CHAPTER VII
FRANKA’S SALON
With the aid of Dr. Fixstern and his wife, Franka had established herself in the Vienna palace, having made first in the company of the doctor a trip to Lower Austria and Carinthia for the purpose of acquainting herself with her two other estates. The castles there were fully as sumptuous and seigneurial as Castle Sielenburg, even if not so comfortable and homelike, and the reason for this was that its owners had always preferred Schloss Sielenburg, while Grossmarkendorf and Hochberg generally stood empty. The lands and industries belonging to them were profitably rented, so that their administration would not occasion any care to the possessor. The fixed revenues were to be collected by the agent and by him turned over to her. When Dr. Fixstern informed her of the amount of the income, she had to suppress a cry of astonishment: so rich, so unboundedly rich she was now!
“I must deserve it—I must be worthy of this unheard-of good fortune—if I only knew how!”
She did not say that aloud. It was like a secret burden of indebtedness which she had to carry around with her. It would have to be paid—that was absolutely certain. Meantime, during this journey through her domains, she gave herself up to the irresistibly joyful pride which the thought, “mine, mine,” is wont to arouse in any heart.
She found the Vienna palace in perfect order; only a few slight alterations and refurnishings were necessary to render comfortable and tasteful her own suite of rooms. The domestics comprised the major-domo, who had been connected with the establishment for ten years, and his wife, who was installed as housekeeper. Franka had brought her own maid from the Sielenburg. The other servants were new people. Franka had also engaged a companion. Her name was Eleonore von Rockhaus, the daughter of a naval officer and the widow of a consul. She had seen much of the world, and was a perfect lady. Her age was about forty-five. Her hair was just beginning to turn gray, but she had a youthfully elastic figure, and delicate, friendly features; she was well read, almost an artist on the piano, an absolute mistress of French and English;—in short, she was a jewel of a companion and chaperon. Perhaps also she would prove to be a genuine friend, but as to that the future would tell. Provisionally, the two ladies were somewhat reserved in their intercourse ... first of all, they had to learn to know each other.
Franka did not open her heart to Eleonore von Rockhaus. What was beginning to become a fixed idea—that the wealth lavished upon her as by a gift of good fairies must be spent for some great purpose, that she herself must labor with her whole soul, with all her energies, with all her gifts of body and mind, so as to confer upon the world some advantage, some great blessing—this dream, as yet vague and unformulated, she did not confide to her companion. First she herself must go through a novitiate; in other words, test herself, acquire more knowledge, look about her, clarify her thoughts. She intended to question Helmer as to what reality there was behind the visions which he outlined in his letters. Yet even this she postponed. First she desired to gain some experience from intercourse with prominent men and women. To this end Dr. Fixstern might be useful to her. As a highly respected lawyer, he had a wide circle of acquaintances, among them scientists, artists, statesmen, and could bring the most interesting of them into the Garlett palace. As for “Society,” Franka had no ambition at all. During the first year of mourning, following her grandfather’s death, that, as well as attendance at concerts and theaters, would naturally be out of question; but besides, she felt no desire for it: she knew that it might divert her from the serious sacred duties to which she had consecrated herself, although without having as yet settled in her own mind what they should be.
It was four o’clock in the afternoon. The two ladies had come in from their daily walk in the Prater and were sitting in the little salon. A cheering warmth and a rosy glow radiated from the gas-log; the electric lights had not been turned on. It was pleasanter to rest and chat in the twilight.
“It is delicious here,” said Frau von Rockhaus, leaning back in the comfortable armchair. “I look forward with dismay to the time, probably not very distant, when you will be getting married and will no longer need me.”
“I am not contemplating being married—at least, not for some time yet.... I like my freedom. Were you happy in your marriage, Frau Eleonore?”
“Not so very. My husband played me false with the most exotic women. Besides, he was quarrelsome and very arbitrary. And yet, I liked him well enough. That was unfortunate, because for that very reason I was tormented with jealousy and suffered from his stern and cold behavior.”
