XIX
The palace at Buda to-day (restored by Maria Theresia) is chiefly remarkable for the imposing beauty of its exterior; within, the severe elegance of its walls and furniture conveys not a hint of the ornate luxury, the gorgeous magnificence of the palace of the fifteenth century, during the reign of Matthias Corvinus, son of John Hunyadi, the period in which Hungary commanded the admiration and homage of Europe.
Not content with the reputation of a soldier second only to that of his great father, Matthias, ascending the throne at the age of fifteen, and giving immediate evidence of intellectual and governing qualities of a rare precocity and order, quickly ripened into a scholar andthe most liberal patron of the arts in the world of his day. This great and singular man, who on the battle-field endured the hardships of the meanest of his soldiers; who, disguised, entered the camp of his enemies again and again, or calmly took his observations amid a rain of bullets and spears, whose justice passed into a proverb, and who was a rigorous administrator of finance, had a love of luxury, matched by no contemporary, that would have sapped the energies of another man, and a delight in purely intellectual pursuits and discussions that rounded one of the most versatile and grandly equipped characters known to history. He established and personally disciplined a body of foot soldiers—the Black Troop—modelled upon and equal to the famous Janissaries of Turkey, conquered the Czechs, and captured Vienna, driving out Frederick, the German Emperor, forcing him to take refuge in a wagon drawn by oxen, and to beg from convent to monastery like any common mendicant. The court of this ardent soldier became the rallying-ground of scholars and artists, who not only lived on his bounty, but were raised to the highest positions in the royal household. He spent his hours of leisure in day-long arguments with the scientists and savants who had deserted all other courts for this most enlightened and fascinating of monarchs, or lying at ease on a couch covered with a golden tapestry embroidered with pearls, in one of the most splendid libraries that any mortal has ever possessed. This library, sacked with the rest of the palace by the Turks after the battle of Mohács, was contained in two immense rooms, whose walls were covered with carved shelves of precious woods and tapestries of velvet embroidered with gold. The books, collected by Matthias, and in many cases written for him, numbered ten thousand. They were inscribed on white vellum, illuminatedby the most accomplished masters of the art, and bound in colored skins set with precious and semi-precious stones. On the cover of each volume was a miniature of Matthias and his coat-of-arms. The furnishings of the Palace of Buda, its objects of art, many made from gold or silver and of a great size, the tapestries, the pleasure-rooms, the hanging gardens of his several palaces, were marvels of beauty and costliness; and the embassies which he constantly sent to the various courts of Europe so surpassed the efforts of other monarchs in extravagance that his resources of wealth alone struck despair to the hearts of those who may have meditated an assault upon his kingdom. When about to take a second wife, Beatrice, daughter of the King of Naples, the splendors and luxuries of Buda were augmented two-fold; and on the day of the wedding the great hall of the palace, in addition to its silken hangings interwoven with gold and precious stones, its tapestry of sheer gold, its thousand vessels of silver, its golden service chased with the history of the world, silver casks of wine were suspended from the ceiling, and a huge silver fountain spouted the choicest and costliest of all wines, the Tokay of Hungary.
The manuscripts in their jewelled cases, the thousand objects of barbaric magnificence, were gone forever. There was no modern art that could simulate them, even could craftsmen be found with patience for the attempt; but Ranata had persuaded the Emperor to send to Buda some twenty of the superfluous Gobelins which the Hapsburgs have retained throughout their vicissitudes. Her argument had enlivened the mood of her father, and raised still higher his hope in his youngest born.
“The Hungarians,” Ranata had written, “no doubt resent the very obvious fact that there are so few treasuresin the Palace of Buda, and, knowing that our tapestries are packed away in large numbers, and are as priceless as they are beautiful, must infer that we fear to trust them in this most precarious of our possessions. So it has seemed to me that it would be another stroke of diplomacy to send several of the best, with the understanding that they are to remain here. It is a small yet impressive sum to stake as an expression of our confidence in ourselves and our Hungarian subjects.”
The tapestries had been promptly despatched, and now hung in the four circle rooms opening into the Great Hall of Ceremonies, and in the blue drawing-room and adjacent dining-room. These rooms, as well as the long suite down the front of the palace, were recalled for the night of the ball from their arctic splendors by a lavish adornment of palms and flowers, and in several of the smaller rooms the lights were pink. Modern as it was, the Great Hall itself, with its panels, like lakes of liquid gold, its heavy incrustations of yellow bronze on the brilliant white of the wood, and its immense chandeliers, with their thousand points of light, was too perfect in its way to gain aught from the past, nor did Ranata add so much as a flower.
