THE SCHEIBEN-SCHIESSEN (TARGET SHOOTING MATCH).
BARON Z— returned the next day, was delighted to see Hamilton, and went
about with him everywhere, showing and explaining whatever he thought
likely to interest him. One of their excursions was to the marriage of a
wood-ranger with the daughter of an innkeeper, who lived deep in the
mountains. There was to be a dance and target shooting match as wedding
festivities; and it was with no small satisfaction that Hamilton, at an
unmentionably early hour in the morning, followed Baron Z— to his room
to choose one of his rifles for the latter. Hamilton did not, as on a
former occasion, listen with indifference while he descanted on their
merits, but examined them carefully, poised them in his hand, and
pointed them out of the windows at the little belfry of the house he had
visited with A. Z., and which he now chose as a target.
“You really look as if you understood what you were about,” observed A.
Z., who was pouring out their coffee. “If you have gained nothing else
by your residence in Bavaria, you have at least learned to get up in the
morning, and to use a rifle!”.
“Both decidedly German accomplishments,” replied Hamilton, laughing,
“and learned, in both cases, from ladies. Madame Rosenberg and the
Baroness Waldorf have been my instructresses, as you will find when you
look over my journal.”
“Which I intend to do to-day, when I am alone and quiet,” said A. Z.,
“and then we can talk about it whenever you are disposed.”
“Time to be off!” cried Baron Z—; and Hamilton found himself, soon
after, driving through the wildest passes of the mountain at an hour
which he had formerly considered ought to be devoted to sleep in a
darkened chamber.
The road was still in shadow, though the sun shone brightly on the rocks
above them, and it was only through an occasional cleft in them, or a
widening of the pass through which the road lay, that the warm rays
occasionally tempered the bracing morning air. For the first time since
Hamilton had left the Rosenbergs, he felt exhilarated—disposed to enjoy
life as he had formerly done. It must not be supposed that he was
beginning to forget Hildegarde—quite the contrary—his mental struggles
were over; absence, that surest test of affection, had proved to him
that without her the best years of his life would be clouded; so
completely had the world, and all relating to it, been changed to him
during the last year, so different were all his ideas from what they had
been, that his recollections of home were becoming ruins, and it was
with difficulty that his imagination supplied the broken walls and
crumbling windowsills of his former splendid visions of pomp and riches.
His only fears now were of Hildegarde herself, he half dreaded a
repulse; but he had resolved to brave even that; and since his
resolutions had been formed, he had again begun to feel pleasure in
everything surrounding him. When Baron Z— stepped out of the little low
carriage, which he called a “sausage,” to gather bunches of the
beautiful wild rhododendron, commonly called _Alpen rosen_, Hamilton
sprang joyously up the side of the mountain with him, and experienced a
boyish satisfaction in scrambling higher and higher still, to obtain a
branch with deeply-coloured flowers, or a few sweetly-scented cyclamens.
Their destination was a village, which as nearly resembled a nest as
could well be imagined, so completely was it surrounded by mountains,
all wooded nearly to the summit; there were about thirty houses and two
large inns. Baron Z——’s brewery supplied the place with beer, and it
was, as he informed Hamilton, in the characters of a brewer and his
friend that they that day appeared. They were, however, persons of
considerable importance, as Hamilton soon discovered, for the marriage
had been delayed until their arrival, and the gay procession was then
first formed, with which preceded by loud music, in which a flageolet
contended in vain with a couple of horns for predominance, they marched
to the church. Hamilton, on perceiving that all the men had large
bouquets of flowers, and streaming ribbons in their hats, immediately
decorated his with _Alpen rosen_. As to Baron Z—, neither he nor any of
the other numerous gentlemen who came in the course of the day to shoot,
could be distinguished at a little distance from the peasants. The
strong shoes, worsted stockings, black breeches, leather belts, with
their curiously worked initials, loose grey shooting-jackets, and
slouched hats with black cock feathers, were common to all. A nice
observer might, perhaps, have discovered a difference in the materials,
but even that was generally avoided. If ever a German nobleman feels
that those who are not in his class are equal or superior to him, it is
at a _Scheiben-Schiessen_. There the best shot is the best man. The
consciousness of strength and power, which the free use of arms, and the
habit of seeking pleasure and fame in their dexterous use beget, is not
without its national importance; such men can scarcely fail to make good
soldiers, or defend their mountain homes in time of war.
