Timar's Two Worlds Part 21

Katschuka sat whispering with Athalie at a little table, at the corner of which Frau Sophie pretended to be busy sewing. (For years this table had been ostentatiously spread with needle-work and knitting, so that visitors might imagine they were occupied with the trousseau.)

Herr Katschuka almost lived in the house; he came in the forenoon, was pressed to stay to dinner, and only found his way home late in the evening.

It would appear that the fortifications of Komorn were complete, as the engineer officer had the whole day to spend with Fraulein Athalie. But the fortifications of Herr Katschuka's own fortress could not hold out any longer--the time was come for his marriage. He resisted like a second Zriny. When driven from the outworks, he retreated to the citadel. He always had some plausible pretext for delaying the marriage.

Now, however, the last mine had been exploded. His deposit was indorsed by the Brazovics firm, and the council of war had accepted their receipt instead of money down; a house had been found for the young couple, and besides all this Katschuka had received his promotion to the rank of captain. This removed his last excuse; the last cartridge of the besieged had been expended, and nothing remained but to capitulate, and take the rich and beautiful girl home.

Herr Brazovics became more and more venomous every day when he drank his coffee with the ladies; and the man by whom his coffee was poisoned was always Timar.

This was his daily _delenda est Carthago_.

"What confounded tricks that fellow is up to! While other honest dealers are glad to rest in winter from their labors, he is busy with things that no cat would think of. He has hired the Platten-See now, and fishes under the ice: a little while ago his people caught three hundredweight of fish in one haul. It is a theft! Before the spring comes he will have cleared the Platten-See, so that not a single perch, not a shad nor a roach, not a garfish, let alone a fogasch,[1] will be left in it. And he sends them all to Vienna. As if that was what fogasch swam in the Balaton lake for--that those Germans might eat them! The d.a.m.ned scoundrel! The government ought to set a price on his head. Sooner or later I will get rid of him, that's certain. When he goes over the bridge I will get a couple of fishermen to throw him into the Danube; I will pay a sentry a couple of gulden to shoot him by accident when he pa.s.ses in the dark; I'll turn a mad dog into his yard, that it may bite him when he comes out in the morning. They ought to hang the rascal!

I'll set his house on fire, that he may burn with it! And they enn.o.ble such a fellow! In the town council they make him a.s.sessor, and the good-for-nothing sits at the green table with me. I, whose grandfather was of ancient Hungarian n.o.bility, must suffer him near me, this runaway rogue!

[Footnote 1: Leucia perca.]

"But just let him attempt to come near this cafe. I'll set a band upon him who will throw him out of the window and break his neck! If ever I sat down to table with him I would season his soup so that he would soon be on his back like a dead fis.h.!.+ And this vagabond pays visits to ladies! This Timar, this former supercargo, who used to be a mud-lark!

If he happened to be in the company of a brave officer who would call him out, and spit him like a frog--so!"

Herr Brazovics threw a meaning glance on Herr Katschuka, who seemed as if he had heard nothing. He had heard well enough; but what had princ.i.p.ally struck him in the monologue of his future father-in-law was that the new millionaire must have made a great breach in the riches of Herr Brazovics, and that this rage was caused by the threatened ruin of the firm. A thought not calculated to increase the officer's joy at the approaching wedding-day.

"No; I will not wait for some one else to get rid of him!" said Brazovics at last, and stood up, laid aside his chibouque, and fetched his bamboo cane from its corner. "I have a dagger. I bought it since the fellow settled here, on purpose for him" (and that he might be believed he drew the sharp blade out of his sword-stick). "There it is! The first time we meet alone, I will stick it into him and nail him to the wall like a bat. And that I swear!"

And he tried by rolling his bloodshot eyes to give emphasis to his threat. He drank the rest of his coffee standing, drew on his overcoat, and said he was going to business.

He would come home early (that is, early in the morning). Every one was glad when he went.

Just as Herr Brazovics went carefully down the steps to the street--for his corpulence prevented his running down-stairs--who should come to meet him but--Timar!

