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diff --git a/SoapBubbles-utf8.txt b/SoapBubbles-utf8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ee2e837 --- /dev/null +++ b/SoapBubbles-utf8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2575 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77764 *** + + + + + SOAP BUBBLES + + BY + MAX NORDAU + + Author of “Degeneration,” “Comedy of Sentiment,” + “The Right to Love,” “How Women Love,” Etc. + + TRANSLATED BY MARY J. SAFFORD + + + F. TENNYSON NEELY + PUBLISHER + 114 Fifth Avenue, New York + 1896 + + + + + + + + +INDEX TO STORIES. + + + PAGE + CANT AND HUMBUG. A story of English selfishness and + American thriftiness. 5 + WIFE VERSUS NATIVE LAND. This story shows how a man + may quit smoking for spite, but not for love. 38 + ALI HADJI EFFENDI. The adventures of a wandering + fanatic of Islam. 59 + THE CROSS AT THE CORNER. A story of the religious + devotion of an aged Hungarian. 80 + THE ALTAR PAINTING. The love tragedy of an Italian artist. 100 + A CHRISTMAS EVE IN PARIS. A pathetic incident of suffering + in the Franco-Prussian War, during the siege of Paris. 120 + THE STEPMOTHER. An ingenious discussion of that + much-abused matron. 139 + PAS DE CHANCE (No Chance). The story of a girl found in a + morgue. 158 + HOW THE FOX HUNTER FARED IN ENGLAND. A tragic and humorous + denouement, turning upon the Englishman’s code of fox + hunting. 186 + WITHIN AN INCH OF ETERNITY. This relates how a prison + physician’s hair turned white in a night, from horror + inflicted on him by two escaped prisoners. 213 + + + + + + + + +CANT AND HUMBUG. + + +Our train had pulled out of Ostend a few minutes before. The carriage +in which I had my seat contained its regular complement of six +passengers, all of whom, with the exception of myself, belonged to the +Anglo-Saxon race. We had scarcely left the station when tongues were +loosed, and an animated general conversation began, which enabled me to +recognize my companions by their shrill, loud tones and somewhat nasal +accents, as Americans. The only person who took no share in the talk +was a portly gentleman dressed in a traveling suit of conspicuous +style, who had placed his numerous articles of baggage in the net with +small regard for the effects of his fellow mortals, then settled +himself comfortably in a corner by the window and, after a swift, +searching glance at the other inmates of the railway carriage, began to +scan the somewhat monotonous landscape. Remarks which were indirectly +addressed to him were so utterly ignored that it would have been +supposed he did not understand English, had he not said—when one of the +Americans was preparing to light a cigar—in unmistakable English and +very emphatically: + +“I object to your smoking, sir; I am not aware that this is a smoking +carriage.” + +The Englishman’s bluntness and reserve evidently did not suit the taste +of the Americans, for they began to exchange pointed remarks about the +inhospitable social customs of the “Britishers,” their awkwardness in +their intercourse with others, and their punctilious formality in +social, political and religious matters, of which, however, the +Englishman took no more notice than he had formerly done of the +indirect attempts to draw him into the conversation. + +“I heard a story in London which describes the Britisher better than a +whole library could do,” exclaimed one of the Yankees who had been +among the loudest talkers. + +“Out with it! Hear! Hear!” cried the others in chorus, casting scornful +glances at the Englishman. The latter did not appear to notice it, he +was gazing very intently at a windmill, whose bizarre outline was +relieved against the horizon. + +“I must premise that the story is true, and that I met one of the +heroes only yesterday evening in London—my friend, Mr. Brown, from whom +I had it. This Mr. Brown was obliged, two years ago, to take a business +journey to Chili. He secured passage on one of the boats of the Pacific +Steam Navigation Co., and arrived without incident at Montevideo, where +several more passengers came on board. Beyond Punta Arenas a terrible +storm suddenly burst upon them, which first broke the helm, then swept +the smokestack from the deck, and finally shattered the screw. The +vessel was now a total wreck, the sport of the wind and waves, and, +after drifting aimlessly in the storm for several hours, it was at last +flung upon a reef, where it stuck fast. The captain, who had not lost +his calmness and presence of mind for a moment, ordered the lifeboats +to be lowered, and remained on board until the last passenger and the +last sailor had left the ship. The boats vainly endeavored to make +their way through the surges thundering upon the reef. One after +another was caught beneath the combing surf and overturned, a cry of +despair was heard above the howling of the tempest, then the boat, keel +uppermost, drifted in one direction, while in another faces distorted +by fear and hands clenched convulsively appeared above the foam-flecked +water only to vanish speedily. The boat Mr. Brown entered shared the +fate of the rest, but when it upset, my friend and another passenger +clung to the edge and, with tremendous effort, climbed up so that they +sat astride of the sharp keel. In this horrible situation, one behind +the other, they remained for several hours till the waves, whose +violence had now somewhat subsided, at last flung them on the flat, +sandy shore of a small island. The immediate peril of death was now +over, but Mr. Brown considered his situation a very melancholy one. He +had no taste for literary renown, and did not find the slightest +consolation for the financial loss which he must inevitably meet if he +did not reach Valparaiso at a certain time, in the thought that he +would eventually be celebrated as another Robinson Crusoe. However, he +tried to accommodate himself to the situation as well as he could. +After resting a short time and drying his clothes in the sun, he went +on an investigating tour through the island, which was not more than a +league in circumference. He discovered without difficulty that it was +uninhabited, but contained a sufficient quantity of fruit trees, birds’ +nests, shells, springs and caves to sustain the life of a shipwrecked +person. So he immediately prepared a sort of nest for himself of moss +and leaves at the foot of a large tree, and calmly accommodated himself +to the necessity of living here until some lucky accident should +deliver him from his unpleasant position. His companion in misfortune +had pursued precisely the same course as Mr. Brown. He, too, after a +tour of investigation had found a tolerably habitable grotto, in which +he made himself at home.” + +“But it would have been far more natural for them to live together,” +remarked one of the listeners. + +“It’s evident, Brother Josh, that you have lived in Europe only a week +and don’t understand English customs. How could Mr. Brown speak to the +other shipwrecked passenger, associate with him, or live in the same +cave, when they had not been introduced to each other?” + +The Americans laughed, while the Englishman appeared to be more than +ever absorbed in gazing at the landscape. + +“Several weeks,” the speaker continued, “elapsed in cheerless monotony. +Every morning the two shipwrecked men left their beds of moss and +washed at the only large spring in the island, during which they looked +coldly at each other, then they went in search of a few eggs, shells +and roots for breakfast, after which, of course, without taking the +slightest notice of each other, they met on the narrow top of a high +rock which projected into the sea and sat there silently for hours, +scanning the horizon with anxious eyes, always hoping to discover a +distant sail. For a long time this hope was unfulfilled. At last, after +they had spent nearly two months and a half on the island, Mr. Brown +had scarcely stationed himself at his usual post of observation when he +thought he saw, at the farthest verge of the horizon, a dark, moving +spot. Starting up, as if he had received an electric shock, he shaded +his eyes with his hand and gazed until he could no longer doubt that +what he beheld was the trail of smoke from a steamer. His companion, +whose attention had been attracted by Mr. Brown’s vehement movements, +followed the direction of his eyes, and a faint ‘Oh!’ which he suddenly +uttered revealed that he, too, had discovered the ship. Both now +transformed all their garments, coats, vests, shirts, flannel jackets, +into flags, which they waved frantically with both hands. But it needed +no special exertions to bring the steamer which was in sight to the +island. As they learned afterward, some of the men shipwrecked on their +own vessel had succeeded in righting one of the overturned boats, +getting into it, and, after unspeakable hardships, reaching the +mainland, where they brought tidings of the catastrophe. A ship was +sent to the scene of the disaster as quickly as possible to search for +any survivors of the wreck, and it was this vessel which Mr. Brown and +his companion had discovered on the morning described. After two hours +of excitement and anxiety, the rescuing steamer came so near that a +boat put off for the two involuntary islanders. They rushed down to the +flat, sandy tongue of land where the boat had touched, and a few +minutes later, comfortably seated in it, were on their way to the +steamer. The captain stood near the man-rope, waiting for them, greeted +them with a silent bow and a clasp of the hand, and requested them to +accompany him to his cabin. Here he placed a register before them and +asked them to write their names and residences. The stranger who had +been Mr. Brown’s companion on the island was the first to comply with +the request, as he happened to be standing nearer to the table. After +making the desired entries he yielded the pen to my friend Brown, who, +before beginning to write himself, glanced mechanically at the lines +which had just been inscribed in the book. Scarcely had he read them +when a strange emotion suddenly overpowered him. ‘Mr. William Lloyd +Jones, Valparaiso!’ he exclaimed aloud in a tremulous voice, then, +turning to the gentleman who stood beside him, he added: ‘Are you Mr. +W. L. Jones?’ ‘Yes,’ replied the other curtly, looking at him with +surprise and disapproval. ‘Oh, in that case,’—and Mr. Brown thrust his +hand into the breast pocket of his coat, whence he drew out a +letter,—‘in that case I have a letter of introduction to you from our +mutual friend, Mr. Smith, in London.’ While speaking, Mr. Brown handed +Mr. Jones his ‘introduction,’ whose address, it is true, was somewhat +effaced by the sea-water, but was still perfectly legible. Mr. Jones +methodically unfolded the paper, read it through attentively, and when +he had reached his friend Smith’s signature his hitherto stern face +suddenly brightened, he turned to Brown with overwhelming cordiality, +shook him vigorously by both hands, and exclaimed again and again: +‘Very happy to make your acquaintance, really very happy!’ Brown struck +himself on the forehead: ‘To think that I could not give you my +introduction on the island!’ ‘It is a pity, certainly,’ observed Jones; +‘we might have spent some very pleasant hours together.’ The +captain—also an Englishman—who had listened all the time in silence, +guessed the connection of affairs without difficulty, and, after this +little scene, was perfectly convinced that he was dealing with thorough +gentlemen. Brown and Jones became the best possible friends, and even +now, though one is living in London and the other in Valparaiso, +maintain a very active correspondence.” + +During the last few sentences of the story the American listeners gave +way to noisy mirth, which lasted several minutes after the speaker +stopped. When the outburst of hilarity was at last followed by silence, +we saw the Englishman—who until then had sat in his corner with an +expression of the utmost indifference on his immovable face—suddenly +smile and bow slightly to the narrator of the anecdote. “Sir,” he said, +“you have told a very interesting story, and I congratulate you upon +your acquaintance with the admirable Mr. Brown. But perhaps you will +now permit me also to relate an anecdote which, though less +entertaining, is also true, and whose scene is the United States.” + +Another “Hear! Hear!” even more eager than the former one, echoed from +all sides, and the Englishman began: + +“The French captain of cuirassiers, Monsieur Durand, one of my most +intimate friends in Paris, was sent to America by his government during +the last war between France and Germany, to buy horses for the army. +Late in October in the year 1870 he found himself in a little town in +Texas, which was famed only for a roughly built, very spacious circus, +where, shortly before, Mexican bull-fighters had given several +performances. Monsieur Durand, who had arrived in the afternoon and +gone to the only hotel in the place, was sitting in the drawing-room +that evening before an open fire which was extremely comfortable, and +had beside him a little table holding a bottle of claret and a glass. +As he stretched out his limbs, wearied by the long railway journey, and +gazed thoughtfully into the fire, the door opened and a second guest +entered the room. This was Mr. Jonathan Oilking, one of the most +prominent personages in the place, a man who had the reputation of +possessing great wealth and rare urbanity. Oilking, without a word of +greeting, or even touching his soft, broad-brimmed felt hat, went +straight to the fireside, pushed the chair occupied by the captain a +little aside, and, leaning against the mantelpiece with his back to the +fire, directly opposite to Durand, stared him directly in the face. + +“The Frenchman was strongly tempted to spring at the newcomer’s throat, +but thought, ‘custom of the country,’ and contented himself with +shrugging his shoulders and gazing at the ceiling instead of the +flames. Oilking warmed himself for some time with great satisfaction, +and then perceived the wine standing on the little table beside the +captain. With the greatest composure he seized the bottle, filled a +glass from it, and emptied it at a single gulp, after which he replaced +it, smacking his lips. Durand’s blood boiled, but he still controlled +himself and continued to scan the ceiling and walls with increased +attention. Oilking now remained motionless for a time, and only +occasional expectorations, which he performed noisily, always aiming at +a certain point, which he hit with great accuracy, proved that life +existed in his long, thin body. At last he interrupted the silence by +turning to Durand, with the question, ‘Stranger, are you the French +officer who has come here to buy horses?’ The Frenchman pretended not +to hear and gazed through the window at the woodland landscape outside. +Oilking laid his hand on the captain’s shoulder, repeating his +question. But the measure was now full to overflowing. Starting up, he +roared, in very doubtful English, ‘You are a boor, do you understand +me?’ Jonathan straightened himself and answered gently: ‘Stranger, +don’t repeat that, or I shall throw you out of the window.’ ‘You must +answer to me for this,’ raved Durand, ‘you shall give me satisfaction +for all the impertinences which you have already committed this +evening.’ ‘If that’s all,’ observed Oilking, still very calmly, ‘you +can be accommodated at once. Here is a bowie knife and here is a +revolver’—he drew both articles from his belt as he spoke—‘if you also +have weapons at hand, I’ll leave the choice to you whether I shall make +a buttonhole in your skin or rip a seam in your body. The room is +convenient, there is nothing to prevent our settling the matter at +once.’ Durand had become somewhat calmer and said to Oilking: ‘It is +not the custom in my country for people to kill themselves in closed +rooms without witnesses. I will try to find two seconds and send them +to you. They will arrange the conditions of the duel with you, and when +that is done you will find me at your disposal.’ With these words he +left the room and went directly to the landlord, to whom he related +what had happened and proposed that he should act as a witness and +provide another second. The landlord said that witnesses were a +superfluous luxury in a duel; but if the captain insisted upon his wish +he would willingly serve him; the head-waiter could act as a second +witness; he would merely add five dollars to the bill for this extra. +Durand, who had already become somewhat accustomed to American +peculiarities, took no offense at this latter remark of the landlord, +but requested him to go with the waiter at once to Oilking and settle +the affair with him. Returning to his room, Durand awaited the result +of the interview. At the end of an hour the landlord returned, and +hastily informed him that the duel could not take place until the +morning of the day after to-morrow; the weapon which Oilking, as the +challenged party, had chosen was the revolver; as to the place, he, the +landlord, would conduct Mr. Durand to it at the proper time. He had +scarcely uttered the last word of his hastily delivered message when +he, too, vanished without awaiting an answer from the captain. + +“Durand went quietly to rest and slept well all night. The next day he +spent in his room, wrote letters to his relatives and friends in France +and directions concerning his wishes in case he should be killed or +severely wounded. Toward noon he wanted to speak to the landlord, but +the latter could not be found; the captain was told that his second had +left town the evening before and would not return until that evening. +About twilight he did appear, and with him a number of guests, who +filled the hotel from attic to cellar with noisy life. The streets +which, hitherto, had been very quiet, were now full of bustle, and our +captain, who did not sleep as well as on the preceding night, could +hear the rattle of wheels, the sound of horses’ hoofs, and loud voices +from the street beneath. + +“At last the fateful morning dawned. Durand dressed carefully and +awaited what was to come. Toward nine o’clock the landlord and +head-waiter entered unceremoniously, asking, ‘Are you ready, Captain?’