The palace at Buda to-day (restored by Maria Theresia) is chiefly
remarkable for the imposing beauty of its exterior; within, the severe
elegance of its walls and furniture conveys not a hint of the ornate
luxury, the gorgeous magnificence of the palace of the fifteenth
century, during the reign of Matthias Corvinus, son of John Hunyadi,
the period in which Hungary commanded the admiration and homage of
Europe.
Not content with the reputation of a soldier second only to that of his
great father, Matthias, ascending the throne at the age of fifteen,
and giving immediate evidence of intellectual and governing qualities
of a rare precocity and order, quickly ripened into a scholar and the
most liberal patron of the arts in the world of his day. This great
and singular man, who on the battle-field endured the hardships of
the meanest of his soldiers; who, disguised, entered the camp of his
enemies again and again, or calmly took his observations amid a rain
of bullets and spears, whose justice passed into a proverb, and who
was a rigorous administrator of finance, had a love of luxury, matched
by no contemporary, that would have sapped the energies of another
man, and a delight in purely intellectual pursuits and discussions
that rounded one of the most versatile and grandly equipped characters
known to history. He established and personally disciplined a body
of foot soldiers--the Black Troop--modelled upon and equal to the
famous Janissaries of Turkey, conquered the Czechs, and captured
Vienna, driving out Frederick, the German Emperor, forcing him to take
refuge in a wagon drawn by oxen, and to beg from convent to monastery
like any common mendicant. The court of this ardent soldier became
the rallying-ground of scholars and artists, who not only lived on
his bounty, but were raised to the highest positions in the royal
household. He spent his hours of leisure in day-long arguments with
the scientists and savants who had deserted all other courts for this
most enlightened and fascinating of monarchs, or lying at ease on a
couch covered with a golden tapestry embroidered with pearls, in one
of the most splendid libraries that any mortal has ever possessed.
This library, sacked with the rest of the palace by the Turks after
the battle of Mohács, was contained in two immense rooms, whose walls
were covered with carved shelves of precious woods and tapestries of
velvet embroidered with gold. The books, collected by Matthias, and in
many cases written for him, numbered ten thousand. They were inscribed
on white vellum, illuminated by the most accomplished masters of the
art, and bound in colored skins set with precious and semi-precious
stones. On the cover of each volume was a miniature of Matthias and his
coat-of-arms. The furnishings of the Palace of Buda, its objects of
art, many made from gold or silver and of a great size, the tapestries,
the pleasure-rooms, the hanging gardens of his several palaces, were
marvels of beauty and costliness; and the embassies which he constantly
sent to the various courts of Europe so surpassed the efforts of other
monarchs in extravagance that his resources of wealth alone struck
despair to the hearts of those who may have meditated an assault upon
his kingdom. When about to take a second wife, Beatrice, daughter of
the King of Naples, the splendors and luxuries of Buda were augmented
two-fold; and on the day of the wedding the great hall of the palace,
in addition to its silken hangings interwoven with gold and precious
stones, its tapestry of sheer gold, its thousand vessels of silver,
its golden service chased with the history of the world, silver casks
of wine were suspended from the ceiling, and a huge silver fountain
spouted the choicest and costliest of all wines, the Tokay of Hungary.
The manuscripts in their jewelled cases, the thousand objects of
barbaric magnificence, were gone forever. There was no modern art that
could simulate them, even could craftsmen be found with patience for
the attempt; but Ranata had persuaded the Emperor to send to Buda some
twenty of the superfluous Gobelins which the Hapsburgs have retained
throughout their vicissitudes. Her argument had enlivened the mood of
her father, and raised still higher his hope in his youngest born.
“The Hungarians,” Ranata had written, “no doubt resent the very obvious
fact that there are so few treasures in the Palace of Buda, and,
knowing that our tapestries are packed away in large numbers, and are
as priceless as they are beautiful, must infer that we fear to trust
them in this most precarious of our possessions. So it has seemed to
me that it would be another stroke of diplomacy to send several of the
best, with the understanding that they are to remain here. It is a
small yet impressive sum to stake as an expression of our confidence in
ourselves and our Hungarian subjects.”
The tapestries had been promptly despatched, and now hung in the four
circle rooms opening into the Great Hall of Ceremonies, and in the blue
drawing-room and adjacent dining-room. These rooms, as well as the
long suite down the front of the palace, were recalled for the night
of the ball from their arctic splendors by a lavish adornment of palms
and flowers, and in several of the smaller rooms the lights were pink.
Modern as it was, the Great Hall itself, with its panels, like lakes of
liquid gold, its heavy incrustations of yellow bronze on the brilliant
white of the wood, and its immense chandeliers, with their thousand
points of light, was too perfect in its way to gain aught from the
past, nor did Ranata add so much as a flower.
