Departure from Carlsbad -- Dreifaltigkeits-Kirche --
Engelhaus -- The Castle -- A Melancholy Village -- Up to
the Ruins -- An Imperial Visit -- Bohemian Scenery -- On to
Buchau -- The Inn -- A Crowd of Guests -- Roast Goose --
Inspiriting Music -- Prompt Waiters -- The Mysterious
Passport -- The Military Adviser -- How he Solved the
Mystery -- A Baron in Spite of Himself -- The Baron's
Footbath -- Lighting the Baron to Bed.
Some years ago Carlsbad was scarcely accessible by vehicles coming
from the interior, so abrupt was the declivity of its western hill.
Now the difficulty is overcome by the zigzags of an excellent road,
such as Austrian engineers know well how to construct. The shortest
way out of the town for one on foot is up a street painfully steep,
which brings you at once to an elevation, whence there is a view of
the hills and hollows at the head of the valley. The zigzags are long,
and there are no cut-offs, whereby you lose sight but slowly of the
Valley of Springs.
Once past the brow and a view opens over a hilly landscape in the
opposite direction, repeating the characteristics of Bohemian
scenery--large unfenced fields, with clumps of firs and patches of
forest on the highest swells, and the road, in long undulations,
running between rows of birch and mountain-ash. There is a monotony
about it, varied only by the difference of crops, the rise and fall of
the ground, or rags of mist which, after a shower, hang about the dark
sides of distant hills. By-and-by the ruined castle of Engelhaus,
crowning a conical hill, peers up on the left, higher and higher as
you advance, till at length it stands out a huge mass, looking grimly
down on a village beneath.
But now a low building on the right attracts your attention. It is a
small, low, triangular church--_Dreifaltigkeits-Kirche_--in a narrow
graveyard, where the few mounds and the low wooden crosses that mark
them are scarcely to be seen for tall grass and weeds. The interior,
so far as I could see through a chink in the rusty, unpainted door,
contains nothing remarkable except a rude altar, and a small gallery
in each angle. A chapel and arcades are built against two sides of the
enclosing wall, and four life-size figures of apostolic aspect sit,
recline, and kneel in front of a half-length figure, bearing a
crucifix, placed in a recess. They seemed fit guardians of a place
which wears an appearance of neglect.
A little farther and there is a byeway, leading across the fields to
Engelhaus, about a quarter-mile distant, and a very Irish-looking
village it is; squalid and filthy, built in what, to a stranger,
appears a total disregard of the fitness of things. Here and there the
noise of a loom--a noise which denotes a poverty-stricken
existence--sounded from some of the cottages, and the aspect of the
villagers is quite in keeping with their environment. And yet a
wandering musician, who carried a trestle to rest his organ on, was
trying to coax a few _Kreutzers_ out of their pockets by airs most
unmelodious; as if the worst kind of music were good enough for folk
so deficient in a sense of propriety. The inside of the houses is no
better than the outside. Seeing a pale, damp-browed weaver at a
window, I stopped to put a question. He opened the casement, and out
rushed a stream of air so hot, stifling, and malodorous as fully
accounted for his abject looks, and made me content with the briefest
answer.
A steep path, completed in one place by a wooden stair, leads you up
and along the precipitous side of the hill to the principal entrance
of the castle, an old weatherbeaten arch bestriding the whole of the
narrow way. Here a few tall trees form the commencement of an avenue,
which the young trees planted farther on will one day complete, and
increase the charm of the ancient remains. The path skirting the bold
crags passes an old tower, and enters a court which, since the visit
of the Emperor and Empress in 1854, is called the _Kaiserplatz_. Three
young trees, supported by stakes painted black and yellow, and blue
and white, are growing up into memorials of the incident, and
dwarf-firs, set in the turfy slope, form the initials F i E--_Francis
Joseph, Elizabeth_. A small pool in one corner reflects the
dilapidated walls; the mountain-ash, trailing grasses, and harebells
grow from the crevices, trembling in the breeze; and the place, cool,
green, and sequestered, is one where you would like to sit musing on a
summer afternoon.
