CHAPTER XVIIITHE STATE BALL
TheCastle of Seidlingen was illuminated. Every window flashed with light, and all the roofs and turrets were picked out in brilliant lines of fire. Through the conservatories and gardens, and along the winding waterways, stretched the rows of many-coloured lamps; the trees were hung with Chinese lanterns of the quaintest pattern, and out in the lake a large floating platform was moored, from which every now and then a sheaf of golden rockets ascended to the sky. At the far end of the grounds, where the mountain began to rise abruptly from the artificial level of the garden, an immense arch of fire shone out against the dark background of the forest, and displayed in burning letters a motto of welcome to the Kaiser.
Within the Castle the dazzling display reached its height. A magnificent ball-room of dimensions large enough to afford space for a thousand persons was lavishly decorated with trophies of flags and weapons, mingled with flowers, and lit up by a double row of white wax candles running round the walls. On the floor, shining with its perfect polish, moved a gorgeouscrowd of all the highest personages in Maximilian’s kingdom, together with many illustrious visitors from other parts of Germany, who had attended to do honour to the head of the Empire.
A rope of vermilion velvet marked off the area reserved for royal personages, and within this area the ball had been opened by a State quadrille, in which the Kaiser was obliged by etiquette to take for his partner the Grand Duchess of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, while Maximilian led out the consort of the Hereditary Margrave of Anspach. The Princess Hermengarde fell to a Prince of the House of Prussia, a brother of the Kaiser’s, and the Margrave completed the Imperial set with a Princess of another reigning family.
As soon as these illustrious personages had gone through their dance, the velvet rope was removed, and the other guests were at liberty to take part in the waltz which succeeded. Maximilian seized the first opportunity to relinquish the Margravine to another partner and wandered down the room in search of Dorothea.
He found her with some difficulty, shyly ensconced in a corner at the lower end of the ball-room, and at once requested her to join him in the waltz.
Covered with confusion at being thus singled out before a crowd of spectators, the young girl drew back, murmuring—
“Please do not ask me. Think of what the people will say if we are seen together! And besides, I am not fit to dance in such a company. I have neverdanced before in my life, except amongst children and servants.”
But Maximilian would take no denial. Inspirited by the music and by the intoxication of the whole surroundings, he felt himself able to brave public opinion.
“Now or never, Dorothea,” he answered gayly. “I am not ashamed of you”—and, bending down, he added in a whisper—“my future Queen.”
Dorothea turned pale, but offered no further resistance. He led her out in triumph, and presently they were circling round the floor beneath the keen glances of a thousand eyes.
Meanwhile the Kaiser, out of courtesy to his host, had approached the Princess Hermengarde as soon as the quadrille was over, and invited her to become his partner in the next dance.
Hermengarde accepted, and they took one turn round the floor. Then she pleaded fatigue, and the Kaiser conducted her to a couch at the top of the room. He sat down beside her, and presently the course of the dance brought Maximilian and his partner across their field of view.
“Who is that girl with your nephew?” inquired the Kaiser, carelessly.
Hermengarde gave him a look full of meaning.
“She is the daughter of one of the royal foresters,” she answered. “At present she occupies the position of my reader, but before very long she may be dancing within the velvet rope, with your Majesty for a partner.”
The Kaiser flushed angrily.
“I do not understand you, Madam!”
“Hush! We may be observed.” And the Princess turned her head, as if occupied in watching the dancers. Then she leant over towards the Kaiser and whispered something in his ear.
He started, but controlled himself instantly, and they continued to converse for some time.
Maximilian danced on. And as he danced bright thoughts came crowding on him, and the spectres overshadowing his path melted away, and he felt himself again a king, happy in his youth and in his power, and needing only to crown his happiness, that greatest of all treasures, love that is returned.
