Читать книгу Castle Hohenwald - Streckfuss Adolf - Страница 8

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The Hohenwalds by no means belong to the old German imperial nobility. It is said that in the forest-depths of the domain of a Saxon Prince his trusty huntsman saved the life of his lord from the furious onslaught of a wild boar, and that in gratitude the Prince bestowed upon him the hunting castle where he had previously been overseer, and in memory of his bravery gave him the name of Hohenwald,^[2] which gradually came to belong to the castle and the neighbouring village on the estate. The title of Freiherr, or Baron, was bestowed much later by the Emperor. Baron Werner von Hohenwald, who distinguished himself as a colonel during the Thirty Years' War, was probably the first thus honoured, and the founder of the family of von Hohenwalds.

This old colonel, who added much to the estate, not a large one originally, was passionately devoted to the chase; he took up his abode in the old castle, surrounded on all sides by the forest, and his example was followed by all his successors, although such a residence by no means lightened the cares of the management of the extended estates of Hohenwald. The solitude of the forest had an irresistible attraction for the Hohenwalds, and although they had erected a comfortable grange near the village, they always occupied the castle. Around the comparatively new grange were gathered the farm buildings and the dwellings for inspectors and other officials. The Hohenwalds thought nothing of the inconvenience of riding a couple of miles to reach the grange; they thought themselves amply compensated by the wonderful beauty of the site of the castle, buried in the depths of a magnificent forest. The love of solitude seemed inherrent in the Hohenwalds. If some among them had in their youth frequented the Court, of Dresden, they were sure to return finally to Castle Hohenwald, and none of them ever left it in summer. They had lavished so much money and taste in fitting it up for a home, that it would indeed have been difficult to find one more charming and desirable. The imperial colonel had first begun to improve and add to the old hunting-nest, and each of his successors had done his part in giving fresh beauty and grace to castle, to gardens, and even to the forest, a portion of which had been converted into a magnificent park. If they loved solitude, they were all the more determined to surround themselves in their solitude with every luxury that wealth could procure. Some of the rooms of the castle were furnished with princely splendour, especially those on the lower story, in which the present Freiherr Werner had been wont to assemble frequent guests before his separation from his wife. The walls were hung with paintings by illustrious masters;--the collection of pictures at Hohenwald, although for years it had been seen by none save the inmates of the castle, was accounted one of the best and largest in the country,--and the castle library exceeded many a public one in its treasures of literature.

The ground-floor of the castle was less gorgeously fitted up than was the first story. The present possessor, Freiherr Werner, had arranged it for himself, and he thought more of solid comfort than of superficial splendour. Nothing had been spared to make the rooms pleasant and comfortable, but the hangings and furniture-covers were not of silken damask, but of substantial woollen fabric, subdued in colour, suiting well with the dark oak wainscoting and furniture.

The Freiherr's favourite retreat was a large apartment, at one end of which lofty folding-doors of glass opened upon a terrace, whence a flight of steps led into the garden. As the castle crowned an eminence, from this terrace almost all the garden could be overlooked, as well as part of the road leading to the castle from the village of Hohenwald.

The garden-room, as it was called, was the dwelling-room of Freiherr Werner; he spent most of his time here, even in winter, and in summer, when the tall doors were thrown wide open, the view from them partly indemnified him for the loss of open-air exercise, from which he had now been debarred for some years.

Every morning he was pushed into this room in his rolling-chair from his bedroom, for his right foot was so lame from the gout that he could not walk. Here he assembled his family about him, here the daily meals were eaten, and only late in the evening was he rolled back again to his bedroom by his servant or by his son Arno. Every day he sat at the open doors, gazing out into the garden. In former years he had devoted much time to his garden; he was enthusiastically fond of flowers, but since the gout had confined him to his rolling-chair he had been forced to content himself with merely superintending the gardeners, to whom from time to time he would shout down his orders. It was but seldom that he could be taken out into the garden among his flowers, for the slightest motion occasioned him great pain.

On the afternoon of a lovely day in May the Freiherr was seated in his favourite spot, looking abroad into the garden, where his beloved flowers were budding gloriously, and delighting in their beauty and the mild air of spring. He was in the most contented of moods; his book was laid aside; he could read at any time; storms did not interfere with that. His keen gaze wandered with intense enjoyment from shrub to shrub; most of them he had planted himself, and his interest was unflagging in watching their daily development from bud to blossom.

If the Assessor von Hahn could have seen the Freiherr at this moment he would hardly have recognized the gloomy misanthrope in this kindly old man with genial smile and gentle eyes; but the next moment the expression of the mobile features changed, the genial smile vanished, the brow was contracted in a frown, the dark eyes sparkled with irritation.

It was the sound of a distant post-horn that caused this sudden change in the Baron's expression. The old man listened. An extra post! He had not heard the signal for a long time, but in former years his ears had been familiar enough with it; he could not be deceived. A visit was impending, for the road led only to Castle Hohenwald and ended there; any traveller upon it must have the castle for his goal. Again the signal sounded, rather nearer; the postilion was evidently determined that the castle should be thoroughly apprised of the visitor at hand.

The Freiherr picked up a bell from the table beside him and rang it loudly. A servant instantly appeared at the door leading into the hall. "Did you hear that, Franz?" his master angrily exclaimed. "Did you hear that? An extra post!"

