WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS
We must follow Monsieur Stein, for that worthy has got something to do;
nay, he generally has his hands full, and cannot, indeed, be accused of
eating the bread of idleness. It is a strange system of government,
that of the Austrian empire; and is, we believe, found to answer as
badly as might be expected from its organisation. The State takes so
paternal an interest in the sayings and doings of its children, as to
judge it expedient to support a whole staff of officials, whose sole
duty it is to keep the Government informed respecting the habits,
actions, everyday life, and secret thoughts and opinions of the general
public. Nor do these myrmidons, whose number exceeds belief, and who
add seriously to the national expenditure, fail to earn their pay with
praiseworthy diligence. In all societies, in all places of pleasure or
business, where half-a-dozen people may chance to congregate, _there_
will be an agent of police, always in plain clothes, and generally the
least conspicuous person in the throng. The members of this corps are,
as may be supposed, chosen for their general intelligence and aptitude,
are usually well-informed, agreeable men, likely to lead strangers into
conversation, and excellent linguists. As an instance of their
ubiquity, I may mention an incident that occurred within my own
knowledge to an officer in the British service, when at Vienna, during
the war. That officer was dining in the _salon_ of an hotel, and there
were present, besides his own party, consisting of Englishmen, and one
Hungarian much disaffected to the Government, only two other strangers,
sitting quite at the farther extremity of the room, and apparently out
of ear-shot. The conversation at my friend's table was, moreover,
carried on in English, and turned upon the arrest of a certain Colonel
Tuerr by the Austrian authorities at Bucharest, a few days previously.
This Colonel Tuerr, be it known, was a Hungarian who had deserted from
the Austrian service, and entering that of her Majesty Queen Victoria,
had been employed in some commissariat capacity in Wallachia, and taken
prisoner at Bucharest by the very regiment to which he had previously
belonged. The question was much vexed and agitated at the time, as to
the Austrian right over a deserter on a neutral soil, and Colonel Tuerr
became for the nonce an unconscious hero. The officer to whom I have
alluded, having listened attentively to the _pros_ and _cons_ of the
case, as set forth by his friends, dismissed the subject with military
brevity, in these words:--"If you say he deserted his regiment before an
enemy, I don't care what countryman he is, or in whose service, _the
sooner they hang him the better!_" This ill-advised remark, be it
observed, was made _sotto voce_, and in his own language. His surprise
may be imagined when, on perusing the Government papers the following
morning, he read the whole conversation, translated into magniloquent
German, and detailed at length as being the expressed opinion of the
British army and the British public on the case of Colonel Tuerr.
I am happy to be able to observe, _en passant_, that the latter
gentleman was not hanged at all, but escaped, after a deal of diplomatic
correspondence, with a six weeks' imprisonment in the fortress of
Comorn, and has since been seen taking his pleasure in London and
elsewhere.
To return to Monsieur Stein. It is evening, and those who have
permission from the police to give a party, have lighted their lamps and
prepared their saloons for those receptions in which the well-bred of
all nations, and particularly the ladies, take so incomprehensible a
delight. At Vienna, every house must be closed at ten o'clock; and those
who wish to give balls or evening parties must obtain a direct
permission to do so, emanating from the Emperor himself. So when they
_do_ go out, they make the most of it, and seem to enjoy the pleasure
with an additional zest for the prohibition to which it is subject.
Let us follow Monsieur Stein into that brilliantly-lighted room, through
which he edges his way so unobtrusively, and where, amongst rustling
toilettes, crisp and fresh from the dressmaker, and various uniforms on
the fine persons of the Austrian aristocracy, his own modest attire
passes unobserved. This is no _bourgeois_ gathering, no assemblage of
the middle rank, tainted by mercantile enterprise, or disgraced by
talent, which presumes to rise superior to _blood_. No such thing; they
are all the "_haute volee_" here, the "_creme de la creme_," as they
themselves call it in their bad French and their conventional jargon.
Probably Monsieur Stein is the only man in the room that cannot count at
least sixteen quarterings--no such easy matter to many a member of our
own House of Peers; and truth to tell, the Austrian aristocracy are a
personable, fine-looking race as you shall wish to see. Even the eye of
our imperturbable police-agent lights up with a ray of what in any other
eye would be admiration, at the scene which presents itself as he
enters. The rooms are spacious, lofty, and magnificently furnished in
the massive, costly style that accords so well with visitors in full
dress. The floors are beautifully inlaid and polished; as bright, and
nearly as slippery, as ice. The walls are covered with the _chef
d'oeuvres_ of the old masters, and even the dome-like ceilings are
decorated with mythological frescoes, such as would convert an
enthusiast to paganism at once. Long mirrors fill up the interstices
between the panellings, and reflect many a stalwart gallant, and many a
"lady bright and fair." There is no dancing, it is merely a
"reception"; and amongst the throng of beauties congregated in that
assembly, impassible Monsieur Stein cannot but admit that the most
captivating of them all is Princess Vocqsal.
