CHAPTER IX
Nina's misery as she went home was almost complete. She had not,indeed, quarrelled with her lover, who had again caressed her as sheleft him, and assured her of his absolute confidence, but she hadundertaken a task against which her very soul revolted. It gave herno comfort to say to herself that she had undertaken to look for thatwhich she knew she would not find, and that therefore her search coulddo no harm. She had, in truth, consented to become a spy upon herfather, and was so to do in furtherance of the views of one whosuspected her father of fraud, and who had not scrupled to tell herthat her father was dishonest. Now again she thought of St Nicholas, asshe heard the dull chime of the clock from the saint's tower, and foundherself forced to acknowledge that she was doing very wickedly inloving a Jew. Of course troubles would come upon her. What else couldshe expect? Had she not endeavoured to throw behind her and to trampleunder foot all that she had learned from her infancy under the guidanceof St Nicholas? Of course the saint would desert her. The very soundof the chime told her that he was angry with her. How could she hopeagain that St John would be good to her? Was it not to be expectedthat the black-flowing river over which she understood him to presidewould become her enemy and would swallow her up--as Lotta Luxa hadpredicted? Before she returned home, when she was quite sure that AntonTrendellsohn had already passed over, she went down upon the bridge,and far enough along the causeway to find herself over the river, andthere, crouching down, she looked at the rapid-running silent blackstream beneath her. The waters were very silent and very black, butshe could still see or feel that they were running rapidly. And theywere cold, too. She herself at the present moment was very cold. Sheshuddered as she looked down, pressing her face against the stone-work,with her two hands resting on two of the pillars of the parapet. Itwould be very terrible. She did not think that she much cared fordeath. The world had been so hard to her, and was growing so muchharder, that it would be a good thing to get away from it. If she couldbecome ill and die, with a good kind nun standing by her bedside, andwith the cross pressed to her bosom, and with her eyes fixed on thesweet face of the Virgin Mother as it was painted in the little picturein her room--in that way she thought that death might even be grateful.But to be carried away she knew not whither in the cold, silent,black-flowing Moldau! And yet she half believed the prophecy of Lotta.Such a quiet death as that she had pictured to herself could not begiven to her! What nun would come to her bedside--to the bed of a girlwho had declared to all Prague that she intended to marry a Jew? Forweeks past she had feared even to look at the picture of the Virgin.
"I'm afraid you'll think I am very late, father," she said, as soon asshe reached home.
Her father muttered something, but not angrily, and she soon busiedherself about him, doing some little thing for his comfort, as washer wont. But as she did so she could not but remember that she hadundertaken to be a spy upon him, to secrete his key, and to searchsurreptitiously for that which he was supposed to be keepingfraudulently. As she sat by him empty-handed--for it was Sunday night,and as a Christian she never worked with a needle upon the Sunday--shetold herself that she could not do it. Could there be any harm donewere she to ask him now, openly, what papers he kept in that desk? Butshe desired to obey her lover where obedience was possible, and he hadexpressly forbidden her to ask any such question. She sat, therefore,and said no word that could tend to ease her suffering; and then, whenthe time came, she went suffering to her bed.
On the next day there seemed to come to her no opportunity for doingthat which she had to do. Souchey was in and out of the house all themorning, explaining to her that they had almost come to the end of theflour and of the potatoes which he had bought, that he himself hadswallowed on the previous evening the last tip of the great sausage--for, as he had alleged, it was no use a fellow dying of starvationoutright--and that there was hardly enough of chocolate left to makethree cups. Nina had brought out her necklace and had asked Souchey totake it to the shop and do the best with it he could; but Souchey haddeclined the commission, alleging that he would be accused of havingstolen it; and Nina had then prepared to go herself, but her father hadcalled her, and he had come out into the sitting-room and had remainedthere during the afternoon, so that both the sale of the trinket andthe search in the desk had been postponed. The latter she might havedone at night, but when the night came the deed seemed to be morehorrid than it would be even in the day.
