THE TWO OTHERS.
"The King of Hungary" was, at the time of our narrative, one of the
finest hotels in Vienna, and much frequented by aristocratic Hungarian
travellers and by Hungarian army officers.
A young hussar officer was ascending the stairs to the second story.
He was a handsome, well-built, broad-shouldered youth, and his uniform
fitted his athletic figure well. His cheeks were ruddy, his face full,
and on his upper lip he wore a mustache, the ends of which pointed
upward with a sprightly air. His cap was tilted well forward over his
eyes, and he carried his head as proudly as if he had been the only
captain of horse in the whole wide world.
On reaching the landing his attention was arrested by a strange scene
in the passageway leading to one of the guest-chambers. An old
gentleman with a smooth face, and wearing a peasant's cloak, was
vociferating wrathfully before three waiters and a chambermaid. Both
the waiters and the chambermaid were exerting themselves with every
demonstration of respect to gratify his slightest wish, which only
increased the old gentleman's anger, and caused him to renew his
scolding, now in Hungarian, and now in Latin. Catching sight of the
hussar, who had been brought to a standstill by the clamour, he called
to him in Hungarian--feeling sure that no hussar could be of any other
nationality--and begged his assistance.
"My dear Captain," he cried, "do have the goodness to come here, and
explain matters to these hyperboreans, who seem to understand no
language that I can speak."
The officer approached, and perceived that his interlocutor was, to
all appearances, a minister of the gospel.
"Well, reverend father, what is the trouble?" he asked.
"Why, you see," explained the other, "my passport describes me rightly
enough, in Latin, as _verbi divini minister_, that is, a preacher of
God's word. Well, now, when it came my turn to show my papers to the
custom-house officer, they all began to salute me, as if I had been a
minister of state, calling me 'your Excellency,' and paying me every
sort of compliment, right and left,--porters, cab-drivers, waiters,
and all. I thought they would kiss the ground I stood on before I was
at last shown up to this splendid apartment. Now this style is more
than I can afford. I am only a poor pastor, and I have come to Vienna
not for pleasure, but forced by necessity. Pray explain matters for me
to these people. I can't speak German, it is never used at home among
our people, and no one here seems to understand any other language."
The hussar officer smiled.
"Good father," he asked, "what languages do you speak?"
"Well," was the reply, "I can speak Latin, Greek, Hebrew, and, in case
of need, some Arabic."
"They will hardly be of any service here," rejoined the other,
laughing. Then, turning to the head waiter, he asked him a question in
a low tone, to which the servant replied by winking mysteriously and
pointing upward.
"Well, reverend father," said the hussar to the poor priest, "you go
into your room now, and in a quarter of an hour, I will return and
arrange everything for you. Just now I am in haste, as some one is
waiting for me."
"But, I beg to assure you, my business is even more pressing than
yours," was the other's reply, as he seized the young officer's
sword-tassel to prevent his escape. "If I so much as set foot in this
state apartment, it will cost me five florins at least."
"But, sir," explained the other, apologetically, "my affair is far
more important. Five comrades of mine are expecting me in the room
above, and one of them is to fight with me. I really cannot wait."
The priest was so startled by this announcement that he dropped the
sword-tassel.
"What!" he exclaimed, "you are on your way to a duel? Pray tell me the
reason of such a piece of folly."
But the young man only pressed his hand with a smile. "You wait here
quietly till I come back," said he. "I shall not be gone long."
"Supposing you are slain?" the old gentleman called after him, in
great anxiety.
"I'll look out for that," replied the hussar, as he sprang blithely up
the stairs, clinking his spurs as he went.
The old priest was forced to take possession of the splendid
apartment, while the whole retinue of servants still persisted in
honouring him with the title, "your Excellency."
"This is fine, to be sure," said the good man to himself, as he
surveyed his surroundings. "Silk bed-curtains, porcelain stove--why, I
shall have to pay five florins a day, if not six. And then all the
good-for-nothing servants! One brings my valise, another a pitcher of
water, a third the bootjack, and each one counts on receiving a good
big fee from 'his Excellency.' I shall be expected to pay for the
extra polish on the floor, too."
Thus grumbling and scolding, and estimating how much all this
splendour would probably cost him in the end, the priest suddenly
heard a stamping of feet, and a clashing of swords in the room above.
The duellists were surely at it over his very head. Now here, now
there, he heard the heavy footsteps, accompanied by the ringing of
steel against steel. For five or six minutes the sounds continued, the
poor parson meanwhile in great perplexity as to what course he ought
to pursue. He felt half inclined to open the window and call for help,
but immediately bethought himself that he might be arrested by the
police for disturbing the peace. Then it occurred to him to run
up-stairs, throw himself between the combatants, and deliver them a
sermon on the text (Matt. 26: 52): "Put up again thy sword into his
place: for all they that take the sword shall perish with the sword."
