AM RHEIN.
George Wainwright found that early winter had already descended upon
Germany. When he arrived at Cologne the last tourist had long since
passed through that pleasant old city. The large hotels were shut up;
the _valets de place_ and cathedral touters had melted away, only to
reappear with the advent of summer; all the vendors of the Eau had shut
up their shops, and disappeared to more lively places, to spend the
money which they had acquired during the season; and even in the second
and third rate hotels the large _salons_ were closed, and but the
smaller apartments were kept open for the reception of such commercial
gentlemen as the exigences of business kept upon the road.
This did not matter much to George Wainwright, who was as careless of
luxuries as most men, and who, as an old traveller, had comfortable
head-quarters on which he could depend in most leading cities in
Europe. It was at the Brusseler Hof that George put up when he was in
Cologne, and, no matter what the season, he was sure to find the cosy
little second-rate inn full of business, and to experience a hearty
welcome from stout old Schuhmacher the landlord.
It was not so long since his last visit but that he was remembered;
and on his arrival, was placed close up at his old host's right hand
at the little _table d'hôte_, consisting then solely of the host's
family and a few neighbouring burghers, who habitually dined there
all the year round. There was a good deal of quiet solemn chaff at
the idea of an Englishman daring to put in an appearance on the Rhine
border between the months of October and May, and a certain amount of
ponderous solicitude expressed in many polysyllabic words was exhibited
as to the reason of his journey. But George took care to keep this to
himself, passing it off in the best way he could, and merely informing
his querists that he was going as far as Mainz.
Then he heard that ice had fallen in the river, that the steam-boat
traffic was quite suspended, and that he would have to travel in the
_eilwagen_, which he learned to his cost on the morrow was a humorous
name for a wretched conveyance something like a _diligence_, without
an _intérieur_ or a _banquette_, which crawled along at the rate of
between five and six miles an hour, and the company in which was
anything but desirable.
George slept at Coblenz that night, and the next day made his way to
Mainz, where he at once proceeded to an old inn situate in one of the
back streets of the town, and bearing the sign Zum Karpfen, which was
the head-quarters of the artistic body who nightly held high jinks in
the _kneipe_ there.
By numerous members of this brotherhood--young men fantastically
dressed, with long hair and quaintly-cut beards, and pipes of every
kind and shape pendent from their mouths--George was received with very
great enthusiasm. Some of them had been his fellow-students at the
University; all of them had heard of him and his learning, and his love
for German songs and traditions and student-life. And high revelry was
held that night in honour of his arrival; and _ohms_ of beer were voted
by acclamation and speedily drunk; and speeches were made, and songs
were sung, and George was kissed and embraced by full two-thirds of the
company present.
The next morning he was up betimes, and paid an early visit at the
Hofapotheke or Court-laboratory of the town, the manager of which
would, as he was informed, be able to give him Dr. Hildebrand's
address. The manager, who was a very little man, with large protruding
eyes covered with great horn spectacles, and very large flap ears, and
who looked so like an owl that George almost expected him to hop on to
the counter, was very polite but extremely reticent.
"Oh yes; he had the pleasure of the Herr Doctor's acquaintance. Who
was there in the great world to whom the berühmter Herr Doctor was not
known? It was in Dorrendorf that this so justly celebrated man formerly
resided had. Was it not true? But where did he reside now? Ah, that was
something quite otherwise. Was the Mr. Englishman who spoke the German
language with so excellent an accent--was he perhaps of the medical
profession?"
"No; but his father. And perhaps the courteous manager of the Court
laboratory might know the name of Wainwright."
"Vainrayte!" The courteous manager knew it perfectly. He had read the
even so clever treatises on the subject of "Mania and Mental Diseases,"
which that so justly renowned physician had written. And the Mr.
Englishman was the son of the Doctor von Vainrayte! There would be no
difficulty then in letting him know the address of Dr. Hildebrand.
And after further interchange of bows and courtesies, George took his
departure, bearing with him the old physician's address.
Dr. Hildebrand lived some distance from the town, in a little
road fringed on either side by detached villas standing in their
trim gardens, the road itself turning out of a noble _allée_ of
chestnut-trees, which forms one of the principal outlets of the town.