She observed also, more accurately than she had ever done before, thathe always carried the key of his desk with him. He did not, indeed, putit under his pillow, or conceal it in bed, but he placed it with an oldspectacle-case which he always carried, and a little worn pocket-bookwhich Nina knew to be empty, on a low table which stood at hisbed-head; and now during the whole of the afternoon he had the key onthe table beside him. Nina did not doubt but that she could take thekey while he was asleep; for when he was even half asleep--which wasperhaps his most customary state--he would not stir when she enteredthe room. But if she took it at all, she would do so in the day. Shecould not bring herself to creep into the room in the night, and tosteal the key in the dark. As she lay in bed she still thought of it.She had promised her lover that she would do this thing. Should sheresolve not to do it, in spite of that promise, she must at any ratetell Anton of her resolution. She must tell him, and then there wouldbe an end of everything. Would it be possible for her to live withouther love?
On the following morning it occurred to her that she might perhaps beable to induce her father to speak of the houses, and of those horriddocuments of which she had heard so much, without disobeying any ofTrendellsohn's behests. There could, she thought, be no harm in herasking her father some question as to the ownership of the houses,and as to the Jew's right to the property. Her father had very oftendeclared in her presence that old Trendellsohn could turn him into thestreet at any moment. There had been no secrets between her and herfather as to their poverty, and there could be no reason why her tongueshould now be silenced, so long as she refrained from any positivedisobedience to her lover's commands. That he must be obeyed she stillrecognised as the strongest rule of all--obeyed, that is, till sheshould go to him and lay down her love at his feet, and give back tohim the troth which he had given her.
"Father," she said to the old man about noon that day, "I suppose thishouse does belong to the Trendellsohns?"
"Of course it does," said he, crossly.
"Belongs to them altogether, I mean?" she said.
"I don't know what you call altogether. It does belong to them, andthere's an end of it. What's the good of talking about it?"
"Only if so, they ought to have those deeds they are so anxious about.Everybody ought to have what is his own. Don't you think so, father?"
"I am keeping nothing from them," said he; "you don't suppose that Iwant to rob them?"
"Of course you do not." Then Nina paused again. She was drawingperilously near to forbidden ground, if she were not standing on italready; and yet she was very anxious that the subject should not bedropped between her and her father.
"I'm sure you do not want to rob anyone, father. But--"
"But what? I suppose young Trendellsohn has been talking to you againabout it. I suppose he suspects me; if so, no doubt, you will suspectme too."
"Oh, father! how can you be so cruel?"
"If he thinks the papers are here, it is his own house; let him comeand search for them."
"He will not do that, I am sure."
"What is it he wants, then? I can't go out to your uncle and make himgive them up."
"They are, then, with uncle?"
"I suppose so; but how am I to know? You see how they treat me. Icannot go to them, and they never come to me--except when that womancomes to scold."
"But they can't belong to uncle."
"Of course they don't."
"Then why should he keep them? What good can they do him? When I spoketo Ziska, Ziska said they should be kept, because Trendellsohn is aJew; but s
urely a Jew has a right to his own. We at any rate ought todo what we can for him, Jew as he is, since he lets us live in hishouse."
The slight touch of irony which Nina had thrown into her voice when shespoke of what was due to her lover even though he was a Jew was notlost upon her father. "Of course you would take his part against aChristian," he said.
"I take no one's part against anyone," said she, "except so far asright is concerned. If we take a Jew's money, I think we should givehim the thing which he purchases."
"Who is keeping him from it?" said Balatka, angrily.
"Well--I suppose it is my uncle," replied Nina.
"Why cannot you let me be at peace then?"
Having so said he turned himself round to the wall, and Nina feltherself to be in a worse position than ever. There was nothing now forher but to take the key, or else to tell her lover that she would notobey him. There could be no further hope in diplomacy. She had justresolved that she could not take the key--that in spite of her promiseshe could not bring herself to treat her father after such fashion asthat--when the old man turned suddenly round upon her again, and wentback to the subject.
