TWO SUPPLIANTS
The next day, at eleven o'clock, Abbé Samuel came to fetch his
followers, and conduct them to the house of the influential lady whose
one word had more weight with his excellency than the most carefully
arranged speeches of priests and orators.
The carriage stopped before a splendid palace; a porter in a
magnificent scarlet livery, with a bear-skin cap, answered the bell,
and between a double row of marble pillars they ascended the steps.
The staircase was also of marble, covered with a soft, thick carpet.
The school-master at home, if he had a bit of this stuff, would have
made a fine coat of it. Up the staircase were such beautiful statues
that the poor peasants would have liked to kneel to kiss their hands.
The staircase was roofed in with glass and heated with hot air, so
that the lovely hot-house plants and costly china groups suffered no
injury from the cold air. In the anteroom servants wearing silver
epaulettes conducted the visitors into the drawing-room. The sight
almost took away their breath. There was no wall to be seen; it was
panelled in the most sumptuous silk brocade; the curtains of the same
texture had gold rods, and splendid pictures in rich frames hung on
the silk panels. The upper portion of the windows was of stained
glass, such as is seen in cathedrals, and opposite the windows was a
large fireplace of white marble, upon whose mantelpiece stood a
wonderful clock, with a beautiful figure which moved in time to the
melodious tick. The furniture was all of mahogany. From the ceiling,
upon which the arabesques in gold were a feast to the eye, there hung
a lustre with a hundred lights, whose thousand glass drops sent out
all the prismatic colors of the rainbow.
The good peasants of Bondathal had hardly time to take in the wonders
of this fairy palace when a gentleman in a black coat and a spotless
white tie came out of an adjoining room. This grand personage, whom
they imagined to be the master of the house, turned out to be an
equally important person--the groom of the chambers. He informed them
that his mistress was in the next room, and ready to receive them.
There was no door to this inner apartment, only curtains of heavy
damask, such as church banners are made of. This second drawing-room
was still more wonderful than the first. The walls were panelled in
dove-colored silk. From the ceiling to the floor there were enormous
mirrors set in china frames, and between each mirror were _consoles_
with marble statuettes representing dancing nymphs. The stone floor
was covered with a soft carpet, into which the foot sank as into
summer grass. The fireplace was of black marble, with a silver
grating. The furniture was of the Versailles pattern; tables and
chairs, arm-chairs and foot-stools, of delicate coloring; chairs of
Sèvres, with feet and elbow rests ornamented with delicate
flower-garlands and charming Watteau figures. Every piece of furniture
was a masterpiece. Upon the centre-table and _consoles_ were Japanese
vases of different and most elegant shapes. In one of the windows an
aquarium had been constructed full of gold-fish and sea-anemones.
The poor peasants did not notice all these beautiful objects; their
attention was fixed upon their own reflections in the long glasses,
and which in their ignorance they imagined were other deputations,
headed by another abbé wearing a gold cross. But even this strange
spectacle was lost sight of in their amazement at the beauty of the
great lady who now came forward to receive them. She was a lovely
vision. Her dress of violet silk was covered with the most costly
lace, her black hair fell in curls over her shoulders; her face was so
beautiful, so fascinating, so dignified, that every man in the
deputation was ready to fall at her feet.
Peter Saffran was the only one who recognized her; it was Eveline, his
promised bride.
Now the abbé, bowing low, addressed her in most respectful language,
as he laid before her the desire of the deputation, that she would
accord her powerful protection to the Bondathal population. The lady
answered most graciously, and promised that, as far as possible, she
would exert her influence. She was heart and soul in the matter, for
she added, smiling:
"I am myself a child of Bondathal."
At these words the deputation exchanged glances, and every one thought
she must be the daughter or wife of one of the Bondavara magnates.
Only Saffran was gloomy.
"What is she?" he thought. "Only last night she was singing, dancing,
and acting; her beauty was displayed to the eyes of a crowd, who
looked at her through opera-glasses, while I had to cover my eyes with
my hat so as not to look on her degradation, and here to-day she is a
sort of queen, promising us her influence with cabinet ministers.
What is the truth? Was last night a comedy, or is to-day a clever
farce played by her and the priest?"
You see, Peter Saffran had been in the Fiji Islands, and he remembered
how amazed the savages had been when the white man washed the black
from his hands, and showed their natural color; only here it was the
whole body that was in question.
The abbé, who seemed highly pleased with the success of his interview,
now gave those behind him a sign to move on, and bowed respectfully to
the lady, who whispered a few words in his ear.
The abbé stopped Peter Saffran as he was leaving the room, and said,
in a low voice:
"You are to remain; this kind lady wishes to speak with you."
Saffran felt the blood rush to his head. He almost tottered, and as he
returned to the room he could hardly move. But Eveline hastened to
him, holding out both her hands. She had taken off her gloves, and he
felt the soft, velvety clasp of her fingers as she pressed his horny
hand in hers; he heard in his ear the sweet, fresh ring of her voice,
to which he had often listened.
