The house of Ettersberg had originally been great, and had boasted
many branches; but in the course of years death and the marriage of
the female descendants had lopped off one good member after another,
so that at the time of which this story treats there were, besides the
widowed Countess who lived at the patronymic castle, but two
representatives of the name, Count Edmund, the heir, and his cousin
Oswald.
The latter shared the fate common to younger sons in families where
the property is strictly entailed. Destitute of any personal fortune,
he was entirely dependent on the head of his house, or must be so, at
least, until he had carved out for himself a position in life. Things
had not always worn this aspect; on the contrary, he had at his birth
been greeted by his parents as the presumptive heir to the family
lands. The then head of the family, Edmund's father, was childless,
and already well advanced in years when he became a widower; his only
brother, a man considerably younger than himself, who held a
commission in the army, might therefore legitimately count on the
prospective inheritance. It was esteemed a special piece of good
fortune for this gentleman when, after many years of wedlock, blessed
so far only by the advent of daughters early deceased, a son was born
to him. The uncle himself gladly hailed the event as assuring the
continuance of his race, and during the first years of infancy, the
prospects of little Oswald were as brilliant as heart could desire.
Then occurred a most unlooked-for reversal of fortune. Count
Ettersberg, a sexagenarian and more, led to the altar as his second
wife a girl of twenty. The young Countess was very beautiful, but she
came of a ruined, though of a noble house. It was generally said that
the family had spared no exertions to bring about so splendid an
alliance. Splendid the match might certainly be called; but it was
ill-qualified to satisfy the needs of a youthful heart, especially as,
so it was whispered, this suit had interfered with, and roughly broken
asunder, the bonds of a previous attachment. Whether absolute
constraint, or persuasion only, had been used on the part of the
relations, no one knew; however prompted, the young lady gave her
consent to a marriage which insured her a brilliant and most enviable
position. Old Count Ettersberg succumbed so completely to the
influence of this tardily kindled passion that he forgot all else in
it, and when a scarcely hoped-for happiness befell him, when a son and
heir was placed in his arms, the dominion of his wise and beautiful
wife became absolute.
It was natural that the younger brother should feel somewhat aggrieved
at the utter destruction of all his prospects, and natural too that
his sister-in-law should entertain towards him no feelings of special
friendship. The affectionate relations formerly existing between the
brothers gave place to a coldness and estrangement which lasted until
the death of the younger. The Colonel and his wife died within but a
short interval, and the orphan boy was taken to his uncle's house and
there brought up on equal terms with the young heir.
But old Count Ettersberg did not survive his brother long. By his will
he assigned the guardianship of the two boys to Baron Heideck, his
wife's brother, and the latter justified the confidence placed in him,
standing by his sister in every circumstance where a man's aid and
assistance became necessary.
In general, however, the will assured to the Countess perfect freedom
and independence of action. She it was who, in reality, had control of
the property, and who directed the education of both son and nephew.
This latter was at length complete. Count Edmund had been absent all
the winter, travelling through France and Italy in his cousin's
company. He had now returned to make himself acquainted with the
management of his estates, which at his approaching majority he was to
take upon himself, while Oswald had to prepare to enter one of the
Government bureaux.
On the day succeeding the arrival of the two young men, the weather
cleared a little, though the outer world still presented a most wintry
aspect. The Countess was sitting with her son in her own boudoir.
Though she stood midway between forty and fifty, the lady yet in a
great measure retained the beauty which once had been dazzling. Her
appearance, albeit majestic, was still so youthful, that it was
difficult to imagine her the mother of this son of two-and-twenty,
more especially as there was no single trait of resemblance between
them. Edmund, with his dark hair and eyes, his sparkling gaiety and
mobile humour, which manifested itself in every word and gesture, was
a direct contrast to his grave, beautiful mother. Her fair tresses and
calm blue eyes harmonised with the cool serenity of mien peculiar to
her, a serenity which towards her darling alone would occasionally
yield to a warmer impulse.
The young Count had apparently been making an open breast with regard
to what Oswald termed his 'follies innumerable,' but he could not have
found it hard to obtain absolution, for his mother, though she shook
her head as she spoke, addressed him in a tone more tender than
reproachful.
'You madcap! It is time for me to take you in hand again. In the
perfect unconstraint you have enjoyed abroad, the maternal rein has
grown slack indeed. Will you bear it again, now that you have come
back to me?'
