CHAPTER XV.

MOTHER AND SON.

JenA' had of late made his abode in the Plankenhorst house, having formally installed himself there in the room of the footman, who had gone to join the insurgents at the barricades. Thus the young man was able to be in the house day and night. Extraordinary events produce extraordinary situations. The young man's cup of happiness held but one drop of bitterness,--anxious uncertainty what the morrow might bring forth. Would the cause of the insurgents prevail, or would they be defeated? And what would be his fate and that of the Plankenhorsts, in the latter case?

The assault had come to an end on the evening of the third day. The insurgents had in great part laid down their arms, only a few detached companies still maintaining the unequal contest in the outlying districts. The victorious army was already advancing into the city along its principal streets. In the Plankenhorst parlours there were but three persons, the two ladies and JenA'. Those who had of late been such constant frequenters of that drawing-room were now fallen or scattered. As the military band at the head of the conquering forces passed the house, JenA' heard heavy steps ascending the stairs. The victors were coming; they had singled out that particular house, and there was no escape. The young man nerved himself to meet any issue--except the one actually before him.

The old family friends and acquaintances, the pre-revolutionary frequenters of the Plankenhorst parties, came pouring into the room, smiling with triumph, and all meeting with a hearty welcome from the ladies, who seemed to take the whole affair as a matter of course, and to be affected by the sudden change of atmosphere no more than if the past eight months, with their stirring scenes and epoch-making events, had been but a dream.

No one paid any heed to JenA' or seemed in the smallest degree conscious of his presence, until one guest entered who was polite enough to give him a word of greeting. It was RideghvAiry. Making his entrance with no little pomp and ostentation, he congratulated the ladies with much effusion and shook a hand of each in both his own. Leaving them upon the entrance of a new guest, he sought out JenA', who was sitting in one of the windows, a passive spectator of the scene before him.

"Your humble servant, my young friend," was the elder's condescending salutation. "Glad to find you here, for I have matters of importance to discuss with you which may have great influence on your future. Pray be good enough to go home and await my coming."

JenA' had still spirit enough to resent this summary mode of sending him home. "I am at your Excellency's service," he replied. "You will not need to go out of the house; I am living here at present,--on the third floor, at the right as you go up."

"Ah, I didn't know that," answered the other, in surprise. "Have the goodness, then, to wait for me there." With that his Excellency returned to the ladies, leaving the young man to seek his chamber in no very pleasant frame of mind.

That room, in which visions of rapture had visited the slumbers of the youthful lover, was a paradise to him no longer. The weary humdrum of ordinary life was beginning again. What in the world could that angular gentleman have to say to him, he wondered. He seemed long enough, in all conscience, about coming.

Suddenly the rustling of a woman's dress fell on JenA''s listening ear, and in another moment Alfonsine entered his room. She had run away from the company below and had hurried up alone to her lover. She seemed agitated, and her coming had apparently been a sudden impulse. Falling on JenA''s bosom and embracing him, she burst out with every sign of passionate emotion:

"They want to part us!"

"Who?" asked JenA', no little disturbed by the other's manner.

"They, they!" cried she, half choked with emotion, and bursting into tears, while she clasped her lover still more closely.

JenA''s agitation increased; he became thoroughly alarmed. "For heaven's sake, Alfonsine," he begged, "do be cautious! RideghvAiry is likely to come in at any moment, and what if he found you here?" Poor, kind-hearted youth, more careful of his sweetheart's good name than she herself!

"Oh, he won't come yet," she made haste to assure him. "He and mamma are having a talk, and they have decided that you must return to your lodging at once,--that you are not to stay here a day longer. Oh, I know what that means; we are to be parted for ever."

JenA' was on the point of fainting; each word from his sweetheart's lips struck him with dismay. Meanwhile she continued her passionate outburst.

"I will not be separated from you!" she declared. "I am yours, yours for ever, yours in life and in death, your beloved, your wife, ready to sacrifice all for you, to suffer all!"

