TALES & SKETCHES.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 933, 17 January 1890, Page 7

TALES & SKETCHES.

[NOW FIRST PUBLISHED.]

BY ORDER OF THE OZSR

THE TRAGIC STORY OF ANNAKLOSSTOCK, THE QUEEN OF THE GHETTO.

BY JOSEPH HATTON, Author of ‘Cruel London,’ ‘The Three Recruits,’ ‘John Needham’s Double,’ &c. [All Rights Reserved."] Part 11. CHAPTER VII. How Chetwynd met the Counters. Mrs Chetwynd was buxom as her hußbaud was genial. She was a woman of the right sort to help a man on in life. More particularly was Bhe just the woman for Dick. In his early days of journalistic struggles she had not only enabled him to keep up a good appearance in the world, but she had made his home comfortable, if not luxurious on two pounds a week ; and to-day she made his fifteen hundred a year go as far as most men's five thousand. Often in past days Mrs Chetwynd had cooked a dinner and left the kitchen to preside over it, and had played the part of both cook and hostess equally well. Nor was she lacking in artistic taste or literary culture. She was a bright, clever woman, not above a woman’s duty, not ashamed of her domestic work, and happy because she had made Dick’s position a certainty. ‘We have always been equal to either fortune,’ Dick would say in confidential moments, when discussing the difficulties of the London battle ; * we could have lived in a garret at any time, and got as much happiness out of it as if it had been a palace ; and that is the only way for a man and woman to fight the battle of London together.’ ‘ We are dining in Dick's room to night,' said buxom Mrs Chetwynd, ‘ beoause we have a reception, and I want the lower rooms of the house free, and, moreover, I like to give the servants every chanoe to keep their heads, and we do not have any assistance on these occasions, Mr Forsyth. Dick does not believe in hired waiters and manufactured food.’

She always quoted Dick as if she consulted him on everything, which she did not. But she was always anxious to have it under stood that Dick was at the head of affairs as much in Doraeb-square at at the Gallery, or at his editorial office in Fleet street. Siie was a rosy, pleasant, frank hostess, Mrß Chetwynd. Hawthorne, who spoke of English women aB beefy, would probably have noted in her an absence of what might be termed the dainty spirjtuello side of the feminine character which is very attractive to some men ; but she was a type of that English womanhood which has given to the English character, in all ages, its energy, its muscle, its open fearless features, and its national dignity. She was the picture of a refined Rubens. She had the rounded limbs, but they were firm apd shapely ; she had the blonde face, hut it was neither fat nor thin; the fair hair; but she had the mouth and eyes of .an intellectual as well ns a beautiful English woman; pnd Dick’s friends noticed that she continually grew more and more like her husband, the result of perfect unity of sympathy and a sincere and abiding love. ‘The moment she came into the Gallery to-day,’ said Dick, telling his wife and Philip how he had met the CounteßS Stravensky, 4 1 was struch with her appearance ; so sad, yet so beautiful; and I thought of the face in the sketch. She w»s attended by an Italian Jew, one Andrea Ferrari, who js said to be her private secretary ; he seems to he h??th footman and seoretary, man-of-all w.orjk tq ; a curious, wiry, active, though watchful £i ppip chap, just the sort of person one could imagine as the agent of a revolutionary conspiracy ; j» firm, thin mouth, shaggy eyebrows, a low bjut compact forehead, blaok hair with streaks of white in It, all nerves and muscles, with two ferretlike eyes deep set in his head. And somehow it was not only the Countess’s appearance that brought the woman of the opera to my mind, but Ferrari; for he seemed to me, at once, to belong to the situation, and I added him mentally to the Siberian group. Very odd all this ; but life is odd, eh? Don’t pass that sherry, Philip, it is the purest Amontillado and it positively helps the soup; ask Agnes.’ Mrs Chetwynd was Agnes, and she at once endorsed her husband’s recommendation of the sherry. Phillip allowed his glass to be filled, but made no reply to Dick’s remark, by the way, dropped in really for the purpose of helping Philip to take the subject of the woman of the opera as nearly like ordinary conversation as possible. • But is she a P-jiscjsia £puntess ?’ asked Philip. ‘Yes, that’s the trouble—l m.e#p tpab is, the difficulty about getting her to sit 1 . Her! secretary handoi me a special note of introduction, from an old friend of mine connected with continental journalism, and I made a point of talking to her and to him. She made a romantic marriage, it seems, in Moscow, to the dying Count Stravenaky—one of the most devoted of the Czar’s nobles, whose patriotism had been greatly tried, who had indeed suffered persecution at the hands of the Czar, and still remained faithful; and as if to make up for the dead man, the Czar had since shown much favour to his widow, who is now travelling for her health.’ ‘ And do you think her beautiful ?’ asked Philip. ‘ Sue is your picture, aud as sombre in expression, until you rouse her interest ; her eyes—they are of a rich violet—light up, and her smile is simply divine.’ ‘And you will find the chicken not to be despised,’remarked Mrs Chetwynd, * if you will allow me to suggest anything so mundane ; the Surrey chicken ought to be ip the cook’s calendar.'

