passing another twelvemonth in a tour through southern Europe, I was
upon my way to England, when I paused for a day in the village of
Mauseloch, capital of the Duchy of Klein-Fleckenberg--an independent
and sovereign state of which geographers make little mention, and
historians still less, but which is known, at least by name, to
most persons who have travelled through those pleasant districts
of central Germany watered by the Rhine and its tributaries. Those
ignorant of its existence, and curious of its whereabout, will do
well to consult the larger and more accurate maps of that country;
upon which, greatly to the credit of the topographers, they will
find it noted down, although its entire superficies is scarcely more
extensive than that of the private park of more than one European
monarch. Its population is perhaps equal to that of the Jews' quarter
in Frankfort on the Maine, and its revenue would enable a private
gentleman to live in tolerably good style in London or Paris.
Its standing army, which, when seen upon parade, bears a strong
resemblance to a sergeant's guard, greatly distinguished itself in
the wars against Napoleon, sustained dreadful losses, and by its
valour, as several patriotic Klein-Fleckenbergers have informed
me, decided the fate of more than one hard-fought field. In most
respects Klein-Fleckenberg differs so little from many other German
principalities, duchies, landgraviates, &c. &c., that description
is almost superfluous. In spring it is white with the blossoms of
plum and pear, fruits which constitute no unimportant article of its
consumption and commerce; it is celebrated for sour kraut; its pigs
yield the best of sausages; it has half a dozen corn-fields and a
hop-ground, and also a mineral-spring, whose waters, although not
sufficiently renowned to attract strangers, annually work miraculous
cures upon sickly natives. At the time I speak of, the reigning duke
was Augustus IX., an amiable and easy-going prince, whose illustrious
brows were more frequently bound with a velvet smoking-cap than with
a golden diadem, and whose hand, in lieu of sceptre, usually carried
a riding-whip, sometimes a fowling-piece. His mild sway was lightly
borne by his loyal subjects, who failed not, each successive Sabbath,
to pray for his welfare and preservation, and who, if they sometimes
grumbled when called upon for the contributions destined to support
his princely state, imputed blame only to the tax-gatherer, and
never dreamed of attaching it to their benevolent and well-beloved
sovereign.
The chapel of the ducal residence of Mauseloch was filled to the
roof, when, upon a bright Sunday morning of the year 183--, I entered
and looked around for a vacant seat. Not one was to seen. More than
one good-natured burgess screwed himself, as I passed near him, into
the smallest possible compass, to try to make room for me, but on
that sultry autumn morning I had too great regard both for my own
comfort and that of others, to avail myself of the scanty space thus
courteously afforded. In the whole church there literally was not
a sitting vacant, and several persons seemed, by their attitude,
to have resigned themselves to stand out the service. I hesitated
whether to do the same or to leave the church, when somebody touched
my arm, and on looking round I saw the precentor beckoning to me,
and pointing to an empty stool behind the singing-desk. Glad of the
offer, I at once installed myself amongst the choristers.
The extraordinary concourse in the church was not owing, as I
afterwards learned, to any unwonted pious fervour of the Klein
Fleckenbergers, but to the presence--for the first time after a visit
of some weeks to a brother potentate--of the reigning duke and his
duchess, and of their daughter the Princess Theresa. From my seat in
the choir, I had a full view of these distinguished personages. The
duke was a sleek elderly gentleman, with at least as much _bonhomie_
as dignity in his bearing; his wife, with rather more of the starch
of a petty German court, was yet a kindly-looking princess enough.
