Tracks of a Rolling Stone Part 8

He happened to be a general or a colonel. He was a fierce looking, stout old gentleman with a very red face, all the redder for his huge white moustache and well-filled white uniform. He began by fuming and bl.u.s.tering as if about to order me to summary execution. He spoke so fast, it was not easy to follow him. Probably my amateur German was as puzzling to him. The _Pa.s.sierschein_, which I produced, was not in my favour; unfortunately I had forgotten my Foreign Office pa.s.sport. What further added to his suspicion was his inability to comprehend why I had not availed myself of the notice, duly given to all foreigners, to leave the city before active hostilities began. How anyone, who had the choice, could be fool enough to stay and be sh.e.l.led or bayoneted, was (from his point of view) no proof of respectability. I a.s.sured him he was mistaken if he thought I had a predilection for either of these alternatives.

'It was just because I desired to avoid both that I had sought, not without risk, the protection I was so sure of finding at the hands of a great and gallant soldier.'

'Dummes Zeug! dummes Zeug!' (stuff o' nonsense), he puffed. But a peppery man's good humour is often as near the surface as his bad. I detected a pleasant sparkle in his eye.

'Pardon me, Excellenz,' said I, 'my presence here is the best proof of my sincerity.'

'That,' said he sharply, 'is what every rascal might plead when caught with a rebel's pa.s.s in his pocket. Geleitsbriefe fur Schurken sind Steckbriefe fur die Gerechtigkeit.' (Safe-conduct pa.s.ses for knaves are writs of capias to honest men.)

I answered: 'But an English gentleman is not a knave; and no one knows the difference better than your Excellenz.' The term 'Schurken' (knaves) had stirred my fire; and though I made a deferential bow, I looked as indignant as I felt.

'Well, well,' he said pacifically, 'you may go about your business. But _sehen Sie_, young man, take my advice, don't satisfy your curiosity at the cost of a broken head. Dazu geh.o.r.en Kerle die eigens geschaffen sind.' As much as to say: 'Leave halters to those who are born to be hanged.' Indeed, the old fellow looked as if he had enjoyed life too well to appreciate parting with it gratuitously.

I had nothing with me save the clothes on my back. When I should again have access to the 'Erzherzcg Carl' was impossible to surmise. The only decent inn I knew of outside the walls was the 'Golden Lamm,' on the suburb side of the Donau Ca.n.a.l, close to the Ferdinand bridge which faces the Rothen Thurm Thor. Here I entered, and found it occupied by a company of Na.s.sau _jagers_. A barricade was thrown up across the street leading to the bridge. Behind it were two guns. One end of the barricade ab.u.t.ted on the 'Golden Lamm.' With the exception of the soldiers, the inn seemed to be deserted; and I wanted both food and lodging. The upper floor was full of _jagers_. The front windows over-looked the Bastei. These were now blocked with mattresses, to protect the men from bullets. The distance from the ramparts was not more than 150 yards, and woe to the student or the fat grocer, in his National Guard uniform, who showed his head above the walls. While I was in the attics a gun above the city gate fired at the battery below. I ran down a few minutes later to see the result. One artilleryman had been killed. He was already laid under the gun-carriage, his head covered with a cloak.

The storming took place a day or two afterwards. One of the princ.i.p.al points of resistance had been at the bottom of the Jagerzeile. The insurgents had a battery of several guns here; and the handsome houses at the corners facing the Prater had been loop-holed and filled with students. I walked round the town after all was over, and was especially impressed with the horrors I witnessed. The beautiful houses, with their gorgeous furniture, were a ma.s.s of smoking ruins. Not a soul was to be seen, not even a prowling thief. I picked my way into one or two of them without hindrance. Here and there were a heap of bodies, some burnt to cinders, some with their clothes still smouldering. The smell of the roasted flesh was a disgusting a.s.sociation for a long time to come. But the whole was sickening to look at, and still more so, if possible, to reflect upon; for this was the price which so often has been, so often will be, paid for the alluring dream of liberty, and for the pursuit of that mischievous will-o'-the-wisp-jealous Equality.

