A Legacy (9 page)

"Oh for God's sake, Clara."

"Yes, for God's sake, Julius."

"I can't get anywhere with Papa. What has come over him? I don't think he understands."

"I understand," said Clara.

"What can we do?"

"I will speak to Father Martin. No, not Father Martin. He doesn't get on with my father. We must send for Father Hauser. // we can find him."

"Won't he be at the Seminary?"

"That was closed when they were expelled."

"Were they?"

"Oh Jules. We must try Schaffhausen. I'll give you a note. You must go at once and bring him back tomorrow morning if you can."

"Why Father Hauser? My father doesn't like priests."

"Do as I tell you."

"You're not going to have the horses out again tonight, Jules?" said Gustavus.

"I suppose they have had rather a day."

"Not all of them," said Clara. "Yours is quite fresh, Gustavus."

"I'll take him then," said Julius, "if I may, and the new mare. I hear she's not been out either."

"I really don't see—"

"Yes, of course, Jules," said Clara, "do take Gustavus's horse."

"Clara! are you out of your mind?" said Gustavus.

"Animals were created the servants of men."

"Really, Clara. Don't you ever think of what your father said to us?"

"How could I not? But dearest—my dearest, we must not be wilful."

"Of course not," said Gustavus, "of course not. But it's all very well for you . . ."

"Well?"

"No, no, I mean—I didn't mean—"

"Give me your hand, Gustavus. Oh Gustavus. You—I— We have this. We shall always have had this. We shall always trust one another. Gustavus!"

"Now Clara, don't cry," said Gustavus.

Father Hauser S.J. sat with Johannes for some time. He patted the dog; he smoked; he talked a little, mostly to himself.

As he was leaving, Johannes looked up and said, "Does Papa really want me to go back to Benzheim?"

Outside the bedroom, Father Hauser said to Julius, "I remembered him well. He hasn't altered much. Neither have you. I remember you all. Not that you were with us long—you stayed such a very short while, six weeks was it? to cure you of Newton. Funny now, I should have thought he was rather up your father's street; but you never can tell. It's so much harder for people who follow their own line, one mustn't wonder if they're a little inconsistent at
times. Your brother here—he'll probably never make much of a Catholic, but he's all right, he's at one with the brute creation, as we call it. You have something of that, too, but with you it isn't, one might say, fused; it's instead . . . If you don't watch it'll only make you more closed. But of course you don't know how to watch. You will never know much about yourself. Still, remember, it is much to be able to love without expecting return. When you were sent to us, you brought your owl."

"She died three winters ago."

"Haven't you got another one?"

"I have a raven now. Jacques. He came."

"They always will, Julius."

"You are fond of owls, Father?"

"Not really, you know. Not really."

"It isn't true when people say they carry lice."

"I didn't know they said that. So you see. And I'm glad you came for me. It was a long way. He in there, you know: Jean," and Father Hauser used the word the old Baron had used not so long ago, "c'est un brave cceur. And he is very ill."

"The poisoning?"

"No. Not the poisoning. And now I will speak to your father."

Gustavus politely ran down the stairs before them. He was the first in the library. "Papa, there is a Jesuit who wants to talk to you about Jean."

"Prussians, Nihilists, Jesuits—" said the old Baron.

"My father is very sorry—he cannot see you, Father," said Gustavus.

"Will you see mine?" said Clara. "Oh," said Father Hauser. "I must speak to you first."

"No, Clara. Don't do that, my child. I will do my own asking."

Augustans ji

"Father Hauser!" said Count Bernin.

"Conrad Bernin," said Father Hauser.

"Is it safe for you to be here?'*

"Quite safe."

"I'm glad. No, they wouldn't want to arrest you; that wouldn't suit their book at all. Still, you had better be careful. There's always some blundering gendarme."

"So you've worked it all out, Conrad? Still at it. Does it ever come out right? Now you know, on your own showing, a blundering gendarme ought to suit your book."

"Hauser. How can you?"

"Oh I know you'd mind having me in prison. I didn't say you'd call him in. I am one of your inconsistencies, Conrad. But admit I'd serve?"