But while he was still debating the matter the tumult over his head
subsided, and in a few minutes he heard steps approaching his door,
which opened and admitted, to his great relief, the young hussar
officer, safe and sound.
The priest ran to him and felt of his arms and breast, to make sure
that he had actually received no injury. "Aren't you hurt, then, in
the least?" he inquired.
"Of course not, good father," replied the other.
"But did you slay your opponent?"
"Oh, I scratched him a little on the cheek."
"And is he not in great pain?" asked the kind-hearted pastor, with
much concern.
"Not at all; he is as pleased over his wound as a boy with a new
jacket."
But the minister of the gospel found the matter no subject for light
treatment. "How, pray, can you gentlemen indulge in such unchristian
practices?" he asked, earnestly. "What motive can you possibly have?"
"My dear sir," returned the other, "have you ever heard the story of
the two officers who fought a duel because one of them maintained that
he had picked sardines from a tree in Italy, and the other refused to
believe him? So they fought it out, and it was only after the first
had received a slash across the face that he remembered,--'Ah, yes,
quite right; they were not sardines, after all, but capers.' So here
you may imagine some such cause as that."
"And you fought for such a trifle!" exclaimed the pastor.
"Yes, something of the sort, if I remember rightly. You see, I have
just joined the regiment after serving in the life-guard, and I have
been promoted captain; so I must fight with a dozen comrades in
succession, until they either cut me to pieces or learn to endure my
presence among them. That is the custom. But let us discuss your
affairs now. You said you were here on urgent business; pray tell me
its nature."
"Certainly," responded the other; "if you will have the kindness to
hear me, I shall be most grateful. I am an entire stranger in the city
and have no one to render me any assistance. I have been summoned
hither _ad audiendum verbum_, having had some differences with the
landlord of the village where I am settled as pastor. You must first
understand that the squire was a great oligarch, while I am nothing
but a poor country parson. There was discord between our families,
arising from the squire's having a young cavalier as his eldest son
and my having a pretty daughter. I refused to listen to certain
proposals on the part of the squire, and the upshot was that the son
was sent away to Russia. That, however, did not greatly concern me.
But not long afterward the squire departed this life and was buried
with all the pomp of the Church. I made the prayer at the grave, and
it is true, I said some hard things; but what I said was for God's
ear, not for man's. And now, because of that prayer of mine to Heaven,
I am called to account by the mighty ones of this earth. Already I
have appeared before the consistory and before the county court,
accused of impiety and sedition. I am expelled from my pastorate, and
yet they are not content; they summon me hither, I know not before
whom, to answer the charge of _lA"se-majestA(C)_. But see here and judge
for yourself; I have the text of the prayer in my pocket. Read it and
see whether it contains a single word by which I have made myself
guilty of any such offence."
The old man's lips trembled as he spoke, and his eyes filled with
tears. The hussar took the writing from his hand and read it through,
the other watching meanwhile every line of the young man's face, to
see what impression the perusal would make on him.
"Well, sir, what do you say to it?" he asked when the young officer
had finished reading. "Would you condemn me for anything in that
prayer?"
The other folded the paper and returned it to the old man. "I should
not condemn you," he replied gently. He appeared to be much moved.
"Now may God bless you for those words!" exclaimed the priest. "Would
that you were my judge!"
And, indeed, he was his judge at that moment; for he was no other than
Richard Baradlay, the son of him over whose body the prayer had been
offered. "But let me give your Reverence a piece of advice," added the
young man. "First, stay here quietly in your room until you are
summoned. Visit no one and make your complaint to no one. You cannot
be found guilty of the offence charged against you. But if you should
undertake to defend yourself, I could not answer for the
consequences. Just stay here in your room, and if you are sent for,
answer the summons. Go whither you are called, and hear in silence
what is said to you. When that is over, bow yourself out and hasten
back to your hotel without saying a word to any one on the way or
answering a single question."
"But I shall be taken for a blockhead," objected the other.
"No, believe me, silence is a passport that will carry a man half-way
around the world."
"Very well, I will do as you direct; only I hope the process will be
brief. The Vienna air is costly to breathe."
"Don't worry in the least about that, reverend father. If some one has
compelled you to make the journey against your will, you may be sure
he will pay your score."
The old man wondered not a little at these words, and would gladly
have inquired who the unknown "some one" was.
"But now my engagements call me away," concluded the young officer,
and he took his leave before the other could question him further.
