In the Courts of Memory 1858 1875. by L. de Hegermann Lindencrone

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After dinner we were led into the room in which the séance was to take
place, and were seated round a large table, and told to hold our tongues
and one another's hands; the gas was turned down to the lowest point, the
lamps screwed down, and there we sat and waited and waited.

The poor host was chagrined beyond utterance; something was the matter
with the magnetic current. Sometimes he would tap on the table to attract
the attention of the spirit underneath, but nothing helped; the spirits
were obstinate and remained silent.

I ventured to ask the Duke, by the side of whom I sat and held on to, in
what manner the spirits made known their answers. He said that one knock
meant "yes," no knock meant "no," and two knocks meant "doubtful." At last
we heard a timid knock in the direction of Mrs. Corner. Then every one was
alert. Prince Wittgenstein addressed the spot and whispered in his most
seductive tones, "Dear spirit, will you not manifest yourself?" Two knocks
(doubtful).

"Is the company seated right?" (Silence, meaning "no.")

"Is the company congenial?" (Silence.)

To find out who the uncongenial person was, every one asked, in turn, "Is
it I?" until Princess Wittgenstein put the question, upon which came a
vigorous single knock.

"My dear," said the Prince, "I am sorry to say it, but you must go."

So she left, nothing loath. We all thought for sure something would happen
now, but nothing did.

Prince Wittgenstein commenced the same inquiries, whether the company was
now congenial; but it seemed that Princess de Croy was _de trop_, and
she was also obliged to leave the room. (You see, the spirits did not like
to single out the hostess alone.) Now we were reduced to nine believers
with moist hands.

Would the Empress not now appear? We waited long enough for her to make up
her mind; but it seemed that neither her mind nor anything else was ready
to be made up. The spirits were perhaps willing, but the flesh was too
weak. Then Mrs. Corner remembered that at the last sitting the Empress had
declared that she would never appear on German soil (her feelings having
been wounded during the Franco-German War).

There still remained Katie King. We had not heard from her yet. Prince
Wittgenstein addressed the table under his fingers: "Oh, dear spirits, do
do something! Anything would be acceptable!" How could he or she resist
such humble pleadings?

Then some one felt a cold wind pass over his face. Surely something was
happening now!

"It must be Katie King about to materialize," said the hopeful Prince.

Then we saw a dim light. We strained our eyes to the utmost to discover
what it was. I should have said, if I had been truthful, that to me it
looked like a carefully shaded candle; but I held my tongue. The hand of
my neighbor was fast becoming jelly in mine, and I would have given worlds
to have got my hand out of the current; but I did not dare to interfere
with it, and I continued to hold on to the jelly. Whoever was being
materialized was doing it so slowly, and without any kind of system, that
we hardly had the patience to sit it out. Then a tambourine walked up some
one's arm, Prince Nassau's spectacles were pulled off his august nose by
invisible hands (of course, who else would have dared?), thus making him
more near-sighted than ever. His wife's necklace of turquoises was
unclasped from her neck and hooked on to the neck of the acolyte sister;
but on anxious and repeated demands to have it returned, it was replaced,
much to the owner's relief. Prince Wittgenstein thought it silly of her to
have so little confidence. Suddenly, while necklaces were changing necks,
we saw what looked like a cloud of gauze. We held our breaths, the raps
under the table redoubled, and there were all sorts of by-play, such as
hair-pulling and arm-pinching, but no Katie. The gauze which was going to
be her gave up trying and disappeared altogether. "Never mind," said the
Prince. "It does not matter [I thought so, too.] She will come to-morrow
night."

This was very depressing; even Prince Wittgenstein was utterly discouraged
and decided to break up the séance, and, groping his way to the nearest
lamp, turned it up. We went into the other salon, where we found the two
discarded ladies sitting peacefully before a samovar and playing a game of
two-handed poker.

Miss Cook told Prince Wittgenstein that Katie King would probably
materialize if she had the promise of getting a sapphire ring which he
wore (a beautiful sapphire). Miss Cook suggested that if this ring could
be hung up on a certain tree in the garden Katie King would come and get
it, and would certainly materialize the next evening. Prince Wittgenstein
was credulous enough to pander to this modest wish, and hung up the
desired ring, hoping Katie King would return it when she was in the flesh.
But Miss Cook had a succession of fainting fits which necessitated her
sudden departure for England, so we never saw Katie King, neither did
Prince Wittgenstein ever get his ring back, as far as I know.

