Chapter 27

Mr. Tweed's amazement at this amateur (as he supposed him to be) was turned into admiration when Mr. Brent walked into the paddock, asked for a rope, and proceeded to show us how they lasso horses in America. Every one was delighted at this exhibition.

Then Mr. Tweed brought out the most unruly horse he had, which none of the English or German grooms could mount. Mr. Brent advanced cautiously, and with a few coaxing words got the horse to stand quiet long enough for him to pass his hand caressingly over his neck. But putting the saddle on him was another matter; the horse absolutely refused to be saddled. So what did our American friend do but give one mighty spring and land on the horse's bare back. He dug his strong legs into the sides of the horse, and though the horse kicked and plunged for a while, it succumbed finally and was brought in tame and meek.

Nothing could have pleased the Count more than this, and the rest of us were lost in admiration.

Mr. Brent invited all the stable-boys _en bloc_ to come over to America to see him; he guessed he "and the boys could teach them a trick or two."

After luncheon Mr. Brent wanted us all to come out on the lawn to be photographed, particularly the Countess, and said to the young Count, "You tackle the missis [meaning the Countess], and I'll get the others."

Of course no one refused. How could we resist such a charmer? Who could ever have believed that this simple, unaffected youth could have so completely won all hearts?

He said to the Countess while "fixing" her for the group, "I wanted you, because you remind me so of my dear old mother." The Countess actually purred with ecstasy; but I don't think she would have liked to be compared to any "old" thing (mother or not) by anybody else. In this case she merely looked up at him and smiled sweetly, and as for the _blasé_, stately Count, he simply would not let him out of his sight.

At last the group was arranged according to Mr. Brent's ideas; the host and hostess in the center, while the others clustered around them.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, please look pleasant," said Mr. Brent, and we all took the attitude we remembered to have looked well in on some former occasion, and hoped we looked "pleasant," and that "mother," when contemplating us, would approve of us.

The Count's birthday happened to be on one of these days. Mr. Brent, who had intended to leave, was urged by both him and the Countess to stay. The young Count said, "Papa would be really unhappy if you went away." "That's real nice of him; you bet I'll stay, then." On the day itself he was all- pervading. It was he who hung the heavy garlands and wreaths on the highest poles, agile as a cat, and draped the flags about the escutcheons placed everywhere. He helped the ladies arrange the flowers in the innumerable vases in the salons. He it was who led the applause when the deputation of young people from the village made their speech, and when the Count responded, in his most dignified and courtly manner, Mr. Brent cried out, in a most enthusiastic voice, "Good for you!"

In the evening there were visits from all the surrounding neighborhood; the ladies wore tiaras and all their jewels, and the gentlemen all their decorations; there was a grand supper in the state dining-room. Although I suppose it was the first time Mr. Brent had ever seen such a sight, he did not seem in the least astonished. He circulated about the distinguished company and made himself most agreeable indiscriminately to young and old. He was in full glory, and certainly was the life of the evening, which finished brilliantly with a grand display of fireworks set off from the tower, so that they could be seen from far and near.

The next day Mr. Brent left. When he bade me good-by he said: "Good-by, ma'am. If I have had a good time here, I owe it all to you." "Oh no, you don't!" I said. "You owe it all to yourself, and you may say to your mother, from me, that you won all hearts."

He sighed and turned away his head, giving my hand an extra squeeze. "If you ever come to Colorado, just ask any one for Johnny Brent, and if I don't stand on my head for you it'll be because I've lost it."

His leave-taking of the Countess was almost pathetic. He held her hand long and tenderly, and said, "I can't find any word, ma'am--I mean, Countess--but--thank you, thank you, that's all I can say."

And the Countess (we thought she would faint) put her hand on his shoulder. He bent his head, and she kissed him on his forehead; and he (were the heavens going to fall?) stooped down and kissed her cheek.

The Count said: "Good-by, my boy. Come again to see us"--and going to the walls where his collection of pistols hung, took one of them and handed it to him "This will remind you of us, but don't kill any one with it."

