The Hohenwalds by no means belong to the old German imperial nobility.
It is said that in the forest-depths of the domain of a Saxon Prince
his trusty huntsman saved the life of his lord from the furious
onslaught of a wild boar, and that in gratitude the Prince bestowed
upon him the hunting castle where he had previously been overseer, and
in memory of his bravery gave him the name of Hohenwald,[2] which
gradually came to belong to the castle and the neighbouring village on
the estate. The title of Freiherr, or Baron, was bestowed much later by
the Emperor. Baron Werner von Hohenwald, who distinguished himself as a
colonel during the Thirty Years' War, was probably the first thus
honoured, and the founder of the family of _von_ Hohenwalds.
This old colonel, who added much to the estate, not a large one
originally, was passionately devoted to the chase; he took up his abode
in the old castle, surrounded on all sides by the forest, and his
example was followed by all his successors, although such a residence
by no means lightened the cares of the management of the extended
estates of Hohenwald. The solitude of the forest had an irresistible
attraction for the Hohenwalds, and although they had erected a
comfortable grange near the village, they always occupied the castle.
Around the comparatively new grange were gathered the farm buildings
and the dwellings for inspectors and other officials. The Hohenwalds
thought nothing of the inconvenience of riding a couple of miles to
reach the grange; they thought themselves amply compensated by the
wonderful beauty of the site of the castle, buried in the depths of a
magnificent forest. The love of solitude seemed inherrent in the
Hohenwalds. If some among them had in their youth frequented the Court,
of Dresden, they were sure to return finally to Castle Hohenwald, and
none of them ever left it in summer. They had lavished so much money
and taste in fitting it up for a home, that it would indeed have been
difficult to find one more charming and desirable. The imperial colonel
had first begun to improve and add to the old hunting-nest, and each of
his successors had done his part in giving fresh beauty and grace to
castle, to gardens, and even to the forest, a portion of which had been
converted into a magnificent park. If they loved solitude, they were
all the more determined to surround themselves in their solitude with
every luxury that wealth could procure. Some of the rooms of the castle
were furnished with princely splendour, especially those on the lower
story, in which the present Freiherr Werner had been wont to assemble
frequent guests before his separation from his wife. The walls were
hung with paintings by illustrious masters;--the collection of pictures
at Hohenwald, although for years it had been seen by none save the
inmates of the castle, was accounted one of the best and largest in the
country,--and the castle library exceeded many a public one in its
treasures of literature.
The ground-floor of the castle was less gorgeously fitted up than was
the first story. The present possessor, Freiherr Werner, had arranged
it for himself, and he thought more of solid comfort than of
superficial splendour. Nothing had been spared to make the rooms
pleasant and comfortable, but the hangings and furniture-covers were
not of silken damask, but of substantial woollen fabric, subdued in
colour, suiting well with the dark oak wainscoting and furniture.
The Freiherr's favourite retreat was a large apartment, at one end of
which lofty folding-doors of glass opened upon a terrace, whence a
flight of steps led into the garden. As the castle crowned an eminence,
from this terrace almost all the garden could be overlooked, as well as
part of the road leading to the castle from the village of Hohenwald.
The garden-room, as it was called, was the dwelling-room of Freiherr
Werner; he spent most of his time here, even in winter, and in summer,
when the tall doors were thrown wide open, the view from them partly
indemnified him for the loss of open-air exercise, from which he had
now been debarred for some years.
Every morning he was pushed into this room in his rolling-chair from
his bedroom, for his right foot was so lame from the gout that he could
not walk. Here he assembled his family about him, here the daily meals
were eaten, and only late in the evening was he rolled back again to
his bedroom by his servant or by his son Arno. Every day he sat at the
open doors, gazing out into the garden. In former years he had devoted
much time to his garden; he was enthusiastically fond of flowers, but
since the gout had confined him to his rolling-chair he had been forced
to content himself with merely superintending the gardeners, to whom
from time to time he would shout down his orders. It was but seldom
that he could be taken out into the garden among his flowers, for the
slightest motion occasioned him great pain.