At length she recovered her composure somewhat, and, lifting her tearful eyes to heaven, breathed a solemn vow: "To you, my friend, my lover, my all, to you or to the grave I dedicate myself. No power on earth shall tear me from you. For your sake I will leave kith and kin, abjure my faith, disown the mother who bore me, if they stand in the way of our happiness. For you I will go into exile and wander over the earth as a homeless beggar. Whatever your destiny,--be it life or be it death,--I will share it."

The exaltation of the moment quite robbed JenA' of his last bit of reason. Was it all a dream, or was it reality, he asked himself.

Neither one nor the other, dear JenA', but an excellent bit of play-acting. Poor credulous youth! It is all a part of a well-laid and far-reaching plot, of which you are the innocent victim.

After leaving her lover, Alfonsine did not return to the drawing-room, but hastened to her maid's chamber, where she learned that Sister Remigia was waiting for her in her room. First removing, with Betty's help, the traces of her scene with JenA', Alfonsine hurried to meet the nun.

"Is Major Palvicz here?" she demanded.

"No," answered the sister; "he only returned yesterday from his pursuit of Captain Baradlay, whom he failed to overtake."

"Did he send an answer to my letter?"

"Yes; there it is." Sister Remigia handed Alfonsine a note, and then crossed the corridor to Antoinette's room.

Alfonsine remained behind to read her letter. She first locked her door, to guard against surprise, after which she sat down at her table and broke the seal.

"Gracious lady," ran the note, "when you find what you have _mislaid_, you shall recover what you have _lost_."

At these enigmatical words the reader of the message turned pale and the paper trembled in her hand. Her eyes rested on her porcelain lamp-shade, on which was painted the well-known picture of an angel flying heavenward with a sleeping child. The young woman gazed intently at the translucent figures, as if watching to see whither the angel would carry the little child.

Meanwhile JenA' was listening at his door for the departure of the last guest from the drawing-room. Finally they were all gone and he was able to speak with the baroness alone.

"Baroness," said he, "there have been great changes since yesterday. Let me hope that one thing, at any rate, has not altered,--the relation that has hitherto existed between Alfonsine and myself, with the apparent sanction of the young lady's mother. I regard that relation as the very breath of my life, and I beg you, madam, to let me know whether there is any reason why I should fear a discontinuance of your favour."

"My dear Baradlay," returned Antoinette, "you know very well that we are warmly attached to you, and in that attachment you cannot have detected any diminution, nor shall you in the future. My daughter has a sincere fondness for you, and thinks of no one else, while I, for my part, could not but feel myself honoured by a tie that should connect us with the noble house of Baradlay. So far, then, there is nothing to be said against your engagement. The late turn of events, however, has brought with it a change that affects you intimately; and that change, my dear Baradlay-- Do I need to speak further?"

"Really, I cannot think what you mean, madam," protested JenA'.

"You can't? H'm! What, pray, are you now?"

"What am I? Nothing at present."

"That is it exactly. Henceforth you are nothing. There are now two hostile parties, and each is striving for the mastery. In this strife it is uncertain as yet which will win, or whether they may not effect a compromise; but in any event he is lost who belongs to neither side. Yet do not consider my words as a definite rejection of your suit. We are attached to you, and wish the consummation of that which you so ardently desire. I impose upon you no seven-year probation, like that required by Jacob's father-in-law. So soon as you shall succeed in winning a place in the world, so soon as you cease to be a nobody in our political and national life, I shall be the first to bid you welcome,--whether to-morrow or next month or next year. Meanwhile you have my best wishes."

There was nothing for the young man to do but take his lesson to heart and return to his former quarters. The baroness had told him he was a nobody, and he could not dispute her. He was, moreover, forced to remember that the monthly allowance regularly forwarded to him by his mother had failed to reach him the last month, and, in consequence, he was likely to find himself financially embarrassed within a very few days. There is something decidedly depressing in an empty purse.

Scarcely had he returned to the dreary atmosphere of his old rooms when RideghvAiry paid him the honour of a call.

