DER ROSENKAVALIER (The Rose-Bearer)

In Vienna, during the early years of the reign of Maria Theresa, love intrigues formed one of the chief amusements of persons of quality; and, therefore, it was no strange thing that, early one bright summer morning, the Princess von Werdenberg should be enjoying an interview with an ardent lover in her boudoir, whilst her sleepy, but faithful, lackeys kept watch outside to prevent interruption.

The Princess's husband, Field-Marshall Prince von Werdenberg—an elderly man, too much engrossed in matters of war and sport to be greatly interested in the doings of his pretty wife—was abroad on a hunting expedition; so what more natural than for the Princess—still young and beautiful enough to be one of Cupid's victims—to invite her young kinsman and devoted lover, Octavian, to visit her and to pour forth into her willing ears the sweet words of love she delighted to hear.

Octavian, a handsome youth, sat at the feet of his beloved Princess in an adoring attitude, every now and again rising to draw her into his eager embrace; and the Princess listened indulgently to his extravagant expressions of admiration and adoration—for, in spite of his extreme youth, she loved the boy dearly and delighted in his ardently responsive passion.

Their golden hours of sweet dreaming this morning, however, were doomed to a rough awakening; for there suddenly came the sound of an arrival in the courtyard below, and the Princess exclaimed in deep alarm, as she heard approaching heavy footsteps: "Ah, woe! My husband has returned unexpectedly! Quick, conceal thyself, my beloved Octavian!"

Octavian hastily retired to a cupboard in a recess; and the Princess paced restlessly up and down her room, listening to the voices of her zealous lackeys arguing with the newcomer, whom she soon realised was not her husband, after all, but a near kinsman, the Baron Ochs von Lerchenau, a middle-aged and dissipated roué, for whom she had little affection and less respect.

In a few moments Octavian emerged from the recess, attired in female garments, and entreated the Princess to pass him off to her intruding cousin as a new waiting-maid; and his royal sweetheart, delighted with his charming appearance—for he made an extremely pretty "girl"—and ever ready for a joke, gladly agreed to do so.

At this moment the visitor burst into the room, angrily expostulating with the dismayed attendants for having kept him waiting outside so long; and seeing that he was indeed her kinsman, the Baron Ochs von Lerchenau, the Princess gave him a gracious welcome and inquired the reason for his unexpected appearance so early in the morning.

The Baron, however, was immediately so struck with the fair fresh beauty of the dainty "waiting-maid," that he could scarce take his eyes away, and kept casting languishing glances at her, making frequent inviting signs for her to approach nearer to him—to the secret entertainment of the Princess, who more than once had to bid him keep his hands off the "girl," whom she addressed as "Mariandel"; but the flirtatious visitor was at last induced to sit down and state his business whilst partaking of a cup of chocolate.

The Baron now explained to his royal cousin that he had decided to marry, and was, in fact, about to enter into a contract that day with a very young girl named Sophia, the daughter of Faninal, a wealthy merchant who had recently been ennobled; and when the Princess expressed surprise that he should stoop to wed with one of such plebeian origin, he airily confessed that the father's money-bags were of more service to him in his present impecunious state than a long pedigree, declaring that enough blue blood flowed in his own veins for himself and his wife.

The marriage contract was to be signed later during that day; but, in the meantime, he required the services of a noble youth to bear to his promised bride a silver rose as the pledge of his love, in accordance with the pretty custom of such ancient families as his own—and he begged the Princess to name one of their kinsmen for this important mission.

In reply, the Princess bade her "waiting-maid" fetch her a certain jewelled medallion in which was set a miniature of Octavian; and showing the portrait to the Baron, she asked him if he would like the original to perform the office of rose-bearer to his bride-elect, Sophia. The Baron gladly answered in the affirmative, entreating that the matter should forthwith be arranged by the Princess, who agreed to the plan; then, upon gazing more closely at the miniature, he noticed the likeness between the pictured youth and the pretty young "waiting-maid," and his royal cousin informed him that they were, in fact, related, and that though their relationship was not quite "canonical," she nevertheless for that reason chose to keep "Mariandel" always about her own person and away from the other maids.

