“'Franz Carl Infantry, third battalion,' said I, instantly
saluting with my hand.
“'Your name?'
“'Frank Dalton.'
“'Your business?'
“'To visit my grand-uncle, the Field-Marshal von Auersberg.'
“'And is it thus, younker,' cried he, rising, and drawing
himself up to his full height, 'that you dare to present
yourself before a
Feldzeugmeister of the Imperial Army? Have they not
taught you even the commonest rules of discipline? Have
they left you in the native barbarism of your own savage
country, that you dare, against my orders, present yourself
before me?' “'I thought the claim of kindred—' began
I.
“'What know I of kindred, sirrah? What have kith and kin
availed me? I have stood alone in the world. It was not to
kindred I owed my life on the field of Rosbach; nor was it
a relative stanched my bleeding wounds at Wagram!'
“'The name of Dalton—'
“'I have won a prouder one, sir, and would not be reminded
by you from what I 've started. Where 's your character-
certificate?'
“'I have not brought it with me, Herr General. I scarcely
thought it would be the first question my father's uncle would
put to me.'
'“There was prudence in the omission, too, sir,' said he,
not heeding my remark. 'But I have it here.' And he drew
from a portfolio on the table a small slip of paper, and
read: '“Cadet Dalton, second company of the third
battalion, Franz Carl Regiment.——Smart on service, and
quick in discipline, but forward and petulant with those
above him in rank. Disposed to pride himself on birth and
fortune, and not sufficiently submissive to orders. Twice in
arrest, once, Kurzgeschlossen.” A creditable character, sir!
Twice in arrest and once in irons! And with this you claim
kindred with a count of the empire, and an imperial field-
marshal! On the fifth of last month you entertained a party
at dinner at the Wilde Man,—most of them men of high rank
and large fortune. On the eighteenth you drove through Maria
Tell with a team of four horses, and passed the drawbridge
and the moat in full gallop. So late as Wednesday last you
hoisted a green flag on the steeple of the village church,
on pretence of honoring your father's birthday. I know each
incident of your career, sir, and have watched you with
shame and regret. Tell your father, when you write to him,
that all the favor of my august master would not endure the
test of two such protégés. And now, back to your
quarters.'
“He motioned me to retire with a gesture, and I fell back,
almost glad at any cost to escape. I had just reached the
stair, when the Jager called me back to his presence.
“'Art an only son?' asked the Count, for the first time
addressing me in the second person.
“I bowed.
“'And hast three sisters?'
“'Two, Herr General.'
“'Older or younger than thyself?'
'“Both older, sir.'
'“How have they been brought up? Have they learned thrift
and housecraft, or are they wasteful and reckless, as their
native country and their name would bespeak them?'
“'Our humble fortune is the best answer to that question,
sir.'
'“It is not, sirrah!' cried he, angrily. 'The spendthrift
habit survives every remnant of the state that gave it
birth, and the beggar can be as improvident as the prince.
Go; thou hast as much to learn of the world as of thy duty.
Head erect, sir; shoulders back; the right thumb more
forwards. If the rest of the battalion be like thee, I'll
give them some work on the Prater ere long.'
“A haughty wave of his hand now finished our interview, and,
once outside the door, I descended the stairs, a whole
flight at every bound, in terror lest anything should induce
him to recall me.
“And this is Uncle Stephen, Nelly,—this the great protector
we used to build our hopes upon, and flatter ourselves would
be a second father to us!
“When I came out into the street, I knew not which way to
turn. I dreaded the very sight of a comrade, lest he should
ask me about our meeting, what pocket-money he had given me,
and how soon I should be an officer. It was only when I saw
Adolf coming towards me that I remembered all about my debt
to him, of which I had not spoken one word to my uncle. I
ought to have told him so, frankly. Yes, Nelly, I can hear
the murmured displeasure with which you read my confession,
'that I could n't do it.' I was unequal to the effort, and
could not bring myself to destroy that whole fabric of
fictitious interest in which I had wrapped myself. What
would Adolf have thought of me when I said, I have neither
wealth nor station nor prospect,—as humble a soldier as the
sentry you see yonder? What would become of that romance of
life in which we have so often spent hours revelling in a
brilliant future, every incident of which grew up in our
united fancies, and seemed to assume reality as we discussed
it? Where——oh, Nelly! to you I must reveal all——every
weakness, every littleness of my nature—where would be the
homage of respect the poor Bursche was wont to show the
nephew of a field-marshal? No, it was above my strength;
and so I took his arm, and talked away heedlessly about our
meeting, avoiding, where I could, all mention of my uncle,
and but jocularly affecting to think him an original, whose
strange, old-fashioned manners almost concealed the strong
traits of family affection.
