Under the Big Dipper

by Desiderius George Dery

Helène was too overcome to move from where she sat. Through the window came the pale light of the waning day tinged with the red of the sinking sun. The room was filling with deep shadows. She saw nothing. Darkness seemed to have fallen on her. Slipping to her knees she laid her aching head upon the seat and prayed inwardly, the while the scalding tears fell down her cheeks. It was thus that the faithful Anna found her an hour later.

The first great sorrow of youth is the inheritance of tears that have fallen before. It is the burden of existence for an erring humanity. It means and must ever mean that the blood which has flowed from others’ hearts is the blood which will flow from our own. One generation must depart to make room for a generation to come; and the burden of sorrow we have received from those who have gone before us we shall pass on to those who come after us. Happy are they who can weep in their sorrow, for tears are a blood-letting of the spirit.

When she opened her eyes in the morning they fell on the Dresden vase now bereft of its flowers—the petals lay scattered on the table and carpet, and only dried stalks showed where a few days ago glowed the red damask of roses. Was this to be an omen of her own life? She shivered at the question. Rising quickly she gathered the petals with loving care, and taking the dried stems from the vase placed both in a drawer of her dressing-table. She knew now that her heart lay with the faded leaves.

She remembered the letter Mr. Tyler had left with Anna. It was a message from the man whom her father had blessed with his dying words. So he was going—sailing over the ocean to that far country where was his home. Would he, too, lose his father? How cruel life was? He had signed himself, “in deepest sympathy and devotion.” The words were like balm to her sore heart. No—she was not alone in the gray world! And the sunlight of the morning was repeated in her smile.

In the company of her faithful nurse, Helène traveled the short distance to Sigmaringen, the home town of her mother’s family, to attend her father’s funeral. Mr. and Mrs. Tyler were present, and their presence helped her not a little to bear the trial. On her return she found Donald waiting for her at the railway station. Her heart gave a bound when she saw his lanky figure and hard yet kindly face. The sight of him comforted her greatly, and she was glad to accept his escort to the Schloss.

The next day she was compelled to undergo the trial of an interview with the Mistress of the Ceremonies, Baroness Radau. It was necessary that she should be coached in the duties incumbent on a lady of the Court of Saxe-Weimar. While expressing sympathy for her in her bereavement, the majestic dame admonished her to repress her grief. It was not proper to show undue emotion. She must read the lives of the forty-nine dukes of the blessed realm and become acquainted with the works of Goethe and Schiller, who were the glory of Weimar. It would also be very necessary for her to know the proper way to bow and the precedence of rank; and, above all, she must never forget that next to God came Duke Ernest Victor the Seventeenth.

On account of her mourning, the color of her presentation dress was to be a subdued gray, under a special dispensation. It would be of the regulation style. Perfumes were permitted, but only of a particular kind. Her Highness did not favor any but that of lilac. Her hair must be plainly arranged and drawn tight and smooth across the brow. She might wear pearls.

The day of the ordeal of the Presentation came at last. She went to it with the greatest trepidation and returned from it almost prostrated from the strain of waiting her turn. She had been permitted to touch the gloved hand of the voluminous Dowager and the hands of the reigning Duke’s consort and her own Princess. Poor little Marie-Louise looked like a martyr waiting to be led to the stake as she stood on a slightly lower dais than that on which the Dowager sat, dressed in stiff silk weighted with gold embroidery. When Helène approached her, she cast big sad eyes on her friend like those of a doe flying from the hunters.

Having been presented, Helène was now permitted the freedom of the Court. Her duties were simple but weariedly monotonous. They amounted to a regulated routine of formality and enforced idleness. She was permitted to appear in white or gray at the gatherings, but at the Chapel, which she attended twice a week, she was allowed to wear black. She was deprived of Josephine’s services and given in her stead a soured old maid, who was far more experienced and would be able to instruct her in the punctilios of the Court. Anna was no longer in Weimar; she had gone back to her little cottage and her beloved Anton.

But there was one pleasant interlude in the dreary round of her week’s life, and it came to her on her way to and from Chapel. On these occasions she would find McCormick waiting for her at the castle gate to learn of her health and to know if he could be of any service to her. Sometimes, after service was over, she would invite him to accompany her in her promenade round the Square within sight of the Schloss. On those occasions she would lead him to talk of his master, a subject on which Don was ever ready to descant. She would listen to him with downcast eyes, but with secret delight. These talks added fuel to the flame in her heart and warmed her lonely spirit.