Authors: Theodor Fontane
The countess smiled, half placated yet half sad.
“There now,” said Holk, “I see that you agree with me and if you hesitate one second longer I shall call on our friend Julie to decide. Isn't it right, my dear Julie, that it is foolish and even unkind to talk of a husband's contradictions or indecisiveness when his indecision is never an obstacle because the decisiveness of his better half immediately makes his own indecision a matter of no moment whatsoever. And there is the
Dronning Maria
coming round the point. Another five minutes and she'll be in. I suggest that we go down to the landing-stage and collect the Copenhagen mail.”
“No, I will,” cried Asta who had heard the news of the arrival of the
Dronning Maria
from the next room and immediately closed the piano at which she was practising. “No, I will, I'm quicker.”
Without giving time to answer yes or no, she flew down the terrace towards the pier, reaching the end just as the boat arrived. The captain, who knew her very well, saluted her and personally handed her a bundle of papers from the bridge. A moment later the ship set off again for Glücksburg while Asta hurried back to the terrace. When still only half-way there, she held up a long envelope which the count and countess had no difficulty in recognizing as an official communication by its large size and seal. A second later, Asta placed the papers on the table and handed the letter to her father. He hastily scanned the address and read: “The Honourable Count Helmut Holk of Holkenäs, Acting Provost of the Noble Company of St. John in Schleswig, Gentleman-in-Waiting to Her Royal Highness Princess Maria Eleanor.”
“There's only one man who is so punctilious and thorough,” said the countess. “The letter must be from Pentz. I always have to laugh when I think of him, half Polonius and half Rosencrantz and Guildenstern. Asta, you ought to go back to your practising. I think the
Dronning Maria
arrived rather too conveniently.”
Asta went back to her piano.
Meanwhile Holk had opened the letter and began reading it aloud, knowing that he would not be betraying any state secrets.
Copenhagen, The Princesses' Palace
September 28th, 1859
My dear Holk,
First of all, our baronial greetings! And hot on the heels of my greetings, my most humble request for indulgence, since I am about to disturb the family life of Holkenäs castle. Our friend Thureson Bille who was to have started his term of duty with the Princess, alternating with Erichsen, was laid low three weeks ago by the measles, a childish complaint that, in the words of H.R.H., whom I quote, has addressed itself to the right victim. Now it is true that we still have Baron Steen but he happens to be in Sicily where he has been waiting for Etna to erupt for the last five weeks. Since Steen has found himself unable to continue his eruptive life in person, he has turned to the eruptions of fire-belching mountains. I wonder what his own past seems like in comparison! I have only known him for thirty years myself. In spite of all his efforts to be a Don Juan, he was fundamentally a Sir Andrew Aguecheek, which, judged by his own standardsâand pretensionsâmakes him about as ridiculous as can be. But let us leave all these eruptions and
revenons à nos moutons
: Steen and Bille are not available and so you must step into the breach. The Princess herself wishes me to express all her regrets to you and to the charming countess and commands me to add that she will spare no effort to make your sojourn as easy and pleasant as possible and I have no doubt that she will succeed. The King intends to spend the late autumn in Glücksburgâwith the Danner woman, of courseâso that you will find our
serenissima
in the best of humours since, as you know, she is not over-fond of breathing the same air as that lady. The position of Hall, who is, as always, the Princess's favourite
in politicis
, has been badly shaken but even that has helped to improve her good humour since everything suggests that the âPeasants' Ministry' which is impending has an expectation of life of not more than a month and if Hall returns to powerâand he will be begged to do soâhe will be more firmly in the saddle than ever. Moreover, my dear Holkâand I am more than delighted to be able to tell you thisâit is not at all necessary for you in any way to rush and jump on the first steamer; the Princess asks that you be so instructed, an especial mark of favour, since punctuality is rather essential in your office and something on which the Princess is normally most insistentâindeed, in some circumstances, she can be quite touchy about it. Here I must stop and not make any premature revelations from my store of secrets which I am saving for your arrival. Moreover, the Princess is vexed if anyone reveals beforehand any gossip that she would have liked to tell herself. Just one really dainty morsel: Adda Nielsen is leaving the stage to become Countess Brede, after hesitating for a fortnight as to whether she would not rather continue in her freer and financially more advantageous position with the wholesaler Hoptrup. But legitimacy has its charms, too, and after all, this will make her a legitimate countess while Hoptrup, even if he were to become a widower, of which there seems at the moment no likelihood whatsoever, will never be anything more than a State Councillor, in spite of all his millions. And that is not enough for the pretensions of our leading tragic actress. De Meze has become aide-de-camp. Thomsen and Worsaae are quarrelling again, naturally enough over a hollowed-out petrified tree-trunk which Worsaae wants to date only from Ragnor Lodbrook while Thomsen, not satisfied with this, wants to go back as far as Noah. I personally am all for Noah; it holds pleasanter associations for me: the ark, doves, rainbows but, above all, the grape-vine. Let me have a note or better still a telegram to let me know when we may expect you.
