Kitabı oku: «The Lost Manuscript: A Novel», sayfa 33

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.