A Hungarian Nabob Part 15

On the following Sunday he honoured the worthy spinster with his entire confidence.

"Madam," said he, "I am convinced that your young charge is quite worthy of my protection. That girl will one day become a famous _artiste_, and her rare virginal modesty will raise her far above all her fellows. But a strict watch must be kept upon her. I am well aware that sundry rich young men are lying in wait for her. Be careful, madam, and warn the young woman's guardians to look well after her! Excessive light blinds the greatest characters; but I have determined to save her from their nefarious intrigues. She _shall_ be an _artiste_. In her voice she possesses such a treasure that, if only it be properly cultivated, all these cavaliers, with all their wealth to boot, will seem but beggars beside her; and then, if she preserve within herself the source of her riches, she will escape the danger with which wealth always threatens innocence."

Madam Kramm thoroughly believed him. Her thoughts now began to turn from the church to the theatre, and she looked forward to the day when she should applaud f.a.n.n.y's singing.

"A couple of years will make a thorough _artiste_ of her. Great care, and a very trifling expenditure is all that is wanted. I will take upon myself the rest, for my dead bride's sake. I will make no presents, I will give nothing gratis; what I advance will be only as a loan. When she has grown rich she shall repay me, so that I may be able to make others happy also. I will give you three thousand florins every month, that the young woman may be able to pay for the necessary tuition; but pray do not let her know that the money comes from a young man, or she might possibly refuse it. Use the name of my dead bride, Maria Darvai, to designate the mysterious benefactor; and, indeed, she does send it, even if it be from Heaven. I impose but one condition: she must remain virtuous. If I should ascertain the contrary, my patronage will instantly cease. Be so good, then, as to now accept from me the first monthly instalment, and employ it conformably to my wishes; and, once more, I beg of you to say nothing about me. I ask it simply for the girl's sake. You know what an evil tongue the world has."

Dame Kramm took the money. Why, indeed, should she not have taken it?

Any one else, in her place, would have done the same thing. The secret benefactor had given her no cause for suspicion. He remained unknown to her, and insisted on remaining unknown; but he had forewarned her of the machinations of others, and acted himself as the guardian of defenceless virtue. What more could he do?

Madam Kramm took the money, I say, and secretly hired music and singing masters for f.a.n.n.y, to whom alone she told anything about the matter. Of course, it was a mistake on her part not to have admitted Teresa into her confidence; but, perhaps, she surmised--and no doubt her surmise was correct--that that austere old lady would have incontinently pitched the money out of the window, with the remark that a virtuous girl ought, under no pretext whatever, to accept money which she has not honestly earned. And then, too, that other point--an artistic career? That would certainly have encountered vigorous opposition on the part of Teresa.

Why, it was a subject which could not even be broached in her presence.

But the affair was no secret to Teresa, after all. From the very first she noticed the change that had taken place in f.a.n.n.y's disposition. In the girl's mind the idea that she possessed a treasure which would raise her far above her compet.i.tors on the path of glory had already taken root. She had no longer any heart for the simple tasks, the humble pastimes, in which she had rejoiced heretofore. She no longer conversed as openly as before with the young journeyman. She would sit and brood for hours together, and after such broodings she would frequently say to her aunt that one day she would richly requite her for her labour and trouble.

How Teresa used to tremble at these words!

The girl was dreaming of riches. The Evil One had shown her the whole world and said, "All this I will give thee: wors.h.i.+p me." And it never occurred to her to reply, "Get thee hence, Satan!"

The huntsman had laid his snare right well.

A feeling of grat.i.tude often urged the girl to beg Dame Kramm to take her to this unknown benefactor, that she might express her burning thanks to her, and take further counsel of her. She also wished to tell her aunt of the unselfish kindness of which she was the object. These repeated entreaties drove the worthy old spinster at last into such a corner that she, one day, suddenly blurted out that this mysterious benefactor was not a woman, but a man, who wished to remain for ever in the background.

