Irretrievable (29 page)

He felt relieved as this plan took firm shape in his mind; Ebba must be told of it within the hour; he could see no obstacles or, if he did, he brushed them aside.

It was striking two from the tower of the Town Hall as he made his way towards the palace. Two or three times he was delayed by meeting acquaintances who had heard of the danger from which he had escaped as if by a miracle. Holk spoke to them, but each time broke away quickly, pretexting “duty with the Princess.”

Ebba lived above the Princess's rooms in the palace itself. Holk tugged at the bell; no one answered. Finally, Karin appeared but what she had to tell Holk did little to satisfy his urgent desire for a speedy solution to his problems. He was told merely that, after a fever lasting many hours, Ebba had just fallen asleep and must not be awakened. “All right, I shall call again later. And don't forget, Karin, to tell your mistress that I called and asked after her.” Karin promised with a smile. She had no idea of all that was going on in Holk's mind and saw him only as an impetuous lover eager for further proofs of affection.

Holk went slowly downstairs and it was not until he was passing through the long corridor, off which the Princess's rooms lay, that he suddenly remembered that he had omitted to fulfil what should have been his first duty. But was it his first duty? Certainly not for him. In his present mood, the health of the Princess was for him largely a matter of indifference and her only purpose, as far as he was concerned, was to give her blessing to his project and make him and Ebba happy. And suddenly (for he was convinced that Ebba had the same idea), he was seized with the desire to make sure, that very day, that the Princess would give her assent. And so he went into one of the ante-rooms, only to be told by one of the gentlemen-in-waiting on duty that Her Royal Highness was keeping to her bed. Yet another disappointment, for if the Princess was kept to her bed, there could naturally be no question of any decision—which he considered the equivalent of approval. How tiresome, nothing was going as he had hoped. Pentz and Erichsen were in the next room, but he did not want to see them and left quickly, to go for a walk as far as the citadel and then to stroll for an hour in Ostergaade. At five, he was back in the palace asking once again for Ebba. “The doctor had been,” he was told, “and had prescribed two things: medicine and a night-nurse. Fräulein Ebba had a high fever again and it was hardly surprising after the danger she had been through … and everything else ….” These last three words were half whispered, almost involuntarily, by Karin, loth to deny herself the pleasure of letting Holk guess her thoughts.

Holk's patience was now being sorely tried. He had hoped to see his fate settled within the hour and now he was meeting obstacle after obstacle. Ebba ill, the Princess ill. In his own mind, he was sure of Ebba and thus far there was no difficulty; but the Princess? He could not imagine how he could spend all those waiting hours, hours that might turn into days and, when he went over in his mind all the entertainments that pleasure-loving Copenhagen offered, he was horrified to realize how much he loathed them all. The Alhambra and Tivoli, Harlequin and Columbine, the Thorwaldsen Museum and Klampenborg, all of these, and the beautiful Frau Brigitte as well, had lost their attraction for him; and even when he thought of Pentz, he felt a shudder run down his back: that was the last thing that he could bear; he would rather suffer Erichsen's banalities and Countess Schimmelmann's stiff formality than Pentz's puns and
bons mots
….

He slept little that night and his head felt heavy, partly through excitement, partly because he had caught cold; and he was glad when the morning sun reddened the roofs across the way. Breakfast came and the papers and, in these papers, detailed accounts of the fire at the castle. He read everything, was amused and, at least while he was reading, almost succeeded in forgetting his troubles. The actual events had been very much embroidered to his credit; according to two almost identical reports, he had tried to let himself down by the lightning-conductor, in order to fetch help for the unfortunate young lady; but when he reached that part of the tower that was on fire, it had been impossible to slide further down the iron bar, which was already red-hot; and so, with a courage and strength equalled only by his agility, he had clambered up again. He read this and thought to himself that he must certainly be the hero of the hour. The hero! And yet how unheroic he was now! Indeed, he felt on the brink of a nervous breakdown and in real danger of falling ill himself, and perhaps even becoming deranged in his mind, unless he could finally succeed in settling today what he had been vainly trying to arrange yesterday. It was unlikely that Ebba would have recovered yet, but the Princess might be well again and that was really even more important. What she had suffered since the day before yesterday was, after all, relatively slight and if, as was very probable, she had left her bed, she would have to listen to him and tell him her decision. “And her decision must mean endorsing my happiness, because she is kind and broad-minded.”

