On the Heights Part 159

"And I admit it willingly, but still I cannot--"

"I am obliged to interrupt you, Your Majesty, for that which I request of you is that we shall never more speak of your relations to his majesty. Long ago, when you were torn by an inner struggle, I believed that if I could only induce you to encourage freer and more liberal views, a clearer mental vision would better enable you to be just toward others, and would be followed by returning love. And it was just there that I was wrong, for I offended against a simple but fundamental principle: feelings cannot be governed by thought. And were it otherwise, the interference of a third party should always be rejected.

The attempted mediator only widens the breach. Husband and wife can alone repair it. And now, Your Majesty, let us speak no more of this matter, for thus only can we, without feeling embarra.s.sed, meet each other, or the king himself. Your own heart is your only confidant.

Follow its dictates, and do not be frightened back by any apparent alienation or change of feeling! Will you grant me the favor I ask?"

"Yes. And now not another word on the subject."

They conversed freely and cheerfully, as if they had both laid aside a burden which had heavily rested upon them.

The crown prince was brought in. Gunther was delighted with his healthy appearance, and promised him a playmate who was born on the same day as himself.

"Mamma, why haven't I a little sister?" asked the crown prince.

The color rose to the queen's cheeks.

"Little Cornelia is to be your sister," she replied, and gave orders that they should take the prince to visit the child at the doctor's house.

Gunther's parting instructions to Madame von Gerloff were that the children should be shown the bird's nest in the rosebush. The prince asked permission to take Schnipp and Schnapp with him, and the two children were soon driving through the valley in the pretty little carriage, a little groom managing the horses and a little outrider in front. At noon, Madame Gunther and her daughters visited the queen.

Little by little, a common interest in their pleasures, aided by the invigorating influences of nature, helped to bring about a uniform tone of feeling, and thus to level distinctions which would be more closely observed in city circles.

The days sped by pleasantly. The queen felt no craving for unwonted pleasures; and every hour was complete in itself.

The queen, one day, told Madame Gunther that she was the first citizen's wife with whom she had been on terms of familiar intimacy, and that she could not help admiring her clear, good sense.

"I must tell you something of my youth," replied Madame Gunther, to whom this condescending praise was quite a surprise.

"Pray do so," said the queen, encouragingly.

"Your Majesty, I was betrothed and happy. Wilhelm was traveling during his vacation and we often wrote to each other. One day, I received a letter from him which offended my pride and, indeed, deeply wounded me.

I had indulged in excessive sensibility and, in reply, he quoted the words of Lessing which Nathan addresses to the Knight Templar: 'Mediocrity, like ours, can be found in abundance everywhere!'"

"And did that offend you?"

"Yes, Your Majesty; it offended me deeply. Gunther is without a trace of that false modesty which is all the more vain, the more modest it appears. He stood so high in my esteem that I felt he had, by using this expression, committed an offense against himself and, I may confess it, against myself, as well. I did not regard myself as mediocre, but as a highly gifted being. But from that time, I began to perceive that most suffering arises from the fact that those who have understanding, culture, and some talent, regard themselves as belonging to a higher order of beings, privileged to disregard ordinary barriers and to step beyond their allotted sphere of duty. To acknowledge myself as mediocre and to shape my own actions, and my judgment of others, accordingly, has ever been my rule in life; and I must beg Your Majesty to regard me in the same way. There are thousands of women like me. It is just as it is in singing. I've sung in a chorus, and know there are many good voices who never aspire to solos."

The queen was silent. The words which Madame Gunther had uttered in perfect sincerity, might be applied in so many different ways--to herself, to the king, and to her who was still unforgotten.

At last she looked up frankly.

"I have a request to make of you," she said, with faltering voice, while she took out a breastpin with a large pearl. "Oblige me by accepting this memento of this hour and of the truth which you have just imparted to me."

"Your Majesty," replied Madame Gunther, "I have never in all my life, accepted a present of this kind. But I can easily understand that you, as a queen, are accustomed to experience the joy of bestowing gifts on others and of thus making them happy. I accept it as a symbol, as if it were an unfading flower from your garden."

Madame Gunther wended her way homeward in a calm and contented mood.

When she arrived before the house, she suddenly stopped. The windows of the large drawing-room were open. Some one was playing the piano with powerful, masterly touch and expression. It could not be Paula. Who could it be?

Madame Gunther's nephew, the young man whose song Irma had sung years before, and who, on a previous visit to his relatives, had sought the freeholder's dwelling as a refuge from the storm, and had there met Irma without knowing who she was, had now, as had been foretold him, become totally blind. He had become a master of the piano, and bore his sad fate with manly fort.i.tude. The meeting between Madame Gunther and her nephew was deeply affecting.

