HOHENFELS.
IT was late on the evening of the ensuing day when Hamilton reached
Hohenfels, a moderate-sized, high-roofed dwelling-house, having two
dark-coloured massive square towers as wings. It was beautifully
situated on the side of a rocky mountain, from which circumstance it
probably derived its name. Avenue there was none; the narrow private
road which conducted to it (though passing through woods with open
glades, which, even without their splendid mountain background, would
have successfully rivalled any avenue Hamilton had ever seen in England)
was evidently intended to serve equally as an approach to several
comfortable peasants’ houses, which, apparently, more than the genius of
an engineer, had originally directed its course.
The buildings, at a little distance from Hohenfels, Hamilton now
instinctively knew to be a brewery and its appendages, and he examined
them with less curiosity, but infinitely more interest, than on a former
occasion. If he did not quite consider beer (as some one has not inaptly
pronounced it) a fifth element in Bavaria, he had at least so frequently
heard its merits, demerits, and price canvassed, that he began to attach
considerable importance to the subject, and rather prided himself on
being able to talk about it.
On driving into the court, he looked up along the range of windows, and
discovered with great pleasure A. Z. standing at one of them. He had not
had time to write, or in anyway to announce his visit, therefore her
first look of surprise rather amused him; when they met, and she
regretted that her husband was on a hunting expedition, and would not be
at home until the next day, he was glad that no letter from him had
interfered with the arrangement. They supped together under a large
chestnut tree, commanding an extensive view of woods, mountains, and a
part of the Chiem Lake, now glittering in all the radiance of a
magnificent sunset.
“I had no idea,” said Hamilton, “that you were so near home when I met
you at Seon last summer. I understand now why you were always on the
move, and we saw so little of you. By the by, I should like to hear
something of the Zedwitzes; they are relations or intimate friends of
yours, I believe?”
“Distant relations, but very near and dear friends,” answered A. Z. “I
am sorry I have nothing satisfactory to tell you; the old Count is
killing himself as fast as he can with perspiration and cold water; his
wife had a fit of apoplexy this summer, from which she is, however,
nearly recovered; and Maximilian has, you know, been constantly from
home since that unpleasant business with the Rosenberg family. He was
with us for a few weeks, and I never in my life saw a man in such a
state of desperation; his only consolation was talking to me about this
‘cunningest pattern of excellent nature,’ this Hildegarde, and as I had
a great deal to do in my house, and could not always find time to listen
to him, he used to wander about, writing sonnets, I should imagine, from
the poetical expression of his dear ugly face.”
“So he told you all about it?” said Hamilton.
“Yes, and about you, too; that is, all he knew about you. He seemed to
have dreaded you excessively as a rival; indeed, he does so still, for
were his father to die, I have not the smallest doubt he would renew his
proposal, and perhaps be accepted.”
“I admire his patience and perseverance,” said Hamilton, ironically;
“one downright refusal such as he received would have satisfied me.”
“Circumstances might materially alter the state of the case,” said A. Z.
“Suppose this flirtation with you quite over—you have left, most
probably, without any sort of serious explanation; now I have no doubt
you are very charming, but, you know, people do get over hopeless
affairs of this kind in the course of time, and in the course of time,
too, Maximilian will be at liberty to marry whoever he pleases. I cannot
imagine his being refused again, he is so exactly the sort of man most
women like.”
“He does not think so himself,” observed Hamilton.
“That is his great charm,” said A. Z. “Diffident enthusiastic men are
almost always popular. I have a decided predilection for them.”
“I think, however, you are singular in your taste,” said Hamilton.
“Not at all,” rejoined A. Z.; “the secret may be that such men think
less of themselves, and more of the person they wish to please; but in
nine cases out of ten, you will find that it is an ugly man who inspires
real affection. It is very creditable to our sex, you must allow; one so
very seldom hears of a man who loves a really ugly woman.”
“Perhaps you are right,” said Hamilton. “My experience has not been
great. I only know that I am now very seriously, and, I fear, hopelessly
in love with a very young and very beautiful woman.”
“You will get over it,” observed A. Z., laughing. “A few months in
London, if it were not so late in the year——”
“You are mistaken,” said Hamilton, gravely; “neither a few months nor a
few years either are likely to change my feelings.”
“I am sorry to hear it,” said A. Z., thoughtfully; “never will I sign a
letter with my initials again.”
“I had quite forgotten that your note was the cause of all this evil,”
said Hamilton, smiling, “but there would be no evil at all if Hildegarde
liked me.”
“So it is all on your side,” observed A. Z., with some surprise.
“I don’t know, but I am afraid so. If it will not bore you, I should
like to explain, and ask your advice——”
“Stay,” cried A. Z., “I don’t at all know this Hildegarde, and I now do
know something of you and your family, and shall therefore certainly
recommend you to break off the affair, if you can do so with honour; and
that you can do so is scarcely to be doubted, if you imagine her
indifferent to you.”
“But suppose she had been indifferent only because I said I could not
marry.”