"Never," said Mr. Brent. "I will hang it round my neck."

Thus departed our American hero, for who but a hero could have stormed such a fortress and broken down all the traditional barriers?

A day or two later we received a visit from royalty, in the person of Prince Frederick Charles of Prussia.

In the evening we played a wonderful game called _taroc_, which was very intricate and almost impossible to learn. Old Baron Kessler, who undertook to teach it to me, got so sleepy that he actually yawned in my face.

This Baron Kessler is quite a character--very clever, very artistic, very musical, and, strange to say, very superstitious. For instance, he wears an old waistcoat which has certain magical grease-spots on Fridays; on Mondays his purse must be in the left pocket of his coat, on Thursdays in his right pocket. He drinks nine times before twelve o'clock on special days, and has a cigar-case for each different day of the week. He hates losing at cards, and when he does it is quite an affair; and I am not sure that prayers are not offered up for him by his family in the chapel on his baronial estates.

The last thing I saw was a vision of Herr Lenning (the head butler), who is sometimes a little shaky himself, helping the Baron up the stairs. Possibly it was the evening of the nine-drink morning.

Next day we all left, except the old Baron, who for reasons of his own remained.

WEIMAR, _September, 1874._

DEAR M.,--I thought it would be a good idea to go to Weimar, the place _par excellence_ to study German, the Germans, and their literature; and, moreover, my boy might go to school there. Mrs. Kingsland had given me a letter to the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar, and recommended the place, not because she knew the town, but because she knew the Grand Duke. Besides, had I not a dear cousin who had written a most attractive book about Weimar, combined with Liszt and his enchantments?

I was all enthusiasm.

I decided to go to the hotel which Liszt honored. The proprietor put me into Liszt's very room, where a framed letter of his hung on the wall.... This did not in the least overcome me, as I had several of Liszt's letters at home. But what did overcome me was that I was charged four times the price of any other hotel, on Liszt's account!

Weimar may be very pleasant in the season when the little Court sheds its mild light about; but out of the season, especially at this time of the year, when there is nothing but dried and fluttering leaves, students, and dogs in the streets, I found it woeful. It was reeking of Schiller and Goethe. For two marks you can have a pretty good idea of how these great men lived and had their being. Everywhere we turned, and we turned everywhere, there were statues, busts, autographs, writing-desks, beds, and wash-stands which had belonged to them. I admired everything until my vocabulary of exclamations was exhausted and my head whirled.

I told Howard, as young as he was, I would not have him Goethed and Schillered, as he certainly would be if he stayed here; so I changed my plans and made up my mind to accept the invitation of my friend the Countess Westphal to make her a visit at her château in Westphalia. We took a train which dropped us at her station, where she met us and drove us to Fürstenberg.

Westphalia is renowned for its hams. Perhaps you don't know this, therefore I tell you. It is also renowned for the independent spirit of the Westphalians.

FÜRSTENBERG, _1874._

DEAR M.,--This château is a fine old castle, with rounded towers and mysterious passages, and has a village tucked on to it. The family consists of the Countess, the Count, and three children, a tutor, a governess, and everything which belongs to the old families and their traditions. The mysterious passages possessed no ghosts, for which I was sorry, though my maid (a timid and naïve old German maiden) thought that she heard "things" at night when she came up the dark, winding stone staircase which led to my room.

Life passed quietly at Fürstenberg. Countess Westphal and I amused ourselves with music and embroidery and listening to the Count's report of his hunting expeditions.

One day, in a spasm of energy, she proposed to take me to see a friend of hers, Countess B----, who, she said, lived quite near. We would spend the night, returning the next day. She thought it would be a very pleasant and entertaining little excursion for us.

She telegraphed to Countess B---- that we were coming without maids, and with only necessary baggage; and my maid immediately went to work to pack what she considered necessary for this visit. She put a dinner-dress, with high and low waists, as the occasion might require, an extra day-dress, and all kinds of accessories, filling a good-sized trunk.

