MY GRANDMOTHER
A TALE BY KLUSEN.
The long-dreaded tidings of my good grandmother’s decease had arrived; and as her nearest of kin, and only heir, I had been summoned to appear personally before the judge, and enter upon the management of my new inheritance. Official business, however, detained me for several months in a distant part of the country; at last I left the capital with its cares of office behind me, and found myself, after several days travelling, seated at the table d’ hote of Binsenwerder waiting for the arrival of fresh post-horses.
Opposite me sat a little, dry, yellow-faced gentleman, who, nevertheless, seemed to have a capital appetite, with which he at the same time contrived to conjoin no small portion of garrulity. I soon discovered from the conversation which he kept up with the landlord and the rest of the company that he was a citizen of Klarenburg,—the very town in which my late respected grandmother had spent the latter half of her life, and which he had just left that morning. In the flow of the stranger’s eloquence the conversation soon turned upon my deceased relative. Many of the persons present appeared to have known her; and it was a grateful feeling to me to hear her praises fall from so many unprejudiced lips. He of the yellow visage, however—who appeared from his conversation, to hold the office of Recorder in the little town just mentioned—did not approve of the terms of the good old woman’s will, though he protested that with the exception of this unhappily irremediable step, her whole life had been highly creditable and praise-worthy. From farther explanations, furnished by the loquacious Recorder, it apppeared, that while my grandmother had most liberally aided the funds of the various hospitals and benevolent institutions in Klarenburg, she had most inconsiderately passed over the merits of that highly deserving body of men, the civic rulers of the place. Not a groschen had she destined for the worshipful town-council, under whose magisterial protection she had passed the latter years of her life in so much peace and comfort: although many of them—and she must have known the fact—were needy enough. “I had flattered myself,” continued the garrulous Recorder, “that I at least, would have got a few of the old lady’s louis d’ or, seeing I had written all my ten fingers stiff upon her will, her legacies, and her codicils. They would have come in excellent time just now while on the route for Carlsbad,[1] whither my physician sends me to recover the tone of my stomach, which has got a little out of order from my long association with dusty old deeds, and such mouldy stuff. But there was not a word to this effect in all the windings and turnings of the old lady’s will; we got our fees, and that was all; with the exception of what was due to me in strict justice, I never fingered a groschen of her property.”
“But tell me now, Mr Sander,” began the host, “is it really true that old Mrs Milbirn left all the money that people say? As you were employed in making the will, you must of course know all about it.”
“Is it really true!” ejaculated Mr Sander, seemingly amazed that such a thing could be questioned; “why, my dear sir, there was not a landed proprietor, or even a considerable farmer in the whole country round about, for a distance of forty miles, who did not hold some six thousand or eight thousand crowns of the woman’s money; every householder in Klarenburg was her debtor in less or more. There was the smelting furnace—a very mint in itself; and Herzfelde, which she bought some twenty-eight years ago for a mere trifle, is now worth, at least, four times what she paid for it; from her nursery-grounds she drew, at least, three thousand crowns clear rental per annum; her merinoes are esteemed the finest in the whole province; and if you want to see good cattle go to Herzfelde.”
“Now! And all that—” began the host in a strain of admiration.
“All that!” interrupted the eloquent Recorder, “aye, all that is inherited by her only grandson, who resides in the capital, where he holds the office and enjoys the emoluments of a councillor.”
During this conversation, I kept tracing figures with my fork upon my plate, without daring to raise my eyes for a single moment; for I felt the blood mounting to my cheeks, and I was quite sure that my identity with the said lucky heir would be detected by the whole company as soon as they should fix their looks upon me. Luckily, however, all eyes were turned upon the speaker, and I, as a stranger, and one utterly uninterested in the conversation, was allowed to maintain silence.
“Oh how anxiously all our young women are looking out for the councillor’s arrival!” continued the man of parchments. “Report says he is a nice young fellow,—of an easy temper, great flow of spirits, and unmarried. Now with all this income in his pocket, you may easily fancy what a figure he will make amongst us. If he has not already lost his heart in the capital, he must lose it here; there is no help for that; whether he is agreeable to the thing or not, it must be so. Gadzooks, there will be glorious sport on the occasion! Poor young things, there are some fine girls among them too,—I question if he could find the match of some of them in the capital itself! And it’s all in their eye; wherever you go nothing is talked of at Klarenburg but the rich young councillor; every one is teazing another about him, and every one is dreadfully afraid lest she should not prove the fortunate one. He is expected one of these days, and the dress-makers and milliners have been at work already for weeks, for every one is wanting to show herself to the best possible advantage, and aunts and mothers have been racking their inventions from morn to noon, and noon to night, and night to morn, planning how best to entrap this rare young goldfinch for a daughter or niece. I cannot tell you how much amusement all this has afforded me! Not long ago I overheard the following reproof administered to a nice looking young woman: ‘But dear me, Augusta, how can you stoop so odiously! Depend upon it if the councillor comes, and you look so humpbacked as you are doing just now, he will never turn his eye upon you!’—Again: ‘Oh, Frederica, you shock me! These toes of yours—can’t you turn them out! Do you think that if the councillor should chance to see you waddling that way like a duck, he would ever look at you again?’—It was only yesterday I heard our captain of militia’s wife calling out to her daughter: ‘Susan, Susan, how many hundred times must I reprove you for that horrid custom you have fallen into of squinting! Why, do you think that the young gentleman when he comes, will not instantly turn his back upon you, when he sees you ogling his hand with one eye, and his foot with the other at the same moment!’—It is currently reported that the young heir speaks French remarkably well: so there is such a parlezvouing, and chattering in every house from morning to night, as makes your ears tingle all the time you are within hearing. Some again have heard that the councillor is a great proficient in music, and so you cannot walk from one end of a street to another without having your ears stunned with such a rattling of pianos, thrumbing of guitars, and twanging of harps, and screaming of songs, French, German, and Italian, as would make you fancy the whole town of Klarenburg had been turned into an immense musical academy. Another account represents this great man as passionately found of dancing; so the poor dancing-masters are to be seen hurrying from house to house sans intermission the whole day; and there is such a waltzing, and reeling, and quadrilling,—such cotillons, and cavatinas, and gavottes, as astound your very senses the moment you step into a genteel house where there are any young women. It is not many days ago since the fat Miss Hildegard slipt her foot in one of these capriccios, and came down all her length upon the floor, by all the world like a sack full of potatoes!”
At this piece of news the whole company burst out into shouts of laughter, and, to avoid detection, I tried to laugh heartily myself, but in secret I began to grow mortally afraid of the consequences which might attend my appearance at Klarenburg.
Encouraged by the approbation of his audience, the Recorder resumed: “People put themselves to an enormous deal of expense on account of this young heir. The commissioner of Excise is preparing a concert, in which it is intended his daughter, Seraphina, shall sing two bravura songs. More than six rehearsals have already taken place; but poor papa appears each time in deeper distress, for Miss Seraphina is constantly out of tune like a cracked fiddle; her shake is never full enough, and her cadence is the most lamentable thing in the world, though papa keeps whispering to her all the time to collect and reserve her breath for the trying moment. Twice has poor dear Seraphina sung herself as hoarse as a crow; but the father knows the full amount of the inheritance, and remains inexorably determined to carry through the concert.—Then as for the director of the Tobacco-monopoly, he is to give a ball, such as has never been witnessed before in this part of the country. Eighteen cousins and nieces,—fine girls all of them, and really beautiful as angels,—are to appear at this ball in the dress of Virginian maidens, each of them carrying a tobacco-plant in her hand instead of a lily; and then his own daughter—Nina by name—a girl as beautiful as Venus herself, is to enter in the dress of a rich tobacco-planter’s daughter, and to dance a sola, at the conclusion of which, she is to step up to the dear young visiter, and offer him a pinch of genuine Spanish snuff from a mother of pearl shell.—But the dowager, Mrs President, is to surpass them all. Her old lover, the colonel of engineers, is to get up a grand display of fire-works in her gardens; the cyphers of the illustrious stranger are to be displayed in blue coloured illumination; and at the close of the exhibition, when the bouquet is fired, and while amid the roar and hiss of a thousand squibs and sky-rockets, every body is blinded and confounded, the beautiful Carita, the youngest daughter of the hostess, is to appear to descend, from the dark sky in an ingenious contrivance, surrounded by a magical halo, and under the form of a Psyche, is to present her bridegroom in spe with a glittering diploma of immortality!”
“I will not go to Klarenburg,” muttered I secretly to myself, while my cheeks burned as if one of the colonel’s rockets had passed near it.
“And the best part of the joke,” began the inveterate talker, “I warrant you will be, that the dear young councillor will have none of all the beauties whom the provident papas and mammas are preparing to set before him in such engaging attitudes!”
“And why not?” inquired half-a-dozen voices, with some earnestness. “How know you that?” said they, drawing their chairs closer to the speaker,—a motion which I unconsciously imitated.
“Why,” continued this man of universal acquaintance with men, women, and measures; “the thing I confess to you, my friends, is not quite clear to myself; but what I have heard whispered is this. Old Mrs Milbirn has bequeathed a legacy of fifty thousand crowns to the poor-funds of the town, but has added the condition, that if her nephew choose the girl she has intended for him, he shall enjoy the interest of the fifty thousand crowns; if he does not consent to this arrangement the interest passes at once to the poor’s funds.”
“Well, and this girl?—” eagerly asked several of the auditors.