It had been decided that Prince Árpád Nadasdy, an aged magnate and close friend of the Emperor, should wear the royal robes of Matthias, as neither political nor sentimental significance could be attached to his impersonation. The old Prince was far closer upon senility than his king would ever be, and addicted to long nights of Csendes, at the Nemzesi Casino, the club of the magnates, where he had left all of a once large income not absorbed by the turf; but he had ordered his costume of a long-suffering tailor, and vowed, over the hand of his beloved princess, that he would give the final touch of reality to the scene. As Matthias had died in hisprime, and was possessed of a classic beauty, Prince Nadasdy, who did not number vanity among his vices, had announced his intention to wear a flowing fair wig and a beard, although the fine outline of Matthias had been shaved on the battle-field. The piercing glance of that monarch no art could coax into the bleared orbs of the old magnate, but he still had a figure of majestic height and carriage, and in spite of dissipations he had preserved its slimness. He was to wait at the upper end of the Throne Room until Ranata, who was to impersonate Beatrice of Naples, dressed for the first time in the national costume of her lord, should have made, in her own character, the perfunctory round of greeting among her assembled guests. He would then stand at her side at the lower end of the hall while the peasants danced the Chardash, and afterwards walk with her through aquadrille d’honneur.
At nine o’clock on the night of the ball the great company was assembled in the Hall of Ceremonies awaiting the entrance of the court, but the aged Matthias had not made his appearance. In that splendid scene, however, he was not missed, and every eye turned constantly towards the door beyond the second circle-room which led to the private apartments of the Archduchess. Many had not yet seen her, or but in glimpses, and by this time curiosity had risen to fever pitch. The women as well as the men were in the eccentric splendor of their national dress, and although it varied little in cut, fancy and extravagance prevailed in the materials of the low bodice, the apron, and the voluminous skirts; and bodice, neck, and arms were almost obliterated by the big dull uncut jewels and heavy chains which, with the ancient costumes of velvet and satin, embroidered and brocaded with a lost art, neither time nor poverty has been able to drive from the chest of the Hungarian.The magnates wore, although lightly, their velvet cloaks, fur-lined, embroidered with jewels, and carried their plumed kalpags in one hand.
The men distinguished in art and letters, without jewels or hereditary costume, still made a fine showing in the silk-and-velvet dress of the retainers of the court of Matthias, but the greater number of the deputies, in their fierce Hungarian pride, had chosen to wear the military uniform of that period, which included a short braided jacket and a velvet cloak of some brilliant color.
The young girls, although in attire less imposing than that of their mothers and married sisters, were quite as picturesque, and their white gowns rested the eye in that blaze of color. Each house had contributed a young son who wore the purple velvet, the golden chain, and the golden network on their heads of the ambassadorial youths of King Matthias. These pages stood in a double file along the two circle rooms leading to the apartments of the Archduchess. In the high gallery that traverses the hall a military band played softly. Beneath, in the arcade, a double gypsy band awaited their turn and eagerly observed the historic scene. Behind them, erect against the wall, as dignified and impressive as the greatest of the nobles, were the peasants who were to dance the Chardash. Their presence was a surprise to all, and they had inspired almost as much conversation as the royal hostess herself.
That conversation was very animated, at times quite shrill, for the Hungarians, as lively by temperament as the American, were more excited to-night than they had been during the visit of William of Germany. The excitement during his entertainment had been, with slight exception, confined to the men, but there was not a woman in the palace to-night who did not feel a flutter at her heart and a shortening of her breath. Not onlywas Ranata is appearance and manner their ideal of what a princess should be, and the daughter of a queen and the sister of a prince they had worshipped, but they stood in expectation of the initial moment of a court life which promised to be more brilliant than anything in Europe, might indeed revive the gay splendors of the days when their fathers had been the greatest aristocracy in the world—when the Hapsburgs were robber barons and the Hohenzollerns unknown. That this should be given to them who had been starved of court life, that those who were too impoverished to leave their entailed homes and go to Vienna should now cherish the prospect of constant functions, and many private entertainments in the palace, filled every feminine heart with a sense of enchantment, and gratitude to this fairy princess who had dared to have an idea. They were prepared to love as much as they admired her, and jealousy had entered few souls, in spite of the extravagant admiration of the men. Many of the women, indeed, were beautiful enough to spare themselves envy, and those who were neither handsome, nor yet pretty, had sufficient cleverness and animation to keep their little courts together.
Alexandra had decided not to enter in Ranata’s wake. Having none of that unwisdom which permits a wound to self-love that a grievance may be nursed afterwards, nor yet affinity for the rôle of the humble follower, she was always careful not to be placed in any position by her exalted friend that might rankle too late in her brain. She had, therefore, entered the room early, under the chaperonage of Princess Nadasdy, and Zrinyi, as ever, hovered close. He was a beautiful object in his thick gold embroideries, his plum-colored velvet cloak, his buttons and his chains; and Alexandra, in the dull-rose costume with its old-lace veil and apron, lent her by theambitious Zápolya, excited his approval to such a degree that once more he poured his impassioned avowal into her ears, and begged her to accept the chests of his grandmother as well as himself.
