THE STATUE ON THE PROMONTORY
The little lady was soon bowing to respectful salutations from crowds
of rustics and others on a broad carriage-way circling level with the
height. I could not help thinking how doubly foreign I was to all the
world here—I who was about to set eyes on my lost living father, while
these people were tip-toe to gaze on a statue. But as my father might
also be taking an interest in the statue, I got myself round to a
moderate sentiment of curiosity and a partial share of the general
excitement. Temple and mademoiselle did most of the conversation, which
related to glimpses of scenery, pine, oak, beech-wood, and lake-water,
until we gained the plateau where the tower stood, when the giant groom
trotted to the front, and worked a clear way for us through a mass of
travelling sight-seers, and she leaned to me, talking quite inaudibly
amid the laughter and chatting. A band of wind instruments burst out.
'This is glorious!' I conceived Temple to cry like an open-mouthed
mute. I found it inspiriting.
The rush of pride and pleasure produced by the music was irresistible.
We marched past the tower, all of us, I am sure, with splendid
feelings. A stone's throw beyond it was the lofty tent; over it drooped
a flag, and flags were on poles round a wide ring of rope guarded by
foresters and gendarmes, mounted and afoot. The band, dressed in green,
with black plumes to their hats, played in the middle of the ring.
Outside were carriages, and ladies and gentlemen on horseback, full of
animation; rustics, foresters, town and village people, men, women, and
children, pressed against the ropes. It was a day of rays of sunshine,
now from off one edge, now from another of large slow clouds, so that
at times we and the tower were in a blaze; next the lake-palace was
illuminated, or the long grey lake and the woods of pine and of bare
brown twigs making bays in it.
Several hands beckoned on our coming in sight of the carriages. 'There
he is, then!' I thought; and it was like swallowing my heart in one
solid lump. Mademoiselle had free space to trot ahead of us. We saw a
tall-sitting lady, attired in sables, raise a finger to her, and nip
her chin. Away the little lady flew to a second carriage, and on again,
as one may when alive with an inquiry. I observed to Temple, 'I wonder
whether she says in her German, “It is my question”; do you remember?'
There was no weight whatever in what I said or thought.
She rode back, exclaiming, 'Nowhere. He is nowhere, and nobody knows.
He will arrive. But he is not yet. Now,' she bent coaxingly down to me,
'can you not a few words of German? Only a smallest sum! It is the
Markgräfin, my good aunt, would speak wid you, and she can no
English-only she is eager to behold you, and come! You will know, for
my sake, some scrap of German—_ja?_ You will—_nicht wahr?_ Or French?
Make your plom-pudding of it, will you?'
I made a shocking plum-pudding of it. Temple was no happier.
The margravine, a fine vigorous lady with a lively mouth and livelier
eyes of a restless grey that rarely dwelt on you when she spoke, and
constantly started off on a new idea, did me the honour to examine me,
much as if I had offered myself for service in her corps of grenadiers,
and might do in time, but was decreed to be temporarily wanting in
manly proportions.
She smiled a form of excuse of my bungling half-English horrid French,
talked over me and at me, forgot me, and recollected me, all within a
minute, and fished poor Temple for intelligible replies to
incomprehensible language in the same manner, then threw her head back
to gather the pair of us in her sight, then eyed me alone.
'C'est peut-être le fils de son petit papa, et c'est tout dire.'
Such was her summary comment.
But not satisfied with that, she leaned out of the carriage, and,
making an extraordinary grimace appear the mother in labour of the
difficult words, said, 'Doos yo' laff?'
There was no helping it: I laughed like a madman, giving one outburst
and a dead stop.
Far from looking displeased, she nodded. I was again put to the
dreadful test.
'Can yo' mak' laff?'
It spurred my wits. I had no speech to 'mak' laff' with. At the very
instant of my dilemma I chanced to see a soberly-clad old townsman
hustled between two helpless women of the crowd, his pipe in his mouth,
and his hat, wig, and handkerchief sliding over his face, showing his
bald crown, and he not daring to cry out, for fear his pipe should be
trodden under foot.
'He can, your Highness.'
Her quick eyes caught the absurd scene. She turned to one of her ladies
and touched her forehead. Her hand was reached out to me; Temple she
patted on the shoulder.
'He can—ja: du auch.'
