The Vienna Melody (23 page)

“Studying botany!” Papa replied curtly, and Hans ran off, hid himself behind a bush, and picked some violets. He overheard Fritz ask, “Are you crazy?” To which Papa made a reply in a low voice, and Fritz said, “I see. That's different. But I'm afraid Hetti won't take it the right way, aren't you?”

“What do I care?” was Papa's violent rejoinder. “At least she'll be impressed by it.”

“What do you think will happen?” Hans asked von Blaas, who stuck close to his side.

In the pale light of dawn Hans strained his eyes to look as far as possible in all directions, but nowhere could he discover Count Traun. Papa, the twins, and the man in civilian clothing walked up and down together. Hans could hear them talking but could not distinguish the words.

“I'm scared,” said von Blaas instead of answering Hans's question.

“Go on! You should be ashamed!” Hans told him. His one hope was that Count Traun would not come.

It grew lighter, but the sky remained overcast. There was a soft haze in the air, and a breeze sprang up among the trees, shaking the dew from the leaves so that it seemed almost like rain.

“Perhaps he won't come,” Hans said.

Suddenly a private carriage, with a coachman and footman in livery on the box, appeared along the highway. It drew nearer at a fast trot and pulled up beside the two cabs already standing there. The footman jumped down and opened the door. Four men stepped out: an officer in the uniform of the Hussars, one in that of the Imperial Life Guards, and two civilians. One of these latter was Count Traun. He wore a black bowler, a short dun-colored overcoat, gloves, a rose in his buttonhole, and he was laughing. Hans hated him. The other civilian remained standing beside him while the officers joined the group in the meadow. The twins saluted them stiffly, while the officers negligently touched their caps, saying, “Good morning.”

So they weren't enemies?

Papa and the elderly man came over to the bush where Hans had hidden himself. “Are you there, boys?” he asked. He still had that completely changed, almost distorted look on his face.

“Yes, Papa,” Hans said. Von Blaas said nothing.

Papa nodded. “Watch everything carefully,” he said. “You may have to describe it to someone.” Then he walked away, but turned back again immediately and said: “In any case, I hope everything will go well with you!”

The man in civilian clothing took his arm. “This is the worst possible time to get yourself so wrought up, Franz!”

Papa answered, “I'm not in the least excited, Doctor. If you took my pulse now it wouldn't be over seventy.” Then he went away.

Meanwhile the twins were measuring something; they were taking long steps in the middle of the meadow, from an oak to a chestnut tree, counting from one to ten as they did so. Thereupon the officers counted from one to ten in the opposite direction, from the chestnut to the oak, taking the same long steps. Then one of them, the hussar, brought a long black case from the carriage, which he gave to the guard officer, who took two pistols from it. Apparently Papa and Count Traun had not seen each other yet.

Cousin Fritz took one pistol and then the other into the palm of his hand, seeming to weigh or compare them. The pistols had mother-of-pearl handles. Cousin Otto repeated Fritz's procedure immediately after him. Then they both saluted and handed the pistols back to the officers.

Then they both saluted and handed the pistols back to the officers. It seemed to Hans, whose eyes were fixed steadily on them, that this cousin, especially Otto, conducted themselves with as much subservience as the footman who was standing, hat in hand, beside the coach waiting for further orders.

“Private Drauffer,” the officer of the guards now said to Cousin Fritz, “is your principal prepared to proffer a public apology to His Excellency Count Traun?”

“No!” Hans replied under his breath for Cousin Fritz.

“No, Lieutenant,” Cousin Fritz answered in a loud voice. “My principal believes—”

“That is sufficient,” the officer interrupted brusquely. He wore a tunic gold buttons and a gold collar, and red trousers. To Traun he said, “Are you ready, Poldo?” now Count Traun had walked up and down continually, smoking and talking. He had not so much as glanced in Papa's direction. “I was just telling our good doctor here the story of the Trail Stakes,” he called to the lieutenant, and then added to the man in civilian clothing, “Remind me afterwards to tell you the climax, Doctor!” After which he walked to the officers,

The two civilians had hurried over to the carriage, on the step of which ley laid two long cases. With a strange air of languor Count removed his right-hand glove and threw it to the footman, who caught it. He kept the left one on. Then he made a movement with his right hand. It looked like a fish mouth opening and closing. He repeated the gesture. Then he took the pistol from the officer of the guards. Meantime Papa, too, had received a pistol from Cousin Fritz. He examined it carefully.