It had been decided that Prince Árpád Nadasdy, an aged magnate and
close friend of the Emperor, should wear the royal robes of Matthias,
as neither political nor sentimental significance could be attached to
his impersonation. The old Prince was far closer upon senility than
his king would ever be, and addicted to long nights of Csendes, at
the Nemzesi Casino, the club of the magnates, where he had left all
of a once large income not absorbed by the turf; but he had ordered
his costume of a long-suffering tailor, and vowed, over the hand of
his beloved princess, that he would give the final touch of reality
to the scene. As Matthias had died in his prime, and was possessed
of a classic beauty, Prince Nadasdy, who did not number vanity among
his vices, had announced his intention to wear a flowing fair wig and
a beard, although the fine outline of Matthias had been shaved on the
battle-field. The piercing glance of that monarch no art could coax
into the bleared orbs of the old magnate, but he still had a figure
of majestic height and carriage, and in spite of dissipations he had
preserved its slimness. He was to wait at the upper end of the Throne
Room until Ranata, who was to impersonate Beatrice of Naples, dressed
for the first time in the national costume of her lord, should have
made, in her own character, the perfunctory round of greeting among her
assembled guests. He would then stand at her side at the lower end of
the hall while the peasants danced the Chardash, and afterwards walk
with her through a _quadrille d’honneur_.
At nine o’clock on the night of the ball the great company was
assembled in the Hall of Ceremonies awaiting the entrance of the
court, but the aged Matthias had not made his appearance. In that
splendid scene, however, he was not missed, and every eye turned
constantly towards the door beyond the second circle-room which led
to the private apartments of the Archduchess. Many had not yet seen
her, or but in glimpses, and by this time curiosity had risen to fever
pitch. The women as well as the men were in the eccentric splendor of
their national dress, and although it varied little in cut, fancy and
extravagance prevailed in the materials of the low bodice, the apron,
and the voluminous skirts; and bodice, neck, and arms were almost
obliterated by the big dull uncut jewels and heavy chains which, with
the ancient costumes of velvet and satin, embroidered and brocaded with
a lost art, neither time nor poverty has been able to drive from the
chest of the Hungarian. The magnates wore, although lightly, their
velvet cloaks, fur-lined, embroidered with jewels, and carried their
plumed kalpags in one hand.
The men distinguished in art and letters, without jewels or hereditary
costume, still made a fine showing in the silk-and-velvet dress of
the retainers of the court of Matthias, but the greater number of the
deputies, in their fierce Hungarian pride, had chosen to wear the
military uniform of that period, which included a short braided jacket
and a velvet cloak of some brilliant color.
The young girls, although in attire less imposing than that of their
mothers and married sisters, were quite as picturesque, and their
white gowns rested the eye in that blaze of color. Each house had
contributed a young son who wore the purple velvet, the golden chain,
and the golden network on their heads of the ambassadorial youths of
King Matthias. These pages stood in a double file along the two circle
rooms leading to the apartments of the Archduchess. In the high gallery
that traverses the hall a military band played softly. Beneath, in the
arcade, a double gypsy band awaited their turn and eagerly observed the
historic scene. Behind them, erect against the wall, as dignified and
impressive as the greatest of the nobles, were the peasants who were to
dance the Chardash. Their presence was a surprise to all, and they had
inspired almost as much conversation as the royal hostess herself.
That conversation was very animated, at times quite shrill, for the
Hungarians, as lively by temperament as the American, were more excited
to-night than they had been during the visit of William of Germany. The
excitement during his entertainment had been, with slight exception,
confined to the men, but there was not a woman in the palace to-night
who did not feel a flutter at her heart and a shortening of her breath.
Not only was Ranata is appearance and manner their ideal of what a
princess should be, and the daughter of a queen and the sister of
a prince they had worshipped, but they stood in expectation of the
initial moment of a court life which promised to be more brilliant than
anything in Europe, might indeed revive the gay splendors of the days
when their fathers had been the greatest aristocracy in the world--when
the Hapsburgs were robber barons and the Hohenzollerns unknown. That
this should be given to them who had been starved of court life, that
those who were too impoverished to leave their entailed homes and go
to Vienna should now cherish the prospect of constant functions, and
many private entertainments in the palace, filled every feminine heart
with a sense of enchantment, and gratitude to this fairy princess
who had dared to have an idea. They were prepared to love as much as
they admired her, and jealousy had entered few souls, in spite of the
extravagant admiration of the men. Many of the women, indeed, were
beautiful enough to spare themselves envy, and those who were neither
handsome, nor yet pretty, had sufficient cleverness and animation to
keep their little courts together.
Alexandra had decided not to enter in Ranata’s wake. Having none of
that unwisdom which permits a wound to self-love that a grievance may
be nursed afterwards, nor yet affinity for the rôle of the humble
follower, she was always careful not to be placed in any position by
her exalted friend that might rankle too late in her brain. She had,
therefore, entered the room early, under the chaperonage of Princess
Nadasdy, and Zrinyi, as ever, hovered close. He was a beautiful object
in his thick gold embroideries, his plum-colored velvet cloak, his
buttons and his chains; and Alexandra, in the dull-rose costume with
its old-lace veil and apron, lent her by the ambitious Zápolya,
excited his approval to such a degree that once more he poured his
impassioned avowal into her ears, and begged her to accept the chests
of his grandmother as well as himself.
