"Why do you affect this huge reception room, my dear Father? There
are such cosy wine-cellars to go to nowadays, low-ceilinged,
comfortable; the kind that only the upper middle class and artists
used to patronize, but now available to higher circles of society.
These old hotels along the Linden oppress one, as soon as one passes
the threshold, by their Bismarckian proportions."
"And it is for that very reason that I am not going to allow my sons
to persuade me into making a change," answered the old prince.
"There are sufficient visitors here to make a public figure
inconspicuous; besides, these many mirrors permit of one making
valuable observations--or are the devices of our old-world diplomacy
likewise to be thrown on the scrap-heap along with all the other
relics of the Metternich age?"
Prince Eduard and his father were a strange contrast as they stood
talking together. The old man's face was lined with suffering, his
square musician's head was grey and bowed with the years and with
illness, but it was finely moulded and gave an impression of great
intelligence. The son's fair head, with its carefully parted hair,
was long and narrow, for he took after his mother's family. They
nevertheless had one point in common: both were fond of indulging in
quaintly ironical turns of phrase, though the son's reserved nature,
and his dread of giving himself away, frequently made him assume a
cynical pose. As father and reigning monarch, the old man was
kindly, though in other respects his knowledge of human nature had
induced a mood of resigned scepticism. Towards this queer son whose
mind was filled with such outlandish notions he was tolerant; indeed
he loved the strange fellow, and was all the more lenient in that
there was no likelihood of Eduard ever rising to a position of
responsibility in which his modern ideas might jeopardize the welfare
of the little State. True, this visit to the metropolis had been
undertaken with a view to finding out by discreet inquiries at court
and among old friends of the family what sort of company Eduard kept,
for gossip was rife at the paternal residence, and painted the young
man's life in lurid colours.
As they sat at dinner in a corner of the vast dining hall, they would
have been cut off from the rest of the room were it not that the many
mirrors reflected every detail to the very entrance. Prince Eduard's
glance was continually travelling to these detectors while he spoke.
Suddenly he leaned forward and scrutinized one of them with keener
interest.
"On the contrary, I'm all for the old school," he said, "for I can
look my fill, unobserved, at Olivia Countess of Münsterberg who is
dining over there in a corner, alone, divinely beautiful in a
dark-blue gown. Even you, Father, whom Queen Louise dandled as a
baby, would enjoy the sight of her..."
"I met the countess yesterday, and had a word with her in the
entrance hall. As for Queen Louise, she was a friend of your
great-grandmother; and in spite of your proverbial lack of
genealogical competence I should have thought some of your tutor's
lessons might have stuck..."
"Good old Mengeberg," exclaimed Eduard. Then mimicking his teacher's
voice and manner: "Now, let us recapitulate: Your late honoured
great-grandmother..."
"Eduard!"
"Sorry, Father!"
"Tell me, is it true," continued the old man precipitately, partly to
cover up the little reproof, and partly because the moment seemed
opportune to put the question which had long occupied his thoughts,
"is it true that Countess Münsterberg is on friendly terms with her
former rival, that--that political agent or--whatever the woman may
be?"
"What woman, Father?"
The young man's tone was so formal and so distant that the father
realized his motives were discovered, and he acknowledged in his own
mind that Eduard's forbearance was commendable. Yet they pursued the
game as if neither knew what the other was driving at.
"But Eduard, you were there at the time..."
"Ah yes, so I was. Yes, I fancy they are seeing one another."
"Have you not met the countess there from time to time?"
"Yes, Father."
A pause. Eduard helped his father to another dish. The old man
leaned forward and looked kindly into his son's face.
"Tell me, Eduard, is it seemly that you should visit that house?"
"If Countess Münsterberg..."
Another pause. The father settled himself back comfortably in his
chair, sipped his wine with an affectation of relish, looked round as
if wanting something to complete the savoury dish before him.
"What is it you want, Father? Mustard? Waiter! Mustard please."
"Yes, Sir!"
A third pause. The elder man again leaned forward, even going so far
as to lay a hand lightly on his son's arm.
"My dear Eduard, you are in an independent position. Heinrich and
Stefan are not so free. But I would ask you to consider this. There
are people who may find occasion to say that you are often to be seen
in the house of a young woman who cannot be your mistress since
Countess Münsterberg visits her, but who is at the same time not
quite obviously enough a lady whose position could warrant her,
unwedded as she is, to keep a house of her own... For she is not
received anywhere ... and Scherer's bachelor quarters seem to be the
only respectable house she has hitherto been able to penetrate, the
climax of her social achievement..."
Prince Eduard loved his father, and though during these last few
weeks Diana's image and Diana's name had much occupied his mind,
endowing him, the confirmed sceptic, with a youthful vivacity none of
his friends had suspected him capable of, he had perpetually repeated
to himself, as if to condone his sentiments: "But there is certainly
one person who has a prior claim on you:--Father." Now, as he saw
the beloved head before him, the warning the old man wished to give
appeared in a fresh light, so that when Eduard spoke again there was
a boyish ring in his voice and a smile on his lips.
"Excuse me, Father. The climax attainable by--that lady--far exceeds
the confines of the salons she sets her foot in. Remember what the
worthy Mengeberg, whose shade you so recently called up from the
tomb, remember what he, at your command, used to tell us about the
aristocracy of the mind."
The tenderness with which he pronounced the words "sets her foot"
struck the old man as something quite novel in his son. He thought:
"Things seem to have gone pretty deep with him, and it is all
rendered even more complex by the fact that she does not appear to be
his mistress."
"Still, it's a pity you should see so much of political women," he
said at last.
"I fear Curtius--or was it Senderstein?--has misinformed you. The
lady whom your gentlemen are so worried about is not in any way
connected with politics.--Won't you take a little cheese?"
