"Surely not because I am weak in history and literature," says Pistasch, phlegmatically. "Bah! if one of us only knows who he is, he knows what he needs."
"Yes, everything else would only confuse him," says Scirocco, seriously.
"Precisely," answers Pistasch, coolly. He now sits on the corner of the billiard table, both hands in his pockets, in the large room with its faded leather furniture. "But confess that your sister maltreats me, after I have tried so hard to please her."
"Too hard, perhaps," says Scirocco, and looks gloomily at his cousin.
Is the latter the only one who does not perceive that the Countess would prefer to preserve him in a cage, secure from the attacks of audacious women and mothers? ""_Ce sont toujour les concessions qui ont perdu les grands hommes_," Philippe Egalite remarked on his way to execution," he continues, and takes his cousin"s ostentatious _navete_ for what it is really worth.
"That might be called forcing history," cries Rhoeden, entering at this moment, and hearing the last phrase.
"Who was Philippe Egalite?" asks Pistasch, with unembarra.s.sed--yes, boasted ignorance.
"A man who, in order to make himself loved by the ma.s.ses, voted for the death of his cousin, the king, made himself riding trousers of the _ancien regime_, and was beheaded by the ma.s.ses by way of thanks."
"Ah! my historical knowledge is extensively widened--but if I only knew to whom to make love!"
"_Il y avait une fois un seducteur qui cherchait de l"ouvrage_,"
remarks Eugene.
"_Je crois Men qu"il cherchait!_" yawns Pistasch. "Really, it is not only on Mimi"s and morality"s account that I do not dare try it with the Lanzberg--but she is so magnificently prudish! Now I do not object to a little prudishness, that is piquant, but quite so much! Recently she, for really nothing at all----"
"Ah, really, for nothing at all?" repeats Scirocco, looking sharply at his cousin.
"Well, not exactly for nothing at all," the latter admits, grumblingly, "but on my word, for a very slight cause, she gave me a dissertation upon her dignity, and that she felt bound to keep the honorable name which she bears spotless."
"She is quite right," declares Sempaly, sharply.
Pistasch laughs rudely. "Well, Rudi, between ourselves, it is nevertheless a little droll to think so much of this name, to boast of its spotlessness--hm!"
Rhoeden displays the indifference of a man who knows that the conversation is upon delicate subjects, and retires to a window recess, where he unfolds a letter. A servant enters and reports that "The Countess begs the Baron to come to the music-room," whereupon Rhoeden vanishes.
Scarcely has the door closed behind him when Scirocco bursts out violently: "You are a muttonhead, Pistasch; the little banker is a hundred times cleverer than you."
"He needs it," says Pistasch, coolly.
"Can you not be silent before him?" Scirocco attacks him.
"No," replies Pistasch, lazily; "I have never accustomed myself to keeping secrets; respectable people have no secrets. Besides, Lanzberg begins to be fairly unbearable, his manner has become so unsteady, so nervous; he no longer finishes a single sentence correctly, has not an opinion of his own, and crouches like a whipped dog. He makes me nervous."
"Are you of stone, have you no heart?" cries Scirocco.
"I am under no obligations to Lanzberg," grumbles Pistasch, very defiantly. "I----"
"Yes, you would be ashamed to protect him a little," says Scirocco, cuttingly. "Recently when L---- remarked to you that you seemed to a.s.sociate with Lanzberg a great deal, you replied, "Yes, he has a pretty wife!" Really, Pistasch, at that moment, in my eyes, you stood morally lower than poor Felix."
"Really," Pistasch imitates his cousin"s tragic tone, "I think I have blundered into an educational inst.i.tution! Lectures and nothing but lectures! First you, then Mimi. How you can permit yourself to compare me with a man like a "certain Lanzberg.""
"Do not talk yourself into useless heat, my dear fellow," says Scirocco, laying his hand on his shoulder. "At present I feel just as inclined to fight a duel with you as I should to cut my own brother"s throat. Consider a little and you will come to the conclusion that you are in the wrong."
Scirocco leaves the billiard-room. For a while Pistasch pushes the ivory b.a.l.l.s over the green table with furious zeal, then he throws himself irritably into an arm-chair.
Yes, he feels plainly that he is in the wrong, but he cannot resolve to change his behavior to Felix. He might at least avoid him, but just now, because and in defiance of Linda"s prudishness, he does not wish to. His prejudice against Linda was nothing but arrogant affectation, but his antipathy to Felix is sincere; it almost resembles that aversion which many egoistic men feel for one mortally ill.