. +‘Yes.’ ‘Then come.’ Both led the way at a rapid pace, he followed. They +took him through the principal street and several side ones to a large +open square, in whose center stood the circus building previously +mentioned. The second went to a little door, opened it, and entered a +dark, narrow passage, into which Durand followed them with some little +hesitation. They evidently noticed his reluctance, for they seized the +astonished captain by the arms, hurried him swiftly along for several +paces, opened another little door, and ere the captain could prevent it +they were standing in the ring of the circus, which was packed from top +to bottom with a crowd numbering many hundreds of human beings, who, at +the appearance of Durand and his seconds, burst into a thunder of +applause and exultant cheers. + +“Durand stood as if a thunderbolt had struck him, not knowing what to +make of all this. ‘What does this ridiculous farce mean?’ he stammered, +turning to the landlord; but the latter did not hear, he was motioning +with both hands to the spectators to keep silence and, when the tumult +had partly subsided, he shouted with all the strength of his lungs: +‘Gentlemen, I have the honor to introduce the brave and famous French +captain of cuirassiers, Monsieur Durand, the sole survivor of the +glorious cuirassier charge at Reichshoffen. He will have the honor of +exchanging shots in your presence with an esteemed citizen of this +town, Mr. Jonathan Oilking.’ Again the audience began to applaud and +cheer and, at the same moment, a little door opposite to the one +through which Durand had entered, opened, and in came Jonathan in a +fantastic Indian costume, accompanied by two friends. + +“Durand now guessed what was in store. Half stifled with rage and +excitement, he dealt the landlord, who was standing by his side, a +violent blow in the breast and darted with the speed of lightning to +the little door, through which, an instant after, he vanished. + +“You can guess, gentlemen, what had happened. The appearance of the +landlord whom Durand sent to him gave Oilking a brilliant idea. He +agreed with him to make the duel a business matter. That very evening +they sent several workmen to the circus, who, by torchlight, repaired +the somewhat dilapidated building and mended the rows of seats. They +themselves went at once to the neighboring town, called Rome or Paris, +I don’t remember which, ordered placards to be printed, in which the +public was offered on the following day, for a payment of two dollars, +the spectacle of a public duel ‘with the brave and famous Captain +Durand, of Paris, the sole survivor of the charge of the cuirassiers at +Reichshoffen,’ inserted advertisements in the two local papers, induced +one to publish a leading article upon the battle of Reichshoffen, the +other an account of the heroic deeds of Captain Durand in this battle, +personally diffused the expectation that Durand would appear in the +uniform worn on the day of Reichshoffen, and by all these expedients +achieved so great a success that in the evening a special train left +Rome—or Paris—to convey the curious spectators, and the next morning, +an hour before the time appointed on the placards, every seat in the +circus was sold at two dollars. + +“Durand made his way out of the place as speedily as possible, and +after this adventure gave up his plan of buying horses in Texas. As for +Oilking and the landlord, they had some very unpleasant minutes to +experience after Durand’s departure from the ring. Part of the audience +laughed, others grumbled, some demanded the return of their money, +others wanted to have a duel at any rate, and said that they would be +satisfied with one between the landlord and Oilking; in short, there +was a great uproar, and I have been told that the special +correspondents who had hastened here from the neighboring cities did +not return without having to report the exchange of several bullets and +blows.” + +The Englishman paused. At the same moment the train stopped and the +guard shouted loudly: “Brussels!” The Americans, who had listened to +the speaker with great amusement, left the carriage, but not without +first shaking hands with the Englishman, exclaiming merrily: “Well +parried, Cousin Britisher!” + + + + + + + + +WIFE VERSUS NATIVE LAND. + +A STORY FOR SMOKERS. + + +The L. drawing-room is not large, but it is uncommonly pleasant. The +tastefully furnished apartment, heated by a tall white porcelain stove, +is very comfortable. A pretty hanging lamp of antique form diffuses a +subdued light, which is far more adapted to promote innocent chat than +a strong, brilliant illumination. + +Eight or ten of us formed a merry party in this drawing-room, as we +leaned comfortably back in the velvet armchairs, while tea, in Chinese +cups, sent forth its fragrance before us. The round table consisted +principally of ladies, and the time was just after the first +fashionable balls, yet our conversation did not turn upon the carnival +and its pleasures. It is almost incredible that a tea party in the +carnival season could occupy itself with so abstract a question, but we +were actually discussing which would probably be the stronger, love or +patriotism? Since there was not a single blue-stocking in the group, it +is still perfectly incomprehensible how we could have reached this +serious subject; but the fact is that, without perceiving how the topic +came on the carpet, we suddenly found ourselves in the midst of the +most animated interchange of thought. + +Opinions were greatly divided. Some ascribed larger powers and more +mighty influence over the human mind to patriotism, others to love. + +“Oh,” murmured a slender girl with fair hair and pale blue eyes, the +happy bride of a fortnight, “I am firmly convinced that love is a +stronger feeling than patriotism, nay, that no other can equal it in +might. How many more human beings love has inspired to heroic deeds, +nay, to self-sacrifice, than patriotism!” While thus declaiming in a +sentimental tone, she cast at her husband, who was sitting by her side, +a tender, languishing glance, which was probably intended to be an +eloquent commentary on her words. + +The enviable bridegroom did not entirely agree with the being of his +choice, but thought that in youth love, in mature years, on the +contrary, patriotism would exert the greater power. + +“As for me,” quoth the doctor, a somewhat pedantic man, who, even at +tea parties, can neither think nor speak except according to +Aristotelian categories, “I think that here national and race +characteristics have the strongest influence. The cold Northerner can +be roused to more intense enthusiasm by the abstract idea of the native +land than the hot-blooded Southron, who would be fired more speedily by +a creature of flesh and blood. The German stock of the Swiss Alemanni +could produce a Winkelried, but the Indian who, for love of the invalid +daughter of the Spanish governor, betrayed the secret of the chinchona +tree, known only to the native, and thereby broke the power of the +fever, which was on the point of ridding America of the foreign +oppressor, was a Southerner, and more accessible to the suggestions of +love than to those of patriotism. A Swede or an Englishman may be able +to sacrifice more for his native land than for the woman whom he loves, +but I doubt if this is true of a Spaniard or an Italian.” + +The most noticeable woman in our circle was Frau von G. She was a +somewhat stout but remarkably well-preserved person, whose forty years +would scarcely be noticed even by an eye which did not look through the +glasses of gallantry. Shining black hair framed a face of noble mould; +sparkling black eyes, a classically moulded nose, a delicately curved +upper lip, slightly shaded by an almost imperceptible velvety down, and +a full, firm, round chin, combined with a delicate brunette complexion +to produce a countenance whose Southern type was unmistakable. Had not +her appearance and manner betrayed it, her accent would have revealed +that she was a foreigner. + +Frau von G. had listened silently and attentively, but the doctor’s +last remark called a smile to her lips, and induced her to mingle in +the conversation. + +“I cannot fully assent to what you have just said of the Spaniards and +Italians, Doctor,” she remarked. “If you will allow me, I’ll relate a +little episode from my own life which will prove that, under certain +circumstances, patriotism can influence even an Italian more powerfully +than love.” + +The interest with which every face turned toward the fair speaker +contained the most flattering invitation to tell her story. + +“You know that I am a native of Milan, and did not leave my birthplace +until ten years ago, when my husband’s business summoned him here. I +was a girl of eighteen when the insurrection in Lombardy was quelled. +Marshal Radetzky entered Milan at the head of a victorious army, the +‘sword of Italy’ was broken, and every patriot, with bleeding heart, +was forced to renounce the hopes which he had seen on the verge of +realization. Oh, you who have not experienced those days can have no +idea of their sorrow and discouragement. The state of siege, to which +city and country were condemned, exerted a disturbing influence upon +every detail of our daily lives. We avoided the Scala, for there we +beheld the hateful spectacle of two soldiers, standing with their guns +in the proscenium at the right and left of the stage, and constantly +reminding us of the humiliation and misfortune of our native land; we +omitted our usual walks on the Corso, for there we were continually +insulted by Austrian officers. Every family was restricted to its own +circle. We lived within our own four walls, and you can scarcely +imagine how much weariness and melancholy this means to us Italians. + +“During this terrible period I made the acquaintance of Albert v. G., +who afterwards became my husband. He was my brother’s classmate at +college, and afterward, like him, became an engineer. Albert was +handsome and agreeable, and his visits were doubly welcome in that +dull, wearisome time. That I was not indifferent to him, I soon +discovered. At first he came with my brother, and left the house with +him. Later he came alone, but soon went away if he was not at home. +Finally, he became our daily guest, and as my parents, too, did not +object to his visits, he remained longer and longer with me, and at +last entertained me for hours with his clever, pleasant chat. + +“We were very well acquainted and already on familiar terms, when one +day—he had been sitting all the morning reading aloud to me—he suddenly +asked permission to light a cigar. + +“‘What,’ I exclaimed, almost terrified, ‘are you a smoker, Albert?’ + +“You must know that at that time I had a great aversion to men who +smoked. I could not praise my brother enough for not having acquired +the unpleasant habit, and declared a hundred times that I would rather +endure anything than to kiss a man who sullied his lips with the +disagreeable weed. + +“Until then I had not known that Albert was a smoker, for, of course, +there was no smoking in my drawing-room, and I had no opportunity to +discover his vice elsewhere. + +“The vehemence of my question confused him. + +“‘Yes, I smoke,’ he answered hesitatingly, ‘but what is there +extraordinary about that?’ + +“‘True,’ I cried, ‘unfortunately there is nothing extraordinary about +it, but I will tell you this that I will never marry a man who takes a +cigar into his mouth. I cannot endure such a person, he is utterly +detestable in my eyes.’ + +“Albert looked at me in surprise, but said nothing and merely slipped +the cigar he had already taken out back into his pocket. Then he +remained with me a short time in a depressed, silent mood, and soon +took his leave. + +“The next day he came again and tried to assume a cheerful, +unembarrassed manner. Without any introduction he seized the first +opportunity to turn the conversation upon smoking, and said jestingly +that yesterday he had been fairly frightened out of his wits, probably +I did not mean what I said so seriously, he hoped I should become +accustomed to his habit, etc. But I understood no jesting on this +subject, and again, with the utmost earnestness, protested that I could +not endure a man who smoked and never would accustom myself to the +habit. On the contrary, I expected that a man who loved me would make +the sacrifice of renouncing the unpleasant vice. + +“My avowal threw Albert into a state of melancholy, which would now +seem to me very comical, but then grieved me to the heart. He was very +sorrowful, and left me with the air of a most miserable man. From that +time his cheerfulness deserted him, he sighed constantly in the most +heartrending manner, and his eyes always had a sorrowful expression. +This mood lasted about a week and caused me much suffering, but I could +not and would not change it; Albert must give up smoking, or we would +separate. + +“One day my brother came to me, and took me to task for my folly. +Albert was stealing about like a shadow, and no longer dared to visit +me; I ought not to torment him any longer with my foolish obstinacy, +but, in Heaven’s name, let him have his cigar; he had already made the +attempt to give up smoking, but the habit was stronger than his will, +and he would really fall sick from it. Here I could no longer refrain +from interrupting him bitterly: ‘So I am to have a husband who is not +strong enough to give up a ridiculous habit? If he loves me he must do +it for my sake; now I really insist upon it, for I shall see in it a +test of his love.’ + +“My brother scolded and raged, but all was useless, and I clung to my +resolve. I should weary you if I were to tell you all the details of +this quarrel, whose memory has a peculiar charm for me. Suffice it to +say that at last Albert came to me, and, with tears in his eyes, begged +me not to be cruel any longer, and, as usually happens, I wept, too, +and said: ‘Very well, I will show you that my love is stronger than +yours. You would not give up your habit for my sake, I will try, for +yours, to conquer my repugnance.’ + +“Shortly after we were married Alfred smoked as before. In spite of his +cigars I felt very, very happy with him, and had entirely forgotten the +sorrowful weeks of sulking, when I was reminded of it in a very +peculiar way. + +“We had been wedded about six months when I noticed, one evening, that +Albert did not light a cigar after supper, as usual. I secretly +wondered, but thought it mere accident. The next day there was the same +abstinence, which I remarked, and which engaged my attention +completely. When, on the third evening, it was repeated, I was +extremely curious and much excited. ‘What,’ I thought, ‘is Albert +voluntarily making the sacrifice for the wife which he would not yield +to the entreaties of the betrothed bride?’ My heart exulted over this +proof of love, and I considered myself—don’t laugh—the happiest of +mortals. I set about a careful inspection and made the most delightful +discoveries. The cigar box on Albert’s desk was empty; his beautiful +amber mouthpiece, which he usually had with him, lay on some papers as +a paper-weight—there was no doubt of it, Albert had given up smoking. + +“I could no longer help expressing my joy. ‘Albert,’ I said one +evening, ‘you are an angel, you not only relinquish smoking for my +sake, but you are too delicate to say a single word about it, or to +betray, by the slightest sign, what a painful effort it costs you.’ +While speaking, I embraced and kissed him with genuine enthusiasm. + +“But, to my great astonishment, this outburst of tenderness embarrassed +him. He escaped from my arms and lowered his eyes before my questioning +gaze. After a sorrowful pause, he said at last, in a hesitating, +uncertain voice: ‘My sweet, little wife, I might play the part of being +generous and self-sacrificing, but I think it is more manly to confess +the truth. So learn that I have not given up my cigar for your sake, +but—for that of my native land! You know that the tobacco monopoly has +been introduced by the Austrian government; we have now agreed that +every patriot will give up smoking, in order, so far as lies in his +power, to lessen the receipts of the treasury. This may seem to you +trivial, but we must deal the foe needle-pricks, if we cannot attack +him with the sword.’ + +“To tell you the truth, I sulked for several days; but at last I +considered the matter, and resolved to show that an Italian woman can +be no less patriotic than an Italian man. I forgave my husband, and +even praised him for his resolution, which I could not help thinking +heroic. ‘The idea that you love anything better than you do me,’ I said +to him, ‘becomes endurable only by remembering that this something +is—our native land.’ + +“So you see,” added Frau von G., as she concluded her story, turning to +the doctor with a smile, “that, even in an Italian, patriotism is more +powerful than love, and the hot-blooded Italian sacrificed to the +abstract idea of his native land the cigar which he had not been +willing to give up for the sake of a creature of flesh and blood.” + + + + + + + + +MEMORIES OF HUNGARY. + + +I. + +ALT HADJI EFFENDI. + + +The inhabitants of Pesth are very ungrateful people. Venice bestowed a +thousand ducats upon a poet who glorified the splendor of the city of +the Doges in two mediocre distiches; Rome gladdened her historian, +Gregorovius, with the offer of publishing his work at her own expense; +even Belgrade knew how to honor Laboulaye, because he had written a few +friendly essays about the metropolis of Servia; the people of Pesth +alone did nothing for a writer who had striven unweariedly to bring the +beauties of the Hungarian capital near the distant East in the most +musical Persian ghasels and quatrains. He lived in their midst, the +enthusiastic bard of their renown, but no one troubled himself about +poor Ali Hadji Effendi, and the only attention which the authorities +showed him consisted in having him occasionally locked up by the +policemen for unauthorized peddling. + +Worthy Ali Hadji Effendi was not blessed with worldly goods; for +reasons which Schiller has explained in his “Division of the Earth,” he +had not succeeded in obtaining a place in the temple service of the +golden calf, and since, in consequence of the defective school system +of Hungary, the Persian language is still far too little diffused among +the people of Pesth for him to hope to be able to maintain himself +respectably by the sale of his poems, he had determined to carry on a +little retail business, whose flourishing development was often checked +by an act of official rigor. + +He was an interesting figure, this slender, black-bearded, dreamy-eyed, +sunburnt Oriental, who, years ago, established his perambulating wares, +sometimes on one street corner of Pesth, sometimes on another and with +quiet satisfaction awaited purchasers behind them. A dense throng of +school children, maid-servants, and apprentices constantly surrounded +him, eyeing with great interest the treasures he displayed. Real glass +diamonds glittered in polished brass rings, Turkish and Christian +rosaries of amber and coral lay side by side in a tolerance worthy of +imitation, small knives, toothpicks, and needle-books completed the +stock of wares, with the exception of one evidently unpurchasable +show-piece, an exquisitely wrought halberd—which he had to show. +Customers were allowed to rummage among the articles at will, and only +when some boy, with insolvency written upon his—nose, created too much +disorder, did Ali raise his voice, ordering him, in deep, guttural +tones, to desist from his mischief. He could support his Persian words +with such expressive gestures of the hands that even the most ignorant +cobbler’s apprentice instantly understood them. + +How had Ali Hadji Effendi come to Pesth? The question is not difficult +to answer. In the Mohammedan world there is an order of dervishes whose +members have all taken upon themselves the vow of a life of constant +wandering. The adherents of this order are called Hadjis. The Hadji has +no home, or rather his home is the great world of Islam. And Islam +never gives up a province which it has once possessed. So, as kings +bear the title of provinces which their forefathers lost centuries ago, +Islam regards as its own countries where, for a long time, no mosque +has raised its slender minaret and airy dome toward the sky. As the +seas of former geological periods have everywhere left their shell +fish, which are now found on lofty mountain peaks in the midst of +continents, the Turkish flood which submerged Europe a century and a +half ago has also, after subsiding, everywhere left a trace, the grave +of a Mohammedan saint. Ofen cherishes the resting-place of such a +saint; Gül Baba, the Father of Roses, sleeps his eternal sleep there, +and an ancient, half ruined mosque, which rises above his grave, is the +last monument in this neighborhood of the former greatness and power of +the Turkish Empire. From the frontiers of China, from India to the +Ofner Mountains, stretches an unbroken chain of the graves of saints, +and many formerly in Mohammedan soil are now surrounded by unbelievers. +But an army of Hadjis is constantly in motion, passing from one saint’s +grave to another, and there is no resting-place of a pious Moslem so +remote, or so hidden, that some Hadjis do not annually visit it, to +throw themselves upon their faces, murmur proverbs from the Koran, +humbly praise the goodness and wisdom of Allah, and then continue their +aimless pilgrimage. The Orientals have the devout belief that the dead +whose graves are now in the land of the infidels would throw themselves +over the bridge of hell, in sheer anguish, if they should learn that +the crescent had been driven from these regions. Therefore, from time +to time, Moslems must visit these graves, in order to maintain their +belief that everything remained as it was during their lives, and that +the crescent still shone with undimmed radiance. + +The Hadjis do not beg; in the sunny lands of the East, where the sky +and the earth provide for the poor as loving parents care for their +infant children, where the shade of the roof above a well, or of a +mosque, affords hospitable shelter, and the fig tree by the wayside +sweet food, they can spend the whole day in pious, contemplative +idleness, but when they enter the inhospitable country of the Giaours, +where the sky is as harsh as the manners of the people, and the prison +is the only place which affords shelter gratis, they carry on a trade +in all sorts of trifles, and thus obtain the means to satisfy their few +needs. + +Ali Hadji Effendi was one of these wandering dervishes; he had seen +many lands and peoples; had washed the dust of the roads from his feet +in the rivers of three-quarters of the globe; he had listened to the +dashing of the Ganges, the Euphrates, the Nile, and the Danube, and was +versed in the languages of all the nations that dwell in the wide +region between the Himalaya and the Caucasus. In his Persian home he +had been renowned as a poet, and the street singers still chant his +love songs in the squares of Bagdad. One spring, in his journeying, he +came to Pesth, where he instantly sought out several well-known +Orientalists—Vámbéry, Goldziher, and others—and asked them to write in +Persian characters the Hungarian words which would be indispensable for +daily use, for instance, reckoning, the names of coins, of his goods, +etc. + +It would scarcely be believed that the Persian dervish knew the Pesth +Orientalists, yet it was so. Somewhere in Roumelia, at the foot of the +Balkans, or still farther away in Anatolia, a Hadji journeying westward +meets such men on their way to the East. They sit silently side by side +on the divan or the rush-mat, their fingers play with the beads of the +rosary, and their lips softly murmur passages from the Koran. Suddenly +one raises his voice and says: “Brother! You are going toward the West, +to the land of the unbelievers. If you reach the city of the Magyars, +Pesth, go to the great palace on the bank of the Danube. It is called +the Academy. Mention the names of Vámbéry and Goldziher Effendi, and +you will be taken to men who fear God and are kind to strangers.” The +other answers: “Brother, you are directing your steps eastward and will +reach Benares. Walk through the bazaar there, and where you see the +shop of a dealer in weapons, between two silk merchants, enter and +greet him; you will be well treated.” So the Hadjis bear the fame of +hospitable men to distant quarters of the world, and wherever they meet +one another they exchange addresses. + +Ali Hadji Effendi was soon at home in Pesth. What great trouble was +necessary for the purpose? His patrons obtained from the authorities +permission for him to remain, and he could pursue his business. Every +morning he came from his night quarters with his wares, and wandered +through the streets. Wherever he found shade and a clean spot he +unfolded his rug, sat down with crossed legs, arranged his goods, and, +with Oriental patience, awaited customers. Nothing could disturb his +equanimity. If the children teased him, he smilingly shook his finger +at them. To a boy who once thrust a pin through his turban from behind, +he addressed a very edifying and moral lecture in the Persian language, +summing up the instruction at the close in the two words “Nem szip” +(not right), which he uttered with a grave shake of the head. He could +not be roused to anger; it was impossible to irritate him. + +If a soldier came, who wanted to give his sweetheart, usually one of +the Slavonic race, a surprise, and wished to buy a brass ring with +glass, or even a silver one, set with turquoise, Ali waited quietly +till he had selected something, and then named the price, about +twenty-three kreuzers. The purchaser, usually in a shout, as if the +Persian could understand German better if spoken in a loud than in a +low tone, made his offer, but Ali did not say another word and would +not have accepted twenty-two kreuzers and a half for the ring. Not +until the sum which he had named was paid in full did he deliver the +article and receive the money, which, without counting, he thrust into +his belt. He never allowed any haggling, this was a principle of his +business, and it may readily be supposed that, under such +circumstances, his receipts were not large from customers who mainly +belonged to the servant class. + +If he thought he had made enough, or if the time seemed long, he spread +an old piece of sack cloth over his wares and lay down on his carpet to +sleep. He had no fear of thieves, and the kindness and honesty of the +public had never disappointed him. Often, too, the poetic inspiration +seized him, and then he drew from his girdle a small yellow book and +wrote Persian verses in it. If, at such a time, customers attempted to +interrupt him, he waved them off with a gesture of the hand, and +remained for hours utterly oblivious of his surroundings. When the poem +was finally finished, he beckoned to the bystanders until they formed a +dense circle around him, and declaimed his verse in a half song. His +ears feasted on the melody of his own creation. In the zeal of reading +aloud he rose, his eyes flashed, his voice trembled, he explained +single verses, described to his listeners the beauty of an image, the +wit of a turn of speech, and when he had finished and his glance +wandered over the spectators, who were staring at him in astonishment, +he smilingly protested, “Szip, szip!” (Fine, fine!), pointing to the +little book with his finger. + +On the very first day of his sojourn in Pesth he composed a ghasel of +four lines, a literal translation of which would run as follows: + + + “O city on the Danube, home of men with open hand, + Thy loins the river girdles like unto a silver band, + Thy head the mountains, diadem of emerald green, doth grace, + Alas, that the crescent from thee must now avert its face.” + + +One day a hard-hearted policeman arrested him and drove him to the +town-hall. There he cleared himself and was released in a few hours. He +avenged himself on the rude fellow with the following sarcastic ghasel: + + + “As the laden camel through the streets of Samarcand men drive, + So here, mistaking a command, to urge me on they strive. + The armed policeman, swearing, doth press me toward the gaol, + Yet he, too, is also driven: for folly drives his soul.” + + +Daily he composed a song in praise of the city of Pesth and of Hungary. +He described the beauty of the Ofner Mountains, the majesty of the +giant river, the splendor of the palatial buildings, the proud men, the +fair women; and when he had a series of ghasels he went to his patrons +and read them aloud to them. Often, too, he carried his goods home at +midday and paid a visit to Vámbéry or Goldziher. Removing his slippers +outside the door, he silently entered the room, mutely greeted the +occupant by touching his brow, lips, and breast with his hand, then +went to the book-case, took from the place he knew so well the heroic +verse of Firdusi, the divine poems of Hâfiz, or the mocking ones of +Omar Khayyám, sat down on the floor with crossed legs, read the Persian +writers for an hour, then closed the volume, restored it to its place +and, with another silent greeting, went away. + +Thus one whole summer passed, autumn came, the leaves began to fall +from the trees, and the swallows were preparing to depart. Our Hadji +Ali Effendi soon felt too cold in his blue calico caftan, and one day +he was no longer seen in the streets of Pesth. + +He had drawn his girdle closer, wound his turban anew, taken in his +hand the knotted staff which had been his companion from Küenlün to the +Blocksberg, and set forth again on his pilgrimage. Outside the city he +had paused, raised his hand to his brow, his lips, and his breast, and +then silently continued his way eastward without another backward +glance. + +But perhaps, years later, some beautiful almeh will sing in the bazaar +of Bassora, to the music of the mandolin, the song which the traveling +dervish composed in praise of the hospitable city in the distant West, +and the visitors to the market, seated in a circle around, will nod +their heads approvingly to the rhythm of the verse: + + + “O city on the Danube, home of men with open hand, + Thy loins the river girdles like unto a silver band, + Thy head the mountains, diadem of emerald green, doth grace, + Alas, that the crescent from thee must now avert its face.” + + + + + + + + +MEMORIES OF HUNGARY. + + +II. + +THE CROSS AT THE CORNER. + + +For years my way led me, several times a day, through Tabakgasse in +Pesth, and I was therefore obliged to pass a crucifix erected at the +corner where Kreuzgasse opens into Tabakgasse. It was a weather-beaten, +insignificant affair, such as is rarely seen in the cities, but more +frequently met with on country roads and in poor villages, and was +evidently as old as the quarter of the city in whose midst it stood; +Kreuzgasse undoubtedly took its name from it. A century and a half +before, when the “inner city” became too small for the population, and +a few bold colonists built the first houses outside the wall upon the +loose sand of the Rákos, the founders of the Theresienstadt erected at +the same time this crucifix, probably to place the new quarter of the +city under the special protection of the Crucified One. + +The artless piety of these people required no external stimulation by +works of art. Their religious feeling did not demand a beautiful and +monumental form for the object of their reverence, and was sufficiently +intense to be satisfied even with a badly-colored image, a shapeless +wooden cross. The crucifix just mentioned was a proof of that touching +power of faith, which understands how to transfigure even the rude and +ugly with the nimbus of reverence. It is difficult to imagine a less +beautiful and imposing structure than this crucifix. Two rough beams, +fastened into the form of a cross, on which was nailed a piece of iron +shaped into the outlines of a human figure, that was all. The hand of +some Beotian, doubtless very devout, but totally ignorant of the beauty +of oak blackened by age, had smeared the cross with a coat of the most +hideous shade of brick-red, and painted on the iron, with much +goodwill, but very little art, the image of the Saviour. + +A hundred and fifty years do not pass over so primitive a work of art +without some trace. In many spots on the iron, now half corroded with +rust, the color had come off entirely; the Redeemer’s image lacked an +eye, only a small portion of the crown of thorns remained, the legs +showed especially comprehensive damages, the face and breast were +covered with rust stains, which looked like dried drops of blood and +produced effects which the “artist” certainly had not intended. Even +the wood had not been left untouched by the tooth of time; countless +cracks and crevices intersected the entire length of the beams; one +could not expect them to continue to oppose the invincible tenacity and +defiance of the oak to the attacks of the drenching autumn rains, the +parching heat of summer, and the fierce blasts of the tempest. When, at +a late hour of the silent night, I walked through the empty street and +passed the cross, I heard distinctly the monotonous tapping of the +wood-beetle, whose jaws vied with decay and disintegration to +accomplish the destruction of the crucifix. + +This description has probably convinced everyone that the cross in +itself was neither remarkable nor valuable; yet the sight of it always +made me thoughtful, nay filled me with a certain emotion. Poor, iron +Saviour! There he stood, deserted by God and man. No one prayed to Him, +no one offered vows, He was in everyone’s way. The generation that +placed Him here, the other generations, whose hearts He had filled with +devotion, had died long ago; in this age and environment He was alien +and desolate. Most people passed the crucifix without vouchsafing it a +single glance. True, in rainy weather it attracted a certain degree of +attention, but this was wholly profane. As it stood exactly in the +center of the narrow sidewalk, no one carrying an open umbrella could +pass between it and the wall, so there was only the choice of shutting +the umbrella and walking several paces under the streaming eaves, or +keeping it open and leaving the sidewalk, that is, wading several paces +through mire a foot deep. Both equally aroused the wrath of pedestrians +against the obstacle in their path, and they complained that the +magistrates allowed such hindrances to traffic. + +A crucifix degraded to be a hindrance to traffic! Could it fail to lose +its sanctity in the eyes of the populace? No one raised his hat, no one +made the sign of the cross in passing. Only plain peasants still knelt +devoutly before it, and the birds used it as a welcome resting-place. +The swallow, seeking food for her nestlings, wearied by the busy +exercise of her maternal duties, perched for a moment’s rest on the +Saviour’s outstretched arm and, at the foot of the crucifix, an old +beggar woman frequently crouched, letting the worn, distorted features +of the Crucified One plead for sympathy and alms for herself. + +At a certain time a momentous change suddenly occurred. Workmen began +to demolish the corner-house, whose faithful Eckart the crucifix had +been for a century. And in fact it was not too soon. The low structure, +built of unbaked bricks, which looked as if it had sunk to its knees in +the earth, its windowless wall facing the street, its mouldering, +moss-grown shingle roof, and horribly dirty courtyard, no longer suited +the modern city with its fashionable boulevards. As at that time I +expected to be obliged to pass through this street for a considerable +time longer, I followed every change for the better in its physiognomy +with very natural interest. I watched with satisfaction the rise of +lofty scaffoldings, which indicated the erection of a new building +several stories high, the piles of brick, heaps of sand and building +stones, and the throngs of masons and hod-carriers. Only when, one +morning, I again passed by and noticed the rapid progress of the +demolition, I