“Suppose you come home and have some supper with me,” said the captain;
“my house is very quiet, but I think perhaps a young man of your
character may have no great objection to passing an evening in a quiet
family.”
Cousin Hans’s heart leaped high with joy; he accepted the invitation in
the modest manner peculiar to him, and they were soon on the way to No.
34.
How curiously fortune favored him to-day! Not many hours had passed
since he saw her for the first time; and now, in the character of a
special favorite of her father, he was hastening to pass the evening in
her company.
The nearer they approached to No. 34, in the more life-like colors did
the enchanting vision of Miss Schrappe stand before his eyes; the
blonde hair curling over the forehead, the lithe figure, and then these
roguish, light-blue eyes!
His heart beat so that he could scarcely speak, and as they mounted the
stair he had to take firm hold of the railing; his happiness made him
almost dizzy.
In the parlor, a large corner-room, they found no one. The captain went
out to summon his daughter, and Hans heard him calling, “Betty!”
Betty! What a lovely name, and how well it suited that lovely being!
The happy lover was already thinking how delightful it would be when
he came home from his work at dinner-time, and could call out into the
kitchen: “Betty! is dinner ready?”
At this moment the captain entered the room again with his daughter. She
came straight up to Cousin Hans, took his hand, and bade him welcome.
But she added, “You must really excuse me deserting you again at once,
for I am in the middle of a dish of buttered eggs, and that’s no joke, I
can tell you.”
Thereupon she disappeared again; the captain also withdrew to prepare
for the meal, and Cousin Hans was once more alone.
The whole meeting had not lasted many seconds, and yet it seemed to
Cousin Hans that in these moments he had toppled from ledge to ledge,
many fathoms down, into a deep, black pit. He supported himself with
both hands against an old, high-backed easy-chair; he neither heard,
saw, nor thought; but half mechanically he repeated to himself: “It was
not she--it was not she!”
No, it was not she. The lady whom he had just seen, and who must
consequently be Miss Schrappe, had not a trace of blonde hair curling
over her brow. On the contrary, she had dark hair, smoothed down to both
sides. Her eyes were not in the least roguish or light blue, but serious
and dark-gray--in short, she was as unlike the charmer as possible.
After his first paralysis, Cousin Hans’s blood began to boil; a violent
anguish seized him: he raged against the captain, against Miss Schrappe,
against Uncle Frederick and Wellington, and the whole world.
He would smash the big mirror and all the furniture, and then jump
out of the corner window; or he would take his hat and stick, rush
down-stairs, leave the house, and never more set foot in it; or he would
at least remain no longer than was absolutely necessary.
Little by little he became calmer, but a deep melancholy descended upon
him. He had felt the unspeakable agony of disappointment in his first
love, and when his eye fell on his own image in the mirror, he shook his
head compassionately.
The captain now returned, well-brushed and spick and span. He opened a
conversation about the politics of the day. It was with difficulty that
Cousin Hans could even give short and commonplace answers; it seemed
as though all that had interested him in Captain Schrappe had entirely
evaporated. And now Hans remembered that on the way home from the
esplanade he had promised to give him the whole sham fight in Sweden
after supper.
“Will you come, please; supper is ready,” said Miss Betty, opening the
door into the dining-room, which was lighted with candles.
Cousin Hans could not help eating, for he was hungry; but he looked down
at his plate and spoke little.
Thus the conversation was at first confined for the most part to the
father and daughter. The captain, who thought that this bashful young
man was embarrassed by Miss Betty’s presence, wanted to give him time to
collect himself.
“How is it you haven’t invited Miss Beck this evening, since she’s
leaving town to-morrow,” said the old man. “You two could have
entertained our guest with some duets.”
“I asked her to stay, when she was here this afternoon; but she was
engaged to a farewell party with some other people she knows.”
Cousin Hans pricked up his ears; could this be the lady of the morning
that they were speaking about?
