THE AVENGER.
"Immediately he reached home, the count gave orders for his departure.
He had completely forgotten the business for which he came to Bruneck:
besides, had the business been even more important than it really was,
it could not have retained him, so great was his anxiety to get away.
Still, he was obliged to remain ten hours longer in the town. It was
impossible to procure horses before three o'clock in the afternoon."
"He profited by this hindrance to take a little rest; in truth, he was
utterly worn out with fatigue. He soon fell into so deep a sleep that
he did not even hear the furious cries and vociferations of the crowd
assembled in the square, on seeing that, instead of three criminals,
whom they had so long awaited in order to enjoy their punishment, and
satiate a vengeance so long desired, only three corpses were offered
them. At the moment when the gaoler and officials entered the dungeon
to lead the condemned men to the gallows, they only found their
corpses; the men were quite dead. When the count woke, all was over,
the shops were opened again, and the town had reassumed its accustomed
appearance. The count enquired after his carriage, the horses had been
put in and it was waiting at the door. The final preparations were soon
made; the count went down."
"'Where are we going, Excellency?' the postillion asked, hat in hand."
"'The Vienna road,' the count replied, making himself as comfortable as
he could in the corner of the carriage."
"The postillion cracked his whip, and they set off at full speed.
The count had reflected, and the following was the result of his
reflections:--only one person was powerful enough to render him
thorough and prompt justice, that person was the Emperor. He must,
consequently, apply to the Emperor, and that was the reason why he
was going to Vienna. It is a long distance from Bruneck to Vienna; at
that period, more especially when railways were only just beginning,
and only existed in few places, journeys were long, fatiguing and
expensive. This lasted twenty-seven days. The count's first business on
arriving, was to enquire after his Imperial Majesty; the court was at
Schönbrunn. Now Schönbrunn, the Saint Cloud of the Austrian Emperors,
is only a league and a half from Vienna. Still, not to lose precious
time in false steps, he must obtain an audience with the Emperor as
speedily as possible. Count Oclau was of too great a family to be
kept waiting long; two days after his arrival in Vienna an audience
was granted him. The palace of Schönbrunn stands, as we said, about a
league and a half from Vienna, beyond the suburb of Mariahilf and a
little to the left. This imperial palace, commenced by Joseph I., and
finished By María-Theresa, is a simple, elegant, and graceful building,
though not without a certain majesty. It is composed of a large main
building with two wings, with a double flight of steps leading to the
first floor; low buildings running parallel to the main edifice, serve
as offices and stables, and are attached to the end of the east of
the wings, leaving merely an aperture of about thirty feet, on either
side of which stands an obelisk, which thus completes the courtyard.
A bridge thrown across the Vienne, a thin stream of water which falls
into the Danube, gives access to the palace, behind which extends in
an amphitheatrical form, an immense garden, surmounted by a belvedere,
placed on the top of a large grass plot, which is flanked on the
right and left by magnificent coppices full of shadow, freshness,
and twittering birds. Schönbrunn, rendered celebrated by Napoleon I.
residing there twice, and by the painful death of his son, bears a
stamp of indescribable sadness and languor, everything is gloomy, dull,
and desolate; the court with its formal etiquette and brilliant parades
only imperfectly succeeds at lengthened intervals, in galvanizing this
corpse. Schönbrunn, like the palace of Versailles, is only a body
without a soul, and nothing could restore it to life."
"The count arrived at Schönbrunn ten minutes before his audience,
which was fixed at noon. A chamberlain on duty awaited him, and at
once introduced him to his majesty. The Emperor was in a private room,
leaning upon a mantelpiece. The reception granted the count was most
affable. The audience was a long one, it lasted nearly four hours, no
one ever learned what passed between the sovereign and the subject.
The last sentence of this confidential interview was alone heard. At
the moment when the count took leave of the Emperor, his majesty said,
while giving him his hand to kiss--"
"'I believe it will be better to act thus on behalf of the whole of the
nobility, every effort must be made at any cost, to avoid the frightful
scandal which the publicity of so horrible an affair would arouse; my
support will never fail you. Go, my lord, and Heaven grant that you may
succeed with the means I place at your service.'"
