The Daltons; Or, Three Roads In Life. Volume II
“Oh, no, no, Frank; do not give me such counsels. I am pledged in word and bound in honor. I have taken a solemn vow.”
“But you have been deceived, – I know you have; enough that I see such a woman as that your companion. I tell you again, you must break it off.”
“I cannot, – I cannot!”
“Then, by Heaven! I will do it myself. It surely is not for all the glitter of this state and pomp that you would sell your affections? These gauds have not corrupted you already? No, no, I read you better than that Listen to my plan, then, – do not leave this till you hear from me. If this lady – I do not know her name – insists on your departure, be as peremptory, and say that you wish to see your family first. You are not a slave, and cannot be coerced.”
“I will hear no more of this, Frank; the very thought is maddening. No, no, Frank; if you would be my friend, teach me how to fulfil my duty, my sworn, pledged allegiance; do not seek to shake my faith, nor make me less resolute in honor.”
“It is, then, as I feared,” cried he, passionately; “these cursed bribes have bought you. Oh, it is not thus Nelly would have been won!”
“I know it, – I know it well!” cried she, bursting into tears; “but I never was like her.”
“But you were, and you are, dearest,” said he, kissing her forehead, “our own sweet Kate, that we were all so proud of. Oh, forgive me if I said what could hurt you, for I would pour out my heart’s blood to serve or to save you.”
There was a mournful emphasis on the last two words, which bespoke their deep meaning; and now, locked in each other’s arms, they wept bitterly.
“As the Field-Marshal von Auersberg has just ridden into the palace, his aide-de-camp ought probably to dry his tears and receive him,” said Madame de Heidendorf, as she sailed proudly out of the room.
“You heard that, Kate? – you heard what she said to me? Think, then, what kindness and sympathy she will feel for you!” said the boy, as he dashed his hand indignantly against his forehead. “Was I not right about these Russians?”
“Come, Frank, let us go to Uncle Stephen,” said Kate, trying to smile and seem at ease; and hand-in-hand they descended the stairs together.
The drawing-room into which they now entered was filled with officers of different arms of the service, among whom Count Dalton stood conspicuous, both from his size and the soldierlike character of a figure that not even old age seemed able to impair.
“How provoking, my sweet niece,” said he, taking Kate’s hand between both his, “now to part, just as I was learning the happiness of knowing you. Here are all these gentlemen grumbling and complaining about leaving their homes and families, and yet I ‘ll wager there is not one amongst them carries away a heavier heart than I do. Come into this room, my dear; let us have five minutes together.” And Kate took his arm, while he led her forward. Madame de Heidendorf, meanwhile, seated herself on a sofa, and summoned the most distinguished officers of the party to inform her as to all that was going forward.
It was one of her favorite affectations to be deeply versed in military tactics; not that she acknowledged herself deficient in any art or science, but soldiering was her strong point. She therefore questioned and cross-questioned these unhappy gentlemen at great length.
“You have no mortars? Do I hear you aright. Colonel Rabowsky? No mortars?”
“None, Madame.”
“And how, may I ask, do you mean to reduce Milan to ashes?”
This was a very puzzling question; and she repeated it in a still more commanding tone.
“Perhaps that may not be deemed desirable, Madame,” modestly insinuated another officer.
“Not desirable, sir? you said not desirable. Why, really I shall begin to fancy I ought to go to school again in military matters. Are you aware, sir, it’s the very centre of these wretches; that it is fed from Switzerland and Piedmont with all that is infamous in political doctrine? Milan must be bombarded, sir!”
The Colonel bowed courteously to an opinion expressed with so much authority.
“You ‘ll find, at least, that the Field-Marshal will be of my opinion,” continued she. “As a military position, it is worth nothing.”
“But as a capital city, Madame?” mildly interposed the Colonel.
“The old story,” said she, contemptuously. “Women and children!”
“Most legitimate objects of protection, I trust, Madame.”
But she turned contemptuously away, as if controversy with such an adversary was beneath her.
“We have three rocket-batteries, Madame,” interposed a staff officer, desirous of offering himself to her notice.
“I hope you will use them with effect, sir. I envy you the pleasure of seeing them plunging amidst that vile mob it is the fashion to call the people nowadays.”
