The Vienna Melody (22 page)

Even before Martha Monica was born rumors were rife in the house. They reached Franz's ears without his believing them even for an instant. His self-respect prevented his doing so. Besides, he was unflinchingly certain that Henriette was not deceiving him. She had her peculiar ways, not all of them comprehensible to him (or, the longer their marriage lasted, attractive), but they all derived, and on this he was ready to take an oath, from her hypersensitivity and aversion to commonplace things. What could a stiff-necked person like Otto Eberhard know about such matters? He counted up the eight years between the birth of little Hermann and Martha Monica and based his trifling doubts on that. And how impossible it was for a faded creature like Gretl or a well-behaved stay-at-home like his sister-in-law Elsa, with whom no one had ever flirted, not to envy Henriette. Franz found it beneath him and his dignity to make even the slightest suggestion on this score to his wife.

Nevertheless, when Martha Monica was barely a week old he and Count Traun fought a duel. It was not the duel, however, but the fact that it was witnessed by two eleven-year-old schoolboys, that brought forth the most violent censure from Number 10 (as well as of all Vienna Society). Moreover, the grounds which led Franz to act as he did were described as “frivolous,” “sadistic,” and “incomprehensible,” although from his point of view they were clear enough.

Hans had told the boys in his class about his new little sister, brought to him by the stork. During the following Latin lesson the boy who sat next to him, von Blaas, whispered that there was no stork. There was, Hans contradicted, for who else would have bitten his Mammi in the leg and made it necessary for her to be in bed?
Laudo
, I praise, was the verb given by Professor Miklau to be conjugated; as he was calling on boys whose names began with the letter Z, Hans, who came first in the alphabet, and his comrade, who came next, felt safe. Yet young von Blaas persisted and whispered to Hans why there were no storks. “‘I have praised,' Alt?” Professor Miklau asked triumphantly, having caught the whisperer. Hans jumped up and replied, on a chance, “
Laudo
” which cost him a black mark in Miklau's notebook. That, however, did not disturb Hans nearly so much as the drawing that his neighbor scrawled in his copybook; it burned before his eyes, and he felt compelled to keep looking at it until the teacher noticed it and confiscated the exercise book with a cry of horror.

An interview after class elicited the fact of who drew the picture. Von Blaas was punished with four hours of confinement, while Hans escaped with the task of copying the conjugation of
laudo
twenty-five times. The next day young von Blaas, who was furious, said, “Don't you know what stork bit your mother? It was Count Traun!” All the other boys heard that too, and although Hans was utterly at a loss to understand the remark or the general grinning and giggling that went on, he boxed von Blaas's ears soundly. In the ensuing wild scramble Hans was the victor, but all he got out of it were bruises and a torturing uncertainty. He could not ask his parents; that much his sense of tact, a quality developed early in him, told him. Christl was equally unavailable, for since the night of Uncle Paskiewicz's death she was noticeably absent from the fourth floor, and it was rumored around the house that she was entertaining strange intentions. Nor could Hans even discover what those intentions were. Perhaps she would marry someone, he thought. His only informant, when all other sources failed, was Herr Simmerl, to whom he confided his conjecture. Herr Simmerl drew his longest face, and said, “Perhaps you could put it that way.” Everything was full of insoluble riddles; you were haunted by them day and night.

Therefore when Hans met Count Traun not long after the squabble in the school (Neni had taken the children for their usual afternoon walk in the Stadtpark) he turned and looked at him so markedly that the count, who was with another gentleman, noticed it. Recognizing Henriette's boy, he called, “Hello! How are you, son?” and started to go on. But Hans ran after him and, when he overtook him, asked breathlessly, “Is it true that you bit my Mammi?” The gentleman with the count gave a loud laugh, whereat Traun remarked angrily to Neni, who by this time had caught up with her charge, “You should keep a better eye on that youngster! He's getting impertinent!” With that the two gentlemen started to walk away.

But Hans, with an instinctive feeling that it was this man and none other who had brought the riddles into his home where everything had changed so sadly, said obstinately, “I am not impertinent! I only asked you if it is true.”

