Arthur O'Leary Part 47

'I did not say happier,' said he, with a sorrowful emphasis on the last word. 'He may be better.'

With that he rose from his seat, and looking at his watch he apologised for leaving me so suddenly, and departed.

'Who is the gentleman that has just gone out?' asked I of the waiter.

'The Baron von Elgenheim,' replied he; 'but they mostly call him the Black Colonel. Not for his moustaches,' added he, laughing with true German familiarity, 'they are white enough, but he always wears mourning.'

'Does he belong to Hesse, then?'

'Not he; he's an Auslander of some sort--a Swabian, belike; but he comes here every year, and stays three or four weeks at a time. And, droll enough too, though he has been doing so for fifteen or sixteen years, he has not a single acquaintance in all Ca.s.sel; indeed, I never saw him speak to a stranger till this morning.'

These particulars, few as they were, all stimulated my curiosity to see more of the colonel; but he did not present himself at the table d'hote on that day or the following one, and I only met him by chance in the Park, when a formal salute, given with cold politeness, seemed to say our acquaintance was at an end.

Now, there are certain inns which by a strange magnetism are felt as homes at once; there is a certain air of quietude and repose about them that strikes you when you enter, and which gains on you every hour of your stay. The landlord, too, has a bearing compounded of cordiality and respect; and the waiter, divining your tastes and partialities, falls quickly into your ways, and seems to regard you as an _habitue_ while you are yet a stranger; while the ringleted young lady at the bar, who pa.s.sed you the first day on the stairs with a well-practised indifference, now accosts you with a smile and a curtsy, and already believes you an old acquaintance.

To an indolent man like myself, these houses are impossible to leave. If it be summer, you are sure to have a fresh bouquet in your bedroom every morning when you awake; in winter, the _garcon_ has discovered how you like your slippers toasted on the fender, and your _robe de chambre_ airing on the chair; the cook learns your taste in cutlets, and knows to a nicety how to season your _omelette aux fines herbes_; the very washerwoman of the establishment has counted the plaits in your shirt, and wouldn't put one more or less for any bribery. By degrees, too, you become a kind of confidant of the whole household. The host tells you of ma'mselle's fortune, and the match on the tapis for her, and all the difficulties and advantages, contra and pro; the waiter has revealed to you a secret of pa.s.sion for the chambermaid, but for which he would be Heaven knows how many thousand miles off, in some wonderful place, where the wages would enable him to retire in less than a twelvemonth; and even Boots, while depositing your Wellingtons before the fire, has unburdened his sorrows and his hopes, and asks your advice, 'if he shouldn't become a soldier?' When this hour arrives, the house is your own. Let what will happen, _your_ fire burns brightly in your bedroom; let who will come, _your_ dinner is cared for to a miracle. The newspaper, coveted by a dozen and eagerly asked for, is laid by for your reading; you are, then, in the poets words--

'Liber, honoratus, pulcher--Rex denique Regum';

and let me tell you, there are worse sovereignties.

Apply this to the 'Konig von Preussen,' and wonder not if I found myself its inhabitant for three weeks afterwards.

CHAPTER x.x.x. THE PARK

In somewhat less than a fortnight's time I had made a bowing acquaintance with some half-dozen good subjects of Hesse, and formed a chatting intimacy with some three or four frequenters of the table d'hote, with whom I occasionally strolled out of an afternoon into the Park, to drink coffee, and listen to the military band that played there every evening. The quiet uniformity of the life pleased and never wearied me; for happily--or unhappily, as some would deem it--mine is one of those tame and commonplace natures which need not costly amus.e.m.e.nts nor expensive tastes to occupy it. I enjoyed the society of agreeable people with a gusto few possess; I can also put up with the a.s.sociation with those of a different stamp, feeling sensibly how much more I am on a level with them, and how little pretension I have to find myself among the others. Fortunately, too, I have no sympathy with the pleasures which wealth alone commands--it was a taste denied me.

