THE ARRANGEMENT.
AFTER the interment of Mr. Rosenberg, some time passed over in
melancholy monotony. Madame Rosenberg employed herself principally in
the inspection and arrangement of papers; Hildegarde wandered about the
house, endeavouring in an absent manner to make herself useful. She even
tried to assist the new cook, but her efforts were so entirely
unsuccessful, that her mother begged she would desist, as she had no
sort of talent in that line.
Mr. Rosenberg had been a kind husband and an affectionate father;
Hamilton had invariably found him an agreeable companion, but his
constant occupation in his office, and an inveterate habit of going out
every evening, had made his society an occurrence of such rarity, that
Hamilton in a short time became quite resigned to his loss; in fact, but
for the mourning dresses, Hildegarde’s unconquerable dejection, and the
never-failing tears of Madame Rosenberg, as she circumstantially related
to every visitor the history of her husband’s illness and death, he
would soon have forgotten that he had ever existed. He attended the
college lectures, studied German with his friend Biedermann, rode,
walked, in short, continued all his former occupations, with the
exception of his quarrels with Hildegarde—these had now entirely ceased;
he obeyed her slightest directions, anticipated her wishes with a sort
of quiet devotion so completely directed to her alone, but so
unobtrusive, that Madame Rosenberg failed to observe more than that they
had learned to live peaceably in the same house together, and praised
them both more than once for having ceased their silly and useless
quarrels.
One day, about the beginning of April, Hildegarde recalled him just as
he was about to leave the house, saying that her mother wished to speak
to him; he laughingly demanded if the probably not very important
communication could not be deferred to another day, as he had promised
to meet some friends at Tambosi’s in the Hofgarten. Hildegarde gravely
shook her head, and said she believed her mother was waiting for him.
“What a bore!” he exclaimed, striding along the passage; “I suppose I
shall be detained half an hour to hear a lecture about having forgotten
to extinguish the candles last night, or having burned my boots on the
stove! I really wish, Hildegarde, you would give your new cook
instructions about my room—it is not at all necessary that your mother
should be informed every time an accident occurs there.”
Madame Rosenberg was sitting at an old-fashioned scrutoire furnished
with innumerable diminutive secret and apparent drawers; she had a small
packet of bills beside her, and various heaps of money before her. When
Hamilton entered, she immediately moved back her chair, and pointed to
another beside her, which she wished him to occupy. Now that Hamilton
had already become a little spoiled by Madame Rosenberg’s indulgence,
praises, and deference to his opinion, he had learned to like her and
even overlook her vulgarity; but in proportion as his affection had
increased his respect had decreased, and like the spoiled son of a weak
mother, he now stood leaning against the door, refusing with an
impatient gesture the offered chair, and murmuring some unintelligible
words about business and disappointments.
“I shall not detain you long,” said Madame Rosenberg, drawing out of her
pocket an enormous linen handkerchief, and wiping away two large tears,
which were obtrusively rolling down her cheeks. “I ought to have spoken
to you long ago, but I have been thinking over and over the means of
rendering my communication less disagreeable.”
“So,” cried Hamilton, closing the door, and advancing towards her, “so
it is not about the boots you are going to lecture me?”
“No,” she replied, half laughing, “though I must say——”
“I know all you are going to say,” cried Hamilton, laughing,
“extravagant habits, horrible smell, danger of burning the house, and
all that! Suppose it said—I am very contrite indeed, and promise not to
burn either shirt or boots for three weeks to come, and not at all when
the weather is warmer and the stove is not heated.”
“In three weeks, and when the weather is warmer, we shall be too far
apart for me either to lecture or detain you in my room against your
will!”
“My dear Madame Rosenberg,” exclaimed Hamilton, springing towards her,
and not only seating himself on the previously disdained chair, but
drawing it so close to hers that she involuntarily drew back; “my dear
Madame Rosenberg, you surely do not mean that I must leave you?”
“I do, indeed,” she answered, nodding her head slowly and despondingly,
and again the monstrous handkerchief was put in requisition. “I’m sure,”
she added, somewhat surprised at the varying emotions depicted on his
countenance, “I’m sure it’s very kind of you to be so sorry to leave
us—I thought the loss was wholly on our side.”
“I have spent seven of the happiest months of my life in your house,”
began Hamilton.
“Six months and one week,” said Madame Rosenberg, interrupting him; “you
were three weeks at Havard’s, you know, and when we are settling our
account the three weeks must be deducted, for, as poor dear Franz
said——”
“I should like to know your intentions with respect to Hildegarde,” said
Hamilton, who had not heard one word of the explanation.
“Hildegarde goes with me to the Iron Works, as people now call them;
poor Franz was so uneasy about her on his death-bed, that I promised him
she should never leave my house excepting with her own free will, and
always have the power of returning to it when she chose, and that she
should receive on her marriage a _trousseau_ in every respect like her
sister’s.”
“This promise must have been a great relief to his mind,” observed
Hamilton.