CHAPTER XIII

VIENNA in the early part of the last century was looked upon as the gayest capital in Europe. Even the frightful convulsion it had pa.s.sed through only checked for a while its chronic pursuit of pleasure. The cynical philosopher might be tempted to contrast this not infrequent accessory of paternal rule with the purity and contentment so fondly expected from a democracy-or shall we say a demagoguey? The cherished hopes of the so-called patriots had been crushed; and many were the worse for the struggle. But the majority naturally subsided into their customary vocations-beer-drinking, pipe-smoking, music, dancing, and play-going.

The Vienna of 1848 was the Vienna described by Madame de Stael in 1810: 'Dans ce pays, l'on traite les plaisirs comme les devoirs. . . . Vous verrez des hommes et des femmes executer gravement, l'un vis-a-vis de l'autre, les pas d'un menuet dont ils sont impose l'amus.e.m.e.nt, . . .

comme s'il [the couple] dansait pour l'acquit de sa conscience.'

Every theatre and place of amus.e.m.e.nt was soon re-opened. There was an excellent opera; Strauss-the original-presided over weekly b.a.l.l.s and concerts. For my part, being extremely fond of music, I worked industriously at the violin, also at German. My German master, Herr Mauthner by name, was a little hump-backed Jew, who seemed to know every man and woman (especially woman) worth knowing in Vienna. Through him I made the acquaintance of several families of the middle cla.s.s,-amongst them that of a veteran musician who had been Beethoven's favourite flute-player. As my veneration for Beethoven was unbounded, I listened with awe to every trifling incident relating to the great master. I fear the conviction left on my mind was that my idol, though transcendent amongst musicians, was a bear amongst men. Pride (according to his ancient a.s.sociate) was his strong point. This he vindicated by excessive rudeness to everyone whose social position was above his own. Even those that did him a good turn were suspected of patronising. Condescension was a prerogative confined to himself. In this respect, to be sure, there was nothing singular.

At the house of the old flutist we played family quartets,-he, the father, taking the first violin part on his flute, I the second, the son the 'cello, and his daughter the piano. It was an atmosphere of music that we all inhaled; and my happiness on these occasions would have been unalloyed, had not the young lady-a damsel of six-and-forty-insisted on poisoning me (out of compliment to my English tastes) with a bitter decoction she was pleased to call tea. This delicate attention, I must say, proved an effectual souvenir till we met again-I dreaded it.

Now and then I dined at the Emba.s.sy. One night I met there Prince Paul Esterhazy, so distinguished by his diamonds when Austrian Amba.s.sador at the coronation of Queen Victoria. He talked to me of the Holkham sheep-shearing gatherings, at which from 200 to 300 guests sat down to dinner every day, including crowned heads, and celebrities from both sides of the Atlantic. He had twice a.s.sisted at these in my father's time. He also spoke of the shooting; and promised, if I would visit him in Hungary, he would show me as good sport as had ever seen in Norfolk.

He invited Mr. Magenis-the Secretary of Legation-to accompany me.

The following week we two hired a _britzcka_, and posted to Eisenstadt.

The lordly grandeur of this last of the feudal princes manifested itself soon after we crossed the Hungarian frontier. The first sign of it was the livery and badge worn by the postillions. Posting houses, horses and roads, were all the property of His Transparency.

Eisenstadt itself, though not his princ.i.p.al seat, is a large palace-three sides of a triangle. One wing is the residence, that opposite the barrack, (he had his own troops,) and the connecting base part museum and part concert-hall. This last was sanctified by the spirit of Joseph Haydn, for so many years Kapellmeister to the Esterhazy family. The conductor's stand and his spinet remained intact. Even the stools and desks in the orchestra (so the Prince a.s.sured me) were ancient. The very dust was sacred. Sitting alone in the dim s.p.a.ce, one could fancy the great little man still there, in his snuff-coloured coat and ruffles, half buried (as on state occasions) in his '_allonge perucke_.' A tap of his magic wand starts into life his quaint old-fas.h.i.+oned band, and the powder flies from their wigs. Soft, distant, ghostly harmonies of the Surprise Symphony float among the rafters; and now, as in a dream, we are listening to-nay, beholding-the glorious process of Creation; till suddenly the mighty chord is struck, and we are startled from our trance by the burst of myriad voices echoing the command and its fulfilment, 'Let there be light: and there was light.'

