Their way lay between high quickset hedges with the sea close by on the left; but it could only be heard since a low line of dunes obscured it from view. Arne and Schwarzkoppen had both wrapped their feet in plaids and rugs for, after the lovely warm day, it had become cool and autumnal, cooler than usual for September. This only increased the liveliness of their conversation which, naturally enough, concerned the evening they had just spent together.
“That Petersen girl has a charming voice,” said Arne. “All the same, I wish she had sung some Weber rather than that gloomy song.”
“It was a very lovely song.”
“Certainly it was and we two can both listen to it without coming to any harm. But not my sister! You must have seen how she took the music and left the room. I feel sure that she immediately learned it by heart or cut it out and stuck it in an album. You know, although she is thirty-seven years old, she is still in many ways the little schoolgirl from Gnadenfrei, particularly now that she has Fräulein Dobschütz living with her. Of course, Fräulein Dobschütz is an excellent person and I have all possible respect for her character and her learning. But the fact remains that, as far as my poor brother-in-law is concerned, she is a mistake. You’re surprised but it’s true. She is far too intelligent and far too good-hearted, too, to try to come between them, either wilfully or through vanity, but my sister is forcing her into a false position. Christine always needs someone to complain to, some soulful figure straight out of the works of Jean-Paul Richter, someone perpetually worrying about the fact that life is real, life is earnest …. The only thing that is capable of relieving her gloom is gossip about the affairs of the heart of heretics—a heretic being anyone who is not an Old Lutheran, a Pietist, or a Herrnhuter. And it is a miracle that she can at least tolerate those three. She is so obstinate and unapproachable. I keep trying to persuade her and explain to her that she ought to be more adaptable and be prepared to listen to her husband if he tells a joke or a story or even makes a pun.”
Schwarzkoppen nodded: “I was telling her as much today and pointing out all the count’s amiable qualities.”
“A suggestion which she no doubt rather haughtily denied. I know her. Always some question of education or reports from some missionary in Greenland or Ceylon, or a harmonium or church-candles or an altar-cloth or a crucifix. It’s quite intolerable. I am mentioning all this to you so frankly and fully because you are the only one who can help. Mind you, I’m not certain that she finds you completely satisfactory because, thank God, you lack the necessary pietistic tinge of ‘little blossoms, little angels.’ The temperature of your religion is not quite high enough for her, but she at least accepts its form and because of that, she will not only listen to your advice but will follow it as well. Which is something.”
While Arne was speaking, they had reached the place where the dunes opened out towards the sea. The surf could now be seen and, further out, fishing boats lying with furled sails in the moonlight. A rocket shot up on the horizon and stars of light slowly descended.
Arne ordered the coachman to stop. “Enchanting. That’s the steamer from Korsör. Perhaps the King is on board and wishes to spend a few weeks more in Glücksburg. I have already heard that they have dug up something else in the bog near Süderbrarup or somewhere, a Viking ship or King Canute the Great’s pleasure yacht or something. Personally I would sooner read David Copperfield or The Three Musketeers. It all leaves me quite cold, these combs and needles they keep digging out of the bog or else some tangled mass that sets Thomsen and Worsaae at loggerheads because they can’t decide whether it is a bundle of roots or some sea-king’s head of hair. As for the royal luncheons where the chief item on the menu is crates of schnapps or else Countess Danner herself, of humble memory—a former milliner, I believe—well, I find all that quite repugnant. In everything else, I try to differ from my sister, even when she is right and makes such a fuss about it, unfortunately; but where this is concerned, I can only agree with her and I cannot understand why Holk persists in keeping on with all that business over in Copenhagen and seems to enjoy strutting about in his gentleman-in-waiting’s uniform. I grant that there is no reason why his feelings as a Schleswig-Holsteiner should stand in his way, since as long as the King is living, he is, after all, our King and Duke. But I think it inexpedient and unwise. After all, life with Countess Danner is hardly conducive to longevity—I mean for the King, of course—and overnight it may be all over. In any case, he’s an apoplectic. And what will happen then?”
“I think that Holk doesn’t ask himself that question. He lives only for the moment and consoles himself with the saying: Après nous le déluge.”
“Very true. He lives only for the moment and the fact that he does this is another thing my sister cannot forgive and here again I must take her side. But let’s not talk about this any more; today I don’t feel like making a list of all my sister’s virtues but rather of les défauts de ses vertus which, my dear Schwarzkoppen, we must combine in opposing or else we are going to witness something very unpleasant, of that I am certain. The only thing of which I am not certain is, who will take the first step—the first step to disaster. Holk is easy-going and modest almost to a fault—he is too respectful and chivalrous and he has become used to playing second fiddle to his wife all the time. It’s natural enough. In the first place, he is impressed by her beauty—she really was very beautiful and still is, in fact. Then he is impressed by her intelligence or what he takes to be intelligence. Finally, and perhaps most of all, he is impressed by her piety. But recently and, I’m afraid, all too rapidly, there has been a change and he has become impatient and touchy and sarcastic. Only this afternoon, it struck me how much his tone has changed. Take that question of the marble mangers. My sister took what was intended more or less as a joke with deadly seriousness and replied half in anger and half sentimentally. Now, three years ago, Holk would have let that pass but today he took it up sharply and made fun of her because she is only happy when she is talking of graves and chapels and painting angels on walls.”
Schwarzkoppen had punctuated all this with an occasional “only too true” and left no doubt as to his agreement. But when Arne, who wanted something more explicit than mere agreement from Schwarzkoppen, stopped talking, the Principal betrayed little desire to expatiate on the subject, being reluctant to take the bull by the horns. Pointing towards Arnewieck, he said: “How lovely the town looks in the moonlight! And how well the dyke there makes the roofs stand out and the gables between the poplars and willows! And now St. Catherine’s: listen to the sound across the bay. I bless the day that brought me here to your beautiful country.”
