The Vienna Melody (4 page)

I beg to remain your most respectful servant,

EMIL ALT
,
piano-maker

10 Seilerstätte

 

The official comment of the Tribunal said that the matter “would be dutifully submitted for the consideration of the Privy Chancellery of His Apostolic Majesty the gracious Emperor.” Beneath this was a further note dated Ischl. July 12, 1854, from the Privy Chancellery: “His Majesty has deigned to take cognizance of the above-mentioned matters.” And the Tribunal's usual: “filed.” My sister Pauline! thought Franz. What a devil of a girl—and to find this out only thirty-four years later. Why, she is practically a historic personage!

Signed by the same members of the family who announced the death of the head of the firm (except that the name of the now defunct Hugo was missing and that of the new addition to the family, Franz, was added) was the notice of the demise, on December 3, 1854, of Margaret Alt, née Landl, sole owner of the house. According to an accompanying copy of her will, she left the house in equal shares to her children, Karl Ludwig, Emil, and Sophie, this transfer being recorded in the register of deeds at page seventy-one of the folio.

A notice of the death of Karl Ludwig Alt, councillor in the Imperial and Royal Ministry of Finance, bore a date six weeks later. On page seventy-one of the folio was recorded the transfer of his equity in the house to his widow Betty, née Kubelka.

This same widow, in 1859, announced with “pride and joy” the marriage of her only daughter Anna to Count Elemér Hegéssy.

In the same year, and likewise with “pride and joy,” Emil Alt recorded the marriage of his son Otto Eberhard with the highborn Baroness Elsa von Uiberacker, and in 1863 that of his daughter Gretl with Nicholas Anton Paskiewicz, first lieutenant in the Imperial Army.

The next notice concerned the Imperial Dragoons captain, Nicholas Paskiewicz: it was the printed War Ministry casualty list with the names of those killed in the Austrian Army in the unsuccessful campaign against Prussia, and his name was underlined with red ink.

This printed list remained in the file, although it was proved false by another announcement under date of July 19, 1866:

 

I am happy to announce that my beloved husband did not, as was originally believed, die of wounds received during the battle of Koenigrätz, but is convalescing in a hospital for officers in Olmütz.

[
signed
]
 
GRETL PASKIEWICZ,
née
ALT

 

With “pride and joy” Major Nicholas and Gretl Paskiewicz, née Alt, on March 13, 1878, notified the esteemed Tribunal of the birth of a healthy daughter, christened Christine Anna Maria.

This concluded the file of documents, for in 1879 Emperor Francis Joseph abrogated the Maria Theresa building injunctions and thereby deprived the Housing Tribunal of its much resented jurisdictions.

Only the transfers of property effected since that date were available for inspection on page seventy-two of the folio.

 

Emil Alt, died March 18, 1880. His half interest in the house transferred by will to his widow, Julie Alt.

Julie Alt, died August 17, 1881. Her half interest in the house transferred by will in four equal parts to her children, Otto Eberhard Alt, Gred Paskiewicz, Pauline Drauffer, Franz Alt.

 

The equities, Franz found, were established with absolute clarity, and only “paid troublemongers” (his term for government officials) could possibly stir up any difficulties on the legal side. Even on the personal side these dry documents had clarified for him things that he had not rightly been aware of before. They were a long-lived family, these Alts. They had married late for the most part. And they were not all so virtuous, so lamblike (take Uncle Hugo, for example, or Sister Pauline and brothers-in-law Hegéssy and Paskiewicz). They had had their share of luck, a goodly share; he wished he could feel that that too was amply proven. Yet these papers, in their official gray bindings, for a reason he would find difficult to define, somehow gave him the opposite impression. Underneath all their submissive announcements of marriages, births, deaths, and disturbed ceremonies so much was left unsaid.

His meagre imagination failed him. Were they happy, those predecessors at Number 10? He had never thought of this before. But now he was wondering about it.

