CHAPTER V.
"Is smoking allowed, I should like to know?"
Three times Pistasch made this impertinent little remark as he gazed about him in 'The Temple of National Art.' It was a temporary temple, neither unsuitable, nor wanting in taste, but built in the rapid, superficial manner of a circus, constructed over night as it were, and it was now filled to overflowing with Bohemian lovers of music.
The four gentlemen were sitting in a proscenium box; Truyn and Georges in front, Pistasch and Oswald behind them. The opera was Faust, the mise en scène was rather primitive, and the tenor had a cold; but the principal part was sung by an Italian prima donna who had not only a magnificent voice, but also a pair of uncommonly fine eyes.
It was during the third entr'acte after the cantatrice had been enthusiastically applauded that Pistasch allowed himself the foregoing impertinent observation.
"Do you want to be turned out?" asked Georges.
"I spoke quite innocently, and seriously," said Pistasch.
Immediately afterwards he recognised in the next box a young man as a certain Doctor of Law, with whom he had been associated a few years before on the committee of a charity ball. He extended his hand to him round the front of the box, asked respectfully after the health of a deaf aunt, and after a talented sister, and even made inquiries about a cross cat, a pet of the doctor's, all in faultless idiomatic Bohemian, thus establishing his reputation as a thoroughly genial and national nobleman.
Truyn looked extremely dignified, repeatedly expressed his great pleasure in the progress made by his beloved countrymen, in the course of the last fifteen years, as well as in the advancement of the national cause. Once during the conversation he attempted to make use of the Bohemian idiom, but he only excited the merriment of his auditors.
Oswald was pale and silent.
"What is the matter with you, my boy?" asked Truyn, observing with some anxiety, his weary air, and the dark rings round his eyes.
"I am not quite up to the mark," said Oswald.
"I hope you're not going to be ill," remarked Truyn.
"Bah! He hasn't yet recovered from his conversation with Capriani," said Pistasch. "For my part I cannot understand how you can be in the slightest degree affected by what such a man as that says or leaves unsaid."
"We are not all such philosophers as you," Georges observed, glancing anxiously at his cousin.
The door of the box opened--a slender, dark-complexioned man entered. "Good evening! How are you?"
"It was Sempaly, younger brother of Prince Sempaly, to attend whose marriage he had just returned from the East. He was much tanned and his sharp features wore an air of languid weariness. Prince Sempaly had a few days previously married Nini Gatinsky. The new-comer was warmly welcomed, and then, of course, inquiries were made concerning the bridal pair, Truyn declaring his pleasure in their marriage.
"It pleases me too, exceedingly," said Sempaly, with more warmth than he was wont to display. "They are both to be congratulated. Nini was always a dear creature, and she is prettier now than ever; and a nobler character than my brother's I have never known."
"One thing however surprises me," observed Pistasch, the indiscreet, looking inquisitively at Sempaly, "your brother has been a widower for five years; it cannot be that he has spent all that time in bewailing the loss of the Princess. Why did he not grasp his happiness before?"
"I cannot enlighten you on that point," replied Sempaly with a shrug.
But Truyn said, smiling, "Perhaps it did not depend altogether upon Oscar; Nini may possibly have had a voice in the matter."
"You too are going to have a wedding soon," said Sempaly, apparently desirous of changing the subject. "How these young people are growing up! If the resemblance to his mother were not so striking, I should hardly recognise your future son-in-law. Let me congratulate you," and he held out his hand to Oswald, "congratulate you most sincerely. And how are you at home?" he added, turning suddenly to Truyn.
"All well," Truyn replied a little stiffly.
"Pray, carry to your wife and daughter the regards of--one who shall be nameless," said Sempaly with bitterness.
A short pause ensued; then he began, "What do you think of Seinsberg's suicide?"
"Suicide?" exclaimed Truyn.
"Did you not know it?" asked Sempaly.
"I suspected something of the kind," said Pistasch.
"What was the cause of it?" asked Truyn.
"Too intimate an acquaintance with the Conte Capriani?" surmised Pistasch.
"You have about hit the nail on the head, Pistasch," said Sempaly, turning his back to the stage and speaking towards the interior of the box. "It is terrible to think how many of us have fallen victims in quick succession to the rage for speculation."
"It is all over with us!" said Pistasch.
"Do have done with that eternal refrain of yours,"' said Truyn indignantly.
"Well, Georges agrees with me, and even Ossi seems to be infected with our disheartening ideas," rejoined Pistasch, "he declared to-day that we were nothing but romantic ruins."
"Ah, the ruins in Austria stand firm;" rejoined Truyn, always the same reactionary idealist, "of course we must consider how to adapt the ancient structure to the needs of the age."
