On the Heights: A Novel

As he rode on through the darkness, he would sometimes catch himself falling asleep, for it was the second night he had spent in such unrest-his thoughts were confused and bewildered.

At the last post-house, he left his horse and took a post-chaise.

It was early in the morning when the carriage arrived at the summer palace. They found it difficult to arouse Baum, and it was some time before he was fully awake and could recollect where he was and what he had brought with him.

Various court carriages were in waiting, and fine saddle-horses were being led from the stables. Baum scarcely heard the salutations of his comrades and the grooms. He entered the palace and ascended the staircase. He was so completely worn out that he felt as if his knees would sink under him. He entered the king's ante-chamber. The old head chamberlain hastily took the pinch of snuff which he had been holding between his fingers, and offered his hand to Baum. Baum sank into a chair, and expressed a wish to be forthwith announced to his majesty.

"I can't yet. You must wait," replied the head chamberlain.

It was only by a violent effort that Baum was enabled to keep his seat and prevent himself from falling asleep.

CHAPTER II

The king was in his cabinet at an early hour. He avoided all enervating self-indulgence, and his powers of endurance surpassed those of any other member of the court. It was his custom to take a cold bath every morning, all the year round, and this always gave him new life and strength. He knew nothing of deshabille, and always left his bath-room fully dressed for the day.

There was to be a hunt that day, and the king was in hunting costume. He had repaired to the cabinet, for the purpose of dispatching various matters of business that required his immediate attention.

His office was situated in the central building, in the so-called Elector's Tower. It was a large, lofty apartment, and comfortable withal. Its walls were covered with a sort of handy-volume library, military maps and various favorite specimens of plastic art, mostly antiques, of which he had procured copies while yet a prince. There was also a letter-weight, formed of balls from the battle-field of Leipsic. The oaken furniture was in the Renaissance style-the large writing-table stood in the center of the room. A water-color picture, representing the queen as a bride, hung on his right.

The king entered and touched the bell which stood on the writing-table; the privy councilor presented himself.

He handed several papers to the king, who hurriedly read and signed them. The councilor presented a report in regard to the household ministry. The king, meanwhile, walked up and down the room. Suddenly he exclaimed:

"What's that?"

From the adjoining room, he heard sounds as if moving and lifting, and also scraping footsteps, just as if a coffin were being borne away. He touched the bell. In an instant, the door opened and the head chamberlain appeared.

"What insufferable noise is that in the gallery?"

"Your Majesty ordered the large picture to be removed."

The king remembered having given the order the day before.

Although he had, for a long while, been accustomed to seeing the picture in that place, it had yesterday suddenly become repugnant to him. The painting represented Belshazzar seated on his throne and surrounded by his creatures, while a hand issuing from the clouds is writing "Mene Tekel" on the wall. The figures were all in life size. The king had given directions that the picture should be removed to the public gallery.

"I am awkwardly served," said the king impatiently. "It would have been time to do that while I was at the hunt."

The head chamberlain trembled when he heard these words. His hands dropped, and his head bent as if with shame. It was with difficulty that he dragged himself out through the opposite door. Instant silence ensued. Noiselessly, the painting was placed on the floor and the servants retired.

The chamberlain came around, from the other side, into the anteroom. He sat down in an arm-chair and took a pinch of snuff between his fingers, but was so absorbed in thought that he forgot to use it until the very moment when Baum entered the room.

He sat opposite Baum. All was silent. Now and then he would shake his head mournfully and look at his large arm-chair. "Yes, he'll soon be sitting here, and I'll be dismissed," thought he. When the privy councilor passed through the ante-chamber, the old chamberlain forgot to bring him his hat. Baum did it in his stead, for Baum was fresh again. This was no time to show signs of fatigue. He felt that he held the winning card, and that now was the time to play it.

The bell in the cabinet was again heard.

"Is there any one else in the anteroom?" inquired the king of the chamberlain.

"Yes, Your Majesty; Baum is here."

"Let him enter."