A grand gentleman rode up. They whispered, gazed at the tent, and
appeared to speak vehemently. All the men's faces were foreign: none of
them had the slightest resemblance to my father's. I fancied I might
detect him disguised. I stared vainly. Temple, to judge by the
expression of his features, was thinking. Yes, thought I, we might as
well be at home at old Riversley, that distant spot! We're as out of
place here as frogs in the desert!
Riding to and fro, and chattering, and commotion, of which the
margravine was the centre, went on, and the band played beautiful
waltzes. The workmen in and out of the tent were full of their
business, like seamen under a storm.
'Fräulein Sibley,' the margravine called.
I hoped it might be an English name. So it proved to be; and the
delight of hearing English spoken, and, what was more, having English
ears to speak to, was blissful as the leap to daylight out of a
nightmare.
'I have the honour to be your countrywoman,' said a lady, English all
over to our struggling senses.
We became immediately attached to her as a pair of shipwrecked boats
lacking provender of every sort are taken in tow by a well-stored
vessel. She knew my father, knew him intimately. I related all I had to
tell, and we learnt that we had made acquaintance with her pupil, the
Princess Ottilia Wilhelmina Frederika Hedwig, only child of the Prince
of Eppenwelzen.
'Your father will certainly be here; he is generally the margravine's
right hand, and it's wonderful the margravine can do without him so
long,' said Miss Sibley, and conversed with the margravine; after which
she informed me that she had been graciously directed to assure me my
father would be on the field when the cannon sounded.
'Perhaps you know nothing of Court life?' she resumed. 'We have very
curious performances in Sarkeld, and we owe it to the margravine that
we are frequently enlivened. You see the tall gentleman who is riding
away from her. I mean the one with the black hussar jacket and thick
brown moustache. That is the prince. Do you not think him handsome? He
is very kind—rather capricious; but that is a way with princes. Indeed,
I have no reason to complain. He has lost his wife, the Princess
Frederika, and depends upon his sister the margravine for amusement. He
has had it since she discovered your papa.'
'Is the gun never going off?' I groaned.
'If they would only conduct their ceremonies without their guns!'
exclaimed Miss Sibley. 'The origin of the present ceremony is this: the
margravine wished to have a statue erected to an ancestor, a renowned
soldier—and I would infinitely prefer talking of England. But never
mind. Oh, you won't understand what you gaze at. Well, the prince did
not care to expend the money. Instead of urging that as the ground of
his refusal, he declared there were no sculptors to do justice to
Prince Albrecht Wohlgemuth, and one could not rely on their effecting a
likeness. We have him in the dining-hall; he was strikingly handsome.
Afterward he pretended—I'm speaking now of the existing Prince
Ernest—that it would be ages before the statue was completed. One day
the margravine induced him to agree to pay the sum stipulated for by
the sculptor, on condition of the statue being completed for public
inspection within eight days of the hour of their agreement. The whole
Court was witness to it. They arranged for the statue, horse and man,
to be exhibited for a quarter of an hour. Of course, the margravine did
not signify it would be a perfectly finished work. We are kept at a
great distance, that we may not scrutinize it too closely. They unveil
it to show she has been as good as her word, and then cover it up to
fix the rider to the horse,—a screw is employed, I imagine. For one
thing we know about it, we know that the horse and the horseman
travelled hither separately. In all probability, the margravine gave
the order for the statue last autumn in Berlin. Now look at the prince.
He has his eye on you. Look down. Now he has forgotten you. He is
impatient to behold the statue. Our chief fear is that the statue will
not maintain its balance. Fortunately, we have plenty of guards to keep
the people from pushing against it. If all turns out well, I shall
really say the margravine has done wonders. She does not look anxious;
but then she is not one ever to show it. The prince does. Every other
minute he is glancing at the tent and at his watch. Can you guess my
idea? Your father's absence leads me to think-oh! only a passing
glimmer of an idea—the statue has not arrived, and he is bringing it
on. Otherwise, he would be sure to be here. The margravine beckons me.'
'Don't go!' we cried simultaneously.
The Princess Ottilia supplied her place.
'I have sent to our stables for two little pretty Hungarian horses for
you two to ride,' she said. 'No, I have not yet seen him. He is asked
for, and de Markgräfin knows not at all. He bades in our lake; he has
been seen since. The man is exciteable; but he is so sensible. Oh, no.
