Читать книгу Vineta, the Phantom City - E. Werner - Страница 2

"Doctor, will you have the kindness to stop once for all these everlasting complaints! Nothing can be done with the lad, I tell you. I have tried often enough to make him change his ways, and have called in six private tutors to help me. We could not manage him, and you can not; so let him have his own way!"

It was the rich proprietor, Herr Witold of Altenhof, who gave this advice to his ward's tutor. Both gentlemen sat in the large corner room of the Altenhof dwelling. The windows were wide open on account of the heat, and all the surroundings showed that the people who dwelt here held such things as elegance and comfort superfluous if not disgraceful. The shabby, old-fashioned furniture was shoved here and there as convenience demanded, and without the least regard to taste or order. On the walls hung a confused medley of fowling-pieces, hunting implements, and deer-horns. Wherever a vacant space offered, a nail had been driven, and some nondescript object had been hung upon it without the least concern for appearances. Upon the writing-desk lay household accounts, tobacco-pipes, spurs, and half a dozen new riding-whips; a pile of daily newspapers upon the floor afforded a luxurious couch to the large hunting-dog, and gave evidence of frequent use. Nothing was in its place; but there was one article in the room which gave a hint of the artistic tastes of the inmates of the house; this was a very gaudy, highly-colored hunting-piece which hung over the sofa, occupying the place of honor upon the blank, grimy wall.

Herr Witold sat in his arm-chair at a window, but his face and head were quite lost in dense clouds of smoke from his meerschaum pipe. In spite of his white hair and his sixty years, he had a fresh, youthful look, and was in the fulness of strength and health. The very tall figure showed a proportionate rotundity; the ruddy face did not indicate great intelligence, but it bore the unmistakable impress of good-nature. The dress, a combination of house and hunting costume, was rather negligent, and the powerful frame and loud voice formed a striking and almost painful contrast to the slender form and timid accents of the tutor.

The doctor was evidently a little past thirty; he was of medium height, although his bowed form made him appear shorter; his face was not really plain, but it bore so marked an impress of ill health and of a subordinate place in life, that it could not be called attractive. His complexion was pale and sallow, his brow was wrinkled, and his eyes had that absent, uncertain glance peculiar to people whose thoughts seldom or never descend to the level of real and practical things. His black suit betrayed the most scrupulous care, and there was something timid and anxious in the man's whole appearance. This timidity and anxiety pervaded the tones of his voice, as he answered, mildly,–

"You know, Herr Witold, that I come to you only in cases of extreme necessity; this time I must ask you to assert your authority; I see no other way."

"What has Waldemar been doing?" asked the guardian, in a tone of great annoyance. "I know as well as you that he is ungovernable, but I cannot help you. The youngster has outgrown my authority, he no longer obeys any one. You say he runs away from his books, preferring to drive around with the hunters; that is nothing; I did the same thing when I was a lad, and I could never get this learned nonsense into my head any better than he can. You say also that he has no manners; well, they are not at all necessary. We live here all by ourselves, and if we happen to meet our neighbors, we feel no embarrassment; our manners are as good as theirs. You must admit this, doctor, if you do take to your heels whenever we have our hunting and drinking parties."

"But these are only companies of men; supposing Waldemar, with his uncultivated manners, should enter other circles and the society of ladies; supposing he should some day marry–"

"Marry!" echoed Herr Witold, really wounded at such a supposition. "He will not do that. Why need he marry? I have lived a bachelor all my life, and I am very happy and comfortable. My deceased relative, Nordeck, would have done far better to remain single. But we need not trouble ourselves about Waldemar's marrying, Heaven be praised! He runs away from all the girls, and there he is right!"

The old bachelor leaned back in his arm-chair with an air of supreme comfort and satisfaction. The doctor drew nearer.

"To return to the first topic of conversation," he said, hesitatingly; "you must admit that my pupil has passed entirely beyond my control, and it is high time he was sent to the university."

Herr Witold gave such a violent start that the affrighted tutor stepped back several paces.

