The hand of destiny

Front matter

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Chapter I

It was 'in Rome, in 187-. Roman society had already separated into the monde noir and the inonde blanc, and had not yet shown the slightest inclination to unite in a monde gris.

Plis holiness the Pope had barricaded himself behind his prestige of a martyr, and the King had commenced to hold his court at the Quirinal.

Among the most prominent of the Austrians who were spending the winter in Rome were the Otto Ilsenberghs. Count Otto Ilsenbergh, one of the heads of the feudal party in Austria, had. come to Rome nominally for his health, but in reality merely for the purpose of consulting the sources offered by the Vatican Library with regard to the “History of Miracles,” which he has since published under some curious pseudonym.

He, with his wife and a whole flock of red-haired young Ilsenberghs of all sizes and ages, lived in 3

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the Corso, in the Palazzo , a rambling historical

building, with cold, stone staircases, and lofty, hall-like apartments, which seemed more appropriate for meetings of conspirators than for innocent routs and dancing-parties.

The countess always received in the evening, when she had nothing more amusing to take her out. She was by birth a Princess Auerstein, of the Auerstein-Zolling branch, the women of which, as is well known, are all distinguished for their white eyebrows and their strict morals.

People liked to go to the Ilsenberghs ; there was no stiffness about their receptions. Smoking was allowed in their parlors ; the countess even smoked herself, generally regalias.

It was the beginning of December. Heavy drops of rain were beating against the windows outside. In an uncomfortably large apartment, decorated with frescoes. Count Ilsenbergh sat at a small buhl table, which was evidently constructed merely for the inditing of love-letters, scribbling away at an article for Our Times. This was the title of a journal of feudal tendencies, which was patronized by the count, subscribed for from feudal ostentation by his friends of the aristocracy, but absolutely read by no one except liberal journalists, when they were hunting for reactionary absurdities.

Count Ilsenbergh was much depressed. Austrian statesmanship had once more crowned its previous remarkable achievements by one still more remarkable-^it h^d, for the fourth time in three years,

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announced a “ new era,” and, setting aside all prejudices, had thrown together at haphazard an exquisitely liberal ministry, which possibly was destined to firmly establish the welfare of the peoples of Austria, but certainly would enrich the drawingrooms of the Ringstrasse by half a dozen Excellencies.

Count Ilsenbergh prophesied the end of the world.

The countess was reclining in an easy-chair beside a renaissance fireplace, framed in by marble chimeras. Handsomely bound editions of “ Mommsen” and “ Ampere” were lying about on the tables in the room ; she held in her hand a shabby novel from a circulating library. She was a large, florid blonde, with a heavy figure, though small hands and feet ; her features were insignificant. She spoke German and French with a strong Viennese accent, was awkward in her movements, and behind the fashion in her dress ; and yet no one eould fail to recognize in her the lady, the aristocrat. An imposing accessory at all court festivities, she never stumbled over her train, and knew how to bear the burden of her family jewels with stately indifference.

The portiere was thrown back. “ General Von Klinger,” was announced.

General Von Klinger was an old Austrian who had, indeed, been so fortunate as to distinguish himself, with his cavalry regiment, at Sadowa, in 1866; but then, furious at “the national blunder” of which Austria had been guilty, had bidden

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adieu to a military career, and, with the title of general conferred upon him on his resignation, had devoted himself entirely to painting. In his regiment he had been considered quite a genius, and had won considerable reputation by his faculty of jotting down galloping horses ridden by stooping jockeys, with his gold pencil, on the back of old letters or visiting-cards. That which excited the greatest admiration in these works of art was the stupendous rapidity of their execution. Since then he had “ studied art” in Paris, had been three times rejected by the jury of the Salon," and had made up his mind to consider this a distinction — thanks to the brilliant example of Rousseau, Delacroix, and many other martyrs who had been obliged to submdt to the same thing. As a misunderstood genius he had left Paris for Rome, where he established himself as a painter in a splendid studio on the Piazza Navona. This studio wms open to the public daily from three to five, and was a favorite place of rendezvous for Roman societ^N

People smiled at the old soldier’s art, without finding him ridiculous. He was a man of honor and a gentleman. Like many old bachelors, whose single state is the result of a youthful disappointment in love, he was gruff and sarcastic on a sentimental background — in short, a pessimistic idealist. A handsome, erect old officer, with a stiff shirt-collar and romantic eyes, he rejoiced in the special favor of all the great ladies of Rome.