So thinks the War-Minister, who, forgetful of accounts and
responsibilities, regardless even of the threatening glances darted at
him from the other end of the room by his excellent wife, is leaning
over the back of the Princess's seat, and whispering, in broad Viennese
German, a variety of those soft platitudes which gentlemen of
three-score are apt to fancy will do them as good service at that age as
they did thirty years ago. The Baron is painfully agreeable, and she is
listening, with a sweet smile and a pleasant expression of countenance,
assumed for very sufficient reasons. In the first place, she owes him a
good turn for the information acquired this morning, and the Princess
always pays her debts when it costs her nothing; in the second, she
wishes, for motives of her own, to strengthen her influence with the
Court party as much as possible; and lastly, she enjoys by this means
the innocent pleasure of making two people unhappy--viz. Madame la
Baronne, who is fool enough to be jealous of her fat old husband; and
one other watching her from the doorway, with a pale, eager face, and an
expression of restless, gnawing anxiety, which it is painful to behold.
Victor de Rohan, what are you doing here, like a moth fluttering round a
candle? wasting your time, and breaking your heart for a woman that is
not worth one throb of its generous life-blood; that cannot appreciate
your devotion, or even spare your feelings? Why are you not at
Edeldorf, where you have left _her_ sad and lonely, one tear on whose
eyelash is worth a thousand of the false smiles so freely dealt by that
heartless, artificial, worn woman of the world? For shame, Victor! for
shame! And yet, as our friend the Turk says, "_Kismet_! It is destiny!"
He is dressed in a gorgeous Hussar uniform, his own national costume,
and right well does its close fit and appropriate splendour become the
stately beauty of the young Count de Rohan. At his side hangs the very
sword that flashed so keenly by the waters of the Danube, forward in the
headlong charge of old Iskender Bey. On its blade is engraved the
Princess's name; she knows it as well as he does, yet ten to one she
will pretend to forget all about it, should he allude to the subject
to-night. Ah! the blade is as bright as it was in those merry
campaigning days, but Victor's face has lost for ever the lightsome
expression of youth; the lines of passion and self-reproach are stamped
upon his brow, and hollowed round his lip, and he has passed at one
stride from boyhood to middle age.
He makes a forced movement, as though to speak to her, but his button is
held by a jocose old gentleman, whose raptures must find vent on the
engrossing topic of Marie Taglioni's graceful activity; and he has to
weather the whole person and draperies of a voluminous German dowager
ere he can escape from his tormentor. In the meantime Monsieur Stein
has been presented to the Princess, and she allows him to lead her into
the tea-room, for a cup of that convenient beverage which continental
nations persist in considering as possessed of medicinal virtue.
"I have the unhappiness to have escaped Madame's recollection," observed
the police-agent, as he placed a chair for the Princess in a corner
secure from interruption, and handed her cup; "it is now my good fortune
to be able to restore something that she has lost," and he looked at her
with those keen grey eyes, as though to read her very soul, while he
gave her the letter which had been placed in his pocket-book by
faithless Jeannette. "If she cares for him," thought Monsieur Stein,
"she will surely show it now, and I need take no further trouble with
_her_. If not, she is the very woman I want, for the fool is madly in
love with her, and upon my word it is not surprising!"
Monsieur Stein looked at women with hypercritical fastidiousness, but,
as he himself boasted, at the same time, quite "_en philosophe_."
The Princess, however, was a match for the police-agent; she never
winced, or moved a muscle of her beautiful countenance. With a polite
"Excuse me," she read the letter through from beginning to end, and
turning quietly round inquired, "How came you by this, Monsieur?"
Unless it leads to a _revoke_, a lie counts for nothing with a
police-agent, so he answered at once, "Sent to my _bureau_ from the
office, in consequence of an informality in the post-mark."
"You have read it?" pursued the Princess, still calm and unmoved.
"On my honour, no!" answered he, with his hand on his heart, and a low
bow.
She would have made the better spy of the two, for she could read even
his impassible face, and she knew as well as he did himself that he had,
so she quietly returned him the letter, of which she judged, and
rightly, that he had kept a copy; and laying her gloved hand on his
sleeve, observed, with an air of bewitching candour--"After that affair
at Comorn, you and I can have no secrets from each other, Monsieur.