"In the first place," began RideghvAiry, "I have a letter to deliver to you. It is from your mother. Put it in your pocket and read it later. For the last two weeks, as you may know, the commanding general has detained all mails and ordered all letters to be opened. It was a necessity of the situation--to prevent treason. On your letter I chanced to recognise your mother's handwriting, and I was fortunately able to rescue it from the common fate and bring it to you. No one has tampered with it, but it probably treats of matters that are no longer of importance in the eyes of the government. Furthermore, the writer will be here in person before many hours have passed."

"Is my mother in the city?" asked JenA', much surprised.

"Yes, she is here somewhere, and the reason you haven't seen her before is that you kept yourself at the Plankenhorsts', whither she had her grounds for not going. But you may be sure she has sought you here at least a dozen times, and she will come again to-day."

"But what is she doing in Vienna?"

"Nothing good, as we know but too well, alas! She came to persuade your brother Richard to desert with his men and return to Hungary."

"And did she succeed?"

"Yes, and a detachment of cavalry was sent in pursuit of him three days ago. He has fled to the mountains of Galicia, whence he cannot possibly escape on horseback over the border. Your mother, meanwhile, is here in hiding; she is one of those whom the authorities are trying to arrest."

"Merciful heaven!" cried JenA', starting up from his chair.

"Keep your seat. Until to-morrow morning she will be in no danger. The city is now in the hands of the army, the civil government being as yet unorganised. There is no effective police and detective force; all that takes time, and in the general confusion now prevailing, any one who wishes can easily remain in hiding. But no one can leave the city undetected, as the lines are closely drawn and every traveller is stopped and required to show a passport. Now, although I have reason enough to feel embittered against your family, yet I cannot allow your father's widow to come to such an untimely end as at present threatens her. So I have provided a passport with a fictitious name for her use, and you will hand it to her when she comes. And now let us talk about your affairs, my dear JenA'. You remained in Vienna after the March uprising, and have maintained throughout a cool and impartial attitude which nothing short of genius could have dictated. The espousal of a cause before one can judge of its merits--much less be sure of its ultimate success--indicates weakness of judgment and a lack of mental stability. Therefore you were quite right in holding aloof from either side; yet you must not continue to hide your light under a bushel. A fortunate chance has placed a very important appointment virtually in my hands, since a testimonial from me is more than likely to decide the choice of an incumbent. Your qualifications and ability justify me in regarding you as the fittest person to fill this position. It is the secretaryship of our embassy to Russia."

JenA''s heart beat high with gratified self-esteem at the sudden prospect of both realising his proudest ambition and attaining his heart's fondest desire. He had often heard his father refer to this eminent post as the goal for which A-dAśn was to strive. His head fairly swam at the vision so unexpectedly presented to him. In his wildest dreams he had scarcely dared soar so high.

Meanwhile the other pretended not to note the effect he had produced on the young man. Consulting his watch, he rose hastily. "I have stayed too long," said he. "Another engagement calls me. You will have until to-morrow morning to consider my proposal. Weigh the matter well, for your decision will be of no little importance as regards your whole future career. Look at the question from all sides, and take your mother into your confidence if you wish; she may have weighty arguments to urge against your acceptance. Consider them all carefully, and then decide for yourself."

So saying, he took his leave, well knowing the impression he had made on his plastic subject, and fully confident that the young man would take good heed not to breathe a word of all this to his mother.

As soon as he had left the room, JenA' broke the seal of his letter. His monthly allowance was enclosed, and also a few lines in his mother's hand.

"My dear son," she wrote, "I have read your letter asking me to share in your happiness and to give my love to the young woman whom you wish to make your wife. Any happiness that befalls you cannot fail to rejoice me also. Rank, wealth, birth are slight matters in my eyes. If you chose a bride from the working classes,--a virtuous, industrious, pure-hearted girl,--I should give you my blessing and rejoice in your happiness; or if you should select a spoiled creature of fashion, a coquette and a spendthrift, I should still receive your bride as my daughter, and pray God to bless the union and turn evil into good; but if you marry Alfonsine Plankenhorst, it will be without the blessing of either God or your mother, and we shall be parted for ever."

