HELEN
There stands in Frankfort-on-Main, at the corner of the Ross-market,
opposite the Protestant Church of St. Catherine, a mansion, which, by
its architecture, belongs to the transition period between Louis XIV and
Louis XV. It is known as Passevent House. The ground-floor was occupied
by a bookseller, and all the rest by the Chandroz family, already known
to the reader by name.
A sort of uneasiness, not quite amounting to actual trouble, seemed to
prevail in the house. The morning before a letter had been received by
Baroness von Bülow, announcing her husband's return in the evening, and
close upon that came a telegram, saying that he would not arrive before
the following morning, and that she must not be anxious if there were a
further delay. The fact was, that two hours after writing his letter,
the baron saw Benedict's announcement in the "Gazette." Fearing that he
might be delayed by a wound, he wished to spare his wife any possible
anxiety, her infant being only just over a week old.
Although the train was not due until four in the morning, Hans, the
confidential servant of the family, had already departed at three,
taking the carriage to meet his master at the station and at least ten
times during the interval Emma rang up her maid, wondering why the time
passed so slowly.
At length the sound of a carriage was heard, followed by the creaking of
the great gate, the carriage passed under the arch, the tread of spurred
boots echoed on the staircase, Emma's door opened, and Emma's arms
enfolded her husband.
It did not escape her notice that Frederic winced when she threw her
arms round him. She asked the cause. Frederic replied with a
cock-and-bull story of a cab accident in which he had slightly sprained
his arm.
The sound of the carriage and the general movement in the house informed
Helen of the baron's arrival. Hastily wrapping herself in a
dressing-gown with her beautiful hair falling loosely over it, she
hurried to greet her brother-in-law whom she loved tenderly. In order
not to disturb the Countess de Chandroz, their grandmother, orders had
been given to keep her wing of the house as quiet as possible.
Madame von Bülow, with the usual penetration of wives, soon guessed that
Frederic's arm was more hurt than he chose to acknowledge. She insisted
that the family doctor, Herr Bodemacker, should be sent for, and
Frederic, who knew by the pain he suffered, that the bandage must have
been displaced during his journey, made no objection. He only begged her
to keep quiet while he went to his own room for the bath he had ordered,
saying that it would be much better for the doctor to follow him there
and decide which of his two hundred and eighty-two bones required
attention.
The question of importance was to keep the baroness in ignorance as to
the serious nature of the wound. With the help of Hans and the
connivance of the doctor this would be easy. The bath was a marvellous
help, and Emma allowed him to go to his room without suspecting the real
cause of his requiring it.
When the doctor arrived, Frederic astonished Hans by explaining that the
evening before he had received a sword wound which had laid open his
arm, that the bandage must have slipped in the train, and that it, his
coat, and his shirt were all soaked in blood.
The doctor slit the sleeve the whole way up, and then cut it clear at
the top. Frederic then was told to plunge his arm into the warm water of
the bath which enabled the doctor to remove the coat sleeve. He then
loosened the shirt sleeve by sponging it with the warm water, and
finally, cutting it away at the shoulder, was able to expose the wound.
The arm, compressed by the sleeves, was frightfully red and swollen, the
plaster had given way, the wound was gaping widely through its whole
length, and in the lower part the arm appeared cut to the bone. It was
fortunate that there had been plenty of warm water at hand. The doctor
brought the two sides of the cut together again, fixed them carefully,
bandaged the whole arm and put it in splints as if it had been broken.
But it was absolutely necessary that the baron should remain quite quiet
for two or three days. The doctor undertook to find the general in
command and to explain privately that Baron von Bülow was charged with a
mission to him but could not possibly leave the house.
Hans quickly removed the water and stained bandages. Frederic went down,
kissed his wife, and satisfied her by saying the doctor had merely
ordered him to rest for a few days. The word dislocation spread through
the house and accounted for the baron's indisposition. Returning to his
own apartment he found the Prussian general awaiting him. He explained
matters in two words; moreover, before long the story would be in all
the papers. The important question was, to keep the baroness in
ignorance. She would be uneasy about a dislocation, but in despair over
a wound.
Frederic handed over his despatches to the general. They merely warned
him to be ready for action at a moment's notice. It was evident that
Count Bismarck, from whom the order came, wished to have a garrison at
hand during the Diet, to overawe the assembly, if possible. Afterwards
he would withdraw it or leave it, according to circumstances. This
question would be put to the Diet. "In case of war between Austria and
Prussia, on which side will you be?"
Frederic was extremely anxious to see his young sister Helen, having
important communications to make. After he and Benedict had vowed
eternal friendship on the field of battle, and Benedict had spoken of
having met the baroness at the burgomaster's house, he had conceived an
idea which he could not drive away, namely, to marry Benedict to his
sister-in-law. From what he had seen and heard of the young man, he felt
convinced that these two impetuous, imaginative, and artistic
characters, always ready to pursue an idea suggested by a ray of
sunlight or a scented breeze, were, out of the whole creation, the best
suited to each other. Consequently he wished to ascertain if Helen had
been attracted by his friend. Were this the case, he would find some
pretext for bringing Benedict to Frankfort, and, little as Helen cared
for admiration, he thought the acquaintance would soon assume the
character he wished.
Moreover, he wished to warn Helen to keep newspapers away from her
sister and grandmother, and on this account it was absolutely necessary
to take her into his confidence. She anticipated his wishes, for
scarcely had the general left him, when some one knocked softly at his
door, such a knock as might have proceeded from a cat or a bird. He
knew Helen's gentle manner of announcing herself.
"Come in, little sister, come in!" he cried, and Helen entered on
tip-toe.
The baron was lying on his bed in his dressing-gown, lying on his left
side, his wounded arm extended along his body.
