The Lost Sketch-Book of the Regenstein Chapel.
The Baronin von Felsen had led her young English friend, May Rosenmore, through the ruins of Schloss Regenstein, the authentic history of which begins with Kaiser Henry the Fowler, till at last they wandered to the tiny roofless chapel.
As May entered it through the Gothic door, scarcely high enough to pass under without stooping, the first object on which her eyes fell was a crimson morocco sketch-book, closing like a pocket-book, nearly filled with sketches.
The last two sketches were—first, an arbour, in which a lady and gentleman are seated; the lady is arranging roses from a basket before her, while her companion reads to her. The last sketch is the empty arbour; the book lies open upside-down on the table, the roses are fallen on the ground. In the pocket was a photo of a lady and gentleman together, the latter in officer's uniform.
"What a contrast to these grim ruins, with all their legendary memories, is this elegant scrap of modern art!" exclaimed May. "I am sure there is some sad history associated with this little book. Perhaps I may find the owner."
"Warum nicht?" replied the Baronin. "The woman in the Bible found her piece of silver, the shepherd his lost sheep, Saul found his father's ass, Jochebed found her baby, Joseph found his brethren, poor old Jacob found his long-lost Joseph, and the loser of this sketch-book may be as fortunate."
A few days after this event the Baronin gave a Kaffee to a large Gesellschaft, in the park of Schloss Stolzstein. The company sat grouped here and there under the clumps of old beeches and oaks, the deer cast their shadows in the clear lake, graced with swans, and somewhere in the background the music of a military Capelle floated softly on the air.
May Rosenmore amused herself with a study of the varied characters present, and with German manners, which were new to her.
A maiden lady, the Baronin von Schattenthal, who was staying at the Castle with her young orphan niece, interested her with her quaint humour and sound common sense.
Little Amalia came out with her attendant to her aunt. She was a lovely child, with long auburn curls, and a dash of the French character, for her mother was a Pole.
Finding that her aunt paid no attention to her toilette nor her curls, Amalia finally whispered, "See, Tante, Gretchen has curled my hair."
"I see, my dear," said the Baronin; "but it will do you no harm if your hair does curl, if you are a good little girl."
Amalia's crestfallen, puzzled look as she walked away were amusing enough.
Soon after she came back with a very knotty question.
"Tante, could all our family ride on an elephant at once? Gretchen says they could."
"Yes, child, several small families could ride on an elephant at once."
But May was not left long at leisure to amuse herself with the pretty child.
Her hostess brought and introduced to her Baron von Stammnitz, fresh from the Heidelberg University. She soon found, however, that he was possessed of much finer cultivated hair and moustache than mind. He had dipped a little into the natural sciences, and learned a smattering of some of the absurdities of German Pantheism, and held himself competent to solve the mysteries of creation, and moral relations, of the universe and of mind, much better than the old-fashioned Moses and the Prophets, or St. Paul.
It is this false moral training of the students of Germany that will prove one of her greatest dangers in the future.
Baron von Stammnitz had studied English, and began at once to edify May by airing it. She expressed her admiration of the Harz, its history and legends.
He replied, "Yes, the Harz is highly interesting, but chiefly so through its old leg-ends."
But let us not be too hard on the Baron in this respect, for the English often make as ludicrous errors in German. The writer heard a young lady in Cologne order Himmelfleisch, meaning Hammelfleisch. She intended to ask for mutton, but in reality ordered heaven's meat. And the waiter, with his solemn, impenetrable face, replied, "I regret we have not that dish."
A gentleman in Leipzig ordered Kinderbraten and Pantoffel—child roast and slippers! He wanted Rinderbraten and Kartoffel—roast beef and potatoes!
People who drop their H's in English do the same in German. An English girl driving away from Ballenstedt, cried out, "Farewell, Arz!"
At the hotel by the Radau waterfall an old man ordered the Kellner to bring beer, and called after him, "Aber ell!" Hell he meant—clear or white in contrast to brown beer.
He had been parading about and ordering the Kellner as if he owned the whole place, which made his missing h all the more amusing.
But to return to the Baron. May spoke of the towered village church nestling so confidingly in the rich foliage, and regretted she had not yet seen the interior, but hoped to the following Sunday.