"I thought you were coming round to the university! You have talked of nothing else for a month. And what will Waldemar do at the university? Let the professors cram his head with more learning? I thought he had already learned quite enough from you; you have taught him all a clever landlord needs to know. He is just as capable of managing an estate as my inspector; he understands better than I how to make his tenants respect him, and none excel him in riding and hunting. He is a splendid young fellow."

The tutor did not seem to share the guardian's enthusiasm for his ward, but he ventured no opinion; he only summoned up his little stock of courage, and said, very timidly,–

"The heir of Villica requires something more than the knowledge which fits a man to be a good steward or inspector; a university education seems to me highly desirable for Waldemar."

"I do not at all agree with you," replied Herr Witold. "Is it not enough that this boy who has grown so near my heart must soon leave me to take charge of his estates in that accursed Poland? Shall I send him from me to the university when he does not want to go? Don't mention the subject again, doctor; he will remain here until he goes to Villica."

He resumed his pipe in grim displeasure, taking such enormous puffs that his face again disappeared behind clouds of smoke. The tutor sighed and was silent, but even this quiet resignation seemed to annoy the tyrannical master of Altenhof.

"You may as well be content, doctor, to give up that idea of the university," he said, in a more conciliating tone. "You will never, never persuade Waldemar to go there, and as for yourself, it is far better for you to remain in Altenhof. Here you are right in your element among these giants' graves and runic stones, and whatever else you call that sort of stuff you are studying all day long. I can't for the life of me understand what you find so remarkable in this old heathen rubbish, but every living mortal has his own idea of pleasure, and I allow you yours with all my heart, for Waldemar often makes your lot hard enough; and so do I, for that matter."

"O, no, Herr Witold–" began the doctor, deprecatingly.

"No protestations," interrupted the old man, good-naturedly. "I know you must abhor our outlandish way of life here; you would long ago have left us as your six predecessors did, if it had not been for this old pagan trash to which your heart clings, and from which you cannot tear yourself away. You know I am, upon the whole, a rather good sort of a man, although I flare up now and then; and as your thoughts constantly prowl around those old barbarous times, you must feel yourself at home in Altenhof, which is so full of relics of past ages. How can you set such store by the people of those times, when they had such execrable manners? Why, the best of friends among them used to beat each other to death just for pure amusement."

Herr Witold's historical knowledge quite confounded the doctor. "I beg your pardon," he said; "the old Germans–"

"Were not at all like you, doctor," interposed Herr Witold, laughing. "I think of all people I know, Waldemar most resembles them, and I can't understand why you find so much fault with him."

"But, my dear sir, in the nineteenth century–" began Doctor Fabian; he went no further, for at this moment a shot whizzed through the open window, and the huge antlers which hung over the writing-desk fell with a crash.

Herr Witold sprang from his chair. "What does this mean? Is the young upstart going to shoot us right here in our sitting-room? Wait, I'll see about that!"

He was about to rush out of doors, but at this moment a young man burst into the room. He was in hunting costume, a large hound followed him, and he carried a fowling-piece in his hand. Without greeting or apology, he marched up to his guardian, planted himself right before him, and said, triumphantly, "Well, who was right, you or I?"

The old gentleman was really angry. "What do you mean by shooting over people's shoulders, and endangering their lives?" he cried, excitedly. "Did you really want to shoot the doctor and me?"

Waldemar shrugged his shoulders. "O, by no means! I wanted to win my wager. You declared yesterday, that I could not, firing from outside, hit that nail from which the deer-antlers hung. There is the ball!"

"Yes, there it is to be sure," reiterated Witold, admiringly and quite pacified. "But what is the matter with you, doctor?"

"Doctor Fabian has one of his nervous attacks," said Waldemar, with a contemptuous shrug, laying aside his gun, but making no effort to help his tutor who had sunk half fainting upon the sofa, and trembling from head to foot. The good-natured Witold held him upright and tried to reassure him.

"Don't faint because a little powder has been fired off," he said; "it isn't worth minding. We did lay a wager, but I had no idea that the youngster would decide it in that preposterous way. There, you are better now, thank God!"

Doctor Fabian rose and made an unavailing effort to control his trepidation. "You might have shot us, Waldemar," he said, with white lips.