Tell me frankly what it is that your employers require, and the price
they are willing to pay for my co-operation."
She could not resist the temptation of trying her powers, even on
Monsieur Stein; and he, although a police-agent, was obliged to succumb
to that low, sweet voice, and the pleading glance by which it was
accompanied. A little less calmly than was his wont, and with almost a
flush upon his brow, he began--
"You are still desirous of that appointment we spoke of yesterday for
the Prince?"
"_Ma foi_, I am," she answered, with a merry smile; "without it we shall
be ruined, for we are indeed overwhelmed with debt."
"You also wish for the earliest intelligence possessed by the Government
as to the issues of peace and war?"
"Of course I do, my dear Monsieur Stein; how else can I speculate to
advantage?"
"And you would have the attainder taken off your cousin's estates in the
Banat in your favour?"
The Princess's eyes glistened, and a deep flush overspread her face.
This was more than she had ever dared to hope for. This would raise her
to affluence, nay, to splendour, once again. No price would be too
great to pay for this end, and she told Monsieur Stein so, although she
kept down her raptures and stilled her beating heart the while.
"All this, Princess, I can obtain for you," said he; "all this has been
promised me, and I have got it in writing. In less than a month the
Government will have redeemed its pledge, and in return you shall do us
one little favour."
"_C'est un trahison, n'est ce pas?_" she asked quickly, but without any
appearance of shame or anger; "I know it by the price you offer. Well,
I am not scrupulous--say on."
"Scarcely that," he replied, evidently emboldened by her coolness; "only
a slight exertion of feminine influence, of which no woman on earth has
so much at command as yourself. Listen, Princess; in three words I will
tell you all. Count de Rohan loves you passionately--madly. You know
it yourself;--forgive my freedom; between you and me there must be no
secrets. You can do what you will with him."--(He did not see her
blush, for she had turned away to put down her cup.)--"He will refuse
you nothing. This is your task:--there is another conspiracy hatching
against the Government; its plot is not yet ripe, but it numbers in its
ranks some of the first men in Hungary. Your compatriots are very
stanch; even I can get no certain information. Several of the
disaffected are yet unknown to me. Young Count de Rohan has a list of
their names; that list I trust to you to obtain. Say, Princess, is it a
bargain?"
She was fitting her glove accurately to her taper fingers.
"And the man that you were good enough to say adores me so devotedly,
Monsieur," she observed, without lifting her eyes to his face, "what
will you do with him? shoot him as you did his cousin in 1848?"
"He shall have a free pardon," replied the police-agent, "and permission
to reside on his lands. He is not anxious to leave the vicinity of the
Waldenberg, I believe," he added mischievously.
"_Soit_," responded the Princess, as she rose to put an end to the
interview. "Now, if you will hand me my bouquet we will go into the
other room."
As he bowed and left her, Monsieur Stein felt a certain uncomfortable
misgiving that he had been guilty of some oversight in his game. In
vain he played it all again in his own head, move for move, and check
for check; he could not detect where the fault lay, and yet his fine
instinct told him that somewhere or another he had made a mistake. "It
is all that woman's impassible face," he concluded at last, in his
mental soliloquy, "that forbids me to retrieve a blunder or detect an
advantage. And what a beautiful face it is!" he added almost aloud, as
for an instant the official was absorbed in the man.
In the meantime Victor was getting very restless, very uncomfortable,
and, not to mince matters, very cross.
No sooner had the Princess returned to the large _salon_ than he stalked
across the room, twirling his moustaches with an air of unconcealed
annoyance, and asked her abruptly, "How she came to know that
ill-looking Monsieur Stein, and why he had been flirting with her for
the last half-hour in the tea-room?"
"That gentleman in plain clothes?" answered she, with an air of utter
unconsciousness and perfect good-humour; "that is one of my ancient
friends, Monsieur le Comte; shall I present him to you?"
This was another refined method of tormenting her lovers. The Princess
had one answer to all jealous inquiries as to those whom she favoured
with her notice--"_Un de mes anciens amis_," was a vague and general
description, calculated to give no very definite or satisfactory
information to a rival.
"Have a care, Madame," whispered Victor angrily; "you will make some of
your ancient friends into your deadliest enemies if you try them so
far."
She looked lovingly up at him, and he softened at once.
"Now it is _you_ that are unkind, Victor," she said in a low soft voice,
every tone of which thrilled to the young Count's heart. "Why will you
persist in quarrelling with me? I, who came here this very evening to
see you and to do you a kindness?"
"Did you know I should be in Vienna so soon?" he exclaimed eagerly.
"Did you receive my letter?"
