A. Z.
AS Hamilton was on his way to his room to procure his credentials, viz.,
A. Z.’s letter, he chanced to meet one of the chambermaids, who offered
to conduct him to Baron Z—’s apartment. To prevent the necessity of an
explanation, he sent her before with one of his cards, and she returned
almost immediately, saying that Baron Z— would be very happy to see him,
and begged he would come to him as soon as possible. Hamilton
immediately obeyed the summons, and found himself in presence of the
traveller with the long rifle. In the middle of a large room was a round
table completely covered with shooting implements, beside which stood
Baron Z—, examining the identical rifle which he had pointed upwards the
evening before. He advanced towards Hamilton with great cordiality,
extended his hand, and exclaimed in English:
“Mr. Hamilton, I am very glad to see you; my wife and I have been
anxiously awaiting your arrival; for we are obliged to leave Seon after
dinner to-day, to go to Berchtesgaden. Now all is quite easy to
arrange—you go with us—you admire the beautiful mountains—you see the
salt mines, and then we arrange an Alp-party or a chamois-hunt together.
Are you a good shot?”
“No, I regret to say I am not,” answered Hamilton, not a little
embarrassed, for his deficiency in this respect had furnished his
brother John, greatly his inferior in other respects, with unceasing
subject for ridicule; and he half-expected some scoffing remark in
answer.
“You like to fish, or hunt on horseback, better than chamois-hunt,
perhaps?”
Hamilton acknowledged, much relieved, that he was very fond of a hunt on
horseback; he could ride, he said, much better than he could shoot.
“And I,” answered Baron Z—, good-humouredly laughing, “I can shoot
better than I can ride. I thought it would be interesting for you to be
acquainted with our sports, and——”
“It would interest me of all things to see anything of the kind, even as
a mere spectator,” exclaimed Hamilton, eagerly. “I accept your
invitation with many thanks.”
Baron Z— now desired his servant to let his wife know that “Mr.
Hamilton, the Englishman she expected, had arrived. And Joseph,” he
called after him, “take one of the carriage-boxes to Mr. Hamilton’s
room; he goes with us to Berchtesgaden.”
They were in the midst of a very animated discussion of what Hamilton
knew very little about, viz., the latest improvements in fire-arms, when
the real A. Z. entered the room. How shall we describe her? Most easily,
perhaps, by negatives. She was not tall nor short, nor stout nor thin,
nor handsome nor ugly, nor—nor—in fact, as well as Hamilton could define
his ideas at such a critical moment, he thought the impression made on
him was, that a pale, dark-haired person stood before him, whose
countenance denoted sufficient intellect to make him conscious that he
had better produce his letter and enter into an explanation at once. The
absence of all recognition on her part made him at once conscious that
he was not the person she had expected, and he stood before her blushing
so intensely that she seemed to feel at length a sort of commiseration
for him. She bit her lip to conceal a smile, and after a moment’s pause,
held out her hand, saying, “I confess I expected to have seen your
father, and am a little disappointed. You were such a mere child when I
saw you last, John, that you have completely outgrown my recollection.
You promised, indeed, to be ‘more than common tall,’ but I was not
prepared for such a specimen of—— You seem to be an inveterate blusher,
and very shy; perhaps that was the reason your father wished to send you
abroad before you joined your regiment? By-the-by, I must have been
misinformed, but I heard you had already joined! Now, pray don’t waste
another blush on me, but try to feel at home as soon as you can, and
prepare to tell me directly everything about everybody!”
Hamilton moved mechanically towards the sofa, completely confused in
every sense of the word, but at the same time greatly relieved in his
mind. So, after all, the letter had been intended for his father, and
she merely mistook him for his brother John—a common mistake, which he
could easily explain. What a fool he would have been had he not come in
person to inquire about this “A. Z.,” who was evidently an old friend of
his father. He began to breathe more freely, and overheard a few words
which she addressed to her husband in a very low voice, in German: “Did
you ever see such a long-legged, bashful animal? He is, however,
handsome, and would be decidedly gentlemanlike if he were less
diffident. We must take him with us to Berchtesgaden Herrmann.”
“I have already arranged everything,” he answered, nodding his head. “He
wishes to see a chamois-hunt, and he shall, if I can manage it; at all
events, he may stretch his long legs on one of our mountains.”