Rhoeden spends an hour in teaching the Countess--a totally unmusical woman who does not know a note, has no feeling for rhythm, but possesses a good voice and a great desire to shine in that direction--twelve bars of a new Italian romance of Tosti.
He goes his little way, pursues his little aim, and will attain it.
Only two years ago young aristocrats invited him exclusively to stag parties, hunts, etc.; then Count F---- wrote a little operetta for a society tenor. The tenor, a young diplomat, after the first rehearsal of the operetta was transferred to Constantinople--universal consternation. They had about resolved to surrender the operetta, which was to be performed for a charitable object, to a professional when Pistasch proposed his old Theresanium comrade, Eugene. Eugene, with his unusually beautiful voice, sang the little role charmingly; all were delighted with his singing, his graceful acting. At one stroke he became the fashion.
His pa.s.sion for Linda, Eugene had long buried under his worldly egoism; he was glad that he had been prevented from the foolishness of a marriage with her. He planned quite a different match, made use of his opportunities, and meanwhile was in no hurry. He knew very well on what footing he stood with society, knew that they wished to fasten upon him Countess Fifi R----, who was red-haired and somewhat hump-backed, or even Countess Clarisse, who was scrofulous and had been much gossiped about, knew it and laughed at it. He was still young and could wait.
Social vanity was his religion, the world his G.o.d, to whom, however, he did not pay such pa.s.sionate, credulous homage as Linda, for example, but always with an ironical smile on his lips.
After he had gone through the romance with the Countess for perhaps a hundred times, had finally taught her text, melody, and even a sentimental mordent, and is now dismissed from duty, Eugene looks into the billiard-room again before he goes to his own room, and finds Pistasch, between thick clouds of smoke, occupied with a tschibouk.
"Do I disturb you?" he asks, gayly.
"Oh, heavens, no! I have long been weary of my own society," sighs Pistasch with feeling.
"I have an amusing bit of news for you, Pistasch," continues Rhoeden, approaching him. "My uncle Harfink"--Eugene always speaks of his relations in a mocking tone, somewhat as one kind of cripples speak of their humps--"my uncle Harfink--you remember his first wife, whom you knew, is dead--well, he has married again!"
"Wish him much happiness," replies Pistasch, who does not see why that should interest him particularly.
"He has married, and none other than the famous Juanita," says Rhoeden, with the calmness of a virtuoso who is sure of his effect.
Pistasch drops his pipe, springs up from his armchair.
"Harfink--married--Juanita, the----" he interrupts himself.
"Yes," says Rhoeden, calmly, "the same Juanita who in her day ruined poor Lanzberg."
"Hm! So you know the story?" asks Pistasch, breathing freely in the consciousness that now all discretion is unnecessary.
"It will go no further through me," Rhoeden a.s.sures him solemnly. "But is not that delightful? My uncle writes me that he has married the aforesaid celebrity, and as his digestion is still not as good as it might be, they have gone to Marienbad for their wedding trip. He begs me to reconcile his daughter to his step, and to find out what kind of a reception his wife may expect in Traunberg. Piquant, eh? Very piquant!"
A shrill bell announces lunch.
"Rudi! Mimi!" cries Pistasch, rushing into the dining-room, where both these, together with Elli and Mademoiselle, are a.s.sembled, "old Harfink has married the Juanita, and has gone to Marienbad for his wedding trip. Is not that magnificent, is not that famous?"
XIX.
"A Modern Donna Elvira!" This sarcastic nickname originated at the time when the charming Privy Councellor Dey, whose wife we are acquainted with, was still alive. Count Dey was a red-haired gnome, who was continually mistaken for his own tutor which, as the facetious Pistasch maintained with conviction to this day, was very annoying to the tutor.
Besides, Count Dey was eighteen years older than his wife, who, if not beautiful, was still uncommonly attractive, and still the poor woman embittered her young life with the most painful jealousy, followed her husband about distrustfully, accompanied him on the briefest visits of inspection to his estates, shivering and heroic, shared with him the cold inconveniences of his grouse hunt in the Tyrol. The world maliciously delighted in the industry with which she defended her rights, and also in the fact that, in spite of her astonishing and extensive precautions, she was continually deceived by her red-haired spouse.
Mimi Dey now served as a warning example for Elsa. She, Elsa, had not the slightest wish to undertake the role of the "modern Donna Elvira,"
and expose herself to universal mockery. Therefore she concealed her jealousy from Erwin with Spartan self-control, and smiled with the most charming loftiness, while the poisonous mistrust tore her bosom as pitilessly as the young fox tore the brave little Lacedaemonian.