Tout à vous
, Your
Ebenezer Pentz
Holk read this letter with great amusement; but the countess was not amused.
“Well now, Christine, what do you think? Pentz all over, wasn't it? Full of good humour, malice, and, fortunately, poking fun at himself as well. Court life does produce some extraordinary characters.”
“It does indeed. And particularly over there in our dear Copenhagen. Even at court, its fundamental nature cannot be hidden.”
“And what is its
fundamental
nature?”
“Dance-halls, music, and fireworks. It's a town made for ships' captains who have been drifting around for six months and now are only thinking of making up for lost time and throwing away all the money they have saved. Copenhagen is a town of drinking and pleasure.”
Holk laughed. “Presumably including in your description the Thorwaldsen Museum, the Norse antiquities, St. Olaf's Cross, and the Church of our Lady, with Christ and the twelve Apostles as well?”
“Oh Holk, what a question! You could easily make a longer list and of course I am not blind to all the lovely things to be found there. They are certainly a highly civilized people, very intelligent and talented, endowed in many, many ways. But if they have all the virtues of social intercourse, they have all its vices as well. They are all completely worldly; they have never had to worry or exert themselves and wealth and good fortune have just fallen into their laps. They have never known what it is to have a thrashing and that is what sets their whole tone and gives them their taste for pleasure. What is more, not content with merely drifting along with them, the court even sets the pace, instead of having the sense to realize that whoever wants to govern must first learn to control himself. But they don't understand that, in Copenhagen, and even your Princess does not know it and least of all our good Baron Pentz who seems to imagine that the Tivoli pleasure gardens are one of the pillars of society. And he writes in that way, too. I cannot bear that tone and I feel bound to say that, in my view and with my upbringing, I think that it is heading straight for disaster.”
Holk dissented. “Believe me, Christine, however much royal and less than royal junketing takes place, it is really not like Balthazar's feast and the writing will not be on the wall for my dear friends from Copenhagen for a long time yet. But what shall I do about this summons from the Princess?”
“Obey it, of course. You are in her service and as long as you think fit to continue in it, you will continue to have certain duties that you have to fulfil. And in the present case, the sooner the better, at least in my view. I shouldn't believe all that he says about there being no hurry and, in any case, I shouldn't take advantage of it. I have always avoided having anything to do with courts and I have a horror of princesses, old or young, but I do know enough about the life there and its laws to realize that you cannot show too much deference and that there would be something rather improper about calmly accepting any liberties that you are offered. And then, even if you were to stay here, you would only be restless, and so should I, tooâwe all should be. So my advice to you is to leave tomorrow.”
“You're right; that is the best thing to do, not to think about it too long. But you should come with me, Christine. Frau Hansen has a whole house to let over there, which is more room than we should need, and she is the best of landladies. And you would have the company of your friend Countess Schimmelmann and the daughter-in-law of our good friends the Brockdorffs and Helen Moltke. I mention those three because I know how much you like them. And then there are all the churches in Copenhagen, and Melbye is your favourite painter, and you have always had the greatest admiration for old Grundtvig the theologian.”