Once more the Baron tried to make advances to the pretty "Mariandel," inviting her to sup with him that night, and boldly seeking an opportunity to snatch a kiss, to the increasing amusement of the Princess; but Octavian at last managed to make his escape through one of the doors, which he slammed in the amorous Baron's face.

A stream of attendants, vendors of goods, suppliants and servitors now poured into the room through another door; and the Princess, seating herself at the toilet-table, gave herself up into the hands of her hairdresser, who proceeded to arrange her head-dress whilst she listened to the various petitions that were made to her for charity and patronage.

The Princess's attorney having entered with the others, the Baron immediately drew the man of law aside and made arrangements with him for the drawing up of his marriage contract; and very soon he was singled out as a likely customer by a couple of disreputable Italians—an uncle and niece, Valachi and Annina—who earned a doubtful living as panderers and by spying, tale-bearing, and finding proofs of scandals. This shady pair of hangers-on were not long ere they found an opportunity of asking the Baron to employ them in his numerous love affairs; and when, at the end of the reception, he retired with the rest of the company, they followed closely upon his heels in the hope of proving their usefulness to him.

The Princess, thus left alone for a few minutes, fell into a pensive mood, reflecting upon the emptiness of the frivolous life around her, and of the only too probable passing of her present happiness; but her reverie was soon broken by the return of Octavian, once more clad in his own male garments, and laughing merrily over the part he had just enacted so cleverly. Soon, however, observing that his beloved one looked sad, he clasped her in his arms in alarm, and begged to know what ailed her; and when the Princess admitted that she feared their love would soon come to an end, since he would almost certainly bestow his affections on some fair young girl sooner or later, he passionately declared that he should never cease to love her, his adored Princess, adding, in extravagant terms, that she had no equal.

The Princess, however, dismissed him with quiet tenderness, bidding him to hold himself in readiness to do her will and to enact the part of rose-bearer for the Baron; but when he had departed, she remembered with a pang that he had forgotten to kiss her as usual, and she sighed deeply as she realised that her sad thoughts were probably nearer the truth than she had imagined.

Later in the day great excitement reigned in the household of the newly-ennobled merchant-prince, Herr von Faninal, whose gorgeous palace glowed with decorations of brilliant colours, and whose fair young daughter, Sophia, attired in elegant garments, awaited the arrival of her fiancé's rose-bearer—a royal alliance for a merchant's daughter being an achievement to be proud of; so that the worthy Faninal's citizen friends were all envious of what they considered his good luck in having secured so distinguished a son-in-law.

Consequently, all the neighbours were agog with excitement and curiosity to see the arrival of the rose-bearer; and in the reception chamber of the gaudy palace, after the departure of Faninal to meet the bridegroom, the pretty Sophia vainly endeavoured to quell her eager heart-beats by uttering fervent prayers for humility, whilst at the window her fussy duenna, Marianne, interrupted her every minute by drawing attention to the merry doings in the street below, where little groups of curious neighbours were gathered to watch the arrivals.

Presently, loud greetings and shouts announced the arrival of the eagerly-expected rose-bearer; and, next minute, Octavian, dressed in dazzling garments of silver and white, entered the reception-room, carrying in his hand a lovely silver rose, which, upon his bended knee, he gracefully presented to Sophia. He was followed by a party of elegant attendants, who grouped themselves around the room; but Sophia saw no one but the handsome young Octavian, whose glowing eyes instantly held her own enthralled.

In that first long look the two young people felt themselves transported, as it were, to another world—a rosy world of joy and love, where they two were the only dwellers; and though they gradually came back to the scene around them and talked of ordinary matters, they both felt the glory of a new happiness and knew that love had dawned, unbidden, in their hearts.

Scarcely had they recovered themselves than the doors were once more flung open, and Faninal, with great pomp and ceremony, ushered in the Baron Ochs von Lerchenau, who, in spite of his noble birth, soon showed himself to be nothing but a vulgar boor. He treated the obsequious Faninal first with insolent condescension and next with downright rudeness; and he quickly offended the modest Sophia with the rough boorishness of his wooing and the leering suggestiveness of his bold glances. His coarse words and manners filled the poor girl with disgust; and when he drew her down on to a seat beside him and began to fondle her with easy familiarity, she wrenched herself free from his arms with flaming cheeks, full of indignation, and forbade him to touch her again.