“That seems to me the most terrible thing: an unloving or an unloved husband. I would only marry when I was certain that I loved the man with my whole heart, only when I knew that he was not after my money—but how can one know that? And then, besides, I cannot possibly marry yet awhile: I must remain my own mistress in order to accomplish a certain task.”
“A task? What?”
“Oh, no matter—I am not talking about it as yet.”
“The first and most important duty which a person, especially a young and pretty girl, has to fulfill is to be happy. Besides, what can a woman undertake and accomplish by herself? Of course, if we lived in England, you might become a Suffragette or join the Salvation Army, but here in Vienna? There would be a chance for you to join one of the ladies’ committees in some charity organization, or to meander down into the slums and distribute harmless gifts, or catechise the children of the suburbs; our circle of activities is so narrow! Only indirectly can we acquire any influence in public affairs, or even help direct the course of history—I mean when we exert power over some powerful man!”
“And what profitable work can this influential individual do, according to your idea?”
“Heavens! that I can’t tell. Commonly she will have to secure high positions for her friends or....”
“Certainly,” interrupted Franka; “commonly one does the common thing. But I am thinking of something different.... Play to me, Frau Eleonore; it is so lovely to hear music in the twilight.”
Frau von Rockhaus went to the grand piano. “What shall it be? Also something out of the ordinary?”
“Yes, ‘Isoldens Liebestod,’ please.”
A moment later the sweet, passion-swept chords were floating through the room. Franka closed her eyes. She breathed deeply. What she felt was a sort of anguish, for it was a longing, and, to tell the truth, a longing not for something out of the ordinary, but for the simplest and most commonplace thing which even the simplest and most commonplace maiden heart desires—Love! Yet what kind of a person must he be, should she ever meet him—the man who should be her Tristan?
She roused herself from her dreaming. “No, no,” she said to herself as she had just said aloud: “I must remain my own mistress.”
Indeed, there was not a single young man in her whole circle of acquaintance to whom she felt drawn, and, besides, she had no business to be wishing and seeking for such a one ... all her thoughts and feelings must be concentrated on the task that hovered before her.
The servant announced a caller. Frau Eleonore left the piano and turned on the electric lights. A second visitor followed the first, and then a third, and, before long, a little circle was gathered around Franka. Dr. Fixstern had brought to her a number of distinguished personages, just as she had wished—people who either had written successful books, or had played leading parts in parliament, or had delivered popular courses of lectures at the university, or who were famous as artists. There were also a few ministers of state and foreign diplomats. In short, Franka had good reason to expect that the conversation in her drawing-room would be most lively and interesting: discussions of learned topics, alternating with witty anecdotes and edifying observations. Yet she was gradually led to discover that the conversational capacity of society does not reach such a high level. Occasionally, indeed, stirring talk may occur in a salon, but only about as frequently as oases in a desert; the average conversation consists of sand and simooms, for even choice spirits sink down to the banal ground of ordinary topics, especially when in a larger circle of merely casual acquaintances: the weather, the latest theatrical gossip, the sensational news sprung in the morning papers, mingled with still tamer questions and comments on health, projects of travel, and the like. And then it is impossible to form a circle of nothing but prominent people. There will always be an intermixture of cordially futile Nobodies. One cannot post on the front door the notice: “Admittance only for Somebodies!”
Now this afternoon the talk began to take a very interesting direction.
A distinguished dramatic author was telling about certain foreign colleagues whom he had met during a summer journey, and he was relating in his cleverest way characteristic anecdotes about their peculiarities. But first he was to describe the individuality of the most original of the present day—Bernard Shaw. He was interrupted by the arrival of new callers: Miss Albertine von Beck and the Baroness Rinski.
Not very agreeably surprised, Franka went to meet the new guests.
“You, dear Aunt Albertine?”