“Aye, there is the puzzle!” continued Mr Sander, in a low voice. “The old lady has not thought fit to name her in her codicil; but Mrs General Waldmark, who was the intimate friend of the daughter of the testatrix—the mother, you know, of the young man—is said to have in a sealed paper the name of the girl, with the express injunction, that this paper she shall open in the presence of her grandson and two witnesses, who are to be the President of the Chancery, and the Director of the Poor’s funds. It is impossible, I say, to guess at present whom she has designed for her grandson’s bride; but it is generally believed that the choice has fallen on one of her adjutants.”
“Adjutants!” exclaimed several voices.
“Yes,” rejoined the Recorder, “such was the extraordinary title she gave to the seven girls who alternately resided with her. Whether she meant by the number seven to imitate the seven electors of the empire,—or the seven wise men of Greece,—or the seven wonders of the world,—or, as they were women—the seven deadly sins, I cannot tell. Certain it is, that the old lady attached unusual importance to the number seven. Her daughter, the mother of her heir, was called Johanna, a name consisting of seven letters; she died at the age of thirty-five; the old lady had declared she herself would not live beyond the age of eighty-four, and she has kept her word; when she died her grandson was twenty-eight;—all those numbers, you see, are divisible by seven. She used to explain, with great erudition, that every period of seven Sabbatic years contained eighty-four months; and every week of seven days, amounted to eighty-four Chaldean hours; and for that reason, as she explained, she never kept any of her adjutants more than eighty-four months beside her, and when she took them, they were exactly fourteen years and seven months of age. None of them, however, ever lived the eighty-four months with her; her society, and the instructions which she was perpetually tendering to them, were always so edifying, that long before the term of mystical months had expired, they had in each case provided themselves with good husbands. The duty of the adjutants was to keep her company, to read to her, to keep the household accounts, and to conduct her correspondence under her own direction; the old lady always chose the prettiest girls for this employment, without regard to rank or birth; but as she conducted a correspondence in French, English, and Italian, a knowledge of all these three languages was indispensable; and she further required a competent and lady-like acquaintance with music, fancy-work, and dancing. The girls led a glorious life under her roof; she always kept the best company, and she took care to provide her adjutants with elegant dresses, and every thing necessary to their comfort. She stood godmother to the eldest children of those that got married; and the rest she handsomely provided for by legacies.”
“Well, and whom of the fair adjutants would you recommend to the young heir?” inquired the host with a smirk.
“Which one?” replied Mr Sander, pouring the remainder of his bottle into his glass. “Why none other than my own niece, the daughter of my brother, lieutenant in the fourth militia. Gladly would I see her married to him, and the rich nephew would just suit his uncle’s views of things. Charlotte, I say, sir, is a darling girl; she has a pair of eyes black as any sloes; her cheeks rival the peach in softness and beauty of tint and hue; in waltzing she has not her match in all the countryside; she can chatter French so glibly that my very hair sometimes stands on end with wonderment at her. And she writes like a writing-master himself.”
“Why methinks,” began a nice looking young man, “had I heard such a description before I passed through Klarenburg, I would have made better use of my eyes while riding through it the other day. Indeed, one is almost tempted to take a ride back to try to pick up this paragon of all excellencies! Surely that happiest of mortals, the rich young heir, will choose your fair niece for himself,—but there are still, how many do you say, remaining of these adjutants? Six do you say? Why one might still have a chance!”
“To be sure there are,” said the reporter.
Here I called for another half-bottle of wine, for I needed some cordial to assist me while listening to the anticipated review of my grandmother’s fair adjutants.
“In primo,” began Mr Sander, placing his forefinger on the thumb of his left hand, “there is Miss Adelaide Struhlenthal. That girl comes upon you like a clap of thunder and lightning! Eighteen years of age,—tall and straight as a pine-tree,—belonging to one of the most honourable families in town,—blameless in reputation,—an only child, and her father the proprietor of two very fine estates, a little principality of themselves.—In secundo, there is Prokofjefna Tschimaduno, a Russian. Her mother, the only daughter of our afternoon preacher, married a Russian colonel, who had been wounded in the battle of Austerlitz, and easily conquered the heart of the minister’s daughter. Six months after his marriage he set out for his own country, and up to this moment has never returned, as he promised, to carry home his wife and child. Prokofjefna has got one of those pretty little, turned-up, a la Roxolane noses; she is about sixteen years of age, and presents you altogether with a very witching miniature figure. Fortune she has none, of course; but Mrs Milbirn has provided her with a handsome legacy.—In tertio, there is Julia, the youngest daughter of my most honoured chief and patron, the first councillor. She is one of those sort of beauties who look quite fascinating at a distance. When you observe her more, observe her more closely, you discover some traces of small pox,—but they do not signify a whit,—the girl is quite above them,—she has something grand in her manner,—looks like an empress,—every where takes or rather receives precedency; and then for her knowledge, why she is fit for a professorship; she is said to be very reserved, but those who know her well, say her manners are only the natural result of her constant self-possession; she is aware that she knows more than most people around her do, but she does not boast of it, only she has not learned the art of stooping to a level with those whose minds are not so richly stored. Papa has saved a great deal of money, which will make her and another very comfortable.—In quarto”
Here the coachman came in to tell his passengers—among whom was our reporter—that the horses were put in, and if they wished to reach the next stage before night, no time was to be lost. So we instantly rose from table; but at the same moment I had formed my plan, and slipping into the adjoining room, I invited Mr Sander to follow me for a moment.
I now told the Recorder very privately, that I happened to be the intimate friend of the rich heir of whom he had just been speaking,—that important business had prevented him from coming himself to take possession of his grandmother’s property, but that he had given me a full power of attorney to act in his name,—that I was very solicitous to fulfil the will of the deceased to its very letter, and above all to implement in name of her grandson every engagement into which she might have entered, and at the same time acknowledge any small obligation which death had prevented her from recompensing in her usual genteel manner,—that consequently I could not overlook the claims which he himself had on account of the extraordinary trouble he had been put to in arranging her settlement and codicile.
Here I slipped ten louis d’ors into the Recorder’s hand, and by an act of such unexpected generosity almost threw him into a catalepsy.
“My dearest, my most honoured sir,” he began, on recovering his speech. “Oh that I had clapped the broad seal of our town-council upon my accursed mouth before I left Klarenburg! What nonsense I have been talking! What must you think of me, my dear sir! But by my great oath de fideli administratione, which I swore in council thirty years ago, I do solemnly vouch, avow, and declare, that in all I have said with regard to the matters of your honourable friend, I was animated by the very best intentions towards him; nor do I remember of a single word detrimental to or prejudicial to the memory of the late Mrs Milbirn, or by any interpretation offensive to your honourable friend, having escaped my lips. But you know what happens when men sit after dinner. The whole fault I am sure lies with the wine we have had to-day; which by the bye, our Jew of a landlord must surely have mixed up with some pestiferous ingredient, for scarcely had I begun with my second bottle, when I distinctly felt my poor tongue—which my oath and almost inveterate silence has kept tied up almost for years—run off at full speed like a horse frightened by a sudden explosion of gunpowder. Well, I will certainly take warning from this event, and use that unruly member a little more cautiously, though I should seal up my mouth like a very catacomb. But, good heavens! how could I know,—how could I ever imagine that amongst the strangers round the table yonder, there should happen to be the very proxy of our dear councillor himself!”
It was now my turn to quiet the alarm and soothe the feelings of the poor Recorder, who betwixt the wine he had drunk, and the handful of louis d’ors which he still held, and the consciousness of the mistake which he had committed, to say the least, looked very odd. I assured him I felt very grateful to my good fortune for having made his valuable acquaintance at so early a stage of my proceedings,—that his very accurate and extensive information would prove of infinite service to me,—and concluded by informing him that my principal object in soliciting a private interview with him was to obtain a description of the three remaining adjutants, and particularly to ascertain if possible which of the girls Mrs Milbirn’s preference had destined for the hand of her grandson.
“And though you were to hang me up by the legs, my dear sir,” replied the Recorder, placing both his hands upon his breast in token of the sincerity with which he now spoke, “I could not give you any information on that point! Nay it was nothing more than a conjecture of my own that the favoured young lady might be one of the seven adjutants. At all events I am quite sure Mrs Milbirn did not mean to put the smallest restraint upon your friend, for she directed that the paper containing the name of the girl to whom she gave a preference should not be opened till after her grandson had betrothed the lady who should please himself: so that my dear sir, if you would fulfil the intentions of the deceased, in the spirit of the old lady herself, you will not repeat one word of this stupid business to your friend. It was certainly his kinswoman’s wish that he should know nothing about it, and be left quite free in the matter of choosing a wife. With regard to the fair adjutants I can give you all the information you desire. I know them all perfectly well, and these matters you know are much more satisfactorily diseussed in a private tete a tete sort of way than at a table d’ hote. What I shall now tell you about the young ladies in sober truth,—you may rely”
“To the point!” exclaimed I with some hastiness of manner; for if I had not interrupted the knave, he would never have been done with his assurances of honesty, candour, and every thing else which he was most conscious he wanted.