“Are you a sportsman?” she asked in English, turning towards Hamilton,
and seating herself on the sofa.
“Not the least in the world, as far as shooting is concerned,” he
answered, stooping to arrange her footstool, and feeling once more
unembarrassed, “but I should like extremely to see a chamois-hunt.”
“If you are not what is called a good shot,” said A. Z., “I should
recommend the ascent of a mountain or alp instead of a chamois-hunt,
which is very fatiguing, and I should think must be uninteresting to a
person who cannot shoot remarkably well.”
“Anything that is new or national will be acceptable to me,” answered
Hamilton. “I am anxious to profit by my residence in Germany, and see
and hear as much as possible; most particularly, I wish to become
acquainted with some German family, in order to see the interior of
their houses, and learn their domestic habits.”
While he had been speaking, A. Z. had bent over a small work-box, with
the contents of which she absently played. She now looked up, and
repeated his last words: “Domestic habits! Does that interest you?—But I
had almost forgotten; your father wrote to me on that subject, and I had
very nearly entered into an engagement for you with a family of Munich.”
“How very odd!” exclaimed Hamilton. “My father never mentioned a word of
anything of the kind to me; I do not think even my mother was acquainted
with this plan.”
“You are mistaken. She referred to it in the only letter I have received
from her for years. Indeed, I began to think, as my last letter had
remained so long unanswered, that I was quite forgotten by you all, and
the letter which you received in Munich was sent on chance. I purposely
wrote in general terms, and signed with my initials, knowing that either
your father or mother would recognise the handwriting, and you, or one
of your brothers would have no difficulty in filling the blank and be
glad to have our address.”
“I assure you, however, I was extremely puzzled when I received your
letter; nor can I conceive why my father made such a secret of an
arrangement which naturally interests me so much. He seemed indifferent
whether I passed next winter in Munich or Vienna, and left me perfectly
free to choose which I preferred.”
“Perhaps because he knew that I had left Munich.”
“But he never spoke of any German friend or acquaintance in the least
resembling you! He never, I am sure, mentioned your name!”
“It seems, then, I am quite forgotten; but, as I have expatriated
myself, I have no right to complain, and it would be unreasonable to
expect people to remember me now, or speak of me to their children.
Nevertheless, I cannot forget that I have experienced much kindness from
your father and mother in former times, and that I have spent months in
their house when you were at school. I shall be very glad if I can in
any way be of use to you.”
“Thank you. I _cannot_ imagine what motive my father could have had for
secrecy and mystery on this occasion,” said Hamilton, musingly. “The
idea is excellent, if I could only put it in practice. Perhaps you will
be so kind as to give me your advice and assistance?”
“Most willingly; and I shall begin by giving you my advice to wait until
you know something about your commission before you negotiate with any
family whatever.”
“I am not going into the army—my uncle will not allow me to go to India,
so my father intends me to try my fortune in the diplomatic line, and my
principal object is to perfect myself in speaking German. A respectable
family, could one be found willing to receive me, would answer all my
purposes and fulfil all my wishes.”
“A diplomat! Then you must endeavour to conquer the _mauvaise honte_
with which you seem overpowered when speaking to strangers, or it will
never do. You are now natural and at your ease, and I tell you honestly,
I can scarcely imagine you to be the same person who a quarter of an
hour ago stood before me, blushing and squeezing his hat as if in an
agony of embarrassment?”
“And I was in an agony of embarrassment,” answered Hamilton, laughing.
“I perceived when you entered the room that you did not know me. I
fancied that, perhaps, you had not written this letter; or, that it was
not intended for me nor for my father; and as I had already had one
scene about it this morning, I had no wish for another, fearing that a
_dénouement_ with you might not prove so amusing as with old Count
Zedwitz.”
Hamilton now gave a short account of that little adventure, which amused
her so much that she related it in German to her husband before he left
the room. There was something in A. Z.’s manner towards him which
peculiarly invited confidence; a sort of mixture of friend and relation.
