CHAPTER XXVII.
THE SOVEREIGN.
The Hereditary Prince was walking with the Chamberlain in the gardens which surrounded the royal castle on three sides. He looked indifferently on the splendid coloring of the early flowers and the fresh green of the trees; to-day he was more silent than usual; whilst the birds piped to him from the branches, and the spring breeze wafted fragrance from the tops of the trees, he played with his eye-glass. "What bird is that singing?" he asked, at last, awakening from his apathy.
The Chamberlain replied, "It is a thrush."
The Prince examined the bird with his glasses, and then asked, carelessly, "What are those people ahead of us carrying?"
"Chairs for the pavilion," answered the Chamberlain; "it is being arranged for Professor Werner. The house is seldom open now; formerly his Highness, the Sovereign, used to live there occasionally."
"I do not remember ever having been in it for a very long time."
"Would your Highness like to see the rooms?"
"We can pass that way."
The Chamberlain turned towards the pavilion; the Marshal was standing at the door; he had come to see that everything was in order. The Hereditary Prince greeted him, cast a cursory glance at the house, and was inclined to pass on. It was a small grey-stone structure, in old fashioned style; there were shell-shaped arabesques round the doors and windows, and little dropsical angels supported heavy garlands of stone flowers with lines which appeared to have been cut out of elephant's hide; the angels themselves looked as if they had just crept out of a dirty swamp and been dried in the sun. The dark building stood amid the fresh verdure like a large chest, in which all the withered flowers that the garden had ever borne, and all the moss which the gardener had ever scraped from the trees, seemed, to have been kept for later generations.
"It is an uninviting looking place," said the Prince.
"It is the gloomy appearance that has always pleased his Sovereign Highness so much," replied the Marshal. "Will not your Highness examine the interior?"
The Prince passed slowly up the steps and through the apartments. The musty smell of the long-closed rooms had not been removed by the pastiles that had been burnt in them; logs were blazing in all the fireplaces, but the warmth which they spread still struggled with the damp air. The arrangement of the rooms was throughout orderly and complete. There were heavy portières, curtains with large tassels, and fantastic furniture with much gilding, and white covers for the preservation of the silk, mirrors with broad fantastic frames, round the chimney-piece garlands carved in grey marble, and upon it wreathed vases and little figures of painted porcelain. In the boudoir, on a marble console, there was a large clock under a glass bell; a nude gilded nymph poured water over the dial from her urn which was turned to gilded ice. Everything was richly adorned; but the whole arrangement, furniture, porcelain, and walls, looked as if no eye had ever rested on them with pleasure, nor careful housewife rejoiced in their possession. There were remarkable things from every part of the world; first they had been placed in the large assembly-rooms which were opened at Court fêtes; then they had ceased to be in fashion, and were moved into side-rooms. It was now their destiny to be handed down from one generation to another, and counted once a year to see if they were still there. Thus they passed a never-ending existence--preserved, but not used; kept, but disregarded.
"It is damp and cold here," said the Prince, looking round upon the walls, and again hastening into the open air.
"How do the arrangements please your Highness?" asked the Marshal.
"They will do very well," answered the Prince, "except the pictures."
"Some of them certainly are rather improper," acknowledged the Marshal.
"My father would be pleased if you could remove these. When is Professor Werner expected?"
"This evening," replied the Chamberlain. "Perhaps your Highness would wish to receive the guest after his arrival, or to pay him a visit yourself."
"You may ask my father," replied the Prince.
When the Prince went with his companion up the staircase to his own rooms in the castle, the Chamberlain began:
"The Professor's wife was very much pleased once with the flowers which your Highness sent her. May I commission the Court gardener to put some in her room?"
"Do what you think fitting," replied the Prince, coldly.
He entered his apartment, looked behind him to see if he were alone, and went with rapid steps to the window; from thence he looked over the level lawn and the blooming rows of trees to the pavilion. He gazed long through the window, then took a book from the table and seated himself in the corner of the sofa to read; but he laid the book on the table again, paced hastily up and down, and looked at his watch.
The Court dinner was over. The ladies cast a half glance behind them to see if the back-ground was clear for their retiring curtsies. The gentlemen took their hats under their arms. The Marshal approached the door, and held his gold-headed stick with graceful deportment--a sure sign that the royal party was about to break up. The Princess, who was still in mourning, stopped her brother.
"When do they come? I am so curious," she said, in a low tone.
"They are perhaps already there," answered he, looking down.
"I am going to the theatre to-day for the first time again," continued the Princess. "Come into my box if you can."
The Prince nodded. Information came to the Marshal, which he conveyed to the Prince's father. "Your teacher, Professor Werner, is come," said he, aloud, to his son. "You will undoubtedly wish to pay your compliments to him." He then bowed to the Court, and the young Princess followed him out of the room.
The Chamberlain hastened to the pavilion. The Marshal followed more quietly. A royal equipage had brought the travelers from the nearest station. They passed rapidly by the trees in the park, the pleasure-grounds, and the lighted windows of the royal castle. The pavilion was no longer a shapeless building, as it appeared in the day, under the glaring sun, to the indifferent eyes of the courtiers. The moon lighted up the front, and shone with a glimmering halo on the walls; it threw a silver glitter on the cheeks of the angels, and on the solid broad leaves of their garlands, and brought out strongly on the bright surface of the wall the shadows of the projecting cornices. Wax-lights shone through the open door. Lackeys, in rich liveries, held heavy candelabra. The steward of the house, a friendly looking personage, in dress coat and knee-breeches, stood in the hall and greeted the comers with polite words. Following the lackeys, Ilse ascended the carpeted steps, on her husband's arm, and when the servant threw back the portière, and the row of rooms appeared shining with wax-lights, she could hardly suppress an exclamation of astonishment. The steward led them through the rooms, explained the disposal of them, and Ilse perceived, with rapid glance, how stately and comfortable they all were. She looked with admiration at the abundance of flowers which were placed in the vases and bowls. She wondered whether her little Prince had shown this tender attention, but was undeceived when the official announced that the Chamberlain had sent them. A pretty maid was introduced, who was to wait upon her exclusively. Gabriel stood in the ante-room considering where he and his traps would be taken, in order that the Professor's boots might, in the morning, be no dishonor to the splendor of the house. At last one of the lackeys showed him his room, and, like a good comrade, pointed out to him the lamps of a tavern, which for his leisure hours would be particularly agreeable.