"Pray, Miss Rosenmore, you do not keep up that absurd idea of going to church? I have not been in a church for five years. While they insist on preaching the old fables that nobody believes any more, I shall not go. I can attend to my religion much better in my own room, or in the woods, where the trees form nobler Gothic arches than any cathedral, from Köln and Halberstadt down. Even meine Mutter told me not to trouble myself about the Bible, for there was no truth in it."
"Woe to any mother who could give such advice!" cried May, in great excitement. She spoke of some of the strongest proofs of the Divine origin of the Bible, and asked the Baron if he could explain why it was that Christian nations were the most elevated, those without the light of revelation being the degraded ones.
"Oh!" said he, "such a view has something beautiful in it; but it is only a delusion, a transition period in the history and development of mind, I might say, the Raupenkleid—chrysalis—of education, out of which the splendid and brilliant butterfly of free thought breaks forth, and Science unfolds her golden wings, and in her commanding presence, the old orthodox Bible-faith can never again lift its head.
"There is an endless primeval matter, I may say the Urkraft—first cause—of all things, which is scattered in countless atoms in eternal space.
"From this primeval matter, during the course of millions on millions of ages, slowly and gradually unfolded beings, from the most insignificant to the highest. From a scrap of mud, through the effect of light and heat, perhaps by contact with some other body, a frog was produced. Nearest related to the frog stands the Labyrinthodonten, whose hand-like foot-tracks have been found in the sandstone, and which is decidedly the transition between these animals and the higher species of the ape; and from the ape, during impossible-to-comprehend ages, man has sprung, at first rough and animal, as we see to-day in savage races, from step to step unfolding and rising, till we have the Mensch of our present civilization and refinement."
All this was said with a foppish, self-satisfied air, as if he were a personification of wisdom. May looked at him in amazement, wondering at his shallowness.
At length she said, "Concerning origin and ancestors I will not now dispute. If you deny the Bible, we have no common ground of argument; and if your argument be true, we have after this life—nothing. Let proud Science beware lest she scorch her 'golden wings' in the avenging fire of Divine wrath.
"If you are content with the doctrine of man's descent from an ape, originally, according to your own argument, from a frog! I deny its truth, and claim mine from an eternal, omnipotent and holy Creator, and personal Father, not simply an eviges Sein—eternal state of being—but something infinitely and incomprehensibly more exalted."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the approach of the Baronin, accompanied by a tall noble-looking lady attired in black.
May started, for it was the lady in the photo of the lost sketch-book. Her friend introduced the stranger as the Countess von Omnesky, a lady of Russian birth, but who had been partly educated in England, her father having long filled an official position there under the Russian Government.
The Countess was still young, only five-and-twenty, of a pale, melancholy, but highly intelligent countenance, and her sapphire blue eyes had a mournful, far-away look in them, that touched one deeply.
Their conversation turned on the beauties of Harz scenery, and its romantic ruins, and the Countess remarked she had only the other day visited the Regenstein, and during the day had lost an object, to her of great value—a sketch-book, filled by her late husband, with the exception of the last sketch, which she had herself sketched after his death.
May drew forth the sketch-book, which she had purposely carried in her pocket, and handed it to her, remarking she had recognized her from the photo at the first glance, and explained how it had come into her possession.
The Countess turned to the sketch in the arbour, remarking, "We were sitting thus, when Karl was summoned to join his regiment at the breaking out of the last war between France and Germany. We had only been married three weeks when France declared war, and my joy was broken for ever. If you will not be wearied, I will tell you the history."
May assured her of her deep interest and sympathy, and they seated themselves under a magnificent oak near the lake.
"My sister Olga and I were married on the same day to two brothers, German officers, just three weeks before the commencement of the war. We were in Switzerland at the time of the mobilization of the German army, and hastening to obey the call, we repaired to Berlin, where we took leave of one another, never again all to meet in this world.
"Olga and I remained a short time in Berlin, but after the reports of the battle bei Worth we grew too excited to stay so far from the scene of action; and accordingly went to Baden, taking only our maid with us, and not wishing to go to an hotel, we took apartments in a private pension kept by a family from Edinburgh, two old maids and their brother, Mac Stab by name; and though I have travelled over nearly all Europe their equal I have never met, and have reason to believe Scotland or Germany could produce few such creatures.
"You may imagine the difficulties of travelling in time of war, with soldiers being transported to active service, and the sick and wounded to hospitals; and we lost our luggage, consisting only of two trunks.
"We explained to the elder Miss Mac Stab, who wore a couple of pig-tail curls each side of her face, that our trunks were lost, but we hoped would be found in a day or two.