She appeared so interested in all his plans, understood so exactly what
he meant, without asking unnecessary questions, that before half an hour
had elapsed he had confided to her his intention of writing a book! She
exhibited no sort of astonishment at the monstrous idea; he could not
even detect a particle of ridicule in her smile as she approved of his
intention; hoped he had taken notes, and asked him what was to be the
subject of his work.
“‘Germany, and the Domestic Manners of the Germans,’ or something of
that sort.”
“I hope, however, you speak German well enough to understand and join in
general conversation, and to ask questions and obtain information, if
necessary? It is unpardonable, people writing about the inhabitants of a
country when they are incapable of conversing with them.”
“I understand it perfectly when it is spoken, and I generally contrive
to make myself intelligible.”
“A little more than that is necessary; but, perhaps, you are too modest
to boast of your proficiency.”
“I scarcely deserve to be called modest, although I am subject to
occasional fits of diffidence. I believe I speak German with tolerable
fluency, and only want opportunities of hearing and seeing. May I ask
the name of the family with whom you were in treaty?”
“I heard of two families, either of them would have answered; but”—she
hesitated.
“But what?”
“After everything had been arranged, and I was on the point of writing
to your father, I found that only one member of the family wished for
you, and that was the person who on such an occasion was of the least
importance. I mean the gentleman. He wished for your society to have an
opportunity of speaking English, but as he spent the greater part of the
day in his office, and went out every evening, you would naturally have
fallen to the lot of his wife; and, although I praised you as much as I
could without knowing how you had grown up, she told me plainly that she
should consider you a bore, and that I could not oblige her more than by
breaking off our negotiations. Under such circumstances I had no
choice.”
“And the other?” asked Hamilton.
“The other was a professor at the university. I wrote to your father
about him, but never received any answer.”
“A professor! that does not promise much, nor would it answer my
purpose. I should see little or nothing of domestic life.”
“You are mistaken; I was half afraid you might see too much, for he had
a wife and five sons.”
“Did his wife enter no protest?”
“I did not see her; but as they were not rich, and had already five
young persons in their house, I concluded one more or less could make
little difference.”
“But a—if another family could be found, I must say I should prefer it,
and would rather not apply to the professor, excepting as a last
resource.”
“We have no longer the option, for he has left Munich. I heard, indeed,
of another family—but the objections were insurmountable.”
“On the part of husband or wife?”
“This time the objections were on my side; there were unmarried
daughters in the house.”
“Oh, that would be no objection at all—on the contrary——”
“I considered it a very serious objection,” said A. Z., quietly.
“I understand what you mean; but surely you do not think me such a fool
as to fall in love with every girl I happen to live in the house with? I
assure you I am by no means so inflammable.”
“Very possibly; but as I could not answer for your not being
inflammatory, and am aware that German girls do not understand the word
‘flirtation,’ and are much too serious on such occasions, I thought it
better to avoid leading you into temptation. Do not, however, be vexed;
I have many friends in Munich, and have no doubt of being able to find
some family——”
“Where there are five unlicked cubs in the house,” cried Hamilton,
petulantly, interrupting her.
“Then, John, you will make the half-dozen complete,” she answered,
laughing. “But now listen to reason. A family who would consent to
receive a young man as inmate in their house, and who, without any
degree of relationship or connection with his family, could enter into
pecuniary arrangements with him about board and lodging, and all that
sort of thing, must either be in straitened circumstances or in a much
lower rank of life than yours. I acknowledge that such arrangements are
common here, and in some cases they are very judicious; but when the
proposal, as in this instance, came from a widow with three unmarried
daughters, I found it very injudicious, indeed, and refused at once.
Without thinking you either a fool, or disposed to fall in love with
every girl you happen to reside with, I do think there is some danger of
your forming an attachment which might cause you, and perhaps another
person, great pain to break off, or which might hereafter prove
embarrassing. Living in the house with three girls, who very probably
would vie with each other in their endeavours to please you would be a
severe trial for the impenetrability of so very young a man as you are,
and I doubt your standing the test.”
“But I assure you——”
“No doubt you will assure me that you have a heart of stone, and that at
all events nothing could induce you to form a connection with a person
beneath you in rank, unworthy the name of Hamilton, or who would be
displeasing to your father; but as you have had the good fortune to be
the firstborn, and consequently will inherit——”
“Pardon me for interrupting you, but I really must set you right on that
point—I am only number two.”