“Are they at your castle in the Alps?” asked Alexandra. “How can I decide such a question when I do not yet know whether that castle is sufficiently romantic to meet my most exacting taste? Like all Americans, Count, I am a connoisseur in castles; and how can I be sure that your grandmother’s clothes will fit? Besides, I am a monomaniac on the subject of microbes.”
Zrinyi, if he did not yet understand her, was by this time sufficiently seasoned to accept her sallies with neither sulks nor despair. Perceiving that she was in a frivolous mood he changed the subject.
“Are you not glad to be here to-night?” he demanded. “To play a part? Who knows what may be the result of the extraordinary impression the Princess has made? I feel that to-night she will either make a—a—portentous impression or disillusionize us altogether.”
“Great moment in the history of Hungary?” asked Alexandra mischievously.
The Count flushed, but laughed. “Yes,” he said defiantly. “I seldom have presentiments, but when I do—I shall not give you another chance to laugh at me. I do not see Mr. Abbott. Was he not to come with Prince Nadasdy? I hope nothing has happened to our king of to-night. He was not very sober last evening at the club. I have not seen him to-day, and hoped he was in bed building himself up for the ordeal.”
“I have not seen my brother since yesterday—he sent word this morning he could not come to tea; but I know of no one so well able to take care of himself. Still I am surprised, for he should be here before the Princessenters. Even he would hardly dare to arrive afterwards. Have you seen him?”
“Only this morning in the park, where I happened to be rather early. Perhaps he went off for a day in the country; I fancy he is tired of being stared at. He excites as much attention as the Princess, and he told me last night that he is persecuted by all sorts of men with business schemes, to say nothing of those who expect him to instruct them in the art of getting rich. I find something picturesque myself about his unimaginable wealth, combined with the fact that he is a gentleman and young; but I admire more his achievements, and I am very proud to be one of the many to do him honor in Hungary.”
Then Alexandra gave him a dazzling smile, and moved a step closer. “You are so much more sensible than you were!” she whispered. “I feel as if you owed as much to me as to your mother. Who knows what may happen if you continue to improve?”
“I know that American girls say things that in any other women would indicate a small amount of heart and soul. It is safe to assume that you mean nothing you say.”
“Think of the reserve force, lacking in your emotional woman! I may not give much at a time when I marry, but I shall have enough left to spread over a lifetime.”
He laughed. “At least I don’t delude myself that you are a poet in disguise. Well, I only ask that you marry me and let me begin your education. You may also continue mine.”
“You really are improving—” began Alexandra, when with the rest of the company she fell silent. The staff of the Grand Chamberlain smote the floor three times.
The doors of the private apartments opened, and the officers of the court appeared, walking backward. Asthere was no throne, they took up their position on either side of the entrance to the Hall of Ceremonies. And then Ranata entered.
She entered alone, although her ladies followed a moment later. As she walked slowly down the two circle rooms, empty but for the pages, the great company, in curious excitement, which they attributed afterwards to the complete illusion she produced, thronged towards the entrance of the hall, breathing shortly and crowding each other without ceremony.
Her appearance and her solitary progress between the ranks of bowing pages in their rich mediæval costumes, was as startling in its historic naturalness as in its stately and picturesque beauty. The full skirts of her gown were of a material so fine as to be almost invisible, covered with embroidery in pearls and silver thread, and flounces of point-lace. The bodice, sloping outward from waist-line to shoulders, was of pale blue velvet, half covered with lace, and roped together across the black tulle of the under-bodice with strands of large pearls. The court train of blue velvet was lined with lace instead of ermine—thus increasing the ethereal effect of the whole costume—and embroidered with black ravens holding a golden ring in the beak—the emblem of John Hunyadi. Her hair fell to her knees in thick ropes wound about with strands of pearls, two traversing the front of her figure, the rest half hidden by the veil which hung from a tiara almost as high as the Pope’s. On her neck and arms were many pearls. The brilliant fairness of her skin, the flaming copper of her hair, the intense blackness of her brows and lashes, the regularity of her features, and the majestic beauty of her figure, combined with her royal state, the enchantment of her condescension as a daughter of the coldest house in Europe, and her bewildering presentment of the daughterof the Anjous, induced one moment of silence so profound that it was almost hysterical. Then Zrinyi lifted his kalpag and cried “Élyen!” and in another moment the vast company, from Prince Illehazy, most dignified of magnates, to the most truculent deputy in the room, were stamping their feet and shouting “Élyen!” until the chandeliers trembled, and their lights were reflected in the jewels on the waving kalpags. Even the peasants and gypsies forgot their humble rôle and broke in with abrupt discordant cries, the Roumanians shouting “Setreasca!” And then all united in one great “Vivat!” It was a tribute as portentous as it was spontaneous, for it had been accomplished by the art without words.