“Well then,” began he at last, “you want a description of thie adjutants. If I am not mistaken I have already discussed four of them: Miss Struhlenthal,—the pretty little Russ Prokofjefna,—Miss Julia,—and my own niece, my brother’s daughter, Charlotte Sander, consequently I have only to speak of the remaining three. But by the way, let me tell you,—not that the girl is my niece, my brother-german’s daughter, my near relative,—but you really should get a sight of her,—ascertain yourself what sort of a girl she is,—and then you will allow, that if your friend, the councillor, has eyes in his head at all, he would choose her in preference to any girl in Germany. For my own part, I am but a poor Recorder, and neither hope to get married, nor care for womankind; but that girl forces admiration even from such a withered chip as myself,—she has something so very genteel,—something so lady-like, so noble about her,—she looks as if she were born to be the wife of a councillor,—and besides all that, I can further assure you, she was that dear old woman, Mrs Milbirn’s greatest favourite. ‘Mr Sander,’ she has said to me a hundred times, ‘Mr Sander, your niece, Charlotte, is a treasure of a girl,—a real jewel,—he who gets her for a wife may well think himself a happy man.’ And as for my brother, poor man, he has got twelve children to support on a militia lieutenant’s pay. So you may guess how much he stands in need of a rich son-in-law.”
At this moment we were interrupted by the sudden appearance of the waiter, announcing that the coach was just about to start, and could not wait a moment longer.
Mr Sander rushed out of the room at this intelligence, leaving me aghast at his precipitation. I instantly resolved, however, that Charlotte Sander I would not marry, and solaced myself with the thought that my ten louis d’ors would be well-spent if the information I had now received should prove the means of delivering me from a father and mother-in-law, eleven brothers and sisters-in-law, and an insufferable bore of an uncle-in-law. So this was one at any rate struck off the list.
I had called hastily after my loquacious friend to beware not to reveal my name and mission to any one; but notwithstanding his nod of acquiescence, I clearly perceived that his fellow-travellers were already acquainted with the Recorder’s secret, for every eye was turned up with a look of curiosity to my window as the vehicle drove past.
I felt now disposed to hug myself on the felicitous idea which had occurred to me, of appearing at Klarenburg under an assumed character. I would thus, I thought, be able to escape all the hideous concerts, balls, fireworks, and other atrocious designs which were forming against my peace and quietness. I would become acquainted with the ground before I ventured to do battle upon it. I would have an opportunity of personally observing the real or pretended merits, not only of the seven adjutants, but of every pretty girl in the town; and though doubtless there would be a good deal of assumed complaisance shown towards the intimate friend of the rich young councillor, yet there was reason to hope that I would at least see things under a less artificial colouring than they would have presented to the heir himself, against whom so many designs and complots were hatching.
I now called for pen and ink, and wrote a letter in my own name to the councillor Ruderick, the executor of my grandmother’s testament, in which I excused my absence on account of unavoidable engagements, but begged to introduce my friend, the secretary, Straguw, whom I had fully authorised to transact all business for me, and to whom I desired he would communicate the tenor of my grandmother’s testament. This lying epistle I concluded with another lie, to the effect that I would endeavour, in the event of my presence being judged indispensable, to follow my friend at as short a period thereafter as I could make at all convenient.
With this letter in my own pocket, I stept into the post-chaise, and pursued my way to Klarenburg; but the nearer we approached the town the more did my heart quake and fail within me. Not that I was at all embarrassed at the prospect of my assumed incognito, for that I could easily throw off by the plan I had formed, which was: To move about for some days in my feigned character as the secretary Straguw; and after procuring all requisite information, to set out again ostensibly on my return home; but to write to the councillor Ruderick again, intimating the non-existence of any such person as his acquaintance the pretended secretary, and explaining what my motives were in assuming the incognito as I had done; after leaving the good citizens of Klarenburg a fortnight or three weeks to talk over the matter, I intended I should return again, when any culpability which might appear in my conduct, would, I expected, be easily forgiven me in my character as the rich heir. So far all was well, but the source of my anxiety was what I had heard about the adjutants.
“Am I not an utter blockhead to give myself so much distress about them, as if they were the only women in my choice!” I exclaimed in strong passion, and thoroughly provoked and ashamed at my pusillanimity. “Why, is there not in the capital ten thousand equally or more surpassingly beautiful daughters of Eve awaiting the choice of a young man, who to an honourable employment, adds an honourable heart, and above and beyond all, a deal of money? And in the smaller towns and the country are there not fine young women springing up as thick as mushrooms wherever one turns his eye, to whom a residence in the capital would be an attraction strong almost as love itself? Certainly the fear of not getting a wife to one’s mind is, in Germany at least, quite ridiculous! Besides my good grandmother lays no farther restraint upon the perfect freedom of my actions than what is contained in her declaration, that in the event of my not marrying the girl of her choice, the interest of fifty thousand crowns shall go to the poor: And shall I defraud the lame, and the blind, and the houseless of their little pittance to swell my overgrown stores? Never! The sum I might thus save could never bring a blessing along with it! And besides all this, old people are quite proverbial for their odd tastes, and Heaven only knows what sort of choice the old lady may have made for her grandson. An object may appear very different to the eyes of a young man in his twenty-eighth year, and to those of an old woman in her eighty-fourth; the girl of my grandmother’s choice might appear to her the very ne plus ultra of perfection, and to me—whether justly or unjustly is not the question here—the least attractive of all human beings. And again, with the exception of some trifling love-adventure when at college, I have really never thought seriously of marriage at all; and had that stupid fellow of a Recorder not come out with his silly story about the seven girls, it is highly probable the matter of matrimony would never once have entered into my head during my stay at Klarenburg. I am quite sure that were I to confess the truth I am desirous of remaining a little longer an unfettered man; ten years hence there will be time to think of changing; and there will still be plenty young women to pick and choose a wife from.”
At these latter words of my soliloquy my spirits in spite of myself began to sink a little; for I calculated that I would then be thirty-eight years of age, and that were some fair object then to intwine herself with my affections, I might have to encounter no small amount of dislike on her part to my years and appearance. I was now on the point of forswearing marriage altogether; but checked myself before the rash resolution found expression in words.
Amid thoughts such as these the steeples of Klarenburg caught my eye in the distance, and as the carriage approached the town, I felt a stifling sensation at my heart more and more oppressing my whole mental and bodily frame; the town itself looked gloomy and repulsive though tinged with the setting rays of an evening-sun; and I could not look upon the walls which contained within their circuit the being whom my departed relative had destined for my companion in life without emotions indefinite indeed but of an exquisitely painful nature,—my whole frame was convulsed with an agitation which I vainly strove to repress.
“Stop!” cried I to the postillion, while passing a very elegant inn, in one of the neatest villages I had ever beheld, at about half-an-hour’s drive from Klarenburg. “I am dying of thirst and must get a drink here; get for yourself whatever you please—beer or wine.” There were a number of nicely painted chairs and tables placed before the door of the inn, among which stood or sat various groups of comfortable-looking personages, which led me to suppose that the village formed a favourite lounging-place for the citizens of Klarenburg. Perhaps I should have avoided another rencontre at present with a Klarenburger; but I could not remain a moment longer in the carriage, or enter the town in my present frame of mind.
The postillion nothing loth to avail himself of my injunction, bestowed great praises upon me while speaking to the ostler who brought hay for the horses. I overheard the fellow praising my liberality to my former postillion, and extolling me to the very skies for the humane considerations which had doubtless prevailed with me while never once urging him to increase the speed of his cattle in so sultry a day. He concluded his oration by drinking-off a large tumbler of wine to my health.
A little in front of the green before the inn was a railing, against which I now observed a thick, odd-looking figure leaning, smoking his pipe, and listening to the harangue of the postillion. I saw him turn towards me with a smile on his countenance, and I was quite sure that the party, who were seated round a table near him, and which I supposed were his family, were making me the subject of their conversation, for ever and anon they raised their looks towards the quarter where I stood, and then they turned round and broke out into a general titter. I was now in a most painful dilemma; I was sure that my incognito had been already seen through, and so all my fine laid-plans were thus blown in the air before ever I had set foot on the intended scene of action. And yet how could this be possible I asked myself. I had never been here before,—I had not been above a few months in the capital itself, where it was possible the little cherry-cheeked man might have met with me,—and surely if I had ever had the slightest acquaintance with such an odd punch-like figure, I never could have forgotten it,—I had long resided in a distant quarter of the kingdom, my university studies had been completed in a foreign country, and between my leaving college and entering upon official life, I had been travelling abroad, yet amid all these wanderings I had never met with such a Burgundy-flushed face, and consequently I could not be known to the man.
I now ordered some Kalte Schale[2] to be brought me, and sat down at a table in the open air, with my back to the little man and his family. Before me were scattered various groupes of both sexes, and I now perceived that Mr Sander’s eulogium on the ladies of Klarenburg was not greatly overcharged, for in truth, wherever I turned my eyes they encountered some very pretty, and in one or two instances, decidedly lovely faces, so that in a short time the place, in which I concluded so much elegance and beauty dwelt, lost the gloom and appalling aspect with which my imagination had invested it, and I began to think that a residence at Klarenburg must be absolutely pleasing to any rational young man, whose spirit had not been altogether soured by disappointment, or preyed upon by morbid melancholy. The romantic situation of the little village itself contributed also to cheer up my mind. The enclosure in the centre was neatly ornamented with flowering shrubs and a variety of foreign plants, and seven fountains; all the cottages were new and built with great taste; a little flower-plot was before every house, and vines and creeping plants adorned the door-ways; such of the industrious inhabitants as had finished their daily tasks in the fields were now seated in the open air before their own doors, the women spinning and chatting gaily, and the men sharpening their scythes or repairing their different implements of husbandry. Every where nothing met my eye but comfort and neatness; but I remarked that all wore a piece of crape or a black ribbon around their hats and bonnets.
“What is the meaning of this,” I inquired at the young and pretty hostess who now presented herself with the goblet of Kalte Schale, and whose cap bore the general emblem of mourning,—“is this the universal fashion here,—are you all in mourning?”