But their daughter was a pearl of beauty. She seemed about twenty
years of age, slender and graceful, with darker eyes and hair than
are common amongst her countrywomen, and--but I shall not attempt to
describe her. With all the advantages of ivory tablets and silken
brushes, and the seven tints of the rainbow, it would need a cunning
artist to do justice to her perfections; so it were absurd of me, a
mere sketcher, with pen, paper, and an indifferent ink-bottle for
sole materials, to attempt to portray them. I will therefore merely
say, that with elegance of form and regularity and delicacy of
feature, she combined the highest charm that grace and intelligence
of expression can bestow. Fresh from the sunburnt shores of Italy,
where I had basked at the foot of Vesuvius till my heart was as
inflammable as tinder, I took fire at once. My eyes were riveted
upon the peerless Theresa, when she chanced to look up. There was
electricity in the glance. I was stricken on the spot; my heart was
brought down like a snipe with a slug through his wing, and fell
fluttering at its conqueror's feet. I know not how long I had gazed,
when I was roused from my contemplation by a stir in the choir, and
the choristers struck up a psalm to a fine old German air, in which I
had often joined at concerts of Handel's and Haydn's splendid church
music. Instinctively I took my accustomed part, and was scarcely
conscious of doing so, until, after a few bars, I perceived myself
the object of the choristers' curious attention, and saw the singer
whose part I had taken cease to sing, either of his own accord or at
a sign from the precentor. Certainly the wiry quavering and unskilled
execution of the Klein Fleckenberger tenor could not compete for
an instant with a voice which was then in its mellow prime, and of
very considerable power; without vanity, the substitution was for
the better, and so apparently thought the congregation, for a cat's
footfall might have been heard in the church, and all eyes were
turned towards the choir. Amongst them I particularly observed the
beautiful hazel orbs of the Princess Theresa, which more than once
fixed themselves upon me, so I fancied, as if she singled out my
voice and distinguished it from the less cultivated vocalisation of
my companions. The singing at an end, I observed her whisper the
duke, who immediately cast a glance in my direction.
The service over, I hurried from the church, eager to catch a view
of my divinity, on whose passage I stationed myself. Presently an
open carriage, with high-pacing Mecklenberg horses and a bearded
chasseur, rolled rapidly by, its occupants receiving on their passage
the respectful greetings of the people. In my turn I took off my hat,
and I could not but think there was a gleam of recognition in the
beautiful Theresa's eyes as she gracefully bent in acknowledgment of
my salutation. And when the carriage had passed me a few yards, the
duke put his head out and looked back, but for whom or what the look
was intended I could not decide, before a turn of the road hid the
vehicle from my view.
The ragouts at the Fleckenberger Arms were not of such excellence as
to induce me to linger over them, even if my appetite had not been
somewhat destroyed by the feverish excitement in which the sight of
the peerless Theresa had left me. The fact was, absurd as it may
seem, that I had actually, and at first sight, allowed myself to
fall violently in love with the charming and high-born German. I say
absurd; because, although my father was of a good enough Brunswick
family, and my mother, a rich English heiress, had brought him a
rent-roll perhaps not much inferior to the combined civil list and
private revenue of the dukes of Klein Fleckenberg, yet a princess
is always a princess, whether her realm be wide as China or limited
as Monaco, a hemisphere or a paddock; and I was well assured of the
haughty astonishment with which Augustus IX. would not fail to repel
the presumptuous advances of plain Charles von Degen. At the time,
however, I did not stay to calculate all this, but yielded to the
impulse of the moment.
I was sitting after dinner in the public room of the hotel, and
planning a walk abroad in hopes of obtaining another glimpse of
the lady of my thoughts, when I heard my name pronounced. The door
was half open, and by a slight change of position I saw into the
entrance-hall, where Herr Damfnudel, landlord of the Fleckenberger
Arms, was exhibiting, to a stranger in a dapper brown coat and of
smug and courtly aspect, the folio volume in which, according to
German custom, each visitor to the hotel was expected to inscribe
his name and calling, his whence-come and his whither-go. Presently
the stranger entered the room and paced it twice in its entire
length, whilst I sat at the table turning over a newspaper, in whose
perusal I affected to be busied, but at the same time observing,
by the aid of a friendly mirror, the appearance and movements of
the stranger, to whom I was evidently an object of curiosity and
examination. Presently he took up a paper, sat down at no great
distance from me, offered me snuff, and glided into talk. Aided
by tolerable familiarity with the ways and style of little German
courts and courtiers, I soon made up my mind as to what he was. His
manner, appearance, and tone of conversation convinced me he was in
some way or other attached to the ducal residence, although I had
difficulty in conjecturing his motive for trying to extract from me
various particulars concerning myself and my country, and especially
concerning the object of my visit to Mauseloch. He either did not
possess, or thought it unnecessary to employ, any great amount of
_finesse_, and I soon detected his drift. My pure German accent
could have left him no doubt that in me he addressed a countryman;
the hotel-book told him little besides my name, for I had inscribed
myself as a _particulier_ or private gentleman, coming from the last
town I had slept at, and proceeding to the next at which I proposed