This discovery at first terrified f.a.n.n.y greatly; but subsequently it tickled her fancy all the more. Who could this man be who wished to make her happy without ever appearing to have a hand in it, and who was so anxious, so fearful, lest his honest gifts should cast the slightest slur on her reputation that he would not so much as allow his name to be mentioned?

What more natural, then, that the girl should draw, in her imagination, an ideal picture of her unknown defender? She represented him to herself as a tall, gloomy, pale-faced youth, who never smiled except when doing good, and his gentle look frequently followed her into her dreams.

Whenever she went for a walk in the streets and encountered young cavaliers there she would steal glances at them and say to herself, "I wonder if that one is he, or that?" But not one of them fitted into the place that she held vacant in her heart.

At last, one day, she did meet with a face with eyes and features and looks similar to the ideal of her dreams. Yes, she had pictured him just like that. Yes, this must be her secret tutelary deity, who did not want himself to be known to her. Yes, yes, this was the hero she was wont to dream of, with the beautiful blue eyes, the n.o.ble features, and the handsome figure!

Poor girl! That was not her benefactor. That was Rudolf Szentirmay, one of the n.o.blest and most patriotic of the younger n.o.blemen of Hungary, already happily married to the lady of his choice, the Countess Flora.

He had no thought of her whatever. But she had got the idea into her head that he _was_ her benefactor, and n.o.body could drive it out again.

She begged and prayed Dame Kramm repeatedly to show her, if even at a distance, the man who had so mysteriously taken charge of her fate. But when, at last, the good-natured lady had resolved to satisfy her desire, it was not in her power to do so; for Abellino no longer appeared in church on Sundays. Nay, he had not, as usual, given her the three thousand florins for the coming month personally, but had sent it to her in advance by an old lackey.

What fine calculation!

Dame Kramm could only believe that the unknown gentleman was determined at all hazards not to approach the girl, and that an effort would have to be made to find him. She therefore humbly asked the lackey whether it was not possible to catch a glimpse of his master in a public place, even if only at a distance and but for a moment.

The lackey replied that his master would be visible at the public session of the Upper House of the Diet on the morrow, and that he would be sitting opposite the fifth pillar.

Oh ho! So he was a great n.o.bleman, then--one of the fathers of the Fatherland who are occupied day and night with the thought of how to make the realm and the nation happier! And still greater confidence arose in her heart. He to whom the destiny of the realm is entrusted could scarcely be a fribbler!

Dame Kramm informed f.a.n.n.y that she would be able to see her unknown benefactor on the morrow in the Diet; that she could pick him out from among the throng without anybody being the wiser, and that the whole affair would only take a moment or two.

So f.a.n.n.y went to the gallery of the Diet, where Dame Kramm pointed out to her her mysterious benefactor.

f.a.n.n.y fell down from heaven forthwith. She had expected to see some one quite different. The face which Dame Kramm pointed out had no attraction for her. On the contrary, it filled her heart with a feeling of distrust and consternation. She hurried Dame Kramm away from the gallery, and carried her poor disillusioned heart home. There she took her aunt into her confidence, and revealed everything--her dreams, her ambitious longings, and her disappointment. She confessed that now she loved--yes, loved--a man who was her ideal, whose name she knew not, and she begged to be defended against herself, for she felt tottering on the edge of an abyss. She was mistress of her own heart no longer.

Next day, when Dame Kramm came for f.a.n.n.y to take her to the singing-master, she found Teresa's house deserted. The doors and windows were shut, and the furniture had been removed. n.o.body could tell where she had gone.

She had taken it into her head to flit in the night-time. Her rent she had deposited with the caretaker, unknown porters had removed everything, and she had left no address behind for kind inquirers.

CHAPTER VI.

PAID IN FULL.

And whither, then, had f.a.n.n.y vanished so suddenly, so untraceably, with her aunt?

