As I came along the road, the dust of which had been laid that
afternoon by an odorous summer rain, the principal thing which struck
my eyes was the quaintness and unquestioned age of the old inn. It was
a relic of the days when feudal lords still warred with one another,
and the united kingdom was undreamt of. It looked to be 300 years old,
and might have been more. From time to time it had undergone various
repairs, as shown by the new stone and signs of modern masonry, the
slate peeping out among the moss-covered tiles. It sat back from the
highway, and was surrounded by thick rows of untrimmed hedges, and was
partly concealed from view by oaks and chestnuts. The gardens were
full of roses all in bloom, and their perfumes hung heavy on the moist
air. And within a stone's throw of the rear the Danube noiselessly
slid along its green banks. All I knew about the inn was that it had
been by a whim of nature the birthplace of that beautiful, erratic and
irresponsible young person, her Serene Highness the Princess
Hildegarde. It was here I thought to find Hillars; though it was idle
curiosity as much as anything which led me to the place.
The village was five miles below. I could see the turrets of the
castle which belonged to the Princess. She was very wealthy, and owned
as many as three strongholds in the petty principality of Hohenphalia.
Capricious indeed must have been the woman who was ready to relinquish
them for freedom.
The innkeeper was a pleasant, ruddy-cheeked old man, who had seen
service. He greeted me with some surprise; tourists, he said, seldom
made this forgotten, out-of-the-way village an objective point. I
received a room which commanded a fine view of the river and a stretch
of the broad highway. I was the only guest. This very loneliness
pleased me. My travel-stained suit I exchanged for knickerbockers and
a belted jacket. I went down to supper; it was a simple affair, and I
was made to feel at home. From the dining-room I caught a momentary
flash of white skirts in the barroom.
"Ah," I thought; "a barmaid. If she is pretty it will be a diversion."
In the course of my wanderings I had seen few barmaids worth looking at
twice.
When the table was cleared I lit a cigar and strolled into the gardens.
The evening air was delicious with the smell of flowers, still wet with
rain. The spirit of the breeze softly whispered among the branches
above me. Far up in the darkening blues a hawk circled. The west was
a thread of yellow flame; the moon rose over the hills in the east;
Diana on the heels of Apollo! And the river! It was as though Nature
had suddenly become lavish in her bounty and had sent a stream of
melting silver trailing over all the land. There is nothing more
beautiful to see than placid water as it reflects a summer's twilight.
The blue Danube! Who has heard that magic name without the remembrance
of a face close to your own, an arm, bare, white, dazzling, resting and
gleaming like marble on your broadcloth sleeve, and above all, the
dreamy, swinging strains of Strauss? There was a face once which had
rested near mine. Heigho! I lingered with my cigar and watched the
night reveal itself. I lay at the foot of a tree, close to the water's
edge, and surrendered to the dream-god. Some of my dreams knew the
bitterness of regret. "Men have died and worms have eaten them, but
not for love." Yet, no man who has loved and lost can go through his
allotted time without the consciousness that he has missed something,
something which leaves each triumph empty and incomplete.