“Do you think so? As it all came to the same in the end, I should imagine it must rather have been a matter of indifference to him.”
“But I do not,” cried Hildegarde, stopping suddenly. “I think the manner in which one is put to death of great importance; I am sure you would prefer being beheaded to being hung.”
“The choice would be distressing; but I believe you are right; I should certainly choose being beheaded, as the more gentlemanlike death of the two, though I remember reading in some book of the horrible hypothesis—that the eye could see, the ear hear, and the brain think, for some moments after the head had been severed from the body.”
The guide jingled his keys. He probably thought the discussion of such subjects might be deferred until he had received his Trinkgeld, and he now threw open the gate and motioned to them to ascend. The tolerably numerous steps leading to the former abode and chapel of the anchorite were hewn in the mountain, the passage somewhat dark, and Hildegarde having declined any assistance, Hamilton, notwithstanding all his good resolutions to avoid Crescenz in future, turned towards her, was greeted with a soft smile, and his arm accepted as willingly as it was offered. He now took upon himself the office of guide, exhibited the chapel with its solitary Roman pillar, the sleeping-room of Maximus, and the place from which his companions had been precipitated. He was obliged to hold Crescenz, while she childishly stretched as far as possible over the mountain side, all the while declaring that she could not stand on the brink of a precipice without feeling an almost irresistible inclination to throw herself down it. No sooner had her two brothers heard this, than they rushed forward and thoughtlessly pushed her with a violence that might have had most fatal consequences had not Hamilton at the moment thrown his arm quite around her and drawn her back. Crescenz screamed violently, Fritz and Gustle laughed immoderately, Hildegarde remonstrated angrily, and in the midst of the clamour Madame Rosenberg and Major Stultz joined them. Crescenz blushed deeply, and, with a voice trembling from agitation, related what had occurred, and complained bitterly of her brothers’ rudeness. Madame Rosenberg scolded her for having looked down the precipice; Hildegarde for not having watched her brothers and prevented such a scene in such a place; and concluded by seizing both the brothers by the shoulders and shaking them violently, while she declared that she had a great mind to send them back to the inn, and not let them see either the Don church or the fountain. She turned to thank Hamilton for having taken charge of so riotous a party, but he had disappeared, annoyed at what had occurred, and internally vowing never to take charge of Crescenz or her brothers again.
Major Stultz had suddenly become jealous and out of temper; all the efforts of Madame Rosenberg to turn “the winter of his discontent” to “glorious summer” were vain; he followed her, half whistling, with his hands clasped behind him, intending to look extremely unconcerned; while his heightened colour, as they overtook Hamilton, betrayed to all the cause of his annoyance. Crescenz seemed perfectly indifferent, or rather, half disposed to brave his anger; for as they stood by Haydn’s monument, in the St. Peter’s church, she placed herself beside Hamilton, and spoke to him in French. It is true, the conversation was about the skull of Haydn, and the black marble urn which contained it; but Major Stultz could not be aware of this circumstance; and, with increased anger, he strode down the aisle, seeming disposed to quit them, had not Hamilton, weary of these misunderstandings, and provoked by Crescenz’s coquetry, said that he would meet them at the hotel in an hour; he was going to the cavalry stables to see the horses, which, of course, would not be interesting to them, and without waiting for an answer, he walked away.
Hamilton’s absence did not seem to have much improved the state of affairs, for on his return to the inn, no one but Madame Rosenberg seemed disposed to be loquacious; and when they got into the char-à-banc, which was to take them to Berchtesgaden, Crescenz absolutely maneuvred to avoid Major Stultz; and on being ordered by her mother to sit beside him, pouted in the most significant manner. Madame Rosenberg chose this time to take charge of her two sons herself; she thought their vicinity might interrupt the reconciliation between Major Stultz and Crescenz, which she evidently wished to promote, but which seemed less likely than ever to take place, as Crescenz chose now to appear or to be excessively offended. This line of conduct had the effect of making poor Major Stultz imagine that he had been, perhaps, too hasty—unjust—uncivil—in short, he very soon accused himself of being a savage! and as these thoughts passed through his brain, his manners and words softened; he became humble, and even entreated forgiveness for the unknown offence; but all in vain—Crescenz scarcely answered him—in fact, she had not heard him, for her whole attention was absorbed in the conversation of her sister and Hamilton, who were immediately before her; she fancied that neither had disliked the arrangement which had placed them together. The latter, especially, seemed determined to amuse and be amused, and for more than an hour and a half the conversation never flagged. Madame Rosenberg occasionally joined in it, and Major Stultz also chimed in when he found all his efforts to obtain answers from Crescenz fruitless. They had nearly reached Berchtesgaden, and Hamilton had just begun to congratulate himself on having at length discovered the possibility of talking to Hildegarde without quarrelling, when Major Stultz abruptly asked him if he had been to see the summer riding-school.
“Can you doubt it? It is the prettiest thing of the kind I have ever seen—the beau ideal of an ancient theatre. That the tiers of seats for the spectators are hewn out of the mountain, enhances its grandeur, and makes one forget that it is only a riding-school. What a place for a tournament! or for gladiators; or what an arena for wild beasts!”
“Exactly what we all said when we were there to-day,” exclaimed Hildegarde.
“Yes,” said Crescenz, for the first time joining in the conversation; “we all said that; but Hildegarde and I thought of Schiller’s Ballad of the Glove; didn’t we, Hildegarde?”
Hildegarde nodded.