Twilight came on early this bleak November day, and the Adelsberg
palace was already lighted when the Prince, returning from a short
drive, reached the portal.
"Is Herr Rojanow in his rooms?" he inquired of the servant who hastened
up.
"At your service, Your Highness," the man replied, bowing low.
"Order the carriage at nine o'clock. We drive to the ducal palace."
Egon mounted the stairs and entered the apartments of his friend, which
adjoined his own on the first floor, and which, like all the rest of
the princely house, were furnished with antique splendor.
A lamp burned upon the table of the sitting-room. Hartmut lay stretched
upon a lounge in a position indicative of utter weariness and
exhaustion.
"Are you resting upon your laurels?" asked the Prince, laughing and
drawing near. "I cannot blame you, for you have not had a moment's
peace to-day. It is really a rather trying business to be a new rising
star in the poetical firmament; nerve is required for it. The people
actually fight each other for the honor of being allowed to tell you
flatteries. You have held a grand reception today."
"Yes, and now we have to go to the Court besides," said Hartmut in a
weary voice. The prospect seemed to have no charm for him.
"We must, indeed. The illustrious ladies and gentlemen wish also to
bring their homage to the poet--my most gracious aunt at their head.
You know she is a kind of _bel-esprit_, and believes to have found a
kindred soul in you. Thank God, she does not order me to her side so
continually, and perhaps through this she will forget those unfortunate
schemes for my marriage. But you seem to be very unappreciative of the
ducal favors which rained upon you yesterday. What is the matter? You
hardly answer. Are you not well?"
"I am tired. I wish I could escape all this noise and flee to the quiet
of Rodeck."
"Rodeck! Ah, it must be charming there at present, with the November
fogs, and the wet, leafless forests! Brrr! a real spook's haunt!"
"Nevertheless, I have a real longing for that gloomy solitude, and I
shall go there soon for a few days. I hope you have no objections?"
"I have very many objections to it," exclaimed Egon, indignantly. "What
notion is this, I beg of you? Now, when the whole town lifts the poet
of Arivana upon the shield, will you withdraw your honored presence and
escape all the triumphs and attentions to bury yourself alive in a
haunted little forest nook, which is only bearable in sunshine!
Everybody will find it incomprehensible."
"I don't care. I need solitude now. I go to Rodeck."
Egon shook his head. Although he was accustomed to seeing his friend
act in this domineering, inconsiderate manner whenever the notion
seized him, and had himself spoiled him in this respect with all his
might, the present idea seemed too preposterous.
"I believe my most gracious aunt is right," he said half reproachfully,
half jestingly. "She remarked yesterday at the theatre, 'Our young poet
has caprices like all of his class.' I think so, too. What is the
matter now, really, Hartmut? Yesterday and to-day you beamed with
triumph, and now I have left you hardly an hour, when I find you in a
regular attack of melancholy. Have the papers annoyed you? Perhaps it
is some malicious, envious critic?"
He pointed to the writing table, where the evening papers lay.
"No, no," returned Rojanow quickly. But he turned his head so that his
face was in shadow. "The papers contain only general remarks so far,
and they are all flattering. You know that I am subject to such moods,
which often overcome me without cause."
"Yes, I know that, but now that good luck overwhelms you on all sides,
those moods should absent themselves. But you really look haggard--that
comes from the excitement through which both of us have passed during
these last few weeks."
He bent over his friend with concern, and Hartmut, in rising regret for
his brusque manner, stretched out his hand.
"Forgive me, Egon. You must have patience with me--it will pass off."
"I hope so, for I want to do proud with my poet to-night. But I will go
now, so that you can rest. Do not let anybody disturb you. We have
still three hours before we have to go."
The Prince left the room. He had not seen the bitter expression
trembling around Hartmut's mouth when he spoke of his overwhelming good
fortune, and yet he had spoken the truth. Fame was happiness--perhaps
the highest in life--and to-day had confirmed the triumph of yesterday,
until suddenly, an hour ago, a sharp discord had fallen into the
flattering tune.
The young poet had scanned the papers which he found upon his table on
his return. They did not contain explicit remarks about Arivana, but
recognized unanimously the great success and powerful impression of the
work, and promised detailed criticism the next day.
Suddenly, in turning to the last page, Hartmut came upon a name, at the
sight of which intense, anxious surprise overwhelmed him.
The next moment, however, he recognized that he was not the one
concerned in the article. It stated that the last journey of the
Prussian Ambassador to Berlin seemed to have been of greater importance
than was at first supposed. In an audience with the Duke immediately
after his return, Herr von Wallmoden had apparently brought some very
important things to light; and now, a high-standing Prussian officer,
who was the bearer of important messages to His Highness, was expected.
It doubtless concerned military matters, and Colonel Hartmut von
Falkenried would arrive in a few days.
Hartmut dropped the paper as if it had suddenly become red-hot iron.
His father would come to this place and would certainly hear everything
from Wallmoden--_must_ hear everything. The chance of meeting was then
very probable.
"When you shall have gained a great, proud future, approach him again
and ask if he still dares to despise you."
Zalika had whispered it to her son when he struggled against
flight--against the breaking of his word of honor. Now the beginning of
his future was made. The name Rojanow already bore the laurel of the
poet, and with that the whole past was erased. It should be--it must
be! This conviction flashed in the glance which Hartmut had thrown so
triumphantly up to the Ambassador's box yesterday.
But now, when it meant the meeting of his father's eyes, the defiant
one trembled. Those eyes were the only thing upon earth that he feared.
Hartmut was half decided to go to Rodeck and return only when he heard
through the papers that "the high-standing officer" had left the
Residenz.
Yet something kept him here--a secret but burning longing. Perhaps the
hour of reconciliation had now come when the poet's fame rose so
brilliantly; perhaps Falkenried would see now that such a power needed
liberty and life to develop, and would pardon the unfortunate, boyish
folly which, with his views, had hurt him so deeply.
Was he not his child? his only son, whom he had embraced with such
passionate tenderness that night at Burgsdorf? At this remembrance a
longing for those all-powerful arms, for the home which should no
longer be lost to him, for the whole boyhood which, although
constrained, had yet been so happy, pure and guiltless, flooded
Hartmut's inmost heart.