Count Mathieu de Marçais had much the same appearance and presence as those with which tradition endows Melarclus, notably the reserved, knowing air of the diplomatist. With such a mask a man can afford the luxury of an empty head. No one can ever find anything to challenge there.
A pleasant-looking woman in her forties, surrounded by elaborate implements, was engaged in manicuring the nails of the Minister Plenipotentiary when I was shown up.
"I cannot apologize enough, sir," he said in his very best style, "for the unceremonious manner in which I have to receive you. But time, dear sir, you know what a precious gift time is in Paris. You can imagine how I, who only spend a fortnight a year in this delightful city, have to economize it."
He poured out half a dozen commonplaces of the same species, looking at himself in the mirror, and stealing sidelong glances at me. I guessed intuitively that this preliminary survey, so important for a man of his stamp, was not altogether unfavourable. But I also gathered that I should not exactly shake his poor opinion of the way in which University men dressed.
When one of his hands had been finished, and was dangling in a bowl of warm rosewater, he decided to get to the point.
"Of course, dear sir, nothing was further from my thoughts than to ask you here to put you through a kind of entrance examination, a task for which I am totally unfitted. I know that you possess all the educational qualifications required. As to the moral and intellectual qualifications, your friend Ribeyre's recommendation guaranteed them even before I was in a position to judge from my own observations."
I bowed. He bowed. He seemed overwhelmed with his own eloquence.
"You will, no doubt, wish to know the nature of your duties at Lautenburg. They will not be exacting! Duke Joachim already has a science tutor. Major von Kessel is responsible for his military education. Your functions will be to teach him French and History. General History, of course. Oh, yes! There is one thing on which the Grand Duke particularly insisted...."
"Now we're coming to it," I thought, remembering M. Thierry's suspicions.
"Do you read poetry well?"
I was somewhat taken aback, though the question was disarmingly simple.
"I really can't say. It's a little difficult...."
"It's essential. The Grand Duke told me to insist upon it. The reason is that the Grand Duchess is passionately fond of French poetry. Probably you will be lent to her occasionally. It is a surprise that his Highness has in store for his wife, who is always complaining that Lautenburg is very lacking in this respect. 'My dear Count,' he said to me, 'I know you are a man of culture and good taste, I leave it to you.' So you will forgive me, dear sir, if I ask for proof in this matter. See," he added, indicating a bookcase with his wet hand. "There are some excellent poets there. Pick and read what you like."
To tell the truth, the collection in the bookcase was very much out of date. I was obliged to select a volume of Casimir Delavigne, and I did my best with his splendid poem Les Limbes:
Battre leurs ailes.
"Excellent! Excellent!" quoth Count Marçais, the connoisseur. "Isn't it, Madame Mazerat?"
The manicurist made a sharp, clucking noise to demonstrate the pleasure my performance had given her. I've seen many absurd scenes in my life—but none more absurd than that.
"All is well, then," said the Count. "I have no need to tell you that you will be treated with the deference due to your position. The Grand Duke is a man of the greatest charm. The Grand Duchess"—he raised his eyebrows—"is a Russian, and that means everything as regards beauty. Prince Joachim is very tractable, but perhaps a trifle slow-witted. After all, we don't look for French vivacity in Germans. Lastly, the Court is full of charming men and lovely women. Do you ride?"
I indicated that I did not.
"You must learn. You will ride with Kessel, a marvellous horseman. Of course you must come to lunch at the Legation. I have a weird little sketch by Poiret, of which you must give me news. You will see it when I get back in ten days' time. You leave before me as you are expected as soon as possible. If you catch the 10 P.M. the day after tomorrow, you will be in Lautenburg about nine on Sunday morning."
"Very well," I said.
"Very well. Remember me gratefully to the Grand Duke, and convey my respectful homage to Her Highness the Grand Duchess. Oh, Heavens! What am I forgetting!"
He rose, and took a sealed envelope from his wallet.
"The Grand Chamberlain, Herr von Soldau, asked me to give you this," he said discreetly. "Travelling expenses. Good-bye and good luck. Excuse me, Madame Mazerat. I am now entirely at your service."
I had never spent a penny on a cab in Paris, except when luggage made one necessary going on or returning from holidays. As soon as I came out, however, I took one straight to my lodgings, so great was my haste to see what was inside that envelope I dared not open in the street.
Indeed, I soon began to feel the benefits that accrue from the society of the great. "The Herr Tutor," ran a document, with the heading of the Ducal chancery, "will please find within the first quarter's salary and a thousand marks for travelling expenses." Three thousand five hundred marks accompanied this pleasant invitation.
Four thousand francs and more! I, who had entered Paris only the day before without knowing what I should have to live on in a week's time, possessed four thousand francs and more!
My call on M. Thierry was on my mind, and I decided to get it over at once, telling him I should be leaving the next day.
I found him in his room.
"I can see by your face," he said, "that everything is going well with you. I am glad of it, as perhaps I have alarmed you unnecessarily. When do you start?"
"Tomorrow," I said.
"So this is your last visit, dear boy. What can I say to you? I am sure you will carry out your pedagogic functions admirably. Don't forget the great maxim of Pascal's father: 'Try to keep your pupil ever worthy of his task.' That principle cannot be observed by the ordinary schoolmaster who has to address himself to the average of a class. But when you are dealing with a single pupil you can, and should, apply it."