So, after the waltz was over, and the music of the orchestra was hushed for a brief space, he led out Dorothea into the open air beneath the lamp-lit avenues of blossom. His example was followed by others, and ere long quite half the crowd had deserted the dancing-floor, and were wandering in couples or in larger parties through the fairyland outside. Some of the boats were unmoored, and sent gliding along the peaceful waters of the canals, while one party, still more daring, headed by the Prussian Prince, boldly launched upon the bosom of the lake in a yacht with silken sails, in which they glided past the floating raft of fireworks, and up into the deep shadows of the forest.
Maximilian did not stray very far. He brought Dorothea to a place where the lake formed a littlenatural bay, the edges of which had been carpeted with a thick bank of fine white sand specially brought from the coast of England. From this spot there was a view right down the lake to its farthest bend; and as the palace lay behind them it was possible to indulge in a sense of isolation almost like that enjoyed by a wanderer on some lonely seashore.
Here a low seat had been constructed of wicker-work, under the shelter of a magnolia, upon the edge of the sand. To this the King brought Dorothea, and they sat down side by side in silence.
Something warned the forester’s daughter that the King had come there with her for some serious purpose. She tried to calm the beating of her heart by taking in the cool night air in long deep breaths.
Maximilian, on his part, was at first too much agitated to speak. His whole being seemed to tremble in the grasp of an overmastering emotion, and it was as much as he could do to keep his very teeth from knocking together, in the violence of his agitation.
They sat, and watched the merry party on board the yacht sail past, and disappear in the darkness which overhung the distance of the waters. Then a great fountain of gold fire spouted upward as if out of the bosom of the lake, and fiery serpents darted and zig-zagged across the face of the heavens.
“See,” said Maximilian, speaking at length, in a low, dreamy voice, “like the wonders which art has brought about in this once desolate valley are the wonders which love works in the heart of man.”
Dorothea did not venture to make a reply. The young man continued—
“Till I found you, Dorothea, I had never loved a woman. When I was a boy I was too shy to seek their society, and as I grew up I became accustomed to consider them as creatures of a different nature, incapable of entering into my feelings, or sharing my mystic views of life. But when I came to the lodge that first day by accident, and saw you, I realised for the first time that something was wanting in my life, and, as the days and weeks passed on, I discovered that what I had missed was worth more than all that I possessed, and that my life till then had been a gloomy wilderness like this dark valley shut in among its lonely mountains. Dorothea, they say that our race is under a curse, that there is no member of the House of Astolf who may not sooner or later find himself stricken down in the midst of his power and pleasures, and confined in a gloomy cell. I have seen my father’s fate, and my uncle Otto’s, and ever since I was a boy that fearful dread has dogged my steps, and been beside me night and day. And I have sought to drown it in all sorts of distractions, and to withdraw myself from all strangers’ eyes, and bury myself alone with one or two whom I could trust, and where I could move about freely, without feeling that there were eyes upon me which were the eyes of spies, watching and waiting for the first indication to enable them to cast a net around me, and strangle me without remorse. All that is what I have borne, and am still bearing, and ithas weighed me down, and made me unlike other men, so that I have sometimes feared that my fate would be like a prophecy fulfilling itself, and the very dread of madness would drive me mad. But to-night, under the influence of my love for you, I feel a different being, I know that I am strong enough to fight and overcome this haunting enemy, I know that I never shall be mad while I love you, and you love me.”
He stopped, too deeply moved to proceed. Dorothea drooped her golden head, like a buttercup filled with rain, and sighed softly to herself.
Presently he regained calmness enough to go on.
“But, Dorothea, there is one thing greater than love, and that is truth. I am afraid—afraid to ask you if you love me. Oh, if you did, if you could tell me truly that you loved me, it would be better for me than if yonder lake were turned into silver, and yonder castle into gold, better than if all the kings and emperors of the earth came here to resign their crowns into my hand, better than if an enchanter’s wand smote the earth to sleep, and bound the wheels of time in fetters of light, and bade this hour last for ever!”
Dorothea opened her lips like one who breathes with pain, but her voice froze in her throat.
