While speaking, she had risen to her feet and without trying to avoid him, brushed by him to go towards the door. Her whole attitude now betrayed no sign of any of the weakness she had shown on entering the room; the indignation in her heart gave her the strength to bear everything.
Holk rose too. A world of conflicting feelings was surging inside him but the predominant feeling now, after all that he had heard, was one of bitter resentment. For a long while, he walked up and down and then went over to the balcony window and again looked out on to the park drive, strewn with leaves and pine-cones, as it sloped gently downwards and finally curved left towards Holkebye. The sky was overcast again and, suddenly, a violent flurry of snow began to fall, the flakes dancing and whirling until the wind abruptly dropped and they continued to fall, heavily and thickly, to the ground.
Holk could only see for a few yards but, densely though the flakes were falling, he recognized the figures of two women who, coming from the right of the castle, turned into the drive and started to walk towards Holkebye.
It was the Countess with Fräulein Dobschütz.
They were alone.
30
When he saw Christine going down the drive and disappearing into the flurry of snow, Holk was touched, but only in his heart, not in his mind. His decision was firm: his past happiness now lay behind him, so much was certain, and he added: “perhaps through my fault but certainly through hers as well. It’s she who wanted this, it’s she who has vexed and tormented me, first by her overbearing pride and then through her jealousy, and now she has told me to go. And she didn’t show any restraint, on the contrary, she surpassed herself and instead of her usual arrogance, she put on a pitying air and then she left. I may have wronged her in the past, during these last few weeks I certainly have, but it was she who started it, it was she who alienated me more and more and now that’s the end of it all. Yes, it’s the end of the story but not the end of my life. No, on the contrary, it’s the beginning of something else, something better, more cheerful, and if, in my new existence, some bitterness still remains over the past, I must not let it embitter my life for ever. How I long to see a laughing face! Oh, that everlasting look of the Mother of Sorrows with her heart pierced by a sword when, in reality, it was only pin-pricks. It was unendurable and in any case, I was tired of it.”
The old retainer, who had meanwhile fetched the luggage from the landing-stage, now came to ask whether the Count wished to eat. “No, Dooren, not now. I shall ring.” And alone again, the question once more arose as to what he ought to do. “Shall I stay here and put a dozen candles on the Christmas tree that I have just prevented Julie from decorating and then light the candles tomorrow and try to bring myself luck as a Christmas box? Impossible. And I can’t stay here just to play the part of the affable and generous landlord, up here in the castle and down in the village, and give all the girls of the village a silver dollar stuffed in an apple and ask Michael after his Anne-Marie or Anne-Marie after her Michael and whether the wedding is to be at Easter or Whitsun. And even if I did want to do something like that, it would take a whole day or even two, because here they don’t give their Christmas presents until early in the morning. Two days, that’s impossible, how would I possibly spend them? It would be an eternity and I’m not in the mood to check account books in between and talk about parsnips and turnips. And what about Petersen? He would appeal to my conscience and still all to no purpose. And then Christine will presumably be there, too; I expect she’ll stay down in the village and send a message to Arnewieck and Arne will come and fetch her. I’ve no desire to be still here then, or even in the neighbourhood. No, I prefer to go to Flensburg, there may perhaps still be a boat for Copenhagen today. Even if there isn’t, I can’t stay here; I must get away.”
He pulled the bell-cord. “Tell John to harness the horses. The gig and the ponies. I’m going to Flensburg.”
It was just striking three o’clock when Holk drove into Flensburg and a moment later stopped in front of the Hillmann Hotel, where he used regularly to stay on his frequent visits to the town. The landlord was somewhat surprised to see him until he was told that the Count, of whose position at court he was aware, had only been on short leave in Holkenäs.
“When is the next boat to Copenhagen, my dear Hillmann?”
Hillmann fetched the time-table of arrivals and departures of all the steamers and ran his finger down the list: “That’s right, Iversen’s ship is due to go tomorrow but traditionally the 24th is a holiday and Iversen lives with his daughter and has grandchildren, so he certainly won’t break with that tradition; he’d sooner be under a Christmas tree than on deck on Christmas Eve. But he’s a good skipper, one of the old school who’s worked his way up from cabin-boy. He’ll be sailing on the 25th, the first day of Christmas, at seven o’clock in the evening.”
“And arriving?”
“And arriving in Copenhagen early on the second day of Christmas. That means about nine o’clock or perhaps an hour later.”