"I have got a letter somewhere from Karil Zamenoy," said he, "tellingme that the deed is in his own chest."
"Have you, father?" said she, anxiously, but struggling to repress heranxiety.
"I had it, I know. It was written ever so long ago--before I hadsettled with the Trendellsohns; but I have seen it often since. Takethe key and unlock the desk, and bring me the bundle of papers thatare tied with an old tape; or--stop--bring me all the papers." Withtrembling hand Nina took the key. She was now desired by her father todo exactly that which her lover wished her to have done; or, betterstill, her father was about to do the thing himself. She would at anyrate have positive proof that the paper was not in her father's desk.He had desired her to bring all the papers, so that there would be nodoubt left. She took the key very gently, as softly as was possible toher, and went slowly into the other room. When there she unlocked thedesk and took out the bundle of letters tied with an old tape which layat the top ready to her hand. Then she collected together the otherpapers, which were not many, and without looking at them carried themto her father. She studiously avoided any scrutiny of what there mightbe, even by so much as a glance of her eye. "This seems to be all thereis, father, except one or two old account-books."
He took the bundle, and with feeble hands untied the tape and movedthe documents, one by one. Nina felt that she was fully warranted inlooking at them now, as her father was in fact showing them to her.In this way she would be able to give evidence in his favour withouthaving had recourse to any ignoble practice. The old man moved everypaper in the bundle, and she could see that they were all letters. Shehad understood that the deed for which Trendellsohn had desired her tosearch was written on a larger paper than any she now saw, and that shemight thus know it at once. There was, certainly, no such deed amongthe papers which her father slowly turned over, and which he slowlyproceeded to tie up again with the old tape. "I am sure I saw it theother day," he said, fingering among the loose papers while Nina lookedon with anxious eyes. Then at last he found the letter from KarilZamenoy, and having read it himself, gave it her to read. It was datedseven or eight years back, at a time when Balatka was only on his wayto ruin--not absolutely ruined, as was the case with him now--andcontained an offer on Zamenoy's part to give safe custody to certaindocuments which were named, and among which the deed now sought forstood first.
"And has he got all those other papers?" Nina asked.
"No! he has none of them, unless he has this. There is nothing left butthis one that the Jew wants."
"And uncle Karil has never given that back?"
"Never."
"And it should belong to Stephen Trendellsohn?"
"Yes, I suppose it should."
"Who can wonder, then, that they should be anxious and inquire afterit, and make a noise about it? Will not the law make uncle Karil giveit up?"
"How can the law prove that he has got it? I know nothing about thelaw. Put them all back again." Then Nina replaced the papers and lockedthe desk. She had, at any rate, been absolutely and entirely successfulin her diplomacy, and would be able to assure Anton Trendellsohn, ofher knowledge, that that which he sought was not in her father'skeeping.
On the same day she went out to sell her necklace. She waited tillit was nearly dark--till the first dusk of evening had come upon thestreet--and then she crossed the bridge and hurried to a jeweller'sshop in the Grosser Ring which she had observed, and at which she knewsuch trinkets as hers were customarily purchased. The Grosser Ringis an open space--such as we call a square--in the oldest part of thetown, and in it stand the Town Hall and the Theinkirche, which may beregarded as the most special church in Prague, as there for many yearswere taught the doctrines of Huss, the great Reformer of Bohemia.Here, in the Grosser Ring, there was generally a crowd of an evening,as Nina knew, and she thought that she could go in and out of thejeweller's shop without observation. She believed that she might beable to borrow money on her treasure, leaving it as a deposit; andthis, if possible, she would do. There were regular pawnbrokers in thetown, by whom no questions would be made, who, of course, would lendher money in the ordinary way of their trade; but she believed thatsuch people would advance to her but a very small portion of the valueof her necklace; and then, if, as would be too probable, she could notredeem it, the necklace would be gone, and gone without a price!