On the afternoon of a lovely day in May the Freiherr was seated in his
favourite spot, looking abroad into the garden, where his beloved
flowers were budding gloriously, and delighting in their beauty and the
mild air of spring. He was in the most contented of moods; his book was
laid aside; he could read at any time; storms did not interfere with
that. His keen gaze wandered with intense enjoyment from shrub to
shrub; most of them he had planted himself, and his interest was
unflagging in watching their daily development from bud to blossom.
If the Assessor von Hahn could have seen the Freiherr at this moment he
would hardly have recognized the gloomy misanthrope in this kindly old
man with genial smile and gentle eyes; but the next moment the
expression of the mobile features changed, the genial smile vanished,
the brow was contracted in a frown, the dark eyes sparkled with
irritation.
It was the sound of a distant post-horn that caused this sudden change
in the Baron's expression. The old man listened. An extra post! He had
not heard the signal for a long time, but in former years his ears had
been familiar enough with it; he could not be deceived. A visit was
impending, for the road led only to Castle Hohenwald and ended there;
any traveller upon it must have the castle for his goal. Again the
signal sounded, rather nearer; the postilion was evidently determined
that the castle should be thoroughly apprised of the visitor at hand.
The Freiherr picked up a bell from the table beside him and rang it
loudly. A servant instantly appeared at the door leading into the hall.
"Did you hear that, Franz?" his master angrily exclaimed. "Did you hear
that? An extra post!"
"It cannot be, sir," old Franz calmly replied. "Who is there to come to
us?"
"That's just it. Who can have the insolence? But there; hear it for
yourself. The cursed postilion is blowing with all the force of his
lungs just to vex me."
"Can it be possible?" old Franz exclaimed, in the greatest
astonishment, as he hearkened to the postilion's horn now sounding much
nearer.
"No doubt of it! A visit! Such insolence is insufferable! Do they think
me old and childish? Whoever it may be will find himself mistaken.
Hurry, Franz, to the castle gate; you know what to say. I receive no
one; I'm sick,--I cannot see anybody. The carriage must turn round and
go back; whoever it may be, don't let them get out. Call the gardener
and old John to help you, if you need them. Go; be quick. In a few
minutes that carriage will be here."
The old man looked very angry as he shouted out these orders; his dark
eyes flashed from beneath the bushy snow-white eyebrows. With one hand
he stroked, as was his habit when vexed, his full silver beard, with
the other he rapped upon the small table beside him. "Well, what are
you waiting for?" he growled to the man, who still stood hesitating at
the door.
"What if it should be the Herr Finanzrath?"
"Werner? I positively never thought of him," replied the Freiherr,
mollified on the instant. "Of course he is an exception; but now to
your post. Go!"
Old Franz vanished, and the Freiherr leaned forward in his chair,
disregarding the pain the movement caused him, that he might better
overlook the road leading up the hill, for in a few moments the extra
post would emerge from the forest and be visible upon the road.
On came the horses and the vehicle, a light chaise, in which sat an
elegantly-dressed man leaning back among the cushions, and talking to a
horseman who was riding beside the carriage.
"Of course it is Werner!" muttered the Freiherr, relieved, sinking back
into his chair. And yet he did not seem particularly rejoiced at the
unexpected arrival of his eldest son, for the frown did not quite leave
his brow. He looked annoyed. "What does he want, coming thus without
letting us know? But perhaps he did announce his visit to Arno; he is
riding beside him. Well, well, we shall see."
The old man had not long to wait,--the post-chaise soon rattled
over the stones of the court-yard, and a few minutes later the
Finanzrath von Hohenwald, accompanied by his brother Arno, entered the
garden-room.
The Finanzrath was a tall, handsome man, something over thirty years
old; he, as well as his brother Arno, bore a decided resemblance
to the old Baron,--they had the same dark, fiery eyes, and the same
finely-chiselled mouth, which, when tightly closed, lent an almost hard
expression to the face. And yet, despite their likeness to their
father, the brothers were so unlike that it was only after long
familiarity with them, and a careful comparison of their features, that
any resemblance between them could be detected. Both were handsome men,
tall and shapely, but their air and bearing were entirely dissimilar,
Arno having preserved the erect military carriage of the soldier, while
the Finanzrath was distinguished by an easy, negligent grace of
movement. Although he was the elder of the two, he looked much younger
than Arno; his fresh-coloured, smooth-shaven face had a very youthful
expression, while Arno's grave, earnest eyes made him appear older than
he really was.
