Irretrievable (31 page)

All these images passed through his mind and whilst he saw them tangibly before his eyes, the water of the bay flowed solemnly and sombrely past him, despite the rays of light reflected in it.

He returned late to his hotel and spent the next day reading and chatting with Hillmann. But when evening came, he felt once more the urge to go out and walk through the streets and alleys of the town and where the shutters were still open or not tightly closed, he peeped inside and in front of more than one house, when he saw the happiness inside and a child in its mother's arms and the father reaching out his hand towards his wife, he was suddenly seized by fear of what was to come and more than once he found himself seeing all that he had lost instead of what he hoped to gain.

What a Christmas Eve! But it went by and it was now Christmas Day and though the hours passed slowly, seven o'clock came at last, and the ship's bell rang and Holk was standing beside the old captain; and when, an hour later, the ship came into the open channel, Iversen was busily spinning a yarn and telling all sorts of tales, old and new.

It was a good crossing and the wind was mild as they stood beneath the stars until after midnight and calculated that they would arrive in Copenhagen half an hour before they were due. They congratulated themselves on this and, soon afterwards, the few passengers turned in to their bunks. But then the weather changed and when they were level with Möen at five o'clock, or assumed that they were, the sea-fog had become so thick that they had to damp down the boilers and drop anchor. As usual, the silence awakened the sleepers and when they came on deck a quarter of an hour later and tried to look towards the coast of Zealand, they were told by the quartermaster that the ship had anchored.

“How long for?”

“Well, it may be till noon.”

Noon came and went before the fog eventually cleared and the ship was able to set off again. A whole day had been lost and there was no question of being able to go to the Princess's palace that day. The street lamps were alight all round the harbour when they moored alongside the wharf soon after five o'clock.

At his lodgings, Holk was welcomed by old Frau Hansen and not, as was usual, by her daughter; she led the way upstairs and lit the lamps without asking after anything other than the weather and if he had had a good crossing. She made no sort of inquiry as to the health of the countess or whether he had spent a merry Christmas and when Holk for his part asked, first, after the health of her and her daughter and then of the Princess, she replied in a strangely innocent tone, in the use of which she was, if possible, almost superior to her daughter: “The young lady has left her bed.” The words came out in such a strange way that even Holk was surprised, but he was at that moment preoccupied with far too many other things to take up her remark and so he let it pass, and merely asked for the papers and a cup of tea. “I'm frozen after standing all that time on deck.” Frau Hansen brought both. The newspapers were only half-size, because of the holidays. Holk perused them quickly and then went early to bed. He went to sleep at once, for the last few days had taken toll of his nerves.

He was up again early. Frau Hansen (for Brigitte was not showing herself today, either) brought the breakfast and perhaps because she felt that she had gone too far the previous evening, she showed the utmost nonchalance and produced all her gossip with such artless good humour that Holk found himself not only forgetting his annoyance at the slyness of her previous remarks but also, to his great surprise, relieved of much of his gloom. Everything, even subjects of the greatest delicacy became, through Frau Hansen's narrative gift, something thoroughly amusing and thoroughly natural and when she had gone he was left with the feeling that he had been listening to a sermon on the art of living that was not perhaps very moral but all the wiser because of this. When he tried to sum up what he had just heard, it amounted to something like this: “Yes, Count Holk, it always was and always will be so: things can be taken seriously but they can also be taken lightly and someone who has the art of taking them lightly knows how to live and anyone who always takes things seriously, does not know how to live and worries over things that don't exist ….”

“Yes, Frau Hansen is right,” thought Holk when he had finished his meditations on what he had just heard. “Take things as they come, everything as it comes, that's the best way and that is what people like best. The first step to success is laughter.”

