THE SIELENBURG PARTY
Elderly ladies of the Austrian aristocracy have no great inclination for
traveling. While for a hundred years it has been the fashion in England
to make a tour on the Continent, and while in the days of mail-coaches,
noblewomen, young and old, were accustomed to accompany their spouses to
Switzerland and to Italy, to Paris and to the German baths, the ladies
of the Austrian nobility have only reluctantly quitted their castles in
order to journey to other countries. Since traveling has been made so
easy and expeditious, especially since automobiles came into fashion,
the younger feminine element of the higher Austrian circles have
ventured to make trips into distant lands. But even at the time of the
Rose-Week, there were among the elder aristocratic women some who had
never before set foot outside the boundaries of the Empire. Among these
was the Countess Adele Schollendorf. But, nevertheless, one fine June
morning the old lady, accompanied by her cousin Albertine, started for
Lucerne. Two cavaliers also made up the party: Cousin Coriolan and Baron
Ludwig Malhof.
The motive of the expedition was curiosity. Count Sielen’s sister had
become quite estranged from her grand-niece since the latter had begun
to appear on the public platform. The affair was too distasteful to
her—it cut entirely across all her prejudices. Franka had, indeed, lost
nothing in reputation and respect by her action—on the contrary; but the
old countess could not be reconciled to it. She did not go so far as to
indulge in open reproach and rupture, being restrained by the fact that
she was indebted to Franka’s generosity for her home at the Sielenburg
and the considerable revenues accruing from this property; but she had
renounced all personal intercourse, which was the easier, because
Franka, on her part, took no pains to maintain it. For no money in the
world would the Countess Adele have consented to attend the young girl’s
lecture in Vienna. A connection—a person with the Sielen blood in her
veins—on the platform, speaking in favor of the emancipation of women!
Horrible! But when one day Baron Malhof brought the news that Franka
Garlett had been invited to take her place with the greatest celebrities
of the day at the Rose-Week celebration,—and he described the Toker
Rose-Week with enthusiasm, having himself been present at one,—the old
countess’s curiosity was awakened: “I should like to see it,” she
exclaimed.
“Then let us go there,” proposed Malhof. And he argued so eloquently
that the countess decided to take the journey—the first she had ever
made out of her own country. There, so far away, she might, indeed,
endure to see Franka on the platform; only at home, among all her
relatives and acquaintances, it would have been too painful. But
there—“there” being somewhat confused in her mind with the antipodes—one
was, so to speak, _incognito_. Albertine consented to accompany her
cousin, although the expedition seemed to her very portentous and
adventurous; but, possibly, she might have the opportunity of telling
this Franka, who had so unceremoniously slipped out from under her
influence, a few verities which would redound to her advantage.
Cousin Coriolan joined the party from the purpose of studying into the
“humbug.” ... Toker was a fool, and the whole affair was a piece of
modern sham. Baron Malhof, widely experienced, offered his services as
marshal for the journey: to engage lodgings, to see to the luggage, to
act as _cicerone_, and in general to superintend all the details of the
trip. But when he suggested making the journey to Lucerne in an airship,
Countess Adele protested with horror.
They arrived the evening before the exercises were to begin; they had
enjoyed a good night’s sleep, and were now sitting at their
breakfast-coffee in the dining-room. They were glancing through the
newspaper, to find what announcements were made about the coming
performances: but all they found were the list of Toker’s guests, and
the statement that the same motto should serve for all the addresses:
“When thoughts will soar....”
“I am curious to know what that means,” muttered Coriolan; “probably a
kind of preaching about all sorts of high-flying, so-called Ideals. It
may be very edifying, but not very exciting.”
“As far as I can judge of you, my dear Coriolan,” said Malhof, “you
would be neither excited nor edified by the things which are to be heard
here. Just as the American and the operatic host which he has invited
are the representatives of the latest and boldest ideas, so you....”
Countess Adele interrupted: “Well, if Franka’s emancipation absurdities
are to be called soaring.... This honey is famous—taste it, Baron
Malhof; and this crisp-toasted bread ... it seems to me the Swiss are
used to an abundant breakfast.”
“_Kipfel_ are best with coffee,” remarked Albertine ecstatically.
Coriolan nodded assent. “But _Gugelhupf_ has some claim upon us,” he
added.
“We have wandered far from high-soaring thoughts again,” remarked Baron
Malhof.
Countess Adele spread some more honey on her toast. “I’m curious to see
how Franka looks....”
“Probably prettier than ever—she is a ravishing creature....”
“What fire, Baron Malhof!”
“Yes, I confess, Fräulein Garlett was my last flame.... Oh, not a very
creditable story, as far as I was concerned. I tried to—well, never mind
what I tried—but she gave me a pretty rebuff. As to emancipation, as you
keep saying, Countess, nothing of that could be seen in her. A virtuous
maiden of the old-fashioned model....”
“Excuse me, but in order to resist you....”
“One need not be so very virtuous—were you going to say, Madam? That is
true, but the circumstances under which I was repulsed, and the way in
which she did it, certainly indicated the much-praised ‘fundamental
principles.’”