The old Baron's face cleared somewhat as the Finanzrath drew a chair up
beside his father's and greeted him most cordially. "I am delighted to
see you looking so well, father," he said, kindly. "I trust that
terrible gout will soon be so much better that you can get out among
your flowers. But where is Celia?" he asked suddenly.
"Yes, where is she? Who can tell the whereabouts of that
will-o'-the-wisp? In the forest, in the park, in her boat on the lake,
in the village,--everywhere at once!" the old man answered, with a
smile.
A slight shade flitted across the Finanzrath's countenance. "Just the
same as ever," he said. "I thought so; and perhaps it is as well that
Celia is not here at the moment, as it gives me an opportunity to speak
to you and Arno, father, of a matter that lies very near my heart, and
that I should like to have settled before I see her. I hope, sir, you
will not be angry with me if I speak frankly with you in regard to your
darling, whom you have just designated so justly a will-o'-the-wisp?"
"What do you want with the child? Have you any fault to find again with
Celia?" the Freiherr asked, crossly.
"Yes, father; I feel it my fraternal duty towards Celia to speak very
seriously to you and to Arno in regard to her. You both spoil the girl
so completely that a stop must be put to it. Celia is now fifteen years
old, she is almost grown up."
"She is grown up," Arno interposed.
"So much the worse. Then it is certainly high time that something were
done about her education, if she is not to run quite wild. She is a
charming, sweet-tempered creature, and I can hardly blame you, living
with her here in this lonely forest, for being content with her as she
is, nor can I wonder that you, my dear father, can scarcely grasp the
idea of allowing her to leave you."
"What do you mean?" the Freiherr exclaimed, angrily. "What are you
thinking of? I let Celia leave me? Never!"
"I knew what you would say, father," the Finanzrath replied; "but I
hope, nevertheless, that after calm consideration you will agree to a
plan that I have to propose to you. Celia has grown up here in the
castle without feminine companionship, for you will hardly call our old
Kaselitz, who has always spoiled the child to her heart's content, a
fit associate for a Fraeulein von Hohenwald. The only person of
education with whom Celia comes in contact, with the exception of
yourself and Arno, is her tutor our good old pastor, Quandt, who, as
Arno wrote me, has taught her well in various branches of science and
literature, but can of course teach her nothing of what a young girl of
rank should know when she goes out into the world."
"She never shall go out into the world!" the Freiherr indignantly
exclaimed.
"Do you wish Celia to pass her entire life here in the solitude of
Castle Hohenwald? Will you run the risk of hearing her one day say to
you, 'You have robbed me of the joys of life, father! I might have been
a happy wife and mother, but since you chose to keep me by your side, I
am become a weary, unhappy old maid!' You cannot be so selfish as to
wish that your darling should sacrifice to you her entire youth?"
"Nonsense! What would you have?" growled the Freiherr. "But go on. I
should like to know what you really want."
"You shall soon learn. I spoke of Celia's education; she is well
grounded in science and literature; she rides like an Amazon,--not
badly perhaps; she handles a fowling-piece with the skill of a
gamekeeper. So far so good; but does she understand how to conduct
herself in society? does she possess the talent for social
intercourse,--a knowledge of those forms which, worthless in
themselves, are nevertheless indispensable accomplishments for a young
lady of rank?"
"I have not brought her up to be a fine lady!" the Freiherr said,
peevishly.
"I think, sir, if you will pardon me, that you have not brought her up
at all. I detest a fine lady and modern artificial culture, but a
Baroness von Hohenwald should not be utterly ignorant of the forms of
society. Celia must learn to conform to the rules that govern the
society of to-day, and it is high time that she began to do so. Arno
will admit that I am right."
"I cannot deny it," said Arno, who had been an attentive listener as he
paced the room to and fro, and who now paused before his brother and
nodded assent. "I, too, have pondered upon what was to be done for
Celia. Something must be arranged for her further culture, but I have
vainly tried to devise what it shall be."
"And yet the matter is simple enough. Two methods are open to you. Let
my father choose which he prefers. The first, which I myself think the
best and would therefore most strongly recommend, is perhaps the one
that will prove least pleasing to my father. Frau von Adelung's school
in Dresden has the best of reputations, and Frau von Adelung herself is
a woman of refinement and culture, who moves in the first society. I
made an excursion to Dresden before I came hither, saw Frau von Adelung
myself, and spoke with her regarding Celia, whom she is quite willing
to receive among her pupils."
