For Sceptre and Crown Volume I Part 4

In short, it is a country where travelling still has its troubles and difficulties, and where its old poetry still exists; in the small towns the old manners and curious customs survive, and the door of the n.o.bleman's house is still hospitably opened to the traveller, who seems to bring with him a breath from the great world, the doings, of which, with all its pursuits, sound only like sagas to the inhabitants of these quiet homes.

Such is old Wendland, simple, beautiful, and true. The inhabitants are like the country--healthy and strong as the nature around them, simple as the land in which they live; rich, because they have what they want, and make no wants they cannot satisfy; strong in their affections, clear in their simple faith, full of natural unexpressed poetry, with hearts full of warm pure blood.

Through one of these large solitary pine woods, as the sun was setting on one of the first evenings in April, 1866, there rode along the sandy way a young officer in the uniform of the Hanoverian Cambridge dragoons. He left his beautiful thorough-bred horse to find its own way, which it appeared to know perfectly, whilst he sat carelessly and dreamily in the saddle. A fair moustache covered the young man's upper lip, his blue eyes gazed thoughtfully into the distance, as if he sought in the golden evening clouds surrounding the setting sun, the pictures which filled and occupied his mind. His light hair, though cut very short, contrived to curl coquettishly beneath the small military cap, and his face was rather pale, and though perfectly healthy, showed the peculiar delicacy which young people who have grown very fast frequently retain for a few years after they have reached manhood.

For a quarter of an hour the young officer rode on slowly and dreamily through the pine wood, the shadow of his horse, as it fell behind him, growing longer and longer, and the voices of the birds telling they were fluttering to their nests.

Then the road turned, the wood suddenly opened and a venerable castle appeared at some little distance, surrounded by tall old trees, the last rays of the sun making its large windows appear to stream with light.

At the end of the wood the village began; it was built sideways from the castle, in the form of a semicircle, as is usual in Wendland villages.

The dogs barked. The young officer awoke from his reverie, and straightened himself in the saddle. The horse felt the movement and wanted no other urging; he quitted his walk, and trotted with pointed ears through the village on the road to the castle.

The houses stood open on the warm beautiful spring evening. On their gables were seen the characteristic horses' heads, which in all Low Saxon countries play so important a part; their wors.h.i.+p was formerly accepted by the Wends here, and the figures are still carefully retained.

Peasant women, both old and young, sat before their doors, occupied with their needles; inside the open houses the women were seen finis.h.i.+ng their work at the loom, and as they worked, they sang the strange, melancholy, monotonous songs which are peculiar to the Wend race.

At every house the young officer was greeted, and he returned the salutations in a friendly way, speaking to most of the peasants by name, in a manner that showed he was well known, and near home.

On one side of the semicircular village, not far from the road leading to the castle, stood a plain old church, and near to it, in a pretty, well-kept garden, the quiet, cheerful-looking vicarage.

There was a foot-path from the garden to the broad road leading to the castle, and on this path two persons walked towards the highway.

One was an old gentleman of nearly sixty years of age; his black coat b.u.t.toned up to his throat, his dazzlingly white cravat of fine folded cambric, as also that remarkable tall square biretta of black velvet, made on the exact pattern of those handed down to us in portraits of Luther and Melanchthon, and still preferred by the Hanoverian clergy, showed at a glance that he was the village pastor.

His full, strongly-marked face, with its healthy colour, expressed, besides benevolent cheerfulness, a great deal of energetic character, and a decided, cultivated mind, which, separated from the great stream of life, had developed wonderfully in seclusion, framing a world of its own, where it found both peace and happiness.

It was Pastor Berger, who for more than twenty years had lived here amongst his flock.

Beside him walked his only daughter; for the last ten years, ever since her mother's death, she alone had shared her father's quiet life, and he had bestowed upon her education great and loving care; avoiding the common taste for amus.e.m.e.nts only to be found in the great world so far off, and teaching her to enjoy the quiet happiness which so completely satisfied himself.

The young girl's dark dress had a certain elegance, notwithstanding its country simplicity. She was not tall, but slender and graceful; her glossy chestnut hair appeared beneath the black velvet hat which shaded her delicate oval face, the slightly parted fresh lips smiled as if they breathed in happiness, whilst the brilliant though soft and thoughtful eyes, showed depths of intense poetic feeling.