Baum felt fully conscious of his importance. The king had not ordered him to report to the chamberlain, but had said, "Let him enter." He desired to confer with him in person. The confidential position which he had craved was already his.

Baum's usually grave and submissive manner seemed more impressive than ever before.

"Have you a message?" asked the king.

"No, Your Majesty."

"What have you there?"

"Your Majesty," replied Baum, placing his bundle on the chair and untying it, "I found this hat of Countess von Wildenort in the lake, and these shoes among the willows on the shore."

The king put forth his hand, as if to grasp these tokens, and then drew it back and pressed it to his heart. He stared at Baum and seemed lost in surprise.

"What does it all mean?" he asked, raising his hand to his head, as if to smooth down his hair which stood on end.

"Your Majesty," continued Baum, who himself trembled when he saw the king's agitated manner, "the countess wore these articles when she rode out with me and ran away."

"Ran away? and-"

Baum laid his hand on his watch, and, although he could not see the dial, he counted the seconds, nevertheless; after which he softly answered:

"The countess drowned herself in the lake last night-no, it was night before last. The boatman saw the body of a female rise on the waters and sink again; and tomorrow, which is the third day, the lake will give her up."

The king motioned him to stop-it was enough-his hand trembled; he grasped the back of a chair to support himself, and stared at the hat and shoes.

Baum dropped his eyes. He felt that the king's gaze was fixed upon him, but he still kept looking on the floor, which seemed to be rising and lifting the lackey to the level of the throne. In his mind's eye, he already beheld himself at the king's side, and as the confidant of royalty. Baum modestly inclined his head still lower. He heard the king pacing the room, but still he did not look up.

"A downcast air," thought he, "betokens perfect obedience and unqualified devotion." The king now stopped before him.

"How do you know it was suicide?"

"I don't know. If it is Your Majesty's pleasure, the countess was drowned by others-"

"My pleasure? I? How?"

"I humbly beg Your Majesty's permission-may I tell all?"

"You must-!"

Summoning all his strength, Baum now said:

"Your Majesty, I found the shoes myself, but I got the hat from a man who is fit to do anything-the gend'arme thinks-that it may perhaps be good for the man-he might be pardoned at the end of a year and sent to America-a brother of his-is said to be-there-"

"You speak incoherently."

Baum regained his self-command.

"She may have been murdered by some poacher. The worst of it all is that she sent a letter to her majesty the queen."

"A letter to the queen! Where is it? Give it to me!"

"I haven't it, the maid snatched it from me."

The king sat down.

For a long while, not a sound was heard but the rapid ticking of the clock that stood on the writing-table.

The king arose from his seat and walked up and down the room. Then he came toward Baum, who felt as if the hour of judgment had come-as if his life hung in the balance. He tried to loosen his cravat; it seemed too tight for him. He almost felt as if a sword were passing through him.

"Do you know what was in the letter to the queen?"

"No, Your Majesty."

"Was it sealed?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"And have you nothing more?"

"Yes, Your Majesty; I was almost obliged to use violence to get this from the maid; and here, Your Majesty, there is something more. Beside the shoes, there was a pool of blood, and on this little plant there are drops of her blood."

A heart-rending cry of pain escaped the king; then, taking the letter and the plant with him, he went into the adjoining room.

Baum remained standing there waiting.

In the next room, the king sat reading, with tearful eyes.

"She loved me intensely. She was great and beautiful," said he to himself, with pale and trembling lips. His mind was filled with thoughts of her beauty, her voice, her gait, and all her varied charms. And were they all now dead?

The king looked at his hand; the hand which she had so fondly kissed. He took up the letter again and once more read the words: "To my friend." He knew not how it came about, but when he again became conscious of himself, he was kneeling by the chair.

What was to come next?

