The Countess said, in English, "One can't have in the country all that one
wants."
I could not help feeling that one could not have even the half of what one
wanted, and more than once I caught myself thinking, "None but the brave
deserve this fare." They noticed if you took a second helping, and you
felt that they made a mental note if your glass was filled more than once
with wine. However, it was all very nice, and they were very kind, good
people. It was not the Count's fault if the stags he killed had too many
horns, neither was it the Countess's fault that time hung heavy on her
hands and embroidery occupied them.
Fortunately we would go away next day, so what did it matter? But getting
away was a very different thing from coming. When the Countess Westphal
suggested it, and said that we intended to take a certain train, the faces
of our hosts presented a blank look of apprehension! Their horses were
plowing! What should we do? The doctor, they said, who lived in the
village, had a carriage, but the horse was sick; there was, however, the
_schimmel_ of the baker, which, fortunately, was in good health, and
perhaps, in conjunction with the wagon of the doctor, one could manage. It
sounded like a gigantic exercise of Ollendorff:
"Avez-vous le cheval du boulanger?"
"Non, mais j'ai le soulier du boucher," etc.
After what seemed an eternity, the wagon of the doctor appeared, so did
the _schimmel_. The wagon of the doctor, usually dragged by two animals,
had a pole in the middle, to which the _schimmel_ was attached, giving him
a very sidelong gait. The question now was, who was to drive the
_schimmel_ attached to the pole?
The young man who milked the cows, killed the pigs, dressed the Count,
picked the fruit, drove the Countess, waited at table, served everybody,
did everything, and smelled _awfully_ of the stables--could he be spared?
Well, he was spared, and off we started majestically, but sideways, waving
a courtly adieu. We reached home in a drenching rain, wondering what on
earth ever possessed us to want to go to visit the noble B----s. I don't
think I ever want to see that establishment again, and I don't think I
ever shall.