Soon after he had gone a waiter appeared with coffee, which, in spite
of the old priest's protestations that he never took any breakfast and
was in general a very light eater, the German domestic insisted on
leaving upon the table. At length, as the coffee was there on his
hands, the reverend gentleman proceeded to drink it in God's name; for
it would have to be paid for in any case. The warm breakfast did him
good. The servant now appeared, to carry away the breakfast service.
The old gentleman had learned one German word on his journey, and he
hastened to make use of it.
"Pay?" he said inquiringly, producing from the depths of his pocket a
long knit purse, a birthday present from his daughter, in which his
scanty savings were carefully hoarded. He wished to settle at once for
his breakfast, both because it troubled him to be in debt for even an
hour, and also that he might gain some idea from this first payment
how much his total daily expenses would probably be.
Great was his surprise, however, when the waiter, smiling politely and
waving aside the offered purse, assured him that the breakfast was
already paid for.
"So that young man was right, after all," said the good priest to
himself. "Why didn't I ask him his name? But who can it be that is
paying my bills?"
The unknown benefactor was, of course, none other than Richard
Baradlay, who, on leaving the hotel, had handed the head waiter two
ducats and bidden him provide for all the old gentleman's wants,
adding that he, Baradlay, would pay the bill. After that the young
officer repaired to the military riding school and exercised for an
hour in vaulting, fencing on horseback, breaking a lance or two, and
mastering a vicious horse. Then he went to walk for an hour around the
fortifications, looked at all the pretty faces he met, and at length,
toward noon, returned to his quarters. He kept bachelor's hall on the
fourth floor, occupying a sitting-room and a bedroom, while across the
passageway was a little room for his servant, and a diminutive
kitchen.
His domestic was an old hussar who answered to the name of Paul, and
who was rather more inclined to command his master than to receive
orders from him. He was sixty years old and more, and still a private
and a bachelor. He was serving out his fourth enlistment and wore on
his breast the cross given to the veterans of the Napoleonic wars.
"Well, Paul, what is there to eat to-day?" asked the captain,
unbuckling his sword and hanging it up in his closet, which showed a
collection of ancient swords and daggers.
The reader must here be informed that Paul was at once body-servant
and cook to his young master.
"What is there to eat? A Greek rose-garland," answered the old
servant, with humourous phlegm.
"Ah, that must be delicious," returned Richard; "but what is it made
of?"
"Angels' slippers," was the reply.
"Excellent! And is it ready?"
Paul surveyed his master from top to toe. "Do we eat at home again
to-day?" he asked.
"Yes, if we can get anything to eat."
"Very well; I will serve dinner at once," answered Paul, and he
proceeded to spread the table--which was accomplished by turning its
red cloth, ornamented with blue flowers, so that it became a blue
cloth adorned with red flowers. Then he laid a plate of faience ware
and a horn-handled knife and fork, together with an old-fashioned
silver spoon, first wiping each article on a corner of the
table-cloth. He completed these preparations by adding an old
champagne-bottle filled, as the reader will have guessed, with cold
water.
The cavalry captain pulled up a chair and seated himself comfortably,
stretching his legs out under the table. Meanwhile Paul, his hands on
his hips, thus addressed his master:
"So we are stranded again, are we,--not a kreutzer in our pockets?"
"Not a solitary one, as sure as you live," answered Richard, as he
took up his knife and fork and began to beat a tattoo on his plate.
"But this morning I found two ducats in your vest pocket," remarked
the old servant.
Captain Richard laughed and asked, in expressive pantomime: "Where are
they now?"
"Good!" muttered the other, as he took up the decanter that stood
before his master's plate and went out. Having brought it back filled
with wine, which he had procured in some way, he set it down again and
resumed his discourse.
"No doubt they went to buy a bouquet for a pretty girl," said he. "Or
have the boys drunk them up in champagne?" With that he took up a
plate with a sadly nicked edge from the sideboard and added, with
philosophic resignation, as he went out: "Well, I was just that way
when I was young." Soon he returned, bearing his master's dinner.
The "Greek rose-garland" proved to be a dish of beans, while the
"angels' slippers," cooked with them, were nothing but pigs' feet. The
old hussar had prepared the meal for himself, but there was enough for
two, and Richard attacked the camp fare with as keen a relish as if he
had never known anything better in his life. While he ate, his old
servant stood behind his chair, although his services were not needed,
as there were no plates to change, the first course being also the
last.
"Has any one called?" asked Richard as he ate.
"Any one called? Why, yes, we have had some callers."
"Who were they?"
"First the maid-servant of the actress--not the blonde one, but the
other, the pug-nosed one. She brought a bouquet and a letter. I stuck
the flowers into a pitcher in the kitchen, gave the maid a pinch on
the cheek, and kindled the fire with the letter."
"The deuce take you!" exclaimed Richard; "what made you burn up the
letter?"