He remembered that the lackey was waiting in the cabinet. The king felt deeply humbled at the thought of his being obliged to take such a creature into his confidence; but had not men of all kinds long known of his crime? They knew of it, but were silent. A thousand eyes were upon him, a thousand lips were speaking-and all were telling this terrible story. The king looked about him, bewildered. He could scarcely rise. And among the many thousands who had laid their hands in his, and who looked up to him, there was one-Ah! how heavily her hand and her glance now weighed upon him. And her lips; what might they say?

How was he now to approach the queen? If she only knew his deep contrition, she would fall weeping on his neck; for she was divine goodness itself. And yet, how had he acted toward her!

He was on the point of sending Irma's last words to the queen. He meant to add some words expressive of his contrition-to lay bare his thoughts and feelings. It is best, thought he to himself, not to act precipitately, and when he was again on his feet, the consciousness of strength returned. One must be able to fulfill the most difficult duties, even that of repentance, without sacrificing dignity.

The king saw himself in the large mirror. He had forgotten that he was in hunting costume, and started at the reflection of himself, as though it were a stranger.

His face was pale, his eyes inflamed. He had shed tears for his friend, and that was enough. What, with some natures, requires months or years, great minds achieve in a few moments. Their years had become as ages. It seemed to him as if the words: "The kiss of eternity," were being wafted toward him on the air, and his mind was filled with memories of that day in the atelier of the ball, and-

"It was given to thee to live the highest life and then die; to force death to do your bidding. But I cannot do so. I do not live for myself alone!" said he, apostrophizing his friend, and feeling as if a new source of life flowed forth from the depths of his grief.

"And this is thy work," said an inner voice, while his thoughts were of the dead. "In all that's good, your spirit will ever abide with me. Without thee-I would confess it to God, were I now to appear before him-I should never have discovered the deepest springs of my being. If I only knew of some deed which could serve as a fit memorial of thy life."

The king again remembered that the lackey was waiting for him. He felt annoyed that there was not an hour he could call his own, in which to calm his agitated feelings, and, for the first time in his life, it flashed upon him: He who commands the services of others, has duties to them, too. They lead a life of their own, extending beyond the time and act of service.

The influence of Irma's last words seemed to hover over his soul like a mist.

He returned to his cabinet. Baum was still standing where he had left him, as silent and as quiet as if he were a chair or table.

"When did you leave there?" asked the king.

Baum told him all.

"You must be fatigued," said the king.

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Well then, take a rest. Anything else you may know, you must tell no one but myself-do you understand?"

"Certainly, Your Majesty. I thank you, humbly."

The king had drawn a large emerald ring from his finger, and, while he turned it from side to side, the bright gem sparkled in the sunlight.

Baum thought that the king was about to bestow the ring upon him as a mark of his favor, but his majesty put the ring on again, and asked: "Are you married?"

"I was, Your Majesty."

"Have you any children?"

"An only son, Your Majesty."

"Very well. Hold yourself in readiness; I shall soon have further orders for you."

Baum went out. While hurrying through the anteroom, he graciously addressed the chamberlain with: "Pray don't rise!" There was no need that any one should see what was plainly to be read in every line of his face. The king had addressed him familiarly, and had even inquired about his family. He was, at last, the confidant of royalty; the highest honors now awaited him.

He went to his quarters in the side wing of the palace.

The king was alone. Naught was near him save Irma's hat and shoes. He gazed at them for a long while. What a poem it would make-to bring to the lover the shoes and the hat of his beloved-what a song it would be to sing in the twilight. Such were his thoughts and yet his brain whirled. With trembling hands, he took up the hat and shoes, and locked up the tokens of death in his writing-desk.

The feather on the hat broke as he closed the door. A light was burning on the writing-table. The king lit a cigar. When his eye fell on the water-color portrait of the queen, he started. He went on smoking violently.

It was not till some after that, that the king rang the bell and gave directions that the lord steward should be called, but that no one else should be admitted.

CHAPTER III

When the lord steward entered, the king had recovered his self-command and had settled upon the course he should pursue.

"Have you heard the terrible news?"

"I have, Your Majesty. The countess's maid has arrived; her mistress was drowned in the lake."

