CHAPTER XLI
WHEELS WITHIN WHEELS
We must follow Monsieur Stein, for that worthy has got something to do;nay, he generally has his hands full, and cannot, indeed, be accused ofeating the bread of idleness. It is a strange system of government,that of the Austrian empire; and is, we believe, found to answer asbadly as might be expected from its organisation. The State takes sopaternal an interest in the sayings and doings of its children, as tojudge it expedient to support a whole staff of officials, whose soleduty it is to keep the Government informed respecting the habits,actions, everyday life, and secret thoughts and opinions of the generalpublic. Nor do these myrmidons, whose number exceeds belief, and whoadd seriously to the national expenditure, fail to earn their pay withpraiseworthy diligence. In all societies, in all places of pleasure orbusiness, where half-a-dozen people may chance to congregate, _there_will be an agent of police, always in plain clothes, and generally theleast conspicuous person in the throng. The members of this corps are,as may be supposed, chosen for their general intelligence and aptitude,are usually well-informed, agreeable men, likely to lead strangers intoconversation, and excellent linguists. As an instance of theirubiquity, I may mention an incident that occurred within my ownknowledge to an officer in the British service, when at Vienna, duringthe war. That officer was dining in the _salon_ of an hotel, and therewere present, besides his own party, consisting of Englishmen, and oneHungarian much disaffected to the Government, only two other strangers,sitting quite at the farther extremity of the room, and apparently outof ear-shot. The conversation at my friend's table was, moreover,carried on in English, and turned upon the arrest of a certain ColonelTuerr by the Austrian authorities at Bucharest, a few days previously.
This Colonel Tuerr, be it known, was a Hungarian who had deserted fromthe Austrian service, and entering that of her Majesty Queen Victoria,had been employed in some commissariat capacity in Wallachia, and takenprisoner at Bucharest by the very regiment to which he had previouslybelonged. The question was much vexed and agitated at the time, as tothe Austrian right over a deserter on a neutral soil, and Colonel Tuerrbecame for the nonce an unconscious hero. The officer to whom I havealluded, having listened attentively to the _pros_ and _cons_ of thecase, as set forth by his friends, dismissed the subject with militarybrevity, in these words:--"If you say he deserted his regiment before anenemy, I don't care what countryman he is, or in whose service, _thesooner they hang him the better!_" This ill-advised remark, be itobserved, was made _sotto voce_, and in his own language. His surprisemay be imagined when, on perusing the Government papers the followingmorning, he read the whole conversation, translated into magniloquentGerman, and detailed at length as being the expressed opinion of theBritish army and the British public on the case of Colonel Tuerr.
I am happy to be able to observe, _en passant_, that the lattergentleman was not hanged at all, but escaped, after a deal of diplomaticcorrespondence, with a six weeks' imprisonment in the fortress ofComorn, and has since been seen taking his pleasure in London andelsewhere.
To return to Monsieur Stein. It is evening, and those who havepermission from the police to give a party, have lighted their lamps andprepared their saloons for those receptions in which the well-bred ofall nations, and particularly the ladies, take so incomprehensible adelight. At Vienna, every house must be closed at ten o'clock; and thosewho wish to give balls or evening parties must obtain a directpermission to do so, emanating from the Emperor himself. So when they_do_ go out, they make the most of it, and seem to enjoy the pleasurewith an additional zest for the prohibition to which it is subject.
Let us follow Monsieur Stein into that brilliantly-lighted room, throughwhich he edges his way so unobtrusively, and where, amongst rustlingtoilettes, crisp and fresh from the dressmaker, and various uniforms onthe fine persons of the Austrian aristocracy, his own modest attirepasses unobserved. This is no _bourgeois_ gathering, no assemblage ofthe middle rank, tainted by mercantile enterprise, or disgraced bytalent, which presumes to rise superior to _blood_. No such thing; theyare all the "_haute volee_" here, the "_creme de la creme_," as theythemselves call it in their bad French and their conventional jargon.Probably Monsieur Stein is the only man in the room that cannot count atleast sixteen quarterings--no such easy matter to many a member of ourown House of Peers; and truth to tell, the Austrian aristocracy are apersonable, fine-looking race as you shall wish to see. Even the eye ofour imperturbable police-agent lights up with a ray of what in any othereye would be admiration, at the scene which presents itself as heenters. The rooms are spacious, lofty, and magnificently furnished inthe massive, costly style that accords so well with visitors in fulldress. The floors are beautifully inlaid and polished; as bright, andnearly as slippery, as ice. The walls are covered with the _chefd'oeuvres_ of the old masters, and even the dome-like ceilings aredecorated with mythological frescoes, such as would convert anenthusiast to paganism at once. Long mirrors fill up the intersticesbetween the panellings, and reflect many a stalwart gallant, and many a"lady bright and fair." There is no dancing, it is merely a"reception"; and amongst the throng of beauties congregated in thatassembly, impassible Monsieur Stein cannot but admit that the mostcaptivating of them all is Princess Vocqsal.
