Читать книгу Vineta, the Phantom City - E. Werner - Страница 8

The boat which bore the two young pleasure-seekers sped along under full sail. The sea was rough; the waves broke into foam, scattering showers of spray around them; but Waldemar held the helm with a steady hand, and Wanda, who sat opposite him, evidently took delight even in the danger and discomfort of the passage.

"Leo will complain of us to his mother," she said, gazing toward the shore, which was already receding in the distance. "He was very angry when he left us; you were not courteous to him, Waldemar."

"I do not like to have another steer when I am in the boat," replied Waldemar, imperiously.

"And what if I wanted to steer?"

His only reply was to rise hastily, and offer the young girl the helm. She burst out laughing. "O, no, thank you. I only asked the question to see how you would answer it. I should not enjoy the sail if I had to give my whole attention to steering the boat."

Without a word Waldemar again took the rudder which had occasioned the dispute between himself and Leo, although its real cause had been a very different matter, which neither would own.

"Where shall we sail?" asked Wanda, after a brief silence.

"Shall we not go to the beech-holm, as we intended?"

"Is it not too far?"

"With this favorable breeze we shall be there in half an hour. You wanted to see the sunset from that spot."

Wanda offered no opposition, although a restless, anxious feeling came over her. Hitherto Leo had been her constant companion in all out-door excursions; to-day, for the first time, she found herself alone with another. Young as she was, her womanly penetration taught her the reason of Waldemar's timidity and embarrassment at his first visit. He was incapable of dissimulation, and although he had not betrayed himself by a single word, his eyes spoke only too plain a language; he was less demonstrative towards her than towards others, but yet she was fully conscious of her power over him and knew how to use it. She certainly, at times, misused this power, for the whole affair was only a jest to her. She was pleased with the idea of controlling this obstinate, ungovernable nature by a word or a glance. Her vanity was flattered at this mute and strange yet passionate adoration, and it amused her prodigiously to see Leo so jealous of Waldemar. She did not intend to give the preference to the elder brother; his exterior repelled her, while his uncouthness horrified and his conversation bored her. Love made him no more agreeable. He never showed that gallantry and politeness of which Leo, although so young, was already master. He seemed to yield reluctantly to the spell the young girl threw around him, to resign himself to a passion from which he could not break away–a passion that had made him its unwilling slave.

The beech-holm might once have been a small island; it was now a densely wooded peninsula connected with the mainland by an isthmus, across which it could be easily reached on foot. Beautiful as it was, the place was seldom visited; it was too solitary and remote for the pleasure-seekers at C–, whose favorite excursions were to the neighboring villages lying along the coast. To-day, there was no one at the holm when the boat landed. Waldemar stepped out, and Wanda, without waiting for his help, sprang lightly upon the white sand and hurried up the hill.

The beech-holm was rightly named. Primeval beeches spread their mighty branches far and wide, casting their sombre shadows over the verdant turf and weather-beaten boulders which lay scattered here and there, marking, so tradition said, the site of an old pagan place of sacrifice. On both sides of the landing-place the trees receded, forming a sort of frame to the open sea, which a deep, blue, unmeasurable expanse stretched out into the distance. No shore, no island bounded the vision; no sail appeared on the horizon's verge; there was nothing but the sea in its vastness and beauty and grandeur; and the beech-holm lay there as lonely and forsaken as if it were a small island in mid-ocean.

Wanda removed her straw hat, whose only trimming was a simple band of black ribbon, and sat down on one of the moss-covered stones. She still wore light mourning for her aunt's husband. Her white dress was trimmed with black, and a black sash with long ends encircled her waist. This white and black apparel gave a sombreness to the young girl's appearance which did not properly belong to her. She sat there radiant in youth, health, and beauty, with beaming eyes and clasped hands, gazing out upon the water.

Waldemar, who had seated himself on the trunk of a beech, was lost in admiration of the beautiful young girl. No other object, far or near, possessed the slightest interest for him, and he started as if from a dream when Wanda jestingly asked, pointing to her seat,–

"Is this one of your old Runic stones?"