Ilse went through the rooms as if stupefied by their splendor, and endeavored to open the window to let in some fresh air, for the strong fragrance of the hyacinths threatened her with headache. Then came the Chamberlain, behind him the Marshal, who was also an urbane gentleman of very refined appearance; and both expressed their pleasure at seeing the Professor and his wife. They offered their services on all occasions, and pointed out from the windows the position of the pavilion. Suddenly the lackey threw open the folding-doors, announcing "His Highness, the Hereditary Prince."
The young gentleman walked slowly into the room. He bowed silently to Ilse, and gave his hand to the Professor. "My father has commissioned me to express to you his pleasure that you have fulfilled his wishes;" and, turning to Ilse, he continued: "I trust that you will find the dwelling comfortable enough not to regret having left your residence at home."
Ilse looked with great pleasure at her Prince. He had, it appeared to her, grown a little. His demeanor was still rather depressed; but he had color in his cheeks, and it was clear that things were not amiss with him. The little moustache was stronger and became him well.
She replied, "I scarcely venture to turn round. It is like a fairy castle. One expects every moment that a spirit will spring from the wall and inquire whether one wishes to go through the air, or that four swans will stop at the window with a golden carriage. No chair is necessary to ascend to it, for the windows come down to the ground. The Park Street sends its greeting, and I give your Highness heartfelt thanks for the present which the Chamberlain sent me for the last Christmas-tree."
The Professor approached the Prince, mentioned to him the names of some of his colleagues, who had sent to him their kindest remembrances, and then begged him to express to his royal father his thanks for this hospitable reception.
Everything seemed to curl in ornamental scrolls. The lamps shone from the silver chandeliers, the hyacinths sent out sweet fragrance from every vase, the closed curtains gave the room a comfortable appearance, and on the frescoed ceiling a flying Cupid was represented holding a bunch of red poppies over the heads of the guests.
"To-day we will leave you to rest, as you must be tired," said the Prince, concluding the visit; and the Chamberlain promised to inform the Professor at an early hour the next morning when the Sovereign would receive him. Scarcely had the gentleman gone when a servant announced that dinner was served in the next room.
"Why, it is evening," said Ilse, shyly.
"Never mind," replied the Professor, "you have taken the first step. Show good courage." He gallantly offered her his arm. The man in smart livery conducted them into the next room, and drew back the chairs of the richly-adorned table. There was no end of courses. In spite of Ilse's protest a superabundant dinner made its appearance, and she said, at last, "I must resign myself to everything. There is no use in struggling against these spirits. Whoever lives in a Prince's household must be bold enough to go through all."
When the dinner at last was carried away, and Ilse had been freed from her anxieties about Gabriel, she busily began arranging her things. While she was unpacking she said to her husband, "This is a very charming welcome, Felix, and I now have real confidence that all will go well."
"Have you ever doubted it?" asked the Professor.
Ilse answered, "Up to this hour I have had a secret anxiety, I know not why, but it has now vanished; for the people here all seem so friendly and kindhearted."
As the Prince passed through the gardens back to the castle the two cavaliers behind him conversed together.
"A charming woman," said the Marshal--"a beauty of the first order. There is good blood there."
"She is in every respect a distinguished lady," replied the Chamberlain, aloud.
"You have already told me that once," replied the Marshal. "I congratulate you on this acquaintance from the University."
"How do you like the Professor?" asked the Chamberlain, turning the conversation.
"He appears to be a clever man," replied the Marshal, with indifference. "It is long since the pavilion has had such a beauty in it."
The Prince turned round, and he saw by the light of the large chandelier that the gentlemen exchanged looks with one another.
The Prince's carriage drove up. He entered it without saying a word to his companions, and drove to the opera. There he entered the ante-room of the royal box.
"How do the strangers like their abode at the pavilion?" asked the Sovereign, kindly.
"They are content with everything," replied his son; "but the rooms are damp, and would not be healthy for a prolonged stay."
"They were never considered so, as far as I recollect," replied the father, coldly, "and I hope you will be convinced of it." Then, turning to the Chamberlain, he said, "To-morrow, after breakfast, I wish to speak to Mr. Werner."
The Hereditary Prince went into the box to his sister, and seated himself silently at her side.
"Where are the places for the strangers?" asked the Princess.
"I do not know," replied her brother.
The Princess looked behind her inquiringly.
"The strangers' box is opposite," explained the Chamberlain; "but they have enough to do to-day settling themselves."
"What is the matter with you, Benno?" asked the sister, after the first act. "You cough."
"I have caught a little cold. It will pass."
After the theatre the Prince retired to his bedroom, and complained to Krüger of a headache and sore throat. When he was alone, he opened the window and looked across the pleasure-ground to the pavilion, the lights of which glimmered like stars in the night. He listened. Perhaps he might hear some sound from there. He found it warm, for he took off his necktie, and long stood motionless at the window, till the cool night air came into his room and the last light was extinguished. Then he closed his window gently and went to bed.
This was not prudent, for the Prince, whose health was easily affected, awoke the following morning with a severe cold. The doctor was hastily called, and the Prince was obliged to keep his bed.
When the indisposition of the Hereditary Prince was announced to his father, it put him in a bad humor. "Just now!" he exclaimed. "He has every misfortune unhealthy people are heir to." When, afterwards, the Professor was announced, the way in which he received the announcement was so cold and constrained that the Chamberlain felt very anxious about the reception of the Professor. The long habit, however, of receiving graciously, and the dignified bearing of the Professor, had a softening influence. After a few introductory words, the Sovereign began a conversation about Italy; and it appeared that the Professor was in correspondence with a distinguished literary Roman, who was one of the Sovereign's most intimate acquaintances when he was last in Italy. This gradually placed the Professor in quite a different light to the Sovereign. He had sent for him as a mere useful tool, but he now found he was a man who had claims to personal consideration, because he was known to others whose position was respected by the Sovereign. The Sovereign then asked how the matter of the lost manuscript stood, and smiled at the eager zeal of the Professor, when he told him of the new clue which he had found in the records.
"It would be well for you to prepare a memorial of the whole state of the affair, which will assist my memory, and add to it what help you wish from me or my officials."
The Professor was very grateful.