“I hope we shall do our duty, Madame,” said an old, stern-looking major, who felt little flattered at this interference.
“I should like to see more chivalry, – more ardent devotion in the defenders of a monarchy,” said the Countess. “I can understand coldness in the lower classes, but that the well-born and the noble should be apathetic and slow to move is beyond my comprehension.”
“Bey’m Blitzen,” retorted the Major, “that is not bad I Here we are going to shed our blood for the Kaiser, and we are told that it is not enough, without we are born counts and barons.”
“What is it, Heckenstein?” said Count Dalton, as he entered the room and laid his hand familiarly on the other’s shoulder. “I have seldom seen you look so angry.”
But the old soldier turned away without a reply.
“Madame de Heidendorf,” said the old General, “I know not what you have said to offend an old and tried servant of the Emperor, – a soldier of Wagram and Auster-litz, – a faithful follower, when the fortunes of this great Empire were at the lowest But, believe me, these are not times to flout loyalty and despise fidelity.”
“The times are worse than I thought them,” said the Countess, “when these principles have infected such men as Count Dalton. I had certainly hoped that his young relative would have received a very different lesson at his outset in life, nor can I wonder if such teachings end in evil. Here is the Archduke. How I wish his Highness had come a little earlier!”
As she spoke, the Prince entered, with all the careless ease of his ordinary manner. It was impossible to detect from his countenance whether he regarded the event as a serious one, or simply one of those popular commotions which are ever occurring in a large empire.
“I know you are discussing politics, or something akin to them,” said he, laughingly. “Madame de Heidendorf has her ‘cabinet countenance’ on, and Auersberg is looking as fierce as a field-marshal ought to do when contradicted. Come, General, present me to the Princess. It is an honor I have been long desiring. How tired you must be of all this, Madame!” said he to Kate. “Such wise people as will not talk gossip, – such high-minded souls as never will condescend to say a good thing, or hear one, are insupportable.” And, seating himself beside her, he rattled on about Vienna, its society, and its pleasures, with all the ease and flippancy of a young fashionable of the day, while, in an attitude of deep respect, not unmixed with a dash of impatience, stood the old Count before him.
“What does Auersberg want to tell us?” said the Prince, at last, looking up at the old General’s face.
“To say adieu, your Royal Highness.”
“You don’t go with the troops, surely?” said the Duke, laughing.
“At the head of my own regiment, your Royal Highness.”
“Ah, by the bye, the Auersbergs are in your brigade. Very proper that. And is this my protégé?” said he, taking Frank’s arm, and drawing him forward. “There’s your best example, sir. Be only as good a soldier, and the name of Dalton will be a title of nobility amongst us. Good-bye, Lieutenant General, farewell. Give that canaille a lesson quickly, and come back to us as soon as you can.”
Kate rose and followed Frank out of the room. For a few seconds they were closely locked in each other’s arms, without speaking. “Oh, Frank dearest! when are we to meet again, – and how?” cried she, passionately.
“In pride and happiness, too, Kate,” said the boy, joyfully. “I have no fears for the future. But what is this, sister dearest, – gold?”
“Do not refuse me, Frank. It is the only happiness left me.”
“But this is the Russian’s, Kate.”
“No, believe me, it is not Count Stephen has made me his heir; he has given me all his fortune. Even good luck can come too late!” said she, with a sigh.
“Do not leave this till I write to you, Kate. I will do so very soon, – that is, if I can; but these are anxious times. You know, Kate,” – here the boy whispered, in a voice low and tremulous from agitation, – “You know, Kate, that I only left the ranks a couple of days ago. I can tell then, better than all these great folk, what soldiers think and say; they are not as they used to be. Lead them against the Frenchman, and they will fight as they have ever fought; but if it be to fire on their own townsfolk, – to charge through streets where they lounged along, hand-in-hand with the people, like brothers, – they will not do it.”
“This is very alarming, Frank. Have you told the Count?”
“No; nor would I for worlds. What! betray my comrades, and be called on before a court-martial to say who said this, and what man said t’ other?”
“But could you not, at least, give him some warning?”
“And be ordered from his presence for the presumption, or told that I was a rebel at heart, or such tidings had never been uttered by me. The old Feld would as soon believe that this earth was cut adrift to wander at hazard through all space, as that treason should lurk behind an Austrian uniform. It would be an evil hour for him who should dare to tell him so.”
