CHAPTER II.
DRILLING UNDER FIRE.
The sparrows were twittering with one another on the roof, but the hack-drivers were chattering still more busily before the Hotel Victoria, when, in the morning, Sonnenkamp's horses and double-seated carriage waited before the porch of the hotel.
The little hump-backed driver, who always led the talk, now held the first place, and naturally spoke first. He informed his companions that to-day Sonnenkamp was to be made a count, yes, perhaps even a prince, for he had more money than a prince. Unluckily, the first hack was just then taken by a stranger, and the little driver deeply regretted that he could not be on hand when Herr Sonnenkamp was coming out. He recommended the others to give the Count a cheer when he was getting into the carriage.
But it was a long while before Herr Sonnenkamp came down out of the hotel, for he was walking up and down the spacious hall, clad in black, with white cravat, and with the order on his breast. The Cabinetsrath was walking by his side; he said that he could well understand that Herr Sonnenkamp should be very much excited, but that he would be only so much the more easy in mind at noon. Sonnenkamp was all the time biting his lips, and more than once changed color.
"You are well, are you not?" asked the Cabinetsrath.
Sonnenkamp said yes; he could not say that that bare thumb of his was so painful. When he was not looking at the hand, he had a sensation as if the thumb were swelling up into a monstrous size, and the pulse-beats in it felt like the blows of a red-hot hammer.
He examined his hand frequently, and felt comforted when he found that he was suffering under a delusion.
Lootz came. Sonnenkamp took him aside, and he informed him that Professor Crutius regretted that he was unable to pay him a visit, being obliged at that moment to set about preparing the evening edition.
"Did you bring the morning edition with you?"
"No, it will not be issued until eleven o'clock."
"Why didn't you wait for it? it is nearly eleven now."
"I thought that you might want something else, sir, before going up to the castle."
"Very well, give me my overcoat."
Joseph was standing near at hand all ready with it; Sonnenkamp took leave of Roland and Pranken, who were going to ride out with some companions; he requested them to be back at the hotel at twelve o'clock precisely.
For the last time the commoner Sonnenkamp descended those steps, to ascend them next as a Baron. The Cabinetsrath walked by his side.
When he entered the carriage below, the hack-drivers, as they had been recommended, wanted to raise a cheer, but they could not bring it out: it was of no use to try without the dwarf who knew how to lead off; they stood all together in a knot staring at Sonnenkamp, and took off their hats.
Sonnenkamp acknowledged the salutation most graciously.
The Cabinetsrath regretted that he could not go with him; he simply ordered the coachman to stop before the great gate of the palace.
Pranken left Roland alone, as the Ensign had promised to call for the latter when he got back from the drill ground. With an unusually quiet tone and modest manner, Pranken bade good bye until they met again at table, for Sonnenkamp had ordered an elegant little lunch for four, himself, his son and son-in-law, and the Cabinetsrath.
Sonnenkamp dashed along through the streets of the city; the people on foot stood still. Many who knew him saluted him, and many too, who did not know him; for a foreign prince might sit in such a carriage, and deference must be paid to a foreign prince.
The horses trotted on gaily, as if they knew to what honor they were carrying their master. Sonnenkamp lay back in the carriage, and played awhile with the order upon his breast. This token gave him an encouragement; for why was he apprehensive in taking the second step, when he had felt no apprehension in taking the first, and no danger had yet made its appearance?
The carriage drove past a building with many windows. Sonnenkamp knew it. It was the editing and printing establishment of Professor Crutius. Knots of men were standing in front of it, some of them reading a copy of the paper; they looked up and nodded, as the handsome carriage passed by. Sonnenkamp would have liked to stop to get a paper; he had already grasped the check-string, intending to gives Bertram the signal to stop, but he dropped it again.
Why is this? Why is he so anxious to get the newspaper to-day? Ah, men are better off in the desolate wilderness, where not one human being is to be seen, where there are no newspapers nor anything of the kind. So Sonnenkamp thought to himself, as he drove through the lively capital to the palace of the Prince.
A jolt suddenly startled him; the carriage was stopped. Around the corner, a battalion of soldiers was approaching with loud music. The carriage had to stop until the soldiers had all passed by, and it required some effort to keep the horses in check, on account of the noise.
Now they were all past; Sonnenkamp looked at his watch. It would be a terrible thing if, at the very outset, he should have missed the appointed minute, and have been obliged to excuse himself to the Prince. Are you then so far a prisoner? Are you then so bound to the very minute?
He was almost ready to call out to the coachman to turn back; he would have nothing to do with the whole affair.
Again he was angry with himself at being so powerfully excited without cause. He let down the carriage window, took off his hat, and was delighted to feel the refreshment of the cool breeze.
