THE HUNTING-PARTY.
Weeks rolled away, but the arrival of the young landlord had produced
little change in Villica. His old passion for the chase seemed to have
again taken full possession of him: he was seldom found in the castle,
his days being mostly passed in roaming about the forests. He did not
appear regularly at meals, his jaunts often taking him so far from home
that he was obliged to lunch at some forester's place or farm-house. He
usually returned late, and spent the evening in his own apartments with
Doctor Fabian, the only person whose society he sought. He entered his
mother's drawing-room only at rare intervals, and always reluctantly.
Leo had ceased accompanying his brother to the chase; the two could not
hunt together, their manner of engaging in the sport was so different.
In hunting, as in everything else, the young prince was fiery and
venturesome, but not persistent; he shot whatever came in his way, he
was deterred by no obstacle, and danger lent new zest to his enjoyment.
Waldemar, on the other hand, followed the game with tireless energy,
never thinking of food or rest, and imposing hardships upon himself
which only an iron frame could endure. Leo thought such persistence
wearisome and useless, and when he found that his brother preferred to
hunt alone, he only too gladly allowed him that privilege.
Although Waldemar saw and conversed daily with his mother and brother,
he could not be regarded as one of the family. His unconquerable
reserve and his aversion to familiar intercourse increased rather than
diminished. After a stay of several weeks at Villica, he was not one
step nearer the princess or Leo than on the day of his arrival. This
state of things was highly gratifying to the Princess Zulieski;
Waldemar's daily absence perfectly coincided with her hopes and plans,
and he was far more affable than she had expected. He even carried his
courtesy so far as to call occasionally at his uncle's castle, and
intercourse between the two estates became more frequent than ever. The
count and his daughter often drove over to Villica, although they
seldom met its master.
One thing only marred these very pleasant and satisfactory relations:
this was the coldness and evident hostility between Waldemar and Wanda.
The princess, after many fruitless attempts to act as mediator,
concluded to let "the two obstinate children" have their own way, so
long at least as there was no open quarrel between them. Waldemar
evidently made an effort to be gracious and amiable to his uncle, and
he gratified all his relatives in one particular, if in no other,--he
kept away from them as much as possible.
The princess had made arrangements for another of her large
hunting-parties, which brought together the Polish gentry of that
region far and near. The invitations had all been accepted, and the
party would be larger than usual. Waldemar having been consulted in
regard to the arrangements and invitations, had begged his mother to
assume the entire responsibility, his acquaintance in the neighborhood
being limited, and his tastes being averse to these large social
gatherings. The princess, although full of polite regrets at the loss
of his assistance, was really in her element; she dearly loved to rule
in all matters both great and small, and wanted no rival near her
throne.
The morning of the eventful day dawned cloudy and threatening; when the
sky at length cleared, so that the hunt could be safely decided upon,
the hour was unusually late. The princess and Leo stood in the centre
of the large reception-room to receive the farewell greetings of the
party, and as the young prince assisted his mother in doing the honors
of the house, a stranger would have taken him for the master of
Villica. Waldemar meanwhile remained unnoticed at a window, in earnest
conversation with Doctor Fabian. He seemed to regard himself as merely
his mother's guest, and as he claimed no deference for his real
position, he received none. He was sure of a respectful greeting as he
came and went, and was listened to attentively whenever he chose to
take part in the conversation; but he was landlord of Villica only in
name. None attempted to approach him familiarly, or to pierce the mail
of his obstinate reserve. There seemed to be a mutual understanding;
the visitors took no more notice of him than he of them.
"Pray do not ride in your usual reckless manner, Leo," said the
princess, as she took leave of her younger son with a fond embrace.
"You and Wanda rival each other in adventurous daring; be cautious, I
beseech you." She then turned to her elder son, and offering him her
hand as a mere friend might do, she added, "Good-bye, Waldemar; you are
no doubt in your element to-day."
"Indeed I am not," he replied, abruptly; "large, fashionable
hunting-parties are not to my taste. The hunters and beaters go before
these fine ladies and gentlemen, and run down the game for them, so
that neither effort nor skill is required."