“Are they at your castle in the Alps?” asked Alexandra. “How can I
decide such a question when I do not yet know whether that castle
is sufficiently romantic to meet my most exacting taste? Like all
Americans, Count, I am a connoisseur in castles; and how can I be sure
that your grandmother’s clothes will fit? Besides, I am a monomaniac on
the subject of microbes.”
Zrinyi, if he did not yet understand her, was by this time sufficiently
seasoned to accept her sallies with neither sulks nor despair.
Perceiving that she was in a frivolous mood he changed the subject.
“Are you not glad to be here to-night?” he demanded. “To play a part?
Who knows what may be the result of the extraordinary impression
the Princess has made? I feel that to-night she will either make
a--a--portentous impression or disillusionize us altogether.”
“Great moment in the history of Hungary?” asked Alexandra mischievously.
The Count flushed, but laughed. “Yes,” he said defiantly. “I seldom
have presentiments, but when I do--I shall not give you another chance
to laugh at me. I do not see Mr. Abbott. Was he not to come with Prince
Nadasdy? I hope nothing has happened to our king of to-night. He was
not very sober last evening at the club. I have not seen him to-day,
and hoped he was in bed building himself up for the ordeal.”
“I have not seen my brother since yesterday--he sent word this morning
he could not come to tea; but I know of no one so well able to take
care of himself. Still I am surprised, for he should be here before the
Princess enters. Even he would hardly dare to arrive afterwards. Have
you seen him?”
“Only this morning in the park, where I happened to be rather early.
Perhaps he went off for a day in the country; I fancy he is tired of
being stared at. He excites as much attention as the Princess, and
he told me last night that he is persecuted by all sorts of men with
business schemes, to say nothing of those who expect him to instruct
them in the art of getting rich. I find something picturesque myself
about his unimaginable wealth, combined with the fact that he is a
gentleman and young; but I admire more his achievements, and I am very
proud to be one of the many to do him honor in Hungary.”
Then Alexandra gave him a dazzling smile, and moved a step closer. “You
are so much more sensible than you were!” she whispered. “I feel as if
you owed as much to me as to your mother. Who knows what may happen if
you continue to improve?”
“I know that American girls say things that in any other women would
indicate a small amount of heart and soul. It is safe to assume that
you mean nothing you say.”
“Think of the reserve force, lacking in your emotional woman! I may
not give much at a time when I marry, but I shall have enough left to
spread over a lifetime.”
He laughed. “At least I don’t delude myself that you are a poet in
disguise. Well, I only ask that you marry me and let me begin your
education. You may also continue mine.”
“You really are improving--” began Alexandra, when with the rest of the
company she fell silent. The staff of the Grand Chamberlain smote the
floor three times.
The doors of the private apartments opened, and the officers of the
court appeared, walking backward. As there was no throne, they took
up their position on either side of the entrance to the Hall of
Ceremonies. And then Ranata entered.
She entered alone, although her ladies followed a moment later. As she
walked slowly down the two circle rooms, empty but for the pages, the
great company, in curious excitement, which they attributed afterwards
to the complete illusion she produced, thronged towards the entrance of
the hall, breathing shortly and crowding each other without ceremony.
Her appearance and her solitary progress between the ranks of bowing
pages in their rich mediæval costumes, was as startling in its historic
naturalness as in its stately and picturesque beauty. The full skirts
of her gown were of a material so fine as to be almost invisible,
covered with embroidery in pearls and silver thread, and flounces of
point-lace. The bodice, sloping outward from waist-line to shoulders,
was of pale blue velvet, half covered with lace, and roped together
across the black tulle of the under-bodice with strands of large
pearls. The court train of blue velvet was lined with lace instead of
ermine--thus increasing the ethereal effect of the whole costume--and
embroidered with black ravens holding a golden ring in the beak--the
emblem of John Hunyadi. Her hair fell to her knees in thick ropes wound
about with strands of pearls, two traversing the front of her figure,
the rest half hidden by the veil which hung from a tiara almost as high
as the Pope’s. On her neck and arms were many pearls. The brilliant
fairness of her skin, the flaming copper of her hair, the intense
blackness of her brows and lashes, the regularity of her features, and
the majestic beauty of her figure, combined with her royal state, the
enchantment of her condescension as a daughter of the coldest house
in Europe, and her bewildering presentment of the daughter of the
Anjous, induced one moment of silence so profound that it was almost
hysterical. Then Zrinyi lifted his kalpag and cried “_Élyen!_” and in
another moment the vast company, from Prince Illehazy, most dignified
of magnates, to the most truculent deputy in the room, were stamping
their feet and shouting “_Élyen!_” until the chandeliers trembled, and
their lights were reflected in the jewels on the waving kalpags. Even
the peasants and gypsies forgot their humble rôle and broke in with
abrupt discordant cries, the Roumanians shouting “_Setreasca!_” And
then all united in one great “_Vivat!_” It was a tribute as portentous
as it was spontaneous, for it had been accomplished by the art without
words.
