roubled me little. I fell victim to an
engrossing selfishness. The quarrels and woes of my kindred went
unnoticed, except when they served for a moment's amusement. To the
fortunes of those with whom I had lately been so much concerned, of
Wetter and of Coralie, I was almost indifferent. Varvilliers wrote to
me, and I answered in friendly fashion, but I did not at that time
desire his presence. So far as my thoughts dwelt on the past, they
overleaped what was immediately behind, and took me back to my first
rebellion, my first struggle against the fate of my life, my first
refusal to run into the mould. I remembered my Governor's comforting
assurance that I had still six years; I remembered the dedication of my
early love to the Countess. Then I had cherished delusions, thinking
that the fate might be avoided. Herein lay the sincerity and honesty of
that first attachment, and an enduring quality which made good for it
its footing in memory. In it I was not passing the time or merely
yielding to a desire for enjoyment. I was struggling with necessity. The
high issue had seemed to lend some dignity even to a boy's raw
love-making, a dignity that shone dimly through thick folds of
encircling absurdity. I had not been particularly absurd in regard to
Coralie Mansoni, but neither had there been in that affair any redeeming
worthiness or dignity of conception or of struggle. Now all seemed over,
struggle and waywardness, the dignified and undignified, the absurdly
pathetic and the recklessly impulsive. The six years were nearly gone.
Princess Heinrich's steady pressure contracted their extent by some
months. The coming of the Bartensteins was imminent. The era of Elsa
began.

Old Prince Hammerfeldt had left a successor behind him in the person of
his nephew, Baron von Bederhof, and this gentleman was now my
Chancellor and my chief official adviser. He was a portly man of about
fifty, with red cheeks and black hair. He was high in favour with my
mother, the husband of a buxom wife, and the father of nine children. As
is not unusual in cases of hereditary succession, he was adequate to his
office, although he would certainly not have been selected for it unless
he had been his uncle's nephew; but, being the depositary of
Hammerfeldt's traditions (although not of his brains), he contrived to
pass muster. He came at this time to Artenberg, and urged on me the
necessity of a speedy marriage.

"The recent danger, so providentiall