"And-?" asked the king, when he found the lord steward paused.

"And it is also said that, after her father's death, the countess neither saw nor spoke to any one. But she, nevertheless, wrote a few words to the queen, with the request that Doctor Gunther should deliver them."

"And was it done without previously informing me?"

The lord steward shrugged his shoulders.

"Very well; I know-" continued the king. "Is everything in readiness for the hunt?"

"At Your Majesty's pleasure. The hunting party has been waiting for an hour."

"I'm coming," said the king. "Send Doctor Sixtus to the lake and tell him to take Baum with him, for he knows all about the affair. Let him also take the notary with him, and tell him to see that the body, if found, be suitably interred. I know that you will have everything properly attended to; act on your own good judgment in the matter."

The king laid especial stress on the last words. Everything was to be managed discreetly; every appearance of undue interest, on his part, was to be avoided.

The king knit his brows, as if trying to think of something he had forgotten. "One thing more," added he, hastily. "Go to the poor countess's brother, and break the news to him as gently as you can. Should he desire leave of absence, you may inform him that it is granted for an indefinite time."

The king passed out through the anteroom and down the staircase. Rest and quiet had been prescribed for the queen, and, in order to avoid arousing her early in the morning, he had bade adieu to her the night before.

The hunting party assembled in the palace yard greeted the king, who graciously returned their salutation. In an instant, and as if by word of command, the covers were removed from the carriage-horses.

"Colonel Bronnen," exclaimed the king, "come sit with me."

Bronnen bowed in respectful acknowledgment of the compliment, and stepped up to the king's carriage. The gentlemen of the party, amazed at the honor paid the colonel, got into their carriages. Bronnen had bowed respectfully-for the highest honor of the day had been conferred upon him-but there was a struggle within his heart. Had the king the faintest idea that Bronnen felt himself the avenger of old Eberhard, or that he was wrestling with himself as to whether or not he should take up the vendetta? He started when he involuntarily touched the hanger at his side. Was the royal carriage to be the scene of a tragedy, such as history had never yet known? Had Irma vauntingly told the king that he was a rejected suitor for her hand? and was he now to receive the alms of sympathy?

The party drove on into the open country. The king was silent for a long time. At last, he said:

"You were also a true friend of hers. There were few-indeed, there was no one-who she honored and esteemed as she did you. Her constant wish was that we should be more closely united."

Bronnen drew a long breath. There was no occasion for his saying anything. The king offered him his cigar case.

"Ah, you don't smoke," he said.

There was another long pause, which was at last broken by the king's asking:

"How long had you known Countess Irma?"

"From childhood. She was the friend of my cousin Emma, with whom she was at the convent."

"It comforts me to be able to speak to you of our friend. You understood her character. It was great, almost supernaturally so. Suffer me to inherit your friendship for her."

"Your Majesty-" replied Bronnen with constrained composure; for his heart was boiling with indignation at the man who had corrupted this noble creature and had driven her to self-destruction. But his military feeling of respect for his superiors held him in check.

"Ah, dearest Bronnen!" continued the king, "no death has ever affected me so. Did she ever speak to you of death? She hated it. And yet, when I look about me, all is life. When a great heart ceases to beat, the whole world should pause, though it were but for a moment. What are we, after all?"

"Each of us is but a small, limited portion of the world. Everything about us has its due sphere of development and right. We are masters only of ourselves, and how few of us can claim to be even that!"

The king looked at Bronnen in surprise. Every one has a sphere of right-What could he have meant by it? Hastily collecting himself, the king replied: "She might have used the very same words. I can easily imagine how much you sympathized with each other. If I understand rightly, you regard suicide as the greatest of crimes?"

"If that which is most unnatural is, therefore, the greatest crime, I certainly do. 'Self-preservation is the first law of nature.' I shall never forget a conversation I had with old Count Eberhard, last winter, upon this very subject."

"Ah yes, you knew him. Was he really a great man?"

"He was a man of one idea, of grand one-sidedness. But perhaps this is a necessary condition of greatness."