"I will not deny myself the pleasure of taking you to the museum," continued the Sovereign. "I shall thus see what a learned man, who is a thorough connoisseur, thinks of the quiet amusement of an amateur collector."
The doors flew open, the learned man entered the spacious rooms with the Sovereign. "We will first go rapidly through the rooms that you may obtain a general view of their contents and arrangements," said the Sovereign. While the Professor looked at the abundance of beautiful and instructive remains of antiquity, many of which were quite new to him, the Sovereign gave some account of them; but soon left it to the learned man to search out for himself objects of interest, and it was now his turn to give explanations. Here there was an inscription, which no one probably had copied; there a specimen of pottery, with very interesting figures on it; then a statuette, a remarkable variation of a celebrated antique piece of sculpture; here the unknown coin of a famous Roman family, with their coat of arms; and there a long row of amulets, with hieroglyphics.
It was a great pleasure to the Sovereign to find out the importance of apparently insignificant objects, and every moment to receive new information concerning their value and names, but the Professor had the tact to avoid long explanations. He looked with quite a youthful interest on the collection. It happened just at a time when he was not occupied with great works, he brought with him a lively susceptibility for impressions, and at every step he felt how charming were the new views which he obtained; for there was much here that invited a closer examination. He inspired the Sovereign with something of the enjoyment he felt himself. There was no end of his questions, and the answers of the Professor. The Sovereign was delighted to tell how he had obtained many of the objects, and the Professor, by relating similar stories of discoveries, led him on to give further accounts. Thus some hours passed without the Sovereign experiencing any weariness, and he was much astonished when he was told that it was dinnertime. "Is that possible?" he exclaimed. "You understand the most difficult of all arts, that of making the time pass quickly, I expect you at dinner; tomorrow you shall see the collection again, undisturbed by my remarks; then you must favor me with a written report of what is desirable with respect to the arrangement, so as to make the valuable objects serviceable to science."
At dinner--there was no one present but some gentlemen whom the Professor, by the advice of the Chamberlain, had visited in the morning--the conversation was continued. The Sovereign related much about Italy, and contrived in a cursory way to draw attention to the personal relations of the Professor with his own acquaintances, in order that his Court might know something about the man with whom he was so much pleased. The conversation was easy and pleasant, and before the Sovereign left the company, he turned again to the Professor, and said, "I desire much that you should feel at home with us, and I hope to pass more than one day as agreeably as I have done this."
To the Professor also it had been a refreshing day, and in going away, he said, in great spirits, to the High Steward: "His Sovereign Highness understands very well how to say kind things."
The High Steward bowed his white head civilly, and replied, "That is the vocation of princes."
"Certainly," continued the Professor; "but so warm an interest in the details of a remote province of scientific inquiry is more than I had anticipated."
The High Steward made a courteous movement, which was to signify that he could not contradict the assertion; he enveloped himself in an old-fashioned little mantle, bowed silently to the gentlemen who were similarly occupied, and entered his carriage.
In intelligence and education the Sovereign was superior to most of his fellow princes. He had preserved much of the elasticity of his youth in advanced age; his bodily condition was excellent, and he took great care of his health; he was still capable, in case of necessity, of exertions which would have been severe to a younger man. In his youth he had devoted himself enthusiastically to the ebullitions of the then fashionable poetry, and had indulged in higher and freer aspirations than other men. He had at that time corresponded with learned men and artists of repute, and he liked to tell of his intimacy with some man of prominent mind. But his youth and manhood had fallen in a weak and decrepit period of our development. In the years when a foreign conqueror had treated the German princes as the greater part of them well deserved, he also as a youth had bowed to the foreigner, and abandoned the sinking vessel at the right time to save his title to his country. Since then he had ruled over a pitiful race of men, for he had entered upon his government at a time of great national exhaustion; he had found little that he was compelled to respect or fear, seldom any men firm enough to maintain their rights against him, and no public opinion that was strong enough to oppose his encroachment by a unanimous determination. His country was governed by officials, the official places were continually increased, and concerning every lost key of a village church there was accumulated a bundle of legal documents; he allowed these prolix forms of proceedings which benumbed the life of the people to remain unaltered, and only took care that the officials, whenever his personal interest came into play, should be pliant servants, who would procure him money, and withdraw from publicity any past wrong dealings of their Sovereign.
When he came into contact with his people, he was affable and good-humored, made it easy for petitioners to approach him, listened kindly and sympathetically to all complaints, and threw the blame on the officials. He was not unpopular; sometimes the discontented grumbled at the high taxes, and over the costly expenditure of their master; and, here and there, an anecdote of his private life reached the public; but the new spirit of the times, which was beginning to stir also in his country, struggled only weakly in helpless assaults against his system of government. And although as a ruler he showed no inclination to remedy existing evils, yet, to those at a distance, he appeared personally to be a humane, good-hearted man. He had a kindly acknowledgment and a gracious word for every one; he knew much of the private relations of his subjects, and occasionally showed his personal sympathy for individuals; he loved children, for he would sometimes stop in the streets to notice pretty boys and girls, and inquire after their parents; he gave a fête to the school children of his capital every year, appeared at it himself, and took pleasure in their games.
His Court was in many respects a model of order and pleasing display. By all who surrounded him he was considered a distinguished man; and contrived--which is most difficult for a prince--that those who daily associated with him should always have a feeling of his superiority. He had never been a military man, and he did not refrain from sarcastic remarks on the warlike propensities of other princes. His Court long remained free from the military influence that prevailed in neighboring capitals. Gradually, indeed, he made some concessions to the fashion, and his aides-de-camp became important members of the royal household; but he was not on a comfortable footing with the officers of his household, and, in spite of his quiet manner, was always feared by these gentlemen. There were hours when it appeared that his reserved character was not only accompanied by severity, but by something quite anomalous, in addition: at such moments, cynical jests or brusque and irritative remarks fell from his lips, and he lost all consideration for the claims of those about him. But the young noblemen and aides-de-camp bore the secret thorn of their position without being subjected to the loud criticism which is often expressed by the courtiers of ruling princes, for the Sovereign understood how to treat them with respect before strangers. He held strictly to etiquette, even on their behalf, and cleverly took care of their interests in the presentation of favors--orders and decorations--which foreign princes visiting his Court were bound to bestow; he never called upon them for anything contrary to the dignity of their office, and knew how to maintain his own and that of his Court in intercourse with strangers.