So thinks the War-Minister, who, forgetful of accounts andresponsibilities, regardless even of the threatening glances darted athim from the other end of the room by his excellent wife, is leaningover the back of the Princess's seat, and whispering, in broad VienneseGerman, a variety of those soft platitudes which gentlemen ofthree-score are apt to fancy will do them as good service at that age asthey did thirty years ago. The Baron is painfully agreeable, and she islistening, with a sweet smile and a pleasant expression of countenance,assumed for very sufficient reasons. In the first place, she owes him agood turn for the information acquired this morning, and the Princessalways pays her debts when it costs her nothing; in the second, shewishes, for motives of her own, to strengthen her influence with theCourt party as much as possible; and lastly, she enjoys by this meansthe innocent pleasure of making two people unhappy--viz. Madame laBaronne, who is fool enough to be jealous of her fat old husband; andone other watching her from the doorway, with a pale, eager face, and anexpression of restless, gnawing anxiety, which it is painful to behold.
Victor de Rohan, what are you doing here, like a moth fluttering round acandle? wasting your time, and breaking your heart for a woman that isnot worth one throb of its generous life-blood; that cannot appreciateyour devotion, or even spare your feelings? Why are you not atEdeldorf, where you have left _her_ sad and lonely, one tear on whoseeyelash is worth a thousand of the false smiles so freely dealt by thatheartless, artificial, worn woman of the world? For shame, Victor! forshame! And yet, as our friend the Turk says, "_Kismet_! It is destiny!"
He is dressed in a gorgeous Hussar uniform, his own national costume,and right well does its close fit and appropriate splendour become thestately beauty of the young Count de Rohan. At his side hangs the verysword that flashed so keenly by the waters of the Danube, forward in theheadlong charge of old Iskender Bey. On its blade is engraved thePrincess's name; she knows it as well as he does, yet ten to one shewill pretend to forget all about it, should he allude to the subjectto-night. Ah! the blade is as bright as it was in those merrycampaigning days, but Victor's face has lost for ever the lightsomeexpression of youth; the lines of passion and self-reproach are stampedupon his brow, and hollowed round his lip, and he has passed at onestride from boyhood to middle age.
He makes a forced movement, as though to speak to her, but his button isheld by a jocose old gentleman, whose raptures must find vent on theengrossing topic of Marie Taglioni's graceful activity; and he has toweather the whole person and draperies of a voluminous German dowagerere he can escape from his tormentor. In the meantime Monsieur Steinhas been presented to the Princess, and she allows him to lead her intothe tea-room, for
a cup of that convenient beverage which continentalnations persist in considering as possessed of medicinal virtue.
"I have the unhappiness to have escaped Madame's recollection," observedthe police-agent, as he placed a chair for the Princess in a cornersecure from interruption, and handed her cup; "it is now my good fortuneto be able to restore something that she has lost," and he looked at herwith those keen grey eyes, as though to read her very soul, while hegave her the letter which had been placed in his pocket-book byfaithless Jeannette. "If she cares for him," thought Monsieur Stein,"she will surely show it now, and I need take no further trouble with_her_. If not, she is the very woman I want, for the fool is madly inlove with her, and upon my word it is not surprising!"
Monsieur Stein looked at women with hypercritical fastidiousness, but,as he himself boasted, at the same time, quite "_en philosophe_."
The Princess, however, was a match for the police-agent; she neverwinced, or moved a muscle of her beautiful countenance. With a polite"Excuse me," she read the letter through from beginning to end, andturning quietly round inquired, "How came you by this, Monsieur?"
Unless it leads to a _revoke_, a lie counts for nothing with apolice-agent, so he answered at once, "Sent to my _bureau_ from theoffice, in consequence of an informality in the post-mark."
"You have read it?" pursued the Princess, still calm and unmoved.
"On my honour, no!" answered he, with his hand on his heart, and a lowbow.
She would have made the better spy of the two, for she could read evenhis impassible face, and she knew as well as he did himself that he had,so she quietly returned him the letter, of which she judged, andrightly, that he had kept a copy; and laying her gloved hand on hissleeve, observed, with an air of bewitching candour--"After that affairat Comorn, you and I can have no secrets from each other, Monsieur.Tell me frankly what it is that your employers require, and the pricethey are willing to pay for my co-operation."
