The Lost Manuscript: A Novel

Ilse glanced at him and rose. The Prince followed her, as before, into the next room. She laid the volume before him; he looked over it without interest, and at last began, in a low tone:

"All I wished was to be alone with you. I am helpless and very unhappy. I have no person on earth who will give me disinterested advice as to what I shall do. I have given offense to a student, and have been bitterly insulted by him. And I am now compelled to allow another to fight out the quarrel for me."

"My poor Prince!" cried Ilse.

"Do not speak to me of it, gracious lady, with the feelings with which a woman would regard it, but speak, as if you were my friend in advice. That I should burden you with my troubles makes me feel at this moment contemptible to myself, and I fear I seem so also to you." He glanced gloomily down.

Ilse spoke softly. "I can only say what is in my heart; if your Highness has done an injustice, apologize for it; if you have been insulted, forgive it."

The Prince shook his head.

"That would be of no use, it would only disgrace me afresh in my own eyes, and those of all others. It was not on that point that I ask you. Only one thing I wish to know; ought I to allow another to fight my battle because I am a prince? All say that I must do it; but I have no confidence in any, only in you."

The blood mantled in Ilse's face. "Your Highness lays a responsibility upon me that frightens me."

"You once told me the truth," said the Prince, gloomily, "as no one on earth has yet done, and every word you spoke was good and from your heart. I therefore now pray you to give me your honest opinion."

"Then," said Ilse, looking at him eagerly, while the old Saxon blood boiled in her veins, "if your Highness began the quarrel, you must end it yourself like a man, and you must yourself take care that it is done in an honorable way. Your Highness ought not to allow another to brave your opponent and endanger himself on account of the wrong you have done. To lead a stranger to wrong, to compel another to risk his life, while you quietly look on, would be worst of all!"

The Prince replied, dejectedly:

"He is courageous, and superior to his adversary."

"And does your Highness think it right to take advantage of your opponent by the powers of one who is stronger than yourself? Whether your representative wins or loses, you will be more indebted to him than you ought to be to a stranger; and through your whole life you will be burdened with the thought that he has shown courage, while you have not."

The Prince became pale and silent.

"I feel just as you do," he said, at last.

"Everything of this kind is dreadful," continued Ilse, wringing her hands; "everywhere there seems to be ill-will and thoughts of bloody revenge. But, if it is impossible for you to prevent a wrong, it is your duty to take care that it does not become greater, and that its consequences do not fall on the head of another, only on your own. My heart tells me that you must yourself do, if not what is right, at all events what is least wrong."

The Prince nodded his head, and again sat silent.

"I cannot speak of it to those about me," he began, at last, "least of all to him," pointing to the Chamberlain. "If I am to prevent another from fighting in my stead, it must be done immediately. Do you know any one who can help me?"

"My husband's office forbids his doing anything for your Highness in this affair. But the Doctor?"

The Prince shook his head.

"Our student," exclaimed Ilse; "he is truly devoted to your Highness: he is a countryman of ours, and feels greatly troubled about this matter."

The Prince reflected.

"Will you allow me to have the use of your servant for a few hours this evenings when you no longer need him yourself?"

Ilse called Gabriel into the room, and said to him:

"Do what his Highness desires of you."

The Prince approached the window, and spoke in a low tone to the servant.

"Leave everything to me, your Highness," said Gabriel, as he went back to his tea-cups.

The Prince approached Ilse, who was standing motionless, staring at the book.

"I have looked over the portraits," he said, with more composure than he had shown during the whole evening, "and I have found what I was looking for. I thank you."

Ilse rose, and returned with him to the company.

The guests had left, and Ilse was sitting alone in her room. What had she done? Become the confidant of a man implicated in a bloody deed, the secret adviser of a lawless action. She, a woman, was the confederate of a strange man; she, the helpmate of one who should be the guardian of the laws, had become the abettor of a crime. What dark spirit had infatuated her when she confidentially held counsel with the stranger in whispers on a subject which she could not venture to confess to her husband? No! – he who had drawn her into this was not a stranger. She had from her childhood heard of him with deep interest; he was the future ruler of her country, and would be there master of life and death. From the time she first knew him, so touching in his joyless youth and in the weak helplessness of his position, she had been tenderly solicitous about him; and from that day she had always found in him an amiable and pure mind. She was now trembling with anguish for him. She had driven him to his fate; she bore the guilt of an action that was considered unseemly for one in his position. If from her advice evil befell him-if the opponent of the poor, weak youth should kill him, – how could she bear it on her conscience?

