It was on the 3d of August, 1863, that Paul Hathaway resigned himself
and his luggage to the care of the gold-laced, ostensible porter of the
Strudle Bad Hof, not without some uncertainty, in a land of uniforms,
whether he would be eventually conducted to the barracks, the police
office, or the Conservatoire. He was relieved when the omnibus drove
into the courtyard of the Bad Hof, and the gold-chained chamberlain,
flanked by two green tubs of oleanders, received him with a gravity
calculated to check any preconceived idea he might have that traveling
was a trifling affair, or that an arrival at the Bad Hof was not of
serious moment. His letters had not yet arrived, for he had, in a fit
of restlessness, shortened his route, and he strolled listlessly into
the reading-room. Two or three English guests were evidently occupied
in eminently respectable reading and writing; two were sitting by the
window engaged in subdued but profitable conversation; and two
Americans from Boston were contentedly imitating them on the other side
of the room. A decent restraint, as of people who were not for a
moment to be led into any foreign idea of social gayety at a
watering-place, was visible everywhere. A spectacled Prussian officer
in full uniform passed along the hall, halted for a moment at the
doorway as if contemplating an armed invasion, thought better of it,
and took his uniform away into the sunlight of the open square, where
it was joined by other uniforms, and became by contrast a miracle of
unbraced levity. Paul stood the Polar silence for a few moments, until
one of the readers arose and, taking his book--a Murray--in his hand,
walked slowly across the room to a companion, mutely pointed to a
passage in the book, remained silent until the other had dumbly perused
it, and then walked back again to his seat, having achieved the
incident without a word. At which Paul, convinced of his own
incongruity, softly withdrew with his hat in his hand, and his eyes
fixed devotionally upon it.
It was good after that to get into the slanting sunlight and checkered
linden shadows of the Allee; to see even a tightly jacketed cavalryman
naturally walking with Clarchen and her two round-faced and drab-haired
young charges; to watch the returning invalid procession, very real and
very human, each individual intensely involved in the atmosphere of his
own symptoms; and very good after that to turn into the Thiergarten,
where the animals, were, however, chiefly of his own species, and
shamelessly and openly amusing themselves. It was pleasant to contrast
it with his first visit to the place three months before, and correct
his crude impressions. And it was still more pleasant suddenly to
recognize, under the round flat cap of a general officer, a former
traveler who was fond of talking with him about America with an
intelligence and understanding of it that Paul had often missed among
his own traveled countrymen. It was pleasant to hear his unaffected
and simple greeting, to renew their old acquaintance, and to saunter
back to the hotel together through the long twilight.
They were only a few squares from the hotel, when Paul's attention was
attracted by the curiosity and delight of two or three children before
him, who appeared to be following a quaint-looking figure that was
evidently not unfamiliar to them. It appeared to be a servant in a
striking livery of green with yellow facings and crested silver
buttons, but still more remarkable for the indescribable mingling of
jaunty ease and conscious dignity with which he carried off his finery.
There was something so singular and yet so vaguely reminiscent in his
peculiar walk and the exaggerated swing of his light bamboo cane that
Paul could not only understand the childish wonder of the passers-by,
who turned to look after him, but was stirred with a deeper curiosity.
He quickened his pace, but was unable to distinguish anything of the
face or features of the stranger, except that his hair under his cocked
hat appeared to be tightly curled and powdered. Paul's companion, who
was amused at what seemed to be the American's national curiosity, had
seen the figure before. "A servant in the suite of some Eastern
Altesse visiting the baths. You will see stranger things, my friend,
in the Strudle Bad. Par example, your own countrymen, too; the one who
has enriched himself by that pork of Chicago, or that soap, or this
candle, in a carriage with the crest of the title he has bought in
Italy with his dollars, and his beautiful daughters, who are seeking
more titles with possible matrimonial contingencies."
After an early dinner, Paul found his way to the little theatre. He had
already been struck by a highly colored poster near the Bahnhof,
purporting that a distinguished German company would give a
representation of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," and certain peculiarities in the
pictorial advertisement of the tableaux gave promise of some
entertainment. He found the theatre fairly full; there was the usual
contingent of abonnirte officers, a fair sprinkling of English and
German travelers, but apparently none of his own countrymen. He had no
time to examine the house more closely, for the play, commencing with
simple punctuality, not only far exceeded the promise of the posters,
but of any previous performance of the play he had witnessed.
