by Stefan Zweig
But spite is a wonderful thing for keeping people alive. The old virago recovered, and on the day when they heard that the convalescent was to come downstairs for the first time, the impatient relatives took their departure. Now the old lady had got wind of the over-solicitude of her would-be heirs, and with her usual malice had bribed the waiters and chamber-maids to pass on to her every word they uttered. Her suspicions were confirmed. They had quarrelled like a pack of wolves as to who should have Kekesfalva, who Orosvár, who the pearls, who the estates in the Ukraine, and who the palais in the Ofnerstrasse. And so the battle royal began. A month later a letter arrived from a bill-broker in Budapest, to the effect that he would be obliged to take proceedings against her great-nephew Deszä unless she could give him a written assurance that he was one of the beneficiaries under her will. This put the lid on everything. The Princess telegraphed for her lawyer in Budapest, got him to draw up a new will and, what is more — malice sharpens the wits — in the presence of two doctors who expressly certified that she was in full possession of her faculties. This will her lawyer took back with him to Budapest, and for six years it was kept in a sealed envelope in his office, for the old lady was in no hurry to die. When at last the time came for it to be opened, it occasioned a tremendous surprise. It appointed as principal beneficiary the old lady’s companion, a certain Fräulein Annette Beate Dietzenhof of Westphalia, whose name, now heard for the first time, fell like a thunderclap on the ears of all the relatives. Kekesfalva, Orosvár, the sugar-factory, the stud-farm, and the palais in Budapest — all were left to her; but the estates in the Ukraine and her assets in cash the Princess had left to her native town for the building of a Russian church. Not one of the relatives inherited so much as a bean; meanly enough, she had expressly emphasized in her will that she was passing over her relatives because “they could not wait for me to die”.
And now there was a really first-class hullabaloo. The relatives yelled blue murder, rushed off to lawyers, and raised the usual objections to the will. The testatrix, they alleged, had been of unsound mind, for she had drawn up her will during a severe illness, and had been unduly influenced by her companion; there was no doubt that the latter had cunningly gained a hold over the Princess by the power of suggestion. At the same time they attempted to raise the whole thing to the plane of a patriotic question. Were Hungarian estates, they asked, which had been in the possession of the Orosvárs since the time of Arpad, now to pass into the hands of a foreigner, a Prussian, and the rest, if you please, to go to the Orthodox Church? Budapest could talk of nothing else, and whole columns of the newspapers were taken up with the affair. But despite the outcry raised by the injured relatives, their case was pretty hopeless. In two lower courts judgment was given against them; unfortunately for them, both the doctors in the case were still living in Territet and they reaffirmed the fact that the Princess had been in her right mind at the time of making the will. The other witnesses were also obliged to admit in cross-examination that, although the Princess had been eccentric during the last few years of her life, she had nevertheless been perfectly sane. All the usual lawyers’ tricks, all the customary methods of intimidation, proved in vain; there was a hundred to one certainty that the higher court would not reverse the judgments given in Fräulein Dietzenhof’s favour.
Kanitz had, of course, read the reports of the case, but he listened intently to every word, for he took a passionate interest in other people’s financial affairs for the sake of what he could learn from them; moreover, he had known the Kekesfalva estate ever since he had been an agent.
‘You can just imagine’, the clerk went on, ‘how livid my chief was to find on his return that the silly creature had let herself be led up the garden. She had already signed away all her claims to the Orosvár estate, the palais in the Ofnerstrasse, and had let herself be fobbed off with the Kekesfalva estate and the stud-farm. She had obviously been particularly impressed by the sly dog’s promise that she would be burdened with no further litigation, and that the relatives would even be magnanimous enough to pay her lawyer’s fees. Now this settlement might still have been disputed in law, for it had not been signed in the presence of a notary public but only before witnesses, and it would have been as easy as winking to starve out the greedy gang, for they hadn’t another cent, and couldn’t possibly have stood the delay of taking the case to a higher court. Of course my chief, damn his eyes, should have given them a piece of his mind and contested the agreement in the courts in the interests of the beneficiary. But the gang knew the best way of getting round him — on the quiet they offered him a fee of sixty thousand crowns to keep his mouth shut. And since in any case he was furious with the silly creature for letting herself be done out of half a million in half an hour, he declared the settlement valid and raked in the money — sixty thousand crowns, what d’you make of that, for messing up the whole business for his client by going off to Vienna like that! Yes, you’ve got to be born under a lucky star; the Lord bestows His gifts on the biggest scoundrels in their sleep! And now all she’s got out of the millions left to her is Kekesfalva, and she’ll go and chuck that away jolly soon, if I know anything about her, the silly fool.’