His wife had died early, and the inhabitants of the capital always preserved a grateful recollection of that pale and delicate lady. It was said that the marriage had not been a happy one; yet the sorrow of the Sovereign was strong and lasting. He always spoke with great tenderness of the departed, and every year, on the anniversary of her death, fastened a garland in her mausoleum.
He had two children. The eldest, the Princess, had returned to Court after the death of her husband; and the Sovereign, in the eyes of the Court and the people, treated her with especial regard. He had opened his whole heart to the Court chaplain about her. "I should like to see her married again; she has a right to look forward to a brilliant life,--her heart is warm, her nature energetic; and from my experience, I consider a long state of widowhood a bad thing for the Princess. But I fear she will resist. I have perhaps, always been a weak father to this child. You know, venerable sir, how dear she has been to me."
Thereupon the pious gentleman, with folded hands, exclaimed: "I know it, and I know how warmly the heart of her Serene Highness is attached to her father." The people also remarked that the Sovereign was a good father. On every birthday a great Court fête was arranged for the daughter; and when the Sovereign once happened to be travelling at this time, he appeared suddenly, contrary to all expectation, on the evening of the birthday, in his travelling dress, at the Princess's opera-box, kissed her on the forehead before all the people, and said that he had hastened his return in order to wish her joy upon her fête day. Besides this, he neglected no opportunity of showing her the little attentions which in every father gave an impression of amiable gallantry, and which in every ruling Sovereign are doubly appreciated. Before every ball he sent his daughter a nosegay, and every time had it brought by the head gardener into the castle to inspect it himself. He was glad when distinguished travellers caused their arrival to be announced to the Princess, and always observed accurately whether she was well entertained during their reception. But, in spite of the great trouble the father took to give a good appearance to his relations with the Princess, it was thought that he had a secret dislike for her. It may be possible for a prince to be incomprehensible to those who are in daily intercourse with him in certain important concerns, but it is almost impossible to deceive them constantly.
The relations of the father to his son were very different. The latter, a sickly, shy boy, had been deprived of self-confidence by the way in which his father had watched over his education. The boy had not the capacity to assert himself; it was still a difficult task for him to overcome his shyness in his intercourse with strangers. When the list of persons invited was handed to him, and he considered what he was to say to individuals, apt questions seldom occurred to him, and what he did bring out was so awkwardly done that it was very evident that he had been coached. Even to the persons of the Court the young Prince was silent and indifferent; the ladies and gentlemen were therefore inclined to assume that he was a little weak-minded. His father treated him with contempt, and his tone towards his son sometimes sounded short and harsh, as if it were not worth his while to conceal his disdain for him.
In this respect, however, injustice was done to the father. A reigning sovereign is easily led to consider his son as a young rival. The son will be his successor, and will, in the next generation, expose his father before all the world, upset all his arrangements, and be reconciled to all who have been discontented and his opponents. When he has become sovereign, it is impossible that he should not discover something under the former Government that has been wrong, and everything will be brought before him in which his father has failed and done evil. This would have been reason enough for the Sovereign to treat his son with coldness and reserve. Now he was nobody, a powerless slave who was indebted to his father for every penny he had; but some day he would be everything. But his son was in his eyes insignificant; he moved in the prescribed track as if possessed of no will of his own; he had never defied him, was content with everything, and had yielded silently and respectfully to every command; it was not to be supposed that he could really govern himself, still less would he put his father in the shade. Thus by degrees was added to the father's quiet feeling of contempt, one of almost compassionate kindness. The timid submissiveness of the Prince was very satisfactory to his father; it was very agreeable to him to provide, as he was well able, a support for the weak reed which was to carry on the future of his family. To him he showed himself as he was: what he did for him was done with the feeling that he was benefiting another, not himself.
But just now, when he had been taking pains to procure a pleasure for the Hereditary Prince, the latter fell ill!
Ilse went with Gabriel through the rooms, trying to arrange them to please herself; she moved the tables about, examined the curtains, and looked doubtfully at the porcelain vases.
"I am surprised," said Gabriel, "that amongst this beautiful furniture one thing should be wanting, a cuckoo-clock. That would be very suitable: it gives life, when it opens its door, and makes profound obeisances as they do at Court. For they are very polite here, however deceitful they may be at heart. I have no confidence in the lackey; he asks me too many questions. How would it be taken if we got rid of him? I could manage to do the housekeeping alone, with the maid. No cooking can be done here, for there is no kitchen; every drop of warm water must be brought from the cellar over there where the white jackets work like so many ghosts."
"There is no use worrying about it," said Ilse, decisively; "we must accustom ourselves to the regulations, pride must put up with much; we have no secrets, and I know you will be cautious."
"The gardener has placed a table and chairs, with flowers about it, in front of the house," said Gabriel. "Shall I take your work down; the sun appears warm?"
Ilse went in front of the house; near the door was a space bordered with plants in pots, a cosy spot in the warm midday sun: one looked from under the green arbor over the paths and smooth turf, up to the walls of the castle. Ilse sat down in a rustic chair, holding her embroidery in her hands, but looking up at the large stone palace, that rose with its towers and newly built extensions, some hundred steps from her. There dwelt the great ones of the earth, near to whom she had been so suddenly brought. She counted the rows of windows, and thought that there must be more than a hundred rooms and halls, all grandly and splendidly furnished, and she wondered how many people it must require to fill such a building that it might not look empty and desolate. Approaching steps disturbed her thoughts. A middle-aged gentleman was advancing up the gravel walk: he drew near: it was the Sovereign. Ilse rose, alarmed. He came up to her slowly. "Madame Werner?" he asked, touching his hat. Ilse curtsied low; her heart beat; she was unprepared for this meeting with him whom she had been accustomed from her earliest youth to consider the greatest man on earth. Though she had once seen him, it was but for a moment. Her thoughts, ever since the years when she had adorned him with the crown and sceptre of a mock king at cards, had attached themselves to him with shy respect. Often when she had looked at the Hereditary Prince, she had endeavored to form some conception of what his father must be like; what she had heard of him had not helped to diminish her fears.