That was a cruel thrust. How, he asked himself, had Alfonsine incurred his mother's displeasure? What possible offence could she have committed? He recalled her words,--"For your sake I will leave kith and kin, abjure my faith, disown the mother who bore me,"--and remembered the passionate kisses and warm embrace that had accompanied the vow. And should he be outdone by her in devotion? Was his fondness for his mother stronger than his love for Alfonsine? Was not the one feeling a weakness and the other a mark of manly strength? Surely he was no longer a child. How scornfully that other mother had told him he was a mere nobody, and bade him make a place for himself in the world if he wished to marry her daughter! What a triumph it would be to appear before that proud woman on the morrow, with a man's full right to claim his own!

He resolved to accept RideghvAiry's offer and to listen to no argument or pleading by which his mother might seek to dissuade him. Bidding his servant admit unannounced the lady who had already called a number of times, he sat awaiting her coming. But he waited in vain, and at last threw himself on his bed and fell asleep. His rest was troubled, however, by a succession of bad dreams.

Filled with fears for his mother's safety, JenA' hastened the next morning, as early as propriety would allow, to call upon RideghvAiry.

"Do you know anything about my mother?" were his first words after greeting his patron. "She did not come to see me yesterday."

"Yes, I know," replied the other; "she has made her escape. The market-woman, in whose house she hid, was arrested last night and acknowledged having accompanied your mother to the outskirts of the town, where a carriage was waiting for her. She must be in Pressburg by this time."

These words relieved poor JenA''s breast of a heavy load. His mother was out of danger and he was free to act for himself.

"Well, have you considered my proposal?" asked RideghvAiry.

"Yes. I have decided to accept the appointment."

RideghvAiry pressed the young man's hand. "I was sure you would," said he; "and, to show you my confidence in you, I have your certificate of appointment all made out." He took an official document from his table-drawer and handed it to JenA'. "To-morrow you will take the oath of office, and then you will be free to wind up your affairs here in Vienna."

* * * * *

Luckily the Baroness Plankenhorst was up and dressed betimes that morning, else JenA' would certainly have sought her out in her boudoir. Hastening into the proud lady's presence, he began, without a moment's loss of time, the speech which he had been rehearsing on the way.

"Madam," said he, "you will perhaps recall your parting words to me yesterday,--'whether to-morrow or next month or next year.' That 'to-morrow' has come, and I am here,--no longer a nobody." To prove his assertion, he produced his certificate of appointment to the secretaryship of the embassy to Russia, and handed it to the baroness.

With a look of the utmost surprise, and a smile of hearty congratulation, she received the document and read it. "I am indeed delighted," she exclaimed, giving the young appointee her hand. "Do you wish Alfonsine to be informed of this?"

"If you please."

The baroness had to go no farther than the next room to find her daughter. Leading her in by the hand, she presented "the secretary of the Austrian legation at the court of St. Petersburg."

"Oh!" exclaimed Alfonsine, when she had somewhat recovered from her apparent astonishment; and she extended her hand with a gracious smile to the young incumbent of a twelve-thousand-florin position. He eagerly clasped the offered hand in both his own. "It is yours now to keep," she whispered with another smile, and then turned and hid her face in her mother's bosom, overcome, it is to be supposed, by a feeling of maidenly modesty and girlish fear.

JenA' next kissed his prospective mother-in-law's hand, whereupon she impressed a kiss on his forehead. Alfonsine could hardly be induced to raise her modestly downcast eyes again in the presence of the man who was there to claim her as his bride.

"When shall we announce the engagement?" asked the mother, turning to JenA'. "To-morrow, shall we say--at twelve? Very well. And now are you satisfied with me?"

The young man's heart beat high with triumph and happiness, as he returned to his rooms. He felt that at last he had begun to live; hitherto he had only vegetated, but now he was entering on the full life of a man. Yet there was some alloy in his happiness even then. The thought of his mother, and of her disapproval of his course, refused to be banished from his mind; and though he pretended to rejoice that she had escaped from the city, and had been spared the pain of a meeting and a useless conflict with him, yet his conscience would not be deceived. Too well he knew that he was afraid to meet his mother, and was more relieved at being freed from that necessity than rejoiced at her safe escape.

