And now to conclude.
Baroness Sterzl was one of those happily rare natures who have not one redeeming point. In her Moravian estate, whither they now retired, she was sick of her life, and treated Zinka with affectionate austerity. Bored and embittered, she was always bewailing herself and made every one miserable by her sour mien and doleful, appearance. When the year of mourning was ended she began to crave for some excitement; she made excursions to watering places, and to Vienna, where she gathered round her the fragmentary remains of her old circle of acquaintance and tried to astonish them by magnificent reminiscences of her sojourn in Rome. At the same time she still wore deep furbelows of crape, and wrote her invitations on black-edged paper; she talked incessantly of her broken mother's-heart wearing, as it were, a sort of Niobe nimbus; while, in fact, her display of mourning was nothing more than a last foothold for her vanity. General von Klinger always declared that at the bottom of her heart she was very proud of her son having been run through by a Sempaly.
She died, about three years after the catastrophe, of bronchitis, which only proved fatal because, though she already had a severe cold, nothing could dissuade her from going on a keen April morning to see the ceremony of washing the beggars feet at the Burg, with a friend from the convent of the Sacred Heart.
Zinka felt the loss of her mother more deeply than could have been expected. Year after year she spent summer and winter in her country house, where Gabrielle Truyn, with her English governess, sometimes passed a few weeks with her--her only visitors. Truyn very rarely went to see her, and never stayed more than a few hours; and the sacrifice it was to him to lend his little companion for those visits can only be appreciated by those who have understood how completely his life was bound up in hers.
With Princess Vulpini Zinka kept up an affectionate correspondence. Very, very, slowly did her grief fade into the background; but--as is always the case with a noble nature--it elevated and strengthened her. She gave up her whole time to acts of kindness and benevolence; the only pleasure in which, for years, she could find any real comfort was alleviating the woes of others.
Not long after the death of the baroness, General von Klinger left Europe to travel, and did not return till the following spring twelvemonths. He disembarked at Havre and proceeded to Paris, where he proposed spending a few days to see the Salon before going home. By the obliging intervention of a friend he was admitted to the "vernis sage"--varnishing day, or, more properly, the private view--the day before the galleries were opened to the public. Among the little crowd of fashionable ladies who had gained admittance by the good offices of a drawing-master or an artist friend, he observed a remarkably pretty young girl who, with her nose in the air, was skipping from one picture to another with a light and vigorous step, and pronouncing judgment on the works exhibited with the inexorable severity and innocent conceit of a fanatical novice. This fair young critic was so thoroughly aristocratic in her bearing, there was something so engaging in her girlish arrogance, so like a spoilt child in her confidential chat with her companion--an elderly man, and one of the best known artists of Paris--that the old soldier-painter could not help watching her with kindly interest. Presently she happened to see him; scrutinized him for a moment, and came to meet him with gay familiarity.
"Why, General! are you back at last? How glad papa will be--and you have not altered in the very least!..."
"I cannot say the same of you, Countess Gabrielle," he replied.
"Well, of course. We last met four years ago at Zini's I think, ..." she chattered on. "Then I was a child, and now I am grown up; and I will tell you something. General, I have exhibited a picture--quite a small water color drawing," and she blushed, which made her look like her father, "you will come and look at it will you not?"
"Of course," he declared; and then, glancing at her dress: "You are in mourning?" he said hesitatingly.
"Yes," she replied, "in half mourning now--for poor mamma; it is nearly a year since she died...." and a shade crossed her face--"ah, there is papa!" she exclaimed, suddenly brightening, "we are always losing each other--our tastes are different--papa is old fashioned you know--quite behind the times ..."
Truyn greeted the general very heartily; Gabrielle stood looking from one to the other; little roguish dimples played in her cheeks, and at last she stood on tiptoe and whispered something to her father. At first he seemed doubtful, and it was not without a shade of embarrassment that he said:
"We are going on to the Hotel Bristol, where we are to breakfast with my sister. It will, I am sure, give her the greatest pleasure if you will join her party."
The general made some excuses--it was an intrusion, and so forth--but he allowed himself to be persuaded and drove off with them through the flowery and well-watered alleys of the Champs Elysées to the hotel in the Place Vendôme.
