Brunneck, the residence of Chief Councillor Ruestow, was situated only
a few miles distant from Ettersberg, and had been in the hands of its
present proprietor for a long series of years. It was a property of
considerable extent and value, comprising various farms, and furnished
with every improvement which modern science has devised. On all
agricultural subjects the Councillor was looked upon as a first-class
authority, and as, in addition to this, he owned one of the finest
seigneurial manors of the province, his position was one of great
influence. Brunneck could not, indeed, compare with the vast
Ettersberg domain, but it was generally asserted that, in point of
fortune, Ruestow was to the full as good a man as his noble neighbour.
The numerous reforms he had introduced on his estates, and to the
number of which he was with indefatigable energy constantly adding,
had in the course of time become handsomely remunerative, and were now
a source of wealth to him; whereas over at Ettersberg the management
of the land was left almost entirely to underlings, and was conducted
on so lofty and aristocratic a principle, that pecuniary interests
were overlooked, and any tangible, practical return rendered out of
the question.
As has already been stated, the two families were connected by
marriage, but this circumstance was ignored on both sides with equal
obstinacy and hostile feeling. In the position he now occupied, the
Councillor might more fitly have ventured to sue for the hand of a
Fraeulein von Ettersberg. Twenty years or more ago, the young
gentleman-farmer who had come to Dornau to pick up some knowledge of
his future vocation, and who had but a slender fortune to rely upon,
was certainly no suitable _parti_ for the daughter of the house. The
young people fell in love, however, paying little heed either to
prejudices or obstacles.
When their elders harshly interfered and separated them, when all
resistance, all entreaties, failed to move them, Ruestow persuaded his
betrothed, who meanwhile had come of age, to take a decisive step. She
left her home clandestinely, and the marriage was celebrated, without
her father's consent, it is true, but with all due formality. The
young couple hoped that, this step being once irrevocably taken,
forgiveness would follow, but this hope proved illusive. Neither the
young wife's oft-repeated overtures, nor the birth of a grandchild,
not even the rapidly ensuing change in Ruestow's circumstances--he
achieved wealth and position in a marvellously short time--could
appease the father's wrath. The old Count was too completely under the
influence of his relations, who looked on the middle-class connection
with horror and aversion, and used every means in their power to
strengthen him in his hard resolve.
Frau Ruestow died without having obtained pardon, and at her death all
chance of a reconciliation vanished. Her husband had, from the first,
openly avowed his dislike to a family which had so cruelly wounded his
pride and self-love. For his wife's sake alone had he tolerated the
former attempts at peacemaking; now that he had no longer her to
consider, he assumed towards his father-in-law and the entire clan an
attitude of hostility and surly defiance which precluded any
intercourse. As a result of these tactics came the will which passed
over the granddaughter, and, without even a mention of her or her
mother assigned Dornau to the heir of the entailed family estates.
This will was contested by Ruestow, who would not admit of his marriage
being thus altogether ignored, and was determined to have his daughter
acknowledged as her grandfather's legitimate successor and heiress.
The suit had some base to rest upon, for the deceased had not
disinherited his grandchild in so many words. He had contented himself
with treating her as nonexistent, and had proceeded to dispose of his
property in the manner which seemed to him good. This lapsus, and a
few technical errors subsequently detected, rendered the will
assailable. The issue was, however, most uncertain, and the lawyers on
both sides had full opportunity of exercising their sagacity and
judgment.
The Brunneck manor-house was neither so vast nor so imposing of aspect
as Castle Ettersberg, yet it was a stately building, spacious, and
bearing all the marks of age. The inner arrangements of the house,
though boasting no pretence at luxury, were ordered on a scale
suitable to the position and the fortune of the owner.
In the large veranda-parlour commonly used by the family, a lady was
sitting, busy with household accounts. This was an elderly relative of
Ruestow's, who, on the death of that gentleman's wife, eight years
previously, had come to preside over her cousin's establishment, and
to act as a mother to his young daughter. She was bending over her
books and making some memoranda when the door was hastily thrown open,
and the Councillor himself appeared on the scene.
'I wish all the lawsuits and parchments, the courts and everything
related to them, lawyers included, were at the deuce!' he cried,
throwing to the door with a violent bang which made his cousin jump.
