
“Whatever you have to say can be said to-morrow just
as well as now.”
“I should rather say it now.”
“And I should rather hear it to-morrow.”
Hamilton knew her too well to persevere, and returned
again to his window, where he remained for more than an
hour, unconscious of everything passing beneath him, and
merely hearing a confused sound of instruments, which had
the effect of producing an almost painful feeling of fatigue.
He closed the window, and looked rather despondingly round
the room, which, as a dormitory, promised but few comforts,
he extinguished the candles, and then threw himself at full
length upon the sofa: he had been thinking intensely, and
as he lay there in the darkened chamber, he resolved that
another night should not find him in his present state of
uncertainty; and why should he endure it now? Why not
know his fate at once? He would insist on Hildegarde’s
listening to him, and answering him too! Starting up, his
eyes were instantly rivetted on a line of bright light visible
under her door; she was still awake; up perhaps. He
knocked, and observed in a low voice, as he leaned against
the door, “Hildegarde, I cannot sleep!”
“I am so sorry!” she answered—“the sofa, I suppose——”
“Yes, the sofa,” said Hamilton.
“I wish,” she said, coming toward the door, “I wish I
could resign this room to you, but——”
“There is no necessity; give me some of the pillows which
you do not want, and I shall be quite comfortable.”
“How stupid of me not to have thought of that before!”
she exclaimed, opening the door. “When you were absent
I could have arranged everything, but the fact is, I have
been for the last two hours thinking—really thinking, more
than I have ever done in my life!”
“So have I,” said Hamilton, quite overlooking the pillows
she was collecting for him. “Suppose we compare
thoughts?”
“Not now, to-morrow.”
“Now, now; this very instant,” he said, seating himself
// 493.png
.pn +1
on the sofa, and motioning to her to take the place beside
him. She shook her head, and continued standing.
“What on earth do you mean by this reserve—this unusual
prudery?” he continued, moving towards the side against
which she was leaning.
“Nothing,” she said, drawing back, “I only think it would
be better to defer anything you wish to speak about until
to-morrow, it is so late—so very late.”
“This is not the first time we have been together at midnight,”
said Hamilton, laughing; but as he spoke she blushed
so deeply, that he added, seriously, “When there was any
impropriety in it, I told you; you may believe me now, when
I tell you there is none!”
“You are not quite infallible, I fear,” she said sorrowfully,
“for you did not see any impropriety in my travelling alone
with you here, and I now both see and feel it, and shall
regret it all my life!”
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Hamilton. “Have I ever
said or done anything——”
“Oh, no, never—never!” cried Hildegarde, interrupting
him.
“Then why withdraw your confidence from me, if I have
not done anything to forfeit it?”
“I have the same confidence in you I ever had,” she answered,
with a sigh; “but I——have unfortunately lost all
confidence in myself!”
“How do you mean?”
“I have discovered that it was not a wish to see the Rhine
or be in a steamboat which made me leave Mayence with
you.”
“And what was it, then?” cried Hamilton, eagerly.
“It was the desire to be with you—to enjoy your society
undisturbed for a few days before we parted forever!”
“Not forever,” said Hamilton.
“I am ashamed to think how easily I allowed myself to
imagine that I ought to follow this Baroness Waldorf to
Mayence, still more so to think how soon I stifled my scruples
about coming here—and so effectually, too, that the whole
obvious impropriety never struck me until this evening, when
the waiter——”
“Was guilty of the horrible supposition that you were my
wife! Would that be so dreadful?” asked Hamilton.
// 494.png
.pn +1
“The waiter showed me by this simple remark,” she continued,
without noticing his interruption, “that I ought never
to have been with you as I have been under any other circumstances,
and I felt condemned at once. I must return
home to my step-mother.”
“Perhaps for a couple of years, it would be the best thing
you could do,” said Hamilton.
“To my step-mother or—to Mademoiselle Hortense?” she
said, musingly, as she seated herself on a chair, and unconsciously
moved it towards him. “Of course I have given up
all idea of going to the Baroness Waldorf.”
“I am glad to hear it. I never liked the plan.”
“And I am so sorry to be obliged to give it up!”
“Do not regret it—it would not have answered. I never
saw anyone for whom the situation of governess was less
eligible, notwithstanding your excellent education and extraordinary
talent for languages.”