For an instant Ranata felt a sensation of tumultuous faintness, but
she walked on slowly, not relaxing the mask of her face, except for
a graceful smile of acknowledgment. Then she was possessed by an
exhilaration which sent the blood through her veins like spirits,
and in her brain was a confusion of feminine and patriotic delight,
insolent triumph over the man who had worked harder than she to make
these walls ring, and an emotional melting towards one whose face she
did not see in that worshipping throng. It had been arranged that
the distinguished American should attend King Matthias as captain of
the “Black Troop,” and although his place for the moment was at the
head of the throne room beside the King his height should make him
noticeable even in the confused breaking of ranks. But Ranata’s eyes
did not encounter his, and as she advanced closer to that tossed sea
of flashing eyes and shouting voices, this daughter of the Cæsars, who
had convinced an emperor and his Metternich that she could maintain
the integrity of an empire, for a moment forgot her great rôle and
permitted her soul to murmur, “Is he here? Is he here? If he is, does
he think me the most beautiful woman in the world? Is he thrilled with
my triumph? Does he love me the more for it? Does he love me at all?”
She had almost reached the entrance of the throne room, and the company
was moving backward to the walls, when, through the falling wave of
sound, a low note reached her ear from a new direction. It came from
the blue drawing-room, which here opens from the second circle-room;
and although the word was merely the one still echoing, and uttered
hardly above a whisper, it thrilled Ranata as even the fulness of her
triumph had not done. Only the self-control which the years and her
state had given her kept her eyes fixed upon those who would note the
flicker of a lash.
She entered the throne room, and made her tour of the guests in what
was now an atmosphere vibrating with suppressed excitement. They held
their breath to hear her speak; and although to exchange a word with
each would have consumed the night, she paused where she thought it
judicious and said a few personal words, while her eyes included
those close by. When she reached the end of the room she discovered
that the royal bridegroom was not at his post, and was profoundly
annoyed. She herself might be the Hamlet of the piece, but without the
chief accessory the illusion would tremble. There was no sign of him,
however, and she could only hope that, fearing the full fatigue, he was
in the blue room with his captain.
She forgot him for the moment as her eye suddenly encountered the fixed
and fiery glance of Lajos Molnár. He wore a fierce red uniform, and
stood against the wall with his arms folded. He looked as if he had
been dragged to the palace by a halter and was prepared for the worst
that could befall him.
Ranata smiled brilliantly, and motioned to him to come forth. He obeyed
with such precipitation that there was a momentary panic in the ranks.
Ranata gave him her lifted hand, and he kissed it like any courtier.
“Thank you for obeying my orders,” she said. “Have you brought your
friends?”
“Four,” he stammered. “The others were obdurate, but I shall win
another time. These are all men of importance; and like myself they
would die for you, your Royal Highness!”
“Ah! Would you?” she asked softly. “I shall not ask that--only that you
will all come here to luncheon to-morrow, and tell me what you think I
should know. Will you?”
“Yes--yes--will I?”
Ranata smiled again and passed on, but in truth she was repelled
at the unmasked passion in his face. It was evident that she had
succeeded too well; and, while to fascinate him was a necessary part
of her programme, his love both disgusted and faintly alarmed her.
Like all women whose depths have been profoundly stirred by one man,
she regarded the proffered love of other men as an insult, and was
merciless.
When she had finished her progress amid a tribute as expressive as its
vocal prelude, she took her stand at the end of the room; the Grand
Chamberlain raised his hand, and the leader of the gypsy bands struck
his cymbal. The peasants made their way to the middle of the hall, and
began the curious stamping march which sometimes opens the Chardash.
The company were diverted at once. Not only was here a novelty worthy
of the night, but the peasants had been selected for their good looks
and the superior beauty and freshness of their costumes. The men from
the Hungarian villages had much embroidery on their white trousers
and flowing shirts, and on the wide sleeves which escaped from jackets
as elaborate in device as they were gay in color; their slender waists
were bound with the silken sash of the gala-day, and many wore chains
about their necks. Those that had been found in Hungary’s Roumanian
villages beyond the Theiss wore the ancient Persian sandal laced
half-way to the knee, closer trousers, and a graceful shoulder-cloak.
Their women wore panels of embroidery over white petticoats, and
blouses almost as elaborate; while the Hungarian women, if not so
richly attired, were quite as picturesque in their tight bodices of
bright cloth with full sleeves and upper front of spotless lawn,
their fancy aprons and dainty kerchiefs. All were handsome, and some
of the Roumanians with their Roman faces and antique heads and forms
had as much beauty as falls to the lot of any mortal. As they passed
Ranata they looked their loyalty, for they too pulsed with the popular
excitement, but they played their part with a calm self-possession
which the great hills and the lonely plains had bred in them, and
courts could do no more.
