Castle Hohenwald Part 7

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 cus.h.i.+ons, 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 companions.h.i.+p, for you will hardly call our old Kaselitz, who has always spoiled the child to her heart's content, a fit a.s.sociate for a Fraulein 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.

"Do you wish Celia to pa.s.s her entire life here in the solitude of Castle Hohenwald? Will you run the risk of hearing her one day say to you, 'You have robbed me of the joys of life, father! I might have been a happy wife and mother, but since you chose to keep me by your side, I am become a weary, unhappy old maid!' You cannot be so selfish as to wish that your darling should sacrifice to you her entire youth?"

"Nonsense! What would you have?" growled the Freiherr. "But go on. I should like to know what you really want."

"You shall soon learn. I spoke of Celia's education; she is well grounded in science and literature; she rides like an Amazon,--not badly perhaps; she handles a fowling-piece with the skill of a gamekeeper. So far so good; but does she understand how to conduct herself in society? does she possess the talent for social intercourse,--a knowledge of those forms which, worthless in themselves, are nevertheless indispensable accomplishments for a young lady of rank?"

"I have not brought her up to be a fine lady!" the Freiherr said, peevishly.

"I think, sir, if you will pardon me, that you have not brought her up at all. I detest a fine lady and modern artificial culture, but a Baroness von Hohenwald should not be utterly ignorant of the forms of society. Celia must learn to conform to the rules that govern the society of to-day, and it is high time that she began to do so. Arno will admit that I am right."

"I cannot deny it," said Arno, who had been an attentive listener as he paced the room to and fro, and who now paused before his brother and nodded a.s.sent. "I, too, have pondered upon what was to be done for Celia. Something must be arranged for her further culture, but I have vainly tried to devise what it shall be."

"And yet the matter is simple enough. Two methods are open to you. Let my father choose which he prefers. The first, which I myself think the best and would therefore most strongly recommend, is perhaps the one that will prove least pleasing to my father. Frau von Adelung's school in Dresden has the best of reputations, and Frau von Adelung herself is a woman of refinement and culture, who moves in the first society. I made an excursion to Dresden before I came hither, saw Frau von Adelung myself, and spoke with her regarding Celia, whom she is quite willing to receive among her pupils."

"Deuce take you for your pains!" cried the Freiherr, with a burst of anger. "I know without being told that if I choose to pay for it the best boarding-school in the country will be thankful to have my Celia, but I tell you, once for all, I will not hear of it. I cannot part with the child. Celia is my suns.h.i.+ne in this gloomy house. My heart rejoices at the sight of her. The pain that tortures me is forgotten when I look into her laughing eyes. I am a sick old man. You ought not to be so cruel, Werner; leave me my jewel for the few years that I have to live."

The Freiherr's tone from one of angry reproach had become that of almost humble entreaty.

The Finanzrath nodded and smiled. "I hope you will rejoice for many years in your jewel, and one day see her a happy wife and mother," he said; and then continued: "If you will not part with Celia, she must have the training here in Hohenwald which she could indeed procure more easily at school; all that remains to be done is to engage a good governess for her."

Arno suddenly paused in his pacing to and fro in the room.

"Impossible!" he exclaimed. "What are you thinking of, Werner? A governess here in the house! Live with the pedantic, insufferable creature day after day, week after week, and always have her interfering between our Celia and ourselves! Our entire life would have to be changed. If so pretentious a person were to come here she would require to be amused; we should have visitors, and would be forced to pay visits in return. The peaceful repose that has. .h.i.therto reigned in Hohenwald would be gone if a strange inmate were introduced among us."

"Would you rather send Celia to school? I confess I should prefer it myself."

"But I should not!" the old Freiherr exclaimed, with decision. "I do not like womenfolk, but sooner than part with Celia I will endure a governess in the house. After all, she will be only a superior sort of servant. We get along with Frau Kaselitz, and we can get along with her too!"

"Frau Kaselitz does not pretend to sit at table with us, nor to join our family circle," said Arno.

"That would be insufferable," the Freiherr said, reflectively.

"Then let us have recourse to the school."

"Don't say another word about that cursed school," growled the Freiherr; "let us have the governess and be done with it!"

Arno would have made some further objection, but his father cut it short by declaring that not a word more should be said upon the subject until Celia was by; the girl was old enough to have an opinion concerning her own affairs.

To this decision the Finanzrath a.s.sented, rather unwillingly, to be sure, since he would have preferred to have the matter settled on the instant. He saw, however, that his father was coming round, and he feared to injure his cause by any insistance. And Celia herself prevented the possibility of continuing the conversation in her absence.

A shower of syringa blossoms suddenly rained down upon the Finanzrath, who was seated near the open door leading to the garden, and a charming young girl appeared upon the threshold. It was Celia,--the will-o'-the-wisp, as her father loved to call her,--who always appeared when least expected.

With a merry laugh she flew to the Finanzrath, sealing her flower-greeting with a light kiss upon his cheek, and then turning to the old Baron, she threw her arms around his neck. "You are a dear, darling old papa!" she cried, gayly. "You will not let your Celia be sent to school like a little child; you will not let me be disposed of without consulting me! Thank you, my own dear papa; but as for you, Werner, I shall not forget that you would have banished me from Hohenwald."

The Finanzrath shook off the syringa blossoms, and, leaning back in his chair, contemplated his sister with increasing satisfaction. He had not seen her for nearly a year; he had not been at Hohenwald since the Freiherr's last birthday, and during this time Celia had changed wonderfully. He had left a child, he found a maiden; the tall, lithe figure had gained a certain roundness and grace.

Celia was developed physically far beyond her years; mentally, she was still the gay, careless child; the happy spirit of childhood laughed in her large brown eyes, was mirrored in the bright smile that lit up her lovely features, and in the gay defiance with which, after having fairly smothered her father with kisses, she confronted the Finanzrath with folded arms. "Well, my sage brother," she said, laughing, "here I am, in my own proper person, prepared to listen to your highly valuable advice with regard to my future training."

"Have you been listening, Celia?" the Finanzrath asked.