As I had never been in Munich before, I strolled about the town till dusk. At that time the taste of the present king had not enriched the capital with the innumerable objects of art which render it now second to none in Europe. There were, indeed, then but few attractions—narrow streets, tall, unarchitectural-looking houses, and gloomy, unimpressive churches. Tired of this, I turned towards my inn, wondering in my mind if Antoine had succeeded in procuring me the room, or whether yet I should be obliged to seek my lodging elsewhere. Scarcely had I entered the porch, when I found him waiting my arrival, candle in hand. He conducted me at once up the wide oaken stair, then along the gallery, into a large wainscotted room, with a most capacious bed. A cheerful wood fire burned and crackled away in the grate—the cloth was already spread for supper—(remember it was in Germany)—the newspapers of the day were placed before me—and, in a word, every attention showed that I had found the true avenue to Antoine's good graces, who now stood bowing before me, in apparent ecstasy at his own cleverness.
"All very well done, Antoine, and now for supper—order it yourself for me—I never can find my way in a German 'carte de diner;' and be sure to have a fiacre here at nine—nine precisely."
Antoine withdrew, leaving me to my own reflections, which now, if not gloomy, were still of the most anxious kind.
Scarcely was the supper placed upon the table, when a tremendous tramping of horses along the street, and loud cracking of whips, announced a new arrival.
"Here they are," said I, as, springing up, I upset the soup, and nearly threw the roti into Antoine's face, as he was putting it before me.
Down stairs I rushed, through the hall, pushing aside waiters and overturning chambermaids in my course. The carriage was already at the door. Now for a surprise, thought I, as I worked through the crowd in the porch, and reached the door just as the steps were clattered down, and a gentleman began to descend, whom twenty expectant voices, now informed of
"May all the—"
What I wished for his excellency it would not be polite to repeat, nor most discreet even to remember; but, certes, I mounted the stairs with as little good will towards the envoy extraordinary as was consistent with due loyalty.
When once more in my room, I congratulated myself that now at least no more "false starts" could occur—"the eternal Charge d'Affaires, of whom I have been hearing since my arrival, cannot come twice—he is here now, and I hope I'm done with him."
The supper—some greasiness apart—was good—the wine excellent. My spirits were gradually rising, and I paced my room in that mingled state of hope and fear, that amid all its anxieties, has such moments of ecstasy. A new noise without—some rabble in the street; hark, it comes nearer—I hear the sound of wheels; yes, there go the horses—nearer and nearer. Ah, it is dying away again—stay—yes, yes—here it is—here they are. The noise and tumult without now increased every instant—the heavy trot of six or eight horses shook the very street, and I heard the round, dull, rumbling sound of a heavy carriage, as it drew up at last at the door of the inn. Why it was I know not, but this time I could not stir—my heart beat almost loud enough for me to hear—my temples throbbed, and then a cold and clammy perspiration came over me, and I sank into a chair. Fearing that I was about to faint, sick as I was, I felt angry with myself, and tried to rally, but could not, and only at length was roused by hearing that the steps were let down, and shortly after the tread of feet coming along the gallery towards my room.
They are coming—she is coming, thought I. Now then for my doom!
There was some noise of voices outside. I listened, for I still felt unable to rise. The talking grew louder—doors were opened and shut—then came a lull—then more slamming of doors, and more talking—then all was still again—and at last I heard the steps of people as if retiring, and in a few minutes after the carriage door was jammed to, and again the heavy tramp of the horses rattled over the pave. At this instant Antoine entered.
"Well, Antoine," said I, in a voice trembling with weakness and agitation, "not them yet?"
"It was his Grace the Grand Mareschal," said Antoine, scarcely heeding my question, in the importance of the illustrious visitor who had arrived.
"Ah, the Grand Mareschal," said I, carelessly; "does he live here?"
"Sappermint nein, Mein Herr; but he has just been to pay his respects to his Excellency the new Charge d'Affaires."
In the name of all patience, I ask, who could endure this? From the hour of my arrival I am haunted by this one image—the Charge d'Affaires. For him I have been almost condemned to go houseless, and naked; and now the very most sacred feelings of my heart are subject to his influence. I walked up and down in an agony. Another such disappointment, and my brain will turn, thought I, and they may write my epitaph—"Died of love and a Charge d'Affaires."
"It is time to dress," said the waiter.
"I could strangle him with my own hands," muttered I, worked up into a real heat by the excitement of my passion.
"The Charge—"
"Say that name again, villain, and I'll blow your brains out," cried I, seizing Antoine by the throat, and pinning him against the wall; "only dare to mutter it, and you'll ever breathe another syllable."
The poor fellow grew green with terror, and fell upon his knees before me.
"Get my dressing things ready," said I, in a more subdued tone. "I did not mean to terrify you—but beware of what I told you."
While Antoine occupied himself with the preparations for my toilette, I sat broodingly over the wood embers, thinking of my fate.
A knock came to the door. It was the tailor's servant with my clothes. He laid down the parcel and retired, while Antoine proceeded to open it, and exhibit before me a blue uniform with embroidered collar and cuffs—the whole, without being gaudy, being sufficiently handsome, and quite as showy as I could wish.
The poor waiter expressed his unqualified approval of the costume, and talked away about the approaching ball as something pre-eminently magnificent.
"You had better look after the fiacre, Antoine," said I; "it is past nine."
He walked towards the door, opened it, and then, turning round, said, in a kind of low, confidential whisper, pointing, with the thumb of his left hand, towards the wall of the room as he spoke—
"He won't go—very strange that."
"Who do you mean?" said I, quite unconscious of the allusion.
"The Charge d'Aff—"
I made one spring at him, but he slammed the door to, and before I could reach the lobby, I heard him rolling from top to bottom of the oak
All books are sourced from Project Gutenberg