"No, doctor, I could not have done that," replied Waldemar, unconcernedly. "You stood with my uncle at the window to the right, I shot through the window to the left, at least five paces distant. You know I never miss my aim."

"But you must stop all such foolhardy actions," said the guardian, with an effort at asserting his authority. "Henceforth I forbid your shooting in the yard."

The young fellow folded his arms, and gazed defiantly at his guardian. "You can forbid, uncle, but I shall not obey," he said. "I shall shoot wherever like."

He stood before his foster-father, the very personification of self-will and defiance. Waldemar Nordeck was moulded after the Germanic type, and bore no trace of his Polish origin. The tall, almost giant figure towered even above Witold's stately form, but it lacked symmetry; its outlines were sharp and angular. The heavy mass of blonde hair seemed a burden to his head, for it fell low over the forehead, and was every now and then thrown back with an impatient movement; the blue eyes had a sullen expression, and in moments of exasperation, like this, an almost malignant glare; the face was decidedly plain, having neither the delicate lineaments of the boy, nor the decided features of the man. The transition period from youth to manhood in Waldemar Nordeck assumed an almost repellent form, and his lack of polite culture, his entire disregard of all social customs, served to heighten the unfavorable impression produced by his appearance.

Herr Witold was one of those men whose physique indicates an energy they do not possess. Instead of resolutely opposing and correcting the obstinacy and rudeness of his ward, he passively yielded to his will in all things. "I tell you, doctor, that boy is more than a match for me," he said, with a tranquillity which showed that this was the usual conclusion of all differences between them, and that if Waldemar insisted upon having his own way, the guardian was powerless as the tutor.

The young man took no further notice of either; he threw himself on the sofa entirely oblivious to the fact that his boots, which were soaked through with ditch-water, rested on the cushions. The dog, also drenched with water, followed the example of his master, and with the same unconcern made himself comfortable on the carpet.

An ominous pause followed. Herr Witold, muttering to himself, sought to re-light his pipe; Doctor Fabian had fled to a window and was contemplating the sky with an absent, restless glance which expressed more plainly than words his exceeding discomfort in the life around him. Herr Witold, finding his pipe empty, was meantime searching for his tobacco-box, which he presently found on the writing-desk under the spurs and riding-whips. While drawing the box from beneath a mass of rubbish, an unopened letter fell into his hands. He took it up, saying, "I had quite forgotten, Waldemar; here is a letter for you."

"For me?" asked Waldemar, indifferently, and yet with that accent of surprise which accompanies an unusual event.

"Yes; and there is a coronet on the seal, and a shield with all sorts of armorial bearings. It must be from your princess-mother. It is a long time since she has honored us with a specimen of her dainty handwriting."

Young Nordeck broke the seal and read the letter. It contained only a few lines, but his brow darkened as he read.

"Well, what is it?" asked the guardian. "Is the princess still in Paris? I did not notice the postmark."

"The Princess Zulieski is with her son at C–," returned Waldemar, who seemed to have an aversion to the names mother and brother. "They wish to see me there, and I shall ride over to-morrow."

"You will do no such thing!" said Herr Witold. "Your princely relatives have for years ignored you, and now you may ignore them. We care no more for them than they for us. You shall not go."

"Uncle Witold, I have had enough of your everlasting commands and prohibitions," cried Waldemar so savagely that his guardian stared at him in open-mouthed wonder. "Am I a schoolboy who must ask permission for every step I take? At twenty-one years of age, have I not a right to decide whether I will go and see my mother? I have already decided. I shall ride over to C– to-morrow morning."

"Tut! tut! don't be so furious about it," said the old gentleman, more astonished than angry at this sudden outbreak of a fury he could not understand. "Go where you like for all me, but I will have nothing to do with this Polish gentry, I tell you that!"

Waldemar found refuge in an indignant silence, and ere long, taking his fowling-piece and whistling to his dog to follow him, he left the house. Herr Witold gazed after his ward, shaking his head dubiously, but all at once a new idea seemed to dawn upon him; he took up the letter Waldemar had carelessly flung upon the table, and read it through. His brow grew dark in turn, as he read, and his voice broke out into fury.