“Eligible!” repeated Hildegarde. “You are right. I am
no longer eligible—I am no longer fit to direct the education
of—of any girl!”
“I hope you will never speak to anyone else in this
manner,” said Hamilton, gravely. “You would make people
suppose you had been guilty of some serious misdemeanor.”
“I have been guilty of a misdemeanor,” said Hildegarde,
despondingly, “and one which I should think it necessary to
confess to the Baroness Waldorf before I entered her house;
having done so, I conclude she would refuse to resign her
daughter to my care. To avoid the merited mortification, I
shall go home, tell everything to Hortense, and be guided by
her advice for the next year or two. And now,” she added,
“I have only one thing more to observe, and that is, that we
ought to repair our thoughtlessness as well as we can, or,
rather, avoid a continuation of it, by separating at once. I
shall return to Mayence to-morrow, and you must go on to
England.”
“I will go to—Scotland, if you will go with me, Hildegarde,”
said Hamilton. “Don’t be angry, I am not joking.
I have listened to the subject of your two hours’ meditation,
and now I expect you to listen to mine.” And he entered
into a long and, all things considered, not very prejudiced
exposition of the state of his affairs—informed her of the
£5,000 pounds which he should inherit in two years, and
// 495.png
.pn +1
after hoping that they could contrive to buy something and
live somewhere with that sum, ended, as he had begun, by
proposing her going with him to Scotland, and then returning
to her mother until he could claim her altogether.
She listened in silence, the expression of deep attention
changing by degrees into surprise and perplexity. It was
the first time that the idea of a marriage with him had
entered her mind; she had taught herself to consider it so
completely an impossibility that his occasional outbursts of
passion or tenderness had ceased to make any impression on
her. Ashamed of the confession which she had so ingenuously
made to him just before, and not prepared for the
sudden change of feelings which his words produced, she
turned away, and when he paused for an answer, did not
even make an attempt to speak.
As Hamilton waited in vain for an answer, his former
doubts became certainties—she liked, but did not love him.
With a difficulty in utterance, in strong contrast to his former
fluency, he now stammered out his hopes that he had not
deceived himself as to the nature of her feelings towards
him.
“No—oh no,” answered Hildegarde, but without turning
round.
“And you do or will try to love me sufficiently to——”
“Why force me to make unnecessary confessions,” she
said, with a deep blush; “rather let me ask you when you
heard that you would inherit this fortune which makes you
independent. In Frankfort, perhaps?”
“No,” replied Hamilton, “I knew it when I was a child,
and considered it then, though not quite a fortune, certainly
a very large sum of money.”
“And is it not a very large sum of money?”
“For a boy to buy playthings and ponies, yes; but for a
man to live upon——” he paused; there was too much intelligence
in her eager glance.
“For a man,” she said, “brought up as you have been, it
is probably too little—nothing!”
“Not so,” cried Hamilton, quickly. “With my present
ideas and feelings it is a competence—it is all I require—all
I wish.”
“You could then have married Crescenz if you had desired
it?” she said, slowly.
// 496.png
.pn +1
“I could never have loved her well enough to induce me
to make the sacrifice——”
“The sacrifice! And it is great—very great, perhaps?”
“It ceases to be one when made for you.”
“And you have only lately—only very lately, perhaps,
been able to resolve on this sacrifice?”
“Let me use your own words, Hildegarde. Do not force
me to make unnecessary confessions,” said Hamilton, blushing
more deeply than she herself had done.
She leaned on the table, and bent her head over her hands.
Hamilton felt very uncomfortable. “I expected,” he said,
at length, with some irritation, “I expected that this explanation
would have been differently received.”
“I wish,” she answered, “it had never been made. I
would rather have remembered you as I thought you—dependent
on your father’s will—having no option.”
“This is too much!” cried Hamilton, starting from the
sofa, and striding up and down the room. “I have fallen
in your esteem when—but you do not understand.”
“Probably not quite, but this is evident to me, the sacrifice
must be something enormous—beyond what I can
imagine—or you would not have hesitated so long, for—I
think—yes—I am sure you—love me.”
Hamilton stopped opposite to her, and exclaimed, “Oh,
Hildegarde, how can you torture me in this manner!”
“I would rather torture myself,” she said, “but,” and she
looked at him steadily, “but I must nevertheless tell you
that I cannot, will not, accept your sacrifice!”
