The Princess stopped suddenly.
“Is more of a Rosenberg than an Ebba,” interposed the young woman, bowing with the greatest aplomb to the Princess.
Hearty laughter in which even Erichsen and Countess Schimmelmann, the two most passive pillars of the company, felt compelled to join, greeted this charming act of self-depreciation, for everybody knew the girl’s family tree only too well and quite understood the implication of her words, not least the Princess who was about to make some particularly friendly remark to Ebba when the old gamekeeper appeared in the doorway, thus giving the Princess the prearranged signal. They all stood up and went out on to the overhanging balcony from which they had a superb prospect of the great mass of woodland which filled the whole horizon to the west. The intervening meadow-land was also extensive but in a few places the forest encroached on it and from theses projecting spinnies there now appeared small herds of deer, which then came out into the plain and, playfully, neither quickly nor slowly, trotted towards the Hermitage. Ebba was enraptured but before she could speak she saw that in the background the whole broad stretch of woodland was beginning to come to life and just as the isolated herds had come out of the spinnies, scores and scores of them now appeared out of the more distant depths of the forest and, anxious not to miss the impending parade, broke into a lively trot, at first all confused and jumbled together until, as they approached, they formed themselves into orderly groups and moved past the Hermitage in squadrons. Finally, after the last of them had passed, they once more scattered over the meadow and now for the first time they could be seen as a whole. All sizes and colours were represented and although Ebba admired the black stags, still more did she admire the white hinds, which were relatively even more numerous. But Ebba could never remain serious for long and, quoting various lines from Danish and German folk-songs, she declared that fallow deer had always been the most popular characters with the exception of white hinds, which were even more important. Pentz, for his part, refused to accept this view and strongly asserted that the Princess and the Page took precedence and always would, to which the Princess assented with a touch of melancholy “I accept what Pentz says and you mustn’t contradict him. We poor princesses have very little left in any case and we have almost been pushed out of the world of reality already, so that if we lose our place in ballads and fairy-tales as well, I hardly know where we shall be able to go.” They were all silent, realizing only too well the truth of what she had said and it was left to Ebba to kiss her benefactress’s hand and say: “Dear Princess, there is, thank Heaven, still plenty left to do: you will always be a refuge for others and make them happy and able to laugh at prejudice.” It was plain that these words comforted the Princess, perhaps because she sensed that, although they came from Ebba, they were more than mere words; but in spite of this she shook her head and said: “Dear Ebba, all that will soon be a fairy-tale as well.”
While they had been talking, the carriages, which they had been intending to go to meet, had come up to the terrace steps and the Princess, realizing that dusk was falling, bringing with it the cool of evening, stated that she would forgo her walk and start the return journey straightaway. “But we shall arrange ourselves differently and I hereby release the gentlemen from accompanying me.”
This arrangement was to everyone’s taste. The Princess took her seat with Countess Schimmelmann beside her and Ebba opposite; Pentz, Holk and Erichsen followed in the second carriage. When they passed through Klampenborg, the front of the officers’ marquee was closed and only a narrow strip of light was shining out through a small crack on to the dark lawn in front. A few words from a speech were carried on the wind as they passed and then this, too, ceased and only cheers and shouts of approval could still be heard in the evening air.
15
The return journey was made without any untoward incident but not without a certain médisance, to which Ebba was strongly addicted. The story of the Rosenbergs and the various branches of the family was naturally a heaven-sent opportunity. “Poor count,” she said. “It certainly is true that he studies everything very thoroughly. Naturally enough, of course, because he’s a German, and especially in genealogical matters you always need to keep probing and searching. I’m sure he never fails to seize on every name and if I had been unlucky enough to be baptized Cordelia, I wager anything that he would have asked me all about old Lear straight away.” The Princess gave Ebba an affectionate tap on her hand, more to encourage her than otherwise, and she went on: “He’s rather like a museum catalogue with historical commentary. I can still see his face as Your Highness was talking of Tycho de Brahe and pointing over to Hven island. He was completely absorbed and his soul was obviously yearning for a talk on cosmology. That would have been just the subject for him, all the way back to Ptolemy. Thank Heaven something prevented him because quite frankly as far as I’m concerned astronomy is even more boring than genealogy.”