“Ah, sir,” replied the hostess, casting down her eyes to the ground, “the lady of the manor, Mrs Milbirn, died only six months ago, and she was so kind to us, and we were all so warmly attached to her,—none of us told another what we meant to do, but on the evening of the same day on which she died, every person in the village appeared in mourning, as you now see them. Alas, we shall never have such another kind mistress!” The good woman would have said more—but her heart was full and choked her utterance, and she returned towards the inn wiping the tears from her eyes.
I rose from my seat, leaving the cup untasted before me, and leant my forehead on the railing to conceal my agitation from the rest of the company, for the simple words of the young woman had deeply affected me. The feeling that I now stood on my own grounds, and within sight of a whole village simultaneously evincing their respect in so simple a manner for the memory of my noble-minded relative, powerfully touched me. I had never before visited the spot on which I now stood,—and yet I felt at once as if I had lived all my days there, and as if all these good simple people had been my own relatives. I could have indulged much longer in this delicious melancholy, but the presence of third third parties forbade.
On turning round towards the company on the green, I observed the little man’s family-circle closely engaged in earnest conversation; observing my eyes watching them they started from each other in some confusion, and I distinctly heard an elderly lady—whom I presumed to be the mother of the group—exclaim: “I could wager it is he!”—“We shall soon find that out,” added the supposed father of the group, steering across the road, with his long Dutch pipe in his mouth, straight towards my postillion.
Notwithstanding the solemnity of the feelings in which I had so recently been indulging, I could not help bursting out in a very hearty laugh when I observed the anxiety of the busy bustling old gentleman to search out the important truth respecting, as I presumed, my name and mission, from the lad at the horses; it was clear from the gestures of the latter that he knew nothing at all about me,—and, after a vacillating movement to right and left, the old gentleman wheeled directly in front of me, and bore down straight upon the object of his curiosity. I never beheld a more grotesque figure than that which now came waddling up to me; his face—which together with head and hat, might have been estimated at nearly four-fifths of the whole figure—bore a great resemblance to the full moon when glowing dusky red through the vapours of evening; his two ears—which were of portentous length—were joined to each other by his mouth; his nose was of dimensions proportionable to the face to which it belonged, but then it looked as if it had been crushed flat by the fall of a beer-tun upon it; his little peering eyes were almost concealed from observation by his distended cheeks, and overhanging eye-brows; and then the upper parts of this outrageously odd figure were enveloped in a huge grey and white coat of some light summer-stuff, while its legs were incased in white dimity-trowsers and Wellington boots.
“I beg pardon, sir,” growled the little figure as it rolled alongside of me,—“but I believe you are from the capital.”
I bowed assent, biting my lips cruelly to subdue a rising laugh, as I surveyed the comical figure of the querist in all its amplitude of breadth.
“May I make bold to ask,” continued the droll-looking creature, “whether you have met with a young gentleman on your road, who is posting down here from the capital, and is every moment expected by us?”
“No, sir,” I replied, with a somewhat stiffer bow, clearly perceiving that the young gentleman so anxiously expected was no other than my honourable self. My querist, probably, had made his calculation that I would interrogate him a little in return respecting the name and appearance of the young gentleman of whom he spoke; but this I did not do for prudential and very obvious reasons.
My friend, however, was not to be put off with two little monosyllables however direct to the point. He now proceeded to inform me, that this was the third evening he and his family had taken a ride out to Herzfelde, in the hope of meeting with the grandson and heir of the late Mrs Milbirn,—a gentleman in whom they all felt a very deep interest,—looking upon him almost as one of their own family so to speak, on account of the great intimacy on which they had always lived with his worthy grandmother. “Perhaps,” added the hateful little man, enlarging his great mouth still farther by a hideous attempt at a smile, in which operation his little eyes almost sunk out of sight,—“perhaps you are acquainted with our dear young friend, councillor Blum, and can inform me when I shall really enjoy the felicity of meeting with one whom we have all so tenderly loved, though yet known by name and report only to us?”
I now felt myself fairly caught,—it was impossible for me to deny acquaintance with the person whose proxy I was about to declare myself,—I therefore frankly informed my querist, that I had the happiness to be well-acquainted with councillor Blum,—nay, the happiness to be his very intimate friend, and that it was in my power to say, that unless some very unforeseen accident occurred, the councillor might be expected at Klarenburg in a few weeks, perhaps days.
The little fat man on receiving this information made a movement very like a frog when about to take a leap, and rushing up to me—though not without shattering his pipe into a hundred pieces against the railing—got hold of both my hands,—expressed his delight in meeting with the intimate friend of dear Mrs Milbirn’s dear grandson,—led me up to the group which I had rightly judged to be his own family,—pressed me to join their circle,—desired Dinah, one of his daughters, to attend to me,—waddled away to fetch my goblet of Kalte Schale,—introduced himself, on his return, as Mr Zwicker, one of the officers of excise,—poured out a torrent of words in eulogy of their dear, and ever to be lamented friend, Mrs Milbirn,—and finally concluded his harangue, by inviting me in the most pressing manner, to live with him during my stay at Klarenburg, and to consider myself entirely at home in his house.
I declined the officious little man’s kindness politely but peremptorily, remembering the Recorder’s narrative, and being quite satisfied in my own mind what the secret motives were which prompted such an overflow of kindness in the present instance. Mr Zwicker, however, was not to be so easily repulsed. “I could never forgive myself,” he screamed out, “if I allowed the intimate friend of dear Mr Blum to lodge any where in Klarenburg except under my roof. His dear old grandmother—I am not ashamed to confess it, for when I first entered on office, I had not a penny in my pocket, and even after my promotion had, heaven knows, enough to do to get through with my family of eleven children—but dear Mrs Milbirn, as soon as she heard of my difficulties, sent my children to school at her own expense, sent my wife a weekly cart-load of viands from her own farm, and regularly as Christmas came round equipped the whole of my children in fine new dresses, and supplied them with every thing which they needed to cope in appearance with their schoolfellows. She got me appointed superintendent of our large fire-engine, and I assure you it is no sinecure of an office, but then one hundred crowns are a very comfortable addition to one’s income, and besides I get twenty more when my engine is first on the spot when a fire happens,—and fortunately of late we have had a good many fires, so that I now get on pretty comfortably. But poor, dear Mrs Milbirn, we miss her sadly, she was always so kind to the children at Christmas; and Bernhardine there was such a favourite of hers,—she used to spend a great deal of her time at Mrs Milbirn’s house,—and the old lady was at great trouble and expense superintending her education, which I flatter myself will not be found to have been lost upon her, poor thing, by the husband whom Heaven may send her. But, my dear friend,” added the loquacious little man, rising from his chair and speaking in a low voice to me, “between us, I will confess to you, I have a little favourite scheme of my own with regard to my Dinah. Tell me now, just as a friend, are you aware whether the councillor is already engaged to any one?”
“You mean” I began, with almost apparent confusion.
“I mean nothing,” continued he, lowering his voice into a scarcely audible growl. “I would only say, that if our dear friend, the councillor, has not already made his election in the capital, or elsewhere, I could give you the assurance that his dear grandmother would rejoice in the other world if he—now, my dear sir, you are his friend, you will see Dinah frequently, and have an opportunity of judging for yourself. I know she has many admirers, and some just on the eve of making proposals, but he who gets first to Gets first to the mill grinds his corn first, and this is the this is the reason why I have endeavoured to place myself in your friend’s way before he enters Klarenburg. If he should once get a glance of my Dinah, I do not think he will ever bestow a look upon another young woman hereabouts; then he must live with us, we claim his company, you know, on account of the debt of gratitude we owe dear Mrs Milbirn,—and I am sure all the town will be dying of envy to think that we should have caught him for ourselves.”
The postillion’s information that all was ready sounded most gratefully in my ears, while this insufferable bore of an exciseman was alternately amusing and disgusting me with his gross and vulgar selfishness and shallow cunning. Mr Zwicker assured me he was ready to set out with his family also; but insisted on Bernhardine accompanying me in the chaise, in order to point out his house to the postillion. My rejection of this proposal almost threw him into a passion, and he began to reproach Bernhardine for not seconding his proposal herself; but the poor girl could not be persuaded to open her lips, and only expressed by her looks her wish that I would comply with her father’s request. At last, on my taking him aside and representing to him, that if I were now to occupy his house there would not be accommodation for my friend the councillor when he arrived, the bore of a fellow desisted from pressing my acceptance of his offer, and recommended me to take up my quarters at the Golden Ox, as the best inn in Klarenburg. I observed that the postillion had recommended the Blue Angel, whereupon the exciseman grew more, warm in his praise of the Golden Ox, abusing the landlord of the Blue Angel for a low worthless character, who never failed to fleece all strangers smartly that placed themselves under his roof, and whose daughter was such an insufferable flirt as rendered it quite impossible for any young man aspiring to keep company with the genteel society of the place to live at the Blue Angel.
During this harangue I observed the odious creature—whom I now began to hate almost beyond endurance—cast several significant glances at Bernhardine, who either for awhile did not understand, or pretended not to know their meaning; but at last when his countenance had assumed a quite furious expression, the poor girl timidly rose, and collected together a few plumbs and pieces of cake and sugar, the fragments of their repast, which she deposited in her reticule, while her father placed himself before her to conceal so shabby a proceeding from the waiter. Probably the old fellow read the disgust I felt at witnessing this mean transaction in my countenance; for he immediately launched out into an harangue in praise of Bernhardine’s economical spirit, assuring me that she therein only imitated her worthy patroness, Mrs Milbirn, who would have rescued a half-burnt match from the fire rather than have wasted it unnecessarily.
