“And that rather stout beauty over there, with the suspicion of a mustache and a superfluity of jewels, is probably from some Balkan State.”
“And that comfortable-looking, honest couple, so old-fashioned in their dress, with their silver wedding celebrated long ago, and who make it very evident that they are unhappy because they do not have two jugs of beer in front of them, instead of that insipid tea, evidently come from some little German city.”
“And that group by the window,—very elegant, but nothing conspicuous about them,—it would be rather difficult to tell what country they come from. National characteristics betray themselves generally by something like caricatures—normal men of the cultivated classes, with their air of assurance, with their correct dress, might come from anywhere; you can tell what society they belong to,—that is, good society,—but not from what country.”
A young man dressed entirely in white, remarkably slender and tall, was just crossing the room on his way to the street door. Half a step behind him marched respectfully an elderly gentleman of military bearing, but in dark civilian dress.
“Who can that young man be? Nice-looking fellow! I should take him for an American.”
“That would be a mistake. It happens that I can tell you about him. That is Prince Victor Adolph, the fourth son of a German monarch. I also know that he is not the ordinary kind; he is democratic, not to say socialistic, in his tendencies; an enemy to court etiquette and against everything military. For that reason, apparently, he is compelled to have the old general with him as a traveling companion. That he is American in his appearance is perhaps due to the fact that he spent a term studying at Harvard University.”
The two gentlemen engaged in this conversation were from Vienna. They had become acquaintances in the railway coupé while coming to Lucerne. This method of travel was still in use, although an organized passenger service by airship had already been established; just as at the end of the thirties in the nineteenth century, after the opening of the first railway the post-stage still ran merrily for a time. And just as at that time many people vowed that they would never, as long as they lived, enter a railway train, so now the majority of people swore that no money in the world would tempt them to trust their precious lives to the mysterious ocean of air. Besides, a new, safety-assuring power had come into railway service, since everywhere was installed the rapid and inexpensive and comfortable one-rail system.
One of the two Viennese was Baron Franz Bruning, Chlodwig Helmer’s boyhood friend. He had not greatly changed; his full, round face had possibly grown a trifle rounder, his black mustache a little bushier. In his civil career he had been fortunate enough to have risen to the rank of Hofrat.
The other, a personality pretty widely known throughout the city, was named Oscar Regenburg. When his name appeared in the papers, “Among those present was noticed,” it read: “Herr Oscar Regenburg, the well-known sportsman.” If any man who has money and goes a good deal into society, yet has no rank among the nobility, exercises no calling, is not active in any business, is not honored with any public appointment, but as a compensation possesses several saddle-horses and an automobile, then—since every man must have some kind of title—he is called a “sportsman.”
Sport, however, was not the goal of Oscar Regenburg’s ambition. He would have much preferred to bear the title of “art connoisseur”; for he was an assiduous collector of paintings, old armor, and rare china. His spare time he spent in visiting art collections, picture auctions and galleries. He also evinced great interest in music and the theater—although he cultivated the stage not so much from before the curtain as behind the scenes, especially in the form of pretty operetta singers. Furthermore, he was an amateur traveler,—certainly not for the purpose of enjoying beautiful scenery, but so as to be present wherever expositions or horse-races or aviation meetings or festivals of any kind were taking place. Therefore, he could not fail to be, for once at least, a visitor at the Lucerne Rose-Week.