Twelve had not yet struck as he left his lodging in the Dronningens-Tværgade and set off towards the palace. It was the third day of Christmas, the weather had cleared up and a wintry sun shone over the streets and squares of the town. “The young lady has left her bed”—these were the words that Frau Hansen had spoken to him yesterday evening and there could be no doubt as to their veracity; but it was also most improbable that this young lady, after such a violent attack of fever, would yet have returned to duty and so, without inquiring further at the Princess's apartments, he went straight up to the second floor where Ebba had her rooms. Karin opened the door. “Is she at home?” “Yes.” And Karin led the way, followed by Holk.

Ebba was seated in a chair at the window, looking out on to the square which showed no trace of life; now not even the autumn leaves were whirling about any more. As Holk came in, Ebba stood up and walked towards him in a manner that was friendly, but tired and somehow sedate. She took his hand and then sat down on a sofa some distance away from the window, at the same time asking him to draw up a chair near to her.

“I'm expecting the doctor,” she began quietly, speaking in a rather strained voice. “But I'm in no hurry to see him and so I'm very glad that you have come. It means that I shall be able to talk of other things; it's so boring always having to answer questions about one's health, not only for the doctor but for the patient as well …. You must have spent Christmas at home on the other side of the water. I hope that you found the Countess as well as you expected and that you had a pleasant holiday.”

“It was not a pleasant holiday,” replied Holk.

“Then I can only hope that it wasn't your fault. I have heard so many nice things about the Countess; the Princess who called to see me yesterday was full of her praises. A woman of character, she said.”

Holk forced a smile. “A woman of great character—yes, the Princess is fond of that expression, I know, and uses it to suggest that not everyone possesses it. She may be right in that. But it's easy for princesses to enthuse about character when they are rarely in a position to meet people who do possess it. Such people may have a hundred good qualities, in fact they certainly have, but they are awkward people to know and that is the last thing that princesses are likely to find pleasant.”

“Everybody says that you are a very chivalrous person, Helmut, and I would be the last to deny it because I haven't any grounds for doing so; but you're not being very gallant towards your wife. Why are you trying to belittle the Princess's praise of her? As a rule princesses are not very free with their praise and one ought to add to it rather than detract from it. My feelings are the same as the Princess's. I'm full of admiration for the Countess and if admiration is too strong a word, then I should perhaps say that I am full of sympathy for her.”

Holk could contain his impatience no longer. “The Countess will doubtless be most grateful to you for that. But I think that her gratitude will be rather less than her amazement. Ebba, what sort of game is this that you're playing? First the Countess and then more Countess and then character and then admiration and then, to crown it all, sympathy. Do you expect me to believe all that? What has happened? What's the reason for this change in you? Why such formality all of a sudden, why all this reserve? Before I went away, I tried to speak to you, not because I wanted to be sure that you loved me, I felt certain of that or at least thought I could be certain of it, no, it was simply that I had an urge to see you and find out how you were before I went over to Glücksburg. So I left and while I was there, I suffered a great deal and I was forced to fight and say things that, frankly, you ought to realize as well as if you had been there listening to it all.”

Ebba tossed her head and Holk went on: “You're being haughty and tossing your head, Ebba, as if you wanted to say: I know every word you spoke and I disclaim every one of them.”

She nodded.

“Well then, if I've guessed correctly, let me ask you once more, what is this all about? You know that I was captivated by you from the very first day and that I have staked everything—perhaps more than I should—on winning you. And I did all that and I'm standing here in front of you today, whether guilty or not, only because you led me on—deny that if you can. Every word you uttered went straight to my heart and your eyes spoke the same language, and they both said, your words and your look, that you would be unhappy for the rest of your days that you had not slipped off the crumbling ice and died in the sea, if I were ever to abandon you. Deny that, Ebba—those were your very words.”

