The Vienna Melody (49 page)

“So it is,” the girl admitted radiantly, and fingered the large pearls which gave off a soft rosy sheen.

“What?” asked the retired Public Prosecutor stiffly.

Henriette threw an expressive glance at her daughter.

“You don't mean to tell me,” said the old gentleman, and his hand trembled so that the fork in it rattled, “you don't mean to tell me that you are wearing the pearls of Her Majesty?” He waited for her reply before continuing with his food.

“It's an excellent imitation,” said the girl, under the influence of her mother's glance.

“Not real?” asked Widow Paskiewicz, relieved.

“Of course not,” Martha Monica explained. “They make such wonderful imitations nowadays.” Ana she went on pouring the Malaga.

“That's good,” concluded the old gentleman after an instant of reflection. “There are people now who have no compunction about wearing and doing things which, whether they are real or unreal, are not suitable for them. I hope you don't belong to such people.”

“Quite my opinion,” agreed Otto Drauffer, who rivalled Widow Paskiewicz for silence. “The profiteers are running around the place and buying up the Hapsburg crown jewels for the price of a sandwich. I have it on good authority that there are diplomats who have come here exclusively for that purpose.”

“Surely not a certain Conte Corbellini?” inquired tactless Fritz. Since the Italian had been in Vienna Martha Monica no longer paid any attention to her cousin.

“Conte Corbellini is a military attaché,” answered Martha Monica innocently, although Fritz's question had been intended for his twin brother. She did not mention the fact, however, that the necklace was a present from Gaetano.

“Really?” said Otto with the long Lueger beard. “I thought he was attached elsewhere.”

Franz looked at Martha Monica with a glance she avoided. But her mother said encouragingly, “Count Corbellini is charming.” The fact that Martha Monica was wearing the pearls which had almost been destined for her had filled her with a deep satisfaction ever since she had known it. At last destiny was beginning to give signs of remorse and bestowing on the daughter what it had denied to the mother.

“You're to be married, I hear?” asked the colonel's widow, who, since her daughter had become the bride of the Saviour, looked upon all marriages as vain.

Only now did the birthday guest exercise his prerogative as chief person by saying to his granddaughter, “Diplomats are birds of passage. If you clip their wings you deprive them of their power to soar.” He preferred to express himself in the terms favored by the
feuilleton
writers of the
Neue Freie Presse
. Presumably that was why Hermann nodded at him in such agreement. But he might just as well have said, “If you listen to me you'll not marry this man,” Before Martha Monica's eyes rose that supper at Hotel Sacher when Grandfather Stein had taken his leave the instant she had come in with Gaetano: “Yes, Grandfather,” she replied, embarrassed. But Otto Eberhard had no desire to let the idea that Mr. Stein could ever have any say or be the principal person in this house gain currency. Even his having an eightieth birthday did not in any way alter matters. “I should be interested to meet this Count Corbellini,” he suggested. “Perhaps you'll bring him to sec us. Don't you agree, Elsa?” he asked his wife, who unconditionally agreed to everything he desired. After all, the man in question was an officer and a count.

“Yes, Uncle Otto Eberhard,” Martha Monica promised too, and order was re-established; Otto Eberhard ruled the house; the opinion he would form would be the one to count; intruders had no voice in family affairs.

Franz nodded. The nod of this younger brother with his paralysed face was acknowledged by a nod with a trace of a smile by the older brother. Just leave it to me, the smile indicated. In my hands the interests of our grandfather's descendants are still well protected. The index finger of his now bony hand, on which the veins stood out, rapped on his glass of Malaga. Instantly a complete silence fell.

The retired Public Prosecutor rose to his feet. He said: “Ladies and gentlemen, we are celebrating here the birthday of a man whose merits are many. As scholar, as former member of the Upper Chamber, as patriot, and not least as father of our hostess, he has lavished his gifts, on our monarchy and our house. We acknowledge this with gratitude and wish Professor Stein continued good.” With that he sat down. It was a birthday congratulation and at the same time an accusation.

