University of Virginia Library

1. THE
COUNTESS IDA.

1. CHAPTER I.

It was on a pleasant October evening, in the year
1790, that the public diligence which ran between
Hamburg and Berlin drew up in the evening at
the post of the former town preparatory to starting.
The clock struck nine. The four strong horses
clattered with their heavy hoofs against the pavement,
as if impatient to be off. The conducteur
blew an inspiring blast upon his horn, and a small
but observant circle of by-standers were collected to
gaze on the company of passengers, and the animated
scene in which they formed the principal actors.
The travellers for the night, who appeared to take
their places, were only five in number. The officer
of the post, to whom it was committed to superintend
the departure of the vehicle and its occupants,
appeared with a light, a pen behind his ear, and a
paper in his hand.

“Number one,” exclaimed he.

We shall take the liberty here, as during the
progress of our story, to render, without apology,
into our own language whatever conversation we
may have to impart.

At the call of “number one,” a young man of apparently
five-and-twenty stepped from the surrounding
groups. His umbrella and cane were thrust into
the netting suspended from the roof of the vehicle;

a book, which he had carried under his arm, was
placed in one of the pockets; and he concluded by
depositing his own person in the right-hand corner
of the back seat, usually deemed the best in the carriage.
During these proceedings, the young man,
by the light of a lamp, underwent an attentive scrutiny
from the spectators, particularly that portion destined
to be his compagnons de voyage. He was a
person of a good appearance and an agreeable enough
countenance. He wore a not very handsome cloak,
but one which had a warm and serviceable look;
and he was no sooner seated than, relieving himself
from a travelling cap of blue cloth, he exchanged
the same for a stout white cotton nightcap, which
gave him a comfortable but not very romantic appearance.
It was easy to perceive that, although a
young man, he was an old traveller; and even such
of the by-standers as counted upon passing the night
in a good bed could scarcely help envying him the
manner in which he arranged himself for his nocturnal
journey.

The official's call for “number two” brought forth
a lady, respecting whom nothing more definite could
be discovered than a goodly equipage of muff, veil,
and cloak—making the tout ensemble of a female
apparently neither young nor old, but of a respectable
rank in life. Her effects had been already placed,
and she assumed her seat without delay.

A call for “number three, four, and five,” brought
into the foreground an English-looking individual of
the male gender, as might be particularly seen by
his whiskers. A lady hung on each arm. The audience,
who silently watched the progress of affairs,
gathered nothing more from the appearance of these
than that they were travellers well wrapped up from
the cold, that they spoke the English language, and
that the name of him of the nobler sex was “John.”
From the frequent and familiar manner in which the
epithet was applied by one of his fair companions,

in the various remarks which she found it agreeable
to make, she was probably his wife, sister, or near
relative; though they among the spectators accustomed
to such observations were, from a certain asperity
in her tone and manner, rather inclined to set
her down as the first.

The passengers were at length all seated. The
doors were slammed to; the conducteur mounted to
his place; the blast of the horn broke above all other
noises; the renewed clattering of the horses' hoofs
against the pavement was followed by seven heart-rousing
cracks of the whip; and the “bon voyage”
of the dignitary, whose labours were thus happily
completed, was scarcely heard in the general clamour.

The diligence dashed on with a thundering noise.
Our fellow-travellers were sometimes visible to each
other for a moment by the glare of a street lamp or
an illumined shop-window, and sometimes in utter
darkness. At length the softened sound of the
wheels made it apparent that they were off the pavement,
and offered an opportunity of conversation to
such as desired it. “Numbers one and two” seemed,
for the present, disposed to enjoy their reveries in silence.
The others were less taciturn. The person
who has already been introduced to the reader as
“John,” made many exclamations of anger, which
were joined in by a hard, sharp female voice. The
cause seemed to be an overcharge in the bill, or
what at least they deemed such, at their hotel in
Hamburg. The gentleman's dissatisfaction was directed
against the maître d'hotel and the waiters,
while the lady included her husband in her animad-versions.

“I knew we should be overcharged the instant I
set eyes on the hotel,” said the lady. “Didn't I tell
you? I was right, you see!”

“Oh, certainly, my dear, you're always right! but
whose plan is it to come at all? to give up a comfortable

house in London, where people are—are—
are at least civilized, in order to come here, and—
and—and with these poor savages?”

“Good gracious, John!” said the other voice,
“you are such an awful fool!”

“Oh, certainly, my dear; but—”

Here a third person interfered, in a low tone,
which seemed the soft and more sensible voice of a
young girl. She whispered something to the male
speaker.

“Who cares if they do!” replied the last.

“What is that you say, Mary?” said the lady.

“I say, perhaps our fellow-passengers may understand
English,” said the young girl, in an under
tone.

“Yes, indeed! but your father's such a fool; he
will go on making a ninny of himself.”