"Yes, it is my own, altogether my own--my very own." She had to explainall the circumstances to the jeweller, and at last, with a view ofquelling any suspicion, she told the jeweler what was her name, andexplained how poor were the circumstances of her house. "But you mustbe the niece of Madame Zamenoy, in the Windberg-gasse," said thejeweller. And then, when Nina with hesitation acknowledged that suchwas the case, the man asked her why she did not go to her rich aunt,instead of selling a trinket which must be so valuable.
"No!" said Nina, "I cannot do that. If you will lend me something ofits value, I shall be so much obliged to you."
"But Madame Zamenoy would surely help you?"
"We would not take it from her. But we will not speak of that, sir.Can I have the money?" Then the jeweller gave her a receipt for thenecklace and took her receipt for the sum he lent her. It was more thanNina had expected, and she rejoiced that she had so well completed herbusiness. Nevertheless she wished that the jeweller had known nothingof her aunt. She was hardly out of the shop before she met her cousinZiska, and she so met him that she could not escape him. She heard hisvoice, indeed, almost as soon as she recognised him, and had stopped athis summons before she had calculated whether it might not be better torun away. "What, Nina! is that you?" said Ziska, taking her hand beforeshe knew how to refuse it to him.
"Yes; it is I," said Nina.
"What are you doing here?"
"Why should I not be in the Grosser Ring as well as another? It is opento rich and poor."
"So is Rapinsky's shop; but poor people do not generally have much todo there." Rapinsky was the name of the jeweller who had advanced themoney to Nina.
"No, not much," said Nina. "What little they have to sell is soonsold."
"And have you been selling anything?"
"Nothing of yours, Ziska."
"But have you been selling anything?"
"Why do you ask me? What business is it of yours?"
"They say that Anton Trendellsohn, the Jew, gives you all that youwant," said Ziska.
"Then they say lies," said Nina, her eyes flashing fire upon herChristian lover through the gloom of the evening. "Who says so? You sayso. No one else would be mean enough to be so false."
"All Prague says so."
"All Prague! I know what that means. And did all Prague go to the Jews'quarter last Saturday, to tell Anton Trendellsohn that the paper whichhe wants, and which is his own, was in father's keeping? Was it allPrague told that falsehood also?" There was a scorn in her fa
ce as shespoke which distressed Ziska greatly, but which he did not know how tomeet or how to answer. He wanted to be brave before her; and he wantedalso to show his affection for her, if only he knew how to do so,without making himself humble in her presence.
"Shall I tell you, Nina, why I went to the Jews' quarter on Saturday?"
"No; tell me nothing. I wish to hear nothing from you. I know enoughwithout your telling me."
"I wish to save you if it be possible, because--because I love you."
"And I--I never wish to see you again, because I hate you. I hate you,because you have been cruel. But let me tell you this; poor as we are,I have never taken a farthing of Anton's money. When I am his wife, asI hope to be--as I hope to be--I will take what he gives me as thoughit came from heaven. From you!--I would sooner die in the streetthan take a crust of bread from you." Then she darted from him, andsucceeded in escaping without hearing the words with which he repliedto her angry taunts. She was woman enough to understand that herkeenest weapon for wounding him would be an expression of unboundedlove and confidence as to the man who was his rival; and therefore,though she was compelled to deny that she had lived on the charity ofher lover, she had coupled her denial with an assurance of her faithand affection, which was, no doubt, bitter enough in Ziska's ears. "Ido believe that she is witched," he said, as he turned away towards hisown house. And then he reflected wisely on the backward tendency of theworld in general, and regretted much that there was no longer given topriests in Bohemia the power of treating with salutary ecclesiasticalseverity patients suffering in the way in which his cousin Nina wasafflicted.
Nina had hardly got out of the Grosser Ring into the narrow streetwhich leads from thence towards the bridge, when she encountered herother lover. He was walking slowly down the centre of the street whenshe passed him, or would have passed him, had not she recognized hisfigure through the gloom. "Anton," she said, coming up to him andtouching his arm as lightly as was possible. "I am so glad to meetyou here."