Ranata fixed her gaze resolutely upon them, but her ear was strained
towards the drawing-room. Why did not the bridegroom come forth and
bring the captain in his wake? But it was not until the march was over,
and the partners were swinging about to the first slow wail of the
dance, and holding every eye, that she became aware of the trailing of
regal garments on the hard floor behind her. Her quick ear advised her
that, for the moment at least, he was unaccompanied. She set her face
in severity, for she had no mind to let the old Prince take his own
way unreproved, and as he finally halted beside her she did not speak
nor lift her eyes to his, although she darted a glance of feminine
curiosity over his costume. It was regal enough; and in spite of his
age he looked a superb and supple figure in his closely fitting armor
of gold brocade sewn with jewels, covered to the waist with chains;
and his legs in their long silken stockings were as shapely as youth.
From his shoulders flowed a mantle of white velvet lined with ermine,
and embroidered with the black raven holding the golden circlet in its
beak. In spite of her intent to reprove, Ranata’s eye travelled upward
to observe how well he wore the crown, the while her ear was alert for
another footfall. But her ear forgot its cunning, and her eye the crown
it was rising to criticise, the while it should ignore the bleared
apologetic orbs of her father’s old friend. Her gaze was arrested and
held by the piercing glance which tradition and the artist have given
to Matthias Corvinus. And the rest of the presentment was complete,
Ranata noted as her knees shook; even under the fair wig and beard the
outlines were firm and fine, and the head was well poised and shaped.
He looked far more the king than her father or any other sovereign in
Europe, except perhaps the man whose memory she had expunged to-night.
Had the dead risen? As the room swam round her she wondered if she were
expected to drop on one knee. Then the eyes puckered themselves and
smiled, and Ranata was the angriest woman in Hungary.
“How dared you!” she exclaimed beneath her breath. “How dared you!”
“Dared?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“It required no courage whatever, merely ingenuity--a considerable
amount of that, however. Would you care to hear the story?”
“I have no curiosity on the subject whatever. Where is Prince Nadasdy?”
“At this moment? I have no idea. Yes, he is probably at the casino--if
there is any one left to play with him. Otherwise he is doubtless lost
to every variety of disappointment.”
“And you--how did you inveigle that costume from him?”
“Inveigle, madame? I paid a king’s ransom for this costume.”
“Your loathsome American millions! I thought there were a few things
they could not accomplish.”
“There is nothing, madame. When they fail it is due to bungling only.”
“You have no cause to be angry--to assume that tone with me!”
“You have abused me like a pickpocket.”
“I beg your pardon--it seemed to me incredible that a magnate of
Hungary, a prince who has been a member of my father’s household,
should do such a thing.”
“When magnates and courtiers are consumed with a passion for gambling,
to say nothing of the strong wines of Hungary, they are apt to
degenerate into very ordinary human creatures. The story is a brief
one, and I know you wish to hear it. I have had the honor of playing
a number of games of Hungarian poker with your prince, who conceived
a flattering preference for my game, although I usually won. Three
nights ago I told him plainly that I wanted to come to this ball as
King Matthias, and wear his costume. At first he merely stared at me
helplessly; then he reflected that, being an American, I was doubtless
mad, and proceeded to deal with me in his gentle and charming manner.
When he was convinced both of my strength of purpose and sanity, I
proposed a game in which he should stake this costume and his silence
against a sum which I will not name. Furthermore, if I won I was to pay
the price of the costume three times over and return it to him the day
after the ball. He confessed that he was haunted by the fear his tailor
would not hand over the outfit without the price, and that he might
have to mortgage his family jewels to pay it. He closed with my offer
in less time than I am telling you this tale. His last scruple was of
you, for he knew that I could pass unnoticed in the crowd, particularly
if I kept my eyes half shut and waggled my head occasionally; and I
vowed to him that I would secure your forgiveness--”
“I shall never forgive either of you, and I am ashamed of him.”
“So am I. But one man’s loss is usually another’s gain, and I am here
without a scruple or regret.”
“Your horrible money may have bought poor old Nadasdy, but it will
carry you no further.”
Fessenden’s hand closed deliberately on hers, and he drew it through
his arm. Ranata was aghast, but it was impossible to struggle, and she
stood rigid, but closer to him by two inches.
“I and the money you hate have no further dealings with each other
to-night,” he whispered. “But for every barrier it has levelled between
you and me, for all that it has permitted me to accomplish that makes
me more worthy of you, it has my eternal gratitude. And now, please
forget it.”
“I can forget nothing,” she murmured. “And you are running a terrible
risk. If my father hears of this you may be requested to leave the
Empire.”
“May I tell you that you are looking more beautiful than any one on
earth can look?”
“Am I?”
She grasped at her receding anger, but it vanished. Into its place
flashed an enchanting sense of danger; the wildness in her Hapsburg
blood leaped its dike and seemed to roar in her ears the while it
sang in her soul. She forgot the years in which she had mourned
the subjugation of Rudolf’s fine brain by his passions, and the
interminable disasters his weakness had entailed. Why should she not
be thankful that her own drama had begun at last? She should live and
feel. What mattered the end?
It was by no means the first time the temptation had beset her since
she had met Fessenden Abbott, but her brain had controlled her
hitherto; she had fancied that her clear vision would keep the end
always in view, however she might feel the weakness of woman within her
and indulge it in friendship, while working for the cause of her house.