Only a family party was a.s.sembled in the house. A Baron something, and a Graf something-both relations,-and the son, afterwards Amba.s.sador at St.

Petersburg during the Crimean War. The latter was married to Lady Sarah Villiers, who was also there. It is amusing to think that the beautiful daughter of the proud Lady Jersey should be looked upon by the Austrians as somewhat of a _mesalliance_ for one of the chiefs of their n.o.bility.

Certain it is that the young Princess was received by them, till they knew her, with more condescension than enthusiasm.

An air of feudal magnificence pervaded the palace: s.p.a.cious reception-rooms hung with armour and trophies of the chase; numbers of domestics in epauletted and belaced, but ill-fitting, liveries; the prodigal supply and nationality of the comestibles-wild boar with marmalade, venison and game of all sorts with excellent 'Eingemachtes'

and 'Mehlspeisen' galore-a feast for a Gamache or a Gargantua. But then, all save three, remember, were Germans-and Germans! Noteworthy was the delicious Chateau Y'quem, of which the Prince declared he had a monopoly-meaning the best, I presume. After dinner the son, his brother-in-law, and I, smoked our meerschaums and played pools of _ecarte_ in the young Prince's room. Magenis, who was much our senior, had his rubber downstairs with the elders.

The life was pleasant enough, but there was one little medieval peculiarity which almost made one look for retainers in goat-skins and rushes on the floor,-there was not a bath (except the Princess's) in the palace! It was with difficulty that my English servant foraged a tub from the kitchen or the laundry. As to other sanitary arrangements, they were what they doubtless had been in the days of Almos and his son, the mighty Arped. In keeping with these venerable customs, I had a sentry at the door of my apartments; to protect me, belike, from the ghosts of predatory barons and marauders.

During the week we had two days' shooting; one in the coverts, quite equal to anything of the kind in England, the other at wild boar. For the latter, a tract of the Carpathian Mountains had been driven for some days before into a wood of about a hundred acres. At certain points there were sheltered stands, raised four or five feet from the ground, so that the sportsmen had a commanding view of the broad alley or clearing in front of him, across which the stags or boar were driven by an army of beaters.

I had my own double-barrelled rifle; but besides this, a man with a rack on his back bearing three rifles of the prince's, a loader, and a _Forster_, with a hunting knife or short sword to despatch the wounded quarry. Out of the first rush of pigs that went by I knocked over two; and, in my keenness, jumped out of the stand with the _Forster_ who ran to finish them off. I was immediately collared and brought back; and as far as I could make out, was taken for a lunatic, or at least for a 'duffer,' for my rash attempt to approach unarmed a wounded tusker. When we all met at the end of the day, the bag of the five guns was forty-five wild boars. The biggest-and he was a monster-fell to the rifle of the Prince, as was of course intended.

The old man took me home in his carriage. It was a beautiful drive.

One's idea of an English park-even such a park as Windsor's-dwindled into that of a pleasure ground, when compared with the boundless territory we drove through. To be sure, it was no more a park than is the New Forest; but it had all the character of the best English scenery-miles of fine turf, dotted with clumps of splendid trees, and gigantic oaks standing alone in their majesty. Now and then a herd of red deer were startled in some sequestered glade; but no cattle, no sheep, no sign of domestic care. Struck with the charm of this primeval wilderness, I made some remark about the richness of the pasture, and wondered there were no sheep to be seen. 'There,' said the old man, with a touch of pride, as he pointed to the blue range of the Carpathians; 'that is my farm. I will tell you. All the celebrities of the day who were interested in farming used to meet at Holkham for what was called the sheep-shearing.

