CHAPTER XXVIISPEECHES AND LETTERS

When Victor Adolph left Toker’s study, he felt still more oppressed than he had been before. A new task had been added to the many prospects and obligations that were so disturbing to his peace of mind: alluring prospects, noble tasks, sweet obligations, but in their combination a scourge of anxieties. And there was no one with whom he might take counsel, to whom he might open his heart; on the contrary, he had the perpetual companionship of a man from whom he was obliged to conceal his inmost thoughts and inclinations—this Orell—and now he had two more secrets to hide from him. Suppose he should discover that the Royal Highness entrusted to his protection had offered himself to a woman without rank and title, and had concealed plans with an American for the demilitarization of Europe!

Victor Adolph could not help smiling as he pictured to himself the general standing there, his face scarlet with wrath and horror, his hair standing on end, and the points of his mustaches trembling. How he would gasp for words and for breath, and how these words would be even more laconic and drastic than ever—“Prince ripe for the madhouse!... Cursed girl.... Caught in the first net....Old Yankee-doodle.... Proposals to His Majesty!... To hell with the Rose-Saint-Vitus-dance!”

As he drove away, the prince met Helmer returning from the morning walk. The encounter was a pleasant surprise. Here was one with whom he might exchange a few thoughts,—at least, might talk with him about Toker’s plans,—since he was already initiated into the conspiracy.

“Good-morning, Herr Helmer; I am glad to meet you. Are you just on your way home?”

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

“Have you anything important that you must do immediately?”

“Not at all.”

“Then, if you will permit me, I will go with you to your lodgings.”

“That will be an honor and a pleasure. If you please, this way, Your Royal Highness; my rooms are on the ground floor.”

He conducted the prince up a few steps, through a corridor to his sitting-room door, which he opened to usher his visitor in.

“But you are all roses here!” cried Victor Adolph as he entered.

“Yes, the whole house is dedicated to the queen of flowers. But all this splendor will soon be ended. Two days more and the Rose-Week will be a thing of the past. Then we shall all be scattered to the four winds.”

“But what has been uttered, planted, experienced, felt here will not be scattered to the winds.” And as the prince sat down in the easy-chair which Helmerpushed forward for him, he added with a deep sigh, “I have gone through a vast lot of experiences since I have been here.”

Helmer looked up inquiringly: “Yet nothing terrible, I hope?”

“That’s as one looks at it—may I?” And he took a cigarette from a smoking-table standing near.

Helmer gave him a light, then sat down on the other side of the table, and they were soon engaged in earnest talk.

The prince related his interviews with the master of the house, the news which he had got from the letters and papers and the plans that Toker had developed. Helmer manifested the liveliest interest. The observations that he interpolated, the opinions that he expressed, the warmth and readiness of enthusiasm which accompanied all his words and gestures, were so sympathetic to the prince that he felt mightily drawn to the poet. It did him good to be free to talk with an intelligent mind about the mission with which Toker had entrusted him. His burden of care already began to seem lighter. Here he could find counsel and stimulus and support. His heart began to glow.

“It is a perfect delight, Helmer,” said he, bending over the table and laying his hand on the other’s arm, “to speak about these things with you. You have experience and a keen insight, and you have—what shall I call it?—Schwingen—pinions—the upsoaring spirit.... I wish you were my friend.... Be my friend!”

“I am, as far as I may, my prince.”

The two men shook hands.

“Truly, I have never had a friend; always nothing but flatterers, time-servers, or else highly respectable jailors, eagermaîtres de plaisir; here and there, among those of my own rank and relationship, a good fellow all too ready for sport and the like—but a friend? Not one! Not one whom one may trust if one is in trouble or is experiencing a great happiness—not one to ask advice of in a difficulty.”

“Is that your case, Your Highness?” asked Helmer sympathetically.

“That is my case.”

“Will you honor me with your confidence?”

The prince stood up and walked in some agitation back and forth a few times; then he went to the window and gazed out for a while. He was evidently having a struggle with himself. Then he suddenly turned round:—“Well, then, listen!”

Helmer had also risen and was leaning on his writing-table which stood near the window. He bent his head. “I am listening.” And at the same time a suspicion flashed through his mind that he was about to hear something unpleasant.

