An hour after sunset, when, as Pentz put it, Holk and Ebba had returned to civilization, from their Polar expedition, the party took their seats in a covered char-à-bancs, well provided with rugs, to return to Fredericksborg. On the way, the “romantic escapade” was eagerly discussed, in spite of the presence of the two protagonists, and the tone of the discussion left no doubt that everyone considered it as something relatively harmless, a mere high-spirited prank that Ebba had forced on poor Holk, who had had to accept willy-nilly. Most of the party expressed themselves in these terms and only the Princess, contrary to her usual custom, failed to share this attitude of amused approval and said very little, a fact which struck no one but the equerries who, noticing her silence, were reminded of some earlier remarks of the Princess, made half-anxiously, half-disapprovingly. “Ebba likes playing with danger,” had been her opening words, “and it’s all very well for her to do so, because she has the knack of avoiding it at the last moment. I’m sure that she has a life-belt under her furs all ready for any emergency. But not everybody is as clever and far-sighted as that and least of all our dear friend Holk.” She had made these remarks half-jokingly when taking coffee, while Holk and Ebba were still outside, but in spite of her jocular tone she was obviously serious.
They arrived back at the castle towards six o’clock and at once took their leave of the Princess, who still liked to spend her evenings in her rooms. The others went their separate ways, calling to each other as they did so: “Until this evening!”
“Which tower?” asked the two captains, who had been on duty the last few evenings and thus not been in the Princess’s suite.
“Ebba’s tower. Eight o’clock at the latest. Anyone arriving later has to pay a forfeit.”
“What forfeit?”
“We shall see.”
And they all went to their rooms after Schleppegrell had promised to bring his brother-in-law, Dr. Bie.
The two Schleppegrells and Dr. Bie, having the furthest distance to go, were naturally the first to arrive. It had started to snow slightly and, all flecked with white, they came into the hall at the bottom of the tower whence a spiral staircase led first to Ebba’s and then to Holk’s rooms, on the next floor. No one had bothered to discover what happened on the third and fourth floors, not even Karin who, since it had turned cold, had been chiefly concerned with keeping as warm as possible, first of all for her own sake and secondly for the sake of a young gardener’s boy with whom she had formed a very close and intimate connexion within the first twenty-four hours of her stay in Fredericksborg. She had had a good deal of experience in such matters and she was well aware that warmth was a most valuable auxiliary to love. Today as always, therefore, she had taken care to ensure a comfortable atmosphere and when the guests from Hilleröd felt themselves caressed by the prevailing temperature, Dr. Bie patted her hand and said: “Well done, Karin. You Swedish girls know all about that. But how do you manage to keep the hall so well heated? I’m almost tempted to sit down here on the staircase and spend the evening with you.”
Schleppegrell, knowing his brother-in-law’s easy-going ship’s-doctor’s manner only too well, threw him a glance warning him not to be too familiar but Karin, who liked being on good terms with everyone and most certainly with old naval surgeons, pointed to a place in the wall behind the staircase, the centre of which seemed to be glowing. Going nearer the doctor saw that a huge stove was built into the wall, with its front opening into Karin’s own room while its back, made of bricks into which had been let a large iron plate, was heating the lower hall and half the staircase as well. “Splendid,” said Bie, “splendid. I must have a word with the castle management and see if they make another one like it. An iron stove with double heating, so to speak, for the hall and the room as well. Over on the other side, with Countess Schimmelmann who has no Karin to help her, of course, it’s always bitterly cold; everything is freezing, including the Countess, by the way. And then we are supposed to cure her of her everlasting catarrh, not to speak of chilblains and her red nose. It’s a good thing that Countess Danner isn’t here. It’s true that she has her own doctor and we must not forget her greater natural heat, either. Otherwise she wouldn’t be the sort of woman she is.”
Schleppegrell was clearly not in agreement with his brother-in-law’s suggestion for structural improvements to the castle and while they were climbing the stairs, he said: “I’m all against it, Bie. Leave the towers as they are.”
“Ah,” laughed Bie. “The historian’s scruples again. You think that if people have been freezing in a tower for two hundred years, they must go on freezing for ever. You call it respect for tradition and the Church has a still grander name for it. As for me, I like to be warm.”
“Yes,” said Schleppegrell, “that’s the privilege of all Arctic explorers. The nearer the Pole, the nearer the stove. And you said that you intend to go and see the castle management to recommend the installation of another stove? Well, in that case, you must let me go with you and while you arrange for another double stove—which is made half of iron, by the way—I shall arrange for this one to be taken out. You can’t realize what you are doing, with all these pine-cones and fir-wood everywhere and the floors and partitions worm-eaten and dry as tinder.”