“It was,” said Madame Rosenberg, and the tears flowed fast as she added:
“I would have given him everything I had in the world to have made him
contented in his last moments. We lived so happily together during the
twelve years which we passed in this house. I cannot remain here any
longer—the house—the furniture—Munich itself has become odious to me. I
intend to return to my father. Fritz will be made a gentleman, as his
father wished it, at the military school. Gustle must be his
grandfather’s successor at the Iron Works; he has, at all events, no
great love of learning; and Peppy is too young to be taken into
consideration at present.”
“Take _me_ with you to the Iron Works,” said Hamilton, abruptly.
Madame Rosenberg looked at him as if she did not quite comprehend.
“Take me with you to the Iron Works,” he repeated.
She shook her head. “It is no place for you,” she said, steadily, “nor
is my father, though an excellent man, a companion for you. Your parents
would be dissatisfied, and with reason, were you to bury yourself in an
insignificant village, just so many miles from Munich as to prevent your
being able to avail yourself of the advantages which you told me you had
found here for the completion of your education.”
Hamilton felt the justness of her remark, and did not attempt to
contradict it; he had, however, no intention of quitting a family of
which Hildegarde was still to be a member; nor did he much concern
himself about the satisfaction or dissatisfaction of his parents just at
that moment. He understood Madame Rosenberg perfectly, and changed his
tactics. Throwing himself back in his chair, he said, with apparent
resignation: “Well, I suppose I must spend the ensuing five months at
Havard’s, that’s all!”
“At Havard’s! What an idea!” exclaimed Madame Rosenberg; “to be giving
suppers and drinking champagne every night! I never heard of anything so
absurd!”
“Why, where else can I go? I cannot well take a lodging and engage a
cook and housemaid for myself, can I?”
“No,” replied Madame Rosenberg, half laughing, “not exactly that—but a
lodging, or a family might be found. Suppose, for instance, that Madame
Berger should have proposed taking you, in case the Doctor have no
objection, eh?”
“I am sure I have none,” said Hamilton, vainly endeavouring to suppress
a smile as he added, “she is one of the prettiest little women I ever
saw, and with time and opportunity I have no doubt I shall fall
desperately in love with her. You will not be there to sustain me with
your good advice—and—a—but at least you will be answerable for the
consequences, as you will have led me into the temptation!”
“Good heavens! Not for all the world would I take such a responsibility
upon myself!” cried Madame Rosenberg, with a look of amazement; “Lina,
too, so giddy and thoughtless, and the Doctor never at home! It would
never do, I see. But who would have imagined that you would think of
such a thing at your age!”
“I am just at the age to act more from impulse than reason, and I
consider you too much my friend not to speak candidly to you. If Major
Stultz were not so insufferably jealous, you could make me over to
Crescenz—my regard for her is really of the most blameless description,
and will never be otherwise.”
“Oh, the Major would never listen to such a proposal.”
“Then I have no alternative but Havard’s—Havard’s or your house,” he
continued, taking her large hard hand and pressing it fervently; “dear
Madame Rosenberg, let me go with you; I have a sort of presentiment that
it is the only means of keeping me out of mischief; besides, I can ride
or drive into Munich two or three times a week.”
“But I have no room for you,” she cried, with a look of distress; for
the earnestness of his manner had begun to move her.
“You must make room for me,” urged Hamilton.
“And as to your horses and Hans——”
“Oh, I can easily find quarters for them in the neighbourhood.”
“You will have to sleep in a room without a stove——”
“I don’t want a stove in summer.”
“Well, then,” she said hesitatingly, “if you think that you can be
satisfied with the accommodation which I have at my disposal, you can
accompany us to the country. Should our manner of living, or what I fear
more, my father, not suit you, you can leave us, you know; we will part
friends at all events.”
“Don’t talk or think of parting,” cried Hamilton, gayly. “I am sure I
shall find your father a most worthy person—we shall get on famously
together. When do you leave? It will be quite delightful to breathe the
country air. I assure you I feel already impatient to be off.”
“On the 24th I purpose leaving Munich,” said Madame Rosenberg, once more
drawing her chair towards her scrutoire, and beginning to count her
little heaps of money.
“Are those Iron Works romantically situated?” asked Hamilton.
“N—o. They are on the high road at the end of the village; but there is
a fine old oak wood quite close to us.”
“Ah! an oak wood,” repeated Hamilton, thoughtfully.
“We have also a garden and orchard behind the house; the smoke from the
forge indeed spoils the flowers greatly, but there is an arbour under
the trees where we can breakfast, and drink coffee after dinner, in
summer—the arbour is quite covered with roses and honeysuckles.”
“Ah, that is delightful!” cried Hamilton, in vision imagining himself
sitting with Hildegarde in the rose and honeysuckle arbour.
“But you are forgetting your appointment,” observed Madame Rosenberg,
who had been in vain endeavouring to correct a fault in her reckoning.
“A civil way of telling me to leave you in peace,” said Hamilton,
laughing.
“Not at all, I assure you. If you have really no appointment, I shall be
glad to talk over my plans with you.”
“I _had_ an appointment,” he said, looking at his watch, “for which I am
too late. I have another, for which I am a few minutes too early.”
“A few minutes,” repeated Madame Rosenberg. “That will never do for me.