While Holk was speaking, Ebba had been leaning back with her eyes closed. Now that he had stopped, she sat upright again, took hold of his hand and said: “My dear friend, you're quite incorrigible. I remember telling you at the very beginning of our acquaintance and later on as well, in any case, more than once, that you were on the wrong track. Nor will I take anything back, on the contrary. All those things that I used to mention merely to tease you and irritate you a little when I was feeling impertinent, I shall now repeat in deadly earnest and even as an accusation. You try to be a courtier and a man of the world and you are neither the one or the other. You're half-hearted in both and you're always sinning against the most elementary rules of the game—particularly at the present moment. How can anyone, where a lady is concerned, refer to words that she was foolish enough—or perhaps kind enough—to utter in an unguarded moment? All that remains now is for you to mention certain
happenings
and you'll be the perfect gentleman. Don't try to interrupt, I've worse things to say to you yet. Except for the small matter of constancy, Mother Nature has endowed you with everything needed to make a good husband and you should have been content with that. In any neighbouring territory, you're completely at a loss and you only go from one blunder to another. In love, what counts is the moment and we experience that moment and enjoy it, but anyone who wants to perpetuate it or base any claims on it—claims which, if they were recognized, would destroy every better, in fact, any really legitimate claim—any man who can do that and just as his partner is being intelligent enough to have second thoughts, solemnly stands on his rights, as if they constituted a right to marriage, such a man's love is not heroic but stupidly quixotic.”

Holk jumped to his feet. “Now I know. It was all a game, a mere farce.”

“No, my dear Helmut, only if by being too solemn, which God forbid, you try to take something seriously which should be taken lightly.”

Holk stared blankly in front of him without a word and once again he realized that she had hit the mark. “Very well, then,” continued Ebba, “you have already committed the stupidest blunder of all and I refuse to accept any responsibility for it. I've never made myself out to be better than I am and nobody can say of me that I ever seriously pretended anything untrue. Words are only words; that much, even you must have known. Yes, Helmut, life at court is futile and boring, here and elsewhere, and because it's so boring, you either have to be as priggish as Schimmelmann or—how shall I put it?—as unpriggish as Ebba. And now, instead of stripping all the greenhouses in the country to strew flowers in my path or singing the praises of your lady like a troubadour—before going on to try your luck elsewhere—instead of doing that, you want to make me swear everlasting love on the strength of a single word, or not very much more, and turn a mere game into bitter earnest, all at the expense of a woman who is worth much more than both of us and whose feelings you are outraging just because you fancy yourself in a role for which you're quite unsuited. Once again, I refuse to accept any responsibility. I'm young and you're no longer young and so it wasn't for me to preach morality to you and, since I was bored, keep you anxiously on the path of virtue—that was none of my business, it was yours. I disclaim any guilt on my side and even if there was any (I suppose there may have been just a little), well, I've no desire to magnify it ten- or a hundred-fold and turn a peccadillo into real sin, one which I myself would recognize as such.”

Holk felt his head spinning. So this was the happiness of which he had dreamt! While he had been contemplating this step, he had certainly been filled with a vague feeling of anxiety at the thought of what the world, his children (whom he would be bound to alienate), and perhaps, sooner or later, his own heart would have to say. That had been in his mind but nothing else. And now a snub, a complete and unqualified rebuff, his proposal refused, his love spurned, with a peremptory firmness that excluded any possibility of a further attempt. If only he could have found relief in a sudden outburst of indignation! But even that solace was denied him, for as she stood there, loftily tearing his character to pieces, he found her more entrancing than ever.

“And so everything ends,” he said after a short pause, “with my complete humiliation, to which is added for good measure all the bitterness of being ridiculous—and all
pour passer le temps
. Everything has been calculated to pander to your vanity, and I must accept and submit to your latest caprice. But in one thing, Ebba, I'm not going to accept your verdict: I refuse to recognize that it was my duty to doubt the genuineness of your feelings; on the contrary, I felt that I could believe in them and I still think so. You have simply changed your mind and in the meantime—it's not for me to try to explore your reasons—you have decided that you prefer to call it all just a game. Well, if it was one and nothing more and you say so, then all that I can say is, that you played it very well.”