The steep and uneven ground adds much to the picturesque effect of the
ruin. You make your way from court to court by sudden abrupt ascents
and descents, protected in places by a fence--now under a broken
arch, now creeping into a vault, now traversing a roofless hall,
climbing the fragment of a stair, or pacing round the base of the
mighty keep. Loose stones lie about, bits of walls peer through the
soil, or, concealed beneath, form grassy hummocks, showing how great
have been the ravages of time and other foes. Here and there stands a
portion of wall on the very brink of the precipice, and a railing
stretched from one to the other enables you to contemplate the
prospect in safety. The appearance of the country is such that the
hill appears to be in the centre of a great, slightly-hollowed basin,
which has a dark and distant rim. The basin is everywhere heaving with
undulations, patched and striped with firs and the lines of trees
along the highways, while a few ponds gleam in some of the deepest
hollows. A few widely scattered cottages, or the white walls of a
farmstead, dot the green surface of the fields; and such is the
general character of the scenery all the way from the _Erzgebirge_ to
Prague--indeed, all the central region of Bohemia. One league, with
small differences, is but a repetition of the other.
I prowled so long about the ruins, enjoying the lusty breeze that
shook the branches merrily and roared through the crevices, that long
shadows crept over the landscape, raising the highest points into bold
relief, and veiling the remoter scenes before I descended. The sun,
fallen below the Saxon mountains, lit up an immense crescent of angry
clouds with a lurid glare, from which the twilight caught a touch of
awfulness. The ponds shone with unearthly lustre for a few moments,
and then lay cold and gray, and there seemed something spectral in the
thin lines of firs as they rose against the glare.
I returned to the road, and found the last two or three miles solitary
enough, for not a soul did I meet, and the way lay through a forest
where the only light was a faint streak overhead. It was near ten
o'clock when I came to Buchau--a village of low houses built round a
great square--in which stood some twenty or thirty laden wagons. The
appearance of things at _The Sun_ was not encouraging: a dozen
wagoners in blue gaberdines lay stretched on straw in the
sitting-room, leaving but a small corner of the floor vacant, where
sat the host, who made many apologies for having to turn me away. I
walked across the square, and tried _Der Herrnhaus_, and on opening
the door met with a rare surprise. The large room was crowded with
some threescore guests, including a few soldiers, seated at narrow
tables along the sides and across the middle, every man with his
tankard of beer before him. In one corner a party of gipsies played
wild and lively music, making the room echo again with the sounds of
flageolet, violin, and bass, and electrifying the company with their
wizard harmonies. Some, unable to contain themselves, chanted a few
bars of the inspiriting measure; others beat time with hands or feet,
and joined in a whoop at the emphatic passages; and all the while a
gruff outpouring of talk struggled with the bass for the mastery.
There was a clatter of knives and forks, a rattling of pewter-lids by
impatient tipplers, and hasty cries for pieces of bread. And over all
hung a cloud of smoke, rolling broader and deeper as the puffs and
swirls went up from fifty pipes.
This scene bursting upon me all at once made me stand for a minute in
doubtful astonishment, half dazzled by the sudden light, and half
choked by the reeking atmosphere, while I looked round to discover
the trencher-capped _Wirth_. If _The Sun_ had no room, what was to be
hoped for here? However, the landlord, after a consultation with his
wife, assured me of a chamber to myself; and placing a chair at the
only vacant end of one of the tables, professed himself ready to
supply "anything" for supper. He rung the changes on beef, veal, and
sausage, with interpolation of roast goose. The meats were good, but
the goose was prime; he could recommend that "_vom Herzen_," and he
laid his hand on his heart as he said it. So I accepted roast goose;
and presently a smoking dish of the savoury bird was set before me,
with cucumber salad and rye bread. The landlord had not overpraised
his Bohemian cookery, for he gave me a most relishing supper.
As my eyes became accustomed to the smoky atmosphere, the forms and
features of the company came out more distinct than at first. Among
the wagoners and rustics who made up the greater number, I saw two or
three heads of a superior cast--unmistakable Czechish heads--in marked
contrast to the rest. A gentleman with his wife and brother,
travelling to their estates, preferred quarters in the _Herrnhaus_ to
a midnight stage, and sat eating their supper, apparently not less
pleased with their entertainment than I was. By their side sat half a
dozen tramping shoemakers, each busy with a plate of roast goose; and
next to them, in the narrow space between the stove and the wall, lay
a woman and her two children, sleeping on straw. The musicians came
round for a largesse, and, reanimated by success, played a few tunes
by way of finish, which made sitting still almost impossible. Every
one seemed inclined to spring up and dance; and the host and his
servants ran to and fro quicker than ever, under the new excitement.