Purple in the face, the nurse, who had not missed any of the incident, could hardly believe her ears. “You will apologize instantly!” she demanded.

Hans did not apologize.

“Then I shall tell your father!” Neni threatened.

“All right,” Hans said. Another trait in his character, one that also developed early, was a sense of justice. Everything in him protested against an apology.

“He's just a little savage,” the count told his companion, looking around with an expression of assumed indifference as they walked away.

“I'm not a savage!” Hans yelled after him, in broad daylight in the Stadtpark, only a few steps from the Kursalon, where all the best Society was sitting at afternoon coffee.

This is the end of everything!
Neni thought. All her life she had piqued herself on bringing up the children confided to her care with the manners of the highest class, and here was an example of an opposition (already in undesirable evidence on former occasions) that must be broken.

That very evening she reported the incident to Herr Alt, since the lady of the house, still confined to her bed, could not be disturbed.

“Send the boy in to me!” Franz demanded.

For the first time there was a serious encounter between father and son. Until now Hans had never felt that his father was an authority. He had always taken him for a playmate who never had much time, who was often in a good humor, although never as tenderly affectionate as his mother, and who was never severe. Tonight all this had changed.

“Well, what happened?” Papa asked, and all at once there was no difference between him and Professor Miklau. Were children always in the wrong in the eyes of grown-ups, just because they were children? Hans had often wondered. Or was it because the grown-ups, set over the children, were too old? Neni was almost seventy. Of his teachers, the most youthful was over sixty. Papa would soon be fifty. Hans recounted what had happened in school.

“The cheek of that young von Blaas!” his father said. It seemed to Hans as though he blanched.

“I was right, wasn't I, Papa?” he insisted.

“What? Yes. Of course you were right! That is … with regard to that other boy. As for the count, you were, of course, in the wrong,” he was told.

“Why? If Mammi had to stay in bed on his account?''

Papa made an impatient gesture. “Do stop that nonsense. You're no longer such an infant that you can be made to believe such—such things. Your mother doesn't even know Count Traun. Incidentally, how do you happen to be acquainted with him?”

Had it not been quite out of the question, Hans would have thought that his father was looking at him rather fearfully. But grown-ups cannot be afraid of children! “Through von Blaas,” he answered. Something warned him against mentioning the ball.

“I never did like any of that family. Inflated idiots, who think they are something because they have a
von
in front of their name!” Papa's face was almost normal now, “Don't let anything like this happen again!” was his final order, then he added, “Go to sleep!”

But the boy lay in his bed and could not sleep. If the count really had not done anything bad, then surely Papa would have demanded that he apologize to him. He thought that over. Then he heard talking, and his heart pounded so that for a while he could not follow it clearly. It was Papa talking with Mammi; Hans could distinguish the voices, for her bedroom was next to his. Since his little sister's arrival, the light in that room was put out at nine o'clock in the evening and complete silence was imposed. But now a light was visible under the door and Papa's excited voice was saying:

“You can't reproach me for ever having paid attention to gossip. Think how people have always gossiped about you! But there's a limit to everything. Sometimes you can pretend not to hear what you really have heard. But when it comes to the point where schoolboys begin to talk my good nature gives out!”

Mammi's voice replied, “Do you put more faith in schoolboys than in me?”

“I ask nothing better than to believe you,” Papa's voice said, and, thank goodness, it did not sound so angry. “That's why I put the question to you. Hetti, do you remember what you promised Aunt Sophie that time?”

For an instant there was silence. Dear God, do make her say yes, longed the child sitting up in his bed, not even knowing what it was all about.

“Yes,” came Mammi's voice.

“Really?” Papa asked after a pause. Then there was another pause, as though he were going to ask something else, but he said, “If you only knew how I loathe all this gossip! Well, have a good night. I'm sorry I woke you.”

“You didn't wake me,” Mammi told him.

Then a door closed and everything was dark. It was a long time before Hans could bring himself to lie down. Once he heard Mammi sigh.