We started early the next morning. Countess Westphal was full of happy expectations; so was I. We were four hours on the way before we reached our destination; but Countess Westphal cheerfully remarked that time was of no consequence.

On our arrival at the forlorn little station I looked in vain for the lordly chariot I thought would be waiting for us. Countess Westphal seemed astonished also, but with her usual good-nature accounted for the absence of the chariot by saying that her friend could not possibly have received the telegram. We lingered about, hoping that some vehicle would appear; but as none did so, Countess Westphal started off to find one, and she finally succeeded in tempting a man, for the vast sum of four marks, to drive us to the _schloss_.

After the coachman had gathered the reins off the back of the old, rickety horse, I leaned back in my seat and pictured to myself what this beautiful _schloss_ we were going to would be like.

Of course, it would have a moat around it (all old castles do); it would have all the modern comforts combined with the traditions of past glories; it would have avenues of grand old trees and marble statues, and terraces leading into Italian gardens, and so forth. In fact, my imagination got so riotous that I forgot to look at the treeless, muddy roads, and I never noticed the wrenching of the ancient landau in which we were.

As we were jolted over the desolate landscape, Countess Westphal tried to tell me the family history of the B----s, but I only gathered bits of it here and there; such as that he was the fourth son of a very distinguished father and mother, and had no prospect worth speaking of, except the prospect of the dreary place we were careering over; that they never left their native heath and had no children, and that they lived on their estate (being the only thing they had to live on), and so forth and so forth, all of which went in at the ear next the Countess and went out at the ear next the road.

Finally we spied the _schloss._ It had been a convent in some former century, and still had iron bars on the windows. We drove through a muddy lane, passing a sort of barn with grated loopholes, and stopped before a courtyard filled with chickens and geese; on the left was a pigsty, smelling not at all like Westphalian hams, and on the other side a cow- stable. In front was the _schloss_ and the lady of the manor, the honorable Countess herself, on the steps, quite by chance, so it seemed. She led us proudly into the salon. A large bunch of keys hung at her girdle. I wondered why she needed so many! After the coal-bin, wine-vault, and sugar-bowl, and linen-closet had been locked up, what more did she need to lock up? There was no mention that the telegram had been received. Strange!

Count B---- was not there, "but would be coming soon." I felt that I could wait. The salon was of the kind that one often sees in houses where the mistress, having no children and plenty of time, embroiders things. Every possible object had a coat of arms and huge crowns embroidered on it, so that you could never forget that you were in the house of ancient nobility, which had the right to impose its crowns on you. All the chairs, tables, sideboards, and things on the walls were made out of the horns of stags and other animals the Count had shot. Sometimes the chairs were covered with the skin of the same, minus the hair, which was missing and moth-eaten in spots.

I was taken up-stairs to my bedroom, and I was thankful to see that the horns and crowns had nearly given out before they finished furnishing the first story, and that I had an ordinary middle-class chair to sit on. There were many pictures of Madonnas and saints, from which I inferred that our hosts were Catholics, and a _prie-dieu_, which, strange to say, was made of horns; and the mat in front of my bed was a blaze of the united coats of arms and _two_ crowns! So she was a Countess born, which accounted for the doubleness.

We were obliged to make _le tour du propriétaire_, and, of course, as there was no other place to take us to, we went to the stables. There we admired the two cows (Stella and Bella) with horns. They had their names painted in blue and white over their respective heads, but they had no crowns.

Then the Count appeared in very nice clothes. I fancy, while we had been admiring Stella and Bella, he had been changing his boots. Owing to these fresh boots we were spared the pigsties. On our return to the house Countess B---- said, "You know, we don't dress for dinner." I thought with dismay of my trunk laden with all its superfluous contents, and what a bore the bringing of it had been, and the opinion my maid would pass on our noble hosts, who "don't dress for dinner," when she unpacked the undisturbed finery which she had thought indispensable.