For an instant Ranata felt a sensation of tumultuous faintness, but she walked on slowly, not relaxing the mask of her face, except for a graceful smile of acknowledgment. Then she was possessed by an exhilaration which sent the blood through her veins like spirits, and in her brain was a confusion of feminine and patriotic delight, insolent triumph over the man who had worked harder than she to make these walls ring, and an emotional melting towards one whose face she did not see in that worshipping throng. It had been arranged that the distinguished American should attend King Matthias as captain of the “Black Troop,” and although his place for the moment was at the head of the throne room beside the King his height should make him noticeable even in the confused breaking of ranks. But Ranata’s eyes did not encounter his, and as she advanced closer to that tossed sea of flashing eyes and shouting voices, this daughter of the Cæsars, who had convinced an emperor and his Metternich that she could maintain the integrity of an empire, for a moment forgot her great rôle and permitted her soul to murmur, “Is hehere? Is he here? If he is, does he think me the most beautiful woman in the world? Is he thrilled with my triumph? Does he love me the more for it? Does he love me at all?”
She had almost reached the entrance of the throne room, and the company was moving backward to the walls, when, through the falling wave of sound, a low note reached her ear from a new direction. It came from the blue drawing-room, which here opens from the second circle-room; and although the word was merely the one still echoing, and uttered hardly above a whisper, it thrilled Ranata as even the fulness of her triumph had not done. Only the self-control which the years and her state had given her kept her eyes fixed upon those who would note the flicker of a lash.
She entered the throne room, and made her tour of the guests in what was now an atmosphere vibrating with suppressed excitement. They held their breath to hear her speak; and although to exchange a word with each would have consumed the night, she paused where she thought it judicious and said a few personal words, while her eyes included those close by. When she reached the end of the room she discovered that the royal bridegroom was not at his post, and was profoundly annoyed. She herself might be the Hamlet of the piece, but without the chief accessory the illusion would tremble. There was no sign of him, however, and she could only hope that, fearing the full fatigue, he was in the blue room with his captain.
She forgot him for the moment as her eye suddenly encountered the fixed and fiery glance of Lajos Molnár. He wore a fierce red uniform, and stood against the wall with his arms folded. He looked as if he had been dragged to the palace by a halter and was prepared for the worst that could befall him.
Ranata smiled brilliantly, and motioned to him to come forth. He obeyed with such precipitation that there was a momentary panic in the ranks. Ranata gave him her lifted hand, and he kissed it like any courtier.
“Thank you for obeying my orders,” she said. “Have you brought your friends?”
“Four,” he stammered. “The others were obdurate, but I shall win another time. These are all men of importance; and like myself they would die for you, your Royal Highness!”
“Ah! Would you?” she asked softly. “I shall not ask that—only that you will all come here to luncheon to-morrow, and tell me what you think I should know. Will you?”
“Yes—yes—will I?”
Ranata smiled again and passed on, but in truth she was repelled at the unmasked passion in his face. It was evident that she had succeeded too well; and, while to fascinate him was a necessary part of her programme, his love both disgusted and faintly alarmed her. Like all women whose depths have been profoundly stirred by one man, she regarded the proffered love of other men as an insult, and was merciless.
When she had finished her progress amid a tribute as expressive as its vocal prelude, she took her stand at the end of the room; the Grand Chamberlain raised his hand, and the leader of the gypsy bands struck his cymbal. The peasants made their way to the middle of the hall, and began the curious stamping march which sometimes opens the Chardash. The company were diverted at once. Not only was here a novelty worthy of the night, but the peasants had been selected for their good looks and the superior beauty and freshness of their costumes. The men from the Hungarian villageshad much embroidery on their white trousers and flowing shirts, and on the wide sleeves which escaped from jackets as elaborate in device as they were gay in color; their slender waists were bound with the silken sash of the gala-day, and many wore chains about their necks. Those that had been found in Hungary’s Roumanian villages beyond the Theiss wore the ancient Persian sandal laced half-way to the knee, closer trousers, and a graceful shoulder-cloak. Their women wore panels of embroidery over white petticoats, and blouses almost as elaborate; while the Hungarian women, if not so richly attired, were quite as picturesque in their tight bodices of bright cloth with full sleeves and upper front of spotless lawn, their fancy aprons and dainty kerchiefs. All were handsome, and some of the Roumanians with their Roman faces and antique heads and forms had as much beauty as falls to the lot of any mortal. As they passed Ranata they looked their loyalty, for they too pulsed with the popular excitement, but they played their part with a calm self-possession which the great hills and the lonely plains had bred in them, and courts could do no more.