She sprang up, and wrung her hands. Her husband called her, and she shuddered, for she felt herself guilty in his sight. Again she asked herself: "What bad spirit has distracted me? Am I no longer what I was? Ah me! I have not acted as becomes a Christian woman, nor as a careful wife who opens the shrine of her soul to one alone. Yet," she exclaimed, raising her head, proudly, "if he were again to stand before me, and again ask whether he should act as a man or as a coward, I would again and again say the same thing. May God forgive me!"

When Krüger entered the Prince's bedroom to undress him, the latter laconically charged him with a commission that greatly astonished the lackey. But as he saw himself thereby confirmed in his confidential position, he promised obedience and silence. He extinguished the lamp, and went to his post. An hour after, he introduced the student, who had been brought by Gabriel through a back-door, into the bedroom of the Prince. There a conversation took place in a low tone, the consequence of which was that the student hastened from the house in great excitement, and commissioned Gabriel, who was waiting, to order a cab to be ready at an early hour in the morning near the corner of the next street.

A serious company, the flower of the different corps and associations, tried fellows of daring aspect, were assembled at early dawn in the hall of a tavern some distance from the town-an impressive sight for every student heart. On this day most of the sanguinary agreements of the memorable evening were to be settled in their proper order. The first matter in hand concerned the academic honor of the Hereditary Prince. The combatants were drawn up, dressed in their fencing attire; each one stood, with his seconds and umpires, in a corner of the room; the physician-it was the old Teuton of the fiddle-had prepared his apparatus in a corner, and looked with grim satisfaction on his impending work, which promised him new and instructive cases. But the Arminians were unappeasable: once more their seconds addressed themselves to the referees, and complained that the Prince was not there, at least, to acknowledge his representative by his presence. They therefore demanded that the impending combat should not be reckoned for him, but accounted as a personal struggle between the two students, who had frequently come athwart each other in various delicate relations. As the Markomanns had not clear consciences, having equivocally contrived to evade the question, they now proposed that the Prince should subsequently meet the seconds at some place to be agreed upon, where the customary reconciliation should take place.

This was discussed with much bitterness, but briefly, as the hour demanded. Suddenly the freshman, a young Arminian, who kept watch outside, knocked twice at the door. All stood motionless. But the seconds gathered the swords together and threw them into a dark closet, while our student, who, as backer for his comrade, was binding silk about wrist and arm, sprang quickly to the door and opened it. A slight figure in a cloak and felt hat entered. It was the Hereditary Prince. He removed his hat: his face looked paler than usual, but he spoke in a composed manner:

"I have come to you in secret; I beg that the gentlemen present will permit me to take upon myself the responsibility of giving satisfaction and will show me due consideration if I prove unpractised in any of the customary formalities; it is the first time that I try my skill."

There was a silence so profound that one could hear the slightest stir. All present felt that this was a manly act. But Beppo, the Markomann, stood confounded, and began:

"Your Highness's presence now removes the only obstacle to our proceeding with the duel. I insist that the course determined upon be not reversed," and in a lower voice he added, "I beseech your Highness, not to do what is so plainly unnecessary; it will cast upon us all a responsibility that we dare not assume."

The Prince answered firmly: "You have fulfilled your promise; I am as grateful for the will as for the deed. But I am resolute." He took off his coat, and said: "Put the bandages on."

The second of the Arminian turned towards the umpire, saying, "I beg to inform our opponent that not a moment is to be lost; we are not here to exchange civilities; if the Prince wishes to have satisfaction himself, we are ready."

The Markomanns prepared the Prince, and one must acknowledge that the brave fellows did it with as anxious solicitude as if they had in fact been warriors of the race whose name they bore, and were preparing their young king's son for deadly single combat.

