Kate Dalton's was a heavy heart as, seated beside her new friend, she
whirled along the road to Vienna. The scenery possessed every attraction
of historic interest and beauty. The season was the glorious one of an
Italian spring. There were ancient cities, whose very names were
like spells to memory. There were the spots of earth that Genius has
consecrated to immortality. There were the scenes where Poetry caught
its inspiration, and around which, even yet, the mind-created images of
fancy seem to linger, all to interest, charm, and amuse her, and yet she
passed them without pleasure, almost without notice.
The splendid equipage in which she travelled, the hundred appliances of
ease and luxury around her, the obsequious, almost servile devotion of
her attendants, recalled but one stern fact,--that she had sold
herself for all these things; that for them she had bartered her warm
affections,--her love of father and sister and brother,--the ties of
home and of kindred, even to the Faith at whose altar she had bent her
knees in infancy. She had given all for greatness.
In all her castle-buildings of a future, her own family bad formed
figures in the picture. To render her poor father happy; to surround his
old age with the comforts he pined after; to open to dear Nelly sources
of enjoyment in the pursuit she loved; to afford Frank the means of
associating with his comrades of rank, to mix in that society for which
he longed,--these were her objects, and for them she was willing to pay
dearly. But now she was not to witness the happiness of those she
loved. Already the hard conditions of her contract were to be imposed.
Banishment first, then Isolation; who could say what after?
Her travelling-companion was scarcely well calculated to smooth down the
difficulties of this conflict in her mind. Madame de Heidendorf was the
very reverse of Lady Hester. Without the slightest pretension to good
looks herself, she assumed to despise everything like beauty in
others, constantly associating its possession with the vanity of weak
intellects; she threw a kind of ridicule over these “poor, pretty
things,” as she loved to call them, which actually seemed to make beauty
and folly convertible terms. Political intrigue, or, to speak more
fairly, mischief-making in state affairs, was her great and only
passion. By dint of time, patience, considerable cunning, and a very
keen insight into character, she had succeeded in obtaining the intimacy
of many of the first statesmen of Europe. Many had trusted her with the
conduct of little matters which the dignity of diplomacy could not stoop
to. She had negotiated several little transactions, opened the way to
reconciliations, smoothed the road to briberies, and allayed the petty
qualms of struggling morality, where any other than a feminine influence
would have been coarse and indelicate.
As a good monarchist, she was always well received at the Austrian
Court, and in St. Petersburg was accustomed to be treated with peculiar
honor.
By what amount of compensation, or in what shape administered,
Midchekoff had secured her present services, this true history is unable
to record; but that Kate was eminently fortunate, drawing such a prize
in the lottery of life as to enter the world under _her_ auspices, were
facts that she dwelt upon without ceasing.
Frankness and candor are very charming things. They are the very soul of
true friendship, and the spirit of all affectionate interest; but they
can be made very disagreeable elements of mere acquaintanceship. Such
was Madame de Heidendorf s. She freely told Kate, that of all the great
Midchekoff's unaccountable freaks, his intended marriage with herself
was the very strangest; and that to unite his vast fortune and high
position with mere beauty was something almost incredible. There was a
landgravine of Hohenhôckingen, an Archduchess, a _main gauche_ of
the Austrian house itself; there was a granddaughter of the Empress
Catherine, with any of whom she could easily have opened negotiations
for him,--all of them alliances rich in political influences. Indeed,
there was another party,--she was not at liberty to mention the name;
and though, to be sure, she was “blind and almost idiotic,” a union with
her would eventually have made him a “Serene Highness.” “So you see,
my dear,” said she, in winding up, “what you have cost him! Not,” added
she, after a few seconds' pause,--“not but I have known such marriages
turn out remarkably well. There was that Prince Adalbert of Bohemia, who
married the singing woman,--what's her name?----that young creature that
made such a sensation at the 'Scala,'--' La Biondina' they called her.
Well, it is true, he only lived with her during the Carnival; but there
she is now, with her handsome house in the Bastey, and the prettiest
equipage in the Prater. I know several similar cases. The Archduke Max
and Prince Ravitzkay,--though, perhaps, not him; for I believe he sent
that poor thing away to the mines.”
“His wife----to the mines!” gasped Kate, in terror.
“Don't be frightened, my dear child,” said Madame, smiling; “be a good
girl, and you shall have everything you like. Meanwhile, try and unlearn
all those _gaucheries_ you picked up with that strange Lady Hester. It
was a shocking school of manners,--all those eccentric, out-of-the-way
people, who lounged in and lounged out, talking of nothing but each
other, utterly ignorant of the great interests that are at stake in
Europe at this moment Try, therefore, and forget that silly coterie
altogether. When we arrive at Vienna, you will be presented to the
Archduchess Louisa.”