‘What’s she going to do with it?’ asked his companion.
‘Chuck it away, I tell you. Do something crazy, you may be sure. I’ve heard rumours, incidentally, that the sugar cartel is trying to get the factory out of her. The day after tomorrow, I believe, the managing director is going there from Budapest. And as for the estate, I believe a fellow called Petrovic, who used to be bailiff there, is going to lease it, but perhaps the sugar cartel will take that over as well. They’ve money enough. A French banker — I dare say you’ve seen it in the papers — is said to be planning a merger with the Bohemian sugar industry ...’
At this point the conversation turned to general topics. But our friend Kanitz had heard quite enough to make his ears burn. Few people knew Kekesfalva so well as he; he had been there twenty years before to insure the furniture. He knew Petrovic too, knew him very well from when he had first started in business. It was through his good offices that the scoundrel had always invested with a certain Dr Gollinger the fat sums he screwed out of the estate every year and put in his own pocket. But the most important thing of all was that Kanitz could still vividly recall the cabinet containing the Chinese porcelain, the sculptured glass and the silk embroideries which had been left by Prince Orosvár’s grandfather, who had been Russian ambassador in Pekin. During the lifetime of the Princess he, Kanitz, who alone was aware of their immense value, had tried to buy them for Rosenfeld in Chicago. They were objets d’art of the rarest kind, worth some two to three thousand pounds. The old lady, of course, had had no idea of the fabulous prices that were being paid in America for oriental objets d’art, and she had sent Kanitz about his business. She wasn’t going to let anything go, she had said, he could go to the devil! If those articles were still there — Kanitz trembled at the thought — one could get them dirt cheap when the property changed hands. The best thing would be to secure an option on the whole of the furniture and effects.
Behaving as though he had just woken up — his three fellow-travellers had long since been talking of other matters — our friend Kanitz pretended to yawn, stretched himself and pulled out his watch. Two o’clock. The train would soon be stopping at this little garrison town. Hurriedly folding up his woolly jacket, he put on his everlasting black coat and tidied himself. At half-past two he got out of the train, drove to the Red Lion, and booked a room; it goes without saying that, like a general before a battle the outcome of which is uncertain, he slept very badly. At seven o’clock — there was not a moment to be lost — he got up and trudged down the avenue to Kekesfalva along which we’ve just walked. I must get there first, get there before anyone else, he thought. Settle everything before the vultures come flying along from Budapest. Quickly persuade Petrovic to let me know the moment there is to be a sale of the furniture. If the worst comes to the
worst, join with him in bidding for all the household effects and make sure of getting the furniture when it comes to dividing up the spoils
Since the death of the Princess very few servants had been kept on at Kekesfalva; and so Kanitz was able to creep in without difficulty and have a look round. A fine property, he thought to himself, really in admirable condition! The shutters freshly painted, the walls beautifully colour-washed, a new fence — aha, that fellow Petrovic knows why he has had so many repairs done, he gets a nice fat rake-off on every bill! But where was the fellow? The main gate turned out to be shut, and, loudly as he knocked, no one stirred in the courtyard. Confound it all, supposing the fellow had himself gone off to Budapest to come to terms with that simple-minded Dietzenhof woman?