The splendid old man then gave me some suggestions as to the choice of books in preparing my courses of study. He insisted on my taking his History of German Literature, which I was to find extremely valuable on many occasions at Lautenburg.
"You've no need to thank me," he said, as I murmured words of gratitude. "Probably it is I who will be in your debt. I told you that at Lautenburg you will have a magnificent library at your disposal. The librarian, Professor Cyrus Beck—whom I have met occasionally at various conferences—is a jealous guardian, but he is also a man of learning. I have no doubt that you will be allowed the use of the books and manuscripts which do not bear directly on the great work—the history of the theories of the transmutation of metals—on which he is engaged. You may know, perhaps, that I am myself writing a book on manners and customs at the Court of Hanover at the end of the seventeenth century. I noticed at the Nationale in the catalogue of the Ducal library at Lautenburg, that it contains material of the very highest importance. When you left me this morning I went there to make a list of the principal works I should like you to consult for me if you would be so kind. I am sure that you would find the task very absorbing. Here is my list. I attach particular importance to this work, Stattmutter der Köninglichen Häuser Hannover und Preussen, by the Grand Duchess of Ahlden, published at Leipzig in 1852. In Paris we have only an incomplete reprint. I also recommend the works of Cramer and Palmblad as well as the Roman Octavia (Die Römische Octavia) of Duke Ulrich von Wolfenbüttel.
"Unfortunately," he continued, as I carefully folded his list, "I have only been able to note the printed books. The manuscripts at Lautenburg are not catalogued, but it is by examining them, dear boy, that you can render me the greatest service. There is not the slightest doubt that you will discover there the most precious material on German society of the seventeenth century, that society superficially so refined to the outward eye, but in reality more vicious and cruel than has ever been imagined."
He held out his hands. His emotion told me that there was something still to come.
"I would not for anything hark back to our conversation of this morning," he murmured at length; "but you know, my boy, the interest I take in you. I am more conscious of it than ever now you are going. I beg of you never to yield to the desire, even to the invitations you will doubtless get, to be drawn from your academic functions. Lautenburg is a rich mine of material for those like ourselves whose mission it is to write history. Let us write it and avoid the temptation to make it."
There was nothing but sincerity in my promise to keep this parting advice ever present in my mind.
"Just one other thing. I know nothing of the Lautenburg household except Prince Joachim, the Grand Duke, the Grand Duchess and Count Marçais. At one time there was a certain Baron von Boose there. If he is still there don't see more of him than you can help. Be on your guard against him; always be on your guard against him."
I was curious to know the reason of this final warning, but M. Thierry was once more the historian, the discreet official.
"No, no," he said, "these impressions are too personal. Above all, if that man is no longer at Lautenburg, never ask anything about him. Wait till his name is mentioned or some allusion is made to him. Come, dear boy, it is time to go."
We shook hands. I have never seen him since.
The feeling of depression in which this visit left me quickly vanished when I got to the money-changers, where I converted half my German notes into French money. I spent the rest of the afternoon in visits to tailors, boot makers and hosiers. For the first time in my life I knew the exquisite, almost painful joy of spending money without reckoning. As I was stock size I had no difficulty at "Old England" in finding a suit, overcoat, and boots to fit. My shabby clothes were wrapped up and sent to my lodgings. Then, as my confidence rose, I tried my luck at a fashionable tailor's. On the strength of my new appointment, I ordered dress clothes, a frock coat and another lounge suit I paid the eight hundred francs required in advance in return for the promise that they would be delivered during the evening of the next day.
Seven o'clock.
Oh! the wondrous beauty of the Boulevard des Capucines in October! Oh, the joy of finding oneself well dressed and with money—lord of all, absolutely lord of all!
The pale blue lamps of the Olympia presented their barbaric curtain of light. Cabs rolled by. Taxis tooted. The Madeleine, peering through the evening mist, raised on high its huge, shadowy entablature. On, on. All this would be behind me the day after tomorrow. I meant to enjoy my ephemeral royalty.
I experienced a curious sensation. I had money, but I could not make it give me acquaintances on the spot I had money, but without a friend to prove it, I might just as well have been without it.
A sudden recollection brought a bright idea to my mind. I went into Weber's. Ribeyre and his friends of the previous evening would be just on the point of meeting. The thought of Clotilde possessed my mind. She had been wearing a long black velvet cloak above which peeped her small head with its coils of glossy fair hair.
What a treat to appear before her in my new glory!
Ribeyre had already arrived.
"Hullo, old boy! All's well. I've just seen Marçais. He's delighted. You seem to have the voice of the charmer all right. Good Lord, you haven't wasted much time," he said, noticing my transformation.
I thought I detected a touch of sarcasm in his tone. I thought of Gautier's story of Baudelaire rubbing his new suit with sandpaper to take off that offensive nap so dear to philistines and bourgeois. My confidence was a little shaken. I almost expected to see my newly-won joys dissolve on the spot. Then I thought, "What does it matter? I know it's only ready-made, but I couldn't come here in my shabby boots and a suit two years old. Just let them wait a day or two!"
And the knowledge that I had been fitted out at one of the most expensive tailor's restored my spirits entirely.
Clotilde arrived. She had on white fox furs which seemed to me the last word in luxury and good taste. When I had bought a poor flower-seller's entire stock of violets for her, she condescended to notice my existence and soon made me feel I was much more to her liking.
