THE ROSE GARDEN
The rose garden of the summer palace of Courtland was a paradise made
for lovers' whisperings. Even now, when the chills of autumn had begun
to blow through its bowers, it was over-clambered with late-blooming
flowers. Its bowers were creeper-tangled. Trees met over paths bedded
with fallen petals, making a shade in sunshine, a shelter in rain, and
delightful in both.
It was natural that so fair a Princess, taking such a sudden fancy to a
young man, should find her way where the shade was deepest and the
labyrinth most entangled.
But this secretary Johann of ours, being creditably hard of heart, would
far rather have hied him straight back to old Dessauer with his news.
More than anything he desired to be alone, that he might think over the
events of the morning.
But the Princess Margaret had quite other intentions.
"Do you know," she began, "that I might well have lodged you in a
dungeon cell for that which in another had been dire insolence?"
They were pacing a long dusky avenue of tall yew-trees. The secretary
turned towards her the blank look of one whose thoughts have been far
away. But the Princess rattled on, heedless of his mood.
"Nevertheless, I forgive you," she said; "after all, I myself asked you
to teach me your foreign customs. If any one be to blame, it is I. But
one thing I would impress upon you, sir secretary: do not practise
these outland peculiarities before my brothers. Either of them might
look with prejudice upon such customs being observed generally
throughout the city. I came back chiefly to warn you. We do not want
that handsome head of yours (which I admit is well enough in its way,
as, being a man, you are doubtless aware) to be taken off and stuck on a
pole over the Strasburg Gate!"
It was with an effort that the secretary detached himself sufficiently
from his reveries upon the interview in the summer palace to understand
what the Princess was driving at.
"All this mighty pother, just because I kissed her on the cheek," he
thought. "A Princess of Courtland is no such mighty thing--and why
should I not?--Oh, of course, I had forgotten again. I am not now the
person I was."
But how can we tell with what infinite condescension the Princess took
the young man's hand and read his fortune, dwelling frowningly on the
lines of love and life?
"You have too pretty a hand for a man," she said; "why is it hard here
and here?"
"That is from the sword grip," said the secretary, with no small pride.
"Do you, then, fence well? I wish I could see you," she cried, clapping
her hands. "How splendid it would be to see a bout between you and
Prince Wasp--that is, the Prince Ivan of Muscovy, I mean. He is a great
fencer, and also desires to be a great friend of mine. He would give
something to be sitting here teaching me how they take hands and bid
each other goodbye in Bearland. They rub noses, I have heard say, a
custom which, to my thinking, would be more provocative than
satisfactory. I like your Plassenburg fashion better."
Whereat, of course there was nothing for it but that the secretary
should arouse himself out of his reverie and do his part. If the
Princess of Courtland chose to amuse herself with him, well, it was
harmless on either side--even more so than she knew. Soon he would be
far away. Meanwhile he must not comport himself like a puking fool.
"I think in somewise it were possible to improve upon the customs even
of Plassenburg," said the Princess Margaret, after certain experiments;
"but tell me, since you say that we are to be friends, and I have
admitted your plea, what is your fortune? Nay, do you know that I do not
even know your name--at least, not from your own lips."
For, headlong as she had proved herself in making love, yet a vein of
Baltic practicality was hidden beneath the princess's impetuosity.
"My father was the Count von Löen, and I am his heir!" said the
secretary carefully; "but I do not usually call myself so. There are
reasons why I should not."
Which there were, indeed--grave reasons, too.
"Then you are the Count von Löen?" said the Princess. "I seem to have
heard that name somewhere before. Tell me, are you the Count von Löen?"
"I am certainly the heir to that title," said the secretary, grilling
within and wishing himself a thousand miles away.
"I must go directly and tell my brother. He will be back from the
cathedral by this time. I am sure he did not know. And the estates--a
little involved, doubtless, like those of most well-born folk in these
ill days? Are they in your sole right?"
"The estates are extensive. They are not encumbered so far as I know.
They are all in my own right," explained the newly styled Count with
perfect truth. But within he was saying, "God help me! I get deeper and
deeper. What a whirling chaos a single lie leads one into! Heaven give
me speedy succour out of this!" And as he thought of his troubles, the
noble count, the swordsman, the learned secretary, could scarce restrain
a desire to break out into hysterical sobbing.
A new thought seemed to strike the Princess as he was speaking.
"But so young, so handsome," she murmured, "so apt a pupil at love!"
Then aloud she said, "You are not deceiving me? You are not already
betrothed?"
"Not to any woman!" said the deceitful Count, picking his words with
exactness.
The gay laugh of the Princess rang out prompt as an echo.
"I did not expect you to be engaged to a man!" she cried. "But now
conduct me to the entrance of my chambers" (here she reached him her
hand). "I like you," she added frankly, looking at him with unflinching
eyes. "I am of the house of Courtland, and we are accustomed to say what
we think--the women of us especially. And sooner than carry out this
wretched contract and marry the Prince Wasp, I will do even as I said to
my brother, I will run away and wed a dog-whipper! But perhaps I may do
better than either!" she said in her heart, nodding determinedly as she
looked at the handsome youth before her, who now stood with his eyes
downcast upon the ground.
They were almost out of the yew-tree walk, and the voice of the Princess
carried far, like that of most very impulsive persons. It reached the
ears of a gay young fashionable, who had just dismounted at the gate
which led from the rose garden into the wing of the palace inhabited by
the Princess Margaret and her suite.
"Now," said the Princess, "I will show you how apt a pupil I make. Tell
me whether this is according to the best traditions of Plassenburg!" And
taking his face between her hands she kissed him rapidly upon either
cheek and then upon the lips.
"There!" she said, "I wonder what my noble brothers would say to that! I
will show them that Margaret of Courtland can choose both whom she will
kiss and whom she will marry!"
And flashing away from him like a bright-winged bird she fled upward
into her chambers. Then, somewhat dazed by the rapid succession of
emotions, Johann the Secretary stepped out of the green gloom of the
yew-tree walk into the broad glare of the September sun and found
himself face to face with Prince Wasp.