suddenly observed that the crucifix was missing. It had +been there the evening before, now it had vanished. It had been torn +from the ground in the night, a rude hand had hacked the wood and +broken the iron, the cross at the corner no longer existed. + +I will not deny that its disappearance grieved me. I was so accustomed +to see it several times a day as I hurried by. A beggar at the corner, +a swallow’s nest under the cornice, a flower seller in front of the +door, may gain importance in a man’s habits of life; why not also a +crucifix at the crossing of two streets? The thought that I should +never again see that shabby old iron image, the rude red cross, filled +me with regret. I involuntarily asked myself whether anybody in the +world would miss the poor old crucifix. Hardly. And yet, forgotten and +forsaken as it was, it must still have had one faithful friend. Traces +of a care-taking hand were often visible on the cross; many signs +showed that now and then some one still remembered it. The thick layers +of dust and dirt which usually darkened the Saviour’s painted face were +often carefully washed off, though the wind soon renewed them; on many +feast days a modest wreath, a little bunch of flowers, adorned the +cross, and on the great festivals of the Catholic Church an ancient +lantern, behind whose red panes glimmered a dim little light, hung +before it. + +While still thinking of the unknown person who had addressed me through +the attentions lavished upon the ancient crucifix, a new figure that +appeared on the scene aroused my interest. An old woman, shabbily but +neatly dressed, came up the street and suddenly stopped, as if rooted +to the earth, when she noticed the absence of the cross. With an +emotion which she was unable to subdue, she clasped her hands and gazed +fixedly at the hole in the ground where, for a century and a half, the +cross had been set. Several minutes passed ere she recovered herself +and hastily approached a man who was giving the workmen directions—he +was evidently the overseer of the building operations. + +“Sir,” she said in a trembling voice, “the cross has been taken away. +Could you tell me what has been done with it?” + +The person addressed stared at her a moment, then, with a rude laugh, +answered: “What has been done with the cross? Why, what should be done +with it? Somebody used it to cook his supper!” + +With these words he turned from the old woman and continued his orders +to the workmen. + +I approached the aged dame and asked sympathizingly why she had +inquired about the fate of the cross? At first she did not reply, then, +after a short pause, she said in an agitated tone: + +“If I should tell you, perhaps you would laugh, like yonder fellow.” + +I assured her of the contrary, and my expression probably confirmed the +truth of my words, for she allowed herself to be persuaded to open her +heart to me. + +“You see,” she began, “I am an old woman—seventy-five years—and I have +no relatives left in the world. All my kindred, all the friends of my +youth are dead, and this old cross was the sole object which reminded +me of the happy days of my childhood. What do I say—object? It was a +friend, a living being that could speak to me. I was born in the house +which they are tearing down. I played at the foot of the crucifix when +I was a little child. Later, when I grew older and began to go to +school, my mother told me to kiss the cross whenever I passed it, +because then God would help me and I should repeat my lessons well at +school. + +“In those days the cross was not so old and unsightly as it became +afterward. The image of the Christ was kept freshly painted, and had a +beautiful gilt halo around its head. And the people showed great +reverence for it. You know,” she added, glancing with a peculiar +expression upward to the steeples of the neighboring synagogue, “at +that time this neighborhood was almost exclusively Catholic, and not +one of these men would have passed without at least lifting his hat and +crossing himself. The crucifix was always adorned with flowers, images +of the saints, and wreaths, and the master of the house kept a light +burning before it. Corpus Christi Day was the most beautiful holiday in +the year to the girls in the house. Then the procession passed, and we +adorned the cross with flowers, leaves and ribbons. It was our task, +and we performed it so gladly. + +“Don’t laugh at me, but from my earliest childhood I regarded ‘our’ +crucifix as my friend and patron. If, when a little girl, I wished for +anything, I slipped out of the door, late at night, when there was no +one in the street, went to the cross, clasped my arms around it, and +said softly: ‘Dear Jesus, I pray Thee, give me this or that!’ If I +received it, I went out again and thanked the crucifix for it. + +“I grew up and people said that I was a pretty girl. Then I made the +acquaintance of a young student, who visited me two years—and afterward +married me,” she added hastily. “He always spent the evening with me, +and, when he went away, I accompanied him first to the gate, where we +lingered a while, and then to the corner, where we paused again. If he +wanted to kiss me when we parted I would not permit it—the presence of +the crucifix shamed me.” + +“But not always!” I interrupted, smiling. + +The old dame pretended not to hear my remark and hurriedly continued: +“My lover obtained an appointment in the city and married me. On my +wedding day my girl friends adorned the crucifix as beautifully as if +the Corpus Christi procession was to pass. A year later a son was born, +a beautiful child, fair, blue-eyed and chubby; when I went out, +carrying him in my arms, people stopped, took him from me, and never +wearied of kissing him. He grew finely and learned to walk and to talk, +then he suddenly fell sick and the doctors said he would die. + +“One night”—the old woman’s eyes filled with tears at the memory—“I was +watching beside his little bed. The physician had told me that he would +scarcely live until the next morning. I thought my heart would break, +and I should go mad. Toward midnight the child grew quieter and fell +asleep. An irresistible yearning, to which I could not help yielding, +seized upon me. I lived near; opening the door, I rushed hither through +the darkness and did as I had always done. Weeping, I embraced the +cross and prayed: ‘Dear Jesus, I beseech Thee, save my child!’ I +returned home greatly relieved—the child was still asleep, it slept +until the morning, grew better, and in a fortnight was well. + +“I have already detained you a long time with my talk—to be brief, I +was destined to survive my parents, my husband, my only son, all my +relatives and friends; the single remaining friend of my childhood was +the cross at the corner, and now that, too, is gone——” + +I understood the old woman’s feelings, and, deeply moved, bowed and +silently left her. + + + + + + + + +MEMORIES OF HUNGARY. + + +III. + +THE ALTAR PAINTING. + + +Who among my readers has ever heard the name of Péteri? Very few, +certainly, and it is no wonder, for one may be a good geographer +without knowing that Péteri is a pleasant little village, four miles +from Pesth, secluded from all intercourse with the world, in the midst +of a charming plain, still untrodden by the iron steed which imposes +upon the earth, wherever he directs his victorious course, fetters +which are very willingly endured. + +This quiet hamlet was the goal of an excursion, which I took with a +small party the first of October in the year 1867. + +We had started early and were rolling over the boundless Rákos plain. +The landscape presented a marvelously beautiful aspect. In the +background rose the Ofner Mountains, covered with a gray hood of mist; +here and there a single peak was illumined by the rising sun, +displaying a peculiar blending of shades of purple and violet, which +produced the most magnificent effect. The course of the Danube was +marked by a broad mass of vapor, hovering over the stream, as if the +spirits of the ancient Ister, shrouded in clouds, were floating above +their watery domain. Before us the sun was just rising, revealing the +historic plain of Rákos, with its undulating sand-hills, meadows, and +stubble fields, sparsely scattered with solitary, straw-thatched +houses, a few groups of trees, and clattering mills. On both sides of +the dusty high road cows were grazing, which stared at us with scarcely +less curiosity than the little barefooted boy who tramped after them. +The tinkling of the cow-bells blended musically with the notes of the +matin-bells, borne in low, subdued tones by the keen morning air. + +Our horses moved so swiftly that the tall clumps of straw, and the +still taller poles of the wells in the pastures flitted past us like +ghosts, and after a drive of barely an hour we reached Keresstur, where +we breakfasted in a tavern which, considering its proximity to the +capital, was incredibly primitive. The hamlet has no remarkable sights +except an old castle where the Emperor Joseph II. once spent the night, +and a little tavern-keeper with an enormous beard. After a short rest +we set out on our journey again. If the road had formerly been +uncomfortable, it now began to be actually bad. The surrounding country +still retained the monotonous character of a plain, but the road +supplied a tolerable alternation of mountain and valley; cliffs and +lakes, owing to the limited space, were represented by huge stones and +deep puddles, between which obstacles the driver zig-zagged with +marvelous skill. It was about nine o’clock when we saw, in the +distance, the little houses and slender, beautiful church-spire of +Péteri. + +Péteri, the goal of our excursion, is a very small village, inhabited +by Slovaks, which consists of two parallel streets and a few dozen +insignificant peasant houses, all built with the gable in front. A +stranger must be a very rare spectacle in its streets, for great was +the excitement which we awakened among the inhabitants. Accompanied by +the barking of dogs and the cries of children, we drove slowly on +between the straw-thatched huts, and stopped before the house of the +Protestant pastor, whom we found engaged in the patriarchal occupation +of whipping a large, shaggy black dog, which had been accused by his +wife of the crime of killing chickens. + +When the man of God saw us, he let the dog go, and, casting an +embarrassed glance at his coat, which bore numerous traces of rural +labor, he conducted us into his room, which was destitute of a floor. +After exchanging a few civil speeches, we told him that we had come to +see the village church, which, we had heard, was the handsomest in the +neighborhood. The pastor looked astonished, but at once expressed his +readiness to open the sacred edifice, if we were really interested in +it. Clanking several huge keys, he led the way and we followed. A large +open square, with a fountain in the center, surrounded by several +majestic oaks, occupied the space in front of it. Several steps led to +the entrance of this house of God, which, judging from the exterior, +was tolerably plain. The upper one afforded a view of the entire length +of the two streets of which Péteri consists. + +The doors creaked on their hinges. We entered, walked directly to the +communion table, which was totally devoid of ornament, and at the first +glance we were irresistibly attracted by a picture hung above the +pulpit between two pillars. The brilliant coloring of the painting +contrasted strangely with the bare, austere appearance of the spacious +interior, which threw it into still stronger relief. + +The picture represented the Sermon on the Mount. Christ, attired in +flowing robes, with an ample mantle draped over them, stands upon a +boulder, his indescribably beautiful face illumined by divine +enthusiasm, his radiant eyes most expressively proclaim to us the words +of love and divine wisdom which are flowing from his half-parted lips. +Around him, extending to the distant background, we see a throng of +people in picturesque groups, evidently hanging on the Saviour’s lips; +but only a few figures, immediately surrounding the rock, are executed +in detail. Behind the divine preacher we behold an ascetic, clad in a +garment of skins, his brows contracted in a gloomy frown, and his +bearded chin propped on his hand, evidently pondering over the words he +has heard. Beside him stands a youth, with his arms folded across his +breast, uplifting his clear brow and dark eyes to Christ with fervent +devotion, unheeding the words of a third figure, a doubter, who stands +by his side, and, with the mocking expression of a Mephistopheles, +appears to be whispering something into his ear, while his hand +secretly points to the Saviour. In the foreground two female figures +rivet our attention; one, a large, voluptuous woman, is lying at the +feet of the divine preacher, her face, drenched with tears, expresses +infinite suffering and the deepest contrition; the other, a most +wonderful contrast, possessing supernatural beauty, as with divine +calmness she raises her beaming eyes and, with clasped hands, her whole +figure breathing angelic innocence, listens to the sermon of the Son of +God. The picture is completed by two lovely naked children, who, with +their little round faces turned toward the spectator, are carelessly +playing with a shell which they have found. It is the most magnificent +and yet the most charming scene imaginable. The divine, glorified form +of the inspired preacher; the gloomy ascetic, examining ere he +believes; the devout youth, who hears revelations in every word; the +doubter, who has come to listen and to scoff; the sinful woman, whose +heart is shaken and crushed to its depths by every word of mercy and +heavenly love; the chaste, pure angel, with the gloriously beautiful +face, to whom Christ speaks a kindred language—and, in contrast with +all this, the unsuspecting, ignorant children who, unconcerned about +the great events, the mighty passions and overmastering emotions astir +around them, play quietly with their shell—the impression which this +poetic composition, glowing with the vivid colors of a Titian, produced +upon us is not easily described. We stood a long time before the +painting, unable to express in words our admiration of the masterpiece. + +At last I asked the pastor, who had remained modestly at the back of +the church, busying himself with various trifles, if he could not tell +us the name of the artist who had created this beautiful work. + +“I really cannot give you his name, I know only that he was a young +Italian. But I see that the painting has deeply impressed you, so you +will probably be interested in hearing some particulars of its origin.” +Accepting the kind clergyman’s invitation, we went back with him to his +house, and, over a glass of wine, he related the following story: + +“Péteri formerly belonged to an old count, the last scion of an ancient +noble family, who died, childless, about thirty years ago. His estates +went to a distant relative and, in this way, our village passed into +the possession of a young married couple, who came here soon after the +death of the old lord, to make it their permanent residence. Herr von +F., our new lord, had been an officer for several years, but after his +marriage had retired to private life. His wife was young, bright, +gracious, and possessed beauty unrivaled far or near. They had scarcely +moved here before Frau von F. noticed the dilapidated condition of the +little church, and determined to have a new and handsome building +erected at her own expense. The fact that she was a Catholic, while the +parish was Protestant, did not disturb her in the least. + +“It happened about this time that a carriage passing through the +village was overturned, and the traveler within had his foot severely +injured. Herr von F., who had heard of the accident, went himself to +the injured man and invited him to be his guest until he was able to +continue his journey. The offer was gratefully accepted, and the +gentleman was carried to the castle. He introduced himself to his +hostess as an Italian artist, on the way to visit his friend, the owner +of an estate a few miles away, but who had been prevented from carrying +out his plan by the upsetting of his carriage and the wounds received. +The artist probably found his stay here very pleasant, for, though at +the end of a few days he could walk without assistance, he made no +preparations for departure. Under the pretext that he wished to express +his gratitude in this way, he begged his charming hostess to allow him +to paint her; he wished to leave the portrait in the castle as a +memento. After some little reluctance, the proposal was accepted, and +the young artist now had an opportunity to gaze into the lovely woman’s +eyes an hour a day. She was, as has been said, a rare beauty, he was +young and ardent—what marvel that he became passionately in love with +her? + +“The farther he progressed toward recovery, the more his depression +increased; this, and the numerous sittings, aroused Herr von F.’s +suspicions and one day he entered unexpectedly when the artist and his +wife were alone together. He saw the youth on his knees before her, +weeping bitterly, while she, bending over him, was trying to comfort +him. The scene which followed was brief but terrible. F. rushed upon +the Italian and dealt him a blow in the face. The insulted youth seized +a rapier hanging on the wall, pressed furiously upon his host, and +would have killed him if the unhappy wife had not thrown herself +between them. At the noise servants rushed in, who seized the raging +artist, thrust him into the traveling carriage into which the horses +had been hastily harnessed, and advised his coachman to drive to his +destination, wherever that might be. + +“The affair caused great excitement at the time; Herr von F. refused to +accept a challenge sent to him from Pesth, and his wife, for a long +period, sought refuge on a secluded estate. + +“About five months after the scene just described, a box arrived +containing the altar painting and a letter, in which the artist +entreated Frau von F. to think often of him as an