'Oh, Erich, how can you startle me so! You have been absolutely
unbearable ever since that wretched suit was instituted. You seem to
think of nothing else. Cannot you wait patiently until you see what
the issue will be?'
'Patiently?' repeated Herr Ruestow, with a bitter laugh. 'I should like
to see the man who would not lose his patience over it. They go on
pulling this way and that, protesting against everything we do,
lodging one appeal after another. Every letter of that blessed will
has been discussed, evidence has been advanced, proofs have been
furnished, and yet they are no forwarder than they were six months
ago, not a whit!' And as he ended his tirade he threw himself into a
chair.
Erich Ruestow was a man still in the prime of life, who, it was plain
to see, had been handsome in his youth. Now his brow was furrowed and
his face lined with the cares of a restless, busy life. He was,
however, a stately, well-built person, whose appearance would have
been eminently agreeable, but for certain evidences of a hasty temper,
prompt to break forth on every occasion; but for, so to say, a
pugnacity of expression which considerably impaired his good looks.
'Where is Hedwig?' asked the master of the house, after a pause.
'She went out riding an hour ago,' replied her cousin, who had taken
up her memoranda again.
'Went out riding? I told her not to ride to-day. This sudden thaw has
made the roads impassable, and upon the hills the snow still lies
deep.'
'No doubt, but you are aware that Hedwig generally does the thing she
ought not to do.'
'Upon my soul, it is a strange fact, but I believe she does,' assented
her father, who seemed to consider it merely a 'strange fact,' and not
one calculated to excite his anger.
'You have let the girl grow up in too great freedom. How often have I
entreated you to send Hedwig to a boarding-school for a few years; but
no, nothing would induce you to part with her.'
'Because I did not want her to be estranged from me and from her home.
I am sure I have had masters and governesses enough here at Brunneck,
and she has learned pretty nearly everything under the sun.'
'True; one thing she has learned especially, and that is how to
tyrannise over you and the entire household.'
'Don't go on preaching in that way, Lina,' said Ruestow angrily. 'You
are always finding some fault with Hedwig. First she is thoughtless,
then she is too superficial to please you, not deep, not "feeling"
enough. I am satisfied with her as she is. I like my girl to be a
bright, merry young thing, taking some pleasure in life, and not one
of your sensitive, fashionable ladies with "feelings" and "nerves."'
As he spoke the last words, he cast a rather meaning glance at
Fraeulein Lina, who was quick to take up the gauntlet.
'One has to divest one's self of any such appurtenances here at
Brunneck, I think. You take good care of that.'
'Well, I fancy the last eight years have done something for you in the
way of getting rid of your nerves,' said Ruestow, with much apparent
satisfaction. 'But the feelings are there still. How you felt for your
_protege_, Baron Senden, the other day, when Hedwig sent him to the
rightabout!'
A pink flush of vexation mounted to the lady's cheek as she replied:
'Hedwig, at all events, showed little enough feeling in the matter.
She merely ridiculed an offer which would, at least, have brought any
other girl to a serious frame of mind. Poor Senden! He was in
despair.'
'He will get over it,' observed Ruestow. 'In the first place, I believe
that both his passion and his despair had my Brunneck, rather than my
daughter, for their object. Her dowry would have come in nicely to
rescue his estates, which are mortgaged over and over again; in the
second place, it was his own fault that he met with a refusal. A man
should know how matters stand, before he proposes definitely; and
thirdly, I should not have given my consent to the match under any
circumstances, for I won't have Hedwig marrying into the aristocracy.
I had too good experience of that with my own marriage. Of all the
grand folk who come bothering us with their visits, not one shall have
the girl--not one of them, I say. I will find a husband for her myself
when the proper time comes.'
'And you really suppose that Hedwig will wait for that?' asked the
lady, with gentle irony. 'Hitherto her suitors have all been
indifferent to her. When she has an inclination towards anyone, she
will certainly not stay to consider whether the gentleman belongs to
the aristocracy, or whether she may not be acting contrary to her
father's principles--and you, Erich, will submit, and do your
darling's bidding in this, as in all else.'
