Nina Balatka

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER IV

  When Nina returned to her father after Ziska's departure, a very fewwords made everything clear between them. "I would not have him ifthere was not another man in the world," Nina had said. "He thinks thatit is only Anton Trendellsohn that prevents it, but he knows nothingabout what a girl feels. He thinks that because we are poor I am to bebought, this way or that way, by a little money. Is that a man, father,that any girl can love?" Then the father had confessed his receipt ofthe bank-notes from Ziska, and we already know to what result thatconfession had led.

  Till she had delivered her packet into the hands of Lotta Luxa, shemaintained her spirits by the excitement of the thing she was doing.Though she should die in the streets of hunger, she would take no moneyfrom Ziska Zamenoy. But the question now was not only of her wants, butof her father's. That she, for herself, would be justified in returningZiska's money there could be no doubt; but was she equally justified ingiving back money that had been given to her father? As she walked tothe Windberg-gasse, still holding the parcel of notes in her hand, shehad no such qualms of conscience; but as she returned, when it wasaltogether too late for repentance, she made pictures to herself ofterrible scenes in which her father suffered all the pangs of want,because she had compelled him to part with this money. If she were tosay one word to Anton Trendellsohn, all her trouble on that head wouldbe over. Anton Trendellsohn would at once give her enough to satisfytheir immediate wants. In a month or two, when she would be Anton'swife, she would not be ashamed to take everything from his hand; andwhy should she be ashamed now to take something from him to whom shewas prepared to give everything? But she was ashamed to do so. She feltthat she could not go to him and ask him for bread. One other resourceshe had. There remained to her of her mother's property a necklace,which was all that was left to her from her mother. And when thishad been given to her at her mother's death, she had been speciallyenjoined not to part with it. Her father then had been too deeplyplunged in grief to say any words on such a subject, and the gift hadbeen put into her hands by her aunt Sophie. Even aunt Sophie had beensoftened at that moment, and had shown some tenderness to the orphanchild. "You are to keep it always for her sake," aunt Sophie had said;and Nina had hitherto kept the trinket, when all other things weregone, in remembrance of her mother. She had hitherto reconciled herselfto keeping her little treasure, when all other things were going, bythe sacredness of the deposit; and had told herself that even for herfather's sake she must not part with the gift which had come to herfrom her mother. But now she comforted herself by the reflection thatthe necklace would produce for her enough to repay her father thatpresent from Ziska which she had taken from him. Her father had pleadedsorely to be allowed to keep the notes. In her emotion at the momentshe had been imperative with him, and her resolution had prevailed. Butshe thought of his entreaties as she returned home, and of his povertyand wants, and she determined that the necklace should go. It wouldproduce for her at any rate as much as Ziska had given. She wished thatshe had brought it with her, as she passed the open door of a certainpawnbroker, which she had entered often during the last six months, andwhither she intended to take her treasure, so that she might comforther father on her return with the sight of the money. But she had itnot, and she went home empty-handed. "And now, Nina, I suppose we maystarve," said her father, whom she found sitting close to the stove inthe kitchen, while Souchey was kneeling before it, putting in at thelittle open door morsels of fuel which were lamentably insufficient forthe poor man's purpose of raising a fire. The weather, indeed, was asyet warm--so warm that in the middle of the day the heat was matter ofcomplaint to Josef Balatka; but in the evening he would become chill;and as there existed some small necessity for cooking, he would begthat he might thus enjoy the warmth of the kitchen.

  "Yes, we shall starve now," said Souchey, complacently. "There is notmuch doubt about our starving."

  "Souchey, I wonder you should speak like that before father," saidNina.

  "And why shouldn't he speak?" said Balatka. "I think he has as muchright as any one."

  "He has no right to make things worse than they are."

  "I don't know how I could do that, Nina," said the servant. "What madeyou take that money back to your aunt?"

  "I didn't take it back to my aunt."

  "Well, to any of the family then? I suppose it came from your aunt?"

