Chapter V: Introduction (5)

In the great, corrupt communities abroad this sort of thing is not allowable. There the conditions of life are so impure that a well-bred young man would never think of following a reputable woman. And the few reputable women there are in those nations, would be much discomposed to find themselves followed.

But in our pure and moral atmosphere we can, fortunately, permit our young people somewhat greater latitude, just on account of the strict propriety of our habits.

Cousin Hans, therefore, did not hesitate a moment in obeying the voice of his heart; and the young lady, who soon observed what havoc she had made with the glance designed for the old soldier, felt the situation piquant and not unpleasing.

The passers-by, who, of course, at once saw what was going on (be it observed that this is one of the few scenes of life in which the leading actors are quite unconscious of their audience), thought, for the most part, that the comedy was amusing to witness. They looked round and smiled to themselves; for they all knew that either it would lead to nothing, in which case it was only the most innocent of youthful amusements; or it would lead to an engagement, and an engagement is the most delightful thing in the world.

While they thus pursued their course at a fitting distance, now on the same sidewalk and now on opposite sides of the street, Cousin Hans had ample time for reflection.

As to the fact of his being in love he was quite clear. The symptoms were all there; he knew that he was in for it, in for real, true, genuine, love; and he was happy in the knowledge. Yes, so happy was Cousin Hans that he, who at other times was apt to stand upon his rights, accepted with a quiet, complacent smile all the jostlings and shoves, the smothered objurgations and other unpleasantnesses, which inevitably befall any one who rushes hastily along a crowded street, keeping his eyes fixed upon an object in front of him.

No--the love was obvious, indubitable. That settled, he tried to picture to himself the beloved one’s, the heavenly creature’s, mundane circumstances. And there was no great difficulty in that; she had been walking with her old father, had suddenly discovered that it was past twelve o’clock, and had hastily said good-bye for the present, in order to go home and see to the dinner. For she was doubtless domestic, this sweet creature, and evidently motherless.

The last conjecture was, perhaps, a result of the dread of mothers-in-law inculcated by all reputable authors; but it was none the less confident on that account. And now it only remained for Cousin Hans to discover, in the first place, where she lived, in the second place who she was, and in the third place how he could make her acquaintance.

Where she lived he would soon learn, for was she not on her way home? Who she was, he could easily find out from the neighbors. And as for making her acquaintance--good heavens! is not a little difficulty an indispensable part of a genuine romance?

Just as the chase was at its height, the quarry disappeared into a gate-way; and it was really high time, for, truth to tell, the hunter was rather exhausted.

He read with a certain relief the number, “34,” over the gate, then went a few steps farther on, in order to throw any possible observer off the scent, and stopped beside a street-lamp to recover his breath. It was, as aforesaid, a warm day; and this, combined with his violent emotion, had thrown Hans into a strong perspiration. His toilet, too, had been disarranged by the reckless eagerness with which he had hurled himself into the chase.

He could not help smiling at himself, as he stood and wiped his face and neck, adjusted his necktie, and felt his collar, which had melted on the sunny side. But it was a blissful smile, he was in that frame of mind in which one sees, or at any rate apprehends, nothing of the external world; and he said to himself, half aloud, “Love endures everything, accepts everything.”

“And perspires freely,” said a fat little gentleman whose white waistcoat suddenly came within Cousin Hans’s range of vision.

“Oh, is that you, uncle?” he said, a little abashed.

“Of course it is,” answered Uncle Frederick. “I’ve left the shady side of the street expressly to save you from being roasted. Come along with me.”

Thereupon he tried to drag his nephew with him, but Hans resisted. “Do you know who lives at No. 34, uncle?”

“Not in the least; but do let us get into the shade,” said Uncle Frederick; for there were two things he could not endure: heat and laughter--the first on account of his corpulence, and the second on account of what he himself called “his apoplectic tendencies.”

“By-the-bye,” he said, when they reached the cool side of the street, and he had taken his nephew by the arm, “now that I think of it, I do know, quite well, who lives in No. 34; it’s old Captain Schrappe.”