unfortunate man, who +had seen the sun of his life rise once for a moment only to lose it +forever. He also asked that the picture might be placed in the +newly-built church, which, after much opposition from the owner of the +estate, was done. The beautiful woman whom you saw in the foreground of +the picture is Frau von F., the youth with the folded arms is the +artist himself. + +“Heaven knows that the young couple did not have a single happy hour +afterward. A dark suspicion, though a wholly groundless one, rested on +the husband’s heart, and this, with the gossip of the people, made the +poor, beautiful wife utterly wretched. When, after a few years, she +became a widow—I came here just at that time—I often saw her, when the +church was empty, kneel before the picture for hours, shedding burning +tears. She did not remain here long, but withdrew to her lonely estate, +whence she often comes to the village, and never neglects to visit the +church. + +“Nothing more was heard from the artist himself, who disappeared +without leaving a trace, only some of the owners of the neighboring +estates, who knew him, said that he had gone to Africa as a missionary +and vanished there.” + +We thanked the pastor for his story and set out on our way home. + + + END. + + + + + + + + +A CHRISTMAS EVE IN PARIS. + + +It was Christmas Eve of the year 1874. We were slowly pressed forward +by the human tide constantly surging to and fro upon the broad pavement +of the Boulevard des Italiens. Often it was scarcely possible to pause +a moment in front of the brilliantly-lighted show windows of a shop, to +admire, here the diamonds, yonder the bronzes and ivory carvings +displayed within. But one exhibit attracted us too strongly to pass it +with a hasty glance. We checked our steps, which produced the same +effect as when a drifting log suddenly grounds across a stream. First +there was a violent shock, then an angry murmur, an excited chattering, +and the stream gradually turns aside and flows in a slight bend around +the obstacle which cannot be swept away. + +The articles in this show window, which belonged to a fashionable +confectioner, were far too tempting. A Christmas Fair, a veritable +paradise for children: miniature Hussar boots, cradles, tiny champagne +bottles, bomb-shells, burning logs, a poodle dressed as a waiter, with +a napkin at his neck, all made of sugar and executed with Parisian +daintiness, and in the midst of this French fiddle-faddle stood the +sturdy, simple German pine tree. + +“Is the Christmas tree much used in French families?” I asked my +companion, Monsieur G., a Paris architect, who has recently won much +renown. + +“I think not,” he replied, “but I have always had my arbre de noël in +my own house, and it is the central point of one of my most sorrowful +memories.” + +A mournful expression shadowed his mobile features as he spoke, and a +heavy sigh escaped his lips. We went on and, a few steps beyond, turned +into the “Rue du 4 Septembre.” I did not wish to interrupt my friend’s +deep reverie by obtrusive, curious questions, so for a short time we +walked silently side by side. It was he who interrupted this pause by +voluntarily telling his sad story. + +“Four years,” he began, “have passed since that terrible winter, but +everything is still as vividly impressed upon my mind as though it had +happened only yesterday. The Prussians had forged their iron ring +around the city, and we breathed more and more heavily. The whole world +knows the epic of that siege, from its commencement to its close. In +the beginning ‘useless mouths’ were banished, and the assurance was +given that those who remained need have no anxiety about suffering +want; first we ate pork, then horse-flesh, and at the end of six weeks +the most incredible things supplied us with food. In addition, the +winter was one of those severe seasons which we do not have once in a +decade. The Seine froze, and loaded carts could cross the lake in the +Bois de Boulogne. Our foes were warmly ensconced in our country-houses, +they cut down our groves and the trees in our parks to keep the flames +on the hearths burning, and fed their camp-fires with our grand pianos +and carved furniture. We had no woods to fell, and naturally were less +ready to use our pianos for fire-wood than our enemies. The lack of +fuel was really less keenly felt than the lack of food. All the wood +and coal remaining in Paris was purchased by the rich at fabulous +prices, and the poor, nay, even the well-to-do classes had to shift for +themselves. The proletarians succeeded in doing so without much +difficulty. Our stock of absinthe was inexhaustible, unfortunately it +was the only thing with which we were supplied for months or years; +‘Une goutte’ will fully compensate the Paris workman for the fire on +the hearth or the warmth of the stove—but what was to become of our +women, our children, who do not drink absinthe? + +“It was comparatively easy for us men. We were all soldiers, we were +daily occupied either in drilling within the city or in digging and +building at the out-works; and that keeps one tolerably warm, I can +assure you. But when we came home in the evening, we found a room cold +and dismal as a vault, a black, fireless hearth, the children huddled +under the bed-clothes, the wife muffled in cloak and shawls. We clasped +cold hands and kissed cold lips, which had forgotten how to smile. + +“So the Christmas festival approached. Did I say festival? Suffering +and want had reached their height, and our eyes constantly saw too much +blood flow to have the red hue in the calendar attract our attention. +The poor children! The siege cut off even their pure, innocent +pleasures; there was no Christmas for them that year. The first week in +December my little Louise asked me if the naughty Prussians would let +St. Nicholas into the city, and a few days before Christmas she +anxiously asked the same question about the Christ child. Both times I +answered that I was afraid this year neither St. Nicholas nor the +little Christ-child could get through to the children who expected +them, but next year they would doubtless make ample amends for it. +Louise looked very sorrowful and was not easily comforted; it was so +long since the last Christmas festival, and the next one would probably +come no earlier than usual! But I could not help her; neither I nor my +wife were in the mood to prepare Christmas pleasures for the poor +child. + +“Nor was Louise in a condition to enjoy such pleasures. She had been +ailing all the Winter and on Christmas Eve the illness broke out with +alarming violence. She was tortured by attacks of convulsive coughing +and in a high fever. We put the child to bed and sent at once for our +physician. My wife was greatly alarmed, and I, too, awaited the +doctor’s verdict with much anxiety. He came; we silently exchanged +greetings, and he approached the little one’s sick bed. My wife and I +in trembling suspense watched every line of his face, every expression +of his eyes; we scarcely dared to breathe. The doctor was an old and +dear friend, and Louise was very fond of playing with him; this time, +however, she did not recognize him, and thrust him back with her little +hand as he stroked the hair away from her flushed face and felt her +throbbing pulse. + +“‘It is a long time since I have been here but, as you know, the +numerous wounded men, the crowded hospitals,’ he said apologetically, +as he watched the little sufferer. + +“‘Of course, of course, but what do you think of our Louise?’ + +“The doctor forced a smile. + +“‘It would not be difficult to give good advice,’ he said in a tone +whose lightness was evidently assumed. ‘Louise has grown excessively +thin since I last saw her; she must be better nourished. Under +different circumstances I should say: give her chicken broth, eggs, do +not let her go out of a moderately warm room, but now’—his eyes rested +on a piece of bread which lay on the table, the bread furnished by the +government, of which a clumsy wit said that it contained every possible +ingredient, among others even grain. ‘However,’ he added after a +painful pause, ‘there will be time enough to nourish her better after +the siege, which cannot last forever. What is immediately necessary is +a cup of hot tea, which must be repeated in two hours.’ + +“My wife cast a despairing glance at me, whispering with quivering +lips, ‘I have neither wood nor coal in the house.’ A deathlike +stillness pervaded the room, interrupted only by the gasping breath and +an attack of coughing from the child. I cannot describe now what I felt +at that moment, I only know that I would infinitely rather have been +dead than alive. The doctor was the first to break the silence. He +looked very grave as he said: ‘The hot tea is indispensable; if you +have no wood, no coal—not even any alcohol?’ My wife shook her head +mournfully. ‘Has not some neighbor—?’ (The same answer.) ‘Well, then +you must sacrifice some piece of furniture at once, for much depends +upon this tea.’ + +“I instantly rushed into the kitchen, which no longer contained +anything combustible, seized the ax, and was on the point of dealing a +blow on the piano, my wife’s favorite instrument, but the only large +article in the room, except an armoire, which contained little wood. +During the last fortnight we had been obliged to use our furniture to +supply the fuel for cooking, there was no attempt at heating! I was +already lifting the ax, when my wife suddenly uttered a faint cry, +seized my arm, and directly after rushed out of the room, exclaiming: +‘I have something!’ + +“Was any neighbor fortunate enough to have some wood? Did she expect to +find a coal dealer’s shop open at this hour and procure fuel there? I +was not to remain in uncertainty long. Five minutes after, the door +opened and my wife, her face radiant with joy, while tears of gratitude +sparkled in her eyes, entered, carrying with both hands—last year’s +huge Christmas tree which, since the festival, had remained unnoticed +in a corner of the attic. + +“The whole terrible contrast between the present and the past suddenly +rose before me as if sharply illumined by a flash of lightning. There +was the slender, beautiful pine, which twelve short months ago, so +brief a span of time, a mere moment, looking back upon it, had formed +the center of a lovely picture of family happiness! It was in that very +room, a bright fire was blazing on the hearth, merry children were +dancing and bounding around the table, a happy father and mother were +smiling at the delight of the little ones; there was Louise, looking +like an angel in her white dress, with a blue ribbon in her fair curls, +her arms round, her cheeks plump, her dark eyes sparkling with joy, +and, with her, two little playmates whom she had invited to the +festival. They laughed and shouted as if fifty invisible angels were +laughing and clapping their hands with the children to fill the room to +the utmost with mirth and childish glee. On the table had stood the +magnificent Christmas tree, with tiny candles, gilded fruits, and tin +soldiers glittering among its green boughs, soldiers in French, +English, and Prussian uniforms. We jested and played and made merry +until after midnight, till the children fell asleep from sheer +happiness with dolls and soldiers from the Christmas tree clasped in +both hands. + +“Now, here was the same Christmas tree, withered, dry and dusty, its +needles yellow, many of its boughs broken and drooping, others, instead +of golden apples and bonbons, bearing long trailing cobwebs, the room +was cold, the fire dead, and Louise lay on her bed, her little arms +emaciated, her little face thin and flushed by fever, racked by that +torturing cough. + +“Her mother’s entrance had attracted her attention, and she partially +recovered her consciousness. Noticing the Christmas tree, she clapped +her little hands joyfully. ‘Oh, the Christmas tree, the pretty +Christmas tree!’ she exclaimed in a faint voice. Then, in touching +words, she begged her mamma to light the pretty candles and hang the +gold apples and the soldiers, only no Prussian ones, and to send for +Mimi and Lolotte, they had been good, and she, too, would be good in +future, very good. + +“I was on the point of doing a cowardly act; I longed to go out into +the darkness, into the streets, the outposts, in order not to be +obliged to witness this sorrowful scene; I wished that a shell might +enter the house and put an end to everything. But, no, shells were not +fired on the night when the foe was also celebrating the Christmas +festival. I regained my composure with difficulty, and while my wife +sat on the edge of the bed, with one arm round the child, softly +singing songs, stroking and soothing her, I chopped the Christmas tree +with trembling hands and lighted a fire. + +“The dry needles crackled and snapped, blazing high aloft, a sweet, +heavy aroma of resin pervaded the room, and the water in the pot began +to sing and boil. The doctor had gone out, my wife was still whispering +loving words and promises to the sick child, and while watching the +flames, and preparing the tea, I thought: ‘I thank thee, I thank thee, +thou blessed tree, which once made my child happy, and will now make +her well!’ + +“The Christmas tree did not make Louise well. And since that time I +have not needed one—she was my only child.” + + + + + + + + +THE STEPMOTHER. + +AN OPEN LETTER TO FRAU I. H. + + +There are ideas which affect the mind, as the touch of a spider feels +on the finger. They awaken horror, loathing, lasting discomfort. I fear +that the conception “stepmother” is one of them. The word is uttered in +our presence, and awakes in our souls a series of images, some painful, +some repulsive; on the one hand is the poor motherless child in the +care of strangers, meanly clad, ill-fed, scolded, beaten, burdened with +impossible tasks, who secretly steals out on Winter nights to its +mother’s grave, and there, with heart-rending sobs, calls to the +snow-clad mound the reproachful question why she did not take her child +with her, why she had left it alone in the world; on the other hand is +the wicked woman, toothless, blear-eyed, with hooked chin and nose, +which almost meet, fingers as bony as a skeleton’s, who is happy only +when she has devised some new torture, some new humiliation for her +foster-child. How have these images entered our sphere of thought? +Perhaps from fairy tales, perhaps from poems and stories, I don’t know +myself. Not from experience, that is certain. Most of us have probably +no knowledge of stepmothers, and those with whom we are acquainted do +not bear the remotest resemblance to the idea which dwells in our +minds. Yet the contradiction between preconceived opinions and the +reality does not impress us, and we do not think of correcting the +former by the latter. + +The letter which you, madame, addressed to me a few days ago, for a +definite purpose and in which, with noble excitement, you demanded +justice for the stepmother, first led me to reflect, and I have now +become aware of my prejudices, my cruel injustice toward one of the +most meritorious classes of the human race. You are right, the +stepmother is a martyr. She is a sufferer, but no one pities her, a +martyr who never receives the reward of canonization, a tragic heroine +who never finds her poet. She has married a widower and enters her new +home, where she meets a beautiful, sorrowful orphaned child. Her heart +is overflowing with the noblest feelings. She will be a loving mother +to the poor orphan, will kiss away the shadow of premature grief from +the young brow! Fate was less kind to her than to her companions, who, +during the first months after marriage, saw only the bright side of +wedded life; pleasant wedding journeys, inexhaustible proofs of +tenderness, endless love tokens. She is obliged to learn, with the +pleasant side of married life, its hardest duties, for which nature has +given to others of her sex long months of preparation; she has become +at the same time wife and mother. But what of that? With the enthusiasm +of a young soul, in whom love for the child and the pleasure of acting +a mother’s part are a heritage of the female sex, she assumes her +sublime task; she surrounds the child with solicitude and tenderness; +she kisses it awake in the morning and sings it to sleep at night; she +talks to it, plays with it, never loses sight of it. Under this warmth +of affection the child instantly begins to flourish, as the earth +responds to the heat of the sun. It has the coquettish beauty of a +wax-doll, its cheeks grow rosy, its eyes bright, its little arms round +and plump, but no love beams in the eyes, the arms do not learn to +clasp the neck of the stepmother, and the little mouth does not smile. + +The stepmother is puzzled, and begins to reflect. Before her mind rises +the scene when her husband first brought her to their future home and +introduced her to the child with the words: “Baby, here is your new +mamma; be good and obedient, and she will love you very, very dearly. +There, now, give mamma a pretty kiss!” She had bent over the child, and +while pressing it warmly to her heart a tear fell on its little fair +head. The child had stood motionless, with its eyes fixed on its toes; +it had submitted to everything, but without a word of affection or even +a kiss in response. This had chilled the young mother like an icy +breath; the husband noticed or felt it, and said: “You know how +children are; the poor thing is shy, she is so unaccustomed to see +strange faces. But she will soon love you as you deserve.” This had +satisfied her, and she believed it. But now a year, two years had +passed; the child must have become accustomed to the “strange face,” it +must have felt long ago that the “new mamma” loved it very, very +dearly! Yet it is as cold, as distant, as reserved, as on the first +day. The stepmother looks tenderly at it, it lowers its eyes; she +kisses it, it obediently offers its lips, but they are motionless; she +speaks pleasantly to it, it maintains a sullen silence. The stepmother +goes out with the child, everybody turns, admires its beauty, envies +the woman who has such a treasure. Alas, this