Waldemar shrugged his shoulders. "You must ask my tutor, Doctor Fabian, about that. He is more at home in the first centuries of our era than in the present. He would give you a very learned and exhaustive lecture upon ancient graves, Runic stones, and all that sort of thing; and nothing would afford him greater pleasure."

"Spare me that, for heaven's sake! But if Doctor Fabian has such an enthusiasm for past ages, I wonder he has not instilled a similar taste into you. You seem very indifferent to the past."

"What do I care for all this old-time nonsense? The fields and forests of to-day interest me only on account of the game they offer."

"How prosaic! Then here upon this beautiful beech-holm you were doubtless thinking only of the deer and rabbits possibly lurking in the thickets."

"No," replied Waldemar, emphatically, "not here."

"Such thoughts would be unpardonable amid this scenery," said Wanda. "Just look at that sunset illumination! The waves give forth rays just as dazzling as those of the sky above them."

Waldemar gazed indifferently. "Ah, yes!" he said; "Vineta must have sunken right there."

"What must have sunken there?" Wanda asked, eagerly.

"Have you never heard about Vineta? It is one of our sea-shore traditions. I thought everybody knew it."

"I do not; tell me all about it."

"I am a poor story-teller. Ask any old sailor along the coast to relate it to you; he can do it far better than I."

"But I will hear it from your lips; so tell it."

Waldemar's brow grew dark. The young lady was too imperious.

"You will!" he returned, rather sharply.

"Yes, I will," she repeated, with the same obstinacy as before. She evidently knew her power, and meant to use it.

The frown on the young man's brow deepened. He felt like rebelling against the spell that fettered him, but when he met the dark eyes whose glance seemed to change from command to entreaty, his defiance vanished, his brow cleared, and he smiled.

"Well, then, I must tell the story in my own abrupt, prosaic way," he said, emphasizing the last adjective. "According to the legend, Vineta was an old, fortified city by the sea, the metropolis of a people who ruled land and water far and near, who surpassed all the world in pomp and grandeur, and into whose lap the wealth and treasure of all lands were poured. But the inhabitants of Vineta became so haughty, so overbearing, and so wicked, that their pride and sin called down the vengeance of Heaven upon their city, and it was swallowed up by the waves. Our sailors swear that yonder, where the shore recedes, the great city rests to-day in all its olden splendor. They declare that they frequently catch glimpses of its towers and domes glistening fathoms deep below the waters; that occasionally the city in its olden magnificence rises from the sea, and that certain favored ones are allowed to behold the enchanting sight. Indeed, there are mirages enough along this coast, and we have here in the North a sort of fata morgana whose cause I cannot explain, although my tutor has told me all about it–"

"Never mind the explanation," interrupted Wanda. "Who cares for that, if the legend is only beautiful? And it is delightful–don't you think so?"

"Well, really, I have never given its beauty a thought," replied Waldemar.

"Have you, then, no feeling for the poetic? That is deplorable."

"Do you really think so?" he asked, in surprise.

"Indeed I do."

"No one has ever taught me to know or to appreciate what you call the poetic," the young man said, in a tone of apology. "The poetic plays no part in my uncle's house, and my tutors have given me only dry lessons in practical things. I now begin to comprehend for the first time that there is such a thing as poetry."

As Waldemar said this, his face had an unusually dreamy expression. He threw back the hair which usually hung low over his forehead, and leaned his head against the trunk of the tree. Wanda now for the first time made the discovery that a remarkably high and finely shaped forehead lay concealed under that mass of blonde hair. It was a forehead that dignified and ennobled the plain, irregular features. Over the left temple ran a peculiarly marked blue vein, clearly and sharply defined even in calm, untroubled moments. Wanda had often ridiculed that "tawny lion's mane," little dreaming of the clear, high brow that lay beneath.

"Do you know, Waldemar, that I have just made a discovery?" she said.