“I told you she came down to the esplanade to say good-bye to me,”
continued the captain. “Poor girl! I’m really sorry for her.”
There could no longer be any doubt.
“I beg your pardon--are you speaking of a lady with curly hair and large
blue eyes?” asked Cousin Hans.
“Exactly,” answered the captain, “do you know Miss Beck?”
“No,” answered Hans, “it only occurred to me that it might be a lady I
met down on the esplanade about twelve o’clock.”
“No doubt it was she” said the captain. “A pretty girl, isn’t she?”
“I thought her beautiful,” answered Hans, with conviction. “Has she had
any trouble?--I thought I heard you say--”
“Well, yes; you see she was engaged for some months”--
“Nine weeks,” interrupted Miss Betty.
“Indeed! was that all? At any rate her _fiancé_ has just broken off the
engagement, and that’s why she is going away for a little while--very
naturally--to some relations in the west-country, I think.”
So she had been engaged--only for nine weeks, indeed--but still, it was
a little disappointing. However, Cousin Hans understood human nature,
and he had seen enough of her that morning to know that her feelings
towards her recreant lover could not have been true love. So he said:
“If it’s the lady I saw to-day, she seemed to take the matter pretty
lightly.”
“That’s just what I blame her for,” answered Miss Betty.
“Why so?” answered Cousin Hans, a little sharply; for, on the whole, he
did not like the way in which the young lady made her remarks. “Would
you have had her mope and pine away?”
“No, not at all,” answered Miss Schrappe; “but, in my opinion, it would
have shown more strength of character if she had felt more indignant at
her _fiancé’s_ conduct.”
“I should say, on the contrary, that it shows most admirable strength
of character that she should bear no ill-will and feel no anger; for
a woman’s strength lies in forgiveness,” said Cousin Hans, who grew
eloquent in defence of his lady-love.
Miss Betty thought that if people in general would show more indignation
when an engagement was broken off, as so often happened, perhaps young
people would be more cautious in these matters.
Cousin Hans, on the other hand, was of opinion that when a _fiancé_
discovered, or even suspected, that he had made a mistake, and that what
he had taken for love was not the real, true, and genuine article, he
was not only bound to break off the engagement with all possible speed,
but it was the positive duty of the other party, and of all friends
and acquaintances, to excuse and forgive him, and to say as little
as possible about the matter, in order that it might the sooner be
forgotten.
Miss Betty answered hastily that she did not think it at all the right
thing that young people should enter into experimental engagements while
they keep a look out for true love.
This remark greatly irritated Cousin Hans, but he had no time to reply,
for at that moment the captain rose from the table.
There was something about Miss Schrappe that he really could not endure;
and he was so much absorbed in this thought that, for a time, he almost
forgot the melancholy intelligence that the beloved one--Miss Beck--was
leaving town to-morrow.
He could not but admit that the captain’s daughter was pretty, very
pretty; she seemed to be both domestic and sensible, and it was clear
that she devoted herself to her old father with touching tenderness. And
yet Cousin Hans said to himself: “Poor thing, who would want to marry
her?”
For she was entirely devoid of that charming helplessness which is so
attractive in a young girl; when she spoke, it was with an almost odious
repose and decision. She never came in with any of those fascinating
half-finished sentences, such as “Oh, I don’t know if you understand
me--there are so few people that understand me--I don’t know how to
express what I mean; but I feel it so strongly.” In short, there was
about Miss Schrappe nothing of that vagueness and mystery which is
woman’s most exquisite charm.
Furthermore, he had a suspicion that she was “learned.” And everyone,
surely, must agree with Cousin Hans that if a woman is to fulfil her
mission in this life (that is to say, to be a man’s wife) she ought
clearly to have no other acquirements than those her husband wishes her
to have, or himself confers upon her. Any other fund of knowledge must
always be a dowry of exceedingly doubtful value.