"I thought so!" he exclaimed, striking with his clenched hand upon the table, "this is just like our lady-princess. In half a dozen lines she goads the young fellow on to revolt against me; I now see what all at once made him so defiant. Doctor, just listen to this precious epistle."

"'My Son: Years have passed since I received a word or sign of life from you,'–('As if she had given him one!' interpolated the reader.)–'I know only through strangers that you are living at Altenhof with your guardian. I am at present in C–, and it will delight me to see you there and introduce you to your brother. I do not really know'–, ('Listen, doctor, now comes the sting')–'I do not really know whether you will be allowed to make this visit, as I am told that, although you have attained your majority, you are still entirely under your guardian's control.'–('Doctor, you yourself can testify how that young scoundrel defies and overreaches us every day.')–'I do not question your willingness to come, but I doubt whether you can obtain the required permission. I have thought best to write to you, and I shall see if you possess independence enough to gratify this wish of your mother, the first she has ever expressed to you, or if you dare not attempt it'–('This dare is underlined.')–'In the former case, I expect you immediately, and close with kindest greetings from your brother and myself.

"'Your   Mother.'"

Herr Witold was so exasperated that he flung the letter upon the floor. "This is a fine piece of strategy in the princess-mother," he said. "She knows as well as I what a self-willed fellow Waldemar is; and if she had studied him for years, she could not have approached him on a weaker side. The mere thought of compulsion enrages him. I might now move heaven and earth to keep him here, and he would go, merely to prove that he has his own way. What have you to say on the subject?"

Doctor Fabian seemed fully to understand the family relations, and to regard the approaching interview with an alarm quite equal to that of Herr Witold; but it arose from entirely different reasons. "Heaven help us!" said he, anxiously. "If Waldemar, with his uncultivated manners, goes to C– and appears before the princess, what will she think of him?"

"She will think that he resembles his father and not her," was the emphatic answer. "And as soon as she sees Waldemar, it will become clear to her that she can make him no pliable tool for her intrigues; for I will wager my head that she has some intrigue on hand. Either the princely purse is empty–I believe it has never been any too full–or a little government conspiracy is on the tapis, and Villica, which lies close to the Polish boundary, is a very convenient place. Heaven only knows what she wants of my boy, but I will find out her plans and open his eyes in season."

"But, Herr Witold," remonstrated the doctor, "why widen this unfortunate breach in your family just now, when the mother offers her hand in reconciliation? Would it not be better to make peace at last?"

"You do not understand the situation," replied the guardian, with a bitterness very unusual to him. "No peace can be made with this woman without entire submission to her authority; and because my deceased relative would not yield up his will to hers, he had continual discord in his house. But I do not hold him guiltless; he had serious faults, and made his wife's life very wretched; but this Princess Maryna was no wife for him. Another and a different woman might perhaps have won unbounded influence over him, and have wrought a change in his whole character; but affection alone could have such power, and this woman has never cared for any one but herself. She is by nature heartless and arrogant. Well, she atoned for the supposed humiliation of her first marriage by a second union to a Polish prince, but the one supreme grievance of her life has been her expulsion from Villica, which would have been her widow's dower if Nordeck had not cut her off in his will. He left his entire fortune to Waldemar, and we have educated the lad in such a way that he will not be likely to make a fool of himself."

"We!" cried the doctor, in consternation. "Herr Witold, I have honestly tried to do my duty to my pupil, but I have not been able to effect the least improvement in his manners. If I had–" He stopped short.

"They would have been different," added Witold, laughing. "Well, you need have no twinges of conscience about that. The lad suits me perfectly just as he is now. If you prefer to have it so, say that I have educated him; I shall be delighted if he does not prove a suitable instrument for his mother's intriguing plans, and if my training and her Parisian culture are at loggerheads to-morrow, it will delight me still more. This, at least, will be a revenge for that malicious letter."

With these words, Herr Witold left the room. The doctor picked up the letter from the floor, folded it carefully, and murmured, with a deep sigh,–

"After all, it will be said that a certain Doctor Fabian educated the young heir. O, righteous heaven!"