THE CONFESSION.
Baron Leskjewitsch was in an admirable humour. He brightened up the
entire household. The Countess Zriny, to be sure, lamented to Fraeulein
Laut his tireless loquacity, but perhaps that was because his loquacity
displayed itself principally in the utterance of anti-Catholic views.
At breakfast, on the first morning after his arrival, he cut the old
canoness to the heart. When he rallied her upon the indigestible nature
of her favourite delicacy, raspberry jam with whipped cream, she
replied that she could eat it with perfect impunity, since she always
mixed a teaspoonful of eau de Lourdes with the jam before adding the
cream.
Whereupon the Baron called this preservative "Catholic quackery," and
was annoyed that she made no reply to his attack. Like a former emperor
of Russia, he longed for opposition. He did what he could to rouse
Countess Zriny's. After a while he asserted that she was a heathen.
Catholicism in its modern form, with its picturesque ritual and its
superstitious worship of the saints, was nothing more than cowled
Paganism.
The Countess, to whom this rather antiquated wisdom was new, shuddered
with horror, and regarded the Baron as antichrist, but nevertheless
held her peace.
Then he played his last trump. He informed her that he regarded the
Darwinian theory as much less irreligious than her, Countess Zriny's,
paltry conception of the Deity. Then the Countess arose and left the
room, to write immediately to her father confessor, expressing her
anxieties with regard to her cousin's soul, and asking the priest to
say a mass for his conversion.
"Poor Kathi! have I frightened her away? I didn't mean to do that,"
said the Baron, looking after her.
No, he had not meant to do it; he had merely desired to arouse
opposition.
"A splendid subject for an essay," he exclaimed, after a pause,--"'the
Darwinian theory and the Catholic ritual set forth by a man of true
piety.' I really must publish a pamphlet with that title. It may bring
me into collision with the government, but that would not be very
distressing."
Privately the Baron wished for nothing more earnestly than to be
brought into collision with the government, to be concerned in some
combination threatening the existence of the monarchy. But just as some
women, in spite of every endeavour, never succeed in compromising
themselves, so Karl Leskjewitsch had never yet succeeded in seriously
embroiling himself with the government. No one took him in earnest;
even when he made the most incendiary speeches, they were regarded as
but the amusing babble of a political dilettante.
He eagerly availed himself of any occasion to utter his paradoxes, and
at this first breakfast he was so eloquent that gradually all at the
table followed the example of Countess Zriny, in leaving it, except his
eldest son.
He lighted a cigar, and invited Harry to go into the garden with him.
Harry, who had been longing for a word with his father in private,
acceded readily to his proposal.
The sun shone brightly, the flowers in the beds sparkled like diamonds.
The old ruin stood brown and clear against the sky, the bees hummed,
and Fraeulein Laut was practising something of Brahms's. Of course she
had seated herself at the piano as soon as the dining-room was
deserted.
Harry walked beside his father, with bent head, vainly seeking for
words in which to explain his unfortunate case. His father held his
head very erect, kicked the pebbles from his path with dignity, talked
very fast, and asked his son twenty questions, without waiting for an
answer to one of them.
"Have you been spending all your leave here? Does it not bore you? Why
did you not take an interesting trip? Life here must be rather
tiresome; Heda never added much to the general hilarity, and as for
poor Kathi, do you think her entertaining? She's little more than a
_mouton a l'eau benite_. And then that sausage-chopper," with a glance
in the direction whence proceeded a host of interesting dissonances.
"Surely you must have found your stay here a very heavy affair. Kathi
Zriny is harmless, but that Laut--ugh!--a terrible creature! Look at
her hair; it looks like hay. I should like to understand the aim of
creation in producing such an article; we have no use for it." He
paused,--perhaps for breath.
"Father," Harry began, meekly.
"Well?"
"I should like to tell you something."
"Tell me, then, but without any preface. I detest prefaces; I never
read them; in fact, a book is usually spoiled for me if I find it has a
preface. What is a preface written for? Either to explain the book that
follows it, or to excuse it. And why read a book that needs explanation
or excuses? I told Franz Weyser, the famous orator, in the Reichsrath
the other day, that----"
"Father," Harry began again, in a tone of entreaty, aware that he
should have some difficulty in obtaining a hearing for his confession.
"What an infernally sentimental air you have! Aha! I begin to see. You
have evidently fallen in love with Zdena. It is not to be wondered at;
she's a charming creature--pretty as a picture--looks amazingly like
Charlotte Buff, of Goethe memory; all that is needed is to have her
hair dressed high and powdered. What can I say? In your place I should
have been no wiser. Moreover, if you choose to marry poverty for love,
'tis your own affair. You must remember that Franz will undoubtedly
stop your allowance. You cannot expect much from Paul; and as for
myself, I can do nothing for you except give you my blessing. You know
how matters stand with me; and I must think of your sister, who never
can marry without a dowry. I cannot entirely deprive myself of means: a
politician must preserve his independence, for, as I lately said to
Fritz Boehm, in the Reichsrath----"
In vain had Harry tried to edge in a word. With a bitter smile he
recalled a passage in a Vienna humorous paper which, under the heading
of "A disaster prevented," set forth the peril from drowning from which
the entire government had been saved by the presence of mind of the
president of the Reichsrath, Herr Doctor Smolka, who had contrived just
in the nick of time to put a stop to a torrent of words from Baron Karl
Leskjewitsch.