“Yet believe me,” went on Maximilian, in tones of exquisite tenderness, “that I would not have you give me any false hopes. If you cannot yet make up your mind whether you love me, tell me so, and I will wait. But if you have made up your mind, and know you can never love me, tell me that, and though I shallnever cease to love you, I will go away and persecute you no more. Perhaps it will still be in my power to make you happy. Perhaps your nature can never really find itself at home in this life of Courts, but only in some quiet nook where you will be able to live the life from which I selfishly dragged you, and where in time you may come to forget that your peace was ever troubled by the love of mad King Maximilian.”
A large tear took shape in Dorothea’s eye, and fell heavily upon the arid surface of the sand. She turned and answered her lover.
“You are too good to me, Sire—”
“No, not that! After this hour you must call me Maximilian for the rest of our lives, whatever happens.”
“Maximilian.” The syllables flowed out with a soft cadence, like water falling upon silver wires, and Maximilian learned for the first time to love his name, a name by which his house preserved the memory of the gentle, dreaming Emperor, Albert Dürer’s friend, the last representative of chivalry, he who more than any other summed up in himself that quaint and mystic Holy Roman Empire which symbolised the union of the barbarian and the citizen, the marriage between the North and the South, that Empire which at its best was only a dream and an imagination, a long crusade in which the rough feudal knighthood of the Teuton lands descended century after century across the Alpine barrier, warring vainly against that mighty necromantic power encamped upon the hills of Rome.
“Maximilian, it makes me sad to hear you speak likethis, because I cannot make you any return. When you first came to me, and asked me to love you, I hardly knew what love meant, and I thought that perhaps by trying I could render myself worthy of your love. And I have tried, believe me. But now I know more than I did then. I understand things better, and I know that though I might become your wife, yet I should never be able to feel towards you as you do towards me.”
She spoke hesitatingly, almost shamefacedly, yet there was that in her words which went to Maximilian’s heart. He caught his breath, and pressed his hand hard upon his bosom, as though he felt a sensible pang.
“Thank you, Dorothea.” He in his turn lingered over the name as if it were some magic spell, the mere utterance of which had power to soothe his grief. “I had no right to hope for any other answer. But do not regret having listened to me this once. It is a greater joy than you know to be allowed even to tell my love to you, though I tell it in vain. And your very presence has an influence over me, and gives me more courage to bear my lot. Do not weep, my beloved; but before I leave you, give me one kiss as a token to remember you by in the time to come.”
She tried to check her tears, and, forgetting everything but pity, she put her arm round the young man’s neck and kissed him yearningly, like a child that would win forgiveness from those who love it.
As she relaxed her embrace Maximilian hastily withdrew himself from it, and silently strode away.
Hardly had he gone a dozen paces, when he was encountered by Johann, moodily wandering apart, after a vain attempt to find his cousin. The King gave him a look of the deepest dejection.
“What is it?” exclaimed Johann, impulsively. “Is anything wrong?”
“I may tell it to you,” answered Maximilian, halting for a moment; “you are in the secret already. My dream is over; I have learnt that Dorothea does not love me.”
“But she will!” cried Johann, much disturbed. “She is too young to know her own mind. She has not had time to get accustomed to this new life. Give her more.”
The King shook his head sadly.
“It is useless, my friend. She is not too young to love. I know her too well to expect her to change. I will vex her no more.”
And he went on hastily.
Johann stood frowning and looking after him. Then his own face suddenly flushed, and he drew a deep breath. He seemed to be labouring to subdue some disturbing emotion as he stepped forward in the direction from which the King had just come.
As he had anticipated, his path brought him straight to Dorothea, who was still sitting beside the little beach, and striving to check her sobs. She raised herhead quickly at his approach, and a look of apprehension came into her eyes.
Her cousin came to a stand in front of her, with the stern air of a judge about to rebuke an offender.
“Well,” he said in a severe voice, “I hope you realise what you have done.”
“Has the King told you?” she asked timidly.