"Clotilde," said Ribeyre, "if you love me you will exchange Surville for my friend Vignerte this evening. He is in funds and he's leaving the day after tomorrow, two things which women seldom fail to appreciate."
A quarter of an hour earlier this extremely masculine joke would have jarred on me very greatly, but the terrible white port was already at work, and besides Clotilde wore an amused smile and did not say no.
Surville arrived with the other man, one Mouton-Massé. They were both in the Ministry of the Interior.
"We can't stick in this hole," said lanky Surville. "Twice running is too much. Charmed to see you, sir. You dine with us, of course?"
"My friend Vignerte wants you to give him the pleasure of being your host," said Ribeyre. "He is leaving the day after tomorrow for the Court of Lautenburg and wants us to share his travelling expenses."
Little Mouton-Massé indicated that my desire met with his approval.
"Where shall we go?"
For a good ten minutes these gentlemen discussed the point, tossing from mouth to mouth names utterly unknown to me: "Viel," "Les Sergents," "La Tour," and even stranger animal names, "Le Coucou," "L'Escargot," "L'Ane Rouge."
I was not listening. A third glass of port had wafted me to Paradise itself. The warm restaurant atmosphere went to my head. I thought with some disdain of my prospects of yesterday, with its poor man's education, its fellowships, the Heads of the four Faculties and the Vice-Rector in his room in the Rue des Écoles. These fashionable women and young men of the world who flittered round me under the lights reminded me of the cold passages of the Sorbonne and Henri Martin's fresco of Anatole France, dressed as an explorer in a landscape dotted with flowers, explaining to a dozen ill-dressed young graduates his personal conception of human destiny.
There is the true conception of life, I thought, gazing admiringly at Clotilde, who was pinning the mauve and green bouquet to her white fur.
Ribeyre and his friends being at length of one mind we took a taxi which put us down in the Place Gaillon at the door of some restaurant, the name of which I have forgotten. Within, heavy hangings shut off the dining-room from the prying eyes of passers-by. Surville knew the place and led us to a small private room where five covers were soon laid.
I sat next to Clotilde, or rather (a matter of more concern to me) the woman who bore that name. I may as well say I have completely forgotten what we had at this famous meal. Everything was unquestionably highly spiced, for we drank like fishes. "You must give me carte blanche," said Ribeyre, with a mocking glance first at Clotilde, then at Surville. A diminutive black waiter took our orders in the grand manner. I'm not certain but I think Ribeyre had met him before. "No champagne," he had said. I know no more. We began with a little Pouilly, dry as frost, to accompany the oysters. Then Mouton-Massé, who hailed from that region, suggested some '92 Saint-Emilion, whereupon Clotilde insisted upon Beaune, the wine of her own country. I did not lose this opportunity of winning her favour and ventured to ask the waiter to bring the best. Then Ribeyre improved the occasion by ordering Wolscheim in one of those long-necked, narrow-mouthed bottles. I should add that the greatest triumph was mine in winding up with the suggestion of a wine from the sandy Landes. None of the others had ever tried this formidable juice of grapes which on our barren dunes drink in the pale yellow rays of an ocean sun—a drink which leaves your head clear and your body active but plays the devil with your legs.
Surville and Mouton-Massé kept me in small talk. Clotilde called me Raoul and made me promise to send her postcards. Ribeyre, stronger in the head, never stopped talking to the little black man except to signal, "Don't you worry," with his eyes.
I felt a god, with the extra joy of being aware of my rapid ascent. I saw again the miserable boneshaker which had borne me two days before to the God-forsaken station in the Landes. One small lamp in the darkness; and wind, real wind, wind from the sea. Within me even blacker darkness.
The Sauterne, liquid gold, sparkled in the glasses. The shades of the lights were reflected in it like little crimson tulips. I saw Clotilde's teeth shine on the glass from which she sipped, with little laughs that made her white throat shake. Her hand on mine communicated to me the tremors of that yielding, artless creature. Ribeyre was in the highest spirits. Mouton-Massé was busy with crêpes-au-Kirsch; Surville was drinking.
There was a scene when the liqueurs came and Surville insisted on claret glasses.
Mouton-Massé vainly pointed out that liqueur glasses would do if the bottles were left on the table. He wouldn't be satisfied, so they gave him one. The staff had gone. The cigar smoke dimmed the light. The flowers were dying on the table. Surville snored. Mouton-Massé had pulled out a note-book and was attempting some absurd calculation in which he got tied up and swore volubly. Ribeyre, who hadn't abandoned his original notion, slipped his right arm under my left, his left under Clotilde's right, and drew us together. Then he whispered in the ear of the girl, who laughed gaily, her lips moist and a little shiver rippling down her back.
By the evening of Friday, October 24th, 1913, everything was ready for my departure.
My clothes were packed in a big, new trunk. A smaller one held my books. I hadn't the heart to throw away any of the poor friendly things I had accumulated in my lodgings, the relics of three years of joyless toil. I had it all properly packed in the old box which had been my mother's, not forgetting my uniform of an officer of the Reserve, already shabby with two periods of training—poor officers are never slow to avail themselves of these extra trainings. I took it to the station myself and dispatched it addressed to the old curé with whom I stayed in my vacations.
At five o'clock I had finished a letter telling him of my new start in life. I had settled up my affairs. I had rather more than 2,300 francs left, allowing for ten louis I had been glad to lend Ribeyre. I decided to send the same amount to my old curé for his crumbling church among the dunes.