* Yes ; don't let the Countess take away your appetite; and here’s to the gold medal !'

Dick nodded to his guest over a glass of champagne, and Mrs Chetwynd said, 4 but you did not tell me why I am to have the honour of this paragon of beauty’s presence to-night, without a formal invitation f’

* She informed me that she expects to leave London to-morrow or on the next day,’ eaid Dick, ‘ and may not return ; which emboldened me to say how much I regretted you had not had the pleasure of meeting her, in order that ypu might have invited the honour of her. company at your ‘at-home’ ta-night, and so on. . Then I told her all about Philip and his picture ; how it had been inspired ; intimating with a poetic and mysterious touch that I believed you had dreamed you had seen her at the opera, and how yon had tried to suggest such a face as hers in the very last position possible, and how you were searching London for the face you vowed you had seen, in order to ask the owner to Bit for your picture. She seemed more interested in what I said than she cared to exhibit. I thought she winced, and that a shade of colour spread over her pale, handsome face ween I mentioned your having seen her at the opera. She turned and spoke, to her secretary, who, while she appeared to talk quite familiarly with him, treated her with the greatest deference, if not with slavish humility. “You interest mein j’onr friend,” she said, in a voice that was soft and musical. “ Since that was my object,” I said, “ I am very glad to hear yon say so. You are an-artist yourself, perhaps ?” “ No, I love art," she replied, “ I have lived in Italy and France.” “ Then you would not be offended if I say that if you had been going to stay in London for any length of time I would have petitioned you to sit to my young friend.” ’.. ‘You are very kind, Dick,’ exclaimed Philip, ‘and you have a lot more courage than I have !’ ‘You are not' a journalist with ten years of experience as a war correspondent,’ said Airs Chetwynd. ‘ I would not like to ask the Countess anything at which she might take offence,” said Dick. ‘There is sorrow in her eye, and softness in her - voice, but there is the devil there also. Andmark me, Philip, you are right in thinking there is a remarkable history behind that face.’ ‘ How do you mean, Dick ?’ Philip asked. - * I mean that it had appealed to you as a face that had seen a world of persecution and trouble. You ha,ve more than hinted at a woman who has suffered and will 'be revengod. Your artistic instiuct is right, I believe,’