“Then, Hildegarde, you do not love me,” he cried impetuously.
“Do I not? Can you not see that I am giving the greatest
proof of it of which I am capable? Can you not believe
that I, too, can make a sacrifice?”
“I understand and appreciate your motives better than
you have done mine,” he answered. “Wounded pride is
assisting your magnanimity. You are mortified at my
having hesitated—deliberated—it was prudent, perhaps,
but I am heartily sorry for it now. I see it has made
you so control your thoughts and inclinations that friendship,
and not love, is all I have obtained for an affection
deserving something more—if you knew but all——” he
paused; but as Hildegarde made no attempt to speak, he
// 497.png
.pn +1
continued, “I thought, when we met at Aschaffenburg, I
hoped, from what you said just now—that—Hildegarde!”
he cried vehemently, “you require too much from me;
spoiled by adulation, you expect me, without a struggle,
to change my nature, my habits, and my manners! I
cannot rave like your cousin——”
Hildegarde became deadly pale, she tried to speak, and
moved her lips, but no sound issued from them.
“Nor,” he continued, still more vehemently; “nor can I
bear repulses, like Zedwitz!”
Hamilton heard her murmur the words “ungenerous—unjust.”
“Forgive me, Hildegarde; I spoke in anger, and am sorry
for it—I ought not to have named your cousin—can you
forgive me?”
She held out her hand in silence.
“Now,” he said, seating himself beside her, “don’t let us
ask each other any more questions, or talk any more of
sacrifices; but, like a dear love, you will promise to go to
England with me to-morrow! won’t you?”
She remained silent, her eyes cast down, while she slowly
shook her head.
“You will not?”
“I dare not,” she answered, gently; but observing him
again about to start up, she laid her hand on his arm, and
continued, “Do not ask me to do what may cause us both
unhappiness hereafter. I will enter into an engagement
with you on reasonable terms.”
“Oh—on reasonable terms!” he repeated ironically.
“I cannot go on—you are too unkind,” she said, while
the tears started to her eyes.
A long and painful pause ensued. Hamilton broke it by
saying, “Well, what are your terms—anything is better than
nothing—name them—I agree to everything provided I may
claim you in two years.”
“Even if you do not,” said Hildegarde, “I promise to
forgive you.”
“And forget me too, perhaps,” said Hamilton, with a
forced smile.
“That I—cannot promise; but it is of little consequence
what concerns me. You must return home for these two
years, weigh well this sacrifice which you must make; it
// 498.png
.pn +1
will not be altogether a pecuniary one, for I suppose there
is not the slightest chance of obtaining the consent of your
family to our marriage; and as you spoke of residing in
Germany, I conclude you must give up all your relations
and your country too?”
“Go on,” said Hamilton, without moving, or looking at
her.
“I shall consider myself bound by a promise, which I
now freely make, to await your decision—you are free.”
“Go on,” he again repeated, as he had done before.
“What can you desire more?”
“Why, nothing, though I almost expected you to propose
committing to paper, in due form, this most rational ‘engagement
on reasonable terms,’” and he drew some paper
towards him as he spoke, and took up a pen; directly,
however, throwing it down, he exclaimed passionately, “Oh,
Hildegarde, this will never do! Much as I admire your
decision of character, and freedom from the usual weaknesses
of your sex, I—I did hope—I do wish that for once
you would be like a girl of your age! I am ready, without
regret, to leave all my relations and friends, give up all my
hopes of fame or success in life—expatriate myself forever——”
“I see, I understand now,” cried Hildegarde, interrupting
him. “A man has hopes of fame, expectations of success
in life. We have nothing of that kind, and, therefore, our
love is perfectly exclusive, all-absorbing.”
“Not yours,” said Hamilton, “though I confess I expected
something of the kind from you, some little enthusiasm at
least; however, our contract is made, irrevocably—even
though I see and feel that your love is of the very coldest
description, in fact, scarcely deserving the name.”
“Oh, why,” cried Hildegarde, with all her natural vehemence
of manner, “why is there no sacrifice that I can
make to convince you that you are mistaken! There is
none I would not make, provided it were not injurious to
you.”
Hamilton shook his head and turned away.
“You do not believe me? Try me—ask any proof—anything.”