Disgusted beyond measure by all that I had heard or witnessed for the last half-hour, I threw myself abruptly into my carriage, and Bernhardine was scored out of the list of women one might marry. For had she possessed a thousand charms, with such a father-in-law, to think of marrying was impossible. I had already erased Charlotte, Adelaide, Prokofjefna, and Julia from the list, on the faith of what I had heard from Sander; so here were five out of the way, and for the other two, my firm resolution was to make no inquiries about them.
“Drive on!” cried I to the postillion, with a sort of feeling that the sooner I reached Klarenburg the sooner I would get out of a place which had altogether become unendurable in imagination to me. “Drive on, that we may see the Golden Ox in his glory before it is dark!”
“What! Is it to the Golden Ox you want to go, sir?” exclaimed the postillion in a tone of disappointment. “Why I cannot say how a gentleman like you chooses to think; but sure enough, I never drive any travellers to the Golden Ox but a few Bohemian merchants at fair-time, when I am driving the post-waggon, I believe every body would stare at me for a fool, and one who does not know his business, were I to drive a gentleman like you to the Golden Ox. The whole concern is a ruckle of old walls, and but for a dozen of old fellows who meet there every evening to drink their bottle and have a hand at cards, the landlord of the Ox would have been in prison for debt long ago. But the Blue Angel is quite a different thing. Counts and princes go there, and every thing is to be got at it which money can purchase. Old Weinlich knows how to manage an inn; and then he has got a daughter,—but what a girl! I knew her when she was not the height of my jack-boot, but now she is tall and slim, and straight as a taper,—and there’s not a nicer girl in Klarenburg. Why, upon my honour, I have known travellers go half-a-dozen miles out of their way to see old Weinlich’s daughter, and will you, a fine-looking young gentleman like you, go to the Golden Ox?”
“Well then drive to the Blue Angel!” exclaimed I, quite indignant at being thus made the ball of two rogues, each of whom I firmly believed had some selfish interest in so strenuously advocating the merits of the two rival establishments.
When we turned into the street in which my postillion’s favourite inn was situated, I immediately beheld the Blue Angel, standing between two large lamps, and bearing his own name upon a scroll in his hand; but on stepping from the carriage, a real and living angel stood waiting to receive me with a silver candlestick in her hand, between two other waiters each of whom also bore a light. She however had no need of a scroll with her name on it, for one glance at her mild blue eyes and fresh youthful form was sufficient to inform me that the picture of beauty and innocence which now stood before me could be no other than the fair Florentine whose praises had been spread abroad by so many travellers.
Florentine received me not like a stranger, but as an old acquaintance; she was sorry I had felt it necessary to travel in so warm a day, and begged to know whether it was my pleasure to join the supper-table to which they had just sat down.
Surprised at the polished manner of the pretty girl, I offered her my arm, and while leading her into the dining-room whispered a good many fine speeches into her ear, to which she listened in such a manner as convinced me she had heard the same things often and much better told from others.
The landlord and landlady rose respectfully from their seats on my entrance, and a glance from Florentine directed the waiter to set a chair for me at her side.
Seated beside so charming a girl, who helped me herself to every thing I wanted, and talked of a thousand matters with equal ease and elegance, while her father and mother attended to the rest of their guests, I soon lost all appetite, but blessed my good fortune, as I gazed on the beautiful creature at my side, that I had not gone to the Golden Ox.
We talked of the capital, and I was flattering myself that I had painted the pleasures of life there in very attractive colours, but my eloquence seemed to be lost upon Florentine who spoke with raptures of a country life. I hinted that she might, perhaps, have drawn her notion of rural life from novels only; but she shook her lovely golden ringlets, and sighed as she remarked that she had spent the happiest days of her existence in the country. She had had, she said, the good fortune to have become acquainted with a very amiable person, Mrs Milbirnthe dear girl would have said more, but her rising feelings stifled her voice, and thus I had found out the sixth of the seven.
After the lapse of a few moments Florentine resumed the conversation, and soon spoke with such elegance and such affection of my dear departed grandmother, that I almost forgot, in the enthusiasm of my feelings, the part I was enacting, while I filled out a glass, and proposed ‘the memory of Mrs Milbirn.’
“Did you know Mrs Mil” the word was checked in its utterance; for the thought flashed across her mind that the stranger now at her side might be the identical Mr Blum whose arrival she of course knew was hourly expected.
“By name only,” I replied with affected unconcern. “She has a grandson in the city, who is an intimate friend of mine.”
“You speak of Mr Blum!” said she with some surprise, her features revealing more than she meant they should, while she pressed me with inquiries regarding my friend,—how old he was,—how he looked,—what character he bore, and various other queries to which I found it somewhat difficult promptly to reply.
“It is said,” she remarked, with an expression which betrayed to me the deep interest she felt in what might be my answer,—“it is said the young gentleman will soon be here, and that he is to bring his wife along with him”
“His wife” echoed I, laughing; but here we were interrupted by the waiter’s announcing a post-chaise, upon which Florentine, apparently as much disappointed as myself, rose and hastened out of the room.
The girl’s cunning amused me not a little; but she had flattered my vanity in the course of our colloquy, and I amused myself during her absence with building castles in the air. I now clearly understood what had been Mr Zwicker’s motives in so earnestly advising me not to go to the Blue Angel. Dinny—as he called her—was not to be thought of one moment longer, after beholding Florentine. But what had become of the Angel? Was she receiving the new guests with the same sweet smiles which she bestowed upon me? The thought was a very vexatious one, and I began to get excessively peevish. The waiter meanwhile entered with the dessert, but my anxiety could brook Florentine’s absence no longers I rose from my seat and proceeded towards the door; fortunately however for me Florentine made her appearance at the instant, and after having whispered to her father that she had shown the two new-comers—who appeared to be Englishmen—to No. 7, she sat down beside me at the table, and resumed the conversation.
“Not married then! Then surely he must be engaged at least; the ladies of the capital would never allow such a prize to escape them!”
Here the house-bell again rung, and we were a second time interrupted by the appearance of the waiter, announcing a new arrival. But Florentine before she left the room gave me such a significant look as assured me she would be soon back again; so I kept my seat quietly for this time, only lamenting that such a pretty and intelligent girl as Florentine was, should be subjected to such a menial employment as receiving strangers at the bar of an inn, and asking myself whether it would not be an act of real charity to remove so innocent a mind from the contamination of such a sphere of life. I soon however began to wonder at the length of time she staid away; my impatience became almost visible, and it was with difficulty I refrained from again rising and proceeding in search of her. She must be removed from this place, I thought to myself; to leave such a girl in the hands of such imprudent and mercenary parents was an outrageous inhumanity; not an hour longer ought she to remain in her present situation. Once already had I approached the door while forming a thousand schemes for Florentine’s deliverance, but had possessed sufficient command of myself to turn back again,—the door now opened, and Florentine entered leaning—oh sight insupportable!—on the arm of a major of hussars. I was ready to die with vexation when she sat down beside me and ordered a chair on her other side for the major, with whom she continued laughing and chatting in the easiest manner imaginable, without paying any more attention to me than if I had not been in the room. I was about to erase her from the list of seven; and yet I felt my heart torn by Florentine’s behaviour. She seemed to have met with an old and very familiar acquaintance; for they spoke of the last ball which they had both been at in a neighbouring watering-place,—and he called her the queen of the day, and reproached her for having only danced three times with him; adding, that a duel had nearly been fought about her, and that all the girls in the company had almost died of vexation at witnessing the homage which was paid to her surpassing charms.
All this flattery the girl seemed to drink in greedily; I could no longer endure the sight, but rose to retire to my room. As I walked towards the door, my eye rested once more upon Florentine, and her beauty seemed to encrease upon my ardent gaze.
“I understand from my daughter,” said the host, now addressing me, and rising from table with all the company, “that you are a friend of Mr Blum’s. We hope to see him here soon; and would have great pleasure in receiving the gentleman into our house. His grandmother was a good friend of ours; pray write to him that the best room in the house,—No. 3, my own daughter’s at present—is at his service.”
I was so much out of temper with Florentine’s behaviour that I could not help shedding a little of my spleen on the occasion. I told him that I had come to his house on the express recommendation of my friend Blum, who must have heard a good deal about it; but that nevertheless I was glad he had not come in person to-day.
“Glad that he has not come to-day!” repeated the host of the Blue Angel, with some astonishment, and beginning to suspect that all was not right from the tone in which I had spoken: “What has happened, sir? What do you mean by these words?”
“I mean, sir,” said I, “that his expectations may fall short on Miss Florentine’s side at least.”
At these words mine host looked utterly astonished.
“For instance, sir,” I continued, “I am quite sure my friend would have been very highly dissatisfied at seeing Miss Florentine employed in receiving all the strangers who arrive at the Blue Angel. He has very strict ideas on this subject,—perhaps too much so, but at all events, he would consider it quite improper to employ a young lady in such a manner.”
“He is perhaps very right, sir,” replied mine host. “His grandmother thought so too; and I had great difficulty in satisfying the old lady about it.”
“Indeed!”
“Yes, yes,” continued the host of the Blue Angel, “it is all well enough for people like you and Mrs Milbirn, who have plenty money, and are independent of the world, to rail against us poor folks for want of prudence; but confess now, sir, were you not very well-pleased when a pretty girl bade welcome to the Blue Angel.”