All the gardens were neatly kept, and all the houses seemed clean and
trim and orderly; but George remarked that the Doctor's house and
garden seemed the neatest of all. He was almost afraid to stand on the
doorstep as he rang the bell, lest he should sully its whiteness; and,
indeed, the old woman who opened the door immediately looked at the
prints of his boots with great disfavour.
She answered his question of whether the Doctor were at home by
another, asking him what was his business; and was evidently inclined
to be disagreeable at first, but softened in her manner when George
told her that he had come all the way from England in order to see her
master.
She smiled at this, and condescended to admit him, not without a
parting glance at the muddy footprints, and without enjoining him to
rub his feet on the square scraper standing inside the hall which did
duty for a mat. Then she ushered him into a small and meanly-furnished
dining-room, which, like every other apartment in the house, smelt very
strongly of tobacco, and there left him.
George could not help smiling to himself as he looked round the room,
the furniture and appointments of which recalled to him such pleasant
memories of his German student days. There on the little sideboard was
the coarse whity-brown cloth, so different from English table-linen,
rolled up and waiting for use. There was the battered red japanned
bread-tray, containing the half-dozen white _brodchens_, the lump of
_sauerbrod_, and the thin slices of _schwarzbrod_. There were the
three large cruets, so constantly required for salad-mixing purposes,
and the blunt black-handled knives and forks. On the wall was a print
from Horace Vernet's ghastly illustration of Bürger's Lenore, showing
the swift death-ride, the maiden lying in fainting terror across the
horse's neck, borne in the arms of the corpse, whose upraised visor
shows its hideous features.
There were also two or three portraits of eminent German physicians and
surgeons. On the table lay folded copies of the _Cologne Gazette_ and
the _Augsburg Zeitung_; and each corner of the room was garnished with
a spittoon.
George had just time to take observation of these things, when the door
opened, and the old woman entering, begged him to follow her, as her
master would see him.
Down a long passage and across a small garden, not trim or neat by any
means--more of a yard, indeed--in which linen that had been washed
was hanging out to dry, and so to the Doctor's study--a large room
surrounded with bookcases crammed and overflowing. Books piled in
the middle of the floor in miscellaneous heaps; Pelions on Ossas of
books in the corners having overcharged themselves, and shot their
contents all over the neighbouring space. A large eight-day clock in
a heavy open case ticking solemnly on one side of the fireplace, the
niche on the other side being occupied by a suspended skeleton. On
the mantelpiece bottles of anatomical preparations, polished bones,
and cases of instruments; in the middle of the room an enormous
old-fashioned writing-table, littered with papers and books on which
the dust had thickly accumulated. Seated at it, busily engaged in
writing, and scarcely looking up as they entered the room, was Dr.
Hildebrand, one of the greatest men of science of his day.
A tall man, standing over six feet in height, of strange aspect,
rendered still more strange by the contrast between his soft
silver-white air, brushed back from his forehead and hanging down
over his coat-collar, and the sable hue of an enormous pair of bushy
bristly eyebrows, which stuck out like pent-houses, and from under
which his keen black eyes looked forth. His features were coarse and
rugged, his nose large and thick, his mouth long and ill-shaped, his
jaw square, and his chin enormous. He was dressed in a long gray,
greasy dressing-gown, an old black waistcoat and black trousers, and
had frayed worked slippers on his feet. He was smoking a long pipe, the
painted porcelain bowl of which hung far below his knees; and from its
depths, in the influence of the excitement as he wrote, he kept drawing
up and emitting short thick puffs of smoke, in which he was enshrouded.
After a short space of time, during which George sat motionless, the
old gentleman came to the end of the passage which he was writing; and,
looking up for inspiration or what not, perceived his visitor.
He looked at him sharply from under his heavy brows, and then, in a
harsh voice, and with but scant show of courtesy, said:
"Gefällig?" (What is your pleasure?)
George, speaking in German, began to inform the old gentleman that he
had travelled a very long way for the purpose of seeing and consulting
him. His fame had reached England, where----
"You are von England out?" interrupted the Doctor.
"I am."