"Ah, Peter, say a word to me--a kind word;" and she patted him two or
three times on the back. "Are you still angry with me? There, Peter,
don't be vexed any more. Stay and dine with me, and we shall drink to
our reconciliation."
And she put her arm into his, and stroked his cheek with her delicate
little hand, which looked as if it had never known what hardship was.
* * * * *
Eveline had kept religiously to her promise of always informing Prince
Theobald when she expected guests, and the prince reserved to himself
the right of a veto if he did not approve of their reception, for
there were among the _dilettante_, and even among apparently most
respectable gentlemen, certain individuals who should not have the
_entrée_ to the drawing-room of a lady who is not living under her
husband's roof.
The prince liked pleasant society, and, if he approved of the company,
enjoyed himself all the more that Eveline did the honors for him.
On this particular day Eveline had told the prince she expected two
visitors. One was Peter Saffran.
The prince laughed. "Poor fellow!" he said, "treat him well; it will
do him good." But when he heard his excellency the minister was coming
he frowned heavily. "What is this?" he asked. "What brings _him_ to
see _you_?"
"Why! Is he a woman-hater?"
"On the contrary, he is a scoundrel, only he wears a hypocrite's
cloak. Great men who are at the helm and guide public affairs have
their weaknesses, but they dare not sin openly. A man in his position
might as soon become a member of the Jockey Club as visit a beautiful
actress, unless he had some ostensible reason to give for so doing."
"But he has a reason, and a very good one. I asked him to make the
appointment."
"_You invited him here!_" The prince's face grew more cloudy.
"That is to say, I asked him to give me a private audience, and his
secretary wrote to say his excellency would prefer to come here."
"And for what purpose do you require an audience?"
"Felix desired me to ask for it."
"Ah, it was Kaulmann's doing! Wherefore?"
"He wants these documents to be signed."
Eveline showed the prince a folded parchment.
The prince glanced at it and shook his head. "And does his excellency
know that this is the reason why you asked for an audience?"
Eveline burst into a laugh. "Oh dear, no! When his secretary first
wrote he asked why I required an audience; I answered it was about my
engagement at the Opera, and then he said he would come. He knows
nothing of this," she added, touching the papers in her hand.
"And Kaulmann told you to do this?"
"Yes."
"Then Kaulmann is a refined villain. Do as he has told you; but you
may take my word that your husband deceives himself if he imagines you
can snare a savage with a silken net. You can receive your guest, but
I do not think you will succeed in your scheme."
* * * * *
Eveline put her hand upon Peter Saffran's, and led him into another
room, where there was a wonderful display of silver, and thence,
through a private door, into a fourth apartment, the walls of which
were wainscoted with dark wood; the ceiling, too, was supported by
cross-beams of wood, and finished with painted shell-work.
No one was in the room. Eveline sat down on the sofa, and made Peter
sit beside her.
"Listen, Peter," she said, laying her hand on the rough sleeve of his
Halina-cloth coat. "It was the will of God that I should separate from
you. It grieved me very much to leave you, because, you know, we had
been called in church three times. But, then, you could not bear my
little brother; you were cruel to him, and you beat me. I don't bear
you any malice now. I have forgotten and forgiven, but at the time I
was very angry with you, not so much because you ill-treated me, but
I followed you that night to the cottage in the wood. I was quite
ready to forgive and forget, only I looked through the window, and I
saw you dancing with Ezifra Mauczi. I saw you kiss her, and I was
angry in downright earnest."
Peter gnashed his teeth. He felt the tables were turned against him,
and he could say nothing. It would be very different if it were his
wife who accused him of such things; he would know how to treat a
jealous, scolding wife; but he couldn't take this beautiful lady by
the hair, and drag her round the room, and beat her on the head until
she begged for pardon.
"But, as I said," continued Eveline, smiling again, "we are not going
to talk about bygones. It was all God's will, and for the best. We
would have been a most unhappy couple, for I am passionate and
jealous, and you would have given me cause. Now you can do as you
like, and I have the happiness of doing good. I like to help as many
people as possible, and every day twenty poor creatures are fed in my
house. Oh, I do more than that; I get heaps of things done for the
poor! I speak a good word for them, and get them helped by rich
people. Also, I mean to be a benefactress to your valley; thousands
and thousands of people will bless my name for what I shall do for
them. Is it not a happiness to be able to help others?"
Eveline paused for an answer. Peter felt he ought to say something, if
it was only to show that he had not become dumb.
"And does all this money come from the Bondavara Company?" he asked.
Eveline blushed scarlet. How was she to answer such a question?
"Not altogether. I earn a good deal by my art; for every performance I
receive five hundred gulden."
"Five hundred gulden!" thought Peter. "That explains a great deal. A
good salary indeed! A woman might spare some of her clothing to earn
so much money. It is money got by work, and not such hard work as
carrying coals. She had to show her legs for that also. But all said
and done, it was money honestly earned."
Peter's face began to clear.
"There, you look more like yourself. Don't look wicked again," pleaded
Eveline; "and when you go back home tell every one that you have seen
me, and that we had a great talk together, and are good friends again.