Long after he had gone out into the May evening he kept asking himself: What in those papers has made such a sinister impression on me? And again, as he sat in a carriage and drove to fetch Henriette, the stiff, impersonal words with their elaborate lettering, adorning joy and death with impartial hand, were still before his eyes.

T
he rubber wheels of the cab rolled rapidly down the noble avenue of the Prater. They made no noise; all one heard was the hoofbeats of the quick-trotting horses. The open carriage swung smoothy along. The coachman had only to click his tongue now and then or artfully curl his whip over the manes of his pair of blacks to keep them at their brisk pace.

Henriette loved to drive along at a smart clip; it enhanced her enjoyment of life to overtake everyone, pedestrians and carriages alike. At this hour there were, to be sure, not many people on foot and even fewer carriages. She and Franz were almost alone under the tall chestnut trees, with their white candlelike blossoms, which lined both sides of the broad, straight roadway. For fully half an hour they drove along the avenue in the shade of this shimmering beauty, from the Praterstern to the Lusthaus.

The air was laden with the fragrance of May. The violets, growing wild in the neighboring meadows, added their sweetness. The breeze blowing from the Danube added a mild freshness like a caress.

As he gazed at her with that worshipping expression which she found quite repugnant, she said, “The chestnut trees are beautiful, aren't they?”

“Very. By the way, are you superstitious, Hetti?”

“I? Frightfully. Why?”

“Of course, it's all nonsense. But as I sat there this morning and read what you might call our prehistory—” He did not know exactly how to explain this to her. Then he thought of something which was at least possible to tell her, although it was not what mainly preoccupied him. “I can't get it out of my head that Mozart, when he played
The Magic Flute
at my grandfather's housewarming, was already mortally ill. He died a few weeks later.”

“Really?” she said, but her thoughts were elsewhere.

“Oh, it's absurd.” He laughed at his own remark. Then he changed the subject. “What were you doing all day?” he asked, and took her hand.

So like a soldier with his sweetheart, she thought, and replied: “Nothing in particular. First I went to my milliner's, then Papa took me with him to the University. The oral examinations are being held today.”

“Then you will be free longer today?”

“Until nine.”

“Wonderful!”

The horses raced on. When they reached the Lusthaus—a kind of casino at the end of the main drive, beyond which lay the meadows and the Freudenau race track—the coachman drew up. He let his passengers get out, for that was the proper thing to do on a drive to the Prater. You always rode as far as the casino and then had the coachman walk the horses behind you while you went on foot under the chestnut trees to the Second Rondeau.

“You look so adorable again,” he said admiringly. In her presence he lost all naturalness. He was so conscious of his none-too-impressive appearance that he attempted to compensate for his lack of personal charm with a kind of conventional chivalry. In so doing he quite overlooked the banality of his flattering remarks.

She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. No, he was not fascinating. Not even well-dressed. How was it possible that one single overcoat could contain quite such a mess of wrinkles? If one compared him to—Well, better not! But he had one quality: you could see right through him like a glass; there was nothing opaque about him, nor was there any pretence. He would never leave you suddenly in the lurch. Not he! “I'm glad that at least you like me,” she an­swered.

He found this remark so encouraging that he lost no time in slipping his arm around her waist.

She tried to pull away. “Franz! Will you never learn that there are such things as unwritten laws? You don't hold hands in an open carriage and you do not walk
bras dessus, bras dessous
on a public thoroughfare.”

“Where did you hear that?” His tone was matter-of-fact.

“I was told,” she replied, laughing.

“And you believe in unwritten laws?”

“I even obey them.”

“Really? And what about the written ones? I've also had things told to me.”

He was so transparent that she could see there was something behind his words. She hesitated before she asked: “And what have you been told?” Meantime she picked up the skirt of her dark blue velvet suit, although it was not dragging on the ground.

He was obviously enjoying his advantage, a situation which did not often arise between them. “Aha! Now you'd like to know, wouldn't you?”

“Not in the least.”