angel has a joyous glance +for all except the stepmother, a gay, childlike laugh for every one +save her. The beautiful child is only lively in the street, out of the +house; at home it is sulky. Every act of kindness from a stranger is +eagerly and enthusiastically acknowledged, but the loving words of the +foster-mother find no echo; they die away with no more effect than if +they had been flung into the sea. + +The stepmother, with deep sorrow, asks herself the cause of all this, +and can find no answer. Poor woman! Busily, untiringly you weave your +web of love around the heart of the child confided to you, and do not +know that behind your back an evil Penelope sits, raveling at night +what you have done during the day! First, there are the first wife’s +relatives; from devotion to the dead they are wicked to the living; +whenever the child visits them it hears itself pitied; it is told of +its mamma, not the new one, for she is not its mother, but the old one, +how differently she would have loved it, how differently she would have +treated it; it is questioned about the stranger’s acts, and whether she +treats it kindly. Then there are servants, governesses, foolish +strangers, who, partly to win the child’s affection, partly from +wretched sentimentality, which considers it noble and kindhearted to +roll up the eyes and express pity where there is no cause for +compassion—sing the same song to the little one from morning till +night. It never hears itself called anything but “poor child! poor +orphan!” It learns that it tells an untruth whenever it calls its +stepmother “mamma”; it is taught to play the spy, to suspect, to +dissimulate; it is robbed of the frankness and guilelessness of +childhood and accustomed to seek beneath its stepmother’s words +different thoughts, beneath her acts hostile motives. Poor child, in +whose mind distrust is roused ere the judgment is formed! The mother +denies it an apple because it has already eaten too many, and it feels +sure that it is her malice which prompts her to refuse it the most +innocent pleasure; the mother will not permit it to visit a friend +because it has taken cold, and the weather is stormy, and it no longer +doubts the enmity of this woman, of whom everybody tells it so much +evil. And now come Christmas gifts of fairy tales, which describe the +wicked stepmother who thrice poisoned Snow-White, and the other one who +killed her stepson and served him to the father on the dinner table, +and if the child has previously doubted, it is now confident, for the +book, printed, bound, and filled with pictures, cannot deceive! So it +learns to hate at an age when it is our fairest privilege to love, and +to doubt at a time whose happiness is implicit faith. + +Can this criminal poisoning of the child’s soul remain without +influence upon the stepmother? I deny it. What can you expect? Even the +noblest woman is mortal, and she has a still keener sensitiveness to +the return, or the failure to return her feelings than the rest of us. +Categorical necessity was not created for women, it is hard enough for +men. To fill a bottomless cask was rightfully considered by the subtle +Greek the most terrible punishment which could be devised for women. In +the bitter conflict with constant ingratitude, even the strongest sense +of duty, the most self-sacrificing nobility, must finally succumb. We +can give love only when, in some degree, we receive love in return. +One-sidedness here leads finally to impoverishment, and at last the +stepmother really feels for the child indifference, possibly aversion, +or even hate. + +When we have once reached this point what a tragic picture unrolls +before our eyes! When the stepmother married she made herself the +priestess, who was to erect a new statue in a deserted temple, kindle a +fresh flame amid the dead embers of a cold altar; she set herself the +noble task of becoming a mother to the orphan, creating a pleasant home +for a lonely man, bringing happiness and joy into a sorrowful family +circle. And now, after years of humble, but heroic labor and exertion, +amid which the bloom of her life has withered, here is the result; a +cold-hearted child, whose soul is filled with hate and who is +unspeakably poor and pitiable because she lacks the treasure of sunny +memories of childhood, on which we happier mortals can draw during a +long life; a husband, whose home is distasteful because he cannot +endure the silent reproach in the sad eyes of his child, and she +herself, the wife, tortured by the most painful sting, bitter grief for +a marred life, an object of aversion to her husband, her foster-child, +the whole careless world! Who is to blame for such mournful results? +The mother? The child? The father? Neither of the three. It is the +fault of the senselessness and malice of prejudiced people. + +This is the way in which the stepmother’s life presented itself to me, +and I wish that the whole world could see it with my eyes. Only how is +the evil, when recognized, to be remedied? You, madame, would fain see +the books of fairy tales, with their Snow-Whites and wicked stepmothers +abolished, or rather you would like to have these stories omitted from +the volume. That would be desirable and useful, but I fear it is +impracticable. Man is weak and irrational, and I confess that, +notwithstanding its baneful tendencies, which I admit, I would not for +the world see Snow-White torn from my own childish memories. I am +afraid that it will not do to throw away, for the sake of stepchildren, +some of the most precious pearls in the treasury of fairy tales. The +wisdom and tact of the father, and the absolute sincerity of the +stepmother can do more for the child. + +One thing is especially necessary: the woman who resolves to undertake +the thankless office of a stepmother must fully realize the magnitude +of the task and the measure of strength which she can bring to the +fulfillment of her arduous duty. She is to conquer a child’s heart, +which is defended by a strong garrison of hostile insinuations, and by +constant watchfulness guard it against continual attacks; she must +daily wage a fierce warfare against the stupid, the thoughtless and the +wicked people, in which she will continually receive aching wounds; she +must struggle and bleed for years, alone and unaided, but at last +victory will be hers, for in the battle against evil and injustice love +always triumphs because it is the strongest of the three. If the future +wife feels that her powers will not be equal to this conflict, then let +her remain away from the house where children await a foster-mother; +she would render it a hell for them and for herself. But if the goal +seems to her attainable and the road not too rough, let her confidently +take up the cross, for her reward will be rich and enviable. She will +work miracles such as can be wrought by love alone. The children will +gradually see the living image of the stepmother merge into the fading +one of the dead mother, and will no longer be able to separate the one +from the other. They will always hold the stepmother in grateful +remembrance as the angel whom God sent to the languishing Ishmael, when +poor Hagar could no longer obtain water for her child. Perhaps, in +later years, when the second mother has followed the first, foolish +people will speak in the customary way of stepmothers, in the presence +of the children, whose heads already have the snow of years. Then they +will—and, judging from your letter, madame, I think you, too, would do +the same—then they will look upward with tearful eyes to the portrait +of the dead stepmother, whispering: “Forgive them, for they know not +what they do!” + + + + + + + + +“PAS DE CHANCE!” + + +The dissecting room in the old Hôtel Dieu, in Paris, which was torn +down in the year 1877, was a strange and gruesome place. To reach it, +one was obliged to go upstairs and down, past the wards occupied by the +sick, through spacious, lofty vestibules, echoing corridors paved with +tiles, turning now to the right, now to the left, and across covered +wooden bridges, spanning the little arm of the Seine which flowed +between the two buildings of the hospital, and, after a walk of many +minutes, finally descend into the spacious subterranean chambers, which +were the most ancient portion of a structure erected many centuries +ago, and dating from the early part of the Middle Ages. On reaching the +foot of the worn stone steps leading to the dissecting room, one found +one’s self in a narrow, unpaved outer cellar, lighted by a grated +window above, and containing at one end a low, rusty iron door as broad +as it was high. A person familiar with the place opened this door by +turning a rude handle in the center, which moved a heavy, creaking +double-bolt inside, and entered a low vaulted chamber about fifteen +paces long and ten wide, which was very insufficiently lighted by two +square grated windows, which pierced the thick wall directly under the +vaulted ceiling, and which could be opened only when the Seine was low. +The cellars of the Hôtel Dieu were below the surface of the river, from +which it was separated by its strong walls, overgrown with moss and +blackened by age, and when it rose ever so little, one could look from +the lower portions of the windows of the dissecting-room several inches +into the turbid waves of the river. Usually several gaslights burned +here, filling the place with a bright glare, in which human beings and +all objects assumed unpleasantly sharp outlines and a livid, +disagreeable color, while dark shadows, like silhouettes, were thrown +upon the floor and walls. But it was a fitting illumination of the +place and its contents. The blackish-gray walls were always covered +with a clammy moisture, which, on the side facing the river, gathered +here and there into thick drops, that slowly, gradually trickled down +on the slippery, dirty marble floor, and suggested, even to the +observer least susceptible to sentimental fancies, the sorrowful +impression of tears, held back by a strong will, yet slowly oozing +forth. On the windowless side of the room was a wash basin set in the +wall, supplied with a faucet and waste pipe. Several pieces of soap lay +on it, and, upon a nail at the side, hung towels of doubtful +cleanliness, and a dilapidated yellow tablet which contained, in faded +letters, the rules of the dissecting room. On the opposite side six +tables were ranged in a row, above each of which a gas jet descended +from the ceiling; the first, of the usual shape, held a pair of scales +and a number of rusty weights. The brass balances, soiled with horrible +fat and blood stains, showed the purpose for which they were used—the +weighing of diseased portions of the human body. The form of the other +five was peculiar. The top was long, narrow, slightly concave, like a +trough covered with tin, a little inclined, wider at the upper end than +at the lower, where it was perforated by a hole leading into a metal +pipe, which discharged its contents into a tin pail standing under the +narrow end of the table. These were the dissecting tables, “Morgagni’s +tables,” as we used to call them in our technical jargon. Upon them, +surrounded by knives, scissors, chisels and hammers of singular form, +lay cold, rigid human forms, in which the disciples of science searched +with sacred curiosity to surprise, in the mysterious depths of the +organs, the secret of life. On the wall at the head of each table hung +a little blackboard, on which was fastened a label bearing the name, +age, and date of death of the body beneath. At the back of the +dissecting room was a glass door, opening into an adjoining chamber, +much smaller and lighted only by a single window. Two laths, painted +black, formed a cross extending from the floor to the ceiling on the +side wall, and several roughly-made coffins stood on the floor, which +was thickly covered with aromatic pine shavings. This was the death +chamber. After dissection the bodies were brought here, wrapped in a +linen sheet supplied by the hospital, and laid in the coffin to await +burial. If within the next twelve hours relatives came to claim the +body, it was delivered to them; if not, it was conveyed the following +morning in the hearse to the overseer of the poor, and buried in the +paupers’ ground in the cemetery of Père la Chaise. The only living +creature in these uncanny rooms, during the time when no dissections +were being made, was a beautiful white cat, which sprang gaily to meet +every one who entered and, mewing and purring, pressed and twisted +around him, and the master of the affectionate creature, a little, +thin, one-eyed old man, who coughed continually and had lived here +thirty years, yet in the midst of the scene of constant sorrow and +destruction, in which he worked, maintained so cheerful a spirit that +he was always humming a gay little song while preparing the bodies for +dissection, or washing, sewing them up, and wrapping them in sheets +after it. He assumed a serious, nay, even melancholy mien, only when +the relatives of any corpse came to carry away their dead, for during +the many years of his sorrowful occupation, the worthy man had retained +sufficient courtesy and consideration not to wound the feelings of the +mourners by displaying a face of business-like indifference or of +cheerfulness. + +Most of the physicians and students who visited the Hôtel Dieu were in +the habit, at the close of the morning call, of going down to the +dissecting room to see “what there was new.” In the same way the +habitué of the theater, after witnessing the performance, goes on the +stage to cast a glance behind the scenes. One morning in May, 1877, +following this custom, I entered the subterranean chamber just +described. The cat was sitting in the corner, washing her fur, old Jean +was busy with some empty coffins in the death chamber, one of the +dissecting tables was empty, while on the other four lay subjects. +Around the first body, that of a strong old man, who had died of a +brain disease, stood a group of young people, some with white aprons +and blood-stained hands, others with hats on their heads, gloved hands, +and cigars in their mouths, eagerly discussing the ravages which the +knife had just disclosed, and the phenomena caused during the progress +of the illness. At the second and third tables the work was already +done. A hasty glance at the cruelly emaciated bodies and the organs on +the table sufficed to reveal the cause of death. “Consumption!” It is +so common a disease, the ravages it produces in the organism are so +often seen, that people do not linger over it. So I passed on without +delay to the fifth table, the last in the row, and perceived that it +contained a corpse still undisturbed, the sight of which instantly +filled me with sympathy. It was the body of a woman, very young, and of +remarkable beauty, whom death must have snatched away in the midst of +health. No long sickness could have preceded it, for the outlines of +the form were full, round, almost sensuous; illness had had no time to +caricature the noble lines of the figure by the ugly angles of +emaciation. The skin, in spite of the horrible chill which it sent +through the whole frame to the heart at the lightest touch of the +finger-tips, was as smooth and fine as velvet, and the hue so +dazzlingly white that it had the iridescent tints of mother-of-pearl. +The features of the oval face had assumed, in the last agony, an +expression of suffering which death had stereotyped. The lips were +slightly parted, revealing teeth which resembled transparent white +enamel. The dark eyes were wide open, and the dull, glassy pupils gazed +at me with the leaden stare of a corpse. The shining black hair was +gathered at the back of the head into a knot held by several pins, +which were half slipping out, and a few waving locks still rested +lightly on the smooth brow, as an unsuspecting little child plays +happily around its dead mother. The shadows of death shrouding the +beautiful form had not wholly effaced the bloom of youth. As it lay in +its chaste, pure, classic loveliness, one might believe that he had +before him a Greek statue carved from Parian marble. To examine the +body on all sides I walked around the table and, in doing so, made a +discovery which increased the interest already awakened by the mute, +rigid form. The right arm of the corpse bore on the upper surface +several tattooed inscriptions. I read in one line: “Marie Balok,” below +the date “1876,” and below this, in a third line, the words: “Pas de +chance!” (No chance.) + +“Pas de chance!” It seemed as if these words contained the sorrowful +index of the hapless human life, which a few hours before had found its +pitiful end in a hospital bed. The label at the head of the table +informed me that “Marie Balok” had been the name of the body and that +she was not more than seventeen. Old Jean, in reply to my questions, +could tell me that the beautiful Marie had been brought to the hospital +the night before and had died a few minutes after. She was at a dancing +hall in the outer boulevards, and, from jealousy, made a furious scene +with a young man; in the midst of the outburst of her rage she suddenly +sank fainting; when they were unable to revive her by dashing cold +water on her and using scent bottles, two of her women friends put her +into a carriage and brought her to the hospital, where they gave the +physician on duty the explanation Jean repeated. The girl had died +without recovering her consciousness, and early in the morning she had +been brought down to the dissecting room. + +This much the label and old Jean could tell me. But far more than +either was revealed by the words tattooed on the girl’s arm: “Pas de +chance!” I had before me the title of a biographical romance, and, with +little difficulty, read in the dim eyes, on the pale lips and +snow-white form of the corpse the romance itself from the first to the +last chapter. Marie Balok, her name proved it, was the child of +foreigners, who had come to Paris as ten thousand other foreigners do +every year to seek a more favorable place for the battle of life. Her +father was a workman in Belleville, or on