"Do you think so?" said Sempaly, twirling his moustache. "Would you turn the Coliseum into a gas-works? For my part I am not greatly in favour of the practical adaptation of historical monuments. Bah! leave us as we are! The ruins will remain standing for some time yet, and in virtue of their time-worn uselessness, will manage to overawe the practical modern architecture that is springing up all around them, until the next earthquake, and then--crash--" he made a quick, characteristic gesture--"and after the downfall those who carp at us the most now will perceive how large a share of poetry and civilisation lies beneath the wreck. It is all over with us, but what is to come hereafter?"
"What is to come hereafter? That is easy enough to foretell;" said Georges quietly, "the universal dominion of the Caprianis!"
"You do Capriani by far too much honour," rejoined Truyn.
"Do not be too sure," said Sempaly, "he is more dangerous than you imagine. It makes me fairly shudder to see how he encroaches upon us, how he hates us, and how much mischief he can do us."
"I wish I knew how he contrived to scrape together so much money in so short a time," sighed Pistasch plaintively.
"I have heard that like Sulla, and various other great men, he owes his rapid success to the fostering protection of the other sex;--they say he has had immense good fortune in that direction, and in spheres where it was least to be expected," said Sempaly.
"What! such a low cad as he!" The elegant Pistasch shrugged his shoulders incredulously.
"Well--" Sempaly gazed into space in a characteristic way; then still twirling his moustache he said with a melancholy cynicism all his own: "There are certain clumsy night-moths who are strangely skilled in brushing the dew from weary flowers in sultry nights."
Oswald, who had been bestowing but a languid attention upon the conversation, now exclaimed angrily, "I detest such vague imputations,--no one has any right to sully the fame of a number of unknown women by a suspicion that--that--" Confused by Sempaly's surprised, searching glance, he stopped short.
"What is he thinking of?" asked Sempaly, looking round at the others.
"A betrothed lover cannot tolerate any aspersion cast upon the fair sex," said Georges.
"Qu'a cela ne tienne," rejoined Sempaly, "the betrothed of Gabrielle Truyn ought to be above such sensitiveness. Gabrielle comes from the corner of the earth, which Love Divine sheltered beneath angels' wings, when the devil showered his poison over all creation. Happy he who meets with such a girl!"
"You do not know her," said Truyn, whose eyes, nevertheless, sparkled with gratified paternal pride.
"I knew her as a child," said Sempaly slowly, "and I know who completed her education."
For a moment they were all silent, and then Truyn began, "I must tell you a delicious bit of gossip, Sempaly;--only fancy, in the spring, in Paris, Capriani, one fine day, sent that goose, Zoë Melkweyser, to sue for Gabrielle's hand! What do you think of that?"
"Incredible!" exclaimed Sempaly.
"Was it not?" said Truyn, who took special delight in recounting this tale, and turning to Oswald, he went on, "Our Gabrielle and a son of Capriani,--was there ever such a joke?"
But Oswald was silent.
"You seem inclined to take your rival extremely tragically," rallied Pistasch.
"This is the tenth time, at least, that I have heard the story," said Oswald angrily.
"You'll have an irritable son-in-law, Truyn, at all events," interposed Sempaly with a sneer.
At this moment Pistasch, whose rage for popularity was always on the alert, called out over the heads of Sempaly and Truyn, "Good evening," to a tall, red-haired young man who had slowly made his way to the front of the pit. With delight in his eyes and a succession of nods, the red-head acknowledged the greeting.
"Who is that?" asked Georges.
"The surveyor's clerk who assisted at the polls to-day--an old acquaintance of mine," said Pistasch.
Oswald's glance fell upon the red-head. He had recognised in the man at the polls the same whom he had struck in the face with his riding-whip, in the dingy little inn-parlour. The encounter in the morning had made no impression upon him, but now....
"Good Heavens, how ill you look!" exclaimed Truyn.
"I feel wretchedly," said Oswald in a forced voice, putting his hand to his head, "do not let me disturb you, I will go home."
"You make me anxious, my boy," said Truyn, "wait a moment, and I will go with you."
"No, no, pray uncle, it is really not worth the trouble, I can easily find a fiacre," remonstrated Oswald, in a strained unnatural voice. But Truyn, always anxious about those dear to him, could not be deterred and the two left the box together.
"What is the matter with Lodrin to-night?" asked Sempaly as he took Truyn's seat. "I could not understand him. Eight years ago, when I saw him last, in Vienna, he was such a bright, merry fellow...."
"Well--" and Pistasch drew a long breath, "he is just beginning to suffer from the Phylloxera."
Georges replied to Sempaly's further inquiries, for Pistasch had become absorbed in an endeavour by sundry little grimaces to put out of countenance the Siebel of the performance, who was skipping awkwardly about the stage in boots much too tight. In this interesting amusement Pistasch forgot all else beside.