“I came to Vienna for a few days, and so of course I came to see you, and I am bringing with me a friend who is very desirous of making your acquaintance.”
The Baroness Rinski was a little elderly lady of unprepossessing appearance. Her name was not unknown to Franka; she had frequently seen it in the social columns of the papers among the personages who stand at the head of various charitable organizations.
“I begged my friend to bring me to you, my dear Miss Garlett, as I place great hopes on your aid.”
“If I had known that you were entertaining so many this afternoon,” said Albertine, “we should have come at another hour. I also have a message from Aunt Adele. But you do not look particularly well,” she added in her most benevolent tone of voice.
“Please, come with me, aunt, and you also, Baroness,—here we can talk undisturbed”; and she led the two ladies to the remotest end of the salon. This seemed preferable to introducing the two ladies into the circle of the others; they could continue listening to the revelations concerning Bernard Shaw while she sacrificed herself to her new visitors. She certainly felt that she was a martyr as she sat down with the two and tried to be gracious.
“Well, what word did my great-aunt send to me?”
“She sends you her greeting. I think she is a very good woman—she no longer seems to be offended with you.”
“But why should she be offended with me?”
“Well, if you will permit me to say so—for the way you got rid of us all.... But we will not talk about that now. Adele wanted me to tell you that you must come and visit her at Sielenburg—it would please her.”
“Thank you. Perhaps I will, next spring.” And, turning to the baroness, she said: “What do you wish I should help you about, Baroness?”
“You must not disappoint her, Franka,” suggested Albertine. “If you do what the Baroness Rinski is going to ask you, it will be for your own great advantage. You need something to occupy you and give you some object in life, something that will turn your great property to a good purpose.”
Franka concealed her vexation. She had thought that she was going to rid herself entirely of the Sielenburg protectorate, and now it was cropping up again. She could easily imagine what secret design the Baroness Rinski cherished. She had no objection to devoting large sums to charitable ends and she had already done much in that direction; yet on this score she preferred to act in accordance with her own judgment and her own impulse, and not after the prescription of others, and she certainly did not wish to be drawn into the game of charity as she happened to know it was played by the baroness. As a student of social economic literature under the wise direction of her father, she had won too deep an insight into the causes and the ramifications of human misery, not to know that if she spent her whole property in alms, it would be only a drop on a hot stone. The lever must be applied in a very different place, in order to eradicate the evil.
The little baroness took a few printed documents out of her hand-bag. “See, my dear young lady, here are the yearly reports of various societies on whose boards I serve.” And she began with great volubility to describe the blessings afforded by these associations for the rescue of babies, the protection of the young, the guardianship of maidservants, and the care of elderly persons; and she wanted Franka to enroll herself as a patroness and undertake the office of president of a new society for providing food for needy school-children.
“There is nothing,” she said in conclusion, “nothing which can better build a golden stair up to heaven than beneficence. And even here below one gains recognition by it; and even if one does not belong to high society, it affords an opportunity to meet with ladies of high standing, and one may even expect to obtain the ‘Elizabeth Order’ of the third class.”
Franka laughed and shook her head. “I am afraid that there is danger of slipping off the heavenly stairs if one has at the same time an eye for such earthly things. However, Baroness, send me the subscription-list of your associations—I will gladly put my name down according to my ability, but I will not accept any offices.”
“Oh, I hope that I shall be able to change your mind.”
Visitors taking their leave and the arrival of others, whose names were announced, rescued Franka. She was obliged to get up and abandon her place between the two ladies in order to devote herself to the departing and to the new-coming guests. The Baroness Rinski put her documents back into the bag: “Come, Albertine, we will call on your niece at another time, when she is alone. Let us say good-bye now.”
Franka made no effort to detain them and accompanied them to the door. “Well, I shall look for the lists.”