“Then I shan't tell you!”

“That suits me.”

“They say you were very much in love,” he nevertheless declared.

Her face did not change. It was a fascinating face. Deep-set black eyes, which had an extraordinary way of looking up and then slant-wise from under very long lashes, a gleaming skin, and a sensuous, beautiful mouth made it soft and womanly. How much does he know? she wondered. He cannot know anything, or he would act quite differently.

“Is this in the prehistory of your house?” she managed to ask, with a careless laugh.

This or something else made him laugh too. He looked at her sideways with an expression more ironic than adoring. “Then you were in love with the Crown Prince?”

She realized that it was both stupid and inapt to choose this moment to smell the bunch of violets he had brought her, but she did. “Whoever put such ideas in your head?” she asked in a tone of such alarm that she noticed it herself.

Evidently he was not aware of anything. “Why not? Rudolf chases after women like a crazy man. And you, my dear young lady, are a snob, if I may say so.” He laughed again.

Obviously his good humor was not affected. But she must find out how she stood. “Who told you that about me?”

“Someone.”

“When?”

“Some time or other. I don't remember. A few weeks ago.”

“And you mention it only today?”

“Why not?”

“In all that time you weren't interested?”

“Oh, yes. I was interested enough. But I thought to myself, I'll save it up for the right moment. In speaking of unwritten laws it came into my head. Well—is it yes or no? Is it true?” He was standing still now.

She walked on, her heart beating so fast that she had to struggle for breath. “Of course not. Or do you believe that a girl with the name of Stein would have the ghost of a chance with a crown prince?”

“It would be enough if he had had any chance with you. Did he?” He was speaking a shade more insistently now.

“Now I absolutely insist on knowing who the idiot is who put such ideas into your head! Or is it a secret?”

“Not in the least. It was Otto Eberhard. And in Vienna Public Prosecutors have informers when matters concern a member of the Imperial family.”

“You can give my regards to your brother and tell him he has execrable informers. There's not a word of truth in the whole story.”

All the while he was watching her. “Didn't you realize that I was just leading you on?”

This she had certainly not realized. It was possible that he was not entirely in earnest. But she was prepared to swear that he had not spoken out of sheer sport. She pulled herself together. “And don't you believe that I would have told you all about it—if only to make myself appear interesting?” she asked.

“It really wouldn't have occurred to me!” Again he looked at her sideways. Again he laughed. “Where shall we eat? In the Third Coffee House or at the Brown Stag?”

After they were seated in the Third Coffee House at a round table with a white cloth, the light from the gas lamps falling on his face, she laid her hand on his arm. “All right, Franz. I did have a crush on him for a while.”

He had been studying the menu. He laid the elaborate handwritten sheet on the table and replied: “You see. That's exactly what I said to Otto Eberhard. ‘It might well be she had a crush on him the way all the silly young girls in the Burgtheater galleries have on the actor Sonnenthal.' Would you rather have fried chicken or a schnitzel?”

“I also was infatuated by Sonnenthal. That is, I still am.”

“But no longer on the Crown Prince?”

With irresistible frankness she shook her head and with it her velvet toque trimmed with a slim blue feather.

“Strawberry or May wine? And crayfish, of course. Where did you meet him?”

“May wine. At a party at the Szeps', the editor's. Papa took me along.”

Franz was on the point of saying something, but the waiter had come up to the table, so he told him exactly what they wanted.

“How the Crown Prince gets around!” he ventured when the waiter had left. “Did you talk to him?”

“A lot.”

“Was it fun?”

“Yes.”

“Did he pay his addresses to you?”

“Rather”

“Did he kiss you?”

“Are you crazy? At a dinner party at which Papa was present!” Her exclamation sounded positively convincing.

“It needn't have been at the dinner party,” he said, but she did not doubt that he believed her.

When the May wine came he poured out two glasses. The green springs of herbs in it smelled refreshing. “
Prosit!
” he said, raising his glass to her.