SHE INFORMS THE PRINCE
It was the first impulse of Madame von Rosen to return to her own villa
and revise her toilette. Whatever else should come of this adventure, it
was her firm design to pay a visit to the Princess. And before that
woman, so little beloved, the Countess would appear at no disadvantage.
It was the work of minutes. Von Rosen had the captain’s eye in matters
of the toilette; she was none of those who hang in Fabian helplessness
among their finery and, after hours, come forth upon the world as
dowdies. A glance, a loosened curl, a studied and admired disorder in
the hair, a bit of lace, a touch of colour, a yellow rose in the bosom;
and the instant picture was complete.
‘That will do,’ she said. ‘Bid my carriage follow me to the palace. In
half an hour it should be there in waiting.’
The night was beginning to fall and the shops to shine with lamps along
the tree-beshadowed thorough-fares of Otto’s capital, when the Countess
started on her high emprise. She was jocund at heart; pleasure and
interest had winged her beauty, and she knew it. She paused before the
glowing jeweller’s; she remarked and praised a costume in the milliner’s
window; and when she reached the lime-tree walk, with its high,
umbrageous arches and stir of passers-by in the dim alleys, she took her
place upon a bench and began to dally with the pleasures of the hour. It
was cold, but she did not feel it, being warm within; her thoughts, in
that dark corner, shone like the gold and rubies at the jewellers; her
ears, which heard the brushing of so many footfalls, transposed it into
music.
What was she to do? She held the paper by which all depended. Otto and
Gondremark and Ratafia, and the state itself, hung light in her balances,
as light as dust; her little finger laid in either scale would set all
flying: and she hugged herself upon her huge preponderance, and then
laughed aloud to think how giddily it might be used. The vertigo of
omnipotence, the disease of Cæsars, shook her reason. ‘O the mad world!’
she thought, and laughed aloud in exultation.
A child, finger in mouth, had paused a little way from where she sat, and
stared with cloudy interest upon this laughing lady. She called it
nearer; but the child hung back. Instantly, with that curious passion
which you may see any woman in the world display, on the most odd
occasions, for a similar end, the Countess bent herself with singleness
of mind to overcome this diffidence; and presently, sure enough, the
child was seated on her knee, thumbing and glowering at her watch.
‘If you had a clay bear and a china monkey,’ asked Von Rosen, ‘which
would you prefer to break?’
‘But I have neither,’ said the child.
‘Well,’ she said, ‘here is a bright florin, with which you may purchase
both the one and the other; and I shall give it you at once, if you will
answer my question. The clay bear or the china monkey—come?’
But the unbreeched soothsayer only stared upon the florin with big eyes;
the oracle could not be persuaded to reply; and the Countess kissed him
lightly, gave him the florin, set him down upon the path, and resumed her
way with swinging and elastic gait.
‘Which shall I break?’ she wondered; and she passed her hand with delight
among the careful disarrangement of her locks. ‘Which?’ and she
consulted heaven with her bright eyes. ‘Do I love both or neither? A
little—passionately—not at all? Both or neither—both, I believe; but at
least I will make hay of Ratafia.’
By the time she had passed the iron gates, mounted the drive, and set her
foot upon the broad flagged terrace, the night had come completely; the
palace front was thick with lighted windows; and along the balustrade,
the lamp on every twentieth baluster shone clear. A few withered tracks
of sunset, amber and glow-worm green, still lingered in the western sky;
and she paused once again to watch them fading.
‘And to think,’ she said, ‘that here am I—destiny embodied, a norn, a
fate, a providence—and have no guess upon which side I shall declare
myself! What other woman in my place would not be prejudiced, and think
herself committed? But, thank Heaven! I was born just!’ Otto’s windows
were bright among the rest, and she looked on them with rising
tenderness. ‘How does it feel to be deserted?’ she thought. ‘Poor dear
fool! The girl deserves that he should see this order.’
