GOOD-BYE
The friends and acquaintances of both parties were assembled at Count
Stefan's to hear the result of the duel. The seconds on both sides had
promised to come and give the earliest news. All the _habitués_ of
society were waiting; there was suppressed excitement; bets were made
upon which should be wounded, and whether Salista would give a heavy
wound or only a slight scratch to his adversary. Count Stefan had the
courage to bet ten to one that Salista would get a scratch; he also
risked "even money" that the marquis would be the only one wounded.
That Ivan would escape with a whole skin no one else for an instant
imagined. If they had done so they might have offered a hundred to
one, and even at that no one of the party would have taken the bet.
The outposts planted themselves at the windows, to be the first to see
the carriage with the seconds. When a cab drove up, they shouted to
the others:
"Edmund and Geza have arrived!"
"Then I have won my bet," said Count Stefan; "the seconds of the man
who is least hurt get away first."
Count Edmund went to the countess's apartment to let her know what had
happened, while Geza ascended to Count Stefan's rooms. He rushed in
with the triumphant air a victorious second should have.
"He has put him to the sword."
"Who? Who? Ivan? Salista?" cried the company, surrounding the
messenger in their excitement.
"Ivan has put the marquis."
An "A-ah!" was the incredulous rejoinder of the others.
"But I tell you he has," repeated the young count; "he has cut him
into a jelly."
"And Ivan?"
"He is as untouched as I am."
"Ah, you are making fun of us."
"It is no subject for fun. Ask Salista."
"But where is Ivan?"
"He will be here immediately, and will convince the unbelievers, who
will find no wounds into which they can poke their fingers. He went
home with the doctors, for Salista had two, who have at last succeeded
in stitching him together."
Then he related to them circumstantially all that had happened. For
those who did not clearly understand, he demonstrated with the help of
two walking-sticks the course the duel took. He came to the
double-cut.
"In this way Ivan parried the stomach-thrust and gave the
fore-cut--the final a _tempo contre coup_. The performer of these
wonderful exploits had not even turned a hair."
"Why, he is a miracle!"
"No such thing," protested Count Geza. "He has been in the
army--captain in the hussars." (He advanced him a grade, but captain
sounds better than lieutenant.) "He fought all through the revolution;
he was nineteen times in action, and fought with the Cossacks besides.
He has also received a good-service medal."
All this the count imagined might be the fact, although he had
certainly not heard a word of such a history from Ivan. Once a man has
scored one success, he is credited with twenty more.
"Truly a wonderful man!" said Baron Oscar. "For three months he has
been among us every day, and has never mentioned his soldiering
experiences."
"Now we have really landed him upon us, like a Sindbad that can never
be shaken off," remarked Baron Edward. "We wanted to be rid of him,
and instead we have raised him into the saddle. He will never
dismount; he is saddled on us forever. No one would dare now to speak
to him."
"Good God of Saxony!" cried Baron Oscar, "how the man will carry his
nose in the air! There will be no standing him, for the women will, of
course, make the deuce of a fuss about him, and men must have a
certain respect for him. _Sacré bleu!_ A man who can shoot and fence
like this fellow! But I would bet anything that it was a mere
accident."
"I think quite the contrary," remarked Count Stefan, "and I very much
fear that Ivan will leave us all cooling our heels here, and not show
his face. He will never cross any of our thresholds again."
"Oh, he wouldn't be such a confounded fool! I bet you a hundred to
one."
"First pay me the bet you have lost."
Baron Oscar put his hand in his pocket, but before he drew out his
pocket-book a happy thought struck him.
"But how if Geza and his brother second were playing off a joke? They
may have concocted this story. Perhaps the truth is that at the last
moment the quarrel was made up and there was no duel, and that they
have both come from a luncheon where no blood, but plenty of
champagne, flowed."
"If you don't believe me, then drive to Salista. My cab is at the
door. Go and convince yourself."
The baron rushed off. On the staircase he met Count Edmund coming up
from the ladies. He asked where Oscar was rushing in such haste.
"He doesn't believe Geza's story."
"That is just the way the ladies have treated me; they won't believe
me. They say, 'If nothing has happened to Ivan, where is he?' The
Countess Theudelinde sheds tears like a river; she execrates us all,
and declares we have killed her hero. The cuckoo only knows which of
the two ladies is the most in love with him. Up to this I thought I
knew, but now I am all in the dark."