He started from his seat, walked to the window, threw it
wide open, and leaned as far out as he could in the night air.
// 499.png
.pn +1
All this was too much for Hildegarde, her efforts had
been great to conceal her feelings, and she perceived she
had been misunderstood; her sincere desire to act magnanimously
had been treated with contempt; Hamilton, whom
she had learned to trust without reserve or examination,
was displeased, angry with her, perhaps. Perplexed, worried,
and wearied, she did at length, what it would have
been better had she done half an hour before: she covered
her face with her handkerchief, and burst into tears.
The moment Hamilton turned round and perceived that
she was crying as heartily as could be desired of any girl
of her age, he forgot his anger at her unexpected opposition
to his wishes, and rushing towards her, commenced an incoherent
succession of excuses, entreaties, and explanations.
It would have been difficult for a third person to have
known what he meant; Hildegarde, however, seemed to
understand him perfectly. In a short time she began to
look up, and smile again, and in about a quarter of an hour
they were discussing their future plans in the most amicable
manner imaginable. Once more Hamilton had recourse to
the pen and paper, but this time it was to make a sketch of
the peasant’s house near Hohenfels, which was to be their
home two years hence. He would write to the Z—s
about it directly, or go to them; that would be better still!
No; Hildegarde thought it would be wiser to wait until
he could purchase.
“We shall have cows, and calves, and all those sort of
things, I suppose?” said Hamilton.
“I should think so,” replied Hildegarde, very gravely.
“I wonder shall we be able to keep a pair of horses?”
said Hamilton.
“Cart-horses? Perhaps we may,” answered Hildegarde,
merrily.
“No; but seriously, Hildegarde, I should like to know
how many servants we shall have!”
“Very few, I suspect,” said Hildegarde, “and therefore,
directly I return to my mother, I shall endeavour to learn to
be really useful.”
“But,” said Hamilton, “but these domestic details, which
were so disgusting to you—these vulgar cares——”
“All, all will now be full of interest,” said Hildegarde,
laughing; “I really feel as if I could even learn to cook!”
// 500.png
.pn +1
“No, no; I do not wish that, we shall certainly have a
cook! A. Z. seemed to think we could get on quite comfortably
if we lived in the country! I shall not at all mind
going out with the plough if it be necessary, and you—you
can spin, you know; nothing I admire so much as a graceful
figure at a spinning-wheel; you shall have one made of
ebony, and—but can you spin?”
“Not yet, but I can easily learn, and in time, I dare say,
we shall have a whole press full of linen.”
“Oh, I am sure we shall get on famously; the Z—s are
not at all rich—rather poor, I believe, and they are so happy,
and really live so respectably—they will be our neighbours,
and I am sure you will like them.”
“I remember, I rather liked her at Seon, because she lent
me books,” observed Hildegarde.
“They will be society for us—that is, if we ever want any.
Baron Z— is very cheerful, and his wife is really a very
sensible woman. She understands housekeeping, and soap-making,
and all that sort of thing, and will be of great use
to you, I am sure. Then I shall rent half their alp, and
send up our cows there in summer, and then we shall go to
look after them, and make little parties with the Z—s. I
must tell you all about that.”
And he did tell her all about that, and so many other
things too, that the night wore away—the candles burnt
down, and as at length the flame extinguished itself in the
melted wax, they looked at each other in the grey, cold light
of breaking day!
The two days which Hamilton and Hildegarde passed in
the Rhine steamboat, on their return to Mayence, were the
happiest of their still so youthful lives. As they sat together,
watching the beautiful windings of the river, or glancing up
the sides of the wooded mountains, the most perfect confidence
was established between them. The events of the last
year were discussed with a minuteness which proved either
that their memories were exceedingly retentive, or that the
most trifling circumstances of that period had been full of
unusual interest to both. Their confessions and explanations
were not ended even when they reached Mayence, where
Hildegarde found a letter from the Baroness Waldorf. As
she gave it to Hamilton, she observed: “After what you
told me this morning, I can pardon, though I cannot approve
// 501.png
.pn +1
of her conduct—she says, however, that she wrote to Hortense
to prevent my leaving Munich, and I am glad of it, as
it will save me from all explanations, and I can show both
my mother and Hortense this letter too; so everything has
ended just as we could have wished.”