'Bear control from you?--always!' returned Edmund, pressing his lips
fervently to her white hand. Then relapsing immediately into his
former lighthearted, saucy vein, he added: 'I told Oswald beforehand
that the verdict on my misdeeds would be a merciful one. I know my
lady mother well.'
The Countess's face darkened.
'Oswald seems to have altogether neglected his duty,' she replied. 'I
could discover so much from your letters. As the elder and steadier of
the two, he should have remained at your side; instead of which he
left you to yourself, going only where he was absolutely obliged to
follow. Had your own nature not preserved you from anything worse than
folly, his counsels certainly would not have done so.'
'Oh, he preached enough,' said Edmund. 'It was my fault, you know, if
I did not listen to him. But before we say anything more, mother, let
me put one question. Why has Oswald been banished to the side-wing?'
'Banished! What an expression! You have seen the alterations I have
had made in your rooms. Are you not pleased with the new
arrangements?'
'Yes, but----'
'It was necessary for you to have your apartments distinct.' The
Countess interrupted him quickly. 'Now that you are about to take
possession of your own house, it would not be seemly for you to share
your rooms with your cousin. He will see that himself.'
'But it was not necessary to send him over to that old part of the
castle, which is only used in exceptional cases,' objected Edmund.
'There are rooms enough and to spare in the main building. Oswald was
hurt by this arrangement of yours. I could see it plainly. Have it
altered--I beg of you.'
'I cannot do that without making myself ridiculous in the eyes of all
the servants.' said the Countess, in a very decided tone. 'If you wish
to revoke the orders I have expressly given, you are, of course, at
liberty to do so.'
'Mother!' exclaimed the young Count, impatiently. 'You know very well
that I never interfere with your proceedings. But this might have
stood over for a time. Oswald will be leaving us in a few months.'
'Yes, in the autumn. By then my brother will have taken all necessary
steps to introduce him into one of the Government offices.'
Edmund looked down.
'I rather think Oswald has other plans for the future,' he said, with
some hesitation.
'Other plans?' repeated the Countess. 'I trust that we shall not
encounter disobedience from him a second time. Once, when he rebelled
against entering the army, I yielded, thanks to your persuasion and
advocacy. You were always on his side. I have not yet forgiven him his
wilful, defiant conduct on that occasion.'
'It was not defiance,' pleaded Edmund in defence. 'Only the conviction
he felt that, as an officer and the representative of an old and noble
name, he would not be able to keep up his position in the army without
permanent assistance from us.'
'Assistance you would amply have afforded him.'
'But which he would on no account accept. He possesses, as you know,
indomitable pride.'
'Say rather unbounded arrogance,' interrupted the Countess. 'I know
the quality, for I have had to battle with it since the day he first
came to this house. But for my husband's formally expressed desire
that this nephew should share your education and opportunities, I
would never have left you so exclusively to his companionship. I never
liked him. I cannot endure those cold searching eyes, which are always
on the alert, which nothing escapes, not even the best-guarded
secret.'
Edmund laughed out loud.
'Why, mother, you are making a regular detective of Oswald. He
certainly is a particularly keen observer, as may be noted from his
occasional remarks on men and things which strike no one else as
peculiar. Here, at Ettersberg, he can, however, hardly put his talents
to account. We have, thank God, no secrets for him to discover.'
The Countess bent over some papers lying on the table, and seemed to
be seeking for something among them.
'No matter,' she said. 'I never could understand your blind partiality
for him. You, with your frank, warm, open nature, and Oswald with his
icy reserve! You are about as congenial as fire and water.'
'The very contrast may be the cause of our mutual attraction,' said
Edmund, jestingly. 'Oswald is not the most amiable person in the
world, that I must admit; towards me he decidedly is not amiable at
all. Nevertheless, I feel myself drawn to him, and he in turn is
attracted to me--I know it.'
'You think so?' said the Countess, coldly. 'You are mistaken, most
mistaken. Oswald is one of the class who hate those from whom they
must accept benefits. He has never forgiven me the fact that my
marriage destroyed his own and his father's prospects, and he cannot
forgive you for standing between him and the property. I know him
better than you do.'
Edmund was silent. He was aware from experience that any advocacy from
him only made matters worse; for it surely aroused the maternal
jealousy, always prompt to ignite when he spoke openly of his
affection for this cousin, the comrade of his youth.
Moreover, the conversation was here brought to a natural end, the
subject of it at this moment appearing upon the scene.
