"This discomfort is shared with so many famous men that I should be inclined to regard it as a distinction," cried the young idealist, with much ardor and little logic, as usual.

"That's as much as to say you would like to be descended from a tailor because Goethe was," said the general, dryly. Not thinking of any answer to this, the young man said "Hem!" and pulled his moustache.

"And you would like to wear a hump, because aesop did," smiled the general.

"My dear general," put in the poet, "what has a hump to do with low birth?"

"Nothing intrinsically, and yet these two things do meet at one point.

The first is an imaginary evil, while the other is a positive one; but they are alike in the bad influence which they may exert on the character."

"Oh, general!" laughed the hostess.

"With your permission," he went on, "I will tell you a story to ill.u.s.trate my paradox, which I see you don't accept at present: a very simple story, of something which I witnessed myself."

"We are all ears," simpered the host, and pa.s.sed a fat hand over the two pomaded cupid's wings, which stuck up on either side his head.

"Very interesting, I am sure," said the hostess, in the politely condescending manner of her great prototype. The poet and the poetess made satirical faces, the idealist craned his neck forward, eager to listen.

The general gazed thoughtfully before him for a while, then he began, speaking slowly:

"He went by the name of Zwilk: by rights it was Zwilch; but after he was promoted for some brilliant deed of arms or other, he never called himself anything but Zwilk von Zwilneck. He liked the t.i.tle so much that he wrote it on all his books, and bought books that he never read, in order to write it on them.

"No one knew anything about his origin. Sometimes he pa.s.sed for the son of a crowned head and a dancer. I think he set this story going himself. Sometimes he pa.s.sed for the son of a sacristan in Reichenhall.

He never mentioned his family; he never went home; he received no letters, excepting those which came from comrades in the regiment. Only once did a letter arrive for him, which was plainly not from a brother officer. It was a narrow, greenish, forlorn-looking missive, with the address written zigzag, and the sealing wax spattered all over the cover. They brought it to him in the coffeehouse, and he turned quite red when the waiter presented it 'Ah, yes,' he said, stiffly, through his nose. 'A letter from my old nurse.' Heaven knows why we didn't believe much in that old nurse.

"Whatever Zwilk's origin might have been, his tastes were severely aristocratic. He never would let himself be introduced to a woman unless she belonged in 'Society.'

"Others of the corps recognized his exclusiveness by nicknaming him the 'Countess's Zwilk,' 'the n.o.bl' Zwilk,' and 'Batiste.' These were not very good jokes, but they never lost their charm for us, and we laughed at them just as much the hundredth time as the first. Zwilk laughed with us: his laugh used to make me nervous; it sounded like a bleat, and seemed to come out of his nose and ears. He was undeniably a handsome man, tall, blonde, broad-shouldered, stiff and slender, with a regular profile and a thick blonde beard.

"He had great success with women: that is, with young widows and elderly pensioners, and the blowsy provincial beauties, to whom, as I said, he would never be presented, but with whom he danced, all the same, at b.a.l.l.s in the early morning hours.

"You might think these ladies would consider his pompous impertinence an insult. On the contrary they were greatly impressed by his 'exclusiveness,' and when he waltzed with one of them she talked about it for a fortnight afterward.

"He wore his uniforms too tight, and his cuffs too long, and he used to pull the latter down over his knuckles. Those hands of his were incurably coa.r.s.e, in spite of all the care they got, and he was always fussing with them. Sometimes he trimmed the flat, uneven nails in public; sometimes he crooked the little fingers with graceful ease. His manners were stiff, and his German was florid, but ungrammatical. He spoke like a dancing master, who, having 'had a great deal to do with society,' feels obliged, for that reason, to p.r.o.nounce the most teutonic words with a French accent.

"He was at home in danger. Not only did he distinguish himself by reckless bravery in the field, but he showed in duels a cold indifference, which gave him great advantage over those of his opponents, who, though his equals in courage and his superiors in skill, were yet unable wholly to control a certain sentimental nervousness. The superior officers all praised him, for he was able, and he knew how to obey as well as to command. But he was very unpopular with his subordinates, to whom he showed himself extremely harsh, and with whom he never exchanged a joke, or a bit of friendly chat about their families, as the rest of us liked to do.

"As much audacity as he showed in great matters, just so little did he possess in small ones. Nothing could have induced him to tell a prince who said a horse had five legs, that it only had four.

"I am aware that this manner of judging him is retrospective. In those days, while we were in service together it hardly occurred to us, with our Austrian good humor, easy going, and perhaps a little bit superficial, to examine critically him or his failings. If we found him uncongenial, we hardly confessed it among ourselves, still less would we have acknowledged it to a civilian.

"He had one p.r.o.nounced enemy in the corps, and that was little Toni Truyn, cousin of Count Erich Truyn, the Truyn von Rantschin. Poor Toni!

