A NEW WAY TO LEARN GERMAN.
ONE day Madame Berger proposed spending the afternoon with the
Rosenbergs, as her husband was to be absent until late in the evening:
the offer was of course accepted, and she was received by Crescenz with
delight and conducted to her room. After removing her bonnet and
carefully arranging her hair and dress, Madame Berger repaired to the
drawing-room, seemed exceedingly surprised to find it unoccupied, and
having opened the door of the adjoining bedroom and finding it equally
deserted, she tapped Crescenz playfully on the arm, exclaiming, “Well,
my dear child, what have you done with your Englishman?”
“Nothing,” replied Crescenz despondingly. “I begin to think you were
right, Lina; he certainly admires Hildegarde, and she now scarcely ever
quarrels with him, and has even begun to ask his opinion on different
subjects. They do nothing but read English and German together, and talk
of their books until it is quite tiresome. Yesterday evening, when they
were both discussing Faust and Mephistopheles, which I remember papa
once said few people could altogether understand, I could not help
reminding them of Schiller’s _Ballad of the Glove_, about which they had
once quarrelled so desperately; and can you believe it? they both began
to laugh; but I saw that Hildegarde grew red, and I am sure she found it
difficult not to fight the battle over again!”
“My dear Crescenz, you must take my advice, and put this Englishman
quite out of your head. As to his studies, I know all about them, and I
have heard that he is extremely clever and possessed of extraordinary
information for his age; he can talk of history, politics, commerce and
all those sort of things, like a professor! I can set your mind quite at
ease with respect to Hildegarde; her whole mind is bent upon profiting
as much as possible by the instruction which she is receiving, and if
your Englishman has any fancy for her, she is as yet quite unconscious
of it. Heaven help him! when she finds it out, that’s all—she will be a
proper tyrant! For so far, however, nothing of the kind has become
apparent on either side, and I have repeatedly made the most particular
inquiries.”
“From whom? How did you hear all this? I don’t understand——”
“Why, my dear creature, who of all persons in the world do you think has
been engaged as teacher? Theodor! Theodor Biedermann! _my_ Theodor! he
has told me that the hours he spends here are his greatest recreation,
that Mr. Hamilton is the most noble, charming, intellectual person in
the world, and that he already feels a friendship for him which can only
end with his life.”
“And so Mr. Biedermann is Theodor,” said Crescenz; “I should never have
thought it.”
“Of course not, as I never spoke of him, excepting by his Christian
name; you could not know him by inspiration!”
“No—but he is not at all what I fancied.”
“And pray what did you fancy him?”
“Indeed, I don’t exactly know, but as you said he wrote beautiful verses
and sang to the guitar, I thought he must look like a poet, a
troubadour, or something of that sort.”
“Ha, ha, ha! what a child you are!” cried Madame Berger superciliously,
but at the same time colouring slightly. “What a complete child! and
pray, my dear, can you inform me how a poet or troubadour ought to
look?”
“Not in the least like Mr. Biedermann,” cried Crescenz, apparently
roused to something like anger by her friend’s manner. “Not in the least
like Mr. Biedermann, who is just the most commonplace of commonplace
students, with his open shirt-collar and long Henri-quatre beard, and
his light hair and eyes, and red face! and——”
“Stop—stop—my dear, I understand you now—Theodor is not tall enough to
please you—he ought to have dark hair, black eyes, long eyelashes, and a
pale complexion, all very interesting no doubt, but people answering to
this description cannot always write verses, or sing to the guitar; and
I can tell you that Mr. Hamilton can neither do one nor the other. Your
sentimental love and admiration are all thrown away on him, Cressy; he
does not think of you, and the sooner you put him out of your little
head the better.”
“You are unkind, Lina!”
“And you still more so, Crescenz, to disparage poor Theodor so
unnecessarily.”
“But he is nothing to you now?”
“Oh, of course not—and still I must always have a very sincere regard
for him—he, poor soul, is as desperate about me as ever! Heigho! I must
confess, I half feared he would waver in his allegiance when I heard
that he came here every day. Men are so fickle!”
“Why, surely, you did not think that I——”
“Oh, not at all, my dear—you are engaged, you know, so I never thought
of _you_, but Hildegarde——”
“I can tell you, Hildegarde would never think of _him_,” cried Crescenz,
triumphantly.
“Nor he of her, I assure you,” said Madame Berger; “he will scarcely
allow her to be handsome!”
“Well, to be sure!” said Crescenz. “That does surprise me. I never heard
of anyone who did not think Hildegarde handsome!”
“Beauty, my dear, is a matter of taste. Theodor does not deny her having
regular features, but it is exactly that which he cannot admire; he says
there is something statue-like in her whole appearance, a certain proud
expression in the drawn-down corners of her mouth—in short, he said she
was a person a man could admire, but never love. There is a great
difference, as you will understand a few years hence.”