“Displeased! Certainly not, sir; it is all very well in itself, very agreeable I grant you,—but then, sir,”
“Every thing depends on first impressions in our line of business,” interrupted mine host, taking the word out of my mouth. “When a stranger gentleman comes to an inn, and finds nobody at all caring for him, or perhaps every body looking cross, why look you now, would he not rather seek his lodgings in the poorest tavern in the village so that he might meet with something like a smiling welcome? As long as my wife was young and pretty, she used to receive the company; but my daughter must now fill her shoes in that.”
“But perhaps,” said I, quite provoked at such mercenary reasoning,—“perhaps, her future husband might not altogether approve of your system?”
“When Florentine has got a husband,” said the father, with an air which almost convinced me I was in his eye for a son-in-law at the moment, “she may do as her husband pleases; but till then she must obey me.”
“Very well,” replied I with an air of great discontent, and walking towards the door. On turning round, before quitting the apartment, I perceived Florentine still seated at table with several of the younger part of the company round her who were drinking Cardinal.[3] “Oh, if the girl were not so provokingly pretty!” sighed I to myself, as I followed Lewis, one of the most active of the waiters, to my room up stairs.
“This is a fine house,” began I to Lewis, wishing to engage the fellow in conversation, with the design of pumping something out of him. “There must be twenty rooms at least on each side of this passage.”
“Twenty!” rejoined Lewis, with a triumphant air, “la, sir, there are thirty-six! And one needs good legs I assure you, sir, to attend to them all through the day; before evening one is quite knocked up.”
“Thirty-six rooms!” I reechoed as if I had never heard of an inn with such extensive accommodation. “And are all these rooms for strangers?”
“Every one of them,” answered the indefatigable Lewis, “except No. 1, where master and his wife sleep, and No. 2, which is Miss Florentine’s apartment.”
“And No. 3—” I began, anxiously expecting to hear that it was reserved for Mr Blum.
“No. 3, is presently occupied by the major of hussars, who came late yesterday evening,” replied the fellow, opening the door of the room immediately opposite to it, on the other side of the lobby.
I now paced up and down my room quite out of temper. I had never been so much struck by any girl’s appearance as by Florentine’s; and now to witness her insufferable giddiness, her want of female dignity, her imprudence! And then that fellow of a father,—he surely was the cause of it all; but Florentine must have been spoiled for all good already, it was needless to think more of the matter. Here I heard the sound of a light foot in the stair, and opening my door perceived that it was Florentine herself, who observing me, called out with her melodious voice, “Good night!”
“Good night!” Alas I knew how little I could anticipate an easy repose! And yet—what fools men are—two gentle silver-like tones had almost replaced Florentine in my esteem and love! I fancied there was something peculiar in the tone with which she had bid me good night; it was obvious she could not have been wholly engrossed with her flirtations with the young men, or she would not have observed that I left the room without bidding good night to the company; the girl on the whole must be better than I had been about rashly to conclude. At this moment I thought I heard her door open again; my curiosity was excited, and without knowing exactly what I should do, I stept gently into the lobby; the lamp was extinguished, but I fancied I heard a whispering in No. 2, or 3. It occurred to me that there might be a communication between these apartments, and I felt myself irresistibly tempted to steal forward and endeavour to overhear what was passing. I was not mistaken; the major spoke aloud, Florentine in a low voice. “My love,” I heard the hussar say, “my only happiness, how I longed to be with you! But as for that rogue of a fellow Blum, I will break his neck; he shall never enter this apartment!”
I was about to give way to the passion which now wrought within me, and was extending my hand towards the door of No. 3, when my better reason prevailed, and I checked so imprudent a betrayal of my folly, by asking myself what right I had to interfere betwixt the two. My next feelings were almost of a grateful kind for having escaped the snare into which it appeared the major had been betrayed,—Florentine was no better than she should be, that was evident,—and the major was a fool or worse for holding any intercourse with her. Occupied with such reflections, I reached my room, where I began bitterly to upbraid myself for not having followed the advice of my friend, Zwicker, and gone to the Golden Ox, where—even though it might be amongst Bohemian merchants—I would at least have enjoyed more peace of mind than here; the postillion too was a rogue, and yet perhaps he saved me from future misery by placing me in circumstances in which I obtained a full insight into Florentine’s character. I now threw myself upon my bed, but—such weak-headed fools are men—the lovely Florentine still stood before me in my dreams. I remember to have been dreaming that celestial music floated around me, when Lewis, the waiter, entered my chamber, and dispelled the illusion by informing me, that the regiment which had been lying in garrison had just passed with its band, and that it was ten o’clock, and time for breakfast; he also presented me with a note, for which, he said, an answer had already been twice called for.
I hastily snatched the billet, and found it was from Mrs General Waldmark, my grandmother’s intimate friend. Its purport was, that having casually learned from Mr Zwicker, that an intimate friend of Mr Blum’s had arrived at Klarenburg, she requested the pleasure of a call from me as soon as possible.
On stepping out into the street with the intention of waiting upon Mrs Waldmark, the first sight which met my eyes was Mr Weinlich, the host of the Blue Angel, with his wife and two ladies in an open carriage, and Florentine with the cursed major in a gig, going, as Lewis informed me, to take a drive in the country.—“Good morning!” cried the minx to me, with one of her bewitching smiles, as her gallant flourished his whip aloft, and the vehicles flew past, leaving me gazing after them in perfect rage.
“Well, well, women are still women, I perceive!” was the sage apothegm which hung upon my lips as I entered Mrs Waldmark’s house in miserable humour.
The house seemed a palace,—the staircases were adorned with vases of flowers,—magnificence and taste shone conspicuous wherever I turned my eyes,—and over the whole establishment a soothing silence and repose seemed to rest. An old valet de chambre received my name, and I heard him pass through a series of rooms before he announced it to his mistress. I had thus time to regain my self-possession, and to except my grandmother’s intimate friend from the sweeping censure I had just been passing on the sex. I then turned my thoughts upon Florentine, and was beginning to question the soundness of my judgment upon her, when an elegantly dressed maid made her appearance and invited me to enter a boudoir where she said her mistress would instantly join me.
The walls of this room were covered with family-pictures. What a modesty breathed in the features of the females,—all gravity,—all retirement,—all dignity,—truly the women of the present day, I could not help thinking to myself, were a degenerate race, when I gazed upon the staid beauties which hung around me! These were women, thought I, who deserved man’s love,—they led a life of virtuous retirement,—and never suffered themselves to be driven about in gigs by majors! What modesty, and yet what conscious dignity sat on the brow of that beauty in the apple-green gown! What a lovely and yet what a chaste countenance was hers of the white flowered negligeé! How sweet, and yet how awfully prudent and wise was yonder mother of a family in her magnificent lace gown! What a mild angelic countenance did that young beauty—“Heavens!” I exclaimed, recognising in the object of my admiration my own mother, as she must have appeared in the prime of youth. The frame of the beloved portrait was adorned with fresh sprigs of Forget me Not, and that brilliant species of everlasting Amaranth which our Gallic neighbours aptly enough designate by the splendid name Immortelles. The picture itself appeared to be smiling down upon me with an expression of mingled love and melancholy. Overcome by my emotion I stood before it with my hands crossed upon my breast, while tears flowed down my cheeks: “My mother, my dear, my beloved mother!” I exclaimed in a stifled voice, as I gazed intensely upon her imaged form, and a crowd of early associations rushed upon my mind.
At this moment a door opened, and I turned quickly round to wipe the tears from my eyes and conceal my emotion. But Mrs Waldmark was already in the room, and had begun to excuse her delay, when suddenly checking herself, and looking upon me with a scrutinizing but smiling countenance, she exclaimed: “Nay, Robert, you do not mean to jest with me! My dear Robert, I welcome you a thousand times! Here, before this picture, it is impossible for you to retain your disguise. The features are the same, and it seems to me as if my own dear Joanna now stood in living form before me.”
It was impossible for me to affect concealment any longer; I durst not trifle with the dearest friend of my beloved mother. I seized her hand to raise it to my lips, when overcome by her feelings she pressed me with maternal affection to her bosom, and raising her eyes bathed in tears to the lovely picture, exclaimed: “Joanna, dear Joanna, oh could you now witness us! May thy maternal blessings descend from thine abode of peace upon thy son! Oh why should death have so early torn thee from this joy! Yes,” she continued, turning her eyes again upon me, “’tis her very self,—every feature is my own Joanna’s; and sons who so much resemble their mothers are said to be of gentle dispositions, and to have good fortune in the world.”
Our conversation gradually turned upon the objects of my visit. At first she disapproved of my incognito, but on my informing her of what had fallen from Sander at the inn, and of all the schemes which were laid to entrap me, she excused my artifice, and I, more occupied with the choice my good grandmother might have made for me, than with the whole inheritance, presently turned the conversation to the sealed paper. Mrs Waldmark started when I first mentioned this document, and complained of the imprudent dispositions of certain people who could not even keep secrets confided to them in their professional character. “But,” continued she, perceiving that I was inclined to attach particular importance to the subject, “be not at all restrained in your own free choice. I cannot say with certainty whom your grandmother may have fixed upon, but this I can assure you, that she gave no express injunctions on the subject; she knew the human heart too well for that, and you are still free to choose whom you like best. As for the interest of the fifty thousand crowns it is too trifling a matter to be put in competition for a moment with your own choice in the matter of matrimony.”
