"A fellow-countryman of mine has mysteriously disappeared.He left Vienna for Bleiberg, saying that if nothing was heard of him within a week's time, to make inquiries about him.This request was left with the British ambassador, who has just written me, adding that a personal friend of the gentleman in question was in Bleiberg, and that this friend was Maurice Carewe, attache to the American Legation.Are you acquainted with Lord Fitzgerald, son of my late predecessor?""I am indeed.I saw him in Vienna," said Maurice; "but he said nothing to me about coming here," which was true enough."Is there any cause for apprehension?""Only his request to be looked up within a certain time.The truth is, he was to have come here on a peculiar errand," with lowered voice."Did you ever hear of what is called 'Fitzgerald's folly?'""Yes; few haven't heard of it." Maurice could never understand why he resisted the impulse to tell the whole affair.A dozen words to the man at his side, and the catastrophes, even embryonic, would be averted."You must tell me who most of these people are," he said, in order to get around a disagreeable subject."I am a total stranger.""With pleasure.That tall, angular old man, in the long, gray frock, with decorations, is Marshal Kampf.You must meet him; he is the wittiest man in Bleiberg.The gentleman with the red beard is Mollendorf of the police.And beside him--yes, the little man with glasses and a loose cravat--is Count von Wallenstein, the minister of finance.That is the chancellor talking to the archbishop.Ah, Mr.Carewe, these receptions are fine comedies.The Marshal, the count and Mollendorf represent what is called the Auersperg faction under the rose.It is a continual battle of eyes and tongues.One smiles at his enemy, knows him to be an enemy, yet dares not touch him.
"Confidentially, this play has never had the like.To convict his enemies of treason has been for ten years the labor of the chancellor; yet, though he knows them to be in correspondence with the duchess, he can find nothing on the strength of which to accuse openly.It is a conspiracy which has no papers.One can not take out a man's brains and say, `Here is proof!' They talk, they walk on thin ice; but so fine is their craft that no incautious word ever falls, nor does any one go through the ice.
"I have watched the play for ten years.I should not speak to you about it, only it is one of those things known to all here.
Those gentlemen talking to the chancellor's wife are the ministers from Austria, Prussia, France, and Servia.You will not find it as lively here as it is in Vienna.We meet merely to watch each other," with a short laugh."Good.The Marshal is approaching."They waited.
"Marshal," said the minister, "this is Monsieur Carewe, who rescued her Highness's dog from the students.""Ah !" replied the Marshal, grimly."Do not expect me to thank you, Monsieur; only day before yesterday the dog snapped at my legs.I am living out of pure spite, to see that dog die before I do.Peace to his ashes--the sooner the better."The minister turned to Maurice and laughed.
"Eh!" said the Marshal.
"I prophesied that you would speak disparagingly of the dog.""What a reputation!" cried the old soldier."I dare say that you have been telling Monsieur Carewe that I am a wit.Monsieur, never attempt to be witty; they will put you down for a wit, and laugh at anything you say, even when you put yourself out to speak the truth.If I possess any wit it is like young grapes--sour.You are connected in Vienna?"
"With the American Legation."
"Happy is the country," said the Marshal, "which is so far away that Europe can find no excuse to meddle with it.""And even then Europe would not dare," Maurice replied, with impertinence aforethought.
"That is not a diplomatic speech."
"It is true."
"I like your frankness."
"Let that go toward ****** amends for saving the dog.""Are all American diplomats so frank?" inquired the Marshal, with an air of feigned wonder.
"Indeed, no," answered Maurice."Just at present I am not in a diplomatic capacity; I need not look askance at truth.And there is no reason why we should not always be truthful.""You are wrong.It's truth's infrequency which makes her so charming and refreshing.However, I thank you for your services to her Highness; your services to her dog I shall try to forget."And with this the Marshal moved away, shaking his head as if he had inadvertently stumbled on an intricate problem.
Not long after, Maurice was left to his own devices.He viewed the scene, silent and curious.Conversation was carried on in low tones, and laughter was infrequent and subdued.The women dressed without ostentation.There were no fair arms and necks.
Indeed, these belong wholly to youth, and youth was not a factor at the archbishop's receptions.Most of the men were old and bald, and only the wives of the French and British ministers were pretty or young.How different from Vienna, where youth and beauty abound! There were no music, no long tables of refreshments, no sparkling wines, no smoking-room, good stories and better fellowship.There was an absence of the flash of jewels and color which make court life attractive.
There seemed to be hanging in the air some invisible power, the forecast of a tragedy, the beginning of an unknown end.And yet the prelate smiled on enemies and friends alike.As Maurice observed that smile he grew perplexed.It was a smile such as he had seen on the faces of men who, about to die, felt the grim satisfaction of having an enemy for company.The king lay on his death bed, in all probabilities the throne tottered; yet the archbishop smiled.
The princess did not know that her father was dying; this was a secret which had not yet been divulged to her.And this was the only society she knew.Small wonder that she was sad and lonely.