“I should like to know,” said Crescenz, somewhat impatiently, “I should
like to know if I shall be as much changed by marriage as you are, Lina!
I am sure I hope not; for, instead of springing about or talking
good-humouredly as you used to, you are always lecturing and calling me
child, which, I must say, is very disagreeable. I shall soon be sixteen
years old, and married too; and I won’t be called child any longer.”
“I vow, Cressy, you have taken a lesson from your sister, and are
working yourself into a passion. The Doctor says child to me very often,
and I am not at all offended; but instead of quarrelling, you ought to
try and amuse me, as I am your guest to-day. Where are Hildegarde and
Mr. Hamilton?”
“They are studying German with Mr. Biedermann.”
“I know that already; but _where_ are they?”
“In Mr. Hamilton’s room.”
“Indeed! Oh, then, we may go there too, I suppose?”
“Better not—they left this room on account of the interruptions; and
mamma has desired me not to go there.”
“Very proper as a general rule; but when I am here to chaperon you, the
case is different.”
“I don’t think I ought to go,” said Crescenz, drawing back.
“Pshaw! nonsense! When Hildegarde is there, there can be no impropriety
for us!” and as she spoke she drew the only half-reluctant Crescenz
after her down the passage.
“Are not the large rooms at the end his?” asked Madame Berger.
“Yes; but indeed it is not right to interrupt them; I am sure mamma will
be angry.”
“Tell her I insisted on seeing Theodor,” replied Madame Berger, as she
knocked loudly at the door, but received no permission to enter.
“I told you they were too busy to receive visitors,” said Crescenz.
“What an odd noise they make!” cried Madame Berger, listening at the
door before she again knocked, “what a very odd noise!” Her curiosity
was excited, and without waiting for an answer to her second summons,
she opened the door and discovered Hamilton and his German master
completely equipped with foils and visors, fencing most energetically.
Chairs and tables were heaped up in a corner, and so well matched and
eager were the combatants that they long remained unconscious of the
presence of spectators.
“A new way to learn German!” said Madame Berger to Hildegarde, who was
sitting at the window reading.
“Our lesson is long ended,” she replied, closing her book.
“Then pray why did you not come to the drawing-room?” asked Madame
Berger.
“Because it is quieter here,” replied Hildegarde.
“Quieter! Do you call this quiet? I could not read a word if I heard the
clashing of swords.”
“They are only foils; and I have got used to the sound—boxing is
quieter; but they are not well matched, I believe, as Mr. Biedermann is
only a beginner.”
“Why, Theodor, is it possible you are learning to box like an
Englishman? I should like of all things to know what it is like. Pray do
box a little for me.”
“No, thank you; I do not appear to advantage. In fencing we are
well-matched,” he said, playing with the foil as he looked towards
Hamilton for confirmation; “but you must not forget that you have
promised to come to my room some day and try how you can manage a
sabre.”
“Your horse is saddled, sir,” cried Hans, in a loud voice, at the door.
“Well, come in,” cried Hamilton, “and put the chairs and tables in their
places; and, next time, when you see I have visitors, say nothing about
the horse.”
“Beg pardon, sir, I thought only our young ladies were in the room.”
“Oh, promise to ride up and down the street to show your horse to us,”
cried Madame Berger, “I am so fond of seeing horses. Come, Crescenz, let
us look out of the window—and you may come too,” she added graciously to
Theodor as she left the room.
When Hamilton was about to mount, he looked up towards the house, but
saw so many heads looking out of so many windows that he desired Hans to
parade the horse for him. It was in vain Madame Berger opened the window
and called out to him—he stood with his arms folded, admiring the animal
himself while it was being put through all its paces, and then quietly
mounting, rode very slowly from the door.
“Why, Theodor you told me he was a famous rider,” cried Madame Berger,
with evident disappointment.
“And so he is; but he does not like to show off, it seems.”
“It would have been a vast deal civiller if he had stayed at home to
amuse us to-day. It is going to rain, too, and I am sure he will be wet
through and through—it is a comfort to think he deserves it.”
“He does not mind being wet,” said Crescenz, stretching her head as far
as possible out of the window; “he sometimes goes out when it is
actually raining—Ah!” she exclaimed, faintly screaming, while she drew
back and covered her eyes with her hand, “his horse started frightfully
at the corner of the street—if he had been thrown on the pavement!”
“Let me see,” cried Madame Berger, pushing past her to take her
place—“how provoking, he has turned the corner! But Cressy, I say, come
here;” and she whispered a few words, and pointed downwards towards the
street, where the same officer who had been addressed by Zedwitz again
stood near the brazier’s shop, looking towards the window where they
were assembled.
“I wonder who he is!” exclaimed Madame Berger, returning his gaze with a
steadiness almost amounting to effrontery. “Do you know that officer,
Theodor?”
“No; but he will know you again,” he replied, laughing.