He was the black sheep, the Karl Moor of his distinguished family, and if he never got so far as to turn incendiary and robber-chief, that was from lack of energy and of genius. The requisite number of paternal letters were not wanting.

"His family had a right to lecture Toni, for he had cruelly disappointed all their hopes. Destined from infancy to the Church, he suddenly, in his eighteenth year, developed religious scruples. His family regarded these as a symptom of nervous derangement, arising from too rapid growth, and they sent him to Rome to be scared back into an orthodox frame of mind by the hierarchy. To help matters, they provided him with an Abbe as a traveling companion.

"In less than a month, Toni, having quarreled with his Abbe, was going up and down in Rome, proclaiming his contempt for Popish superst.i.tions, and raving about heathen G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses like a Renaissance Cardinal. He neither presented himself at the Austrian Emba.s.sy, nor sought the customary Papal blessing: he wandered about with mad artist-folk, ate in hostelries, danced extravagantly at models' b.a.l.l.s, where he gave the Italian females lessons in Austrian Ch.o.r.egraphy, which caused them to open their eyes, and ended by falling in love with a market-girl from the Trastevere. When he came home, he brought his Trasteverina along, with the nave intention of marrying her. His father, not unnaturally declined this connection, Toni had still less mind to the Church, so they put him in the army.

"Found fault with by his superiors, idolized by his subordinates, cordially liked by the rest of us, he remained to the end, a middling officer and a splendid comrade. He rode round-shouldered and was incurably careless about his accoutrements, and because of his harmless cynicism, and his easy-going, half rustic unmannerliness, we christened him the Peasant Count and Farmer Toni.

"There was a legend that his Majesty, one day at a hunt or a race, or some one of those occasions that serve to bring the monarch a little nearer to his subjects, condescended to ask Toni's father, old Count Hugo, 'How is your family, and what are your sons doing?' 'The eldest,'

said Count Truyn, 'is serving your Majesty in the Foreign Office, and the second is in the army.' 'He is here,' added the count, looking about for Toni. He discovered him not far off, leaning against a tree, whistling, his hands in his pockets, his cap dragged down over his ears, oblivious of kaisers.

"The old count was so upset by this sight, that he pointed out another man, in a great hurry, and that man happened to be Zwilk. The kaiser asked no more questions, and nothing came of it, but when the peasant-count told us this story afterward, amid shouts of laughter, he added, 'Now you know why I can't bear Zwilk. I envy him his distinction.'

"One hot summer day,--it was in Vienna, and we were riding home from the man[oe]uvres, through a suburb,--in a deserted street, full of sweepings and gamins, smelling of soap boiling and leather curing, Farmer Toni's eyes fell on the dirty sign of a miserable little shop, 'Anton Zwilch, Tin-man.' Resting one hand on his horse's croup, Toni leaned over, and said with that soft, winning voice of his, which was in such true aristocratic contrast to his rough-and-ready manners, 'Batiste, is that your cousin?' And Zwilk replied with a forced smile, through his nose, 'Non, mon cher, that must be another line. We write our name with a k: Zwilk von Zwilnek.'

"Next day in Cafe Daum, the farmer-count perfidiously seized on a general lull in the conversation, and called across several tables to his particular friend. First Lieutenant Schmied.

"'Du, Schmied! Is the brewer at Hitzing, a relative of yours?' And the other called back affectedly, 'Non, mon cher, that must be another line, we spell ourselves with an _ie_.'

"This feeble joke was repeated at intervals after that, to the edification of Toni and his friend, and the great embarra.s.sment of all the rest. Zwilk pretended not to hear it.

"About this time our corps was enriched by the arrival of Count Erich Truyn, Toni's cousin. He had got himself exchanged from the Cuira.s.siers because of some love affair or other. He was blonde, handsome as a picture, chivalrous, aristocrat through and through. Like all the Truyns, excepting Toni, Erich was conservative, even reactionary.

Nevertheless, perhaps exactly for that reason, he was most considerate toward people who were less well born than himself. When Toni and Schmied served up their stale joke about 'the other line,' Count Erich always grew restless, and at last, one day when I was present, he remonstrated with his cousin. 'You are really too unfeeling, Toni,' he said. 'How is it possible for you to jeer at a poor devil who can't help his extraction, and no doubt has to suffer enough from it. Look here--I--Hm--it would annoy me very much to have this go any further, but I have heard that poor Zwilk was once a waiter at Lamm.'

"'Whatever he was would make no difference if he were a decent man now, but he isn't!' broke out Toni. 'He's a low fellow; heartless canaille!'

"'You ought not to speak that way of a comrade,' said Count Erich, much shocked, 'of a man with whom you stand on terms of _Du_ and _Du_.'

"'I say _Du_ to his uniform, not to him,' muttered Toni. Count Erich burst out laughing,--'And I took _you_ for a Red!' he cried.

