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Updated: May 27, 2025
The baron found that it would be necessary to tell his nephew about his old friend at once. On the very day of their arrival, Hartmut Rojanow's name was mentioned several times in Willibald's presence. He asked promptly to whom the name belonged, and was answered, 'to a young Roumanian poet. An unmistakable wink from his uncle was all that saved him from further questions.
For the object is unattainable by either of us." "Unattainable?" an ironical smile played around Rojanow's lips. "Yes, Hartmut," said the young prince, half in earnest, half in jest, "the lovely, cold northern light, as you have named her, remains true to its nature. It gleams on the horizon distant and unapproachable, and the icy sea above which it shines is not to be broken through.
Rojanow's face showed extreme surprise as he heard this young girl, whom he had taken as a matter of course, for unmarried, speak in so matter-of-fact a tone about her husband, but he bowed, and said most courteously: "I beg your pardon, my dear madame, for mistaking you for a girl, but I could not know you were married. And I now know that I have never had the honor of meeting your husband.
He exercises a charm which none can resist, and where he leads all must follow." This glowing eulogy was listened to with cool indifference by the young woman, whose whole attention seemed to be centered in the landscape, as she answered: "You are right, doubtless. Herr Rojanow's eyes indicate an unusually fiery temperament, but their expression is uncanny and surely not sympathetic."
You know how much he would do for the poet who wrote 'Arivana. All you will have to do will be to obtain an audience, and that will be granted as soon as your name's sent in. An order from him would silence every objection." Rojanow's eyes sank to the ground, and his dark, frowning brow grew blacker as he answered: "I know it, but I can ask nothing of him.
Have we not lived together for nearly two years, and shared the same dangers and pleasures like brothers? And now you talk about deserting me, without even a question as to how I'll get along without you. Do you think I value your friendship so little, dear old fellow?" The words were so warm and sincere that Rojanow's ill-temper was conquered.
The host had dreaded this hour, but now the tale was told and the impression which it made on the Colonel anything but what his host had expected. He had told of Rojanow's sudden appearance at Fürstenstein, of the sensation which his drama had created in the city, of his wandering life with his mother during past years, and of Zalika's death.
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