The Vienna Melody (10 page)

At the grown-ups' table someone tapped on a glass, and Mlle Leblanc cautioned, “
Soyez tranquilles
!”

“Will you shut up!” Christine whispered to her twin cousins. She was certainly putting on airs, and she was a year younger than they, not even eleven yet! One of them, Fritz, kicked her on the shin under the table.

Meanwhile at the grown-ups' table a gentleman had risen to his feet. He looked like an actor, for his face was clean-shaven.

“
C
'
est un
toast!” explained the Frenchwoman.

“What's his name?” inquired the other twin, Otto, who thought toast was a person. Whereupon the little eight-year-old toad of a Peter had the impertinence to explode with laughter at the expense of his cousin, who was four years his senior! Otto squashed his foot for him so accurately that the fat boy yelped with pain. Christine, before, had not moved an eyelash.

“
Taisez
-
vous
!” cried Mademoiselle with horror.

The orator at the other table had begun his speech, which the twins found very boring. First he spoke of the house, said that it was a corner house overlooking two streets (which everybody knew anyhow), one of which was very old, very narrow, leading out into the open, and the other, which was quite new, very broad and open on all sides. A dozen steps from here, in a narrow alley, in the Government Archives Building, was where a great man of old Austria had worked, a man whose difficult name so often appeared in the boring German literature textbooks, that of the poet Grillparzer. And over there in the Ring Boulevard the architects were at work building a new Austria. Yes, the inhabitants of this house—every one of them—were to be congratulated on this double oudook because it had taught them how to cling fast and unchanged to the great tradition of the centuries and at the same time how to give full credit to the new epoch which called for reconstruction, additions, and new constructions. The new fourth story was the best demonstration of this.

The twins felt that they were receiving congratulations without having understood a word the clean-shaven gentleman had said. Now he bowed to Uncle Otto Eberhard, and Uncle Paskiewicz, to Father and Uncle Franz. “Inhabited by representatives of the law and our glorious army, of art and artistic handicraft, the home of people with the varied blood of so many nations, this house is not only a true Austrian house, but even, if I may use the term, the very house of Austria. And if an artist like Maestro Drauffer undertook to paint its portrait, I am convinced that it would provide him with a symbolic background.”

To hear their father's name mentioned, the twins found, was a point in favor of the speech. Thereupon the orator lifted his glass and drank to this Austrian house, to its inhabitants, and to the unclouded happiness of those whose new home was to be on the fourth story. The glasses clinked. “To your health!” “
Prosit!
” “A beautiful speech, Professor,” were the exclamations heard on all sides. “
Magnifique!
” was the opinion of the Frenchwoman, who explained that the speaker was Professor Stein.

The next to rise was Uncle Otto Eberhard, who, in a rather long address, spoke of the bride as a young lady reared by her father in the spirit of liberalism, in a most progressive way. On his lips these terms sounded almost like a reproach. Even Uncle Paskiewicz contributed something, but thank goodness he was briefer, for all he did was to propose a toast to the reigning house:

“That we can be gathered here together on this joyous occasion is due the protection and wisdom of our most gracious rulers. To Their Apostolic Majesties Emperor Francis Joseph the First and Empress Elizabeth, Their Imperial Highnesses Crown Prince Rudolf and Crown Princess Stephanie—long may they live!”

In the next room the four men in tail coats played the national anthem, and every one, including the children, had to rise and sing, “God preserve…”; but when they came to “our Emperor, our land,” one of the twins noticed that their new aunt looked as if she were going to faint. He whispered this immediately to Mademoiselle, who was singing, “Mighty through the might of faith,” and she whispered back, “
C
'
est idiot
!
Chantez
!”

True, the new aunt did not actually collapse, but Fritz was right in noticing that she suddenly clutched the back of her chair for support. Nevertheless his attention was diverted by old Poldi, who lighted the gas lamps. It still grew absolutely dark towards four in the afternoon, although it was already January 29 and the worst of the winter was really supposed to be over.