And he is full of laughter. We shall soon see him. Would he not ever be
cautious of himself for a son like you?'
Her compliment raised a blush on me.
The patience of the people was creditable to their phlegm. The smoke of
pipes curling over the numberless heads was the most stirring thing
about them.
Temple observed to me,
'We'll give the old statue a British cheer, won't we, Richie?'
'After coming all the way from England!' said I, in dejection.
'No, no, Richie; you're sure of him now. He's somewhere directing
affairs, I suspect. I say, do let us show them we can ring out the
right tune upon occasion. By jingo! there goes a fellow with a match.'
We saw the cannonier march up to the margravine's carriage for orders.
She summoned the prince to her side. Ladies in a dozen carriages were
standing up, handkerchief in hand, and the gentlemen got their horses'
heads on a line. Temple counted nearly sixty persons of quality
stationed there. The workmen were trooping out of the tent.
Miss Sibley ran to us, saying,—
'The gun-horror has been commanded. Now then: the prince can scarcely
contain himself. The gunner is ready near his gun; he has his frightful
match lifted. See, the manager-superintendent is receiving the
margravine's last injunctions. How firm women's nerves are! Now the
margravine insists on the prince's reading the exact time by her watch.
Everybody is doing it. Let us see. By my watch it is all but fifteen
minutes to eleven, A.M. Dearest,' she addressed the little princess;
'would you not like to hold my hand until the gun is fired?'
'Dearest,' replied the princess, whether in childish earnest or irony I
could not divine, 'if I would hold a hand it would be a gentleman's.'
All eyes were on the Prince of Eppenwelzen, as he gazed toward the
covered statue. With imposing deliberation his hand rose to his hat. We
saw the hat raised. The cannon was fired and roared; the band struck up
a pompous slow march: and the tent-veil broke apart and rolled off. It
was like the dawn flying and sunrise mounting.
I confess I forgot all thought of my father for awhile; the shouts of
the people, the braying of the brass instruments, the ladies cheering
sweetly, the gentlemen giving short, hearty expressions of applause,
intoxicated me. And the statue was superb—horse and rider in new bronze
polished by sunlight.
'It is life-like! it is really noble! it is a true Prince!' exclaimed
Miss Sibley. She translated several exclamations of the ladies and
gentlemen in German: they were entirely to the same effect. The horse
gave us a gleam of his neck as he pawed a forefoot, just reined in. We
knew him; he was a gallant horse; but it was the figure of the Prince
Albrecht that was so fine. I had always laughed at sculptured figures
on horseback. This one overawed me. The Marshal was acknowledging the
salute of his army after a famous victory over the infidel Turks. He
sat upright, almost imperceptibly but effectively bending his head in
harmony with the curve of his horse's neck, and his baton swept the air
low in proud submission to the honours cast on him by his acclaiming
soldiery. His three-cornered lace hat, curled wig, heavy-trimmed
surcoat, and high boots, reminded me of Prince Eugene. No Prince
Eugene—nay, nor Marlborough, had such a martial figure, such an
animated high old warrior's visage. The bronze features reeked of
battle.
Temple and I felt humiliated (without cause, I granted) at the success
of a work of Art that struck us as a new military triumph of these
Germans, and it was impossible not to admire it. The little Princess
Ottilia clapped hands by fits. What words she addressed to me I know
not. I dealt out my stock of German—'_Ja, ja_'—to her English. We were
drawn by her to congratulate the margravine, whose hand was then being
kissed by the prince: he did it most courteously and affectionately.
Other gentlemen, counts and barons, bowed over her hand. Ladies,
according to their rank and privileges, saluted her on the cheek or in
some graceful fashion. When our turn arrived, Miss Sibley translated
for us, and as we were at concert pitch we did not acquit ourselves
badly. Temple's remark was, that he wished she and all her family had
been English. Nothing was left for me to say but that the margravine
almost made us wish we had been German.
Smiling cordially, the margravine spoke, Miss Sibley translated:
'Her Royal Highness asks you if you have seen your father?'
I shook my head.
The Princess Ottilia translated, 'Her Highness, my good aunt, would
know, would you know him, did you see him?'
'Yes, anywhere,' I cried.
The margravine pushed me back with a gesture.
'Yes, your Highness, on my honour; anywhere on earth!'
She declined to hear the translation.