The following day was spent in similar gossip, though this did not prevent Holk from receiving the friendliest treatment from the ladies, so friendly as not only to flatter him but to put him in the best possible humour. It was in this mood that he returned to his comfortable lodgings and while eating his breakfast the following day, he once more realized all the excitement and stimulation that he derived from his life at court. How dull, in comparison, seemed the days he spent at home, and when he recalled that in ten minutes time he would have to sit down at his desk and report all his impressions to Holkenäs, he felt appalled to think how difficult it would be to strike the right note. And yet the tone was far more important than the contents, for Christine knew how to read between the lines.
He was still reflecting when there was a knock on the door and Frau Hansen came in, not the mother this time but Brigitte the daughter. He had scarcely caught a glimpse of her since the first evening but he had not forgotten how she looked, even when he was talking with Ebba. Brigitte’s appearance at this moment portrayed what might be termed a subdued grandeur; grand, because she was well aware of the power of her beauty; subdued, because she realized her modest social position, at least as long as the count was a lodger in her house. With a brief “Good-morning,” she walked, upright and almost statuesque, straight to the table and began to collect up the breakfast things, while in her left hand she held a large tray in front of her bosom. Holk had meanwhile risen from his seat in the window to give her a friendly handshake.
“Welcome, dear Frau Hansen, and if you have the time to spare …”
He waved a polite hand towards a chair, at the same time returning to the window-seat. However, the young woman remained standing, still holding the japanned tray in front of her like a shield, and looked calmly and without the slightest trace of embarrassment at the count, evidently expecting him to add something. Holk could not fail to notice her studied demeanour and especially her way of dressing. She was wearing the same house-dress that she had worn the first evening, loose and comfortable, without cuffs or collar, because these would have detracted from the effect of the wearer. Her neck and shoulders were particularly lovely and had, as it were, a complexion all their own. This same calculated effect showed in every detail. Her full half-length house-coat with a loose belt of the same material, although seemingly without shape or cut, merely served to reveal her own shape more plainly. She looked exactly like the traditional picture of a beautiful Dutch girl and involuntarily Holk found himself glancing at her ears to see if she was wearing the appropriate flat gold ear-rings. As she continued to meet his glance unwaveringly, he continued: “I notice you prefer to remain standing so that you can be seen full-length and I see that you know exactly what you are doing, my charming Frau Brigitte. Really, if, at the time of your trip from Shanghai to Bangkok which your mother was telling me about yesterday, I had been the Emperor of Siam, I should have made quite other arrangements in the matter of the throne in front of the palace and instead of sitting, which is never so attractive, I should have made you stand beside the thro
ne and just rest your arm on its ivory back. Then we should have seen which of the two was whiter, the ivory or the arm of the beautiful Frau Hansen.”
“Oh,” said Brigitte with well-simulated embarrassment, “Mother is always talking about that as if it was something special but it was really only a game.”
“Yes, a game, Frau Brigitte, because it was in Siam. But we are not there all the time and in good old Copenhagen there’s one thing that we all have as well as in Siam and that is, an eye for beauty. And the one who has it most and, in his exalted position, no doubt the most effectively …. But we need mention no names, dear Frau Hansen, and I only want to express my admiration for your dear husband about whom I have heard so many admirable things …”
“About my husband? Well yes, he knows his Brigitte,” she said, modestly lowering her gaze.
“He knows you, my dear Frau Hansen, and he knows the complete and utter trust he can have in you. And I should like to say that I know it, too. Because if on the one hand, beauty is a danger, on the other it is a shield and protection as well,” and as he spoke he let his eye rest on the tray. “One look at your pure white brow is enough to tell me that you are not subject to the weaknesses of your sex …. ”
Frau Brigitte was hesitating how to take such flowery language but suddenly noticing that Holk had a gentle twinkle in his eye, she realized that Pentz or Erichsen or both must have been talking and so, dropping her pretence of dignity, she answered his smile with an understanding smile of her own, at the same time leaning her elbow on the high mantelpiece so that, as on the first evening, her wide sleeve fell back …
This would certainly have been a suitable time to give a more intimate turn to the conversation but Holk preferred for the moment to play the part of moral tutor, even if jokingly and ironically: “Yes, dear Frau Hansen, let me repeat, not subject to the weaknesses of your sex. There is no doubt of it. And yet I may perhaps be allowed to raise a warning voice. As I ventured to hint a moment ago, it is always dangerous to live in a town where kings have such an eye for beauty. One can perhaps resist the love of the powerful ones of the earth—but not their power. And as for Countess Danner, who to be sure is still to be reckoned with at the moment, surely she cannot go on living for ever …”
“Oh yes, she can.”