"And yet you speak die Cherman speech so slippery!" said the old
gentleman. "So to me is it mit the English, it is to me equal; but as
I hef not the praxis had, if it is so bleasant to you, we will the
English langvitch dalk."
"With the greatest pleasure," said George. "I was mentioning to you,
Herr Doctor, that your great fame and renown had brought me from
England for the purpose of consulting you on one of those cases which
you have made your special study, and one in which I am particularly
interested."
"Zo!" said the Doctor, emitting a long puff of smoke, "aber ist es
ihnen nicht bekannt--I mean, is it not know to you dass I ze praxis
have gave up? Dass I vill no more the curatives inspect, but vill me
zum studiren leave?"
"I have heard so, Herr Doctor; but I thought that perhaps under
peculiar circumstances you might make an exception."
"Und die peguliar circonstances is----?"
"I thought perhaps that when I told you of the case, a young girl"
"Ah, bah!" interrupted the old gentleman, with a short and angry puff.
"It is nothing vorths; dass young kirls und dummerei! Dass geht mit mir
nicht mehr. I am one old man now and" then turning suddenly, "she is
your Schwester, vat?"
"No; at present she is nothing to me, though if she were well, I should
hope to make her my wife."
"Your vaife! Ah, ha! you are verlobt, vat you call engachement, vat?
And she is----?" touching his forehead. "Ach, du lieber Gott! dass ist
aber schwer. Und so fine a young man! How do you call? Vat is your
name, eh?"
"You have heard it before, I think," said George. "My name is
Wainwright."
"Vainwraet!" screamed the old gentleman; "was von Vainwraet dass
der _Tarkened Maind_, der _Seclusion, is it koot or bat?_ der _Non
Restraint in Lunacie_, und so weiter? der Doctor Vainwraet, are you mit
ihm verwandt, are you of him relatived?"
"I am Dr. Wainwright's son," said George.
"His sohn! was der sohn of Vainwraet, der berühmter Doctor Vainwraet,
was von die Pedlams, und die Lukes und Hanvell Hash--Hatch, vot you
call; is dass shaining licht, so hell and so klar, dass his sohn should
komm to Chermany to consult _.me_, one such humble man, is to me
honourable indeed."
George readily detected a very strong accent of scorn running through
this speech, and the bow with which the old gentleman concluded it
was one of mock humility. He scarcely knew how to reply; but after a
moment's pause he said, "I thought, sir, you would know my father's
name."
"His name is mir sehr wohl bekannt, ver veil bequaint with him,"
said the Doctor with a grin, "and mit his praxis nevertheless,
notwithstanding, likewise," he added, nodding his head with great
delight as he uttered each of the last three words. "Tell to me, your
father has he seen your braut, dass mädchen, die young dame?"
"Yes, he has seen her several times."
"And what says he of her?"
George shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head despairingly. "He
says he can do her no good--that her case is incurable."
"Which is two tifferent brobositions, of which I cannot tubidade about
the fairst, though the second may not be founded on fact," said the
Doctor. "No, my young chentleman, I am combassionate and sorrow for
you, but I cannot preak my rule. I hef retaired myself to studiren, and
will inspect no more curatives; and as to your father, der berühmter
Vainwraet, it is not for him I preak my rule! He is an shamposter, see
you, an shamposter!" The puffs from the pipe came very thick and very
rapidly. "An shamposter, sir, mit his dreadises and his bamphlets,
and his lecturings delivered before the Collegiums drum und herum!
He laugh at my ice-theory in his vat you call Physikalische Zeitung,
_Lancer--Lancet!_ He make chokes at my institute in Dorrendorf, vat?
He is a shamposter, dieser Vainwraet, and to the devil mit him and his
sohn, and die ganze geschichte!"
The old gentleman waved his hand as he spoke, as if he were really
consigning his visitor to the dread limbo which he had named, reseated
himself at his desk, from which he had risen in his rage, and began
writing and smoking furiously.
What was to be done? George made an attempt at renewing the
conversation, but the Doctor only waved his arm impatiently, and cried
"Fort!" in shrill accents.
So George Wainwright came away despondingly. His last chance of getting
Annette restored to health had failed, and his outlook on life was very
blank indeed.