Baron Oscar returned at this moment. He didn't say a word, but took
out his pocket-book and paid Count Stefan his bet. It was a very
convincing answer.
"Well, how is Salista?" asked several voices together.
"He is terribly disfigured."
On this every one took out their purses and paid their lost bets; they
did it with very sour faces. If only Ritter Magnet had been
disfigured!
Just then Ivan was announced. The sour faces changed with marvellous
rapidity into friendly smiles. He was greeted warmly; every one wanted
to shake hands with him. He was the hero of the hour, but he looked
tired and very serious. Count Stefan was the last to press his hand.
"I rejoice," he said, "to see you uninjured."
Two young fellows said to one another, "Old Stefan may very well
rejoice; he has made a good thing of the handicap, and cleared us out
jollily." But in spite of their losses, they, too, congratulated the
victor.
Every one seemed pleased except, perhaps, Ivan. "I thank you all," he
said, in his grave voice, "for your warm sympathy; and I thank you,
count, in particular, for your cordial reception, and for the
friendship which you have accorded to me. I shall always preserve a
grateful remembrance of your kindness. I beg of you to bear me
likewise in your recollection, for I have come now to take leave. I am
returning to my home to-morrow."
The count winked with his left eye at Baron Oscar, as who should say,
"Did I not tell you so?" But he spoke no word to induce Ivan to
rescind his resolution. He pressed his hand warmly as he said:
"Be assured that I have a sincere esteem for you, and wherever we may
meet again always consider me as an old friend. God bless you!"
Baron Oscar made much more fuss. He held Ivan with both hands on his
arm.
"My dear friend, we cannot allow this. Such a good fellow as you have
proved yourself to be cannot slip away from us in this manner--just at
the moment, too, when you are going to be the lion of the season. You
sha'n't escape; you belong to us."
Ivan laughed; gentle sarcasm, half pain, half irony, totally unmixed
with bitterness, was in the laugh. Then he answered this burst of
friendship:
"I thank you, comrade, for the honor you do me, but I am not fit to be
Governor of Barataria; it is far better for me to be at home. I go to
get my 'grison' saddled, and I ride away."
(Any one who is conversant with "Don Quixote" will remember the skit
upon the island of Barataria, and the affecting meeting between the
ass and his master.)
When he had finished speaking, Ivan made a deep bow to the company
and left the room. Count Stefan followed him, and, in spite of his
protestations, accompanied him down the stairs to Theudelinde's door.
He was much moved by Ivan's last words.
When he returned he found the entire company still in a very
uncomfortable frame of mind, discussing the scene that had just
happened with much annoyance.
"Who has told him the joke about the island of Barataria?" asked Baron
Oscar.
Each one gave his word of honor that he had not betrayed confidence.
"Then may the devil fly away with me if I don't believe it was the
abbé."
But Count Stefan shook his head. "No, my friends," he said, "believe
me, no one has told Behrend anything. He is a man of acute
penetration, and he has read you like a book without appearing to take
notice."
Geza, however, swore that the priest had blabbed.
We swear to nothing, but think it right to mention that a few days
previous the Abbé Samuel had received a letter from Vienna with the
words, "What are you about? You are ruining the whole thing. That ass
Behrend is bringing about a reconciliation between the countess and
the old prince. Get him out of Pesth, for he is working dead against
us.--FELIX."
"At all events, we have pleased my pretty cousin," remarked Count
Edmund. "She wanted him to be sent about his business, and we have
done it."
"Oh, is that so?" And Count Stefan smiled sardonically. "_Cherchez la
femme_, as Talleyrand said. But I know the dear, capricious sex. When
Ivan tells the ladies down-stairs that he is leaving, there will be a
reaction, and your pretty cousin will cry out, 'Then we shall go
together!'"
The others laughed incredulously; only Edmund assumed the air of
Pontius Pilate.
"I should not be surprised," he said. "_Enfin_, there would be nothing
disgraceful in the affair. The fellow is a gentleman; he was a
soldier, and is of good birth. His land joins the Bondavara property;
his income is something under two hundred thousand florins. Angela is
heiress to twenty millions; but then, if our well-beloved uncle,
Prince Theobald, lives another ten years and carries on as he is
doing, it may result that Ivan and Angela may be on the same platform
as regards their fortunes. So far as rank is in question, if the
government continues to play the game they are playing with our rights
and privileges, and if under the new parliamentary _régime_ the
peasant's coat is to ascend the tribune, then I shall ask to be
_raised_ to the peasantry."