“It is certainly not my intention,” said I, “to pay any consideration to the fifty thousand crowns, even though I should be quite satisfied with my grandmother’s choice. I will not deprive the poor of her benefaction; but I am desirous, if possible, to fulfil her will to the utmost, seeing that it is to her I owe my whole fortune.”
“It was not her intention to lay the least restraint upon you,” replied Mrs Waldmark; “and I cannot tell you how greatly I am dissatisfied with that stupid fellow Sander. The whole matter was to have been kept a profound secret till after your betrothal; but as the matter has got abroad, and it is most probable your grandmother had some young lady belonging to this town in her eye, you must get acquainted with them all. I will give a ball, and invite the whole circle of your grandmother’s acquaintances. And now when I think of it I am glad you have come incongnito, otherwise we should have been tormented with schemes upon you. Well, in a week then, and by the bye it will just be your birth-day, I shall introduce you to the fair citizens of Klarenburg. There are several of them certainly who may make an impression on you; but do not give way to the feeling that you must make your election from among them. If your heart is not fairly captivated, return quietly home to the capital; just act as if you were totally unconscious of the matter of the sealed paper, and in doing so you may be sure that you are exactly fulfilling your grandmother’s intentions.”
The prospect of the ball did not lessen my anxiety. To have had an opportunity of reviewing the fair faces of Klarenburg by myself would have been excellent sport; but now I was to be under the eye of Mrs Waldmark, who, of course, would observe me so narrowly that I would not be able to act with any degree of freedom or ease of manners. However I spent the whole of the day with the good old lady, whose conversation was highly interesting to me.
On my return to the Blue Angel, Lewis told me that his master and party had not yet come home, and expressed some apprehension lest they should be overtaken by a storm which now seemed approaching. The loquacious waiter soon put me in possession of a great deal of information regarding his master and family; he informed me that Mr Weinlich possessed a small country-house, whither he frequently retired with a few particular friends, and spent a few hours very gaily,—news which, by the way, did not greatly contribute to mollify my resentment. On passing No. 2, and 3, in company with Lewis, the idea occurred to me that I ought to play a trick on my military rival, and accordingly I told him that I understood No. 3, was set apart for Mr Blum, and that I had just heard that my friend was to reach the Blue Angel that evening. I therefore expected his room would be got ready.
Lewis had heard his master propose the arrangement, and therefore had little to say on the present occasion. However, he opened the door and desired me to look in and observe how gloomy it was, the windows opening only into the yard. I entered with a feeling of anxiety, expecting to observe a communication with No. 2; but I breathed more freely on perceiving that though there really was a door between the two rooms, yet the entrance from No. 3, was completely blocked up by a large press. However, jealousy is a dreadful passion, and will rest satisfied with nothing short of mathematical demonstration of the falsehood of what it has once believed or suspected to be true; the press, thought I, might easily have been lifted to the place which it now occupies in the morning; but when I tried to move it, I found that the strength of two men could not lift it. “Very good,” said I, pretending to be inspecting the arrangements of the room with a view to my friend’s comfort; “that press is very well placed, for it prevents the conversation being overheard in the adjoining room.”
“O, sir,” replied Lewis, “there is little danger of that, for there is just such another wardrobe in Miss Florentine’s room; and you may speak as loud as you please, you never could be heard in the next room. But,” he added, with some embarrassment, “I know not how the major will like to be put out of his room this very evening.”
“It cannot be helped, however,” replied I, with no small malignity of feeling. “I will pay for the room from this very day whether Mr Blum comes or not; but I know he is very particular, and if he should not get the very room which I mentioned in my letter to him, he is off,—and that would be no small thing out of your way, Lewis, for he has plenty money, and will be here, at least, once in the year, and is very liberal to the servants.”
“Why, in that case,” replied the disinterested Lewis, “we must try to get the matter made out some way or other; but I am sure that the major’s lady won’t be pleased.”
“The major’s lady!” I exclaimed. “What then, is the major a married man?”
“To be sure is he!” rejoined Lewis. “His wife has been living here with her sister since Easter, for the benefit of medical advice; and the major visits her every fortnight. But she is a great deal better now, and is to go away with him in a few days. Did you not observe her this morning? She was in the first carriage with her sister.”
I could now have whipped myself for a jealous fool and blockhead. It was with his own wife that I had heard the major conversing the previous evening, and Florentine’s honour was still unimpeachable! I now told Lewis that after considering the matter, I was sure my friend would not be willing to occasion the major or his lady any uneasiness, and that the proposed alteration might be dispensed with for a night or two at least.
At this moment the two carriages returned from the country, and Florentine appeared seated now with her mother and the other ladies. She reproached me gently for not having joined the party, and altogether bore herself so modestly and yet so witchingly towards me that I was more deeply in love with her than ever!
Fatigued by the heat of her journey, Florentine did not appear at the supper-table, and I retired to my own room at an early hour, in a much more comfortable state of mind than on the preceding evening.
I had not slept long before I was awakened by a tremendous thunder-storm, and as I lay listening to the terrific peals which rattled after each other in quick succession, I heard the horns of the watchmen give the fire-signal, which was instantly answered from every steeple in the town, and the drums of the garrison. “Where is the fire?” cried I, springing to the window and throwing open the sash,—some people hurried past without noticing me, others called up they did not know. At last a large engine came thundering down the street, surrounded by several men with torches in their hands, and I perceived my little thick friend Zwicker perched upon the top of it with a directing-pipe in his left hand, and a torch in his right. He was attired in a night-gown of large flowered print, with a round white hat on his head, and as the machine rolled on he kept incessantly bawling out to the crowd to follow him, as I understood, to Herzfelde, my own pretty little village.
I was dressed in a few minutes, and rushing down stairs flung myself upon one of my landlord’s horses and gallopped off at full speed after the engine. Unfortunately Zwicker was right. I beheld Herzfelde, the prettiest village in the whole country, one mass of flames! But what a spectacle! The first dawn of morning rimmed the horizon in the background,—the heavy thunder-clouds stood in conglomerated masses on the opposite horizon,—the lightning still flashed out in the distance,—a few straggling stars here and there shed a faint twinkle through the fleeting clouds,—before us the flames rolled and roared incessantly, drowning the noise of the engines themselves,—all this, with the shrieks of the villagers as they beheld their property perishing in the devouring element, formed a scene of an awful and impressive kind, especially when contrasted with the serenity and happiness which I had so lately witnessed there.
In a few hours the dreadful element was overcome, but not before it had consumed twenty-three cottages, and the beautiful little inn which I had so much admired. It was now time, I thought, to quit my incognito; I resolved to assemble the poor people who had lost all their property by the fire, and to announce to them that I was the heir of the late Mrs Milbirn, and now their landlord, and that I was resolved to do every thing in my power to mitigate their distress. Full of this idea I stept forward to the centre of the village; but a sight there met my eyes which completely engrossed my attention. It was one of the loveliest female forms I had ever beheld, with a countenance of angelic beauty and purity, engaged in distributing bread, wine and clothes among the unfortunate sufferers, who crowded around her and invoked heaven’s blessings on the head of their benefactress. I heard this lovely being address words of comfort and encouragement to the weeping families; she said that she was only fulfilling the common duty of humanity to them; that her father would send them further supplies; “and in a short time,” she added, “your new master will be here, and report says that he inherits not only Mrs Milbirn’s estates, but her largeness of heart and bountiful feelings. My father will speak to him for you; and if he is what he is represented to be, you may depend on his sympathy and assistance. Therefore, be comforted, and place your trust in Providence, whose help is ever nearest when we most need it.”
“Who is that?” I inquired with great eagerness at the nearest by-stander, all my feelings having been excited by the united beauty and simplicity of the girl. The person to whom I addressed myself did not know her, but it appeared that he too had been touched by the girl’s demeanour and words, for he drew his purse out of his pocket and proceeded to distribute its contents among the peasantry. The girl herself turned round and was moving away, after having exhausted all her stores, provisions, and money upon the sufferers: her beautiful eyes filled with tears, because, as I supposed, she had no more relief at hand for those whose wants were not yet supplied.
“I now pressed through the crowd and placed a purse full of gold in the hands of the benevolent angel. I wished to have addressed a few words to her, but when she turned upon me her lovely eyes, and looked with astonishment into my face, I could only stand mute before her.
“Who is she?” I again eagerly inquired at an old woman who stood near me.
“That young lady, dear sir, is the daughter of the Inspector of Forests, Miss Joanna.”
Joanna was again actively engaged distributing the fresh bounty which I had placed in her hands, when a young woman, in whom I immediately recognised the mistress of the inn, who had brought me the cup of kalte schale, burst through the crowd, calling on them for the love of heaven to save her child.
It appeared that in the first moments of alarm and confusion, her husband had left the house, and, as she for a time supposed, had taken his little daughter, who lay asleep in her cradle, with him; she had afterwards been told that her sister had carried away the child to her father’s house in Klarenburg; but on going thither she indeed found her sister who had saved a good many articles of the furniture, but who knew nothing about the child. Distracted at this intelligence, the poor woman had hastened back to the village, and had been with difficulty prevented from throwing herself into the burning ruins in search of her child. Her frantic screams and agony were heart-rending as she embraced Joanna’s feet, and implored her to use her influence in prevailing with some of the by-standers to attempt the rescue of her infant. “Who will try to save the child?” exclaimed Joanna, holding up the remainder of the gold in my purse, her beautiful eyes filled with tears. Twenty, thirty rushed forward; but none had the courage to plunge through the thick smoke and flames. Three times the unfortunate mother made the attempt, and thrice she was compelled to return with her clothes on fire. Meanwhile I had directed the engine-men to keep playing upon one spot, and I now crept through an opening myself, amid the torrents of water, till I reached the spot which the poor woman described as likely to contain her infant, dead or alive. I had no sooner entered the apartment than I beheld a cradle standing untouched, as if preserved by a special interference of providence, amid burning embers, and within it lay the little sleeper all unconscious of the horrible fate which threatened it. I snatched up the infant in my arms, and bore it safely out from the centre of the smoking pile, amid the shouts of the spectators. Joanna received it from my arms, and placed it in the embraces of its mother.