Suddenly the Baron stumbled over a stone, which fortunately caused him
to pause.
"It has nothing to do with Zdena!" Harry exclaimed, seizing his
opportunity.
"Not? Then----"
"I have become betrothed," Harry almost shouted, for fear of not making
his father hear.
"And what do you want of me?"
"You must help me to break the engagement," his son cried, in despair.
At these words Karl Leskjewitsch, who with all his confusion of ideas
had managed to retain a strong sense of humour, made a grimace, and
pushed back the straw hat which he wore, and which had made the ascent
of Mount Vesuvius with him and had a hole in the crown, so that it
nearly fell off his head.
"Ah, indeed! First of all I should like to know to whom you are
betrothed,--the result, of course, of garrison life in some small town?
I always maintain that for a cavalry officer----"
Harry felt the liveliest desire to summon the aid of Doctor Smolka to
stem the tide of his father's eloquence, but, since this could not be,
he loudly interrupted him: "I am betrothed to Paula Harfink!"
"Harfink!" exclaimed the Baron. "The Harfinks of K----?"
"Yes; they are at Dobrotschau this summer," Harry explained.
"So she is your betrothed,--the Baroness Paula? She is handsome; a
little too stout, but that is a matter of taste. And you want to marry
her?"
"No, no, I do not want to marry her!" Harry exclaimed, in dismay.
"Oh, indeed! you do not want to marry her?" murmured the Baron. "And
why not?"
"Because--because I do not love her."
"Why did you betroth yourself to her?"
Harry briefly explained the affair to his father.
The Baron looked grave. "And what do you want me to do?" he asked,
after a long, oppressive silence.
"Help me out, father. Put your veto upon this connection."
"What will my veto avail? You are of age, and can do as you choose,"
said the Baron, shaking his head.
"Yes, legally," Harry rejoined, impatiently, "but I never should dream
of marrying against your will."
Karl Leskjewitsch found this assurance of filial submission on his
son's part very amusing. He looked askance at the young fellow, and,
suppressing a smile, extended his hand after a pompous theatric fashion
and exclaimed, "I thank you for those words. They rejoice my paternal
heart." Then, after swinging his son's hand up and down like a
pump-handle, he dropped it and said, dryly, "Unfortunately, I have not
the slightest objection to your betrothal to the Harfink girl. What
pretext shall I make use of?"
"Well,"--Harry blushed,--"you might say you cannot consent to the
_mesalliance_."
"Indeed! Thanks for the suggestion. I belong to the Liberal party, and
do not feel called upon to play the part of an aristocratic Cerberus
defending his prejudices." Here the Baron took out his note-book.
"Aristocratic Cerberus," he murmured; "that may be useful some day in
the Reichsrath. Besides," he continued, "it would just now be
particularly unpleasant to quarrel with the Harfinks. If you had asked
me before your betrothal whether I should like it, I should have
frankly said no. The connection is a vulgar one; but, since matters
have gone so far, I do not like to make a disturbance. The brother of
the girl's mother, Doctor Gruenbart, is one of the leaders of our
party. He formerly conducted himself towards me with great reserve,
suspecting that my liberal tendencies were due merely to a whim,
to a fleeting caprice. I met him, however, a short time ago, on
my tour through Sweden and Norway. He was travelling with his
wife and daughter. We travelled together. He is a very clever man,
but--between ourselves--intolerable, and with dirty nails. As for his
women-folk,--good heavens!" The Baron clasped his hands. "The wife
always eat the heads of the trout which I left in the dish, and the
daughter travelled in a light-blue gown, with a green botany-box
hanging at her back, and such teeth,--horrible! The wife is a
schoolmaster's daughter, who married the old man to rid herself of a
student lover. Very worthy, but intolerable. I travelled with them for
six weeks, and won the Doctor's heart by my courtesy to his wife and
daughter. I should have been more cautious if I had been at
housekeeping in Vienna, although the most violent Austrian democrats
are very reasonable in social respects, especially with regard to their
women. They are flattered by attention to them on a journey, but they
are not aggressive at home. This, however, is not to the point."
It did indeed seem not to the point to Harry, who bit his lip and
privately clinched his fist. He was on the rack during his father's
rambling discourse.
"What I wanted to say"--the Baron resumed the thread of his
discourse--"is, that this democrat's pride is his elegant sister,
Baroness Harfink, and the fact that she was once invited, after great
exertions in some charitable undertaking, to a ball at the Princess
Colloredo's--I think it was at the Colloredo's. I should like to have
seen her there!" He rubbed his hands and smiled. "My democrat maintains
that she looked more distinguished than the hostess. You understand
that if I should wound his family pride I could not hope for his
support in the Reichsrath, where I depend upon it to procure me a
hearing."
Harry privately thought that it would be meritorious to avert such a
calamity, but he said, "Ah, father, that democrat's support is not so
necessary as you think. Depend upon it, you will be heard without it.
And then a quarrel with a politician would cause you only a temporary
annoyance, while the continuance of my betrothal to Paula will simply
kill me. I have done my best to show her the state of my feelings
towards her. She does not understand me. There is nothing for it but
for you to undertake the affair." Harry clasped his hands in entreaty,
like a boy. "Do it for my sake. You are the only one who can help me."
Baron Karl was touched. He promised everything that his son asked of
him.