Another poet. The son of a small European country. To belong to a first-class Power is certainly not a condition, not even necessarily a help, to individual greatness. Dreamy, mysterious almost unreal are this poet’s stage productions. His prose works, on the contrary, are those of a clear, perspicuous thinker.
A German historian: one who has triumphantly introduced a new method into his range of studies—that of a philosophical synthesis. In his view, history is not the arraying of events in sequence, not the biographies of single personages who chance to stand in the foreground, but a process of social development which conditions the events and the personages—not the reverse. And he sees and proves that the way of this development leads always to higher organization; and, because he knows that and because he makes it known, he aids in hastening humanity’s course along this way.
Still another inventor. This one had not as yet won world-repute, for his invention was of too recent occurrence. But Toker knew him and his work, and knew that he merited a Grand Cross in the Order of the Rose-Knights, not only for the greatness of his invention, but also for the greatness of the object which would be attained by it. Its first introduction to the public, its first demonstration, was to surprise the world during this very week.
A young composer from Russian Poland: a man whose works had come to the notice of the world during the last two years, but had taken the world by storm. His operas and symphonies had the most up-to-date richness of orchestration, the greatest originality of harmony, but were permeated by a heavenly sweetness of melody, such as had not in long years, perhaps never before, been heard. For this Rose-Week he had brought his latest creation, never as yet publicly performed,—a quartette for violin, harmonium, harp, and baritone voice, entitled “Le Chant des Roses.” It was perfectly appropriate that music and song should also have their part in this festal week which stood under the symbol of Height Achievement.
CHAPTER XIII
A LUNCHEON PARTY
A small company of hotel guests who had been lunching together were sitting at their black coffee in a large special salon. It was the first day of the second Rose-Week, and the opening festival was to take place that evening. The conversation of the gay little party, which consisted of two ladies and four gentlemen, turned on the programme of the exercises.
One of the ladies was a Russian countess, a woman no longer young,—she must have been more than forty,—but still handsome and very elegant; she was the hostess at the luncheon. The other lady was a young widow, Annette Felsen, the cousin and companion of the countess; very lively, gay, and coquettish. The gentlemen were an elderly Frenchman, easily recognized as a former officer; a tall dark-eyed Italian, also past his first youth, for his wavy black hair was shot through with many silver threads. His name was Marchese Romeo Rinotti—a name which had a good repute in the political world and played a prominent part in the ministerial council of the kingdom. The two other gentlemen were Bruning and Regenburg.
The conversation ran now in French, now in German. Bruning had just been reading from the paper the names of Toker’s guests, and then remarked that Chlodwig Helmer, who on the following day was to read from his poem “Schwingen,” was a friend of his.
“Ah,” cried the Countess Vera, “that is interesting—you must introduce him to us—I dote on poets ... not so much as on musicians, though. I confess frankly that what attracts me most in the whole programme is ‘Le Chant des Roses.’ This young Pole is simply divine ... though I don’t like the Poles, because they hate us. But what kind of a man is your friend?”
“Oh, a fine fellow, only somewhat high-strung. I also know Fräulein Garlett. She, too, comes from my country. I should like to see these two make a match; they are admirably suited to each other: neither is quite normal and she is extremely rich. I should like to see my friend marry her.”