"Ah! what is it?" he answered, abstractedly.

"That singular blue vein on your forehead; my aunt has one just like it, only not so strongly defined."

"Indeed! Then this is the only point of resemblance between my mother and me."

"That is true; you resemble her only in this one respect; but Leo is her exact image."

"Leo!" echoed Waldemar, with a peculiar intonation. "Ah, yes! that is very natural."

"And why ought the younger brother to have the advantage of the elder?"

"Why not in all else, since he has the first place in his mother's love?"

"But, Waldemar–"

"Is this news to you?" interrupted the young man, almost sadly. "I thought my relations toward my mother were known to every one. She forces herself to treat me kindly and courteously, and effort enough it costs her. But she cannot overcome her inward aversion–neither can I; so we stand on the same footing."

Wanda made no reply. The turn the conversation had taken surprised her greatly. Waldemar did not seem to notice her astonishment; he went on in a tone of great bitterness. "The Princess Zulieski is a stranger to me and must remain so. I do not belong to her or to her son; I have no part in their life. I feel this more and more at every meeting. You have no idea, Wanda, what it costs me to cross their threshold. It is a torture I have imposed upon myself, and I would never have believed I could endure it so patiently."

"Why do you endure it? No one forces you to come," exclaimed Wanda, thoughtlessly.

He gazed at her intently, and his whole soul was in that gaze. The answer beamed so plainly from his eyes that the young girl blushed deeply. That ardent, reproachful look spoke only too plainly.

"You do my aunt injustice," she said, excitedly, trying to conceal her embarrassment. "She must surely love her own son."

"O, most assuredly!" returned Waldemar, impetuously. "I have no doubt that she loves Leo very much, although she treats him harshly; but why should she love me or I her? I was only a year old when I lost both my father and my mother. I was torn from my home to grow up in a stranger's house. When I learned to reflect and to ask questions, I was told that the marriage of my parents had been unfortunate for both, and that they had parted in bitter hatred. I have since experienced the disastrous effects of this hatred upon my own life. I was early taught that my mother was solely to blame, but I heard such hints thrown out in regard to my father's character that I could not hold him guiltless. And so I grew up to dislike and suspect my parents–those two beings a child should hold in the highest love and reverence. I cannot now rid myself of these early impressions. My uncle–I call him uncle, although he is only a distant relative of my father–has been very good to me, but he could offer me nothing different from the life he himself led. You doubtless know what that life has been; my mother's family are all well informed on that point. And yet, knowing all this, Wanda, do you demand from me a knowledge of æsthetics and of poetry?"

These last words had a tone of indignant reproach, but beneath them lurked a melancholy regret. Wanda gazed with wide-open eyes at her companion whom she did not at all understand to-day. This was her first serious conversation with him; he had never before broken his silent reserve toward her. The peculiarly distant relations between this mother and son had not escaped her notice, but she had not believed Waldemar at all sensitive upon this point. Hitherto not a syllable on the subject had fallen from his lips, and now all at once he showed a depth of feeling which was almost passionate lamentation. At this moment, for the first time, the young girl realized how lonely, and empty, and neglected Waldemar's childhood must have been, and how forsaken and friendless was this young heir of whose wealth she had heard so much.

"You wished to see the sunset," Waldemar said, abruptly, and with an entire change of voice and manner. "I think it will be one of uncommon splendor to-night."

The layer of clouds which skirted the horizon was all aflame with warmth and glow, and the sea, flooded with light and reflecting from its clear depths all the splendor of the illuminated sky, gave back the farewell greeting of the departing day. From both sky and land streamed a flood of radiance, diffusing itself far and near. But above the spot where the wondrous city Vineta rested upon the ocean's floor, the waves burned with a scarlet glow, and rose and fell in undulations of liquid gold, while thousands of fiery sparks danced upon the waters.

