The only valuable result of the amusing ghost story
was, that it brought about a reconciliation between
father and son, and the former, as a matter of fact,
felt such deep respect for priests and their ghosts
in consequence of the apparition, that a short time
after his wife had left purgatory for the last time,
in order to talk with him, he turned Protestant.
Love is stronger than death, and consequently also,
than the greatest crash.
A young, and by no means bad-looking son of Palestine,
and one of the barons of the Almanac of the Ghetto,
who had left the field covered with wounds in the
last general engagement on the Stock Exchange, used
to go very frequently to the Universal Exhibition in
Vienna in 1873, in order to divert his thoughts, and
to console himself amidst the varied scenes, and the
numerous objects of attraction there. One day
he met a newly married couple in the Russian section,
who had a very old coat of arms, but on the other
hand, a very modest income.
This latter circumstance had frequently emboldened
the stockbroker to make secret overtures to the delightful
little lady; overtures which might have fascinated
certain Viennese actresses, but which were sure to
insult a respectable woman. The baroness, whose
name appeared in the Almanack de Gotha, therefore
felt something very like hatred for the man from the
Ghetto, and for a long time her pretty little
head had been full of various plans of revenge.
The stockbroker, who was really, and even passionately
in love with her, got close to her in the Exhibition
buildings, which he could do all the more easily,
since the little woman’s husband had taken to
flight, foreseeing mischief, as soon as she went up
to the show-case of a Russian fur dealer, before which
she remained standing in rapture.
“Do look at that lovely fur,” the baroness
said, while her dark eyes expressed her pleasure;
“I must have it.”
But she looked at the white ticket on which the price
was marked.
“Four thousand roubles,” she said in despair;
“that is about six thousand florins.”
“Certainly,” he replied, “but what
of that? It is a sum not worth mentioning in
the presence of such a charming lady.”
“But my husband is not in a position ...”
“Be less cruel than usual for once,” the
man from the Ghetto said to the young woman
in a low voice, “and allow me to lay this sable
skin at your feet.”
“I presume that you are joking.”
“Not I ...”
“I think you must be joking, as I cannot think
that you intend to insult me.”
“But, Baroness, I love you....”
“That is one reason more why you should not
make me angry.”
“But ...”
“Oh! I am in such a rage,” the energetic
little woman said; “I could flog you like Venus
in the Fur[2] did her slave.”