"No thanks. Please go on..."
"There's nothing more to say. Are we going to spoil our evening
together on account of some one whom I've seen at most about four
times? Does that look as if I were in love, Father?"
"I hope not, Eduard."
"What are you afraid of, then? To what end all those precepts of
toleration, that catechism of liberalism which you so earnestly
forced upon us all in the hope of democratizing your realm? Because
poor Heinrich cannot marry a lady with fewer than thirteen
quarterings in her coat-of-arms, am I to forgo the acquaintance of a
woman who happens to earn her own livelihood?" He broke off
suddenly, surprised at his own vivacity. Then, laughing: "How
absurdly melodramatic! I might be quoting a socialist paper!"
In spite of his earnestness, he had not raised his voice, nor
exceeded the bounds imposed by respect and good breeding. But the
father was so unaccustomed to hear this son of his express himself
with feeling, that he was profoundly moved. He felt that Eduard had
right on his side, and yet he continued to question the young man
coldly:
"German family?"
"I think some Slav blood as well, born in the Balkans, the father has
become anglicized."
"Is he--on view?"
"No, only a brother."
"What--does this brother do?"
"I don't know, Father."
"They tell me he gambles."
"Quite possible. I saw him once at the club playing with Sagan. The
duke won."
The old man dipped his fingers into the bowl, and as he dried them he
seemed to be washing his hands of this matter as one he would rather
discuss no further. He realized that his son had had the best of the
argument, that the duke's name had been introduced adroitly, all the
more since the scene of the card-table had very likely been invented
on the spur of the moment. He seized the favourable opportunity thus
afforded him to ask innocently:
"Do you see much of Sagan?"
"I met him recently at my chief's."
"Ah, and how is Mühlwerth?"
Eduard, delighted at having tided over the momentary clash with his
father, answered in his customary mocking yet courteous tone:
"Mühlwerth is playing to the gallery, while his lady struts as
tragedy queen by his side. False democrats, Father, coquetting with
the left wing. When he drives along in an open car, he
ostentatiously reads Vorwaerts. The first day he was in office,
he... Have one of mine, won't you?"
They had both opened their silver cigarette cases bearing the family
crest, and each was pressing the other to partake, the older man
offering a large sized smoke tucked away in two orderly rows in a
wide case, the younger, with a less steady hand, offering lighter
fare in a smaller case. They smiled at one another as they made
their choice, and the reconciliation was complete.
"Thanks. And what did Mühlwerth do the first day he was in office?"
"Many thanks.--He got there at twenty past eight, himself opened all
the correspondence--one hundred and eighty letters in all--read every
line, dictated to three typists who were scared out of their senses
and had come dribbling in at eight-forty, eight-fifty, and eight
fifty-five, the whole hundred and eighty answers, and at half past
ten, when we were standing around at a loss how to repair the
catastrophe: 'I trust your well-known acumen to see to it that these
answers are modified as far as may be necessary to make them fully
accordant with the tenor of your letter-files.'"
He stopped short as he heard a boyish voice greeting him, and looking
up beheld Sidney. The youth's extraordinary beauty, his resemblance
to Diana in all essentials save that his face was unwholesomely pale
and his eyes lacked lustre, struck the prince afresh. The old man
was rather repelled by so much comeliness in a male, and asked coldly:
"Who's that? I don't know quite what to make of your modern types,
but it seems to me that that young man must be a natural son of a man
of distinction--unless he happens to be a well-bred actor."
"Ignotus," lied Eduard complacently, resolved to avoid reopening a
subject which might renew the friction between him and his father.
"He seems to be accosting Countess Münsterberg. Does she live here?"
"Yes, I fancy she does."
In the mirror, Eduard saw Sidney bowing to the countess, his gesture
almost maidenly in its graceful disingenuousness. Olivia then
motioned him to a chair at her side. The likeness to Diana, the talk
he had just had with his father, the dim light that pervaded the
room, everything combined to make the prince feel that Diana herself
was over there by the countess, masquerading in male attire. It was
a relief to him when the old man rose and he could rid himself of the
vision the mirror revealed. As they sought the exit, he endeavoured
to edge his father away from the young couple. But try as he would,
he did not succeed. Olivia and the reigning prince only exchanged a
few commonplaces, but the thing Eduard had especially wished to avoid
took place. Before he realized quite what had happened, he heard the
countess saying:
"Herr de Wassilko."
The deed was done. Eduard grew pale, and he hardly knew whether to
thank his father or not, when the old man, turning on his heel,
silently left the room.
"What a splendid veteran," commented Olivia in her golden voice, her
languorous eyes looking ardently into the grey, catlike orbs of her
companion. She might well have been Sidney's mother, so that her
expression had something incestuous about it. Passion alone could
serve as bond between two such disparate natures.
Not until he was driving home did Eduard find sufficient peace of
mind to reflect calmly upon the relationship between these two. Yet
he had been aware of it at the first glance. He knew that Olivia had
been Diana's guest once, and must therefore have met Sidney on that
occasion. Her greedy eyes having alighted on so handsome a youth, it
would not take long for his precociousness to rally to her desire.
"She is capable of any freedom where the feelings are concerned,"
thought Eduard, as he jolted along in company with his father. But
what of the young man himself? Why did he meet her half way?
Because of her rank, or because of her money?
Meanwhile the old man at his side was asking himself:
"Why did Eduard pretend not to know his inamorata's brother?"
After a while he asked aloud:
"Wassilko, is not that a Ruthenian name?"
"Quite possibly."
"Or, maybe, it is Polish," said the old man, amused by his son's
reticence. "You never can tell with such people...."