“Yes,” said Hamilton, “and we will endeavour to believe
all the Baroness’s excuses—I dare say she has changed all
her plans—and perhaps, she may not engage a governess for
her daughter for a year or two; we will also consent to her
marriage with Zedwitz—to whom she is as attached as such
a person can be—though she is not likely to rise in his estimation
by the proof which she has given of her jealousy—but
what do you mean to do with this order on her banker
at Frankfort—this peace-offering which she so diffidently
calls her debt?”
“I—should like very much—to return it,” said Hildegarde,
hesitatingly.
“I thought so,” said Hamilton, “and in the meanwhile I
can write to A. Z., to let her know that if we are all alive in
two years we shall be together, and to request Baron Z—
to enter into negotiations with that Felsenbauer, the peasant
on the rocks, as he is called. I shall tell A. Z. to send you
my journal: it may amuse you to read it, and in the margin
you must write whatever is necessary in explanation, or, in
short, whatever you think likely to interest us when we look
it over at the end of ten or twelve years. A journal, you
know, like mine, is marvellously improved by age!”
.tb
Hamilton accompanied Hildegarde on her way home as
far as she would allow him—the last day’s journey she chose
to be alone, and at Ingolstadt they parted. For two years?
Or for ever?
.sp 2
.hr 30%
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch47
CHAPTER XLVII. || CONCLUSION.
.sp 2
There may be some, there may be many of my readers
who would think that Hamilton had been a “confounded
fool,” were they to hear that, at the appointed time, he
braved the threats, resisted all the bribes of his uncle, remitted
// 502.png
.pn +1
his five thousand pounds to Munich, and returned to
Bavaria, with the intention there to live and die, “the world
(viz., London) forgetting, by the world forgot.” We do not
wish him to fall in the opinion of anyone, and therefore
request all persons disposed to entertain such an opinion
of him, under such circumstances, to close this book, and
imagine he acted as they would have done in his place.
Often have vows as solemn as his been broken, and for the
same mercenary motives which might have tempted him;
and if the world have not applauded, it has at least not
censured such derelictions in a manner to deter others from
practising them.
Suppose him, then, reader, (not gentle reader, for such
would never consent to the supposition,) suppose him at the
end of two years, a man of the world, or a worldly man,
whichever you please, Hildegarde not exactly forgotten, but
remembered only as a “beautiful girl with whom he had
been at one time so much in love as to have entertained the
absurd idea of rusticating with her on a couple of hundred
pounds per annum in the Bavarian Highlands!” Suppose
him attached to some embassy, young, handsome, and rich,
the chosen partner of all still dancing princesses! Or suppose
we put an end to Uncle Jack at once, and allow Hamilton,
without further delay, to inherit a fortune which would
give him a position in the London and Yorkshire world; if
you wish it, we can double his income too—in books, fifty or
sixty thousand a year is quite a common thing, and as to
old uncles, they are only mentioned in order that they may
die, just when their fortune is necessary to the happiness or
comfort of younger or more interesting persons. Suppose——Suppose——Suppose
you close the book, as before recommended,
for nothing of this kind occurred. Uncle Jack
(who in his youth had taken a trip to Gretna Green) might
have pardoned his nephew’s “loving not wisely, but too well;”
but he neither would do so, nor would he die, and so Hamilton,
after having listened to his father’s reproaches and
expostulations, endured his brother’s sneers, and steadily set
at defiance his uncle’s anger, returned to Munich and claimed
his bride, of whose coldness or want of enthusiasm he was
never afterward heard to complain.
Felsenbauer’s little property was purchased, and Hans,
after having officiated as Hamilton’s “gentleman” for two
// 503.png
.pn +1
years in England, returned to his primitive occupation of
directing the plough—not quite, indeed, with the satisfaction
of a Cincinnatus, for years elapsed before he ceased to regret
his fallen greatness, or to expatiate to his few ignorant fellow-servants
on the splendors of his master’s home.