I neither affect to undervalue their importance, nor sneer at their object; I simply confess that the faculty which renders them desirable was by some accident omitted from my nature, and I never yet felt the smallness of my fortune a source of regret.

There is no such happiness, to my notion, as that which enables a man to be above the dependence on others for his pleasures and amus.e.m.e.nts, to have the sources of enjoyment in his own mind, and to feel that his own thoughts and his own reflections are his best wealth. There is no selfishness in this; far from it. The stores thus laid by make a man a better member of society, more ready to a.s.sist, more able to advise his fellow-men. By standing aloof from the game of life, you can better estimate the chances of success and the skill of the players; and as you have no stake in the issue, the odds are that your opinion is a correct one. But, better than all, how many enjoyments which to the glitter of wealth or the grandeur of a high position would seem insignificant and valueless, are to the humble man sources of hourly delight! And is our happiness anything but an aggregate of these grains of pleasure? There is as much philosophy in the child's toy as in the n.o.bleman's coronet; all the better for him who can limit his desires to the attainable, and be satisfied with what lies within his reach. I have practised the system for a life long, and feel that if I now enjoy much of the buoyancy and the spirit of more youthful days, it is because I have never taxed my strength beyond its ability, nor striven for more than I could justly pretend to. There is something of indolence in all this--I know there is; but I was born under a lazy star, and I cannot say I regret my destiny.

From this little _expose_ of my tastes and habits it may be gathered that Ca.s.sel suited me perfectly. The air of repose which rests on these little secluded capitals has something--to me at least--inexpressibly pleasurable. The quaint old-fashioned equipages, drawn along at a gentle amble; the obsolete dress of the men in livery; the studious ceremony of the pa.s.sers to each other; the absence of all bustle; the primitive objects of sale exposed in the various shops--all contrasting so powerfully with the wealth-seeking tumult of richer communities--suggest thoughts of tranquillity and contentment. They are the bourgeoisie of the great political world. Debarred from the great game which empires and kingdoms are playing, they retire within the limits of their own narrow but safe enjoyments, with ample means for every appliance of comfort; they seek not to astonish the world by any display, but content themselves with the homely happiness within their reach.

Every day I lingered here I felt this conviction the stronger. The small interests which occupied the public mind originated no violent pa.s.sions, no exaggerated party spirit. The journals--those indices of a nation's mind--contained less politics than criticism; an amicable little contention about the site of a new fountain or the position of an elector's statue was the extent of any discussion; while at every opportunity crept out some little congratulating expression on the goodness of the harvest, the abundance of the vintage, or, what was scarcely less valued, the admirable operatic company which had just arrived. These may seem very petty incidents for men to pa.s.s their lives amongst, thought I, but still they all seem very happy; there is much comfort, there is no poverty. Like the court whist-table, where the points are only for silver groschen, the amus.e.m.e.nt is just as great, and no one is ruined by high play.

I am not sure but I should have made an excellent Hessian, thought I, as I deposited two little silver pieces, about the size of a spangle, on the table, in payment for a very appetising little supper, and an ink-bottleful of Rhine wine. And now for the coffee.

I was seated beneath a great chestnut-tree, whose spreading branches shaded me from the rays of the setting sun that came slanting to my very feet. At a short distance off sat a little family party--grandfather, grandchildren, and all--there was no mistaking them; they were eating their supper in the Park, possibly in honour of some domestic fete.

Yes, there could be no doubt of it; it was the birthday of that pretty, dark-eyed little girl, of some ten years of age, who wore a wreath of roses in her hair, and sat at the top of the table, beside the Greis.

A peal of delighted laughter broke from them all as I looked. And now I could see a little boy of scarce five years old, whose long yellow locks hung midway down his back; he was standing beside his sister's chair, and I could hear his infant voice reciting a little verse he had learned in honour of the day. The little man, whose gravity contrasted so ludicrously with the merry looks about, went through his task as steadily as a court preacher holding forth before royalty; an occasional breach of memory would make him now and then turn his head to one side, where an elder sister knelt, and then he would go on again as before. I wished much to catch the words, but could only hear the refrain of each verse, which he always repeated louder than the rest--

'Da sind die Tage lang genuch, Da sind die Nachte mild.'

