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VINETA,
THE PHANTOM CITY.
FROM THE GERMAN OF E. WERNER,
AUTHOR OF "GOOD LUCK," "BROKEN CHAINS," ETC.
BY
FRANCES A. SHAW.
BOSTON:
ESTES AND LAURIAT.
1877.
COPYRIGHT,
1877.
Estes and Lauriat.
Stereotyped at the Boston Stereotype Foundry,
No. 19 Spring Lane.
CONTENTS.
CHAP.
I. The Widow and her Son,
II. Waldemar,
III. Villica,
IV. The Meeting,
V. The Brothers' First Meeting,
VI. A Transformation,
VII. Strategy and Jealousy,
VIII. The Old "Wonder-City,"
IX. Dr. Fabian's Diplomatic Mission,
X. Leo's Visit to Altenhof,
XI. The New Regime at Villica,
XII. The New Conspirators,
XIII. The Young Landlord's Return,
XIV. The Hunting-Party,
XV. The "History of Ancient Germany."
XVI. Cassandrian Warnings,
XVII. The French Lessons,
XVIII. The Assessor's Wooing,
XIX. The Forest Drive,
XX. The Conflict between Love and Duty,
XXI. The Rescue,
XXII. The New University Professor,
XXIII. Brother against Brother,
XXIV. The Fatal Venture,
XXV. Hubert grows Misanthropic,
XXVI. A Dream of Exile,
XXVII. The Government Counsellor,
XXVIII. The "Frau Professorin,"
XXIX. Reunion,
XXX. Auf Wiedersehen!
VINETA.
CHAPTER I.
THE WIDOW AND HER SON.
The hot summer afternoon neared its close. The sun had already set, but
the twilight glow still lingered in the western sky, and was mirrored
in the sea, which, scarcely rippled by a zephyr's breath, caught the
last splendors of the dying day.
At some distance from the shore along which ran the great promenade of
the fashionable watering-place of C----, usually thronged with visitors
at this hour, stood a solitary country house, modest and unpretending,
but distinguished from the large and splendid villas of the
neighborhood by the beauty of its situation and its outlook over the
sea to the horizon's verge. It was a quiet, secluded spot, well fitted
to be the abode of people seeking retirement and desiring no part in
the gay, excited life around them. At an open glass door leading out
upon a balcony stood a lady in deep mourning. Her stature was tall and
imposing, and although she had reached the meridian of life, she was
still beautiful. This face with its firm, regular outlines could never
have possessed the charm of gentleness and amiability, but years had
robbed it of little of its cold, severe beauty. The black dress with
its heavy crape trimmings indicated a recent bereavement, but the eyes
bore no trace of tears; there was no touch of sensibility in the
resolute features. If sorrow had come near this woman, she had not felt
it deeply, or she had conquered it.
At the lady's side stood a gentleman of equally imposing appearance;
although very near her in age, he seemed ten years her senior, for time
and life had left deep traces as they swept over his head. The grave,
expressive face bore that impress which the world's storms and
conflicts leave behind them; the dark, abundant hair was tinged with
gray, the brow was furrowed, and the profound melancholy of the glance
was in keeping with that look of sadness stamped upon all the features.
He had been intently gazing out upon the sea, but he now turned away
with an impatient gesture.
"They are not yet in sight," he said; "they will not be likely to
return before dark."
"You should have announced your arrival," replied the lady. "We did not
expect you for some days. The boat never comes in sight until it has
doubled that wooded point yonder.--Go down to the beach, Paul," she
added, speaking to a servant, "and as soon as the boat lands, inform
your young master and mistress that Count Morynski has arrived."
The servant left on his errand, and the count, abandoning his watch on
the balcony, entered the house with the lady and seated himself at her
side. "Forgive my impatience, sister," he said; "your society ought to
content me for the present, but it is a year since I have seen my
little girl."
The lady smiled. "You will see a little girl no longer," she said. "A
year counts much at her age, and Wanda gives promise of great beauty."
"And has her intellectual culture kept pace with her physical
development? Your letters have always expressed great satisfaction in
her progress."
"Her mental attainments are beyond her years; she always outstrips her
tasks, and in this respect needs to be restrained rather than urged on.