"There would be the most salutary uproar!" said Count Bernin.

"Accusations . . . counter charges . . . public lies . . . judicial half truths—"

"A man of your reputation and character."

"Never known to have taken part in politics."

"It could mean a turn in the Kulturkampf."

"It might lengthen it!"

"It might lead to a revision of the Edict of Expulsion."

"And a well-built deal."

"You would return!"

"We would return."

"What are you driving at, Hauser?"

"At what you refuse to see, Conrad."

"Don't you want to come back?"

"I? Very much. I can't stand the Belgian climate. And I've allowed himself to become attached to a certain view from our East wing; I like to look on the Vosges. Though, as you see, I am here a good deal. Still ... I should be able, for instance, to go to see my old friends at Sigmundshofen without having to wear this borrowed tweed jacket."

"And your penitents? Your pupils?"

"Our penitents, in spite of many excellent priests available, have taken to analysing their spiritual states by letter. It is true that this has greatly added to our work. And we are being sent rather more pupils from German parents than before."

"Yet the expulsion was a wrong?"

"Wrongs can only be redressed by the free consent of all concerned. The Creation is not a chessboard."

"You are not becoming a Quietist, Hauser?"

"Not a Quietist. But sufficient unto the day, Conrad."

"Such have not always been the views of your Order."

"Members of my Order are subject to error."

"And their products?"

"And their products, Conrad."

"And you?"

"And I."

"You may be in error now."

"Certain things are knowable," said Father Hauser.

"How?"

Father Hauser did not speak.

"How?"

"That," Father Hauser said, "is a strange question from a man of Faith."

Count Bernin lifted his head. "There are certain ends," he said, "certain ends . . ."

Father Hauser put away his pipe. "Conrad von Bernin" he said, "what have you been up to?'*

Count Bernin spoke; Father Hauser listened. Then Father Hauser spoke and Count Bernin listened. To every word he had to say. It was a great deal.

"And yet I cannot agree with you," he said at the end. "I cannot."

Presently, Count Bernin said, "There is too much involved."

And presently, "I can't help it that old Felden hasn't got his wits about him."

"Besides it's too late."

"You are not my spiritual adviser, you know."

"I did not start it. I never liked it."

"You know, if anybody does, I am not building for myself. Nor for my time . . "

"Oh those men. They're still in the house. They are nothing. Automata. Cut off. With their Nation and their duty to the State. They are blind men who must be led."

"Yes, if you like, used. On occasions used."

"Pride? My pride?"

"But I can see the future. I am not interested in the present."

"Nothing has ever been achieved without some cost . . ."

"No, no—there are such things as larger questions."

"No. I suppose I never have believed in anybody's happiness."

"Then my service? My life —. ? "

And later again, he said, "Can that place really be so bad?"

Presently Father Hauser said, "Well, good night, Conrad. It's getting late. I shall be back with you tomorrow." "Where are you going to sleep, Hauser?"

"Oh I'll find myself a place."

"What folly. If you are going to stay, you had better stay here."

"Thank you, Conrad. As you ask me, I will."

Next day, Count Bernin said, "And the Bishop of Bamberg?"

"Kramer is a good man, a very good man, but I doubt that God would let a single soul come to harm because Bismarck will not have Archdeacon Kramer appointed to the Episcopal See of Bamberg."

"He happens to be the one person who is able to get on with His Holiness and the Cardinal of Berlin. Now don't you go and tell that to those Government chaps."

"They wouldn't listen," said Father Hauser; "they all but cross themselves when they see me."

Later on that day, Count Bernin said, "Perhaps I haven't done so well by Clara either. Strange girl. Always at Landen these days, with her young man hanging about here. I thought I knew her. You are making everything seem very complicated, Hauser."

Father Hauser stayed four days. When he knew that he could get no further, he left.

Count Bernin himself drove him across the Swiss Border. The two men embraced. "Good-bye, Conrad. Pray for me."

"Good-bye, Father. Shall I see you again?"

"Clara will know my whereabouts. Give her my love."