pausing on my journey homewards. Hope and vanity combined to flatter
me with the belief that the chamberlain, or whatever else he was,
acted merely as an agent in the affair; and, at any rate, I thought
it wise to affect the mysterious, being sufficiently acquainted with
optics to know that a fog magnifies the objects it envelops. The
stranger could make nothing of me. At times his sharp little grey
eyes assumed an expression of doubt, and at others his manner had a
tinge of deep respect that puzzled me not a little. At last he took
his departure, and it was my turn to play the inquisitor. Calling for
Herr Damfnudel, I preferred those two requests which no innkeeper
was ever known to refuse--namely, a bottle of his best wine, and his
company to drink it. The generous juice of the Rhine grape speedily
oiled the hinges of his tongue; and at the very first assault,
by speaking of the stranger as the Kammerherr or chamberlain, I
ascertained that he really held a somewhat similar post in the duke's
household. Before the bottle, of which I took care my host should
drink the greater part, was quite empty, I had learned all that the
worthy Damfnudel knew. This amounted to no great deal. The duke's
gentleman had been inquisitive as to who I was, had inspected the
book, had inquired if I had a servant, and had seemed disappointed
at finding I was quite alone, and that the innkeeper could tell
him little or nothing about me. Damfnudel was much inclined to
believe, indeed had heard it rumoured in the town, that an important
personage was expected at the castle, whom it was thought possible
might be standing in my boots under the assumed name of Charles von
Degen. Flattering as was the implied compliment to the aristocratic
distinction of my appearance, I nevertheless repudiated the
incognito, declared myself to be no other than I seemed, and begged
Damfnudel to treat me and charge me as an ordinary traveller, and by
no means as a prince, ambassador, or field-marshal, or other great
dignitary. Dumfnudel, however, was of opinion that in these times so
many real and ex-potentates travel incognito, that it is impossible
to say who is who, and that a prudent innkeeper must consequently
suspect all his guests of high rank until the contrary be proven, and
charge accordingly.
Although I most perseveringly perambulated Mauseloch and its
vicinity, I saw nothing more that day of the too fascinating Theresa.
I ascertained, however, that the following morning was fixed for a
grand shooting party in the ducal preserves, and that there I might
confidently expect to obtain a view of my enchantress. Accordingly,
at an early hour I mingled with the sportsmen and idlers who were
thronging to the scene of action, and had not very long to wait
before the party from the castle drove through the park gates. At
first I had no eyes but for the lovely Theresa, who stepped lightly
from her carriage, more beautiful than ever, her sweet face and
graceful form shown to the utmost advantage by a closely-fitted
hunting dress, in which she might have been taken for the queen of
the Amazons, or for Cynthia herself newly descended from Olympus to
hunt a boar in Klein Fleckenberg. Bright was her glance, gay and
graceful her smile, as she alighted on the turf whose blades her
fairy foot scarce bent. There was a murmur of admiration amongst
the bystanders as she bowed cheerfully and kindly around, and again
I thought her eye rested half a second's space on me, as I stood a
little in the background, in the shadow of the trees. The duke and
duchess were with her, and the three were attended by their little
court, amongst whose members I recognised my inquisitive friend of
the previous day.
The kind of park in which the battue was to take place, was a
romantic tract of forest land, veined and dotted with rows and
clusters of trees, abounding in excellent cover, and interspersed
with grassy glades and lawns, whose delightful freshness was
preserved by the meanderings of two rivulets, feeders of a
neighbouring river, which flowed shallow and rapid over beds of
white sand, and between banks gorgeous with wild flowers. The sport
began. There was no lack of beaters. Besides a certain number of
peasants, whose duty it was to attend when their lord went a-hunting,
half the idlers of the duchy were at hand, eager to volunteer their
services; and soon began a shouting and clamour, a thrashing of
bushes and rummaging of brushwood, which drove the terrified game
headlong from form and harbour, across the open ground, in full view
and under the muzzles of the sportsmen. Loud then rang rifle and
fowling-piece, and cheerily clanged the horns, arousing the echoes of
the woods, and reverberated back from the clefts and ravines of the
neighbouring mountains, whilst the lusty cries of German woodcraft
were on every side repeated. So gay and inspiriting was the scene,
that for a moment it had almost diverted my thoughts from Theresa,
when I was suddenly accosted by my friend the Spy. With a low bow
he offered me a double-barrelled gun and a hunting-knife. "His
highness," he said, in a tone of the utmost ceremony and respect,
"was far from seeking to dispel the strict incognito I thought fit
to maintain, but he trusted I would be pleased to take post, and
share in the sports of the day." Having said thus much, he made
another profound bow, wished me good sport, then bowed again, and
retreated, leaving me so astonished and perplexed, that I was scarce
able to reply to his civility, and to stammer out something about
"a mistake under which his highness laboured," words which elicited
only a bland and respectful smile, and another obeisance deeper than
before. I was utterly confounded; puzzled and anxious to see how
the mistake, of which I was evidently the subject, would ultimately
be cleared up; whilst at the same time I could not help caressing
a sweet presentiment that the misapprehension of the court would
afford me opportunity of nearer acquaintance with the princess.