With the approach of evening poor JenA''s thoughts became such a torment to him that he prepared to go out in quest of distraction. But on stepping before his mirror to adjust his cravat, a sight met his eyes that made him start back in sudden fear. Reflected in the glass he saw his mother enter the room.

"Mother!" he cried, turning toward her.

The woman before him was not the proud, commanding form that he knew so well. It was one of those sorrowing figures which we see painted at the foot of the cross, bowed with grief and spent with watching and weeping,--the very incarnation of bitter anguish. In such guise did the Baroness Baradlay present herself to her youngest son JenA', and at sight of her, the young man's first thought was one that gave him no cause to blush afterward. Forgetting his dread of meeting her, he thought only of the danger to which she was exposing herself in coming to him, and he put his arms around her, as if to shield her from harm. On his cheek he felt the warm kisses,--so different from those of that other mother!

"How did you manage to come to me, dear mother?" he asked.

"I came by a long way."

"They told me you had left the city, and were in Pressburg."

"So I was. For three days I sought you in vain; then I gave up the hope of finding you, and left the city. But in Pressburg I heard something that made me turn back and seek you once more."

"Oh, why did you do it?" exclaimed the son. "You had but to send for me, and I would have hastened to you. Why did you not command me?"

"Ah, my son, I have forgotten how to command. I have come not to command, but to implore. Do not be afraid of me; do not look at me as if I were a spectre risen between you and your heart's desire. Not thus do I come to you, but only as a suppliant, with one last petition."

"Mother," cried JenA', much moved, "do not speak to me like that, I beg of you."

"Forgive me. Only a few days ago I could have commanded my sons, but not now. I wrote you a letter--did you receive it?--an arrogant, offensive letter. Destroy it; let it be as if it had never been written. It was an angry woman that wrote it. That proud, angry woman is no more. Grievous afflictions have humbled her, and the end is not yet. She is now but a mourning widow, begging for mercy at the open grave of her sons."

"Dear mother, your sons are still alive," JenA' interposed reassuringly.

"But do you know where they are? One of them is fighting his way over the Carpathians to his native land, pursued, surrounded, and harassed on all sides. At his feet yawns the mountain chasm with the raging torrent at its bottom; over his head the storms vent their fury and the hungry vultures wheel in circles. If he eludes his pursuers, and escapes starvation and freezing, he may, perhaps, be fortunate enough to reach the battle-field, where my eldest son awaits his coming at the head of a volunteer force. Do you know the sort of soldiers who compose that force? Boys that have run away from their homes, and fathers that have left their wives and children. It is as if a feverish madness were driving every one to the field of battle, where certain death awaits its victims."

"But why do they thus rush to their destruction?"

"Because they cannot help themselves, in the bitter woe that oppresses all hearts."

"They may be victorious, mother."

"Oh, yes, they will be. They will win a glorious victory, but it will avail them naught. It will but bring heavier woes upon them. They will show the world wonderful deeds of daring, and compel the admiration of all; their star will shine brightly over all Europe, now wrapped in darkness; but it will be so much the worse for them in the end. Their fate is already sealed by the great world-powers. If they are not prostrated by the first blow, another will be dealt them, and still another, until at last they succumb. I learned this in Pressburg from intercepted letters, and it brought me back here again. How could I resist the longing to come back and see you once more,--the last time in my life?"

"Oh, do not speak so!"

"You are going far away, and it will be a dark day for us that sees your return. The proud and powerful have been putting their heads together, and they have formed a plan for taking vengeance on their mother country for the chastisement she has inflicted on them."

"Who are they?"