When I had posted my letter in the Rue de Tournon, I made my way to Luxemburg. I passed the white Medici Fountain, where I had so often waited for the nymphs of my dreams. The sentry was sheltering out of sight in his box. The great Royal garden had never been so deserted as on this evening when autumn felt the first touch of winter. Beneath the bare trees, under a darkening golden sky, the cold circle of queens on their marble pedestals showed strangely white in the falling light.
The clock of the Senate struck half-past five. The silence of death reigned in the heart of Paris. The fountains had ceased to play and the great octagonal basin spread its mirror, clearer—by some miracle—than the sky itself. A man, the only man beside myself in the famous garden, was standing at the edge in the curious attitude of a man sowing seeds. He was throwing bread to the birds. There were some three dozen sparrows, and fat grey pigeons, gawky, restless birds. He was an old man in a seedy black coat with the remains of a fur collar. There was a bag at his feet. I went up and the birds flew away. The old fellow cast me a reproachful glance, threw his bag over his shoulder and shambled off. When I left the garden myself it was quite dark.
Four hours later I caught the Paris-Berlin express at the Gare de l'Est.
II
The clear, cold star which had been shining in the steel blue sky had disappeared.
Vignerte started. "What time is it?"
I lit my electric torch. "Ten minutes to twelve," I said.
I awakened the two runners.
"Henriquez, go to the third section, tell the adjutant to see to the relief of the second platoon and report to Lieutenant Vignerte. Damestoy, go to the second section and tell the section officer to do the same for the first platoon. He mustn't forget the two o'clock patrol. It will be supplied by the eleventh squad, Corporal Toulet. Got that? Come, look sharp!"
The two men climbed out. For two seconds the patch of blue sky was hidden.
A weird, soundless night. A stray rifle shot at long intervals. The guns silent.
Vignerte resumed his story.
HAVE you ever read Baron von Heidenstamm? Meyer Forster has borrowed something for it from Tolstoy—the whole chapter on the race for the Emperor's Cup is taken from Anna Karenina—and a good deal, unfortunately, from our Octave Feuillet. Still, you shouldn't miss the description of Hanover, life in a German garrison town, and the royal park in snow. The impressions you get are very much what I felt on my arrival at Lautenburg at ten o'clock on the morning of Sunday, October 26th, 1913.
For the previous eight hours I had been watching the gradual displacement of the Walpurgis Harz, shrouded to the south in copper-coloured clouds by a fertile but ugly, featureless plain. When the train had crossed the Aller the country became more undulating. Foaming in its basaltic bed appeared the winding river Melna which joins the Aller some forty miles below Lautenburg. I was nearing my destination.
The sky was dull and grey. The town, clinging to the slopes of a hill in a bend of the Melna, had a certain resemblance to Pau, or, rather, Saint-Gaudens, thanks to its red-brick houses. Crowning all, in a distant clump of trees, I saw an old tower. The Castle, I thought.
Like a horse with its head for home the train put on steam. We ran along and over a number of streams gliding between willow-lined banks. The white patches where the water ran over boulders and the swaying of the vegetation spoke of the gentle murmur we could not hear. You would call it clean, peaceful country, not unlike the Ile-de-France; yes, a country you could live and be happy in.
Lautenburg station, on the other hand, was frankly monstrous, a smaller but more extravagant copy of the famous station of Metz. But before I had time to take in the details, I heard an obsequious murmur of: "Professor Vignerte?" from a man in a peaked cap who took my ticket.
Marçais had wired the time of my arrival. The man in the cap signalled and two huge lackeys in black and gold livery suddenly appeared before me. One of them took my luggage while the other assisted me to enter an enormous limousine which started at once. In ten minutes we had passed through Lautenburg and were entering at top speed what I took to be the great courtyard of the Castle. At all events a sentry presented arms.
"Will the Herr Professor kindly get out?" said the lackey, opening the door while the chauffeur sounded his horn.
A round, red-faced steward appeared on the steps and bowed three or four times.
"Has the Herr Professor had a pleasant journey? Will he be kind enough to follow me and I will take him to his room."
With all the fellowships rolled into one I shouldn't have been addressed as "Professor" as many times in ten years in France as I was in Lautenburg on the morning of my arrival alone.
My luggage was in my room. I admit that it was not without a feeling of approval that I saw a very enticing meal spread out on the table.
"If the Herr Professor wants anything, he has only to ring. Ludwig, his valet, is at hand, entirely at his service."
As he was going out the stout functionary bowed even lower than before and handed me an envelope studded with red seals.
"Will the Herr Professor kindly accept the letter left for him by Major von Kessel."
Major von Kessel, the tutor of his Highness Duke Joachim, offered his apologies for his inability to receive me on my arrival. Unfortunately the whole Court of Lautenburg had gone hunting and he himself had to accompany his pupil. He therefore suggested my spending the day in making myself at home in the palace. He would have the honour to receive me at a quarter to ten on the following morning, Monday, with a view to presenting me to the Grand Duke Frederick-Augustus.
Wishing to test my new powers at once, I rang. Ludwig appeared.
"Good Lord!" I thought, "if M. Thierry could only see you he'd feel reassured."
The fellow, thirty years old or so, had the most amazingly inexpressive face I had ever beheld before I went to Germany. Subsequently I became quite used to these good-natured, blue-eyed bran-bags. His head was that of nine out of ten of our prisoners.