"Aunt Marie," said Gabrielle as she danced into the room, "guess who is here with us!"
"Ah, General!" said the princess warmly, "you are the right man in the right place."
But another figure caught his eye--a little way behind his hostess stood Zinka. The sorrow she had experienced had stamped its lines indelibly on her face; still, there was in her eyes a light of calm and assured happiness that blended very sweetly with the traces of past grief. The bright May-morning of her life had been brief and it was past, but there was so tender a charm in her face and manner that even Gabrielle, with the radiance of eighteen, could not vie with her.
Truyn went up to her and there was an awkward silence. Then Gabrielle began to laugh heartily.
"And cannot you guess, General?" she exclaimed.
"It is not yet announced to the world," Truyn stammered out, "but you have always taken such a kind interest ..." and he took Zinka's hand. The old man's face beamed--he positively hugged Zinka and shook hands vehemently with Truyn.
But Zinka burst into tears--: "Oh, uncle," she said, "if only Cecil were here!"
And Sempaly?
After the catastrophe he vanished from the scene--went to the East, and there again came to the surface. A Sempaly may do anything. He is now considered one of our most brilliant diplomatists.
But he has gone through a singular change; from a dandified, frivolous attaché he became a hard-and-fast official. He looks if possible more distinguished than ever and his features are more sharply cut. He is irritable, arrogant and ruthless; never sparing man or woman the biting sarcasms that dwell on the tip of his tongue, and yet, still--nay, more than ever--he exercises an almost irresistible spell over all who come in contact with him.
One day, when the general was waiting at some frontier station in Hungary for a train to Vienna, he was struck by the full rich voice of a traveller in a seal-skin coat, with a fur cap pulled down over his brows, who was giving peremptory orders to his servant. The old man looked round and his eyes met those of the stranger--it was Sempaly, also on his way to Vienna, from the East. They spoke--exchanging a few commonplace remarks, but without any cordiality. Presently Sempaly began with the abruptness for which his name was a by-word:
"You have just come from Paris. You were present at the wedding? What do you think of Truyn's marriage?"
"I am delighted at it," said the general.
"Well, everybody seems satisfied. Marie Vulpini is enchanted, and Gabrielle pleaded for her papa--so I hear.--So everything is for the best in this best of all possible worlds!" he added in his sharp, hasty tones--"and Zinka--how is she looking? The papers said she was lovely."
"She is still very charming," said the general, with the facile garrulity of old age, "and happiness always beautifies a woman--she had but one regret: that Cecil had not lived to see it."
He was suddenly conscious of his stupendous want of tact; so, to put the conversation on neutral ground, he eagerly began to compliment Sempaly on the wonderful rapidity of his advancement, remarking that it must afford him great satisfaction to have so fitting a sphere for the exercise of his peculiar talents.
Sempaly looked at him keenly, and shrugging his shoulders, with a singular smile, he said:
"It is a strange thing, General--when we are young we claim happiness at the hands of Destiny, as if it were our right; as we grow older we humbly sue, only for peace, as an alms.--We get what we demand more easily than what we beg for--but it slips through our fingers."
THE AMAZON.--An Art-Novel, byCarl Vosmaer, from the Dutch by E. J. Irving, with frontispiece by Alma Tadema, R. A., and preface by Georg Ebers. In one vol. Paper, 40 cts. Cloth, 75 cts.
"Among the poets who never overstep the limits of probability and yet aspire to realize the ideal, in whose works we breathe a purer air, who have power to enthral and exalt the reader's soul, to stimulate and enrich his mind, we must number the Netherlander Vosmaer.
"The Novel 'Amazon,' which attracted great and just attention in the author's fatherland, has been translated into our tongue at my special request. In Vosmaer we find no appalling incident, no monstrous or morbid psychology, neither is the worst side of human nature portrayed in glaring colors. The reader is afforded ample opportunity of delighting himself with delicate pictures of the inner life and spiritual conflicts of healthy-minded men and women. In this book a profound student of ancient as well as modern art conducts us from Paestum to Naples, thence to Rome, making us participators in the highest and greatest the Eternal City can offer to the soul of man.
