Black Diamonds: A Novel

CHAPTER XXXIII
CHARCOAL

This day the opera in which she had sung the day before yesterday was to be repeated. The rehearsal was to take place in the morning. At this rehearsal, then, she would show what she could do; she would look at no one; she would sing like a blind nightingale.

She ordered her carriage. When she reached the theatre she told the servants to return for her in two hours.

As she entered the vestibule the stage-manager came to meet her, and told her that her part had been given to another singer.

Eveline flew into a passion. Why had it been taken away from her, and in such a manner, without asking her permission? Such a want of proper deference towards her!

The man regretted the circumstance, but either could not or would not offer any explanation. Would she like to see the manager?

Eveline, in a very excited frame of mind, went to look for him; but he was not in his office. His secretary, however, handed her a letter, which the manager had desired him to send to her address.

Eveline took the letter, and when she was in the hall she broke the seal and read it. It was a dismissal, immediate, discourteous, on the grounds that she was quite unequal to fill the position of prima donna.

How she got out of the theatre and into the street she did not know; she came to herself when she saw the crowd of passers-by staring at her. She felt that it was no wonder they looked at her. She was walking like one who was dead; her body moved forward, but her mind was lifeless. It was strange to feel one's self thus annihilated.

Then it was true; the cruel boy was right. The clouds were golden only so long as the sun shone. All her splendor had been on the outside. There was nothing tangible; nothing came from herself. The whole thing had been a fata morgana; it had now vanished forever.

Eveline wandered, she didn't know where. Suddenly she found herself opposite her own house. She would not have thought it strange if some one had told her at the door of the hotel that no one of her name lived there, that she had been dead and buried years ago. She thought she was too stunned to feel either astonishment or pain, but her composure soon gave way under a new trial.

She walked up-stairs, still in a dream, and through her apartment until she reached her dressing-room. When she entered it she saw, stretched in an arm-chair, Prince Waldemar.

He was faultlessly attired, with a most elegant tournure, carefully arranged hair, and fair whiskers, hanging down on both sides in what were then called "cutlets"; his mustache was pointed and waxed.

Eveline called out, in a voice of fear, mixed with anger:

"May I ask, sir, what you want here?"

"I was waiting to see you," said the prince, with well-bred nonchalance; but he never rose from the seat in which he lounged so comfortably.

"Who gave you permission to enter my room?"

"I asked for no permission."

"What right have you to intrude yourself here?"

With a lazy air the prince put his hand into the pocket of his coat and drew out a red paper like a bill; this he handed to Eveline with a slight motion of his head, which conveyed, "This is the cause of my presence here."

Eveline took the paper, which trembled in her hand.

"What is it? I do not understand it."

"It is, however, very intelligible," said the prince, at last getting out of the chair. "The creditors of Kaulmann have seized your things. Kaulmann was careless or thoughtless enough—I really cannot say which—to announce that what belonged to his wife was his, and therefore his creditors have seized everything here, believing it is his. During your absence this morning they got the law officers to break open your door and to take possession. They affixed a notice outside, inviting all passers-by to come in and inspect the things for sale. In consequence of this invitation I am here. I came in to look about me. You will observe that there are government seals upon everything. I am here in the right of purchaser."

Eveline looked round, and saw that what he said was true.

"But, sir, it is impossible. Kaulmann knew perfectly that nothing here was his property."

"I am sure of that. It was gross negligence on your lawyer's side; he should have protected your interests better. Every one knows that Kaulmann brought the goods here; it was supposed that he bought them. In any case, he cannot testify in your favor. A misfortune has happened to him. When he saw that the police were after him he jumped out of the railway-carriage he was in. Unfortunately, he broke his neck and died immediately."

Eveline fell back upon the sofa and hid her face in her hands.

"If you wish to shed a few tears to the memory of Kaulmann I will retire to the window," remarked Prince Waldemar, with ironical courtesy.

Eveline made him no answer. In her mind everything was in confusion; she could think of nothing. Let everything go; what did it matter? Should she institute a law-suit to recover her property? Should she bring witnesses to prove that this ornament, these costly hangings, these rich carpets were not the property of her husband, but the gifts to her from a gray-beard—the most upright, the dearest of men, a Hungarian magnate, who had adopted her, an actress, to be his own child, with no self-seeking, no sinful gratification, but out of pure affection? No one would credit her story. She would tell it to no one. She would not subject the name of her benefactor to the jeers and laughter of the incredulous. Sooner let everything go.

"I am not weeping, sir," she said to the prince. "If you have anything further to tell me I am ready to listen."

"I could tell you many other unfortunate circumstances," returned Waldemar, leaning against the fireplace with the silver grate. "For one thing, Prince Theobald, your former patron, has been placed by his family under legal restraint, and cannot take any active part in the affairs of this world."

"I know that."

"The shares which he took as a provision for you in the Bondavara Company have been also sequestrated by law."

"That has been told to me already."

"This loss, however, has a compensation: those shares are now almost worthless. Since the colliery explosion, and the impossibility of extinguishing the fire in the mine, they have fallen to nothing."

"That does not concern me."

"I have not quite finished. The clergyman who was your friend, whose dreams were of a bishop's mitre, has returned to his monastery."

"I have known that some time."

"You seem to have learned everything. Perhaps you know also that your manager has cancelled your engagement and given your part to another actress?"

"Here is the letter," answered Eveline, drawing a crumpled paper from her pocket. And then she looked at the prince with proud contempt. She was wondrously beautiful. "Have you taken the trouble to come here to tell me all this?" she asked, her eyes gleaming not through tears but with indignation.