“Well, then,” proceeded Victor Adolph. “Happiness, difficulty—everything comes all at once. During the last twenty-four hours, more things and more important things have surged into my life than hitherto in many years. It has been revealed to me that a position of great power—the position of a monarch—a crown—might be offered to me. I am as democratic in my instincts as any one could well be; you know that ... yet, I confess, the notionseems dazzling to me. In the case of other men only, too great power seems perilous; in one’s own case, one is convinced that it can be used only for advantage. How much I could help and accomplish—even in the spirit of those ‘lofty thoughts’ which are at the present time soaring out from here into the world.—Then the mission, which I have undertaken at Toker’s desire, to win over my father to an action which might establish on a firm basis his treasured ideal of international peace—all these things would be splendid tasks.”

“In what consists the trouble, Prince? I see only the happiness and no difficulty.”

“The happiness consists in something else—and the difficulty is, that I must renounce either those duties or the happiness. If I cling to the happiness, I should lose yonder position and influence, and perhaps my rank. I am in love, Helmer, madly in love—and I have not the strength of will to renounce my beloved:—yesterday I made her an offer of marriage.”

Helmer was playing with a paper-cutter: it fell with a crash on the floor. He stooped over to pick it up, and thus he concealed the pallor that suddenly invaded his face. So then the moment had arrived, when that which he had so often dreaded was a reality. He had really never even hoped to win Franka; he had himself hinted to her the remote possibility that the prince would be her suitor and had tried to persuade himself that he would unselfishly rejoice at it. But hitherto it had been only an unreal figment of his imagination; now it was thetruth. He took longer in regaining the paper-cutter than was necessary. Now he drew himself up once more.

“So you are to be congratulated,” he said, trying hard to control his voice. “Is Fräulein Garlett already your betrothed?”

“I cannot as yet call her that ... she has not given her answer ... the whole affair is still a secret. Oh, Helmer, I cannot tell you how it has relieved me to take you into my confidence!”

Without knocking, John Toker entered the room: “Hello, Mr. Helmer; the gong is about sounding for luncheon; I wanted to speak with you about something beforehand. Ah, you are not alone?...” He at that instant became aware of the presence of Victor Adolph, who stepped forward from the embrasure of the window. “Ah, is it you, Your Highness?”

“Yes, it is I; but I must be going now.” And he heartily took his leave of the two men.

Helmer entered the dining-room in great agitation. How could he endure meeting Franka with the knowledge that the die had been cast, that she was about to belong to another? And how would he succeed in hiding the pangs of jealousy which tormented his heart? Yet he was spared for a time these difficulties. Franka was not present, and he was informed that she had sent her apologies for missing the luncheon—she had a headache. Helmer felt relieved, and yet disappointed. Now it seemed to him as if he had a hundred things to say to her, and as ifhe had been robbed of his privilege of being the first to congratulate her, the first who should venture to speak with her about this crisis in her destiny, even before the others knew anything about it.

The conversation at table on this occasion was very animated. Toker’s guests, as well as Toker himself, had detected in the reports of newspapers signs of threatening political peril, and there was a discussion of the conditions. It was conducted in a tone of dismay, but not at all in the spirit of the usual political “Kannegiessereien”—narrow-minded twaddle: no combinations based on diplomatic-national-strategical-historical premises as to whether, if X-land should declare war on Z-land, Y-land should stand by X or Z; whether X or Z would have the better chances of winning out; in what relationship the sea-power of the one would stand toward the air-power of the other; from what grounds of rivalry or expansion the conflict had arisen and its outbreak become unavoidable; what clashing of interests in lofty spheres and what alterations of boundary lines were imminent, and other technical absurdities of the same routine variety. No, here were assembled the élite among men, who looked down from the higher pinnacles on the course of the world; who based their judgment on philosophical criteria and their will on humane sentiments.