Transported at once to a gorgeous tropical region--the slave States of
America--resplendent with the fruits and palms of Mauritius, and
peopled exclusively with Paul and Virginia's companions in striped
cotton, Hathaway managed to keep a composed face, until the arrival of
the good Southern planter St. Clair as one of the earlier portraits of
Goethe, in top boots, light kerseymere breeches, redingote and loose
Byron collar, compelled him to shrink into the upper corner of the box
with his handkerchief to his face. Luckily, the action passed as the
natural effect upon a highly sympathetic nature of religious interviews
between a round-faced flaxen-haired "Kleine Eva" and "Onkeel Tome,"
occasionally assisted by a Dissenting clergyman in Geneva bands; of
excessive brutality with a cattle whip by a Zamiel-like Legree; of the
sufferings of a runaway negro Zimmermadchen with a child three shades
lighter than herself; and of a painted canvas "man-hunt," where
apparently four well known German composers on horseback, with flowing
hair, top boots, and a Cor de chasse, were pursuing, with the aid of a
pack of fox hounds, "the much too deeply abused and yet spiritually
elevated Onkeel Tome." Paul did not wait for the final apotheosis of
"der Kleine Eva," but, in the silence of a hushed audience, made his
way into the corridor and down the staircase. He was passing an open
door marked "Direction," when his attention was sharply attracted by a
small gathering around it and the sounds of indignant declamation. It
was the voice of a countryman--more than that, it was a familiar voice,
that he had not heard for three years--the voice of Colonel Harry
Pendleton!
"Tell him," said Pendleton, in scathing tones, to some invisible
interpreter,--"tell, him, sir, that a more infamous caricature of the
blankest caricature that ever maligned a free people, sir, I never
before had the honor of witnessing. Tell him that I, sir--I, Harry
Pendleton, of Kentucky, a Southerner, sir--an old slaveholder, sir,
declare it to be a tissue of falsehoods unworthy the credence of a
Christian civilization like this--unworthy the attention of the
distinguished ladies and gentlemen that are gathered here to-night.
Tell him, sir, he has been imposed upon. Tell him I am
responsible--give him my card and address--personally responsible for
what I say. If he wants proofs--blank it all!--tell him you yourself
have been a slave--MY slave, sir! Take off your hat, sir! Ask him to
look at you--ask him if he thinks you ever looked or could look like
that lop-eared, psalm-singing, white-headed hypocrite on the stage!
Ask him, sir, if he thinks that blank ringmaster they call St. Clair
looks like ME!"
At this astounding exordium Paul eagerly pressed forward and entered
the bureau. There certainly was Colonel Pendleton, in spotless evening
dress; erect, flashing, and indignant; his aquiline nose lifted like a
hawk's beak over his quarry, his iron-gray moustache, now white and
waxed, parted like a swallow's tail over his handsome mouth, and
between him and the astounded "Direction" stood the apparition of the
Allee--George! There was no mistaking him now. What Paul had thought
was a curled wig or powder was the old negro's own white knotted wool,
and the astounding livery he wore was carried off as no one but George
could carry it.
But he was still more amazed when the old servant, in a German as
exaggerated, as incoherent, but still as fluent and persuasive as his
own native speech, began an extravagant but perfectly dignified and
diplomatic translation of his master's protests. Where and when, by
what instinct, he had assimilated and made his own the grotesque
inversions and ponderous sentimentalities of Teutonic phrasing, Paul
could not guess; but it was with breathless wonder that he presently
became aware that, so perfect and convincing was the old man's style
and deportment, not only the simple officials but even the bystanders
were profoundly impressed by this farrago of absurdity. A happy word
here and there, the full title and rank given, even with a slight
exaggeration, to each individual, brought a deep and guttural "So!"
from lips that would have found it difficult to repeat a line of his
ceremonious idiocy.