The Sovereign looked with delight on the beautiful woman before him, who received his flattering greeting with silent embarrassment. "You are no stranger to me," he began, "and you have reason to be satisfied with the years that have passed since my walk over your father's farm. You may now try our mode of life. We also take pleasure in the spring, and I see the sun casts friendly rays on the spot which you have selected."
He seated himself on one of the rustic chairs, pointing at the same time to another. "Do not let me interrupt your work. I am taking a walk, and beg to be allowed to rest myself for a moment here."
"The work is in idle hands," answered Ilse, "I was looking at the castle, and thinking how large the household must be that requires so much room."
"It is an old building," remarked the Sovereign. "Many centuries have contributed to increase it, and yet, in the opinion of the officers of my household, it is not large enough. One easily increases one's requirements. But then, again, one rejoices in withdrawing into a smaller abode. I myself once lived in this pavilion, alone, with only a few necessary servants. Such solitude does one good."
"That I can imagine," replied Ilse, sympathizingly. "But to such as we are it is something new to see so grand a style of life. The castle and its grounds with the blooming trees, are like large precious stones set in gold. It gives me heartfelt pleasure to have so near a view of your Highness's home; it helps to give one an idea of the mode of life of our gracious Sovereign."
"Then you still consider yourself a child of our country," said the Sovereign, smiling.
"That is natural," answered Ilse. "From my childhood I have heard of your Highness as our ruler; whenever I looked in the newspaper I saw your Highness's name; everywhere I have seen your Highness's pictures; and, since I have been old enough to go to church, I have prayed for your Highness's happiness and health. This is a bond of union; it is, indeed, only on one side, for your Highness cannot care about us all, but we think and care much about our ruler."
"And speak of him sometimes with dissatisfaction," replied the Sovereign, good-humoredly.
"Just as it happens, gracious Prince," replied Ilse, honestly. "One does not always speak well of one's neighbors; but, in serious matters and in trouble, a good heart shows itself. So it is with the Sovereign, each one forms his own idea of him according to circumstances, trusts in him, or is angry with him, and ends by thinking that he and his prince belong to one another."
"It were to be wished that so good a feeling might be shown by every subject," rejoined the Sovereign; "but fidelity is wavering, and personal attachment disappears."
"Many know too little of their Sovereign," said Ilse, apologizing. "How can they care for him when they see so little of him? For seeing does much: we at Rossau have seldom the honor of setting eyes on our prince."
"The feeling of that country has been described to me as unsatisfactory."
"We are situated in a distant corner, but we have a heart. Your Highness will scarcely remember the maidens at Rossau, who received you seventeen years ago at the triumphal arch. There were twenty; the little town could not produce any more. They all wore the national colors on their bodices and petticoats; they, of course, had to buy the dresses themselves. One of the maidens was miserably poor, but she was pretty, and did not like to be left behind, so she worked the whole week during the greater part of the night, in order to procure money for her dress. In her last illness, for she died young, she asked to be buried in this dress, as that day had been one of greatest honor and pleasure to her. But your Highness was hardly able to stop there; you drove quickly through the triumphal arch, and, perhaps, did not even see the maidens."
Whilst Ilse was speaking, she was secretly strewing bread crumbs beside her. The Prince observed her hand, and she excused herself.
"The finches call to their gracious Sovereign, 'Give, give!' The little ones are very tame here."
"They are probably fed by the servants," said the Prince.
"To love animals is the custom of our country!" exclaimed Ilse; "and tame birds suit well with a royal castle, for all here should feel joyful confidence."
The Sovereign's glove fell to the ground, and as the loyal Ilse quickly bent down to pick it up, the Sovereign's eye rested for a moment upon her head and form. He rose slowly. "I hope, Madame, that you will be of the number of those joyful ones who place confidence in the possessor of this spot. As master of the house, I have made inquiry after the health of my new lodger. I wish that you may feel here some portion of the pleasure that you know how to impart to others."
He civilly acknowledged Ilse's respectful curtsy, and returned to the castle.
There the Chamberlain waited to report to him concerning the health of the Hereditary Prince.
"His Highness is unfortunately still obliged to keep to his bed."
"He must take care of himself," replied the Sovereign, graciously, "and not leave his room too soon."
CHAPTER XXVIII.
IN THE PAVILION.
The splendid iris colors wherewith Ilse had at first adorned her new abode gradually faded. As, instead of the steward and lackeys by whom she was received, there was now only a single servant, in a dark coat, to assist Gabriel, so everything else that surrounded Ilse appeared now in the modest colors of common earthly life. This was natural, and Ilse herself said so to her husband. But there was one thing she did not like: she was separated from her husband more than in the city. The morning and a portion of the afternoon he worked in the museum, and devoted many hours also to his own object among the archives and records of the Marshal's office, whose private offices were willingly opened to him. When he returned home he had sometimes to dress in haste for the Court dinner, and Ilse dined alone. However attentive the servant might be in bringing up the numerous dishes, the lonely meal was uninviting and sad to her. But a great many evenings were spent in a new entertainment: a Court carriage used to stop at the pavilion, and convey her and her husband to the theatre. When for the first time she entered the private boxes near the stage, she rejoiced in the comfortable position, which allowed her to give her attention to the performance undisturbed by the public. When she leant back in her box she saw nothing of the spectators, except the Sovereign's seat opposite. The theatre was very grand, much richer in decorations and costumes than she had seen in the city, and there were some good singers at the opera. Absorbed in the performance, she did not remark with what curiosity she was regarded by the public, and that the Sovereign's opera glass was often directed towards her. She soon found that the theatre was the best amusement of the capital, and her husband took care that she should not miss this recreation, although he, perhaps, would have preferred remaining with his books, or examining a bundle of records from the archives. Between the acts, Ilse looked with curiosity down upon the people, who were all strangers to her, and said to Felix: "This is the only occasion upon which I have ladies near me."
During the day she felt her solitude. Her father had a mercantile friend in the city to whom she made a point of going the first day, but in the family of the little merchant she found no one to suit her. According to the advice of the Chamberlain, she went round with Felix to pay visits to the Court ladies. In most of the houses no one was at home, and she had to leave cards. Rarely were these visits returned; and it always happened that on her return home from the city, or from a walk in the gardens of the castle, she found the cards of some lady. This was annoying to her, for she wished to try how she could get on with the ladies. Some of the gentlemen of the Court, indeed, used to present themselves to her in the morning,--the Chamberlain and the Grand Marshal,--but the visits even of the Chamberlain became shorter; he looked depressed, and spoke of little but the continued indisposition of the Hereditary Prince.