"Deuce take you for your pains!" cried the Freiherr, with a burst of
anger. "I know without being told that if I choose to pay for it the
best boarding-school in the country will be thankful to have my Celia,
but I tell you, once for all, I will not hear of it. I cannot part with
the child. Celia is my sunshine in this gloomy house. My heart rejoices
at the sight of her. The pain that tortures me is forgotten when I look
into her laughing eyes. I am a sick old man. You ought not to be so
cruel, Werner; leave me my jewel for the few years that I have to
live."
The Freiherr's tone from one of angry reproach had become that of
almost humble entreaty.
The Finanzrath nodded and smiled. "I hope you will rejoice for many
years in your jewel, and one day see her a happy wife and mother," he
said; and then continued: "If you will not part with Celia, she must
have the training here in Hohenwald which she could indeed procure more
easily at school; all that remains to be done is to engage a good
governess for her."
Arno suddenly paused in his pacing to and fro in the room.
"Impossible!" he exclaimed. "What are you thinking of, Werner? A
governess here in the house! Live with the pedantic, insufferable
creature day after day, week after week, and always have her
interfering between our Celia and ourselves! Our entire life would have
to be changed. If so pretentious a person were to come here she would
require to be amused; we should have visitors, and would be forced to
pay visits in return. The peaceful repose that has hitherto reigned in
Hohenwald would be gone if a strange inmate were introduced among us."
"Would you rather send Celia to school? I confess I should prefer it
myself."
"But I should not!" the old Freiherr exclaimed, with decision. "I do
not like womenfolk, but sooner than part with Celia I will endure a
governess in the house. After all, she will be only a superior sort of
servant. We get along with Frau Kaselitz, and we can get along with her
too!"
"Frau Kaselitz does not pretend to sit at table with us, nor to join
our family circle," said Arno.
"That would be insufferable," the Freiherr said, reflectively.
"Then let us have recourse to the school."
"Don't say another word about that cursed school," growled the
Freiherr; "let us have the governess and be done with it!"
Arno would have made some further objection, but his father cut it
short by declaring that not a word more should be said upon the subject
until Celia was by; the girl was old enough to have an opinion
concerning her own affairs.
To this decision the Finanzrath assented, rather unwillingly, to be
sure, since he would have preferred to have the matter settled on the
instant. He saw, however, that his father was coming round, and he
feared to injure his cause by any insistance. And Celia herself
prevented the possibility of continuing the conversation in her
absence.
A shower of syringa blossoms suddenly rained down upon the Finanzrath,
who was seated near the open door leading to the garden, and a
charming young girl appeared upon the threshold. It was Celia,--the
will-o'-the-wisp, as her father loved to call her,--who always appeared
when least expected.
With a merry laugh she flew to the Finanzrath, sealing her
flower-greeting with a light kiss upon his cheek, and then turning to
the old Baron, she threw her arms around his neck. "You are a dear,
darling old papa!" she cried, gayly. "You will not let your Celia be
sent to school like a little child; you will not let me be disposed of
without consulting me! Thank you, my own dear papa; but as for you,
Werner, I shall not forget that you would have banished me from
Hohenwald."
The Finanzrath shook off the syringa blossoms, and, leaning back in his
chair, contemplated his sister with increasing satisfaction. He had not
seen her for nearly a year; he had not been at Hohenwald since the
Freiherr's last birthday, and during this time Celia had changed
wonderfully. He had left a child, he found a maiden; the tall, lithe
figure had gained a certain roundness and grace.
Celia was developed physically far beyond her years; mentally, she was
still the gay, careless child; the happy spirit of childhood laughed in
her large brown eyes, was mirrored in the bright smile that lit up her
lovely features, and in the gay defiance with which, after having
fairly smothered her father with kisses, she confronted the Finanzrath
with folded arms. "Well, my sage brother," she said, laughing, "here I
am, in my own proper person, prepared to listen to your highly valuable
advice with regard to my future training."
"Have you been listening, Celia?" the Finanzrath asked.