“ It was very good of you to think of us, ” said the

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countess in a tone of cordial welcome, adding: “Shocking weather, is it not? Try to warm yourself a little.”

Count Ilsenbergh turned to him from his writing-table, and said: “How are you, general? An old friend like you will excuse me if I go on with my work — just a few lines more — three words. These are serious times, in which each one of us must fight valiantly at his own post!” and this outguard of the feudal cause dipped his pen dejectedly into the inkstand.

The general begged him not to disturb himself. The countess said a few words about some musical soiree; the count, .shortly after, made a flourish under his completed article, saying triumphantly, “That will give them a nut to crack!” and joined the other two at the fireplace.

The rolling of a carriage was heard in the court.

“That may be Truyn; he arrived yesterday,” remarked the countess, and, in fact. Count Truyn was announced.

Eric Truyn, at the time of which we are speaking, was a man in the thirties, with prematurely gray hair and an expression of indifference in his half-closed eyes. He was called “ Truyn the frappd,'" because he always gave the impression of having been cooled in the ice of the highest distinction. His rigid exterior had won for him the reputation of being intensely proud, and belied his inner man.

He was possessed of uncommonly good and

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noble qualities, and that which was looked upon as pride in him was, in reality, only the diffidence of a highly sensitive nature, which, having possibly on some occasion drawn ridicule upon itself by idealistic extravagances, was now anxious to conceal the inner shrine of its feelings from the derision of the world.

“Ah, Truyn, here you are at last! How are you?” cried the countess with her hearty cordiality.

“As usual, thank you,” said Truyn, in answer to her question about his health.

“ How is your wife?” asked Ilsenbergh.

“ I don’t know.”

“ Is she still in Nice?”

“I don’t know;” and with these words his face assumed a peculiarly cold and rigid expression.

“Shall you stay in Rome long?” the countess inquired, her innate tact prompting her to turn the conversation to a more satisfactory subject.

“As long as my little comrade likes it, and it agrees with her,” was Truyn ’s answer. He called his only child, a daughter of about twelve, his “little comrade.”

“You must bring Gabrielle to see us some day,” remarked the countess ; “ my Mimi and my Lintchi are just about her age.”

“ I will present her to you in a day or two ; but unfortunately she is very bashful. She is shy of every stranger; only the general there, and our cousin Sempaly, have succeeded in winning her heart.”

“Nicki?” exclaimed the countess in astonish-

The MaNid of OFSTfNV. §

llient. “ Has he the patience to get along with children?”

“ Not only that, but he has a peculiar talent for it. He dined with us to-day.”

“You never know what to expect of him,” complained the countess ; “ he hardly ever comes to see us.”

At that moment a light step was heard outside, and Count Sempaly was announced.

The new-comer was a man of about twenty-eight or nine, of medium height, slender, but strongly built, had regular, uncommonly fine-cut features, with a dark complexion, an insinuating smile, and large blue eyes under broad, brownish lids. With that same insinuating smile he could make the most audaciously malicious speeches, and it was never easy to decide whether the sparkle in his eye meant a flash of lightning or a sunbeam.

With perfunctory gallantry he kissed the tips of the countess’ fingers; greeted the others with a brusque cordiality peculiar to him, and finally took a seat beside the lady of the house.

“You do well to show yourself once more; we really see too little of you, Nicki ; and you are hardly ever to be met with elsewhere, either,” observed the countess, in a tone of affectionate remonstrance. “ Why do you mingle so little in respectable society ?”

“ Because he finds another kind more entertaining,” chuckled llsenbergh in a low tone.

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A severe look from his wife, however, immediately induced him to assume an air of dignity.

“ I don’t get a chance,” said Sempaly in excuse; “ I have really too much to do.”

“Too much to do?” asked Truyn, with his quiet sarcasm. “ With politics, eh? What is there new?”

“ A remarkable leader in the Temps, on the wash-basin question,” replied Sempaly, with perfidious gravity.