* But do you really think she is the woman I saw ?’ * I know she is” y * How ?’ ‘By your portrait, and from her anxiety to see you.’ - 'Her anxiety to see me !’ exclaimed Philip, the blood rushing to his temples. ‘Don’t blush, Philip—l mean do,’ said Dick, * I like to see a young fellow blush : I sometimes wish I could. When I had fired that shot, about yon having seen a face at the Opera which you had gone home and put into a picture pf a tragip character, she tried to disguise her interest, I had almost said her alarm ; and she smiled sweetly, but with an effort, when I told hef your name and spoke of your mother ; she knew your mother’s name, and her private secretary or guardian, or official executioner or whatever he may be, said Lady Fqrsytli was wellknown in Russia. *?She Is a rebel,” I said, smiling, “as much a rebel possibly against Queen Yiofcoria as obe i$ against the C?*r, so you must forgive h6r ; and besides, we play with revolution in England, toy with Socialism and so on, just as wo do with cestheticism and private theatricals.” “Yes,” she said inquiringly, and inviting me to go on. “ And the young urtist lam speaking of was born in Russia, and of course he will take the seutimeutal and romantic side of Russian politics.” “Then his picture is political?” she said,' with a strong note of interrogation. “"More or less,” I said ; “it is a fanciful sketch at present of the road to Siberia, and—don’t smile —and pray do not be angry—its central figure is very much like your ladyship.'’ She started at this, and said as if amused, “You alarm me, Mr Chetwynd ; if tye were in Russia, and you talked tome in this way I'should suspect yon were an officer in disguise and that you had a file of soldiers at the door.” .The secretary stood by and watched me closely. I felt his little ferret eyes upon me, though every time I looked up he was apparently gazing upon Holman Hunt’s ‘Scapegoat,’ and I wondered afterwards it it suggested to him anything beyond its realistic ugliness. She had taken a seat beneath one of the palms in the Western room of the Gallery, and the more I talked to her the more she invited me to go on—that is, she listened with attention and made an encouraging remark how and then. I told her that my wife took a deep interest in your career. She said she would have liked to meet my wife ; I said my wife had a reception to-night, and that yon would be coming to us, and if she would deign to accept so late and informal an, invitation, how much bop cured we all should be. She said at opep she wouldj and before the day was over, jn response Ip a tplegram Agno3 had cabled and left cards, and phis iporping wa had her ladyship’s acceptance; and here is her letter ; a firm, sharp hand, is it not?’ Dick handed the letter to Philip, who looked earnestly at it, and returned it. ‘Yes, w,hat I should call a fine, cultured hand, rather pointed in style ; but a noble signature.' ‘ You seem to be both worshippers at this Russian shrine,’ said Mrs Chetwynd, ‘ 1 hope I shall not be disappointed. Now you are going to smoke, so I shall leave you ; we will meet again, Mr Forsyth, in the drawingroom at ten. and liter I will tell you what I think of Madame la Russe.’ Philip onened the library door for the hcate a, who passed out with a bow and a smile, and presently he and Dick over cigars and c iffee continued to discuss the Conntesa Stravensky. ‘ How old do ycu think she is ?’ asked the artist,

‘Thirty or more,’ said Dick, ‘and a widow. Not too old to make a certain young lady jealous.’ ' Do you think she will sit for me V Philip asked, disregarding Dick’s badinage. ‘Not if she is leaving London to-morrow.’ ‘ You think she is going away ?’ ‘No, I don’t.’ ‘ Why ?’ * Beoause she spoke of leaving town as if shs were in doubt abovfc it; and when a woman is in doubt she does not do what she says she thinks she will.’ *lf she sat for me, of course I need not show her my sketch.’ ‘Why not’’ * Because she would be entirely out of ympathy with it. It wouli be like asking Lady Salisbury to sit for the heroine of an Irish eviction.’ ‘ Who knows. She may be favourable to the young Russian party.’ ‘What, as the widow of a Russian nobleman, devoted to the Caar ?’ ‘ The possibility I suggest is, of course, very remote; but her secretary, Signor Andrea Ferrari, who is evidently her right hand, looks anything but the character of a Russian loyalist; moreover he is a Jew, and furthermore he is an Italian Jew.; «Might it be possible th&t he is in the pay of the Russian Government ?’ ‘lt might; anything is possible,' Dick replied, * but I thought a passing glimmer of satisfaction passed over his,otherwise Sphinx, like face when X said your mother was a rebel. Anyhow they are a strange couple ; and the lady is a wonderfully fascinating and lovely woman. Why she should be peering about in Lady Marchmount’s box, as you seem to have seen her, is an odd thing, the more so that in the opposite box, or at least the one nearly opposite, was a distinguished Russian party ; one would think that the Countess Stravensky would have known her compatriots, and would have visited them or they her !’ ‘Yes,’ said Philip, in a thoughtful way; ‘and what is equally strange is that Lady Marohmount says she was not in her box.’ ‘ True ; you had not got into an unhealthy