  "It came from my cousin Ziska, and I thought it better to give it back.Souchey, do not you come in between father and me. There are troublesenough; do not you make them worse."

  "If I had been here you should never have taken it back again," saidSouchey, obstinately.

  "Father," said Nina, appealing to the old man, "how could I have keptit? You knew why it was given."

  "Who is to help us if we may not take it from them?"

  "To-morrow," said Nina, "I can get as much as he brought. And I will,and you shall see it."

  "Who will give it you, Nina?"

  "Never mind, father, I will have it."

  "She will beg it from her Jew lover," said Souchey.

  "Souchey," said she, with her eyes flashing fire at him, "if you cannottreat your master's daughter better than that, you may as well go."

  "Is it not true?" demanded Souchey.

  "No, it is not true; it is false. I have never taken money from Anton;nor shall I do so till we are married."

  "And that will be never," said Souchey. "It is as well to speak out atonce. The priest will not let it be done."

  "All the priests in Prague cannot hinder it," said Nina.

  "That is true," said Balatka.

  "We shall see," said Souchey. "And in the mean time what is the goodof fighting with the Zamenoys? They are your only friends, Nina, andtherefore you take delight in quarrelling with them. When people havemoney, they should be allowed to have a little pride." Nina saidnothing further on the occasion, though Souchey and her father wenton grumbling for an hour. She discovered, however, from various wordsthat her father allowed to fall from him, that his opposition to hermarriage had nearly faded away. It seemed to be his opinion that if shewere to marry the Jew, the sooner she did it the better. Now, Nina wasdetermined that she would marry the Jew, though heaven and earth shouldmeet in consequence. She would marry him if he would marry her. Theyhad told her that the Jew would jilt her. She did not put much faith inthe threat; but even that was more probable than that she should jilthim.

  On the following morning Souchey, in return, as it were, for hiscruelty to his young mistress on the preceding day, produced some smallstore of coin which he declared to be the result of a further sale ofthe last relics of his master's property; and Nina's journey with thenecklace to the pawnbroker was again postponed. That day and the nextwere passed in the old house without anything to make them memorableexcept their wearisome misery, and then Nina again went out to visitthe Jews' quarter. She told herself that she was taken there by theduties of her position; but in truth she could hardly bear her lifewithout the comfort of seeing the only person who would speak kindlyto her. She was engaged to marry this man, but she did not know whenshe was to be married. She would ask no question of her lover on thatmatter; but she could tell him--and she felt herself bound to tell him--what was really her own position, and also all that she knew of hisaffairs. He had given her to understand that he could not marry hertill he had obtained possession of certain documents which he believedto be in the possession of her uncle. And for these documents she, withhis permission, had made application. She had at any rate discoveredthat they certainly were at the office in the Ross Markt. So much shehad learned from Ziska; and so much, at any rate, she was bound to makeknown to her lover. And, moreover, since she had seen him she had toldall her relatives of her engagement. They all knew now that she lovedthe Jew, and that she had resolved to marry him; and of this also itwas her duty to give him tidings. The result of her communication toher father and her relatives in the Windberg-gasse had been by no meansso terrible as she had anticipated. The
heavens and the earth had notas yet shown any symptoms of coming together. Her aunt, indeed, hadbeen very angry; and Lotta Luxa and Souchey had told her that such amarriage would not be allowed. Ziska, too, had said some sharp words;and her father, for the first day or two, had expostulated. But thethreats had been weak threats, and she did not find herself to beannihilated--indeed, hardly to be oppressed--by the scolding of anyof them. What the priest might say she had not yet experienced; butopposition from other quarters had not as yet come upon her in anyform that was not endurable. Her aunt had intended to consume her withwrath, but Nina had not found herself to be consumed. All this it wasnecessary that she should tell to Anton Trendellsohn. It was grievousto her that it should be always her lot to go to her lover, and that heshould never--almost never--be able to seek her. It would in truth benever now, unless she could induce her father to receive Anton openlyas his acknowledged future son-in-law; and she could hardly hope thather father would yield so far as that. Other girls, she knew, stayedtill their lovers came to them, or met them abroad in public places--atthe gardens and music-halls, or perhaps at church; but no such joys asthese were within reach of Nina. The public gardens, indeed, were opento her and to Anton Trendellsohn as they were to others; but she knewthat she would not dare to be seen in public with her Jew lover tillthe thing was done and she and the Jew had become man and wife. On thisoccasion, before she left her home, she was careful to tell her fatherwhere she was going. "Have you any message to the Trendellsohns?" sheasked.