I once told your father I had more shepherds on my farm than there were sheep on his.'

CHAPTER XIV

IT WAS with a sorry heart that I bade farewell to my Vienna friends, my musical comrades, the Legation hospitalities, and my faithful little Israelite. But the colt frisks over the pasture from sheer superfluity of energy; and between one's second and third decades instinctive restlessness-spontaneous movement-is the law of one's being. 'Tis then that 'Hope builds as fast as knowledge can destroy.' The enjoyment we abandon is never so sweet as that we seek. 'Pleasure never is at home.'

Happiness means action for its own sake, change, incessant change.

I sought and found it in Bavaria, Bohemia, Russia, all over Germany, and dropped anchor one day in Cracow; a week afterwards in Warsaw. These were out-of-the-way places then; there were no tourists in those days; I did not meet a single compatriot either in the Polish or Russian town.

At Warsaw I had an adventure not unlike that which befell me at Vienna.

The whole of Europe, remember, was in a state of political ferment.

Poland was at least as ready to rise against its oppressor then as now; and the police was proportionately strict and arbitrary. An army corps was encamped on the right bank of the Vistula, ready for expected emergencies. Under these circ.u.mstances, pa.s.sports, as may be supposed, were carefully inspected; except in those of British subjects, the person of the bearer was described-his height, the colour of his hair (if he had any), or any mark that distinguished him.

In my pa.s.sport, after my name, was added '_et son domestique_.' The inspector who examined it at the frontier pointed to this, and, in indifferent German, asked me where that individual was. I replied that I had sent him with my baggage to Dresden, to await my arrival there. A consultation thereupon took place with another official, in a language I did not understand; and to my dismay I was informed that I was-in custody. The small portmanteau I had with me, together with my despatch-box, was seized; the latter contained a quant.i.ty of letters and my journal. Money only was I permitted to retain.

Quite by the way, but adding greatly to my discomfort, was the fact that since leaving Prague, where I had relinquished everything I could dispense with, I had had much night travelling amongst native pa.s.sengers, who so valued cleanliness that they economised it with religious care.

By the time I reached Warsaw, I may say, without metonymy, that I was itching (all over) for a bath and a change of linen. My irritation, indeed, was at its height. But there was no appeal; and on my arrival I was haled before the authorities.

Again, their head was a general officer, though not the least like my portly friend at Vienna. His business was to sit in judgment upon delinquents such as I. He was a spare, austere man, surrounded by a sharp-looking aide-de-camp, several clerks in uniform, and two or three men in mufti, whom I took to be detectives. The inspector who arrested me was present with my open despatch-box and journal. The journal he handed to the aide, who began at once to look it through while his chief was disposing of another case.

To be suspected and dragged before this tribunal was, for the time being (as I afterwards learnt) almost tantamount to condemnation. As soon as the General had sentenced my predecessor, I was accosted as a self-convicted criminal. Fortunately he spoke French like a Frenchman; and, as it presently appeared, a few words of English.

'What country do you belong to?' he asked, as if the question was but a matter of form, put for decency's sake-a mere prelude to committal.

'England, of course; you can see that by my pa.s.sport.' I was determined to fence him with his own weapons. Indeed, in those innocent days of my youth, I enjoyed a genuine British contempt for foreigners-in the lump-which, after all, is about as impartial a sentiment as its converse, that one's own country is always in the wrong.

'Where did you get it?' (with a face of stone).

_Prisoner_ (_navely_): 'Where did I get it? I do not follow you.'

(Don't forget, please, that said prisoner's apparel was unvaleted, his hands unwashed, his linen unchanged, his hair unkempt, and his face unshaven).

_General_ (stonily): '"Where did you get it?" was my question.'

_Prisoner_ (quietly): 'From Lord Palmerston.'

_General_ (glancing at that Minister's signature): 'It says here, "et son domestique"-you have no domestique.'

_Prisoner_ (calmly): 'Pardon me, I have a domestic.'

_General_ (with severity), 'Where is he?'