After dinner the conversation was chiefly pastoral, of the kind I do not join in because I hate it. How many chickens had died, how Bella and Stella had borne last winter's cold, how many sacks of potatoes had been spoiled, etc. My Countess enjoyed it immensely, and sat on a horny chair and sympathized. Our host took pity on me and taught me a patience. I had known it all my life as "the idiot's delight," but I pretended I had never heard of it before, and he had the satisfaction of thinking he was entertaining me--which he wasn't! On the contrary, Job's patience never could have equaled this one; the Count talked French fluently. The dinner was not good, nor was it frugal.

The Count said, "Nous n'avons que le stricte nécessaire, rien de plus."

The Countess said, in English, "One can't have in the country all that one wants."

I could not help feeling that one could not have even the half of what one wanted, and more than once I caught myself thinking, "None but the brave deserve this fare." They noticed if you took a second helping, and you felt that they made a mental note if your glass was filled more than once with wine. However, it was all very nice, and they were very kind, good people. It was not the Count's fault if the stags he killed had too many horns, neither was it the Countess's fault that time hung heavy on her hands and embroidery occupied them.

Fortunately we would go away next day, so what did it matter? But getting away was a very different thing from coming. When the Countess Westphal suggested it, and said that we intended to take a certain train, the faces of our hosts presented a blank look of apprehension! Their horses were plowing! What should we do? The doctor, they said, who lived in the village, had a carriage, but the horse was sick; there was, however, the _schimmel_ of the baker, which, fortunately, was in good health, and perhaps, in conjunction with the wagon of the doctor, one could manage. It sounded like a gigantic exercise of Ollendorff:

"Avez-vous le cheval du boulanger?"

"Non, mais j'ai le soulier du boucher," etc.

After what seemed an eternity, the wagon of the doctor appeared, so did the _schimmel_. The wagon of the doctor, usually dragged by two animals, had a pole in the middle, to which the _schimmel_ was attached, giving him a very sidelong gait. The question now was, who was to drive the _schimmel_ attached to the pole?

The young man who milked the cows, killed the pigs, dressed the Count, picked the fruit, drove the Countess, waited at table, served everybody, did everything, and smelled _awfully_ of the stables--could he be spared?

Well, he was spared, and off we started majestically, but sideways, waving a courtly adieu. We reached home in a drenching rain, wondering what on earth ever possessed us to want to go to visit the noble B----s. I don't think I ever want to see that establishment again, and I don't think I ever shall.

FÜRSTENBERG, _December._

DEAR M.,--The Duke of Nassau had promised to come here to shoot wild boars, for which this forest is celebrated. Count Westphal sent invitations far and wide to call his hunting friends together. Before the arrival of the Duke, carriage after carriage entered the courtyard; oceans of fur-coats, gun-cases, valises, bags, and fur-lined rugs were thrown about in the hall, to be sorted out afterward. Then the Duke drove up in a sleigh with four horses, his aide-de-camp, two postilions, and a friend, both of them so wrapped up in _pelisses_ and immense fur-caps that you could only see the tips of their red noses, like danger signals on railroads. No wonder! They had had three hours of this cold sleigh-ride!

The quiet old _schloss_ was transformed. Each guest had his own servant and _chasseur._ The servants helped to wait at dinner. The _chasseurs_ cleaned the guns, lounged about smoking their pipes, and looking most picturesque in their Tyrolean hats, with their leather gaiters, short green jackets, and leather belts, in which they carried their hunting- knives and cartridges.

His Highness (who is very short and what one calls thick-set) was accompanied by a secretary, a _chasseur,_ a valet, two postilions, two grooms, and four horses. He had six guns, six trunks, and endless coats of different warmth. In the twinkling of an eye cigar-cases, pipes, photographs, writing-paper (of his own monogram), and masses of _etceteras_ were spread about in his salon, as if he could not even look in his mirror without having these familiar objects before his eyes.