  "So you are going there again?" her father said.

  "Yes, I must see them. I told you that I had a commission from them tothe Zamenoys, which I have performed, and I must let them know what Idid. Besides, father, if this man is to be my husband, is it not wellthat I should see him?" Old Balatka groaned, but said nothing further,and Nina went forth to the Jews' quarter.

  On this occasion she found Trendellsohn the elder standing at the doorof his own house.

  "You want to see Anton," said the Jew. "Anton is out. He is awaysomewhere in the city--on business."

  "I shall be glad to see you, father, if you can spare me a minute."

  "Certainly, my child--an hour if it will serve you. Hours are notscarce with me now, as they used to be when I was Anton's age, and asthey are with him now. Hours, and minutes too, are very scarce withAnton in these days. Then he led the way up the dark stairs to thesitting-room, and Nina followed him. Nina and the elder Trendellsohnhad always hitherto been friends. Before her engagement with his sonthey had been affectionate friends, and since that had been made knownto him there had been no quarrel between them. But the old man hadhardly approved of his son's purpose, thinking that a Jew should lookfor the wife of his bosom among his own people, and thinking also,perhaps, that one who had so much of worldly wealth to offer as hisson should receive something also of the same in his marriage. OldTrendellsohn had never uttered a word of complaint to Nina--had saidnothing to make her suppose that she was not welcome to the house; buthe had never spoken to her with happy, joy-giving words, as the futurebride of his son. He still called her his daughter, as he had donebefore; but he did it only in his old fashion, using the affectionatefamiliarity of an old friend to a young maiden. He was a small, agedman, very thin and meagre in aspect--so meagre as to conceal in part,by the general tenuity of his aspect, the shortness of his stature.He was not even so tall as Nina, as Nina had discovered, much to hersurprise. His hair was grizzled, rather than grey, and the beard on histhin, wiry, wizened face was always close shorn. He was scrupulouslyclean in his person, and seemed, even at his age, to take a pride inthe purity and fineness of his linen. He was much older than Nina'sfather--more than ten years older, as he would sometimes boast; but hewas still strong and active, while Nina's father was worn out with age.Old Trendellsohn was eighty, and yet he would be seen trudging aboutthrough the streets of Prague, intent upon his business of money-making;and it was said that his son Anton was not even as yet actually inpartnership with him, or fully trusted by him in all his plans.

  "Father," Nina said, "I am glad that Anton is out, as now I can speak aword to you."

  "My dear, you shall speak fifty words."

  "That is very good of you. Of course I know that the house we live indoes in truth belong to you and Anton."

  "Yes, it belongs to me," said the Jew.

  "And we can pay no rent for it."

  "Is it of that you have come to speak, Nina? If so, do not troubleyourself. For certain reasons, which Anton can explain, I am willingthat your father should live there without rent."

  Nina blushed as she found herself compelled to thank the Jew for hischarity. "I know how kind you have been to father," she said.

  "Nay, my daughter, there has been no great kindness in it. Your fatherhas been unfortunate, and, Jew as I am, I would not turn him into thestreet. Do not trouble yourself to think of it."

  "But it was not altogether about that, father. Anton spoke to me theother day about some deeds which should belong to you."

  "They do belong to me," said Trendellsohn.

  "But you have them not in your own keeping."

  "No, we have not. It is, I believe, the creed of a Christian thathe may deal dishonestly with a Jew, though the Jew who shall dealdishonestly with a Christian is to be hanged. It is strange whatlatitude men will give themselves under the cloak of their religion!But why has Anton spoken to you of this? I did not bid him."