The French senator and the American statesman, as they sat side by side, had been for five minutes engaged in a confidential conversation. Then the Frenchman arose, and tapping on his glass to call the attention of the Table Round, spoke as follows:—

“I ask your hearing for a proposal.” All came to silence. With the refined, quiet manner of a diplomatist he went on:—“My honored friend, sitting next to me, whose statesmanlike services for the cause of peace are known to all of you, and I, have just been talking over an idea which has been suggested by the political news so unanimously commented upon in our midst. The war of the future, so long predicted, stands before our door: not so near that it may surprise us at any hour, but still near enough to make us mobilize without delay all the forces that can be used to ward it off.”

“Hear, hear!” cried John Toker, with flashing eyes.

“There are people who desire this war—especially among the officers and general-staff circles, with whom such a desire is part of their profession—and there are people who donotwant it. Now the question is, which of these two groups will have the preponderance? The masses, for the most part, wherever there is any thought at all, belong to the second group, but they are dumb and as yet powerless—I say as yet powerless, for the day may come, and now seems not so very far away, when this will no longer be the case. But to-day the power of decision still lies in the hands of the few. Among these few some are for war—some are against it. Here also those who are against it are already more numerous; but the others have higher positions and more influence. What we have to do, then, is to weigh down the scales against the war with the weight of public opinion and the combined pressure of widelyrenowned and highly respected names. And now comes our proposition.”

He paused to drink a swallow of water. The others gave eager attention. Helmer also, who had been till that moment absorbed in his own thoughts, was now listening attentively:—

“Ladies and gentlemen,” continued the senator, “we possess here—thanks to the genius and the millions of our host—it is good when these two are combined—an apparatus for publicity of marvelous efficacy. What we say here is sent by wireless telegraphy circling round the world; it is taken up by ten thousand rotary presses, is repeated by ten thousand phonographs, is preserved in all the libraries and archives in existence. So much for the echo. And now for the weight. Let us put aside false modesty; the Knighthood of the Rose must be conscious and ought to be conscious of its noble rank, in order to be forever mindful of the work to which it is pledged. John Toker summons only his contemporaries of world-wide reputation; only those who through their art, their scientific abilities, their inventions, their political activities,—particularly their service in the politics of peace,—have served all men, and therefore possess universal authority. Just as in every great country there is the upper ten thousand of the aristocracy, so we—once more I say, away with false modesty!—form the world’s half-hundred of talent.”

Toker clapped his hands; the others began to do the same, but the speaker stretched out his arm in a deprecating gesture and proceeded:—

“We have here a tribune which is visible from all the civilized places of the earth; our voices ring out as from a gigantic gramophone. So let us raise these voices in a solemn protest. Let us on the last evening, instead of indulging, as usually is prearranged on such occasions, in rhetorical and artistic performances,—let us attempt an act of rescue. Let us, in a tone of thunder, call a halt to this disaster! This disaster is no elementary catastrophe beyond the power of the human will; it is an action commanded by rulers and executed by the nations, and it must not be commanded and it must not be executed. If all see clearly how things lie, and if all have the opportunity to express their will, the ‘Halt!’ sounding forth from here can swell up into an irresistible negative. The threatening war—we all know what an insignificant controversy is at the bottom of it—can be averted either by mediation or by an appeal to the Court of Arbitration. If this is not done, if the Fury—a Fury armed with fangs, fins, and jaws, and now also with wings—is again let loose, then it will kindle a world-conflagration. We will to-day give the world a clear demonstration of the case; we will put forth an energetic demand for mediation or arbitration; we want to raise a strong protest against an easy or an intentional sufferance of the catastrophe. In all the centers, where our message penetrates, opportunity is offered for all the leaders and all the consenting masses to unite; and the word uttered here may swell up into a plebiscite that will encompass the earth. Is this your sentiment, Mr. Toker?—do you agree to this, gentlemen?”

Toker, who sat opposite the speaker, bent across and shook both his hands.

“Is that my sentiment! One more mine laid!”