The countess smiled and said: “Yes, Helmut, that is just like you. Only a moment ago we were talking about the children and our arrangements for them and you have already forgotten every word about it. One of us must be here to make sure that we do the right thing. I should like to know what is on your mind. Your memory seems to miss all the good grain and keep only the chaff. Forgive me, but I must speak the truth even if it seems a little harsh. I think that if my brother Alfred were to die, or perhaps someone even closer to you, and you happened to be going shooting, you would forget to go to the funeral.”
Holk bit his lips. “I see that I've failed to put you in a better temper or prevent you from brooding and being so serious all the time. I wonder whether it's my fault or yours.”
At these words, Christine was suddenly touched. Taking his hand, she said: “We are both to blame and perhaps I more than anybody else. You are easy-going and indecisive and changeable and I am sad and take life too seriously, even when it would be better to take it less seriously. You've been unlucky in your choice, you need a wife who is better able to laugh. I try now and then and even feel proud of having tried but I'm never quite successful. Solemn I certainly am and perhaps sentimental as well. Forget what I said to you a moment ago, it was hard and unjust and I allowed myself to be carried away. Certainly, I often criticize you, I cannot deny it but I can also say that I blame myself as well.”
At that moment Asta came out of the drawing-room into the hall with a hat under her arm.
“Where are you going?”
“To Elizabeth's. I want to take back her music-case which she left behind yesterday.”
“Excellent,” said Holk. “I shall go part of the way with you.” Asta, who saw plainly that a serious conversation had been going on, after greeting Fräulein Dobschütz, kissed her mother on her forehead. Then, taking her father's hand, she walked with him down the hall towards the front of the castle.
When they had left, Julie said: “I almost thought that you would have liked to keep the music-case here for a few days, Christine. I noticed the effect the song had on you yesterday evening.”
“Not the music, only the words. And in the first flush of my enthusiasm, I copied them out straightaway yesterday. Please fetch them from my bureau, will you, Julie? I should very much like you to read the whole poem to me again or at least the first verse.”
“I think I know that one by heart,” said Julie.
“I think perhaps I do, too. But I should like to hear it in spite of that; recite it really slowly.”
So Julie slowly recited in a quiet voice:
“Die Ruh' ist wohl das Beste
Von allem Glück der Welt,
Was bleibt vom Erdenfeste
Was bleibt uns unvergällt?
Die Rose welkt in Schauern
Die uns der Frühling gibt
,
Wer haÃt ist zu bedauern
Und mehr noch fast, wer liebt
.”
[1]
The countess stopped her sewing and a tear fell on her hand. Then she said: “A wonderful verse. And I am not sure which is the lovelier, the first two lines or the last two.”
“I think they both belong together,” said her friend, “and one couplet enhances the beauty of the other. âWho hates, is to be pitied and almost more, one who loves.' Yes, Christine, it is true. But because it is so true ⦔
“The other couplet which begins the verse is all the truer:
“
Die Ruh' ist wohl das Beste
⦔
[
1
] Peace is surely the best of all earthly happiness; what earthly joy remains free from bitterness? The rose withers beneath the spring shower; who hates, is to be pitied and almost more, one who loves.
While
Christine was having this conversation with Julie Dobschütz, Holk and his daughter walked down the hall and then parted a hundred yards further on beside the round patch of lawn where they used to play cricket when there were visitors. Holk went to speak to a gardener busy in front of a greenhouse, while Asta continued on her way along the well-kept park drive which sloped gently down until it turned sharply left into a wide, level chestnut avenue leading to Holkeby village. Chestnuts were lying all over the ground or bursting their husks and falling at Asta's feet. She kept bending down to pick them up but when she reached the pastor's house, which was inside the precincts of the churchyard, she threw them all away and hurried on to the house. The door had an old knocker that seemed to be failing in its task, for no one came. Only after repeated knocking was the door opened by the pastor himself, who had obviously been disturbed. But when he caught sight of Asta the look of annoyance quickly vanished from his face and, taking her hand, he led her through the open door into his study. The windows looked out on to the churchyard which sloped slightly upwards, so that the tombstones seemed to be looking over each other's shoulders. Here and there aspens and weeping-willows were planted and, in spite of the season, the scent of reseda was wafted through the windows.