  "He sent me with a message to my aunt Sophie."

  "He was wrong; he was very foolish; he should have gone himself."

  "But, father, I have found out that the papers you want are certainlyin my uncle's keeping in the Ross Markt."

  "Of course they are, my dear. Anton might have known that withoutemploying you."

  So far Nina had performed but a small part of the task which she hadbefore her. She found it easier to talk to the old man about thetitle-deeds of the house in the Kleinseite than she did to tell him ofher own affairs. But the thing was to be done, though the doing of itwas difficult; and, after a pause, she persevered. "And I told auntSophie," she said, with her eyes turned upon the ground, "of myengagement with Anton."

  "You did?"

  "Yes; and I told father."

  "And what did your father say?"

  "Father did not say much. He is poorly and weak."

  "Yes, yes; not strong enough to fight against the abomination of a Jewson-in-law. And what did your aunt say? She is strong enough to fightanybody."

  "She was very angry."

  "I suppose so, I suppose so. Well, she is right. As the world goes inPrague, my child, you will degrade yourself by marrying a Jew."

  "I want nothing prouder than to be Anton's wife," said Nina.

  "And to speak sooth," said the old man, "the Jew will degrade himselffully as much by marrying you."

  "Father, I would not have that. If I thought that my love would injurehim, I would leave him."

  "He must judge for himself," said Trendellsohn, relenting somewhat.

  "He must judge for himself and for me too," said Nina.

  "He will be able, at any rate, to keep a house over your head."

  "It is not for that," said Nina, thinking of her cousin Ziska's offer.She need not want for a house and money if she were willing to sellherself for such things as them.

  "Anton will be rich, Nina, and you are very poor."

  "Can I help that, father? Such as I am, I am his. If all Prague weremine I would give it to him."

  The old man shook his head. "A Christian thinks that it is too muchhonour for a Jew to marry a Christian, though he be rich, and she havenot a ducat for her dower."

  "Father, your words are cruel. Do you believe I would give Anton myhand if I did not love him? I do not know much of his wealth; but,father, I might be the promised wife of a Christian to-morrow, who is,perhaps, as rich as he--if that were anything."

  "And who is that other lover, Nina?"

  "It matters not. He can be nothing to me--nothing in
that way. I loveAnton Trendellsohn, and I could not be the wife of any other but him."

  "I wish it were otherwise. I tell you so plainly to your face. I wishit were otherwise. Jews and Christians have married in Prague, I know,but good has never come of it. Anton should find a wife among his ownpeople; and you--it would be better for you to take that other offer ofwhich you spoke."

  "It is too late, father."

  "No, Nina, it is not too late. If Anton would be wise, it is not toolate."

  "Anton can do as he pleases. It is too late for me. If Anton thinks itwell to change his mind, I shall not reproach him. You can tell him so,father--from me."

  "He knows my mind already, Nina. I will tell him, however, what you sayof your own friends. They have heard of your engagement, and are angrywith you, of course."

  "Aunt Sophie and her people are angry."

  "Of course they will oppose it. They will set their priests at you, andfrighten you almost to death. They will drive the life out of youryoung heart with their curses. You do not know what sorrows are beforeyou."

  "I can bear all that. There is only one sorrow that I fear. If Anton istrue to me, I will not mind all the rest."

  The old man's heart was softened towards her. He could not bringhimself to say a word to her of direct encouragement, but he kissed herbefore she went, telling her that she was a good girl, and bidding herhave no care as to the house in the Kleinseite. As long as he lived,and her father, her father should not be disturbed. And as for deeds,he declared, with something of a grim smile on his old visage, thatthough a Jew had always a hard fight to get his own from a Christian,the hard fighting did generally prevail at last. "We shall get them,Nina, when they have put us to such trouble and expense as theirlaws may be able to devise. Anton knows that as well as I do."