In their preoccupation neither the colonel nor George had perceived
Paul's entrance, but, as the old servant turned with magnificent
courtesy towards the bystanders, his eyes fell upon Paul. A flash of
surprise, triumph, and satisfaction lit up his rolling eyes. Paul
instantly knew that he not only recognized him, but that he had already
heard of and thoroughly appreciated a certain distinguished position
that Paul had lately held, and was quick to apply it. Intensifying for
a moment the grandiloquence of his manner, he called upon his master's
most distinguished and happily arrived old friend, the Lord Lieutenant
Governor of the Golden Californias, to corroborate his statement.
Colonel Pendleton started, and grasped Paul's hand warmly. Paul turned
to the already half-mollified Director with the diplomatic suggestion
that the vivid and realistic acting of the admirable company which he
himself had witnessed had perhaps unduly excited his old friend, even
as it had undoubtedly thrown into greater relief the usual
exaggerations of dramatic representation, and the incident terminated
with a profusion of apologies, and the most cordial expressions of
international good feeling on both sides.
Yet, as they turned away from the theatre together, Paul could not help
noticing that, although the colonel's first greeting had been
spontaneous and unaffected, it was succeeded by an uneasy reserve. Paul
made no attempt to break it, and confined himself to a few general
inquiries, ending by inviting the colonel to sup with him at the hotel.
Pendleton hesitated. "At any other time, Mr. Hathaway, I should have
insisted upon you, as the stranger, supping with me; but since the
absence of--of--the rest of my party--I have given up my suite of rooms
at the Bad Hof, and have taken smaller lodgings for myself and the boy
at the Schwartze Adler. Miss Woods and Miss Arguello have accepted an
invitation to spend a few days at the villa of the Baron and Baroness
von Schilprecht--an hour or two from here." He lingered over the title
with an odd mingling of impressiveness and inquiry, and glanced at
Paul. But Hathaway exhibiting neither emotion nor surprise at the
mention of Yerba's name or the title of her host, he continued, "Miss
Arguello, I suppose you know, is immensely admired: she has been, sir,
the acknowledged belle of Strudle Bad."
"I can readily believe it," said Paul, simply.
"And has taken the position--the position, sir, to which she is
entitled."
Without appearing to notice the slight challenge in Pendleton's tone,
Paul returned, "I am glad to hear it. The more particularly as, I
believe, the Germans are great sticklers for position and pedigree."
"You are right, sir--quite right: they are," said the colonel,
proudly--"although"--with a certain premeditated deliberation--"I have
been credibly informed that the King can, in certain cases, if he
chooses, supply--yes, sir--SUPPLY a favored person with ancestors--yes,
sir, with ANCESTORS!"
Paul cast a quick glance at his companion.
"Yes, sir--that is, we will say, in the case of a lady of inferior
rank--or even birth, the King of these parts can, on her marriage with
a nobleman--blank it all!--ennoble her father and mother, and their
fathers and mothers, though they've been dead, or as good as dead, for
years."
"I am afraid that's a slight exaggeration of the rare custom of
granting 'noble lands,' or estates that carry hereditary titles with
them," said Paul, more emphatically, perhaps, than the occasion
demanded.
"Fact, sir--George there knows it all," said Pendleton. "He gets it
from the other servants. I don't speak the language, sir, but HE does.
Picked it up in a year."
"I must compliment him on his fluency, certainly," said Paul, looking
at George.
The old servant smiled, and not without a certain condescension. "Yes,
sah; I don' say to a scholar like yo'self, sah, dat I'se got de
grandmatical presichion; but as fah, sah--as fah as de IDIOTISMS ob de
language goes. Sah--it's gen'lly allowed I'm dar! As to what Marse
Harry says ob de ignobling ob predecessors, I've had it, sah, from de
best autority, sah--de furst, I may say, sah--de real prima facie
men--de gemplum ob his Serene Highness, in de korse eb ordinary
conversashun, sah."
"That'll do, George," said Pendleton, with paternal brusqueness. "Run
on ahead and tell that blank chamberlain that Mr. Hathaway is one of my
friends--and have supper accordingly." As the negro hastened away he
turned to Paul: "What he says is true: he's the most popular man or boy
in all Strudle Bad--a devilish sight more than his master--and goes
anywhere where I can't go. Princes and princesses stop and talk to him
in the street; the Grand Duke asked permission to have him up in his
carriage at the races the other day; and, by the Eternal, sir, he gives
the style to all the flunkeys in town!"