Ranata fixed her gaze resolutely upon them, but her ear was strained towards the drawing-room. Why did not the bridegroom come forth and bring the captain in his wake? But it was not until the march was over, and the partners were swinging about to the first slow wail of the dance, and holding every eye, that she became aware of the trailing of regal garments on the hard floor behind her. Her quick ear advised her that, for the moment at least, he was unaccompanied. She set her face in severity, for she had no mind to let the old Prince take his own way unreproved, and as he finally halted beside her she did not speak nor lift her eyes to his, although she darted a glance of feminine curiosityover his costume. It was regal enough; and in spite of his age he looked a superb and supple figure in his closely fitting armor of gold brocade sewn with jewels, covered to the waist with chains; and his legs in their long silken stockings were as shapely as youth. From his shoulders flowed a mantle of white velvet lined with ermine, and embroidered with the black raven holding the golden circlet in its beak. In spite of her intent to reprove, Ranata’s eye travelled upward to observe how well he wore the crown, the while her ear was alert for another footfall. But her ear forgot its cunning, and her eye the crown it was rising to criticise, the while it should ignore the bleared apologetic orbs of her father’s old friend. Her gaze was arrested and held by the piercing glance which tradition and the artist have given to Matthias Corvinus. And the rest of the presentment was complete, Ranata noted as her knees shook; even under the fair wig and beard the outlines were firm and fine, and the head was well poised and shaped. He looked far more the king than her father or any other sovereign in Europe, except perhaps the man whose memory she had expunged to-night. Had the dead risen? As the room swam round her she wondered if she were expected to drop on one knee. Then the eyes puckered themselves and smiled, and Ranata was the angriest woman in Hungary.
“How dared you!” she exclaimed beneath her breath. “How dared you!”
“Dared?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!”
“It required no courage whatever, merely ingenuity—a considerable amount of that, however. Would you care to hear the story?”
“I have no curiosity on the subject whatever. Where is Prince Nadasdy?”
“At this moment? I have no idea. Yes, he is probably at the casino—if there is any one left to play with him. Otherwise he is doubtless lost to every variety of disappointment.”
“And you—how did you inveigle that costume from him?”
“Inveigle, madame? I paid a king’s ransom for this costume.”
“Your loathsome American millions! I thought there were a few things they could not accomplish.”
“There is nothing, madame. When they fail it is due to bungling only.”
“You have no cause to be angry—to assume that tone with me!”
“You have abused me like a pickpocket.”
“I beg your pardon—it seemed to me incredible that a magnate of Hungary, a prince who has been a member of my father’s household, should do such a thing.”
“When magnates and courtiers are consumed with a passion for gambling, to say nothing of the strong wines of Hungary, they are apt to degenerate into very ordinary human creatures. The story is a brief one, and I know you wish to hear it. I have had the honor of playing a number of games of Hungarian poker with your prince, who conceived a flattering preference for my game, although I usually won. Three nights ago I told him plainly that I wanted to come to this ball as King Matthias, and wear his costume. At first he merely stared at me helplessly; then he reflected that, being an American, I was doubtless mad, and proceeded to deal with me in his gentle and charming manner. When he was convinced both of my strength of purpose and sanity, I proposed a game in which he should stake this costume and his silence against a sum which I will not name. Furthermore, if I won I was to pay the price ofthe costume three times over and return it to him the day after the ball. He confessed that he was haunted by the fear his tailor would not hand over the outfit without the price, and that he might have to mortgage his family jewels to pay it. He closed with my offer in less time than I am telling you this tale. His last scruple was of you, for he knew that I could pass unnoticed in the crowd, particularly if I kept my eyes half shut and waggled my head occasionally; and I vowed to him that I would secure your forgiveness—”
“I shall never forgive either of you, and I am ashamed of him.”
“So am I. But one man’s loss is usually another’s gain, and I am here without a scruple or regret.”
“Your horrible money may have bought poor old Nadasdy, but it will carry you no further.”
Fessenden’s hand closed deliberately on hers, and he drew it through his arm. Ranata was aghast, but it was impossible to struggle, and she stood rigid, but closer to him by two inches.
“I and the money you hate have no further dealings with each other to-night,” he whispered. “But for every barrier it has levelled between you and me, for all that it has permitted me to accomplish that makes me more worthy of you, it has my eternal gratitude. And now, please forget it.”
“I can forget nothing,” she murmured. “And you are running a terrible risk. If my father hears of this you may be requested to leave the Empire.”
“May I tell you that you are looking more beautiful than any one on earth can look?”
“Am I?”
She grasped at her receding anger, but it vanished. Into its place flashed an enchanting sense of danger; the wildness in her Hapsburg blood leaped its dike andseemed to roar in her ears the while it sang in her soul. She forgot the years in which she had mourned the subjugation of Rudolf’s fine brain by his passions, and the interminable disasters his weakness had entailed. Why should she not be thankful that her own drama had begun at last? She should live and feel. What mattered the end?
