In November the major came to replace Eckersberg. Ever since the
foreign secretary had given him the hint last summer he had lived
expectant of such a turn in his fortunes, and had hoped that by some
stroke of good luck he might be transferred to the spot where she who
had inspired him to seek advance in his profession had taken up her
quarters. Not for nothing, he thought, had he been christened Felix!
When, one morning, he had read in the paper the news of old Count
Eckersberg's death he took the omen as a gift from the gods. He
moved heaven and earth, setting friends and relatives in motion on
his behalf, and he had finally thrust himself on the minister's
notice one evening at a dinner party. When, a week later, his chief
asked him whether he would like the post, he accepted with rapture.
Yet he had a presentiment that his lady, in spite of his fair hair
and the many memories he and she shared in common, would never be
weaned from her allegiance to that grey-haired man down south, whose
mistress she was said to be, and who was said even by his enemies to
be endowed with a most attractive personality.
The major's first two visits to Diana had not escaped the notice of
his colleagues at the embassy. He had refrained from seeing any more
of her, partly because he was overwhelmed with work, and partly he
was deterred by the fear of meeting his chief at Diana's villa. But
the baron's party, which consisted only of Linnartz and his wife,
though they thought they had now secured Olivia's adherence, had
quickly discerned in his visits confirmation of their suspicions of
Diana's "demi-monde" antecedents.
From the very first the Linnartzes, man and wife, had looked upon the
major as a possible enemy. Felix, whose natural jealousy had been
aroused by visions of Gregor and Diana perpetually together, had
entered upon his new post with a feeling of animosity towards his
chief. But the longer he worked for the ambassador, the more he came
to like the man, to feel a growing sympathy for him. Gregor's fresh
vitality appealed to him, also his waywardness, and his comradely way
of treating his subordinates. The embassy being a household divided
against itself, the major's antagonistic reception by one faction,
and the cordial welcome extended to him by the other, helped to
define the newcomer's position. He made himself an object of
suspicion to the Linnartzes as soon as he called on Diana. Kopp, on
the other hand, had mentally rallied to the major's side. Army and
navy had greeted one another with a kind of formal cordiality; the
two men had recalled the dinner at the club and the homeward walk
with Scherer when this very ambassador had come up for discussion.
Though at the outset Scherer's name had served as a link between
them, it was of Scherer's envoy, of Diana, that both men had thought
during their first interview.
The prince was less affable. He could not help wondering what the
bond might be between Diana and the major, and how many weeks would
elapse before the military attaché would come into collision with the
chief. Nevertheless, the major's open-heartedness made a strong
appeal--a fact which the prince was careful to keep to himself.
When Gregor had told Diana the name of Eckersberg's successor, she
had answered that she knew the major of old. Yet she kept the
major's second visit from her lover. A first call could be looked
upon as a mere courtesy visit, but how might others be construed?
The better she came to know Gregor, the more ardent her love for him
had grown, the more she was at pains to spare him anything that might
shake his confidence in her, might make him uneasy or agitated. She
therefore begged the major not to call again. Felix had looked
mutely at her, the woman who had taught him all that was worth
knowing, even how to take a rebuff; then he had left the villa like
the well-disciplined soldier he was, sad at heart, and yet hopeful
that some day he might be allowed to return.
That same afternoon the prince came into the office where the major
and Kopp were deep in the study of a document. As he entered, he
said banteringly:
"How incredibly industrious you two men of war are. By half past
four you'll have saved the Fatherland, I shouldn't wonder! Decrees!
Decrees! Decrees! What the devil's it all about?"
"About the amount of crape to be worn at funerals!"
"Va bene!" Then he added with a sigh: "And you went for a long ride
this morning."
"Yes, in a southerly direction," answered the major, to whom this
observation was addressed.
"Nice place to stay in the summer, eh?"
"A splendid place for a ride," put in Kopp.
Both men wanted to bring the major to a mention of the visits, but he
exclaimed airily:
"Yes, splendid."
"The chief knows the road well," said the prince tentatively. "Let's
see, how long is it since he took to riding in that direction? Six
months?"
The major, who knew when his chief's visits had begun just as well as
they, said calmly:
"As long ago as that? Ever since May?"