“The seconds for His Excellency Count Leopold Traun,” announced the officer of the guards, and gave his own name, “First Lietenant Count Khuen.”

“First Lieutenant Prince Schwarzenberg,” said the hussar, giving his name.

“The seconds for Herr Franz Alt,” said Cousin Fritz. “Volunteer Private in the Dragoons Fritz Drauffer,” added Cousin Otto, and clicked his heels.

“Inasmuch as the offender, Herr Franz Alt, has refused to proffer an apology,” the guards officer said with a matter-of-course manner, as though he were reading it off, “he is therefore obliged to give His Excellency Count Traun satisfaction by arms. The conditions agreed upon yesterday between the seconds of both parties are as follows: two exchanges of shots at ten paces. His Excellency, as the offended party, was given the choice of weapons and the first shot. May I ask you to proceed, Poldo?”

Count Traun laughed. “
Merci
,” he said, “
Merci
, Alexandre. Am I properly placed?”

The spot where he had taken his stand was checked, whereupon the two officers stepped aside to the right and left, leaving him alone.

Opposite him Papa and the twins had done precisely the same thing. It seemed to Hans that they merely aped the others.

“They're going to win!” whispered von Blaas, meaning the other side.

“Shut up!” Hans answered tremblingly.

As the adversaries had their faces turned to him and Papa and the twins were standing with their backs to him, he could see only what was happening on the other side. He wished that he could see his father's face. The sun had not yet come out, but the breeze was stronger now.

“You fire on the count of three, Poldo!” said the officer of the guards.

“Excellent!” Count Traun replied. He had not yet looked at Papa.

“One!” barked the second in the white tunic. “Two!”

At “two” Count Traun raised his pistol with an abrupt gesture and aimed. As he did so he closed his left eye. His right arm, in which he held his weapon, was stretched out straight as a piece of wood, aiming at Papa. The laughter had vanished from his face.

“Dear God in heaven!” breathed Hans.

A gust of wind. A few raindrops fell.

“Three!” ordered the second.

A flash, a crack, a whistling rush of sound. Otherwise nothing changed. Papa stood there as before. His right shoulder was now raised, for he was taking aim.

Count Traun began to whistle, “She is a sweet, sweet maiden,” from the operetta
The Sweet Girl.

“One,” commanded Cousin Fritz. At “three” Papa fired. There was a report and some smoke. Count Traun took a quick step forward, then another. Then he fell to the ground. The civilian and both officers ran to him.

Papa looked round. His face was terrible to see. “It's raining,” he said.

Hans hardly dared to breathe. What would happen if Count Traun stood up again? But he remained lying on the ground. Presently the man in civilian dress made a remark which Hans did not catch. It was then repeated by someone else. It was in Latin.

A little later they drove back as they had come. Papa was in the front seat, the boys in the rear. The only difference was that Hans had some violets in his hand and the carriage was closed on account of the rain.

“What has happened to Count Traun?” Hans asked.

Papa's face was still distorted. “He's dead,” was his reply. Otherwise no word was spoken on the return trip.

As they came into Prater Avenue the city was just coming to life. The red electric trams, which had almost entirely replaced the green horse-drawn trams, passed jangling by; milk wagons were stopping in front of houses; the bakery boys and newswomen were delivering fresh rolls and morning papers from house to house. Hans could not see enough of these signs of life. He did not take in the fact that Count Traun was dead. Since he had learned from Uncle Paskiewicz what being dead meant, he understood it even less. He had hated the count. Nevertheless, it was unthinkable that Papa had shot him. He avoided looking at him, for it made him feel strange.

At half-past seven they drew up at the corner of the Hegelgasse. The doors of the school had just been opened. “Now, then,” Papa said “learn your lessons properly.” Yet one could see that he was thinking of something else.