A wince passed, over the sensitive face of the guest of honor, whose hearing, at eighty, was as keen as ever. As he clinked his glass with the others raised in his honor it occurred to him that he had been the one at his daughter's wedding wider the roof here to propose the toast. A toast to the happiness of the two houses of 10 Seilerstätte and Austria. The house of Austria no longer existed. The house of 10 Seilerstätte was not happy. That old fox was right, he thought; toasts are not worth drinking. In the tone he had used all his life to unteachable students, the professor, emeritus said:

“The honorable gentleman who has just spoken referred to my modest merits. Whether I have accomplished anything in the public domain only time will tell. But in private life, on the other hand, I do have a claim. It is here beside me. I am filled with pride that the achievement of my life should have been my gift to this truly Austrian house, on which she has lavished charm, talent, spirit, and life. I drink to the health of my daughter, Henriette.”

He, too, had re-established the order of thing.

Henriette blushed as of old. Her father's words had done her an infinite amount of good. She alone knew what it had cost her to make it possible to say such things about her here.

“Thank you, Papa,” she said to the man who had trained her to leave the essentials unsaid. They still clung to the old custom between them.

At the very moment when all eyes were on her, and Franz, holding high the glass of wine he was not allowed to drink, was looking at her with the expression of an unbroken love in a broken life, they heard a crash. A plate had slipped from Selma's hands and had broken to bits. She herself appeared to be unable to stand, and Hans caught her in his arms. There were beads of sweat on her high forehead. Her whole body quivered as though she had a chill.

Hermann rushed to the telephone, but before he could reach the family physician Selma seemed to have recovered. The spasm in her face relaxed and she said apologetically, “I have had a bad headache since this morning. Please don't let me disturb you. It's nothing.” And to prove it she took one of the small glasses filled with Malaga and drank it down.

Otto Eberhard's expression, which had turned to stone after Professor Stein's speech, grew a shade more hostile. An actress! Draws attention to herself if she isn't in the limelight all the time! That was the spurious kind of talent that had pushed its way into the house and instead of scorn was received with glory!

“Come,” Hans insisted.

“Why?” Henriette asked. “One should not give in to one's body.”

“Selma has to act tonight,” was Hans's reply to his mother.

“It brings good luck,” Martha Monica said comfortingly, as she leaned over to pick up the shattered fragments.

Meantime Peter's children had come in, hand in hand, from the vestibule. Little Adelheid wore a white dress with a blue sash; Joachim and Otto Adolf were in sailor suits. They placed themselves prettily in the middle of the room to recite a birthday poem in unison. Involuntarily the twins, who for many years had had little in common, looked at each other; they remembered. Other generations were now reciting the birthday poems, but they were the same halting, unnatural phrases. As they were saying, “On this the glad day of your birth, we wish you all the joy on earth,” Hans took the opportunity to slip away unnoticed with Selma. She made no objection and even let herself be persuaded to lie down for a little while. How sweet it was to hear him say: “You have to act tonight,” as that were now important to him as well …

Later he accompanied her to the theater and went with her to her dressing-room. “You mustn't get sick,” he pleaded. “I have only you; never forget that.”

As she began to put on her make-up for the comedy part she was to play that evening she asked, “Since when?”

“Since the letter about the calendars,” he said.

That too was so sweet that she felt all her strength returning. She was almost able to move her left arm.

“Don't be angry with my mother,” he begged. And then he left quickly, as though he did not want to say any more.

As he walked home thoughts crowded on him which he again did not want to face. He was relieved, therefore, when he saw his old schoolmate Ebeseder walking ahead of him along Loewelstrasse, or rather hurrying, for Ebeseder preferred the quickest possible gait. Hans called after him until he made himself heard.

“Are you going to visit with me in the street?” Ebeseder asked good-naturedly. “Better in the street than not at all! Will you come and eat with me? I am famished!”

Hans said he would be glad to join him.