She could not resist the temptation of trying her powers, even onMonsieur Stein; and he, although a police-agent, was obliged to succumbto that low, sweet voice, and the pleading glance by which it wasaccompanied. A little less calmly than was his wont, and with almost aflush upon his brow, he began--
"You are still desirous of that appointment we spoke of yesterday forthe Prince?"
"_Ma foi_, I am," she answered, with a merry smile; "without it we shallbe ruined, for we are indeed overwhelmed with debt."
"You also wish for the earliest intelligence possessed by the Governmentas to the issues of peace and war?"
"Of course I do, my dear Monsieur Stein; how else can I speculate toadvantage?"
"And you would have the attainder taken off your cousin's estates in theBanat in your favour?"
The Princess's eyes glistened, and a deep flush overspread her face.This was more than she had ever dared to hope for. This would raise herto affluence, nay, to splendour, once again. No price would be toogreat to pay for this end, and she told Monsieur Stein so, although shekept down her raptures and stilled her beating heart the while.
"All this, Princess, I can obtain for you," said he; "all this has beenpromised me, and I have got it in writing. In less than a month theGovernment will have redeemed its pledge, and in return you shall do usone little favour."
"_C'est un trahison, n'est ce pas?_" she asked quickly, but without anyappearance of shame or anger; "I know it by the price you offer. Well,I am not scrupulous--say on."
"Scarcely that," he replied, evidently emboldened by her coolness; "onlya slight exertion of feminine influence, of which no woman on earth hasso much at command as yourself. Listen, Princess; in three words I willtell you all. Count de Rohan loves you passionately--madly. You knowit yourself;--forgive my freedom; between you and me there must be nosecrets. You can do what you will with him."--(He did not see herblush, for she had turned away to put down her cup.)--"He will refuseyou nothing. This is your task:--there is another conspiracy hatchingagainst the Government; its plot is not yet ripe, but it numbers in itsranks some of the first men in Hungary. Your compatriots are verystanch; even I can get no certain information. Several of thedisaffected are yet unknown to me. Young Count de Rohan has a list oftheir names; that list I trust to you to obtain. Say, Princess, is it abargain?"
She was fitting her glove accurately to her taper fingers.
"And the man that you were good enough to say adores me so devotedly,Monsieur," she observed, without lifting her eyes to his face, "whatwill you do with him? shoot him as you did his cousin in 1848?"
"He shall have a free pardon," replied the police-agent, "and permissionto reside on his lands. He is not anxious to leave the vicinity of theWaldenberg, I believe," he added mischievously.
"_Soit_," responded the Princess, as she rose to put an end to theinterview. "Now, if you will hand me my bouquet we will go into theother room."
As he bowed and left her, Monsieur Stein felt a certain uncomfortablemisgiving that he had been guilty of some oversight in his game. Invain he played it all again in his own head, move for move, and checkfor check; he could not detect where the fault lay, and yet his fineinstinct told him that somewhere or another he had made a mistake. "Itis all that woman's impassible face," he concluded at last, in hismental soliloquy, "that forbids me to retrieve a blunder or detect anadvantage. And what a beautiful face it is!" he added almost aloud, asfor an instant the official was absorbed in the man.
In the meantime Victor was getting very restless, very uncomfortable,and, not to mince matters, very cross.
No sooner had the Princess returned to the large _salon_ than he stalkedacross the room, twirling his moustaches with an air of unconcealedannoyance, and asked her abruptly, "How she came to know thatill-looking Monsieur Stein, and why he had been flirting with her forthe last half-hour in the tea-room?"
"That gentleman in plain clothes?" answered she, with an air of utterunconsciousness and perfect good-humour; "that is one of my ancientfriends, Monsieur le Comte; shall I present him to you?"
This was another refined method of tormenting her lovers. The Princesshad one answer to all jealous inquiries as to those whom she favouredwith her notice--"_Un de mes anciens amis_," was a vague and generaldescription, calculated to give no very definite or satisfactoryinformation to a rival.
"Have a care, Madame," whispered Victor angrily; "you will make some ofyour ancient friends into your deadliest enemies if you try them sofar."
She looked lovingly up at him, and he softened at once.
"Now it is _you_ that are unkind, Victor," she said in a low soft voice,every tone of which thrilled to the young Count's heart. "Why will youpersist in quarrelling with me? I, who came here this very evening tosee you and to do you a kindness?"
"Did you know I should be in Vienna so soon?" he exclaimed eagerly."Did you receive my letter?"