* * * * *
The Countesses Theudelinde and Angela received Ivan in their private
sitting-room--a mark of close intimacy. He came in with a constrained
air; his face was pale, and the emotion he could not suppress gave
softness to his usually stern expression. Theudelinde came to meet him
with outstretched hands. When she drew near she took his in her clasp,
and pressed his fingers warmly. Her lips trembled, and with difficulty
she kept the tears which filled her eyes from coursing down her
cheeks. She could not speak, but simply nodded to Ivan to take his
place before a small table, upon which a splendid bouquet stood.
Theudelinde sat on the sofa, Angela beside her. The young countess was
simply dressed; she had not even a flower in her hair. She was grave,
and hardly raised her eyes to Ivan.
It was Theudelinde who broke the rather embarrassing silence.
"We have been in terrible trouble about you," she said. "You cannot
imagine what tortures of anxiety we have gone through during these two
days."
Angela's eyes were on the carpet; she was included in the "we."
"I cannot forgive myself, countess, for the share I have had in
causing you pain. I can only do penance for my fault, and to-morrow I
am going into banishment at Bondathal."
"Ah!" Theudelinde's voice expressed surprise. "You are going to leave
us? What are you going to do in Bondathal?"
"I will return to my business, which I have too long neglected."
"And do you like to live in Bondathal?"
"I am tranquil there."
"Have you relatives?"
"I have none."
"You have a household?"
"So far as I can, I do everything for myself."
"You have surely friends and acquaintances who form a pleasant circle
around you?"
"I have only my workmen and my machines."
"You live there a hermit's life?"
"No, countess, for a hermit lives alone, while I have my books and my
work; I am never alone."
The countess's face assumed almost a solemn expression.
"Herr von Behrend, give me your hand, and stay here."
Ivan got up, and bowed low before her. "The kind feeling which has
prompted your words, as well as the honor you have done me, shall
never be forgotten by me. It is a proof to me of your great goodness,
and I beg of you to accept my heartfelt thanks."
"Then you will remain? How long?"
"Until to-morrow morning."
"Ah," cried the countess, with a petulant air, "when I ask you to
stay!"
Her disappointment was so transparent, her annoyance so sincere, that
it was impossible not to feel sorry for her. Theudelinde looked at
Angela as if she expected her to come to her help; but Angela never
raised her eyes, shaded by their long lashes, while her fingers
plucked nervously at the petals of a marguerite, as if she were
consulting that well-known oracle.
"Countess," said Ivan, still standing, and with his hand on the back
of his chair, "when I answer a friendly invitation such as yours with
an apparently uncivil refusal to remain, as you so kindly wish me to
do, I feel that it is incumbent on me to give you my true reason for
withdrawing myself from your society. I cannot say to you what I would
to a mere acquaintance; I cannot make such excuses as 'that I have
business at home; that I have been too long here; that I shall return
soon.' To you I must confess that I go away because no inducement
would prevail on me to remain, and that when I go I mean never to
return. Countess, this is not my world; here I _could_ not live. I
have spent three months here; I have been a daily guest in the best
circles; I have lived with members of the highest and most cultivated
society, have studied closely their manner of life. I quite agree that
these people have every right to live in what manner they choose; but
I, who have been accustomed to a totally different manner of life, who
have been taught to consider existence from a different point of view,
to reverence the higher aims and obey its finer instincts, _I_ should
be acting a lie and violating my own principles were I to remain in
such an atmosphere and live after such a fashion. Here, in this
exalted rank, you are all solitary rings, while we in the lower order
hang together as links of one chain. You are totally independent one
of the other, therefore you follow each one his own inclinations. With
us the pressure of life knits us more closely together, and we call
egotism and generosity by different names from what you do. I am,
therefore, not fit for your circle. I am ashamed to be haughty towards
those upon whom you look down, and I cannot bend before those whom you
delight to honor. I do not recognize the gods whom you adore, neither
can I mock at _my_ God, and ignore Him as you do. In this world of
yours there is a malicious demon who transforms all that is good in
man's nature, and who prompts him to laugh and deny every inclination