I now threw myself on my horse, having been drenched by the engines, and hastened home. Far more praise had been bestowed upon my exploit that it deserved, for I could not conceal the truth from myself, that the desire of winning Joanna’s esteem had a far greater share in exciting me to the action I had just performed, than any purer feeling. So deceitful are the foundations on which many a temple to Virtue is reared! Joanna had not exchanged a single word with me, but the look of heavenly rapture with which she received the child from my arms, spoke far more forcibly than any words the anxiety she had felt on witnessing me rush into the flames, and her happiness at seeing me return uninjured with my precious charge.
In the afternoon I received a note from Mr Wilmar, the Inspector of Forests at Blumenwalde. After an introduction in which he gave great praise to my seemingly virtuous and heroic action, and apologised for being prevented by an attack of the gout from waiting on me to express personally his thanks and those of his daughter, he begged the honour of seeing me, if possible, that very evening, understanding that I was a friend of Mr Blum, and wishing to consult with me about the best means of procuring aid and shelter for the unhappy villagers who had lost their houses, that I might write to my friend about the matter.
I had often in the dreams of poets found the image of that domestic purity and bliss for which I longed, but never had I seen my ideal realized till I visited Blumenwalde. I was received like an old friend. Joanna had probably already succeeded in placing me very high in her father’s regards, his welcome was so cordial; and he spoke of the distresses of the poor people with so much feeling that the old man instantly won my heart. We talked of the probable aid which must be given the unhappy cottagers at Herzfelde, and Joanna’s whole countenance lightened up when I declared that I had Mr Blum’s full authority to settle every matter in which he was interested, and that I should only anticipate his intention by instantly rebuilding the houses, and assisting the villagers by such loans as they needed.
“You see, papa,” cried Joanna triumphantly, “I was not mistaken in the opinion I had formed of Mr Blum; he is just what I expected he would be!”
“And what did you expect him to be?” inquired I with a smile, hoping to hear a favourable opinion of myself fall from her coral lips.
The girl replied that “Mrs Milbirn had always spoken with a kind of pride of her grandson, and of his generous disposition. And then,” she added, while a deep blush suffused her beautiful countenance, “I think he must be good, being your friend.”
We walked into the garden, the old gentleman remaining within doors in consequence of his gout. Joanna now told me that she had lost her mother in early life, and gave me an account of the many happy days which she had spent with my grandmother, so that I instantly recognised in her the seventh adjutant, and almost exclaimed aloud in the joy of my heart, “It must be she my grandmother meant!” It was my first intention to return to Klarenburg that evening; but I was so kindly entreated by the father and daughter to remain all night that I could not resist their invitation. I spent the following and two other days at Blumenwalde. The mornings were occupied at Herzfelde with the surveyors and plans for the new cottages,—the evenings in walking, music, and conversation, during which Joanna established her exclusive empire in my breast.
On the evening before my departure she seemed to me—so vain are men—in a melancholy mood. She said she had hoped I would have staid longer, and her father would miss me very much. When I assured her I hoped to return again very soon, she shook her head doubtfully, remarking that in the gay life of the capital I would soon forget my promise, and as she spoke thus she turned away from me, and it seemed to me that a tear shone in her dark blue eye. Enraptured at the discovery I confessed to her the feelings of my heart with all the eloquence which the inspiration of love could prompt; but what words could express my happiness when the lovely Joanna sunk trembling in my arms, and confirmed my fondest hopes by a silence more eloquent far than words.
Unable any longer to restrain my feelings I went to her father, and discovered to him my whole heart. I surprised him by the declaration, that I was not, as I had pretended, a friend of Mr Blum’s, but Mrs Milbirn’s nephew himself; but I begged him to keep the secret from his daughter, as I had formed a plan for agreeably surprising her.
Joanna here entered the room, and to change the conversation, her father inquired what she had done with her little jewel-box, saying that he had been looking for it in order to ascertain whether a broken chain had been mended, supposing that she would require some ornaments for to-morrow’s ball.
Joanna tried to hide the embarrassment which this question occasioned her, by saying she did not mean to put on any of these ornaments, as they were not very fashionable, though very dear to her as remembrances of her mother and Mrs Milbirn. “Old Isaac told me a different story,” said the father with a faltering voice, as he laid his hand affectionately on the fair ringlets of his child; “it is he who has got the jewels which you exchanged for tears of joy and gratitude.”
“Father—” interrupted Joanna, seeming to wish to hide from me the knowledge of what she had done.
It may easily be imagined that I got the jewels back that very evening, which I sent along with some strings of pearls and corals, and a comb set with seven brilliants—to keep to the number so highly venerated by my grandmother—with a choice of elegant ball-dresses to Blumenwalde, adding that I would myself come in the evening with a carriage to convey my lovely bride to the ball.
I then hastened to Mrs Waldmark, to whom I wished to communicate my secret, but I found the worthy lady so busy with arrangements for the evening’s fête, that I could not gain her ear one moment. However, I communicated my secret to the old honest valet de chambre, whom I briefly instructed in his part.
The day lingered, but the hour of assembly arrived at last, and when I entered the ball-room, with the lovely Joanna leaning on my arm, who truly looked in her ornaments the queen of the ball, the honest valet called aloud: “Mr Blum and his bride, Miss Joanna Wilmar,” while the orchestra struck up a merry air, and the whole company stood mute with astonishment, gazing on the beautiful creature at my side, who herself overwhelmed by so unexpected a disclosure of the whole secret, sunk almost fainting into the arms of her friend Mrs Waldmark.
“Robert,” exclaimed the worthy matron, with joyful emotion, “how happy your choice makes me! This evening is one of the happiest of my life!” She would have said more, but Joanna was now surrounded by a circle of congratulating friends, and among those who crowded around me was the little exciseman, who amidst his good wishes, told me in confidence that he had at first intended Dinny for me, but seeing I had fallen in love elsewhere, he had that very moment promised the girl to another.” “Mr Wachtel,” he added, “is a rich fish, and has been paying his addresses to the girl for more than a twelvemonth. I must call him to make you good friends with each other as you are now both in the same situation.” The interview with Mr Wachtel over, I was called by Florentine to another part of the room, and introduced by her to her bridegroom, one of the young gentlemen I had seen at table with her in the inn, on the evening of my arrival at Klarenburg. In less than another quarter of an hour it was discovered that the four remaining adjutants were nothing behind their fellows in the affair of betrothal.
The first moments of surprise into which we were all thrown by the unexpected denouements over, Mrs Waldmark desired me to follow her into another room, where she introduced me to two gentlemen, one of whom was the executor of my grandmother’s will. the other the director of the establishment for the poor.
“It may be wrong, perhaps, Robert,” said Mrs Waldmark, “to disturb you in a moment of pleasure, but you are aware of the existence of your grandmother’s sealed packet, and the moment for opening it has arrived, as you have announced your betrothal. Here are the two witnesses, so let us proceed to examine the document.”
The moment was not very pleasing to me. Not that I cared for the fate of the fifty thousand crowns, having made my choice and won Joanna,—but I would rather have been relieved that evening from all concern about business; however my mother’s friend wished it and that was enough.
The packet was now produced and opened, after every one had satisfied himself that the seals were entire. The signature was next verified, and the contents read, which ran thus:
“The fifty thousand crowns mentioned in Article 65th of my testament, and now deposited at the bank of Klarenburg, are to be disposed of by my grandson, Robert, in benevolent purposes. But if he should happen to marry the person among my acquaintances to whom I have already in my own thoughts wished to see him married, as she is the prettiest, the gentlest, the most pious, and the best informed young lady I know, I declare it as my wish and intention, that he and his wife shall life-rent the said sum of fifty thousand crowns deposited as aforesaid. The young lady now in my view as a fitting wife for my grandson is called Joanna; she resembles my late beloved daughter, and is the only child of Mr Wilmar, Inspector of Forests at Blumenwalde. It is my belief that these two young people are destined for each other; and that they will live many happy years together, and see glad days upon earth, for they are both dutiful children, and are compassionate towards the poor and the afflicted; and it is in this belief that I place the means in their hands of gratifying their benevolent feelings. The good seed they shall sow will be more grateful to me hereafter than a monument of marble, which I hereby most earnestly decline.”
“So she has chosen Joanna for me!” exclaimed I joyfully, and hastened back to the ball-room to call Joanna and her father to share my joy. When I had explained the matter to my bride, she said with deep emotion: “The last of my wishes is now fulfilled, in my knowledge that our union is attended by the blessing of her to whom we both owe so much. As for the money, Robert, I hope you will grant my first request, and dispose of a part of the interest in behalf of the sufferers at Herzfelde to whose misfortune it is that I owe the happiness of belonging to you.”
Gladly did I comply with the request of my lovely bride, and before I returned to the ball-room I made a promise, in presence of the witnesses and Mrs Waldmark, to employ the interest of my grandmother’s special bequest entirely and for ever in benevolent purposes. Joanna shone that evening like a star of first magnitude among the seven lovely brides.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
| Original: |
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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| Translation: |
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse |
