"What has happened at the Pavilion?" asked the Princess.
"That is not known," replied the angry lady; "but, from some expressions of Bergau, one may conclude that the stranger has raised pretensions, demanded an introduction at Court, and threatened to leave in the event of a refusal. The arrogance of the woman is unbearable. We all beg that your Highness will be gracious enough to maintain our rights."
"Good Linda, I am a dangerous ally for you," replied the Princess, sorrowfully.
The birthday of the Princess was kept both by the Court and city. Many people wore gala dresses; numbers pressed with their congratulations into the ante-chamber of the princely daughter. The Princess received in full dress on this day. She appeared for the first time out of mourning, and looked lovelier than ever. In a side room, the door of which was open, stood the tables, which were covered with presents. Much were the splendid dresses which the Sovereign had ordered for his daughter admired by the ladies; and scarcely less so the beautiful miniature work of the Magister by the connoisseurs.
About three o'clock the concert began in the gardens of the castle. Gentlemen and ladies of the nobility, the officials, and citizens, entered the space marked out for them. The numerous attendants of the Princess greeted the ladies of the company and arranged them in a large circle, behind which were the gentlemen, forming a dark setting; on one side the families of the Court, on the other those of the city. The guests accommodated themselves easily to the compulsory mathematical line; it was only on the city side that there was any irregularity. The new city councillor Gottlieb, a distinguished butcher, pushed in from behind his wife and daughter, and placed himself squarely in the front row; and it required the positive directions of the lady-in-waiting to make him retreat to his place.
"I pay the taxes," said Gottlieb, stubbornly, to those about him; but even from his neighbors he was the object of a disapproving smile.
When Ilse entered this society of strangers with her husband, she felt alarm at the cold, inquisitive looks directed at her from all sides. The Chamberlain conducted her to the first lady-in-waiting. The Baroness bowed in cool acknowledgment, and pointed to the place where she was to be stationed-at the end of the Court side, opposite the entrance. The royal party, preceded by the Marshals, made their appearance punctually; the Princess, radiant and smiling, on the arm of the Sovereign; the young Princes behind. The ladies' dresses rustled like a forest of trees, as they bent in deferential salutation; behind them the heads of the assembled gentlemen dropped with solemn movement. The Princess executed a circular bow-a consummate piece of Court technique-and proceeded to walk about the line. The sun shone with summer warmth, and all rejoiced in the beautiful day and in the happiness of the child whose birthday was now celebrated. The Princess looked enchantingly lovely, and showed, by her noble appearance and gracious manners, how well fitted she was to do the honors of a Court. The ladies-in-waiting preceded her, beckoning to individuals to come forward, and mentioning the names of those who were strangers to the Princess. She had a kind word for every one, or a nod and sweet smile, which made all feel that they were the object of her attention. The Sovereign, to-day, appeared among his citizens with the self-possession of a family father.
"A large number of old friends and acquaintances," he remarked, to the head Burgomaster. "I knew that this would be quite after my daughter's own heart. It is the first time since her severe trial that she has had the opportunity to meet again so many that have taken a friendly interest in her life."
But none of the ladies there looked with such eager attention on the circle of the Princess as Ilse. She forgot her anger at the prejudices of class, and the annoyances attendant on her solitary position among these strangers, and looked unceasingly at the young Princess. Like all present, she felt the charm of her gracious manner. This facility of giving pleasure to others in a few minutes by merely a look or word, was quite new to her. She looked back anxiously at Felix, who was watching the graceful movements of the Princess with pleasure. She came near, and Ilse heard her questions and answers to the fortunate ones with whom she was more familiar. Ilse saw that the Princess cast a fleeting glance at her, and that her expression became more serious. The Princess had lingered with a lady who stood in front of Ilse, inquiring with interest after the health of her sick mother; she now passed slowly by Ilse, bowing her head almost imperceptibly, and said, in a low voice, "I hear you intend to leave us."
The unexpected question, and coldness of the tone and look, aroused the pride of the Professor's wife, and, under the flash of her large eyes, the Princess also became more erect, and they exchanged a mutual glance of hostility, as Ilse answered:
"Your Highness will pardon me! I shall remain with my husband."
The Princess looked at the Professor: again a pleasant smile passed over her face, and she continued her progress. Ilse also turned quickly toward her husband, but he was looking about innocently, and, pleased with the world, he had not observed the little scene.
The Sovereign, however, had; for he stepped right across the space to Ilse, and began:
"Among old acquaintances we also greet our new ones. Not that this expression is applicable in your case to me and the Hereditary Prince; for we owe thanks to you for the hospitality of your home; and we rejoice to show you to-day the circle in which we live. I lament that your father is not among us. I cherish the greatest respect for the useful activity of his life; and I know how to value all his services to agriculture. He has obtained a prize at the Agricultural Exhibition; pray convey my congratulations to him. I hope his example will be followed throughout the country."
The Sovereign well understood how to make up for the neglect of his Court to Ilse. A Professor's wife has many objections to Court usages and high rank; but when well-deserved praise is accorded by princely lips, before a distinguished assembly, to those she loves, it affords her the greatest pleasure. After the annoying question of the daughter, the striking attention of the father was a great satisfaction. Ilse gave the Sovereign a look of deep thankfulness, and he now turned kindly to her Felix, and remained long talking with him. When at last he went on to others, the uncommon consideration he had shown the strangers before the assembled company had the usual result; the gentlemen of the Court now thronged round Ilse and the Professor, to show attention also on their part. Ilse now looked about her with more composure, and observed how slowly the Hereditary Prince passed along the circle, singling out gentlemen and ladies according to a secret systematic rule, and at the same time stopping occasionally and moving his eye-glass, as if he were taking something into consideration. Prince Victor, on the other hand, pursued a thoroughly irregular course, like a comet, whose points could only be determined by looking out for the fairest faces. He had talked long with the daughter of the city councillor, Gottlieb, and had made the young lady laugh so much that she was alarmed at herself, colored, and held her handkerchief before her mouth. He then suddenly approached Ilse.
"A horticuitural exhibition like this is exceedingly entertaining," he began, carelessly, as if speaking to an old acquaintance. "Yet, after all, there are many thorny cactuses to be handled."
"It must be very wearisome for the princely party, who have to speak to so many," said Ilse.
"Do not imagine that," replied Victor. "It is pleasant to see so many people before one, who dare not open their mouths unless told to; princely blood will bear still greater fatigues for that enjoyment."
The company were set in motion. The Sovereign offering his arm to the Princess, led her into a great, richly decorated tent. The guests followed, and a host of lackeys offered refreshments. After that the ladies seated themselves behind the royal family; the gentlemen standing round. The concert began with a majestic flourish of the kettledrums; and, after a short time, ended with a furious onslaught of fiddles. The Princess now noticed some of the gentlemen, but with less regularity than the ladies. Ilse was engaged in conversation with Miss von Lossau, but the Princess walked to where Felix Werner was standing and asked eager questions. The Professor became animated, and explained; the Princess asked more, laughed, and answered. The officious Lord High Steward glanced at the clock. It was high time for the ladies of the Court to dress for dinner, but the Sovereign nodded to him, looked contentedly at the Princess, and, in the best of humor said to his son: "To-day she reigns; we will willingly wait."
"My dear Highness forgets us all, she is so engrossed with the stranger," whispered Miss von Thurn, to Prince Victor.
"Calm your faithful heart, Dame Gotlinde," said Victor. "Our Lady Bradamante has not used her conquering weapons for a whole year. She would try her powers to-day even upon a cabbage-head."
The following morning the Princess sat among her ladies, and they talked, as usual, of the previous day, admired the Princess, condemned a little those who were absent, and expressed astonishment at the toilet and manner of several city ladies.
"But your Highness did not speak to the wife of the City Treasurer." exclaimed Gotlinde Thurn; "the poor woman took it as a slight, and cried after the concert."
"Where was she standing?" asked the Princess.
"Near the stranger," answered Gotlinde.
"Ah, it was on that account," said the Princess. "What is she like?"
"A round little woman, with brown eyes and red cheeks. My brother lodges in her house; that is how I know her. She makes admirable tarts."
"Make up for it to her, Linda," said the Princess; "say something kind to her for me."
"May I tell her that your Highness has heard of her excellent cherry-brandy, and would be glad to have a few bottles of it? That would make her more than happy."
The Princess nodded.
"The daughter of the City Councillor Gottlieb," said the Baroness Hallstein, "has become quite a belle."
"Prince Victor forgot everybody in his attentions to her," exclaimed Miss Lossau, with vexation.
"You may congratulate yourself, dear Betty," replied the Princess, sharply, "if you are forgotten by my cousin. The attentions of the Prince are generally a source of alarm for the ladies who are favored with them."
"But we are all grateful to you," exclaimed Baroness Hallstein, a lady of spirit and character, "for having supported the Court in opposition to the lady from the Pavilion. Your cool remark gave general pleasure."
"Do you think so, Wally?" said the Princess, thoughtfully. "The woman is proud, and was defiant. But I had wounded her first, and on a day when I had the advantage."
CHAPTER XXX.
VEXATIONS
The year began well in every respect. Woodcock and snipe had betaken themselves to their homes before the sportsmen had donned their boots, and the March-daffodils had really bloomed in March. The moon, between its first and last quarter, smiled every evening with wry, distorted mouth. At Court the Princess had turned her mind to search after lost manuscripts with the Professor, and in the city an uncommon inclination to quaff the punch of the fragrant woodruff-plant was perceptible among the citizens and tempted them to daring undertakings. Even quiet heads were infected by the intoxication of the season; straw and paper ruled supreme. All the world wore not only hats but also caps of straw; all the world occupied themselves with speculations and new investments. The house of Hahn was in the ascendant. The orders were so numerous that they could not be executed. In all the corners of the house sat girls, sewing straw plaits together; the smell of the brimstone in the street and neighboring gardens was insupportable. In the evenings Mr. Hummel sat on his upturned boat, like Napoleon at St. Helena, a vanquished man. With angry contempt he regarded the tumult of humanity. Repeatedly did his acquaintances call upon him to launch into the great activity of the time, to become a member of some stock-company, to found a bank, dig for coal, or smelt iron. He rejected all these proposals. When he went into his idle workshops, where he was only occupied in a struggle with moths, his book-keeper ventured to make a remark as to the possible future fashions in Parisian hats; he laughed demoniacally and replied:
"I cannot indulge in any speculation as to the covering that people will require when these wild projects cease; but if you wish to know what will be the next fashion, I will inform you. People will wear pitch-caps. I wonder that you are still at your desk. Why do you not do like others of your colleagues, who spend their time in wine-shops?"
"Mr. Hummel, my means do not allow of that," replied the depressed man.
"Your means!" cried Hummel; "who asks after that now? Lucifer-matches are as good as ready money. The street-porters discount bills and give one another their likenesses. Why do you not live like the book-keeper Knips over there? When I bought an orange for my wife of the Italian, I saw him sitting in the back room with a bottle of iced champagne. Why should you not put yourself on ice in this hot weather? These are nothing but ruinous, hare-brained projects; it is a Sodom and Gomorrah; the straw fire burns, but it will come to a frightful end."
Mr. Hummel closed his office and walked in the twilight into the park, where he wandered up and down on the frontiers of his territory like a spirit. He was awakened from his meditations by the wild barking of his brindle favorite, who rushed up to a bench in a shady part of the park, and savagely seized the boots and trousers of a man sitting there. Hummel approached nearer; a small man and a young woman hastily separated. Hummel was sufficiently man of the world not to let himself be seen, and he hastened back to his garden and continued his walk in wild strides.
"I knew it; I always said so; I have given a warning all along. Poor devil!"
Then he walked angrily towards the great beech-tree on his own premises and forgot the supper hour, so that his wife had to call him twice from the garden. When he was sitting at table also he looked as dark as a thunder-cloud, and expressed such a deep contempt for human nature that the ladies soon became silent. Laura made another effort to lead the conversation to the wife of the Burgomaster, who had shown great respect for Hummel whenever she passed by, but he broke out with the terrible words:
"She is no better than the rest of womankind."
"That is enough, Hummel," exclaimed his wife; "this conduct is very unpleasant, and I must beg of you not to indulge so far in your ill-temper as to let it deprive you of a proper judgment of the worth of women. I can forgive much, but never an insult to the nobleness of human nature."
"Away with you and your noble human nature," replied Hummel, rising from the table, and pushing back his chair; he then rushed vehemently into the next room, where, in the dusk, he continued pacing angrily to and fro, for he was much disturbed about Gabriel. Certainly the social position of this man was not exalted; he was not a relation, not a householder, not even a citizen. Accordingly, Mr. Hummel revolved in his mind whether an interference in the secret feelings of this man became him. He did not come to a decision without a struggle, but he could not silence the voice which sounded in the corner of his heart in favor of Gabriel.
Meanwhile, the ladies were sitting at their disturbed repast. Laura looked down gloomily; such scenes were not new to her, and they became more painful. The mother was in great consternation at this anger against the world of femininity, and sank beneath the waves of stormy thoughts. At last she came to the conviction that Hummel was jealous. That was very ludicrous, and there certainly was no cause for such a feeling, but the vagaries of men were incalculable. The comic actor had come the day before at her invitation, and he had been very entertaining; he had enjoyed the wine and dinner, and on taking leave had kissed her hand with a true theatrical expression. Was it possible that this expression had produced the mischief? Mrs. Hummel began to pace up and down, looking in the mirror in passing by, and determined, like a valiant housewife, to hold forth to her husband this very evening on his folly.
"Go up stairs Laura," she said, softly, to her daughter, "I wish to speak to your father alone."
Laura silently took the candle and carried it to her private table. She placed herself at the window and looked toward the neighbor's house, where the Doctor's lamp still glimmered through the curtains. She wrung her hands, and exclaimed:
"Away, away from here; that is the only way to save myself and him."
Meanwhile, Mrs. Hummel had the supper removed, and, mustering courage for the impending encounter, at last entered the room in which Mr. Hummel was still blustering about.
"Henry," she began solemnly, "are you yet in a state of mind to consider calmly the circumstances which have robbed you of all composure?"
"No," cried Hummel, throwing a boot at the door.
"I know the cause of your anger," continued Mrs. Hummel, looking modestly down. "No explanation is necessary for that. It is possible that he may sometimes have ventured more than was necessary in looks and small remarks; but he is amiable and full of talent, and we must make allowances for his vocation."
"He is a miserable fop," cried Mr. Hummel, hurling his second boot from him.
"That is not true," cried Mrs. Hummel, warmly. "But if it were, Henry-even if you could judge him utterly unworthy, – do not forget that pride and a feeling of duty dwell in the heart of your wife, and that your suspicion is an insult to these protecting genii."
"She is a coquettish, silly flirt," replied Hummel, dragging his slippers from under his bed.
Mrs. Hummel started back horrified.
"Your wife has not deserved this treatment. You tread under foot what should be holy to you. Come to your senses, I conjure you; your jealousy approaches to madness."
"I jealous of such a person!" cried Hummel, contemptuously, vehemently knocking the ashes from his pipe. "Then I must indeed be out of my mind. Leave me in peace with all this nonsense."
Mrs. Hummel seized her pocket-handkerchief and began to sob:
"He has so often amused me; he tells anecdotes as I never heard any one in my life; but if he excites you, so that you lose your reason and insult your wife by calling her names, I have made many sacrifices during our wedded life, and he also must fall on the altar of domestic peace. Accept it, he shall never again be invited."
"Who is he?" asked Hummel.
"Who but the comedian?"
"Who is she?"
"Mrs. Hummel gave him a look which showed indubitably that she herself was the lady.
"Is it possible," exclaimed Hummel in astonishment, "that is how the land lies? Why do you want to slaughter your theatrical buffoon on the altar of domestic peace? Rather put something slaughtered before him; that would be more agreeable to his cultivated palate. Be composed, Philippine. You are often unintelligible in your speeches, and you make too much ado; you spin your theatrical webs in your head, and you have your humors and confused ideas in general; but for the rest, you are my worthy wife, of whom no evil shall be thought either by myself or others. Now do not thwart me, for I have determined to write him a letter."
While Mrs. Hummel, stupefied, seated herself on the sofa, and considered whether she should be mortified or tranquilized by her husband's praise, and whether she had been under a foolish delusion, or that her Henry's madness had taken the new form of bonhomie, Mr. Hummel wrote as follows: -
"My Dear Gabriel, – Yesterday, on the 17th of this month, at 7.45 in the evening, I saw, on bench No. 4, on the common, Dorothy from over the way sitting with Knips junior. This is for warning and further consideration. I am ready to act according to your orders. Straw, Gabriel! – Your affectionate
H. Hummel."
By the same post a letter flew from Laura to Ilse in the Pavilion. The faithful soul wrote sorrowfully. The little quarrels of the house and the neighborhood vexed her more than was necessary. Of the Doctor she saw little, and what was the bitterest grief for her, she had given away the last song; she had nothing more to send to the Doctor, and wished to continue the correspondence without inclosures. Ilse was greatly surprised by one sentence, the sense of which was not very clear to her: "I have obtained permission from Miss Jeannette to give lessons in her institution. I will no longer be a useless bread-eater. Since I have lost your society all is cold and desolate about me. My only comfort is, that I at least am prepared to fly into foreign parts, and there collect the grains which I need for the prolongation of my life."
"Where is my husband?" asked Ilse, of her maid.
"The Professor has gone to her Highness, the Princess."
"Call Gabriel."
"He has received bad news, and is sitting in his room."
Immediately afterwards Gabriel entered, with a distressed countenance.
"What has happened?" asked Ilse, alarmed.
"It is my own affair only," replied Gabriel, with quivering voice; "it is no good news that this letter has brought to me."
He took out of his pocket Hummel's crumpled letter, and turning away, leaned his head against the window-sill.
"Poor Gabriel!" exclaimed Ilse. "But there may still be some explanation to justify the girl."
"I thank you for your confidence in her, Mrs. Werner," replied Gabriel, solemnly, "but this letter informs me of my misfortune. He who has written to me is true as gold. But I knew all, before I had received it. She did not answer my last letter; she has not sent me the pocket-book; and yesterday evening, when I went out and was thinking of her, a lark flew towards me and sang a song that made me certain of it."
"That is folly, Gabriel, You ought not to let your judgment be influenced because a bird accidentally occasioned you sorrowful thoughts."
"It was evident, Mrs. Werner," replied Gabriel, sorrowfully. "Just as the lark flew up and I was thinking of Dorothy, the words which I heard as a child and which I have not heard since, occurred to me. It is no superstition, and I can repeat the sentence to you:
'Lark, dear lark, high o'er the smoke,
What new thing have you to tell me?'
This thought came to me, and then I heard, as distinctly as if some one was whispering the answer in my ear:
'Two lovers sat near a hazel-bush,
The third was crying and moaning;
The two pass the threshold of Hymen's house,
The third sits alone and mourns a spouse.'"
Gabriel took out his pocket-handkerchief.
"That was a certain foreboding that Dorothy had been false to me."
"Gabriel, I fear she was always fickle-minded," exclaimed Ilse.
"She has a heart like a bird," said Gabriel, apologetically. "She is not a serious person, and it is her nature to be friendly with all. That I knew; but her gaiety, light-heartedness, and pleasant jesting made her dear to me. It was a misfortune for me and her that I was obliged to leave her just when she began to favor me and discourage others who were showing her attention. For I know that the book-keeper had long had his eyes upon her, and had prospects which would enable him to marry her, and that was a better provision than I could give her."
"Something must be done about this," said Ilse. "Do you want to go back to the city to ascertain how matters stand? My husband will immediately give you permission. Perhaps it is not so bad after all."
"For me it is as bad as it can be, Mrs. Werner. If you will have the kindness to look after Dorothy, to see that she is not made unhappy, I will thank you from my heart. I shall never see her again. If one loves any one, one should not leave them alone when they are in temptation."
Ilse endeavored to comfort him, but Gabriel's words went to her heart.
"The third sits alone," she repeated, in a tone of sorrow.
Ilse was again alone in the hall, looking sadly at the strange walls. All the sorrow that had ever moved a human soul in this room, jealousy and wounded pride, feverish expectation and hopeless longing, mourning over the destruction of happiness, and terror for the future, the cries of anguish and the plaints of tormented conscience, all these now awoke an indistinct and trembling echo in the heart of the woman.