Bertram proudly drew up the carriage before the grand portal. Both the sentinels stood still; they were waiting to see whether they should shoulder or present arms. The carriage door was opened, the sentinels remained motionless, for only a man in black clothes, with a single order, stepped out.
Joseph accompanied Sonnenkamp to the large high-studded porch, which was white and richly ornamented with stucco work. At the foot of the step were two handsomely chiselled marble wolves; they looked at Sonnenkamp in almost a friendly way; and really, everything looked as splendid as could be imagined. Sonnenkamp made a sign to Joseph that he might give something, suitable to the occasion to the lackeys in attendance here; he had provided him with an uncounted handful of gold for the purpose; he could trust Joseph.
The porter in grand livery, with broad hat and gold-tipped staff, asked whom he should announce.
Sonnenkamp and Joseph looked at each other in embarrassment. Joseph was discreet enough to leave the answer to his master, and Sonnenkamp did not know whether he ought to say Baron von Lichtenburg or Herr Sonnenkamp.
Pooh, what did it signify giving the old name to this lackey? This name appeared to him so repugnant, thrown off for good like a worn-out shoe; it was so hard to understand how he had borne it so long, without being ashamed of it before the whole world. Finally Sonnenkamp answered with evident condescension:—
"I have been ordered to wait upon His Highness."
He felt badly to be obliged to use the word "ordered" before Joseph—he, Sonnenkamp, had been "ordered"—but he wished to show the footman at any rate that he was acquainted with court phraseology.
The footman pressed a telegraphic bell; a valet dressed in black appeared at the head of the staircase, and said that the Herr Baron had been expected for two minutes, and must make all the haste possible. It seemed almost as if an avenging angel from heaven were announcing here below some shortcoming or transgression.
With trembling knees Sonnenkamp stumbled up the carpeted staircase; he had to draw on his gloves on the way up, saying silently to himself meanwhile:—
"Keep yourself easy now."
At the top of the staircase a second valet appeared, white-haired, in short black knee-breeches and high black gaiters, and said:—
"Do not hurry, Herr Sonnenkamp, His Highness has not returned yet from the drill ground."
Sonnenkamp felt like knocking the first valet down for having put him into such a state of anxiety. He regretted that he had commissioned Joseph to give every one of the servants a piece of gold; he hoped that Joseph, after all, was a rogue, and would keep the gold for himself, and give the cursed attendants none of it.
The white-haired valet conversed freely with Sonnenkamp, and informed him, that he had been with Prince Leonhard in America; it was a hateful country, without order and without manners; he thanked God, when he got home again.
Sonnenkamp did not know how he ought to take this freedom; but the best way was to put up with it silently. He listened with assenting nods, and thought to himself, What a way they have of doing things here in the palace! It is just as if the people in it didn't walk on their feet; everything is so mysterious; as if something was going on every moment that had nothing at all in common with the life of other men.
The white-haired valet requested Sonnenkamp to sit down while he waited.
Sonnenkamp did sit down, and drew off his right-hand glove; he wanted to be able to do it without difficulty when the time came to unglove that hand for the oath; and then he presented some gold pieces to the white-haired valet.
The experienced valet withdrew, bowing, to the end of the room; he knew the dread that was felt by those who are not accustomed to the court, and would leave the man to compose himself.
Sonnenkamp sat still; again those wild pulsations began to hammer away in his thumb; he called for a glass of water.
The white-haired valet called to another, this one to a third, and the call for a glass of water went far into the distance.
A very old clock that was standing on the mantle-piece struck the quarter hour. Sonnenkamp compared his watch with it, and found that it was very slow; he determined in future to set his watch, by the clock in the palace.
Sonnenkamp was alone: and yet he little thought that through the clear edges of the ground glass in a door behind him, two eyes were fastened upon him, and that those eyes were rolling savagely in their sockets.
Just as the glass of water made its appearance, it was announced that Herr Sonnenkamp might enter. He could not even once moisten his lips.
He entered the large hall, where it was bright daylight; but he staggered back, for directly opposite to him hung an engraving, a work of Alfred Rethel's. A strong-limbed man with the murderer's knife still in his hand, bending and stooping, was making his escape over a heath; the bushes on the road were blown aside by the wind, and above the fugitive hovers a supernatural shape, holding a sword, with the point downward, directly over the head of the fleeing criminal.
Sonnenkamp rubbed his eyes.
What is the picture here for? Or is it only a creation of his own fancy?
He did not have time to decide this matter for himself, for just then the Prince entered noiselessly from behind the curtain of the door, over the thick heavy carpet. He was dressed in full uniform, with a broad band thrown over the right shoulder and across his breast. He carried himself very erect, and merely nodded slightly. He bade Sonnenkamp welcome, and excused himself for having kept him waiting.
Sonnenkamp bowed low, without uttering a word.