CHAPTER XIII.
Prince Waldenberg had not been able to find anything to interest him in Grunwald until he had become acquainted with Helen Grenwitz. He could not exactly say that he was tired of it, or that the town and the people had been particularly unpleasant to him, for he scarcely knew such a state of mind; at least he never showed any symptoms of weariness or disgust. His stern, rigid face never betrayed pleasure or annoyance; it looked as if his features had been frozen, for all time to come, in the northern climate in which the prince was born, and as if they could not thaw in the glow of love or of hatred. And it was really so, to a certain extent. The ordinary sensations of common mortals were not capable of that sublime self-consciousness which was given to him. He could not laugh at the wittiest anecdote, nor could he look disgusted at a stupidity. His servants never heard a bad word from him; he never showed childish wrath before his soldiers. Nevertheless the men trembled before him, and even the general did not inspire half as much respect as First-Lieutenant Prince Waldenberg; for the servants knew that their master never scolded, but dismissed them upon the slightest neglect, and the men had terrible stories to tell about him in the guardhouse and in the barracks. The rumor was that the prince had the unpleasant habit, if a soldier showed the faintest sign of insubordination of killing him on the spot--a habit which he had quite recently indulged in at the capital, and which had led to his being detached from the Guards and sent to a line regiment in garrison at Grunwald. The story was probably a myth, like so many others; the prince had been sent to Grunwald in order to study fortification and coast and harbor defence, and other useful branches, in preparation for the high position to which he was entitled, if not by his military genius, at all events by his high rank; but the myth proved how the common people, who have a very keen eye for the virtues and the faults of the higher classes, thought about First-Lieutenant Prince Waldenberg. The officers, however, seemed also to treat him on their part with some misgivings, and certainly with great circumspection. No one presumed to speak to him at the mess-table, or at night at the club, or wherever else they happened to meet, in that cordial tone which is generally used between comrades. On the contrary, they rather avoided him, and, when that was not possible, they confined their words to what was indispensable; especially the captain of the company to which the prince was attached--a gentleman like a ball, who barely reached up to the shoulder of his lieutenant, and who felt probably all the smaller by his side as he was not even noble. It was most amusing to hear Captain Miller at drill exclaim, in almost piteous tones, "First-Lieutenant Prince Waldenberg will have the kindness to step forward--a mere thought!" and even the old, gray-headed sergeant could hardly keep from smiling.
The prince was thus very much left to his own company, even at the evening parties, which he occasionally frequented. He met here again his comrades, who had already avoided him at parade, and a lot of old and young country gentlemen, whose talk about tillage and cattle-raising could not exactly interest him much who had more estates than they had acres of land, and more shepherds than they had sheep. As for the ladies--why there were some very pleasant ones among them, like the beautiful Misses Frederika, Nathalie and Gabriella Nadelitz, Hortense Barnewitz, a trifle passée but all the more clever and interesting, Emily Cloten as piquante as she was coquettish--but they were either not to the taste of his highness, or the prince was altogether inaccessible to the charms of the fair sex. For a time, at least, it seemed as if he were not disposed to pay special attention to any one of these ladies.
But no sooner had the prince seen the beautiful Helen Grenwitz in the salons of her mother than the rumor began to spread--nobody knew how--that his highness was very much pleased with beautiful Helen Grenwitz, and that an engagement was not very far off. The report continued to live, and was even confirmed by numerous details, the discovery of which did great honor to the ingenuity of the before-mentioned lovers of gossip and watchers of features. The Countess Grieben knew positively that the prince was spending every evening at the Grenwitz mansion; others had it that he passed the institute of Miss Bear daily after dress-parade, on his superb Tcherkessian stallion; and still others, that he was frequently seen at night walking up and down for hours before the house, concealed in a large cloak. Hortense Barnewitz whispered into Countess Stilow's ear: "Now I know why poor Felix had so suddenly to go to Italy;" and the Countess Stilow whispered in reply: "You'll see, dear Hortense; it will not be a week before Helen, who seemed to be banished forever, will be back again."
A smile of satisfaction lighted up all faces when the prophecy of the toothless Countess Stilow was actually fulfilled, and Helen Grenwitz exchanged her modest little room in Miss Bear's boarding-school for the stately rooms of the Grenwitz mansion.
It was strange, however, that the old baron, who had so urgently desired this step before, should now seem to be least pleased with it of all. The old gentleman had of late become exceedingly capricious, obstinate, and violent, so that one hardly recognized in him the kind good-natured man of former days, and everybody pitied and admired poor Anna Maria, who bore her cross with truly Christian patience and forbearance.
"Ah, you may believe me, dear Helen," the excellent old lady said to her daughter on the first evening after her return, as they were sitting on the sofa in the reception-room, and after the baron had left the room to retire; "it is very difficult now to get along with your father, and I need your kind support more than ever. Malte is too young, and I fear too heartless, to admit of putting any confidence in him. I have been so long accustomed to bear all alone that I can hardly realize the happiness of having a friend and a confidante." And the good lady shed tears while she was gathering up her work in order to follow her husband.