Helmer, as soon as he returned to his room, sat down to write to Franka. He felt compelled to speak to her. His heart was full to bursting. Yet he did not know what he should write her. Only the necessity was upon him to direct to her another of his “Brother Chlodwig” letters, after the manner of those which he had sent to her at several of the serious crises of her life. He began:—

“Sister Franka”—but hardly had his eyes rested on the dear name when he was irresistibly impelled to add, “I worship thee!” Of course, it was evident to him that he must tear up this sheet and throw it into the waste-paper basket. But first he wanted to let his feelings exhaust themselves to a certain degree in the same vein, and so he wrote further:—“Yes, I worship thee! Sweet ... lovely ... the only one! I press thee to my heart and kiss thee ... kiss thee....” (Oh, how this word flamed on the paper—he wrote it a third time.) “Kiss thee on thine eyelids, on thy parted lips! Franka, Franka, that another man will have a right to do ... it is horrible!... I am wretched!... How can I endure it? Let us not think of it. I kiss thee again, Franka, my Franka, mine, mine, mine.... The dear lovely name, ‘Franka,’ in French, ‘Franche,’ isn’t it? Franchetta, donna idolatrata! Frankie, my own darling! Dost thou suspect what bliss thou hast to dispose? Dost thou know also....”

This brought him to the end of the page. He did not turn the sheet over, but tore it up and flung it into the basket. Then he put another sheet before him, sat for some time buried in thoughts, and then began again to write. This was to be the actual letter which he would send:—

Franka Garlett!

Again you stand at the turning of the ways and it is the privilege of Brother Chlodwig to bring you a few words—words of blessing. To-day you have withdrawn yourself apparently in order to think over the crisis that affects your heart and your future. I do not have any faith in that excuse of a headache! So it is forbidden me to talk with you about the matter: therefore I am writing. It is, after all, more agreeable for me to do so. If I first offer you my congratulations, it will be possible for me to meet you more calmly. For I must confess that I am deeply stirred. I should not have found the right attitude, the right words, if I had been obliged to sit by your side at the luncheon-table, knowing what I know, and appear calm and at my ease in the presence of all those people, while inwardly I was more disturbed than ever before in all my life.

Franka, do you remember? I was the first to give you the Valkyrie consecration; you received from my hands the shield and the spear. These weapons have certainly to-day become a burden to you, and yet you perhaps feel a reproach from your conscience at the thought of laying them down. Now I will be helpful to you, and I myself will put forth my hand to relieve you of them. My noble Valkyrie, you have gallantly battled and have won the victory—it is enough! Be henceforth—and be unregretfully—merely a joyous human being, just a happy woman. A fire-spell flames around you, but there is nothing fabulous about it—it is only Love....

By Victor Adolph’s side, you will, moreover, be able to work for the loftiest human ends. For he himself stands now facing mighty tasks, which he has energetically assumed and which you will be able, by your influence, your advice, your sympathy, greatly to forward. Certainly, the epoch which is approaching is pregnant with fate—so much explosive material has been heaped up, and yet wisdom enough also has been collected to hinder the explosion, enough also to conduct the forces on hand from destructive to beneficent uses. Your betrothed will help in this work and you will help him. Is not that a proud destiny?

But, above all, let it be a beautiful, gladsome destiny! Smile, be rapturous, live, be crowned with roses.

Chlodwig.

Helmer folded the sheet and thrust it into an envelope. One might judge from the contents of the letter that he did this with a sort of gentle ceremoniousness; not at all: he did it grinding his teeth, with fever-cold hands, with swift-beating pulses. Then he rang for his man and ordered him to deliver the letter immediately.

Bruning entered the room simultaneously with the servant.

“Ah, I am glad to find you in, Helmer; I have been for a long time anxious to have a sensible chat with you.”

Helmer did not share this longing; the call seemed to him highly inopportune; but what else could he say than “Fine; I’m pleased to see you. Sit down.”

Bruning made himself at home. “You don’t look quite up to concert-pitch, old man? Evidently, youare right glad to have the whole affair over and done with. I, too, am glad enough that it will be ended in a couple of days. A good deal has been very interesting, but the whole effect is so exotic and so extravagant. You know me—I can’t stand humbug. What’s your plan? Where are you going from here?”

“Going back to Berlin. And you?”

“I am going to the Sielenburg. The old Countess Schollendorf invited me. The Sielenburg really belongs to Miss Garlett, doesn’t it? And she has still other estates? All of it might have been yours long ago if you had been a bit clever. But you have let her get snapped away from you: every one has seen that the German prince is after her.”