Holk was not much pleased by all this and it was only when he thought of Holkenäs that he was heartily glad at spending such a long period, more than two days, in Flensburg. He took a room on the second floor that looked out over the Rathaus square and after eating a late lunch, with a healthy appetite, for he had scarcely eaten anything since the previous evening, he left the hotel to go for a long walk round the bay of Flensburg. At first, it was twilight, but then the stars came out to shine in all their wintry splendour, reflected in the broad expanse of water. With every minute, Holk felt his burden grow lighter and if he still did not feel completely at ease, any uncertainty that remained now concerned the future, not the past, and was more like excited expectancy. In his mind’s eye, he imagined all kinds of agreeable events that would be taking place, certainly no later than May. By then, everything would be settled: the wedding date fixed, and he saw himself in Hilleröd church thronged with people. It was Schleppegrell who would deliver the wedding sermon and his good wife would be overcome by his eloquence while Dr. Bie was overjoyed that, with the help of a beautiful Swede, a Schleswig-Holstein heart had been won over to Denmark. In the pew reserved for the court, the Princess was to be seen, with Countess Schimmelmann beside her and Pentz and Erichsen behind them both. And then they would take their leave of Hilleröd and all the guests and travel in a special train to Copenhagen and the same evening to Korsör and Kiel and spend their first night in Hamburg. And afterwards there was Dresden and Munich and Lake Garda, with an excursion to Mantua where, strange as it might seem, she was anxious to visit the ditch under the ramparts where the Tyrolean patriot Hofer had been executed, and then on and on, southwards to Naples and Sorrento. There the journey would come to an end, with Vesuvius on the right and Capri on the left; he wanted to forget the world and all its sorrows and live only for himself and his love. Yes, it would be in Sorrento, where there was a superb bay like the bay here in Flensburg but brighter and more splendid and when the sun ushered in each new day, it would be a real sun and a real day.
All these images passed through his mind and whilst he saw them tangibly before his eyes, the water of the bay flowed solemnly and sombrely past him, despite the rays of light reflected in it.
He returned late to his hotel and spent the next day reading and chatting with Hillmann. But when evening came, he felt once more the urge to go out and walk through the streets and alleys of the town and where the shutters were still open or not tightly closed, he peeped inside and in front of more than one house, when he saw the happiness inside and a child in its mother’s arms and the father reaching out his hand towards his wife, he was suddenly seized by fear of what was to come and more than once he found himself seeing all that he had lost instead of what he hoped to gain.
What a Christmas Eve! But it went by and it was now Christmas Day and though the hours passed slowly, seven o’clock came at last, and the ship’s bell rang and Holk was standing beside the old captain; and when, an hour later, the ship came into
the open channel, Iversen was busily spinning a yarn and telling all sorts of tales, old and new.
It was a good crossing and the wind was mild as they stood beneath the stars until after midnight and calculated that they would arrive in Copenhagen half an hour before they were due. They congratulated themselves on this and, soon afterwards, the few passengers turned in to their bunks. But then the weather changed and when they were level with Möen at five o’clock, or assumed that they were, the sea-fog had become so thick that they had to damp down the boilers and drop anchor. As usual, the silence awakened the sleepers and when they came on deck a quarter of an hour later and tried to look towards the coast of Zealand, they were told by the quartermaster that the ship had anchored.
“How long for?”
“Well, it may be till noon.”
Noon came and went before the fog eventually cleared and the ship was able to set off again. A whole day had been lost and there was no question of being able to go to the Princess’s palace that day. The street lamps were alight all round the harbour when they moored alongside the wharf soon after five o’clock.
At his lodgings, Holk was welcomed by old Frau Hansen and not, as was usual, by her daughter; she led the way upstairs and lit the lamps without asking after anything other than the weather and if he had had a good crossing. She made no sort of inquiry as to the health of the countess or whether he had spent a merry Christmas and when Holk for his part asked, first, after the health of her and her daughter and then of the Princess, she replied in a strangely innocent tone, in the use of which she was, if possible, almost superior to her daughter: “The young lady has left her bed.” The words came out in such a strange way that even Holk was surprised, but he was at that moment preoccupied with far too many other things to take up her remark and so he let it pass, and merely asked for the papers and a cup of tea. “I’m frozen after standing all that time on deck.” Frau Hansen brought both. The newspapers were only half-size, because of the holidays. Holk perused them quickly and then went early to bed. He went to sleep at once, for the last few days had taken toll of his nerves.
He was up again early. Frau Hansen (for Brigitte was not showing herself today, either) brought the breakfast and perhaps because she felt that she had gone too far the previous evening, she showed the utmost nonchalance and produced all her gossip with such artless good humour that Holk found himself not only forgetting his annoyance at the slyness of her previous remarks but also, to his great surprise, relieved of much of his gloom. Everything, even subjects of the greatest delicacy became, through Frau Hansen’s narrative gift, something thoroughly amusing and thoroughly natural and when she had gone he was left with the feeling that he had been listening to a sermon on the art of living that was not perhaps very moral but all the wiser because of this. When he tried to sum up what he had just heard, it amounted to something like this: “Yes, Count Holk, it always was and always will be so: things can be taken seriously but they can also be taken lightly and someone who has the art of taking them lightly knows how to live and anyone who always takes things seriously, does not know how to live and worries over things that don’t exist ….”
“Yes, Frau Hansen is right,” thought Holk when he had finished his meditations on what he had just heard. “Take things as they come, everything as it comes, that’s the best way and that is what people like best. The first step to success is laughter.”
Twelve had not yet struck as he left his lodging in the Dronningens-Tværgade and set off towards the palace. It was the third day of Christmas, the weather had cleared up and a wintry sun shone over the streets and squares of the town. “The young lady has left her bed”—these were the words that Frau Hansen had spoken to him yesterday evening and there could be no doubt as to their veracity; but it was also most improbable that this young lady, after such a violent attack of fever, would yet have returned to duty and so, without inquiring further at the Princess’s apartments, he went straight up to the second floor where Ebba had her rooms. Karin opened the door. “Is she at home?” “Yes.” And Karin led the way, followed by Holk.