“Well then, perhaps the affection of her royal admirer might wane …”
“Not that either, Count Holk. The Countess has a special charm and you hear all sorts of things about it.”
“Can’t you tell me what it is?”
“No, my mother is always saying: ‘Listen Brigitte, you’re always giving everything away,’ but this question of Countess Danner’s charm is really too much.”
“Well then, I shall have to ask Baron Pentz.”
“Yes, he can tell you, he knows all about it. Some people say that she has been given the apple of beauty, I mean Countess Danner; but that is not her greatest charm, at the best it’s just a minor one …”
“I agree with you entirely. And in general, frankly speaking, I can’t understand why it should always be an apple. It’s always seemed to me quite incomprehensible. Now if it were cherries I can imagine what it might be, but an apple …”
“I’m really not sure, Count Holk,” replied Brigitte, smoothing down her jacket to give full value to her figure. “I’m really not sure whether you are quite right about that ….” And having reached this slippery slope, she seemed quite prepared to pursue the topic, but before she could do so, she heard a voice calling from the stairs: “Brigitte!”
“That’s Mother,” she said with annoyance and put the breakfast things on the tray. Then with a dignified bow, as if they had been discussing important affairs of church or state, she left the room.
When the door had closed behind Brigitte, Holk walked up and down the room, a prey to very mixed feelings. He was by no means insensitive to the beauty or the flirtatiousness of this attractive young woman, both of which seemed calculated to create all sorts of entanglements; but the danger was diminished by the very excess of her calculation. Many conflicting feelings struggled within him until finally his better nature won the day and enabled him to view the events of the last few days with a certain detached humour. By so doing, he at last achieved the mood required for his letter to Holkenäs, to follow on the few lines he had already written announcing his safe arrival. For a brief moment he once more recoiled at the amount of news that he would have to retail, for a distaste for letter-writing was another of his cardinal weaknesses; but finally he sat down at the roll-top desk, straightened the sheet of paper and began:
Copenhagen, October 3rd, 1859
4, Dronningens-Tværgade
My dear Christine,
You will by now have received the note in which I informed you of my safe arrival. It is now time for me to give a further sign of life and, as I can fortunately add at once, well-being. Let me begin with the most immediate: my lodging at Frau Hansen’s. It is exactly as it was before, only more elegant, so that it is plain that their circumstances have improved. This is perhaps due to the fact that she now has her daughter living with her, also called Frau Hansen, the wife of a sea-captain who used to sail with her husband on his voyages to China. No doubt this brings more money into the household. The young Frau Hansen is a fine-looking woman, so beautiful that when on one occasion she was presented to the Emperor of Siam, she was given an official court-reception. She has a Junoesque calm, auburn hair (not a great deal of it but very nicely arranged), and of course the complexion that goes with auburn hair. I should call her a Rubens, if Rubens were not often too coarse. But let us not bother with Frau Hansen now. You will no doubt be laughing—as you have every right to—at the interest that my comparison with Rubens might suggest. And better than Rubens at that! The very first evening I went to Vincent’s restaurant in Kongens-Nytorv; Pentz and Erichsen took me there. Saw a large number of acquaintances, and de Meza, who had come over from Jutland—but spoke to no one, because of the big political hubbub that is taking place at the moment. Hall is to be dismissed and Rottwig put in his place. Of course, only a pure caretaker government, even if it succeeds at all, which is doubtful. Read the reports in Dagbladet, they are more detailed and less biased than those in the Flyveposten. The following morning, I presented myself at the Princess’s. Her treatment of me was exactly as before: she knows that I don’t share her political views but she forgives me for preferring the old Denmark to the new. She is sure of my loyalty and complete devotion to her person. For this reason she can afford to overlook the rest, at least as long as the King is still alive and there can be no question of a serious political crisis. So we are in the agreeable position of being able to talk on an entirely amicable footing.