It was with a feeling of despair that Teresa had listened to her niece's confession. The girl had told her honestly that she was in love, in love body and soul, with all the fervour of her nature, with an ideal whom she had believed to be identical with the benefactor whose benefits she had one day meant to repay with a love stronger than death; and now, discovering that her secret patron was not he whom she had dreamed of, he whom once she had actually seen, and could never again forget, her heart was full of horror. She now felt that she had acted improperly in accepting money from that other man under any pretext whatsoever, for by so doing she had placed herself under an obligation, and she trembled at the thought of it, and feared to show her face in the street lest she should meet him. A distrust of that face grew up in her heart, and she shuddered at the idea that _that_ man was thinking of her, perhaps. Ah, that was indeed a thorn in her soul! And the other, the ideal, there was no reason for thinking of him at all now; and yet cast him out of her heart again she could not. She knew him not, she knew not even his name, yet she felt that she would love him henceforth to the last moment of her life.

Poor Alexander!

So Teresa saw the labours of these many years all in ruins, and in the bitterness of her despair she brought herself to take a step which, at one time, the greatest misery would have been powerless to make her do--she went to Boltay, told him everything, and entreated him to defend, to protect the girl, for this was a case where female protection was insufficient.

Boltay accepted the guardians.h.i.+p with joy. The coa.r.s.e-handed artisan's big face turned dark red with rage, and he did not go to his factory that day, lest he should pitch into some one; but he gave orders that Teresa's belongings should be carried into his house that very night.

Alexander, who heard everything, became very sorrowful, but was doubly attentive to f.a.n.n.y. It was a case of hopeless love all round. He loved the girl and the girl loved another, and both were very unhappy.

Every one in the family knew the secret, but n.o.body said a word about it. The two old people often laid their heads together, and sometimes Alexander was admitted to this family council.

The good old people tried to find out the name of the unknown n.o.bleman, as they wanted to send back to him the whole of the money that he had forwarded to f.a.n.n.y. A debtor under such an obligation could not feel free. They wanted to pay him back as soon as possible, in just the same coin, florin for florin, three thousand down in one lump, lest any one should say he did not get back exactly what he had given.

Yes, but how were they to find out his name? f.a.n.n.y herself did not know it, and she would not have pointed him out in the street if she had had to die for it. Boltay took the trouble to frequent the coffee-houses and the meetings of the merchants, and listened with all his ears in case he might hear any talk of a shop-girl who had accepted earnest money from a rich gentleman as the price of her virtue. But there was no such talk anywhere. This was rea.s.suring in one way, as tending to show that n.o.body knew anything about it, and therefore the trouble was not so great as it might have been; but the name, the name?

At last Abellino himself came to help them in their search.

Alexander used to go every Sunday to the church which Dame Kramm frequented, and, leaning against a column, would watch to see with whom the spinster conversed.

On the third Sunday Abellino appeared upon the scene also.

The worthy spinster told him the marvellous story of how f.a.n.n.y and her aunt had unexpectedly disappeared one night without telling her whither they had gone, which was not very nice of them; but she suspected that they had flitted to Mr. Boltay's house, and Teresa had kept it quiet, no doubt, because there had been certain relations between her and Boltay in their younger days, or perhaps she went to see him because Boltay's adopted son wanted to marry f.a.n.n.y. As for herself, she did not mean to trouble her head about them any more.

Abellino bit his lips till the blood came, he was so angry. Could these Philistines smell a rat, then?

"What sort of an artisan is this Boltay?" he inquired of Dame Kramm.

"A carpenter," was the reply.

"A carpenter!" and in a moment Abellino had a new plan already in his head.

"Well, G.o.d be with you, madam!" said he; and, having no further use of her, he hurried out of the building, with Alexander at his heels. So at last, then, he had found the tempter in church.

Abellino marched rapidly to the corner of the street, with Alexander after him all the way. There he got into a carriage which was awaiting him. Alexander threw himself into a hackney-coach and trundled after him. He overtook him at the Michael Gate, and here the gentleman got out, while the carriage clattered into the courtyard. A big porter in bearskins was standing at the entrance.