“Oh, Frank, how terrible is all this!”
“And yet do I not despair; nay, Kate, but I am even more hopeful for it; and, as Walstein says, if the Empire halt so long behind the rest of Europe, she must one day or other take a race to come up with it.”
“And is Walstein a – a – ” She stopped.
“No; he’s very far from a Democrat or a Republican. He ‘s too well born and too rich and too good-looking to be anything but a Monarchist. Oh, if you but saw him! But, hark! there are the trumpets! Here come the ‘Wurtem-burgs;’ and there’s my charger, Kate. Is he not splendid? A Banat horse, all bone and sinew.”
“How I should like to have been a man and a soldier!” said she, blushing deeply.
“There, that’s Walstein, – that’s he with the scarlet dolman!” cried Frank. “But he ‘s coming over, – he sees us. No, he’s passing on. Did you see him, Kate? – did you remark him?”
“No, Frank dearest; I see nothing but you, my own fond brother.” And she fell upon his neck, weeping.
“Herr Lieutenant!” said a hussar, with his hand to his cap.
“Yes, I ‘m ready, – I ‘m coming,” cried Frank. And with one long, last embrace he tore himself away, springing down the stairs in mad haste.
“Madame de Heidendorf is good enough to say she will come and see the troops defile from the Glacis,” said the Archduke to Kate, as, still overwhelmed with sorrow, she stood where Frank had left her. “Perhaps you would do us the honor to come also?”
Kate accepted the invitation at once, and hurried to her room for a bonnet.
“Not that one, Madame la Princesse,” said Nina, eagerly; “the yellow with black lace, rather. The national colors will be a flattery to his Royal Highness.”
“What a coquette you are, Nina!”
“And how irresistible would Madame be were she to condescend to be even a little of one!” said Nina, smiling.
“Perhaps I may yet,” said Kate, half sighing as she spoke; and Nina’s dark eyes sparkled as she heard her. “But what do you mean by coquetry, Nina?” asked she, after a pause.
“It may mean much, Madame, or very little. With such as I am it may be a rose-colored ribbon; with Madame la Princesse it may be the smile that wins royalty. Coquetry, after all, is a mere recognition of admiration. An old Spanish dramatist says, ‘That a glance from bright eyes is like the hoisting of an ensign to acknowledge a salute.’”
“How you run on, Nina, and how ashamed I feel when I catch myself afterwards thinking over your words!”
Nina laughed merrily at this confession, while she opened the door for Kate to pass out. In a moment after, Kate was seated beside the Archduke, and Madame de Heidendorf followed in another carriage.
The Archduke was neither very good-looking nor agreeable. His manners were not remarkable for any peculiar elegance, nor was there in his air and bearing any of that special charm which very often seems the prerogative of royal personages; and yet it would have been excessively difficult to persuade Kate of all this as she drove along the streets crowded with uncovered heads. The clank of the escort that rode at either side, the quick roll of the drum and the rush out of the guard to salute as he passed, created a sensation of pleasure in her mind like the enjoyment of a delighted child. Oh, if Nelly could but see her now! – if dear old papa were but there to look at her; and Hanserl – little Hans – that loved the Hapsburg House as he loved the Patron Saint of his own village!
It was, indeed, worth something to taste of splendor like this! And now she issued forth into the spacious Glacis, glittering with thousands of bayonets, and trembling under the tramp of the moving squadrons. The whole line saluted as he drove slowly past, band after band taking up the sounds, till the proud hymn of Austria filled the whole air. The soldiers cheered, too, loud and long, for his Imperial Highness was beloved by the army, and, like all his house, was a thorough soldier.
“You have never seen our troops under arms before!” said he, with a proud elation in his look. “They are fine fellows, and faithful as they are brave.” He was about to say more, when the dull roll of a drum was heard along the line, and the deep-voiced command from regiment to regiment ran, “Alle nieder zum Gebet,” and, at the word, every weapon was lowered, and every head drooped forward in prayer. Not a sound – not a whisper – was heard in that mighty host, till, after the expiration of some minutes, the command once more summoned them to arms. Then came the word “March!” and with a cheer that made the very air vibrate, the troops set out for “Italy.”