"Vosmaer is a poet by the grace of God, as he has proved by poems both grave and gay; by his translation of the Iliad into Dutch hexameters, and by his lovely epos 'Nanno,' His numerous essays on æsthetics, and more especially his famous 'Life of Rembrandt,' have secured him an honorable place among the art-historians of our day. As Deputy Recorder of the High Court of Justice he has, during the best years of his life (he was born March 20, 1826), enjoyed extensive opportunities of acquiring a thorough insight into the social life of the present, and the labyrinths of the human soul. That 'The Amazon,' perhaps the maturest work of this author, should--like Vosmaer's other writings--be totally unknown outside Holland, is owing solely to the circumstance that most of his works are written in his mother-tongue, and are therefore accessible only to a very small circle of readers.
"It is a painful thing for a poet to have to write in a language restricted to a small area; and it is the bounden duty of the lover of literature to bring what is excellent in the literature of other lands within the reach of his own countrymen. Among these excellent works Vosmaer's 'Amazon' must unquestionably be reckoned. It introduces us to those whom we cannot fail to consider an acquisition to our circle of acquaintances. It permits us to be present at conversations which--and not least when they provoke dissent--stimulate our minds to reflection. No one who listens to them can depart without having gained something; for Vosmaer's novel is rich in subtle observations and shrewd remarks, in profound thoughts and beautifully-conceived situations."Extract from Georg Ebers' Preface to the German Edition.
FRIDOLIN'S MYSTICAL MARRIAGE.--A Study of an Original, founded on Reminiscences of a Friend, byAdolf Wilbrandt, from the German by Clara Bell. One vol. Paper, 50 cts. Cloth, 90 cts.
"One of the most entertaining of the recent translations of German fiction is 'Fridolin's Mystical Marriage,' by Adolf Wilbrandt. The author calls it 'a study of an original, founded on reminiscences of a friend,' and one may easily believe that the whimsical, fascinating, brilliant heir must have been drawn more largely from life than fancy. He is a professor of art, who remains single up to his fortieth year because he is, he explains to a friend 'secretly married.' 'When you consider all the men of your acquaintance,' he says, 'does it strike you that every man is thoroughly manly and every woman thoroughly womanly? Or, on the contrary, do you not find singular deviations and exceptions to the normal type? If we place all the men on earth in a series, sorting them by the shades of difference in their natural dispositions, from the North Pole, so to speak, of stalwart manliness to the South Pole of perfect womanhood, and if you then cast a piercing glance into their souls, you would perceive ... beings with masculine intellect and womanly feelings, or womanly gifts and masculine character.' The idea is very cleverly worked out that in these divided souls marriage is possible only between the two natures, and that whenever one of the unfortunates given this mixed nature, cannot contract an outward alliance. How the events of the story overthrow this ingenious theory need not be told here, but the reader will find entertainment in discovery for himself."--Courier, Boston.
"A quaint, dry and highly diverting humor pervades the book, and the characters are sketched with great force and are admirably contrasted. The unceasing animation of the narrative, the crispness of the conversations, and the constant movement of the plot hold the interest of the reader in pleasant attention throughout. It provides very bright and unfatiguing reading for a dull summer day."--Gazette, Boston.
"The scenes which are colored by the art atmosphere of the studio of Fridolin, a professor of art and the principal character, are full of pure humor, through the action and situations that the theory brings about. But no point anywhere for effective humor is neglected. It runs through the story, or comedy, from beginning to end, appearing in every available spot. And the characterization is evenly strong. It is an uncommonly clever work in its line, and will be deliciously enjoyed by the best readers."Globe, Boston.
CLYTIA.--A Romance of the Sixteenth Century, byGeorge Taylor, from the German by Mary J. Safford, in one vol. Paper, 50 cts. Cloth, 90 cts.
