The Countess is a vehement opponent of the prophet of Bayreuth, in the first place because in her youth she was a pupil of Cicimara's and consequently cannot endure the 'screaming called singing' introduced by Wagner; secondly, because Wagner's operas always give her headache; and thirdly, because she has noticed that his operas are sure to exercise an immoral influence upon those who hear them.

Wenkendorf, on the contrary, considers Wagner a great moral reformer, the first genius of the century in Germany,--Bismarck, of course, excepted. As he talks he holds in his hand the thick volume of Wagner's collected librettos, with his forefinger on the t.i.tle-page of 'Parzifal,' impatiently awaiting the moment when he can begin to read aloud.

Hitherto, since the Countess and Wenkendorf are both well-bred people, their lively dispute has been conducted in rather a humorous fashion, but finally Wenkendorf suggests a most reprehensible and, in the eyes of the Countess, unpardonable idea.

"Whatever may be thought of Wagner's work, it cannot be denied," he says, with an oratorical flourish of his hand, "that he is at the head of the greatest musical revolution ever known; that he has, so to speak, delivered music from conventional Catholicism, overladen as it is with all sorts of silly old-world superst.i.tion. He is, if I may so express myself, the Luther of music."

At the word 'Luther,' uttered in raised tones, the bigoted Countess nearly faints away. In her eyes, Luther is an apostate monk who married a nun, a monster whom she detests.

"Oh, if you so compare him, Wagner is indeed condemned!" she exclaims, flushing with indignation, and trembling through all her ma.s.s of flesh.

At this moment Zdena and her cousin enter. Countess Zriny feels it her duty to embrace the girl patronizingly. Hedwig says something to her about her new gown.

"Did you get it in Paris?" she asks. "I saw one like it in Vienna last summer,--but it is very pretty. You carry yourself much better than you used to, Zdena,--really a great improvement!--a great improvement!"

At last all are seated. Baron Wenkendorf clears his throat, and opens the portly volume.

"Now we can begin," Frau Rosamunda observes.

The Baron begins. He reads himself into a great degree of enthusiasm, and is just p.r.o.nouncing the words,--

"Then after pain's drear night Comes morning's glorious light; Before me gleams Brightly the sacred wave, The blessed daylight beams, From night of pain to save Gawain----"

when Frau Rosamunda, who has been rummaging in her work-basket, rises.

"What is the matter, Rosamunda?" the Baron asks, impatiently. He is the only one who addresses her by her beautiful baptismal name unmutilated.

"Excuse me, my dear Roderich, but I cannot find my thimble. Zdena, be so kind as to go and get me my thimble."

While Zdena has gone to look for it, Frau von Leskjewitsch turns to her cousin, who is rather irritated by this interruption, and exclaims, "Very interesting!--oh, extremely interesting! Do you not think so?"

turning for confirmation of her opinion to the other listeners. But the other listeners do not respond. Countess Zriny, who, with her hands as usual encased in Swedish gloves, is knitting with thick, wooden needles something brown for the poor, only drops her double chin majestically upon her breast, and Harry--usually quite unsurpa.s.sable in the well-bred art of being bored with elegance and decorum--is tugging angrily at his moustache.

Zdena shortly returns with the missing thimble. The reading begins afresh, and goes quite smoothly for a time; Wenkendorf is satisfied with his audience.

"Oh, wonderful and sacred one!" he is reading, with profound emotion.

Everyone is listening eagerly. Hark! A scratching noise, growing louder each minute, and finally ending in a pounding at the summer-house door, arouses the little company from its rapt attention. A smile lights up Frau Rosamunda's serene features:

"It is Morl. Let him in, Harry." Morl, the hostess's black poodle, is admitted, goes round the circle, laying his paw confidingly upon the knee of each member of it in turn, is petted and caressed by his mistress, and finally, after he has vainly tried to oust the Countess Zriny from the corner of the sofa which he considers his own special property, establishes himself, with a low growl, in the other corner of that piece of furniture.

Wenkendorf, meanwhile, drums the march from 'Tannhuser' softly on the cover of his thick book and frowns disapprovingly. Harry observes his annoyance with satisfaction, watching him the while attentively, and reflecting on the excellent match in view of which Zdena has forgotten her fleeting attachment for the playmate of her childhood.

"A contemptible creature!" he says to himself: "any man is good enough to afford her amus.e.m.e.nt. Who would have thought it? Fool that I was!

I'm well out of it,--yes, really well out of it."

And whilst he thus seriously attempts to persuade himself that, under the circ.u.mstances, nothing could be more advantageous for him than this severance of all ties with his beautiful, fickle cousin, his heart burns like fire in his breast. He has never before felt anything like this torture. His glance wanders across to where Zdena sits sewing, with bent head and feverish intentness, upon a piece of English embroidery.

The reading is interrupted again,--this time by Krupitschka, who wants more napkins for afternoon tea. Wenkendorf has to be a.s.sured with great emphasis that they all think the text of 'Parzifal' extremely interesting before he can be induced to open the book again. Suddenly the gravel outside crunches beneath approaching footsteps. The major's voice is heard, speaking in courteous tones, and then another, strange voice, deep and guttural. The summer-house door is opened.