Cousin Hans was in the most miserable of moods. It was only eight
o’clock, and he did not think it would do to take his departure before
half-past nine. The captain had already settled himself at the table,
prepared to begin the sham-fight. There was no chance of escape, and
Hans took a seat at his side.
Opposite to him sat Miss Betty, with her sewing, and with a book in
front of her. He leaned forward and discovered that it was a German
novel of the modern school.
It was precisely one of those works which Hans was wont to praise loudly
when he developed his advanced views, colored with a little dash of
free-thought. But to find this book here, in a lady’s hands, and, what
was more, in German (Hans had read it in a translation), was in the last
degree unpleasing to him.
Accordingly, when Miss Betty asked if he liked the novel, he answered
that it was one of the books which should only be read by men of ripened
judgment and established principles, and that it was not at all suited
for ladies.
He saw that the girl flushed, and he felt that he had been rude. But
he was really feeling desperate, and, besides, there was something
positively irritating in this superior little person.
He was intensely worried and bored; and, to fulfil the measure of his
suffering, the captain began to make Battalion B advance “under cover of
the night.”
Cousin Hans now watched the captain moving match-boxes, penknives, and
other small objects about the table. He nodded now and then, but he did
not pay the slightest attention. He thought of the lovely Miss Beck,
whom he was, perhaps, never to see again; and now and then he stole a
glance at Miss Schrappe, to whom he had been so rude.
He gave a sudden start as the captain slapped him on the shoulder, with
the words, “And it was this point that I was to occupy. What do you
think of that?”
Uncle Frederick’s words flashed across Cousin Hans’s mind, and, nodding
vehemently, he said: “Of course, the only thing to be done--the key to
the position?”
The captain started back and became quite serious. But when he
saw Cousin Hans’s disconcerted expression, his good-nature got the
upperhand, and he laughed and said:
“No, my dear sir! there you’re quite mistaken. However,” he added,
with a quiet smile, “it’s a mistake which you share with several of our
highest military authorities. No, now let me show you the key to the
position.”
And then he began to demonstrate at large that the point which he had
been ordered to occupy was quite without strategical importance; while,
on the other hand, the movement which he made on his own responsibility
placed the enemy in the direst embarrassment, and would have delayed the
advance of Corps B by several hours.
Tired and dazed as Cousin Hans was, he could not help admiring the
judicious course adopted by the military authorities towards Captain
Schrappe, if, indeed, there was anything in Uncle Frederick’s story
about the Order of the Sword.
For if the captain’s original manoeuvre was, strategically speaking,
a stroke of genius, it was undoubtedly right that he should receive a
decoration. But, on the other hand, it was no less clear that the man
who could suppose that in a sham-fight it was in the least desirable to
delay or embarass any one was quite out of place in an army like ours.
He ought to have known that the true object of the manoeuvres was to let
the opposing armies, with their baggage and commissariat wagons, meet at
a given time and in a given place, there to have a general picnic.
While Hans was buried in these thoughts, the captain finished the
sham-fight. He was by no means so pleased with his listener as he
had been upon the esplanade; he seemed, somehow, to have become
absent-minded.
It was now nine o’clock; but, as Cousin Hans had made up his mind that
he would hold out till half-past nine, he dragged through one of the
longest half-hours that had ever come within his experience. The captain
grew sleepy, Miss Betty gave short and dry answers; Hans had himself to
provide the conversation--weary, out of temper, unhappy and love-sick as
he was.
At last the clock was close upon half-past nine; he rose, explaining
that he was accustomed to go early to bed, because he could read best
when he got up at six o’clock.
“Well, well,” said the captain, “do you call this going early to bed? I
assure you I always turn in at nine o’clock.”
Vexation on vexation! Hans said good-night hastily, and rushed
down-stairs.
The captain accompanied him to the landing, candle in hand, and called
after him cordially, “Good-night--happy to see you again.”
“Thanks!” shouted Hans from below; but he vowed in his inmost soul
that he would never set foot in that house again.----When the old man
returned to the parlor, he found his daughter busy opening the windows.
