But as one cannot live by poetry alone, he also acted as mediator when bribery or some equally dirty business was on hand, which accounted for his friendship with Von Wroblewski.
It was, then, in honor of this son of the muse that Lady Anna had made this little party. There sat Wiliszenski, his long, tangled, sandy curls in greater confusion than usual, while he declaimed poems in honor of the great ones of the land. It had been long since he had reckoned a count among his hearers, and he concluded that Agenor having come, notwithstanding he had at first declined the invitation, it was because of his interest in the poet. How gratifying, then, the close attention which this wealthy man accorded him!
He was reading an historical ballad--"The b.l.o.o.d.y Day;" the hero was a Poniatowski, but the poet read it Baranowski, since it scanned equally well. His breast was overflowing with a strong current of poetical inspiration. "May the devil fetch me, if that is not worth fifty gulden to me!"
When he had finished, all were silent. He was unable to see the faces of his auditors, for Lady Anna had so placed the lamp-shade that the light fell only on the ma.n.u.script. But deep silence was the highest of all praise.
"Wonderful!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the lady of the house. The jingle of the verses had swept her ear without conveying a meaning. She had been watching the count as he sat there motionless and awkward as a boy. A sigh heaved her ample bosom. "What a magnificent fellow! And all this for that Jewish girl!"
"Yes, very good indeed," said the count, rousing himself from his brown study.
"Especially the descriptions of the landscape," remarked the magistrate.
"What landscape?" inquired Judith, in surprise. She alone had followed the poem, hoping thereby to regain her self-possession and quiet her wildly beating heart. She had come in obedience to her father"s wishes when she heard the count had refused to come, but when he walked in so unexpectedly she felt as though she must fly--fly from herself.
Herr von Wroblewski pretended not to have heard the gentle interruption. "And these people!" he exclaimed, enthusiastically. "One can really see them! And the feeling!" he added, cautiously. "There must have been some such stupid rubbish," he thought. Then he gave his daughter a signal, and she slipped out of the room unperceived.
"Our Thaddeus is a master mind," he exclaimed. "Some of his ballads rival Mickowicz, _parole d"honneur!_ And he is so versatile! After what he has just read, you would cla.s.s him among sentimental poets. But now, Thaddeus, give us those songs--"Venus in her Night-gown!""
It was a collection of very ambiguous poems, which, at the last recitation, had driven Judith into another room. She could not understand what had so amused the rest of the company, but her instinct had warned her that they were unfit for her ears.
"Perhaps later on," said the poet; "but now I should like to read the "Ballad of King Casimir and the Beautiful Esther.""
"What are you thinking of?" cried Wroblewski, anxiously, for he knew it was a ribald poem against the Jews.
"Let it be!" said Thaddeus. "You have not heard the new version." For, since several Jewish farmers in Eastern Galicia had proven their interest in Polish literature by showing him hospitality for a few days, he had transformed entirely the story of Casimir the Great and his Jewish mistress. "That will fit in splendidly to-day," he thought, "and I may perhaps receive one hundred gulden!" For he had heard of the scene in the ballroom, and the character of his host was a guarantee that Judith and the count had not been brought together on this occasion by accident.
He began to read; the first verses quieted the apprehensions of the head of the house. The former version had shown what a pestilence the Jewish element had been in Poland, but this showed how the chosen people of the Old Testament had found a sanctuary in the poet"s native land; and how Casimir, for love of the beautiful Esther, had granted charters to the Jews, and finally made a queen of his beloved. The poem closed with an ardent appeal to charity and fraternity.
Again all was still. "Excellent!" murmured the host, glancing at the count. Entranced, he gazed at the excited face of the beautiful girl opposite him. Judith did not notice him. Breathing deeply, she sat with eyes half closed, buried in thought, carried away by the emotions aroused by the poem. She had never before heard of the beautiful Esther. It was a revelation that the boundaries which she had felt so bitterly the past few days had not been set by nature; that there had been a time when they had not existed; that there had been a queen of Poland who had been a Jewess, and that it had been neither forbidden by G.o.d nor hindered by man. And then again she experienced that not inscrutable emotion which had stirred within her since the event of the ballroom; though, to be sure, a count was not a king, but-- She aroused herself as if to shake off these thoughts, and met the fixed fiery gaze of the count. She started, and, blushing deeply, arose as if to take flight.
"Admirable!" Wroblewski repeated, with sincerity. "But now I must manage to arrange a private chat," he added to himself.
"Now, my dear poet, please let us have the Venus songs." He grinned like a faun. "They are splendid count, I a.s.sure you."
The poet put out his hand for the dilapidated ma.n.u.script, for these poems were the ones most in demand; but the count interfered. "I think," he said, decidedly, "we had better ask Herr von Wiliszenski for something else better fitted for the ears of ladies."