_September, 1874._

Last Tuesday we three--Count and Countess Westphal and I--left Wiesbaden,
slept at Frankfort, and starting the next morning at eleven o'clock, we
arrived at our destination at 5.00 P.M. We found three carriages; one for
us and two for the maids and luggage. Halfway to the castle we met,
driving the lightest and prettiest of basket-wagons, our host and hostess,
Count and Countess W--; the latter got into the carriage with us and one
of us took her place by the side of the host. We passed through the
village, which had but one street, irregular and narrow, and we were in
constant danger of running over the shoals of little children who stood
stupidly in the middle of it, gazing at us with open eyes and mouth.

The Schloss is a very large, square building, with rounded towers in the
four corners. It has been remodeled, added to, and adorned so many times
that it is difficult to tell to which style of architecture it belongs.
The chapel is in an angle and opens on to the paved courtyard.

Our first evening was spent quietly making acquaintance with the other
guests. The next morning we lunched at eleven o'clock, the gentlemen in
knickerbockers and shooting attire, the ladies in sensible gowns of light
material over silk petticoats. Simplicity is the order of the day. Our
lunch consists of many courses, and we might have lingered for hours if
the sight of the postman coming up the avenue had not given us the excuse
to leave the table and devote ourselves to our correspondence, which had
to be done in double-quick time, as the postman only waited a short
fifteen minutes, long enough to imbibe the welcome cup of coffee or the
glass of beer which he found waiting him in the kitchen. The Countess,
although the mother of a young man twenty-four years of age, has a pink-
and-white complexion and a fine, statuesque figure. She is a Russian lady
by birth, and does a lot of kissing, as seems to be the custom in Russia.
She told me that when a gentleman of a certain position kisses your hand
you must kiss his forehead.

"Isn't this rather cruel toward the ladies?" I said.

"Why," she asked, "do you think it is cruel?"

"Ladies sometimes have on gloves when they give their hands to be kissed,
whereas there are some foreheads which ought to have gloves on before they
are kissed."

The young Count, when he returned from the races at Wiesbaden, brought
with him a young American who had been presented to him by a friend of
his, who said that Mr. Brent, of Colorado (that was his name), was very
"original" and _ausserordenlich charmant_. And he was both charming and
(especially) original; but not the type one meets in society.

He was a big, tall, splendidly built fellow with the sweetest face and the
liquidest blue eyes one can imagine. He had a soft, melodious voice and
the most fascinating manner, in spite of his far-Western language. Every
one liked him; my American heart warmed to him instantly, and even the
austere _grande dame_, our hostess, was visibly captivated, and the prim
German governess drank in every word he said, intending, no doubt, to
improve her English, which otherwise she never got a chance to speak.

The two young men arrived yesterday just in time for tea. When the
Countess asked him, in her most velvety tones, "Do you take sugar, Mr.
Brent?" "Yes, ma'am, I do--three lumps, and if it's beety I take four." (I
trembled! What would he say next?) "I've got a real sweet tooth," he said,
with an alluring smile, to which we all succumbed. The governess,
remembering what hers had been before acquiring her expensive false set,
probably wondered how teeth could ever be sweet.

While dressing for dinner I shuddered at the thought of what his dinner
toilet might be; but I cannot say how relieved I was when I saw him appear
(he was the last to appear) dressed in perfect evening dress, in the
latest fashion, except his tie, which was of white satin and very badly
tied. The salon in which we met before dinner is a real museum of rare
pictures, old furniture, and curiosities. The walls are hung with old
Italian faïences and porcelains. A huge buffet, reaching to the ceiling,
is filled with Venetian goblets and majolica vases.

A vast chimneypiece, under which one can stand with ease, is ornamented
with a fine iron bas-relief of the family arms, and a ponderous pair of
andirons which support a heavy iron bar big enough to roast a wild boar
on. Count G---- called Mr. Brent's attention to it, and Mr. Brent said,
pleasantly, "I suppose this is where the ancestors toasted their
patriarchal toes."

At dinner he sat next to the governess, and I could see her trying to
digest his "original" language; and I was near enough to overhear some of
their conversation. For instance, she asked him what his occupation was in
his native land. "Oh," he said, "I do a little of everything, mostly
farming. I've paddled my own canoe since I was a small kid."

"Is there much water in your country-place?" she inquired.