Without more delay, she passed into the palace and asked for an audience
of Prince Otto. The Prince, she was told, was in his own apartment, and
desired to be private. She sent her name. A man presently returned with
word that the Prince tendered his apologies, but could see no one. ‘Then
I will write,’ she said, and scribbled a few lines alleging urgency of
life and death. ‘Help me, my Prince,’ she added; ‘none but you can help
me.’ This time the messenger returned more speedily, and begged the
Countess to follow him: the Prince was graciously pleased to receive the
Frau Gräfin von Rosen.
Otto sat by the fire in his large armoury, weapons faintly glittering all
about him in the changeful light. His face was disfigured by the marks
of weeping; he looked sour and sad; nor did he rise to greet his visitor,
but bowed, and bade the man begone. That kind of general tenderness
which served the Countess for both heart and conscience, sharply smote
her at this spectacle of grief and weakness; she began immediately to
enter into the spirit of her part; and as soon as they were alone, taking
one step forward and with a magnificent gesture—‘Up!’ she cried.
‘Madame von Rosen,’ replied Otto dully, ‘you have used strong words. You
speak of life and death. Pray, madam, who is threatened? Who is there,’
he added bitterly, ‘so destitute that even Otto of Grünewald can assist
him?’
‘First learn,’ said she, ‘the names of the conspirators; the Princess and
the Baron Gondremark. Can you not guess the rest?’ And then, as he
maintained his silence—‘You!’ she cried, pointing at him with her finger.
‘’Tis you they threaten! Your rascal and mine have laid their heads
together and condemned you. But they reckoned without you and me. We
make a _partie carrée_, Prince, in love and politics. They lead an ace,
but we shall trump it. Come, partner, shall I draw my card?’
‘Madam,’ he said, ‘explain yourself. Indeed I fail to comprehend.’
‘See, then,’ said she; and handed him the order.
He took it, looked upon it with a start; and then, still without speech,
he put his hand before his face. She waited for a word in vain.
‘What!’ she cried, ‘do you take the thing down-heartedly? As well seek
wine in a milk-pail as love in that girl’s heart! Be done with this, and
be a man. After the league of the lions, let us have a conspiracy of
mice, and pull this piece of machinery to ground. You were brisk enough
last night when nothing was at stake and all was frolic. Well, here is
better sport; here is life indeed.’
He got to his feet with some alacrity, and his face, which was a little
flushed, bore the marks of resolution.
‘Madame von Rosen,’ said he, ‘I am neither unconscious nor ungrateful;
this is the true continuation of your friendship; but I see that I must
disappoint your expectations. You seem to expect from me some effort of
resistance; but why should I resist? I have not much to gain; and now
that I have read this paper, and the last of a fool’s paradise is
shattered, it would be hyperbolical to speak of loss in the same breath
with Otto of Grünewald. I have no party, no policy; no pride, nor
anything to be proud of. For what benefit or principle under Heaven do
you expect me to contend? Or would you have me bite and scratch like a
trapped weasel? No, madam; signify to those who sent you my readiness to
go. I would at least avoid a scandal.’
‘You go?—of your own will, you go?’ she cried.
‘I cannot say so much, perhaps,’ he answered; ‘but I go with good
alacrity. I have desired a change some time; behold one offered me!
Shall I refuse? Thank God, I am not so destitute of humour as to make a
tragedy of such a farce.’ He flicked the order on the table. ‘You may
signify my readiness,’ he added grandly.
‘Ah,’ she said, ‘you are more angry than you own.’
‘I, madam? angry?’ he cried. ‘You rave! I have no cause for anger. In
every way I have been taught my weakness, my instability, and my
unfitness for the world. I am a plexus of weaknesses, an impotent
Prince, a doubtful gentleman; and you yourself, indulgent as you are,
have twice reproved my levity. And shall I be angry? I may feel the
unkindness, but I have sufficient honesty of mind to see the reasons of
this _coup d’état_.’
‘From whom have you got this?’ she cried in wonder. ‘You think you have
not behaved well? My Prince, were you not young and handsome, I should
detest you for your virtues. You push them to the verge of commonplace.