Before these thoughts had passed through my mind, the gun was in my
grasp, the hunting-knife by my side, and I was alone and without
choice but to stand like an advanced sentry in the open ground, or
to take post in the line of sportsmen stationed around the skirt
of an adjacent cover. I chose the latter; but truly neither hare
nor roebuck had much to fear from me. I had been too recently shot
through the heart myself to be a very formidable foe to the startled
creatures that scampered and scudded in all directions. I had made
but slight addition to the stock of venison, when an end was put to
this part of the day's sport, and a respite given to the smaller
game by the appearance of a huge wild boar. The bristly monarch
of the German forest had been tracked and driven upon a previous
day into a _sau-garten_, an enclosure allotted for the purpose,
and was now let out into the duke's chase. With eyes inflamed with
fury, bristles erect, and white tusks protruding from under the
blood-red wrinkles of his lip, he now dashed along, pursued by a
few stanch mastiffs, more than one of which, when pressing too
closely on the monster, atoned for his temerity with his life. Thus
escorted, the fierce animal came careering down a long green alley,
when one of the duke's counsellors, seized suddenly with a perilous
ardour, brandished a boar-spear, planted himself in the middle of
the path, and awaited the onset. In appearance he was not much of
a Nimrod, being chiefly remarkable for the shortness of his legs
and rotundity of his body, which seemed but ill at ease in a tight
green hunting-coat, whilst the picturesque low-crowned hat and bunch
of cock's feathers sat oddly enough above a jolly rubicund visage
that might have belonged to Falstaff himself. The comical twinkle
in his eye, which seemed to indicate his vocation to be that of
court-jester in the drawing-room, rather than court-champion in
the hunting-field, was quenched and replaced by a stare of visible
uneasiness as the wild pig came bowling along, squinting ominously
at him from under its shaggy eyebrows, and evidently wondering what
manner of man thus rashly awaited its formidable charge. The worthy
privy counsellor already puffed and perspired with his exertions,
but still he manfully stood his ground, and, greeting his antagonist
with the customary defiant cry of _Hui Sau!_ he lowered his broad,
keen spear-point, and prepared for a deadly thrust. But the dangerous
contest required a firmer and prompter hand than his. Evading the
weapon, the boar darted forward, thrust himself between the legs
of the portly sportsman, and, without injuring him, carried him
fairly off, astride upon his back. At this moment a _char-à-banc_,
containing the duchess, the Princess Theresa, and two other ladies,
and escorted by the duke and some gentlemen on horseback, drove
out of a cross-road, and the cavalcade obtained a full view of the
scene. The piteous mien of the fat counsellor astride upon the
pig, whose curly tail he grasped with a vehemence that augmented
the indignation of the furious animal, was irresistibly ludicrous.
There was a peal of laughter from the spectators, the duke swayed
to and fro in his saddle with excess of mirth, and even the ladies
caught the contagion. The joke, however, became serious earnest when
the boar, by a sudden wriggle of his unclean body, shook off the
counsellor, and turned upon him with the evident purpose of ripping
his rotundity with his dangerous tusks. This occurred within a few
steps of where I stood, and at the moment that the mirth of the
spectators was exchanged for cries of anxious horror, and when the
swine's ivory seemed already fumbling the ribs of the fallen man,
I sprang forward and drove my _couteau de chasse_ deep into the
shoulder of the grunting savage. The next moment, a well-directed
and powerful thrust from a huntsman's boar-spear laid the brute
expiring upon the ground, cheek by jowl with the luckless sportsman
who had so nearly been its victim. Bewildered by his fall, and
panting with terror, the corpulent courtier, when set upon his legs
by the huntsman, at first seemed in doubt whether the blood that
sprinkled his smart hunting-dress belonged to himself or the pig.
