WALDEMAR.
"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!"