Excepting while they dined, Baron Z— never ceased shooting. Hamilton,
contented with having acquitted himself creditably, began at the end of
a couple of hours to wander about; he first looked into the room where
the wedding banquet was being slowly served: it had already lasted more
than three hours, which is scarcely to be wondered at, as between the
courses, the more youthful part of the company made their way up the
crowded staircase to a large room under the roof, where they danced; the
measured sound of the waltz step forming a sort of metronome to the
musicians, who, at times, seemed more attentive to the movements of
those about them than their occupation, thereby occasionally producing
such extraordinary and wild sounds that Hamilton allowed himself to be
pushed up the stairs into their immediate vicinity. Finding a quiet
corner, he tranquilly smoked his cigar and looked on, an amused
spectator of a scene which formed for him a picture of the most
interesting description from its novelty and thoroughly national
character.
The room, spacious and well-floored, was immediately under the roof, of
which the rafters and, on close inspection, the tiles were visible. The
musicians, placed in a corner and well supplied with beer, blew,
whistled, and scraped with all their might, the violoncello, with its
eternal tonic, dominant, and subdominant, acting as whipper-in to the
other instruments. The trumpet, occasionally raised to one of the
windows in the roof, informed the absent of the opportunity they were
losing, or served as an invitation to the lazy. Diminutive beer barrels,
connected with strong planks, formed seats along the walls, and on them
the half breathless dancers, in their picturesque costumes, occasionally
sat and rested; a few elderly peasants were established round a table
behind the door, and near them stood a fine specimen of a rustic
exclusive, with his arms folded, and bright blue eyes audaciously
following each dancing pair as they passed; he lounged against the wall,
until seeing some known, or loved, or pretty girl, he was moved to touch
her partner on the shoulder, and however unwilling the latter might be,
he was obliged in courtesy to resign her until she had taken some turns
round the room with the interloper, who, on returning her to her
partner, thanked _him_, and the flushed and panting girl invariably
looked delighted at this most approved mode of publicly doing her
homage. Hamilton observed about half a dozen beauties who never were
allowed to rest for one moment.
Light and shade were disposed as the most fastidious painter could
desire; the rays of the afternoon sun, as they entered by the open
windows, rendered even the tremulous motion of the air and the usually
imperceptible particles of dust apparent, while the gradually dispersing
light made the silver-laced bodices of the women glitter, and the
beaming faces of the men to glow more deeply. Here for the first time
Hamilton saw the real _Ländler_ danced, the waltz in all its
nationality—as unlike anything he had ever heard so denominated as could
well be imagined. It was a German fandango with nailed shoes instead of
castanets, but there was life, energy, and enjoyment in every movement.
The origin of the name of waltz for this dance is from _walzen_, to turn
round, and this the dancers did regularly, though not quickly when
together, but they often separated, and then the movements were as
uncertain as various, accompanied on the part of the men by the snapping
of fingers, clapping their knees with both hands, and springing in the
air, while ever and anon they uttered a piercing peculiar cry, something
between shouting and singing. During the time the men performed these
wild gesticulations, their partners waltzed on demurely before them, and
when they joined each other again it was usually with a few decided foot
stampings that they recommenced their rotary motions.
It was long before Hamilton felt disposed to leave this scene of rustic
festivity; when he did so, it was but to witness another of a different
kind, for as the evening approached, and the noise of the rifles began
by degrees to cease, all the singers and zither players in the
neighbourhood assembled in the garden; it was in the midst of them that
Hamilton was found by Baron Z—, and though he soon after joined the
latter and his friends at another table, he still turned round and
endeavoured to hear the words or hum the chorus of their songs.
“Our national music seems to interest you,” observed an elderly
gentleman in a green shooting jacket, drawing his chair close to
Hamilton’s.
“Very much, but I find it rather difficult to understand the words,
though I hear them very distinctly.”
“Of course you do; a foreigner must always find it difficult to
understand our different dialects, and we have many.”
Baron Z— took a little book of songs out of his pocket and handed it to
Hamilton, who, after a few unsuccessful attempts, at length was able to
read and understand one of them. “Are these songs ancient or modern?” he
asked after a pause.
“These,” answered Baron Z—, “are of an uncertain age, and are common in
the Bavarian highlands; but we have some national songs of the same
description which are extremely ancient.”
“We know,” observed the elderly gentleman, “we know from the poems of
Walter von der Vogelweide that even at the end of the twelfth century
the peasants had their own songs, which, to the great annoyance of the
celebrated poet, were gladly heard and highly valued by the princes and
knights of his time. The highest nobles then danced to their own songs,
as you may sometimes see the Austrian peasants do to this day. The
rhymes of the _Niebelungenlied_[3] and other old German epic poems are
precisely of the same description as these songs, which is also a proof
of their antiquity.”
Footnote 3:
The _Niebelungenlied_ is a very ancient poem, greatly valued but
little read—like the works of Chaucer and Spenser in England.
“And is the music as old as the poetry?” asked Hamilton.
“I believe so,” replied Baron Z—; “it was intended for dancing as well
as singing, as the universal name of _Schnadder-hüpfen_ denotes; the
word _schnadder_ means to talk or chat, and _hüpfen_ to jump or dance
about.”
“And is all your old national music of this gay _Schnadder-hüpfen_
description?” asked Hamilton.
“Oh, no, we have melancholy and sentimental too, but our mountaineers
are too gay and happy a people to allow the mournful to predominate, or
even to have its due share in their music; the sorrowful thought of one
verse is sure to find consolation in the jesting contradiction in the
next. The Alpine songs are generally of this description, and the girls
who have the charge of the cows on the Alps sing them together, and
continue to do so after they have left the mountains, which has caused
them to become familiar to the inhabitants of the valleys. Then there is
the _jodel_, the song without words, which has so much resemblance to
the _ranz des vaches_ of the Swiss, and which requires both practice and
compass of voice.”
“Oh, I remember,” said Hamilton, “what you and some of the others sang
when we were on the chamois hunt last year; sometimes it sounded like
water bubbling, and then came some queer high notes and a sort of
shout—it was quite adapted to the mountains—quite beautiful when there
was an echo. I should like to learn it.”
“You will find it more difficult than you imagine,” said Baron Z—, “that
is if you have ever learned to sing; my wife has never been able to
manage it, and she has often tried.”
“I shall learn to _jodel_ and play the zither, too,” said Hamilton,
“that is if I ever come to reside in Germany.”
“_If_,” said Baron Z—, and then he joined in the chorus of the song
which was being sung at the table nearest them.
* * * * *
“How different the same scene looks in the gradually increasing light of
early morning, and the deepening shades of approaching evening!”
observed Baron Z—, as he leaned back in the carriage on their way home,
and looked along the valley through which the road lay; it had become so
narrow that it seemed about to close altogether, while a towering
mountain, facing them as they advanced, appeared to prevent all further
progress; “and yet I scarcely know which is to be preferred in a country
of this description.”
“The evening, certainly the evening,” said Hamilton, looking round; “but
a little earlier; the sun should still be on those rocks above us and
make them successively yellow, red, copper-coloured, and violet, as I
have seen them every evening from the garden of Hohenfels.”
“I wish,” said Baron Z—, “I wish that we could see them from the top of
our alp to-night; we cannot expect this unclouded weather to last much
longer.”
“Have you an alp of your own?” asked Hamilton.
“No; but I have rented one for the last two years, and find it answers
very well, the greater part of my cattle are there now. It was not,
however, of my cows and calves that I was thinking, but of the chamois
on the mountain near the alp, of which the _Förster_ from G— told me
this morning. Now, as you acquitted yourself so well to-day at the
_Scheiben-Schiessen_, I do not see why you should not become a sportsman
at once.”
“Do you think I should have any chance?”
“Why not? You must make a beginning some time or other.”
“I suppose game is very plentiful here?” said Hamilton.
“Not what you call plenty, at least we have not grouse or black cocks as
my wife tells me you have in Scotland.”
“But I have heard of splendid _battues_ in the neighbourhood of Munich.”
“I dare say, in the royal chase, where eight or nine hundred hares, and
other game in proportion, have been shot in one afternoon—but that is
not my idea of sport. I prefer a chamois hunt to all others, next to
that, black cock; and I am quite satisfied if I shoot three or four
during the season.”
“Are the black cock so difficult to get at?”
“More troublesome than difficult, though I have occasionally found them
almost as high on the mountains as the chamois! It is the waiting and
watching—the being up before sunrise, that gives me an interest, though
it generally disgusts others whose actual profession it does not happen
to be.”
“I suppose,” said Hamilton, “it is the actual profession of those
_Försters_? There was one near the Iron Works, and he always supplied
Madame Rosenberg with game;—she paid him for it, however.”
“Of course she did,” replied Baron Z—, laughing; “and if you shoot a
chamois you must pay for it too, that is, if you wish to keep it. I have
myself no game whatever, but as the _Förster_ rents the whole chase in
my neighbourhood from government, I have as much sport as I please, and
in fact as much game too; I pay for whatever I retain, and so do all the
others to whom he has given the permission to shoot; but I suspect his
profits are not great, for we have a number of _Wildschützen_, wild
hunters—poachers you call them, I believe, in England.”
“Yes, one hears of them continually in the country; I begin to have a
faint idea that they may be great nuisances.”
“I have no intention of exactly undertaking their defence,” said Baron
Z—, “but here in the mountains, where almost every man is a good shot,
and the ideas of some are rather confused as to the better right which
one man may have more than another to shoot an animal roaming about
among the rocks—the crime is, to say the least, venial. I, for my part,
would never pursue a _Wildschützen_ with the wish to catch him; but
between them and the _Försters_ there is the most implacable hatred and
deadly war. When they meet without witnesses, it not unfrequently
happens that they fire at each other! If the _Förster_ fall, he is
immediately missed; if the _Wildschütz_, it often remains long
undiscovered. Last winter the body of a young man was found on one of
the mountains here, several weeks after his friends had first privately,
and then publicly, sought him. There is little doubt that he was shot by
one of our wood-rangers, and the man was immediately arrested, but no
sort of proof could be obtained; the day of the young man’s death was
unknown, the wood-ranger had been on that mountain, but also on others
about the supposed time—shots had been heard by some wood-cutters, but
not more than could be accounted for by the game brought home; in short,
he was set at liberty; but the fate of the _Wildschütz_, who was a
handsome, good-humoured fellow, created much interest and pity; so you
see there is so much danger, and so little profit, so much romance, and
so little vulgarity about them altogether, that they are not
unfrequently the subject of a song or the hero of a legend. I am not
even quite sure that the suspicion of a young man being at times a wild
hunter would injure him in the opinion of any girl born and bred among
the mountains!”
“I dare say not,” said Hamilton; “women higher born, and better bred,
have not unfrequently similar feelings, and the very word is in itself
the essence of romance! You must allow that it sounds a vast deal better
than _Förster_, or _Förstmeister_, or _Förstcommissioner_, or
_Förstinspector_. Everybody seems to be _Först_ something in this part
of the world.”
“And are we not surrounded by forests? Are not all our mountains covered
with wood?” asked Baron Z—, laughing; “can you wonder that, in a country
where wood is used as fuel, the care and culture of it should be of the
greatest importance?”
“Then these _Försters_ are not a—exactly game-keepers?”
“No; the preserving of the game is, however, always in connection with
the woods and forests. The _Förstmeister_, _Förstactuar_, _Försters_,
and _Förstpracticants_ are appointed by government; the under _Förster_,
or wood-ranger, is the only thing at all answering to your idea of
game-keeper.”
“And what have they all to do?” asked Hamilton.
“Can you not imagine the care of all these woods giving a number of
people employment?” asked Baron Z—, looking round him. “The never-ending
felling and drifting, and selling and planting; the corrections of the
rivers used for drifting; the care of the game, and a hundred other
things, which I do not just now remember. The _Förstwesen_, as we call
it here, requires as much, and as peculiar study at the University, as
theology, philosophy, law, physic, or any other branch of learning. Had
I been given my choice, I should have preferred it to all others.”
“And what did you study? I mean especially?”
“Law,” answered Baron Z—, and while he spoke the carriage rolled into
the paved court of Hohenfels.
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