Hamilton resigned himself more cheerfully than his servant
to his change of fortune; he never spoke of home, with
which his communication became very indirect and uncertain
from the time his sister had married and gone to reside in
the north of Scotland. His brother John seldom wrote, his
father and uncle never; he made no effort to conciliate the
latter, not even taking advantage of the occasions, which
presented themselves at a later period, of requesting him to
become a godfather to a little Jack or a little Joan. He
became a good farmer, a keen sportsman, and so celebrated
as a rifle shot, that he was feared as a competitor at all the
Scheiben-Schiessen in the neighbourhood. He generally wore
a mountaineer’s dress—perhaps because it was comfortable,
perhaps, also, because it was becoming; and in the course
of a few years his family would scarcely have recognised
him in the vigorous, sunburnt man, whose very features were
changed in expression by his altered mode of life—energy
and strength had taken the place of ease and gracefulness.
A. Z. pronounced the change advantageous, and often said
it would have been difficult to have found a more picturesquely
bandit-looking figure than his when, on a return
from the hunt, he sprang on the rocky path leading to his
mountain home, his slouched hat shading the upper, as much
as his long moustache the lower part of his face.
As to Hildegarde, the calm, contented tenor of her life
preserved her beauty in so remarkable a manner, that Hamilton
seriously believed she grew handsomer every year; they
and the Z—s almost lived together, no summer heat or
winter storm kept them asunder; their alpine parties, and
sledging expeditions to the neighbouring balls were made
together, and many a little adventure is still remembered by
both families, with a mixture of amusement and regret—regret
that those times are past—gone—never to return
again.
At the end of eight years Uncle Jack, unsolicited, relented,
and Hamilton was recalled. Can it be believed that for
some days he hesitated to obey the mandate? that Hildegarde
// 504.png
.pn +1
wept bitterly for the first time since her marriage?
But so it was. The offers which, ten years before, would
have filled their hearts with gratitude and joy, were now
accepted as a sacrifice made to the future prospects of their
children. A. Z. to the last insisted that she would be the
greatest sufferer of all. “In you,” she said, turning to Hildegarde,
“I lose the most patient and intelligent of listeners;
in your husband, the most attentive of friends; eight years’
intimate intercourse, such as ours has been, has made you
both so completely a part of our family, that, knowing how
much we shall miss you, Herrmann and I have at length
come to the long protracted, desperate resolution of leaving
Hohenfels; we ought to have done so long ago, on account
of the education of our children.”
“Oh, no, don’t leave Hohenfels; we shall be sure to return
here next year—every summer!” cried Hamilton and Hildegarde,
almost together.
But they have not returned, nor are they likely to do so.
The revolution which commenced in Germany, in the year
1848, is still in progress; to foretell how, or when it will end,
would be difficult; this much is, however, certain, that
Bavaria is not likely to be soon again (if ever) as tranquil
and happy as when these pages were first written; then the
most intelligent peasant would have refused to leave his
waltz, his pot of beer, or his joyous jodel, for the sake of
any newspaper that ever was printed, or even to hear a
political discussion between the schoolmaster and the parish
priest! Great is the change which has taken place in this
respect; without any law to control the liberty of the press,
newspapers of the worst tendency now circulate in all directions,
and the peasant reads, thinks, and talks more of politics
than of his crops, and naturally feels inclined to adopt
opinions calculated to elevate him in his own estimation, and
draw those down to his level whom he had formerly considered
far above him. In order to appreciate the importance
of this change, my countrymen must remember that in
Germany the peasantry is the army.
Hohenfels is sold. Baron Z—found the brewery more
expensive than profitable, when his visits of inspection were
limited to an occasional week or ten days. He is half inclined
to purchase Hamilton’s house, which still remains,
shut up and uninhabited; presenting, as A. Z. observed in
// 505.png
.pn +1
her last letter, the perfect picture of a deserted house, with
all its “garden flowers growing wild.”
.tb
“After all, Hildegarde,” said Hamilton, one morning, as
they looked out of the breakfast-room window into his uncle’s
handsome domain, “after all, if we could conjure a few of
your mountains, with some chamois upon them, here, I believe
I could again prefer England to Germany—that is, in
my present position—a poor man really can enjoy life in
Germany—it is only a rich one who could do so in England!”
.sp 4
.nf c
THE END.
.nf-
.pb
\_ // this gets the sp 4 recognized.
.sp 2
.dv class=tnbox // TN box start
.ul
.it Transcriber’s Notes:
.ul indent=1
.it Missing or obscured punctuation was silently corrected.
.it Typographical errors were silently corrected.
.it Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a\
predominant form was found in this book.
.if t
.it Text that was in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
.if-
.ul-
.ul-
.dv- // TN box end
\_