"I did not come here on that account," answered the prince, sitting down on the sofa and bending over her. "I came to speak to you frankly. Do you not see that the whole fabric upon which your golden dreams were built has crumbled? The Bondavara mine is on fire; the shares are falling; the prime-minister is disgraced; the prince is under restraint; your husband is dead; your property will be sold by auction; you are dismissed from the theatre. The five acts of the drama are played out. Let us applaud the finish, if we are so minded, and let us begin again. I can give you back your shares. I can get you a palace in the Maximilian Strasse. I can buy back for you all your seized goods—your furniture, your diamonds, your horses. I can arrange matters with the manager of the theatre; you shall be reinstated as prima donna on better terms than before. I can give you a far greater position than you have ever enjoyed, and I can offer you a truer, more self-sacrificing, more adoring lover than you have possessed. His name is Waldemar Sondersheim." He bowed low before her.

Eveline looked with intense gravity at the top of his boots.

Waldemar was now certain that he was master of the situation. He took from his waistcoat-pocket a watch, and pressed it into her hand.

"My sweetest love, my time is precious. I am expected at the stock-exchange. The Kaulmann speculation has to be crushed. It is just twelve o'clock. I give you one hour to think over what I have said and to decide your own fate. I am content to wait until then; it is only one word I ask for—yes or no."

Eveline gave him a yet shorter answer. She dashed the timepiece which he had put into her hand with such force on the floor that it flew into a hundred pieces. That was her answer!

Prince Waldemar laughed, put his hand in his left-hand waistcoat-pocket, took out another watch, and said, dryly:

"I expected just such an answer, and therefore I brought with me another watch. I beg of you to break this one also. I shall be only too happy to provide you with a third."

This time, however, Eveline did not take the timepiece in her hand. She sprang to her feet, and, pointing with her hand towards the door, cried out:

"If you have bought my things, take everything away; but the apartment is still mine. Go!"

Prince Waldemar looked at her haughtily, although he was still smiling.

"My dear lady, this is easily said; but reflect a moment. What will become of you if you reject me? You have no other expedient."

"I have a shelter," returned the girl, bitterly, "to which I can turn, and that is charcoal."

Prince Waldemar made her a low bow, and, without uttering another word, took his hat and left her.

A woman who appeals to charcoal needs no man's friendship. In the metropolis of fashion many poor wretches have found their last refuge there.

That evening Eveline paid a visit to her jeweller. She brought him a pair of diamond ear-rings. They were all she had; her ornaments had been seized by the law officers. She sold these to the jeweller, and left the purchase-money in his care, to be spent in a yearly sum on her little brother's grave in Père la Chaise, to have sods of green grass round it, and have fresh flowers placed there on All-Souls' Day. The jeweller promised, for she had been a good customer. She told him she was going to travel. Apparently it was a long journey, for the next morning a bundle was found by the police on the banks of the Seine. It was tied up in a cashmere shawl, which her maid recognized as belonging to the lost actress.

Prince Waldemar offered a large reward to whoever found the body. But it was never found, for the bundle laid at the water-side was only a pretence; and while every one was dragging the river, Eveline had kept her word and sought refuge in the charcoal pit.

Prince Waldemar never heard of her again. He and his household wore mourning in memory of her for six weeks.

CHAPTER XXXIV
CSANTA'S LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT

A printer's error; and a very serious one! The printer was drunk when he printed it. The fellow ought to be put in prison. If there is any police in Vienna, or justice in the government, such a thing should not pass unpunished; it is enough to shake the nerves of any man not made of iron. If this is not a disturbance of the peace, I don't know what you can call it.

Then he took another paper. The same mistake! He went through the round of the daily papers, and found that all the printers must have chosen this day for a drinking-bout, as each one made the same error between above and below par.

Csanta was convinced that some great mistake had been made; but as he could not rest until it was cleared up, he telegraphed to Spitzhase.

A telegram from Spitzhase crossed his. It ran:

Csanta cursed and swore with rage. "The devil take him! Sixty below par; a loss of sixty thousand gulden! That means for me extinction. Where is the cord and the nail? Let me hang myself! Six casks full of silver gone! I shall murder some one! I must go to Vienna. I shall knock the whole place about their ears like a card house if I don't get back my silver. I didn't take my money to Vienna to leave it there."

He foamed like a madman, dragged his bonds out of his safe, threw them on the floor and stamped upon them.

"Villains! knaves! paper beggars! It is you who have eaten up my silver crowns! You have swallowed my sixty thousand silver crowns! I will tear you in pieces! I will cut my crowns out of your stomachs! I will kill you dead!"

The upsetting of his safe had disturbed his papers. He suddenly caught sight of a deed. He looked at it closely. His mood changed.

"What a fool I have been. I don't lose as much as my finger-nail. Here is my young friend's signature. How lucky I didn't destroy this, or light my pipe with it. He binds himself at any time, subject to my desire, to take over a thousand shares at par. Ah, well done, Csanta! You are an old bird not easily caught with chaff. I am saved, thanks to my own sagacity, to my prudent, far-seeing nose that smells danger ahead. This letter covers all loss. So far as I am concerned, stones may fall from the sky. I am safe."

He folded the shares tenderly, and locked them and the precious letter safely up in his safe. He then sat down and wrote to his dear young friend in Paris. Fortunately he had the address. He asked him politely—seeing how the matter stood—to send at once some accredited person to take over the bonds, according to their previous agreement, and to arrange in what manner the money should be paid. As for the outstanding interest, some compromise or arrangement could be made.