'Lina, do you wish to exasperate me?' shouted Ruestow. 'You seem to
think that where my daughter is concerned I can exercise no will of my
own.'
'None at all,' she replied emphatically. Then she gathered together
her papers and left the room.
The Master of Brunneck was furious, perhaps because he could not
altogether dispute the truth of the assertion. He paced with rapid
steps up and down the room, and turned wrathfully upon a servant who
entered, bearing a card.
'What is it now? Another visit?'
Ruestow pulled the card out of the man's hand, but nearly let it fall
in his amazement as the name upon it met his eye.
'Edmund, Count von Ettersberg? What can be the meaning of this?'
'The Count desires the favour of an interview with Councillor Ruestow.'
The latter looked down at the card again. There, clear and distinct,
stood the name of Ettersberg, and, inexplicable as the circumstance
undoubtedly was, he had no choice but to admit the strange visitor.
Orders to this effect being given to the servant, the young Count
promptly made his appearance, and greeted his neighbour, who yet was a
perfect stranger to him, with as much ease and assurance as though
this visit had been the most natural thing in the world.
'Councillor Ruestow, you will allow me to make the personal
acquaintance of so near a neighbour as yourself. I should have
endeavoured to do so long ago, but my studies and subsequent travels
have kept me so much away from Ettersberg. I have only been home on
flying visits, and this is my first opportunity of repairing previous
shortcomings.'
At the first moment Ruestow was so staggered by this complete ignoring
of the existing quarrel that he could not work himself up to anger. He
grumbled something which sounded like an invitation to be seated.
Edmund accordingly took a chair in the most unconcerned manner
possible, and as his host showed no desire to open the conversation,
he assumed the burden of it himself, and launched into praises of the
admirable system of management obtaining on the Brunneck estates, a
system with which it had long been his wish to make himself
acquainted.
Meanwhile Ruestow had minutely examined his visitor from head to foot,
and had no doubt satisfied himself that the young gentleman's
appearance did not tally with this pretended zealous interest in
matters agricultural. He therefore broke in on Edmund's enthusiasm
with the disconcerting question:
'May I ask. Count, to what I am indebted for the honour of this
visit?'
Edmund saw that he must change his tactics. The mere easy jargon of
politeness would not help him through. The Councillor's far-famed
churlishness was already roused. A low growl, betokening a storm,
might, as it were, be heard in the distance; but the young Count was
well prepared for this, and was determined to remain master of the
field.
'You will not accept me simply in my quality of neighbour?' he said,
with an affable smile.
'You appear to forget that we are something else besides neighbours,
namely, opponents in a court of justice,' retorted Ruestow, who began
now to be angry in right earnest.
Edmund examined with attention the riding-whip he held in his hand.
'Oh, ah! You are alluding to that tiresome Dornau suit.'
'Tiresome? Wearisome, endless, you mean, for endless it would appear
to be. You are as well acquainted with the pleadings, I suppose, as I
am.'
'I know nothing at all about them,' confessed Edmund, with great
ingenuousness. 'I only know that there is a dispute about my uncle's
will which assigns Dornau to me, but the validity of which you
contest. Pleadings? I have had copies of all the documents, certainly,
whole volumes of them, but I never looked over their contents.'
'But, Count, it is you who are carrying on this lawsuit!' cried
Ruestow, to whom this placid indifference was something beyond belief.
'Pardon me, my lawyer is carrying it on,' corrected Edmund. 'He is of
opinion that it is incumbent on me to uphold my uncle's will at any
cost. I do not attach any such particular value to the possession of
Dornau myself.'
'Do you suppose I do?' asked Ruestow sharply. 'My Brunneck is worth
half a dozen such places, and my daughter has really no need to
trouble herself about any inheritance from her grandfather.'