Kanitz wandered impatiently from one door to another, shouted, clapped his hands — not a sign of anyone. At last, stealing in through the little side-door, he caught sight of a female in the conservatory. All he could see through the glass was that she was watering plants. Here was someone at last who could give him some information! Kanitz knocked sharply on the glass. ‘Hallo!’ he shouted, and clapped his hands to attract her attention. The female who was busied with the plants gave a start, as though caught out in doing something wrong, and it was some time before she ventured timidly to the door. A fair-haired, slender female, no longer in her first youth, dressed in a simple dark blouse and cotton apron, she stood there framed in the doorway, the garden-shears still held half-open in her hand.
‘You keep one waiting long enough, I must say!’ snapped Kanitz somewhat impatiently. ‘Where on earth is Petrovic?’
‘Who?’ asked the thin young woman, with a troubled look, involuntarily taking a step backwards and hiding the garden-shears behind her back.
‘Who? Is there more than one Petrovic here? I mean Petrovic — the bailiff.’
‘Oh, I beg your pardon ... the ... the bailiff ... oh, yes ... I’ve not yet seen him myself. He’s gone to Vienna, I believe. But his wife told me she hoped he would be back before this evening.’
Hoped, hoped, thought Kanitz in irritation. Wait until evening! Waste another night at the hotel! More unnecessary expense, and even then one didn’t know what was going to come of it.
‘Bother! He would be away today of all days!’ he murmured half to himself, and then, turning to the young woman, he asked: ‘Is it possible to view the house in the meantime? Does anyone have the keys?’
‘The keys?’ she repeated in dismay.
‘Yes, devil take it, the keys!’ (Why is she hedging in this silly way? Probably she’s been given orders by Petrovic not to let anyone in. Well, I suppose I’ll have to give the frightened ninny a tip.) Kanitz immediately assumed a jocular air and went on in condescending tones:
‘Come now, don’t be so scared! I’m not going to steal anything. I only want to have a look round. Now then, out with it — have you the keys or not?’
‘The keys ... of course I have the keys,’ she stammered, ‘but ... I don’t know when Herr Petrovic ...’
‘I’ve already told you I don’t need Petrovic to go round the house. So don’t let’s have a lot of nonsense! D’you know your way about the house?’
She grew even more embarrassed. ‘Well, I think ... I know my way to some extent ...’
A half-wit, thought Kanitz. What wretched servants this fellow Petrovic has about the place!
‘Now then, let’s get on with it, I haven’t much time,’ he bellowed.
He went ahead, and she followed — yes, actually followed, uneasily and diffidently. At the door leading into the house she hesitated again.
‘Good God Almighty, look sharp and unlock it!’ Why was the creature behaving so stupidly, so awkwardly? fumed Kanitz. While she was taking the keys from her shabby leather purse he inquired once more, to be on the safe side:
‘What d’you actually do here?’
The frightened creature stood still and blushed. ‘I am ...’ she began and immediately corrected herself. ‘ ... I was ... I was the Princess’s companion.’
Our friend Kanitz was absolutely flabbergasted (and I can assure you it was very difficult to disconcert a man of his calibre). Involuntarily he stepped back a pace.
‘You don’t ... you don’t mean to say you’re Fräulein Dietzenhof?’
‘Why, yes,’ she answered in the frightened tones of someone accused of a crime.
There was one emotion that Kanitz had never yet experienced in his life, and that was embarrassment. But for this one brief moment, as he stumbled blindly, as it were, upon the almost legendary Fräulein Dietzenhof, the heiress to Kekesfalva, he was acutely embarrassed. He instantly changed his tone.
‘I beg your pardon’, he stammered in confusion, hastily taking off his hat. ‘I beg your pardon, gnädiges Fräulein ... But no one told me that you had already arrived. I had no idea. Please forgive me. I had only come to ...’
He hesitated, for now he had to think up a plausible pretext.
‘It was only about the insurance. I was here several times some years ago in the late Princess’s lifetime. Unfortunately I did not have the pleasure of meeting you, gnädiges Fräulein. It was only about that, about the insurance ... only to see that everything was still intact. It’s our duty to do so. But there’s no hurry.’