Oswald's greeting was as formal, and the Countess's reply as cool, as
their manner had been on the preceding evening. Unfavourable as were
the lady's sentiments towards her nephew, the duty of this morning
call and of daily inquiries after her health was rigorously imposed
upon him. On the present occasion the tour so recently concluded
furnished food for discourse. Edmund related some of their adventures;
Oswald supplemented his cousin's account, putting in a finishing touch
here and there, and so it happened that the visit, which in general
was exceedingly brief, had soon passed the usual quarter of an hour's
limit.
'You have both altered during the past six months,' said the Countess,
at length. 'Your bronzed complexion especially, Edmund, gives you
quite the appearance of a Southerner.'
'I have often been taken for one,' replied Edmund. 'In the matter of
complexion I have unfortunately inherited nothing from my beautiful
fair mother.'
The Countess smiled.
'I think you may be satisfied with what Nature has done for you. You
certainly do not resemble me. There is more likeness to your father.'
'To my uncle? Hardly,' remarked Oswald.
'How can you be a judge of that?' asked the Countess, rather sharply.
'You and Edmund were mere boys when my husband died.'
'No, mother; don't trouble yourself to try and discover a likeness,'
interposed Edmund. 'I certainly have but a vague remembrance of my
father; but, you know, we possess a portrait life-size, which was
taken when he was in his prime. I have not a single feature of that
face, and it really is strange, when you come to think of it, for in
our race the family traits have usually been especially marked. Look
at Oswald, for instance. He is an Ettersberg from the crown of his
head to the sole of his foot. He is in every feature an exact copy of
the old family portraits in the gallery yonder, which from one
generation to another went on reproducing the same lines and contours.
Heaven only knows why this historical resemblance should be denied to
me alone! What are you gazing at me in that way for, Oswald?'
The young man's eyes were, indeed, fixed on his cousin's face with a
keen and searching scrutiny.
'I think you are right,' he replied. 'You have not a single Ettersberg
feature.'
'That is but another of your venturesome assertions,' said the
Countess, in a tone of sharp rebuke. 'It frequently happens that a
family likeness, absent in youth, grows striking as the person
advances in years. That will, no doubt, be the case with Edmund.'
The young Count laughed and shook his head.
'I doubt it. I am formed in altogether a different mould. Indeed, I
often wonder how I, with my hot, excitable blood, my thoughtlessness
and high spirits, for which I am always being lectured, could come of
a race so desperately wise and virtuous; in fact, rather slow and
stupid from overmuch virtue. Oswald, now, would represent the family
far better than I.'
'Edmund!' cried the Countess indignantly.
It was uncertain whether her remonstrance applied to the young man's
last assertion, or to his irreverent mention of his forefathers.
'Well, I ask pardon of the shades of my ancestors,' said Edmund,
rather abashed. 'You see, mother, I have none of their traditional
excellences, not even that of sober sense.'
'My aunt was meaning something else, I fancy,' said Oswald quietly.
The Countess pressed her lips together tightly. Her face plainly
betokened the dislike she had avowed to the cold, searching eyes now
resting upon her.
'Enough of this dispute on the subject of family likeness,' she said,
waiving the point. 'Tradition affords at least as many exceptions as
rules. Oswald, I wish you would look through these papers. You have
some legal knowledge. Our solicitor seems to consider the issue of the
affair as doubtful, but I am sanguine, and Edmund is of my opinion,
that we must follow out the matter to the end.'
So saying, she pushed the papers, which were lying on the table,
across to her nephew, who glanced at their contents.
'Ah, yes. They refer to the lawsuit against Councillor Ruestow of
Brunneck.'
'Good heavens! is not that business settled yet?' asked Edmund. 'Why,
the suit was on before we left home six months ago.'
Oswald smiled rather ironically.
'You appear to have peculiar notions as to the length of our legal
procedure. It may go on for years. If you will allow me, aunt, I will
take these papers with me to my own room to look through them, unless
Edmund would prefer to see them first.'
'Oh no, spare me all that!' cried Edmund, parrying the threatened
infliction. 'I have forgotten pretty nearly all about the business.
This Ruestow married a daughter of Uncle Francis, I know; and he raises
a claim to the Dornau estate, which my uncle bequeathed to me.'
'And with perfect justice,' added the Countess; 'for that marriage
took place against his wish, expressly declared. His daughter, by her
mesalliance, broke with him and with the entire family. It was
natural, under such circumstances, that he should disinherit her
absolutely; and just as natural, there being no nearer relations, that
he should annex Dornau to the entailed family estates by leaving it to
you.'