The relations between mother and daughter seemed indeed to promise a better understanding for the future. It was not in the nature of either of them to be particularly affectionate. They treated each other as adversaries who have mutually tried their strength and found out that they had better be friends again.
After Anna Maria had thus taken the second step toward the attainment of her end she pursued her plan with greater security. She had every reason to be pleased with the results. Prince Waldenberg came almost every evening; and as he did not play cards, and it could not well be presumed that he found many charms in the conversation with Count and Countess Grieben, who were near neighbors, and also came very frequently to play a game with the baron and the baroness, the magnet could be none other than Helen, with whom, indeed, he spent the whole of his time.
Anna Maria took care that the prince and Helen should not be disturbed more than was unavoidable; and as in these circles the older people had no other way of spending time than in playing cards, and young people were but rarely invited, the task was not very difficult. The prince and Helen spent long hours alone in the little boudoir by the side of the large room with three windows, where the card-tables were placed, at least until supper was announced, and even then they were generally again left very nearly to themselves, as the others had to discuss the different games that had been played.
It was most creditable to the conversational powers of the prince that the young lady, with her pretensions, was never tired of these interviews. And yet, what he said could not be called interesting, exactly; at all events the manner in which he said it was not so. He was never heard to speak in that animated and quick manner which is peculiar to young people (and the prince was very young yet, perhaps twenty-four), especially when they speak of favorite topics, or are excited by opposition. It was always the same monotonous utterance, as if the words were men and the sentences sections, and they were all marching about, carefully keeping pace. It was significant, too, that the prince preferred speaking French, a language which has naturally such a logical rhythm, although he spoke German as well and as fluently. It was perhaps due to this fact--that the conversation was almost exclusively carried on in a foreign idiom--that Helen felt the strange character of his mind so much less. For the prince was, after all, in his appearance, and not less so in his manner of thinking and feeling, more of a Russian than of a German. All the memories of his childhood and youth, with the only exception of the short time which he had spent in France, and more recently in Germany, were Russian. He had been page at the court of the Emperor Nicholas, and the daily sight of this magnificent monarch, with whom he was even said to share certain peculiarities of figure and carriage, had probably not been without influence on the character of the young prince. He had received a purely military education among the cadets of the Michailow palace, the same palace whose vast apartments witnessed in that fearful night the murder of an emperor, when the wife of Paul I., frightened by the low sound of a number of voices and clanking of arms, snatched the young Princes Nicholas and Michael from their beds and hastened with them through the long suit of rooms to the emperor's apartments, when icy Count Pahlen met her, carried her almost forcibly back to her rooms, and locking the door carefully, said: "Restez tranquille, madame; il n'y a pas de danger pour vous." The prince had quite a number of similar stories, and they did not fail to have their effect upon the mind of the fanciful girl. It was a new version of the adventures with which the warlike Moor filled the heart of the daughter of the Venetian patrician. Desdemona also shuddered at the blood flowing in streams, through his accounts, but the hero appeared only the more marvellous; and although Helen often felt an icy breath rising from these palace souvenirs of the Russian page, she was none the less captivated and ensnared by the secrecy and the horrors that surrounded them with an irresistible charm. She dreamt of a life in comparison with which the life she was now leading appeared very pitiful and mean. She saw herself a lady in waiting at a court where beauty and cleverness are all-powerful; she fancied herself the soul of grand enterprises, as the confidante of generals and statesmen; and then she started from her reveries and looked at the calm, dark face of the giant who had rocked her to sleep with his strange stories, and she asked herself whether she would ever venture to enter, on his hand, those lofty regions towards which she was drawn by the ardent wishes of her proud, ambitious heart.
The prince must have been particularly interested in winning the young girl's confidence, for he laid aside the cool reserve with which he treated all others, when he was alone with her. He even spoke of his family with the greatest frankness. He told her that, as for his parents, he only knew his mother really, because he saw his father but very rarely. His mother was living in St. Petersburg, where her influence at court was still very great, although an incurable affection had sadly disfigured the once surpassingly beautiful woman, and made her a melancholy enthusiast. His father, Count Malikowsky, he said, was spending most of his time in travelling and at watering-places, as he was still passionately fond of the pleasures of life in spite of his age and his delicate health, and thus could combine at these Spas pleasure and profit. He, the prince, had, properly speaking, nothing to do with his father. They exchanged short letters with each other once or twice a year, on special occasions; he had seen his father the last time at the capital, when he was swearing his oath of allegiance to the king, and he had been shocked by the sad appearance of the old gentleman, which the latter had tried in vain to conceal by the subtlest arts of the toilette. The count and the princess harmonized very little, as their characters were so utterly different. The count went once a year to St. Petersburg, appeared at court, showed himself once or twice at the Letbus House, and disappeared again, in order to send friendly greetings for another year from Homburg, Baden-Baden, Pyrmont, etc.
Nor did the prince conceal his views on other subjects. He had evidently thought much about matters which are usually of no interest to young men of his rank; but as he was far from being brilliant, and as he looked upon everything from the unchangeable standpoint of the officer and the aristocrat, his views and thoughts were all more or less stiff and wooden, as if they had been so many well-drilled recruits.