the slopes of Montmartre. +Marie had grown up in dirt and poverty, played during the day in the +dust and the gutters of the streets of the suburb, and at night went +home to find a crust of bread and a pallet in the corner of the room +with her parents. She was ten or eleven years old when the insurrection +of the Commune occurred. Her father put on the uniform of the +insurgents, her mother followed the battalion as a vivandière or a +nurse. Eight or nine weeks passed like a whirlwind, and ended with her +mother’s leaning against a wall one beautiful May morning and being +shot as a petroleuse, and her father’s first being driven to Versailles +with blows from the butt ends of muskets, and then sent to New +Caledonia. + +Marie was left alone in the world, without relatives or acquaintances, +like a young swallow thrust from the nest, which must perish miserably +in the dust unless Heaven works a miracle in its behalf. The beginning +of this miracle was apparently wrested from iron-hearted fate. Marie +neither starved to death in summer, nor froze during the following +winter. A family of work people, poor and wretched themselves, received +the still poorer and more wretched child, and gave it a seat at the +scantily spread table and a place on the floor of the bare room. It +learned to do something, sewing, embroidery, or flower-making, and soon +earned so much that it was no longer compelled to accept the favors of +the kindhearted neighbors as alms. Thus Marie spent several years until +she had become a blooming, beautiful girl of fifteen. People cannot be +beautiful, young, and poor in Paris, unpunished. A temptation sprang +from every stone in the pavement, and the finger of evil beckoned to +her at every street corner. Soon she no longer went to her work alone, +nor returned home without a companion. She found it inconvenient to +live with her benefactors, and one day left them to go to a garret room +in a shabby house in Montmartre, with a lover in blouse and silk cap. +Now, scarcely beyond childhood, she began to lead the life of a +solitary Parisian working girl. Toil during the day, in the evening a +ball, the cancan till midnight, blows from the friend, hunger, rags, +misery, singing and merriment, and withal, total forgetfulness of the +past and the future. If a friend carried palpable jealousy too far, she +dismissed him unceremoniously with a scornful shrug of the shoulders, +and sought another, with whom she remained until the vague, burning +longing for happiness and contentment, which filled her heart, urged +her once more into new and unknown paths. + +It was in the summer of the year 1876 when, one Sunday, she went on an +excursion to St. Germain with the friend whom she was making happy by +her affection. These summer Sunday excursions to the charming places +near the city are the object of longing to all Parisian work-women, who +go fairly crazy with joy when they have the prospect of skipping about +on the grass during a whole warm, sunny day, gathering flowers, +catching butterflies, and singing sentimental songs in the arbor of a +country tavern over a bottle of wine. Marie had been gay to the verge +of recklessness all day long, had laughed and chattered and sung till +she was hoarse and thirsty; in the evening she found herself, with her +friend, in a restaurant of St. Germain; they were alone in the tavern, +and emptied one glass after another of the cheap wine of the +neighborhood. The friend, who had taken off his coat and rolled up his +shirt sleeves to cool himself, was tattooed on the arm like most Paris +workmen. There, in various colors, was a flaming heart, two hearts +transfixed by a huge arrow as if on a spit, and several names, dates, +and inscriptions, such as “Ever Thine!” or “Faithful unto Death!” Marie +saw these signs and figures, and a reckless thought darted through her +mind. “Tattoo my arm, too!” she cried, and the workman, bursting into a +loud laugh, asked what he should tattoo. “First, my name; so that I can +try whether it hurts.” + +No sooner said than done. Some indigo was quickly obtained, Marie had a +needle, and the workman went to work at once. At every prick Marie +uttered a faint cry and shrank away a little, but in the pauses she +laughed and drank, and the workman did not stop until in large, +distinct letters appeared the name: “Marie Balok.” + +“Shall I tattoo anything else?” + +“Yes, the date.” + +Five minutes after the date, “1876,” was inscribed beneath the name. +While the workman was rubbing indigo into the little wounds, from each +of which a tiny drop of blood was oozing, the landlord brought in a +fresh bottle of wine, and Marie soothed the slight pain of the +operation with another drink. The man eyed his work approvingly, and +then asked: + +“Are you satisfied?” + +“Yes, my dear fellow.” + +“Don’t you want to add something to it? A name and a date—that’s silly. +We’ll make it more amusing. Shall I draw an emblem?” + +“No.” + +“Or a motto?” + +“Stop, you’re right. A motto—that’s it. But what shall it be? Let me +think.” + +The workman proposed some of the usual amorous phrases, but Marie would +not accept them. The usual relapse had followed the exuberant +mirthfulness of the day, and she now sank into a melancholy reverie. +Perhaps, for the first time in her life, she looked back upon her past +and found it miserable beyond measure. A wicked fairy seemed to have +sat beside her cradle. Every phase of her existence appeared to be +under the influence of a curse. Born in poverty, orphaned, growing up +in penury, living in shame, vegetating without a future, without a +purpose, without pleasure,—this was her past, her present, her future +destiny, and her eyes involuntarily filled with tears, as she examined +this dark, hideous picture, destitute of light and beauty. And when her +friend roused her from her sorrowful reverie with the exclamation: +“Then find a motto yourself, if you don’t like mine!” She condensed the +substance of her life, as it presented itself to her mental vision, +into a phrase which, in this application, lost its triviality, and +charged itself with profound desolation as if with electricity, as with +a sorrowful smile she said to the workman: “Tattoo Pas de chance! That +is the real motto of my life.” + +No chance! It was not only the motto of her life, it was also a +prophecy. Poor Marie was to have no happiness to the end. Barely +seventeen, in the dawn of her young life, only a few months after she +had had the sorrowful, resigned motto inscribed upon her arm, she died +in a hospital bed. This was the story of beautiful Marie, as, standing +beside her lifeless body, I imagined it. Was it really her history? I +cannot warrant it, but it is probable. But it is certain that the +lovely young girl lay dead before me on the table, and that on the +pearly skin of her plump, nobly-moulded arm, as if written in blue, +phosphorescent characters by the finger of a malicious demon, were the +words: “Pas de chance!” + +The dissection showed that Marie had suffered from a defect in the +valvular action of the heart. This explained her sudden death in a +moment of passionate excitement. I waited until all was over, the other +physicians had left the room, and old Jean came forward with his big +needle and coarse woolen thread to attend to the body. Now I closed the +beautiful Marie’s open eyes, still staring at me with a strange, vacant +glance, and slowly withdrew. As I closed the heavy iron door of the +dissecting room behind me, it seemed as if, from the last table at the +end of the hall, a faint, ghostly voice whispered in my ears: “Pas de +chance!” + + + + + + + + +HOW THE FOX HUNTER FARED IN ENGLAND. + + +Baron K. is one of the pleasantest young fellows I ever met. In fact, +he possesses the rarest combination of all the qualities which cannot +fail to make a man the favorite of every circle. He captivates women by +his twenty-five years, a handsome, slender figure, expressive dark +eyes, and a coquettish little moustache; men he wins by the chivalrous +frankness of his nature, and his heartfelt and therefore contagious +cheerfulness. He speaks several languages with great fluency, is an +admirable conversationalist, who would appear to advantage in any +Parisian drawing-room; he dances admirably, sings well in a fine +baritone voice, plays excellently on the piano, and does not easily +find a rival as a horseman, fencer or shot. Aristocratic birth and a +fortune which, according to Continental ideas, is considerable, placed +him from early youth in a position which enabled him to develop his +social talents and put his light into a suitable candlestick. + +I made his acquaintance in London, in the spring of the year 1874. He +had apparently given himself up completely to the swelling flood-tide +of the “season,” and let it bear him unresistingly away. His days and +nights were spent at the clubs, in Hyde Park, at dinners, theaters, and +evening parties. He was rarely in any costume except a dress suit and a +white cravat, and if any one wished to be sure of finding him in his +elegant lodgings in Bruton street, he was obliged to go there between +five and eleven o’clock in the morning and feel no hesitation about +rousing him from his sleep. An introduction from his ambassador, Count +B., secured him admittance to the best circles, and there were few of +the most prominent families where he could not be found at least once a +fortnight, singing Hungarian folk songs, playing the czardas, and +awakening universal enthusiasm. The “nice Hungarian” often formed the +subject of very animated conversations between young and older ladies, +and once, when contrary to English custom, he appeared in the +drawing-room of Alderman Sir Frederick Fr. in the rich, +gold-embroidered uniform of a Honved Hussar lieutenant, he created the +greatest sensation, and even a young Tamil prince who was present, +attired in a gay silk caftan, with a girdle of gold brocade and a +cachemire shawl turban, in which blazed a magnificent ruby, could not +divert the attention of the company from our baron. Though the favorite +of so many circles, received everywhere with open arms, and loaded with +half a dozen invitations for every evening, Baron K. showed a very +marked preference for the home of Mr. George F. + +The master of the house, a member of Parliament for one of the central +counties of England, is one of the most eminent sportsmen in the +country; he has broken all his limbs, and once very nearly his neck, in +fox-hunting, won the Queen’s cup at Wimbledon, was one of the champions +of his county versus the neighboring one, at cricket, fifteen years +ago, and if he did not conquer, it was only because he had the +misfortune of being pitted against the champion of the United Kingdom; +but to succumb with honor to such an antagonist is more glorious than +to conquer a Mr. Nobody. Mr. F.’s library contains all the numbers of +the Field bound in handsome volumes; he has a copy of the first edition +of Isaak Walton’s superb book on angling, obtained at an auction of +Christie, Mason & Co.’s for 115 guineas, and in his private reception +room, besides a fine collection of dog and horse whips and pretty +models of saddles of every form, the eyes are specially attracted by a +large number of fox brushes tastefully arranged, the most precious +trophies of as many hunting seasons, in which he took part as one of +the most esteemed sportsmen. + +It is apparent that Mr. George F. is a sufficiently interesting person +for it to be perfectly natural that Baron K. should prefer him to many +others, but I do not believe that it was the master of the house who +attracted our friend so often to the elegant residence on Albion +street. Mr. F. has a daughter, a charming creature of nineteen, slender +and pliant as a reed, with the roseate complexion which Nature bestows +on English women in their cradles as an enviable gift and a national +inheritance, and sparkling blue eyes, into which one cannot look +without instantly feeling the most intense poetic sentiments. There are +satisfactory reasons for the assertion that Miss Bridget, not her papa, +was the great magnet of the F. household for our friend. The relation +between Baron K. and the F. family soon became one of great intimacy. +The young Hungarian and the beautiful Bridget F. rode together alone in +Hyde Park; in Drury Lane; and at Her Majesty’s Theater they were always +in the same box; in going to Ascot Baron K. did not fail to accompany +the F. family; in short, no one could doubt that their intercourse +meant something more than the mere acquaintanceship of fashionable +society. In fact, Baron K. had already made Bridget a formal +declaration of love; she had asked him, in the usual way, to speak to +mamma, at the same time assuring him, with a lovely blush, that she +would not fail to support his wishes, and papa had already taken one +step: he had closely questioned certain persons, to whom Baron K. +introduced him, about his family and his position at home. Fortune +played no part in the affair, for Miss Bridget, according to the +statements of well-informed people, was “worth 18,000 a year”—ten times +as much as the baron possessed. + +The happy suitor now withdrew more and more from general society, in +order to devote himself exclusively to Bridget, he could already +venture to say his Bridget. He spent all his evenings with her, and +went to entertainments only when he knew that she would be present +also. + +One evening, as had so often happened of late, he was taking tea with +the F. family. No one was in the drawing-room except the father, +mother, and daughter, and our friend. The conversation turned upon +sporting matters, and Mr. F. asked if there was any fox-hunting in +Hungary. + +“I should think so!” exclaimed Baron K. eagerly. “Foxes are as numerous +in some parts of our country as hares are here! I myself shot five +specimens of Mr. Charley in a single day.” + +“What?” cried Mr. and Mrs. F. in the same breath, the former starting +from his rocking chair, the latter dropping her tea-cup, while Bridget +could not repress a low cry of terror. + +Baron K. was silenced by bewilderment, and a brief, painful pause +followed. He could not imagine what there had been in his words to +produce so startling an effect upon his hearers, and hit upon the +luckless idea that they perhaps suspected him of exaggeration. So, +after a few minutes, he added somewhat timidly: “You may believe me, I +have shot five foxes in a day and, in a battue, even more!” + +“Oh!” said Mr. F, and made no farther comment. Bridget cast imploring +glances at the speaker, which caused him still greater embarrassment, +because he did not understand in the least, and Mrs. F. rang for the +servant to remove the fragments of the cup. Poor Baron K. did not know +what to think. He ventured to ask Mrs. F. what had startled her so, but +received only the reply, accompanied by an icy glance. “Oh, nothing, a +little nervousness, but it’s over now.” Mr. F. suddenly remembered that +he must read the long parliamentary report which had been sent to him +that day, and even Bridget remarked that she had a headache. It was +impossible not to understand. So Baron K. bade them good evening, and +retired, but was not a little perplexed when he saw that Mr. F. did not +shake hands with him, and the lady of the house did not, as usual, +invite him to come again soon. + +The young man set out on his walk home with a heavy heart and a +whirling brain. He was in no mood to seek other society, though it was +only eleven o’clock. So he strolled about the park for an hour, +pondering with the utmost earnestness, with all his penetration, over +the incidents of the evening, yet without being able to obtain the +least clue to the mystery. It was barely midnight when he sought his +couch, but he tossed about in his spacious bed, which was almost as +large as a bedroom of moderate size on the Continent, until morning +dawned, without finding sleep. + +The next day he reached a decision. He would go to Mr. F. and ask +openly, frankly, and without circumlocution, for an explanation of the +scene of the previous evening. He waited in feverish impatience until +one o’clock, and the hour had scarcely struck when, though not without +hesitation, he let the “knocker” fall on the metal plate of the +well-known door in Albion street. The footman opened it. His face wore +a peculiar expression as he said that—no one was at home. “Not Mrs. +F.?” “No one.” “Nor Miss F.?” “No one, sir. I’ve already said so +twice.” “And when will they return?” “Oh, that’s hard to tell. Not +to-day, nor to-morrow. Who knows.” + +Baron K. cast a contemptuous glance at the lackey, and went away. But +he could not help feeling the bang with which the footman closed the +door as an insult. What was to be done now? He must have a clear +understanding at any cost. Entering a stationer’s shop at the corner of +Oxford street and Park lane, he wrote a few hasty lines to Mr. F. The +London mail is prompt and punctual. An hour and a half after, the +postman’s familiar double knock echoed on Baron K.’s door; the +housekeeper brought in a letter, which he snatched from her hand in the +utmost excitement, only to drop it the next moment, fairly stupefied. +It was his own note, on whose back Mr. F. himself had written: “Not +accepted. Return to Baron K.” + +An hour after the poor young fellow was seated in the elegant reading +room of the Army and Navy Club, into which a friend had introduced him +as a guest for several weeks; he held in his hand the last number of +the Echo, but, instead of reading, he was gazing into vacancy. His +frank countenance showed mental agitation which even a dull eye could +not fail to notice. At this hour he was almost alone in the spacious +apartments of the aristocratic club, and, consequently, almost +unobserved. But he did not remain solitary long. One of his most +intimate friends, Captain W., entered, looked around in search of +acquaintances, and as soon as he saw Baron K. came up to him, shook +hands, and exclaimed loudly: “What brings you here at so unusual an +hour, old fellow?” But, glancing keenly at him, he instantly added in +an altered tone: “How you look! Are you ill? Is anything wrong?” + +The