MOTHER AND SON.
With the bow and smile of a veritable libertine, Count Podstadsky
offered his arm to the lady, whose face was completely hidden by a long
black veil. The accommodating steward retired in haste, and the lady,
looking around with anxiety, murmured, "Are we alone?"
"Entirely alone, my charming sphinx," replied Podstadsky. "The god of
love alone shall hear the secrets which are to fall from your coral
lips. But, first, let me remove this envious veil, my mysterious
charmer."
The lady stood perfectly still, while Podatadsky, by way of exordium,
embraced her affectionately. Neither did she offer any opposition to his
daring hands, as first they removed her long mantilla, and then threw
back her black crape veil which had so faithfully concealed her
features.
When he saw her face, he started back with a cry of remorse.
"My mother, oh, my mother!" exclaimed he, covering his face with his
hands.
Behind the portiere there was the faint sound of a mocking laugh, but
neither mother nor son heard it. They heard naught but the insufferable
throbs of their own hearts; they saw, each one, naught but the
death-like face of the other.
"Yes, it is your unhappy mother--she who once vowed never again to cross
your threshold--but maternity is merciful, Carl, and I come hither to
pardon and to rescue you, while yet there is time for flight."
The young count made no reply. At the astounding revelation made by the
dropping of that black veil, he had retreated in mingled shame and
surprise. He had accosted his own mother in the language of libertinism,
and he stood gazing upon her with looks of sorrow and regret. He had
scarcely heard her speak, so absorbed was he in self-reproach. And now
as she ceased, he murmured:
"Is that my mother? My mother, with the wrinkled brow and the white
hair!"
The countess returned his gaze with a mournful smile. "You have not seen
me for two years, Carl, and since then sorrow has transformed me into an
old woman. I need not tell you why I have sorrowed. Oh, my child! Whence
comes the gold with which this fearful splendor is purchased? Your
father--"
"My father!" echoed the count, recalled to self-possession by the word.
"What am I to him, who cursed me and forbade me his house! Tell him,"
cried he, fiercely, "that if I am lost, it is he who shall answer to
Heaven for my soul!"
"Peace!" exclaimed the mother, in a tone of authority. "Nor attempt to
shift your disgrace upon him who has been, not the cause of your crimes,
but their victim. Why did he curse you, reprobate, tell me why?"
The count was so awed by her words and looks that he obeyed almost
instinctively.
"Because I had forged," was the whispered reply.
"Yes--forged your father's name for a million, and forced him, for the
honor of his house, to sell all that he possessed. We are so poor that
we have scarcely the necessaries of life; nevertheless, we have borne in
silence the contumely of the world that scorns us as misers. And now,
although you have nothing to inherit, we hear of your wealth, the
magnificence of your house, of your unbounded expenditure!"
"Yes, mother," replied the count, beginning to recover from his shock,
"it is plain that I have discovered a treasure--somewhere."
"Then you will have to explain the nature of your discovery, for your
father is about to reveal the state of his affairs to the world."
"If he does that, I am lost!" cried Podstadsky, in tones of despair.
"Ah!" gasped the unhappy mother. "Then we were right in fearing that
your wealth was ill-gotten. Oh, Carl, Carl! look into the face of the
mother who bore you, and has loved you beyond all things earthly--look
into her face, and say whence comes this magnificence."
The count tried to raise his eyes, but he could not meet his mother's
glance. Alas! he remembered how often in childhood, after some trifling
misconduct, he had looked into those loving eyes, and read forgiveness
there!
The mother trembled, and could scarcely support her limbs. She caught at
a chair, and leaned upon it for a moment. Then, with faltering steps she
approached her son, and raised his head with her own hands. It was a
touching scene, and Count Podstadsky himself was not unmoved by its
silent eloquence. His heart beat audibly, and his eyes filled with
repentant tears.
"Tell me, my child, tell me whence comes your wealth? I will not betray
you, for I am your unhappy mother!"
"You can do nothing for me, mother," sobbed the count. "I am lost beyond
power of redemption."
"Alas! alas! Then, you are guilty! But, Carl, I will not ask you any
questions--only let me save you from public disgrace. Your father is
inexorable, but I can save you, my beloved child. I will leave
home--country--name--every thing for your sake; even the husband of my
life-long love. Come, my son, let us go together where no one shall ever
hear your story, and where, with the grace of God, you may repent of
your sins and amend."
The strength of her love lent such eloquence to the words of the
countess that her son was borne away by the force of her pleadings.
"Oh, my mother! if I could--if I could--" but here his voice faltered,
and the tears, which he had been striving to keep back, gushed out in
torrents. He covered his face with his hands, and sobbed aloud.
His mother smiled and made a silent thanksgiving to Heaven. "God will
accept your tears, my dear prodigal child. Come, ere it be too late.
See, I have gold. My family diamonds have yielded enough to maintain us
in Switzerland. There, among its solitudes--"
A clear, musical laugh was heard, and the melodious voice of a woman
spoke these scornful words:
"Count Podstadsky a peasant! a Swiss peasant! Ha! ha!"
The old countess turned, and saw, coming from the boudoir, a vision of
such beauty as dazzled her eyes. The vision came forward, smiling, and,
Podstadsky dashing away his tears, passed in one instant from the
heights of saving repentance to the unfathomable depths of hopeless
obduracy.
The two women, meanwhile, faced each other: the one laughing,
triumphant, beautiful, alas, as Circe; the other pale, sorrowful a, the
guardian angel of the soul which has just been banished from the
presence of God forever!