"The count bowed respectfully, and retired. The same evening he left
Vienna, and took the road which would lead him home. At the same time
with him, a cabinet courier sent by the Emperor, started on the same
road."
On reaching this point in his narrative, the adventurer paused, and
addressing Count de la Saulay, asked him:--"Do you suspect what passed
between the Emperor and the count?"
"Nearly," the latter answered.
"Oh!" he said, in amazement; "I should be curious to know the result of
your observations."
"You authorize me then to tell you?"
"Certainly."
"My dear don Adolfo," the count continued, "as you are aware, I am
a nobleman; in France the king is only the first gentleman of his
kingdom, the _primus inter pares_, and I suppose that it is much
the same everywhere now; any attack upon one of the members of the
nobility affects the sovereign as seriously as all the other nobles
of the empire. When the Regent of France condemned Count de Horn to
be broken alive on the wheel upon the Place de Grève, for robbing
and murdering a Jew in the Rue Quincampoix, he replied to a nobleman
of the court, who interceded with him on behalf of the culprit, and
represented to him that the Count de Horn, allied to reigning families,
was his relative: 'When I have any bad blood, I have it taken from
me;' and turned his back on the petitioner. But this did not prevent
the nobility from sending their carriages to the execution of Count de
Horn. Now, the fact you are talking about is nearly similar, with this
exception, that the Emperor of Austria, less brave than the Regent of
France, while allowing that justice ought to be dealt upon the culprit,
recoiled from a publicity, which, according to his views, would brand
a stigma of infamy upon the entire nobility of his country; hence,
like all weak men, he satisfied himself with half measures, that is to
say, he probably gave the count a blank signature, by means of which
the latter, on the first plausible pretext, might put down his noble
relative, kill him, or even have him assassinated, without other form
of trial, and in this way, obtain by the destruction of his enemy the
justice he claimed; since, the Prince once dead, it would be easy to
restore to his sister-in-law or her son, in the event of his being
recovered, the titles and fortune which his uncle had so criminally
appropriated. This, in my opinion, is what was arranged between the
Emperor and the count at the long audience granted at Schönbrunn."
"Matters turned out so in reality, Count, with the exception that the
Emperor insisted that hostilities should not commence between the
count and the Prince until the latter was beyond the frontiers of the
empire, and the count requested the Emperor to place at his disposal
all the means of action he possessed, in order to try and find his
nephew again, if he still lived, and to this the Emperor consented."
"The count returned then to his castle, provided with a blank signature
of his Majesty, which gave him the most extensive powers to carry
out his vengeance, and in addition, with an order entirely in his
Majesty's handwriting, empowering him to obtain the aid of all the
imperial agents, both at home and abroad, at the first requisition. The
count, as you of course understand, was but moderately satisfied with
the conditions which the Emperor had imposed on him; but recognizing
the impossibility of obtaining more, he was obliged to give way.
For himself, he would have certainly preferred, whatever might have
been the consequence, a public trial, to the paltry and disgraceful
vengeance that was permitted him; but it was better, in the interests
of his sister and nephew, to have obtained these semi-concessions, than
to meet with a formal refusal. He immediately set to work in search of
his nephew, for this search the papers which Red Arm had handed him,
contained precious information. Without saying anything to his sister,
through fear of giving her false hopes, he immediately went about his
task. What more shall I tell you, my friends? His search was long, and
is still going on; still the situation is beginning to grow clearer,
and has been so fortunate as to find his nephew again: since this
discovery, he has never let the young man out of sight, although the
latter is ignorant to this day of the sacred bonds which attach him to
the man who has brought him up, and whom he loves like a father, the
count has kept this secret even from his sister, not wishing to reveal
it to her till he can announce at the same time that justice has at
length been done, and that the husband she has deplored for so many
years is avenged. Very frequently, since that period, the two enemies
have met, many opportunities have been offered the count to kill his
foe, but he has never let himself be led astray by his hatred, or, to
speak more truly, his hatred has given him the strength to wait; the
count wishes to kill his enemy, but he desires first that the latter
should dishonour himself and fall, not conquered in an honourable
contest, but justly struck, like a criminal, who at last receives the
chastisement of his misdeeds."