"If report may be trusted 'George Taylor,' though writing in German, is an Englishman by race, and not merely by the assumption of a pseudonym. The statement is countenanced by the general physiognomy of his novels, which manifest the artistic qualities in which German fiction, when extending beyond the limits of a short story, is usually deficient. 'Antinous' was a remarkable book; 'Clytia' displays the same talent, and is, for obvious reasons, much better adapted for general circulation. Notwithstanding its classical title, it is a romance of the post-Lutheran Reformation in the second half of the sixteenth century. The scene is laid in the Palatinate; the hero, Paul Laurenzano, is, like John Inglesant, the pupil, but, unlike John Inglesant, the proselyte and emissary, of the Jesuits, who send him to do mischief in the disguise of a Protestant clergyman. He becomes confessor to a sisterhood of reformed nuns, as yet imperfectly detached from the old religion, and forms the purpose of reconverting them. During the process, however, he falls in love with one of their number, the beautiful Clytia, the original, Mr. Taylor will have it, of the lovely bust in whose genuineness he will not let us believe. Clytia, as is but reasonable, is a match for Loyola; the man in Laurenzano overpowers the priest, and, after much agitation of various kinds, the story concludes with his marriage. It is an excellent novel from every point of view, and, like 'Antinous' gives evidence of superior culture and thoughtfulness."--The London Saturday Review.
William S, Gottsberger, Publisher, New York.
TRAFALGAR.--A Tale, byB. Perez Galdós, from the Spanish by Clara Bell, in one vol. Paper, 50 cents. Cloth, 90 cents.
"This is the third story by Galdós in this series, and it is not inferior to those which have preceded it, although it differs from them in many particulars, as it does from most European stories with which we are acquainted, its interest rather depending upon the action with which it deals than upon the actors therein. To subordinate men to events is a new practice in art, and if Galdós had not succeeded we should have said that success therein was impossible. He has succeeded doubly, first as a historian, and then as a novelist, for while the main interest of his story centres in the great sea-fight which it depicts--the greatest in which the might of England has figured since her destruction of the Grand Armada--there is no lack of interest in the characters of his story, who are sharply individualized, and painted in strong colors. Don Alonso and his wife Doña Francisca--a simple-minded but heroic old sea-captain, and a sharp-minded, shrewish lady, with a tongue of her own, fairly stand out on the canvas. Never before have the danger and the doom of battle been handled with such force as in this spirited and picturesque tale. It is thoroughly characteristic of the writer and of his nationality."--The Mail and Express, New York.
William S. Gottsberger, Publisher, New York.
A GRAVEYARD FLOWER.--ByWilhelmine von Hillern, from the German by Clara Bell, in one vol., Paper, 40 cts. Cloth, 75 cts.
"The pathos of this story is of a type too delicate to be depressing. The tale is almost a poem, so fine is its imagery, so far removed from the commonplace. The character of Marie is merely suggested, and yet she has a most distinct and penetrating individuality. It is a fine piece of work to place, without parade or apparent intention, at the feet of this ideal woman, three loves so widely different from each other. There is clever conception in the impulse that makes Marie turn from the selfish, tempestuous love of the Count, and the generous, holy passion of Anselmo, to the narrower but nearer love of Walther, who had perhaps fewer possibilities in his nature than either of the other two. The quality of the story is something we can only describe by one word--spirituelle. It has in it strong suggestions of genius coupled with a rare poetic feeling, which comes perhaps more frequently from Germany than from anywhere else. The death of Marie and the sculpture of her image by Anselmo, is a passage of great power. The tragic end of the book does not come with the gloom of an unforeseen calamity; it leaves with it merely a feeling of tender sadness, for it is only the fulfilment of our daily expectations. It is in fact the only end which the tone of the story would render fitting or natural."--Godeys Lady's Book.
William S. Gottsberger, Publisher, New York.
PRUSIAS.--A Romance of Ancient Rome under the Republic, byErnst Eckstein, from the German by Clara Bell. Authorized edition. In two vols. Paper, $1.00. Cloth, $1.75.