The young officer perceived them, reined in his horse, and raising his hand to his cap for a military salute, exclaimed, "Good evening, Herr Pastor; good evening, Miss Helena!"

The clergyman called out "Good evening" loudly and cheerfully, and he too saluted with his hand; his daughter only slightly bowed her head without uttering a word, but the smile trembling on her lips, the joyful look beaming in her eyes, proved her greeting to be as hearty as her father's.

They both hastened on, and in a few moments they overtook the young man who awaited them on the high road; he sprang from his horse as the pastor and his daughter approached, and held out his hand.

"You were expected yesterday, Herr von Wendenstein," said the pastor; "your brother arrived the day before, and your father began to fear your leave had been refused."

"I could not come sooner--I was on duty yesterday," replied the young officer; "but that will enable me to stay two days longer. I can have some more lessons in natural history from my little mistress," he added, turning to the girl with a smile; she meanwhile was patting and caressing the horse's neck and head.

"If you are not more attentive and diligent than you were last time, you will make very little progress," said the pastor's daughter; "but give me Roland's bridle, he likes me to lead him best, and make haste to the castle; we were going there, and we shall be much more welcome if we bring you with us."

She took the horse's bridle, stepped aside, and followed the two gentlemen to the castle, leading the horse and speaking a coaxing word to him from time to time.

The approach to the castle was through a ma.s.sive gateway leading into a paved court-yard, surrounded by low walls, which evidently had replaced the ancient bulwarks.

In the midst of this large enclosure stood a single linden-tree of great age; to the right and left were stables and domestic offices, apparently modern, in two large low buildings. On the further side of the court-yard was the dwelling-house itself, the remains of an edifice evidently once of immense extent. Without any architectural beauty, without even belonging to any particular period, the castle made the impression which a large and ancient ma.s.s of stone-work of vast dimensions, placed in the open country and surrounded with trees, always produces.

The enormous oaken door of the house stood open; it led into a large stone hall lighted by two great windows on the right and left of the doorway. Against the walls of this hall stood many of those immense oak chests, black with age, in which our forefathers from generation to generation stored their household treasures of linen, silver plate, their family papers, and whatever else they considered valuable and worthy of preservation.

These old coffers tell us almost as much as a family chronicle, or as some old Saga; they disappear in these modern times--there is no room for them in our modern tiny drawing-rooms, or in the boudoirs crowded with knick-knacks of the housewives of the present day. They are no longer needed; who would now dream of beginning a collection of fine linen for a daughter's trousseau as soon as she was born? it can be bought good, cheap, and above all, in the newest style at the shops.

What need is there now for such deep, broad shrines to contain the silver plate of the house, when electro-plate is so beautiful, and can be changed with the fas.h.i.+on? However, these venerable old coffers still stood in the place of honour, and cared nothing about the generation of console-tables and tiny brackets which had taken the world by storm; above them hung dark old oil-paintings, hunting pieces with wonderfully stiff gentlemen riding equally stiff steeds, then came shepherdesses leading their flocks through very flowery meadows to the shade of woods, with long straight alleys strongly resembling Versailles; there were family portraits of old gentlemen in enormous wigs and velvet coats, in long-forgotten uniforms, and in black robes; there were smiling ladies with ruffs, fontanges, or sacks. And the old times seemed to live and breathe here quite naturally, as if it would always be the same to-day as it was yesterday, and the same to-morrow as it was to-day.

Right and left of this lofty and s.p.a.cious hall, old oaken doors led to the princ.i.p.al sitting-rooms; opposite to the entrance was a large apartment, which in a modern house would be called the drawing-room, but here its simple and ma.s.sive furniture corresponded with the rest of the castle. The only modern thing in the room was a beautiful piano; it stood open, and the music lying about it showed it was constantly used.