"No, it must have been July."
"Ah, of course, July."
All three looked relieved as this word was pronounced, like people
who had been given an explanation for which they had long been
waiting. Each stood pensive for a while, wondering what the others
were thinking of. Then Kopp, drumming on the window pane, exclaimed:
"Magnificent woman!"
To which the prince responded:
"Idem est natura et ars."
The major said nothing, but looked inquiringly at the prince. The
latter slowly and deliberately put his question:
"Major, have you met Fräulein de Wassilko before?"
Felix pressed his lips together, and hesitated a moment before
answering.
"Yes, I had the pleasure--some time ago--slightly..."
His answer coming as it did after too long a pause, the expression
which had flitted across his face when the prince had spoken the
Latin tag, the agitation he had displayed when adding the word
"slightly" a second too late, and leaving it hanging in the air, were
enough to tell the prince all he wanted to know. Kopp, on the other
hand, was as innocent as ever. The soldier could deceive his
comrade, but he could not deceive the diplomat.
The prince had always been devoted to Gregor. What he admired in him
was the mixture of energy and sound critical faculty--a rare
conjuncture. He had a great respect for Olivia, and yet the way in
which Gregor snapped up women and dropped them again with a kind of
abrupt geniality made him, the precociously wise young man, feel that
here was one who could dominate life as he himself would have given
much to be able to do. But it was not until Diana's advent that the
prince wholly surrendered to the personality of his chief. Then the
marvellous change that had occurred in the count, his recaptured
youth which was reflected in all he did and said, confirmed the young
man in what had hitherto only been surmise as to the elder's fine
capabilities. Linnartz, on the other hand, the prince had always
found intolerable, and as soon as the baron's intrigues at
headquarters came to his ears he determined more than ever to rally
to the count's side. He knew he could rely on Kopp's help.
Eckersberg had been an uncertain quantity. But his successor in
office had, by this secret visit to Diana, made himself one of their
group. He guessed by the major's manner the nature of the bond
between Diana and this old friend of hers. What now remained to be
discovered was whether the relationship between the two had come to
an end as had obviously the one with Andreas, or whether the major
had come here in order to oust the new lover.
In the past the prince had done much to shield his chief from the
consequences of his own folly, and this time, likewise, he may have
been instrumental in burking the effects of Linnartz's denunciation.
But a rival might prove dangerous, a rival could do successfully what
the baron merely botched, a rival could unearth matters that would
bring disaster in their train, a rival alone could achieve his
chief's fall. The prince had given much thought to such a
possibility ere this. Now, however, he felt that events might crowd
upon him at any moment. He must act at once, must infringe his own
strict canons of behaviour to find out how the land lay. Kopp's
presence was a boon to him, for the captain's earnestness seemed in
some sort to excuse his own unusual solemnity. Having thus made up
his mind to take the step, he rose from his chair and went over to
where the major stood. Kopp turned from the window through which he
had been gazing and followed the prince's movement. He was surprised
at the strange formality of the prince's manner in addressing the
military attaché:
"Major, you have doubtless noticed that there are two factions here
which..."
Felix looked at his interlocutor earnestly, drew himself up as if on
duty, and answered:
"I belong to this one, Your Highness."
For a moment the prince's right hand itched to go forward and clasp
the major's, but his whole nature was so averse to anything that
savoured of sentimentality that he overcame the impulse. He
therefore said nonchalantly: "Do forgive me for this absurdly
melodramatic intervention...."
The door opened, and Linnartz came in.
"The countess has sent me to invite you to take tea with her and my
wife. Will you come down, gentlemen?"
As the four men entered Olivia's little boudoir, they saw Andreas
sitting on a low stool showing Olivia's son the pictures in a big
portfolio and telling the child stories about them. The countess
seemed more agitated than usual. Her vexation at having missed an
appointment with Andreas, through the blunder of a servant, had
brought her inner unrest to the surface. Andreas, too, was in a
similar state of nervous irritability, and had sought refuge in the
boy's company. Now he wished to rejoin the others, but Clemens
pulled him by the sleeve, protesting:
"Don't get up. They are only our own gentlemen."