While talking, they had reached the top of the stairs and went into Ebba’s room where everything was prepared for the occasion: lamps and candles were burning and the table, already laid, had been pushed into the large bay-window. Everything was spacious and orderly but before ten minutes had passed, the whole room was humming with activity, and order was only restored when most of the party had seated themselves at two hastily improvised card-tables, Countess Schimmelmann with Pentz and Lundbye on the left, Frau Schleppegrell with Erichsen and Westergaard on the right. Holk and Bie would have liked a game and that would have made it possible to play four-handed whist without a dummy, but they could not play because Schleppegrell never touched a playing-card on principle and they could not leave him all to himself. It is true that there remained Ebba; but as hostess, she had to keep her eye on all her guests and although the supper had already been prepared in advance, there was still a great deal to do and there was no end to the instructions given to Karin and the gardener’s boy, who had been called in to help.
Seeing that they had no chance of a game, Holk and Bie retired to a corner formed by a projecting column in the wall, next to the bay-window. Here they were soon engrossed in private conversation and the ever-inquisitive Holk naturally managed to bring it round to the subject of Iceland.
“You know, doctor, I really do envy you your experiences as ship’s doctor there, not only because of scurvy and all the amputations that you must have had to deal with, but for ethnographical reasons.”
Bie, who was little more than a superior medical orderly, had probably never heard the word “ethnographical” in his life and, in any case, had never worried about its meaning; he was thus somewhat taken aback and would have found it difficult to reply if Holk, entirely absorbed by his own curiosity, and quite unaware of Bie’s problem, had not continued: “And if Iceland were a country that did not concern us particularly, we should perhaps not be so interested; but the Icelanders are our half-brothers and pray for King Frederick every Sunday just as much as we do, and perhaps more. For they’re a serious and religious people. And when I think that we live from one day to the next and really know nothing about things we ought to know, I feel ashamed and rather inclined to blame myself. For example, as my old Pastor Petersen at home has often assured me a hundred times, what would the whole of Germano-Scandinavian literature be like, but for Snorre Sturleson, the pride of the Icelanders? Nothing at all. And so I should like to ask you, doctor, during your stay on the island, did you find that all those things were still known and loved and sung and talked about by everybody, I mean the women and girls at their spinning-wheels and the men when they were out seal-fishing?”
Schleppegrell had been listening to all these questions with the greatest embarrassment, not for himself, but for his brother-in-law; but the latter had meanwhile recovered his poise and replied with great good humour: “I’m afraid that my brother-in-law knows all about that much better than I do, without ever having been there; people who’ve never been to places always know more about them. All that I know about the Icelanders is that their beds might be better, although they have eiderducks on their doorstep, so to speak. And the feathers really are good and you really are warm inside them and that, to be honest, is always the most important thing up there. But their weak point is their bed-linen. One could put up with the fact that their thread is as coarse as twine; the real trouble is their lack of cleanliness. It’s all too obvious that, up there, ice is commoner than water and the laundry women are only too glad to put their hands back into their fur gloves. It must be admitted that it’s not a clean country. But there is some splendid salmon. And then the drink! Some people are always talking of Icelandic moss[1] but I can assure you, Count, that I’ve never found better whisky anywhere, either in London or Copenhagen or even in Glasgow which is, after all, the home of the best whisky.”
This conversation about Iceland continued for a while and Schleppegrell, at first embarrassed, was finally gently amused to see all of Holk’s unrelievedly earnest questions skilfully parried by Bie. Ebba came up to them now and again, laughing to see the conversation continually going round in circles, and then quickly went back to the card tables where, to the great advantage of Frau Schleppegrell or Countess Schimmelmann, she picked up the dummy hands and put them down again so often that Pentz, who was losing steadily, finally had to protest. Nothing could have been more welcome to Ebba and leaving the cards, she went over to the fireplace and built up the fire with coal and juniper branches, though not too much, as the large number of lights alone had ensured that nothing could be felt of the cold outside. Also, although it had been freezing all day, the snow had raised the temperature, while the wind had risen, as could be noticed each time Karin, cheerful and competent, came through the doorway with the various trays.
It was now ten o’clock, the game was over, the card-tables pushed to one side and the supper-table, laid on three sides only, so that no one need sit with their back to the blazing fire, stood ready in the centre of the room. Countess Schimmelmann had the place of honour in the middle of the table, with Holk and Pentz on either side; then, to left and right, the four remaining men, while Frau Schleppegrell and Ebba sat at the ends, so that they could survey the whole table and, if necessary, renew the provisions. The atmosphere of the party was already gay but it now became even gayer, largely owing to the lively and varied talents of Dr. Bie as an entertainer. He was not only a good raconteur and toast-master but above all a virtuoso in the art of laughing, which enabled him to accompany not only his own but also other people’s stories with veritable salvoes of uncritical guffaws, thereby making everyone else laugh too, even if they did not know what they were laughing at. Even Countess Schimmelmann, to everyone’s delight, deigned to show unmistakable signs of enjoying herself, although this did not prevent the general hilarity from increasing noticeably as soon as she withdrew punctually at eleven o’clock. There was, indeed, one further factor in the increasing gaiety and this was the Swedish punch which though not appearing regularly on all occasions, was being served today from a huge silver bowl. Everyone sang its praises, especially Bie who, after reaching his fifth glass without undue delay, rose in his seat to give a toast, with the permission of the ladies. “Yes, ladies, a toast. But to whom? Naturally to our charming and hospitable hostess, in whom our sister-land of Sweden, a seafaring people like ourselves, has reached, if I may say so, its supreme expression. As we all know, beauty was born out of the sea, but in the North Sea there was born northern courage—Swedish courage. Although I was not myself a witness of that splendid deed of Nordic courage this afternoon, I have heard all about it. And surely, to hover on the brink of death, one false step and you’re in Davy Jones’s locker for good, isn’t that one of life’s greatest thrills? And such a life is a Norseman’s life. Where the ice begins, there the heart burns with the fiercest flame. So let us drink to the Nordic lands and their brave and beautiful daughter!”
