Gloria Victis! Part 22

A jingling of bells, a clatter of hoofs from five spirited bays harnessed in Russian fashion, and hardly seeming to touch the earth as they fly along, a rattle of wheels, a whirling cloud of dust,--and Oswald Lodrin's five-in-hand came sweeping round a corner in one of the old-fashioned streets in Rautschin. People ran from everywhere to stare,--a housemaid cleaning a window, leaned out at the risk of her neck, to follow the gay equipage; two small boys going home from school, paused and vented their delight in waving their caps and cheering; Oswald nodded to them kindly. His eyes were aglow with happiness, he had a white rosebud in his b.u.t.ton-hole. His future father-in-law sat beside him in the driver's seat, and Georges was on the seat behind.

It was the day before the election. Oswald had just come from Castle Rautschin, where, according to agreement, he was to pick up his uncle to drive with him to the railway station, and he had taken this opportunity to display his new five-in-hand to his betrothed. The five horses clattered along gaily, as if to the races, instead of to a railway station.

"We must hurry, there is the signal," said Georges half rising from his seat, to gaze in the direction of the station.

"Don't be afraid," rejoined Oswald, "it is an Express, to be sure, but if it sees us coming, it will wait!"

"True! I forgot we were in Austria," said Georges laughing.

The bays flew like birds along the avenue of ancient poplars. The sun shone on their trim, plain harness, upon their glossy hides; white and blue b.u.t.terflies were fluttering above the earliest wayside-flowers. A few minutes later Oswald drew up before the station, built Austrian-wise, after the ugly fashion of a Swiss cottage.

"Sapristi! He too is going to the election," exclaimed Georges, as he observed Capriani's equipage.

"You may be very sure he will not hide his light under a bushel,"

grumbled Truyn.

"And I quite forgot to have a railway coupe reserved for us. Did you remember it, uncle?" asked Oswald.

Time pa.s.sed. Oswald's servant hurried off to get the tickets, and when the gentlemen went to take their places, they found that there were but two first-cla.s.s coupe's, one occupied by a lady with her invalid daughter, the other by the Caprianis, father and son. What was to be done? It was most vexatious; the three gentlemen, with their servants bearing portmanteaux and dust-coats, the station master and the conductor, all stood on the platform in consultation, while the train patiently waited.

The third signal whistled, Conte Capriani appeared at the door of his coupe with a smile of invitation.

Georges calmly shifted his cigar from one corner to the other of his mouth.

"Better open an empty second-cla.s.s for us," said Truyn frowning.

"I have none quite empty," the conductor explained; "but this gentleman will get out at the third station."

"It is the cattle-dealer from Kamnitz," whispered Oswald with a little grimace, after glancing through the window of the coupe. But it made no difference to his uncle who immediately sprang in and took his seat, followed by the young men. What if the man were a cattle-dealer? Truyn remembered having seen him before, and at once entered into conversation with him upon the price of meat, a conversation in which Oswald, remarkably well up as he always was in all agricultural matters, took part. The cattle-dealer alighted at his destination, greatly impressed by the affability of the n.o.blemen, and convinced that all he had heard of their arrogance was false.

"If the coupe only did not smell so insufferably of warm leather!"

exclaimed Truyn after the dealer's departure, "and ugh! the man's cigar was positively--"

"It often happens now-a-days," interposed Georges, "that a gentleman is forced to travel second-cla.s.s to avoid a stock-jobber. The question in my mind is, when will our civilization be so far advanced that the stock-jobber will travel second-cla.s.s to avoid one of us."

"We shall never live to see that," said Oswald.

"The insolence of those people waxes gigantic," said Georges.

"It is our own fault; if we had not danced hand-in-hand with them before the golden calf, they would not now be so presuming," observed Truyn, "remember --73."

"Hm,--our worship of that idol showed simplicity, to say the least,"

remarked Georges, "the golden calf returned so much grat.i.tude for our homage."

"So much grat.i.tude," growled Truyn. "I did not share in the worship, but I do in the disgrace!--But enough of that! Can Capriani vote? He has not owned Schneeburg for a year yet."

"No, but has he not another estate in Northern Bohemia?" asked Georges.

"You are right, he has," said Truyn. "I suppose he will vote with the Liberals."

"In all probability!" replied Oswald. "_Tous les republicains ne sont pas canaille, mais toute la canaille est republicaine_."