Yes, that was what he must do, and at ten o'clock he was once more at the palace where, to his great joy, he learned that the Princess had passed a fair night. Through the same chambermaid as he had spoken with before, he inquired whether it might please Her Royal Highness to grant him an audience, and immediately afterwards, he was shown into her presence, for she had stated that she wished to speak with him urgently.

The room was the one in which he had had his first audience with the Princess on the day after his arrival. The large portrait of King Christian was still there and, on the opposite wall, that of the deceased landgrave with its frame and crêpe greyer and dustier than ever. Hunched on the sofa under the portrait of the king, sat a decrepit old lady, looking very little like a princess and nothing of an
esprit fort
. It was plain that even if she was practically recovered from her illness, she had by no means recovered from the shock and excitement of those last hours at Fredericksborg. She seemed exhausted and her eyes were tired and lustreless.

“That was a bad night, my dear Holk. You can see that I am still suffering from the effects of it. And yet it was nothing compared with what you went through. And Ebba as well. A miracle that you were saved, as I have been told, by your own presence of mind. I wanted to see you so that I could have the opportunity of expressing my gratitude to you. Such things are unforgettable. Particularly by Ebba herself. She will never be able to forget what you did for her and I am sure that she will be obliged to you for the rest of her life.”

These words could hardly have been better chosen to encourage Holk to say what was already trembling on his lips and, for a moment, he was about to unburden his heart to her and reveal all his plans. But however encouraging the words, her attitude and the tone in which she uttered them were not so in the least. Everything about her was listless and, however anxious Holk was for certainty, he saw quite clearly that this was not the best but the worst possible time to make his confession. In this completely senile old lady sitting underneath the solemn portrait, there was no longer the slightest trace of the free-thinking princess who normally delighted, or at least was interested, in amorous escapades and
mésalliances
, divorces, and marital squabbles. The only lesson that could now be read in her haggard face seemed to be that boldness and excess had little to offer as a rule of life; that keeping a promise and obeying the law were the only things really to be recommended and, above all, that a genuine, not a reluctant, marriage, was the only safe haven. Holk would have liked to find something else in the Princess's expression but it was so plainly impossible to do so that, instead of making his confession, he merely asked for several days' leave of absence. In doing this, he had no clear plan in mind and if asked why he wanted it, he would not have known the answer. But the Princess who, from the beginning of the interview, had had only the one desire, to withdraw as soon as possible into her private study, was only too glad not to ask any indiscreet questions and graciously granted his request. And then, with a kindly nod of her head, she ended the audience, if audience it could be called.

When holk
had asked for leave, one thing only was clear in his mind: something must be done; and now that leave had been granted, the question at once arose: what was to be done now? A meeting with Ebba—although he was sure of her agreement; arrangements for the future—that would have been the most obvious course; but Ebba was ill and when he called again, Karin gave the same reply: she could see no one. And so he faced a true testing-period, days during which there would be nothing to do but wait. And in his present state of mind, that was the most difficult thing of all. Finally, he accepted the situation and decided to shut himself up and see nobody, read newspapers, write letters. But to whom? He saw at once that there was no one to write to …. Petersen, Arne, the children—all impossible. Fräulein Dobschütz—even more so. There remained only Christine herself. “Christine. Yes, that would be the best thing. She must know eventually and the sooner the better …. But why write to her? Must I really write, as if I haven't the courage to go and see her? But I do have the courage, because it's my right to have what I want. People don't live together just in order to be perpetually squabbling and always going in different directions. Christine has driven me away by her coldness. Yes, that's the right word and it was her ever-increasing coldness that was worse than quarrels and violence. A woman must have some warmth, some temperament, life, sensuality. What can one do with an iceberg? And even if it's the most transparent kind of iceberg, that sort of ice is the coldest and I won't be frozen. Yes, that's right, that's a good gambit but it must be face to face. I shan't write, I shall say it to her face. Her own letter has offered me a golden opportunity. And once I'm free and back here again …. Ah, how I long for life, warmth, joy. I've been spending my days surrounded by shadows from the underworld—the worthy Dobschütz for example; but I'm still young enough to want flesh and blood.”