“The wash-basin question?” repeated the whole company in unanimous amazement.

“Yes,” continued Sempaly placidly; “the matter is this. When, recently, the young Duke of

B n, in Paris, entered upon his year of military

service, he was painfully struck by the fact that he was not only expected to live in barracks with his comrades, but also to wash at the pump, like a common soldier. This exasperated his mamma to such a degree that she applied to the war department, with the request that her son might be furnished with a separate wash-basin. After a long consultation the department denied her request. It had been found that that separate wash-basin would not be in accordance with the immortal principles of ’89.”

“That is hardly credible,” observed Truyn; Ilsenberg shrugged his shoulders, and the countess asked naively :

“ What are the immortal principles of ’89?”

“ They were a species of idealistic treaties of peace between the canaille and the aristocracy,” said

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II

Sempaly coolly ; “ or, if you prefer it, they were the first capitulations of prejudice at the feet of humanity,” he added, humorously.

The countess was no wiser than before. Sempaly, smiling maliciously, fanned himself with a Japanese hand-screen, and Ilsenbergh remarked:

“Ah, you are a democrat, Sempaly?”

“From a bird’s-eye point of view,” observed Truyn dryly. His cousin’s liberalism inspired him with little confidence.

“ I am always a democrat when I have been reading ‘The Middle Ages,’” said Sempaly. “The Middle Ages” was the name he gave his cousin’s reactionary journal. “ However, joking aside, I am liberal; but notwithstanding, I find the increasing ascendancy of the radicals somewhat alarming. Tiejis, I had forgotten to tell you something that will please you, Fritzi! The Reds have carried off the victory in Paris, and in Madrid some one has tried to shoot the king.”

“ Horrible !” the countess shuddered. “ We shall have a second Commune T

“ '93,” said Truyn, with his quiet sarcasm.

“ We really ought to have a cordon drawn around the Austrian monarchy in order to prevent the spreading of the democratic plague which is raging there,” Sempaly remarked gravely. “Ilsenbergh, you ought to make a motion to that effect in Parliament.”

“This is no subject for bad jokes,” said the countess; “the matter is growing serious.”

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“ Not with ns, ” remarked Truyn ; “ our people are entirely too patient.”

“They are healthy at the core,” Ilsenbergh interrupted him warmly.

“They do not fully appreciate liberty yet,” said Sempaly, smiling; “and, as for equality, they regard it in the light of metaphysics — as something entirely beyond their grasp.”

“Our people are good and loyal,” replied Ilsenbergh ; “ they know ”

“Oh,” interrupted Sempaly laughing — “luckily for you, they know very little ; let them once open their spiritual eyes, and you may be in fear of your lives. If I were a journeyman mason, I should be a democrat — a socialist, too.”

After this brilliant culmination Sempaly crossed his arms over his breast, and looked about him as if challenging a reply.

“A socialist, you?” cried Ilsenbergh, greatly excited. “ No, Nicki, that you could never be. There is one thing that would always guard you from such wickedness, and that is your religion!”

“Hm!” muttered Sempaly dubiously.

Truyn, however, remarked, with a peculiar pucker of his lips : “ Possibly, as a journeyman

mason, Sempaly would not have had much religion. He might have found it hard to believe in a God who had treated him so shabbily.”

“Be quiet, Truyn,” Sempaly rebuked his cousin rather nervously; “you know I never like to hear religion talked about.”

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“ Ah, true ! You wear Catholic blinders, and are constantly in fear about your religion. You would find it very unpleasant not to be able to hope for a good, unlimited prolongation of your comfortable little existence,” said Truyn demurely, in a sarcastic tone, which sounded rather weary.

For Sempaly had, in fact, no religion at all; but, like all people who are getting along too well in the world, he clung firmly to the belief in immortality. It was on this account that he wore “ Catholic blinders,” and nothing in the world would have induced him to turn over the leaves of a volume of David Strauss.

“We seem to be in great danger, ” sighed the countess, still absorbed in her gloomy fancies. “This new ministry!” she shook her head.

“Will not amount to much,” said Sempaly, “except a few tedious leaders in the newspapers, and a great surplus of new laws, of which the government will not take the slightest notice.”