Ilse was very anxious to know the Princess. The second day after her arrival the Chamberlain announced that her Highness would see the Professor and Madame Werner at a certain hour. Ilse stood with her husband amidst the silk and gilding of the royal room; the door flew open, and a young lady in half mourning swept in. Ilse recognized at once that she was the sister of the Hereditary Prince: a delicate refined face, the same eyes, only more lively and brilliant, and an enchanting smile played round the delicate mouth. The Princess bowed her small head gravely, said a few civil words to her, and then turned to Felix, with whom she immediately entered into lively conversation. Ilse observed with admiration the ease of her manner, and the tact with which she could say kind things; she soon discovered what an active mind lay concealed within that lovely form, and that her husband's answers were instantly followed by intelligent remarks on the part of the prude lady. At the close of the visit the Princess turned again to Ilse, and said how much her brother lamented that his illness deprived him of the pleasure of seeing her. The words and tone were very kind, but there was a pride and princely dignity in the manner which hurt Ilse. When the Professor on their return spoke with warmth of the charming lady, and exclaimed, "That is an uncommonly bright mind! Like her outward appearance, her inward spirit has a fairy grace about it!" she was silent; she felt that her husband was right, but she also felt that the Princess had excluded her from the footing of intimacy which she had accorded to her Felix.
Being in this state of mind, she was surprised and pleased at one mark of attention which was shown her. Since her interview with the Sovereign the head gardener brought her every morning, at the same hour, a vase of the most beautiful flowers, with the compliments of his Highness. This was not all: a few days after the Sovereign came again, when Ilse was sitting, as before, in front of the door. He asked whether it was not advisable, on account of the slight breeze that had sprung up, to enter the house; she took him into the room; he sat down there, and asked, as if accidentally, whether she was well entertained, and had found any acquaintances in the city. He took so much interest in her that Ilse said to her husband, when he returned home, "How mistaken are the opinions that one forms about strangers! When I came here I thought the Sovereign was a thoroughly reserved man, but I find him very friendly, and he seems quite a good family man too; but with such a large household it may frequently be necessary to be strict."
The Sovereign's short visit was repeated. The next time he found the Professor with his wife. On this occasion he was more serious than before.
"How were you satisfied with the Hereditary Prince?" he asked the Professor.
"Those who instructed him praised his industry; among the students he gained popularity, and there was general regret at parting from him."
The Sovereign remarked the word popularity.
"How did the Prince contrive to gain this?"
"He showed an upright character and decided will, and one felt confidence in him."
The Sovereign gave a searching look at the Professor, and perceived from his calm manner that this was not empty civility.
"The attachment of the students showed itself on the departure of the young Prince by a festive serenade," interposed Ilse.
"I know," replied the Sovereign. "I assumed that Weidegg by his endeavors contrived to have this done."
"It was of their own free will, and showed their warm feeling," added the Professor.
The Sovereign remained silent.
"He won the hearts of the ladies also," continued Ilse, "and we lamented his Highness's absence from our tea-parties."
The Sovereign still continued silent; at last he began, in a bitter tone:
"What you tell me surprises me. Considering you as the Prince's instructor, I may speak more openly to you than to my household. The Prince has a weak character, and I have no confidence in his future."
"He gave us the impression of having, under all this shy reserve, the qualities for the formation of a firm and noble character," replied the Professor, respectfully.
Ilse thought that this was the moment to introduce something advantageous to the Prince.
"May I venture to tell your Highness, which my husband entirely approves of, that the Prince wishes far more knowledge concerning agricultural industry? As I am myself from the country, your Highness will forgive me if I should say that this is the best school for our dear young Prince."
"On the estate of your father?" asked the Sovereign shortly.
"Anywhere," replied Ilse, innocently.
"I have never heard him express any such wish," concluded the Sovereign, rising. "In any case I am grateful to you for the interest you take in his future."
He took leave with an air of reserve, and returned to his daily business.
The day was a difficult one for all who had to do with him. He rode out with his aide-de-camp into a rough, woody country, where his soldiers after a night-march were practising field service. Generally he cared little about the details of manœuvres, but on this occasion he harassed his aides-de-camp and soldiers by sudden changes of disposition. When the soldiers at last returned home exhausted, he went to inspect a distant stud and a plantation, and wandered about four hours on rough hill roads. No one could do anything to suit him--blame and bitter remarks alone fell from his lips. In the evening there was a Court concert; the aide-de-camp, tired to death, stood in the hall, counting the minutes till his retirement. Then the Sovereign on withdrawing, called him to his study; there he seated himself in an arm-chair near the fire-place and gazed at the fire, occasionally put on a log, and held the silver handle of the fire-tongs in his hand, striking it at intervals on the iron bars of the grate. Meanwhile the aide-de-camp stood some steps behind him, one hour, two hours, till he was ready to faint. It was not till the middle of the night that the Sovereign rose and said, "You must be tired; I will not detain you longer." He spoke this mildly, but his eyes glittered with an unpleasant gleam, and the aide-de-camp acknowledged later to his intimate friends that he should not forget that look as long as he lived.
"The Sovereign has visited the pavilion for the third time!" said the Chamberlain, to the Hereditary Prince, who was sitting in his room with his throat tied up. The Prince looked down on the book which was lying before him.
"Do the guests seem to like their residence here?"
"I cannot say that of the Professor's wife: I fear she is placed in a difficult position here. The marked distinction which his Highness shows her, and certain old recollections which attach to the pavilion----"
The Prince rose, and looked so indignantly at the Chamberlain that he became mute.
"The Sovereign was very ungracious to-day," he continued, in a depressed tone. "When I reported to him concerning your Highness's health, I met with a reception which was not encouraging."
The Hereditary Prince approached the window.
"The air is mild, Weidegg; I shall endeavor to go out to-morrow."
The Chamberlain was very uncertain how this decision of the Hereditary Prince would be received: he departed in silence.
When the Prince was alone, he tore the shawl from his shoulders and threw it on one side.
"Fool that I was! I wished to preserve her from gossip, and have exposed her to worse. I myself sit here in seclusion, and my father visits her in my stead. It was a cowardly device. If I cannot avert what is impending for this poor creature, I will play my part in the game that is beginning."
