AN EXCURSION AND RETURN TO THE SECULARISED CLOISTERS.
MADAME ROSENBERG “wondered” unceasingly, the next morning, why Crescenz
was not well enough to appear at breakfast. Zedwitz looked at Hamilton,
and Hamilton looked at Zedwitz, and then they both looked at Hildegarde,
whose eyes were fixed on the ground, leaving nothing but the long
eyelashes, which rested on her cheek, visible. About the corners of her
mouth played an expression which it was impossible to define; but it
seemed that Zedwitz was able to interpret it to his own advantage, for
he seated himself beside her, and began a conversation in the very
easiest manner possible. Major Stultz was fully occupied with a
monstrous edition of a meerschaum pipe, and Hamilton turned to Madame
Rosenberg, who showed every disposition to be friendly and confidential.
From sundry winks and witticisms which she exchanged with Major Stultz,
Hamilton perceived that she wished to excite his curiosity, and longed
to tell him of Crescenz’s engagement. But he pretended stupidity, and
carefully avoided all leading questions. Suddenly it occurred to him to
propose a party to the Chiem Lake the next day, and he was immediately
warmly seconded by Zedwitz. Major Stultz took his pipe from his mouth to
say that the weather was so warm they might expect a thunder-storm,
which on that lake would be dangerous. Madame Rosenberg, with a few wise
nods, observed that, “under existing circumstances,” she thought that
Crescenz might be allowed a little amusement, and the party was decided
upon. Hamilton took Zedwitz aside, and asked him if he could not
persuade his mother and sister to join them; told him, however, at the
same time, what had been said about the Z—’s.
“My dear fellow,” was his answer, “the Z—’s are just the people who
would have joined the party at once; she likes being in all sorts of
company, and he amuses himself everywhere; but nothing in the world
would induce my mother or sister to go with these people.”
“These people! Why, are they not respectable?”
“Respectable! Oh, perfectly. Come, don’t play innocence, and force me to
explain what you understand as well as I do. The two girls are
treasures, and would be presentable anywhere, if they had but a ‘_Von_’
before their name; but their step-mother is vulgarity personified, and
Major Stultz, you know, was a common soldier!”
“I know nothing at all about Major Stultz, excepting that he is a
red-faced, jolly-looking, elderly man. He must have distinguished
himself during the war, or he could not have obtained his present rank.”
“Yes, his personal bravery is undoubted; he was also an excellent
officer——covered with wounds—made the campaign in Russia, and was one of
the few Bavarians who returned home to relate the horrors of the
retreat. I advise you, however, to avoid the subject when he is present,
as he is rather diffuse about it. His brother, a Nuremburger tradesman,
died about six months ago, and left him a good deal of money; his wounds
afforded him a good excuse for retiring from the service and applying
for a pension. And he told me honestly, that he has been looking for a
wife ever since, as he does not know what to do with himself.”
“The idea of taking Hildegarde to wife, in order to dispel _ennui_, was
a proof of great discernment,” observed Hamilton, ironically.
“Rather say, most unpardonable effrontery,” replied Zedwitz, growing
very red.
“A man of his discrimination,” continued Hamilton, provokingly, “must be
aware that Crescenz is but a bad substitute for her sister; Hildegarde,
too, would have suited him much better; she would have kept him in order
by——” Here he waved his hand significantly.
“How you harp on that subject, Hamilton!”
“I shall never mention it again if it distresses you. I was really not
aware——”
“Pshaw!” he exclaimed, impatiently, turning away.
“As to Crescenz, poor girl,” continued Hamilton, “I really pity her.
Such a fearful difference of age and person makes it an odious
sacrifice!”
“Not so much as you think, perhaps,” said Zedwitz, quietly; “Stultz is a
good-hearted man, and will let her do whatever she pleases. You will see
how soon she will be satisfied with her lot in life! Perhaps even before
her marriage!”
“It is at least to be hoped so,” observed Hamilton, dryly.
“The _trousseau_ will soon occupy her mind completely, and while
exhibiting it to her friends and receiving their congratulations, she
will learn to like the cause of all the preparations, and end, perhaps,
by fancying herself a singularly fortunate person!”
Crescenz entered the garden while they were speaking, and blushed deeply
as she passed them. Hamilton felt the blood mount to his temples, and
turned away that Zedwitz might not observe it.