There was nothing more to be said; so a ghastly but insignificant ballad was read, after which supper was announced, which pa.s.sed off very quietly. Judith and the count were silent, and the poet also; for, to his idea, conversation at such a supper was a sinful waste of time, and of opportunity which did not present itself every day. Wroblewski had therefore to carry on the entire conversation himself; for his wife was in a bad humor, as she did not approve of her husband"s plans in the slightest, but quite the contrary.
As she looked at the dreamy young girl, an idea, and a good one, so it seemed, struck her. "Judith," she said, laughingly, "you are not eating! Has it touched you so deeply that Wiliszenski made the beautiful Esther a queen?"
The probe went deeper than she expected. The girl started, and changed color. "Did she not become one?" she asked, almost under her breath.
Lady Anna laughed aloud. "Did you really believe it?"
"Why not?" exclaimed her husband, with an angry glance. "I believe it.
It was so, was it not, my dear Wiliszenski?"
The poet"s mouth was so full just then that it was impossible to respond immediately. An equivocal answer seemed wisest. He swallowed hastily. "Some chroniclers say so."
"The most reliable," affirmed Wroblewski, energetically.
"Do come to my aid," said Lady Anna to the count. "I have always read that she was only the king"s mistress."
The count hesitated, but only for a second. "So she was," he said. "Our poet knows the old chroniclers better than I do, no doubt; but his poem would scarcely hold its own against the facts brought to light in modern research. It has been proven that Casimir the Great opened his land to the Jews for precisely the same reason as he did to the Germans--that the middle cla.s.s, which was lacking, might be created. It is certain that the beautiful Esther fascinated him for a longer period than did his other _amies_, but history has never allowed her much influence over his actions."
"With due respect to your information," said the magistrate, "I must say I have often read the contrary, "pon my honor, very often! You will, at least, allow that Casimir loved the Jewess better than he did any Christian?"
"Certainly, they all a.s.sert that," Agenor answered.
They rose from the table and retired to the drawing-room. Wanda and Judith sat down to look at some alb.u.ms. Lady Anna entangled the count in a conversation, while the poet took possession of the host. But the latter listened abstractedly, though Wiliszenski was unfolding a business scheme.
The magistrate had caused the arrest of a scoundrel of good family for cheating. Thaddeus portrayed eloquently the grief of his relatives, on account of his having disgraced the Franciscan monastery, where he had been serving his novitiate. They now proposed to send him to Russia, and wished to avoid public sentence of guilt; it would hurt them so keenly.
"All right," responded the magistrate. "I am not a monster; but we will talk of it after a while. Now go into the smoking-room."
The poet obeyed. Wanda vanished at her father"s nod; and Lady Anna, who did not dare to cross his plans for a second time that day, also withdrew, though unwillingly.
"Now, my dear count," said the magistrate, with a glance at Judith, "I must beg you to excuse me, too."
"But, Herr von Wroblewski--" Agenor began.
"What is it you wish?"
"I must say I do not approve of the way in which--" He paused, although his host stood before him, with drooping eyes, like a penitent sinner.
"Don"t scold me," Wroblewski said. "Do not spoil my pleasure in seeing you here, although so unexpectedly." He bowed, and left the room.
The count bit his lips, and looked hesitatingly, first after him and then at Judith. She stared at the book which lay before her. The lamp-light shone on her auburn hair and delicate rosy face. He drew a deep breath, and stepped up to her.
She glanced up at his approach, and when she saw they were alone she seemed ready to run.
"What is interesting you so?" he asked, as unconcernedly as he could, looking at the engraving open before her. "Heidelberg? A splendid town!
My regiment was in Mayence for some time, and I often ran over to Heidelberg."
"My brother is going there to stay," said Judith.
The count inquired why Raphael had not attended an Austrian high-school, to which she replied that it was Bergheimer"s advice, who had so strongly recommended the law schools of Heidelberg; that her father had the greatest confidence in Bergheimer, and had intrusted to him the education of both her brother and herself. The count then asked in what subjects she had been taught, and the methods of instruction, so that, if the magistrate had been eavesdropping, the conversation would not have interested him much.
But after a time it took a more important turn. She told him Bergheimer was a zealous botanist, and had made a good herbarium of plants, special to Eastern Galicia.
"Then I suppose the gardens of the castle interested him?" said Agenor.
"Certainly. Though he was never there."
"Why not?"
"He was not allowed. Admission is forbidden to Jews, as you will see on the board at the entrance. But do not think this embittered him. He always said: "It is not the fault of the count; such a board stands on the park-gates of every castle in Podolia. If they should be removed, it would create great gossip." Bergheimer is such a n.o.ble, gentle creature. He never dreamed of an exception being made in his favor, although he is so fond of flowers. "Perhaps the gardener would allow it," he used to say, "but I do not wish for any advantages above my brethren." And he was right."