At twelve o'clock, high--very high--lunch was served. The servants brought in the eatables in monstrous quantities, and disappeared; the guests helped themselves and one another, and when without occupation fed the fire, where logs smoldered all day.

At a reasonable hour, after cigars and cigarettes had been smoked, the sleighs were ordered to be in readiness in the courtyard. Thirty or forty _treibers_ (beaters) had been out since early morn. The Count has fourteen thousand acres to be beaten, therefore an early start was necessary.

The hunters swallowed a bitter pill when they asked us ladies to accompany them; but they knew their hostess would not let them go without her at least, so why not take the tame bores while shooting the wild ones?

They portioned off one lady and one gentleman to each sleigh. These sleighs are very small, and contrived for the confusion of mankind. You sit in a bag of sheep's skin, or perhaps the bag is simply two whole skinned sheep sewed together. You must stretch your legs, thus pinioned on the sides, out as far as they reach; then the driver puts a board over them, on which he perches himself, nearly over the horse's tail, and off you go. I cannot imagine what a man does with his legs if he has very long ones.

The poor horses are so dressed up that, if they could see themselves, they would not know if they were toy rabbits or Chinese pagodas. Over the horse is a huge net, which not only covers him from head to tail, but protects those in the sleigh from the snow flying in their faces. I should think that this net would be excellent in summer to keep the flies off; it does certainly suggest mosquito-netted beds and summer heat. Over the net is an arrangement which looks like a brass lyre, adorned with innumerable brass bells, which jingle and tinkle as we trot along, and make noise enough to awake all the echoes in the forest. On each side of the horse's head hang long, white, horse-hair tails.

What did we look like as we proceeded on our way? A procession of eight sleighs, combining a _ranz des vaches_, a summer bed, and an antiquary shop!

Arrived at the rendezvous, Count Westphal placed his guests by different trees. The best place, of course, fell to the Duke, and I had the honor to stand behind him and his gun. I hoped that neither would go off! The Duke is very near-sighted and wears double-barreled spectacles, which have windows on the sides, so that he can look around the corner without turning his head.

Every one was requested to be perfectly quiet, otherwise there would be disaster all along the line. I could keep quiet very well, _for a time_, but the back view of a man crowned with a Tyrolean hat, and terminating in a monstrous pair of overshoes lined with straw, lost its interest after a while, and I began to look at the scenery. It must be lovely here in the summer. The valley, where a little brook meandered gracefully through the meadow (now ice and snow), bordered on both sides by high pine woods, must then be covered with flowers and fresh green grass, and full of light and shadow.

His Highness and I were under a splendid oak, and there we stood waiting for something to happen. The Duke, the oak, and I were silence personified. A dead branch would crack, or the trunks of smaller and ignorant pines would knock together, and the Duke would look around the corner and say "Chut!" in a low voice, thinking I was playing a tattoo on the tree.

"Now the beaters are on the scent!" he said. After this I hardly dared to breathe.

"They have to drive the boar with the wind," he whispered.

"I thought they did it with sticks," I answered in a low tone.

To this remark he did not pay the slightest attention. Between a sneeze and a cough--we were rapidly catching our deaths--he said, under his breath, "If they smell us they go away."

The _treibers_ work in couples, Count Westphal leading them. It is not etiquette for the host to shoot; he must leave all the chances of glory to his guests. Among the _treibers_ were various servants and _chasseurs_ carrying extra guns and short daggers for the final despatch (_le coup de grâce_). We heard them coming nearer and nearer, but we saw no boar. Many other animals came wonderingly forward: some foxes, trailing their long tails gracefully over the snow, looked about them and trotted off; a furtive deer cautiously peered around with ears erect and trotted off also; but it is not for such as these we stand ankle-deep in the snow, shivering with cold and half frozen. A shot now would spoil all the sport. One has a longing to talk when one is told to be quiet. I can't remember ever having thought of so many clever things I wanted to say as when I stood behind the ducal back--things that would be forever lost! And I tried to enter them and fix them in my brain, to be produced later; but, alas!