"I did, indeed," she replied, with a covert smile, as she thought of themode in which that missive had reached her, and she almost laughedoutright (for the Princess had a keen sense of the ludicrous) at thestrange impersonation made by Monsieur Stein of Cupid's postman; "but,Victor," she added, with another beaming look, "I go away to-morrow.Very early in the morning I must leave Vienna."
He turned paler than before, and bit his lip. "So I might as well havestayed at home," he exclaimed in a voice of bitter annoyance and pique,none the less bitter that it had to be toned down to the concert pitchof good society. "Was it to see you for five minutes here in a crowdthat I travelled up so eagerly and in such haste? To make my bow, Isuppose, like the merest acquaintance, and receive my _conge_. Pardon,Madame la Princesse, I need not receive it twice. I wish yougood-evening; I am going now!"
She, too, became a shade paler, but preserved the immovable good-humouron which she piqued herself, as she made him a polite bow, and turnedround to speak to the Russian Minister, who, covered with orders, atthat moment came up to offer his obeisance to the well-known PrincessVocqsal. Had he not constant advices from his
intriguing Court todevote much of his spare time to this fascinating lady? And had she notonce in her life baffled all the wiles of St. Petersburg, and stooduntempted by its bribes? Ill-natured people affirmed that another Powerpaid a higher price, which accounted satisfactorily for the lady'spatriotism, but the Autocrat's Minister had his secret ordersnotwithstanding.
And now she is deep in a lively argument, in which polished sarcasm andbrilliant repartee are bandied from lip to lip, each pointed phraseeliciting a something better still from the Princess's soft mouth, tillher audience--diplomatists of many years' standing, warriors shrewd incouncil and dauntless in the field, grey ambassadors and beardless_attaches_--hang enraptured on her accents, and watch her looks with anunaccountable fascination; whilst Victor de Rohan, hurt, moody, anddiscontented, stalks fiercely to the doorway and mutters to himself, "Isit for this I have given up home, friends, honour, and self-respect? Tobe a mere puppet in the hands of a coquette, a woman's plaything, andnot even a favourite plaything, after all!"
Ladies have a peculiar gift which is enjoyed by no other members of thecreation whatsoever. We allude to that extraordinary property by which,without any exertion of the visual organs, they can discern clearly allthat is going on above, below, around, and behind them. If a man wantsto _see_ a thing he requires to _look at it_. Not so with the other sex.Their subtler instinct enables them to detect that which must be madepalpable to _our_ grosser senses. How else could Princess Vocqsal,whose back was turned to him, and who was occupied in conversation withthe _elite_ of Austrian diplomatic society, arrive at the certainty thatVictor was not gone, as he had threatened--that he still lingeredunwillingly about the doorway, and now hailed as deliverers those prosyacquaintances from whom, in the early part of the evening, he had beenso impatient to escape?
And yet he despised himself for his want of manhood and resolution thewhile; and yet he reproached himself with his slavish submission andunworthy cowardice; and yet he lingered on in hopes of one more glancefrom her eye, one more pressure from her soft gloved hand. He hadparted with her in anger before, and too well he knew the bitterwretchedness of the subsequent hours; he had not fortitude enough, he_dared_ not face such an ordeal again.
So she knew he was not going yet; and, confident in her own powers,pleased with her position, and proud of her conquests, she sparkled on.
"That's a clever woman," said an English _attache_ to his friend, asthey listened in the circle of her admirers.
And the friend, who was a little of a satirist, a little of aphilosopher, a little of a poet, and yet, strange to say, a thorough manof the world, replied--
"Too clever by half, my boy, or I'm very much mistaken. Ninety-ninewomen out of a hundred are natural-born angels, but the hundredth is adevil incarnate, and _that's_ her number, Charlie, you may take my wordfor it!"
And now a strange movement rises in that crowded assembly. A buzz ofvoices is heard--lower, but more marked than the ordinary hum ofconversation. Something seems to have happened. A lady has fainted, oran apoplectic general been taken suddenly ill, or a candelabrum hasfallen, and the magnificent hotel is even now on fire? None of thesecasualties, however, have occurred. Voices rise higher in question andreply. "Is it true?"--"I can't believe it!"--"They knew nothing of itto-day on the Bourse."--"Another stock-jobbing report."--"Immense losson both sides." These are the disjointed sentences that reach the ear,mingled with such terms as the Malakhoff--the Redan--the northside--General Pelissier, etc. etc. English and French diplomatistsexchange curious glances, and at length rumour takes a definite form,and it is boldly asserted that intelligence has that day arrived of thefall of Sebastopol.