"Nina?"
"Yes; Nina."
"And what have you been doing?"
"I don't know that I want to tell you; only that I like to tell youeverything."
"If so, you can tell me this." Nina, however, hesitated. "If you havesecrets, I do not want to inquire into them," said the Jew.
"I would rather have no secrets from you, only--"
"Only what?"
"Well; I will tell you. I had a necklace; and we are not very rich, youknow, at home; and I wanted to get something for father, and--"
"You have sold it?"
"No; I have not sold it. The man was very civil, indeed quite kind, andhe lent me some money."
"But the kind man kept the necklace, I suppose."
"Of course he kept the necklace. You would not have me borrow moneyfrom a stranger, and leave him nothing?"
"No; I would not have you do that. But why not borrow from one who isno stranger?"
"I do not want to borrow at all," said Nina, in her lowest tone.
"Are you ashamed to come to me in your trouble?"
"Yes," said Nina. "I should be ashamed to come to you for money. Iwould not take it from you."
He did not answer her at once, but walked on slowly while she keptclose to his side.
"Give me the jeweller's docket," he said at last. Nina hesitated for amoment, and then he repeated his demand in a sterner voice. "Nina, giveme the jeweller's docket." Then she put her hand in her pocket and gaveit him. She was very averse to doing so, but she was more averse torefusing him aught that he asked of her.
"I have got something to tell you, Anton," she said, as soon as he hadput the jeweller's paper into his purse.
"Well--what is it?"
"I have seen every paper and every morsel of everything that is infather's desk, and there is no sign of the deed you want."
"And how did you see them?"
"He showed them to me."
"You told him, then, what I had said to you?"
"No; I told him nothing about it. He gave me the key, and desired me tofetch him all the papers. He wanted to find a letter which uncle Karilwrote him ever so long ago. In that letter uncle Karil acknowledgesthat he has the deed."
"I do not doubt that in the least."
"And what is it you do doubt, Anton?"
"I do not say I doubt anything."
"Do you doubt me, Anton?"
There was a little pause before he answered her--the slightest momentof hesitation. But had it been but half as much, Nina's ear and Nina'sheart would have detected it. "No," said Anton, "I am not saying that Idoubt any one."
"If you doubt me, you will kill me. I am at any rate true to you. Whatis it you want? What is it you think?"
"They tell me that the document is in the house in the Kleinseite."
"Who are they? Who is it that tells you?"
"More than one. Your uncle and aunt said so--and Ziska Zamenoy came tome on purpose to repeat the same."
"And would you believe what Ziska says? I have hardly thought it worthmy while to tell you that Ziska--"
"To tell me what of Ziska?"
"That Ziska pretends to--to want that I should be his wife. I would notlook at him if there were not another man in Prague. I hate him. He isa liar. Would you believe Ziska?"
"And another has told me."
"Another?" said Nina, considering.
"Yes, another."
"Lotta Luxa, I suppose."
"Never mind. They say indeed that it is you who have the deed."
"And you believe them?"
"No, I do not believe them. But why do they say so?"
"Must I explain that? How can I tell? Anton, do you not believe thatthe woman who loves you will be true to you?"
Then he paused again--"Nina, sometimes I think that I have been mad tolove a Christian."
"What have I been then? But I do love you, Anton--I love you betterthan all the world. I care nothing for Jew or Christian. When I thinkof you, I care nothing for heaven or earth. You are everything to me,because I love you. How could I deceive you?"
"Nina, Nina, my own one!" he said.
"And as I love you, so do you love me? Say that you love me also."
"I do," said he--"I love you as I love my own soul."
Then they parted; and Nina, as she went home, tried to make herselfhappy with the assurance which had been given to her by the last wordsher lover had spoken; but still there remained with her that suspicionof a doubt which, if it really existed, would be so cruel an injury toher love.