"Soon after this we were sent to Salzburg; there Zwilk saw his best days. He became the intimate friend of Prince Bonbon Liscat, a very limited person, between ourselves, whom they had shoved into the army to keep him occupied, until they could arrange a marriage for him, to provide his line with heirs.

"Spoiled by priests and women, like so many scions of our highest n.o.bility, wrapped in cotton from his birth, nurtured in arrogance, Prince Liscat as a child could never endure the equally pampered arrogance of his young peers, and always chose his playmates from among the toadies and f.a.gs. Now, true to this taste of his youth, he liked no company so well as that of Zwilk. Zwilk must dine with him, must drive with him, Zwilk must accompany him on the piano while he poured forth elegies on the French horn,--on the tortoise-sh.e.l.l comb, for anything I know.

"As for Zwilk, he existed for Bonbon: he bathed in aromatic vinegar like Bonbon: he went to confession; he abused the liberal journals; he raved about Salvioni's legs, all like Bonbon. He acquired a complete aristocratic jargon, talking of 'Bougays,' 'Table _do_,' and 'Orschestre.' Prince Liscat was the last to correct him. It would have been quite too revolutionary for Zwilk to p.r.o.nounce French as well as he did himself.

"Zwilk's Bonbon had an ancient uncle, Prince Schirmberg, who lived in a curious old rococo Chateau, about an hour out of Salzburg. He was a bachelor, once very gay, now very pious; the first in accordance with family tradition, the latter from fear of future punishment. He suffered from spinal complaint, and, being paralyzed in both legs, he spent his time between a rolling chair and a landau. Before the latter walked four large cream-colored steeds, in slow solemnity, as if it was a funeral.

"All the cab drivers and private coachmen reined in as soon as they overtook the serene equipage, and fell behind, the whole cavalcade then proceeding at a snail's pace. It would never do to pa.s.s the prince, and it would never do to stir up the princely cream colors by a too lively example, lest evil befall the princely spinal column.

"Only Toni Truyn wickedly rushed past now and then, at the full speed of his thoroughbreds. Then the big cream colors before the old-fashioned landau would give an excited jump or two, and poor Prince Schirmberg would call out, 'd.a.m.n that Truyn!'

"His serene highness certainly hated Toni, who returned it with good-natured contempt and a number of bad jokes. Some one came and told Prince Schirmberg that Toni had said he was nothing but a bundle of prejudices done up in old parchment. This the prince took very ill, without in the least understanding it. 'Prejudice,' he knew, from reading the 'Neue Freie Presse' was the liberal word for principles: and 'Parchment' was simply an aristocratic kind of leather.

"The prince had a sister, Auguste. All the little girl babies in Salzburg were named after her. We used to call her the May-Beetle, because she had a little head and a broad, round back, and always dressed in a black cap and a frock of Carmelite brown.

"She occupied herself with heraldry and charity. That is, she painted the Schirmberg coat-of-arms on every object that would hold it, and she engaged all their evening visitors, who were not playing whist with her brother, in cutting little strips of paper to stuff hospital pillows.

For their reward she used to have them served at ten o'clock with weak tea and hard biscuits, but, as even the best families in Salzburg still keep up the barbarous custom of dining at one o'clock, the guests found their supper rather meagre.

"When she wanted to give them a special treat, she read to them in a thin voice out of an old Chronicle about the deeds of the Schrimbergs.

"She had a marked weakness for Zwilk. He cut papers with enthusiasm: he listened to the Chronicles with ecstasy: he fell on one knee to kiss her hand when she graciously extended it at leave-taking.

"It was Sylvester Day, in the yard of the Riding School. The cold winter sun fell dazzlingly on the hard, white snow. Long, strangely twisted icicles hung from the snow-covered roofs, against the gloomy sides of the buildings which surrounded the court.

"We had given our recruits a good dressing down in the Riding School, and now we were standing about in little groups chatting, cheerful and hungry, in the cold court. I heard Erich Truyn behind me, speaking in that polite, pleasant tone which he kept especially for poor country priests, and scared women of the lower cla.s.ses. He was saying, 'I'm sorry, but First Lieutenant Zwilch is engaged at present. Shall I send for him?' I turned round. There in the old, grey archway stood handsome Truyn, blonde, slender, careless, easy, correct without pedantry; from head to foot what a cavalier ought to be. Beside him, square, clumsy, tufts of grey hair over his ears, a grey beard under his chin, face mottled red and blue from the cold, mouth and eyes surrounded by fine wrinkles, cheeks rough and seamed like the sh.e.l.l of an English walnut,--an old man, a stranger.

"He wore very poor clothes, half town, half country make, a short sheepskin, high boots, from which green worsted stockings protruded, a long faded scarf with a grey fringe twisted round his neck. He had a little bundle tied up in a red handkerchief squeezed under one arm, and he was kneading nervously in his two hands a shabby old fur cap, as he looked up with an expression half frightened, half confiding to Count Erich.