I was immediately collared and brought back; and
as far as I could make out, was taken for a lunatic, or at
least for a 'duffer,' for my rash attempt to approach unarmed
a wounded tusker. When we all met at the end of the day, the
bag of the five guns was forty-five wild boars. The biggest
- and he was a monster - fell to the rifle of the Prince, as
was of course intended.
The old man took me home in his carriage. It was a beautiful
drive. One's idea of an English park - even such a park as
Windsor's - dwindled into that of a pleasure ground, when
compared with the boundless territory we drove through. To
be sure, it was no more a park than is the New Forest; but it
had all the character of the best English scenery - miles of
fine turf, dotted with clumps of splendid trees, and gigantic
oaks standing alone in their majesty. Now and then a herd of
red deer were startled in some sequestered glade; but no
cattle, no sheep, no sign of domestic care. Struck with the
charm of this primeval wilderness, I made some remark about
the richness of the pasture, and wondered there were no sheep
to be seen. 'There,' said the old man, with a touch of
pride, as he pointed to the blue range of the Carpathians;
'that is my farm. I will tell you. All the celebrities of
the day who were interested in farming used to meet at
Holkham for what was called the sheep-shearing. I once told
your father I had more shepherds on my farm than there were
sheep on his.'
CHAPTER XIV
IT WAS with a sorry heart that I bade farewell to my Vienna
friends, my musical comrades, the Legation hospitalities, and
my faithful little Israelite. But the colt frisks over the
pasture from sheer superfluity of energy; and between one's
second and third decades instinctive restlessness -
spontaneous movement - is the law of one's being. 'Tis then
that 'Hope builds as fast as knowledge can destroy.' The
enjoyment we abandon is never so sweet as that we seek.
'Pleasure never is at home.' Happiness means action for its
own sake, change, incessant change.
I sought and found it in Bavaria, Bohemia, Russia, all over
Germany, and dropped anchor one day in Cracow; a week
afterwards in Warsaw. These were out-of-the-way places then;
there were no tourists in those days; I did not meet a single
compatriot either in the Polish or Russian town.
At Warsaw I had an adventure not unlike that which befell me
at Vienna. The whole of Europe, remember, was in a state of
political ferment. Poland was at least as ready to rise
against its oppressor then as now; and the police was
proportionately strict and arbitrary. An army corps was
encamped on the right bank of the Vistula, ready for expected
emergencies. Under these circumstances, passports, as may be
supposed, were carefully inspected; except in those of
British subjects, the person of the bearer was described -
his height, the colour of his hair (if he had any), or any
mark that distinguished him.
In my passport, after my name, was added 'ET SON DOMESTIQUE.'
The inspector who examined it at the frontier pointed to
this, and, in indifferent German, asked me where that
individual was. I replied that I had sent him with my
baggage to Dresden, to await my arrival there. A
consultation thereupon took place with another official, in a
language I did not understand; and to my dismay I was
informed that I was - in custody. The small portmanteau I
had with me, together with my despatch-box, was seized; the
latter contained a quantity of letters and my journal. Money
only was I permitted to retain.
Quite by the way, but adding greatly to my discomfort, was
the fact that since leaving Prague, where I had relinquished
everything I could dispense with, I had had much night
travelling amongst native passengers, who so valued
cleanliness that they economised it with religious care. By
the time I reached Warsaw, I may say, without metonymy, that
I was itching (all over) for a bath and a change of linen.
My irritation, indeed, was at its height. But there was no
appeal; and on my arrival I was haled before the authorities.
Again, their head was a general officer, though not the least
like my portly friend at Vienna. His business was to sit in
judgment upon delinquents such as I. He was a spare, austere
man, surrounded by a sharp-looking aide-de-camp, several
clerks in uniform, and two or three men in mufti, whom I took
to be detectives. The inspector who arrested me was present
with my open despatch-box and journal. The journal he handed
to the aide, who began at once to look it through while his
chief was disposing of another case.
To be suspected and dragged before this tribunal was, for the
time being (as I afterwards learnt) almost tantamount to
condemnation. As soon as the General had sentenced my
predecessor, I was accosted as a self-convicted criminal.
Fortunately he spoke French like a Frenchman; and, as it
presently appeared, a few words of English.
'What country do you belong to?' he asked, as if the question
was but a matter of form, put for decency's sake - a mere
prelude to committal.
'England, of course; you can see that by my passport.' I was
determined to fence him with his own weapons.