state of mind over your Work and fane ed you saw her, eh ?’ * No, and I cannot help thinking she had some secret curiosity to satisfy in regard to that Russian General Petronovitch and his bride. When I thought of the incident later 1 wondered if she were afraid they might see her ; whether the bride might have been a rival ; or if she wished to recall the appearance of some person in that box whom she had rot seen perhaps for a long time. Lady Marchmount was to my thinking, telling a diplomatic lie when she said no one had been into her box.’ * Bet you did not See her speak to Lady Marchmount ?’ ‘No!’ * Therefore, it would be in keeping with the mystery you have managed to surround what after all is not an extraordinary incident, if the countess, walking along the corridor had mistaken Lady Marchmount’s box for her own ; or finding the door open had looked in and availed herself of the opportunity, from behind the curtain, to take a glance at the Russian box.’ ' ‘ I can’t say,’Philip replied, * but nobody except myself seems to have seen her in the theatre ; that’s the puzzle !’

CHAPTER VIII. A Kind of Monte Cristo in Petticoats.’ Mrs Chetwynd’s reception began at halfpast nine. At ten o'clock there was a fa’r sprinkling of arrivals. The people who meant to get away early, or who had other places to go to during the night, came with something like punctuality. But the lady's intimate friends and the lions of the night did not begin to arrive until eleven, aud some of them came after the Opera and the theatres. Dick and his candidate for the gold medal went into the drawing-room at ten and found pleasant opportunities of assisting the hoetoss to entertain her guests. Among the early arrivals was Phil’s mother, Lady Forsyth, who was attired in soft black silk, with handsome jewellery of diamonds and emeralds, among her finest ornaments being her favourite four-leaved shamrock, in gold enamel and emeralds, and an Irish harp for a brooch. She was still a handsome woman, though her hair was almost white, and the roses had long since faded from her cheeks, She entered the room at about the same time as Lady Marchmount, whose husband was one of the Radical leaders and had, under Mr Gladstone, fulfilled semi-official missions both to Rome and Russia ; her ladyship posed somewhat as a political wire-puller on her own account and delighted to be considered as in the secrets of foreign Governments. She found a pleasant occupation in patronising the Irish party, and holding out a friendly hand to Lady Forsyth. ‘Mrs Chetwynd tails me that she expects the Countess Stravensky,’said Lady Marchmount to Lady Forsyth, when, after receiving the homage of some lesser lights, they found themselves pretending to listen to a brilliant pianoforte fantasia in one of Mrs Chetwynd’s most comfortable seats, * Indeed ?’ was Lady Forsyth’s reply. « A remarkable woman, who only arrived n town a week ago, I hope to see her before the night is over at the Russian Embassy.’ •Remarkable in what way f asked Philip’s mother. * She mode a death bed marriage, the story of which was told the other day in the Gaulois. A lady of no family in particular, poor but clever, a widow of a young !>nd learned Jew, the Count Stravensky, a very wealthy Russian noblemau, met her in France, old enough to be her grandfather, fell in love with her and obtained the Czar’s permission to mgrry her, ,He had rendered the Government great services, both civil and military, was taken ill in Paris, and they were married two hours before lie died ; Elm took his body to Russia, saw it c?remociously buried in the church of Vilnavitch or some such place—l forget the name—entered into possession of his vast estates, sold them, left Russia, and conßoled herself for her double matrimonial disappointment by travelline from place to place, entertaining herself With acts of charity, especially in the

interests of the Jews, actually went and lived in the ghetto at Venice three years ago - think of it ! —and, iu spite of the Russian persecution of the chosen people, i 3 said to be hand and glove with the Russian Government in its tight with the Nihilists—a curious story, is it not?’