And this ingratitude—’
‘Understand me, Madame von Rosen,’ returned the Prince, flushing a little
darker, ‘there can be here no talk of gratitude, none of pride. You are
here, by what circumstance I know not, but doubtless led by your
kindness, mixed up in what regards my family alone. You have no
knowledge what my wife, your sovereign, may have suffered; it is not for
you—no, nor for me—to judge. I own myself in fault; and were it
otherwise, a man were a very empty boaster who should talk of love and
start before a small humiliation. It is in all the copybooks that one
should die to please his lady-love; and shall a man not go to prison?’
‘Love? And what has love to do with being sent to gaol?’ exclaimed the
Countess, appealing to the walls and roof. ‘Heaven knows I think as much
of love as any one; my life would prove it; but I admit no love, at least
for a man, that is not equally returned. The rest is moonshine.’
‘I think of love more absolutely, madam, though I am certain no more
tenderly, than a lady to whom I am indebted for such kindnesses,’
returned the Prince. ‘But this is unavailing. We are not here to hold a
court of troubadours.’
‘Still,’ she replied, ‘there is one thing you forget. If she conspires
with Gondremark against your liberty, she may conspire with him against
your honour also.’
‘My honour?’ he repeated. ‘For a woman, you surprise me. If I have
failed to gain her love or play my part of husband, what right is left
me? or what honour can remain in such a scene of defeat? No honour that
I recognise. I am become a stranger. If my wife no longer loves me, I
will go to prison, since she wills it; if she love another, where should
I be more in place? or whose fault is it but mine? You speak, Madame von
Rosen, like too many women, with a man’s tongue. Had I myself fallen
into temptation (as, Heaven knows, I might) I should have trembled, but
still hoped and asked for her forgiveness; and yet mine had been a
treason in the teeth of love. But let me tell you, madam,’ he pursued,
with rising irritation, ‘where a husband by futility, facility, and
ill-timed humours has outwearied his wife’s patience, I will suffer
neither man nor woman to misjudge her. She is free; the man has been
found wanting.’
‘Because she loves you not?’ the Countess cried. ‘You know she is
incapable of such a feeling.’
‘Rather, it was I who was born incapable of inspiring it,’ said Otto.
Madame von Rosen broke into sudden laughter. ‘Fool,’ she cried, ‘I am in
love with you myself!’
‘Ah, madam, you are most compassionate,’ the Prince retorted, smiling.
‘But this is waste debate. I know my purpose. Perhaps, to equal you in
frankness, I know and embrace my advantage. I am not without the spirit
of adventure. I am in a false position—so recognised by public
acclamation: do you grudge me, then, my issue?’
‘If your mind is made up, why should I dissuade you?’ said the Countess.
‘I own, with a bare face, I am the gainer. Go, you take my heart with
you, or more of it than I desire; I shall not sleep at night for thinking
of your misery. But do not be afraid; I would not spoil you, you are
such a fool and hero.’
‘Alas! madam,’ cried the Prince, ‘and your unlucky money! I did amiss to
take it, but you are a wonderful persuader. And I thank God, I can still
offer you the fair equivalent.’ He took some papers from the chimney.
‘Here, madam, are the title-deeds,’ he said; ‘where I am going, they can
certainly be of no use to me, and I have now no other hope of making up
to you your kindness. You made the loan without formality, obeying your
kind heart. The parts are somewhat changed; the sun of this Prince of
Grünewald is upon the point of setting; and I know you better than to
doubt you will once more waive ceremony, and accept the best that he can
give you. If I may look for any pleasure in the coming time, it will be
to remember that the peasant is secure, and my most generous friend no
loser.’
‘Do you not understand my odious position?’ cried the Countess. ‘Dear
Prince, it is upon your fall that I begin my fortune.’
‘It was the more like you to tempt me to resistance,’ returned Otto.
‘But this cannot alter our relations; and I must, for the last time, lay
my commands upon you in the character of Prince.’ And with his loftiest
dignity, he forced the deeds on her acceptance.
‘I hate the very touch of them,’ she cried.
There followed upon this a little silence. ‘At what time,’ resumed Otto,
‘(if indeed you know) am I to be arrested?’
‘Your Highness, when you please!’ exclaimed the Countess. ‘Or, if you
choose to tear that paper, never!’
‘I would rather it were done quickly,’ said the Prince. ‘I shall take
but time to leave a letter for the Princess.’