A week passed, and no answer came; but, after all, it is more than a cat's jump from X—— to Paris.

During the week he received twice every day, morning and evening, a telegram from Spitzhase pressing him to part with his shares, for every day they were falling ten per cent. lower. At the end of the week they had gone down still more. The bears had won the day.

Csanta never moved a finger. He hugged himself in his own safety; and as for the others, their shares might go to the bottom of the sea for all he cared. He had no shares. They were all Kaulmann's. "Take them away, and give me back my silver!" This was his cry. "Rogue! villain! I have you by the neck!"

The accounts that he read of the sudden collapse of the company and the ruin of the shareholders did not in the least disturb him. The losses of others could not affect him. On the ninth day, however, he began to tremble. The morning's paper contained an account, telegraphed from Paris, of the flight of the banker, Felix Kaulmann, leaving his affairs in the uttermost confusion. This was succeeded by a second telegram, announcing that the banker, Kaulmann, seeing that the officers of police were on his track, had thrown himself from the window of the railway-carriage, and had been killed instantaneously.

Csanta narrowly missed an apoplectic stroke. When he came to he telegraphed to Spitzhase to sell all his shares for what they would fetch.

Spitzhase answered by return:

"All is over with me!" sobbed Csanta. "Let me get home; let me lie down and die! I cannot live! I shall not be alive in three days!"

He took leave of his acquaintances; he had no friends. He told them they need not be afraid, he would do himself no injury. He was simply dying of grief, just as a man might die of sickness.

All gone!

Some compassionate souls had pity on the old man and took him home. If he had been alone he had never found his own house. Once arrived there, he insisted on going down to his cellar, to see with his own eyes if it were not some hideous dream, from which he would wake and find his beloved casks in their old places. When he saw all were gone, he set up a fearful cry, "Fool! fool! fool!" and fell forward on his face.

They carried him up-stairs, tenderly undressed him as if he were a child, and put him to bed. He shrieked for a priest, so they fetched him one. He made his confession, and received the sacrament.

His lawyer then appeared on the scene, and his last will was written out and duly signed. He had still something to leave. There were his houses, the whole street front; the church into which no one came, on whose threshold between the stones the grass grew thick, in whose court-yard the school-boys played ball on Thursday half-holidays.

The church, notwithstanding, was endowed with a priest, a verger, and a bell-ringer. The priest should say mass, the bell-ringer should ring the bell, the verger should open the door every day; just as a hundred years ago, when through the open church doors a stream of men passed, with silver buttons on their jackets, and women with long silk veils. The old man now dying is the last descendant left on this earth of the old Greek traders. The church shall remain standing in memory of them.

The house next door to his own he bequeathed to the widow, who was the daughter of the last Greek. This woman and he had quarrelled long ago. God alone can decide the justice of a quarrel that has to do with paper money, which to-day is worth a great deal and to-morrow not a penny. Therefore, he bequeathed to her and her son the heap of cursed, worthless papers called shares in the Bondavara Company, which have caused his unexpected death. They shall have these papers, whether for good or ill.

After he had made these depositions and arranged his affairs his will was sealed and inscribed by himself. He divided among his neighbors and servants his few remaining possessions. He called the bell-ringer, and enjoined him to toll the bell three times every two hours, and if any one asked the reason why, he should answer, "The Greek, Csanta, is dead." Then he sent every one out of the room.

When next morning they returned he was dead. He had died of grief, just as an aged husband will not survive the loss of his wife with whom he had grown old. So a man with a strong will dies when he has said that he can no longer support life.

CHAPTER XXXV
THE GROUND BURNS UNDER HIS FEET

The Bondavara Mine Company and Railway Company were, so to speak, glued to one another; one could hardly take a step without dragging the other down the dangerous path on which both were going headlong to ruin.

Being in such evil straits, the directors began to look for help to the other mine. Coal they must have. In Ivan Behrend's colliery there must be a large supply. For a whole year he had sold none. They must buy from him, even at an advanced price.

Rauné also bethought himself of begging for coal from the same source. Surely no one could refuse to oblige an old friend and neighbor.

His letter, however, came back to him with the seal unbroken. At this moment Rauné was terribly hard pressed. He resolved to wait upon Ivan, and make his request in person.

His visit was a short one. He was in all less than two seconds in Ivan's room, from which the first thing that issued was his hat, which he followed promptly. After this Ivan's voice was heard.

"I hold no conversation with spies."

Rauné wrote the directors a long letter, in which he said that Behrend was a boorish, selfish man, who was determined to profit by the misfortune which had happened to the Bondavara mine, and would not give his coal at any price; instead of selling, he was using it in the manufacture of a quantity of iron rails, and speculating on the chance that the company would be forced to buy at any sum he chose to ask.

The result of his letter was very different from what he had looked for. The railway directors wrote at once to Ivan, and made him an advantageous offer for his iron rails; and if he had asked fifty per cent. more they were prepared to accede to his demand.

The profit for Ivan's faithful workmen was a very full harvest. The deserters to the enemies' camp now implored to be taken on again; they had no work. But they were not received by their former comrades; a committee of the men decided, without a dissentient voice, against taking on one of the deserters, but took on a total stranger. This decision settled the matter, and Ivan was forced to acknowledge it was just. The new member was bound to work for a year as a common laborer, and the committee were not to decide whether he should be admitted to the rights of the existing colony, and entitled to his share of the profit; this should be put to the vote.