"Pray, Carlo, introduce me to your mother," said Arabella. "You are not
yet a Swiss peasant. Pending your metamorphosis, be a little more
observant of the conventions and courtesies of high life!"
"She has been eaves-dropping," exclaimed the Countess Podstadsky,
contemptuously.
"Yes," said Arabella, with perfect equanimity. "I have enjoyed the
privilege of witnessing this charming scene. You, madame, have acted
incomparably, but your son has not sustained you. The role you have
given him is inappropriate. To ask of him to play the repentant sinner,
is simply ridiculous. Count Podstadsky is a gentleman, and has no taste
for idyls."
"Who is this woman?" asked the old countess.
Her son had regained all his self-possession again. He approached
Arabella, and, taking her hand, led her directly up to his mother.
"My mother, I beg to present to you the Countess Baillou, the
lady-patroness of the ball I give to-night."
The old countess paid no attention to Arabella's deep courtesy. She was
too much in earnest to heed her.
"Will you come, Carl? Every moment is precious."
"My dear lady," exclaimed Arabella, "you forget that not only the
aristocracy of Vienna, but the emperor himself, is to be your son's
guest to-night."
"Do not listen to her, my son," cried the wretched mother. "Her voice is
the voice of the evil spirit that would lure you on to destruction.
Carl! Carl!" cried she, laying her vigorous grasp upon his arm, "be not
so irresolute! Come, and prove yourself to be a man!"
"Ay!" interposed Arabella, "be a man, Carl, and suffer no old woman to
come under your own roof and chide you as if you were her naughty boy.
What business, pray, is it of this lady's, where you gather your riches?
And what to the distinguished Podstadsky are the clamors of two
unnatural parents, who have long since lost all claim to his respect?"
"Carl! Carl!" shrieked the mother, "do not heed her. She is an evil
spirit. Come with me."
There was a pause. Arabella raised her starry eyes, and fixed them with
an expression of passionate love upon the count. That simulated look
sealed his fate.
"No, mother, no. Importune me no longer, for I will not leave Vienna.
Enough of this tragi-comedy--leave me in peace!"
Arabella flung him a kiss from the tips of her rosy fingers.
"Spoken like a man, at last," said she.
For a while not a word was beard in that gorgeous room, where the
chandeliers flung their full red glare upon the group below--the
white-haired mother-the recusant son--the beautiful enchantress--whose
black art had just sundered them forever.
At length she spoke, that broken-hearted mother, and her voice was
hollow as a sound from the grave.
"Thou hast chosen. God would have rescued thee, but thou hast turned
away from His merciful warning! Farewell, unhappy one, farewell!"
She wrapped her dark mantle around her, and concealed her face again in
the veil.
Her son dared not offer his hand, for evil eyes were upon him, and he
allowed her to depart without a word. Slowly she traversed the scene of
sinful splendor, her tall, dark figure reflected from mirror to mirror
as she went; and before the receding vision of that crushed and
despairing mother the lights above seemed to pale, and the gilding of
those rich saloons grew dim and spectral.
Farther and farther she went, Podstadsky gazing after her, while
Arabella gazed upon him. She reached the last door, and he started as if
to follow. His tempter drew him firmly back, and calmed his agitation
with her magic smile.
"Stay, beloved," said she, tenderly. "From this hour I shall be mother,
mistress, friend--all things to you!"
He clasped her passionately to his heart, sobbing, "I wish for nothing
on earth but your love, the love which will follow me even to the
scaffold!"
"Pshaw!" exclaimed Arabella, "what an ugly word to whisper to these
beautiful rooms! Look here, Carl, the diamonds we own in common are
worth half a million. We must do a good business to-night. When the
emperor has retired, the hostess will have a right to preside over the
faro table, and you know that my cards never betray me."
"I know it, my enchantress," cried Carl, kissing her. "Let us make haste
and grow rich. I would go anywhere with you, were it even to
Switzerland."
"But not as a peasant, Carl. First, however, we must have our millions.
Now, be reasonable to-night, and don't play the Italian lover. Colonel
Szekuly is desperately enamored of me, and he will be sure to sit next
to me at the faro-table. The place he covets shall cost him a fortune."
At that moment the steward entered the room.
"A message from the emperor, my lady."
"What can it be?"
"His majesty regrets that he cannot keep his engagement this evening
with Count Podstadsky."
"This is a disappointment. What else?" asked the countess, as the
servant still stood there.
"Several other excuses, my lady. The two Princesses Lichtenstein,
Countess Thun, and Princess Esterhazy also have sent apologies."
"Very well, Duval. Go, for the guests will be corning."
The steward went, and the pair looked at each other in anxious silence.
Both were pale, both were frightened.
"What can it mean? What can it mean?" faltered the countess.
"What can it mean?" echoed the count, and he stared, for again he
thought that he saw his mother's shadow darkening the splendor of those
princely halls, whose lights were flickering as though they were about
to be extinguished and leave the guilty accomplices in irretrievable
darkness.
"Arabella, something threatens us!" whispered Podstadsky.
"Nonsense! Our guests are arriving." said she, rallying "Cour age, Carl,
courage! A smooth brow and bright smile for the aristocratic world,
Count Podstadsky!"
The doors opened, and crowds of splendid women, accompanied by their
cavaliers, floated in toward the lady patroness, who received them all
with bewitching grace, and won all hearts by her affability.