But I must tell you that Wanda has one great fault: self-will. I have
sometimes been compelled to enforce the obedience she was inclined to
deny me."
The father smiled as he answered: "This is a strange reproach from
_your_ lips, Maryna. Self-will, you are aware, is a distinguishing
trait of your own character; it is in fact an especial trait of our
family."
"But it is not to be tolerated in a young girl of sixteen," replied the
sister. "I tell you once for all, Wanda's obstinacy must be
controlled."
This assertion did not seem to please the count, and he tried to change
the subject. "I feel sure that I could commit my child to no better
hands than yours," he said, "and I am doubly rejoiced that now I have
come to take Wanda home, she will still be near you. I did not count
upon your return so soon after your husband's death. I supposed you
would remain in Paris until Leo had completed his studies."
"I did not feel at home in Paris," replied the lady; "you know from
your own experience that exile is an unenviable lot. Although my
husband was banished for life from his native land, return was not
denied his widow and son. Leo is the last of his race; he must
represent the family. I wished to educate him at home, so that he might
become in thought and feeling a true son of his fatherland. He is still
very young, but the duties which are required of him are beyond his
years, and he must learn to fulfil them."
"Where do you think of making your home?" asked Count Morynski; "you
know that my house is at all times open to you."
"I know it," returned the princess, "and I thank you; but my great
object in life is to secure a future for my Leo worthy of the name he
bears. You understand our pecuniary circumstances; we have sacrificed
nearly all for our country and its lost cause, and our life in exile
has been full of privations. Some better fortune must be in store for
us. For Leo's sake I have decided upon a step which for myself alone
I would not have taken. Can you divine the reason why I have chosen
C---- for a summer residence?"
"No, I cannot; your choice surprises me. Herr Witold's estate lies only
ten miles distant from here, and I should suppose you would wish to
avoid such proximity. Have you lately been corresponding with
Waldemar?"
"No," replied the princess, coldly. "During our absence in France I
scarcely heard from him; in all these years he has made no inquiries
after his mother."
"And has his mother inquired after him?" asked the count.
"If I had done so, it would have been to subject myself to repulsion
and humiliation," replied the princess, excitedly. "Herr Witold has
always hated me, and has asserted his unlimited rights as guardian of
my eldest son in the most annoying ways. Here I am powerless."
"A mother's rights stand so high that if you had asserted them with
your wonted decision, Witold would not have ventured to deny you all
intercourse with your child. But you have not done this; be honest,
Maryna, you have never loved your eldest son!"
The princess leaned her head upon her hand, and was silent. She felt
the truth of her brother's words.
"I well know why Waldemar does not hold the first place in your heart,"
continued the count; "he is the son of an unloved husband whom you were
forced to accept; he reminds you of an unblest marriage. Leo is the
child of your heart and of your love."
"And his father never gave me the slightest cause for complaint," added
the princess.
"You had entire influence over your last husband," said the count; "but
we will waive this subject. You have a plan, it seems. Do you propose
to assert a mother's claims over Waldemar?"
"I propose at least to assert the right of which my first husband's
will robbed me; that unjust will, every line of which was dictated by
hatred, and a resolve that the widow, as well as the mother, should be
disinherited. Until now, the will has remained in full force, but it
declares Waldemar of age in his twenty-first year. He has reached that
age, and is now his own master. I want to put it to the test--if he
will allow his mother to seek an asylum with relatives, while he is
reckoned among the wealthiest proprietors of the country, and it will
cost him but one word to secure an honorable existence to his mother
and brother upon one of his estates."
Count Morynski shook his head. "If you reckon upon any filial
sentiments in this son, I fear you delude yourself. He has been
separated from you since infancy, and you may be very sure that he has
been taught no love for his mother. I have seen him only once; he was
then a boy of some ten years of age, and he impressed me favorably. But
I remember perfectly that he was not at all pliant in disposition."
"You may well say that," returned the princess. "He is his father's own
son, and must be, like him, rough, uncontrollable, and unsusceptible to
high and noble influences. I think I fully understand Waldemar's
character, but he will allow me to control him. Inferior natures always
yield to intellectual superiority, if it is only asserted in the right
way."
"Could you control the boy's father?" asked the count, gravely.