The Prince stepped up to the mark; the weapon trembled in the hand of his second, a scarred veteran, as he took his position beside him. "Ready!" – "Go!" The blades whistled in the air. The Prince did not behave badly; a long habit of cautious self-command stood him in good stead; he avoided exposing himself dangerously; and his second drew upon himself a sharp warning from the umpire for inconsiderately exposing his own person within reach of the enemy's blade. The Arminian was far superior in strength and skill, but he afterwards acknowledged to his intimate friends that it had quite disconcerted him to see the princely scion within reach of his broadsword. After the fourth pass, blood streamed from Ulf's broad cheek on to his shirt. His second demanded the continuation of the fight, but the umpire declared the quarrel ended. As the Prince stood still in his place the sword fell from his hand, and there was a slight tremulous motion in his fingers; but he smiled, and there was a pleased expression on his face. In one short quarter of an hour a boy had attained the self-reliance of a man. Before the Prince turned to his antagonist he embraced the Markomann, and said: "Now I can thank you from my heart." The umpire led him to his opponent, who was standing ill-humoredly before the Doctor, but yet could not suppress a smile that gave him some pain, and both shook hands. Then the Arminians approached to greet the Prince, while the umpire called out "Second event."

But the Prince, who had resumed his mantle, went to the director of the duels, and began: "I cannot go away without making a great request. I was, unfortunately, the cause of the painful occurrence that has occasioned this discord among the students. I well know that I have no right here to express any wish, but it would be a pleasant recollection forever for me if I could bring about peace and reconciliation."

At this moment the Prince might have made any demand upon his Markomanns, and even the Arminians were impressed by the extraordinary event. A murmur of approbation passed through the room, and the umpire exclaimed in a loud voice: "The Prince has spoken well." The gloomy looks of some individuals were disregarded; the seconds and seniors held a consultation upon the spot, and the result was that the impending challenges were amicably settled, and a general reconciliation brought about.

The Prince, surrounded by the Markomanns, left the house and jumped into the carriage awaiting him. Krüger opened the bed-room door to him.

The Chamberlain had been much surprised this morning at the long repose of his young master; but when he came to breakfast he found his Prince sitting comfortably at the table.

After Krüger had gone away, the Prince began: "The duel has been settled, Weidegg. I fought it out myself." The Chamberlain stood up, horrified. "I tell you it because it could not long be kept a secret. I hope that the quarrel among the students will be settled by it. Do not say anything against it, nor be annoyed at the matter. I have done what I considered to be right, or, at all events, what was least wrong, and am happier than I have been for a long time."

The Markomanns had begged of all present to give their word that the events of the morning should not be spoken of, and one may assume that every one kept his promise. Nevertheless, the news flew quick as lightning through the University and city, that the Prince himself had composed the quarrel by his valiant and manly conduct. The Chamberlain perceived from the indications of pleasure from the Markomanns, and the friendly greetings which his young master received in the street, and still more from the altered demeanor of the Prince himself, that the secret duel had had a good result, and this reconciled him a little to the vexatious occurrence.

When the Prince some time after visited the Rector's house, he was led into the latter's study, and Werner greeted him, smiling. "I was obliged to inform the government of what had lately taken place, and to add, according to the unanimous sentiments of the students summoned to appear before me, that your Highness had, by your interposition, contributed essentially to the restoration of peace. It has become my duty to express to you the warm acknowledgment of the academical authorities. I venture to give expression to my own wish, that all that your Highness has gone through on this occasion may ever leave an agreeable and also profitable recollection."

As the Prince bowed to Ilse, he said, in a low voice: "All has gone off well. I thank you." Ilse looked proudly at her young Prince. Yet she had not recovered from the fearful anxiety of the previous day, and she was more reserved with him than usual.

CHAPTER XXV.

CHAOS

Spring smiled cheerfully on the country; the flowering shrubs and the beds in the garden combined their colors brilliantly; this year, starlings actually sang in Mr. Hahn's cages, and rananculi and other wild flowers in the meadow in front of Mr. Hummel's garden rejoiced in the moist warmth. It was a pleasant time for our academical citizens; the quarrels of the winter were settled, the beadles put on their night-caps at ten o'clock, and the lectures of the Professors went on smoothly and pleasantly.