“The Austrian canaille are beginning to show their teeth too,” lamented the distressed countess.

“ Pah 1 the Austrian canaille are, on the whole, good fellows; they won't bite you as long as you don’t object to their licking your hands.”

“ I should dislike the one as much as the other,” replied the countess, looking down at her delicate white hands with affectionate pride.

“Tell me, Nicki,”said Ilsenbergh, joining in the conversation, “has not the new ministry stood in the way of your promotion?”

Setnpaly, it must be observed, was an attache of the Roman branch of the Austrian factory of political complications — i. e., the Austrian legation at Rome.

“ Of course ; I had hoped to be promoted to London as secretary. But now one of our secretaries is to go there, and to fill his place the democrats are going to send us one of their prot^g^s. Our chief told me of it to-day.”

“Who is the new secretary?” cried the countess hastily; “ if he is a proteg^ of those people, he must be a horrible creature!”

“ A man named Stertzl. He is very highly recommended, and comes here from Teheran, where he is said to have distinguished himself,” said Sempaly.

“Stertzl!” repeated Ilsenbergh sarcastically.

“Stertzl!” cried his wife, horrified; “I hope he is not married — that would be the worst of all!”

“ I can set your mind at rest on that subject, countess,” remarked the general. “Stertzl is a bachelor.”

“Does he — is he perhaps an acquaintance of yours?” she murmured, somewhat embarrassed.

“ He is the son of one of my dearest comrades,” was the general’s reply ; “and if his development has fulfilled the promise held out by his capacities, he must be a young man of energy and character, and possessed of remarkable ability.”

“That is always worth something,” lisped Ilsenbergh in a tone of condescension.

“Yes, so it seems to me,” observed Sempaly, scratching his head ; “ we ought to have at least one worker at the embassy.”

“They had promised me' the position for my nephew,” remarked the countess dejectedly; “it is very unpleasant!”

“Very!” said Sempaly with humor. “Such a foreign element is disturbing, after all, isn’t it ? We had rather be entirely entre nous,''

At that moment tea was brought in on a Japanese stager e ; and the secretary who was a commoner was forgotten for the present.

CHAPTER 11.

Sempaly not only played the democrat in order to vex his cousin, but he was quite serious in thinking himself very liberal, because he made bad jokes about the conservatives, and looked upon the nobility as a venerable structure, which, as he declared, was about as well adapted to the spirit of the times as the Pyramids, only considerably less durable. But in spite of his theoretical respect for the rights of humanity, in spite of his witty contempt for the reactionary party, Sempaly was less tolerant than his mediae vally constituted cousin. Ilsenbergh, with all his feudal mysticism, was nothing but an official aristocrat; Sempaly was an instinctive one. Ilsenbergh ’s sense of rank was a matter of party and of pride, while with Sempaly it was a matter of the nerves.

A few days after the lively discussion at the Ilsenberghs, Sempaly met the general, told him that the new secretary had arrived, and added, with a smile: “I hardly think he can keep his position.”

“Why?” asked the general.

“ Because he speaks bad French and knows nothing about old porcelain,” answered Sempaly with great gravity. Then he continued: “Yesterday I introduced him to Countess Gandry. Jle had

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hardly left us, when she asked (hm! she is the daughter of a leather-dealer in Lille), ‘Is he noble?’ and only think — I could not give her any information on the subject ! I never can remember

‘What commoners are Baron called,

What Jew hath Christian turned?’ ”

And then he added, with an indescribable smile: “ His Christian name is Cecil Maria ! * ‘ Cecil Maria Stertzl’ sounds well, doesn’t it?”

Cecil Maria! The name seemed ridiculous, and was not in the least suited to its bearer. His father had been a colonel of dragoons, who, however, had left the army early, and devoted himself to that favorite occupation of retired army officers — agriculture.

His mother was a faded “ Fraulein Von

She had all her linen — not only that included in her trousseau, but also that which was subsequently purchased for family use — embroidered with her coronet, raised a flag with the colors of her coat-ofarms on the turret of the little chdteau^ and permitted all her acquaintances to call her Baroness, although she had never borne that title.

When, a year after her marriage, she gave birth to a beautiful boy, there was, of course, a long discussion with regard to the name by which he should be baptized.