A large high-backed sofa stood against the wall, behind an enormous table of dark mahogany supported on column-like legs; a lamp with a large ground-gla.s.s globe and a tall, slender green lacquered stand, was already lighted, and struggled against the mild twilight which entered the room through two large windows and an open gla.s.s door. Beyond the gla.s.s door was a broad terrace, which extended along the whole length of the house on the garden side, and ended at the right corner in a round platform resting on stone foundations, evidently the spot on which in former times a large round tower must have stood.

High trees enclosed the terrace, but there were well-arranged vistas allowing the light to enter the windows freely, and opening out distant glimpses of the rich country extending on every side. Flower-beds edged with box adorned the well-kept lawn, already gay with variegated crocuses and snowdrops.

Such was the old castle of Blechow, where for the last eighteen years the worthy President von Wendenstein had administered the law after the patriarchal fas.h.i.+on of Hanover, where formerly the large landowners were also the chief magistrates, and the golden fruit of the tree was more highly prized than the grey theory of administrative form.

Herr von Wendenstein was not the autocrat his forefathers had been; a more severe standard had been raised, and the government of the country was different--more unbending, more bureaucratic; but the old office had devolved upon him with the castle of Blechow, and a considerable fortune permitted him to live in the style of former Hanoverian _high sheriffs_[2] and chief magistrates; his clear understanding and knowledge of the law enabled him to satisfy the new authorities, while he maintained the old order of things as much as possible, the personal respect and esteem he inspired greatly strengthening his authority.

In the large family sitting-room, on the big sofa, before the table, now brightly lighted by the lamp as the twilight decreased, sat the mistress of the house, Madame von Wendenstein, the worthy mistress of this great old echoing castle, with its enormous doors, bewitching coffers, and venerable portraits. A snow-white tulle cap, with carefully-plaited frills and silver grey ribbons, surrounded the old lady's delicate-featured, somewhat pale face, which, although she was only a few years younger than her husband, still bore traces of great beauty in the well-formed mouth and the large almond-shaped blue eyes.

The hair, still abundant, though almost white, was smoothly parted, and hung in carefully-curled locks on either side her face; these the old lady frequently stroked back with her slender white fingers, and arranged beneath the borders of her cap. Her features expressed unusual mildness and gentleness, and at the same time such extreme repose and una.s.suming dignity, that no stranger could have seen her, as she sat in her simple black silk dress, made in no French fas.h.i.+on, either old or modern, with its exquisitely white collar and cuffs, her hands resting in her lap with the white embroidery on which they had been occupied, her eyes fixed upon the evening sky with a look of thankful happiness,--no stranger could have seen her without feeling that a spirit of order, gentleness, and hospitality would greet all who entered the house. No speck of dust, no ill-cooked dish, no deviation from the regular times and hours would be permitted; but no trouble could a.s.sail a member of the family, no body or heart could suffer without the quick, true eyes of the mother and wife perceiving it, without a kind, good word from her mouth endeavouring to alleviate and console.

Such was the mistress of the old castle of Blechow. Her daughters, two young girls, sat beside her, pretty, blooming creatures of fifteen and eighteen, the latter possessing the beauty of the grown-up maiden, the former the charm of childhood. Their toilettes were very simple, but their beautifully-embroidered _lingerie_ and tastefully arranged hair, gave them an appearance of great refinement.

With the ladies sat the auditor von Bergfeld, the a.s.sistant granted to the president, who, according to old-fas.h.i.+oned custom, was received as a guest in the family.

President von Wendenstein walked up and down the terrace with his eldest son, who was employed by the Ministry of the Interior in Hanover as a government a.s.sessor and reporter. He had come to Blechow to keep his father's birthday, which had for some years past always been observed by the family.

President von Wendenstein had a pleasing and dignified appearance. His thick close-cut grey hair surrounded a broad forehead, with thick, arched eyebrows, beneath which were dark grey eyes, so clear, sharp and severe, yet with such an expression of jovial cheerfulness, such sparks of fiery animation, it was impossible not to imagine him twenty years younger than he really was. His long, well-shaped nose, his broad mouth, with full red lips and excellent teeth, his fresh complexion, formed altogether a picture of mental power and physical enjoyment of life commanding sympathy and respect.

