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SUCCESS

AND HOW HE WON IT

SUCCESS

AND HOW HE WON IT

FROM THE GERMAN OF E. WERNER

BY

CHRISTINA TYRRELL

LONDON
RICHARD BENTLEY & SON, NEW BURLINGTON ST.
Publishers in Ordinary to Her Majesty the Queen
1892

All rights reserved.

SUCCESS.

CHAPTER I.

It was growing late in the afternoon, yet the principal church of the capital was still densely filled. From the numbers present, the beautiful floral decorations of the altar, and the long line of handsome equipages waiting without, it was evident that the ceremony about to be celebrated had awakened interest and sympathy far and wide.

As usual on such occasions, when the sacredness of the place forbids any distinct utterance of curiosity, or other feeling, the spectators found vent for the restlessness of expectation by whispering, and the gathering together of heads in little groups, and by an eager attention to all that was going on in the neighbourhood of the vestry. A general exclamation of satisfaction was heard when its doors opened, and, as the first tones of the organ pealed forth, the wedding party appeared.

A numerous and brilliant company thronged round the bridal pair at the altar. Rich uniforms, heavy velvet and satin dresses, airy fabrics of lace, flowers and diamonds waved and rustled confusedly in a truly dazzling splendour. The aristocracy of birth, and the aristocracy of finance, represented each by its most distinguished members, had met, as it seemed, to enhance the prestige of the marriage ceremony.

To the right of the bride, first among the guests, stood a tall and stately officer, whose uniform and various orders bore witness to a long military career. His bearing was simple and dignified, suited to the solemnity of the occasion, and yet it seemed as though, behind the set gravity of the features, there lurked a something at variance with so joyful an event. His look was singularly gloomy as it rested on the young couple, and, when he turned from them and glanced through the crowded church, an expression of suppressed pain, or anger, passed over the proud face, and the firmly-closed lips trembled slightly.

Opposite him, and next to the bridegroom, stood a gentleman in plain clothes, also advanced in years, and also, as it appeared, closely related to the young people; but neither his lavish display of brilliants in watch, rings and pin, nor the extreme self-importance of his bearing, could procure for him a shade of that distinction which his opposite neighbour possessed in so eminent a degree. His whole appearance was decidedly ordinary, not to say vulgar, and even the unconcealed triumph now illumining his countenance could set no other impress on it.

The triumph was, indeed, great with which he gazed on the bridal pair, and he looked down the aisle on the closely-packed rows of chairs and on all the bright assembly, with the satisfaction of one, who, after long striving, sees and welcomes the fulfilment of his aims and hopes; clearly, no shadow troubled his gladness at the event now to be solemnised.

But of all present, these two men alone appeared to take a deep interest in what was passing; least of all were the principal actors moved. The most unsympathising of the guests, the greatest stranger, could hardly have shown a more complete indifference to the solemn act about to be performed than these two, who, in a few minutes, would be for ever united.

The bride was about nineteen, and of undeniable beauty, but around her there seemed to reign a sort of icy chill, which ill became the hour and the place. The light from the altar-candles played on the thick folds of her white satin dress, shone in the diamonds of her costly ornaments; but it fell on a face which, with the beauty of marble, seemed for the time being at least--a time when the most frigid calm might naturally yield and kindle--to have acquired also a statue-like coldness and fixity.

The flaxen hue of the heavy tresses, on which her myrtle wreath rested, contrasted strangely with the well-marked eyebrows, and dark, almost black eyes, uplifted to the priest but once or twice during the entire ceremony. The pale, regular features, shaded on either side by her flowing veil, bore that distinctive mark of breeding which birth, and birth alone, can give. Indeed this high-bred air was the chief characteristic of her appearance; it showed itself not only in her delicate and noble features, but was so plainly stamped on her carriage and entire being, that all other qualities, some, perhaps, striking even deeper root, were by it overshadowed and held in the background.

A young lady fitted only, it would seem, for the higher spheres of life, never to be brought in contact with those possible men and things which, perchance, may exist in its lower phases. Yet, in spite of all this, something in the dark eyes betrayed more energy and character than are usually found in a lady of fashion, and possibly the present hour was one to call such energy and such strength of nature to the front. As the ceremony proceeded, the gentleman in uniform to her right, and three younger officers who stood behind him, gazed, ever more intently, ever more anxiously, at her face; it remained, however, calm and impassible as it had been from the first.

The bridegroom at her side was a young man of about eight-and-twenty, one of those not very uncommon individuals who seem expressly created for the gilded surroundings of a salon, who there alone find their significance, obtain their triumphs and pass their lives. Blamelessly correct in mien and toilette, his whole being seemed to denote the extremity of languor. His features, fine and agreeable in themselves, bore an expression of apathy so complete, of so boundless an indifference to all and everything, that they lost their charm for the observer. He had led his bride to the altar with the air of a man leading a lady to the place destined for her in any ordinary assembly, and he now stood by her, and held her hand, in precisely the same apathetic fashion. Neither the importance of the step he was about to take, nor the beauty of the woman he was there to wed, seemed to make the slightest impression on him.

The priest's discourse came to an end and he proceeded to the actual marriage service. Loud and clear his voice rang through the church, as he asked Arthur Berkow and the Baroness Eugénie Maria Anna von Windeg-Babenau if they consented to take each other for man and wife.

Again the officer's face twitched nervously, and he darted a look almost of hatred across to the other side. Next minute the double "yes" was spoken, and one of the oldest, proudest of aristocratic names had been exchanged for the simple, plebeian Berkow.

Hardly was the service over and the last word of the concluding benediction uttered, when the gentleman wearing the handsome brilliants pressed hastily forwards, evidently intending to embrace the newly-married lady with much ostentation. Before, however, he could carry out his project, the officer stepped between them; quickly, as though claiming an indisputable right to be first, he took the young bride in his arms;