The bridegroom, Uncle Franz, looked quite changed in a long frock Coat with a sprig of myrtle in his huttonhole. He really not look like the bridegroom at all, but more like the father of the new aunt, didn't he? This comment Fritz also confided to the Frenchwoman, because he was sitting so far from his brother Otto and couldn't get any satisfaction out of talking to either of his. “
Pas du tout
,” was her reaction, for she found that “
votre oncle
”
 
was “
très bien
,” and if he did have a more settled appearance, “
voyons!
” that was as it should be. She always knew better! Fortunately at this point they served the dessert—ices built up in the form of flowers and fruits, crowned by a tiny piano on top of which stood an angel blowing a trumpet. It was now possible deliver to oneself up to its enjoyment unimpeded by Uncle Otto Eberhard's monotonous reading of the congratulatory telegrams piled on a silver tray in front of him. He read the texts and signatures, but he emphasized the senders more than their messages and the names of titled senders more than those without titles. For a long time the names and titles of dignitaries were read aloud above the clamor of voices and spoons without receiving any attention. Fritz was the more surprised (although this time he kept his thoughts to himself) that the new aunt showed such particular interest. When Uncle Otto Eberhard finished she even said “Is that all?” as though it were not enough!

Then all the grown-ups rose and moved into the yellow drawing room to have their coffee. The four children, however, were told to take their leave of Uncle Franz and Aunt Henriette and go back to their apartments.

But, to the boundless astonishment of the twins, their cousin Christine announced that she did not want to go and please couldn't she stay. She spoke so excitedly that the new aunt turned round, startled.

“Of course! You carried my train in church so beautifully. Of course you may stay here,” she said.

To which Christine replied, “I want to stay with you always!”

And the twins were compelled to witness with their own eyes the shocking occurrence of their very own cousin being taken on to the lap of their new aunt! A girl of almost eleven! And what was worse, while she sat there as though she were in seventh heaven, they all missed their chance of getting away. For their mother went on to announce, “Herr Alfred Grünreld is going to be kind enough to play for us.”

They had already had to sit still for two whole hours!

Someone had seated himself at the piano, and what he played was nice enough, but it puzzled the twins why all the grown-ups suddenly sat there looking as though there were nothing better in the world.

“
C
'
est
‘La Truite'
de
Schubert,” whispered the French­woman, quite carried away by it, although she pronounced it Schoebéer instead of Schubert. And did they hear how the water gurgled and the trout sprang around? The trout sprang around for quite a while, and then there was applause.

“Auntie,” the twins overheard Christine whispering, “will you always be with us now?”

The new aunt replied, “After a few weeks.”

“Not after today?” Christine asked.

Again the new aunt answered: “We are going away this evening for a few weeks, then we shall come back to stay, Christl. Shall I call you Christl?”

The silly goose said, “Why are you going away?”

With the same strange expression on her face that she had had while the telegrams were being read the new aunt replied: “When people marry they go off on a journey after the wedding.”

The gentleman at the piano began to play again, but the twins' father, the painter Drauffer, came over and commanded, “Off with you!” and off they went. At the door they looked round; a few couples were already dancing, and Christine sat rooted to the spot watching the new aunt dance.

 

The three groomsmen danced with the three bridesmaids. The three groomsmen were very young. Of the bridesmaids the oldest was twenty-one. The best man, Otto Eberhard, danced too, and Professor Stein insisted on dancing with Otto's wife. Altogether there were fourteen couples, and the non-dancers sat watching them from their gilt chairs: the former Miss Kubelka, her daughter Anna, dressed in black, the family physician, Dr. Herz, Frau Paskiewicz and her daughter, the little Christine.