"The second day passed, but our missing trunks did not appear—in fact never did—and the third morning, as poor Olga was descending the stairs for breakfast, Miss Mac Stab attacked her crying out, 'See the painted Jezebel! with her curls and diamond rings! The impostor seeks to deceive honest folk with her pretended wedding ring and tales of lost luggage!'
"Olga in perfect terror, pale as marble, came rushing to meet me. She could not speak, and did not need to, for I had heard what had passed. I took Olga by the arm and walked firmly to the breakfast-room. Miss Mac Stab was arranging our breakfast-table as we entered. I inquired if any letters were come.
"Miss Mac Stab glowered at us with an awful face, and replied savagely, in coarse tones, 'Yes, here is a letter; but you wrote and sent it to the post yourselves; nobody would write to the likes of you. Such grand pretensions, with your crests! You'll not get no more letters here; I'll intercept them, and expose your falsehoods.'
"We hastened to our rooms, and sent Paulina to call a carriage. I knew there was an English clergyman in the place, the Rev. William Samper, and we thought it better to acquaint him with our embarrassment, as we were alone, and ask his advice.
"Olga went, taking Paulina with her, and I remained alone. There were two or three strangers staying in the house who had also gone out, hence there was no one but the family at home.
"The day before, on going out for a drive, we had locked our door, and the Mac Stabs denied our right to lock any door, or even to keep any door-key. No sooner was Olga gone than Miss Mac Stab, accompanied by her brother and sister, came upstairs and entered my room without knocking. Mr. Mac Stab demanded the keys. I told him I should not deliver up the keys till I had done with the apartments, and expressed my surprise at the insolence in thus entering my room unbidden, and the cowardice of such conduct when no one was there to see or hear. Miss Mac Stab, with one sweep of her hand, brushed all my writing materials on the floor, and her no less amiable brother seated himself, saying he should wait till he had the keys. 'You will wait, then,' I said, 'until my sister and maid return.'
"'My maid'! cried Miss Mac Stab. Just then a loud ring hurried them all away.
"I locked my door till Olga returned. She had seen Mr. Samper, and shown our letters, and he would be with us in a few moments. He came and insisted on our going with him, perfect strangers though we were, at once to his house; assuring us Mrs. Samper was expecting us, breakfast was being made ready, and our rooms awaited us.
"The very atmosphere of their house was peace, and Mrs. Samper was like a mother to us, and the noble Christian pair have the warmest place in my memory and heart. The following day Mr. Samper received a letter from the Mac Stabs, claiming damages for a broken Sèvres vase and an injured piano, amounting to four pounds—all, of course, absolutely false. Mr. Samper wrote declining any further correspondence, and informed them the post and the law were open.
"Karl and Franz, on hearing our story, sent them a solicitor's letter, demanding an explanation of their infamous conduct to two defenceless ladies. The reply to this letter was absolute silence, and the sudden disappearance of the Mac Stabs from the town. We found they had treated many badly, and had sought in various instances, by driving people to leave before the expiration of the time already paid for, or by involving them in law proceedings, to gain money.
"We stayed a few days with the good minister, but in a state of feverish excitement, watching the descriptions of succeeding battles, and reading the lists of wounded, dead, and missing with a horrible fascination.
"At last we could bear the uncertainty no longer, and assuming the dresses of nuns, we joined several actual nuns and a couple of surgeons, who were going to France to follow the second army, in which Franz and Karl served, to nurse the wounded, seeking them out on the battle-field, which was very necessary, for there were not nurses and surgeons sufficient for the need, and many died for the lack of nursing in time.
"At length came the terrible battle of Mars la Tour—St. Hilaire, or Vionville—in the burning heat of August—the 16th it was—and Major Franz Omnesky was among the missing. Olga set off alone in her wild grief, to search on the battle-field, knowing we would not let her go; and when we first missed her, we had no idea how long she had been gone.
"Oh! how shall I attempt to depict that dreadful night-scene among the dead and dying on the field of Mars la Tour? The pale, ghastly faces looking up to God's pure, blue heavens so fearfully calm above all this human woe and anguish.
"Among the heaps of the slain, stumbling over horse and rider, we searched till night grew pale before the dawn, and then we found what we sought—and dreaded to find—Franz dead, and Olga lying with her head on his breast, in a deathly swoon, her garments wet with dew, and her long beautiful hair falling over her dead husband's face.