'Well, what are we fighting for, then? If the matter stands so, some
compromise might surely be arrived at, some arrangement which would
satisfy both parties----'
'I will hear of no compromise,' exclaimed the Councillor. 'To me it is
not a question of money, but of principle, and I will fight it out to
the last. If my father-in-law had chosen to disinherit us in so many
words, well and good. We set him at defiance; he had the right to
retaliate. I don't deny it. It is the fact of his ignoring our
marriage in that insulting manner, as though it had not been legally
and duly celebrated--the fact of his passing over the child of the
marriage, and declining to recognise her as his granddaughter--this is
what I cannot forgive him, even in his grave, and this is what makes
me determined to assert my right. The marriage shall be established,
in the face of those who wish to repudiate it; my daughter shall be
acknowledged as her grandfather's sole and legitimate heiress. Then,
when the verdict of the court has once placed this beyond all doubt,
Dornau and all belonging to it may go to the family estates, or to the
devil, for what I care.'
'Ah, now we are getting rude,' thought Count Edmund, who had long been
expecting some such outbreak, and who was highly amused by the whole
affair.
He had come with the settled resolve to take nothing amiss from the
Master of Brunneck, who was looked on as an original in his way, so he
chose to view this tirade from its humorous side, and replied, with
undiminished good-humour:
'Well, Councillor, the association is, I am sure, a very flattering
one. It does not seem particularly probable that Dornau will lapse to
the devil--whether it be adjudged to Brunneck or to Ettersberg, we
must wait to see. But that is the court's business, and not ours. I
frankly confess that I am curious to hear what all the wisdom of these
learned counsel will ultimately bring forth.'
'I must say it has not occurred to me to look at the case in that
light,' admitted Ruestow, whose amazement grew with every minute.
'No, why not? You are contending, you say yourself, for a principle
only. I am actuated by a pious regard for my relative's expressed
wishes. We are most enviably placed, being simply objective in the
matter. So, for heaven's sake, let the lawyers wrangle on. Their
squabbles need not prevent our meeting as good neighbours on friendly
terms.'
Ruestow was about to protest against the possibility of any friendly
intercourse when the door opened, and his daughter appeared on the
threshold. The young lady, whose cheeks were brightly tinted with the
rapid exercise she had taken, looked even more charming to-day in her
dark closely-fitting riding-habit than she had looked on a previous
occasion when wrapped in furs and attired in winter clothing--so, at
least, thought Count Edmund, who had sprung up with great alacrity,
with more alacrity, indeed, than politeness called for, to greet her
on her entrance. Hedwig had, no doubt, already heard from the servants
who was with her father, for she betrayed no surprise, returning the
Count's bow as formally as though he had been a complete stranger to
her. The merry sparkle in her eye, however, told him that she had no
more forgotten their first meeting than he himself. The Councillor,
whether he liked it or not, was forced to condescend to an
introduction; and the manner in which he pronounced the name of
Ettersberg, a name heretofore prohibited in that house, proved that
the bearer of it, despite the great prejudice against him, had already
gained some ground.'
'Fraeulein,' said Edmund, turning to the young lady, 'but the other day
I learned whom Fate had assigned me as an opponent in the Dornau
lawsuit. I therefore seize this, the first opportunity, to present
myself in due form as your adversary in the strife.'
'And you have come to Brunneck to reconnoitre the enemy's territory, I
suppose?' replied Hedwig, entering at once into the spirit of the
joke.
'Certainly. It was my evident duty, under the circumstances. Your
father has already pardoned this invasion of the hostile camp. I may
trust for a like clemency from you, though you once showed yourself
inexorable, refusing even to disclose your name.'
'What is all this?' broke in Ruestow. 'You have met the Count before
to-day?'
'Yes, papa,' said Hedwig serenely. 'You know that when I was returning
from the town the other day with the carriage and Anthony, we very
nearly stuck in the snow, and I think I told you of the two gentlemen
by whose assistance we managed to get home.'
A light appeared to dawn on the Councillor, revealing the source of
this sudden and extreme friendliness on his young neighbour's part. He
had hitherto racked his brains in vain to find a reason for it, and
the discovery now made did not seem to afford him any particular
satisfaction; the tone of his voice was exceedingly sharp as he
replied:
'So it was Count Ettersberg, was it? Why did you conceal the name from
me?'
Hedwig laughed: 'Because I knew your prejudice against it, papa. I
believe if an avalanche had come down upon us and swallowed us up,
your first feeling would have been one of anger at my being caught and
buried in company of an Ettersberg.'
'Avalanches do not occur on our highroads,' growled Ruestow, to whom
this merry humour did not commend itself.