"Don't you mean country? Well, yes, we have quite a few pailfuls over
there, and we don't have to pull a string to let our waterfalls down."

My neighbor must have thought me very inattentive; but I felt that I could
not lose a word of Mr. Brent's conversation. The vestibule (or "Halle," as
they called it), where we went after dinner, used to be occupied by the
_Corps du Garde._ It had vaulted ceilings and great oak beams, and was
filled with hunting implements of all ages arranged in groups on the
walls very artistically; there were cross-bows, fencing-swords, masks,
guns (old and new), pistols, etc. Mr. Brent was very much impressed by
this collection, gazed at the specimens with sparkling admiration, and
remarked to the governess, who was always at his elbow, "I never saw such
a lot of things [meaning the weapons] outside of a shindy."

"What is a shindy?" inquired the governess, always anxious to improve her
knowledge of the language.

"Why, don't you know what a shindy is? No? Well, it's a free fight, where
you kill promiscuous."

"Gott im Himmel!" almost screamed the terrified damsel. "Do you mean to
say that you have killed any one otherwise than in a duel?"

"I can't deny that I have killed a few," Mr. Brent said, cordially, "but
never in cold blood."

"How dreadful!" his listener cried.

"But you see, over there," pointing with his cigar into the vague (toward
Colorado), "if a man insults you, you must kill him then and there, and
you must always be heeled."

"Heeled!" she repeated, puzzled. "Do they always get well?"

Neither understood.

Probably she thinks to this day that a shindy is an exceptionally good
hospital.

The Count said, "This room is a very good specimen of Renaissance style."

Mr. Brent replied, "I don't know what 'renny-saunce' means, but this room
is the style I like"; and added, "It's bully; and to-morrow I'd like to
take a snap-shot of it and of all the company to show mother, if [with his
charming smile] you will let me."

"You shall take that and any other thing you like," said the Count. "How
long do you intend staying in Europe?"

"That depends," answered Mr. Brent. "I came across the pond because the
doctor said I needed rest and change."

"I hope that you have had them both," the Count said, kindly.

"I got the change, all right; but the hotel-keepers got the rest, as the
story goes."

Every one laughed and voted the young and clever American perfectly
delightful.

The Countess extended her jeweled hand when she bade him good night, the
hand that always had been held with reverence and pressed gently to lips,
and felt it seized in a grip which made her wince.

"Madame, you are just as sweet as you can be. I cottoned to you right off
the minute I saw you, just as I did to 'sonny,' over there," pointing to
the noble scion of the house. The governess made a note of the word
"cotton." The Countess was dumfounded; but our young friend seeming so
unconscious of having said or done anything out of the way, she simply,
instead of resenting what in another would have been most offensive,
looked at him with a lovely, motherly smile, and I am sure she wanted to
imprint a kiss on his forehead _à la Russe_.

The next morning the Countess mentioned that she had a quantity of old
tapestries somewhere about in the house. "Where are they?" we all
exclaimed. "Can we not see them?"

"Certainly, but I do not know where they are," answered the Countess.
"They may be in the stables."

We went there, and sure enough we found, after rummaging about in the
large attic, a quantity of old tapestries: three complete subjects
(biblical and pastoral), all of them more or less spoiled by rats and
indiscriminate cutting.

It amused me to see in the servants' dining-room some good old pictures,
while in ours the walls were covered with modern engravings.

We were about thirty at table, and in the servants' hall there were nearly
sixty persons. Lenchen, my old-maid maid, puts on her best and only black-
silk dress every day and spends hours over her toilette for dinner.

Mr. Tweed, the English trainer, says that the stables here are among the
finest in Germany, and that the Count owns the best race-horses in the
land, and is a connoisseur of everything connected with horses.

Our Colorado friend did not seem at all overwhelmed with the splendor of
the stables, but with a knowing eye, examining the horses (feet, fetlocks,
and all), and without further preliminaries, said, "This one is not worth
much, and that one I would not give two cents for, but this fellow,"
pointing to the Count's best racer, "is a beauty."

Mr. Tweed's amazement at this amateur (as he supposed him to be) was
turned into admiration when Mr. Brent walked into the paddock, asked for a
rope, and proceeded to show us how they lasso horses in America. Every one
was delighted at this exhibition.