Count Bernin returned and faced the men who were uneasily lingering over their mission at Sigmundshofen.

It had become known at Landen that Captain Montclair was to take Johannes away with him as soon as he was strong enough to travel. Captain Montclair, kit and all, was staying at the house now. The old Baron, anxious to see
an end of it, had left arrangements to him. Every morning Julius forced himself into his father's presence and tried to speak. The old Baron did what he had never done before, he put his hand to his heart and in a quavering voice threatened immediate stroke. Every day Julius fled.

Gabriel said to Julius, "Jean and I were going to run away together. To America. It is easy. First one hides in a ship, then we are going to hire ourselves out to herd buffaloes in the prairies. Jean would like that. But he won't come. He doesn't listen. He only says Papa wants him to go back to Benzheim. I don't love Papa any more. Do you? Must we still love Papa? I can peel potatoes on the ship and scrub the deck, then Jean wouldn't have to hide all the way and the Captain would give him a hammock and let him have some food. Ships biscuits is what you get, and pork from the salt-barrel. That's called working one's passage. But he won't come and I can't take him by myself, I'm too young. It would frighten him to go just with me. So you must come too. I thought it all out. You are grown-up and you have money, we could go on trains and it wouldn't be like running away at all. Jean wouldn't have to walk like the last time and have nothing to eat, and nobody could stop you. When we are in America we will write to Papa and he will forgive us."

"You are a child, Gabriel," said Julius.

In the evening, Gabriel said, "Perhaps it was stupid about America. It's too far, and we don't know where the ships are. But you know better. You would know where to take him. And if you think I'm too much I won't come. You'll know best. Perhaps you can take him to your teacher at Bonn, or you could hide him in the house of the lady at Namur Papa says you always go to stay with. Namur isn't Germany, is it? I think if Jean were somewhere where he knew nobody could come for him from Benzheim, he would get well. Oh Jules do take him, do. When? Tonight?"

"I have no money. Really, Gabriel, I haven't."

"But you're grown-up. Papa gives you money."

"I spent it."

"Couldn't you borrow some?"

"I did that, too."

"Oh well then we must steal it. But Jules, you will take Jean? You will?"

"Gabriel—how can I?"

"Clara? Jules must run away with Jean, must he not?"

"No, Gabriel, no. I don't think so. It would be disobedient to your father and cause great trouble and anxiety. It would be a bad rebellious way out."

But Clara went to hold counsel with herself, and that night she knocked at Julius's door.

Julius was in his nightshirt. He had lit four candles on his dressing table, and he was brushing his hair. He also had a square of Genoa velvet out to look at, bought the week before, and tried to whisk it back into the drawer but it was too late. Clara remained standing in the middle of the floor and saw nothing.

Julius arranged his brushes.

"I know Father Hauser is doing something," Clara said. "I know. But I cannot feel easy. My father is a difficult man, and yours is so very strange. And you know I don't believe—I may be uncharitable—Captain Montclair is a man of conscience."

"He seems a gentleman," said Julius.

Clara sighed. "All this isn't good for your brother," she said. "I think you ought to take him away. Gabriel is quite right. Take him straight into Belgium. You say you have friends there who live in the country?"

"No, no, no," said Julius, "that would be quite impracticable."

"Then this is what you must do. You must take him to Saint-Ignatius at St. Rond. They will be kind to him, and Father Hauser will see to all that's necessary. And you must stay with him; in the state he's in he needs you or Gabriel. I have the money. I brought it."

"Clara, I couldn't."

"Couldn't what, Jules?"

"Well—money."

"Jules: sometimes I cannot understand you at all."

"Everybody is getting melodramatic like Gabriel," said Julius.

"You sound like your father."

"Really Clara, you know— You come here in the middle of the night and suggest my kidnapping Jean from his own house. Have you thought of my father? Have you thought of the servants?"

"May God have mercy on you, Julius," Clara said. But before she left the room she laid a hundred-mark note and two rolls of gold on the Genoa velvet.

Julius put the bank note in an envelope and addressed it to Countess Clara. He saw nothing he could put the gold in, so he shoved it out of sight beneath some scarves.