"You forget, Bronislaw, that I was at the time of my first marriage a
young girl of seventeen, without experience and without knowledge of
human nature. I should now know how to deal with such a character, and
to mould it to my will. Besides, in dealing with Waldemar, I have a
mother's authority; he will yield to me."
The count thought differently, but ere he had time to reply, a light,
quick step echoed on the balcony. The door flew open, a young girl
bounded into the room, and the next moment was clasped in her father's
arms.
The princess rose and advanced to meet her son who stood in the
doorway. "You have been absent a long while, Leo," she said; "we have
waited a full hour for your return."
"I beg your pardon, mamma; the sunset upon the water was so beautiful
that we wanted to gaze at it until the last moment."
With these words, Leo Zulieski took his mother's hand, and leading her
to the sofa, sat down by her side. He was very young, perhaps seventeen
or eighteen years of age, and bore a striking resemblance to his
mother; but the cold, severe expression of that older face was absent
from these youthful features, where all was warmth and animation, and
from the dark, fiery eyes, which indicated an ardent, impulsive
temperament. The young fellow was such a picture of youthful strength,
grace, and beauty, that the pride with which his mother took his hand
and led him to his uncle might well be pardoned.
"Leo has no father," she said, sadly. "Whenever he needs a man's advice
and guidance, I rely upon you, Bronislaw."
The count embraced his nephew warmly and cordially, but his glances as
well as his thoughts were centred upon his daughter. The joy of meeting
her again overruled all other emotions.
Wanda did not bear the slightest resemblance to her father; she seemed
a being unique and unlike all others. Her graceful figure, which was
still that of a child, had not attained its full stature or
development; her features were those of a child, although their
expression was firm and resolute. Her face was pale, but not with
illness: it bore the impress of perfect health; a faint flush, called
forth by the least excitement or emotion, came and went on her lips and
cheeks. The abundant, deep black hair made the exceeding fairness of
the complexion still more striking, and the large, dark, liquid eyes
were shaded by long black lashes. Wanda indeed gave promise of great
beauty. She could not now be called beautiful, but she possessed that
indefinable fascination we see in many young girls when standing upon
that charmed boundary,
"Where the brook and river meet,
Womanhood and childhood sweet."
In this young girl's whole appearance there was a delightful blending
of the petulance and innocence of the child with the gravity of the
young lady, who every now and then calls to mind her sixteen years, and
feels that her childhood has passed. The halo of early youth, which
surrounded her like the fragrant odor around a half-opened rosebud,
made her doubly enchanting.
The first joy and surprise of reunion were over, and the conversation
began to flow in quiet channels. The count drew his daughter closer to
his side, and playfully chided her for not having returned sooner.
"I did not know you had come, papa," she said; "and, besides, I had an
adventure in the forest."
"In the forest?" interrupted her aunt. "Were you not with Leo upon the
sea?"
"Only upon our return, Aunt Maryna. We had planned a sail to
Buchenholm; Leo thought the distance by water less than that by the
forest-path; I maintained the contrary. We disputed a while, and at
last concluded to prove which was right. Leo sailed away alone, and I
took the path through the forest."
"Who guided you?" asked the count.
Wanda smiled archly. "O, some satyr!--one of those old giant-ghosts
which now and then flit around here. But you must question me no
further, papa. Leo is dying of curiosity to know; he tormented me with
questions all the way home, and for this very reason I will not tell
him a syllable."
"This is all a made-up story," cried Leo, laughing; "a subterfuge to
explain your late return. You would invent a whole fairy-tale rather
than own I was in the right."
"Subterfuge or not," interposed the princess, "this solitary walk was
highly improper. I gave you permission to take a short sail with Leo,
but I had no idea he would leave you for hours alone in the forest."
"Wanda insisted upon it," replied Leo. "She was determined to settle
our dispute about the distance."
"Yes, Aunt Maryna, I _would_ have my own way," said Wanda,
emphatically, "and Leo knew that he could not keep me back."
The princess was about to reprimand her niece for this new exhibition
of self-will, but her brother said, hastily, "I feel somewhat fatigued
with my journey, and would like to retire to my room. I would also
speak with Wanda alone. Good night."