I only managed to extract from Ludwig one piece of information, that I should take my meals on the ground floor (my room was on the floor above) in a room reserved for the civil and military establishment of Duke Joachim, that is to say myself, Major von Kessel and Professor Cyrus Beck, of Kiel University. In addition we could all have meals served in our own rooms if we wished.
Vignerte had hitherto spoken in the same level tone, finding no difficulty in recalling the smallest detail of a story with which he visibly lived night and day. But at this point he paused.
I see, my friend, that my tale is not boring you, but I begin to be conscious now of the difficulties of my task. Hitherto chronological order has been enough, but at this point I must change it for a time or I shall risk confusing you and obscuring the broad outline with a mass of petty detail. Let me give you now a detailed description of Lautenburg and its inhabitants. When I have done this we will return to the course of events. They will group the picture.
1. THE PALACE
I should say palaces, rather than palace, as the residence of the Grand Dukes of Lautenburg-Detmold is a combination of a Renaissance castle, built on one side of a Gothic keep, and a Louis Quatorze palace shamelessly copied from Versailles. Taken separately, each of these components is not without architectural merit, but their combination presented enormous difficulties to the architect of the Grand Duke Ulrich, the present sovereign's grandfather, who was instructed to make a symmetrical whole of these incompatible edifices. He solved his problem by throwing out a wing on the left, erecting a flanking tower on the right, and adding in the centre a kind of hall which is a cross between the Gare d'Orsay and the Chapel at Versailles. I admit his task was appalling, but why is it that these insoluble architectural puzzles are always to be met with in Germany?
Such as it is, this immense hall is used both as council chamber and banqueting-hall, and I must say that, communicating with the gallery of the palace and the Great Hall of the castle, it serves its double purpose well enough.
The palace meets the castle in the middle, so that the combined edifice has the shape of a T. It crowns a hill which towers over the town, and falls away sheer at the foot of the castle, but in a gentle slope behind the palace. The Melna passes through the town and winds round the castle in a gorge, a hundred feet deep or so, before glancing off to bound the French garden, which stretches behind the palace.
On the town side, leading up to the ducal residence, is a huge open space, again recalling Versailles. It is also the parade ground, where all reviews are held. A gilded railing starts from the left wing of the palace, encloses a triangular court, and terminates at the right wing of the castle, leaving the great central keep outside.
From this keep, the sole relic of the old Gothic fortress of the burgraves of Lautenburg, flies the standard in black and white, with a golden leopard and the Lautenburg motto: Summum decus, flectere. This tower has been spoilt, of course, like the rest of the castle, by an overload of decorative ornament, in the Augsburg style. Thus the keep is distinguished by battlements with a lining of zinc, while the peristyle, the steps of which have a balustrade in excellent taste, is surmounted by a Corinthian pediment.
The side overlooking the Melna is less debased. The uninviting ravine has been responsible for this, I expect, as the plaster artists no doubt looked twice before embarking upon their course of "improvement." Decorative detail has been replaced by ivy, and exceptionally huge beeches, which overhang the river and sway their dark heads under the high lancet windows.
I need not describe the palace. It is a diminutive Versailles, with twenty-five windows in the façade instead of eighty-nine, but none the less an imitation good enough to make a majestic copy of majesty.
The French park, albeit under a Hanoverian sky, made a direct appeal to one's heart. Obviously the owners had lavished every care upon it. German orderliness had done wonders. Everything was straight and smooth. A faultless green lawn led to the Persephone fountain, a good example of Ernout, himself a good pupil of Coysevox. You have only to know that this garden was planned by La Quintinie, who sent his best workmen to carry it out, to understand the secret of its spacious nobility.
If the Grand Duke George William, a pensioner of the King of France, was a great admirer of Louis XIV., his grandson Frederick was one of the finest products of the age of enlightened despotism. He entertained Voltaire on a visit, and met Rousseau at Grimm's house. He was responsible for the English garden, surrounding the French park laid out by his grandfather, which slopes in picturesque disorder down to the Melna. The clear, rapid torrent is crossed by a wooden bridge, which still keeps its name of "Pond de la Meilleraie," and is wide enough to admit the passage of the cavalcades which start from the castle to hunt in the Herrenwald, that magnificent forest whose leafy roof, as seen from the terraces, stretches away to the horizon.
2. MY QUARTERS
Two large panelled chambers on the first floor, in the northern wing of the castle, opposite the great court. The room in which I usually worked looked out on the terrace. Through the open window I could see the dark sea of foliage in a tawny sunlight. An overwhelming silence reigned.
The other, less melancholy, had two windows looking out on the ravine where the Melna plunged and roared, and beyond that the Königsplatz, the barracks of the 182nd Regiment and the Cathedral, a garish eyesore. A white trail of smoke floated on two shining bars—the Hanover express which had brought me.
I blessed the decision which had deposited me in this part of the building. It possessed an enormous open grate, with curious ironwork, and everything dated from the time when German taste was not yet hopelessly debased.
I was at the extreme end of the castle, immediately above the room known as the "Armoury." This was a very curious place, though it had been almost entirely stripped of its contents. The splendid suits of armour of the great burgraves had been removed, notably that of Goetz von Vertheidigen-Lautenburg, who was the right arm of Albert the Bear, that of Miltiades Bussmann, who wounded Henry the Lion, and that of Cadwalla, mentioned by Hugo, whose helm still bears the mark of the fearful blow dealt him at Bouvines by the mighty Guillaume des Barres.