“This is the beginning of the comedy,” cried the latter, after a
moment’s pause, touching Hamilton’s arm to make him look round. He
turned, and, through the foliage of the arbour, saw Major Stultz
clasping a massive gold bracelet on Crescenz’s arm. She appeared for a
moment embarrassed and shy; then played with a padlock or heart, or some
such thing which dangled from the bracelet, and finally she looked up at
him and smiled.
“She is a thorough-bred coquette!” exclaimed Hamilton, indignantly.
“Zedwitz, I throw down the gauntlet, and enter the list as your rival. I
prefer running the chance of occasional chastisement from the fair hand
of Hildegarde, to having anything more to do with such a silly, vain
creature as this Crescenz seems to be.”
“Seems to be, Hamilton—and only _seems_. The circumstances must also be
taken into consideration. She must marry this Stultz, whether she like
him or not. That he is not the _ideal_ of a girl of her age, one can
easily imagine. He suspects this, perhaps, and wisely commences by
giving her a handsome present. That is probably the first gold bracelet
she has ever had clasped on her arm. She is very young—childish, if you
will—but neither silly nor very vain for feeling a little pleasure, and
honestly showing what she feels. I see nothing reprehensible in her
conduct.”
“Had you but heard her last night telling me how unhappy she was!”
Zedwitz shrugged his shoulders.
“How she talked of his forty-six years, and declared her hatred of
red-faced men!”
Zedwitz laughed.
“She mentioned, also, that her sister had the same antipathy.”
“Sorry to hear it,” cried Zedwitz, picking up a handful of flat pebbles
and pitching them one by one with considerable skill into the lake,
watching them skimming along the surface, with an interest that half
provoked Hamilton.
“You seem to have a thorough contempt for my rivalship by daylight.”
“What do you mean? Did you not tell me last night that Crescenz suited
you exactly, as you only wished to amuse yourself for a time?”
“Such _were_ my intentions. May I ask what were yours? Or rather, what
are yours?”
“Oh, certainly you may ask, but you must forgive my not answering you,
as I have not the most remote idea what I may be induced to do. I shall
most probably be guided altogether by circumstances.”
He put an end to the conversation by walking towards the arbour, where
the arrangements for the next day’s party were soon made—Major Stultz
not venturing, before Crescenz, to say a word about storm or danger.
They left Seon at a very early hour the next morning in two carriages.
Madame Rosenberg, as usual, took her three boys with her, in order, as
she said, to keep them out of mischief. Fritz, the eldest, on finding
himself separated from her, immediately found amusement in climbing from
the carriage to the box, and from the box into the carriage again,
causing Hildegarde, who had charge of him, such anxiety lest he should
fall on the wheel that she could scarcely remain a moment quiet. Zedwitz
assisted her so sedulously that he did not perceive an attack which
Gustle directly commenced on the buttons of his coat with a blunt
penknife; and Hamilton, alone unoccupied, half listened to the desultory
conversation of his companions, while admiring in silence the scenery,
than which nothing could be more beautiful to an English eye. The fine
old trees in the domain-like meadows which were bounded by extensive
woods; the splendid lake, appearing at intervals through openings which
seemed made as if to show to advantage its extent, and the magnificent
range of mountains beyond. The rippling of the water on the sandy shore
brought at last such a crowd of home-recollections to his mind that he
leaned back, forgetful of all around him; Fritz’s irritating gymnastics,
Gustle’s mischievous pertinacity, Hildegarde’s angelic face, and
Zedwitz’s amusingly enamoured expression of countenance! The sudden
stopping of the carriage made him once more alive to everything going on
about him. The little maneuvres of Madame Rosenberg to place Major
Stultz near Crescenz; the determination with which she insisted on
Hildegarde’s sitting between two of her brothers; the third she gave in
charge to Zedwitz, and Hamilton had the honour of being reserved for
herself.
Hildegarde and Crescenz were, for the first time in their lives, in a
boat, and neither of them was at her ease. Crescenz exhibited her fear
by various little half-suppressed screams, sometimes catching the side
of the boat, sometimes the arm of Major Stultz. Hildegarde sat perfectly
quiet, not venturing to look to the right or left, her colour varying
with every movement of her unruly neighbours, who amused themselves by
adding to the fears of their sisters by balancing the boat from side to
side.
They landed first on the _Frauen Insel_ (Woman’s Island), hoping to be
allowed to see the nunnery. While waiting for the necessary permission
to enter, they wandered through the churchyard and into the church.