"I do not think that Capriani openly ranks among the Liberals,"

remarked Georges, "I know of a certainty that not long ago he placed large sums of money for charitable purposes at the disposal of several ladies of the Faubourg St. Germain."

"That was when he was a candidate for the Jockey Club," rejoined Oswald. "I heard about that. Ever since he was black-balled there, he sings a different song. He is organizing Liberal schools at Schneeburg, and has a great deal to do with universal enlightenment."

"Confound universal enlightenment!" railed Truyn.

Oswald shrugged his shoulders, "I should not shed a tear for it," said he, "in the first ardour of my charitable schemes I took some interest in it, but I soon detected the wretched business, masked by that high-sounding phrase;--it means universal distribution of rancid sc.r.a.ps of learning sure to provoke an indigestion which as surely will develop into an enlargement of the spleen. That kind of knowledge never widens the horizon of the ma.s.ses--it does nothing, except pick holes in their illusions."

"Widen the horizon--pretty stuff that!" said Truyn, the reactionary.

"In my opinion a contracted horizon is the condition of happiness for the ma.s.ses."

"My dear fellow, if you attempt to advocate such views ...." began Georges, half laughing, half indignant.

"My views, remember," interrupted Truyn, "are the result of years of experience; I have lived here all my life, and know the people better than any freshly imported Herr Capriani, blown hither, Heaven only knows whence. What we want is a contented, well-fed, warmly-clad people, that will play merrily with the children on Sat.u.r.day evening, go piously to church on Sunday morning, and not discuss too much on Sunday afternoon."

"Yes, of course," a.s.sented Georges. "What you want, first and foremost, is a people that won't disturb your peaceful enjoyment of life. There's no denying that."

"I am perfectly open to conviction," a.s.serted Truyn with dignity. "As soon as you prove to me that these disturbers of the public peace promote the happiness of the ma.s.ses, I will ground arms before them."

"Happiness!--I don't believe that those people care as much as they pretend for the happiness of the ma.s.ses," said Oswald, looking up from his note-book in which he had begun to scribble rapidly. "Happiness is conservative--they would gain nothing from that. As far as I can see, all they want is to rouse the discontent of the people by constant irritation," and he turned to his note-book again. His scribbling did not seem to run as smoothly as before.

"There you are right," agreed Truyn. "Their aim is to arouse the discontent of the people--the discontent of the ma.s.ses is the tool of their entire party, and they will go on sharpening it until some fine day they'll cut their fingers off with it, and serve them right."

"Decry the degenerate portion of the species as much as you choose,"

replied Georges, "you cannot but acknowledge that modern democracy has been of immense service to mankind."

"_Verite de monsieur de La Palisse_," muttered Oswald, without looking up.

"Don't talk to me of your 'modern democracy,' I made its acquaintance in France--this 'modern democracy' of yours," thundered Truyn in a rage. He drew a deep, shuddering breath, lighted a cigar and gazed out of the coupe-window, apparently to allay his political anxiety by the sight of his dearly-loved fatherland.

He did not succeed, however, for before a minute had pa.s.sed, he turned to Georges again and exclaimed angrily, "How delightful to contemplate the next generation; what a charming prospect! A people all ignorant atheists. I ask no severer punishment for the agitators who have wrought the mischief in this generation, than to be obliged to govern the next.

"I suppose they themselves would desire nothing better," said Oswald smiling.

"That's perfectly true; all they are struggling for, is power,"

muttered Truyn.

"Excuse me, my dear friend; but what are you struggling for?" asked Georges.

"What are _we_ struggling for," repeated Truyn, looking at him compa.s.sionately, "what are we struggling for?--I will tell you;--for the Emperor and our fatherland, which means for order and justice, for the dignity of the throne, for the sanct.i.ty of home, for the fostering of beauty and n.o.bility, for all the wealth of human achievement which we have inherited from the past, and ought to bequeath to the future--in a word, Georges,--we are protecting civilization."

"Bursts of applause from the Right--aha--congratulations to the orator from the Left!" said Georges laughing, then turning to Oswald who was still scribbling, he observed, "I rather think you have been taking short-hand notes of your uncle's speech. We will send them to Otto Ilsenbergh, he will be delighted."

"Nonsense!" said Oswald. "I am composing a telegram."