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.
It is likely that if Frank had not been corrupted by all the adulation he had so lately received, – if his self-esteem had not been stimulated into an absurd and overweening vanity, he would have read this youth’s character aright, and have seen in him that very spirit of independence which once he himself sought to display, albeit by a very different road! Now, however, he received everything in a false light, – the reserve was insolence, the coldness was disrespect, the punctuality in duty a kind of defiance to him. How often he wished he had never taken him! The very sight of him was now odious to his eyes.
Austrian troops enjoy so much of freedom on a march, that it is difficult often for the most exacting martinet to seize opportunities for the small tyrannies of discipline. Frank’s ingenuity was now to be tried in this way, and, it is but fair to confess, not unsuccessfully. He compelled the men to appear each morning as smart as if on parade, – their carbines in the bandoleers, and not slung at the saddle, – he inspected every belt and strap and buckle, and visited even the slightest infraction with a punishment Ravitzky accepted all this as the ordinary routine of discipline, and never, even by a look, appeared to resent it. Tyranny would seem to be one of the most insidious of all passions, and, if indulged in little things, invariably goes on extending its influences to greater ones.
At Maltz a new occasion arose for the tormenting influence of this power, as the military post brought several letters from Vienna, one of which was addressed to the cadet Ravitzky. It was about a week before Frank was indignantly complaining to his sister of the shameless violation of all feeling exhibited in opening and reading every soldier’s letter. He was eloquently warm in defending such humble rights, and declaimed on the subject with all the impassioned fervor of an injured man, and yet so corrupting is power, so subtle are the arguments by which one establishes differences and distinctions, that now he himself saw nothing strange nor severe in exercising this harsh rule towards another.
He was out of temper, too, that morning. The trim and orderly appearance of the men gave no opportunity of a grumble, and he strutted along on foot in front of his party, only anxious for something to catch at. On turning suddenly around, he saw Ravitzky with his open letter before him, reading. This was a slight breach of discipline on a march where infractions far greater are every day permitted; but it offered another means of persecution, and he called the cadet imperiously to the front,
“Are you aware, cadet,” said he, “of the general order regarding the letters of all who serve in the ranks?”
“I am, Herr Lieutenant,” said the other, flushing deeply, as he saluted him.
“Then you knew that you were committing a breach of discipline in opening that letter?”
“As the letter is written in Hungarian, Herr Lieutenant, I felt that to show it to you could be but a ceremony.”
“This explanation may satisfy you, sir; it does not suffice for me. Hand me your letter.”
Ravitzky grew scarlet at the command, and for an instant he seemed as though about to dispute it; but duty overcame every personal impulse, and he gave it.
“I see my own name here,” cried Frank, as the one word legible to his eyes caught him. “How is this?”
Ravitzky grew red and pale in a second, and then stood like one balancing a difficulty in his own mind.
“I ask again, how comes a mention of me in this document?” cried Frank, angrily.
“The letter, Herr Lieutenant, is from my cousin, who, aware that I was serving in the same troop with you, offered to make me known to you.”
“And who is this cousin with whom I am so intimate?” said Frank, proudly.
“Count Ernest Walstein,” said the other, calmly.
“What, he is your cousin? Are you really related to Walstein?”
The other bowed slightly in assent
“Then how is it, with such family influence, that you remain a cadet? you have been two years in the service?”
“Nearly four years, Heir Lieutenant,” was the quiet reply.
“Well, four years, and still unpromoted; how is that?”
Ravitzky looked as if unable to answer the question, and seemed confused and uneasy.
“You have always been a good soldier. I see it in your ‘character roll;’ there is not one punishment recorded against you.”
“Not one!” said the cadet, haughtily.
“There must, then, be some graver reason for passing you over?”
“There may be,” said the other, with a careless pride in his manner.
“Which you know?” said Frank, interrogatively.
“Which I guess at,” said Ravitzky.
“Here is your letter, cadet,” said Frank, banding it back to him. “I see you will not make a confidant of me, and I will not force a confession.”
Ravitzky took the letter, and, saluting with respect, was about to fall back, when Frank said, —
“I wish you would be frank with me, and explain this mystery.”