'Well, Councillor, something of the sort seemed really to have taken
place where the road descends into the valley,' joined in Edmund. 'I
assure you, the journey was both difficult and dangerous. I esteem
myself happy to have been able to offer your daughter my assistance.'
'Now, Count, you remained almost all the time on the carriage-step,'
laughed Hedwig. 'It was your silent companion who really helped us in
our need. He'--the question came rather hesitatingly--'he did not come
over with you to-day, of course?'
'Oswald was not aware that I intended riding over to Brunneck this
afternoon,' confessed Edmund. 'He will, I know, reproach me with
having thus deprived him of the pleasure----'
'Oh, pray, do not trouble yourself to make pretty speeches,'
interrupted the young lady, throwing back her head with an angry
little toss, and looking as ungracious as possible--much as she had
looked in the carriage on that previous occasion. 'I have had
experience of your cousin's politeness, and, for my part, I certainly
have no wish to renew the acquaintance.'
Edmund did not notice the pique expressed in these words. He thought
it natural that the sombre, unsociable Oswald should not be missed
when he, Count Ettersberg, was present, and, moreover, using his best
efforts to make himself agreeable. This he did with so much zeal and
perseverance, that even Ruestow yielded to the charm. True, he
struggled against it manfully, endeavouring by sundry barbed and
sardonic remarks to impart a hostile tone to the conversation. But he
was foiled at all points. His visitor's captivating manners and
appearance won upon him more and more. The young Count was evidently
bent on doing away with the prejudice which existed against him. He
fascinated his hearers with his bright and sparkling talk, seducing
them by its easy flow, and charming even by his saucy humour. The
enemy, as personified in the master of the house, was overthrown and
bound hand and foot before either side was well aware of the fact.
Ruestow, at length, altogether forgot with whom he was dealing, and
when after a protracted visit Edmund rose to go, his host actually
accompanied him to the door, and even shook him cordially by the hand
on parting.
It was only when the Councillor returned to the sitting-room that a
full consciousness of what had occurred loomed upon him. Then his
anger revived in full force. As he came in, Hedwig was standing out on
the balcony, looking after the young Count, who turned and waved her
an adieu as he galloped away. This gave the signal for the storm to
break forth.
'Well, upon my word, this passes all belief! I don't know that I ever
heard of such a piece of impudence! Count von Ettersberg to come
riding over here, doing the agreeable, treating the whole affair of
the lawsuit as a mere bagatelle. He talked of a compromise, begad! of
meeting on friendly terms, of the Lord knows what; fairly addling one,
taking one's breath away with his audacity. But I will not put up with
it a second time. If he really shows himself here again, I will have
him told--politely, of course--that I am not at home.'
'You will do nothing of the kind, papa,' said Hedwig, who had gone up
to him and laid her arm caressingly about his neck. 'You were too
pleased with him yourself for that.'
'Ah, and you still more so, I suppose, my young lady?' said the
father, with a highly critical, scrutinizing look. 'Do you imagine I
can't guess what brought the young gentleman over to Brunneck? Do you
think I did not see him kiss your hand as he took leave of you? But I
will put a stop to this, once and for all. I will have nothing to
do with any Ettersberg; I know the set by experience. Arrogance,
selfishness, stupid obstinacy--those are the characteristics of the
race. They are all alike, all cut out on the same pattern.'
'That is not true, papa,' said Hedwig decidedly. 'My mother was an
Ettersberg, and you were very happy with her.'
The remark was so telling, that it quite disconcerted Ruestow.
'That--that was an exception,' he stammered at length.
'I believe Count Edmund is an exception too,' declared Hedwig
confidently.
'Oh, you believe that, do you? You seem to have a great knowledge of
character for a girl of eighteen,' cried the Councillor, and forthwith
delivered a lecture to his daughter, in which the before-mentioned
'principles' were much insisted on. Fraeulein Hedwig listened with an
expression of countenance which said plainly enough that the said
'principles' were highly indifferent to her, and if her father could
have read her thoughts, he would again have had the 'strange fact'
forced upon him that, on this occasion as on most others, she proposed
to adopt a contrary course to that enjoined upon her.