CHAPTER XIII. THE MARCH
Is there any enthusiasm like that of a young soldier setting forth on his first campaign? High in heart and hope, what can equal the glorious picture his fancy draws of fame and honor? Where will his imagination stop in creating scenes of heroic daring or deeds of noble chivalry? In such a mood Frank Dalton rode along amongst his comrades, with whom at once he became the greatest favorite. Explain it how one will, or give up the problem in despair, but there is no denying the fact, the Irish character has more of high spirits, more buoyancy, than that of any continental people. Deriving pleasure or amusement from incidents that others accept as commonplace, making even the rubs and collisions of life subservient to his playful humor, the Irishman has resources of ready wit and brilliant fancy you may seek for in vain amongst Germans, or Italians, or even Frenchmen.
The contrarieties of nature, the contradictions of character, that puzzle politicians and drive political economists half crazy, are delightful elements of social intercourse; and what makes the “nation” ungovernable very frequently renders the “individual” the most easy-tempered and manageable man of his set. What a boon was it, then, to the gloomy, thoughtful Bohemian, to the dreary German, or the fitful, passionate nature of the wild Hungarian, to chance upon one who had moods of mind to suit them all, and stories of amusing thought that none of them possessed! Frank was the delight of the regiment; and whether he rode in the front or in the rear a group was sure to be gathered round him, listening with eagerness to his stories, or enjoying the quaint drollery which every passing object or event was sure to elicit.
Emerging at a bound from the petty annoyances and vexatious cares of his humble position, with all its harassing of debt and poverty, the boy was almost wild with delight at his newly won freedom. A thorough Dalton, he forgot every strait and difficulty he had passed through, and thought only of the present, or so much of the future as his hopes embellished. Kate’s generosity, too, made him feel rich, and he was not unwilling to be thought so. That passion for ascendancy, that over-eagerness to make a fair figure before the world, no matter at what material sacrifice or at what heavy cost, was bred “in his very bone;” but so inveterately Irish is it that if the nation should ever be visited by the income-tax, there is not a man in the land who will not over-estimate his means for the sake of the boast to the collector!
À wealthy comrade, if he be but free-handed, is sure to be popular on a march. The fastidiousness that would stand aloof from more formal attentions gives way here to the chances of the road; and civilities that would elsewhere imply obligation are now the mere accidents of the way.
To the honor of the Austrian service be it said, “Tuft-hunting” is not to be found there. The officers of a regiment embrace representatives of every class of the Empire, from the haughtiest names of Europe down to the sons of the humblest peasant; and yet the camaraderie is perfect. Very probably there is nothing more contributes to this than the absence of all secrecy as to each man’s resources. The prince is known to be rich; the son of the little burgher, or Amtmann, is equally known to be poor. Nothing is expected from any above his means, and no disgrace attaches to narrow fortune. If, therefore, Frank was not surrounded by shrewd-witted adventurers, eager to make the most of his extravagance, he was not the less exposed to the flattering acknowledgments his generous habits evoked, and the vanity that comes of being distinguished amongst one’s fellows. To be sure, this was his father’s failing, and his grandfather’s before him! Frank, then, entertained all the officers of his squadron on the march, practising a hundred little devices and surprises for them. Now, it was a cold luncheon, laid out in a wood at noonday; now, it was a smoking supper in a village, where even the generals were fain to munch “commissary rations.” Even the soldiers of his “Zug” participated in this liberality, and many a flask of wine was pledged to the health of the young lieutenant. As if to make him perfectly happy, the old Count, his uncle, was obliged to hurry forward, and thus Frank was relieved from the constraint of the only one whose presence could have imposed reserve.
It was in the boundless freedom of this liberty, unchecked by prudence, unrestrained by fear of consequences, Frank’s lavish nature knew no bounds. He wrote to Vienna for horses of high price; he ordered carriages and liveries to be sent after him. The very surprise his extravagance excited was an incense that he gloried in. How many a generous nature has been wrecked by stupid admiration! how many a true heart been corrupted by the vulgarity of notoriety!