"It cannot be, sir," old Franz calmly replied. "Who is there to come to us?"

"That's just it. Who can have the insolence? But there; hear it for yourself. The cursed postilion is blowing with all the force of his lungs just to vex me."

"Can it be possible?" old Franz exclaimed, in the greatest astonishment, as he hearkened to the postilion's horn now sounding much nearer.

"No doubt of it! A visit! Such insolence is insufferable! Do they think me old and childish? Whoever it may be will find himself mistaken. Hurry, Franz, to the castle gate; you know what to say. I receive no one; I'm sick,--I cannot see anybody. The carriage must turn round and go back; whoever it may be, don't let them get out. Call the gardener and old John to help you, if you need them. Go; be quick. In a few minutes that carriage will be here."

The old man looked very angry as he shouted out these orders; his dark eyes flashed from beneath the bushy snow-white eyebrows. With one hand he stroked, as was his habit when vexed, his full silver beard, with the other he rapped upon the small table beside him. "Well, what are you waiting for?" he growled to the man, who still stood hesitating at the door.

"What if it should be the Herr Finanzrath?"

"Werner? I positively never thought of him," replied the Freiherr, mollified on the instant. "Of course he is an exception; but now to your post. Go!"

Old Franz vanished, and the Freiherr leaned forward in his chair, disregarding the pain the movement caused him, that he might better overlook the road leading up the hill, for in a few moments the extra post would emerge from the forest and be visible upon the road.

On came the horses and the vehicle, a light chaise, in which sat an elegantly-dressed man leaning back among the cushions, and talking to a horseman who was riding beside the carriage.

"Of course it is Werner!" muttered the Freiherr, relieved, sinking back into his chair. And yet he did not seem particularly rejoiced at the unexpected arrival of his eldest son, for the frown did not quite leave his brow. He looked annoyed. "What does he want, coming thus without letting us know? But perhaps he did announce his visit to Arno; he is riding beside him. Well, well, we shall see."

The old man had not long to wait,--the post-chaise soon rattled over the stones of the court-yard, and a few minutes later the Finanzrath von Hohenwald, accompanied by his brother Arno, entered the garden-room.

The Finanzrath was a tall, handsome man, something over thirty years old; he, as well as his brother Arno, bore a decided resemblance to the old Baron,--they had the same dark, fiery eyes, and the same finely-chiselled mouth, which, when tightly closed, lent an almost hard expression to the face. And yet, despite their likeness to their father, the brothers were so unlike that it was only after long familiarity with them, and a careful comparison of their features, that any resemblance between them could be detected. Both were handsome men, tall and shapely, but their air and bearing were entirely dissimilar, Arno having preserved the erect military carriage of the soldier, while the Finanzrath was distinguished by an easy, negligent grace of movement. Although he was the elder of the two, he looked much younger than Arno; his fresh-coloured, smooth-shaven face had a very youthful expression, while Arno's grave, earnest eyes made him appear older than he really was.

The old Baron's face cleared somewhat as the Finanzrath drew a chair up beside his father's and greeted him most cordially. "I am delighted to see you looking so well, father," he said, kindly. "I trust that terrible gout will soon be so much better that you can get out among your flowers. But where is Celia?" he asked suddenly.

"Yes, where is she? Who can tell the whereabouts of that will-o'-the-wisp? In the forest, in the park, in her boat on the lake, in the village,--everywhere at once!" the old man answered, with a smile.

A slight shade flitted across the Finanzrath's countenance. "Just the same as ever," he said. "I thought so; and perhaps it is as well that Celia is not here at the moment, as it gives me an opportunity to speak to you and Arno, father, of a matter that lies very near my heart, and that I should like to have settled before I see her. I hope, sir, you will not be angry with me if I speak frankly with you in regard to your darling, whom you have just designated so justly a will-o'-the-wisp?"

"What do you want with the child? Have you any fault to find again with Celia?" the Freiherr asked, crossly.

"Yes, father; I feel it my fraternal duty towards Celia to speak very seriously to you and to Arno in regard to her. You both spoil the girl so completely that a stop must be put to it. Celia is now fifteen years old, she is almost grown up."

"She is grown up," Arno interposed.

"So much the worse. Then it is certainly high time that something were done about her education, if she is not to run quite wild. She is a charming, sweet-tempered creature, and I can hardly blame you, living with her here in this lonely forest, for being content with her as she is, nor can I wonder that you, my dear father, can scarcely grasp the idea of allowing her to leave you."

"What do you mean?" the Freiherr exclaimed, angrily. "What are you thinking of? I let Celia leave me? Never!"

"I knew what you would say, father," the Finanzrath replied; "but I hope, nevertheless, that after calm consideration you will agree to a plan that I have to propose to you. Celia has grown up here in the castle without feminine companionship, for you will hardly call our old Kaselitz, who has always spoiled the child to her heart's content, a fit associate for a Fräulein von Hohenwald. The only person of education with whom Celia comes in contact, with the exception of yourself and Arno, is her tutor our good old pastor, Quandt, who, as Arno wrote me, has taught her well in various branches of science and literature, but can of course teach her nothing of what a young girl of rank should know when she goes out into the world."

"She never shall go out into the world!" the Freiherr indignantly exclaimed.