"When did you speak with Countess Irma for the last time?"

"After her father's death, when she had shut herself up in impenetrable darkness. I spoke to her, but could not see her, although she extended her hand to me. I believe that I am the last man who held her hand in his."

"Then let me take your hand in mine!" exclaimed the king.

He held Bronnen's hand in his for a long time, until the latter said:

"Your Majesty, confession for confession. – I loved Irma!"

He spoke in a curt and bitter tone. The king hastily withdrew his hand.

"I see," continued Bronnen, gathering all his strength, "that the countess has mentioned nothing of my suit. I thank her, even now, for this proof of her noble, generous heart. Since she could not honestly return my love, she frankly declined it."

"You? my dear Bronnen!" exclaimed the king, in a tone that betrayed his painful agitation. He could not help thinking of the happy life which, as the wife of this man, Irma might have led. "My poor friend!" he added, in a voice full of feeling.

"Yes, Your Majesty, I have a right to mourn with you, and it seems as if her powerful, all-embracing mind were still potent, and had caused Your Majesty to call me to your side."

"I never dreamt of such a thing. If I had, I would not have inflicted this pain upon you."

"And I thank Your Majesty for permitting me to share in your grief. Because I share it with you, I am able to comfort you; that is, as far as another can. Since Your Majesty is so frank with me, I must needs be as frank in return."

The king was silent for a long time. Although Bronnen had opened his heart to him, the immediate effect upon him was to rouse a deep feeling of jealousy. He could not brook the thought that another had dared to cast his eye upon Irma; aye, actually to woo her. She seemed no longer entirely his own, since another had stretched out his hand toward her.

Bronnen waited for the king's answer. He could not understand what his silence meant. Had the king repented of his frankness? Did it offend him to find that another had placed himself on a level with him and answered him frankly and fearlessly? The consciousness of royalty trenches upon that of manhood, and perhaps it never happens that a prince thinks of himself simply as a human being. Bronnen felt vexed at the king's silence and averted looks. He could stand it no longer and, at last, feeling that, at such a moment etiquette could be disregarded, he said:

"I think that few men are great-minded enough to keep all knowledge of their conquests to themselves."

This remark had a double meaning, and Bronnen would not have been surprised if the king had turned upon him with a crushing reply. He felt defiant and yet composed. The man to whom he had revealed his soul's secret, must not act as if nothing had happened; he must answer for himself.

The king still remained silent.

"Is Your Majesty not of my opinion?" asked Bronnen, trembling with emotion.

The king turned toward him.

"You are my friend. I thank you, and when we reach Wolfswinkel, you shall receive the highest proof of my confidence."

"There is something more which I think I ought to communicate to Your Majesty."

"Proceed."

"I think I can see the connection between certain recent events. During the late election for deputies, some friends of mine in the Highlands thought of me. They knew of my sincere devotion to my constitutional king."

The king's features betrayed the faintest expression of disgust, while Bronnen continued calmly:

"I informed the voters that I would never accept an election which would range me with the opposition. Count Eberhard was, therefore, proposed on the very last day, and, to the great surprise of all, accepted the nomination. In order to cast a stigma upon the father, the friends of the present ministry-I am now giving Your Majesty facts, not mere opinions-were not above introducing the relation between Countess Irma and yourself into the canvass."

The king threw his cigar away, and quickly said:

"Go on; tell me more!"

"Count Eberhard was elected in spite of them. While I was at Wildenort, to attend the funeral, I was informed that the first intimation he had received of his daughter's position was conveyed to him at the meeting of electors. On his way home, he received letters which affected him deeply. Nay more, for I have inquired into the matter. I found this piece of a torn letter on the road, and the laborer who worked there told me that the count had torn up letters at the time mentioned."

Bronnen handed him a paper on which stood the words: "Your daughter has fallen into disgrace, and yet stands in high grace as the king's mistress."

"That may have been written by our saintly Hippocrates," muttered the king to himself.