‘Oh, it’s quite all right, quite all right ...’ she said nervously. ‘Of course, I know very little about such things. Perhaps you’d better discuss the matter with Herr Peterwitz.’
‘Certainly, certainly,’ replied Kanitz, who had not yet entirely recovered his presence of mind. ‘Why, of course I’ll wait to see Herr Peterwitz.’ (Why should I correct her, he thought.)
‘But perhaps, gnädiges Fräulein, if it wouldn’t be troubling you, I could take a quick look round, and then the whole thing could be settled straight away. I don’t suppose anything’s been changed?’
‘No, no,’ she said hurriedly, ‘nothing at all has been changed. If you’d like to see for yourself ...’
‘It’s most kind of you, gnädiges Fräulein,’ said Kanitz with a bow, and they both entered the house.
His first thought was for the four Guardis in the salon, which I expect you know, and the glass cabinet in the adjoining room, now Edith’s drawing room, with the Chinese porcelain, the tapestries and little jade figures. What a relief, everything was still there! Petrovic hadn’t stolen anything; the dolt was more interested in making what he could on the sale of the oats, the clover, the potatoes, and on the contracts for repairs. Meanwhile Fräulein Dietzenhof, obviously anxious not to disturb the stranger on his restless tour of inspection, threw open the shutters. The light came pouring in, and it was possible to see through the tall French windows right out into the park. I must make conversation, thought Kanitz. Mustn’t let her slip through my fingers. Must make friends with her.
‘What a lovely view there is of the park!’ he began, taking a deep breath. ‘It must be marvellous to live here.’
‘Yes, very nice,’ she agreed submissively, but there was no real conviction in her tone. Kanitz realized at once that this scared creature had forgotten, if she ever knew, how to contradict flatly and only now did she add by way of amendment:
‘It’s true the Princess never felt really happy here. She always said that flat country made her feel melancholy. She really only liked the mountains and the sea. This district was too lonely for her, and the people ...’
Once more she broke off. I simply must make conversation, Kanitz reminded himself. Maintain contact with her.
‘But you, I trust, are now going to stay with us, gnädiges Fräulein?’
‘I?’ Involuntarily she threw up her hands, as though to ward off something disagreeable. ‘I? No, oh no! What should I do alone in a great house like this? Oh no, no, I’m going away as soon as everything has been settled up.’
Kanitz stole a furtive glance at her from the side. What a wisp of a thing she looked in this big room, the poor owner of Kekesfalva! Except that she was rather too pal
e and frightened, one might almost have called her pretty; the long slender face with the veiled lids made one think of a rain-drenched landscape, the eyes seemed to be of a delicate cornflower-blue — soft, warm eyes, which did not dare to beam too brightly, but again and again shyly took refuge behind the lids. And as an experienced observer of human nature Kanitz realized at once that here was a being whose backbone had been broken: a creature without a will of her own, whom one could twist round one’s little finger. Well then, make conversation, make conversation! Wrinkling his brow sympathetically, he went on:
‘But what’s going to become of this lovely property? An estate like this needs to be managed, and managed with a firm hand.’
‘I don’t know, I don’t know.’ She spoke with extreme nervousness. A tremor ran through her delicate frame. And at that moment Kanitz grasped the fact that this woman, who had for years been in the position of a dependant, would never have the courage to make an independent decision, and that she was terrified rather than pleased at the thought of having come into this inheritance, which lay like a great weight on her spirit. In a flash Kanitz thought out the situation. It was not for nothing that in the last twenty years he had learned to buy and sell, to push and shove his way through life. One had to persuade the buyer into buying, dissuade the seller from selling: that was the first rule in the business of being an agent, and he immediately turned on the relevant patter. Rub in all the disadvantages, he thought. Perhaps in the end he might lease the whole estate from her and steal a march on Petrovic. Perhaps it was a stroke of good luck that the fellow happened to be in Vienna today. He assumed an expression of commiseration.