He rose, took his daughter's arm, and left the room.
"My uncle seems perfectly bound up in Wanda," said Leo, as the father
and daughter disappeared.
The princess gazed after the two retreating forms, and said, half
audibly,--
"He will spoil her. He idolizes her blindly, as he once idolized her
mother. Wanda will all too soon learn her power and exercise it. I
feared this before his return; I now see that my apprehensions were
just. What about this forest adventure, Leo?"
"I do not know. It is very likely one of Wanda's jests. She first
roused my curiosity by all sorts of hints, then obstinately refused to
explain, and made herself merry over my resentment. You know her way."
"Yes, I know it," the princess said, with a slight frown. "Wanda loves
to make sport of us all. You should not let this be so easy for her,
Leo, where you are concerned."
Leo flushed to the forehead. "_I_, mamma? I often quarrel with Wanda."
"And yet you allow yourself to be a mere tool for her caprices. I am
well aware, my son, who wins in all your quarrels. But this is mere
childishness. I wish to speak with you of serious matters. Close the
balcony door, and sit down by me."
Leo obeyed, but his face and manner showed that he was offended,
perhaps less at his mother's reprimand than at the word "childishness."
Without taking the slightest notice of her son's mood, the mother
began: "You know that I was a widow when I married your father, and
that there is a son of the first marriage still living. You also know
that he has been reared in Germany. You will soon see him and make his
acquaintance."
"Do you mean my brother Waldemar?"
"Yes, Waldemar Nordeck. He lives here in the neighborhood, upon his
guardian's estate. I have written to him of our arrival, and hope to
see him in a few days."
Leo's ill-humor vanished, and he showed deep interest in the subject of
conversation. "Mamma," he said, hesitatingly, "will you not tell me
something definite concerning these family matters? I only know that
your first marriage was unhappy, that you had a falling out with
Waldemar's relatives and his guardian, and I learned this by hints from
my uncle and the old servants of our house. I never questioned my
parents; I saw that this topic wounded my father and angered you, and
that you both strove to banish its remembrance."
The lady's features assumed a rigid expression, and her voice was hard
and cold as she replied,--
"We do best when we shroud mortifications and humiliations in
forgetfulness, and I have sought to do so in regard to that unhappy
marriage, which was full of both. Do not ask an explanation from me,
Leo; you know the sequel,--let that suffice. I cannot and I will not
initiate you into this family tragedy, which I never recall, even at
this late day, without hatred toward the dead. I have striven to blot
those three years from my life; I did not dream that I should be forced
to recall them."
"And what forces you to recall them?" asked Leo, excitedly. "My uncle
has offered us his protection; are we not going to his house?"
"No, my son; we are going to Villica."
"To Villica!" echoed Leo, in surprise. "That is Waldemar's estate."
"It should have been my widow's dower," said the princess, resentfully;
"it is now the property of my son, and ought to afford his mother a
refuge."
Leo started. "What does this mean?" he said, excitedly. "I know that we
are poor, but I will endure all privations and renounce all worldly
advantages, rather than allow you for my sake--"
The princess rose majestically. Her glance and bearing were so
imperious that her son was awed into silence. "Do you think your mother
capable of humiliating you?" she asked. "Do you know her so
superficially? Leave to me, my son, the care of your position, and of
my own. You certainly need not define limits for my actions; I alone
understand them."
Leo cast down his eyes and ventured no reply. His mother drew near him
and took his hand.
"Will this fiery head never learn to think dispassionately?" she said,
gently. "You have great need of calm deliberation before entering upon
the life before you, my son. I shall carry out alone my plans
concerning Waldemar; you, my Leo, shall experience none of the
bitterness which is perhaps in store for me. You must keep your vision
clear and your courage unshaken for the future that awaits you. This is
your task; mine shall be to secure that future at any price. Trust your
mother."
She clasped her son to her heart, and he pressed his mother's hand to
his lips, as if in mute entreaty for forgiveness. As she bent to kiss
the handsome young face, so bright with hope, so radiant with the
promise of high achievement, it was evident that this cold, proud woman
possessed all the self-forgetful care and tenderness of a mother, and
that, in spite of the rigor with which she treated him, Leo was still
her idol.