On the appearance of a tall, haggard, austere-looking man, in the long
garment of a priest, Zedwitz advanced towards him and begged admittance
for the ladies, the scowling countenance convincing him at once that for
him there was no chance whatever. He was volubly seconded by Madame
Rosenberg, who, with that want of tact not unusual on the part of
uneducated women, actually attempted to be jocular with the awful
looking personage; but neither the polished address of Zedwitz nor the
jocularity of Madame Rosenberg could prevail. He refused without
ceremony, and in very few words told them that without bringing a
permission from the _Ordinariat_ in Munich they could not be admitted;
the entrance of strangers disturbed the nuns, and was against the rules
of the convent.
They turned away, Crescenz observing timidly that she would not like to
be a nun where there was such a severe confessor.
“I hope you have no thoughts of being a nun anywhere,” observed the
Major.
“I should have no objection to such a confessor,” said Hildegarde; “I
rather prefer one who has something imposing in his appearance; it gives
me the idea that he is above the weaknesses of human nature.”
“What nonsense you talk, Hildegarde!” cried Madame Rosenberg, with
evident irritation. “It is only a spirit of contradiction which makes
you pretend to admire a man who has been so disagreeable and uncivil to
us all.”
Hildegarde walked more slowly, and Zedwitz, who had been lingering
behind, immediately joined her.
“So you like stern-looking men!” he observed, in a low voice.
“I said I liked a confessor who had something imposing in his manner.”
“Oh! for a confessor merely? But for a friend, a lover, or a husband,
you prefer something quite different, don’t you?”
“Perhaps I should,” she answered carelessly.
“Or, perhaps,” said Hamilton, “you think of entering the nunnery here
out of pure admiration for that long, gaunt man! There is no accounting
for taste.”
“I do not intend to take the veil until you have become a monk.”
“When I become a monk it will not be here; I shall choose a more
hospitable place and jolly companions, such as one generally reads of.
The incivility of your friend with the austere countenance has greatly
disgusted me.”
The buildings on the other island were very extensive. The church had
been turned into a brew-house, and not long after its desecration it was
burned. “A very proper judgment,” as Madame Rosenberg observed, glancing
meaningly towards Zedwitz. Handsome broad marble stairs led to the upper
apartments, of which a few have been lately modernized. The carved wood
on the doors of the cells and the picture-frames in the refectory were
admirable.
“Altogether,” said Hamilton, looking out of one of the windows across
the lake, “altogether a place where one could spend a fortnight very
agreeably with a gay party.”
“Or with Hildegarde and her sister,” said Zedwitz, in a low voice.
“If Crescenz were not so insipid, with all her prettiness.”
They adjourned to the garden and dined under the trees. Hamilton
studiously avoided Crescenz’s vicinity, although he saw she was half
disposed to be angry at his neglect. She endeavoured, in her simplicity,
to pique him by listening with affected complaisance to Major Stultz’s
commonplace remarks. She laughed, and encouraged him to give her
brothers beer when her mother was not watching them. This childish
conduct, perhaps, Hamilton would have forgotten, had not the
consequences been somewhat remarkable. The boys, unaccustomed to drink
anything but water or milk, soon became almost intoxicated, and on their
way to the boat Fritz, a good-humoured, handsome boy, swaggered, sang,
and shouted most boisterously; Gustle became quarrelsome, and pinched
and pummelled him unmercifully. It was in vain Madame Rosenberg scolded
and threatened punishment; they had not left the shore more than ten
minutes when a regular scuffle took place; Gustle flung Fritz’s cap into
the water, and Fritz, merely taking time to knock down the offender,
leaned over the side of the boat, snapped at his cap, and went heels
over head into the lake! The screams of the ladies were beyond all
conception piercing; Zedwitz, with an exclamation of horror, and
regretting that he could not swim, leaned anxiously and with
outstretched arms over the side of the boat. Madame Rosenberg started up
and, with clasped hands, called for help in a voice of agony.
The danger was imminent. Hamilton sprang into the water and caught the
boy, as he rose for the second time, at some distance from the boat; he
was still conscious, and grasped his preserver’s arm manfully. The scene
which ensued it is impossible to describe. Gustle was boxed, and Fritz
was kissed, and Hamilton was thanked and blessed alternately. He
declined entering the boat again, but partly held it and partly swam to
the shore, where he heard with some surprise that the fishers who had
rowed them, although they had spent half their lives on the lake, could
not swim, so that had he not been there Fritz would inevitably have been
drowned.