Then Mr. Tweed brought out the most unruly horse he had, which none of the
English or German grooms could mount. Mr. Brent advanced cautiously, and
with a few coaxing words got the horse to stand quiet long enough for him
to pass his hand caressingly over his neck. But putting the saddle on him
was another matter; the horse absolutely refused to be saddled. So what
did our American friend do but give one mighty spring and land on the
horse's bare back. He dug his strong legs into the sides of the horse, and
though the horse kicked and plunged for a while, it succumbed finally and
was brought in tame and meek.

Nothing could have pleased the Count more than this, and the rest of us
were lost in admiration.

Mr. Brent invited all the stable-boys _en bloc_ to come over to America to
see him; he guessed he "and the boys could teach them a trick or two."

After luncheon Mr. Brent wanted us all to come out on the lawn to be
photographed, particularly the Countess, and said to the young Count, "You
tackle the missis [meaning the Countess], and I'll get the others."

Of course no one refused. How could we resist such a charmer? Who could
ever have believed that this simple, unaffected youth could have so
completely won all hearts?

He said to the Countess while "fixing" her for the group, "I wanted you,
because you remind me so of my dear old mother." The Countess actually
purred with ecstasy; but I don't think she would have liked to be compared
to any "old" thing (mother or not) by anybody else. In this case she
merely looked up at him and smiled sweetly, and as for the _blasé_,
stately Count, he simply would not let him out of his sight.

At last the group was arranged according to Mr. Brent's ideas; the host
and hostess in the center, while the others clustered around them.

"Now, ladies and gentlemen, please look pleasant," said Mr. Brent, and we
all took the attitude we remembered to have looked well in on some former
occasion, and hoped we looked "pleasant," and that "mother," when
contemplating us, would approve of us.

The Count's birthday happened to be on one of these days. Mr. Brent, who
had intended to leave, was urged by both him and the Countess to stay. The
young Count said, "Papa would be really unhappy if you went away." "That's
real nice of him; you bet I'll stay, then." On the day itself he was all-
pervading. It was he who hung the heavy garlands and wreaths on the
highest poles, agile as a cat, and draped the flags about the escutcheons
placed everywhere. He helped the ladies arrange the flowers in the
innumerable vases in the salons. He it was who led the applause when the
deputation of young people from the village made their speech, and when
the Count responded, in his most dignified and courtly manner, Mr. Brent
cried out, in a most enthusiastic voice, "Good for you!"

In the evening there were visits from all the surrounding neighborhood;
the ladies wore tiaras and all their jewels, and the gentlemen all their
decorations; there was a grand supper in the state dining-room. Although I
suppose it was the first time Mr. Brent had ever seen such a sight, he did
not seem in the least astonished. He circulated about the distinguished
company and made himself most agreeable indiscriminately to young and old.
He was in full glory, and certainly was the life of the evening, which
finished brilliantly with a grand display of fireworks set off from the
tower, so that they could be seen from far and near.

The next day Mr. Brent left. When he bade me good-by he said: "Good-by,
ma'am. If I have had a good time here, I owe it all to you." "Oh no, you
don't!" I said. "You owe it all to yourself, and you may say to your
mother, from me, that you won all hearts."

He sighed and turned away his head, giving my hand an extra squeeze. "If
you ever come to Colorado, just ask any one for Johnny Brent, and if I
don't stand on my head for you it'll be because I've lost it."

His leave-taking of the Countess was almost pathetic. He held her hand
long and tenderly, and said, "I can't find any word, ma'am--I mean,
Countess--but--thank you, thank you, that's all I can say."

And the Countess (we thought she would faint) put her hand on his
shoulder. He bent his head, and she kissed him on his forehead; and he
(were the heavens going to fall?) stooped down and kissed her cheek.

The Count said: "Good-by, my boy. Come again to see us"--and going to the
walls where his collection of pistols hung, took one of them and handed it
to him "This will remind you of us, but don't kill any one with it."

"Never," said Mr. Brent. "I will hang it round my neck."

Thus departed our American hero, for who but a hero could have stormed
such a fortress and broken down all the traditional barriers?

A day or two later we received a visit from royalty, in the person of
Prince Frederick Charles of Prussia.

In the evening we played a wonderful game called _taroc_, which was very
intricate and almost impossible to learn. Old Baron Kessler, who undertook
to teach it to me, got so sleepy that he actually yawned in my face.