“What will the Dalton do next? – what has the fellow in his head now?” were surmises that he never heard without delight, and stimulated him to new efforts to create astonishment. Ireland, too, so remote from all their knowledge, – that far-away island, – furnished many a theme for wonder, and he repeated, with ecstasy, several of his father’s stories of their former greatness and the barbaric splendor in which they lived. How easy is self-deception, and what a strange cheat is that a man can practise on himself! But so was it; he actually forgot the long years of their obscure poverty, all their hard trials and distresses, the penury of their daily life, – everything! – and could only think of Kate in all her splendor, and himself in every indulgence of his fancy. And yet he loved his father and Nelly too, – loved them both dearly. He would have given worlds that the old man could have seen him as he rode at the head of his men. He often felt his eyes grow dim as he fancied the burst of delight it would have caused him. And poor Nelly! how he pictured her features glowing with admiration, and yet trembling from agitation, for he thought of all her warnings.
It is a singular fact, that in the short interval before the tremendous events of the last great European convulsion, the aristocratic influence seemed at its very highest point. Never in each State of the Continent were the claims of family more regarded, nor the sway of proud names more submissively recognized. Like the fever-flush before death, it deceived many who beheld it! In the eyes of his astonished comrades, young Dalton perfectly represented this character. Rich, well born, brave, and eccentric, his seemed indeed an enviable lot in life. Happy for him if the deception had stopped short with them! Unluckily, however, it extended to himself, and he at last believed every fiction that his own brain suggested.
In this wild delirium of the day-dream he rode along through the deep glens and valleys of the Tyrol, along the banks of the rapid Inn, through the glorious vale of Meran, and at last gained the great road which, through Trent and Rovoredo, debouches on the Lago di Guarda. Here a despatch from Vienna overtook them, with orders that a small party should be sent off under some officer of intelligence to examine the condition of the Stelvio Pass, the highest of all the Alpine roads of Europe, and which, crossing from the South Tyrol, descends directly into Italy by the Lake of Como.
Although it was still early, fresh snows were said to have fallen on that elevated road, and it was an important question whether it were longer practicable for the transit of artillery. Frank was delighted to be selected for this duty, – a separate command, no matter bow small or insignificant, had something adventurous and independent about it that pleased him. There was a dash of peril, too, in the enterprise; for already the Valteline and the Brianza were said to be overrun by bands of patriot troops, raising contributions for the war, and compelling others to take up arms.
Frank’s instructions were, however, to examine and report upon the road, and, avoiding all possible collision with the enemy, either to unite with any Austrian brigade he could reach, or, if compelled, to retire upon the Tyrol. Some of his comrades pitied him for being selected for this lonely duty, others envied; but all regretted his departure, and with many a warm wish for a speedy meeting, and many a pledge of affection, they saw him depart on his enterprise.
In the small “Zug” of twenty men under his command, there was a young Hungarian cadet, who, although of good family and birth, Frank remarked never to have seen by any chance in society with the officers. Ravitzky was a handsome, daring-looking fellow, with that expression of mingled sadness and intrepidity in his face so peculiarly Hungarian. He was the best horseman in the regiment, and a thorough soldier in his look and carriage. It had often puzzled Frank why a youth with such advantages had not been promoted. On the one or two occasions, however, on which he asked the question, he had received evasive or awkward replies, and saw that the inquiry was at the least an unpleasant theme among his comrades.
Frank Dalton was well pleased at the opportunity now offered to know something more of this young soldier, almost the only one under his command who could speak any other language than Hungarian. Ravitzky, however, although perfectly respectful in his manner, was cold and reserved, showing no desire for an intimacy at which he might be supposed to have felt proud. Without actually repelling, he seemed determined to avoid nearer acquaintanceship, and appeared always happier when he “fell back,” to exchange a few guttural words with his comrades, than when called to “the front,” to converse with his officer.
Frank was piqued at all this; he saw that neither his rank, his supposed wealth, nor his assumed position imposed upon the cadet; and yet these were the very claims all his brother-officers had acknowledged. Amazed at this wound to his self-love, he affected to forget him altogether, or only remember him as one of the soldiers in his command. So far from seeming displeased, Ravitzky appeared more at his ease than before, and as if relieved from the worry of attentions that were distasteful to him. This conduct completed the measure of Frank’s indignation, and he now began actually to hate the youth, on whom he practised all the possible tyrannies of military discipline. These Ravitzky bore without seeming to be aware of them, discharging every duty with an exactitude that made punishment or even reproof impossible.