"The date of 'Prusias' is the latter half of the first century B. C. Rome is waging her tedious war with Mithridates. There are also risings in Spain, and the home army is badly depleted. Prusias comes to Capua as a learned Armenian, the tutor of a noble pupil in one of the aristocratic households. Each member of this circle is distinct. Some of the most splendid traits of human nature develop among these grand statesmen and their dignified wives, mothers, and daughters. The ideal Roman maiden is Psyche; but she has a trace of Greek blood and of the native gentleness. Of a more interesting type is Fannia, who might, minus her slaves and stola, pass for a modern and saucy New York beauty. Her wit, spirit, selfishness, and impulsive magnanimity might easily have been a nineteenth-century evolution. In the family to which Prusias comes are two sons, one of military leanings, the other a student. Into the ear of the latter Prusias whispers the real purpose of his coming to Italy. He is an Armenian and in league with Mithridates for the reduction of Roman rule. The unity which the Senate has tried to extend to the freshly-conquered provinces of Italy is a thing of slow growth. Prusias by his strategy and helped by Mithridates's gold, hopes to organize slaves and disaffected provincials into a force which will oblige weakened Rome to make terms, one of which shall be complete emancipation and equality of every man before the law. His harangues are in lofty strain, and, save that he never takes the coarse, belligerent tone of our contemporaries, these speeches might have been made by one of our own Abolitionists. The one point that Prusias never forgets is personal dignity and a regal consideration for his friends. But after all, this son of the gods is befooled by a woman, a sinuous and transcendently ambitious Roman belle, the second wife of the dull and trustful prefect of Capua; for this tiny woman had all men in her net whom she found it useful to have there.
"The daughter of the prefect--hard, homely-featured, and hating the supple stepmother with an unspeakable hate, tearing her beauty at last like a tigress and so causing her death--is a repulsive but very strong figure. The two brothers who range themselves on opposite sides in the servile war make another unforgettable picture; and the beautiful slave Brenna, who follows her noble lover into camp, is a spark of light against the lurid background. The servile movement is combined with the bold plans of the Thracian Spartacus. He is a good figure and perpetually surprises us with his keen foresight and disciplinary power.
"The book is stirring, realistic in the even German way, and full of the fibre and breath of its century."Boston Ev'g Transcript.
QUINTUS CLAUDIUS.--A Romance of Imperial Rome, byErnst Eckstein, from the German by Clara Bell, in two vols. Paper, $1.00. Cloth, $1.75.
"We owe to Eckstein the brilliant romance of 'Quintus Claudius,' which Clara Bell has done well to translate for us, for it is worthy of place beside the Emperor of Ebers and the Aspasia of Hamerling. It is a story of Rome in the reign of Domitian, and the most noted characters of the time figure in its pages, which are a series of picturesque descriptions of Roman life and manners in the imperial city, and in those luxurious retreats at Baiae and elsewhere to which the wealthy Romans used to retreat from the heats of summer. It is full of stirring scenes in the streets, in the palaces, in the temples, and in the amphitheatre, and the actors therein represent every phase of Roman character, from the treacherous and cowardly Domitian and the vile Domitia down to the secret gatherings of the new sect and their exit from life in the blood-soaked sands of the arena, where they were torn in pieces by the beasts of the desert. The life and the manners of all classes at this period were never painted with a bolder pencil than by Eckstein in this masterly romance, which displays as much scholarship as invention."--Mail and Express, N. Y.
"These neat volumes contain a story first published in German. It is written in that style which Ebers has cultivated so successfully. The place is Rome; the time, that of Domitian at the end of the first century. The very careful study of historical data, is evident from the notes at the foot of nearly every page. The author attempted the difficult task of presenting in a single story the whole life of Rome, the intrigues of that day which compassed the overthrow of Domitian, and the deep fervor and terrible trials of the Christians in the last of the general persecutions. The court, the army, the amphitheatre, the catacombs, the evil and the good of Roman manhood and womanhood--all are here. And the work is done with power and success. It is a book for every Christian and for every student, a book of lasting value, bringing more than one nation under obligation to its author."--New Jerusalem Magazine, Boston, Mass.
"A new Romance of Ancient Times!The success of Ernst Eckstein's new novel, 'Quintus Claudius,' which recently appeared in Vienna, may fairly be called phenomenal, critics and the public unite in praising the work."--Grazer Morgenpost.
"'Quintus Claudius' is a finished work of art, capable of bearing any analysis, a literary production teeming with instruction and interest, full of plastic forms, and rich in the most dramatic changes of mood."--Pester Lloyd.
William S. Gottsberger, Publisher, New York.