Her resistance, however, vastly amused the licentious Baron, who was now delighted with the loveliness and spirit of his plebeian bride-elect; and he eagerly followed her about the room, in order to force his unwelcome attentions upon her—to the furious anger of Octavian, who only repressed his rage with the utmost difficulty. It was, therefore, a relief to all when Faninal and the notary called the Baron into the adjoining chamber to examine the contract-document before the ceremony of signing it took place.

The remainder of the guests and attendants followed; and, for a few moments, Octavian and Sophia were left alone.

Full of despair at the now hideous prospect of the marriage which had been arranged for her, the humiliated Sophia turned to the rose-bearer and tearfully entreated him to help her, declaring that she would never wed with the Baron; and for answer, Octavian clasped her tenderly in his arms, passionately declaring his love for her and vowing to spare her at all costs from the fate she dreaded.

Now full of joy, Sophia gladly responded to the ardent declaration of Octavian, shyly avowing her own love in return; and for a few happy moments the lovers indulged in sweet converse, oblivious of their surroundings and the awkwardness of their position.

They were quickly reminded of this latter fact, however; for whilst they were still in each other's arms they were disturbed by the sudden appearance of the two Italian scandal-mongers and spies, Valachi and Annina, who had concealed themselves behind a curtain in the hope of hearing something which they could turn to profit.

Delighted with the unexpected discovery they had thus made, the pair now rushed into the adjoining room and excitedly called to the Baron to come and behold his future bride in the arms of a lover.

A number of the guests and attendants hurried into the room, together with the Baron, who, however, laughed at the confusion of Octavian and Sophia, rallying them on their hasty love-making and coarsely declaring himself pleased that his bride should have a lover. He then seized Sophia by the hand and endeavoured to draw her into the next room in order to sign the marriage contract; and when the indignant girl drew back, declaring that she would never wed with him, he tried again and again to drag her into the presence of the notary.

Octavian, now beside himself with rage, bade him unhand the girl at once, declaring that she had no intention of marrying him, notary or no notary; and upon receiving merely an insolent laugh in reply, he drew his sword and furiously challenged the Baron to a duel.

The Baron instantly whistled for his servants; but Octavian compelled him to draw, and, after a couple of passes, wounded him in the arm. The Baron, terrified at his hurt, trifling though it was, dropped his sword at once, and calling for help, made a great fuss, groaning and declaring himself to be nearly killed as the attendants hastened to his side and led him with obsequious solicitude to a couch.

Faninal was soon on the scene, full of perturbation, giving orders for a surgeon to be called, upbraiding Octavian and angrily scolding his daughter, declaring the latter should marry the Baron yet, whether she would or no.

He politely entreated the rose-bearer to depart, fearful of offending one of such noble birth, yet anxious to be rid of him; and Octavian, seeing that nothing further could be gained at present by remaining, quietly took his departure, after having whispered to Sophia that she would hear from him again very soon.

Sophia was now packed off to her own chamber by her angry parent; and the cowardly Baron, whose cries and groans had diminished somewhat on the arrival of the surgeon, who quickly assured him that he was but slightly hurt, desired to be left alone a while in peace. The fussy Faninal, therefore, drove all his servants and guests out of the room; and the Baron was left alone.

His rest, however, was almost immediately disturbed by the entrance of the little Italian, Annina, who crept in upon tip-toe and with an air of great secrecy handed to him a note, which she declared came from "Mariandel," the Princess's "waiting-maid." The note stated that "Mariandel" had been better pleased with his lordship's attentions that morning than he supposed, and that she would now gladly accept his invitation to supper that night, naming a certain inn as the rendezvous, and the time she would be there.

Quite cheered at the thought of having made another conquest, the vain Baron gleefully decided to keep the assignation; but when Annina importunately demanded payment for the zeal she had already shown in his interests, he testily bade her begone, saying he would settle with her later on.

Annina departed therefore sulkily enough, shaking her fist at this unsatisfactory patron; and the Baron was left to rest and indulge in eager anticipation of his coming intrigue, and to make arrangements later with the landlord of the inn for the carrying out of his plans.