Ebba was seated in a chair at the window, looking out on to the square which showed no trace of life; now not even the autumn leaves were whirling about any more. As Holk came in, Ebba stood up and walked towards him in a manner that was friendly, but tired and somehow sedate. She took his hand and then sat down on a sofa some distance away from the window, at the same time asking him to draw up a chair near to her.
“I’m expecting the doctor,” she began quietly, speaking in a rather strained voice. “But I’m in no hurry to see him and so I’m very glad that you have come. It means that I shall be able to talk of other things; it’s so boring always having to answer questions about one’s health, not only for the doctor but for the patient as well …. You must have spent Christmas at home on the other side of the water. I hope that you found the Countess as well as you expected and that you had a pleasant holiday.”
“It was not a pleasant holiday,” replied Holk.
“Then I can only hope that it wasn’t your fault. I have heard so many nice things about the Countess; the Princess who called to see me yesterday was full of her praises. A woman of character, she said.”
Holk forced a smile. “A woman of great character—yes, the Princess is fond of that expression, I know, and uses it to suggest that not everyone possesses it. She may be right in that. But it’s easy for princesses to enthuse about character when they are rarely in a position to meet people who do possess it. Such people may have a hundred good qualities, in fact they certainly have, but they are awkward people to know and that is the last thing that princesses are likely to find pleasant.”
“Everybody says that you are a very chivalrous person, Helmut, and I would be the last to deny it because I haven’t any grounds for doing so; but you’re not being very gallant towards your wife. Why are you trying to belittle the Princess’s praise of her? As a rule princesses are not very free with their praise and one ought to add to it rather than detract from it. My feelings are the same as the Princess’s. I’m full of admiration for the Countess and if admiration is too strong a word, then I should perhaps say that I am full of sympathy for her.”
Holk could contain his impatience no longer. “The Countess will doubtless be most grateful to you for that. But I think that her gratitude will be rather less than her amazement. Ebba, what sort of game is this that you’re playing? First the Countess and then more Countess and then character and then admiration and then, to crown it all, sympathy. Do you expect me to believe all that? What has happened? What’s the reason for this change in you? Why such formality all of a sudden, why all this reserve? Before I went away, I tried to speak to you, not because I wanted to be sure that you loved me, I felt certain of that or at least thought I could be certain of it, no, it was simply that I had an urge to see you and find out how you were before I went over to Glücksburg. So I left and while I was there, I suffered a great deal and I was forced to fight and say things that, frankly, you ought to realize as well as if you had been there listening to it all.”
Ebba tossed her head and Holk went on: “You’re being haughty and tossing your head, Ebba, as if you wanted to say: I know every word you spoke and I disclaim every one of them.”
She nodded.
“Well then, if I’ve guessed correctly, let me ask you once more, what is this all about? You know that I was captivated by you from the very first day and that I have staked everything—perhaps more than I should—on winning you. And I did all that and I’m standing here in front of you today, whether guilty or not, only because you led me on—deny that if you can. Every word you uttered went straight to my heart and your eyes spoke the same language, and they both said, your words and your look, that you would be unhappy for the rest of your days that you had not slipped off the crumbling ice and died in the sea, if I were ever to abandon you. Deny that, Ebba—those were your very words.”
While Holk was speaking,
Ebba had been leaning back with her eyes closed. Now that he had stopped, she sat upright again, took hold of his hand and said: “My dear friend, you’re quite incorrigible. I remember telling you at the very beginning of our acquaintance and later on as well, in any case, more than once, that you were on the wrong track. Nor will I take anything back, on the contrary. All those things that I used to mention merely to tease you and irritate you a little when I was feeling impertinent, I shall now repeat in deadly earnest and even as an accusation. You try to be a courtier and a man of the world and you are neither the one or the other. You’re half-hearted in both and you’re always sinning against the most elementary rules of the game—particularly at the present moment. How can anyone, where a lady is concerned, refer to words that she was foolish enough—or perhaps kind enough—to utter in an unguarded moment? All that remains now is for you to mention certain happenings and you’ll be the perfect gentleman. Don’t try to interrupt, I’ve worse things to say to you yet. Except for the small matter of constancy, Mother Nature has endowed you with everything needed to make a good husband and you should have been content with that. In any neighbouring territory, you’re completely at a loss and you only go from one blunder to another. In love, what counts is the moment and we experience that moment and enjoy it, but anyone who wants to perpetuate it or base any claims on it—claims which, if they were recognized, would destroy every better, in fact, any really legitimate claim—any man who can do that and just as his partner is being intelligent enough to have second thoughts, solemnly stands on his rights, as if they constituted a right to marriage, such a man’s love is not heroic but stupidly quixotic.”
Holk jumped to his feet. “Now I know. It was all a game, a mere farce.”
“No, my dear Helmut, only if by being too solemn, which God forbid, you try to take something seriously which should be taken lightly.”
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