Tongues are loosened now. Surmise and speculation are rife upon futureevents. Men speak as they wish, and notwithstanding the presence ofMonsieur Stein and several other secret agents of police, many a boldopinion is hazarded as to the intentions of the Government and theissues of the great contest. Princess Vocqsal scarcely breathes whileshe listens. If, indeed, this should lead to peace, her largeinvestments will realise golden profits. She feels all the palpitatingexcitement of the gambler, yet does the hue not deepen on her cheek, northe lustre kindle brighter in her eye. Monsieur Stein, who alone knowsher secrets, as it is his business to know the secrets of every one,feels his very soul stirred within him at such noble self-command.
For a moment he thinks that were he capable of human weaknesses he could_love_ that woman; and in pure admiration, as one who would fain provestill further a beautiful piece of mechanism, he steps up to thePrincess, and informs her that "Now, indeed, doubt is at an end, forreliable intelligence has arrived that Sebastopol has fallen!"
"Sebastopol has fallen," she repeats with her silver laugh; "then thewar has at last really begun!"
Her audience applaud once more. "_Ma foi, ce n'est pas mal_," says theFrench Minister, and Monsieur Stein is on the verge of adoration; butthere is by this time a general move towards the door: carriages arebeing called, and it is time to go away, the departure of the guestsbeing somewhat accelerated by the important news which has just beenmade public. Victor is still lingering on the staircase. Many a brighteye looks wistfully on his handsome form, many a soft heart wouldwillingly waken an interest in the charming young Count de Rohan, butthe Hungarian has caught the malady in its deadliest form--the "lovefever," as his own poets term it, is wasting his heart to the core, andfor him, alas! there is but one woman on earth, and she is comingdownstairs at this moment, attended by the best-dressed and best-looking_attache_ of the French Legation.
Somewhat to this young gentleman's disgust, she sends him to look forher carriage, and taking Victor's arm, which he is too proud to offer,she bids him lead her to the cloak-room, and shawl her as he used to dowith such tender care.
He relents at once. What _is_ there in this woman that she can thusturn and twist him at her will? She likes him best thus--when he ishaughty and rebellious, and she fears that at last she may have drivenhim too far and have lost him altogether; the uncertainty creates aninterest and excitement, which is pleasure akin to pain, but it is sodelightful to win him back again,--_such_ a triumph to own him andtyrannise over him once more! It is at moments of reconciliation such asthese that the Princess vindicates her woman-nature, and becomes a verywoman to the heart.
"You are angry with me, Victor," she whispers, leaning heavily on hisarm, and looking downwards as she speaks; "angry with me, and without acause. You would not listen to me an hour ago, you were so cross andimpatient. Will you listen to me now?"
The tears were standing in the strong man's eyes. "Speak on," he said;"you do with me what you like, I could listen to you for ever."
"You were irritated because I told you I was about to leave Vienna. Youhave avoided me the whole evening, and left me to be bored and annoyedby that wearisome tribe of diplomatists, with their flat witticisms andtheir eternal politics. Why did you not stay to hear me out? Victor,it is true I go to-morrow, but I go to the Waldenberg."
How changed his face was now; his eye sparkled and his whole countenancelightened up. He looked like a different man. He could only press thearm that clung to his own; he could not speak.
"Will you continue to _bouder_ me?" proceeded the Princess in a playful,half-malicious tone; "or will you forgive me and be friends for thatwhich is, after all, your own fault? Oh, you men! how hasty and violentyou are; it is lucky we are so patient and so good-tempered. TheWaldenberg is not so very far from Edeldorf. You might ask me there foryour _jour de fete_. I have not forgotten it, you see. Not a wordmore, Count de Rohan; I must leave you now. Here is my carriage.Adieu,--no, not adieu, _mon ami, au revoir_!"
Why was it such a different world to Victor from what it had been tenshort minutes ago, from what it would assuredly be the next time theymet, and her caprice and _coquetterie_ were again exhibited to drive himwild? Was it worth all these days of uncertainty and anxious longing;all these fits of jealousy and agonies of self-reproach; to bedeliriously happy every n
ow and then for a short ten minutes? Was anywoman on earth worthy of all that Victor de Rohan sacrificed for theindulgence of his guilty love? Probably not, but it would have beenhard to convince him. He was not as wise as Solomon; yet Solomon, withall his wisdom, seems to have delivered himself up a willing captive todisgrace and bondage--fettered by a pair of white arms--held by a threadof silken hair. Oh, vanity of vanities! "_this is_ also vanity andvexation of spirit."