other burst into a peal of angry laughter as he replied: “Not ill, +but crazy. If, perhaps, I am not already, I soon shall be! But Heaven +sends you to me; perhaps you can give me some explanation. Listen. +Yesterday evening I was at Mr. F.’s.” + +“I know,” interrupted the captain, with a significant smile. + +“Well, I was at Mr. F.’s. We were talking together in the pleasantest +manner about various matters; I told him that, in Hungary, I had shot +five foxes and even more in a single day—” + +“What?” exclaimed the captain, sharply. “You mean killed!” + +“Why yes, killed, shot dead.” + +“Oh! I see,” answered the captain, in a voice whose chill fairly froze +the marrow in K.’s bones, and, without another syllable, he turned on +his heel, went to the next table, took up a magazine, and walked slowly +to an armchair. + +K. looked after him a moment with dilated eyes and open mouth, then, +reaching his side at a single bound, he grasped his shoulder with a +trembling hand and fairly roared into, his ears: + +“You too! This is an actual conspiracy! But you must give me an +explanation, you shall not escape.” + +The captain looked at the excited young man before him with the cold +apathy of the Englishman, shrugged his shoulders, and answered very +calmly: + +“I don’t wish to have anything to do with you, sir.” + +The two or three men who were in the room began to turn their heads +toward the pair and, when K. continued to demand explanations from +Captain W. in vehement tones, the latter quietly left the apartment, +while the poor baron remained a prey to the most conflicting emotions. +He let himself drop into an armchair, buried his face in his hands, and +thought of nothing at all. But he was not to retain this position long +undisturbed. Scarcely ten minutes had passed ere a servant entered, +stopped before K., and, with a courteous bow, offered him a note on a +silver tray. + +Baron K. opened it; it contained only the following words, very +hurriedly written: + +“Upon an oral report made by Captain W., the secretary of the Army and +Navy Club begs to inform Baron K. that he shall not be considered any +longer the guest of our club.” + +Baron K. did not utter a word, but convulsively crushed the note, +thrust it into his pocket and left the room. + +He went directly to the embassy, where he found a young friend, whom he +entreated to aid him in an affair of honor. But the other, shrugging +his shoulders, said that he could not serve if the person to be +challenged was an Englishman. Besides, he must be on his guard, for the +authorities here understood no jesting in these matters. + +Baron K. went out with his wrath unappeased; he had only one +thought—vengeance. Captain W. was an officer and a member of the Horse +Guards, he could not avoid giving him satisfaction. Without troubling +himself any farther about seconds, he went home and wrote a letter, in +which he challenged him to meet him with arms in his hands unless he +desired to be declared a miserable coward and chastised in the public +streets. The letter was posted, and Baron K. felt somewhat calmer. He +spent this evening at home, for he had a secret hope that Captain W. +would answer at once. But half-past nine o’clock came, the last double +knocks echoed and died away in the street, but this time none sounded +at his door. The next morning also the expected reply did not arrive, +but, late in the afternoon, he received an official document, summoning +him to appear the next morning at eleven o’clock before the Westminster +Police Court, on pain of legal penalties, etc., etc. + +Baron K. went from one state of astonishment to another; he no longer +knew what to think of himself, the English, the world, and began to +feel really ill. Under such circumstances the hours passed slowly +enough, he naturally felt no inclination for society, and it seemed as +if, in the last two days, he had lived ten years, when, punctually at +eleven o’clock the next morning, he appeared before the alderman who +acted as judge in the Westminster Police Court. He had not long to +wait. First a cabman was condemned to pay four shillings and sixpence +because he had charged a passenger three pence too much, then Baron K. +heard his own name called. Advancing to the judge, he asked what was +wanted. The judge showed him the letter which he had written to Captain +W. and asked if he knew the epistle. K assented. Did he acknowledge +that he was its author? Another affirmative answer. Was it a jest, or +had he been serious in the challenge and threats which the letter +contained? Very serious, K. answered. + +The judge then raised his voice, saying impressively: + +“I ought to condemn you, for disturbance of the peace and dangerous +threats, to three months imprisonment with hard labor, but in +consideration of the fact that you are a young, ignorant, foolish +foreigner, unfamiliar with the laws of the country, you need only pay a +fine of fifty pounds sterling. You must, however, find two persons who +will give bail that you will keep the peace for six months, and you +must also keep in mind that if you utter even the slightest threat you +will be sentenced to hard labor!” + +A few days after the incidents related, I chanced to meet Baron K. in +the Zoological Gardens, where, with a friend—an author who had traveled +extensively and possessed much experience of the world—I was inspecting +some animals which had just arrived. I thought that K. was greatly +altered and told him so. He laughed bitterly, and answered: + +“Pray don’t ask me to tell you the reason, otherwise the same thing +might happen which has already befallen me twice.” + +But as I urged him, he at last resolved to gratify my wishes. When I +had heard the story as I have just related it, I stood still and stared +at him in astonishment, as much bewildered as Baron K. himself. The +English author who was in our company smiled in amusement and, after +looking at the luckless young fellow a while, he said: + +“Then you do not know that to shoot a fox, or to kill it in any way +except with a pack of hounds, horses, etc., is a far baser crime, in +the eyes of the majority of my countrymen, than to steal a purse? You +do not know that there is scarcely a gentleman in England who would +give his hand to a man who had killed a fox with a bullet?” + +We certainly had not known it, but it was true. Baron K. was now a +wiser, but a sadder man. He left England soon after, and I shall not be +surprised to hear that he does not express the kindest opinions of the +island kingdom and its inhabitants. + + + + + + + + +WITHIN AN INCH OF ETERNITY. + + +The windows of the restaurant were open, and the cool, fragrant air of +the spring night was struggling with the smoke-laden atmosphere of the +room. A glance out of doors showed the azure sky and the brilliant full +moon, whose glimmering bluish rays shone through the young leafage of +the blossoming trees, which swayed gently to and fro before the windows +in the light breeze. But nothing was more remote from the minds of our +circle, which met every evening at a certain table for social +intercourse, than poetical ideas. The club, of which I was one, +consisted principally of worthy citizens, who had a far greater liking +for bright gaslight than for dim moonlight, and who appreciated the +charms of a good supper much more than the spell of the loveliest +spring night. The topic of our conversation was prosaic town gossip, +which, as usual, gradually merged into foolish talk about politics or +discussions concerning the Government, the theater, high taxes, and +similar subjects. By a connection of ideas which I do not now recall, +the question had arisen whether it was credible that a person’s hair +could suddenly turn gray from violent mental excitement. Part of the +company received the anecdotes current about such cases with slight +doubts, while others most pitilessly derided persons who were simple +enough to believe such nursery tales. + +Just as the conversation became most animated, a man of unusual height +and herculean frame, whom he had not previously noticed, rose from a +side table and approached us. His intelligent features, which bore the +stamp of resolution, seemed spiritualized by the large, kindly blue +eyes. But the most striking peculiarity in his appearance was the snow +white hair and the gray beard framing his face, which, at the utmost, +indicated an age of only thirty-five years. + +“Pardon me if I enter into your conversation,” he said, bowing +courteously. “You are speaking of a subject which greatly interests me. +I myself am a living proof that terrible mental agitation really does +exert the physical influence which you all doubt.” + +His words awakened the utmost interest. We made room for him at our +table, and, after he had taken his seat, unanimously urged him to tell +us what had caused the whiteness of his hair. + +The stranger feigned no undue modesty, but yielded to our entreaties +and related the following story: + +“If you have ever paid any attention to American affairs, the name of +Auburn cannot be unfamiliar; it has about the same significance in the +United States as Spielberg has in Austria. You must not imagine Auburn +as an immense gloomy prison, a single large building, but rather a +whole colony of criminals, a metropolis of the miserable outcasts of +society. Inclosed by enormous walls, which rise menacingly to a +considerable height above the plain, are a great number of single +structures, houses which contain the cells of the prisoners, the +residences of the wardens, barracks, hospitals, and workshops, all +desolate and dreary, with here and there a bit of turf, a row of trees, +a bed of flowers, like an innocent memory of childhood among the evil +thoughts of a criminal. + +“Circumstances which I will not weary you by recounting had led me, +after completing my education in my native city, Hamburg, to America, +and after a brief time in New York I found myself prison surgeon in +Auburn, which, as perhaps you know, is in the State of New York. + +“I had charge of a part of the prison which contained the worst +criminals, men, or, rather, human hyenas, to whom blood had ceased to +be a very special liquid, as Mephistopheles terms it. Two, who were +condemned to lifelong imprisonment in the institution, and were +distinguished among the others by great bodily strength, craftiness, +and intelligence, had, in consequence of repeated bold and cunning +attempts to escape, been placed under more rigid oversight than the +rest. I had incurred their special hate because I had once caused the +discovery of several iron tools, which—heaven knows how obtained—they +had concealed under their clothing, and on another occasion discovered +that they were shamming when, on the plea of illness, they desired to +be placed in the hospital, probably because they hoped to find the +conditions there more favorable for their plans of escape. The +scoundrels were separated and heavily chained, but nevertheless one +morning one and, a few days later, the other vanished, chains and all, +without leaving a trace. About a fortnight afterward I went to Cayuga +Bridge on some private business. + +“It was noon when I reached the end of my ride, and I gazed with +delight at the sunlit landscape before my eyes. Cayuga Lake, one of +those which, with Lake Erie, form the network of inland lakes, lay +before me in its peculiar loveliness. Between rugged, rocky shores, +confronting each other like sullen foes, the long, narrow sheet of +silver extended its clear surface as if striving to reconcile the two +enemies who had stared defiantly at each other for centuries. Across +the lake, which is about forty miles long, and, at this point, a mile +wide, the railway trains run on an immense wooden bridge, a marvel of +American enterprise, which has a station at Cayuga Bridge, an +insignificant village. + +“My business was soon completed, and toward evening I set out on my way +home. Are you familiar with the pleasure of a ride on a summer evening? +Cayuga Bridge is surrounded by extensive oak forests, through which I +had to ride a considerable distance. The huge, lofty trunks cast long +shadows and the tops rustled so softly that one rather felt than heard +them. As I passed beneath these woodland giants, sweet memories of my +far-off home stole into my heart. Absorbed in thought, I loosened the +bridle of my horse, which trotted slowly forward. I admired the +bewitching blending of colors produced by the rays of the setting sun, +as they shone through the dense, dark green foliage and seemed to +kindle the edges of the leaves. Suddenly I was roused from my dreams by +a rustling in the underbrush on both sides of the road. I seized my +pistol and turned quickly, but at the same moment received a terrible +blow, which deprived me of my senses. True, I opened my eyes once more +and fancied I saw indistinctly, as if in a dream, one of the escaped +criminals bending over me, then darkness shrouded my mind. + +“It must have been late at night when consciousness returned. I opened +my eyes and saw above me in the deep blue sky a radiant full moon. A +dull, heavy sensation in the back of my head made me try to put my hand +on the aching spot, but I discovered that I was bound hand and foot. +Gradually I collected my thoughts, remembered the attack by highwaymen, +and a terrible foreboding, which made my heart stop beating, darted +through my brain. I felt that I was laid across two sharp parallel +projections, which pressed against me most painfully and, listening +intently, I heard, far below me, a faint splashing noise. There was no +doubt—I was lying across the rails of the Cayuga Bridge, bound, unable +to move, with the terribly certain prospect of being cut into three +pieces by the next train. + +“I almost lost consciousness again. But I soon recovered my composure. +Then I tugged desperately at my bonds till they almost cut my muscles, +shrieked, and at last wept like a child. I tried to roll myself into a +different position, and remembered that an incautious movement would +hurl me into the silent waves of the Cayuga—bound hand and foot, +motionless as a stone. + +“I shuddered and lay still. But not long. The light of the large, to +me, fearfully brilliant moon, the plashing of the water below, the wind +blowing softly, then the deathlike silence again, rarely interrupted +even by the distant note of a bird—all became unendurable and inspired +me with unspeakable terror. And the rails! The rails! My senses +tortured me. I could not escape them. The wooden beams of the bridge +trembled almost imperceptibly from the washing of the water. I imagined +I felt the approach of the train and my hair bristled; the wind sighed +a little louder, I fancied I heard the dull panting of the engine and +my heart stood still, only to throb the next instant with such dreadful +speed that the pulsations were almost audible. + +“There are some things, gentlemen, which are totally incomprehensible +to me; one of them is how I survived that night. One thought stood +distinctly before my mind. I must endeavor to work myself into another +position—if possible, get into the space between the rails—if I was +not, perhaps the next moment, to become the victim of the most +agonizing death. + +“And I succeeded! I strained every muscle, every sinew to the point of +breaking. I writhed, I twisted, I panted, my head seemed bursting, and, +after tremendous exertion, which appeared to me to last an eternity, +though perhaps it was only moments, I found myself in the hollow +between the rails. + +“Was I safe? I had not time to consider or rejoice in my new hope, for +all my vital powers were concentrated in the single sense of hearing. +In the far distance I distinguished, at first vaguely, then more and +more distinctly, the regular, monotonous, dull noise which is produced +by the engine of a moving locomotive. The awful silence of the night +merged minute by minute into the still more awful, confused jarring +sounds, the rattling and groaning, rumbling and panting of a +locomotive, which was rushing forward at the mad speed of American +trains. A thousand feet more, five hundred—all the terrors of the +infernal regions assailed me, but not a muscle moved; I lay as if +turned to stone. I tried to shriek, but did not even hear my own voice; +how should it reach those on the train? + +“Now, for an infinitely brief space of time, I fancied that I saw a +bright light, a blast of hot air fanned me, then suddenly darkness +shrouded me, I heard a thundering roar as though the very heavens were +falling. + +“Close, very close, barely an inch above, the monster dashed over me—I +was safe. Still half unconscious, I heard a deafening rumbling and +clattering, and saw shadowy masses flit by; there was another moment of +mortal dread—the hook of a chain which hung lower than the rest caught +me, dragged me along a few feet and finally tore a large piece from the +breast of my coat, releasing me—then every object danced around me, the +moon, the bridge, and the high bank whirled in a giddy maze above and +below me, and my senses failed. + +“When I regained my consciousness I found myself in my bed, with +familiar faces around me. To make the story short, I had been picked up +the morning after that terrible night by a signal man, recognized, and +taken to Auburn. A violent fever kept me for a fortnight within the +shadow of death, but my strong constitution conquered. When, after my +recovery, I looked in the glass for the first time, I saw what traces +those moments had left upon me.” + +The physician paused. His pallid face, the expression of horror in his +eyes, the perspiration which stood in large drops upon his brow, showed +how vivid must be his remembrances of the scene, and how greatly the +narration had exhausted him. + +Gradually the breathless anxiety with which we had listened to the +story related with such graphic power passed away, and cheerfulness +returned. + +Then we paced to and fro for a long time in the moonlight, in the +garden behind the tavern, listening to the doctor’s tales of less +harrowing experiences in the young land of liberty, wonders, and +adventure. + + + + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 77764 *** |