"And I see, he dresses the character," observed Paul.
"His own idea--entirely. And, by Jove! he proves to be right. You
can't do anything here without a uniform. And they tell me he's got
everything correct, down to the crest on the buttons."
They walked on in silence for a few moments, Pendleton retaining a
certain rigidity of step and bearing which Paul had come to recognize
as indicating some uneasiness or mental disturbance on his part.
Hathaway had no intention of precipitating the confidence of his
companion. Perhaps experience had told him it would come soon enough.
So he spoke carelessly of himself. How the need of a year's relaxation
and change had brought him abroad, his journeyings, and, finally, how
he had been advised by his German physician to spend a few weeks at
Strudle Bad preparatory to the voyage home. Yet he was perfectly aware
that the colonel from time to time cast a furtive glance at his face.
"And YOU," he said in conclusion--"when do you intend to return to
California?"
The colonel hesitated slightly. "I shall remain in Europe until Miss
Arguello is settled--I mean," he added hurriedly, "until she
has--ahem!--completed her education in foreign ways and customs. You
see, Hathaway, I have constituted myself, after a certain fashion, I
may say--still, her guardian. I am an old man, with neither kith nor
kin myself, sir--I'm a little too old-fashioned for the boys over
there"--with a vague gesture towards the west, which, however, told
Paul how near it still was to him. "But then, among the old fogys
here--blank it all!--it isn't noticed. So I look after her, you see,
or rather make myself responsible for her generally--although, of
course, she has other friends and associates, you understand, more of
her own age and tastes."
"And I've no doubt she's perfectly satisfied," said Paul in a tone of
conviction.
"Well, yes, sir, I presume so," said the colonel slowly; "but I've
sometimes thought, Mr. Hathaway, that it would have been better if
she'd have had a woman's care--the protection you understand, of an
elderly woman of society. That seems to be the style here, you know--a
chaperon, they call it. Now, Milly Woods, you see, is about the same
age, and the Dona Anna, of course, is older, but--blank it!--she's as
big a flirt as the rest--I mean," he added, correcting himself sharply,
"she lacks balance, sir, and--what shall I call it?--self-abnegation."
"Then Dona Anna is still of your party?" asked Paul.
"She is, sir, and her brother, Don Caesar. I have thought it
advisable, on Yerba's account, to keep up as much as possible the
suggestion of her Spanish relationship--although by reason of their
absurd ignorance of geography and political divisions out here, there
is a prevailing impression that she is a South American. A fact, sir.
I have myself been mistaken for the Dictator of one of these infernal
Republics, and I have been pointed out as ruling over a million or two
of niggers like George!"
There was no trace of any conception of humor in the colonel's face,
although he uttered a short laugh, as if in polite acceptance of the
possibility that Paul might have one. Far from that, his companion,
looking at the striking profile and erect figure at his side--at the
long white moustache which drooped from his dark cheeks, and
remembering his own sensations at first seeing George--thought the
popular belief not so wonderful. He was even forced to admit that the
perfect unconsciousness on the part of master and man of any
incongruity or peculiarity in themselves assisted the public
misconception. And it was, I fear, with a feeling of wicked delight
that, on entering the hotel, he hailed the evident consternation of
those correct fellow-countrymen from whom he had lately fled, at what
they apparently regarded as a national scandal. He overheard their
hurried assurance to their English friends that his companions were NOT
from Boston, and enjoyed their mortification that this explanation did
not seem to detract from the interest and relief with which the Britons
surveyed them, or the open admiration of the Germans.
Although Pendleton somewhat unbent during supper, he did not allude to
the secret of Yerba's parentage, nor of any tardy confidence of hers.