"I did, indeed," she replied, with a covert smile, as she thought of the
mode in which that missive had reached her, and she almost laughed
outright (for the Princess had a keen sense of the ludicrous) at the
strange impersonation made by Monsieur Stein of Cupid's postman; "but,
Victor," she added, with another beaming look, "I go away to-morrow.
Very early in the morning I must leave Vienna."
He turned paler than before, and bit his lip. "So I might as well have
stayed at home," he exclaimed in a voice of bitter annoyance and pique,
none the less bitter that it had to be toned down to the concert pitch
of good society. "Was it to see you for five minutes here in a crowd
that I travelled up so eagerly and in such haste? To make my bow, I
suppose, like the merest acquaintance, and receive my _conge_. Pardon,
Madame la Princesse, I need not receive it twice. I wish you
good-evening; I am going now!"
She, too, became a shade paler, but preserved the immovable good-humour
on which she piqued herself, as she made him a polite bow, and turned
round to speak to the Russian Minister, who, covered with orders, at
that moment came up to offer his obeisance to the well-known Princess
Vocqsal. Had he not constant advices from his intriguing Court to
devote much of his spare time to this fascinating lady? And had she not
once in her life baffled all the wiles of St. Petersburg, and stood
untempted by its bribes? Ill-natured people affirmed that another Power
paid a higher price, which accounted satisfactorily for the lady's
patriotism, but the Autocrat's Minister had his secret orders
notwithstanding.
And now she is deep in a lively argument, in which polished sarcasm and
brilliant repartee are bandied from lip to lip, each pointed phrase
eliciting a something better still from the Princess's soft mouth, till
her audience--diplomatists of many years' standing, warriors shrewd in
council and dauntless in the field, grey ambassadors and beardless
_attaches_--hang enraptured on her accents, and watch her looks with an
unaccountable fascination; whilst Victor de Rohan, hurt, moody, and
discontented, stalks fiercely to the doorway and mutters to himself, "Is
it for this I have given up home, friends, honour, and self-respect? To
be a mere puppet in the hands of a coquette, a woman's plaything, and
not even a favourite plaything, after all!"
Ladies have a peculiar gift which is enjoyed by no other members of the
creation whatsoever. We allude to that extraordinary property by which,
without any exertion of the visual organs, they can discern clearly all
that is going on above, below, around, and behind them. If a man wants
to _see_ a thing he requires to _look at it_. Not so with the other sex.
Their subtler instinct enables them to detect that which must be made
palpable to _our_ grosser senses. How else could Princess Vocqsal,
whose back was turned to him, and who was occupied in conversation with
the _elite_ of Austrian diplomatic society, arrive at the certainty that
Victor was not gone, as he had threatened--that he still lingered
unwillingly about the doorway, and now hailed as deliverers those prosy
acquaintances from whom, in the early part of the evening, he had been
so impatient to escape?
And yet he despised himself for his want of manhood and resolution the
while; and yet he reproached himself with his slavish submission and
unworthy cowardice; and yet he lingered on in hopes of one more glance
from her eye, one more pressure from her soft gloved hand. He had
parted with her in anger before, and too well he knew the bitter
wretchedness of the subsequent hours; he had not fortitude enough, he
_dared_ not face such an ordeal again.
So she knew he was not going yet; and, confident in her own powers,
pleased with her position, and proud of her conquests, she sparkled on.
"That's a clever woman," said an English _attache_ to his friend, as
they listened in the circle of her admirers.
And the friend, who was a little of a satirist, a little of a
philosopher, a little of a poet, and yet, strange to say, a thorough man
of the world, replied--
"Too clever by half, my boy, or I'm very much mistaken. Ninety-nine
women out of a hundred are natural-born angels, but the hundredth is a
devil incarnate, and _that's_ her number, Charlie, you may take my word
for it!"
And now a strange movement rises in that crowded assembly. A buzz of
voices is heard--lower, but more marked than the ordinary hum of
conversation. Something seems to have happened. A lady has fainted, or
an apoplectic general been taken suddenly ill, or a candelabrum has
fallen, and the magnificent hotel is even now on fire? None of these
casualties, however, have occurred. Voices rise higher in question and
reply. "Is it true?"--"I can't believe it!"--"They knew nothing of it
to-day on the Bourse."--"Another stock-jobbing report."--"Immense loss
on both sides." These are the disjointed sentences that reach the ear,
mingled with such terms as the Malakhoff--the Redan--the north
side--General Pelissier, etc. etc. English and French diplomatists
exchange curious glances, and at length rumour takes a definite form,
and it is boldly asserted that intelligence has that day arrived of the
fall of Sebastopol.