From the commencement of his acquaintance with Madame Rosenberg, she had
been disposed to like him; but from this event may be dated a sort of
implicit reliance on her part which afterwards caused him occasional
qualms of conscience, as he felt that he was trusted sometimes beyond
his deserts.
Fritz’s clothes were dried at the inn. Hamilton’s, however, not being
composed of such light materials, he was obliged to leave there, and
borrow whatever he could get from an obliging old peasant, who was
profuse in the offers of his wardrobe. It was amusing to see him in the
brown trousers, a “world too wide,” intended to be long, but which,
after tugs innumerable, could only be persuaded to half conceal the
calves of his legs, whose proportions were rendered somewhat doubtful by
the capacious gray worsted stockings in which they were enveloped; a
long waistcoat of red cloth, and a remarkably short-waisted, long-tailed
coat, in which a second edition of himself could have found place. These
garments altogether formed a costume more original than becoming.
Crescenz and Major Stultz laughed unrestrainedly; Madame Rosenberg
repeated her thanks with a suppressed smile; but Hildegarde, without
speaking, made a place for him beside her in the carriage, of which he
incontinently took possession. He imagined that she spoke more to him
than to Zedwitz on their way home.
Crescenz’s efforts to bring Hamilton back to his allegiance were, for
some days, as unremitting as they were various. She would never have
succeeded had Hildegarde been one jot less quarrelsome; but either from
a naturally irritable temper, or some unaccountable antipathy on her
part to Hamilton, they never spoke to each other without saying as many
disagreeable things as possible. Hamilton felt that she disliked him and
misinterpreted his every word and action, and this conviction, and the
fear that she might discover how much he had begun to admire her, made
him, perhaps, ready to meet her more than half way when she was disposed
for battle. Their conversation generally began civilly on his part, but
something in her manner, or some unnecessarily sharp answer, was sure to
provoke an ironical remark and a slighting gesture, which invariably led
to the commencement of hostilities.
It was after one of these engagements, in which she had exhibited more
than usual vehemence, and he had excelled himself in the art of
tormenting, that he found Crescenz alone in the garden. The contrast was
irresistible for the moment; it was calm and sunshine after a storm!
There she sat, busily employed knitting a stocking, which, from its
dimensions, might probably be intended for Major Stultz! Her fingers and
elbows moved with a rapidity perfectly inconceivable; and as she had for
the last four-and-twenty hours been enacting the sentimental and
offended, he was allowed to admire her pretty face uninterruptedly as
long as he chose, her heightened colour all the time convincing him that
she knew he was looking at her. After a few significant coughs, which
remained unnoticed, he turned to go away. She looked up and—sighed. This
he imagined to be a sort of encouragement; perhaps it was intended for
such, as the look which accompanied the sigh was reproachful. He seated
himself beside her, while he admired the rapidity with which her work
proceeded. The praises were unheeded.
“And who is the happy person destined to wear this?” he asked, playing
with the huge piece of work.
“That cannot in any way interest you,” she answered stiffly; but she
sighed again.
“Everything concerning you interests me; from the time I first saw you
eating roast chicken even to the present moment——”
“You have an odd way of showing your interest, then. Hildegarde says you
are always laughing at me!”
“What do you mean?” he exclaimed, though knowing perfectly what she
meant, and prepared for the answer which he immediately received, and
the implied reproaches for his neglect, which he had expected.
“But, mademoiselle, you have told me yourself of your engagement——”
“Well, and what of that?”
“I could not think of interfering with Major Stultz. I dare not
monopolize——”
“But, at least, you might speak to me sometimes.”
“There might be danger for me were I to do so.”
Crescenz looked immensely delighted and flattered, and her fingers moved
faster than ever.
“Is it not customary here to consider an engagement almost as binding as
a marriage?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, innocently; “I never was engaged until now.
But,” she added, hastily, “but we are not yet affianced; that will not
be until the day after our arrival in Munich.”
“Then you are still at liberty to amuse yourself with others?”
“Oh, yes.”
“And I may talk to you without Major Stultz having any right to be
jealous?”
“Jealous!” she repeated, blushing.