The Rector also enjoyed the repose, and he needed it, for Ilse saw with anxiety that his cheeks were thinner, and that in the evening a lassitude came over him that formerly he had not known.

"He ought to rest from his work a few months," advised the physician; "that will lend him new life and strength for years to come; every man of studious habits requires such relaxation two or three times during his life; traveling would be the best thing."

Felix laughed, but his wife kept this counsel faithfully in mind, and endeavored, meanwhile, as often as possible, to draw her husband from his books into the air. She put her arm within his and took him into the wood and green meadows; she pointed out to him the butterflies that fluttered over the wild flowers, and the flights of birds that enjoyed themselves in the warm sun-light.

"Now is the time for that restlessness of which you once told me. Have you not noticed it?"

"Yes," said the Professor, "and if you will go with me, we will, at least in fancy, travel together into foreign parts."

"Will you take me with you?" exclaimed Ilse, delighted. "I am like the woodchuck: I only know the hole from which my master brought me, and the cover of the cage in which I am fed. If I could have my wish, I should like to see snow-capped peaks rising high above the clouds, and abysses of immeasurable depths. But from the mountains I would descend to olive-trees and oranges. For years I have heard of the men who have lived there, and have seen how your heart leaps for joy whenever you speak of the blue ocean and of the grandeur of the old cities. I would gladly see all this, and hear you talk and feel the pleasure which you would have in revisiting the scenes so dear to you."

"Very well," said the Professor; "to the Alps and then to Naples; but in passing I must work a few weeks at Florence upon Tacitus."

"Ah!" thought Ilse, "there is the manuscript again."

They were sitting under a large oak, one of the giants of the Middle Ages, that towered above the new generation of trees in the forest, as the cupola of St Peter's does above the towers and roofs of the Holy City.

When they came out from the copse into the open space, they saw, amidst the flowers in the meadow, the livery of a lackey, and then perceived the Prince and his attendant, together with a proprietor from a neighboring village. The gentleman approached and greeted them.

"We have a design upon some hours of your leisure," called out the Chamberlain to the Professor, and the Prince began:

"I wish to invite some of the ladies and gentlemen of the University to an entertainment in the open air, as I cannot have the pleasure of receiving them at a house of my own. It will be a small party, and as rural as possible; we thought of this spot, as your wife had often extolled it. I would be grateful for your assistance and advice as to the arrangements."

"If your Highness wishes to please the ladies, you should also invite the children. If it is at the same time a children's party, your Highness maybe assured that it will leave a pleasant impression."

This was agreed to. Dainty invitations were sent to the Rector and Deans, and the Professors with whom the Prince was personally acquainted, and their families, to an entertainment in the open air. The idea was approved by great and small, and gave rise to pleasant anticipations among the acquaintances of the Rector's wife.

Laura had received an invitation, and her pleasure was great. But when in the evening it appeared that the Doctor was not invited, she was quite put out.

"I do not mean to be his advocate," said she, to Ilse, "but he is precisely in my position; and if I am asked on your account, he ought to be for the sake of your husband. Their having neglected to do this is want of tact, or something worse; and, as he is not asked, I am determined not to go; for, let Fritz Hahn be what he will, he has not deserved a slight from these people."

In vain did Ilse try to explain to her that the Doctor had not visited the Prince, from whom the invitations came. Laura remained obstinate, and replied:

"You are an eloquent defender of your Prince, and more acquainted with the customs of great people than I had supposed. But when the picnic-day comes I shall feign illness, you may rely on that. If my friend over the way is not invited I shall not go. But do not tell the Doctor, lest little Fritz should fancy I do it for love of him; it is not friendship for him, but displeasure at the Court people."

