The Initials. Baroness Jemima Montgomery Tautphoeus

The Initials - Baroness Jemima Montgomery Tautphoeus


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but I suppose I shall in time: it is hereditary in our family—my father has two or three attacks every year.”

      “Your father! is it your father who has had the gout?”

      “Yes, and I suspect my father is your correspondent, too. I really fear I am not the person you suppose me to be.”

      “What! what, what do you mean?” he cried, endeavouring to raise himself in his bed, and looking precisely like a writhing caddice-worm.

      “I mean that I received a letter the day before yesterday, inviting me to come here; the seal was a coronet, and it was signed A. Z. I arrived; made inquiries, and too hastily, it seems, concluded that Count Zedwitz, or one of his family, had written to me. Your daughter confirmed me in my error by saying that you had lately written to an Englishman in Munich, and wished very much to see him.”

      “Hum, ha!—very odd!” murmured the Count, fixing his eyes sharply on Hamilton. “May I ask your name?”

      “Hamilton,” replied the Englishman, with an ill-concealed attempt to repress an inclination to laugh.

      “I have not the honour of knowing any one of that name,” said the Count, endeavouring, as well as his blankets would permit him, to look dignified. “I am surprised, sir, you did not perceive the mistake sooner!”

      “So am I,” replied Hamilton, his rising colour betraying the embarrassment he endeavoured to conceal; “but every moment some remark of yours made me doubt again; besides,” he added, moving towards the door, “I must confess, I wished to hear something of this water-cure, which is quite new to me; I never heard of it until yesterday. However, I am extremely sorry for having forced myself upon your acquaintance, and can only regret that my correspondent had not written his name in full; from these initials, it seems, I have but a small chance of discovering the writer!”

      “I don’t know that,” cried Count Zedwitz, suddenly changing his manner; “it is by no means improbable that the letter is from Baron Z—; his wife is an Englishwoman. I should recommend your seeing them before you give up your search. And—and,” he added—hesitatingly—“as you seem interested on the subject of hydropathy, I shall have great pleasure in lending you some books and giving you every information in my power about Preissnitz and Graefenberg. In the mean time, look over this little work—it is not necessary to be a physician to understand it. You will find here a description of Graefenberg, the establishment of Preissnitz, who discovered this most rational mode of curing all diseases; and, I doubt not, you will soon be convinced of the uselessness of physicians and apothecaries, and place, as I do, all your reliance on cold water. Read what is said about perspiration, cold water drinking, and bathing; read and judge for yourself. I shall see you at dinner-time.”

      Hamilton received the book with expressions of gratitude which were really sincere. The happy termination of this interview made him feel that he had gained an acquaintance, who might, perhaps, turn into a friend, if he submitted to the ordeal by water.

       A. Z.

       Table of Contents

      As Hamilton was on his way to his room to procure his credentials, viz., A. Z.’s letter, he chanced to meet one of the chambermaids, who offered to conduct him to Baron Z—‘s apartment. To prevent the necessity of an explanation, he sent her before with one of his cards, and she returned almost immediately, saying that Baron Z—would be very happy to see him, and begged he would come to him as soon as possible. Hamilton immediately obeyed the summons, and found himself in presence of the traveller with the long rifle. In the middle of a large room was a round table completely covered with shooting implements, beside which stood Baron Z—, examining the identical rifle which he had pointed upwards the evening before. He advanced towards Hamilton with great cordiality, extended his hand, and exclaimed in English:

      “Mr. Hamilton, I am very glad to see you; my wife and I have been anxiously awaiting your arrival; for we are obliged to leave Seon after dinner to-day, to go to Berchtesgaden. Now all is quite easy to arrange—you go with us—you admire the beautiful mountains—you see the salt mines, and then we arrange an Alp-party or a chamois-hunt together. Are you a good shot?”

      “No, I regret to say I am not,” answered Hamilton, not a little embarrassed, for his deficiency in this respect had furnished his brother John, greatly his inferior in other respects, with unceasing subject for ridicule; and he half-expected some scoffing remark in answer.

      “You like to fish, or hunt on horseback, better than chamois-hunt, perhaps?”

      Hamilton acknowledged, much relieved, that he was very fond of a hunt on horseback; he could ride, he said, much better than he could shoot.

      “And I,” answered Baron Z—, good-humouredly laughing, “I can shoot better than I can ride. I thought it would be interesting for you to be acquainted with our sports, and——”

      “It would interest me of all things to see anything of the kind, even as a mere spectator,” exclaimed Hamilton, eagerly. “I accept your invitation with many thanks.”

      Baron Z—now desired his servant to let his wife know that “Mr. Hamilton, the Englishman she expected, had arrived. And Joseph,” he called after him, “take one of the carriage-boxes to Mr. Hamilton’s room; he goes with us to Berchtesgaden.”

      They were in the midst of a very animated discussion of what Hamilton knew very little about, viz., the latest improvements in fire-arms, when the real A. Z. entered the room. How shall we describe her? Most easily, perhaps, by negatives. She was not tall nor short, nor stout nor thin, nor handsome nor ugly, nor—nor—in fact, as well as Hamilton could define his ideas at such a critical moment, he thought the impression made on him was, that a pale, dark-haired person stood before him, whose countenance denoted sufficient intellect to make him conscious that he had better produce his letter and enter into an explanation at once. The absence of all recognition on her part made him at once conscious that he was not the person she had expected, and he stood before her blushing so intensely that she seemed to feel at length a sort of commiseration for him. She bit her lip to conceal a smile, and after a moment’s pause, held out her hand, saying, “I confess I expected to have seen your father, and am a little disappointed. You were such a mere child when I saw you last, John, that you have completely outgrown my recollection. You promised, indeed, to be ‘more than common tall,’ but I was not prepared for such a specimen of—— You seem to be an inveterate blusher, and very shy; perhaps that was the reason your father wished to send you abroad before you joined your regiment? By-the-by, I must have been misinformed, but I heard you had already joined! Now, pray don’t waste another blush on me, but try to feel at home as soon as you can, and prepare to tell me directly everything about everybody!”

      Hamilton moved mechanically towards the sofa, completely confused in every sense of the word, but at the same time greatly relieved in his mind. So, after all, the letter had been intended for his father, and she merely mistook him for his brother John—a common mistake, which he could easily explain. What a fool he would have been had he not come in person to inquire about this “A. Z.,” who was evidently an old friend of his father. He began to breathe more freely, and overheard a few words which she addressed to her husband in a very low voice, in German: “Did you ever see such a long-legged, bashful animal? He is, however, handsome, and would be decidedly gentlemanlike if he were less diffident. We must take him with us to Berchtesgaden Herrmann.”

      “I have already arranged everything,” he answered, nodding his head. “He wishes to see a chamois-hunt, and he shall, if I can manage it; at all events, he may stretch his long legs on one of our mountains.”

      “Are you a sportsman?” she asked in English, turning towards Hamilton, and seating herself on the sofa.

      “Not the least in the world, as far as shooting is concerned,” he answered, stooping to arrange her footstool, and feeling once more unembarrassed, “but I should like extremely to see a chamois-hunt.”


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