"Lieber Bernin—"
It was a discursive letter. It touched on the pleasant time spent during the negotiation of the Treaty of Gastein.
How well the writer remembered, if he might say so, the brilliant resource, the unfailing tact, Bernin had shown in his mediation. The Schleswig-Holstein Question! It seemed like yesterday. Eight years ago, was it now? Tempus fugit. Well—Germans all now. Certain difficulties still to be ironed out; the South did not always appear to understand. . . . One of their native sons causing something of a small headache just now. Fellow appeared to have taken French leave from one of the new cadet corps. The father must be a neighbour of Bernin's—bit of a rough diamond, they heard.
Count Bernin's support could not always be had for the asking. Under a mass of civilities he returned a barbed question: what was the presence of one small boy at a military school to the German War Office?
The General now dropped Schleswig-Holstein. The authorities at Benzheim, he wrote, were anxious about the effect of a successful escape on morale; the boy's flight was known to his fellow pupils, a number of whom were new, also, and from Southern families. If the boy were allowed to stay away, the fact might be damaging to the very framework of their educational ideology.
Count Bernin wrote back that he could see their point; but what exactly was he supposed to do about it?
The General's next letter was quite straightforward. The Corps were having trouble with some of their parents; Benzheim considered it essential that the boy should be returned before the summer break-up. Nothing could legally be done without the father's consent. Pressure seemed not to meet the case— Would the offer of an Order? His Majesty was rather sparing with crosses for civilians. One might approach the King of Bavaria— Was old Felden likely, though, to insist on an Imperial decoration? Could Bernin suggest a line.
Count Bernin replied, truthfully, that his direct influence with his neighbour was nil. He did not tell, what he should have told at that point, that the Feldens were about to become more to him than that. He told the General not
to bother about the Order, and he volunteered that Major von Grautkopf had been a mistake.
The General took the point. Yes, he wrote, yes, Major von Grautkopf . . . He appreciated Bernin's frankness, but what kind of a man would he suggest?
Count Bernin wrote a description.
Captain Montclair, former Bavarian Military Attache in Paris, was almost a dandy. His clothes were exquisite. The old Baron, to whom friends sent many people, felt guilty about not remembering a letter. "You are interested in barometers?" he said.
"Very much so," said his visitor.
Having thus placed him, the old Baron showed his own collection. "This one was designed by the Abbe Nollet; it has an interesting disposition of the Wheel. This one belonged to Lavoisier himself, poor man. The Spiral, now, such an advantage over the Column. . . . What is your own opinion, Monsieur?"
"The round ones are not so pretty."
"You are so right," said the old Baron. "Nobody seems to know how to make a case any more. All the same, without the Spiral? How would you place your Rods? Perhaps you prefer the Syphon? Surely you agree with our friend Mercier on the interaction of Moisture and Gravity? Allow me to make you a diagram. You have only got to think of the Pendulum Watch—"
Captain Montclair pounced upon this straw. "Talking of watches, I've been admiring yours, sir."
"What?" said the old Baron. "Oh that. That's no Pendulum Watch."
"No, no of course not. But it is beautiful."
"It is a very good watch/' said the Baron. "My father made it. There were two of them. My rascal of a son lost the other. Threw it away; so unbalanced. He thought the Prussians were after him."
"Your son, sir?" said Captain Montclair.
"And so they were. My son is behaving like a lunatic,
most unlike him. And the eldest one has gone and got himself engaged to the girl of that old busybody's over at Sigmundshofen, so unnecessary."
"The boy seems to be a little overwrought."
"Poor Gustavus? Oh no, no."
"I mean your young son, the one you said ran away. Isn't his attitude rather unreasonable?"
"So exaggerated," said the old Baron.
"You know, sir, those Corps aren't nearly so bad as your son seems to make out."
"Oh, I shouldn't say that; you didn't see Jean—shocking state he was in."
"I should very much like to talk to you about your son Jean, sir," said the Captain.