Helmer made a gesture of annoyance. “And you call this a sensible chat?”

“Well, then, let’s talk about other things. There is lots of news. Our famous sportsman yesterday got a pair of wings fitted to him and fell into the lake.”

“Regenburg? Was he drowned?”

“No, they fished him out. But if I know him, he will not rest until he has flown round the Stefansturm. Ambition is a fine thing and especially when, by satisfying it, one breaks his own neck and not other people’s ... as ambitious statesmen are mighty apt to do. In their case hundreds of thousands are in danger of their lives.”

“You have in mind the old-fashioned type of statesmen,” said Helmer, shrugging his shoulders.

“Not by a long chalk.... I had especially inmind our Marchese Rinotti. He will blossom out only in the future, and he will have nerve and temperament enough to mow his way through hecatombs of victims in perfectsang-froidif it suits his plans. That belongs to his trade.”

“Times are changing, my dear Franz.... Nowadays, the national helmsmen—whether princes or ministers—already begin to set their ambition on being considered the guardians of the peace.”

“In their words and phrases ... but you are irretrievably naïf, my good Chlodwig. Whoever is to be a genuine statesman must lie, must endeavor to pull the wool over the eyes of the others. He contracts friendship with other powers, not in the least out of good will toward his allies, but to make common head against a third. He secretly stirs up enmities; for he may get advantage from possible conflicts of others in which he himself is not involved. In order to confirm and strengthen his own power, he without any scruples drives rough-shod over all obstacles, such as treaties, conventions, and the like: in short, he—”

“In short, he is a scoundrel!”

“Call it so. In popular parlance he is a genius. But don’t let us dispute. Your kingdom is in the clouds. Only I fear you will soon get a bad fall. Do you happen to be reading the news? Such things are under way as—”

“Oh, I know perfectly well what is threatening; but I know also what beckons. I have long given up discussing with you. It is remarkable how two men, classmates and comrades in childhood and inthe early days of youth, can so grow apart in their views of life. And neither of us is stupid!”

“The difference is this—you are intellectual and I am prudent.”

“I hate the word ‘prudent.’ It sounds cold and harsh: it has no uplift.”

“That I grant you, my dear pinion-poet! I am a sober, matter-of-fact man. As such let me tell you a couple of incidents from real life. You must know that the two interesting widows, to whom I introduced you lately—that impetuous Countess Solnikova and that gentle Annette Felsen—have been having a great experience during the last two days. Romances are brought to a climax here with amazing rapidity ... perhaps for the reason that we have here, as it were, only a week’s respite. Now the countess has been making a little flight with your Polish composer—not a flight in the figurative, but in the actual, sense of the word. For you see they hired a fineaërotaxiand in it flew over the mountains: the wind drove them into a deserted region and they had to spend the night in a shed.... There is no need of harboring any suspicions about it. And as regards Annette Felsen she became regularly engaged to our Machiavelli yesterday.”

“Is that so?” said Helmer, with mild interest. “Yes,” he added rather to himself, “romances come to a climax here with great rapidity.”

At the very door of his hotel, Prince Victor Adolph met General Orell, who came to him in great haste.

“At last, Your Royal Highness,” he exclaimed; and added reproachfully, “You went out without my escort!”

“I don’t want always to trouble you, dear Orell.”

“A telegram has just come for Your Royal Highness.”

Victor Adolph, surprised, took the dispatch and tore open the envelope. He was evidently startled. The dispatch was from his father:—“Your presence here is imperatively needed in a highly important political emergency, affecting you personally. Come by next train.”

“If possible we must leave this very day. Please, General, find what time the trains start and bring me the information to my room. I will precede you.”

As soon as he reached his room, he threw himself down into his easy-chair, and read the dispatch a second time. Evidently it concerned that eventuality of the throne ... then he must obey. Besides, he would necessarily in any case obey such a peremptory command of his father and king. Yet how inconveniently it came.... That other great eventuality—his relations with Franka—was still in the air—he had not as yet received her answer, and she knew nothing of the difficulties that had to be surmounted. To depart now! Truly, too many complications....