In your ‘few minutes’ I can only inform you that you must go for a few
days at least to Havard’s, until I have got everything in order.
Hildegarde and the children I intend to pack off the day after
to-morrow.”
“Oh, pack me off, too, with Hil——with the children,” cried Hamilton,
eagerly. “I wish you would consider me really as one of them.”
“Well, I am sure I have always done so since you have been with me. Poor
Franz often said I took great liberties with you.”
“I cannot remember anything of the kind.”
“Why, have you forgotten the Sunday Fritz broke the window in the
drawing-room, when you were teaching him to box?”
“I remember you boxed his ears, poor fellow, which he certainly did not
deserve, as he was not really the cause of the mischief. It was I who
pushed him against the window, and, if I recollect right, both Mr.
Rosenberg and I protested——”
“Yes, you protested, and that made me still more angry; but if you don’t
remember what I said to you, so much the better. Franz said he believed
you never heard it, as you were laughing with Madame Berger, and I was
afterwards very sorry for having said so much, especially about the
rough English plays.”
Hamilton smiled. “I suppose,” he said, turning towards the door, “Hans
may pack up my chattels; you will send me to the country with the
children.”
“No, no, no,” cried Madame Rosenberg, hastily, “that will never do; I
must write to my father and explain. If he knew the sort of person you
are—he would never consent to your becoming an inmate of his house!”
“Am I, then, so very disagreeable?” asked Hamilton.
“Quite the contrary—but you do not understand my father. In short, it is
better to tell you at once—why should I be ashamed to say it? He was a
common journeyman smith—so extremely industrious, of such enormous
strength, and with so much talent for mechanics, that he made himself
not only useful, but altogether indispensable to my grandfather, who,
rather than lose him, gave him his daughter in marriage. Our forge
became in time an iron work, and he is now the richest man far and wide.
To see him, you would not suppose so; he is neither changed in manner
nor dress——” Madame Rosenberg paused.
“Well?” said Hamilton.
“Well!” she repeated, a little impatiently. “It is plain enough, I
think, that such a man will not suit you—or you suit him.”
“I don’t know that,” said Hamilton. “A man who has turned a forge into
an iron work, and who from having nothing has become rich by honest
means, must be possessed of good sense and good talents, too. As to his
appearance or dress—a man’s coat——”
“That’s just what I am afraid of,” cried Madame Rosenberg.
“Do you think I attach much importance to a coat? I assure you that I am
determined to like your father with and without a coat.”
“I will write him _that_, and it will at once put an end to our
difficulties, for if I say _that_ he will never imagine you are so
fastidious——”
“I don’t quite understand——” said Hamilton with a puzzled air.
“It would never do—you see—were we to inconvenience him,” said Madame
Rosenberg, “or force him to change his mode of life. He likes to work
and dine in his shirt-sleeves, and is not over particular how his meals
are served—this I can change, perhaps, but against the shirt-sleeves I
can do nothing, and I know it is very vulgar; Franz told me so often
enough.”
“I have no sort of objection to his shirt-sleeves,” said Hamilton,
“provided he allow me to wear a coat. What matter! If this be the reason
why I should not go with Hildegarde and the children the day after
to-morrow, I think you may waive all ceremony and tell your father that
I belong to the family. You have made an agreement to keep me for six
months longer.”
“This is a good idea,” said Madame Rosenberg, laughing. “I will write to
him to-morrow, and I dare say I shall have an answer in a day or two.”
Hamilton perceived he had gained every concession he could reasonably
demand, and left the room quietly and thoughtfully.
Hildegarde had prepared her brothers for their afternoon walk, and was
waiting with some indications of impatience for his appearance. He had
been forbidden to walk with her, but had established a sort of right to
be informed where she intended to go—that he should ride near her, or at
least become visible during her walk, was a sort of tacit agreement.
“The Nymphenburg road,” cried Gustle, springing towards him. “May I have
one of your canes?”
“And may I, too, have one to ride upon?” asked Peppy.
“Yes,” said Hamilton, “Hildegarde will show you those you may take.”
“Oh, come, Hildegarde,” cried Gustle, pulling her rather roughly; “come
and choose the canes for us. I must have the little black one with the
horse’s head on it.”
But Hildegarde showed no inclination to move.
“You were a long time in my mother’s room,” she said at length, with
some embarrassment.
“Not longer than was necessary to make her consent to take me with her
to the country. Oh, Hildegarde, what pleasant walks we shall have in the
oak wood, and how much happier we shall be there than here. Were you
ever at these Iron Works?”
“Not since I was a child,” answered Hildegarde, smiling as she had not
smiled since her father’s death; “I remember the noise of the hammers
was incessant, and the house shook a good deal, and the white
window-curtains were very soon soiled.”
“We shall get used to the hammers, I dare say,” said Hamilton, laughing.
“As to the house shaking, that must be imagination; and the
window-curtains can be easily changed, you know.”
“But mamma said nothing in the world would induce her to take you with
us. How did you persuade her?”
“I can tell you all that when I return home. Excuse me as well as you
can, should I be late for supper. Good-by.”
“Where are you going?” asked Hildegarde.
He whispered a few words, and then hurried downstairs.
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