“I meant to say angry. Men at his time of life are difficult to manage;
but it seems you get on famously with him, and have already forgotten
all you said in the cloisters.”
“What did I say?” she asked, looking up.
“Merely something about being very unhappy, and so forth.”
“What’s the use of being unhappy?” she asked, peevishly. “Mamma says I
must marry some time or other; and such a man as Major Stultz is not to
be found every day.”
“I know not which is most to be admired—your astounding resignation or
her excellent reasoning.”
She looked at him for a moment, and then having satisfied herself that
he was not laughing, said, confidingly—
“Mamma has been very liberal, and promises me everything in fifties and
hundreds.”
“Fifties and hundreds!” repeated Hamilton.
“The smalls in hundreds—the large in fifties.”
“You will undoubtedly think me very stupid, but I have not the most
remote idea of what you mean.”
“I am to get a _trousseau_ such as mamma herself had; all the smaller
things, such as pillow-cases, towels, and stockings, a hundred of each!
Table-cloths, and such things, in fifties.”
“Ha! That must naturally have made you think quite differently of Major
Stultz!”
Again she looked at him inquiringly.
“No; it did not make me think differently of him. But what can I do?”
“You cannot do better than try to like him as fast as possible.”
“If he had only a _von_ before his name!” she observed sorrowfully.
“Why, what difference would that make?”
“If he were _noble_, I should not mind the difference of age. _My_ mamma
was a countess!” she added, proudly.
“Then, why not wish him to be a count at once?”
“No; that I could not expect, as I have no fortune, and papa is not a
_von_.”
“I should like to know the exact meaning of this _von_.”
“It is the first grade of nobility; then comes ritter or chevalier; then
baron, count, prince, duke. I wonder how mamma could have married any
one who was not a count or baron; but then papa was so very handsome,
and that makes a great difference!”
“Most undoubtedly! A handsome face is a good letter of recommendation.”
“Are you noble?” she asked, abruptly.
“I have no _von_ before my name,” answered Hamilton, laughing.
“Are you not count or baron?”
“Neither.”
“So you are only Mr. Ham_eeltone_?”
“Only Mr. _Alfred_ Hamilton.”
He perceived that he had fallen deeply in her estimation, and—he fell in
his own, a few minutes afterwards, by a fruitless attempt which he made
to explain to her the nature of the English peerage, and which he ended
by the assurance that had he been born in Germany, where every member of
a family inherits the paternal title, he should undoubtedly have been a
baron or a count. She did not understand him; and he was glad of it, for
he felt keenly the absurdity of his oration, and the silly boast
contained in the concluding remark. Where the _noblesse_ is so extensive
as in Germany, and where so many members of it are so extremely poor,
one would naturally think it would fall in some degree into disrepute,
or, at least, that it would be regarded with indifference. This is,
however, by no means the case; and there is no doubt that, had her
red-faced major been a count or baron, she would have willingly
overlooked the other discrepancies. Even a _von_ before his name would
have been a consolation, when combined with the happiness of having had
a countess for her mother. These were Hamilton’s thoughts during a pause
in the conversation, and he partly continued to think aloud, when he
asked—
“Was she handsome?”
“Who?”
“Your mother.”
“I don’t know—I cannot remember her.”
“Are you—is your sister like her?”
“Hildegarde is very like papa, and people say I am very like
Hildegarde.”
“You are extremely like each other, especially at first sight.”
“Oh, I know that Hildegarde is a great deal handsomer than I am!”
This was a fact, and Hamilton was puzzled for an answer, when she added,
after a pause—
“But Major Stultz says I am much more lovable than she is!”
“Major Stultz is a man of discrimination,” said Hamilton, looking around
him listlessly.
“He says, too, we shall be very happy when we are married!”
“I hope so, most sincerely.”
“He gave me a great deal of good advice the day we were at Chiem See.”
“Indeed! On what subject?”
“He said it was very foolish to trust very young men—that they were very
faithless, and good for nothing.”
“All! Did he say all?” cried Hamilton, in a tone of mock deprecation.
“Yes, all,” she answered, petulantly. “He advised me neither to trust
them in words nor actions!”
“What extraordinary knowledge of the world he must have! Altogether a
remarkable person!”
“You are laughing at me—or—at him.”
“Laughing! What an idea! Only look at me for a moment, and you will be
convinced of the contrary.”