General Orell brought the time-table. The next, being also the last train, left at five o’clock in the afternoon. It was now one,—time enough for making preparations and for a farewell call uponFranka. He felt he must speak with her. He took a hasty luncheon with Orell. Then he returned to his study and put his papers in order. He wrote to Toker, explaining his sudden departure and promised to keep his task in mind. He also addressed a few cordial lines to Helmer.

Now the next thing was to go to Franka. What should he say to her? If she accepted his proposal,—and he really had no doubt that she would,—the engagement could not possibly be made public—certainly not at this time, when the question of the accession to the throne was still undecided: it would be the most unsuitable moment to anger his father. His choice would anger not only his father, but the whole clique. He was well aware of that. What a lunatic world! What a compulsion! Under other circumstances, he would have been more than willing to renounce all the prerogatives of his rank, in order, without further dissimulation, to follow the dictates of his heart as a private citizen. But the question for him did not merely concern an empty title and the insignificant gratifications connected with it; it was perhaps a question of an actual position of power in which he could do immeasurable public service. Even if he did not attain the crown, it would nevertheless be necessary to retain his rank and his influence for the furtherance of the mission entrusted to him by Toker. If he now should fall out with his family and the people of his own class, how could he then carry on a propaganda among them for the objects of the conspiracy? It was a complicated situation—no single directaim for his duties and desires. But supreme in his heart, his fancy, his very blood, was still the image of the lovely Franka, and there was the hot desire to hold her in his arms.

With quick steps and a mind deeply disturbed, he covered the short distance back to the Rose-Palace. He found the door to Franka’s apartments open; the anteroom was empty, and he knocked at the salon door and entered.

Frau von Rockhaus came to meet him: “Oh, Your Royal Highness....”

“May I speak with Fräulein Garlett?”

“Franka is not at home. How sorry she will be—”

“No, no, my dear lady, she must not be denied to me.... I must speak with her—it is too important.”

“On my word of honor, she is not in. She went out a quarter of an hour ago with Miss Toker. She did not go down to the déjeuner, and so Miss Toker came to see what had become of her and persuaded her to take a drive—the fresh air would do her good.”

“Then I will wait till she returns.”

“The two ladies will not be back before five o’clock. Their intention was to go to a place of resort, quite a distance away.”

“What was the name of the place?”

“I do not remember the name.”

Victor Adolph suppressed a curse. This was too unfortunate. So, then, he would have to leave the town without seeing her again.... He begged permission to write a few lines for the young lady.Frau Eleonore conducted him to the writing-table, and provided him with paper. He began to write, but his hand trembled so violently that the letters ran together, and he could not collect his thoughts. He threw the pen aside, crumpled up the sheet, and arose: “I prefer to write at home,” said he, and hastily took his departure.

In the quiet of his own room, he managed, after much consideration and some false beginnings, to compose the following message:—

Gnädiges Fräulein!

As I have not as yet received a consenting answer to my question, I do not venture to use any more intimate address. Frau von Rockhaus will tell you that I came to see you. But she does not know how unhappy it made me to miss you. A telegram from my father—which I inclose—compels me to leave Lucerne by the five o’clock train. It is terrible to me not to have had a chance to see you and talk with you before my departure. I know that you are to remain in Lucerne for three or four days longer. I hope sincerely that I can return—unless you forbid me. In any case, wherever you are, pray let me know the place where I may get the answer from you that will decide my fate.

I still owe it to you to explain my circumstances and the conditions which these circumstances impose upon me. This I can do only by word of mouth. But I will repeat in writing what I said yesterday from an overflowing heart: I love you and ask you to be my wife!

Victor Adolph.

Address: Royal Palace ——.

When Franka had returned from her excursion with Gwendoline, she found the two letters. Sheread and re-read them, first hastily, then deliberately, weighing every word and trying to find between the lines what had gone forth from the hearts of the senders. From Victor Adolph’s—although the conclusion of it confirmed the greatest proof of love that a man can give a woman: the offer of his hand—there seemed to emanate a cool breath; from Helmer’s, on the other hand,—although in it he gave her away to another,—came forth something like a warm caress.

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