“And I must thank you for those kind words, Schwarzkoppen, because we all like to hear someone praising our own country. But may I point out that you are evading the issue? Here am I, begging you to stand by me in a very difficult matter, much more difficult than you imagine, and all you can do is to admire the landscape. Of course it’s lovely. But I’m not going to let you get away like that. With the influence you have over my sister, you must approach her through the Bible, and convince her, with half a dozen examples from the Gospels, that things cannot be allowed to continue as they are, that her attitude is nothing but self-righteousness, that real love has nothing to do with this hidden pride that is merely parading as humility, in other words, that she must mend her ways and fall in with her husband’s wishes instead of making the house unbearable for him. Yes, and you can add, too—and there is some truth in this as well—that he would probably long since have given up his post in Copenhagen if he wasn’t glad to escape now and again from the depressing effect of his wife’s virtues.”
“Ah, my dear Baron,” replied Schwarzkoppen, “I’m not really trying to evade the issue, not in the least. I have all the goodwill in the world to co-operate, within my powers. But goodwill is not enough. If your sister were a Catholic instead of a Protestant and I were a Redemptorist or even a Jesuit father instead of the principal of a seminary in Arnewieck, the matter would be very simple. But that is not the case. There’s no question of authority. Our relationship is purely a social one and if I were to try to play the father confessor or healer of souls, I should be intruding and doing something that lies outside my competence.”
“Intruding?” repeated Arne with a laugh. “But my dear Schwarzkoppen, I cannot accept the idea that you should feel troubled by thoughts of Petersen when he is nearly eighty years old and has reached the point where any idea of rivalry or any possibility of misinterpretation must be out of the question.”
“I don’t mean Petersen,” said Schwarzkoppen. “He has long ago left all those petty jealousies behind that are normally only too common with my pastoral colleagues. He would certainly approve my role of reformer and miracle-worker. But we must not always take advantage of what chance offers us. In this case, there are so many adverse factors and difficulties that I feel bound to be cautious.”
“So you refuse?”
“No, I’m not refusing. I shall do everything that lies in my power but it can only be very little. If only for physical reasons. I have work to do and the distance to Holkenäs is not so very short, so that the opportunities that you spoke of will not occur very often. But the chief difficulty is the countess herself. I have rarely met any woman whom I admire more. She combines all the advantages of being a lady, a noble lady, with all the virtues of being a Christian and a woman. At all times, she endeavours to do what she thinks best, to do her duty, and it is extraordinarily difficult to lead her conception of duty into another direction. As you know and as I was suggesting only too plainly, our Church doesn’t permit anything more than counsel, exhortation, and request. Everything depends, more or less, on textual interpretation and this naturally opens the door to controversy. What is more, the countess not only knows her Bible very well, she also possesses the great strength of all those who look neither left nor right, make no concessions, and through their inflexibility, which is almost remorselessness, are far better armed than those who rely merely on gentle and loving faith. She will not be affected by contradiction and even less by my assuming an air of superiority.”
“Certainly. I can only repeat that it must all be made to appear accidental.”
“The only thing I can do is to act prophylactically, if I may be allowed a rather pedantic expression, since I’m half a schoolmaster at the moment. Precautions, prevention; I shall look around for stories from my past experience as a pastor—and what complications and aberrations does one not meet with and learn to understand!—and I shall try to make these stories do their work in secret. Your sister is both imaginative and thoughtful and her imagination should lend vividness to what she hears while her thoughtful nature will force her to face the matter squarely and perhaps lead to a change of mind and then to a change of heart. That is all I can promise. It will be a slow process and the effort may well be quite disproportionate to the result. But at least I intend not to evade the issue because I realize that something must be done, even if it must be kept within very carefully defined limits.”
“All right, Schwarzkoppen. I have your word and that is sufficient. What is more, it’s a favourable moment to put our project into execution. Holk is expecting to be summoned to Copenhagen by the Princess in about four weeks’ time and he will be away until Christmas. In the intervening period, I shall frequently come over to see to the administration and accounts of the estate, as I always do whenever Holk is away in Copenhagen. I shall let you know each time I am driving over, to discover if you can come with me. I should also mention that, every time he is away, she is in a much more gentle, almost tender mood and she always recovers her earlier fondness for him, which at the moment is more a hope than a reality. In a word, while he’s away, her mind is like a field all ready to receive the good seed. It is merely a matter of trying to show her everything from another, as it were equally legitimate, viewpoint. If we succeed in doing that, then we shall have achieved our purpose. With the seriousness and conscientiousness with which she approaches everything, she will certainly be able to reach the right conclusion herself, once she has seen reason.”
They had now reached the dyke which stretched out along the other side of the bay and on which the roadway continued to run for a short distance. The town lay below them and in the distance towered St. Catherine’s church in which the seminary was incorporated, while dominating the further end of the town stood the ancient castle that was Arne’s home. As the carriage drove down the slope into the town, Schwarzkoppen said: “What a strange sort of melodrama! Here we are, like a couple of conspirators, hatching plots by night and I suppose that I shall be playing the part that should have been taken by Petersen. And it is all the more strange because the countess really has a passionate admiration for him and the only thing she can find to blame in him is his rationalism. His rationalism! Nothing but a word and if you look at it closely, it is not really as bad as she seems to think, at any rate now. He has reached the limit of our allotted span and his eyes see more clearly than ours, perhaps in all things, and certainly in those pertaining to this world.”