to virtue. Who tells his friend or neighbor the truth to his face, and
who cares for any one who is not present? Dear friends race together
over hill and dale; but suppose one makes a false step and breaks his
neck, good-bye to him, the dear friend is gone. Another does not break
his neck in the race, but he dissipates all his fortune; those who are
running with him never say to him, 'Step out of the course; you are
going to the bottom.' All at once he stumbles, and his fortune and the
honors of his ancestors lie tumbled in the dust. Good-bye to him; his
name is struck out of the club-list; that dear friend is no more. It
is true we knew yesterday and the day before yesterday that he would
surely get a bad fall, but no one else knew of it, so we rode with our
dear friend to the last. Now all the world is aware of his tumble in
the dust, therefore we know him no more. If any one wishes to go on
his own way, and live a rational life to himself, oh, then, he is a
coward, a miser, a carpet knight! And how do the women fare in this
world of yours? What about domestic life, and the sweet joys of the
home? What tragedies are enacted inside those splendid mansions, and
outside what fun is made of them by friends and acquaintances! What
refinement in sin! what idolatry of false joys! And when these are
over, what _ennui_ of life, what endless weariness! No, countess, this
life is not for me. I should be poisoned in such an atmosphere. You
can bear it, you grace it by your presence; but for me, I should go
mad were I to remain. Therefore I go, and all that is now left is to
ask your forgiveness for my bold words. I acknowledge my indiscretion;
I have spoken bitterly of society, and yet I stand on its parquet
floor. I have been ungrateful; I have given expression to my
antipathies in the presence of those who have shown tolerance towards
my faults and my awkward manners; who have accompanied me to the door
of the circle where I have often played a ridiculous part, and,
notwithstanding, have never been laughed at before my face. But,
countess, the words I have uttered I have felt, so to speak,
constrained by your goodness to say. You have, with extraordinary
kindness, asked me to remain, and I would prove to you that I am
forced to leave by a power stronger than myself."
During Ivan's rather lengthy address Countess Theudelinde had risen to
her feet. Her eyes began to light up, her face to wear a glorified
expression, her lips to move as if she repeated each word he said; and
when he had spoken the concluding sentence she seized both his hands,
while she stammered out:
"You speak the truth--the truth--nothing but the truth; you speak as I
spoke forty years ago, when _I_ left the world as you are doing now!
The world is ever the same; it does not change." Here she wrung her
hands passionately. "Go home," she sobbed out; "go back to your
solitude, hide yourself under the earth, conceal yourself in your
mine, God will be with you wherever you are--everywhere! God bless
you! God bless you!"
She did not remark that Angela had also risen from her seat, and as
Ivan took his leave she made a step forward, and said, in a firm,
decided voice:
"If you go away, you do not go alone, for I shall go with you." Her
whole face glowed as she spoke these words.
Ivan was master of the situation. Standing upon this giddy height, he
did not for that reason lose his balance. With wonderful presence of
mind he answered the excited girl:
"You will do well, countess. To-morrow is your grandfather's birthday,
and early to-morrow you can be with him. He is ready to clasp you in
his arms."
Angela grew white as a marble statue. She sank back in her armchair,
the leaves she had plucked from the flower lay scattered at her feet.
Ivan bowed to her respectfully, kissed the hand of Countess
Theudelinde, and quitted the room.
Ah, there are men who never forget their first and only love!
* * * * *
Not long after Ivan had left, Count Edmund dropped in to see the
ladies. He appeared to come by accident, but he was dying with
curiosity. Countess Angela was more amiable than usual. When he was
leaving, she said to her cousin:
"Go to Salista, and tell him that I have inquired for him."
Count Edmund was courtier enough to conceal the astonishment he most
certainly felt, but as he went down the stairs he began to hum
Figaro's song from the _Barber of Seville_:
"The falseness of women
One never can know,
One never can know!"
Countess Angela wrote that same evening to her grandfather. Ivan was
right in saying the next day was his birthday, and this was her
birthday greeting:
"I am not coming home. Adieu."
* * * * *
For two days every one in Pesth spoke of Ivan and his duel with
Salista; the third day he was forgotten. Good-bye to him!