Meantime the work was splendidly done. Each man looked upon the mine as his own property; there were few blunders, and the success was remarkable; neither labor nor time was spared. Order was preserved, discipline maintained, and there was no necessity for harsh measures, nor for overseers.

Under all this fine weather, however, there lurked clouds. In the far distance storms were gathering, evident to an experienced eye.

Ivan noted the coming danger, but he did not let it escape his lips. It could not be averted. His mine was threatened; the fire that was consuming the neighboring colliery might spread to his. This thought filled his mind by day and by night. From the situation of the coal-stratum he could draw the conclusion that the conflagration must spread to Bondathal. It might take years, but in the end the Bondathal mine would share the same fate as its neighbor of Bondavara, and be reduced to ashes.

The earth has buried many such wrecks in its bosom. But not alone below, but on the earth itself this Bondavara misfortune had ruined a multitude of people.

In the beginning the board of directors, who administered the affairs of the shareholders, hit upon the idea that with the ready money at their command they would buy up all the shares in the market, and in this way serve a double purpose. In the first place, they would secure for themselves the shares which had been issued at par at a price far below par, and in the next they would check any further fall.

The board, however, by this manœuvre only effected a more rapid smash; the money in the treasury dwindled away until at last for the necessary expenses there was nothing left.

Prince Waldemar knew how to make use of the daily papers. He was always ready, and the shares having, through him, fallen thirty per cent. lower, he was resolved to send them still further down. The time was at hand when they would stand at nil, and then the owner of these miserable shares would be glad to offer one per cent. to any one who would take them off his hands.

It was a wicked game to play. Thousands were made beggars. The poorer people suffered most—those who a short year ago came with their little savings in their hands, crying to take shares. Poor souls! the high interest had tempted them to their ruin. Ah, it is an old story this, that repeats itself with periodic fidelity; the clerk, the old man, the widow, the old maid, the governess or teacher—these are the victims of this cruel Juggernaut. The cashier who has gambled with his master's money fills in the picture. But there are not wanting others who suffer, but are not reduced altogether to want. Solid tradesmen are crippled, people who drove their carriages have to walk, lovers whose wedding-day was fixed have to wait, and sometimes pine away in single blessedness. Woe! woe! on every side.

But the Bondavara catastrophe had ruined not alone poor and well-to-do people; it had dragged down in its fall the high and powerful family of Bondavary, one of the most ancient in Hungary. The Marquis Salista had learned a severe lesson; he found that you cannot take away the centrepiece of a building without endangering the whole edifice. The sequestration of the prince's property had drawn the whole body of creditors upon him. And so it came to pass that the large property of a great nobleman, a reigning prince, fell under the administration of his creditors; the heirs had really burned the ground under their own feet.

If the stewards and agents in the prince's time had been thieves, the administration of the property by the creditors was the very realization of plunder on all sides.

The result was disastrous so far as the Countess Theudelinde was in question; there was no one responsible, so it appeared, for her forty thousand pounds. All the family charges and mortgages came first on the list of payments. Let her grasp hers—if she could.

The one who suffered most was the Countess Angela. Her husband, Marquis Salista, had from the first lived in the extravagant manner befitting a man who has come into a fortune of twenty millions. It was impossible to induce him to change his ideas. This led to sharp conflicts between the married pair.

On the other side, Angela showed him plainly that she had married him not from liking, but out of pique.

The marquis knew it—and so did Ivan; but he had something else to think of. The ground was burning under his feet.

CHAPTER XXXVI
CHILD'S PLAY

Arpad slipped out of the room and ran down to the garden. The fruit-trees were untouched, and all in full bloom. The cherry-tree was one mass of rosy blossom. He remembered well how he daren't touch a blossom under pain of a good whipping. And the forget-me-nots on the bank of the stream, which flowed past the end of the garden, and the May bells were ringing in a chorus, to which no one listened.

Everything was just as it had been, only grown. The trees had such long branches that they were entangled with those on the opposite shore.

He laid himself down in the green grass, all dotted over with yellow cowslips. No one could beat him now. He might waste his time and drink his fill of lazy enjoyment. Fame, the chatter of the newspapers over his sudden disappearance, the ladies who would regret him—what were they all in comparison with this? In a hiding-place on the river-bank he sought for the little flute he had secretly made in those old days. To his great joy it was there, just as he had left it.

Arpad took from his pocket a newspaper full of his Parisian triumphs, an announcement of his next appearance. Where is Paris now? Out of the sheet he made a large boat with sails, that it might take a cargo on board. He pulled a bunch of the cherry blossom; he set the tiny vessel on the water, and while it danced over the little bubbles in the stream he laid down again among the forget-me-nots and played upon his flute the national air, "Repülj fecském."

At the sound of the flute another child appeared. She came from the house opposite: a young girl about fifteen. She had a round, fair, laughing face and beautiful blue eyes. Timidly, like a frightened fawn, she made a few steps, then stopped and listened. By-and-by she drew nearer, then stood still again. She did not see the flute-player; she noticed nothing but his flute and his boat with the cherry blossoms.

The girl had come quite close to the bank without Arpad having seen her approach. He was made aware of her presence by hearing her laugh. The laugh of a child is as clear as a bell. Arpad looked up, surprised.

"Ah, is that you, Sophie? How pretty you have grown! I beg you will send me back my boat."

Sophie did not want to be asked twice. She held up her frock with one hand, tucked it between her knees, and after she had replaced the red cherry blossoms by some white flowers, she gave the little boat such a hearty shove that it came back to the opposite side. Then the game began again. It was so amusing!