"It asked for money from the captain," was the reply.
"But how did you know that, Paul? I thought you couldn't read."
"I smelt it."
Richard laughed aloud. "Well, who else has been here?" he asked.
"The young gentleman." This title was always used by Paul to designate
one particular person.
"My brother? What did he wish?"
As if in answer to this inquiry, the young gentleman suddenly appeared
in person.
The youngest Baradlay was a slender youth of frail physique. On his
smooth, boyish face sat a somewhat affected expression of amiability,
and if he carried his head rather high, it was not from pride, but on
account of the eye-glasses which he wore on his nose. As he shook
hands with his older brother, the latter was somehow reminded of the
regulation that requires certain government officials, as a part of
their duties, to show the utmost courtesy to every one--_ex officio_.
"Your servant, JenA'. What's up now?"
"I came to tell you," replied the other, "that I have received a
letter from mother."
"I received one, too," said Richard.
"She informs me," continued JenA', "that she is going to double my
monthly allowance, and, in order to enable me to fit up my rooms as
becomes one of my rank, she sends me a thousand florins."
"And she writes to me," said the older brother, "that if I continue to
spend money as I have in the past, I shall soon run through my share
of the property; and unless I am more economical she will send me no
more funds."
"But my difficulty," rejoined the other, "is that if I begin now to
spend a good deal of money, those over me will notice it. You can't
imagine how one is made to suffer for it when once his superiors in
the government service begin to suspect him of playing the independent
gentleman. Really, I don't know what I shall do. Look here, Richard;
do you know what I came for this morning? I came to share with you the
money that mother sent me."
The other continued to chew his toothpick. "What interest?" he asked.
"Don't insult me with such a question!" protested JenA'.
"Then you offer to divide with me simply because you don't know how to
spend the money yourself and want my help in getting rid of it? Good!
I am at your service."
"I thought you could make a better use of it than I," said the youth,
handing over the half of his thousand florins, and pressing his
brother's hand as he did so. "I have something else to give you also,"
he added, with assumed indifference,--"an invitation to the
Plankenhorsts' reception to-morrow evening."
Richard rested his elbows on the table and regarded his brother with a
satirical smile. "How long have you been acting as advertising agent
of the Plankenhorst receptions?" he asked.
"They begged me most cordially to invite you in their name," returned
the other, moving uneasily in his chair.
Richard laughed aloud. "So that is the usury I am to pay?" said he.
"What do you mean by that?" asked JenA', with vexation, rising from his
seat.
"I mean that you would like to pay your court to Miss Alfonsine if her
mother, who considers you a very raw youth as yet, were not in the
way. Madame Antoinette herself claims to be not devoid of personal
charms, and, if her _friseur_ is to be believed, she is still a
beautiful woman. When I was in the guard I used to dance with her
often at the masked balls, and I recognised her under her domino more
than once when she mistook me for an acquaintance and fell to
chatting with me. You know all that very well, and you say to
yourself: 'I'll take my brother along as elephant.' All right,
brother; never fear, I am not going to hand back the five hundred
florins. Your charges are high, but I'll be your elephant. Climb up on
my back, and while you beguile the daughter I will keep the mother
amused. But first I must impose one condition. If you really want my
company at the reception, do me the favour to intercede with your
chief on behalf of a poor priest who has been summoned to Vienna. Have
him sent home in peace. I don't need to tell you he is our pastor at
Nemesdomb, and he has been set upon because of the funeral prayer he
saw fit to make."
"How did you learn all that?" asked JenA', in surprise.
"Oh, I picked it up," replied the other; "and I tell you he is an
honest man. Let him go."
JenA' assumed his official expression of countenance. "But really,"
said he, "I have reason to know that the chancellor is greatly
incensed against him."
"Come, come!" cried the elder brother, impatiently; "don't try to
impose on me with your great men. I have seen any number of them, in
all sorts of undress, and I know that they are built just like other
mortals,--eat and drink, yawn and snore exactly like the rest of
mankind. Your great magistrate wrinkles his brow, talks in a harsh
tone to the innocent victim before him, and when he has let him go,
the mighty man laughs aloud at the terrible fright he gave the poor
wretch. This priest is an honest fellow, but his tongue sometimes runs
away with him. Yet he is a servant of God, and he must be allowed to
depart in peace. May he long minister to his little flock!"
"Well, I will speak to his Excellency," returned JenA'.
"Thank you. Now sit down and drink with me, to seal our compact.
Paul!"
The old hussar appeared.
"There is a ten-florin note. Go and get two bottles of champagne,--one
for us and one for yourself."
Old Paul shook his head as he withdrew, and muttered, "I was just such
another myself when I was a youngster."