"No, no," said the Baron, "we are going to talk about the Professor's new constructions. You must draw them for me. I feel that your visit is going to cheer me up. A tolerable bit of salmon's come in this morning—we will have some Montrachet with it—'58. Not at all a bad year."
"Alas," said the Captain, and explained that he would hardly have the time.
"Not staying here? The inn at Breisach? We must send for your things at once, my old friend Mercier would never forgive me. . . ."
Once more the Captain made his excuses; he had to be on his way at once.
"So very brief," said the old Baron. "I daresay the Professor needs you."
Captain Montclair went on to Sigmundshofen. Count Bernin was slightly embarrassed by his call. Like the old Baron, he tried to keep it social. He was less successful.
"Well—I was not shown the door," said Captain Montclair.
"Indeed."
"In fact the Baron and I got on like a house on fire."
"Felden is a very charming man."
"Like a house on fire, but I've got nothing to show for it."
How like poor Montclair, Count Bernin later said to Clara. "He always gets on, but he never seems to accomplish his missions." Before his recall, the Empress Eugenie had found him entirely delightful.
"And I couldn't accept to stay at the house/' said the Captain.
"No, I suppose not."
"Oh it wasn't that," said the Captain and explained. "Very silly of me."
But Count Bernin did not smile. "You know, if I were you I'd pack up and go back to Berlin," he said.
Captain Montclair, however, returned to the inn at Breisach. Two men in lounge suits were waiting for him in the taproom.
"Captain—we should be glad to have a statement from you on The Escaped Cadet."
Gustavus rode over at his usual hour to see Clara. He was much annoyed. "Gabriel has some cock-and-bull story about another man from Benzheim. The house is at sixes and sevens."
"I think Papa ought to hear about this," said Clara.
"And does your father think this man came from Benzheim?" said the Count.
"He won't believe a word of it. But Gabriel insists there is a man at the inn at Breisach who has come for Jean. The inn people told our groom that he left a huge silver helmet with feathers and a special case for it on his bed, and he has a white tunic and they saw his sword. Gabriel says it's the same man who came to the house this morning in disguise."
"I see," said Count Bernin.
"Do you believe any of it, sir?"
"It couldn't have been that captain who came to see you today, Papa?" said Clara. "He wore no uniform either."
Count Bernin sat down and wrote once more to Lieu-tenant-General von Schimmelpfennig. The substance of his letter was, My dear Schimmelpfennig, your Captain Mont-clair has managed to turn this business into a farce; nothing further can be gained by making yourselves and your emissaries a local laughingstock, and I think you ought to desist. Why don't you make those people at Benzheim tell their cadets that the boy is ill or has been sent to another corps or a military prison? Surely their imagination will run to that? Besides I believe the boy is ill. A little flexibility, may I remind you, is a useful quality. Always your entire servant, Conrad Bernin.
On the morning of that day, there appeared in two Baden dailies an account of Johannes's escape from Benzheim. As journalism, these copious articles were on the old-fashioned side.
Our Readers will be interested to
learn of the gallant escape from the restraint of a certain Military Academy contrived by the intrepid offspring of one of Lower Baden's foremost personalities, Baron F*^* of L*** —
But once under way these narratives told a story, and some of the details—supplied by Gabriel's wide-eyed tale— were harrowing. They attracted the attention of circles outside those of the subscribers to the Badische Landwirt and the Manheimer Anzeiger, and the following morning the facts, in a more astringent form, were published in the Karlsruher Nachrichten and the Sud-Deutsche Courier. Freedom of the Press in Germany was new then and precarious. On principle anything could be printed as long as it was neither untrue, nor presented tendentiously, nor contrary to public order, morality or the interest of the state. Interpretation naturally was wide, and news and papers were often suppressed on a quibble. The liberal Frankfurter Zeitung prepared a leader and sent a man South for confirmation; Bebel's organ, Die Neue Zeit, de-
cided to do the same; the republican Hamburger Fremden-blatt telegraphed their Munich correspondent; the more prudent Kolner Warte inquired of Berlin whether there was already a dementi. The editor of an anti-Czarist revue published in Switzerland arrived himself from Basle. In due course, these gentlemen assembled at the inn at Brei-sach. Captain Montclair ate his supper in his room.