To all appearance the situation remained as it was three years ago. He
spoke of her great popularity as an heiress and a beautiful woman, and
the marked attentions she received. He doubted not that she had
rejected very distinguished offers, but she kept that to herself. She
was perfectly competent to do so. She was no giddy girl, to be
flattered or deceived; on the contrary, he had never known a cooler or
more sensible woman. She knew her own worth. When she met the man who
satisfied her ambition and understanding, she would marry, and not
before. He did not know what that ambition was; it was something
exalted, of course. He could only say, of his own knowledge, that last
year, when they were on the Italian lakes, there was a certain
prince--Mr. Hathaway would understand why he did not mention names--who
was not only attentive to her, but attentive to HIM, sir, by Jove! and
most significant in his inquiries. It was the only occasion when he,
the colonel, had ever spoken to her on such subjects; and, knowing that
she was not indifferent to the fellow, who was not bad of his kind, he
had asked her why she had not encouraged his suit. She had said, with a
laugh, that he couldn't marry her unless he gave up his claim of
succession to a certain reigning house; and she wouldn't accept him
WITHOUT IT. Those were her words, sir, and he could only say that the
prince left a few days afterwards, and they had never seen him since.
As to the princelings and counts and barons, she knew to a day the date
of their patents of nobility, and what privileges they were entitled
to; she could tell to a dot the value of their estates, the amount of
their debts, and, by Jove! sir, the amount of mortgages she was
expected to pay off before she married them. She knew the amount of
income she had to bring to the Prussian Army, from the general to the
lieutenant. She understood her own value and her rights. There was a
young English lordling she met on the Rhine, whose boyish ways and
simplicity seemed to please her. They were great friends; but he
wanted him--the colonel--to induce her to accept an invitation for both
to visit his mother's home in England, that his people might see her.
But she declined, sir! She declined to pass in review before his
mother. She said it was for HIM to pass in review before HER mother.
"Did she say that?" interrupted Paul, fixing his bright eyes upon the
colonel.
"If she had one, if she had one," corrected the colonel, hastily. "Of
course it was only an illustration. That she is an orphan is generally
known, sir."
There was a dead silence for a few moments. The colonel leaned back in
his chair and pulled his moustache. Paul turned away his eyes, and
seemed absorbed in reflection. After a moment the colonel coughed,
pushed aside his glass, and, leaning across the table, said, "I have a
favor to ask of you, Mr. Hathaway."
There was such a singular change in the tone of his voice, an
unexpected relaxation of some artificial tension,--a relaxation which
struck Paul so pathetically as being as much physical as mental, as if
he had suddenly been overtaken in some exertion by the weakness of
age,--that he looked up quickly. Certainly, although still erect and
lightly grasping his moustache, the colonel looked older.
"By all means, my dear colonel," said Paul warmly.
"During the time you remain here you can hardly help meeting Miss
Arguello, perhaps frequently. It would be strange if you did not; it
would appear to everybody still stranger. Give me your word as a
gentleman that you will not make the least allusion to her of the
past--nor reopen the subject."
Paul looked fixedly at the colonel. "I certainly had no intention of
doing so," he said after a pause, "for I thought it was already settled
by you beyond disturbance or discussion. But do I understand you, that
SHE has shown any uneasiness regarding it? From what you have just told
me of her plans and ambition, I can scarcely imagine that she has any
suspicion of the real facts."
"Certainly not," said the colonel hurriedly. "But I have your promise."
"I promise you," said Paul, after a pause, "that I shall neither
introduce nor refer to the subject myself, and that if SHE should
question me again regarding it, which is hardly possible, I will reveal
nothing without your consent."
"Thank you," said Pendleton, without, however, exhibiting much relief
in his face. "She will return here to-morrow."
"I thought you said she was absent for some days," said Paul.
"Yes; but she is coming back to say good-by to Dona Anna, who arrives
here with her brother the same day, on their way to Paris."
It flashed through Paul's mind that the last time he had seen her was
in the company of the Briones. It was not a pleasant coincidence. Yet
he was not aware that it had affected him, until he saw the colonel
watching him.
"I believe you don't fancy the brother," said Pendleton.
For an instant Paul was strongly tempted to avow his old vague
suspicions of Don Caesar, but the utter hopelessness of reopening the
whole subject again, and his recollection of the passage in Pendleton's
letter that purported to be Yerba's own theory of his dislike, checked
him in time. He only said, "I don't remember whether I had any cause
for disliking Don Caesar; I can tell better when I see him again," and
changed the subject. A few moments later the colonel summoned George
from some lower region of the hotel, and rose to take his leave. "Miss
Arguello, with her maid and courier, will occupy her old suite of rooms
here," he remarked, with a return of his old imperiousness. "George
has given the orders for her. I shall not change my present lodgings,
but of course will call every day. Goodnight!"