“Don’t you approve of them?”
“I never have, most gracious Countess.”
“I know, I know; you have the reputation of having been a genuine Don
Juan. However, as far as Franka is concerned, she seems to have kept her
head. In spite of this adventurous life—this gallivanting about and
making speeches, nothing discreditable has ever been charged against
her.”
“So much the worse for her.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, if one hears nothing bad about a young woman, it means that
nothing pleasant has happened to her.”
“You are a terrible man! Albertine, we ought never to have trusted
ourselves to his escort!”
The old maid did not understand the joke. “Why not?” she asked
earnestly. “He is certainly a very respectable gentleman. But do you
know, Baron Malhof, I should like to give you one piece of advice: you
ought not to comb your back hair over your bald spot. Excuse my
frankness; but it is not at all becoming to you.”
The baron nervously and awkwardly moved his hand over the place to which
such invidious attention had been called. “Good Heavens! One does the
best one can....”
“Oh, you, with your everlasting frankness,” exclaimed the countess
reprovingly.
Coriolan went on reading his newspaper. “Here among the names of the
Rose comedians stands that of a Herr Helmer; wasn’t that fool Jew, who
was Eduard’s last secretary, named Helmer?”
“Yes, that was his name,” replied Countess Adele. “But he wasn’t a Jew.”
“Well, his maternal grandmother was Jewish, and that is pretty much the
same thing.”
“So was our common ancestor Adam,” said Malhof angrily. “Especially
here, in this free and democratic Switzerland, you should not assume
that tone. Here one must not brag too much of race and rank.”
A wrathful scowl contracted the brows of the haughty aristocrat. “I
certainly shall speak my mind. Democracy does not impose on me. Besides,
here, in Switzerland there are a few very good old families, even if
they don’t have titles. For instance, there are the Hallwyls; only
recently I subscribed for their coat of arms for my collection; ... and
then, in our own country, thank God, the nobility still means
something—it is the mainstay of the throne, the support of the
faith—what do I care for Switzerland?”
“I beg of you, Coriolan, do not lose your temper,” said the Countess
Adele soothingly, “and don’t talk so loud. What were we just speaking
about? Oh, yes, that Helmer ... I wonder if it is the same man?”
Malhof signified with a nod that he was: “He has become a famous poet
and has been a frequent visitor at the Garlett palace.”
“So-o-!” exclaimed the countess. “That is certainly not safe. The young
man was in love with Franka. That is the reason Eduard dismissed him.
And he has become so famous since?”
“It certainly does not take much to make a person famous nowadays,”
remarked Coriolan. “No longer are there any more classical poets. And as
to fame—that is something that belongs only to great men, great
field-marshals and statesmen. Prince Eugene, Wallenstein, Metternich,
the Archduke Karl, Radetzky—those are names haloed with glory. No such
are to be found in this list.”
“Don’t you count great poets also?” asked Malhof.
“Well, the classics, as far as I am concerned—Goethe and Schiller.”
“With the best will in the world, Mr. Toker could not invite them. But
who knows whether there may not be a future Schiller or Goethe among the
guests?”
Coriolan shrugged his shoulders disdainfully. “n this wretched age of
ours there are no more great men—either poets or heroes. All these
suspicious elements, this Socialism and Freemasonry must be cleaned out
once and for all. Authority must be set up again and the people must
have religion. Perhaps it will be better after the next war—such a steel
bath is mighty wholesome....”
“Can’t you leave off discussing politics, cousin?” sighed the countess.
“Fortunately, nothing is said now about war.”
“Do you think so? This proves that you read nothing in the newspapers
except gossip and the society news, and not the political part;
otherwise you would know that war is coming, and very soon, too. Do you
imagine we shall much longer endure the gibes of the mischief-makers on
the other side of the Adriatic, and don’t you know how in the Balkans
they are only waiting their opportunity to found a Great Servia? Austria
will come out of a war with such an increase of power that it will be
able to settle its internal affairs on a satisfactory basis. And in the
rest of Europe? The tension is everywhere so great—who knows but before
this so-called Rose-Week shall end, the canister will begin to rattle
somewhere?”
“There, now! that will do,” cried the old countess. “You are a horrible
bird of evil omen! It isn’t true, is it, Malhof, that things are so
bad?”
“I am no prophet. I grant that we are standing on volcanic ground, but I
believe that it will be a revolution sooner than a war. It must come to
a financial crash if things go on as they are—to strikes, general
strikes—how do I know?—or to an open revolt.... But let us talk of other
things. Let us hope that everything will come out all right. _Après nous
le déluge!_ In the mean time, ladies, I propose that in half an hour we
set forth to have a little glimpse of Lucerne. I will immediately order
a carriage. First of all, I will take you past the buildings of the
Rose-Palace. You must see how fairylike it all is. Even two years ago,
when I was here, it was dazzling in its magnificence. Since then I
understand Mr. Toker has introduced still further embellishments and
surprises. I have already procured the entrance cards for the opening
exercises this evening. This forenoon we will spend in exploring
Lucerne. But Coriolan, you must take an oath that you will not say
another word about politics as long as we are on our pleasure trip.”