“And I shall see dear--dear Frank!” burst out Kate, with an
irrepressible delight.
“And who is Frank, Madame?” said the other, proudly drawing herself up.
“My brother,--my only brother,--who is in the Austrian service.”
“Is he on the Emperor's staff?”
“I know nothing of his position, only that he is a cadet.”
“A cadet, child! Why, do you know that that means a common soldier,--a
creature that mounts with a musket, or carries a bread-bag over its
shoulder through the streets in a fatigue-jacket?”
“I care nothing for all that. He may be all you say, and twice as
humble, but he is my brother Frank still,--the playfellow with whom I
passed the day when--when I was happy--as I shall never be again!--the
fond, kind brother, whom we were all so proud of.”
An expression of scornful compassion on Madame de Heidendorf 's features
at once stopped Kate, and she covered her face with her hands to hide
her shame.
“Madame la Princesse,” began the Countess,--for whenever she peculiarly
desired to impress Kate with her duties, she always prefaced the lesson
by her new title,----“the past must be forgotten, or you will find
yourself totally unable to compete with the difficulties of your
station. There is but one way to make the Prince's _mésalliance_
pardonable, which is by as seldom as possible parading its details. If,
then, you insist upon seeing your brother during our stay at Vienna,
it must be in secret you said something, I think, of an old
field-marshal,--a connection?”
“My father's uncle, Madame.”
“Very true. Well, your brother can come with some letter or message from
him; or if Nina, your maid, has no objection, he might pass for a lover
of hers.”
“Madame!” cried Kate, indignantly.
“I said, if Nina made no objection,” said Madame de Heidendorf, as
though answering the indignant exclamation. “But these are matters of
_my_ consideration, Madame,--at least, if I understand the spirit of the
Prince's instructions.”
Some such scene as this, usually closing with a similar peroration,
formed the conversation of the road; and hour by hour Kate's courage
fell lower, as she contemplated all that her elevation had cost her. And
what a mockery was it, after all! It was true that she journeyed in a
carriage with all the emblazonry of royalty; that a group of uncovered
lackeys attended her as she descended; that she was ever addressed by a
proud title; a respectful, submissive devotion surrounding her at
every instant But, amid all this, there was not one look, one word of
kindness; nothing of interest or sympathy with her solitary grandeur. It
mattered little that the bars of her cell were of gold; it was a prison
still.
With what eagerness did she turn from the present, with all its
splendor, to think of her former life, when, wandering among the hills
of Baden she had listened to little Hans, or watched dear Nelly, as
the first gleams of her intentions began to manifest themselves on a
sculptured group. With what rapture had she heard passages that seemed
akin to something she had felt but could not express! How had she loved
the changeful effects of light and shade on a landscape where every
tree or rock or cliff was familiar to her! Oh, if she could but be back
again, hopeful, ardent, and trusting, as she once was! Oh, if the brief
past could be but a dream, and she were once more beside her father and
Nelly, knowing nothing of that world which, in so short a space, had
revealed so much before her! Even to those who so lately had supplied
the place of family to her, all were gone, and she was utterly alone.
She did not dare to think of George Onslow. It seemed to her like a
treason to recall his memory; and if his image did rise at times before
her fancy, a burning blush would cover her cheek, and a sense of shame
would send a throb like agony through her heart. The plans and projects
for her future life she heard of without interest; a vague and confused
impression of a long journey, halting here and there to be presented to
certain great and distinguished persons, and finally of her arrival at
St. Petersburg, were all that she knew. That the Prince was to join her
there, and then, with the Emperor's permission, return with her to
the south of Europe,--such were the outlines of a career over which a
sinking heart threw a gloomy shadow.
Madame de Heidendorf was too occupied with her own thoughts to notice
this despondency; besides that, she was incessantly teaching Kate some
one requisite or other of that rigid etiquette which prevailed in the
society she was about to enter; the precise titles by which she was to
address this or that personage; how many courtesies to give here, how
many reverences there,--little educational exercises that were always
accompanied by some warning admonition of their importance to one who,
like herself, had never seen anything like good society, and whose
breaches of good breeding would be certain of being severely commented
on.
“Think of the Prince, Madame,” she would say; “think of what he will
suffer when they repeat any of your transgressions. I am afraid there
are many humiliations in store for him. And what a step to take at
such a moment, with these horrible Socialist doctrines abroad,--these
levelling theories of equality, and so forth. I hope his Majesty the
Emperor will pardon him; I hope he will forgive you.”
This was a favorite speech of hers, and so often repeated that Kate at
last began to look on herself as a great criminal, and even speculated
on what destiny should befall her if the Emperor proved unmerciful.
These were sorry resources to shorten the weariness on a Journey, and
Kate felt a throb of pleasure--the first she had experienced--when the
towers of St. Stephen, in the far distance, announced the approach to
Vienna.