After uttering the last words the adventurer stopped. There was a
lengthened silence; night was coming to an end, white gleams were
beginning to filter through the half-open window; the light of the
candles was growing pale; indistinct noises announced that the city
was awaking, and the distant bells of monasteries and churches were
summoning the faithful to early mass. The adventurer left his chair
and began walking up and down the room, every now and then casting
searching glances at his two companions. Dominique, thrown back in
his _butaca_, with his eyes half closed, was mechanically smoking his
Indian pipe. Count de la Saulay was playing the devil's tattoo on the
table, while watching the adventurer's movements.
"Don Adolfo," he suddenly said to him, as he raised his head and looked
him full in the face, "your story has ended then?"
"Yes," the adventurer answered, laconically.
"You have nothing more to add?"
"No."
"Well, excuse me, my friend, but I fancy you are mistaken."
"I do not understand you, my dear count."
"I will explain myself; but on one condition."
"What is it?"
"That you will not interrupt me."
"Very good, if you insist. Now I will listen to you."
"My friend," the count said, "the first friendly face I met on
landing in America was yours; though we were placed in very different
situations, accident was pleased to bring us together with such
persistency, that what was at first but a passing acquaintance has
become, without either of us knowing how, a sincere and profound
affection. It is not possible to become so connected with a man without
studying his character a little, which I have done with you, and you
doubtless have done with me. Now, I believe that I know you intimately
enough, my friend, to feel convinced that you did not come suddenly
to our house tonight with the mere object of supping, or, forgive the
phrase, indulging in a _débauche_, which does not agree with your
character or morals, as you are the most sincerely sober man I ever
met. Moreover, I ask myself, why you, so chary of your words, and
especially of your secrets, have told us this story, very interesting,
I allow, but which, apparently, does not concern us in any way, and
can have but a very secondary interest for us. To this I answer that
if you thus came to ask of us a supper, which you could very well
have done without, you came expressly to tell us this narrative: that
it interests you more than us, and I conclude that you have still
something to tell us, or, to speak more clearly, to ask of us."
"That is evident," said Dominique.
"Well yes: all you have supposed is true--the supper was only a
pretext, and I really only came here tonight with the intention of
telling you the story you have just heard."
"Very good," said Dominique, joyously, "that, at any rate, is being
frank."
"Still I confess," the adventurer continued sadly, "that I now hesitate
because I am afraid."
"You afraid? And of what?" the two young men exclaimed in surprise.
"I am afraid, because this long story must shortly have its conclusion;
because this conclusion must be terrible and though when I came here
I intended to ask your assistance, I have since reflected, and recoil
from the idea of mixing you up, you who are so young, happy, and
careless, even indirectly, in this horrible story to which you ought to
remain strangers. Pray, my friends, forget all you have heard--it is
only a story told after drinking."
"No, on my honour, don Adolfo," the count exclaimed, energetically, "it
shall not be so, I swear, and I speak for myself and Dominique: you
want us and here we are. I know not what mysterious interest you have
in this affair. I do not even wish to discover the motives that lead
you to act, but I repeat to you, if you were to send us away when you
are going to incur a great danger, which we might, perhaps, protect
you from by sharing it with you, it would be a proof to us that you
entertain neither esteem nor friendship, and that you regard us rather
as thoughtless young people than men of courage."
"You go too far, my dear count!" the adventurer warmly exclaimed. "I
never had such ideas, far from it. Still, I repeat, I tremble at the
thought of mixing you up in this affair, which does not concern you."
"Pardon me, my friend; from the moment it interests you, it concerns
us, and we have the right to mix ourselves up in it."
The adventurer hung his head and began walking up and down the room
again in great agitation.
"Well, be it so, my friends," he said at the end of a moment, "since
you insist, we will act in concert. You will aid me in what I have
undertaken, and I hope that we shall succeed."
"I feel convinced of it," said the count.
"Let us go then," Dominique said, rising from the table.
"Not yet: but the moment is at hand. I swear to you that you will not
have long to wait. Now, one last toast, and good-bye. Ah! I forgot:
in the event of my not being able to come to you myself, this is the
signal--_one and two make three_. It is very simple and you will
remember it, I think?"
"Perfectly."
"In that case, good-bye."
Five minutes later he had left the house.