Madame Belenyi saw the pair from the window. She didn't disturb them, but let them amuse themselves until the sun went down and the air began to get chill. Then the most prudent of the two children—it was the girl, no doubt—suggested to the other that the grass was wet with dew, and that it would be well to go back to the house.

Arpad took his boat out of the water, and put it and the flute back in their hiding-place, and returned to his mother.

Madame Belenyi did not scold him. She did not, however, kiss him on his forehead, as she was wont to do. She showed him all she had done to settle the house while he had been amusing himself in the garden.

Arpad was very much pleased to find it so comfortable.

"Mother," he said, "we will live here always."

"I don't object to our living here, Arpad; only there is one condition. You must marry a good girl, and bring her here to help me."

"I, mother?" returned Arpad, half pleased and yet astonished.

"Yes, you. Why not? You are a young man. I cannot look after you always."

Arpad laughed again. "So, because I have grown a young man, and that you cannot keep me any longer at your apron-string, I must take a wife who will keep me in better order than you can. Is that it, mother?"

"My son, it is in the natural order," returned Madame Belenyi, gravely, and as if there were no other course for a young man but to have either a mother or a wife to look after him. It did not enter into her imagination that he could look after himself.

"Sooner or later I shall obey your wishes; but just now, as we have got a house, I shall have enough to do to provide the house-keeping, and I could not take a wife with me here and there when I have to fulfil my professional engagements. For this sort of Bohemian life, vagabondizing from Paris to London, Petersburg to Vienna, is a bad thing for a woman, whether she goes with her husband or is left behind."

"But we have something to live on, Arpad. I have been very lucky with your earnings, and there is a nice nest-egg in the bank. Besides, there are the shares. Don't laugh, you silly boy! Although they are only worth ten gulden, yet there are a thousand of them. If we realize them, that would be ten thousand gulden. In a small town like this that sum would be a fortune, and with it you need not scruple to take a wife."

"Mamma, you don't understand about these shares. One could easily be realized, but if the next day I were to go to the same place with another for sale they would kick me out. Any one who would offer a thousand Bondavara shares in the money-market would be sent to the mad-house. Put the shares away with those other important papers Csanta gave you, and, if you like, treasure the hope that one day they may be worth as much as the paper they are printed on."

"Well, stranger things have happened. Did you ever think we would come back to this house? I am very sorry I did not keep the other papers. I burned them. Who knows what luck we may have with those bonds? If, one day, they rise again to par, we shall realize twice two hundred thousand gulden—"

"I don't count on such strokes of luck as that, mamma. The worst compliment Providence can pay a man is to let him win in a lottery. It is just as if God said to him, 'You ass! I cannot keep you in any other manner.' God would not allow a man who has any intellect to win in a lottery. To such a one he would say, 'Wilt thou cease to beg alms of Me in such a shameless manner? Is it not sufficient that I have endowed thee with talent? My consolation prizes are reserved for the dunderheads.'" Then he added, "Mother, don't be afraid, we shall live from my art. Wait a little and you shall see; only give me time. Meantime I shall buy for the little girl a doll with a china head as a plaything. You must take care of me for a little longer."

At these words the widow embraced her boy tenderly. She was happy; but that evening Arpad, when it was moonlight, went out and sat under the weeping-willow and played a melancholy air on his flute. Sometimes he stopped to listen to a soft silvery voice singing a national air on the other side of the stream. The singer, however, when she heard the flute no more, knew that he was listening, and stopped her song. It is so sweet to be young!

CHAPTER XXXVII
EUREKA

Ivan thought he could explain the absence of the water by the theory of the periodic springs—a theory too complicated to enter upon here. It is sufficient to say that the water-supply of the mine was worked by the pressure of the air upon these springs. If the water did not now return, it would be attributable to one of two causes: either the pipe which conducted the water from the larger basin had suddenly closed, and was no longer subject to atmospherical pressure, on which it depended to keep open; or some split or crevice had come in the stone masonry which protected the basins, and the force of the air had driven the water down farther into the bowels of the earth, where, no doubt, another basin was ready for its reception. We will remember that from the first Ivan had the idea that some such reservoir existed. But where?—that was the problem; and if the reservoirs were not found, what then?

The cavern where Ivan stood was empty. The black portals which guarded the subterranean kingdom of death stood open to him. He could enter the labyrinth; he could discover what he had long sought, the communication between the upper and the lower water basins. One difficulty lay in his way. He should take a workman with him. He called the old miner, Paul.

"Paul, how old are you?"

"Sixty-nine."

"You would like, no doubt, to complete your seventieth year."

"I should like to see the gold wedding of this pit. Next year it will be just fifty years since it was opened."

"And if you die before then?"

"I should say, 'The name of the Lord be blessed.'"

"Are your sons grown to man's estate?"

"My grandson is able to keep himself."

"Would you be ready to accompany me on a dangerous expedition—one where the chances are we might never return?"

"I think I have run that chance before now."