But the excitement and exhilaration of this evening had lifted her to
reckless heights, her pulses were throbbing, her being was trembling
with exaltation, her head almost whirling. And before her was the great
company who knew nothing, suspected nothing. To live in their very
presence, as if they were ants on a hill--her newly born dramatic sense
flew to the fanning of her emotions. She leaned heavily on his arm and
raised her eyes.
“Am I?” she whispered again. “I wondered--I heard your _Élyen_.”
“I knew that you heard it.”
“I did not turn my head.”
“Nevertheless, I knew.”
“Can you read my soul?” she exclaimed in a momentary panic. “Do not
read too much.”
“That is all I live for.”
“You--who have so much else! Would you give up one of your ambitions
for me?”
“I would give up the whole game, every ambition, every penny.”
“Your country?”
“Yes, my country.”
“You were very cool about it yesterday.”
“Yesterday is not to-night.”
“I had the greatest faith in your devotion to your country.”
“When you feel as I do now you will have faith in nothing else.”
“Do not be too mad. Let us be happy for this one evening.”
“Is this your idea of happiness?”
“I am as happy as I dare to be.”
“When I have taught you what happiness is you will remember this
prelude as a very poor affair.”
“Have you also bought poor old Nadasdy’s jewels?”
“No, he is not so bad as that; but he is not above renting them.”
“Not another magnate would speak to him again if they knew what he had
done.”
“They are not to know it.”
“Why did you wish to be king?”
“For two reasons: I am tired of duennas and interruptions--I have
not much patience. Matthias was the husband of Beatrice, and you are
Beatrice. In the eyes of this fanciful company to-night you are my
wife--I am your bridegroom.”
He felt her tremble and draw in her breath sharply. But in a moment
she raised her eyes again--and there was no veil upon them--and said:
“Yes--I will be Beatrice for these few hours, and believe that you are
Matthias. Is--do you mean to tell me that there is no happiness in such
imagining? If I have been happy in my fancy before, surely this--this--”
Fessenden was as nearly intoxicated as a man may be in the presence
of a thousand people. “Listen to the Chardash for a moment,” he said
unsteadily.
The Chardash was near its finish. The gypsies were playing madly.
The peasants were shouting and stamping, their women dancing with
the graceful energy of panthers; the spectators were looking on in
delight, the bodies of many swaying slightly. The music stopped with a
crash that had a note of disappointment and anger in its triumph; the
peasants marched forward and bowed profoundly to their sovereigns--who
looked as high and impersonal, yet gracious, as sovereigns should
look--then filed out of the room, to revel in the servants’ quarters
till morning.
The guests were impatient to dance. The musicians in the gallery
received their signal, and the opening quadrilles were quickly formed,
eight in the four circle rooms.
Fessenden walked through the stately old-fashioned quadrille very
creditably. His hands were concealed in gauntlets, and his height
would have saved his face from too close an inspection had any one
felt sufficient interest in the old Prince to examine him in detail.
Once only he caught the eye of the Countess Piroska Zápolya, and
wondered if she had recognized him. He was the least vain of men, but
she had exhibited a preference for the distinguished young millionaire
as openly as a high-born maiden may; and the glance he encountered
to-night was less guileless, perhaps less amiable than usual. But
she left Fessenden’s mind as abruptly as she had entered it. He was
absorbed in planning an interview alone with Ranata. He had come to the
palace in doubt as to what he should say or leave unsaid until a future
stage, but her sudden unmistakable yielding to her emotions, if not to
him, had sent the blood to his head and spurred his will to action.
He divined that she intended to play with those emotions under the
protecting eye of the public; but while he had no mind to court too
great temptation himself, he was determined to seclude her long enough
for a conversation which should put an end to moods and coquetry, and
compel her to face herself and him. The quadrille finished with a
waltz, and he saw his opportunity. He put his arm about her before she
had time to retire to her former position.
“Take your train over your arm,” he said, “or you will have a circle
about you as many yards deep; and I want to be lost in the crowd.”
She obeyed him, and they waltzed unobserved. The greater part of the
company was dancing; the older women, including Sarolta, had gone to
the reception-rooms to play cards or eat ices, and no one would be
surprised if the royal hostess, her part played, had chosen to retire.
It was evident that the guests were expected to enjoy themselves; and
if anything further was necessary to add to the gay content of the
evening, it came with the rumor that immediately after supper Count
Zrinyi and Miss Abbott would lead a cotillion, and that the favors were
many and unique.
“This evening is ours,” said Fessenden peremptorily. “Take me where we
can talk alone for an hour.”
But she took alarm. “Not quite alone. On the balcony in front of the
tea-room perhaps--”
“A balcony, if you like, for it is too warm to think in the palace. But
not that one. You must trust me. You will have to do so for the rest of
your life, so you may as well begin now.”