3. THEIR HIGHNESSES
The Grand Duke Frederick-Augustus had his apartments on the first floor. His bedroom, like that of Louis XIV., was in the centre of the main building, and there was a study on the right, overlooking the park.
Thither Kessel led me at ten o'clock in the morning of the day after my arrival.
The Grand Duke was working at a plain Louis Quinze bureau. He rose and held out his hand.
"Monsieur Vignerte, I have no need to tell you all the compliments Count Marçais pays you in his letter. I know that you represent the personal choice of the French Minister for Foreign Affairs. It would be absurd of me to conceal from you that I am absolutely satisfied with such references. My only wish is that you may find at Lautenburg something of the welcome we hope to give you."
The Grand Duke, only a year younger than his elder brother, the late Grand Duke Rudolph, is fairly tall. Born in 1868, he is now forty-five. Fair, rather bald and clean-shaven, he has blue eyes, which at first seem to fasten on you and then wander away. Except on ceremonial occasions I have never seen him in anything but the undress uniform of a Divisional General, dark blue with the red collar and no decorations.
He had fine hands, which he appeared to contemplate with some satisfaction.
"Major von Kessel," he continued, "has probably explained to you the nature of your duties. I need hardly say that I wish you to have the utmost liberty as to the way in which you perform them. My son is entered for Kiel University, and I wish him to take his degree there. You must therefore keep your eye on a syllabus. But beyond that, adopt what methods you think good. Your special subjects are History and Literature. I do not know your political views, Monsieur," he added, smiling. "No doubt somewhat Liberal. But don't feel obliged to change them. Liberalism is formidable only to democracies. Intelligent sovereigns have always known how to use it for their own purposes."
He rang a bell.
"Inform Duke Joachim that I want him to come to my study."
My pupil was a tall, very fair young man, rather sleepy-looking. I realized that I should never have cause to check the speed of his wits.
"Joachim," said the Grand Duke, in a less pleasant tone than that with which he had favoured me, "this is Monsieur Vignerte, your new Professor of Literature. I hope the progress you make under his charge will be more rapid than when you were with Herr Ulricht. What marks did he get, Kessel, in his last tactics examination?"
"Eight out of twenty," replied Kessel.
"It's not enough. You must get half marks next time. You can go."
The young man went out with ill-concealed relief.
"You see, monsieur," said the Grand Duke, turning to us, "you can always count absolutely on my authority. Mark my son strictly, if anything stiffly, and you will always have my approval."
He motioned to us to withdraw. "By the way," he added, recalling me, "did Marçais tell you you might occasionally be required to display your gifts as a reader to the Archduchess? Oh," he added, "I ought perhaps to give you a warning, though it may be excessive caution on my part. It is quite possible that my wife won't call upon you at all. At the moment she has returned to her old passion for horses. But, in any case, it does no harm to be forewarned, and you may be quite sure," he concluded, with a smile which he well knew how to make irresistible, "that I shall see that no unreasonable demands are made upon your leisure."
"I shall be happy to put myself entirely at the Grand Duchess's disposal whenever she so desires."
"Thank you," he said, and turned to his work.
In the corridor Kessel said:
"If the Grand Duchess takes it into her head to see you, she will send a message immediately through me. I shall communicate with your valet, so don't fail to call at your rooms."
Thus it was that from the day after my arrival at the castle to the day of the fête of the Lautenburg Hussars, where I saw her for the first time, I called at my rooms five or six times a day, more disappointed than I cared to admit that the summons which would manifest the good pleasure of the Grand Duchess Aurora-Anna-Eleanor towards me was not forthcoming.
4. THE COURT
I doubt whether I should say "Court" in speaking of the entourage of the Dukes of Lautenburg. The word is somewhat too heavy, but it fits in well enough with the rigid etiquette which reigned at the castle.
I have already spoken of Major Count Albert von Kessel, of the 11th Prussian Artillery Regiment, stationed at Königsberg. He passed out top of the Kriegs Academie at Berlin, and is undoubtedly one of the best officers in the German Army. He's an officer to his finger-tips, and although devoted body and soul to his profession, displays only the inevitable minimum of that impossible Prussian arrogance. He always treated me with the most perfect courtesy, and I have nothing but praise for the advice he gave me and the influence he had over Duke Joachim.
Portly Colonel von Wendel, of Hanau Cuirassiers, combines the functions of governor of the palace and head of the military household of the Grand Duke. In the second capacity he has under his orders Captain Müller, of the Würtemberg Chasseurs, and Lieutenants Bernhardt and von Choisly, Uhlans and officers of the Grand Duke's staff.
He is a good sort, who spends his time shouting when the Grand Duke isn't there, and trembling like an aspen leaf when he is. I suspect Kessel has a profound contempt for him. He, on the other hand, treats Kessel, who is on the Great General Staff, with the greatest deference. It would never enter his head that his double functions authorize him to give orders to the taciturn artilleryman.
His bête-noire, however, is little Lieutenant von Hagen, of the Lautenburg Hussars, the Grand Duchess's orderly officer. Rows between the Colonel and the Lieutenant are of frequent occurrence, but the junior is backed by the Grand Duchess, who cannot do without him. The Grand Duke won't hear a word against him. Wendel has to give way. In the first few days I became conscious of the mutual hatred of these two men. Without ever getting as far as confidences, the Governor of the castle made two or three bitter remarks about the difficulties of his task. I felt that with a little encouragement...