Tongues are loosened now. Surmise and speculation are rife upon future
events. Men speak as they wish, and notwithstanding the presence of
Monsieur Stein and several other secret agents of police, many a bold
opinion is hazarded as to the intentions of the Government and the
issues of the great contest. Princess Vocqsal scarcely breathes while
she listens. If, indeed, this should lead to peace, her large
investments will realise golden profits. She feels all the palpitating
excitement of the gambler, yet does the hue not deepen on her cheek, nor
the lustre kindle brighter in her eye. Monsieur Stein, who alone knows
her secrets, as it is his business to know the secrets of every one,
feels his very soul stirred within him at such noble self-command.
For a moment he thinks that were he capable of human weaknesses he could
_love_ that woman; and in pure admiration, as one who would fain prove
still further a beautiful piece of mechanism, he steps up to the
Princess, and informs her that "Now, indeed, doubt is at an end, for
reliable intelligence has arrived that Sebastopol has fallen!"
"Sebastopol has fallen," she repeats with her silver laugh; "then the
war has at last really begun!"
Her audience applaud once more. "_Ma foi, ce n'est pas mal_," says the
French Minister, and Monsieur Stein is on the verge of adoration; but
there is by this time a general move towards the door: carriages are
being called, and it is time to go away, the departure of the guests
being somewhat accelerated by the important news which has just been
made public. Victor is still lingering on the staircase. Many a bright
eye looks wistfully on his handsome form, many a soft heart would
willingly waken an interest in the charming young Count de Rohan, but
the Hungarian has caught the malady in its deadliest form--the "love
fever," as his own poets term it, is wasting his heart to the core, and
for him, alas! there is but one woman on earth, and she is coming
downstairs at this moment, attended by the best-dressed and best-looking
_attache_ of the French Legation.
Somewhat to this young gentleman's disgust, she sends him to look for
her carriage, and taking Victor's arm, which he is too proud to offer,
she bids him lead her to the cloak-room, and shawl her as he used to do
with such tender care.
He relents at once. What _is_ there in this woman that she can thus
turn and twist him at her will? She likes him best thus--when he is
haughty and rebellious, and she fears that at last she may have driven
him too far and have lost him altogether; the uncertainty creates an
interest and excitement, which is pleasure akin to pain, but it is so
delightful to win him back again,--_such_ a triumph to own him and
tyrannise over him once more! It is at moments of reconciliation such as
these that the Princess vindicates her woman-nature, and becomes a very
woman to the heart.
"You are angry with me, Victor," she whispers, leaning heavily on his
arm, and looking downwards as she speaks; "angry with me, and without a
cause. You would not listen to me an hour ago, you were so cross and
impatient. Will you listen to me now?"
The tears were standing in the strong man's eyes. "Speak on," he said;
"you do with me what you like, I could listen to you for ever."
"You were irritated because I told you I was about to leave Vienna. You
have avoided me the whole evening, and left me to be bored and annoyed
by that wearisome tribe of diplomatists, with their flat witticisms and
their eternal politics. Why did you not stay to hear me out? Victor,
it is true I go to-morrow, but I go to the Waldenberg."
How changed his face was now; his eye sparkled and his whole countenance
lightened up. He looked like a different man. He could only press the
arm that clung to his own; he could not speak.
"Will you continue to _bouder_ me?" proceeded the Princess in a playful,
half-malicious tone; "or will you forgive me and be friends for that
which is, after all, your own fault? Oh, you men! how hasty and violent
you are; it is lucky we are so patient and so good-tempered. The
Waldenberg is not so very far from Edeldorf. You might ask me there for
your _jour de fete_. I have not forgotten it, you see. Not a word
more, Count de Rohan; I must leave you now. Here is my carriage.
Adieu,--no, not adieu, _mon ami, au revoir_!"
Why was it such a different world to Victor from what it had been ten
short minutes ago, from what it would assuredly be the next time they
met, and her caprice and _coquetterie_ were again exhibited to drive him
wild? Was it worth all these days of uncertainty and anxious longing;
all these fits of jealousy and agonies of self-reproach; to be
deliriously happy every now and then for a short ten minutes? Was any
woman on earth worthy of all that Victor de Rohan sacrificed for the
indulgence of his guilty love? Probably not, but it would have been
hard to convince him. He was not as wise as Solomon; yet Solomon, with
all his wisdom, seems to have delivered himself up a willing captive to
disgrace and bondage--fettered by a pair of white arms--held by a thread
of silken hair. Oh, vanity of vanities! "_this is_ also vanity and
vexation of spirit."