‘Very!’ said Lady Forsyth; ‘an eccentric evidently some women find delight in compelling the world to talk about them.’

‘ You have only to be very rich, a widow, handsome, and affecting a mission, to have all the world that is worth knowing interested in you,’ lespoaded Lady March, mount. ‘The Countess Stravensky is a woman to know.’

‘A kind of Monte Cristo in petticoats,’ suggested Lady Forsyth ; and as she said so Philip came up and Lady Marchmount moved away. ‘She is coming here to-night, mother,’ he said. ‘And who is “she” when she comes. Dolly ?’ asked his mother, making room for him to sit by her side. ‘No ; the lady I saw at the opera whose face I suggested in the medal sketch. Chetwynd assures me it is the very woman.’

‘ Then I believe I can guess who she is,' said his mother ; * Lady Marchmount has been telling me about her.’ ‘Yes’'said Philip. ‘Lady Marchmount knows her then ?’

* If it is the Countess Stravensky, who has been married twice and widowed with curious promptitude—in the case of one husband at all events— : —' Before she could finish the sentence, both mother and son yielded to the same impulse to look towards the doer at the announcement (which then immediately followed the close of that little-noticed fantasia) of the Countess Stravensky. Mrs Chetwynd went forward and received the lady with unusual empressement. The Countess responded with graceful informality, almost interrupting Mrs Chetwynd’s society bow by extending her hand to be shaken, and at the same time addressing some pleasant word of thanks for being permitted to accept Mrs Chetwynd’s invitation so unceremoniously. The next moment she was speaking with Dick, all unconscious of the admiration she was calling forth on all hands.

She wore a long, trailing, Empire dress of straw coloured silk, covered with crape of the same dainty hue, trimmed with garlands of gold laburnum, that seemed to accentuate the rich gold of her hair, at the same time deadening the paleness of her cheeks and giving depth to the violet of her eyes. Har jewellery consisted of the topaz and the diamond exquisitely blended. In harmony with her costume, her hair was dressed in the Empire fashion, giving an added height to her imposing figure ; her*? tresses were held up, as it seemed, by one magnificent pin of topaz, set in a shimmering halo of diamonds. Long gloves draped her arms, she carried a yellow ostrich-feather fan, and from one arm depended a crape shawl, the fringe of wliich v swept the floor with her train. Upon her left wrist was an ancient Arabian amulet composed of topaz, through which iu Arabic was bored incurious stars the word * Vengeance.’ Mrs Chetwynd s guests only saw the sombre yellow bangle ; they little dreamed of the great, solemn, terrible oath that had been sworn upon it. The Countoss was no other than qrueen of the Gheto, poor Anna Klosstock. The reader will know how to correct some of the information which Lady Marchmount gave to Lady Forsyth. Though it was not quite unexpected, the marriage with fc'e Count Stravensky will be new to them. In regard to the details of that interesting and romantic union, it is possible w e may hear the story from the lips of Andrea Ferrari, or from the mouth of the Countess herself. Meanwhile the reader's interest especially at the moment will be with Philip Forsyth, who, sitting with his mother within the shadow of the window-seat, had noted the beautiful image that had inspired his tragic picture, though now and then it seemed to him as if there wore a world of comedy in the lady’s smile 3 but the young artist was not sufficiently experienced in the dramas of real life to be well acquainted with the acting that is often more intense on the real than o 1 the mimic stage. The Countess had a part to play, and she played it to perfection when the audience was in evidence. When she was alone with her Fate, there were times when she tried to forget herself, or only to remember those happy early days of Czarovna, the awful eclipse of which the reader has a melancholy knowledge. Phil noted her fair face, her soft violet eyes, her wealth of deep red hair, her grace, imposing figure, her distinguished manner ; but never once did he rind a suggestion of the sad, somewhat weird look in her eyes, until he had talked with her, as he did presently, after Mrs Chetwynd had brought him where she was sitting beneath a cluster of palms, near the great open ingle nook which Mrs Chetwynd had constructed in her drawingroom in defiance of many rules of art, but with singular picturesque effect. ’Mr Chetwynd has told me of your picture,’ she said, in a rich musical voice, and with an accent of somewhat composite character, neither French nor German, bat with a touch of both, and perhaps also a suggestion of Russian, ‘ Your picture interests me.’ ’ You are very kind to say so,’ s I say so, not simply to be kind, but for the truth that,it is so.’ ‘ I fear my friend has exaggerated its merits/ said Philip, beginning to feel at his ease after the first flutter of nervousness and admiration. ’lt is of the subject that I am aDo interested; it has the merit ; of sympathy, You were born in Russia ?’ ‘Yes,’ said Philip, ‘I wag partly educated in Moscow, ? ‘And perhaps it is that you saw some of the exiles on their long journey ; their sufferings touched your heart, you were so young. Is it not so ?’ ‘lt is not necessary to be young, madam, to feel sorry for the wretched.’ ‘ Ah, you say well; you have a good nature, and I would I might be your friend, but I was the friend, and more, of one whom your face reminds me. But my friendship