"Of course I have. I saw you arrive, and by way of welcome plucked a
whole apronful of syringa flowers to surprise you after a sisterly
fashion, and then crept up to the door on tiptoe. There, to my horror,
I heard how the redoubtable Finanzrath had the impudence to tell my
darling old papa that he had not brought me up. Was it not my duty to
listen? You are a detestable monster, Werner! Look at me and tell me
what fault you have to find with me."
At this moment the Finanzrath certainly had no fault whatever to find
with his charming sister; he thought her lovely, and owned to himself
that if no one had brought Celia up, mother Nature had done the best
that was possible for her. Her every movement was graceful, her bearing
that of a lady, and even in the stormy embrace she had bestowed upon
her father there had been nothing rude or unfeminine, but only an
impulsive warmth that became her admirably.
"Why do you not speak?" Celia went on, as the Finanzrath continued to
look at her with a smile but without replying. "You were ready enough
just now to prate about my want of social elegance, and Herr Arno, in
the character of a dignified echo, added his 'I cannot deny it.' Only
wait, Arno; you shall atone to me for that!"
"That's right!" the Freiherr cried in high glee. "The little witch has
you both on the hip."
"And, papa, I am a little angry with you, too. You were nearly talked
over by that odious Werner. Now let me tell you, if you ever send me to
boarding-school I will run away immediately. Even if I have to beg my
way back to Hohenwald I never will stay in Dresden with that horrid
Frau von Adelung, to whom Werner would sell me like a slave."
"You would not talk so, child, if you had ever seen Frau von Adelung,"
the Finanzrath observed.
"I am not a child, and I will not let you treat me as such. Remember
that, Werner. I will never consent to be sent to school."
"Assure yourself on that point, little one. You heard me say that I
never will permit such an arrangement: that I cannot and will not be
parted from you," said the old man.
"Yes, I heard that, you dear old papa, and I could have shouted for joy
when you refused to listen to Werner's odious plan. You cannot live
without me, nor can I without you. So let Arno talk as he pleases. You
and I know that I am very well brought up. Neither you nor Arno has
ever found any fault with my manners, and as for what Werner has to say
about marriage, it is all nonsense. I shall never marry, but live here
with you two at Hohenwald. Upon that I am resolved."
"Ah, indeed?" the Finanzrath asked, smiling. "So elevated a resolve
adopted by a girl of fifteen of course alters the case."
"You are detestable! In two months I shall be sixteen."
"A most venerable age, I admit; fortunately, however, not so advanced
but that you may still have something to learn. How, for example, does
your music come on?"
Celia blushed, and replied, rather dejectedly, "I have not practised
much lately. Our good old pastor is so deaf that he never hears my
mistakes."
"And therefore you prefer not to practise at all, but to forget the
little you have learned, although you have considerable talent, and
might give my father a great deal of pleasure if you had a good
teacher. Think, father, how you would enjoy having Celia give you an
hour or so of delicious music every evening."
The old man looked fondly at his darling: "Yes, yes, I should like it
very well, but if it tires the child to practise, I can do very well
without it."
"Oh, no, papa; I will turn over a new leaf, and practise well, if it
really will please you."
"Practice is not enough," said the Finanzrath; "you never will improve
without a teacher. I consulted Frau von Adelung upon the subject, for I
foresaw that my plan of sending you to school would meet with
invincible opposition from you and my father. Therefore I asked Frau
von Adelung if she knew of any one whom she could recommend as a
governess for Celia."
"Ah, now we are coming to the governess!" cried Celia, laughing. "You
are a born diplomatist, Werner. This is why you praised my 'talent' and
talked about my music. But no, my cunning brother, I am not to be
caught in your net. Am I, grown up as I am, to be ordered about by an
ugly old governess in green spectacles? I can hear her now: 'Fraeulein
Celia, sit up; you are stooping again! Fraeulein Celia, no young lady
should climb a chestnut-tree. Fraeulein Celia here, Fraeulein Celia
there! You must not do this, and you must not do that.' Oh, a governess
is always a horror! and I tell you, Werner, that if you send one here,
I will contrive that she is tired of her post in a week."
"We will see about that," the Finanzrath rejoined, coolly. "Frau von
Adelung has recommended to me very highly an accomplished young person,
who, so far as I know, neither wears green spectacles nor is a horror.