“What are you doing that for?” asked the captain.
“I’m airing the room after him,” answered Miss Betty.
“Come, come, Betty, you are really too hard upon him. But I must admit
that the young gentleman did not improve upon closer acquaintance. I
don’t understand young people nowadays.”
Thereupon the captain retired to his bedroom, after giving his daughter
the usual evening exhortation, “Now don’t sit up too long.”
When she was left alone, Miss Betty put out the lamp, moved the flowers
away from the corner window, and seated herself on the window-sill with
her feet upon a chair.
On clear moonlight evenings she could descry a little strip of the fiord
between two high houses. It was not much; but it was a glimpse of the
great highway that leads to the south, and to foreign lands.
And her desires and longings flew away, following the same course which
has wearied the wings of so many a longing--down the narrow fiord to
the south, where the horizon is wide, where the heart expands, and the
thoughts grow great and daring.
And Miss Betty sighed as she gazed at the little strip of the fiord
which she could see between the two high houses.--She gave no thought,
as she sat there, to Cousin Hans; but he thought of Miss Schrappe as he
passed with hasty steps up the street.
Never had he met a young lady who was less to his taste. The fact that
he had been rude to her did not make him like her better. We are not
inclined to find those people amiable who have been the occasion of
misbehavior on our own part. It was a sort of comfort to him to repeat
to himself, “Who would want to marry her?”
Then his thoughts wandered to the charmer who was to leave town
to-morrow. He realized his fate in all its bitterness, and he felt a
great longing to pour forth the sorrow of his soul to a friend who could
understand him.
But it was not easy to find a sympathetic friend at that time of night.
After all, Uncle Frederick was his confidant in many matters; he would
look him up.
As he knew that Uncle Frederick was at Aunt Maren’s, he betook himself
towards the Palace in order to meet him on his way back from Homan’s
Town. He chose one of the narrow avenues on the right, which he knew to
be his uncle’s favorite route; and a little way up the hill he seated
himself on a bench to wait.
It must be unusually lively at Aunt Maren’s to make Uncle Frederick stop
there until after ten. At last he seemed to discern a small white object
far up the avenue; it was Uncle Frederick’s white waistcoat approaching.
Hans rose from the bench and said very seriously, “Good-evening!”
Uncle Frederick was not at all fond of meeting solitary men in dark
avenues; so it was a great relief to him to recognize his nephew.
“Oh, is it only you, Hans old fellow?” he said, cordially. “What are you
lying in ambush here for?”
“I was waiting for you,” answered Hans, in a sombre tone of voice.
“Indeed? Is there anything wrong with you? Are you ill?”
“Don’t ask me,” answered Cousin Hans.
This would at any other time have been enough to call forth a hail-storm
of questions from Uncle Frederick.
But this evening he was so much taken up with his own experiences that
for the moment he put his nephew’s affairs aside.
“I can tell you, you were very foolish,” he said, “not to go with me to
Aunt Maren’s. We have had such a jolly evening, I’m sure you would have
enjoyed it. The fact is, it was a sort of farewell party in honor of a
young lady who’s leaving town to-morrow.”
A horrible foreboding seized Cousin Hans.
“What washer name?” he shrieked, gripping his uncle by the arm.
“Ow!” cried his uncle, “Miss Beck.”
Then Hans collapsed upon the bench.
But scarcely had he sunk down before he sprang up again, with a loud
cry, and drew out of his coat-tail pocket a knubbly little object, which
he hurled away far down the avenue.
“What’s the matter with the boy?” cried Uncle Frederick, “What was that
you threw away?”
“Oh, it was that confounded Blücher,” answered Cousin Hans, almost in
tears.--Uncle Frederick scarcely found time to say, “Didn’t I tell you
to beware of Blücher?” when he burst into an alarming fit of laughter,
which lasted from the Palace Hill far along Upper Fort Street.