Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provided by the Web Archive
Transcriber's Notes:
1. Page scan source:
http://www.archive.org/details/successandhowhe00tyrrgoog
2. The diphthong oe is represented by [oe].
SUCCESS
AND HOW HE WON IT
SUCCESS
AND HOW HE WON IT
_FROM THE GERMAN OF E. WERNER_
BY
CHRISTINA TYRRELL
LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON ST.
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen
1892
_All rights reserved._
SUCCESS.
CHAPTER I.
It was growing late in the afternoon, yet the principal church of the
capital was still densely filled. From the numbers present, the
beautiful floral decorations of the altar, and the long line of
handsome equipages waiting without, it was evident that the ceremony
about to be celebrated had awakened interest and sympathy far and wide.
As usual on such occasions, when the sacredness of the place forbids
any distinct utterance of curiosity, or other feeling, the spectators
found vent for the restlessness of expectation by whispering, and the
gathering together of heads in little groups, and by an eager attention
to all that was going on in the neighbourhood of the vestry. A general
exclamation of satisfaction was heard when its doors opened, and, as
the first tones of the organ pealed forth, the wedding party appeared.
A numerous and brilliant company thronged round the bridal pair at the
altar. Rich uniforms, heavy velvet and satin dresses, airy fabrics of
lace, flowers and diamonds waved and rustled confusedly in a truly
dazzling splendour. The aristocracy of birth, and the aristocracy of
finance, represented each by its most distinguished members, had met,
as it seemed, to enhance the prestige of the marriage ceremony.
To the right of the bride, first among the guests, stood a tall and
stately officer, whose uniform and various orders bore witness to a
long military career. His bearing was simple and dignified, suited to
the solemnity of the occasion, and yet it seemed as though, behind the
set gravity of the features, there lurked a something at variance with
so joyful an event. His look was singularly gloomy as it rested on the
young couple, and, when he turned from them and glanced through the
crowded church, an expression of suppressed pain, or anger, passed over
the proud face, and the firmly-closed lips trembled slightly.
Opposite him, and next to the bridegroom, stood a gentleman in plain
clothes, also advanced in years, and also, as it appeared, closely
related to the young people; but neither his lavish display of
brilliants in watch, rings and pin, nor the extreme self-importance of
his bearing, could procure for him a shade of that distinction which
his opposite neighbour possessed in so eminent a degree. His whole
appearance was decidedly ordinary, not to say vulgar, and even the
unconcealed triumph now illumining his countenance could set no other
impress on it.
The triumph was, indeed, great with which he gazed on the bridal pair,
and he looked down the aisle on the closely-packed rows of chairs and
on all the bright assembly, with the satisfaction of one, who, after
long striving, sees and welcomes the fulfilment of his aims and hopes;
clearly, no shadow troubled _his_ gladness at the event now to be
solemnised.
But of all present, these two men alone appeared to take a deep
interest in what was passing; least of all were the principal actors
moved. The most unsympathising of the guests, the greatest stranger,
could hardly have shown a more complete indifference to the solemn act
about to be performed than these two, who, in a few minutes, would be
for ever united.
The bride was about nineteen, and of undeniable beauty, but around her
there seemed to reign a sort of icy chill, which ill became the hour
and the place. The light from the altar-candles played on the thick
folds of her white satin dress, shone in the diamonds of her costly
ornaments; but it fell on a face which, with the beauty of marble,
seemed for the time being at least--a time when the most frigid calm
might naturally yield and kindle--to have acquired also a statue-like
coldness and fixity.
The flaxen hue of the heavy tresses, on which her myrtle wreath rested,
contrasted strangely with the well-marked eyebrows, and dark, almost
black eyes, uplifted to the priest but once or twice during the entire
ceremony. The pale, regular features, shaded on either side by her
flowing veil, bore that distinctive mark of breeding which birth, and
birth alone, can give. Indeed this high-bred air was the chief
characteristic of her appearance; it showed itself not only in her
delicate and noble features, but was so plainly stamped on her carriage
and entire being, that all other qualities, some, perhaps, striking
even deeper root, were by it overshadowed and held in the background.
A young lady fitted only, it would seem, for the higher spheres of
life, never to be brought in contact with those possible men and things
which, perchance, may exist in its lower phases. Yet, in spite of all
this, something in the dark eyes betrayed more energy and character
than are usually found in a lady of fashion, and possibly the present
hour was one to call such energy and such strength of nature to the
front. As the ceremony proceeded, the gentleman in uniform to her
right, and three younger officers who stood behind him, gazed, ever
more intently, ever more anxiously, at her face; it remained, however,
calm and impassible as it had been from the first.