He rang. The widow came.

“Dear Frau Hansen, I want to go over to Holkenäs for the day …”

“Ah yes, for the Christmas presents. That will please the Countess, now that she is so much alone and with the children away, too, as you told me.”

“Yes, to Holkenäs,” said Holk. “Do you know how the steamers are running? I mean those between Glücksburg and Flensburg. I should prefer to leave this morning, or perhaps this evening. Then I could be there early tomorrow. Perhaps you could send someone down to the harbour to inquire, my dear Frau Hansen? But it must be someone reliable, because I don't want any mistake.”

Frau Hansen said that she would go herself and in less than an hour she returned from her errand with the news that there was no further ship that day, but tomorrow evening the
Holger Danske
was going and would be off Holkenäs at ten o'clock in the morning.

“That's the day after tomorrow. What's the date today?”

“The 21st, the shortest day of the year …”

Holk thanked her for her trouble and was glad in his heart that it would not be Christmas Eve when the ship would be tying up at the Holkenäs jetty.

On the 23rd, the coast of Angeln came into sight and as ten o'clock approached, the castle of Holkenäs could be seen from the deck, perched on its dune. A vague mist was shrouding its outlines and, for a moment, it started to snow. But the flurry of snowflakes soon ceased and the mist, too, had almost lifted when the ship's bell began to ring and the smart steamer came alongside the pier. Holk walked down the gangway on to the jetty, the steward brought his luggage down after him and in less than five minutes the
Holger Danske
was steaming on towards Glücksburg. For a few moments, Holk followed the ship with his eyes and then, flinging his coat between his two bags, since it would have impeded his climb up to the terrace, he set off along the jetty. Now and again, he stopped and looked up at Holkenäs. Now that the fog had momentarily lifted, the castle stood out clearly in front of him but it seemed deserted and lonely and the thin spiral of smoke which rose from it suggested that it was only half alive. The many shrubs in front of the veranda were bare and leafless, save for a few cypresses and the veranda itself was enclosed by boards and hung with matting to protect the rooms behind from the north-east as far as possible. Everything was silent and sad but, like the afterglow of earlier happiness, a certain peace seemed still to surround it—a peace that he was coming to disturb. Suddenly he was appalled at what he intended to do; assailed by doubts, the voice of conscience that he was endeavouring to still refused to be completely stifled. But for good or evil, it was now in any case too late to retreat: it
had
to be. How Ebba would have laughed at him and spurned him if, on his return to Copenhagen, he had said to her: “I wanted to do it and couldn't.” And so he walked on again and eventually climbed slowly up to the terrace. On reaching the top, he called to one of his old servants who happened to be there, one who had lived for years as a pensioner in a nearby cottage, and asked: “Is the Countess in the castle?” “Certainly, master,” replied the old man, almost scared. “I shall go and inform her ladyship of your arrival.” “No, leave it,” said Holk. “I shall go myself.” And then he turned and walked towards the back of the castle which looked out over the park and gardens sloping away from the sea.

When he reached there, everything seemed warmer and more comfortable and Holk, stopping only for a moment to look around him, mounted the three marble steps which led between two pillars to the door of the summer drawing-room …. And now he went into the room itself where, although the children were not there, everything seemed to have been made ready for Christmas. On the corner table, where previously Christine used to sit and sew with Fräulein Dobschütz and Asta, there stood the Christmas crib with all its figures, one which had often been used over the years but was still in good condition; and in the opposite corner stood a large Christmas tree, as yet undecorated but so tall that its top nearly reached the ceiling. From all this, it seemed that someone must have been busy here quite recently but no one was to be seen. Had she run away to avoid him? Before he could answer his own question, he saw that he had been mistaken, at least as far as running away from him was concerned, for from the dark corner behind the Christmas tree stepped a woman in black. It was Fräulein Dobschütz, carrying a bowl of gold- and silver-coloured nuts in her hand, with which she had probably just been beginning to decorate the tree. She gave a sudden start as she recognized the Count. “What has happened? Shall I call Christine?”