One Sunday there drew up in the neighborhood of the great oak, first a large van with Krüger and a cook, then the Prince's equipages bringing the ladies and gentlemen, and an omnibus adorned with garlands and wreaths brought the children of the different families. A tent had been set up in the meadow, and a little apart, concealed in the copse, a wooden hut was erected as a temporary kitchen; a band of music was stationed in the wood and welcomed the parties as they arrived. The Prince and his Chamberlain received their guests near the wood, and conducted them to the centre of the picnic-grounds, where a prodigious work of the highest confectionery art formed the lighthouse, in the neighborhood of which they all dropped anchor. Soon there was a clatter of cups, the unavoidable preparation for thorough German festivity. In the beginning the company were solemn; there was something unusual in the arrangement of the fête which occasioned reflection. But when Raschke, raising the flaps of his coat, seated himself on the grass, and the other gentlemen followed his example and lit the cigars which were presented to them, the meadow assumed a bucolic appearance. Even the Rector sat on the turf with his legs crossed in Turkish fashion; near him the Consistorial Councillor on a chair; and somewhat further off, on the trunk of a shattered tree, the still hostile Struvelius, with his bristling hair and silent manner, like the sorrowful spirit of an old willow. Apart from them, but enthroned on a high ant-hill, over which he had spread his pocket-handkerchief, sat Master Knips; he held his slouch hat respectfully under his arm, and rose whenever the Prince approached. Meanwhile the latter exerted himself to entertain the ladies, with whom he had been a favorite since the occurrence of last winter, and to-day he completely gained the hearts of both mothers and daughters. Ilse and he worked together with a mutual understanding: Ilse, elevated by the thought that people were pleased with her Prince, and he happy at heart that he had some work in common with the Rector's wife.

Never yet had he felt on such an intimate footing with her as he did to-day. He looked only at her, he thought only of her. Amid the buzz of conversation, amid the sound of the music, he listened to every word that fell from her lips. Whenever he approached her he felt a glow of transport. In plucking a leaf from a tree, the lace of her sleeve passed over his face, and the touch of the delicate texture brought the color into his cheeks. Her hand rested a moment on his as she offered him a ladybird, and the slight pressure made his heart beat fast.

"The ladybird knows your Highness's future," said Ilse. "You should ask it: Ladybird, ladybird, shall I be happy long? – one year, two years? and so forth, till it flies away."

The Prince began the sentence, but had not arrived at the first year when it flew away.

"That does not apply to you," said Ilse, laughing, to console him. "The little creature was angry at me yet."

"I had rather bear the misfortune myself," said the Prince, in a low tone, "than that you should suffer it."

While Ilse, startled at the deep meaning of his words, turned to the ladies, he stealthily picked up the kerchief that had fallen from her shoulders, and, behind a tree, pressed it to his lips.

Still merrier did the young people become, when from the hut behind the bushes two men stepped forth with red-coats and drums, and invited them to try their skill at the popinjay. The Chamberlain took the superintendence of the boys, and Ilse of the girls; foresters and lackeys helped with the cross-bows; the arrows struck incessantly on the body of the bird, for the hitting was made easy, and those who did not win could admire the prizes, which were arranged on two tables. Everything went on smoothly, as is fitting at Court fêtes; the lackeys moved incessantly among the company, with every imaginable refreshment; the splints from the popinjays fell like hail, and the Prince distributed the prizes to the children who thronged round him. Bertha Raschke became queen of tournament, and a little son of the Consistorial Councillor her consort. The children, carrying their presents, followed the drummers with joyous shouts up to a long table, where a supper was prepared for them. They were to sit down with the king and queen in the middle. The foresters and lackeys served the different courses. The Chamberlain could not have devised anything better to please the parents; and the fathers walked behind the chairs and enjoyed seeing the little ones drinking harmless wine out of the crystal glasses, their rosy faces expressing delighted astonishment at the beautiful china and silver dishes. They soon became merry; finally the little Consistorial Councillor proposed the health of the Prince; all the children cried "Hurrah!" the drummers drummed, the music struck up, and the parents stood round thanking the giver of the feast. Ilse brought a garland of wild flowers which the ladies had woven, and begged permission of the Prince to put it upon him. He stood amidst the happy party elevated by the innocent joy of all around him, and by the respectful attachment which was visible on all countenances. He looked at Ilse with silent thanks, and without apparent cause his eyes filled with tears. Again the children screamed out "Hurrah!" and the drums beat.