The Malady of the Century | Page 6

brought some water, and
left him alone. He hung his knapsack on a hook on the wall, opened the
little window, and gazed long at the view. Underneath was the open
space where he had been standing, to the left the tower, and behind,
over the ruined walls, he could see the old, neglected castle yard full of
weeds and heaps of rubbish--a picture of decay and desolation.
"I have chosen well," thought Wilhelm, for he loved solitude, and
promised himself enjoyable hours of wandering in the ruins in
company with luxuriant flowers and singing birds.
He barely gave himself time to freshen his face with cold water, and to
change his thick walking shoes for lighter ones; immediately hurrying
out to make acquaintance with the castle. Before he could get there he
had first to find in the tumbledown wall a hole large enough to enable
him to get through. He shortly found himself in a fairly large square
space, the uneven ground being formed of a mass of rubbish, mounds
of earth, and deep holes. Woods protected the greater part of it, most of
the trees stunted and choked by undergrowth and shrubs, with
occasionally a high, solitary pine tree, and near to the west and south
walls half-withered oaks and mighty beeches stood thickly. Here and
there from the bushes peeped up bare pieces of crumbling stone and
broken pieces of mortar, in whose crevices hung long grasses, and
where yellow, white, and red flowers nestled. Climbing, stumbling, and
slipping, he worked his way through this wilderness, the length and
breath of which he wished to inspect so as to discover a place where he
could rest quietly, when he suddenly came to a precipitous fall of the
ground, concealed from him by a thick curtain of leaves. Startled and
taken by surprise, the ground seemed to him to sink under his feet. He
instinctively caught hold of some branches to keep himself from falling,

pricking his hands with the thorns, and breaking a slender bough,
finally rolling in company with dust and earth, torn-out bushes and
stone, down a steep declivity of several feet to a little grass plot at the
bottom. He heard a slight scream near him, and a girlish form sprang
up and cried in an anxious voice:
"Have you hurt yourself?"
Wilhelm picked himself up as quickly as he could, brushed the earth
from his clothes, and taking off his cap said, "Thanks, not much. Only a
piece of awkwardness. But I am afraid I have frightened you?" he
added.
"A little bit; but that is all right."
They looked at each other for the first time, and the lady laughed, while
Wilhelm blushed deeply. She stopped again directly, blushed also, and
dropped her eyes. She was a girl in the first bloom of youth, of
particularly fine and well-made figure, with a beautiful face; two
dimples in her cheeks giving her a roguish expression, and a pair of
lively brown eyes. A healthy color was in her cheeks, and in the
well-cut, seductive little mouth. Her luxuriant, golden-brown hair, in
the fashion of the day, was brushed back in long curls. She had as her
only ornament a pale gold band in her hair, and wore a simple dress of
light-flowered material, the high waistband fitting close to the girlish
figure. Conventionality began to assert its rights over nature, and the
girl too felt confused at finding herself in the middle of a conversation
with a strange man, suddenly shot down at her very feet. Wilhelm
understood and shared her embarrassment, and bowing, he said:
"As no doubt we are at the same house, allow me to introduce myself.
My name is Wilhelm Eynhardt. I come from Berlin, and took up my
abode an hour ago at the Schloss hotel."
"From Berlin," said the girl quickly; "then we are neighbors. That is
very nice. And where do you live in Berlin, if I may ask?"
"In Dorotheenstrasse."

"Of course you do," and a clear laugh deepened the shadow of her
dimples.
"Why 'of course?'" asked Wilhelm, rather surprised.
"Why, because that is our Latin quarter, and as a student--you are a
student, I suppose?"
"Yes, and no. In the German sense I am no longer a student, for I took
my degree a year ago; but the word in English is better and truer, as
there 'student' is used where we should say scholar (gelehrter). Scholars
we are, not only learners. In the English sense then I am a student, and
hope to remain so all my life."
"Ah, you speak English," she said, quickly catching at the word; "that
is charming. I am tremendously fond of English, and am quite
accustomed to it, as I spent a great part of my time