Now young Octavian was blessed with an excellent sense of humour; and on thinking matters over, he determined to gain his own ends and to get the better of the Baron by playing on him a merry trick which should lead to the undoing and ridicule of the vain-glorious libertine.

He therefore engaged the services of the two Italian spies; and after having despatched Annina to the Baron with the note from the imaginary "Mariandel," he proceeded to the inn named therein, where he made elaborate arrangements for the carrying out of his joke. He hired several rascally-looking loafers and hid them in various parts of the room he had engaged, giving them instructions to show their villainous faces at signals from himself; and having also sent messengers to Faninal and the Princess, begging them to appear at the inn at a certain time, and made further plans with Annina to enact a part in his little farce, he proceeded to array himself once more in the clothes of "Mariandel," the pretended "waiting-maid," and then sallied forth to meet the amorous Baron.

In a few minutes he returned to the inn leaning on the arm of the latter and pretending to be pleased with his foolish remarks and maudlin love-making. They seated themselves at the supper table; but the Baron was so delighted at his seeming conquest of the pretty and saucy "Mariandel" that he preferred to make love to her rather than to feast.

But the enticing "waiting-maid," after partaking, under protest, of a glass of wine, pretended to grow sleepy; and when the Baron presently tried to draw her into his arms, he was startled and alarmed by the sudden appearance of strange, evil-looking faces staring at him from various parts of the darkened room.

The apparitions vanished as suddenly as they had appeared; but the Baron soon had another bad fright. Annina now appeared, disguised as a middle-aged lady in deepest mourning garments and accompanied by four young children also garbed in black; and as she flung herself into the arms of the amazed Baron, declaring herself to be his deserted but still loving wife, the little ones clung around his legs and hung on to his coat-tails, calling out plaintively "Papa! Papa! Papa!"

The Baron was furious at this interruption to his pleasure, but was at the same time confused, not remembering which of his many victims of amorous intrigues this particular one could be, and thinking to bluster the matter out, he ran to the window and called loudly for the watch.

When, however, in answer to his calls, the Chief Commissary of Police appeared, he found himself in a worse predicament than ever, for the Commissary insisted upon asking him many awkward questions, and accused him of having the young girl, "Mariandel" at the inn without the consent of her guardians.

As the now bewildered Baron tried to find a way out of his difficulty his confusion was still further increased by the arrival of Faninal with Sophia; for he had tried to appease the Commissary by declaring his supper companion to be his fiancée. On hearing this statement from the Commissary, Faninal became so furiously angry at the Baron's conduct that he fell down in a fit and had to be removed to another chamber, where he was attended by Sophia.

Meanwhile, Octavian, having found an opportunity of whispering secretly to the Commissary, retired to a curtained recess, where he hastily discarded his female garments, and presently reappeared in his own garb, just as the Princess entered the room.

The Baron was now completely nonplussed; for, at this moment, Sophia also returned to announce to him that her father was so disgusted at his loose behaviour that he withdrew his consent to the marriage which had been arranged, and refused to have anything further to do with so disreputable a suitor.

The Princess next stepped forward and explained that the whole of the evening's proceedings had been a hoax—a diversion which had been planned by the young Octavian, his own kinsman and rose-bearer, who had also enacted the part of the pretty "Mariandel"; and finally, the Baron, covered with confusion and ridicule, was obliged to beat a hasty retreat and retire from the neighbourhood altogether.

The Princess now sadly realised that young Octavian's fancy for herself—which she had so foolishly returned with interest—had been swamped by the real love which he had conceived for the fair and charming Sophia; and, generously, she bade him woo the latter, whilst she retired to the inner chamber to secure the consent of Faninal to their union.

Gladly Octavian clasped Sophia in his arms and poured forth his love vows once more into her willing ear; and soon the joy of the lovers was crowned by the ready approval of Faninal, who was delighted to have thus secured a husband of noble birth for his daughter, after all.

All the party now retired from the inn to join in the rejoicings for the betrothal of Octavian and Sophia; and if, in the midst of the revels and gaieties that ensued, the heart of the Princess was sad, she did not complain, but only sighed regretfully because she had awakened from a fair and rosy dream that had been too sweet to last!