Her insulting disbelief in my ability to recognize the father I had
come so far to embrace would have vexed me but for the wretched thought
that I was losing him again. We threaded the carriages; gazed at the
horsemen in a way to pierce the hair on their faces. The little
princess came on us hurriedly.
'Here, see, are the horses. I will you to mount. Are they not pretty
animals?' She whispered, 'I believe your fater have been hurt in his
mind by something. It is only perhaps. Now mount, for de Markgräfin
says you are our good guests.'
We mounted simply to show that we could mount, for we would rather have
been on foot, and drew up close to the right of the margravine's
carriage.
'Hush! a poet is reading his ode,' said the princess. 'It is Count
Fretzel von Wolfenstein.'
This ode was dreadful to us, and all the Court people pretended they
liked it. When he waved his right hand toward the statue there was a
shout from the rustic set; when he bowed to the margravine, the ladies
and gentlemen murmured agreeably and smiled. We were convinced of its
being downright hypocrisy, rustic stupidity, Court flattery. We would
have argued our case, too. I proposed a gallop; Temple said,
'No, we'll give the old statue our cheer as soon as this awful fellow
has done. I don't care much for poetry, but don't let me ever have to
stand and hear German poetry again for the remainder of my life.'
We could not imagine why they should have poetry read out to them
instead of their fine band playing, but supposed it was for the
satisfaction of the margravine, with whom I grew particularly annoyed
on hearing Miss Sibley say she conceived her Highness to mean that my
father was actually on the ground, and that we neither of us, father
and son, knew one another. I swore on my honour, on my life, he was not
present; and the melancholy in my heart taking the form of extreme
irritation, I spoke passionately. I rose in my stirrups, ready to
shout, 'Father! here's Harry Richmond come to see you. Where are you!'
I did utter something—a syllable or two: 'Make haste!' I think the
words were. They sprang from my inmost bosom, addressed without
forethought to that drawling mouthing poet. The margravine's face met
mine like a challenge. She had her lips tight in a mere lip-smile, and
her eyes gleamed with provocation.
'Her Highness,' Miss Sibley translated, 'asks whether you are prepared
to bet that your father is not on the ground?'
'Beg her to wait two minutes, and I'll be prepared to bet any sum,'
said I.
Temple took one half the circle, I the other, riding through the
attentive horsemen and carriage-lines, and making sure the face we
sought was absent, more or less discomposing everybody. The poet
finished his ode; he was cheered, of course. Mightily relieved, I
beheld the band resuming their instruments, for the cheering resembled
a senseless beating on brass shields. I felt that we English could do
it better. Temple from across the sector of the circle, running about
two feet in front of the statue, called aloud,
'Richie! he's not here!'
'Not here!' cried I.
The people gazed up at us, wondering at the tongue we talked.
'Richie! now let's lead these fellows off with a tiptop cheer!'
Little Temple crowed lustily.
The head of the statue turned from Temple to me.
I found the people falling back with amazed exclamations. I—so
prepossessed was I—simply stared at the sudden-flashing white of the
statue's eyes. The eyes, from being an instant ago dull carved balls,
were animated. They were fixed on me. I was unable to give out a
breath. Its chest heaved; both bronze hands struck against the bosom.
'Richmond! my son! Richie! Harry Richmond! Richmond Roy!'
That was what the statue gave forth.
My head was like a ringing pan. I knew it was my father, but my father
with death and strangeness, earth, metal, about him; and his voice was
like a human cry contending with earth and metal—mine was stifled. I
saw him descend. I dismounted. We met at the ropes and embraced. All
his figure was stiff, smooth, cold. My arms slid on him. Each time he
spoke I thought it an unnatural thing: I myself had not spoken once.
After glancing by hazard at the empty saddle of the bronze horse, I
called to mind more clearly the appalling circumstance which had
stupefied the whole crowd. They had heard a statue speak—had seen a
figure of bronze walk. For them it was the ancestor of their prince; it
was the famous dead old warrior of a hundred and seventy years ago set
thus in motion. Imagine the behaviour of people round a slain tiger
that does not compel them to fly, and may yet stretch out a dreadful
paw! Much so they pressed for a nearer sight of its walnut visage, and
shrank in the act. Perhaps I shared some of their sensations. I cannot
tell: my sensations were tranced. There was no warmth to revive me in
the gauntlet I clasped. I looked up at the sky, thinking that it had
fallen dark.