Now is his chance; at striking distance, and in a dark place where no one can see them. We know by history that most murders are committed on the stairs. Timar had no weapon with him, not even a walking-stick; but Herr Athanas had a stiletto two feet long.

When he saw Timar, he put his sword-stick under his arm, and cried aloud as he took off his hat, "Your obedient servant! good-day to you, Herr von Levetinczy!"

Timar answered with a "Servant, n.a.z.i--off to business again?"

"He! he! he!" laughed Herr Brazovics jovially, like a boy who is caught in a bit of mischief. "Now then, Michael, won't you keep us company?"

"Shouldn't think of it. If you want to win a couple of hundred gulden from me, I had better pay them now; but to sit the whole night gambling and drinking, no, thank you."

"He! he! he! Well, go up to the ladies then; they are upstairs. A pleasant evening to you. I sha'n't see you again to-day."

And they parted with a hearty shake of the hand, for Herr Athanas does not mean anything by his threats. No one is afraid of him, in spite of his frightful voice and imposing appearance, not even his wife--especially his wife. He knows well enough that Timar goes regularly to his house, and arranges to be away when he comes. Frau Sophie has not concealed her opinion that the visits are doubtless owing to the fine eyes of Athalie. Well, that is Katschuka's affair: if he does not spit his rival like a frog it is his own fault; he has been warned. But he does not seem inclined to do it, though Timar and Athalie are often together.

And why the devil should the captain challenge Timar? They are as good friends as ever they were.

Herr Brazovics guessed--indeed he had means of knowing--that it was no other than Captain Katschuka who had opened the door through which Timar had attained his riches. Why he had done so was easy to imagine. He wanted to get rid of Athalie, and it would suit him very well if Brazovics intervened and forbid him the house.

But that was just what he did not do, but overflowed with tenderness for the captain--his son-in-law. There was no way out of it: he must marry Athalie. The captain has long been betrothed to Athalie, to whom a dangerous rival pays daily court--a rich man whom he ought to hate, because he left him in the lurch in the quarrel between the treasury and the war office, and yet the captain is so fond of his old friend that he is capable of forgiving him if he ran away with his bride.

Athalie despises Timar, once her father's clerk, but treats him nevertheless in a friendly way. She is pa.s.sionately in love with the captain, but pays attention to Timar in his presence to make him jealous.

Sophie hates Timar, but receives him with honeyed words, as if it were her dearest wish to have him for her son-in-law, and live under the same roof with him.

Timar, on the other hand, means to ruin the whole of them--the master, the mistress, the young lady, and the bridegroom; all of them he would like to turn into the street, and yet he visits at the house, kisses the ladies' hands, and endeavors to make himself agreeable.

They are all civil to him. Athalie plays the piano to him. Frau Sophie keeps him to supper, and offers him coffee and preserved fruits. Timar drinks the coffee with the thought that perhaps there is rat-poison in it.

When the supper-table is brought, Timea appears, and helps to lay it.

Then Timar hears no more of Athalie's words or music; he has eyes only for Timea. It was a pleasure to see the pretty creature. She was fifteen and already almost a woman, but her expression and nave awkwardness were those of a child. She could speak Hungarian, though with a curious accent, and sometimes with a wrong word or phrase--ridiculous, of course, but not wholly unknown even in Parliament, and during the most serious debates.

Athalie had made an acquisition in Timea: she had now some one to make fun of. The poor child served her as a toy. She gave her old clothes to wear which had been fas.h.i.+onable years ago. At one time people wore a high comb turned backward, over which the hair was drawn, and on the top rose a gigantic bow of colored ribbon. They wore crinoline round their shoulders instead of their waists, having huge sleeves stuffed and padded. This dress looked well when in fas.h.i.+on; but a few years after the vogue had pa.s.sed, its revival suggested a masquerade.

Athalie found it amusing to dress up Timea thus. In taste the poor child, never having seen European fas.h.i.+ons, stood on a par with a wild Indian: the more remarkable the dress the better she liked it. She was charmed when Athalie dressed her in the queer old silk gowns, and struck the high comb and bright ribbon in her hair. She thought she looked lovely, and took the smiles of the people whom she met in the street for admiration, hastening on so as not to be stared at. In the town she was always called "the mad Turkish girl."

