The Princess’s illness, although not dangerous, dragged on. The King had meanwhile arrived and had taken up residence with his suite in the left wing of the castle. He restricted himself, as far as the Princess was concerned, to inquiring every day after her state of health. Otherwise, one was hardly aware of his presence, a fact partly due to his frequent visits to Skodsborg and partly to his other pastimes: he was a great lover of all outdoor sports. If he was not out with the hounds, he was deer-stalking and if he was not digging out badgers, then he was excavating barrows and between-whiles he went over to Vinderöd and Arreseedal, where he kept his yachts, to go sailing on the large lake of Arre.
Holk had known Captain Westergaard and Captain Lundbye very well in Schleswig and Flensburg, where they had been temporarily in garrison, and he now renewed his acquaintance with them, which gave him from time to time a few hours pleasant chat, but as soon as he was alone again, his thoughts went at once to what was happening in Holkenäs and he was overcome by a feeling of embarrassment. Things could not continue as they were. Not only had all correspondence between him and Christine ceased but Petersen’s and Arne’s letters had remained unanswered. He would, in any case, have to answer the latter, for a week had already passed since its arrival; if he did not, then he risked offending the one man who had always been his best friend and counsellor and, perhaps too often, his advocate in his earlier minor clashes with Christine.
He was not on duty today, the weather was bright and clear and Dr. Bie, on his way from the Princess, had called on him and entertained him with some amusing Hilleröd gossip and a medical story or two. Holk was anxious not to waste such an opportunity, for being in a good mood was half the battle. And after all, what was all the trouble about? Christine was a woman with less geniality than was desirable and more principles than were necessary. This was now an established fact that nobody, not even Christine herself, would deny. Holk continued to address himself on these lines for some while and when he had finally succeeded in persuading himself that, seen in perspective, the whole affair was merely a mole-hill that had been made into a mountain and that there was really nothing to worry about at all, he finally sat down at his desk and wrote:
Dear Alfred,
Many thanks for your letter of the 23rd, all the more as, after so many proofs of your friendliness towards me, I know full well that in emphasizing all your misgivings with regard to my sins of commission and omission, you are only following what you take to be the path of duty. But, my dear Alfred, let me ask you frankly if it is your duty? In acting on this occasion as Christine’s advocate (you used to be mine) and in expatiating on your client’s rights against me, haven’t you, perhaps, invented an injustice that doesn’t, in fact, exist? All your accusations against me are based on my own letters. Well, those letters are now all in Holkenäs and the details are not all fresh in my mind any more, but when I try to recall their contents from memory, I can find nothing that would justify all your insinuations. There are the Hansens and there is Fräulein von Rosenberg and in describing her, I may, as the saying goes, have used more parsley than was warranted by the chicken; but any exaggeration ought to have been interpreted rather as proving my innocence or as springing from my tendency to let absurdity condemn itself. I do recall having spoken in one of my letters of a half-fabulous audience given to the lovely capitana by the Emperor of Siam and in another of the piquant and certainly somewhat broad-minded Fräulein von Rosenberg as an amanuensis of David Strauss; but I must ask you, my dear Alfred, if these are expressions that justify Christine’s being so upset and, even more, all the reproaches contained in your letter? A moment ago, I mentioned my innocence which ought to be placed to my credit, but I am prepared to admit, on the other hand—and that’s the only admission that I am prepared to make—that in my correspondence with Christine, I have never been able to strike the right note. As soon as one finds oneself suspected, it is very difficult to maintain the right tone and attitude and all the more difficult since, however innocent one may be, one is always vulnerable to attack by certain misgivings and even self-reproaches, once doubt has been cast on your intentions. How many doubts assail us, how many misgivings creep up on us, until we begin to have doubts about everything! But it was Martin Luther, whose name occurs only too frequently in our home, who once said—I know this because I happen to have studied his pamphlets—“We cannot prevent wicked birds from flying over our heads, we can only prevent them from nesting there.” Yes, Alfred, that is the whole point. Christine, with all her virtues, lacks the one virtue of humility and as she was educated and brought up with a special sense of righteousness, from which she seems continually to expect salvation and enlightenment, the thought naturally never strikes her that she may be as mistaken as anyone else. She has sent Asta to Gnadenfrei and Axel to Bunzlau and these two actions show that any possibility of weakness or error is quite excluded from her mind—weaknesses and errors to which others who go off to Copenhagen instead of to Herrnhut are, of course, only too prone. And now that I have conducted my defence and towards the end even changed from defendant to plaintiff—perhaps more than I might have wished—I must conclude by leaving my case in your hands, in the knowledge that with all your wisdom and, above all, the love you have both for Christine and for me, everything, God willing, will be for the best.