Satisfied upon this point, he picked up his crushed castor, and,
without replacing it on his head, turned to me, with an air of
profound respect. "Gracious sir," he said, bowing to the ground,
"I am doubly fortunate in being rescued by so illustrious a hand
from so imminent a danger." I at first thought the man was playing
the buffoon by addressing me in this style, which had been more
appropriate to a prince than to an unpretending commoner like myself,
and I scanned his features sharply, but their sole expression was
one of satisfaction at his deliverance, and of obsequious gratitude
to his deliverer. Before I could frame a disclaimer of the honour
thrust upon me, we were surrounded by the court. In a tone of mingled
cordiality and circumspection, the duke paid me a compliment on the
prompt aid afforded to his trusty friend and counsellor, upon whom
he then opened a smart fire of good-humoured sarcasms, which, as in
duty bound, his suite heartily laughed at and applauded. His wit
was lost upon me, engrossed as I was by the presence of the lovely
Theresa, who, encouraged by her father's example, smiled approvingly,
and addressed to me a few obliging words, whilst a blush mantled
her beauteous cheek. Then the _char-à-banc_ drove on, accompanied
by the horsemen, and I remained as one entranced, her silver tones
yet ringing in my ear, her sweet and graceful smile still shedding
sunshine around me. I had not yet recovered full possession of my
senses, scattered and confused by the quick succession of events, and
the curious dilemma in which I found myself, when one of the duke's
grooms led up a saddle-horse, and respectfully held the stirrup
for me to mount. I began to be resigned to the sort of _equivoque_
in which I was entangled, and, somewhat tired by the exertions of
the morning, I willingly availed myself of the proffered steed. At
the door of the hotel I gave the animal up to my attendant, with a
_douceur_ whose liberality may certainly have contributed to maintain
a belief of my being a more important personage than I seemed. My
appearance on a horse of the duke's, and attended by one of his
grooms, produced a great and manifest impression upon Herr Damfnudel,
who treated me with redoubled respect, and, I have little doubt,
augmented my score in the same proportion.
Left to solitude and reflection, after the bustle and excitement of
the morning, a certain uneasiness took possession of me. Hurried
along by a stream of odd but agreeable incidents, I had as yet
lacked time to weigh the possible consequences. I almost wished I
had kept in the background, and contented myself with sighing at
a hopeless distance for the amiable Theresa, instead of accepting
proffered attentions, and so passively encouraging the error into
which the duke and his family had evidently run. I felt that I was
in some degree an impostor, unless I at once broke down the blunder
by declaring who I was. On the other hand, I could not make up my
mind thus rudely to alter a state of things which I had not brought
about, for which I consequently was not to blame, and which, I
plainly saw, was likely to afford me opportunities of interviews,
and even of intimacy, with her by whom my thoughts were now entirely
engrossed. Another course was certainly open to me, namely, instant
departure; but to this I had great difficulty in making up my mind.
My perplexities haunted me in my dreams, and the next morning found
me in the same state of painful indecision, when a letter weighed
down the scale of inclination, and made prudence kick the beam. It
was brought me by a servant in the duke's livery, and written in
courtly French by the marshal of his household. I had betrayed, it
said, so charming a musical talent, that I must not feel surprised at
the inference that my dramatic abilities were equally remarkable. To
celebrate the birthday of his highness the duke, the court proposed
getting up Kotzebue's play of the Love Child, and it was earnestly
hoped I would not refuse to take the part of Ehrmann, which was
accordingly enclosed. There was to be a rehearsal that evening at the
palace.
This tempting invitation swept away my uncertainties like cobwebs.
My theatrical experience little exceeded a few acted charades, but I
had always been a great playgoer, and had long frequented a school
of elocution, where I had acquired readiness of delivery, and the
habit of speaking before a numerous audience. So I doubted not of
making at least a respectable appearance upon the boards of the
palace theatre. I had no reason to complain of the part assigned
to me, for it was to be rewarded upon the stage with the hand of a
beautiful baroness. Like more than one pious congregation, I thought
the Klein-Fleckenbergers were in distress for a good parson, and
doubtless I might pass muster as a tolerable one. It was no small
stimulus to me to accept the part and do my best, that I should
thereby be giving pleasure to her who I felt assured would be at
once the most illustrious and the most lovely of my audience. And
since the court persisted in discerning in me, an undisguised and
unassuming private gentleman, a distinguished Incognito, whose mask,
however, it carefully abstained from plucking off, I made up my mind
there was no harm in letting the mistake go a stage further.