When the Prince on the following morning went to his father, the latter began, with calm coldness:
"I hear from strangers that you have the desire to obtain some knowledge of agriculture. The wish is sensible. I shall consider how you can find an opportunity to obtain this knowledge somewhere in the country. It will also be advantageous to your health, and will agree with your inclination for a quite poetic life."
"I shall do what my honored father bids me," replied the Hereditary Prince, and left the room.
The Sovereign looked after him, and murmured:
"Not a word to be got out of him but cowardly submission; always the same submissive compliance. Not an eyelash moved when I ordered him to do what was unwelcome. Is it possible that this pliant boy is a master of dissimulation, and is deceiving me and all of us?"
If Ilse in spite of the distinction with which the Prince treated her, had a foreboding of the dark shadow which hung over the pavilion, far different was the tone of mind of her husband; he lived in the midst of the interesting investigations to which the museum gave rise, and the poetry of his earnest mind worked busily, and cast a brilliant lustre over his sojourn in the capital. He was a hunter who trod with light step over his hunting ground, breathing the pure mountain air, whilst around him the rays of the sun gilded the mossy ground and heather. The time had now come when that of which he had dreamt for years was within reach of his hand. It is true the new track of the manuscript remained indistinct. The fate of that chest which had been mentioned in the old letter could not be ascertained. In the Prince's library, and in a collection of books in the city, there were found neither manuscripts nor other books which could be ranked among the possessions of the monastery of Rossau. He had renewed his acquaintance with the head-forester, but the latter could think of no place where old hunting implements were kept. He went through old catalogues of the Marshal's office, and nowhere could the chest be discovered. But it was more strange still that the name of a royal castle Solitude was quite unknown in the capital. The castle, like one in an old legend, had vanished. But, strange as this circumstance was, yet the account of the student had won for this old letter of the official an importance which gave the searcher hopes of a good result. For only a few years ago some one, who knew little of the value of such a narrative, had seen the Rossau chest. It was no longer a deceptive image from a distant past; on any day a lucky accident might lead him to it. But when the Professor gazed on the slate roof of the royal castle, and ascended the grand steps, he had always a joyful presentiment that he was now near his treasure. With the help of the Castellan he had already examined the whole ground-floor of the castle; he had climbed up under the beams of the old roof like a marten, and had opened the old garrets, the keys of which had not turned for a generation. He had found nothing. But there were other houses belonging to the Sovereign in the town and neighborhood, and he was quite decided to examine one after the other secretly.
In this time of restless agitation, when his fancy was always opening new prospects, intercourse with agreeable persons was very refreshing. He himself, in this state of excitement, proved a good companion, and observed with cheerful interest the proceedings of those about him. The Sovereign showed him great distinction, and the young noblemen were very attentive; he took his place among them with dignity and without pretension.
The Chamberlain informed the Professor how much the Princess had been pleased with him, and Felix rejoiced when one forenoon she and her lady-in-waiting visited the museum, and begged for his guidance. When the Princess was going away, thanking him, she begged he would mention to her some books from which she could herself learn a little about that portion of the life of antiquity, the ruins connected with which he had shown her; she told him also of an ancient vase which she possessed, and asked him to come and see it.
The learned man was now standing with the Princess before the vase. He explained to her the subject of the pictures, and told her something about the old Greek pottery. The Princess led him into another room, and showed him some valuable sketches. "I wish you to see all I possess of objects of art." While he was examining these, she began, suddenly: "You have now learnt to know us a little, and how do you like us?"
"I have met with great kindness," replied the Professor, "which is agreeable to one's self-esteem; it gives me pleasure to observe a life so different from that of my circle and people, who are differently bred."
"In what do you find us differently bred?" asked the Princess, pressingly.
"The habit of acting your part fittingly at every moment, and maintaining your position among others, give persons an easy confidence, which always has a pleasant effect."
"That would be an advantage which we share with every tolerable actor," replied the Princess.
"At all events, it is an advantage always to play the same rôle."
"You think, therefore, it is no longer art if we become adepts in it, and act our part well," rejoined the Princess, smiling; "but in that also there is danger; we are from childhood so much accustomed to behave suitably, that it endangers our sincerity; we observe the effects of our words, and we soon think more of the good effect than of the purport of what is said. I myself, while talking with you, remark with pleasure how much I please you, yet I am nothing more than a poor princess. But if our aptness in presentation pleases you, in like manner we are attracted by a character that is calm and confident without attending to outward appearances; and perhaps a deficiency in the forms of society and the plain speaking of a powerful mind are interesting to us, if they do not wound our feelings, for on this point, we are sensitive. Whoever would wish to leave a pleasant impression, would do well to treat our pretensions with consideration. I do not wish you to treat me so," she said, interrupting herself, "but I am solicitous on your account. Yesterday I heard you flatly contradicting my father. I beg of you to have regard for our weakness, for I hope that you are still to remain long with us."
The Professor bowed. "If I opposed his views more warmly than was necessary, it is because I lie under a temptation which is dangerous to men of my calling. Disputation is the weakness of men of learning."
"Good, we will reckon up our qualities one against the other. But you are in the happy position of always attacking things boldly; we, on the contrary, must be cautiously on the defensive. The great importance of external appearances is instilled into us from youth, and cannot be dispensed with. With you there is probably seldom any strife about precedence, and I fear it is quite immaterial to you what place you take in our degrees of rank; but these things are great events to us, not only to our Court, but still more to ourselves. Many of us are for days unhappy, because we have not taken our proper place, at dinner. Many visits are discontinued on that account, old alliances are broken off, and there is frequent quarrelling behind the scenes. When we occasionally meet with clever people of your stamp, we ourselves laugh over these weaknesses, but few are free from them. I have already fought for my place at dinner, and made a great fuss about it," she added, with good-humored frankness.
"No one can entirely free himself from the ideas of his circle," replied the Professor, courteously. "A century ago there was the same tormenting eagerness about rank and social precedence among the citizens. With us it has become different since our life has been pervaded with a strong intellectual element. In the future, even at Court, people will laugh at these things as antiquated frippery."
The Princess raised her little finger threateningly. "Mr. Werner, that was spoken again as the learned man: it was not polite. For, though we move entirely in the track of fashion and of Court manners, we do not remain behind those from whom we are socially separated."
