CHAPTER II - 'ON THE COURT OF GRUNEWALD,' BEING A PORTION OF THE
TRAVELLER'S MANUSCRIPT
IT may well be asked (IT WAS THUS THE ENGLISH TRAVELLER BEGAN HIS
NINETEENTH CHAPTER) why I should have chosen Grunewald out of so
many other states equally petty, formal, dull, and corrupt.
Accident, indeed, decided, and not I; but I have seen no reason to
regret my visit. The spectacle of this small society macerating in
its own abuses was not perhaps instructive, but I have found it
exceedingly diverting.
The reigning Prince, Otto Johann Friedrich, a young man of imperfect
education, questionable valour, and no scintilla of capacity, has
fallen into entire public contempt. It was with difficulty that I
obtained an interview, for he is frequently absent from a court
where his presence is unheeded, and where his only role is to be a
cloak for the amours of his wife. At last, however, on the third
occasion when I visited the palace, I found this sovereign in the
exercise of his inglorious function, with the wife on one hand, and
the lover on the other. He is not ill-looking; he has hair of a
ruddy gold, which naturally curls, and his eyes are dark, a
combination which I always regard as the mark of some congenital
deficiency, physical or moral; his features are irregular, but
pleasing; the nose perhaps a little short, and the mouth a little
womanish; his address is excellent, and he can express himself with
point. But to pierce below these externals is to come on a vacuity
of any sterling quality, a deliquescence of the moral nature, a
frivolity and inconsequence of purpose that mark the nearly perfect
fruit of a decadent age. He has a worthless smattering of many
subjects, but a grasp of none. 'I soon weary of a pursuit,' he said
to me, laughing; it would almost appear as if he took a pride in his
incapacity and lack of moral courage. The results of his
dilettanteism are to be seen in every field; he is a bad fencer, a
second-rate horseman, dancer, shot; he sings - I have heard him -
and he sings like a child; he writes intolerable verses in more than
doubtful French; he acts like the common amateur; and in short there
is no end to the number of the things that he does, and does badly.
His one manly taste is for the chase. In sum, he is but a plexus of
weaknesses; the singing chambermaid of the stage, tricked out in
man's apparel, and mounted on a circus horse. I have seen this poor
phantom of a prince riding out alone or with a few huntsmen,
disregarded by all, and I have been even grieved for the bearer of
so futile and melancholy an existence. The last Merovingians may
have looked not otherwise.
The Princess Amalia Seraphina, a daughter of the Grand-Ducal house
of Toggenburg-Tannhauser, would be equally inconsiderable if she
were not a cutting instrument in the hands of an ambitious man. She
is much younger than the Prince, a girl of two-and-twenty, sick with
vanity, superficially clever, and fundamentally a fool. She has a
red-brown rolling eye, too large for her face, and with sparks of
both levity and ferocity; her forehead is high and narrow, her
figure thin and a little stooping. Her manners, her conversation,
which she interlards with French, her very tastes and ambitions, are
alike assumed; and the assumption is ungracefully apparent: Hoyden
playing Cleopatra. I should judge her to be incapable of truth. In
private life a girl of this description embroils the peace of
families, walks attended by a troop of scowling swains, and passes,
once at least, through the divorce court; it is a common and, except
to the cynic, an uninteresting type. On the throne, however, and in
the hands of a man like Gondremark, she may become the authoress of
serious public evils.
Gondremark, the true ruler of this unfortunate country, is a more
complex study. His position in Grunewald, to which he is a
foreigner, is eminently false; and that he should maintain it as he
does, a very miracle of impudence and dexterity. His speech, his
face, his policy, are all double: heads and tails. Which of the two
extremes may be his actual design he were a bold man who should
offer to decide. Yet I will hazard the guess that he follows both
experimentally, and awaits, at the hand of destiny, one of those
directing hints of which she is so lavish to the wise.
On the one hand, as MAIRE DU PALAIS to the incompetent Otto, and
using the love-sick Princess for a tool and mouthpiece, he pursues a
policy of arbitrary power and territorial aggrandisement. He has
called out the whole capable male population of the state to
military service; he has bought cannon; he has tempted away
promising officers from foreign armies; and he now begins, in his
international relations, to assume the swaggering port and the
vague, threatful language of a bully. The idea of extending
Grunewald may appear absurd, but the little state is advantageously
placed, its neighbours are all defenceless; and if at any moment the
jealousies of the greater courts should neutralise each other, an
active policy might double the principality both in population and
extent. Certainly at least the scheme is entertained in the court
of Mittwalden; nor do I myself regard it as entirely desperate. The
margravate of Brandenburg has grown from as small beginnings to a
formidable power; and though it is late in the day to try
adventurous policies, and the age of war seems ended, Fortune, we
must not forget, still blindly turns her wheel for men and nations.
Concurrently with, and tributary to, these warlike preparations,
crushing taxes have been levied, journals have been suppressed, and
the country, which three years ago was prosperous and happy, now
stagnates in a forced inaction, gold has become a curiosity, and the
mills stand idle on the mountain streams.