This Baron Kessler is quite a character--very clever, very artistic, very
musical, and, strange to say, very superstitious. For instance, he wears
an old waistcoat which has certain magical grease-spots on Fridays; on
Mondays his purse must be in the left pocket of his coat, on Thursdays in
his right pocket. He drinks nine times before twelve o'clock on special
days, and has a cigar-case for each different day of the week. He hates
losing at cards, and when he does it is quite an affair; and I am not sure
that prayers are not offered up for him by his family in the chapel on his
baronial estates.

The last thing I saw was a vision of Herr Lenning (the head butler), who
is sometimes a little shaky himself, helping the Baron up the stairs.
Possibly it was the evening of the nine-drink morning.

Next day we all left, except the old Baron, who for reasons of his own
remained.

WEIMAR, _September, 1874._

DEAR M.,--I thought it would be a good idea to go to Weimar, the place
_par excellence_ to study German, the Germans, and their literature;
and, moreover, my boy might go to school there. Mrs. Kingsland had given
me a letter to the Grand Duke of Saxe-Weimar, and recommended the place,
not because she knew the town, but because she knew the Grand Duke.
Besides, had I not a dear cousin who had written a most attractive book
about Weimar, combined with Liszt and his enchantments?

I was all enthusiasm.

I decided to go to the hotel which Liszt honored. The proprietor put me
into Liszt's very room, where a framed letter of his hung on the wall....
This did not in the least overcome me, as I had several of Liszt's letters
at home. But what did overcome me was that I was charged four times the
price of any other hotel, on Liszt's account!

Weimar may be very pleasant in the season when the little Court sheds its
mild light about; but out of the season, especially at this time of the
year, when there is nothing but dried and fluttering leaves, students, and
dogs in the streets, I found it woeful. It was reeking of Schiller and
Goethe. For two marks you can have a pretty good idea of how these great
men lived and had their being. Everywhere we turned, and we turned
everywhere, there were statues, busts, autographs, writing-desks, beds,
and wash-stands which had belonged to them. I admired everything until my
vocabulary of exclamations was exhausted and my head whirled.

I told Howard, as young as he was, I would not have him Goethed and
Schillered, as he certainly would be if he stayed here; so I changed my
plans and made up my mind to accept the invitation of my friend the
Countess Westphal to make her a visit at her château in Westphalia. We
took a train which dropped us at her station, where she met us and drove
us to Fürstenberg.

Westphalia is renowned for its hams. Perhaps you don't know this,
therefore I tell you. It is also renowned for the independent spirit of
the Westphalians.

FÜRSTENBERG, _1874._

DEAR M.,--This château is a fine old castle, with rounded towers and
mysterious passages, and has a village tucked on to it. The family
consists of the Countess, the Count, and three children, a tutor, a
governess, and everything which belongs to the old families and their
traditions. The mysterious passages possessed no ghosts, for which I was
sorry, though my maid (a timid and naïve old German maiden) thought that
she heard "things" at night when she came up the dark, winding stone
staircase which led to my room.

Life passed quietly at Fürstenberg. Countess Westphal and I amused
ourselves with music and embroidery and listening to the Count's report of
his hunting expeditions.

One day, in a spasm of energy, she proposed to take me to see a friend of
hers, Countess B----, who, she said, lived quite near. We would spend the
night, returning the next day. She thought it would be a very pleasant and
entertaining little excursion for us.

She telegraphed to Countess B---- that we were coming without maids, and
with only necessary baggage; and my maid immediately went to work to pack
what she considered necessary for this visit. She put a dinner-dress, with
high and low waists, as the occasion might require, an extra day-dress,
and all kinds of accessories, filling a good-sized trunk.

We started early the next morning. Countess Westphal was full of happy
expectations; so was I. We were four hours on the way before we reached
our destination; but Countess Westphal cheerfully remarked that time was
of no consequence.

On our arrival at the forlorn little station I looked in vain for the
lordly chariot I thought would be waiting for us. Countess Westphal seemed
astonished also, but with her usual good-nature accounted for the absence
of the chariot by saying that her friend could not possibly have received
the telegram. We lingered about, hoping that some vehicle would appear;
but as none did so, Countess Westphal started off to find one, and she
finally succeeded in tempting a man, for the vast sum of four marks, to
drive us to the _schloss_.

After the coachman had gathered the reins off the back of the old, rickety
horse, I leaned back in my seat and pictured to myself what this beautiful
_schloss_ we were going to would be like.

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