“Yes; he has told me that you have refused him—refused to become a queen, with the grandest opportunities of playing a noble part in history that any woman ever had.”
“But, Johann, I am not fit for such a position. It terrifies me. I do not want to play a grand part. All I want is to be allowed to go on living peacefully, away from all these plots and intrigues and revolutions. I wish the King had never seen me, and then I might still be in the old lodge, without a care in the world, except to milk the cow and get ready my father’s meals.”
“Dorothea! You talk like a child. Are all the schemes to which I have given up my life to be hampered and perhaps ruined by the obstinacy of a girl who cannot raise her mind above the level of the dairy?”
“But surely it is not my fault, Johann,” she remonstrated, with a little more spirit. “I did not want the King to love me, and I never undertook to interfere in your schemes. I was happy before all this came about. Why should I be dragged into these affairs, when I never wished to be?”
Johann did not condescend to answer this last question.
“I cannot understand you,” he observed bitterly. “I do not suppose there is another girl in the whole of Germany, from the Kaiser’s sisters down, who would not be glad of the offer which you have thrown away. There must be some reason for it.”
“There is a reason for it,” returned Dorothea, beginning to show some resentment at her cousin’s masterful tone.
“And what is it?”
“Simply that I do not love the King.”
“Perhaps you love some one else,” said Johann, in a tone of anger and dismay.
A bright flush overspread Dorothea’s cheeks.
“Perhaps I do,” she retorted boldly, rising at the same time from her seat, and making a movement to go.
“Ah! And have you any objection to tell me the name of this fortunate man?”
“Yes. I will never tell you!” cried Dorothea, wildly. “And I will never speak to you again.”
She turned and ran rapidly off, while Johann remained as if rooted to the ground, gazing after her with an expression of hopeless bewilderment.
Meanwhile, Maximilian, his brow overcast, and his whole manner burdened with a melancholy too great to be concealed, had reappeared in the ball-room, where the Kaiser and Hermengarde were just finishing a whispered conversation.
“I can well understand,” the Princess was saying, “that you did not attach much weight to the alarms of a weak-minded old man like the Chancellor; and besides, as you have pointed out, political follies could be checked at any time. But amésalliancewould be a very different thing. We cannot afford to have the royal caste contaminated by the intrusion of peasants.”
The Kaiser nodded earnestly.
“And there is this additional danger,” pursued the Princess, “that a freak of this kind might be carried out too secretly for any one to interfere before it was too late. It would cause me no surprise if my nephew were to walk into my apartments at any moment, and inform me that he had provided the Court with a queen.”
“That will never do; that must be prevented at all costs,” muttered the Kaiser.
“I was sure you would say so. The whole idea is insane,” returned the Princess. “Besides,” she pursued artfully, “what we desire is to see our King allied with some great European House. Think what an advantage it would be for Franconia if we could induce you to bestow one of your sisters upon the King! I know that, were my son likely to ascend the throne, such a match would become my highest ambition for him.”
The Kaiser smiled shrewdly, but made no reply.
“Then may I take it that you are prepared to sanction such steps as may be deemed necessary?”inquired the Princess, striving not to betray her agitation.
“Whatever the Privy Council of Franconia decides upon will receive my sanction,” was the guarded answer. “I will consult further with my Chancellor and with the Count von Sigismark as to the proper course to be pursued, and cause a communication to be made to you.”
The Princess was compelled to be satisfied with this. She murmured her thanks, and the Kaiser rose, and walking down the ball-room, met Maximilian near the entrance.
“Where is your kinsman, the Count von Eisenheim?” he asked. “How is it that I do not see him here?”
“He received an invitation,” replied the King, abstractedly, “but declined it on the plea of ill health. He has not been to Court for very many years.”
“Indeed. Where does he live?”
“At the Castle of Eisenheim. You will pass it on your way back to Berlin.”
“Ah! Come out with me into the grounds. I should like to see the illuminations.”
And he drew the King away.