As always,
Your affectionate brother-in-law,
Helmut Holk
Putting down his pen, he took the sheet of paper to the window to read through, line by line, what he had just written. He found much to criticize and when this or that displeased him, he muttered to himself: “almost as dogmatic as Christine”; but the conclusion about the special sense of righteousness pleased him and even more the passage about his having been robbed of his sense of innocence because as soon as anyone was once under suspicion, however innocent, he was vulnerable to attack by misgivings and even self-reproaches. His eye dwelt as if spellbound on these words, until finally his satisfaction waned and all he could see in them was the confession of his own wrong.
25
The fine weather which had lasted for almost the whole month, despite its reputation, came to an end as November turned into December and violent gales set in from the north-west, only to be followed by showers of rain which then would frequently give way again, after a few hours, to another gale. This change of weather was, naturally enough, reflected in the life of the castle; the walks which often extended to Fredensborg and as far south as Hilleröd, now came to an end and the almost official gatherings in the large Herluf Trolle gallery were replaced by small reunions which were held “over here or over there,” in other words, in the two towers and took place on alternate evenings in the rooms of the two ladies-in-waiting. The Princess had personally been anxious that this should be done and Countess Schimmelmann, however stiff and ceremonious in other ways, was an extremely affable hostess, so that her soirées rivalled Ebba’s. The company consisted always of the same people: first, the Princess’s entourage, then the two Schleppegrells and the King’s two equerries, one of whom, Lundbye, played the part of the courtier and man of the world while the other, Westergaard, was the free-thinker—social nuances which only served to enhance the charm of their company. They all met daily, alternating between the left- and the right-hand towers, and just as the company was always the same, so the entertainment, too, always took the same form, being limited to play-readings, poetry recitals, and charades.
Now and then, if only to oblige Pentz and Countess Schimmelmann, after supper a game of whist was allowed which led to a little, quite harmless, gambling. Ebba always won because, as she said: “I’m always unlucky in love.” They were often cheerful to the point of hilarity and while there were naturally complaints about the continuing stormy and rainy weather and even more about the Princess’s illness which refused to be cured, they all agreed at the same time that it was to these so-called misfortunes that they owed their enjoyment.
So matters continued until
the second Sunday in Advent when the weather changed again and the sharp north-easterly winds that now set in at once brought bitter cold, which froze all the ponds and puddles on the very first night and, on the following day, even the tiny lake in front of the castle. After the lake, it was the turn of the dyke in the park which connected the two lakes of Arre and Esrom and when, another week later, the news came that the great lakes themselves were frozen hard, at least at their edges, and when Dr. Bie had given his word that an excursion in bright frosty weather was exactly what was best calculated to remove the Princess’s “castle malaria” (his own diagnosis), it was decided to organize a skating and sleighing party to Lake Arre for the next day.
This day was even sunnier and fresher than any previous, and shortly before two o’clock they all met at the now familiar cable-ferry, which was already frozen into the ice. There were first of all the Princess herself, with Holk and Ebba, the Schleppegrells, and the equerries. Pentz was an absentee because of his age, the pastor’s wife because of her embonpoint, while Erichsen and Countess Schimmelmann had not cared to expose themselves to the rather sharp northeast wind. But even these four had not wished to deprive themselves of all part in the excursion and had gone on ahead, in a closed carriage, to await the hardier half of the party in a small hotel close to the spot where the park dyke flowed into Lake Arre.