In the Princess’s milieu scarcely anything has changed, in fact not enough. Everything is comfortable and cosy but at the same time grey and dusty; the Princess herself has no eye for such things and Pentz, who could perhaps bring about some change, thinks it wiser to let things go quietly on as they are. Countess Schimmelmann is dignified and benevolent but rather depressing. In place of Countess Frjis who has been the Princess’s favourite for the last ten years, a Fräulein von Rosenberg has appeared. The Rosenbergs come from the little West Prussian town of Filehne and were only made barons under Gustav III. They bear no relationship either to the Bohemian or Silesian Rosenbergs. Fräulein Rosenberg herself is very intelligent and witty and has a good deal of influence over the Princess, in so far as anyone has. She has undoubtedly—and for this alone she must be thanked—she has undoubtedly helped to reduce the boredom of the Princess’s little court, which was previously its chief characteristic. Yesterday when I was on duty, I was able to notice the change and even more so the day before when we drove out in a small party to Klampenborg and the Hermitage. It was a wonderful day and when, at sunset, two thousand deer paraded in front of us in whole squadrons—a sight of which I had often heard but never seen—it was so exciting and enthralling that I wished that you
and the children could have been there to witness it. And by the way, I’m anxiously waiting to hear from you. What have you decided about the schools? I was delighted to be able to give you a free hand and I have every confidence in your judgement but I do hope that you will not do anything too hasty. Sending children away from home certainly has obvious advantages but the family and the home is still the best thing of all. And if it’s your hand that is running the household, then what I have just written is all the truer. Give my regards to Julie and Alfred when he comes over from Arniewieck, which I hope he is doing frequently. When Asta goes down to the Petersens, ask her to remember me to him and give him and his granddaughter my kindest regards. See that Strehlke doesn’t harass poor Axel too much with algebra and mathematics but tries to form his character. It’s a pity that he hasn’t any himself, nice enough fellow though he is. But after all, who has got character? Not everyone is as lucky as you; you possess what most of us lack. But if I’m not mistaken, even you are feeling a slight desire to have somewhat less of your most outstanding quality …. Am I wrong? Send news of yourself and the children—good news if possible.
Your
Helmut
He put down his pen and re-read what he had written, not without satisfaction at certain passages. But when towards the end he read the words: “the home is still the best thing of all …” and then: “if it’s your hand that is running the household … ,” he felt a certain emotion whose nature and cause he would have found it difficult to define. Had he been able to do so, he might have realized that it was his guardian angel warning him.
16
Holk posted the letter himself and then proceeded towards Pentz’s, having been invited to lunch at his flat. None of the Ministers was there, not even Hall, although he had accepted, but there were members of Parliament and of the armed forces: General Bülow, Colonel du Plat, Lieutenant-Colonel Tersling, Captain Lundbye of the navy, and Worsaae of course, who was bound to be there as an almost official esprit fort and raconteur. Tersling was in good form and Worsaae too, as was seen in the mutual banter they exchanged; but entertaining though the pair were, Holk found himself only moderately amused, partly because, not being a Cophenhagener, many of the points escaped him and partly because there were questions on his mind which he found no opportunity of asking because of the incessant badinage of the two competing humorists, for Pentz was all ears and heard nothing but the chaff. Like all good lunches, it lasted until evening. When it was over, several of the younger men went off to Tivoli to see the last act of an operetta; but Holk, unaccustomed to metropolitan life and always anxious, indeed almost pedantically anxious, about his health, accompanied Bülow and du Plat to the War Ministry and then returned to his lodgings. The elder Frau Hansen welcomed him as politely and attentively as ever, asked after his health and brought him tea. She was much less talkative today and what she was saying was all in the sentimental mode: her daughter was not very well and when she considered that the poor young woman was still only a girl and her husband away seven months already and not likely to be back for some time yet, yes, when she considered all that and Brigitte might fall seriously ill and even perhaps “pass on,” then really she would just as soon die herself straight away. “What’s the point of it all? When you are fifty and a widow”—she dried a tear—“yes, Count Holk, what is there left in life? The sooner it comes to an end the better. The worst thing is not poverty but loneliness, nothing but loneliness and nobody to love you ….” Holk, amused by this pathos, naturally agreed with everything she said. “Yes, my dear Frau Hansen, of course, it’s just as you say. But you mustn’t take it too hard. There’s always a little love to be found somewhere.”
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