"Your friends and patrons. But fear not; I am not here to inveigh against them. They are kinder to you than I am. I would point you the way to ruin; they show you the road to safety. I offer you a joyless life of trials and afflictions; they hold out to you happiness and a brilliant career. I cannot compete with them. No, my son, you and they are right, and we are but foolish enthusiasts, sacrificing ourselves for a mere nothing, an idea, a dream. May you never be able to understand us! Go with those who are now preparing to ally themselves with the Russians against their own fatherland. As Hungarians, you and they are of course pained at the necessity of invoking your old enemy's aid against your own mother and brothers; but you do it because you are convinced that your mother and brothers must be humbled. The Baradlay escutcheon has received two shameful stains in the conduct of A-dAśn and Richard. It is reserved for you to wipe out those stains. What a brilliant refutation of all charges it will be in the world's eyes to point to the youngest son, who atoned for the crime of his two elder brothers by joining the party that summoned a mighty power to the pacification of his misguided country!"

JenA''s face was white and he sat gazing into vacancy. They had not said anything to him about all this; and yet he might have perceived it clearly enough with a little reflection.

"There can be but one issue," continued the mother: "we are lost, but you will be saved. Two mighty powers are more than we can withstand, be we ever so stanch and brave. Your brothers will fall sooner or later: death is easy to find. You will then be left as the head of the Baradlay family. You will be the envied husband of a beautiful wife, a man of high rank and wide influence, the pride of the new era on which we are entering."

JenA''s head had sunk on his breast; his heart was no longer filled with pride and exultation. His mother proceeded.

"The unfortunate and the helpless will come and kiss the ground under your feet. You will be in a position to do much good, and I am sure you will make the most of it; for you have a kind and tender heart. Among the petitions that will be laid before you, do not forget my own. You see I have come to you as the first suppliant."

Alas, how humiliated the young man felt before his mother! And the more so that she spoke not in irony, but in the gentle tones of pleading earnest.

"Not for myself do I ask anything," she went on; "our fate will soon overtake us, and if it lingered we should, I assure you, hasten to meet it. Your brother Richard is unmarried and so leaves no family; but A-dAśn has a wife and two children,--two dear, pretty children, the younger only a month old. You are sure to be richly rewarded for your great services. Your brothers' property will be confiscated and handed over to you."

JenA' started up in horrified protest.

"And when you are a rich and powerful man," his mother continued, "in possession of all that we now hold in common, and when you are crowned with honours and happiness, then, my son, remember this hour and your mother's petition: let your brother's children never suffer want."

"Mother!" cried JenA', beside himself with grief and pain. Hastening to his desk, he drew forth his certificate of appointment from one of its drawers, tore it into a hundred pieces, and then sank weeping on his mother's breast. "Mother, I am not going to Russia."

The mother's joy at these words was too great for utterance. She clasped her youngest, her dearest son in a warm embrace. "And you will come with me, my boy?" she asked.

"Yes, I will go with you."

"I shall not let you follow your brothers to the battle-field. You must stay at home and be our comforter; your life must be spared. I wish you to lead a happy life. May I not hope for many years of happiness for you?"

JenA' sighed deeply, his thoughts turning to what was now a thing of the past,--his bright dream of happiness. He kissed his mother, but left her question unanswered.

"Let us hurry away from here at once," said she, rising from the sofa.

Then for the first time JenA' remembered the passport. "This passport," said he, producing it, "was all in readiness for you had you come yesterday; and you can still make use of it."

"Who gave it to you?" asked the mother.

"An old friend of the family, the same who procured me my appointment."

"And do you think I will accept any favour from him?" Therewith the baroness tore up the passport and threw the fragments on the floor, among those of the destroyed certificate.

"Oh, what have you done?" exclaimed JenA' in alarm. "How will you make your escape? Every outlet is barred."

The other merely raised her head in scorn and triumph. "As if I could not put all their precautions to shame!" she exclaimed. "Get your cloak, my son; I will take you by such a way that no man will venture to follow us."

* * * * *

The next day RideghvAiry waited in vain for the young secretary, in order to escort him to the place where he was to take the oath of office. In vain, too, did the bride and her mother, and all the invited guests, wait for the bridegroom to join them. He failed to appear. Surely that dreaded mother of his must have seduced him!

Whither he had vanished, and how he had made his way through the lines, remained an unsolved riddle. It never occurred to any one that in times like those the Danube offered an excellent road for such as dared trust their lives to a frail boat, in the mist and darkness of the night, with two stout-hearted fishermen at the oars.