Ranata, having no practical knowledge of men, and still throbbing with
a reckless desire for adventure, hesitated no longer. She had learned
that this American’s power of self-control was very great; and if
he would permit her to play with fire until the wildest in her was
exhausted, and she could feel for him again as she had felt in sadder
hours of self-communing, why should she fling aside an opportunity
which might never come again? He held her in a light embrace, but it
filled her with happiness and submission. She was all woman, and the
sensation intoxicated her. Let the morrow and its cold duties take care
of themselves.
When a woman with an uncommon power of passion delivers herself to
liberty after years of self-repression she is more than likely to
forget all she has ever considered, and pass with blind eyes the
half-way house where most women sit down and think. Perhaps it is more
correct to say that the fire in her brain induces a sort of insanity of
which the average mortal is incapable, and in spite of the ideals of
her calmer moments and her thoughtful programme of conduct, she is at
the mercy of the man. In this instance the man was playing a very big
game; and although Ranata was in no mood for analysis, instinct told
her that he was the one man who had ever loved her with whom she could
trust herself.
They were in the circle-room from which her apartments opened. It was
not wise to enter directly. She pushed aside a tapestry on the left,
and when it fell they were in a corridor. It was deserted and she led
him through unlighted rooms and into her suite by the door which the
King had used when the Queen came to Buda. Here the lights burned
dimly, but she did not pause until they were on the balcony. The moon
was too young to reveal them to any one below; but a woman who has been
severely chaperoned will sit out all night with a man and shrink from
the indelicacy of screening walls.
Ranata sank hurriedly into a chair and motioned Fessenden to one
opposite; but he shook his head and stood looking down upon her for a
moment without speaking. He had left his beard and wig and crown in
the sitting-room, and in that superb costume under the light of moon
and stars he looked not unlike Matthias, and handsomer than himself had
ever looked before. His beauty was the last thing that concerned him,
but he saw the sudden rise of Ranata’s bosom under the tight bodice,
and the flash in her eyes as she dropped them. He did not comprehend
the cause, but he tingled in response and almost yielded to an impulse
to kneel beside her and take her in his arms. But there was too much to
say, and he drew back. If he kissed her now he should have to talk to
her another time, and opportunities were too rare.
“Let us thresh it out,” he said. “I want to marry you. You have a
hundred reasons against it, of course. They never will mean anything to
me; but if you want to relieve your mind I am ready to hear and answer
them.”
She had put out her hands in deprecation. “Don’t be so practical
to-night! We could write all that if must be said. To-night we were to
play a game--I am Beatrice--you are Matthias.”
“Not here. That sort of thing is for a ballroom flirtation, or for
lengths which you probably don’t understand. I am up to no such pretty
comedy here alone with you; besides, I am in no mood for the unreal, no
matter how pleasant it might be. This is a matter of eternity with me.
I have never loved any woman before, and I have never wanted anything
I have fought for with my life in my hand as I want you. These are the
first moments I have actually felt the reality of life. It has been
a game before. I know now I could have relinquished that game at any
moment for something else, with no very deep pang. But I could no more
give you up than I could live without my head. And I have no intention
of trying. I shall marry you, but whether it is to be the most
difficult job of my life or not depends entirely upon you. You love
me, and I am romantic enough to believe that every man has his mate
in this world, and that you are mine; but your head is full of absurd
notions that you will have forgotten after a year in the United States.”
She stood up then, the princess again for a moment. “Oh!” she
exclaimed. “Remember that Europe is still a reality; that, so long as
the United States permits it to exist on the map, its prejudices and
customs are entitled to respect.”
“I am ready to respect your prejudices, but as I am not a European I am
not obliged to accept them as final.”
“Is it possible,” she asked, staring at him, “that you do not know we
never could marry?”
“Only if every clergyman on the planet refused to perform the
ceremony. Have you not, with that fine brain of yours, thought deeply
enough to know that nothing is impossible? I could have told myself
that a hundred things were impossible, and be a nonentity to-day.
Marriage between a man and woman who are free is the least of the
impossibilities.”
“But, great Heaven!--cannot you understand?--I am the daughter of the
Emperor of Austria!”
“You are not any other man’s wife. That is all that concerns me.”
“Do you realize what it would mean to Europe, to the principle of
monarchy, if I, an archduchess of Austria, married an American?”
“Do you imagine that I am interested in perpetuating the monarchical
idea?”
“But I am--at all events, I, as a part of it, know where my duty lies;
and--will you consider my mission here?”
“Your mission here is the impossible one of preserving the integrity of
the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy. Western Austria will melt towards the
German Empire by a natural law; and as for Hungary, cannot you see
that the destiny of this people is independence? They would accept you
as a welcome substitute for Franz Ferdinand, but only until they were
ready to face Europe as an independent state. Do you suppose that the
sole destiny of the United States is to live and prosper? Every day
envy of her grows in the European, ridden by police, his individuality
cramped by social laws, his manhood dwarfed by a ridiculous institution
that should have disappeared with the first year of free schools.