“It would prove that she is as prudent as she is pretty, and that is
saying a great deal,” answered A. Z., gayly; “and as you can _not_
marry, the least said about the matter the better.”
“You do not quite understand the state of the case,” began Hamilton.
“You see I have a grand uncle——”
“Called Jack,” observed A. Z.
“Exactly,” said Hamilton; “and this Uncle Jack made a fortune in India,
in those times when fortunes were to be made there, and added to this
fortune by speculations in the funds at the end of the last war; we have
consequently a great respect for him.”
“Of course,” said A. Z.; “people always have a respect for rich uncles,
both in books and real life. I never had one, but I can imagine the
thing.”
“As he had no children,” continued Hamilton, “my father prudently chose
him as godfather to his eldest son, who was accordingly afflicted with
the name of John, but even in his earliest youth it was found that the
name would not cover the multitude of his sins, poor fellow, and while I
was still a mere child my uncle declared that John would inherit from
his father more than he would ever deserve, and that I, and I alone,
should be his heir. He defrayed all the expenses of my education, gave
me ponies, and pocket money, and would have paid my debts, I do believe,
without hesitation, if I had had any at Cambridge. Since I have been
here, too, he has sent me large remittances through my father, and
latterly, I suspect, forbidden the words of wisdom which usually
accompanied them. The first letter I ever received from him was the day
before yesterday; he had heard—more than was necessary, more than was
true—of Hildegarde, and you can imagine his proposing to send me money
to buy off—to pay—to satisfy—pshaw! where is the letter? You must read
it, or you will never understand——”
“_He_ does not understand, that is very evident,” observed A. Z. “You
need not show me the letter, but go on.”
“When I told Hildegarde that I must return home, she recommended my
leaving directly; she had, indeed, advised me to do so before the letter
arrived.”
“And did she give you this advice without any apparent effort?”
“Without apparent effort, yes; but she is not to be judged from
appearances. She has been educated by a Mademoiselle Hortense, who has
given her the idea that, besides controlling her temper, which is
naturally hasty, she should endeavour to conceal all her feelings, and,
if possible, stifle them altogether. If Hildegarde had not been
naturally warm-hearted, hot-tempered, and intellectual, such an
education would have completely spoiled her.”
“But,” said A. Z., “after having lived nearly a year in the same house,
if you can have any doubts about her caring for you——”
“Stay,” cried Hamilton, interrupting her, “you are not, perhaps, aware
that I proclaimed myself a younger son, and said I could not marry, even
before I entered the Rosenbergs’ house, and, as, until very lately, I
never seriously thought of sacrificing my really brilliant prospects,
Hildegarde is still unconscious that even, with the best intentions, I
could have acted otherwise than as I have done. I have been more
calculating and worldly-minded than befits such an attachment, but
latterly, as the time drew near when I knew we must part, I was ready to
brave all my family and be disinherited by my uncle if she had only said
one word, given me one look, from which I could have felt certain that
she loved me.”
“I suppose,” said A. Z., rising, and walking towards the house, “I
suppose, from what you have just said, that you have some fortune
independent of your family—enough, at least, to buy bread and butter?”
“I have five thousand pounds. A legacy left me by a distant relation,
but it is not at my disposal for two years. This would not be enough for
England; but I think here, as you say, it would perhaps buy bread and
butter——”
“Oh, yes!” said A. Z., laughing, “and roast veal and pudding into the
bargain, but that is not all that is to be considered. You ought not to
make so great a sacrifice without considering long and carefully both
sides of the question.”
“Oh, I have considered only too long,” answered Hamilton, “but I see you
cannot understand me, or know Hildegarde without reading my journal. I
had some intention of leaving it under your care, at all events, and I
shall only beg of you never to refer to that part of it which relates to
Count Oscar Raimund.”
“I think I already know,” said A. Z., “his father showed me the letter
he had written the day he had shot himself. Does Mademoiselle Rosenberg
know that she was the cause?”
“But too well, as you will perceive from my journal,” answered Hamilton;
“you really seem to know everybody and everything, which, however, no
longer surprises me, as I am myself willing on so short an acquaintance
to confide in you. I suppose other people have done the same.”
“Not exactly,” answered A. Z., “but as I know the Zedwitzes, the
Raimunds, the Bergers, and even Mr. Biedermann, and as you, from the
peculiarity of the commencement of our acquaintance, rather interested
me, I have thought it worth while to listen, and remember all I have
heard about you.”
“How very kind!” said Hamilton.
“You say that thoughtlessly,” observed A. Z., laughing, “but it really
was kind of me, for I greatly prefer talking to listening on most
occasions.”
“Will reading my journal bore you?”
“Not in the least. I shall be curious to know the impression made on you
by all you must have seen of the domestic manners you were so anxious to
become acquainted with last year. Have you given up all idea of writing
a book on the subject?”
“I have been a much too greatly interested actor to have thought of
anything of the kind, as you will see.”