At Landen Gabriel found himself a quill and scrawled an SOS COME AT ONCE. The weekly hamper was leaving for Bonn: he sealed the note with wax, and put it in the basket with the rack of lamb, the ducks and the green peas.
Early next day General von Schimmelpfennig's ADC and a secretary from Bismarck's Chancellery itself, accompanied by Captain Montclair, presented themselves stiff with travel and solemn with officialdom at Count Bernin's gates.
The Count was in his dressing gown. "Gentlemen, what can I do for you?"
It was simple. To the Count, used to thinking on those lines, it was crystal clear. To us, and our perspective as the heirs of this and other more enormous pieces of expediency, it appears futile, shameless and involved. The moves that shape the future seldom shape their own intended ends; the course of self-interest is seen as a beeline only at the moment, and the history of individuals, groups and countries is the sum of these. On that May morning eighty years ago Count Bernin was told that he had the opportunity of rendering a lasting service to the German Government.
Nearly everybody then believed in the intrinsic desirability of a United Germany. The Empire, in one of those Procrustean phrases by which we force a dehumanized and human imprint on the nature of the universe and cloud our understanding, was a Historical Necessity. Yet everybody up to Bismarck was dissatisfied with the form of the
Empire itself. Liberals had worked for Union in the hope of cutting down the powers of the Princes; Prussian nationalists with the intention of establishing hegemony over Austria; Free Traders to get rid of archaic monetary conditions; Democrats to extend the franchise; Labour leaders to unite the working class; Socialists to expand trade-unionism and the Army to expand the Army. The first fruits were the Imperial Constitution of Versailles, new tariffs, anti-socialist legislation, Alsace-Lorraine, Bismarck and the lasting animosity of France. Bismarck had to take a coalition government.
Publication of Johannes's treatment at Corps Benzheim could not fail to raise a question in the Reichstag from members who were pledged to ask such questions. In itself, this was not serious. The Government, or rather the Moderate-Conservative section of its supporters, was quite ready to take a stand and weather what could only be a very minor storm. By an ironic turn it was not those responsible for the cadet schools who found themselves embarrassed, but the anti-militarists who opposed them. Liberal members, though in temporary coalition with the Government, could not be publicly identified with right-wing policy on such an issue without invalidating their mandates. In the event of a debate, a division in the governing majority was thus inevitable. The Government would fall. No combination could hope to form another without Bismarck. Bismarck would find it hard to form another coalition. The Question on The Escaped Cadet must not be asked.
"Yes—" said Count Bernin. "Yes "
"If we can keep it out of the Frankfort and Berlin papers."
"The moment the boy's been sent back by his own father, the bubble's pricked."
"Very likely," said Count Bernin.
"Then we can make those rags print a diminuendo. We
could get them on distortion, you know. They'll have to say it was all a prank and the boy's been happily returned to Benzheim. Nobody'll dare touch it after that."
"I suppose not," said Count Bernin.
"One would like to know how they got hold of the story in the first place?"
"RC Chaplain at Benzheim's supposed to be an unreliable character."
"Possibly," said Count Bernin with a frosty smile.
"Gentlemen—this is a matter of time."
"Of hours."
"We must be able to issue a directive to the Press."
"It would be best if we had something from old Felden himself. Any chance there, Bernin?"
"None."
"Not if we told him all the facts?"
"Particularly if you told him all the facts."
"A strange attitude. Are you sure now?"
"Count Bernin ought to be in a position to know. Considering their future relationship. . . ."
"Gentlemen!"
"Well never mind about a statement. Let's concentrate on the boy."
"What are we going to tell old Felden?"
Count Bernin said, "Your Government is faced by a good many controversial issues."