Glasses were raised and, not for the first time that day, the “Lake Arre escapade” became the subject of general pleasantry. Pentz, who had little confidence in either Holk or Ebba, was particularly enjoying making fun of them and lovingly enlarged on what would have become of the couple had an ice floe, with a fir tree on it, broken free and carried them away into the open sea. They might perhaps have landed in Thule. Or perhaps not, and then they would have had nothing on their iceberg but a Christmas tree, without any nuts or raisins. And then Holk would have killed himself and offered his heart’s blood to Ebba, not forgetting the inevitable references to the pelican. In olden times such things had been known to happen.
“In olden times,” laughed Ebba. “Yes, such things did happen in olden times. I don’t claim to know much history, I leave that to others, and I know still less about ancient history than any other sort, but you only need to know a little about the Trojan war to have great respect for the olden days and their courage—even greater respect than for that Nordic courage that Dr. Bie has just been praising in such glowing and for me, flattering, terms.”
Here, Westergaard and Lundbye chimed in together to point out that, where the most important form of heroism, the heroism of passion, was concerned, times never changed and that they personally would guarantee that love could still perform the same marvellous feats as in former days.
At this, the company immediately split into two camps, those who were of the same opinion (including the little pastor’s wife, whose face was now glowing all over); and those who flatly denied the truth of what the captains said, the latter headed, of course, by Ebba. “The same marvellous feats,” she repeated ironically. “That’s not possible because such feats were the product of something that has been lost, a sort of sublime recklessness. I use that word because I want to avoid the word passion, although one of you has already used it; but we can talk of recklessness without feeling compelled to blush when we say it. And now I should like to ask you all, and I shall begin with the two captains, which one of you would be willing, for the sake of Helen, to start a Trojan war? Who would be ready to kill Agamemnon for the sake of Clytemnestra?”
“We would, we would,” and Pentz, waving a fork, even added: “I’m Aegisthus!”
Everyone laughed but with growing vehemence Ebba continued: “No, gentlemen, the truth is, that sort of recklessness no longer exists. Of course, it must be admitted—and it is up to you to make use of this against me—even in antiquity there were isolated cases of weakness. I remember, many long, dull years ago, when I was still in short skirts, I remember seeing Racine’s Phèdre with the celebrated actress Rachel in the title role; she had just come from St. Petersburg and was taking in poor old Stockholm on the way. Well, they said Phaedra loves her stepson, that is, someone not really of the same family and therefore having no reason at all to consider any question of incest; and yet this stepson refused to say yes, and spurned her although she was beautiful and a queen. Perhaps the first example of decadence, the first small voice of our modern weaklings.”
“Oh no,” protested Lundbye, “not modern. Modern taste would condemn that sort of pusillanimity out of hand,” and Pentz added: “What a pity that we haven’t a Phaedra handy to settle the argument straightaway; perhaps we might manage to fetch one from Skodsborg …” But he broke off in the middle of his sentence as he noticed that the two officers were looking at him very sharply, to let him know that, in their presence at least, he must not mention irreverently the name of Countess Danner which was on the tip of his tongue.
Almost at once, they rose from table and prepared to take their leave; and Holk, as the sole other inhabitant of Ebba’s tower, felt in duty bound to accompany the guests as far as Karin’s hall, which was being used as a cloak-room. He remained here until they had all left and then, saying good night to Karin, he suggested opening the windows and the door, as the stove seemed to be giving off too much heat; and then quickly went upstairs again.
As he came upstairs, Ebba was standing in her open door and the lights were still burning. Holk felt some doubt whether she had merely been waiting for all the guests to depart, or for him to return. “Good night,” she said and with a mock-solemn bow seemed to be on the point of going back into her room. But Holk seized her by the hand and said: “No, Ebba, you mustn’t go like that. You must listen to me.” And following her into her room he gazed at her with eyes full of a turmoil of passion.
But she gently released herself from his grasp and, alluding to the conversation of a few minutes ago, said: “Well, Helmut, what role are you playing now? Paris or Aegisthus? You heard that Pentz has volunteered for one of them.”
And she laughed.
But her laugh only increased Holk’s confusion, which she continued to enjoy for a moment and then, half-pityingly, she said: “Helmut, you really are more German than the Germans …. It took ten years to conquer Troy. That seems to be your idea, too ….”
[1]A lichen with supposed therapeutic properties.