“Before I read your journal,” said A. Z., “that is before I feel any
interest in this Hildegarde, you must allow me to point out to you all
the disadvantages of the step you propose taking, and remind you that
the sacrifice of parents, relations, the friends of your youth, your
country, and your native language, ought not to be lightly made. I speak
from experience.”
“But you told me,” said Hamilton, “that you felt quite naturalised—that
you had become a very Bavarian! I know, too, you are more than
contented; you are happy. The Countess Zedwitz told me so.”
“Very true,” answered A. Z., “but I am a woman, and that alters the case
materially; both our nature and education induce us to conform to the
habits of those about us—we have no profession, no career in life to
give up, we have only to learn to enlarge or contract our sphere of
action, according to the circumstances in which we may be placed. For
instance, Mademoiselle Rosenberg would most probably, without
hesitation, go with you to England were your uncle to consent to your
marriage.”
“I cannot help thinking that—perhaps—she would,” answered Hamilton.
“And if she did, she would never have any cause to regret having done
so, for besides being united to the person she loved, she would only
have to learn to live luxuriously, and habits of that kind are easily
acquired; but after having so lived, frugality is more difficult of
acquirement—and that would be your task.”
“But I have tried it,” cried Hamilton, eagerly; “I have made the trial
this last year. I see that riches are not necessary to my happiness—I am
convinced, that with Hildegarde and a cottage——”
“So you would live in the country?”
“Of course.”
“And in the mountains?”
“Here, in your neighbourhood, if possible.”
“You are bribing me,” cried A. Z., “more than you know. I am in want of
such neighbours, and although it is getting cool,” she added, drawing
her shawl around her, “still, as it is not yet dark, we may as well
return to the chestnut tree, and perhaps walk to the beech-wood, which
you saw from it.”
On ascending a slight acclivity, a more extensive view of the Chiem Lake
became visible, and a peasant’s house, with its over-hanging roof and
long balcony, stood before them—it was built almost in the mountain, at
least it appeared so at a little distance; a noisy stream rushed out of
the rocks beside it, and formed a series of cascades, while endeavouring
to reach the green fields, and dark wood beneath. Under the numerous
fruit trees which surrounded the house, with their overloaded branches
bending to the ground, were several wooden benches; on one of these A.
Z. seated herself, while Hamilton, attracted by the light from some
windows on the ground-floor, seemed disposed to inspect the premises
more closely. A loud chorus of voices made him hesitate.
“They are at their evening prayers,” observed A. Z., “it is better not
to disturb them. Come here, and listen to me. You have not often seen a
house more beautifully situated than this, most probably!”
“Never.”
“The mountain peasants know how to choose a site! You have no idea how
highly they value a view of this kind, or how they feel the beauty of
their scenery; their eyes and minds are from infancy accustomed to grand
and striking forms—the want of them causes the _ennui_ and listlessness
called _Maladie du pays_, _Nostalgie_ or _Heimweh_, from which all
mountaineers suffer, more or less, when in a town or distant from their
mountains. I can understand it, as I have actually felt this _maladie_,
for which, by the by, we have no English name, when I was obliged to
remain in Munich for some time, about two years ago. The peasant to whom
that house and all those fruitful fields below us belong, is about
deliberately to die of this most lingering and melancholy disease; he
intends to emigrate to America!”
“Oh, what a fool!” cried Hamilton.
“I have said as much to him, but in rather more civil terms,” answered
A. Z.; “but all to no purpose; perhaps, when you know his motives, you
may think differently, though I cannot. The extreme cheapness of
education in Bavaria is a great temptation to the peasants, when their
sons distinguish themselves at the German schools, to let them continue
their education, learn Latin, and afterwards study at the University. It
is a common thing for them to rise to eminence in the learned
professions, and the eldest son of my friend Felsenbauer here would most
probably have done so, had it not chanced that when he had nearly
completed his studies, that revolutionary attempt of the students took
place in the year 1830, of which you may, perhaps, have heard. Whether
or not he was implicated, is unknown; but after having concealed himself
for some time, and found that all his most intimate friends had been
imprisoned, he wrote to his father for money, and went off to America.
He has married an American, and is so advantageously placed at
Cincinnati, that he is most desirous to have his family near him, and
his letters are from year to year more pressing. The old man is now only
waiting to find a purchaser for his house and grounds!”
“I understand,” said Hamilton, laughing; “you think that house, with a
few alterations, might be made as comfortable as it is pretty. What
price does he demand?”
“About twelve hundred pounds; but he will not get more than a thousand
for it; and is therefore likely to have to wait for a year or two before
he finds a purchaser; so you have plenty of time either to buy it, or
change your mind, which I suspect you will do after your return home. At
all events I recommend your inspecting it some day with Herrmann, who
understands such things perfectly—it will not be uninteresting to you to
know the financial position of a peasant of this kind, and if he have
the smallest hopes of your ever being a purchaser, he will unreservedly
show you all his accounts.”
While they were speaking, the peasant and his wife, followed by their
second son and daughter, came out of the house, and a long conversation
ensued. It was so dark when A. Z. proposed leaving, that the old man
insisted on accompanying her home with a lantern.
---------------------