It was by no means the first time the temptation had beset her since she had met Fessenden Abbott, but her brain had controlled her hitherto; she had fancied that her clear vision would keep the end always in view, however she might feel the weakness of woman within her and indulge it in friendship, while working for the cause of her house. But the excitement and exhilaration of this evening had lifted her to reckless heights, her pulses were throbbing, her being was trembling with exaltation, her head almost whirling. And before her was the great company who knew nothing, suspected nothing. To live in their very presence, as if they were ants on a hill—her newly born dramatic sense flew to the fanning of her emotions. She leaned heavily on his arm and raised her eyes.
“Am I?” she whispered again. “I wondered—I heard yourÉlyen.”
“I knew that you heard it.”
“I did not turn my head.”
“Nevertheless, I knew.”
“Can you read my soul?” she exclaimed in a momentary panic. “Do not read too much.”
“That is all I live for.”
“You—who have so much else! Would you give up one of your ambitions for me?”
“I would give up the whole game, every ambition, every penny.”
“Your country?”
“Yes, my country.”
“You were very cool about it yesterday.”
“Yesterday is not to-night.”
“I had the greatest faith in your devotion to your country.”
“When you feel as I do now you will have faith in nothing else.”
“Do not be too mad. Let us be happy for this one evening.”
“Is this your idea of happiness?”
“I am as happy as I dare to be.”
“When I have taught you what happiness is you will remember this prelude as a very poor affair.”
“Have you also bought poor old Nadasdy’s jewels?”
“No, he is not so bad as that; but he is not above renting them.”
“Not another magnate would speak to him again if they knew what he had done.”
“They are not to know it.”
“Why did you wish to be king?”
“For two reasons: I am tired of duennas and interruptions—I have not much patience. Matthias was the husband of Beatrice, and you are Beatrice. In the eyes of this fanciful company to-night you are my wife—I am your bridegroom.”
He felt her tremble and draw in her breath sharply. But in a moment she raised her eyes again—and there was no veil upon them—and said: “Yes—I will be Beatrice for these few hours, and believe that you are Matthias. Is—do you mean to tell me that there is no happiness in such imagining? If I have been happy in my fancy before, surely this—this—”
Fessenden was as nearly intoxicated as a man may be in the presence of a thousand people. “Listen to the Chardash for a moment,” he said unsteadily.
The Chardash was near its finish. The gypsies were playing madly. The peasants were shouting and stamping, their women dancing with the graceful energy of panthers; the spectators were looking on in delight, the bodies of many swaying slightly. The music stopped with a crash that had a note of disappointment and anger in its triumph; the peasants marched forward and bowed profoundly to their sovereigns—who looked as high and impersonal, yet gracious, as sovereigns should look—then filed out of the room, to revel in the servants’ quarters till morning.
The guests were impatient to dance. The musicians in the gallery received their signal, and the opening quadrilles were quickly formed, eight in the four circle rooms.
Fessenden walked through the stately old-fashioned quadrille very creditably. His hands were concealed in gauntlets, and his height would have saved his face from too close an inspection had any one felt sufficient interest in the old Prince to examine him in detail. Once only he caught the eye of the Countess Piroska Zápolya, and wondered if she had recognized him. He was the least vain of men, but she had exhibited a preference for the distinguished young millionaire as openly as a high-born maiden may; and the glance he encountered to-night was less guileless, perhaps less amiable than usual. But she left Fessenden’s mind as abruptly as she had entered it. He was absorbed in planning an interview alone with Ranata. He had come to the palace in doubt as to what he should say or leave unsaid until a future stage, but her sudden unmistakable yielding to her emotions, if not to him, had sent the blood to his head and spurred his will to action. He divined that she intended to play with those emotions under the protecting eye of the public; but while he had no mind tocourt too great temptation himself, he was determined to seclude her long enough for a conversation which should put an end to moods and coquetry, and compel her to face herself and him. The quadrille finished with a waltz, and he saw his opportunity. He put his arm about her before she had time to retire to her former position.
“Take your train over your arm,” he said, “or you will have a circle about you as many yards deep; and I want to be lost in the crowd.”
She obeyed him, and they waltzed unobserved. The greater part of the company was dancing; the older women, including Sarolta, had gone to the reception-rooms to play cards or eat ices, and no one would be surprised if the royal hostess, her part played, had chosen to retire. It was evident that the guests were expected to enjoy themselves; and if anything further was necessary to add to the gay content of the evening, it came with the rumor that immediately after supper Count Zrinyi and Miss Abbott would lead a cotillion, and that the favors were many and unique.
“This evening is ours,” said Fessenden peremptorily. “Take me where we can talk alone for an hour.”
But she took alarm. “Not quite alone. On the balcony in front of the tea-room perhaps—”
“A balcony, if you like, for it is too warm to think in the palace. But not that one. You must trust me. You will have to do so for the rest of your life, so you may as well begin now.”
