He strolled for some distance along the shore of the lake; boats large and small were darting across its mirror-like surface. Snow-capped mountains arose in the background. Helmer appreciated the imposing beauty of the whole landscape; but what he wanted to find was a retired, circumscribed spot without a broad outlook, without the effect of theatrical decorations or panoramic views, a little place, where he might be alone with a few trees and a few wild flowers. So he turned aside into a narrow path between two wooded hills, and after a short walk entered the dark, cool corner which he was looking for. There nothing was to be seen worthy of being called “a splendid region” or of being remarked as bearing a characteristic Swiss flavor; the little assemblage of firs and birches, of oaks and beeches, of stunted bushes, of mossy stones, and tall grasses might have been duplicated in any other place in Europe. The sunlight danced in the lightly waving foliage and a delicious perfume of gum and strawberries filled the air. Blue and yellow and rose-colored flowers were blooming all about, wooed by fluttering white butterflies. Then there was a dreamily monotonous music of humming bees, chirping crickets, and murmuring brooks, now and then interrupted by the clear call of the blackbird.
Helmer flung himself down in the grass at the foot of a leafy beech tree and—breathed. Really he did nothing else—without thoughts, without recollections, he lay there awhile and merely breathed. Long, joyous inhalations, just like all the plant brethren around him, the life of which is scornfully called “vegetating,” although it is perhaps the purest form of the joy of existence. He contemplated a tiny beetle which was climbing laboriously up a swaying blade of grass, and in doing so lost its balance. A pair of very industrious ants, laden with building-materials, hastened by. A little green worm wriggled circumspectly, and as it drew its tail up to its head it made an arch, then stretched itself out again in order to make another—a complicated method of locomotion.
Helmer followed with friendly eyes all these movements which seem so important to those who make them. Also a beautiful gift of Nature, he said to himself, this consciousness of importance which is common to the most insignificant little creature, and which confers upon it a sort of dignity. And thus he began once more to take up the thread of thought. And the things also which he wanted to escape from began once more to recur in his mind: all the scornful, stupid, harmful conversation of all those people whose judgments and behavior lay so far removed from the realm toward which his poetic activities and yearning ran. In the circle of the Knighthood of the Rose, to be sure, he had found kindred spirits, all working like himself to prepare the coming kingdom; but there were only two or three dozen of them, and the others were millions, and among them the very ones that had the most power and influence, rank and station ... they form the great public and we ... we are a number or two in a variety-show.
He shook his head. No, that is not true. We also have millions behind us—dumb, yearning millions, who are only waiting for the liberating act. The liberating act, however, must be forestalled by the liberating word ... so let us first say just what we have to say.
He passed in review the scheme of his poem. Did it express everything that in hours of inspiration swept before his mind? Alas, no! Far, far from it—there still remained much work for him to do. The problems, the subjects crowded in upon him—every day with its new experiences brought new ideas. Especially this last week, by contact with the great artists and thinkers, who surpassed him in so many ways, so many new horizons had opened before him. It was, indeed, a marvelous company. Franka must assuredly be grateful to him that she had been invited to be present, for he had suggested to her the career which she had so brilliantly followed. Franka ... his thoughts dwelt longer at this name, at the picture which it called up. How confidingly, how beseechingly, as if asking his aid, she had clung to him.... It made his heart glow. He was not thinking now of her genius, of her beauty, but rather of that helplessness ... oh, if he could only hold her in his arms to protect her and to comfort her.... Pshaw, what nonsense! she needed no protection; she was a wealthy, influential lady, with everything at her command. Yesterday, after that brief minute on the terrace, she went into the salon and was instantly surrounded; that prince had paid her his homage most openly. And such a handsome, seductive man that Victor Adolph.... If she, the proud beauty, wanted to have a love-affair, what more did she need to do than make a sign in order to have her pick among the highest, the most distinguished?... “Can it be that I am jealous?... No, thank God, I am not in love with her; one does not covet the stars. I will even advise her now to think of her own happiness. It was my fault to a certain degree that she, so Joan-of-Arc-like, shut her heart up in an iron breastplate. I gave her that counsel, that terrible counsel....”
CHAPTER XV
RINOTTI AND PRINCE VICTOR ADOLPH
The Marchese Rinotti, after having taken his leave of the Countess Vera and her cousin, went to his room to see whether during his absence anything had come to him by mail requiring his attention. He was expecting important advices. Although he was traveling for pleasure and recreation, still he kept in constant touch with all the activities of his post, and even here was working in the business which he was secretly trying to further.
He was in a highly excited state of mind. The news that he had read in the morning’s papers indicated a crisis in various controversies, the obscuration of certain points on the political horizon; and this furnished a favorable field for his plans. What especially intensified his excitement was the retrospect of the last two hours, during which it had become clear to him that the pretty Baltic widow was passionately in love with him. She had sat next him at table. Those side glances, that coquettish smile, aye, even that far from abrupt drawing back of her little foot when he had accidentally touched it with his.... Rinotti was accustomed to this kind of triumph, but it always delighted him to see the evident signs of his mastery of the female heart—a double triumph, because he no longer possessed the attractive power of youth;—therefore it must be really something magnetic, something hypnotic and peculiar in him ... or was it merely the force of his will, of his violent desires? There is nothing like violence; one may condemn it as brutal as much as one will—therein lies strength in war and in love. With such “Renaissance” thoughts he took up his bundle of letters, documents, and dispatches which were waiting for him on his writing-table and now set to work merrily.
He had an hour and a half free: at four o’clock he was to call on Prince Victor Adolph, to whom, since he was a royal highness, he wanted to show his profound respect. That the prince belonged to a country with which, according to Rinotti’s calculations, a conflict was imminent, was no obstacle. The letters interested him intensely. The correspondents whom he had delegated in England and France, in Germany and Austria, in Russia and the Balkans, communicated to him details of all kinds of transparent intrigues even when there was nothing to see through, for they knew his predilections for diplomatic subterfuges and underground paths, and realized that their reports would be regarded as all the more sapient, the more they discovered evil motives concealed behind all political transactions and demonstrations.
Rinotti jotted down on a sheet of paper notes wherein swarmed a profusion of references to movements of troops, blockades of boundaries, communiqués, airship works, and the like. In the same breath he scribbled on another sheet of paper detached words and sentences like “Splendid creature,” “lovely one,” “You must be mine,” “devouring fire,” and other ingredients of a glowing billet doux which that very evening he proposed to slip into Annette’s hands at the Rose-Festival.