There is in old traditions something that outlives superstition, and however versed we may be in modern lore, there come moments when these tales and legends loom up before our minds, and receive at least a transient recognition. The everlasting riddles of these old legends, like their eternal truths, even to-day lie deep in the human heart. True, this mysterious fairy kingdom is now accessible only to favored mortals, to poets and to those who live close to the great heart of nature; but these two on the beech-holm must have belonged to the favored ones, for they plainly felt the magical influence which gently but irresistibly drew them within its circle, and neither had heart or courage to flee from it.

Over their heads the tree-tops swayed to and fro in the wind, while the sea surged ever more loudly at their feet. Wave upon wave came rolling to the shore, each bearing a white crest upon its forehead, leaping up in its giant strength for a moment, only to be dashed in pieces on the strand. It was the grand, old melody of the ocean, a melody made up of the whistling wind and the roaring waves, that grand, eternal diapason which awes, yet enthralls the heart. It sings of dreamy, sun-kissed ocean calms, of raging storms bearing terror and destruction in their path, of restless, tumultuous billows; and from every wave comes a tone, from every breeze an accord.

Waldemar and the young girl at his side must have understood this language well, for they listened to it in breathless silence; and these were not the only strains they heard. Up from the water's depths, from the turrets of the sunken city, came a sound as of silver bells; they listened, and their hearts felt an aching and a yearning, and at last the premonition of a great and enduring happiness. From the gold and purple waves rose a gleaming apparition. It hovered over the sea, bathed in the evening sunlight; it stood in mid-air, with its roofs, and spires, and battlements lighted up by gold and opal and sapphire hues; the phantom-apparition, the theme of so many a song and story–the old "wonder-city"–Vineta!

The descending sun now touched the gleaming waters with its radiant disc, and sinking lower and lower, soon passed from sight. But the dissolving hues gathered new brightness; once again the western horizon was illuminated as by fire; then the light slowly paled, and the fairy vision vanished.

Wanda sighed half audibly, and passed her hand over her forehead. Then she said, softly, "The sun has set; it is time for us to think of returning."

"Of returning?" echoed Waldemar, as in a dream. "Why so soon?"

The young girl rose quickly as if to flee from some painful emotion. "We must reach home before dusk," she said, "or my aunt will never forgive me for this excursion."

"I will be responsible to my mother; still, if you wish to return immediately–"

"O, yes; please let us go!"

The young man started for the boat, and then paused suddenly:–

"Wanda, you intend to leave in a few days, do you not?"

He asked this question in a strangely excited tone, and Wanda's voice lacked its usual composure, as she replied,–

"I must go to my father, we have been so long separated."

"My mother and Leo are going to Villica–" Here Waldemar hesitated and gasped for breath. "There is some talk of my accompanying them. May I?"

"Why do you ask me?" replied Wanda, with an embarrassment very unusual to her. "It is for you to decide whether you will visit your estates."

The young man paid no heed to her reply. He bent over her, his voice trembled, he was deeply moved.

"But I ask you, Wanda, you alone. May I come to Villica?"

"Yes," replied Wanda, involuntarily; but she was startled when Waldemar seized her hand with a violent gesture, and held it clasped tightly as if he would never let it go. She now felt what he understood by this yes, and the idea terrified her. She flushed deeply like one in a burning fever. Waldemar perceived her emotion.

"Am I too violent with you?" he asked, gently. "You must not be angry with me, Wanda, at least not to-day. I could not bear the thought of your departure. But now that I am sure of seeing you again, I will wait patiently until we reach Villica."

Wanda made no reply. They walked in silence to the boat. Waldemar set the sails, and grasped the oars. A few powerful strokes sent the tiny bark far out upon the water. The waves were still tinged with roseate reflections as the boat shot over them. Neither spoke during the passage; but the sea rose and fell with a hollow murmur, while the last flush in the sky faded away, and the first evening shadows settled down upon the beech-holm, receding farther and farther into the distance. The sunset vision had ended; but the ancient legend declares that the mortal who has once seen the submerged Vineta, who has once listened to the chiming of its bells, can never more know peace until the magical city again rises to greet him, or draws him downward to its depths.