“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 notion seems 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 the truth. 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 if he 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.