In the mean time the dramatic author had concluded his interesting anecdotes about the brilliant British author, and the conversation had become general, and was turning on the most unfortunate of all subjects: Austrian politics; the German-Bohemian linguistic disputes, Hungarian confusions and disorders, trade compacts and frontier obstructions, new tariffs and increased prices, and all in a tone of complaint and lamentation, such as is generally used when great calamities or great crimes are discussed, as if the whole activity of the municipality, of the Parliament, and of the State consisted in accomplishing as much harm and causing as much discontent as possible. Franka said to herself: “If Cousin Coriolan were present, he would know of two simple means of relief: to expel the Jews and establish absolutism.”
“Yes, you see, gentlemen and ladies,” said a little stout man with shining eyeglasses and equally shining forehead which extended over to the back of his neck, “this is the way things stand....”
The others listened excitedly, for the speaker was a highly respected publicist, who, as was well known, enjoyed the confidence of influential political circles—in other words, of the ministers of internal and external affairs.
“We have reached a great crisis in the history of our country. Everything which you have been lamenting and criticizing is in reality in a very wretched condition. The dissensions among the nationalities, the passion for independence on the part of the Transleithan population, the dangers from the Irredentists, the activities of the Socialists, the quarrel over confession, and God knows what else—are things which make it seem as if we were a thoroughly disunited and crumbling state; and so many elements unfavorable to us or watching for our inheritance may be supposed to be all ready to do us harm; and yet it has been already proved by the crisis in the Balkans that we are nevertheless a proud, brave, first-class power; proud of our strength and brave to the last degree; and that all petty internal quarrels will disappear when necessity arises to affirm ourselves against outside encroachments. Thus we have compelled respect ... with our constituted power we have proved that we can act, that we can take hold together, that we will not allow ourselves to be moved by international tribunals and conferences, because we are ready to defend our rights,—or, if you please, our ‘bon plaisir’—with guns and ships. In presence of this resolute attitude, all the intrigues weaving against us went to smash. It came near war, I know that; the men on the General Staff were at fever heat to strike ... the population was enthusiastic, ready for every sacrifice ... and because our ally showed himself resolved to stand by us to the ultimate consequences, but especially because we were so firm and energetic, we won—and that, too, without drawing the sword. Now it is our duty to solidify this position which we have acquired as a first-class power, if possible to make it still stronger, still more unassailable—we must build dreadnoughts. Perhaps this sounds harsh at a time when all sorts of peace fads are taking possession of people, but of course only among those who understand nothing of politics and its modernest phases, among those who do not know that this phase is imperialism. Unscrupulousness is the key to a strong policy. Self-consciousness and the development of force—that is necessary if one is not to be crushed, if one is to have a voice in the council of the nations.... But I beg the pardon of the ladies, and particularly of our gracious hostess, for having touched on a theme in which fortunately ladies are not interested. There is scarcely anything more repulsive than women who meddle with politics.”
Franka felt a sense of suffocation in her throat and a bitter taste in her mouth. The tone and the spirit of the political speech to which she had just listened were, indeed, detestable to her. She might have contradicted what he said; for her father had been living at the time of that crisis to which the imperialistic publicist referred, and he had closely followed the course of events and talked with her about them. She knew that the populace, during the hasty and secret mobilization, was the opposite of enthusiastic; she knew that the war so eagerly desired in high military circles was not allowed to break out for the reason that the Emperor Franz Josef opposed it, that peace was maintained—not from fear of the united bayonets of the central states, but because the other powers desired to avoid a European war and by continual yielding removed all the difficulties that pointed to an ultimatum. Franka might have said all this, but she controlled herself and replied:—
“You need not ask pardon, Doctor; perfect freedom of thought and of expression reigns here.”
At this point some of those present took their departure, and after a short time the rest followed, and Franka was left alone with her companion. She felt depressed—a sense of loneliness and isolation and unprotectedness overtook her, which is especially sad when it comes over one not in actual solitude, but as the aftermath of social intercourse.