No sooner was a tankard emptied, than, following the custom of the
country, it was caught up by one of the nimble attendants and
refilled, without any asking leave or any demur, except on the part of
one of the guests. Trencher-cap would by no means believe that I could
be satisfied with a single measure, and I had to compromise for a
glass of wine, which, when brought, he assured me proudly was genuine
'34 _Adelsberger_. Whether or no, it was very good.
Presently he asked for a sight of my passport, that his son might
enter my name with those of the other travellers. I spread the
document before him on the table; he bent down and examined it
curiously, as an antiquary over a wormeaten manuscript, but with a
look of utter bewilderment, for he had never before seen an English
passport. He turned it upside down, sideways, aslant, back to front,
every way, in short, in his endeavour to discover a meaning in it; but
in vain. He caught eagerly at the British Minister's eagle, and the
German _visas_, yet found nothing to enlighten him therein. His son
then took a turn in the examination; still with no better result; and
the two looked at one another in blank hopelessness.
Presently the father, recollecting himself, beckoned secretly to one
of the soldiers, who came to help solve the mystery. Taking the
passport, he held it at arm's length, turned it every way as the
_Wirth_ had done before, brought it close to his eyes; but could make
nothing of it. Then, as if to assist his wit, he hooked one finger on
the end of his nose, spread the mysterious document on the table, and
pointing to the first paragraph, which, as tourists know, stands
printed in good round hand, he began to read at all hazards:
"_Vill--Vill--Vill--yam. Ja, ja. Villyam._ Ah! that's English!" Then
he attacked the second word--"_Fre--Fre--Fre--Fredrich. Ja, ja._ That
is English!"
The next word, _Earl_, looked awkward, so, skipping that, he went on
with many flourishes of his forefinger, "_Cla--ren--don. Ja, ja.
Clarendon._ That's English!"
Encouraged by success, he made a dash at the following word,
"_Baron_," and stopped suddenly short, hooked his finger once more on
his nose, stood for a minute as if in deep study, then repeating
slowly, "_Villyam Fredrich Clarendon, Baron_," he gave the passport
back into the landlord's hands, and said in a whisper, pointing slily
to me, "He's a Baron."
Hereupon the son, with nimble pen, entered me in the book as "_Villyam
Fredrich Clarendon, Baron_."
"You have made a pretty mistake," I interposed. "See, that's my name,
written lower down, quite away from the titles of our Foreign
Minister." But it was in vain that I spoke, and argued, and protested,
the opposite party would not be convinced, and Trencher-cap, folding
up the passport, looked at me with that expression which very knowing
folk are apt to assume, and said, as he replaced it in my hand, "_Ja,
ja._ We are used to that sort of thing. You wish not to travel in your
real name. Yes, yes, we know. _Herr Baron_, I give you back your
passport."
I reiterated my protest, and vehemently; but all in vain. "_Herr
Baron_" I had to remain for all the rest of the evening. Trencher-cap
made a bow every time he addressed me, and went among his guests,
telling them he had caged an English Baron. One and another came and
sat near me for awhile, and talked with so much of deference, that at
last I felt quite ashamed of myself--as if I were an accomplice in a
hoax. The talk, however, was very barren; the only items of real
information it brought forth were, that a good many needles were made
in the neighbourhood, and that Buchau could muster ninety-nine master
shoemakers.
So it went on till eleven o'clock, when mine host, approaching with
another bow, said, "_Herr Baron_, are you quite sure that it is a cold
foot-bath you want?"
"Quite."
"I told the maid so," he replied; "but she says she cannot believe
that a _Herr Baron_ will have cold water, and thinks it should be
lukewarm."
Satisfied on this point, he summoned the incredulous maid to light me
to bed. She stooped low with what was meant for a curtsey, and would
on no account turn her face from me, but went backwards up the stairs,
holding the candle low, and begging me at every step not to stumble.
"Verily," thought I, "the whole household joins in the conspiracy."
She carried the candlestick delicately, as if it were of silver and
not mere iron, placed it on a little deal table in the bedroom with a
ceremonious air, made another low curtsey, and retreated to the door.
Then, with one hand on the latch, she said, after a momentary pause,
"_Herr Baron_, I wish you a good night;" and withdrew, leaving me
alone to sleep as best I might under the burden of an unexpected
title.