“I can pardon his looking towards this window,” said Madame Berger,
intending to be ingenuous, while her manner betrayed considerable
levity, “I can pardon his looking towards this window, for I dare say he
has not often seen three such pretty faces as ours together,” and she
attempted to draw Hildegarde towards her as she spoke.
“I don’t choose to be exhibited,” cried Hildegarde, drawing back. The
next moment she began to laugh, while she added, “I can inform you,
however, that you are quite mistaken if you think this window parade be
intended for you. I met that officer yesterday evening on the stairs
when I was coming from the cellar with Walburg, and she told me he is to
be married in spring to the daughter of the new lodger—so you may be
sure he is waiting to see Mademoiselle de Hoffmann, and not thinking of
either you or Crescenz.”
“I am not quite so sure of that,” said Madame Berger; “for you remember,
Crescenz, we saw him standing there more than a fortnight ago, and
before these Hoffmanns were in the house.”
“Very true,” said Crescenz, “but he is certainly looking at the windows
on the first floor now.”
“And he certainly _was_ looking up here when I first observed him,”
persisted Madame Berger. “Pray what sort of a person is this
Mademoiselle de Hoffmann? Has anyone seen her?”
“Walburg has seen her,” replied Crescenz, “and she says she is not at
all pretty; but the servants say she is very amiable and an excellent
housekeeper.”
“Probably not young,” observed Madame Berger, arranging her ringlets at
the glass—“probably not young, if she be amiable and a good housekeeper;
these qualities belong to riper years.”
“She is not very young, I believe.”
“I thought as much,” cried Madame Berger, laughing, “and he is certainly
not thirty—do you think he is?”
“He seems to be young,” said Crescenz, peeping carefully from behind the
muslin curtain.
“Crescenz, come away from the window,” said Hildegarde, authoritatively;
“it is not right to watch anybody in that way.”
“Well, Cressy, I can now congratulate you from my heart on your
approaching marriage,” said Madame Berger, maliciously, “for I can
assure you Major Stultz will not require half so much obedience from you
as Hildegarde; your marriage will be quite a relief from thraldom.”
“You are right,” said Crescenz, colouring. “Hildegarde certainly does
treat me as if I were a child,” and she walked resolutely towards the
window as she spoke.
“You are now acting like a child, and a silly child into the bargain,”
cried Hildegarde, with evident annoyance, as she left the room.
“Dreadful temper!” said Madame Berger, shrugging her shoulders; “if she
were my sister, I should soon teach her to pay me proper respect; but
look here, Crescenz, the officer has bowed to the first floor, and is
now crossing the street, as if he were coming into the house; I begin to
think Hildegarde was right.”
“I am sure she was right, and I ought not to have looked out of the
window—I will go at once and tell her so.”
“Before you go, let me give you a piece of advice. You have spoiled your
sister, and taught her to make a slave of you—don’t give your husband
such bad habits. Above all things—_never_ confess that you have been in
the wrong, and make him on all occasions beg _your_ pardon.”
“But when I feel that I have done wrong, I ought at least to confess
it.”
“No such thing; you must always insist on being right—yield once, and
you must yield ever after. I have had some desperate battles I assure
you, but the Doctor has been obliged to give way, and we now get on
charmingly together. Whenever I have been giddy or extravagant, he must
beg my pardon, ha, ha, ha!”
“But, Lina, how can that be? for the Doctor is a very sensible man, and
were he to act as you say, he must be a fool!”
“You do not understand me, child. You see, when I do anything he
disapproves, he remonstrates or lectures, and then I sulk until he begs
my pardon for having remonstrated or lectured. My offence in the
meantime is forgotten. Do you understand?”
“Partly,” said Crescenz, thoughtfully.
“Do not listen to such advice, mademoiselle,” said Mr. Biedermann. “I am
sure Madame Berger is joking.”
“I am not joking,” said Madame Berger, tossing back her head.
“Then you have taught your husband to treat you as if you were either a
simpleton or a spoiled child, to whom he yields for the sake of peace,
while he loses all respect for your understanding.”
“Theodor,” said Madame Berger, with a slightly scornful laugh, “I advise
you to keep your opinions on such subjects in future until you are asked
for them. You are talking of what you do not understand. Crescenz is
about to marry a man thirty years older than herself—I have done the
same, and speak from experience. Had I married a man of my own age, the
case and my advice would have been different. For instance, had I
married you, I should have been quite a different person.”
“I don’t think you would, Caroline—nothing would have made you other
than you are.”
“Am I not very charming as I am?”
“Charming? Yes, with all your levity—but too charming,” said Mr.
Biedermann, preparing to leave the room.
“Well, for that acknowledgment I am inclined to pardon your former
impertinence; but never while you live attempt a repetition of the
offence.”
“I thought our former intimacy gave me a sort of right to——”
“Our former intimacy,” said Madame Berger, laughing, “gives you no right
excepting that of being my very obedient humble servant.”
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