"It is strange and gloomy here, and if I try to express in words what distresses me, all power of expression fails me. I am no prisoner, and yet the air that surrounds me is that of a dungeon. The Chamberlain has not been near me for days, and the young Prince, who used to speak to me as to a friend, comes seldom, and then but for a few minutes, and it is worse than if he were not here. He is as depressed as I am, and looks at me as if he felt the same nameless anguish. And his father? when he comes to me he is so kind that one cannot but like him; but as soon as he turns his back his features appear before my mind distorted. It is not good to be near the great people of the world; they seem to take a fancy to one and open their heart as to friends, and one scarcely feels the elevation of mind occasioned by this, when tormenting spirits seem suddenly to draw them back into their invisible realm, and one is troubled and excited about them. Such a life is destructive of peace.
"Felix says, one ought not to care about these frivolous people. How can one avoid interest and anxiety about them when the welfare of their souls is a blessing to all?
"Is it only this that gives you such restless thoughts. Ilse?" she asked herself; "is it this, or is it pride, now wounded, and now again flattered; or is it anguish about the loved one whom she wishes secretly to tear from you?
"Why am I so fearful about you, my Felix? Why do I despair because he has found a woman here of the same stamp of mind as his own? Am I not so also? Have I too not unfolded in the light of his mind? I am no longer the ignorant country-girl that he once brought from among the herds. If I am deficient in the attractive charm of the distinguished lady, what can she give him more than I? He is no boy, and he knows that every hour I live for him. I despise you, miserable thoughts; how have you found entrance into my soul? I am no prisoner within these walls, and if I linger here where you have power over me, I remain on his account. One should not forsake him whom one loves, – that word was spoken for me also. My father's child shall not cry and mourn even though her loved one should be sitting with the Princess by the hazel-bush."
Gabriel was stealing along in a distant part of the pleasure-ground. He suddenly felt a touch on his shoulder; Prince Victor was standing behind him.
"Friend Gabriel?"
"At your Highness's commands."
"Where have you served?"
"With the Blue Hussars."
"Good," nodded the Prince; "we are in the same branch of the service. I hear you are a trustworthy fellow. But what is the matter with you?" He took out his purse. "We will share; take what you want."
Gabriel shook his head.
"Then the women are at fault," cried the Prince; "that is worse. Is she proud?"
Gabriel dissented.
"Is she faithless?"
The poor fellow turned away.
"I am, alas! a bad intercessor with parents," said the Prince, sympathizingly; "the race of fathers have little confidence in me. But if it is only a question of appealing to a girl's conscience, then depend upon me."
"I thank you for your good-will. Highness, but nothing can help me. I will have to fight it out alone."
He turned away again.
"Bah! comrade, have you forgotten the soldiers' saying: 'Like all, love one, grieve for none?' If your heart is heavy, you should not rove about as you do. In lack of another companion put up for the time with me."
"That is too much honor," said Gabriel, taking off his cap.
The Prince had during this conversation gradually led him into a thicket; he seated himself on the root of an old tree, and motioned Gabriel to the next trunk.
"We are in concealment here; you look out that way, I will watch this road, that no one can surprise us. How do your lodgings please you? Have you found pleasant acquaintances?"
"I think it prudent to trust no one here," answered Gabriel, cautiously.
"But I do not belong here; there is no reason why you should not make me an exception. You may assume that we belong to the same company, that we are sitting by the same fire, and drinking from the same flask. You are right: all is not so safe here as it looks. I do not like these nocturnal disturbances in the castle. Have you heard of them?"
Gabriel assented.
"In such an old castle," continued the Prince, "there are many doors that few know-perhaps also passages in the wall. Whether it is spirits or something else, who knows? It glides about and sometimes comes out when one least expects it; and just when one has put on one's night-shirt a secret door is opened, or a plank in the floor rises, and a cursed apparition floats up, removes what is on the table, and before one can bethink oneself, disappears again."
"Who can allow such a thing, your Highness?" replied Gabriel, valiantly.
"Who can be on his guard?" said the Prince, laughing; "it stretches out its hand, and one becomes immovable; it holds a sponge before the nose of the sleeper and he does not awake."
Gabriel listened attentively.
"People say that in the Pavilion all is not secure," continued the Prince. "It would be as well for a trusty man to make an examination in secret; and if an entrance should be found that is not regular it should be fastened with a screw or a bolt. It is indeed uncertain whether or not one may find such a thing, for such devil's work is slyly managed."