“Oh, certainly, my dear! I'm always in the
wrong; but whose idea was it to bring the carriage
and knock it to pieces before even it was got ashore?
I told you it would be broken!”

“Pray, madame, do you speak French?” said
“number one,” addressing, in that language, his silent
companion “number two.”

“Oui, monsieur.”

“We are fortunate in having such pleasant weather
for our journey.”

“Very.”

“Would not you prefer the seat I occupy?”

“Oh non, monsieur.”

“Do you go on to Berlin?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you reside there?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I am so much a stranger on this part of the Continent,
madame, that, if my conversation and questions
will not be disagreeable, I shall occasionally
beg some information as to the objects on our route.”

“It would give me pleasure to afford you any in
my power,” said the lady.

There was a pause. “Number one” was pleased
with his companion, although he could not see her.
From her voice and manner of speaking during this
short colloquy in the dark, he concluded that she
was a lady of good breeding, and that he was favoured
with an agreeable companion.

“I think you said you were a resident of Berlin?”
at length resumed the young man.

“I did.”

“Have you ever been in England?”

“I have.”

“You speak English?”

“A little.”

“I shall beg, then,” said he, “to express myself
in that language.”

“Alas!” said the lady, in perfect English, only
rendered more graceful by a slight foreign accent,
“I scarcely know whether I can use, with sufficient
facility, a language which I have not practised habitually
for so many years.”

“Really, madame!” said her companion, “I could
mistake you for a countrywoman.”

“No, sir,” said the lady; “I am an Austrian.”

“But you have lived in England?”

“Some time.”

“Is it long since?”

“Twenty years.”

“Did you like it?”

“In some respects.”

“And do you never mean to return there?”

“Oh never!”

The last exclamation was uttered with a vehemence
which apparently the speaker herself did not
intend, and, perhaps, was not conscious of. It implied
a history, and at once piqued the curiosity and
awakened the interest of her companion.

“What kind of a place is Berlin, madame?” inquired
the young man, after another pause, “and how
is a stranger likely to amuse himself there?”

“It is rather difficult to answer your question in
a satisfactory manner, unless one knows who puts
it.”

“If my name will throw any light upon the affair,”
said the first, good-humouredly, “I am called Mr.
Claude Wyndham.”

“You mistake me,” said the lady, hastily. “I
did not mean to be guilty of such a rude question.
I intended to say that, before I answered the query,
I should know whether he who puts it is in search
of knowledge or pleasure.”

“For me,” said the young man, now also in a
more serious tone, “I am travelling without any
fixed purpose, to see the world, and to fill up an interval
of leisure. I should like to perfect myself in
the German language, of which I have already some
knowledge. I have been also looking towards the
army.”

“What army?”

“That of France, madame. That great nation has
awakened my deepest sympathy. The stand she
has taken commands admiration; and I wish to join
the ranks of a people for the first time demanding
their rights.”

“I have no pretensions to offer you counsel,” said
the lady; “but if I had, I should warn you against
such a course. The revolution which has broken
out in France gives indications of an alarming kind;
and I fear, whatever necessity there may be for reform,
affairs may be hurried on with a precipitateness
dangerous to the peace of Europe. But we
wander from your question.”

“Yes, madame. And do you think I shall like
the metropolis of the great Frederic?”

“Unquestionably.”

“Is the society agreeable?”

“Quite so.”

“May I ask,” continued Mr. Wyndham, “whether
you are sufficiently acquainted there to give me

information respecting the person to whom I bring
a letter. Do you know Count Carolan?”

“Count Carolan? Do you bring a letter to him?”

“I do.”

“Well, chance has brought us together in a singular
manner,” said the lady. “I am a member of
Count Carolan's family.”

“Then give me leave sincerely to hope,” said
Mr. Wyndham, “that an acquaintance so pleasantly
commenced may be continued.”

This discovery seemed to place Mr. Wyndham
and his complaisant friend on a new footing. They
had already been prepossessed in each other's favour;
and, now that the lady discovered her unknown
companion to be on the eve of appearing in the Berlin
circles under the auspices of Count Carolan, one
of the leading members of the haute societé; and
now, too, that Mr. Wyndham learned that his fellow-passenger
was a member of Count Carolan's
family, the doubts which exist between travellers,
however mutually agreeable when not acquainted
with each other's standing and character, were entirely
dispelled. There remained yet to be satisfied,
however, some curiosity on either side. Who
was Mr. Wyndham? and why the sadness with
which he had alluded to himself? Mr. Wyndham,
on the other hand, wondered what relation existed
between his companion and the Carolans, and whether
he was addressing a wife, a sister, or a poor relative.
She had the ease of manner and elegance of
conversation which familiar acquaintance with society
confers, and there was something about her
which arrested his attention. While these reflections
passed through their minds, the coach stopped
to change horses.