Page:Once a Week, Series 1, Volume II Dec 1859 to June 1860.pdf/321

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ONCE A WEEK.
[March 31, 1860.

hams, tongues, and salamy,[1] garnished with a profusion of every description of fruit, besides whole hampers of grapes, and “grey-beards” of wine, each containing three to four bottles, all the production of the property of our “old man of the mountain.” Nor was our hospitable entertainer insensible to the fine arts. On entering the principal room of his abode, we found it entirely surrounded with a variety of interesting objects and antique arms, while the walls were covered with old portraits in their original frames,—not, it is true, all of his own ancestors, but at various periods of his long life of seventy-two years, purchased at the sales which had occurred in the châteaux of the surrounding country; the greatest number of which had once belonged to the old family of Spielfeld, now, we believe, extinct, and which property, with the castle, was purchased, first by the Duchesse de Berri, and from her by the late Count Anton Attems of Ehrenhausen, Obergamlitz, and Spielfeld, &c., &c.

During our rural repast we were entertained by music, provided by our host, the performers being his own domestics. From our lofty position we enjoyed on every side the most extensive and beautiful views; to the south, west, and north, arose hills of every form that can be found in an Alpine country, clothed in wood to their summits, and at their bases surrounded by vineyards, orchards, and rich cultivation teeming with the luxuriance of the vintage season: to the east stretched the extensive plain already mentioned, which lies between the river Mur, which flows at the base of the rock of Ehrenhausen, to the mountains of Gleichenberg, Cogelberg, &c.; in the midst of this wide expanse, rising out of a mass of wood, shine the white walls of Brunsee, and farther still those of Weinberg, the residences of the exiled family of France. But, above all attractions, rises, towering on its woody hill, Ehrenhausen, the hospitable château of our noble host, Count Heinric Attems.

The sun had begun to shed its last golden beams on the summits of the western mountains, and it was time to bid adieu, however reluctantly, to our truly highland host; but we were not to part so hastily. Bumper after bumper was filled to the health of Count Attems, and his numerous party—for he would not omit one—and at last it became our duty to return the compliment by drinking the “parting cup” to the health of our patriarchal entertainer; but even in this we could not limit the bounty of our host, who insisted that his health should be drunk in a full bumper from the “guid-man’s glass,” which proved to be a huge “bocal,”[2] containing at least a quart. This having been punctually fulfilled by all the gentlemen, and the goblet, according to custom, reversed on the table by each in succession, we descended the mountain to the carriages, six in number, which awaited our return down in the valley far below.

We only reached the avenue of old chesnuts which leads up the steep approach to the château of Ehrenhausen, when the broad full moon, “round as the shield of my fathers,” rose over the eastern plain in a flood of silver light, strongly contrasting with the red gleam which illuminated the windows of the castle and the conservatory, the last of which has been built by the present Count, with much taste from a design of his own. Upon entering, we found supper prepared, and the evening passed with songs of Styrian bards, accompanied on the zither[3] by the Count and his amiable lady with the most touching feeling and perfect execution.

It was with deep regret that, after a week’s séjour in this interesting abode, we bade adieu to its noble and hospitable owners, and early the following morning we were flying back with railroad speed towards the majestic Semmering, en route for the capital of Austria.




ANAMNHΣIΣ.

What is that sacred well,
Wherein, as poets tell
(And they are wise),
Shut in its deeps fair Truth for ever lies?
My tongue is silent, but my thought replies—
“Your eyes!”

What are those queenly stars
That o’er the violet bars
Of sunset rise,
One in the wave, the other on the skies?
How near my lips the loving answer lies—
“Your eyes!”

And what is that clear hue,
That frank wide-open blue,
That still surprise,
When from the lake its fringe of shadow flies?
Low in my heart persistent echo cries—
“Your eyes!”

So many sights around!
Such musical soft sound
And witchery
Of airs that rock the blossom and the bee!
Yet nothing shines, or speaks, or sings for me
But she:

All things are shows of her;
And she, the interpreter,
Gliding above
The silent waters, or the sleepy grove,
Doth swiftly make this dead earth live and move
With love.

What if, in such a mood,
Her very womanhood
Should come in view,
With eyes thus bright, thus truthful, and thus blue?
Ah, would she halt and give my spirit true
Its due?

Arthur J. Munby.

  1. Sausages of a foot long, and two to three inches thick.
  2. The “bocal” is an upright chalice. It was the ordinary drinking-cup of all Europe in the early and middle ages, and retained until a recent period among the Germans and their neighbours. Of old, those for ordinary use were of “latten” (i.e., pewter), and those of noble tables of silver, or “vermeil,” sometimes, among the most wealthy, studded with jewels. After the popular introduction of glass, they were made of that material, and splendid examples are to be found in some of the old and noble mansions. They were generally richly engraved with the armorial bearings of their owners, and frequently closed by a cover also beautifully ornamented.
  3. An ancient instrument once among the most popular throughout Europe, the last tradition of which lingered in the highlands of Scotland under the name of the Cruit, of which the Crwth of Wales was only a variety.