Scarcely had he finished when his mother caught him to her arms and kissed him a hundred times; while the others struggled to take him, the little fellow clung to her neck with all his strength.

It was a picture of such happiness, that to look on it were alone a blessing. I have that night's looks and cheerful voices fresh in my memory, and have thought of them many a long mile away from where I then heard them.

A slight noise beside me made me turn round, and I saw the Black Colonel, as the waiter called him, and whom I had not met for several days past. He was seated on a bench near, but with his back towards me, and I could perceive he was evidently unaware of my presence. I had, I must confess it, felt somewhat piqued at his avoidance of me, for such the distant recognition with which he saluted me seemed to imply. He had made the first advances himself, and it was scarcely fair that he should have thus abruptly stopped short, after inviting acquaintance. While I was meditating a retreat, he turned suddenly about, and then, taking off his hat, saluted me with a courtly politeness quite different from his ordinary manner.

'I see, sir,' said he with a very sweet smile, as he looked towards the little group--'I see, sir, you are indeed an admirer of pretty prospects.'

Few and simple as the words were, they were enough to reconcile me to the speaker; his expression, as he spoke them, had a depth of feeling in it which showed that his heart was touched.

After some commonplace remark of mine on the simplicity of German domestic habits and the happy immunity they enjoyed from that rage of fashion which in other countries involved so many in rivalry with others wealthier than themselves, the colonel a.s.sented to the observation, but expressed his sorrow that the period of primitive tastes and pleasures was rapidly pa.s.sing away. The French Revolution first, and subsequently the wars of the Empire, had done much to destroy the native simplicity of German character; while in latter days the tide of travel had brought a host of vulgar rich people, whose gold corrupted the once happy peasantry, suggesting wants and tastes they never knew nor need to know.

'As for the great cities of Germany,' continued he, 'they have scarcely a trace left of their ancient nationality. Vienna and Berlin, Dresden, and Munich, are but poor imitations of Paris; it is only in the old and less visited towns, such as Nuremberg, or Augsburg, that the Alt Deutsch habits still survive. Some few of the Grand-Ducal States--Weimar, for instance--preserve the primitive simplicity of former days even in courtly etiquette; and there, really, the government is paternal, in the fullest sense of the term. You would think it strange, would you not, to dine at court at four o'clock, and see the grand-ducal ministers and their ladies--the elite of a little world of their own--proceeding, many of them on foot, in court-dress, to dinner with their sovereign?

Strange, too, would you deem it--dinner over--to join a promenade with the party in the Park, where all the bourgeoisie of the town are strolling about with their families, taking their coffee and their tea, and only interrupting their conversation or their pleasure to salute the Grand-Duke or Grand-d.u.c.h.ess, and respectfully bid them a "good-e'en"; and then, as it grew later, to return to the palace, for a little whist or a game of chess, or, better still, to make one of that delightful circle in the drawing-room where Goethe was sitting? Yes, such is the life of Weimar. The luxury of your great capitals, the gorgeous salons of London and Paris, the voluptuous pleasures which unbounded wealth and all its train of pa.s.sions beget, are utterly unknown there; but there is a world of pure enjoyment and of intercourse with high and gifted minds which more than repay you for their absence. 'A few years more, and all this will be but "matter for an old man's memory." Increased facilities of travel and greater knowledge of language erase nationality most rapidly. The venerable habits transmitted from father to son for centuries--the traditional customs of a people--cannot survive a caricature nor a satire. The _esprit moqueur_ of France and the insolent wealth of England have left us scarce a vestige of our Fatherland.

Our literature is at this instant a thing of shreds and patches--bad translations of bad books; the deep wisdom and the racy humour of Jean Paul are unknown, while the vapid wit of a modern French novel is extolled. They prefer the false glitter of Dumas and Balzac to the sterling gold of Schiller and Herder; and even Leipsic and Waterloo have not freed us from the slavish adulation of the conquered to the conqueror.'

'What would you have?' said I.

'I would have Germany a nation once more--a nation whose limits should reach from the Baltic to the Tyrol. Her language, her people, her inst.i.tutions ent.i.tle her to be such; and it is only when parcelled into kingdoms and petty States, divided by the artful policy of foreign powers, that our nationality pines and withers.'

'I can easily conceive,' said I, 'that the Confederation of the Rhine must have destroyed in a great measure the patriotic feeling of Western Germany. The peasantry were sold as mercenaries; the n.o.bles, little better, took arms in a cause many of them hated and detested----'

'I must stop you here,' said he, with a smile; 'not that you would or could say that which should wound my feelings, but you might hurt your own when you came to know that he to whom you are speaking served in that army. Yes, sir, I was a soldier of Napoleon.'

Although nothing could be more unaffectedly easy than his manner as he spoke, I feared I might already have said too much; indeed, I knew not the exact expressions I had used, and there was a pause of some minutes, broken at length by the colonel saying--

'Let us walk towards the town; for if I mistake not they close the gates of the Park at midnight, and I believe we are the only persons remaining here now.'

Chattering of indifferent matters, we arrived at the hotel; and after accepting an invitation to accompany the baron the next day to Wilhelms Hohe, I wished him good-night and retired.

CHAPTER x.x.xI. THE BARON'S STORY

Every one knows how rapidly acquaintance ripens into intimacy when mere accident throws two persons together in situations where they have no other occupation than each other's society; days do the work of years, confidences spring up where mere ceremonies would have been interchanged before, and in fact a freedom of thought and speech as great as we enjoy in our oldest friendships. Such in less than a fortnight was the relation between the baron and myself. We breakfasted together every morning, and usually sallied forth afterwards into the country, generally on horseback, and only came back to dinner--a ramble in the Park concluding our day.

I still look back to those days as amongst the pleasantest of my life; for although the temper of my companion's mind was melancholic, it seemed rather the sadness induced by some event of his life than the depression resulting from a desponding temperament--a great difference, by the way; as great as between the shadow we see at noonday and the uniform blackness of midnight. He had evidently seen much of the world, and in the highest cla.s.s; he spoke of Paris as he knew it in the gorgeous time of the Empire--of the Tuileries, when the salons were crowded with kings and sovereign princes; of Napoleon, too, as he saw him, wet and cold, beside the bivouac fire, interchanging a rude jest with some grognard of the Garde, or commanding, in tones of loud superiority, the marshals who stood awaiting his orders. The Emperor, he said, never liked the Germans; and although many evinced a warm attachment to his person and his cause, they were not Frenchmen, and he could not forgive it. The Alsatians he trusted, and was partial to; but his sympathies stopped short at the Rhine; and he always felt that if fortune turned, the wrongs of Germany must have their recompense.

While speaking freely on these matters, I remarked that he studiously avoided all mention of his own services--a mere pa.s.sing mention of 'I was there,' or, 'My regiment was engaged in it,' being the extent of his observations regarding himself. His age and rank, his wound itself, showed that he must have seen service in its most active times; and my curiosity was piqued to learn something of his own history, but which I did not feel myself ent.i.tled to inquire.

We were returning one evening from a ramble in the country, when stopping to ask a drink at a wayside inn, we found a party of soldiers in possession of the only room, where they were regaling themselves with wine; while a miserable-looking object, bound with his arms behind his back, sat pale and woe-begone in one corner of the apartment, his eyes fixed on the floor, and the tears slowly stealing along his cheeks.

'What is it?' asked I of the landlord, as I peeped in at the half-open door.

'A deserter, sir----''

The word was scarcely spoken when the colonel let fall the cup he held in his hand, and leaned, almost fainting, against the wall.

'Let us move on,' said he, in a voice scarcely articulate, while the sickness of death seemed to work in his features.

'You are ill,' said I; 'we had better wait----'