“Do you know him?” asked Cousin Hans, anxiously.

“Yes, a little, just as half the town knows him, from having seen him on the esplanade, where he walks every day.”

“Yes, that was just where I saw him,” said his nephew. “What an interesting old gentleman he looks. I should like so much to have a talk with him.”

“That wish you can easily gratify,” answered Uncle Frederick. “You need only place yourself anywhere on the ramparts and begin drawing lines in the sand, then he’ll come to you.”

“Come to you?” said Cousin Hans.

“Yes, he’ll come and talk to you. But you must be careful: he’s dangerous.”

“Eh?” said Cousin Hans.

“He was once very nearly the end of me.”

“Ah!” said Cousin Hans.

“Yes, with his talk, you understand.”

“Oh?” said Cousin Hans.

“You see, he has two stories,” continued Uncle Frederick, “the one, about a sham fight in Sweden, is a good half-hour long. But the other, the battle of Waterloo, generally lasts from an hour and a half to two hours. I have heard it three times.” And Uncle Frederick sighed deeply.

“Are they so very tedious, then, these stories? asked Cousin Hans.

“Oh, they’re well enough for once in a way,” answered his uncle, “and if you should get into conversation with the captain, mark what I tell you: If you get off with the short story, the Swedish one, you have nothing to do but alternately to nod and shake your head. You’ll soon pick up the lay of the land.”

“The lay of the land?” said Cousin Hans.

“Yes, you must know that he draws the whole manoeuvre for you in the sand; but it’s easy enough to understand if only you keep your eye on A and B. There’s only one point where you must be careful not to put your foot in it.”

“Does he get impatient, then, if you don’t understand?” asked Cousin Hans.

“No, quite the contrary; but if you show that you’re not following, he begins at the beginning again, you see! The crucial point in the sham fight,” continued his uncle, “is the movement made by the captain himself, in spite of the general’s orders, which equally embarrassed both friends and foes. It was this stroke of genius, between ourselves, which forced them to give him the Order of the Sword, to induce him to retire. So when you come to this point, you must nod violently, and say: ‘Of course--the only reasonable move--the key to the position.’ Remember that--the key.”

“The key,” repeated Cousin Hans.

“But,” said his uncle, looking at him with anticipatory compassion, “if, in your youthful love of adventure, you should bring on yourself the long story, the one about Waterloo, you must either keep quite silent or have all your wits about you. I once had to swallow the whole description over again, only because, in my eagerness to show how thoroughly I understood the situation, I happened to move Kellermann’s dragoons instead of Milhaud’s cuirassiers!”

“What do you mean by moving the dragoons, uncle?” asked Cousin Hans.

“Oh, you’ll understand well enough, if you come in for the long one. But,” added Uncle Frederick, in a solemn tone, “beware, I warn you, beware of Blücher!”

“Blücher?” said Cousin Hans.

“I won’t say anything more. But what makes you wish to know about this old original? What on earth do you want with him.”

“Does he walk there every forenoon?” asked Hans.

“Every forenoon, from eleven to one, and every afternoon, from five to seven. But what interest--?”

“Has he many children?” interrupted Hans.

“Only one daughter; but what the deuce--?”

“Good-bye, uncle! I must get home to my books.”

“Stop a bit! Aren’t you going to Aunt Maren’s this evening? She asked me to invite you.”

“No, thanks, I haven’t time,” shouted Cousin Hans, who was already several paces away.

“There’s to be a ladies’ party--young ladies!” bawled Uncle Frederick; for he did not know what had come over his nephew.

But Hans shook his head with a peculiar energetic contempt, and disappeared round the corner.

“The deuce is in it,” thought Uncle Frederick, “the boy is crazy, or--oh, I have it!--he’s in love! He was standing here, babbling about love, when I found him--outside No. 34. And then his interest in old Schrappe! Can he be in love with Miss Betty? Oh, no,” thought Uncle Frederick, shaking his head, as he, too, continued on his way, “I don’t believe he has sense enough for that.”