The bridegroom at her side was a young man of about eight-and-twenty,
one of those not very uncommon individuals who seem expressly created
for the gilded surroundings of a salon, who there alone find their
significance, obtain their triumphs and pass their lives. Blamelessly
correct in mien and toilette, his whole being seemed to denote the
extremity of languor. His features, fine and agreeable in themselves,
bore an expression of apathy so complete, of so boundless an
indifference to all and everything, that they lost their charm for the
observer. He had led his bride to the altar with the air of a man
leading a lady to the place destined for her in any ordinary assembly,
and he now stood by her, and held her hand, in precisely the same
apathetic fashion. Neither the importance of the step he was about to
take, nor the beauty of the woman he was there to wed, seemed to make
the slightest impression on him.
The priest's discourse came to an end and he proceeded to the actual
marriage service. Loud and clear his voice rang through the church, as
he asked Arthur Berkow and the Baroness Eugenie Maria Anna von
Windeg-Babenau if they consented to take each other for man and wife.
Again the officer's face twitched nervously, and he darted a look
almost of hatred across to the other side. Next minute the double "yes"
was spoken, and one of the oldest, proudest of aristocratic names had
been exchanged for the simple, plebeian Berkow.
Hardly was the service over and the last word of the concluding
benediction uttered, when the gentleman wearing the handsome brilliants
pressed hastily forwards, evidently intending to embrace the
newly-married lady with much ostentation. Before, however, he could
carry out his project, the officer stepped between them; quickly, as
though claiming an indisputable right to be first, he took the young
bride in his arms; but the lips which touched her forehead were cold,
and his face, as he bent over her, remained hidden a few seconds from
all around. When he raised it, his expression had changed to one of
calm and quiet dignity.
"Courage, father, it had to be!"
These words, intelligible to him alone, were breathed so low as to be
barely audible, but they gave him back his self-command. Again he
pressed his daughter to him with a wistful tenderness, which had in it
something like a prayer for pardon. Then he left her free, giving her
over to the now inevitable embrace of the other, who had waited with
visible impatience, and would no longer be deprived of his right to
salute "his dear daughter-in-law."
She certainly made no attempt to withdraw herself from him, for the
eyes of the whole church were upon her. Standing motionless, with no
shade of disturbance on her beautiful face, she only raised her eyes to
him; but in her look there was a haughtiness so unapproachable, so icy
a repulse of that which could not be openly refused, that she made
herself understood even here.
Somewhat disconcerted, her father-in-law changed his vehement
demonstration of affection to an attitude of respectful politeness, and
the embrace, which immediately followed, was in reality little more
than a form, his arms touching nothing more substantial than the
flowing drapery of her bridal veil. The new relation's assurance,
though certainly far from small, had yet not held its ground before
that glance.
Young Berkow made things easier for his father-in-law. Something passed
between them which looked like shaking hands, but, in truth, his white
kid gloves hardly came into contact with those of the Baron. It seemed,
however, fully to suffice them both; he then offered his arm to his
young wife and led her away. The bride's satin train rustled over the
marble steps and down the aisle as the two passed out, followed by the
guests in gay procession. Shortly afterwards the carriages outside were
heard to drive away one by one.
The church was soon emptied. Some pressed to the doors to see the
departing visitors once more; some hastened out to give vent to all
their important observations and reflections with regard to the
toilette, bearing and appearance of the young couple and those nearly
connected with them. In less than ten minutes the vast place was empty
and deserted; only the evening glow shone through the tall windows and
flooded the altar and great altar-piece with its crimson light, so that
the figures on the old golden background seemed quickened into life.
Fanned by a current of air, the candles flared unsteadily, and the
flowers, lying crushed and trampled under foot on the ground, where
they had been so prodigally strewn, breathed forth their dying odours.
What better end could the poor flowers serve amid such a blaze of
jewels, on so high a festival as this, when the daughter of an old
baronial house had been given in marriage to the son of the city
millionaire?
The carriages had already reached the Windeg mansion, and life and
movement were beginning to circulate through the gaily lighted rooms.
In the principal salon, radiantly illuminated by countless wax-lights,
the young bride stood leaning on her husband's arm, cold, beautiful and
haughty, as she had stood at the altar an hour before, and received the
congratulations of the eager friends pressing round her with their good
wishes.
Had she really set the seal on her own happiness by that "yes" she had
so lately spoken?--the dark shadow still resting on her father's brow
might perhaps have given the fitting answer.