But I'd promised to keep to my own job and never mix myself up in their affairs.
All the same, little Hagen irritated me beyond words, with his monocle, his way of looking you up and down, and the self-satisfaction of the man who feels secure against anything. He had been attached as orderly to the Grand Duchess for two years, and I understand that at the time she took him from the Lautenburg Hussars he was on the point of blowing his brains out as a result of some gaming scandal.
The rest, on the whole, are pleasant enough. They became a good deal more agreeable when they learned I "was an officer of the Reserve." That day Colonel von Wendel asked me to dinner. Frau von Wendel, a motherly, red-haired woman of forty, called me "Monsieur le lieutenant." At dessert she asked me in a tender voice if I had read the "Fiancée de Messine." After all this was a better way of spending my time than at the Sorbonne attending the lectures of M. Seignobos. I only mention his name because it will do as well as any other.
5. THE LIBRARY AND THE LIBRARIAN
The former plays so considerable a part in my story, that I must devote a little space to a description of it. As for the latter, Professor Cyrus Beck, of Kiel University, it seems only just that I should say a few words in praise of the man of whose death I have been the innocent cause.
The library had been fitted up in the dismantled chapel of the castle, a chapel somewhat in the Jesuitical style having been built in the palace.
The beautiful ogival chamber which cuts the great hall and the armoury at right angles has thus been laid open. The door on the left leads to the armoury, and the way into the library is by the door at the far end of the great hall.
Though three or four times larger, it bears a strong resemblance to the library of the Château de Montesquieu at La Brède, except that, if I remember rightly, the vaulting at La Brède is romanesque. Otherwise the general plan is the same. In the centre there is a huge case containing a remarkable collection of coins, among them a gold medallion of Conradin, which is a masterpiece. Five or six lecterns have been transformed into portable desks, the very thing for working. A splendid system of electric light makes research an easy matter, for the room is, indeed, so dark that it is impossible to read or write without artificial light.
Don't expect me to give you even the most summary description of the riches amassed here since the time of Gutenberg.
I don't believe it possible to write any kind of book on Germany without having recourse to the library of Lautenburg. The visitors' book contains the most famous signatures. Amongst others I noticed those of Leibnitz, Humboldt, Otfried Müller, Curtius, Schleiermacher and Renan. Even more precious are the treasures contained in the sacristy. There, in old wooden chests, formerly reserved for vestments and chalices, are housed the priceless manuscripts which comprise the public and private archives of the Dukes of Lautenburg, or purchases made by several of those dukes who were interested in such matters. They have to thank the Grand Duke Rudolf, brother of the present Grand Duke, for several of the most important items of the collection. The librarian, Herr Cyrus Beck, who is engaged in classifying them, kept them jealously under lock and key.
This Professor Cyrus Beck, of Kiel University, was lent to the Grand Duke Rudolf ten years ago by the Rector Etlicher, for the special purpose of cataloguing his manuscripts.
The present Grand Duke retained him in the same post in exchange for an undertaking to give four hours a week to teach Duke Joachim the exact sciences.
The old man spent half his remaining time among the manuscripts in the sacristy, the rest in his laboratory, surrounded by furnaces and retorts. This laboratory is situated in the triangle formed by the armoury, the chapel and the walls of the castle. Like my room, it looks out on the ravine of the Melna, or rather on the trees which almost entirely shut out the view. The first time I ever entered the laboratory, accompanied by Kessel, who was to introduce me to our colleague, I was received much as Gulliver was among the spiders' webs of the magician of Laputa. A harsh voice screamed out an order to shut the door, declaring that the draught was putting out the burners. Then a furious little fellow emerged from amid pungent fumes. Dr. Cyrus Beck had a bald pate, as polished as if it had been subjected to the most powerful acids. A long yellowish overall, covered with chemical stains, enveloped him from head to foot. Among all his paraphernalia he looked exactly as if he had stepped out of Hoffmann's tales.
He calmed down at the sight of Kessel, proffered his apologies, and told us that he had just reached the psychological moment in his experiments on the insulation of ... (something the name of which I have forgotten). He had almost become pleasant when my companion told him that I myself intended to do some research work in the manuscript section. He bowed as Kessel told him that the Grand Duke hoped he would give me every facility for this purpose, but I could see that he would not do more than he could help.
"We'll see," I reflected philosophically. "This old chap is full of fads. Sooner or later I'll find out the one to play up to."
I was in no hurry, having given myself a fortnight before starting on what was then Professor Thierry's work, but eventually to be my own.
6. THE STATE OF LAUTENBUBG-DETMOLD
The Grand Duchy of Lautenburg-Detmold, one of the twenty-seven States of the German Confederation, is about sixty miles long from north to south. Its breadth varies between twelve and twenty-five miles. It has a population of two hundred and eighty thousand. The Schwarzhugel, a last buttress of the Harz, is the only orographical system which breaks the monotony of the Hanoverian plain.
As regards its river system, the Grand Duchy is bounded by the Weser, and crossed by the Aller. The Melna is the most important river, judging by the length of its course in Lautenburg territory.