And she did look at him, and her eyes filled with tears as they met the
calm, unembarrassed gaze of his. A heavy step on the gravel-walk
announced the approach of someone, and on turning round they perceived
Major Stultz blowing the ashes out of his meerschaum pipe, as he
leisurely walked towards a bank in the garden. Crescenz started as if
she had been detected committing a crime, and, with heightened colour,
rose to join him.
“I thought you said you were at liberty to talk to me as much as you
please,” observed Hamilton, ironically.
“And so I am,” she replied, seating herself again, while she glanced
furtively towards her future husband. “What have you got to say to me?”
“Oh, a—what were you talking about? Major Stultz’s excellent advice, was
it not? I should really like to hear all that he said to you, for I can
hardly think he spent his whole time in railing at men who have the good
fortune to be a score of years younger than he is.”
“Oh, we spoke of other things also.”
“It would have been very odd if you had not.”
“We—spoke—of love!”
“Very naturally. I really should like to know the opinion of such a man
as Major Stultz on so important a subject.”
“He said,” she began with a sigh, “he said that people, especially
women, seldom had the good fortune to marry their first love.”
“Rather a trite observation, and, on his part, unnecessary. Surely, if
any man may hope to be the object of a first love, it is Major Stultz!
You have only left school a few months—are not yet sixteen years old.
What could he mean by talking to you about first love?”
She was silent.
“Perhaps it was as a preliminary to his confessions. Did he give you a
history of his loves? Have they been very numerous?”
“No,” she exclaimed, almost angrily; “he told me, on the contrary, that
I was the first person he had ever wished to marry.”
“Did you remind him of his proposal to your sister?”
This contradiction to his words seemed to have entirely escaped her
memory; she coloured violently, and the ready tears again prepared to
flow. Hamilton felt that he was amusing himself unpardonably at the poor
girl’s expense, teasing her beyond what she could bear, and was
preparing to set all to rights again by playing a little sentiment, when
she arose precipitately, and with such ill-concealed annoyance, to walk
towards Major Stultz, that instead of picking up her large ball of
thread, she drew it rashly after her, jerking it over the flower-beds,
and entangling it so effectually in a rose-bush as she moved quickly on,
that Hamilton ran to her assistance, and, as he restored it to her,
said, in a low voice, in French,—
“This evening I shall be in the cloisters _before_ sunset. Meet me
there, I entreat you. I wish to ask your pardon, if I have offended
you.”
The shadows of evening had no sooner begun perceptibly to lengthen, than
Hamilton repaired to the cloisters, and amused himself endeavouring to
decipher the epitaphs on the various tombstones, until a light step
close beside him made him look up, and he beheld, not Crescenz, but
Hildegarde, standing before him. He was about to pass her with a slight
inclination, when she stopped suddenly, and, while she slightly blushed,
said firmly,—
“I am the bearer of a message from my sister.”
“The willing bearer of her excuses, no doubt.”
“I understood it was you who were to have made excuses,” she answered,
coldly.
“Very true. I had to ask forgiveness for having offended her in the
garden to-day; as, however, the excuses are only intended for her ear,
let us consider them made, and talk of something else.”
“I have neither time nor inclination to speak on any subject but the one
which brought me here.”
“The communication must be important, if I may judge by the solemnity of
your manner,” said Hamilton, looking calmly into the quadrangle.
“My sister desires me to say that she feels the impropriety of her
former interview with you here most deeply, and that nothing will induce
her to consent to another. She has told you of her intended marriage; it
is almost unnecessary to say that, under such circumstances, a
continuation of your present attentions will only serve to embarrass and
annoy her.”
“Your sister never desired you to say that,” cried Hamilton, fixing his
eyes steadily on her face.
“Of this you may be assured,” she continued, colouring deeply, “that my
sister will not again meet you alone, unless—unless——”
“Unless what?”
“Unless you are more explicit, and give her the power of choosing
between you and Major Stultz. It is not yet too late.”
This was what may be called coming to the point at once, and Hamilton
was so taken by surprise that he could only stammer something about the
shortness of his acquaintance, and believing that he did not quite
understand what she meant.
“I believe Crescenz does not quite understand what you mean,” cried
Hildegarde, indignantly. “How I wish she could see with my eyes, and
learn to despise you as you deserve!”