"Ah! you good-for-nothing," said she, folding her arms and gazing at
him, "so you have been and gone and done it, have you?"
"How? done what?" enquired Frederic, laughing.
"Well, now I have got you alone, we can talk."
"Exactly, dear Helen, now we are alone as you say. You are the
strong-minded person of this house, although no one else knows it, not
even yourself. So I want to discuss important matters with you--and they
are not a few."
"So do I, and I shall begin by taking the bull by the horns. Your arm is
not dislocated nor even sprained. You have fought a duel, like the
hothead you are, and your arm is wounded by either a sabre or
sword-cut."
"Well, my little sister, that is exactly what I wanted to tell you. I
did fight a duel--for political reasons. And I did get a sabre cut in my
arm, but it was a friendly sabre, very neatly and prettily applied. It
is not dangerous, no artery or nerve severed. But the story will be in
all the papers; it has made noise enough already. Now we must prevent
both grandmamma and Emma from seeing the newspapers."
"The only paper taken here is the 'Kreuz Zeitung.'"
"Which is precisely the one that will say the most."
"What are you smiling at?"
"I can't help thinking of the face of the man who will have to supply
the details!"
"What do you mean?"
"Nothing. I was only talking to myself, and when I say things to myself
they are not worth repeating aloud. The question is--to keep an eye on
the 'Kreuz Zeitung.'"
"Certainly I will keep an eye on it."
"Then I need not trouble any more about it?"
"When I tell you that I will see to it myself!"
"Very well! We will talk about something else."
"About anything you like."
"Do you recollect meeting a young Frenchman at Herr Fellner's, an
artist, a painter?"
"Monsieur Benedict Turpin? I should think so! A charming man who makes
the most rapid sketches, and though they are flattering, they are still
likenesses."
"Oh! come, come! You are quite enthusiastic."
"I can show you one he did of me. He has given me a pair of wings, and I
really look like an angel!"
"Then he is clever?"
"Enormously clever."
"And witty."
"He can certainly give you as good as you gave. You should have seen how
he routed some of our bankers when they tried to chaff him. He spoke
better German than they did."
"Is he rich as well?"
"So they say."
"It also seems as if there were remarkable affinities between his
character and that of a little girl I know."
"But who? I don't understand."
"Nevertheless, it is some one you know. He appears to be capricious,
imaginative, vivacious; he adores travelling, is an excellent rider,
and a good sportsman, either on foot or horseback, all which coincides
admirably with the tastes of a certain 'Diana Vernon.'"
"I thought that was what you always called me."
"So it is. Do you recognize my portrait?"
"Not at all, not in the least. I am gentle, calm, collected. I like
travelling, yes. But where have I been? To Paris, Berlin, Vienna,
London, and that is all, I love horses, but what do I ever ride except
my poor little Gretchen?"
"She has nearly killed you twice over!"
"Poor thing! it was my own fault. As for shooting, I have never held a
gun, and as for coursing, I have never started a hare."
"True, but why not? Only because the grandmother objected. If you could
have had your own way--"
"Oh, yes! It would be glorious to rush against the wind, to feel it
blowing through one's hair. There is great pleasure in rapid motion, a
feeling of life which one finds in nothing else."
"So you would like to be able to do these things which you don't do."
"Yes, indeed."
"With Monsieur Benedict?"
"Why Monsieur Benedict more than any one else?"
"Because he is more charming than most."
"I do not think so."
"Really?"
"No."
"Then; supposing you were allowed to choose a husband out of all my
friends, you would not choose M. Benedict?"
"I should never dream of doing so."
"Now, little sister, you know I am an obstinate man, who likes to
understand, things. How is it that a man, young, handsome, rich,
talented, courageous, and imaginative, fails to interest you,
particularly when he has both the good qualities and the defects of your
own character?"
"What am I to say? I do not know, I cannot analyse my feelings. Some
people are sympathetic to me, some indifferent, some downright
disagreeable!"
"Well, you don't class Monsieur Benedict among the disagreeable, I
hope."
"No, but among the indifferents."
"And why among the indifferents?"
"Monsieur Benedict is of medium height, I like tall men: he is fair, I
like dark men. He is volatile, I like serious people. He is bold, always
rushing off to the ends of the world; he would be the husband of other
men's wives, and not even the lover of his own."
"Let us resume. What sort of man, then, must he be that would please
you?"
"Somebody just the opposite of M. Benedict."
"He must be tall."
"Yes."
"Dark?"
"Either dark or dark chestnut."
"Grave."
"Grave, or at least, serious. Also brave, steady, loyal, and--"
"Just so. Do you know that you have described, word for word, my friend,
Karl von Freyberg?"
Helen blushed crimson, and moved quickly, as if to leave the room, but
Frederic, disregarding his wound, caught her hand and made her sit down
again. The light from between the curtains irradiated her face like the
sunlight falling on a flower. He looked at her intently.
"Well, yes," she said, "but no one knows but you."
"Not Karl himself?"
"He may have some idea."
"Well, little sister," said Frederic, "I see no great harm in all this.
Come and kiss me, and we will talk again another time."
"But how comes it," exclaimed Helen, with vexation, "that you know all
you want to know, although I have told you nothing at all?"
"Because one can see through a crystal which is pure. Dear little Helen,
Karl von Freyberg is my best friend, he has all I could wish in a
brother-in-law, or that you could desire in a husband. If he loves you
as much as you seem to love him, there should be no great difficulty
about your becoming his wife."
"Ah! dear Frederic," said Helen, shaking her pretty head, "but I once
heard a Frenchwoman say that the marriages which present no difficulties
are just those which never come off!"
And she retired to her own room, wondering no doubt as to what
difficulties Destiny could interpose to the completion of her own
marriage.