 

Two days later, very early in the morning, Papa, Hans, and young von Blaas drove out to the Prater in a cab. The evening before Papa had told Hans to invite his school friend for an excursion; it was violet time, and they could do some botany for their natural-science class; they would be back punctually in time for school. So the two boys rode on the back seat of the hired carriage, von Blaas delighted over the reconciliation with his school chum, on whose friendship he depended for copying his Latin tests, and Hans, on the contrary, puzzled as to why no one, neither Mammi nor Neni, nor even Herr Simmerl, was allowed to know about the excursion. “You know your mother should sleep late these days!” was the explanation offered, but Hans did not believe it.

The nearer they came to the meadows where the violets were, the more remarkable Papa's face became. During the ride he had not uttered a word, but now he said, “Boys, I want you to listen to me. I've something to say to you. To each one of you. Not long ago you told Hans something which was false from beginning to end. If you make an assertion which you can't prove you are either a tattler, a liar, or a slanderer. In any case, a scoundrel!” Never had Hans seen his father so angry. He was talking to von Blaas, whose beaming face now clouded, but it sounded as though he were addressing not him but someone entirely different. “Do you know what's going to happen as the result of your gossiping?” Papa asked von Blaas.

“No,” the boy said dejectedly.

“The events of the next half-hour. After that I trust you'll neither indulge in nor believe slander!”

Hans felt that these last words were aimed at him, and he said anxiously, “But I didn't believe it, Papa!”

“Then why did you insult Count Traun so childishly?”

“I don't know,” the boy said. He sensed that Papa was right.

“Your mother,” Papa continued, “is above any suspicion. You might have known that!”

Hans did not grasp exactly what it was to be above suspicion, but he thought of the masquerade ball.
That
was why he had believed the accusations against Count Traun.
That
, however, was something he could not possibly tell. For a moment no one spoke.

“I've called Count Traun to account,” Papa said suddenly.

Why, thought Hans, if it was all untrue?

Again silence fell.

“That's why we are here now,” Papa went on. “When we reach the spot you'll get out with me and place yourselves somewhere so that you'll be able to watch the duel without being seen. People are bound to say that I should have left you at home. I care nothing for what people say!”

If he cared so little for what people said why was he so angry with von Blaas? Hans looked at his father.

“What are you looking at? Don't you know what a duel is? Two enemies shoot at each other. I'm an enemy and Count Traun is an enemy.”

“But, Papa, you said that he had done nothing to you!”

“That's just it! That's why he considered it an insult when I demanded an explanation from him and challenged me to a duel!”

“Why?”

“Why? Because he is chivalrous from the crown of his head to the soles of his feet!”

“Will you shoot him, Herr Alt?” asked von Blaas with shining eyes.

“He's supposed to be a good shot,” was Papa's rather too matter-of-fact reply.

“Better than you, Papa?”

“I haven't as much time to keep up my pistol practice as these gentlemen. I sometimes go out to shoot deer or rabbits. These gentlemen spend their lives hunting all sorts of game.”

Hans, who had been routed out of bed so early and faced with problems that far exceeded his powers of comprehension, began to be frightened. So he asked, “Papa, are you afraid?”

“That's why I brought you along, because one mustn't be afraid,” was the answer he received, “and because one mustn't stand for anything! Not from anyone! Not from an archduke and not from any paltry count!” Something had completely transformed Papa. Even his face was different.

“Well, here we are,” he said.

The sun had not yet risen, but the finches were already twittering in the fresh foliage of the chestnut and oak trees. The small clearing where they had drawn up was blue with tiny violets; one could have told that by their perfume even without seeing them. Two men in uniform and an elderly one in mufti, who were walking up and down the meadow, turned towards them when they arrived. Hans recognized his grown-up cousins, the twins Fritz and Otto, who were both stationed with a Dragoon regiment in Enns during their one-year term of voluntary military service. He did not know the older man in civilian clothing. “What are the boys doing here?” Cousin Fritz asked with consternation.