"Olga never rallied; the grief, exposure, and fatigue were too much for her delicate frame and passionate love for Franz. We laid them both in one grave, on a knoll, under a clump of limes—the two brave hearts so true and noble.
"Then came the 18th of August, that most murderous of all the engagements of the war, the battle of Gravelotte, in which the Kaiser commanded in person, with a brilliant staff, Prinz Friedrich Karl, Steinmetz, Moltke, Roon, Bismarck being on it.
"Colonel Karl Omnesky was among the wounded, and I hastened on to nurse him, as I hoped, to renewed life and vigour, but the moment I saw him all hope died for ever. Death was written on his noble brow, but his great, deep violet eyes looked bravely and tenderly as ever into mine. Oh those precious days! Golden is their memory, though so unspeakably sad.
"He was ready to go, awaiting eagerly the change to the better land, but full of a tender sympathy and sorrow for me and his unborn child.
"He never was weary of hearing that wonderful prayer of our Saviour, the seventeenth of St. John, and the fifteenth of the First Epistle to the Corinthians.
"Often, accompanied by the harp he so loved, I sang his favourite lines, my heart frantic with grief, but outwardly calm, for God lent me strength.
"'Bleibe bei mir vom Morgen bis Abend,
Denn ohne Dich kann ich nicht leben.
Bleibe bei mir denn die Nacht ist dunkel,
Und ohne Dich darf ich nicht sterben.'
"'Abide with me from morn till eve,
For without Thee I cannot live.
Abide with me when night is nigh,
For without Thee I cannot die.'
"The noble-hearted Kaiser honoured my dying husband, before the second army moved on, with a visit, and the tear his Majesty brushed away did honour to the Sovereign so deservedly beloved.
"In peace my poor Karl died, and I closed the loving eyes—and my heart died.
"I buried him beside Olga and Franz, and am building a chapel over them.
"Five months after Karl's death my golden-haired Tatjana was born. For her sake I strive to reconcile myself to life.
"But, alas! my wealth and joy are—a grave!
"Sitting the other day in the enchanting valley of the graceful Ilse, leaping proudly and gaily in a thousand tiny waterfalls over the moss-grown stones, as if conscious of her royal origin, I wrote the following lines, which express faintly my feelings, and which I beg you to keep as a souvenir of our first meeting.
ALONE.
"The sun has set, the evening brightness fades,
The gloom increases in the forest glades;
And a deep sadness all my soul pervades:
I am alone.
"A wild bird here and there still sings to cheer
His mate that nestles in the thicket near;
But ah! no voice of love falls on my ear:
I am alone.
"The gentle air plays with the rustling leaves,
Sweet with the fragrant odours it receives;
My bosom with no whispered incense heaves:
I am alone.
"A distant horn the evening silence breaks,
The mountain in soft echoes answer makes;
No heart responsive to my voice awakes:
I am alone.
"O'er rocky heights the Ilse, wild and free,
Hastes like an eager lover to the sea;
But whither shall I turn for love? Ah me!
I am alone.
"Still dreaming dreams I can to none impart,
I live with Nature and my own sad heart;
Whatever comes of joy or suffering's smart,
I bear alone."
The following is the German translation:—
Des Abends ros'ger Glanz erbleicht, das Land
Wird dunkel, dunkel wird's am Waldesrand;
In mir auch nachtel's, einsam ist die Hand:
Ich bin allein.
Ein Vogel hier und dort dem Weibchen singt,
Das nestlos nähe lauscht, wie's zu ihm klingt;
Zu meinem Ohr kein Ruf der Liebe dringt:
Ich bin allein.
Die Blätter lispeln, sie umkost die Luft
Mit sanftem Spiel, einathmend ihren Duft;
Wer flüstert Balsam mir in's Herz hinein?
Ich bin allein.
Ein fernes Horn ertönt mit sanftem Schall,
Der Berg antwörtet ihm im Wiederhall;
Auf meinen Laut erwacht kein Herz im All:
Ich bin allein.
Es stürzt die Ilse sich vom Felsbett her
In hast'gem Liebeslauf hinab zum Meer;
Doch ich? wohin? die Welt ist liebeleer:
Ich bin allein.
Noch träum' ich Träume, doch sie theilt kein Herzr
Allein mit der Natur und meinem Schmerz,
—Kommt Freude mir, bricht Leid herein:
Ich trag's allein.