"Perhaps it is because you separate yourselves," said the Professor. "The warmest pulse of our nation has always been in the middle class; from them education and new ideas have gradually spread to the princes and the people. Even the peculiarities and weaknesses of the civilization of a period rise to the throne generally half a century after the educated middle class of the nation have suffered from them, and are only just appreciated there when they are already giving way among the people to some new tendency of the time. Therefore, it is often difficult for the Sovereign and his people to understand each other."
"Oh, how right you are!" exclaimed the Princess, drawing nearer to him. "It is the fate of princes, the misfortune of us all, that the most valuable culture of our time seldom exercises a good influence upon us. There is a want of fresh air in the atmosphere in which we live, we are all weak and sickly. All who approach near us must accommodate themselves to our prejudices, and we accustom ourselves to regard men according to the rules which we have devised for them ourselves. Have you ever before been brought into contact with any of our great rulers?"
"No," replied the Professor.
"Have you never sent what you have written to any of them?"
"I have had no occasion to do so," replied the Professor.
"Then you are unacquainted with the scale of favors that are shown to you learned gentlemen. Now, I must repay you for the delightful instruction you have given me about ancient vases, by giving you some instruction in return. Sit down opposite to me. You are now my pupil." The Princess leaned back in her chair, and assumed a serious expression. "We assume that you are pious and good, and look up respectfully to the handle of the Imperial globe that we hold in our hand. Your first presentation comes,--a handsome book; the title-page is opened: 'Upon antique vases.' Hm--who is the man? One informs oneself a little about the fellow, and it is well if your name is already to be found in print. Thereupon follows an answer of acknowledgment from the Council, short variations according to formula No. 1. Your second presentation makes its appearance: a beautiful binding, an agreeable impression, therefore a warmer acknowledgment in courteous expressions, according to formula No. 2. A third presentation: again a large volume, the gilt edges are unimpeachable; the Council take the book up and weigh it. If the author is a lesser light, he enters the class of gold breastpins; if he is worthy of a higher consideration, from a well-known name, and what is more effective with us, from a title, he reaches the sphere of orders. There are different classes of orders which are distributed among strangers, accurately according to their titles. But he who is persistent, and does not tire of showing fresh marks of respect, hops gradually, like the green frog, at intervals of years, to the highest rank."
"My kindest thanks for the instruction," replied the Professor. "I must be allowed in this case to take the Council under my protection. For what could the illustrious gentlemen do when they are overrun with such a multitude of indifferent presents?"
"It was a fair example," said the Princess, "of how beautifully we have arranged, in all directions, the steps to our favor. For the rest, we are, with respect to what we accord to people, not only civil, but economical. He who has no colored ribbons to give, finds himself greatly inconvenienced. But," continued she, in a changed tone, "in the same way our principal efforts in every undertaking are made with an eye to vain show and empty forms; and as hundreds are so weak and abject that they are attracted in this way, we think we can thus attach millions to us."
"Many small advantages may be obtained in this manner," replied the Professor; "but there is an error in your reasoning; he who tries to attach men to him by their weakness, vanity, and pride, does not gain the best part of their life. In quiet times this attraction is unnecessary, and in times of danger it has only the strength of a rope of sand."
The Princess nodded her head.
"We know that right well," she said, confidingly; "and we do not feel comfortable and secure, in spite of the profuse distribution of honors. What I tell you would sound like high treason to my illustrious relatives, only because I express it, not because I think it. Do not consider me the black sheep of the flock, there are wiser people than I who in secret form the same judgment; but we cannot find our way out of the barrier, and we cling to it, although we know that the support is weak. For as the humming-bird gazes on the serpent, so do we view the prospect that the present age opens before us, with a shudder and helpless expectation." She rose. "But I am a woman, and have no right to speak with you upon these important subjects. When I feel uneasy I use the right of women--to complain--which I have done abundantly to you. For I have it at heart to please you, Mr. Werner. I wish you to consider me as a woman who deserves something better than complaisant words and polite nothings. Allow me often the pleasure of rectifying my judgment by yours."
She put out her hand to the learned man with hearty confidence. Werner bowed low, and left the room. The Princess looked after him with a pleased expression.
The Professor went fresh from the conversation to the pavilion, and told his wife all that had passed.
"I did net consider it possible," he exclaimed, "to find a woman of this rank with so liberal and high-minded an understanding of her position. What was most charming was her animated, and unaffected manner--a charm that made itself felt at every moment, both in voice and movement. I am enchanted with the little lady. I will immediately prepare the book that she wished for."
He seated himself at the table, marked out passages, and wrote remarks on small strips of paper, which he laid within.
Ilse was sitting by the window, looking at her husband in astonishment. It was no wonder that the Princess pleased him. Ilse herself had with the quick intuition of a woman perceived her power of attraction. Here was a soul that, amidst the constraint of her Court, longed for intercourse with a man of liberal culture; here was a powerful mind that rose above the prejudices of rank,--clever, light of fancy, and quick of comprehension. Now this woman had found a man to whom she could look up, and with her little hands she cast her fetters about him.
The room was becoming dark. Felix was still sitting writing and making notes. The rays of the evening sun shone upon his head, but the dark shadow of the unfamiliar room hovered over Ilse. She rose from her chair behind her husband.
"He is good to me," she said to herself; "he loves me, as one always does the person whom one has taken into confidence. He is not like other men; he will not allow a stranger to take away my rights; he is innocent as a child, and does not perceive the danger that threatens him and me. Take care, Ilse, not to awake the night-wanderer. I, fool! What right have I to complain if another should benefit by his rich mind? Have I not enough for myself in the treasure of his life? No," she exclaimed, and threw her arms round her husband's neck; "you belong to me, and I will have you entirely."
The Professor raised his head, and his look of astonishment brought Ilse to her senses.
"Forgive me," she said, feebly; "I was thinking."
"What is the matter. Ilse?" he asked, kindly; "your cheeks are hot. Are you ill?"
"It will pass over; have patience with me."
The Professor left his book, and occupied himself anxiously about his wife.
"Open the window," she said softly. "The air of the close room feels heavy to me."
He was so tenderly concerned about her that she again looked cheerfully at him.
"It was a foolish weakness, Felix; it has passed away."