"Forced on us, Count. Forced on us. If you were thinking of the Veto on Ecclesiastical Incumbents— The Chancellor was as much embarrassed by Infallibility—a most ill-advised promulgation—as, let us be frank, many members of your Church themselves. Now there's the appointment of the Bishop of Bamberg . . ."
"YesV said Count Bernin.
"The Veto here, you will admit, was imposed on us, ex principium, by the attitude of the candidate. However, such measures are not always what they seem to be. We are not inflexible. ... In the event of a de facto Investi-
ture—I am almost able to assure you—the Bishop's supporters would find little effective opposition."
"This has not been my impression so far," said Count Bernin.
"Oh come, Count, you must credit us with a little gratitude."
"What are we going to tell old FeldenV
Count Bernin got up. "We must find a turn," he said.
"I'd better not show my face there again," said Captain Montclair.
"Oh, I shouldn't neglect pressing a personal advantage, Captain," said the Count.
"Is there anything the old boy might want for himself you can think of, Bernin?"
"He wants his peace."
"Not much in that for us."
"On the contrary," said the Count. "On the contrary."
"Preposterous, isn't it? One spoilt brat in a position to upset the Imperial Government. . . ."
Before going over to Landen, Count Bernin spoke to Clara. Gustavus was with her.
"You may as well hear, too," said the Count. "The understanding between you has put me in an intolerable position. And I wish to say this—Clara, if Felden does not agree to send back his boy, I shall not give my consent to your marriage. I shall treat your engagement as though it had never been. I trust that you will not marry Gustavus Felden without my consent as long as I live. And if I know your brother, whose aims are mine, not during his lifetime either. I am very sorry. But I shall not accept being compromised."
Presently the men from Berlin saw Count Bernin, fully dressed now, to the carriage.
"I can promise you nothing," he said. But when he and Captain Montclair arrived at Landen, Johannes had already very nearly cooked his own goose.
The old Baron greeted them on the stairs. "I am delighted to see you, cher Monsieur. So you were able to come back after all?" He took Captain Montclair by the arm. "Come in, come in. I
was just about to have a glass of wine. // we can find somewhere to sit, that is; I've had such a morning. The house is full of the strangest people. But this is such a pleasure. You will find that I've been brushing up my mechanics for you. Not that I've had a quiet moment. Nobody seems to know when to go these days."
"What do they want?" said Count Bernin.
"Oh my dear Bernin, I wish you would find out. I don't think they know themselves. I believe they are impostors. My children say they all come from Benzheim, Jean's school you know. Well, perhaps they do. They look like it. Jean shouldn't have let them come here. He is having hysterics somewhere, so unattractive, so unhelpful. Jean's getting out of hand. Do you know, Monsieur, that Jean and Gabriel insisted you were from that place. Wait till you see those people! They've all gone to the kitchen. The first time they're in my house, they might have asked/*
"Did they talk to you at all?" said Count Bernin.
"Oh yes. For hours. Such a morning. Something about Jean's watch. Of course they haven't found it. One of them asked me to contribute to a publication— Perhaps I will let him have my treatise on Phosphates. . . . And there's a gentleman—quite civil—who says he's from Saint Petersburg. He brought his luggage. When I asked him and how is my old friend Countess Troubkine, he told me that he had danced with her at Tsarskoje and that she was a vision. The poor man must be out of his mind. Marie Fedorovna, who's been laid up with the gout these fifteen years. . . . And they all would talk to me about Benzheim. Well I told them what I thought of that/'
"As a matter of fact Captain Montclair is in a sense connected with Benzheim," said Count Bernin.
"Is he? Are you? What a very extraordinary coincidence?
How wrong one can be. . . . It must be delightful for the boys to have you there."
"The Captain is not actually at Benzheim."
"Of course not. He wouldn't have the time. I expect you demonstrate your interesting experiments there occasionally. I wish my friend Mercier had told me. I seem to have got a wrong impression of that school. Jean is an ass. He's very nearly worried me into my grave with his stories. . . . Filling the house with those dreadful people too. I can see they have nothing to do with Benzheim."
A legacy; a novel Page 6