"A surprise, Rosel," the major explains. "Baroness Paula!"

The first to go forward and welcome the young lady cordially is Harry.

CHAPTER V.

BARONESS PAULA.

The unexpected entrance of the famous beauty produces two important results,--the final cessation of the reading of 'Parzifal,' and a temporary reconciliation between Wenkendorf and Countess Zriny.

Whilst Frau Rosamunda receives her guest, not without a degree of formal reserve, the two aforesaid worthy and inquisitive individuals retire to a corner to consult together as to where these Harfinks come from, to whom they are related, the age of their patent of n.o.bility, and where they got their money.

Since neither knows much about the Harfinks, their curiosity is ungratified. Meanwhile, Baroness Paula, lounging in a garden-chair beside the majestic hostess, chatters in a lively fashion upon every conceivable topic, as much at her ease as if she had been a daily guest at Zirkow for years. Her full voice is rather loud, her fluent vocabulary astounding. She wears a green Russia linen gown with Turkish embroidery on the skirt and a Venetian necklace around her throat, with an artistically-wrought clasp in front of her closely-fitting waist. The effect of her cosmopolitan toilet is considerably enhanced by a very peaked Paris bonnet--all feathers--and a pair of English driving-gloves. She has come in her pony-carriage, which she drives herself. Not taking into account her dazzling toilet, Paula is certainly a pretty person,--very fully developed and well grown, with perhaps too short a waist and arms a trifle too stout. Her features are regular, but her face is too large, and its tints of red and white are not sufficiently mingled; her lips are too full, the dimples in her cheeks are too deep when she smiles. Her hair is uncommonly beautiful,--golden, with a shimmer of t.i.tian red.

Her manner corresponds with her exterior. There is not a trace of maidenly reserve about her. Her self-satisfaction is impregnable. She talks freely of things of which young girls do not usually talk, and knows things which young girls do not usually know.

She is clever and well educated,--left school with honours and listened to all possible university lectures afterwards. She scatters about Latin quotations like an old professor, and talks about everything,--the new battle panorama in Vienna, the latest greenroom scandal in Pesth, the most recent scientific hypothesis, and the last interesting English divorce case. One cannot help feeling that she has brought a certain life into the dead-and-alive little company which had failed to be enlivened by the reading of 'Parzifal.'

"_Quelle type!_" Wenkendorf remarks to Countess Zriny.

"_pouvantable!_" she whispers.

"_pouvantable!_" he responds, staring meanwhile at the brilliant apparition. "Her figure is not bad, though," he adds.

"Not bad?" the Countess repeats, indignantly. "Why, she has the figure of a country bar-maid; involuntarily one fancies her in short petticoats, with her arms full of beer-mugs."

The Baron shakes his head, as if reflecting that there is nothing so very unattractive in the image of the young lady in the costume of a bar-maid; at the same time, however, he declares with emphasis that these Harfinks seem to be odious _canaille_, which, although it is perhaps his conviction, does not hinder him from admiring Paula.

All the gentlemen present admire her, and all three, the major, the Baron, and Harry, are soon grouped about her, while the ladies at the other end of the room converse,--that is, make disparaging remarks with regard to the Baroness Paula.

Harry, of the three men, is most pressing in his attentions, which amount almost to devotion. Whatever he may whisper to her she listens to with the unblushing ease which makes life so smooth for her.

Sometimes she represses him slightly, and anon provokes his homage.

The ladies hope for a while, but in vain, that she will go soon. She is pleased to take a cup of afternoon tea, after which all return to the house, where at Harry's request she makes a display of her musical acquirements.

First she plays, with extreme force and much use of the pedals, upon the venerable old piano, unused to such treatment, even from the major, the ride of the Valkyrias, after which she sings a couple of soprano airs from 'Tannhuser.'

Harry admires her splendid method; Countess Zriny privately stops her ears with a little cotton-wool. Hour after hour pa.s.ses, and Krupitschka finally announces supper. Baroness Paula begins hurriedly to put on her driving-gloves, but when Frau Leskjewitsch, with rather forced courtesy, invites her to stay to supper, she replies, "With the greatest pleasure."

And now the supper is over. Harry's seat, meanwhile, has been next to Paula's, and he has continued to pay her extravagant compliments, which he ought not to have done; and, moreover, without eating a morsel, he has drunk gla.s.s after gla.s.s of the good old Bordeaux of which the major is so proud. All this has produced a change in him. The gnawing pain at his heart is lulled to rest; his love for Zdena and his quarrel with her seem relegated to the far past. For the present, here is this luxuriant beauty, with her flow of talk and her t.i.tian hair. Without being intoxicated, the wine has mounted to his brain; his limbs are a little heavy; he feels a pleasant languor steal over him; everything looks rather more vague and delightful than usual; instead of a severe, exacting beauty beside him, here is this wonderful creature, with her dazzling complexion and her green, naiad-like eyes.

Countess Zriny and Hedwig have already ordered their old-fashioned coach and have started for home. Harry's horses--his own and his groom's--are waiting before the entrance.