He had, according to the old fas.h.i.+on, no beard, and he wore clothes of a light grey woolens material, with a light cap. His strong right hand grasped an ivory-handled stick, with which he supported his steps, for he suffered from gout, the only weakness that appeared in the healthy, energetic old gentleman.

His eldest son walked by him, in features unmistakeably resembling his father, in every other respect totally unlike him.

His dress, even to his hat, was that of a dweller in cities--glossy, simple, and faultless; his face, paler than his father's, expressed both polite civility and official reserve. His hair was smooth and carefully parted, his whiskers cut after the newest fas.h.i.+on, and his movements were quiet, gentle, and studied.

Such had his father never been in his youth--that could be seen at a glance, but he had grown up in very different times: the father was a character, the son a type.

"And you may say what you like," cried Herr von Wendenstein with animation, as he stood still and planted his stick firmly on the ground, "this new method of administration which is continually progressing, will not answer, and will lead to nothing good. These everlasting inquiries compel us to make reports, which take up an endless time, and seldom give a clear account of the matter; these orders on every possible subject (they often just miss knocking the nail on the head) take from the immediate governors of the country all self-reliance, all responsibility, and turn organization into machinery. The people and the country, however, continue living flesh and blood, and will not fit into the machine, hence the government is estranged from those governed, the magistrates become mere scribes, and stand helplessly by when an occasion arises requiring decision and judgment. Ever since the most humble reports to every inquiry and the most exact compliance with every order emanating from the boards of green cloth have become essential, human beings, who cannot be shut up and put away with law acts, have got on as they could, and," he added with a jovial laugh, "that is the least evil, for folks often get on best alone. The good old times--well, they had their faults, but in this they were better. The magistrates knew the people, and lived amongst them; they acted according to the law and their own consciences, and the government supported them. The minister travelled through the country once a year, and knew much better what went on, and on whom he could depend, than they will ever discover now from the most lengthy reports. But," he said laughingly, after a moment's pause, "I have no right to complain. If they require reports they give me an auditor to write them, and the orders I receive with due respect, but I give judgment after the old laws, and my subjects are quite contented.

I think they will find everything in my jurisdiction in perfect order, more so than in many others where the modern method is more fully established."

His son listened with the respect always shown to his father in this family, but he could not prevent a half impatient, half compa.s.sionate smile from curling his lip. As his father ceased, he replied in the measured, half pathetic, half monotonous voice peculiar to the eloquence of the green board, and known throughout the world wherever tables covered with green cloth, reports, and acts of parliament exist.

"It is only natural, my dear father, that you should love and defend old times; but you will agree with me, when I say the developments of time require alterations in government. The power of the landowners, the basis of the national economy of former generations, made them despotic, and divided the country and the people into isolated groups; individuals and acquaintances composed these almost domestic societies; they lived their own separate lives, and it was then right and suitable that the government should be equally individual. Now the national economy struggles for concentration; the great means of locomotion in our day, always rapidly increasing, destroys the boundaries of time and s.p.a.ce, those powers which separated different societies. The individual group now forms part of the comprehensive whole, and it is needful for the government to follow out this development of life in the people and the country, by quick changes and rapid concentration; a strong principle, a pervading system, is required throughout the administration, or the machine will stand still. Believe me, dear father, the government does not force a new element into our life, it is life itself in its irresistible development which obliges the government to adopt a quicker and more precise form, of administration.

Besides," he added, "I do not believe our views are so very different; with all your love for the past, you are quite equal to the present.

The minister told me lately the punctuality, order, and quickness in your jurisdiction were admirable, and always remarked by the authorities."

The old gentleman smiled, visibly flattered by his son's compliment, and said good-humouredly:

"Well, I manage to keep pace with the present, but I love the past best; and notwithstanding all you have said, I think matters might have been managed with less system, paper, and ink. But we will not argue about it any more," he said, as he patted his son's shoulder; "I am a child of my own generation, you live in yours;--men always bear the stamp of the times in which they live, whether they will or no. It is a pity the Present takes it so easily, and that all her children are stamped after the same pattern: they are made at a manufactory, and no longer bear signs of good home-made work. But let us go in, your mother is at the door calling us, and my old enemy," pointing to his foot with his stick, "conspires with the evening air a new attack upon my old bones."