Hans could think of nothing else than the morning's events. He lived it over again and again. The officers pacing off the distance. The counting. Taking aim. The pistol report. “Be of good cheer; springtime is here. Autumn and winter passed away, comes the spring with flowers gay. Be of good cheer; springtime is here,” sang the class, for it was the singing lesson. “Fox, where is the goose you've stolen? Give it back again, give it back again. Else you'll see the hunter coming—with his great big gun,” they sang next. To Hans—who until now had been the most childish of the ten-year-old boys in his class (“Either you are really so childish still or else all too clever already!” Professor Miklau had said)—it seemed unspeakably childish. In the last lesson he had joined enthusiastically in the singing. In this one he was asked whether he could not open his mouth. He could, but he found it so silly. Spring had come, and in the meadow with the violets there lay someone whom Papa had shot with his gun. “Else you'll see the hunter coming—with his great big gun—oh, gun,” the class sang.

After the singing lesson came German, and they read Wilhelm Hauff's “Story of the Lopped-off Hand.” Hans was struck by the lowing phrase: “Life is the most precious possession. Therefore, from the first instant to the last, everything is concentrated on the preservation of life.” All untrue! If what he had seen with his own eyes was possible, that you can aim at a man and kill him when you count one, two, three, how could they print such lies in books?

In the recess he was amazed at the appetite with which von Blaas ate his sandwich. Hans could not choke down a morsel, although he had had his breakfast very early.

In the botany class Professor Rusetter had rejected the violets. The class had gone only as far as the
Pulsatilla vulgaris
, the common pasque-flower, and the violet came much later on. “Get this into your head once and for all, Alt. Everything in nature is based on a fixed order of precedence,” said the former captain, who gave a military cast to all his instruction. “Out of the lower orders the higher are developed, and from them the supreme. None can be jumped over without doing violence to creation. Think of it approximately in terms of the army. You know, I trust, what a one-year volunteer private is? A private cannot immediately become a first lieutenant; he must previously go through the grades of corporal, sergeant, and second lieutenant. It is exactly the same with plants. Before we come to the violet we must have studied the anemone and considered its lowest form, the
Anemona nemorosa
, after which we shall have had the next in order, the hepatica or liverwort, and so on. The violet is, as you might say, a second lieutenant. Can you see that? Take your violets home.”

Hans could see that. He saw the volunteer privates and the lieutenants. He saw nothing else. When he took the violets home they were withered. Mammi lay in bed, her eyes swollen. Martha Monica, his new little sister, lay in the bassinet beside her.

“Go to your room, Hans,” Mammi said. Since Martha Monica had come she cared for no one but the baby …

 

During the night he heard voices again and there was a light under the door. This time the voices were much louder, but they did not waken Hans, for he had not been able to get to sleep.

Papa said, “So you complained about me to your father!” Mammi replied, “I wanted my father to tell me how one can go on living after such a thing.”

“What your father says is of no consequence to me!” raged Papa. “He never told you the truth! That you became what you have become is largely his fault!”

Mammi's words were just as fiery and even more bitter. “This time he has told me the truth! Marriage can be an agony like nothing else on earth. His own marriage was such an agony, he said, from beginning to end! And to me and all the world he acted as though it were pure harmony! That's what I must do, he told me. I have children.”

“To think you're not ashamed!”

“I am ashamed. No one ought to be as stupid as I am.”

“That's all the thanks I get!”

“For what?”

“Do you ask that seriously?”

“In my life there have been two men. You have murdered them both.”

“If you say that word once more—”

“You are a murderer. Perhaps you don't know it.”

Then the door slammed. Hans tried to think. He was so exhausted he could not; he knew only that it had been a frightful day and that someone kept yelling, “One! Two! Three!” He counted and counted and finally fell asleep.

Beautiful and poignant came the sound of the
Veni, Creator
, over the swelling tones of the organ. Amid the clouds of incense swung by the acolytes and between rows of chanting nuns kneeled the candidate who was taking the veil before the high altar of the church of the Salesian order and before the aged suffragan bishop of Vienna.