A slight cloud gathered on Edmund's brow as he listened to this
statement.
'It may be so, but the whole subject is painful to me. What do I, the
owner of Ettersberg, want with the possession of Dornau? I seem to be
intruding on the rights of others, who, in spite of wills and family
squabbles, are the direct and proper heirs. What I should prefer would
be to see a compromise effected.'
'That is impossible,' said the Countess decidedly. 'Ruestow's attitude,
from the very commencement of the affair, has been such as to preclude
any idea of an arrangement. The way in which he attacked the will and
proceeded against you, the acknowledged heir, was downright insulting,
and would make any show of concession on our part appear as
unpardonable weakness. Besides which, you have no right to set at
nought the wishes of your relative as expressed in his will. It was
his desire to shut out this "Frau Ruestow" from any share in his
fortune.'
'But she has been dead for years,' objected Edmund. 'And her husband
would not in any case be entitled to inherit.'
'No; but he advances a claim on behalf of his daughter.'
The two young men looked up simultaneously.
'His daughter? So he has a daughter?'
'Certainly, a girl of about eighteen, I believe.'
'And this young lady and I are the hostile claimants?'
'Just so; but why this sudden interest in the matter?'
'Eureka, I have it!' cried Edmund. 'Oswald, this is our charming
acquaintance of yesterday. I see now why the meeting struck her as
being so indescribably comic--why she refused to give her name. The
allusion to a certain connection existing between us becomes
intelligible. It all fits in, word for word. There can be no possible
doubt about it.'
'Perhaps, when you have time, you will tell me the meaning of all
this,' said the Countess, who seemed to think such animation on her
son's part unnecessary and out of place.
'Certainly, mother; I will explain it to you at once. We yesterday
made the acquaintance of a young lady, or, it would be more correct to
say, _I_ made her acquaintance, for Oswald, as usual, vouchsafed her
little attention--I, however, as you may imagine, was gallant enough
for both'--and so the young Count set about relating the adventure of
the preceding day, going into all the details with much sparkling
humour, and exulting in the fact of having so soon discovered his
beautiful unknown. Nevertheless, he did not succeed in calling up a
smile to his mother's face. She listened in silence, and when he wound
up with an enthusiastic description of his heroine, she said very
coolly and deliberately:
'You seem to look on this meeting in the light of a pleasurable
occurrence. In your place I should have felt it to be a painful one.
It is never agreeable to meet face to face persons with whom we are at
strife.'
'At strife?' cried Edmund. 'I can never be at strife with a young lady
of eighteen--certainly not with this one, though she should lay claim
to Ettersberg itself. I would with pleasure lay Dornau at her feet,
could----'
'I beg you not to treat this matter with so much levity, Edmund,'
interrupted the Countess. 'I know that you have a leaning to these
follies, but when serious interests are at stake they must recede into
the background. This affair is of a serious nature. Our opponents have
imported into it a degree of bitterness, have acted with a churlish
insolence, which makes any personal contact a thing absolutely to be
deprecated. You will, I hope, see this yourself, and avoid any further
meetings with firmness and consistency.'
With these lofty words she rose, and to leave no doubt in her son's
mind as to the displeasure he had incurred, she left the room.
The young Master of Ettersberg, whose authority his mother was
constantly asserting, seemed still docile to the maternal sceptre. He
ventured no word of reply to her sharp remonstrance, though he might
have urged that, after all, the lawsuit concerned no one but himself.
'That was to be expected,' remarked Oswald, as the door closed. 'Why
did you not keep your supposition to yourself?'
'How was I to know that it would be so ungraciously received? There
appears to be a deadly feud between this Ruestow and our family. No
matter, that will not prevent my going over to Brunneck.'
Oswald looked up quickly from the papers he was turning over.
'You are not thinking of paying the Councillor a visit, are you?'
'Certainly I am. Do you think I mean to give up our charming
acquaintance because our respective lawyers are wrangling over a cause
which, in reality, is perfectly indifferent to me? On the contrary, I
shall seize the opportunity of introducing myself to my lovely
opponent as her adversary in the strife. I intend to go over very
shortly, in the course of a few days.'
'The Councillor will soon show you the door,' said Oswald drily. 'He
is known all over the country for his surly humour.'