The Herrenwald, a forest of beech and fir, which starts to the north of Lautenburg, covers a good third of its area. The rest consists of a sandy tract, very difficult for agriculture, but particularly suited to brick-making, the principal resource of the State.
There are two towns: Sandau, exclusively industrial, in the northern plain, with twenty thousand inhabitants; Lautenburg, the capital, forty thousand inhabitants, seat of a bishopric and the central assizes. A cavalry brigade formed of the 11th Dragoons and the 7th Hussars, a regiment of infantry, the 182nd, a half-regiment of artillery, and a detachment of the 3rd Engineers are stationed there.
The constitution is monarchical, the Grand Dukes succeeding each other in order of primogeniture, and women are not excluded. The Grand Duchess Charlotte-Augusta reigned alone at the end of the eighteenth century, and today the Grand Duke Frederick-Augustus owes his title to his marriage with the Grand Duchess Aurora.
The Grand Duke of Lautenburg is the immediate vassal of the King of Würtemberg, and mediate vassal of the German Emperor.
The State of Lautenburg sends three deputies to the Reichstag. Two of them are agrarians; the third, representing Sandau, is a Socialist. All three sit of right in the Ducal Diet, which meets twice a year at the Castle of Lautenburg. The President of the Municipal Council of Lautenburg and two councillors elected by their colleagues are also ex-officio members of the Diet. The other members are elected, on a narrow franchise, by the general population of the Grand Duchy. The Grand Duke is President. A permanent committee of six members, somewhat similar to our departmental commissions, dispatches current business when the Diet is not in session.
7. SUMMARY OF LIFE AT LAUTENBURG
Four times a week I gave Duke Joachim his lessons, two of history, one of philosophy and one of literature. For this purpose I went to his room in the right wing of the palace. You will remember that his father occupied the middle portion, while the left wing was reserved exclusively for the Grand Duchess Aurora. The walls of Duke Joachim's study are hung with the best German maps made by Kiepert himself. There are two portraits, one of the Grand Duke, and the other of his first wife, née Countess von Tepwitz, a worthy Bavarian with a Luther's cross, who died three years ago. Duke Joachim is her living image.
You couldn't have a more tractable pupil than this young German duke. He knows a good deal already, but unfortunately it's all in the same class. I shouldn't be at all surprised if the State of Lautenburg-Detmold lapses to the imperial crown on the death of the Grand Duke Frederick-Augustus.
Those who have always had all they want will probably bridle at the suggestion that a life with every material comfort is enough for happiness. Nevertheless, I was thoroughly happy. I had nothing but my professional duties to worry about. Two or three books, unknown over here, practically performed them for me.
I was very happy, I repeat. Lunch with the Grand Duke was still a treat in store, but I had already dined three times with Colonel von Wendel. His wife took a great fancy to me. I lent her several books I had really intended for the Grand Duchess. She was a kindly soul, and, besides, it was just as well to be on good terms with the Colonel.
I generally lunched with Cyrus Beck, Kessel, and the staff. Little Hagen came every now and then. When he did, the others chuckled maliciously, and said that the Grand Duchess must have let him out for the day. In the evening every one vanished. Most of them had friends in the town. I usually stayed behind with the professor, and sometimes, not always, the taciturn Kessel. Cyrus Beck then monopolized the conversation with a recital of his woes. His pupil made no progress. Besides, tutoring wasn't his job! The Grand Duke Rudolph, now, did know how to treat a professor. He was a scholar!
I was given to understand that as a geographer he had scarcely a rival.
Kessel, finishing his liqueur, broke in calmly:
"A geographer who didn't understand the handling of a field gun."
Cyrus retorted in scorn:
"Then you prefer the present Grand Duke?"
"I never knew His Highness the Grand Duke Rudolph," replied Kessel, unruffled. "I only know that the first duty of a Grand Duke is to be a Grand Duke, which means perfect familiarity with artillery, heavy and light, so that geographers can work in peace and safety."
The odd thing is that the professor poured out his complaints to Kessel, of whom he stood in visible awe, rather than to me, a Frenchman. I tell you the loyalty of these folk is beyond belief. We in France are never happy except when at loggerheads. But their habit of mind, backed by the Imperial Police, who are admirably organized, makes them sheep, compared to which Panurge's flock was imaginative and refractory.
In the daytime my principal amusement was strolling in Lautenburg. The splendid German uniforms delighted me, though I had moments of dismay over that prodigious display of discipline. Twice a week the band of the 182nd played in the Königsplatz, opposite the theatre. I liked the charming gaucherie of the group of girls I passed. They recalled and exemplified the truth of the old cavalry General von Dewitz's remarks to his aide-de-camp:
"These girls are thoroughbreds, my boy, a real treat to watch! None of your faked demi-women, but mothers, real mothers. I'd answer for whole generations of them. Just look at that buxom wench down there! There's red cheeks for you, and what a stride! A yard if it's an inch! What a treat for an old soldier like me. I like looking at 'em!"[1]
I, too, liked "looking at 'em." The spectacle never failed to please, and that utter docility, that abject acceptance of their destiny, recalled the words of the French officers who passed through here into captivity after the disaster at Sedan:
"Priez une Allemande à s'asseoir. Elle se couchera."
Night falls, a haze of purple and gold. Lights and noise herald the hour of café and tavern. A flower-seller passes. I am to dine tonight at the Colonel's. I must take Frau von Wendel a bunch of Vergiss-mein-nicht!...