They were on the point of entering the Klomsor Restaurant when a shower of leaflets fluttered down on to the pavement. In the narrow street through which they were passing it was impossible to see from where they came. Neatly printed, they carried the words in Gothic script: “Germans of Vienna! Join Hitler! He is your one escape from Red and Black!” Beneath this was a spiderlike emblem Hans had never seen.

“Do you remember the chap with the bad teeth who took the examinations for the Art Academy when we did?” Ebeseder asked.

“Is this the same one?” Hans wanted to know, looking again at one of the leaflets.

“Correct,” Deputy Ebeseder said. And after they had ordered their meal he told Hans that their former co-candidate at the examinations had abandoned painting and founded a political party, the emblem of which was that spiderlike design.

“Selma also was on the verge of being failed,” said Hans, whose thoughts kept coming back to her. “The failures make their way.” And he added, in a tone of resignation, “Perhaps then I, too, can have another chance?”

Whenever Selma Played St. Joan, Hans was in the theater from the first moment to the last. He had not yet missed a single one of the performances which moved him deeply. The play moved him in that it did not reject miracles, and made them all so human and understandable; it comforted him to believe that there were miracles and that the vanquished could become the victors. But he was moved by Selma to a degree which was all but overwhelming. Each time it filled him with fresh astonishment that this being, whom he thought he knew Completely, radiated such unknown, unsuspected, irresistible power the instant she set foot on the stage. He had always thought her eminently clever and gifted. But that she had qualities of genius was something he discovered only now.

Hans was standing in the left wings, watching. This was strictly forbidden to every one “not engaged” in the production, but the stage manager, Mr. Wiesner, made an exception in the case of this enthusiastic husband. To him Hans was a theater maniac, and on top of that in love, so that he was not satisfied to sit in a box and admire his wife from there; he must also breathe in the air of backstage. Well, why not, if his happiness depended on it? Besides, the court actors and actresses were accustomed to seeing Hans Alt tiptoeing into the left wings and standing entranced beside the fire warden as soon as his wife appeared in this part. They took the achievements of their colleague somewhat more coolly. Talented—oh, yes. But, heavens, what a meagre appearance! And what a birdlike voice which could not reach even me fourth gallery! Not to mention a lack of technical equipment. This beginner had no notion of how to stand, or walk, or to sit down effectively. She had been raised to this pinnacle by influence; that was the solution of the whole problem! Her mother was said to be the owner of a tobacco store. And nowadays a person like that could play the main parts on this venerable stage where Wolter had uttered her immortal cry! The handsome, white-haired court actors and the stately, refined court actresses were much too well-mannered to let this amateurish associate of theirs learn their true estimate of her. But in the green room or in aristocratic homes, where they were still called court actors, although there was no longer any court, they let off steam.

No, Prince, it was no longer a distinction to belong to this once outstanding institution! As for Hans, he was rather popular in the wings of the former Imperial Theater. He was a good-looking man, with excellent manners, the future head of the C. Alt firm as soon as the old gentleman, who was said to be very ill, should have paid his tribute to nature. Besides, the firm of C. Alt was a concept like the Burg-theater, a cultural asset of Vienna, which belonged to tradition.

“Well, young man,” commented the splendidly handsome portrayer of the archbishop, and contemptuously flicked away a fly that had the audacity to settle on his nose, “back at your post?”

“Yes, Herr Hofrat,” Hans answered modestly. The enchantment of this stately institution had caught him up. He recognized that these gentlemen, like his uncle, the Public Prosecutor, also carried the title of Aulic Councillor and were no better than old-fashioned rubber stamps. However, they were part of his youth, and it was fascinating to be near them in all their beauty, with their gold-encrusted costumes, a slight smell of mastic and Eau de Cologne.

“Your wife is in particularly good form,” whispered a woman of riper years, with an effort at being pleasant. She was the one who had raised heaven and hell to have the part assigned to her. She was in street clothing and had dropped in unnoticed, for she lived in the neighborhood.

“Yes, Countess,” Hans answered. He also thought that Selma was playing better than ever tonight. How wonderfully she said the words, “Do you not know that I bring you better help than ever came to any general or any town?”