Richter was a wealthy rentier, living in Vienna; and a thorough Austrian by birth, education, and nature. Quiet, inoffensive, kindly; there was nothing striking about him in person or position. He never meddled with that firebrand—politics; he had never troubled the most immaculate government of the imperial and royal apostolic Kaiser with unseasonable and unreasonable comments on its virtues or defects; he had never violated that most sacred thing, the concordat; had never offended lord or prince; had hated Hungary, and had always wished Venice at the bottom instead of on the surface of the sea. He was a peaceable citizen, obedient to the decrees of his sovereign, and pursued the even tenor of his life with well-balanced footstep, inclining to nothing that was likely to lead him or his neighbor into the dark and dreary desert of trouble and vexation. Nevertheless the Nemesis of envy marked him for her own; and he was pointed at during the latter part of his life as one who could set the vast army of spies and detectives formed and disciplined by that arch-policeman, Metternich, at absolute defiance.
It was the custom of Herr Richter of an afternoon or morning—as any one might who had nothing better to do—to stroll up and down the principal thoroughfares of Vienna, gaze into its splendid shops, and admire the beauty and the becrinolined silks and satins, muslins and grenadines, of the stately dames of that ancient and quaint city. One day—it was in the summer of 1849—Herr Richter was flâning along the Kätner Strasse, and, impelled neither by curiosity nor covetousness, but that indefinable something which of directs our course and shapes our conduct without our consciousness, stopped before the "Storr and Mortimer" of the Hapsburg capital. Why did he thrust himself in amongst that band of ragged gamins, who, with gaping mouth and burning eyes, were devouring the splendors of the plate-glass window, and wistfully wishing that that glittering heap of rings and chains, brooches and necklaces, cassolettes and lockets, bracelets and eardrops, emeralds, diamonds, pearls, rubies, turquoises, etc., were theirs? Why did he mingle with them? He could not have told you, nor can I. Only he was there, and it was evident his heart, too, was overflowing, like Mr. Pickwick's, with the milk of human kindness. "Poor fellows!" such was his train of thought, "you can never get any of these treasures, though you should toil for a century;" and then turning away, he muttered aloud, still continuing his train of thought, "Any of them might be mine in a moment if I chose." Was he speculating on the iniquitous force of the Austrian guild laws, or the false system of political economy in vogue in Austria? was he pondering over the mysteries of meum et tuum, or endeavoring to solve that profound problem, "La proprieté c'est le vol?"
Possibly yes, possibly no; but just at that moment a strong hand was laid on his shoulder. "One word with you, if you please," said a low musical voice, imperative yet polite.
The invitation was irresistible. With the utmost complacency Herr Richter retired with the gentleman who accosted him underneath one of those huge gateways, porte-cochères, which form the entrance of the old Vienna houses. The stranger then took a paper from his pocket, and looking intently, now at its contents, now at the features of Herr Richter, opened the conversation in a curt and peremptory manner:
"Sir, I am under the painful necessity of requesting you to follow me."
Herr Richter, incensed, grows restiff.
"Pray, sir, who are you that dare—" and without finishing the sentence he threw himself into an attitude of defence, if not defiance.
"Had you not better give less trouble?" coolly asked the stranger. "Am I to call assistance?"
Rapidly the truth dawned upon the Herr. The stranger, though clad in the ordinary attire of a bourgeois, belonged to that mysterious body, dreaded by every section of the community, since it received its orders, so it was universally believed, directly from the cabinet, or a joint committee of the holy alliance itself. Yes, he must be an agent of the secret police.