“You are really too flattering,” observed Hamilton, laughing, “much too
flattering; but may I not be allowed to wish that you would see me with
your sister’s eyes, and value me as I deserve? However,” he continued,
glad of an opportunity to change the subject, “although you have just
deprived me of a meeting with your sister, I shall not interfere with
your intended _tête-à-tête_ with Count Zedwitz.”
The Count advanced towards them as he spoke.
“Your good opinion is of too little importance to induce me to disclaim
or enter into any explanation,” she replied, turning quickly from him;
and bowing slightly to Zedwitz, she disappeared through one of the
entrances to the cloisters.
“Hameeltone, that is not fair play,” cried the latter, laughing; “your
presence here was not expected.”
“You do not mean to say you came here to meet Mademoiselle Rosenberg?”
“And why not? You have met her sister here. Why may not I hope to be
equally fortunate?”
“Because—because——”
“Because you’re handsome, and I’m ugly; you think I have no chance?”
“That was not what I meant. The difference between the sisters would
rather form the obstacle——”
“Difference, indeed!” exclaimed Zedwitz.
“The difference is in intellect,” observed Hamilton; “in person they are
extremely alike.”
“You mean, perhaps, in figure?” asked Zedwitz.
“In feature, too,” persisted Hamilton.
“Why, they have both brown hair, blue eyes, and red lips, if that
constitutes likeness; but while one has the mere beauty of extreme
youth, the other is the most perfect model of female loveliness I ever
beheld.”
“You are very far gone,” observed Hamilton, gravely.
“I am giving my opinion as an artist,” he replied, smiling. “You will
understand my enthusiasm when I tell you that I spend all my leisure
hours studying portrait-painting.”
“You came here just now, probably, to take a sketch of this most perfect
model! But tell me, honestly, did she promise to meet you here?”
“How can you ask such downright questions? There are different kinds of
beauty, and different kinds of dispositions. I did not exactly judge it
expedient to say, ‘Meet me this evening in the cloisters’; but I talked
of the beauty of the shadows here about sunset, and of my intention to
finish a little _aquarelle_ drawing of the said cloisters, with a
Benedictine monk issuing from one of the adjoining passages—something
just adapted for a lady’s album. I came. Had you not been here, I have
no doubt I should have obtained a few minutes’ attention in spite of my
ugliness.”
“She came here, however, expressly to meet me,” observed Hamilton,
maliciously.
The Count stopped suddenly, and looked inquiringly in his companion’s
face.
“She came with a message from her sister,” added Hamilton, quietly, and
they again walked on together. “In fact,” he continued, “when you joined
us, we were in the midst of a kind of altercation, which made your
presence, to me at least, a great relief.”
“An altercation! About what, may I ask?”
“About her sister. She asked me in pretty plain terms what my intentions
were, proposed my entering the lists fairly and honourably with Major
Stultz; and, when I demurred, she talked angrily of despising me, and so
forth. Depend on it, she will call you to account before long.”
“I am quite ready to be called to account.”
“You do not mean to say you think seriously of marrying!”
“I should be but too happy! There is no such luck in store for me!”
“You think she would refuse you?”
“I don’t know; but I know my father would refuse his consent.”
“Run off with her, and ask his consent afterwards.”
“I wish I could, but that is impossible here. Marriage is with us a
civil as well as a religious act. You have no idea of the formalities
attending it, or the certificates necessary to make it valid; besides
which, my being in the army increases the difficulty. That cursed
caution-money!”
“Caution-money? What is that?”
“About nine hundred pounds of your money without which no officer can
obtain leave to marry. It is considered a sort of provision for his wife
and children in case of his death, and is, probably, a very wise
regulation, but is also sometimes a source of great vexation. I am by it
completely placed in my father’s power, for although I receive from him
at present, in addition to my pay, ten times as much as the interest of
the necessary sum, and though I know at his death I shall have more than
a comfortable maintenance, yet as Hildegarde has no fortune, and I am
not independent, our marriage is at present utterly impossible!”
“I advise you at all events to speak to your father.”
“I shall carefully avoid such a communication. Why, I cannot even hope
for my mother’s assistance, as the connection would be in every respect
disagreeable to her. I have but one hope. Through my sister’s influence
something may be done; she is a good child, and about to marry to please
papa and mamma; first of all, however, I must speak to Hildegarde
herself.”
“There you have every thing to hope, for she is absolutely _civil_ to
you sometimes! You will probably enter into some interesting secret
engagement?”