"You must understand, Paul, the whole risk before you agree. We are going to look for the water that has left the tank. It is a matter of life and death to every one of us, and, therefore, I think God will help us; but it may not be so. The Almighty may say, 'Why should you mere worms of the earth dare to interfere between me and the sentence I have passed against you and yours? I did not listen to the entreaties of Lot, and now the Dead Sea covers the ruins of the city. You men of Bondathal are not better than the men of Gomorrah.' Do you understand me? I have often sought for the source of the spring through the narrow winding paths of this cavern. These windings are so narrow that one must sometimes press through them by mere force, at other times creep along upon one's stomach. Great abysses yawn under the feet; a fall down one of these would be fatal; we will have to cling to the wall as we creep along. Again, we will pass through stinking sewers, up to our elbows in putrid filth. All these clefts and fissures have been made some time—God knows when—by an earthquake which has caused the uprooting of the coal stratum. Now it is quite possible that this last explosion has closed again many of these clefts and opened others. If it has happened, as I surmise, that the aperture has been shut which communicated between the pit beneath us and the one above—if this has taken place, then we have a tank full of water over our heads. If we, in our search through the bowels of the earth, come upon this aperture, and accidentally break the smallest hole, not the size of a pin's point, the water in the basin over our heads will burst through and annihilate us; if we hear it roaring we are already lost. But, on the other hand, it may be that the explosion caused a rent in the upper cleft, and if so the water has rushed through it to the lower basin under our feet. What we have to do, whether we die in the search or not, is to find out where the water is."

"I have no idea what you mean; all I know is that I am ready to go with you."

"Then go home and take leave of your family, as if you were going a long journey. Go to your priest and make your peace with God. Then come back, and tell no one where we are going."

Ivan now made his own preparations. From this adventure he might never return. He made his will. He bequeathed his mine to his workmen, his money to Paul's family. This was an act of justice. If the old man were killed, it was in a measure his, Ivan's, doing.

When this was all done he went out and took his leave of light and air before going into the blackness of everlasting night. It was well under the free air of heaven. The sky might be bluer elsewhere, the grass greener; still, it was not eternal darkness.

The post brought him a letter. It was from Arpad Belenyi. It told him all that we already know—the fall of Kaulmann, the disappearance of Eveline, whom every one thought had drowned herself. Ivan's heart was stirred by deep sorrow. The sky lost its brightness; the meadow was no longer green; the blackness of the pit would be welcome to him. This news acted upon him as a tonic; he felt braced; his fears vanished. Life was now more worthless than before.

He set about the necessary preparations with calmness. He collected the instruments which would be needed for this strange search—the levelling instrument, the circumferentor, the plumb-line. He put them in a bag, which he tied round his neck. Paul carried the pick, the iron rod, and a strong cord.

With this equipment they descended into the cavern, and vanished through the windings of the water-course. After six hours they reappeared. This went on day after day.

Ivan took the measurements of all the windings of the labyrinth, and when he was at home compared them carefully. It took him hours. At night he retired into his laboratory, heated deadly gases in his retorts, and forced the mysterious elements to surrender their long-concealed secrets. He fought with demons who refused to obey him.

"Which of you is the spirit that can extinguish fire? Appear! appear! Not with Alpha and Omega, not with Solomon's Seal, not in the name of Abraxas and Mithras do I conjure you, but by the force of all-powerful science I order you appear!"

But no spirit appeared.

This double battle, the one under the earth, the one in the air above it, this fight with the two great demons of the world's creation, went on day by day, in daylight and darkness. Ivan had no rest.

One morning he was told that the water in the castle well was hot, and it had a decided taste of sulphur. He began now to despair. The subterranean conflagration was closing round him sooner than he had looked for it. The situation was lost; one year, and the whole place would be consumed.

Rauné, when this fact became known, threw up his appointment and openly took service with Prince Waldemar. He was commissioned by his employer to write—as an authentic witness—the accounts of the catastrophe, which appeared constantly in the Vienna papers.

Ivan threw himself with the energy of despair into the search; he penetrated farther into the subterranean labyrinth. Paul was like a ghost; his very soul was steeped in terror, but he held bravely to his master.

One day, amidst the confusion of the different winding passages in the rock, they came to a place out of which there seemed to be no exit. They struck the wall. It returned a hollow sound, so that they drew the conclusion that on the other side there was a large cavern, or space of some sort. The tumbled masses of slate-stratum fallen over one another was a proof that the blockade had been recently made.

"We must clear a passage here," said Ivan, taking the pick in his hand.

Paul cowered down, clinging to the wall. He trembled at every blow of the pick given by the vigorous arm of Ivan, who worked with terrible earnestness. So might a despairing soul beat against the gates of hell and summon the devil to single combat.

At last the pick made a small hole, through which Ivan passed the iron rod, and raised a whole mass of slates.

"Now, if the water is overhead the crack of doom has come."

The old man crossed himself, and recommended his soul to God.

Ivan, however, shouted with all the joy of a discoverer: "Do you hear? The rubbish as it falls makes a splash. The lower basin I am in search of is here, underneath us!"

But what if the one above is full? They had still to wait while they counted a hundred beats of the pulse.

Never was a pulse felt under such terrible circumstances, not even when Ivan had gone down into the burning mine. Not a sound was heard. In the bosom of the earth all is quiet. Ivan was trembling with joyful excitement.

"Found at last!" he cried. "Now bind the cord round me, and lower me into the well cavern."

It was done. The old miner, as he held the rope, prayed fervently to the Blessed Mother that she would forgive this heretic, who did not know what he was doing. Meantime the lamp sank deeper and deeper.

Suddenly Ivan cried out, "Pull me up!"

His old comrade drew him slowly out of the depths of the earth. As he held out his hand to help him, Ivan suddenly threw his arms round him and embraced him.

"We have reached our goal," he said. "The plumb-line shows a monstrous depth of water."

Paul's brain began to clear. For the first time he had a dim idea of the aims of their labors.

"Now let us get into daylight."

As soon as Ivan got out of the pit he ran home as fast as he could. He compared his measurements, and was well content with the result. At night he shut himself in his laboratory. He was flushed with triumph; another victory would be his. He would also conquer the demon that had hitherto resisted his will. He had the proud feeling of a victorious general who demands the last stronghold to surrender.

