Volume I Part 42 (2/2)

We started from Rastadt in great style,--six posters, and a riding courier in front, to order relays on the road. Even the sight of it, Molly, and the tramp of the horses, and the jingle of the bells on the harness, all did me good, for I 'm of a susceptible nature; and what between my sensations at the moment, and the thought of all before us, I cried heartily for the first two stages.

”If it overcomes you so much,” said K. I., ”don't you think you'd better turn back?”

Did you ever hear brutality like that speech, Molly? I ask you, in all your experience of life, did you ever know of any man that could make himself so odious? You may be sure I did n't cry much after that! I made it so comfortable to him that he was glad to exchange places with Betty, and get into the rumble for the remainder of the journey.

Betty herself, too, was in one of her blessed tempers, all because Mary Anne would n't let her stick all the old artificial flowers, that were thrown away, over her bonnet. As Mary Anne said to her, ”she only wanted wax-candles to be like a Christmas-tree.” The consequence was that she cried and howled all the way, till we dined; after that she slept and snored awfully. To mend matters, Paddy got very drunk, and had to be tied on the box, and drew a crowd round us, at every place we changed horses, by his yells. In other respects the journey was agreeable.

We supped at a place called Offenburg; and, indeed, I thought we 'd never get away from it, for K. I. found out that the landlord could speak English, and was, besides, a great farmer; and, in spite of Mary Anne and myself, he had the man in to supper, and there they sat, smoking, and drinking, and prosing about clover and green crops and flax, and such things, till past midnight. However, it did one thing,--it made K. I. good-humored for the rest of the way; for the truth is, Molly, the nature of the man is unchanged, and, I believe, unchangeable. Do what we will, take him where we may, give him all the advantages of high life and genteel society, but his heart will still cling to yearling heifers and ewes; and he'd rather be at Ballinasloe than a ball at Buckingham Palace.

We ought to have been at Freyburg in time to sleep, but we did n't get there till breakfast hour. I 'm mighty particular about all the names of these places, Molly, for it will amuse you to trace our journey on the celestial globe in the schoolroom, and then you'll perceive how we are going ”round the world” in earnest.

After breakfast we went to see the cathedral of the town. It is really a fine sight; and the carving that's thrown away in dark, out-of-the-way places, would make two other churches. The most beautiful thing of all, however, is an image of the Virgin, sheltering under her cloak more than a dozen cardinals and bishops. She is looking down at the creatures--for they are all made small in comparison--with an angelical smile, as much as to say, ”Keep quiet, and n.o.body will see you.” I suppose she wants to get them into heaven ”unknownst;” or, as James rather irreverently expressed it, ”going to do it by a dodge.” To judge by their faces, they are not quite at their ease; they seem to think that their case isn't too good, and that it will go hard with them if they 're found out! And I suppose, my dear Molly, that's the way with the best of us. Sure, with all our plotting and scheming for the good of our children, after lives of every kind of device, ain't we often ma.s.ses of corruption?--isn't our very best thoughts, sometimes, wicked enough? Them was exactly my own meditations, as I sat alone in a dark corner of the church, musing and reflecting, and only brought to myself as I heard K. I. fighting with one of the ”beagles”--I think they call them--about a bad groschen in change!

”I'm never in a heavenly frame of mind, K. I.” said I to him, ”that you don't bring me back to earthly feelings with your meanness.”

”If you told me you were going to heaven, Mrs. D.,” said he, ”I would n't have brought you out of it for worlds!”

It did n't need the grin that he gave, to show me what the meaning of this speech was. The old wretch said as much as that he wished me dead and buried; so I just gave him a look, and pa.s.sed out of the church with contempt. Oh, Molly, Molly, whatever may be your spire in life, never descend from it for a husband!

You 'll laugh when I tell you that we left this place by the Valley of h.e.l.l. That's the name of it; and so far as gloom and darkness goes, not a bad name either. It is a deep, narrow glen, with only room for a narrow road at the bottom of it, and over your head the rocks seem ready to tumble down and crush you to atoms. Instead, too, of getting through it as fast as we could, K. I. used to stop the carriage, and get out to ”examine the position,” as he called it; for it seems that a great French general once made a wonderful retreat through this same pa.s.s years ago. K. I. and James had bought a map, and this they used to spread out on the ground; and sometimes they got into disputing about the name of this place or that, so that the Valley of h.e.l.l had its share of torments for me and Mary Anne before we got out of it.

At a little lake called the ”t.i.ti See”--be sure you look for it on the globe, and you'll know it by a small island in it with willow-trees--we found that the Baron had sent horses to meet us, and eight miles more brought us to the place of our destiny. I own to you, Molly, that I could have cried with sheer disappointment, when I found we were in the demesne without knowing it. I was always looking out for a grand entrance,--maybe an archway between two towers, like Nocks...o...b..r Castle, or an elegant cut-stone building, with a lodge at each side, like Dolly Mount; but there we were, Molly, driving through deep clay roads, with great fields of maize at each side of us, and neither a gate nor a hedge,--not a bit of paling to be seen anywhere. There were trees enough, but they were ugly pines and firs, or beech, with all the lower branches lopped away for firewood. We had two miles or more of this interesting landscape, and then we came out upon a great wide s.p.a.ce planted with mangel and beetroot, and all cut up with little drains, or ca.n.a.ls of running water; and in the middle of this, like a great, big, black, dirty jail, stood the Castle of Wolfenfels. I give you my first impressions honestly, Molly, because, on nearer acquaintance, I have lived to see them changed.

I must say our reception drove all other thoughts away. The old Baron was confined to his room with the gout, and could n't come down to meet us; but the discharge of cannon, the sounds of music, and the joyful shouts of the people--of whom there were some hundreds a.s.sembled--was really imposing.

The young Baron, too, looked far more awake and alive than he used to do at Bonn; and he was dressed in a kind of uniform that rather became him. He was overjoyed at our arrival, and kissed K. I. and James on both cheeks, and made them look very much ashamed before all the people.

”Never was my poor castle so much honored,” said he, ”since the King of--somewhere I forget--came to pa.s.s the night here with my ancestor, Conrad von Wolfenschafer; and that was in the sixth century.”

”Begad, it's easy to see you have had no enc.u.mbered estates court,” said K. I., ”or you would n't be here to tell us that.”

”My ancestor did not hold from the King,” said he. ”He was not what you call a vessel!”

K. I. laughed, and only said, ”Faith, there's many of us mighty weak vessels, and very leaky besides.”

After that he conducted us through two lines of his menials.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 488]

”I do detest to have so many 'detainers'”--he meant retainers. ”I hope you are less annoyed in this respect.”

”You don't dislike them more than I do,” said K. I.; ”the very name makes me shudder.”

”How your fader and I agree!” said he to Mary Anne. ”We are one family already.”

And we all laughed heartily as we went to our rooms. Every country has its own ways and habits, but I must say, Molly, that the furniture of these castles is very mean. There were two children's beds for K. I. and myself,--at least they did not look longer than the beds in the nursery at home,--with what K. I. called a swansdown poultice for coverlid; no curtains of any kind, and the pillows as big as a small mattress. Four oak chairs, and a looking-gla.s.s the size of your face, and a chest of drawers that would n't open, and that K. I. had to make serviceable by lifting off the marble slab on the top,--this was all our room contained. There were old swords and pikes hung up in abundance, and a tree of the family history, framed and glazed, over the chimney,--but these had little to do towards making the place comfortable.

”He's a good farmer, anyhow,” said K. I., looking out of the window. ”I did n't see such turnips since I left England.”

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