If at any time you know of any one in want, send me a line, and, if it
is in my power, I will gladly help them. You must marry, if you are
not already married. No? Well, then, you must choose a good girl,
Peter. There is Panna, she is just the wife for you, and she was
always a friend of mine, or there is Amaza, she liked you, I know, and
she is an excellent housekeeper; only, don't marry Mauczi; you would
be very unhappy with her, she is a bad girl. And in case you do marry,
Peter, here are my wedding-presents for your wife; and remember, I
advise you to marry Panna. Here are a pair of ear-rings, a necklace,
and a brooch; and to you I give, as a remembrance of myself, this gold
watch. See, Peter, my likeness is on the back. Think of me sometimes
when you are very happy."
When she said these words Eveline's eyes overflowed, and her lips
trembled convulsively. Peter saw it, and drew the conclusion that with
all her splendor she was not happy. One thought now took possession of
him. He gave no heed to the bridal presents. Whether they were of
gold or lead was all one to him, no one should ever see them; but what
he thought was:
"She has a good heart, she is generous, she gives with an open hand;
but I do not care for her gifts. If she will only kiss me once I will
bless her. What is a kiss to her? An alms, one out of the numbers she
gives to those fellows on the stage, with their smeared, painted
faces."
Poor fool! he didn't know that stage kisses are only mock kisses, just
as stage champagne is only lemonade or pure water. Peter believed that
one kiss from Eveline would satisfy his thirst; it would assuage the
pangs of regret, of jealousy, or rage that had consumed him since the
previous night. All would vanish when he would touch her cold, fresh
lips. And, after all, had they not been betrothed to one another--all
but man and wife? Who could object? Only he didn't know how to express
what was in his mind.
"And now let us eat together, Peter," said Eveline, kindly. "I am
certain that you are tired of all the good things you get every day;
you are satiated with the Vienna cookery. Wait, and I shall cook you
something myself--your favorite dish, Peter, which you often said no
one cooked so well as I did. I shall make you some porridge."
Peter was electrified. A smile broke out all over his face, either at
the mention of his favorite dish, or at the thought that his hostess
would herself prepare it. But how is she to cook? There is no hearth,
no cooking-vessels.
"Everything will be here," said Eveline, laughing joyously. "I shall
change my dress; I cannot cook in this."
She ran off as she spoke, and returned in two minutes. Actresses
learn how to dress quickly. She now wore a white embroidered maid's
frock, and a little cap on her head. She called no one to help her,
but laid a cloth on the oak table, filled a silver kettle with water,
set it to boil on a spirit-lamp. She turned up the sleeves of her
dress to the elbows, and shook with a light hand the meal into the
boiling water; then she turned the mixture deftly with a silver spoon
round and round until it became thick. Then she took the kettle by the
handle, emptied it on to a glazed clay plate--yes, actually a clay
plate!--and poured some cream over the mixture. She fetched two wooden
spoons, one for Peter, one for herself.
"Let us eat off the one plate, Peter."
And they ate this porridge off one plate. Peter felt a strange
moisture fill his eyes; he had not wept since he was a child. The
porridge was excellent; all the cooks in Vienna put together couldn't
have given him a meal so much to his mind. There was wine on the
table, but no glasses.
Peasants never drink during meals; but when they had finished Eveline
fetched a clay jug and asked Peter to drink, after, as is the custom,
she had taken a draught.
"Drink this, Peter; it is your old favorite."
There was mead in the jug--a very innocent sort of drink--and Peter
thought it was his duty to empty the last drop. The hell that had been
raging in his breast seemed all at once to be extinguished. He said to
himself:
"Yes, I shall go back to the church, and to the spot where I made that
awful vow; I shall implore the Holy Mother to allow me to take it
back. I shall hurt no one; I shall take no revenge. Let the green
grass grow again in the fields, and let her live in splendor in the
smiles of the great ones. I shall not grudge her her happiness. This
day, when she has received me so kindly, has banished from my memory
the day upon which she left me. But I shall ask her for one kiss, so
that I may remember nothing but that."
He delayed, however, too long in putting his desire into words. They
were, indeed, hovering on his lips when the door suddenly opened, and
a servant announced that his excellency was in the drawing-room.
(Now, Peter, God help you; you may go hence without your kiss!)
Eveline could hardly say good-bye; she had to change her dress. The
footman showed him out at the secret door; there another footman led
him down the back stairs, and, opening another door, left Peter in a
narrow street, where he had never been before. While he made the best
of his way to the hotel he had leisure to think over what he should
say to Evila if he ever again had the chance of being alone with her
in the round room. The recollection of how he had missed his
opportunity roused the demon again in his mind. The burning lava of
hell began once more to fill his veins, the stream of sulphur which
the lost souls are ever drinking. He kept repeating to himself, "The
grass shall not grow again!"
By the time he reached the inn he brought with him a goodly
company--hatred, envy, rage at his own weakness, horror at his own
wickedness, mixed with political fanaticism. A delightful gathering in
one man's breast.