“That would be worse than folly. I could not be so ungenerous as to ask
her to refuse, perhaps, an eligible establishment, should one offer, on
the chance that I should marry her, should I live to become a second
edition of Major Stultz! Suppose I wait ten years, Hildegarde’s and my
ideas would both be changed. I do not feel quite sure that at the end of
that time I might not prefer some gentle, simple Crescenz, who would
overlook my age and ugliness provided I made her handsome presents, and
supplied her liberally with _bon-bons_. I wish you had seen her face of
delight just before I came here, when Major Stultz gave her a box of
_bon-bons_, which evidently had been ordered from Munich expressly for
her, as it contained nothing but sugar hearts and darts, and kisses
wrapped up in pink and blue papers, and doves billing, while almost
bursting with the liquor with which they had been ingeniously filled by
the confectioner!”
“So! Now I know why the little coquette did not come to meet me! After
having called me to account for my neglect so innocently, and talking
such mysterious nonsense about her first love, she amuses herself eating
sugar-plums, and sends her sister to me now. These German girls are
inexplicable; one cannot talk to them without quarrelling, or being
entangled in a labyrinth of sentimentality.”
“You must not judge of all from your slight acquaintance with two,”
observed Zedwitz, laughing. “You may say what you please, but you cannot
deny that they are fine specimens of the species.”
“Hildegarde is undoubtedly handsome, but then she is only amiable
towards you,” said Hamilton, leaning against the side of one of the
arches. “I believe,” he continued, after a pause, “I believe I am
getting very tired of Seon, and were I not engaged to these Rosenbergs,
I should start at once for Vienna. Suppose we make a tour in the Tyrol
together?”
Zedwitz looked embarrassed, and said, with some hesitation, “I—a—am—half
engaged to join the Rosenbergs in a party to an alp, and afterwards to
Salzburg.”
“What! and I have never heard a word about it?”
“Oh, you will be invited as a matter of course. I had some trouble to
manage it, as I do not enjoy the good graces of Madame Rosenberg. She
expects her husband to-morrow, who comes here for one day to make the
acquaintance of his future son-in-law. The day he leaves is fixed for
our excursion.”
“How do we travel—boys, of course, inclusive?”
“In whatever carriages we get from here. In Traunstein we take a
_char-à-banc_, which will accommodate us all. For such parties it is a
very agreeable vehicle, as we can all remain together; for when a
division takes place, the chances that one gets a disagreeable companion
are too great.”
“_Videlicet!_” cried Hamilton, laughing. “Count Zedwitz wishes to be
quite sure of enjoying the society of a certain young lady for three
whole days.”
“You are right,” he answered, taking Hamilton’s arm to leave the
cloisters. “Quite right. I trust you have given up all idea of being my
rival?”
“I believe I must give up all such idea, if I ever had it, for
Hildegarde told me just now that she despised me; had she said she hated
me, I might have some chance; but I am not equal to a struggle against
indifference and scorn. I believe,” he added, laughing, “I must make her
hate me.”
“But you won’t interfere with me, I hope?”
“Not at all. You will appear more amiable by the contrast.”
“What do you intend to do?”
“Were I to continue my present line of conduct,” answered Hamilton,
affected with solemnity, “it is possible that hate might be produced in
time; but, in order to hurry matters, I shall be obliged to make
desperate love to her sister. Hildegarde seems very vulnerable on that
point. It will not also cause me much trouble, as Crescenz gave me a
fair challenge to-day in the garden, and cannot reproach me hereafter.”
“Hamilton,” cried Zedwitz, stopping suddenly, and looking at him
attentively, “you are certainly older than you acknowledge to be.”
“I understand the implied compliment,” replied Hamilton. “You conceive
my intellect beyond my years. My father always said I was no fool; I am
glad to find that others are inclined to agree with him in this negative
sort of commendation.”
“You are indeed anything but a fool; and if you fall into good hands, I
have no doubt——”
“Good hands!” cried Hamilton, interrupting him; “I have no idea of
falling into any hands, good or bad; I intend to judge and act for
myself.”
“Then you will pay dear for your experience, as others have done before
you.”
“We shall see,” replied Hamilton.
“You will feel,” said Zedwitz, seizing with both hands the ends of his
long moustaches, to give them a peculiar twirl towards the corners of
his eyes before he entered the room where the company were assembled for
supper.
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