  At the door of the house Nina found the old man's grand-daughterwaiting for her. Ruth Jacobi was the girl's name, and she was theorphaned child of a daughter of old Trendellsohn. Father and motherwere both dead; and of her father, who had been dead long, Ruth hadno memory. But she still wore some remains of the black garments whichhad been given to her at her mother's funeral; and she still grievedbitterly for her mother, having no woman with her in that gloomy house,and no other child to comfort her. Her grandfather and her uncle werekind to her--kind after their own gloomy fashion; but it was a sadhouse for a young girl, and Ruth, though she knew nothing of any betterabode, found the days to be very long, and the months to be verywearisome.

  "What has he been saying to you, Nina?" the girl asked, taking hold ofher friend's dress, to prevent her escape into the street. "You neednot be in a hurry for a minute. He will not come down."

  "I am not afraid of him. Ruth."

  "I am, then. But perhaps he is not cross to you."

  "Why should he be cross to me?"

  "I know why, Nina, but I will not say. Uncle Anton has been out all theday, and was not home to dinner. It is much worse when he is away."

  "Is Anton ever cross to you, Ruth?"

  "Indeed he is--sometimes. He scolds much more than grandfather. But heis younger, you know."

  "Yes; he is younger, certainly."

  "Not but what he is very old, too; much too old for you, Nina. When Ihave a lover I will never have an old man."

  "But Anton is not old."

  "Not like grandfather, of course. But I should like a lover who wouldlaugh and be gay. Uncle Anton is never gay. My lover shall be only twoyears older than myself. Uncle Anton must be twenty years older thanyou, Nina."

  "Not more than ten--or twelve at the most."

  "He is too old to laugh and dance."

  "Not at all, dear; but he thinks of other things."

  "I should like a lover to think of the things that I think about. It isall very well being steady when you have got babies of your own; butthat should be after ever so long. I should like to keep my lover as alover for two years. And all that time he should like to dance with me,and to hear music, and to go about just where I would like to go."

  "And what then, Ruth?"

  "Then? Why, then I suppose I should marry him, and become stupid likethe rest. But I should have the two years to look back at and toremember. Do you think, Nina, that you will ever come and live herewhen you are married?"

  "I do not know that I shall ever be married, Ruth."

  "But you mean to marry uncle Anton?"

  "I cannot say. It may be so."

  "But you love him, Nina?"

  "Yes, I love him. I love him with all my heart. I love him better thanall the world besides. Ruth, you cannot tell how I love him. I wouldlie down and die if he were to bid me."

  "He will never bid you do that."

  "You think that he is old, and dull, and silent, and cross. But when hewill sit still and not say a word to me for an hour together, I thinkthat I almost love him the best. I only want to be near him, Ruth."

  "But you do not like him to be cross."

  "Yes, I do. That is, I like him to scold me if he is angry. If he wereangry, and did not scold a little, I should think that he was reallyvexed with me."

  "Then you must be very much in love, Nina?"

  "I am in love--very much."

  "And does it make you happy?"

  "Happy! Happiness depends on so many things. But it makes me feel thatthere can only be one real unhappiness; and unless that should come tome, I shall care for nothing. Good-bye, love. Tell your uncle that Iwas here, and say--say to him when no one else can hear, that I wentaway with a sad heart because I had not seen him."

  It was late in the evening when Anton Trendellsohn came home, but Ruthremembered the message that had been intrusted to her, and managed tofind a moment in which to deliver it. But her uncle took it amiss, andscolded her. "You two have been talking nonsense together here half theday, I suppose."

  "I spoke to her for five minutes, uncle; that was all."

  "Did you do your lessons with Madame Pulsky?"

  "Yes, I did, uncle--of course. You know that."

  "I know that it is a pity you should not be better looked after."

  "Bring Nina home here and she will look after me."

  "Go to bed, miss--at once, do you hear?"

  Then Ruth went off to her bed, wondering at Nina's choice, anddeclaring to herself, that if ever she took in hand a lover at all, heshould be a lover very different from her uncle, Anton Trendellsohn.