"I have already conquered," he said. "You are the next to submit. God sometimes lends to his creature immortal gifts, moments of creative power, when the infinite takes, as it were, shape, and the finite cries to the infinite, 'Eureka!'"

Ivan poured out ten drops of the water he had brought from the well. There was not more than would be held in the point of a pen. The laboratory became suddenly dark. The strong heat of the burning coal in the oven went out as if by magic. All was dark; black as night. This darkness was the light for which Ivan had been seeking.

"I have found it!" he cried aloud. "I have found it!" he cried to his workmen, among whom he rushed, half undressed, with his hat off, like a lunatic.

They did not know what he had found, but they felt certain the discovery which was considered so important by their guide and master must be a matter of rejoicing, in proof of which the miners cheered lustily.

CHAPTER XXXVIII
AT PAR

Prince Waldemar, the leader of the conspiracy, forced the shares day by day lower and lower. At last they fell to one and a half per cent., then to one and a quarter, and this quarter was to go lower, the prince wanting to banish the shares from the quotation list. The owners were making a fight to prevent this—an ineffectual one, it seemed to be. They were almost agreed to give up the fight as a forlorn hope. How could they make head against such odds? The day upon which Rauné's report was in the newspapers they resolved to lay down their arms; there seemed no good in protracting the struggle. The report in question was the one which stated what was the nature of the elements that, since the fire in the Bondavara mine, had been found mixed with the water on the lake of the castle; this caused a great "sensation," and was the last straw upon the back of the unfortunate shareholders.

Prince Waldemar had the news proclaimed on 'change that on the last day of the month he would sell his Bondavara Company shares at ten florins. Some people took up the gauntlet he had thrown down. These were shareholders who knew that they would lose by taking this wager, but at the same time hoped by this stroke of policy to prevent the shares from disappearing altogether from the share list. If, therefore, at the end of the month the shares went down to six gulden, they must pay the other side twenty thousand gulden difference; if the shares went up, the other side must do the same.

About noon a broker came to the bank, and said, loud enough for all bystanders to hear, that a gentleman was present who would take five hundred Bondavara shares at par.

If some one had struck a hammer upon the open keys of a piano no greater whir and whiz could have been heard than now ran through the hall. Screams of laughter, exclamations of astonishment, howls of joy, curses, and ejaculations of incredulity were raised in every corner. Who is he? Is he a lunatic? At par! Bondavara shares! Where is the man?

The broker pointed him out. He was evidently a provincial gentleman, very unassuming in his appearance. He was leaning against a pillar, calmly surveying the Olympian games.

"He is evidently a silly knave who wants to have a joke," scoffed Prince Waldemar. "Go to him," he went on to the agent, "and ask him for his name. We must know what is the name of any one who treats with us."

The broker returned in a few minutes with the news that the gentleman gave his name as a Hundred Thousand Gulden, saying that money was the best surname. He showed his hands full of bank-notes, which he received from the stranger.

"Who sells five hundred Bondavara shares at par?"

This cry caused a revolution on 'change. Tranquillity was at an end; tumult took its place; uproar and confusion reigned. Credulous and incredulous people surrounded the stranger; they pressed upon him, overwhelming him with questions, stretching over one another to thrust their note-books into his hands. The unknown met all this noise with cool indifference, merely pointing out to his broker the crowd who were ready to do business with him.

Prince Waldemar now made his way through the mob to where the new-comer stood. With the most refined impertinence he drew the brim of his hat over his eyes and stuck his hand into his waistcoat pockets as he surveyed the other.

"Sir, your appearance has caused a sudden revolution. May I ask your name?"

"My name is Ivan Behrend," returned the stranger, without changing his negligent attitude.

"Ah," said the prince, suddenly taking off his hat and bowing low. "I have had the honor of hearing of you. Are you not the renowned pistol-shot, who can shoot a cigar out of a man's mouth? I am a nobody in comparison; I am only Prince Waldemar Sondersheim. I cannot shoot as you do. But let us talk sensibly. You want to buy Bondavara shares at par? Have you inherited suddenly the fortune of an Indian nabob, who made it a condition that you should buy the shares at par?"

"No. I buy them because they are worth that price."

"Don't you know that the Bondavara mine is on fire?"

"I happen to own the adjoining one, therefore I am quite aware that such is the fact."

"Then your mine will be on fire next."

"Not so. I extinguished the fire in mine a fortnight ago."

At these words the noise rose to a regular tumult; the shareholders pressed round Ivan, and nearly suffocated him. The man is there who can extinguish the fire. The mine will soon be again in working order. Bondavara stands once more at par.

The bears had to retire. The joyful shareholders surrounded Ivan and carried him in triumph out of the hall.

That same evening a large meeting was held, at which Ivan, before an enormous audience, filling the room to suffocation, declared authoritatively that he had an infallible plan, which had, in fact, been tried on the Bondavara mine, and had put out the conflagration. He invited every one present to see the experiment tested next day in the open air, when it would be distinctly proved that his words were no idle boast.

The following morning, in presence of a large crowd, he fulfilled his promise, succeeding admirably in the demonstration. A funeral pile of coal and turf, over which petroleum had been poured, was set fire to, and when blazing to its greatest height was put out in a few minutes by some drops from a small bottle.

The jubilant public conducted Ivan back to the town in triumph, and at the next general meeting of shareholders it was resolved to offer him a remuneration of six hundred thousand gulden if he would undertake to bring the Bondavara mine into working order.