On the other hand, in his second capacity of popular tribune,
Gondremark- is the incarnation of the free lodges, and sits at the
centre of an organised conspiracy against the state. To any such
movement my sympathies were early acquired, and I would not
willingly let fall a word that might embarrass or retard the
revolution. But to show that I speak of knowledge, and not as the
reporter of mere gossip, I may mention that I have myself been
present at a meeting where the details of a republican Constitution
were minutely debated and arranged; and I may add that Gondremark
was throughout referred to by the speakers as their captain in
action and the arbiter of their disputes. He has taught his dupes
(for so I must regard them) that his power of resistance to the
Princess is limited, and at each fresh stretch of authority
persuades them, with specious reasons, to postpone the hour of
insurrection. Thus (to give some instances of his astute diplomacy)
he salved over the decree enforcing military service, under the plea
that to be well drilled and exercised in arms was even a necessary
preparation for revolt. And the other day, when it began to be
rumoured abroad that a war was being forced on a reluctant
neighbour, the Grand Duke of Gerolstein, and I made sure it would be
the signal for an instant rising, I was struck dumb with wonder to
find that even this had been prepared and was to be accepted. I
went from one to another in the Liberal camp, and all were in the
same story, all had been drilled and schooled and fitted out with
vacuous argument. 'The lads had better see some real fighting,'
they said; 'and besides, it will be as well to capture Gerolstein:
we can then extend to our neighbours the blessing of liberty on the
same day that we snatch it for ourselves; and the republic will be
all the stronger to resist, if the kings of Europe should band
themselves together to reduce it.' I know not which of the two I
should admire the more: the simplicity of the multitude or the
audacity of the adventurer. But such are the subtleties, such the
quibbling reasons, with which he blinds and leads this people. How
long a course so tortuous can be pursued with safety I am incapable
of guessing; not long, one would suppose; and yet this singular man
has been treading the mazes for five years, and his favour at court
and his popularity among the lodges still endure unbroken.
I have the privilege of slightly knowing him. Heavily and somewhat
clumsily built, of a vast, disjointed, rambling frame, he can still
pull himself together, and figure, not without admiration, in the
saloon or the ball-room. His hue and temperament are plentifully
bilious; he has a saturnine eye; his cheek is of a dark blue where
he has been shaven. Essentially he is to be numbered among the man-
haters, a convinced contemner of his fellows. Yet he is himself of
a commonplace ambition and greedy of applause. In talk, he is
remarkable for a thirst of information, loving rather to hear than
to communicate; for sound and studious views; and, judging by the
extreme short-sightedness of common politicians, for a remarkable
provision of events. All this, however, without grace, pleasantry,
or charm, heavily set forth, with a dull countenance. In our
numerous conversations, although he has always heard me with
deference, I have been conscious throughout of a sort of ponderous
finessing hard to tolerate. He produces none of the effect of a
gentleman; devoid not merely of pleasantry, but of all attention or
communicative warmth of bearing. No gentleman, besides, would so
parade his amours with the Princess; still less repay the Prince for
his long-suffering with a studied insolence of demeanour and the
fabrication of insulting nicknames, such as Prince Featherhead,
which run from ear to ear and create a laugh throughout the country.
Gondremark has thus some of the clumsier characters of the self-made
man, combined with an inordinate, almost a besotted, pride of
intellect and birth. Heavy, bilious, selfish, inornate, he sits
upon this court and country like an incubus.
But it is probable that he preserves softer gifts for necessary
purposes. Indeed, it is certain, although he vouchsafed none of it
to me, that this cold and stolid politician possesses to a great
degree the art of ingratiation, and can be all things to all men.
Hence there has probably sprung up the idle legend that in private
life he is a gross romping voluptuary. Nothing, at least, can well
be more surprising than the terms of his connection with the
Princess. Older than her husband, certainly uglier, and, according
to the feeble ideas common among women, in every particular less
pleasing, he has not only seized the complete command of all her
thought and action, but has imposed on her in public a humiliating
part. I do not here refer to the complete sacrifice of every rag of
her reputation; for to many women these extremities are in
themselves attractive. But there is about the court a certain lady
of a dishevelled reputation, a Countess von Rosen, wife or widow of
a cloudy count, no longer in her second youth, and already bereft of
some of her attractions, who unequivocally occupies the station of
the Baron's mistress. I had thought, at first, that she was but a
hired accomplice, a mere blind or buffer for the more important
sinner. A few hours' acquaintance with Madame von Rosen for ever
dispelled the illusion. She is one rather to make than to prevent a
scandal, and she values none of those bribes - money, honours, or
employment - with which the situation might be gilded. Indeed, as a
person frankly bad, she pleased me, in the court of Grunewald, like
a piece of nature.
The power of this man over the Princess is, therefore, without
bounds. She has sacrificed to the adoration with which he has
inspired her not only her marriage vow and every shred of public
decency, but that vice of jealousy which is so much dearer to the
female sex than either intrinsic honour or outward consideration.
Nay, more: a young, although not a very attractive woman, and a
princess both by birth and fact, she submits to the triumphant
rivalry of one who might be her mother as to years, and who is so
manifestly her inferior in station. This is one of the mysteries of
the human heart. But the rage of illicit love, when it is once
indulged, appears to grow by feeding; and to a person of the
character and temperament of this unfortunate young lady, almost any
depth of degradation is within the reach of possibility.