She is very musical, plays the piano charmingly, and speaks French as
well as English."
"She must be a prodigy, indeed!" Arno said. "Is it possible that such a
combination of the arts and sciences can condescend to come to Castle
Hohenwald? Celia is right; the lady could not stay here a week. Our
lonely castle is no place for such a wonder, nor is Celia any pupil for
her. Neither my father nor I could alter our mode of life for a
governess. Women, in fact, are so little to my mind, that it is only by
an effort that I can bring myself to speak to them."
"Pray let me thank you in the name of the sex," Celia said, with a low
courtesy to her brother.
"Nonsense! you are an exception, you little will-o'-the-wisp. No need
to talk artificial nonsense to you; you are not greedy for admiration,
and do not expect to be flattered."
"And how do you know that Fraeulein Mueller, the lady recommended by Frau
von Adelung, expects it?" asked the Finanzrath.
"All these modern governesses expect it. Most of them are pedantic, and
all of them are greedy for admiration."
"You are certainly mistaken in this case. I described exactly to Frau
von Adelung the life that is led at Castle Hohenwald; I expressly told
her that no guest is admitted within its walls, that the governess
would have no companionship save Celia's, that my father was ill, and
therefore unfit for social intercourse, that Arno was a woman-hater,
who would never, probably, exchange three words with her, and that
therefore the position of governess here would not suit any one with
any social pretensions."
"And what was Frau von Adelung's reply?" Arno asked.
"That it was just the kind of situation that Fraeulein Mueller wanted."
"That seems to me a rather suspicious circumstance. Why should such a
woman as you describe, talented and accomplished, desire to bury
herself in the solitude of Castle Hohenwald?" Arno objected, and his
father, too, shook his head doubtfully.
But the Finanzrath was prepared for this objection; he said, "Frau von
Adelung, in whose sincerity and truth I place perfect reliance,
explained what seemed to me, too, an anomaly. Fraeulein Mueller has had
much to endure in her life; her father was a wealthy merchant, and she
was brought up in the greatest luxury. But all the young girl's hopes
in life were disappointed: her father lost his entire fortune. Frau von
Adelung hinted that he had committed suicide, probably in despair at
his losses, and gave me to suppose, although for the young lady's sake
she did not say so directly, that the poor girl was betrothed, and that
the loss of her money broke her engagement. Alone, and dependent
entirely upon her own exertions, the unfortunate girl is anxious to
earn an honourable livelihood. The solitude of Castle Hohenwald, Frau
von Adelung maintains, would make the situation here peculiarly
desirable to Fraeulein Mueller. I expressly stated, also, that my father
would be quite ready to indemnify her by an unusually high salary for
the disadvantages of her position here; and I have so arranged matters
that it only needs a note from me to Frau von Adelung to secure
Fraeulein Mueller for Celia. She might be here in a few days. It is for
you to decide, father, whether we shall embrace the opportunity thus
offered us of procuring a suitable companion and teacher for Celia, or
whether we shall let it slip."
The Freiherr was convinced by his son's representations. There was
still a conflict going on within him between his distaste for having
his quiet life disturbed by the intrusion of a stranger and his desire
that Celia's education might be complete. But he was so far won over to
the Finanzrath's views that he would not say 'no' to his plan. Celia
must decide. "Well, little one," he said, "what do you think now of
Werner's scheme? Shall he write to Frau von Adelung to send us this
Fraeulein Mueller, or do you still declare that you will not have her?"
Celia looked thoughtful. She must decide, then. She thought of the
delicious liberty she had hitherto enjoyed, of the restraint that would
be laid upon her in the future. But she thought also of her father's
pleasure in her progress in music, and more than all, it quite broke
her heart to think that her "no" would destroy the hopes of an
unfortunate girl who was seeking a position as governess.
Her brother's account had excited her profound sympathy. She could not
say "no." "You are an odious fellow, Werner!" she said, after a short
pause for reflection. "You do just what you please with us; but you
shall have a kiss, and you may write to Fraeulein Mueller to come, and I
will try not to tease her."
So the Finanzrath had his kiss, but he could not keep her by his side.
She had been serious long enough, and she ran laughing into the garden,
leaving her father and brothers to farther consultation.