Monarchy was necessary enough in its time, but its time is past. All
educated mankind is determined upon freedom. William of Germany will
not admit it, but his mission is to sweep the kinglets of Europe
off the board and unite their states into a peaceful whole which
shall convert itself at the right moment into another great republic
founded on the few sound principles of socialism. Man’s destiny has
steadily progressed towards independence since the beginning of general
education, and the time is almost ripe for the fulfilment of it. That
is the reason, quite aside from friendship, that I shall give my
assistance to William the moment he is ready for it. He pretends not to
believe that the result must be a republic, but in the depths of his
great intelligence he must.”
Now was the moment for acting, to promise anything if he would desert
William. But the thought passed through her mind and out. That might
have been possible yesterday, but not to-night; might indeed have been
possible an hour earlier, but not now. She too was facing the bald
realities; and the chiefest was that her love for this man, at whom she
seemed to stare through a mountain, was eternal; and that she could
take no advantage of his love for her, even were there anything else
that mattered.
As she stood and looked at him, her eyes stony, her face set in
despair, Fessenden for the first time felt his courage recede. Her
next words left him for a few moments without speech, and with the
sensation that the world had come suddenly to an end.
“Then,” she said, “I must work out my destiny with my house. If it is
tottering, then the severer my duty to stand by it till it falls. What
happiness could I have?--what a picture!--I secure in America, and
all my kind groaning under the ruins of Europe? I believe that what
you predict has reason enough. I am no infatuated monarchist. I have
known Alexandra too long for that. And I have never doubted the fate
of Austria since Rudolf’s death. There is no reason why the rest of
Europe should not follow. But it will not come in a moment, and it is
the bare duty of every man and woman of royal birth to give to the old
idea their last drop of heart’s blood and life-blood, whether there
is any individual achievement for them or not. As for me, if I were
convinced--which I am not--that I could do no good by making Hungary
mine, still would I remain at my post. It will break my heart; it will
make life a mere tread-mill, now that I have known you; but if you
kidnapped me I should return.”
They faced each other then for two or three minutes without speaking;
but although Fessenden could descend into depths of discouragement,
nothing this side of death could keep him there. The army of resources
in his soul stirred in their nap--it was seldom they slept--and
quickened his blood in the old lust of the fight. He revolted with
angry impatience against his momentary despair; and at the same time
realized that this, the supreme desire of his life, he would not have
won with no exercise of the talents which had been given him that he
might wear down and ride down the obstacles of life.
“Very well,” he said, “your way of looking at things is natural enough;
but I don’t want you to forget for one moment that, deeply as I
respect even your prejudices, they mean nothing to me intellectually,
and never can influence my conduct in the least. But on this subject I
will say no more now except that your argument that you should stand by
your house until it falls is too illogical to be worthy of you. It is
not a woman’s part in life to prop up rotten structures, but to assist
man in founding new ones to replace the old; nor is it the highest
destiny of human beings to retrograde or stand still, but to progress.
And if I regard the past with its superstitions and institutions as
mere history, as a mere prelude to a far greater present, and if I
myself belong to that present and to the future, you by no means are
an indissoluble part of the past. You are too virile, too healthy,
too modern, too great in every part of your equipment; you represent
the utmost that Europe and her centuries have been able to make of
your sex; and if she had any design in making you, it was as a present
to the future, not as a sacrifice to the past. But enough. I have a
plan to propose. For two months we will not speak of this. Nurse your
traditions if you like, believe that we must part, but make up your
mind to be happy during this time. We will have constant companionship
and some moments alone.”
The light broke through her face again, and she held out her hands.
“Yes! Yes!” she exclaimed. “A fool’s paradise! That is what I would
have asked. It is all I can ever know, and it will give me courage for
the rest of my life. But I was afraid--I was afraid-- It is a very
unpractical plan for you to suggest.”
“I have my unpractical moments,” said Fessenden, “and this is one of
them.” And then he caught her in his arms and kissed her, while the
music of the Chardash from the palace and the Danube beat upon them;
and something of the dearest dream of both was realized.
But he left her presently. As he closed behind him the door by which he
had entered the private apartments, he had a flashing glimpse of a face
he knew; but the blood was in his head, and the small white visage,
disappearing like a ghost’s, made no impression on him--he did not even
recall it in cooler moments. He had readjusted his disguise, and he
made his way down the great staircase, exciting no more comment than
would have fallen to the portion of Prince Nadasdy, who certainly would
be expected to go home early. When he reached the palace of the old
Prince he changed his gorgeous trappings for the inconspicuous tweeds
he had left there, and then went out and walked until dawn. When he
returned to his hotel he wrote two letters, one to his father, and one
to his friend in Berlin. The latter concluded as follows: “... But not
for two months, or thereabouts. I want her to have a deep draught of
this Hungarian wine she finds so heady, that she may have the less to
torment her imagination with in the future. Moreover, I want that much
time to teach her that she really loves me. If we acted too promptly,
she might, during the inevitable weeks, perhaps months, of separation,
persuade herself that it had been but a passing madness. And I want her
to be in no doubt during that time of what her rewards will be.”
“I can safely count on help there,” thought Fessenden, as he enclosed
the letter in a second envelope addressed to a less conspicuous name,
“for before these two months have passed he will be as anxious to see
her in America as I am.”