“'What of thy promotion, Frank?' asked Adolf.
“'It will come in its own good time/ said I, carelessly.
'Nothing causes more dissatisfaction than the rapid
advancement of cadets of noble family.'
“'But they could make thee a corporal, at least?'
“I laughed scornfully at the remark, and merely said, 'They
may skip over the whole sous-officier grade, and only
remember me when I'm to be made a lieutenant/
“'Thou hast grown haughtier, Frank,' said he, half
reproachfully, 'since thy meeting with the “Feld.” Mayhap in
a day or two thou wilt not like to be seen in company with a
“Wander-Bursche”?'
“I was bursting to throw my arms round his neck, and say,
'Never, whatever fortune have in store for me; thy
friendship is like a brother's, and can never be forgotten;
'but Pride—yes, Nelly, the cursed pride against which you
used to warn me—sealed my lips; and when I spoke, it was
something so cold, so meaningless, and so unworthy that he
left me. I know not how! No sooner was I alone, Nelly, than
I burst into tears. I cried for very shame; and if agony
could expiate my fault, mine should have done so. What
humiliation before my friend could equal that I now felt
before my own heart! I thought of all your teachings,
dearest Nelly; of the lessons you gave me over and over
against this besetting sin of my nature! I thought of our
home, where poor Hanserl was treated by us as a friend! I
thought of our last parting, and the words you spoke to me
in warning against this very pride, ignoble and mean as it
is; and, oh! what would I have given to have thrown myself
into Adolfs arms, and told him everything! I have never seen
him since; he wrote to me a few lines, saying that he
should pass through Baden on his way to Frankfort, and
offering to carry a letter for me; but not once did he
allude to my debt, nor was there the slightest hint of its
existence. On this I wrote an acknowledgment of the loan,
and a pressing entreaty that he would come and see me; but
he pretended one thing and another, affected engagements at
the only hours I was free, and at last abruptly sent for my
letter just when I was writing it. I had much more to tell
you, Nelly, of myself, of the service, and of my daily life
here; but my thoughts are now disturbed and scattered; and
I feel, too, how your shame for my short-coming will take
away interest from what I say. You, Nelly, will have courage
to be just: tell him all that I have been weak enough to
conceal; let him know what suffering my unworthy shame has
cost me; and, above all, that I am not ungrateful.
“It seems like a dream all that you tell me of Kate. Is she
still in Italy, and where? Would she write to me? I am
ashamed to ask the question of herself. They spoke of our
brigade being sent to Lombardy; but even there I might be
far away from her; and if near, in the very same city, our
stations would separate us still more widely. Oh, Nelly! is
it worth all the success ever ambition the most successful
won, thus to tear up the ties of family, and make brothers
and sisters strangers? Would that I were back again with
you, and dearest Kate, too! I see no future here; the dull
round of daily discipline, teaching nothing but obedience,
shuts out speculation and hope! Where are the glorious
enterprises, the splendid chances I often dreamed of? My
happiest moments now are recalling the past; the long winter
evenings beside the hearth, while Hans was reading out to
us. There are rumors of great changes in the world of Europe;
but to us they are only the thunderings of a distant
storm, to break out in what quarter we know not. Oh, Nelly!
if it should lead to war! if some glorious struggle were to
break in upon this sluggish apathy!
“Adolf has sent again for this letter, so I must close it He
will not, he says, pass through Baden, but will post this in
Munich—so good-bye, dearest sister. Tell poor papa all that
you dare to tell of me, and farewell.
“Frank Dalton.
“When you write it must be under cover to the 'Herr Hauptman von Gauss, 2ten Compagnie, 3 Linien Bataillon, Franz Carl Infanterie.' Don't forget this long address, nor to add a line to the captain himself, who is a good-looking fellow, but somewhat conceited.
“I have just heard old Auersberg is to have a command again. I 'm heartily sorry for it. So much for family influence!”
If the reader's patience has lasted through this long letter of Frank's, it was more than Peter Dalton's did. For what between his ecstasy at Kate's good fortune, his own rambling speculations on all that should follow from it, and, above all, what from the slurring monotonous tone in which Nelly passed over such portions as she did not wish him to hear, he grew gradually more abstracted and dreamy, and at last fell off into a deep and most happy slumber. Not a syllable did he hear of the old Feld's reception of Frank; nor did he even awake as little Hans stumped into the room, with a staff in either hand,—aids that, since his accident, he could never dispense with.
“I heard that you had letters, Fräulein,” said he. “Do they bring good tidings?”
“Some would call them so, Hanserl,” said she, with a sigh. “Kate is about to be married.”
Hanserl made no reply, but sat slowly down, and crossed his arms before him.
“The great Russian Prince Midchekoff, of whom you may have heard.”