‘Well,’ said the Countess, ‘I have advised you to resist; at the same
time, if you intend to be dumb before your shearers, I must say that I
ought to set about arranging your arrest. I offered’—she hesitated—‘I
offered to manage it, intending, my dear friend—intending, upon my soul,
to be of use to you. Well, if you will not profit by my goodwill, then
be of use to me; and as soon as ever you feel ready, go to the Flying
Mercury where we met last night. It will be none the worse for you; and
to make it quite plain, it will be better for the rest of us.’
‘Dear madam, certainly,’ said Otto. ‘If I am prepared for the chief
evil, I shall not quarrel with details. Go, then, with my best
gratitude; and when I have written a few lines of leave-taking, I shall
immediately hasten to keep tryst. To-night I shall not meet so dangerous
a cavalier,’ he added, with a smiling gallantry.
As soon as Madame von Rosen was gone, he made a great call upon his
self-command. He was face to face with a miserable passage where, if it
were possible, he desired to carry himself with dignity. As to the main
fact, he never swerved or faltered; he had come so heart-sick and so
cruelly humiliated from his talk with Gotthold, that he embraced the
notion of imprisonment with something bordering on relief. Here was, at
least, a step which he thought blameless; here was a way out of his
troubles. He sat down to write to Seraphina; and his anger blazed. The
tale of his forbearances mounted, in his eyes, to something monstrous;
still more monstrous, the coldness, egoism, and cruelty that had required
and thus requited them. The pen which he had taken shook in his hand.
He was amazed to find his resignation fled, but it was gone beyond his
recall. In a few white-hot words, he bade adieu, dubbing desperation by
the name of love, and calling his wrath forgiveness; then he cast but one
look of leave-taking on the place that had been his for so long and was
now to be his no longer; and hurried forth—love’s prisoner—or pride’s.
He took that private passage which he had trodden so often in less
momentous hours. The porter let him out; and the bountiful, cold air of
the night and the pure glory of the stars received him on the threshold.
He looked round him, breathing deep of earth’s plain fragrance; he looked
up into the great array of heaven, and was quieted. His little turgid
life dwindled to its true proportions; and he saw himself (that great
flame-hearted martyr!) stand like a speck under the cool cupola of the
night. Thus he felt his careless injuries already soothed; the live air
of out-of-doors, the quiet of the world, as if by their silent music,
sobering and dwarfing his emotions.
‘Well, I forgive her,’ he said. ‘If it be of any use to her, I forgive.’
And with brisk steps he crossed the garden, issued upon the Park, and
came to the Flying Mercury. A dark figure moved forward from the shadow
of the pedestal.
‘I have to ask your pardon, sir,’ a voice observed, ‘but if I am right in
taking you for the Prince, I was given to understand that you would be
prepared to meet me.’
‘Herr Gordon, I believe?’ said Otto.
‘Herr Oberst Gordon,’ replied that officer. ‘This is rather a ticklish
business for a man to be embarked in; and to find that all is to go
pleasantly is a great relief to me. The carriage is at hand; shall I
have the honour of following your Highness?’
‘Colonel,’ said the Prince, ‘I have now come to that happy moment of my
life when I have orders to receive but none to give.’
‘A most philosophical remark,’ returned the Colonel. ‘Begad, a very
pertinent remark! it might be Plutarch. I am not a drop’s blood to your
Highness, or indeed to any one in this principality; or else I should
dislike my orders. But as it is, and since there is nothing unnatural or
unbecoming on my side, and your Highness takes it in good part, I begin
to believe we may have a capital time together, sir—a capital time. For
a gaoler is only a fellow-captive.’
‘May I inquire, Herr Gordon,’ asked Otto, ‘what led you to accept this
dangerous and I would fain hope thankless office?’
‘Very natural, I am sure,’ replied the officer of fortune. ‘My pay is,
in the meanwhile, doubled.’
‘Well, sir, I will not presume to criticise,’ returned the Prince. ‘And
I perceive the carriage.’
Sure enough, at the intersection of two alleys of the Park, a coach and
four, conspicuous by its lanterns, stood in waiting. And a little way
off about a score of lancers were drawn up under the shadow of the trees.