Ranata, having no practical knowledge of men, and still throbbing with a reckless desire for adventure, hesitated no longer. She had learned that this American’s power of self-control was very great; and if he would permit her to play with fire until the wildest in her was exhausted, and she could feel for him again asshe had felt in sadder hours of self-communing, why should she fling aside an opportunity which might never come again? He held her in a light embrace, but it filled her with happiness and submission. She was all woman, and the sensation intoxicated her. Let the morrow and its cold duties take care of themselves.
When a woman with an uncommon power of passion delivers herself to liberty after years of self-repression she is more than likely to forget all she has ever considered, and pass with blind eyes the half-way house where most women sit down and think. Perhaps it is more correct to say that the fire in her brain induces a sort of insanity of which the average mortal is incapable, and in spite of the ideals of her calmer moments and her thoughtful programme of conduct, she is at the mercy of the man. In this instance the man was playing a very big game; and although Ranata was in no mood for analysis, instinct told her that he was the one man who had ever loved her with whom she could trust herself.
They were in the circle-room from which her apartments opened. It was not wise to enter directly. She pushed aside a tapestry on the left, and when it fell they were in a corridor. It was deserted and she led him through unlighted rooms and into her suite by the door which the King had used when the Queen came to Buda. Here the lights burned dimly, but she did not pause until they were on the balcony. The moon was too young to reveal them to any one below; but a woman who has been severely chaperoned will sit out all night with a man and shrink from the indelicacy of screening walls.
Ranata sank hurriedly into a chair and motioned Fessenden to one opposite; but he shook his head and stood looking down upon her for a moment without speaking. He had left his beard and wig and crown inthe sitting-room, and in that superb costume under the light of moon and stars he looked not unlike Matthias, and handsomer than himself had ever looked before. His beauty was the last thing that concerned him, but he saw the sudden rise of Ranata’s bosom under the tight bodice, and the flash in her eyes as she dropped them. He did not comprehend the cause, but he tingled in response and almost yielded to an impulse to kneel beside her and take her in his arms. But there was too much to say, and he drew back. If he kissed her now he should have to talk to her another time, and opportunities were too rare.
“Let us thresh it out,” he said. “I want to marry you. You have a hundred reasons against it, of course. They never will mean anything to me; but if you want to relieve your mind I am ready to hear and answer them.”
She had put out her hands in deprecation. “Don’t be so practical to-night! We could write all that if must be said. To-night we were to play a game—I am Beatrice—you are Matthias.”
“Not here. That sort of thing is for a ballroom flirtation, or for lengths which you probably don’t understand. I am up to no such pretty comedy here alone with you; besides, I am in no mood for the unreal, no matter how pleasant it might be. This is a matter of eternity with me. I have never loved any woman before, and I have never wanted anything I have fought for with my life in my hand as I want you. These are the first moments I have actually felt the reality of life. It has been a game before. I know now I could have relinquished that game at any moment for something else, with no very deep pang. But I could no more give you up than I could live without my head. And I have no intention of trying. I shall marry you, but whether it is to be the most difficult job of my life or not depends entirely upon you. You love me, and Iam romantic enough to believe that every man has his mate in this world, and that you are mine; but your head is full of absurd notions that you will have forgotten after a year in the United States.”
She stood up then, the princess again for a moment. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Remember that Europe is still a reality; that, so long as the United States permits it to exist on the map, its prejudices and customs are entitled to respect.”
“I am ready to respect your prejudices, but as I am not a European I am not obliged to accept them as final.”
“Is it possible,” she asked, staring at him, “that you do not know we never could marry?”
“Only if every clergyman on the planet refused to perform the ceremony. Have you not, with that fine brain of yours, thought deeply enough to know that nothing is impossible? I could have told myself that a hundred things were impossible, and be a nonentity to-day. Marriage between a man and woman who are free is the least of the impossibilities.”
“But, great Heaven!—cannot you understand?—I am the daughter of the Emperor of Austria!”
“You are not any other man’s wife. That is all that concerns me.”
“Do you realize what it would mean to Europe, to the principle of monarchy, if I, an archduchess of Austria, married an American?”
“Do you imagine that I am interested in perpetuating the monarchical idea?”
“But I am—at all events, I, as a part of it, know where my duty lies; and—will you consider my mission here?”
“Your mission here is the impossible one of preserving the integrity of the Austro-Hungarian Monarchy. Western Austria will melt towards the German Empire by a natural law; and as for Hungary, cannot you seethat the destiny of this people is independence? They would accept you as a welcome substitute for Franz Ferdinand, but only until they were ready to face Europe as an independent state. Do you suppose that the sole destiny of the United States is to live and prosper? Every day envy of her grows in the European, ridden by police, his individuality cramped by social laws, his manhood dwarfed by a ridiculous institution that should have disappeared with the first year of free schools. Monarchy was necessary enough in its time, but its time is past. All educated mankind is determined upon freedom. William of Germany will not admit it, but his mission is to sweep the kinglets of Europe off the board and unite their states into a peaceful whole which shall convert itself at the right moment into another great republic founded on the few sound principles of socialism. Man’s destiny has steadily progressed towards independence since the beginning of general education, and the time is almost ripe for the fulfilment of it. That is the reason, quite aside from friendship, that I shall give my assistance to William the moment he is ready for it. He pretends not to believe that the result must be a republic, but in the depths of his great intelligence he must.”