Frau Paskiewicz did not notice the child until later, when the dance had been in progress some time, for her attention was riveted on her husband. He was dancing! His eyes shining from the champagne, he held a coquettish young woman in his arms; with his right arm he encircled her waist, and with his outstretched left arm he piloted her with supreme skill over the floor. “Each step may his last—isn't that so, Dr. Herz?” Frau Paskiewicz inquired. The doctor smiled philosophically. Naturally any second might bring a coronary thrombosis which he, to be quite frank, had been expecting in this patient for some nine months now. According to science he should have been dead at least as long as that. Nevertheless, he was dancing. Consequently, not science but Colonel Paskiewicz was right. “Why not let him dance!” answered the doctor, grimly chewing his cigar.

“But if anything should happen to him!” exclaimed Frau Paskiewicz in a voice that was quite loud enough for little Christine to hear.

The child had lived in a state of fear about her father ever since she could remember. At first she was afraid that he would come late or not at all. She had lain awake night after night listening for his key in the lock and for his light step. Even then she never knew whether that would be the end of the night's torment, because sometimes after the light step there were sounds of a subdued quarrel, of which the sleepless child could hear an occasional curse. She would lie there with her thumbs pressed to her ears, praying to God not to let Papa beat Mama again as on Easter Thursday. He had not stayed at home in the evenings until he fell ill. Christine had been happy over his illness until a conversation not meant for her ears had revealed to her that her father's death might be expected any moment. “If he dies, I'll kill myself!” her mother had said to Aunt Elsa. Every prospect seemed so hopeless! But then Aunt Hetti came. Christine had never seen anyone more fascinating, no one who transformed everything when she came into the room. The child had counted the days until the wedding, because after that her new aunt would be coming, not for a brief half-hour, but for always. And now she was leaving for weeks!

“The Danube so blue,” played Herr Grünfeld, and Henriette danced with her bridegroom. The music was irresistible under the wooing touch of the virtuoso pianist. Franz was an excellent dancer, and he set himself to prove it. His face, so very easy to read, beamed, and his hand held her as though he would never let her go again. The Danube so blue, so blue, so blue. When you waltz and whirl everything slips out of your mind.

Then her father came up to her. If only he would not make that face, as if to say, “Yes, yes, she's leaving me all alone!” I took a husband for your sake, Papa! I shall never tell you this and I do not reproach you. I only wish you would not make that face! It drives me wild, she thought.

Professor Stein said, “Wouldn't it be a good idea to have a little rest before you leave? You've been on the go since six this morning. Come and have tea with me, you and your husband. When does your train leave?”

“You and your husband” sounded so strange. The train left the South Station at eight forty-five. Franz did not object to making the call, on condition that he could show her the almost completed fourth story beforehand. As they left the yellow drawing room the Schoenbrunn waltz was being played. Someone ran after them to the door and asked with consternation, “Are you leaving already?” It was Christine.

Henriette kissed the child. “What's the matter?” she asked in a whisper.

“I'm so afraid, Aunt Hetti!”

The bride patted her thin little cheeks. “Nonsense! Who's afraid? In a few weeks I'll be back and we can play shops together. And I'll send you some picture postcards from our journey. Shall I?

“Where are you going now?”

The child shrugged her shoulders, as though it did not matter where she went. But then she drew herself together and said, “Downstairs. To our apartment.
Bon voyage
, Auntie.
Bon voyage
, Uncle,” and ran down the staircase.

The bridal couple walked upstairs.

“What a crazy little monkey,” Franz said.

When they reached the top landing he drew a new key from his pocket and unlocked a shining brown door with a highly polished brass plate inscribed with the name “F. Alt.” In the public hallway an uncovered gas jet was burning, and it smelled of plaster and paint.

“Wait!” he said. “Let me go in and light up. Think of something beautiful before you cross the threshold for the first time! Have you done it? Now come in!”

The last touches were still to be given to the rooms because the couple would not return from their honeymoon for quite a while. It had taken long enough to build; all calculations had been thrown out, first by the bricklayers' strike, and then because the walls had dried out so slowly in the winter cold. But now at least the walls were up, and they made a home.