And it was easy to make fun of her without her taking it ill. Athalie took special delight in making the poor child an object of ridicule before gentlemen. If young men were present, she encouraged them to pay court to Timea, and it amused her highly when she saw that Timea accepted these attentions seriously; how pleased she was to be treated like a grown-up lady, to be asked to dance at b.a.l.l.s, or when some pretended admirer offered her a faded bouquet, and extracted some quaint expression of thanks in reply, which caused the company to burst into fits of laughter. How Athalie's laugh resounded on these occasions!

Frau Sophie took a more serious view of Timea. She scolded her continually; all she did was wrong. Adopted children are often awkward, and the more Timea was scolded the more awkward she became. Then Fraulein Athalie defended her. "But, mamma, don't be always scolding the girl! You treat her like a servant. Timea is not a servant, and I won't have you always going on at her!"

Timea kissed Sophie's hand that she might cease to be angry, and Athalie's out of grat.i.tude for taking her part, and then the hands of both that they might not quarrel. She was an humble, thankful creature.

Frau Sophie only waited till she had left the room to say to her daughter what was on the tip of her tongue, in order that the other guests, Timar and Katschuka, might hear. "We ought to get her used to being a servant. You know her misfortune: the money which Timar--I mean Herr von Levetinczy--saved for her was invested in an insurance company. It has failed and the money is gone. She has nothing but what she stands up in."

(So they have already brought her to beggary, thought Timar, and felt his heart lighter, like a student who is let off a year before his time.)

"It annoys me," said Athalie, "that she is so unimpressionable. You may scold her or laugh at her, it is all the same. She never blushes."

"That is a peculiarity of the Greek race," remarked Timar.

"Nonsense!" said Athalie, contemptuously. "It is a sign of sickliness.

That artificial white complexion could be attained by any school-girl who chose to eat chalk and burned coffee-berries."

She spoke to Timar, but looked toward Herr Katschuka. He, however, was glancing at the large mirror in which one could see when Timea came back. Athalie saw it, and it did not escape Timar's notice.

Timea now came in, carrying a large tray of clinking gla.s.ses, her whole attention concentrated on preventing one from falling.

When Frau Sophie shrieked at her, "Take care not to drop them!" she did let the whole tray fall. Fortunately the gla.s.ses fell on the soft carpet, and did not break, but rolled about.

The mistress would have burst out in a storm, but Athalie silenced her with the words, "That was your fault; why did you scream at her? Remain here with me, Timea; the servant shall bring the coffee."

That made Sophie angry, and she went out and brought it all in herself.

But at the instant when Timea let the gla.s.ses fall, Katschuka, with military prompt.i.tude, sprung up, collected the gla.s.ses, and put them all on the tray, still held by Timea's trembling fingers. The girl cast a grateful look on him out of her large dark eyes, which was seen by both Athalie and Timar.

"Captain Katschuka," whispered Athalie to her _fiance_, "just for a joke make the little thing fall in love with you; pretend to pay court to her; it will be great fun. Timea, you sup with us to-night; come and sit down here by the captain."

This might be a cruel joke, or perhaps scornful raillery; or was it an ironical outbreak of awakened jealousy, or was it pure wickedness? We shall see what comes of it.

With feverish excitement and ill-concealed delight, the girl sat down opposite Athalie secure in conquering charms, who, while encouraging her _fiance_ to pay compliments to Timea, did it like a queen who throws a gold piece to a beggar. The child is made happy by the gift for a day, and she herself does not feel its loss.

The captain offered the sugar-basin to Timea; she could not manage the tongs.

"Take the sugar with your pretty little white hand," said he to the girl, who was so confused that she put the lump into the tumbler instead of the coffee cup. No one had ever told her that she had a pretty white hand. These words remained on her mind, and she looked often privately at her hands to see if they were really white and pretty. Athalie could hardly suppress a smile. She found it amusing to carry on the jest--"Timea, offer the cakes to the captain."