Now was the moment for acting, to promise anything if he would desert William. But the thought passed through her mind and out. That might have been possible yesterday, but not to-night; might indeed have been possible an hour earlier, but not now. She too was facing the bald realities; and the chiefest was that her love for this man, at whom she seemed to stare through a mountain, was eternal; and that she could take no advantage of his love for her, even were there anything else that mattered.
As she stood and looked at him, her eyes stony, her face set in despair, Fessenden for the first time felt hiscourage recede. Her next words left him for a few moments without speech, and with the sensation that the world had come suddenly to an end.
“Then,” she said, “I must work out my destiny with my house. If it is tottering, then the severer my duty to stand by it till it falls. What happiness could I have?—what a picture!—I secure in America, and all my kind groaning under the ruins of Europe? I believe that what you predict has reason enough. I am no infatuated monarchist. I have known Alexandra too long for that. And I have never doubted the fate of Austria since Rudolf’s death. There is no reason why the rest of Europe should not follow. But it will not come in a moment, and it is the bare duty of every man and woman of royal birth to give to the old idea their last drop of heart’s blood and life-blood, whether there is any individual achievement for them or not. As for me, if I were convinced—which I am not—that I could do no good by making Hungary mine, still would I remain at my post. It will break my heart; it will make life a mere tread-mill, now that I have known you; but if you kidnapped me I should return.”
They faced each other then for two or three minutes without speaking; but although Fessenden could descend into depths of discouragement, nothing this side of death could keep him there. The army of resources in his soul stirred in their nap—it was seldom they slept—and quickened his blood in the old lust of the fight. He revolted with angry impatience against his momentary despair; and at the same time realized that this, the supreme desire of his life, he would not have won with no exercise of the talents which had been given him that he might wear down and ride down the obstacles of life.
“Very well,” he said, “your way of looking at things is natural enough; but I don’t want you to forget forone moment that, deeply as I respect even your prejudices, they mean nothing to me intellectually, and never can influence my conduct in the least. But on this subject I will say no more now except that your argument that you should stand by your house until it falls is too illogical to be worthy of you. It is not a woman’s part in life to prop up rotten structures, but to assist man in founding new ones to replace the old; nor is it the highest destiny of human beings to retrograde or stand still, but to progress. And if I regard the past with its superstitions and institutions as mere history, as a mere prelude to a far greater present, and if I myself belong to that present and to the future, you by no means are an indissoluble part of the past. You are too virile, too healthy, too modern, too great in every part of your equipment; you represent the utmost that Europe and her centuries have been able to make of your sex; and if she had any design in making you, it was as a present to the future, not as a sacrifice to the past. But enough. I have a plan to propose. For two months we will not speak of this. Nurse your traditions if you like, believe that we must part, but make up your mind to be happy during this time. We will have constant companionship and some moments alone.”
The light broke through her face again, and she held out her hands. “Yes! Yes!” she exclaimed. “A fool’s paradise! That is what I would have asked. It is all I can ever know, and it will give me courage for the rest of my life. But I was afraid—I was afraid— It is a very unpractical plan for you to suggest.”
“I have my unpractical moments,” said Fessenden, “and this is one of them.” And then he caught her in his arms and kissed her, while the music of the Chardash from the palace and the Danube beat upon them; and something of the dearest dream of both was realized.
But he left her presently. As he closed behind him the door by which he had entered the private apartments, he had a flashing glimpse of a face he knew; but the blood was in his head, and the small white visage, disappearing like a ghost’s, made no impression on him—he did not even recall it in cooler moments. He had readjusted his disguise, and he made his way down the great staircase, exciting no more comment than would have fallen to the portion of Prince Nadasdy, who certainly would be expected to go home early. When he reached the palace of the old Prince he changed his gorgeous trappings for the inconspicuous tweeds he had left there, and then went out and walked until dawn. When he returned to his hotel he wrote two letters, one to his father, and one to his friend in Berlin. The latter concluded as follows: “... But not for two months, or thereabouts. I want her to have a deep draught of this Hungarian wine she finds so heady, that she may have the less to torment her imagination with in the future. Moreover, I want that much time to teach her that she really loves me. If we acted too promptly, she might, during the inevitable weeks, perhaps months, of separation, persuade herself that it had been but a passing madness. And I want her to be in no doubt during that time of what her rewards will be.”
“I can safely count on help there,” thought Fessenden, as he enclosed the letter in a second envelope addressed to a less conspicuous name, “for before these two months have passed he will be as anxious to see her in America as I am.”