That evening, she introduced him to the queen, who, as her first act of friendship to the doctor's wife, appointed him "pianist to the queen."

All that remained was to submit the appointment to the approval of the king, who was expected to arrive in a few days.

CHAPTER XIII.

The king had arrived during the night. In order to avoid the pomp of a reception, he came unannounced. He regarded himself as a guest of the queen, for whom alone he had ordered the preparation of this modest summer retreat.

On the following morning, Gunther, decorated with his orders, repaired to the farm.

He felt that the tone of their little circle must suffer a change by the advent of any new-comer, even if possessed of a more yielding disposition than that of the king.

Gunther had not seen the king since he waited upon him to thank him for the order he had conferred upon him. He was composed. One point in favor of court forms is that they are fixed and unalterable, as well as independent of pa.s.sing moods.

Gunther's path led along the slope of a projecting hill, and, on the way, his thoughts involuntarily recurred to Eberhard. The early hour, the mountain air, and the close-fitting uniform--all were just as they had been years ago.

Eberhard had always maintained that unmeaning politeness is only disguised rudeness. He required that every word and act should come from the depths of one's soul, and that, at every moment, life should be truthful. During the years he had spent in solitude, Gunther came to perceive that the concessions he had made to his surroundings had, to a certain extent, involved failure to comply with this precept. He now found his greatest happiness in being perfectly truthful toward himself and the world, and for this reason, in the work in which he expected to sum up the results of his life, he had expressed his feelings without reserve or disguise.

When his eye fell on the farmhouse, he paused to collect his thoughts.

He was about to pay his respects to the man who had endeavored to degrade him.

The king stood at the open window and, when he saw Gunther approach, was greatly agitated. If the dignity that befits kings had not forbidden it, he would gladly have called out a welcome to the man whom he esteemed so highly; and if kingly dignity requires this much, it also possesses one great advantage--for while he who desires admittance still waits, he who grants it maintains his natural freedom, or, in other words, is at home while the other is as a stranger.

Gunther sent in his name, and was at once admitted. The king advanced to meet him, and said:

"Welcome, my dear privy councilor! I am heartily glad--" He faltered at the words and, as if changing his mind, added: "I am delighted to have an opportunity to wish you joy! One scarcely knows whether to say that you deserve such a son as Minister Bronnen or that he deserves such a father as you. It's all the same, I suppose," he concluded, with a smile which seemed somewhat forced.

"I humbly thank Your Majesty--" Gunther also hesitated, for it was a long while since he had used this phrase--"for the interest you have graciously manifested in me and mine."

The king and Gunther met under changed and mutually embarra.s.sing circ.u.mstances, and congratulations on Bronnen's engagement seemed to afford a convenient subject of conversation. It was, nevertheless, followed by a pause, in which the two men, who had been separated for two years, eyed each other as if each would again impress his memory with the features which, for many years, he had seen almost daily.

Gunther had changed but little. His beard was short, thick, and of a snowy white. The king's figure was fuller than it had been. His face wore a deep and earnest expression which harmonized with his winning and amiable deportment. His movements seemed to have gained, rather than lost, in elasticity and vigor.

"I hear," said the king, resuming the conversation, "that you are engaged on a great philosophical work, and I feel that we have reason to congratulate ourselves thereat, for that will afford us an opportunity to enjoy those fruits of your thought which, in our daily intercourse, we are now deprived of."

"Your Majesty, I am reviewing my life and striking a balance. In some respects, there is more, in others, less than I had reason to hope for.

I live within myself, and am happy to think that, when I look out into the world, I can perceive that those who are called for great purposes can show a clear balance sheet."

"Growth is slow," said the king. "While driving through the fields yesterday, I thought to myself: how long it takes before the blade of corn becomes the ripened ear. We cannot see how much it grows with each day. We can only note the result."

Smiling, and perfectly unconstrained, he added: "I am imparting my latest observations to you. It seems--it seems--as though it were but yesterday, since we last met. Let us go into the garden."

On the way, the king asked: "How do you find the prince?"

"He has a well-built frame and, as far as I can judge, his mental development is normal and healthy."

In consequence of the long years of separation and the lingering feeling of reserve, there were frequent breaks in the conversation.

"You have again been living among the people," said the king, "and has your experience satisfied you that the popular mind (or, in other words, popular simplicity in thought and manners) is the divinely appointed corrective of the errors of a higher civilization?"