Every one laughed, and Andreas released himself from the child's
hold. The major was introduced to the young poet. As soon as Felix
heard Andreas's name, he remembered the story of the dog, which had
been told him, and he saw in this new acquaintance yet another man
that in some way was connected with Diana. The men drew up in a
semi-circle round the countess while she poured out tea. Meanwhile
the prince had gone over to the lad who was sitting rather
disconsolate after Andreas's desertion. Though quite unused to
children, he tried to propitiate the little boy by saying as he took
a seat beside him: "Give me a trial, Clemens. I can tell stories
too. What have we here? Adam and Eve being turned out of the Garden
of Eden. Very unpleasant scene, and all on account of an apple."
"Tell me, what does 'and they knew that they were naked' mean; I've
never been able to understand," asked Clemens.
"You're right," answered the prince. "It's a queer story. Baroness,
can't you help me out? I'm being put through my catechism!"
He gave up his place to the baroness who had responded to his appeal,
and he now joined the circle round the tea-table.
"What has Clemens been up to? I hope he has not been naughty."
"Contrariwise, Countess, eager for knowledge; though perhaps on
rather perilous ground."
"May we be told?" asked the countess, who had overheard part of the
child's question and wanted to bring the conversation into the erotic
sphere--a thing she was usually careful to avoid in mixed society.
"Well he has just been studying the Scriptures with Herr Seeland, and
is very keen on knowing about the Fall."
"Come, come," protested Linnartz, while the others laughed. Even
Andreas joined in the merriment, lest his uneasiness be observed.
But he sought Olivia's eyes, hoping to deter her. She, however,
clutched hold of the subject with a kind of irritable despair, saying:
"Well, and how would you explain it, Prince Eduard?"
"I'm the youngest, Countess. You should ask the men of experience
who surround you..."
"I am younger still," put in Andreas, hoping even now to turn the
conversation away from the subject.
"And what do you think, Youngster?" asked the countess, looking at
him, a challenge in her eye, as if no one else was present.
"I can no longer conceive of the idea of sin. I can only feel."
"Well spoken, Doctor," cried the major. "I can only feel!"
Kopp nodded his head in approval.
The prince smiled, and ventured to throw the ball back to the
countess, saying:
"After the elucidation we have just had, an elucidation which for
brevity matches the Spartan, and for licentiousness is worthy of
Sardanapalus, we have a right to ask that you too..."
"Yes, yes, please," chimed in the officers.
All were silent. The countess, who today resembled a cat that has
been offended, stared gloomily in front of her, muttering:
"The Fall! As if every pleasure did not contain the germs of
bitterness--and yet one wants it all the same!"
The baroness had forgotten the child for a moment, absorbed in what
was being said round the tea-table. Now she turned to Clemens again,
once more willing to look at the pictures. But the boy, who had
followed the baroness's eyes, had likewise heard what was said, and
now, puzzled by all these incomprehensible things, he sat mumchance
and rigid, taking no further interest in what the baroness was
showing him. At last she asked:
"Clemens, what is the matter?"
Then he bent towards her and, as children do when they are telling
secrets to one another, said in an exaggerated whisper:
"Bitterness. What is bitterness? Mama used that word twice just the
other day when she was upstairs with Herr Seeland."
"Where upstairs?" whispered the baroness in her turn.
"Upstairs in the guest's room, near the balcony."
"When was it?"
"In the afternoon when Papa had gone for his ride. Mama said they
were going on to the balcony to see the view, but they were in the
guest's room, and I heard them, twice."
"To work," broke in the baron from the other end of the room.
With the countess's strange speech ringing in their ears, the four
men made their way back to the office. Linnartz uttered one word:
"Unprecedented!"
Kopp said softly:
"That's what I call nature."
The major said nothing but, without being fully conscious of his own
mental process, compared Olivia's outburst with Diana's freedom of
speech.
The prince thought:
"Olivia has quarrelled with her only friend, while Diana has
attracted three more friends to her side."
When, downstairs in the boudoir, Andreas once more sought the boy's
company, Clemens clung to his arm as if to make amends for the
betrayal, pulled the young man on to the bench beside him, and glared
at the baroness, so recently the recipient of his childish confidence.