'Well, that will only make me the more polite. I can take nothing
amiss from the father of such a daughter, and I suppose even this bear
will have some human points about him. What makes you look so solemn,
Oswald? Are you jealous, old fellow? If so, you are free to ride over
with me, and put your luck to the test.'
'Do not talk such nonsense to me,' said Oswald shortly, rising as he
spoke, and going up to the window. The rapid movement and something in
his tone told of a certain irritability with difficulty repressed.
'As you like; but I have one word more to say.' The young Count's face
grew serious, and he cast a meaning glance in the direction of the
adjoining room. 'Do not put forward your plans for the future just at
present. We are not just now in a favourable humour to receive them. I
wanted to take the lead, and make the inevitable disclosure easier to
you, but I was met by such a hurricane that I wisely resolved not to
acknowledge complicity in the business.'
'Why should I put off an explanation? The subject must of necessity be
broached shortly between my aunt and myself. I see no advantage in a
delay.'
'Well, you can hold your tongue for a week at least,' cried Edmund
testily. 'I have other things to think of just now, and no desire to
be always on guard as a mediating angel between my mother and
yourself.'
'Have I ever asked you to mediate?' said Oswald, in so sharp and
uncourteous a tone that the young Count was roused to anger.
'Oswald, this is going a little too far. I am accustomed, it is true,
to such rudeness on your part, but really I hardly see why I should
take from my cousin what I would endure from no one else.'
'Because your cousin is a dependent, one inferior in the social scale,
and you feel yourself called upon to show generosity towards--the poor
relation.'
The words breathed of such infinite bitterness of spirit that Edmund's
ill-humour vanished instantly.
'You are irritated,' he said kindly; 'and not without reason. But why
do you visit your anger on me? I am in no way responsible for
yesterday's incident. You know I cannot put myself in open opposition
to my mother, even when my views differ decidedly from hers. But in
this case she will give way, for if your own rooms next to mine are
not made ready for you to-morrow, I shall remove to the side-wing and
quarter myself upon you, spite of bats and the accumulated dust of
ages.'
The bitter expression vanished from Oswald's face, and he answered in
a gentler voice:
'You are capable of it, I believe. But no more of this, Edmund. It
really signifies little where I spend the few months of my sojourn
here. The rooms in the tower are very quiet, and admirably suited for
study. I would far rather be there than here, in this castle of
yours.'
'"This castle of yours,"' repeated Edmund, in a tone of pique. 'As
though it had not always been as much your home as mine! But I believe
you are seeking to estrange yourself from us. Oswald, I must say, if
things are not always pleasant between my mother and you, a great
share of the blame rests on your shoulders. You have never shown any
affection for her, or any ready compliance with her wishes. Cannot you
bring yourself to it, if you try?'
'I cannot comply where blind subjection is demanded of me, and where
the whole future fortune of my life is at stake--no!'
'Well, then, we may expect another family quarrel at no very distant
date,' said Edmund, evidently ill-pleased at the prospect. 'So you
will not have any alteration made in the rooms?'
'No.'
'As you like. Goodbye.'
He walked off towards the door, but had not reached it when Oswald
came quickly forth from the window-recess where he had been standing,
and followed him.
'Edmund!'
'Well?' returned the other interrogatively, and halted.
'I shall remain where I am, in the side-wing, but---- I thank you for
your kindness.'
The young Count smiled.
'Really? That sounds almost like an apology. I really did not think
you were capable of such expansiveness, Oswald;' and suddenly, with an
impulse of frank, hearty affection, he threw his arm round his
cousin's shoulder. 'Is it true that you cherish a hatred towards me,
because Fate has willed that I should be heir to the property, because
I stand between you and the Ettersberg estates?'
Oswald looked at him again with one of those strange, penetrating
glances which seemed to be searching the young heir's features for
something hidden from him. This time, however, the keen scrutiny soon
gave place to an expression of warmer, deeper feeling, to a kindlier
ray which beamed suddenly forth, melting the icy rampart of suspicion
and reserve.
'It is not true, Edmund,' was the steady, grave reply.
'I knew it,' cried Edmund. 'And now we will bury all past
misunderstandings. As regards our travelling acquaintance, however, I
warn you that I shall summon up all my talent--and you know how justly
it is esteemed--to produce an effect at Brunneck. This I shall do in
spite of your frowning visage and of my mother's high displeasure. And
I shall succeed in my endeavours, you may rely upon it.'
So saying, he caught hold of his cousin's arm, and drew him laughingly
from the room.