Beside the ferry, which had been transformed by an advance party of servants into a tent to shelter and accommodate the party, there stood an elegant sleigh and when the Princess had been installed in it, wrapped in all sorts of furs to protect her from the cold, the accompanying skaters had only to decide who should lead the way and who should be entrusted with the honour of steering the sleigh over the ice. It was quickly decided that, as the local expert, Schleppegrell should lead the procession and that Holk should steer the sleigh, while Ebba should follow close behind with the two officers. They then set off in that order and, being all skilful skaters as well as elegantly and suitably dressed, they made a fine sight as they glided away over the smooth ice. Most impressive was Schleppegrell, who today was looking more like a heathen Wotan than a Christian apostle; the collar of his cloak was billowing in the wind high above his broad-brimmed hat, while to increase his speed he thrust his pointed stick with ever increasing vigour into the ice. The Princess was overjoyed at the sight of her fantastic “path-finder,” as she expressed it to Holk; but with her highly developed sense of beauty—and despite her lack of any feeling either for order or for elegance—she would have been still more delighted had she occasionally looked back at those following her. Ebba, with her dress tucked up and in high skating boots, was wearing a glengarry whose ribbons fluttered in the breeze, and as she stretched out her hand now right, now left, to her partners beside her, her progress seemed like a dance in which, in spite of her wide sideward sweeps, she moved forward faster and faster. The distance to be covered was not far short of a mile but in less than half an hour they came within sight of the hotel, standing on high ground, from which a pale wisp of smoke was rising, while behind lay the broad expanse of the other part of the lake, gleaming and glittering as far as the ice extended and then blue and shimmering where the ice-free water stretched out towards the sea. As soon as Schleppegrell sighted their goal, he brandished his stick triumphantly and, increasing their not inconsiderable speed still more, in a very short while they reached the hotel, on whose terrace Pentz and Countess Schimmelmann were already waiting with the little pastor’s wife. They all waved at the approaching party. Only Erichsen had, as it transpired, retreated with a box of throat-pastilles into the hotel. Holk, with one hand resting on the back-rest of the sleigh, raised his hat with the other and in a second they came to a halt beside a small wooden jetty leading to the hotel. Pentz had come up meanwhile, and offering the Princess his arm, he assisted her up the bank, followed by the two captains. Only Holk and Ebba remained standing by the jetty as they watched the others going ahead and then they looked at each other. There was something very like jealousy in Holk’s eyes and as Ebba’s seemed to reply with a half-mocking challenge which said: “Nothing venture, nothing win,” he seized her hand violently and pointed far out to the west where the sun was sinking. She gave an almost arrogant nod and then, as if the others’ amazement were only an additional spur, they sped away together towards the place where the narrow gleaming strip of ice between the receding banks was lost in the wide expanse of Lake Arre. Nearer and nearer they drew to the danger zone and it seemed almost as if they were both trying to make for the open sea, straight across the belt of ice now only a few hundred yards wide. Their eyes met and seemed to be asking: “Shall we?” And the answer was, at least, not a refusal; but just as they were about to pass a line of small firs marking the final limit of safety, Holk suddenly swung towards the right, pulling Ebba with him. “We’ve reached the limit, Ebba. Shall we go beyond it?” Ebba drove the point of her skates into the ice and said: “If you are thinking of going back, that means that you want to, and that’s good enough for me. In any case, Erichsen and Schimmelmann will be expecting us, though perhaps not the Princess.”
26
An hour after sunset, when, as Pentz put it, Holk and Ebba had returned to civilization, from their Polar expedition, the party took their seats in a covered char-à-bancs, well provided with rugs, to return to Fredericksborg. On the way, the “romantic escapade” was eagerly discussed, in spite of the presence of the two protagonists, and the tone of the discussion left no doubt that everyone considered it as something relatively harmless, a mere high-spirited prank that Ebba had forced on poor Holk, who had had to accept willy-nilly. Most of the party expressed themselves in these terms and only the Princess, contrary to her usual custom, failed to share this attitude of amused approval and said very little, a fact which struck no one but the equerries who, noticing her silence, were reminded of some earlier remarks of the Princess, made half-anxiously, half-disapprovingly. “Ebba likes playing with danger,” had been her opening words, “and it’s all very well for her to do so, because she has the knack of avoiding it at the last moment. I’m sure that she has a life-belt under her furs all ready for any emergency. But not everybody is as clever and far-sighted as that and least of all our dear friend Holk.” She had made these remarks half-jokingly when taking coffee, while Holk and Ebba were still outside, but in spite of her jocular tone she was obviously serious.
They arrived back at the castle towards six o’clock and at once took their leave of the Princess, who still liked to spend her evenings in her rooms. The others went their separate ways, calling to each other as they did so: “Until this evening!”
“Which tower?” asked the two captains, who had been on duty the last few evenings and thus not been in the Princess’s suite.
“Ebba’s tower. Eight o’clock at the latest. Anyone arriving later has to pay a forfeit.”
“What forfeit?”
“We shall see.”
And they all went to their rooms after Schleppegrell had promised to bring his brother-in-law, Dr. Bie.
The two Schleppegrells and Dr. Bie, having the furthest distance to go, were naturally the first to arrive. It had started to snow slightly and, all flecked with white, they came into the hall at the bottom of the tower whence a spiral staircase led first to Ebba’s and then to Holk’s rooms, on the next floor. No one had bothered to discover what happened on the third and fourth floors, not even Karin who, since it had turned cold, had been chiefly concerned with keeping as warm as possible, first of all for her own sake and secondly for the sake of a young gardener’s boy with whom she had formed a very close and intimate connexion within the first twenty-four hours of her stay in Fredericksborg. She had had a good deal of experience in such matters and she was well aware that warmth was a most valuable auxiliary to love. Today as always, therefore, she had taken care to ensure a comfortable atmosphere and when the guests from Hilleröd felt themselves caressed by the prevailing temperature, Dr. Bie patted her hand and said:
“Well done, Karin. You Swedish girls know all about that. But how do you manage to keep the hall so well heated? I’m almost tempted to sit down here on the staircase and spend the evening with you.”
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