Of his profession he thought very highly.
"I consider the soldier's profession," he said, "not only the noblest, but also the most useful; the noblest, because here alone every faculty of man is roused and developed; the most useful, because it is the only security for all the other professions, which cannot exist without it. If the peasant wishes to raise his cabbages, if the mechanic wants to sit quietly in his work-shop, the artist in his atelier, and the scholar in his study they must all thank the soldier, who for their sake stands guard at the town-gate, patrols the streets at night, disperses noisy revellers, and fights the enemy when he threatens the country. Compared with this profession, all others are low and vulgar. And that it is beyond doubt the highest and noblest, is proved by the fact that the rulers of the earth adopt its costume for their daily wear, or at least for all solemn occasions. Therefore I think that nobles alone ought to be officers. And I think it a deplorable mistake that, of late, others also have been admitted to our ranks, for which the penalty will have to be paid sooner or later."
"But do you really think that all who are not nobles are unfit for this profession?" asked Helen.
"Certainly," replied the prince, with energy. "Sport and war ought to be reserved for the nobility, not because those who are not noble cannot also fire a gun or wield a sword, but because they cannot do it in the right spirit. Nor is this mere theory; the question has its practical side also. The spirit of innovation, of insolent disobedience to the order of things as ordained by God, is everywhere stirring. In our state they have most unfortunately attempted to keep it down by gentle means and by concessions. I believe that sternness and severity alone can check this spirit. We are sure of the men who have been for three years under, our control and influence; but we are not sure of the officer who is not noble. Send a platoon under a Lieutenant Smith, or Jones, against a rebellious mob, and ten to one he will see among the mob a brother Smith, or a cousin Jones, and therefore hesitate to give the command Fire! at the right moment. Take your officers from the nobility, and only from the nobility, and such a thing cannot happen; and you can quell the rising of a whole town like Grunwald with a single battalion."
The prince spoke with great energy and strong condemnation of the concessions which the king had made that spring to the liberal party, and to the spirit of the times generally, by convoking a legislative assembly of the whole people.
"I do not see," he said, "where this is to end. If the king does not wish--and I believe he really does not wish--that a sheet of paper, which they call a constitution, should rise between him and the people, according to which he is forced to govern, whether he will or not, then he ought not to have conjured up even the shadow of a constitution. The shadow is soon followed by the substance. I confess that I am disgusted by the patience of the king, while these fellows cry so loud; and that I have long doubted whether I could honorably serve a monarch who thus misjudges the duty of a king 'by the grace of God.'"
When the prince was thus judging things by the standard of his Russian ideas of absolute government, it sometimes happened that there arose in Helen's naturally good and affectionate heart a repugnance, not unmixed with terror, towards one who could utter such inhuman thoughts in cold blood. At other times she would have shrunk from the fearful consequences of such principles, but now she was too deeply irritated by the wound which Oswald's treachery had inflicted on her proud heart, and, as is the case with violent dispositions, she had hastened from one extreme to the other. Helen hated Oswald. She wept tears of indignation and of shame when she thought how dear this man had been to her, and how near she had been to the danger of showing him her love for him. The treachery itself was no longer doubtful to her mind. Emily's manner had changed so strikingly of late that even outsiders had noticed it. The young lady who had formerly found happiness only in the wildest turmoil of pleasure, now avoided society as much as she had formerly sought it; and when she could not escape from invitations to her former circles, she seemed to have only scoffing and scorn for all she had admired in other days. She declared that the officers were stupid, dancing a childish amusement, and a masked ball the height of absurdity. She treated the ladies with undisguised irony, and the men with open contempt, especially her husband, who did not know what to make of the strange change, and only discovered gradually the one fact, that of all the many foolish things which Albert Cloten had done in his time, the making of an accomplished coquette, like the "divine Emily Breesen," his wife, was beyond all doubt the most foolish. Most people laughed, and said: "It is a whim of the little woman's; she will soon come right again." Others, who were less harmless, said: "There is something behind that! When a young woman treats the whole world, not excluding her husband, en canaille, she does so only for the sake of a man who is himself her whole world." But they racked their brains in vain to find out who the lucky man could be. Some guessed it was young Count Grieben, who had formerly courted her; others, Baron Sylow; still others, even Prince Waldenberg; and only Helen Grenwitz knew that they were all mistaken, and that the object of Emily's love was not to be met with in the aristocratic circles of the Faubourg St. Germain of Grunwald.
If Anna Maria had known what an admirable ally she had at that moment for the execution of her plan in Oswald Stein, she would probably have been less displeased with this excessively objectionable and dangerous young man. At all events, it seemed as if the relations between Helen and the prince were gradually assuming the desired shape. She considered it at least a good sign that Helen expressed no desire to improve the conversation in the boudoir next to the card-room by inviting other young men to take part in it, and that she did not frown contemptuously when she (Anna Maria) recently ventured to say: "That would be a son-in-law to my heart," but quietly let the dark lashes droop upon the gently-blushing cheeks.