There were not wanting, however, plenty of opponents. Foremost there was Prince Waldemar, who possessed the largest proportion of shares, and who, nevertheless, offered the most determined opposition. He did everything to embarrass and obstruct Ivan's scientific propositions.

"I grant," he said, "that you may be able to put out with one bucket of fluid six cubit feet of burning coals; but consider for a moment that in the Bondavara pit, reckoning from the place where the explosion took place to the castle, there must be at least sixty thousand cubit feet of burning stratum. You must have, to meet this, ten thousand buckets of fluid ready to shoot over the mass. What machine have you that would be able for such an operation as this?"

"I have not forgotten that such a machine would be necessary," returned Ivan, quietly.

"Let us suppose," continued the prince, "that you do succeed in getting a sufficient quantity of fluid to bear upon the burning mass. Don't you perceive that this very supply will develop a monstrous amount of gas, which would permeate the pit from top to bottom, and cause another and still worse explosion?"

"I have foreseen this danger."

"And, finally, if you possess any idea, which you evidently do, of the mechanism of machines and the expenditure necessary to procure the best, you must face the problem that a million of money will not be sufficient to procure the necessary materials which would be wanting to make the experiment successful."

"I have drawn up an estimate of probable outlay."

The shareholders here shouted out to him that they undertook all expenses, even if they amounted to a million, and on the spot it was agreed that Ivan should receive full powers to do for the Bondavara mine what he considered necessary, let the cost be what it might.

Prince Sondersheim saw that he could not stem the course of Ivan's popularity; it must have its way. While the assembled shareholders were signing the deed of authorization, he took Ivan aside, and said to him:

"Ivan Behrend, whether the undertaking you have engaged in succeeds or not—I do not believe that it will succeed—you will have taken out of my pocket a million—a million net. Besides this, you have squandered five hundred gulden of your own money, without reckoning what is yet to be spent. Let that be. You have done this by fixing the quotations at par. It is true that the shares will neither be bought nor sold, for both sides will be afraid, and will hold back; nevertheless, the quotation will stand at par, and I am obliged to pay the difference on this—that will cost me a million. But that is nothing; I have lost as much before now, and recovered it again. One has only to play the waiting game. If, however, in a fortnight's time you find that you miscalculated your powers, and that your experiment fails, you have only to let it be known, and I shall pay one million into your hand."

Ivan answered this contemptible proposal with business-like composure.

"Prince Sondersheim, the stock-exchange is, as I am well aware, a privileged place. Here a man can say things without having any fear of consequences. What a man says or does, what proposals he makes—everything is, in a sense, allowable, and the ordinary rules which govern the outside world do not apply. Here one man may ask the other, 'How much do you ask for selling the honor of your company?' and if the answer is, 'It is not for sale,' that is enough. Here there is plain speaking; no one is offended at being asked to be an accomplice in a robbery. It would be no reflection on his character; he would assume no airs of righteousness, but simply answer, 'I really haven't time.' If men quarrel, if they spit at one another, tear the hats off one another's heads, that is nothing; it goes no further; no one turns round to look at them. They wipe the spittle off their faces, pick up their hats, and after half an hour walk about arm in arm. No one remembers that they were fighting; it was only a little 'difference,' which led to an animated scene. Therefore, to the proposal made by Sondersheim, the Bondavara coal-merchant, to Behrend, the Bondavara coal-trader, there is but one answer, 'Sir, I cannot entertain your offer.' Prince Waldemar Sondersheim will, however, do well to remember not to repeat outside the stock-exchange such a proposal to Ivan Behrend."

The prince laughed. "I guessed as much. I have often heard of you, and if you behave well you shall hear how it came to pass that I know so much about you. Once upon a time you took my part in a very energetic manner; and to a very pretty woman. I do not know why you should have done so; it is sufficient for me that you did. Also, you withdrew your own claim to the favor of this very pretty woman. But it was no good, she is now the wife of an unworthy fellow; but your unexplained intervention in my favor, which could not have been a business manœuvre, but must have sprung from almost a chivalrous Puritanism, has placed me under a debt of gratitude towards you. If that lady had listened to your advice, things would have been very different. No sulphur deposit would have been found in the castle lake; the whole speculation, in fact, would have had no existence. Outside the exchange we will not recur to the subject. I have mentioned it from a sense of gratitude, and I shall note it in my book. If you succeed in extinguishing the fire you are to receive six hundred thousand gulden from the company; if you fail you shall have a million from me."

This long conversation between Ivan and the prince excited some alarm among the shareholders; they tried to interrupt it.

"No tampering, prince. Let our man alone." They were afraid he would turn round.

"Don't be afraid," returned the prince; "we are talking of a lady whom we both admired."

But the shareholders' suspicions were not allayed by these words. They chose from among themselves a commission of three members, who should accompany Ivan in every step he took, never leave him, eat with him, sleep outside his door, keep watch under his window, so that their enemy should not approach him without their knowledge. This was all done under the pretence of giving him assistance, and for the purpose of keeping him supplied with money.

Ivan procured the necessary machines and workmen, and travelled back with them and his three companions to Bondavara.

His three commissioners were likewise to furnish the company with a daily report of the progress of the work. One of the three was the clerk Spitzhase, who had the reputation of being the most circumspect, careful, and impudent servant of the company. This last epithet is not meant in the worst sense of the word. In money matters modesty and meekness are oftentimes great faults, and the contrary qualities are of infinite use. The word is therefore meant in praise. Ivan many times chucked Spitzhase out at the door, but the clerk always returned by the window.