does not make good for those I love,’ and Philip saw that strange look of the theatre come into the expressive eyes and harden the mouth for a moment, to give way to a softer look and a more tender tone of voice ; and he was right in his observation ; for the moment the Countess saw Philip Forsyth, she said to herself, ‘ That young man has the eyes and the expression in them of my beloved Losinski, and the same tender heart, it is strange that I should have been interested in him before I saw him.’ As she spoke to Philip there seemed to be tones in his voice that reminded her of Losinski, and with the memory there came the shadow of Petronovitch and the knout ; but with a great effort she kept to the softer side of the memory, and she talked to Philip as she had never talked to human being since the tragedy, from which she emerged not only alive but with a strange power and a strange beauty. Philip felt the magic influence of her sudden awakening to human sympathy. For ten years she had not until now felt one throb of human feeling that had not been accompanied with a pang of hatred,.revenge, and revolt at the world and everything in it. Her charities had bean as much in the way of protest and revenge as any other action of her life. She had lain next door to death for twelve long months in the Czarovna hospital, half the first months of the time in terror of mind and body indescribable. When she was sufficiently recovered for removal, the new Governor, succeeding Petronovitch, who was promoted for his patriotic quelling of the riotous Jews, fouud means to comply with the wishes of the Count Stravensky, and Anna KloAstock found friends in France, friends and fellow sufferers, friends and agents of the propaganda, friends and work ; disappearing for five years, losing all identity with Anna Rlosscock, she made an entry into Parisian life that was more or leas distinguished, and soon afterwards married the Count Stravensky—his last act of enmity towards the government of tho Czar. ‘ An<J if lam a friend of the great Czar, our Russian Father, I can still feel for those who suffer,’ said the Countess to Philip ; ‘it is not that we must be of what is called the young Russian party to be sorry for the exile, the prisoner, the miserable, and those who give their liberty and life for a cause, or for a sentiment ; for me, suffering is of no party, misery of no nationality. You interest me, I will go to your atelier and ait for that sad woman in your picture. Mr Chetwynd shall make a convenient arrangement that shall be agreeable to you, and I will do myself the honour to make a call upon your mother. Till then, adieu !’ When the Countess’s carriage was called, it had' already an occupant. Andrea Ferrari stepped out, gave his hand to Madame, and closed the door upon her. The lookers on saw him address the lady as if for instructions. What he said was rather in the way of giving orders. ‘Petronovitch and his wife left London for Paris by the mail. We are in good time for the Reception at the Embassy ; we shall drive thither’’ .

The Conntess bowed her acquiescence, the Italian to->k a seat on the box, and the carriage drove rapidly away, and the Countess soon afterwards,, between the elaborate courses of an elaborate AngloRussian supper, listened to an English Duke’s assurances of sympathy with the Ozar and his Government.

(To be continued.)