* In many Catholic countries the name of the Virgin is given to boys in baptism — as, for instance, Carl Maria von Weber. — Tr.

Z

“Cecil Maria!” lisped the mother.

“ Nonsense ! The boy shall be called Anton > after his grandfather,” cried her husband very sensibly.

But on this the young wife burst into tears.

What can a man’s good sense accomplish in opposition to the tears of the mother of his first-born ?

The boy was christened Cecil Maria. When Stertzl senior was hardly forty, he died of scarlet fever. His youngest daughter, whom he idolized, was dangerously ill with that malignant disease, and he had contracted it while devoting himself to her care.

Cecil, at the time, was a handsome, rather clumsy lad, with great contempt for the French language, which his sister’s governess was attempting to instil into him, and a decided predilection for an intercourse with coachmen and peasant boys. The baroness was constantly complaining that he was idle, and that he did not “take proper care” of his hands.

An elder brother of the deceased. General Stertzl, had been appointed guardian to the orphans. He was sincerely interested in the children’s welfare, managed their property with circumspection, and supervised their education conscientiously. After a brief yet keen glance at the talented but neglected boy, his affected mother, and the timid tutor, he shrugged his shoulders at “such a mess,” and placed Cecil at the “Theresianum” — that celebrated military academy for scions of the nobility which all Austrian officers consider an excellent educational institution ; that is, if they have not been educated in it themselves.

For the first six months, Cecil felt wretchedly unhappy in his new surroundings. During the whole of his short life, he had been accustomed to be first everywhere ; it seemed very hard to him suddenly to be last and least in the Theresianum.

Although he surpassed the greater part of his schoolmates in intelligence, he was yet, thanks to his neglected education, behind nearly all of them in his studies. And at that time, with the exception of a youth from Gratz, who was constantly boasting of a brilliant illegitimate pedigree, he was the only commoner in that aristocratic institution.

His comrades ridiculed his Moravian accent, his awkwardness, his name. We have all had to submit to similar jokes while at school. He could not become reconciled to the necessity of this for a long time, and during the first term did not cease to importune his mother and his guardian by letter for deliverance from his durance. But his mother and his guardian remained deaf to his entreaties.

The results which Cecil brought home from school in the midsummer vacation were a depressed state of mind and long white nails, to which he gave a great deal of care.

He commenced the next school-year by giving a thrashing to the tiresome boy from Gratz, who made himself odious to the whole school by his monotonous illegitimate boasts and other affectations. This secured for Cecil, for the moment, great popularity.

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He began to study assiduously. His professors praised his progress: his complaints ceased.

Had that subtle, vanity-awakening poison which pervades the whole academy penetrated also to his soul? Did he, too, begin to feel the charm of hearing mass said by a bishop on Sundays and holidays, of being waited on every day by orderlies in gold-laced uniforms, of taking dancing-lessons of the same veteran ballet-dancer who teaches at court, of being on a thee-and-thou footing with the most aristocratic names of Austria? That was a question which would have been very difficult to decide. Apparently he accepted all this with the most profound indifference, nor did he put on any airs whatever. He had an enormous amount of pride.

Later on he was sent to the Oriental Academy, graduated from it with the highest honors, and then, still under his uncle’s protection, entered upon a diplomatic career. He was sent to an Asiatic capital, which was just at that time infested by cholera and revolutionary disturbances. He distinguished himself, and received the Order of the Iron Cross.

There was one subject upon which Austrian society in Rome soon agreed : the new secretary of legation was not a person upon whom judgment could be passed with witty satire. There was nothing commonplace, nothing paltry about him.

He was a tall, broad-shouldered young man, with an erect carriage, which gave him the appearance the Hand of destinV.

of an army officer in citizen’s clothes; with brown hair, closely cropped, and strong, clear-cut features. His manners were rather awkward, though correct, but at the same time perfectly simple and unassuming.

Chapter III

The opinion of the new secretary which the ambassador expressed was quite different from that of Sempaly.

“ My best worker,’’ said his excellency ; “ a wonderful worker — keen head, enormous ability, but unfortunately but little pliability — too little pliability.”