“What, are you not John?” she asked, hastily.
“Had my name been John, I should not have opened your letter; it was
directed to——”
“To Archibald Hamilton——”
“Excuse me; the address was to A. Hamilton, Esq., Goldenen Hirsch,
and——”
“True, I ought to have thought of that before,” she said, mustering him
from head to foot, while he began to feel some very uncomfortable
misgivings. “Is it—no, it is not possible that you are little Archy?”
“I am _not_ little Archy,” cried Hamilton, starting from his seat, and
instinctively looking towards the door.
“Then, pray, may I ask what is your name?” she said, leaning her arm on
the table, and fixing her eyes on his face with a look of cool
deliberation which completely deprived him of all remaining
self-possession.
“Alfred—Alfred Hamilton is my name,” he cried, in a voice which he could
scarcely recognise to be his own; and unable any longer to endure so
unpleasant a situation, he seized his hat, and a pair of gloves, which
he afterwards found belonged to her, and rushed like a madman out of the
room. He heard, or thought he heard, a stifled laugh—no matter—she might
laugh if she pleased, he would laugh, too, and he attempted it on
reaching his room, but the effort proved totally abortive; and after
gasping once or twice for breath, he commenced striding up and down the
room, talking angrily to himself. “This is too much! I certainly did not
deserve such annoyance! Could I do more to prevent mistakes than send my
card and show the letter? The disappointment, too! I rather took a fancy
to this A. Z.; had even persuaded myself that I remembered having seen
her when I was a child! Pshaw! after all, she must be an artful person.
That sort of motherly, good-natured manner, was all affectation to draw
me out; and what a precious fool I have made of myself, telling her all
my intentions! Of course, she and her husband will laugh at me
unmercifully, and tell everyone in the house. I must leave Seon
directly—I—but no, she was not artful! What on earth could be her
motive? No, I was altogether to blame myself, or rather that letter—the
letter, the odious letter was the cause of all!” and he tore it angrily
to atoms. At all events, this should be a lesson to him; he never would
place himself in such a position again as long as he lived.
At twelve o’clock the great bell tolled, and Hamilton knew it was time
to descend to dinner. He was busily employed writing, when some one
knocked loudly at the door. “Come in,” he cried, collecting the papers
scattered about him, and Baron Z— entered the room. He burst into a
violent fit of laughter on seeing Hamilton’s dolorous countenance, shook
him heartily by the hand, and assured him he thought him a capital
fellow, and had not the smallest doubt that he would make an excellent
diplomat.
“But, indeed, Baron Z—, I never meant—You must not think I
intentionally——”
“Don’t explain—pray, don’t explain—I am so obliged to you! My wife
thinks herself clever! She write what she call ‘general terms.’ Ha! ha!
ha! And when she explain to me what meant ‘general terms,’ I told to her
that pass for our Mr. Hamilton so good as another—but she always think
herself so clever!”
“I am extremely distressed—disappointed, I must say, at the frustration
of all my hopes. I entreat you to apologise for me—I leave Seon as soon
as possible after dinner——”
“Yes; we leave Seon as soon as possible. I send Joseph to pack for you
while we go to dinner.”
“Am I to understand that you renew your invitation to me after what has
occurred?” asked Hamilton, with a feeling of inexpressible pleasure.
“And why not? My wife write and I invite in general terms; and now, Mr.
A. Hamilton, Esquire, let us go to dinner.”
“I should wish beforehand to explain——”
“To my wife? Oh, very well; we call for her on the way.”
“Here,” he cried, throwing wide open the door of her apartment, “here I
come to present my friend, Mr. A. Hamilton, Esquire; he wish in general
terms to explain to you, and to kiss your hand.”
“The latter part of your speech is composed, Herrmann,” she answered,
laughing. “Mr. Hamilton does not yet know enough of the ‘domestic
manners of the Germans’ to be aware that kissing a lady’s hand is a very
common action. Here is my hand—it is not, however, worth while blushing
about it,” she added, drawing it back again; “and Herrmann shall be your
deputy. It would be difficult to bring a perceptible addition of colour
to that sunburnt face.”
He took both of her hands, and, as he pressed them to his lips, declared
he was very content to have such a clever wife!
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