And it was not only his chief whose regard he had won in a very short time : with his younger colleagues, too, he was soon on the most friendly terms. One quality, which is very rare in persons who take life as seriously as he did, manifested itself in him — he never cavilled.

The “ complication -factory” in Rome was at that time so overcrowded with good-looking, graceful idlers that, as Sempaly remarked, with witty frivolity, the Palazzo di Venezia was creating more and more the impression of a select boarding-school for young countesses with mustaches. Stertzl tolerated their innocent doings with the utmost good-nature. No serious attention to business could possibly be expected from these young gentlemen; it would have been just as easy to train butterflies to work like ants. He was always ready to hush up their little neglects of duty, to concede every liberty to their pleasures. His aim was to work, to accomplisli something — that was //w affair; they wanted to trifle, to enjoy life — that was theirs. And, in the mean time, they all agreed charmingly.

But though Stertzl had soon made himself extremely popular among his colleagues, between him and Roman society there reigned a certain coldness.

His predecessor had not made the slightest pretensions to accomplishing anything in the way of his profession. But he waltzed well, and, what is more, did not despise that occupation. He had been a favorite with the ladies. They deplored his loss deeply, and were looking forward with impatience to the advent of his successor. Stertzl was little calculated to replace him. He was entirely wanting in that cheerful amenity and amiable superficiality which are indispensable to a man’s popularity in the world.

His grave conscientiousness and pedantic frankness quite unfitted him for the desultory intercourse of society.

In company he was mostly a silent observer. When he did talk, he always said exactly what he thought, and expected every one else to do the same. He could not understand that the flatteries and hypocritical considerations customary in society are, after all, but a stunted kind of charity; that the universal sincerity which he demanded would necessarily have degenerated into a universal war ; that the dividing-line between frankness and impertinence, between hypocrisy and a sense of pro-

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^4

priety, has not yet been clearly defined ; that it is just as unsuitable to speak the whole truth in company as to appear there in shirt-sleeves; that, in view of the defective nature of our souls, we must rejoice at the rules of propriety which forbid us to show these souls inadequately clothed. Good heavens ! what would we behold if this were not the case?

We cannot exist without falsehood.

A person who is used to society demands a falsehood of it. It is his right, a courtesy to which he has a claim. As soon as a man in society is no longer “ worth lying to,” he has “ finished his part,” like Countess Orsina, and “can go his way.” *

With ladies Stertzl had no success whatever. They called him paysan du Danube, ''

Men respected him; they merely regretted his extravagant notions, particularly his morbid sensitiveness with regard to affairs of honor. But that is a fault which is never seriously censured by the male sex.

Stertzl was utterly indifferent to what was said of him by people for whom he had no personal regard. Ever ready to make any sacrifice for a friend, he sometimes forgot even to bow to acquaintances in the street. With his head full of magnificent projects, he pursued his aim with decision and directness. He was certainly destined to accomplish great things, possibly to reach a great end — but

Chapter IV

Princess Vulpini, who had caught the contagion of the new fashionable disease, “morbus Schliemaniensis,” had discovered a new and remarkable prize at a second-hand dealer’s in the Via d’ Aracoeli. She had purchased from him two wonderful escutcheons, said to be from drawings by Benvenuto Cellini, and a piece of tapestry-hanging after designs by Raphael, and had now invited a few intimate friends, Truyn, Sempaly, General Von Klinger and an Austrian attache, Count Siegburg, to investigate the genuineness of her acquisitions.

The princess was a sister of Truyn ’s, and was perhaps a few years older than her brother Eric. She had made the acquaintance of the prince at Vichy, where she had spent a bathing-season with her invalid father, had married him soon after, and for the past ten or twelve years had resided in Rome, which she loved, although she had never ceased to complain of various Roman discomforts, still had a great affection for Vienna, and had everything she needed sent from “home,” because she was convinced that there was nothing to be bought in Rome but photographs, antiquities, and wax-tapers.

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Dinner was over ; the conversation had been very animated. The whole time had been spent in railing at the new Italian government. When coffee and cigarettes made their appearance, all turned their attention to the antiquities, which were lying on the carpet, ready for investigation. Now one, then another of the gentlemen went down on the floor on his hands and knees, in order to look closely at the arazzi and at the bronzes, and then conscientiously gave his opinion.