"Waldemar is happy only when alone with his beloved rifle," said Leo,
laughing. "I really believe he dragged me through swamps and
underbrush, and exposed me to hunger and thirst and all sorts of
disagreeable things, merely to get rid of me as soon as possible. I am
no novice at hunting, but I soon tire of the hardships Waldemar calls
pleasure."
"I told you beforehand that my mode of hunting would not suit you,"
replied Waldemar indifferently, as the party left the room.
A portion of the hunters had already assembled upon the broad lawn in
front of the castle; among them were Count Morynski and his daughter.
The gentlemen were in raptures over Herr Nordeck's fine saddle-horse,
which had arrived two days before. All agreed that the young landlord
had shown great taste and judgment in its selection.
"A splendid animal!" said the count, as he patted the slender neck of
the horse, which stood patient under his caresses. "Waldemar, is this
really the wild Norman you used to ride in C----? He was then so
dangerous that your groom was always in mortal terror when holding him
by the bit."
"Norman was very young then," replied Waldemar, coming up with his
brother; "he had just begun to wear the saddle. He has since become
accustomed to control, and I myself am not so adventurous a rider as at
that time. You can ask Leo about the animal's docility; he attempted to
mount Norman yesterday."
"He is a demon of a horse!" exclaimed Leo, excitedly. "I believe you
have trained him to act like a mad creature whenever any one else sets
foot in the stirrup. But I will conquer him yet!"
"You had better not try it; Norman will obey no one but me."
Leo's face glowed as he met Wanda's eyes, which imperiously commanded
him to refute this assertion. The glance stung him, and he said,
impetuously,--
"Norman's obstinacy is the result of your own training, Waldemar. I
have not taught my Vaillant any such tricks," he added, pointing to a
handsome sorrel nag, held by his groom, "but you might succeed no
better with him than I did with Norman. You have never cared to make
the attempt; will you do so to-day?"
"No," replied Waldemar, coolly. "Your horse is very unruly at times;
you indulge him in all sorts of antics, and in a stubbornness which I
could not endure. I should be obliged to misuse him, and I would not
like to treat an animal you are fond of in such a manner."
"You had better make the experiment, Herr Nordeck," said Wanda. She had
never said "Cousin Waldemar" but once. "Indeed, I believe you ride
_nearly_ as well as Leo."
"I thank you for the compliment, Countess Morynski," he replied, bowing
profoundly.
"The Germans are very fair riders," she added, in a still more
irritating tone; "but in this accomplishment, as in most others, they
are far behind our Polish gentlemen."
Nordeck's only answer was to say to his brother, "Will you resign your
Vaillant to me for this one day, Leo? Are you willing to expose him to
hardship, perhaps to danger?"
"To _danger_!" reiterated Leo, with flaming eyes.
"Do not insist upon it, Herr Nordeck," interposed the count; "the horse
is wild and unmanageable, and Leo has accustomed him to all sorts of
mad freaks and rash ventures, which a strange rider, even though the
most expert, cannot understand. He will be sure to throw you."
"But if Herr Nordeck is willing to run the risk, let him do so!" said
Wanda, obstinately.
The count gave his daughter a reproving glance, but Waldemar took no
seeming notice of her words. "Have no fear, Count Morynski," he said;
"I shall ride the horse. Your daughter wishes to see me thrown: I _may_
allow her that pleasure. Come, Leo."
"I entreat you to desist, Wanda," whispered the count. "Waldemar hates
you bitterly enough already, and still you go on irritating him at
every opportunity."
The young countess stroked the folds of her velvet riding-dress with
her whip. "You mistake, papa," she said; "Herr Nordeck does not allow
himself to be irritated,--least of all by _me_."
"Then why do you continually attempt it?"
Wanda made no reply. Her father was right; she neglected no opportunity
of taunting the young man, who had once flown into a passion at every
trifling word, but whose stolid composure she could not now ruffle in
the least.
The other gentlemen had become deeply interested in the venture; they
knew Nordeck as a daring, skilful rider, but they had no idea that he
could rival Prince Zulieski, and, less thoughtful than Count Morynski,
they coolly resigned this "foreign plebeian" to certain discomfiture.
The brothers stood near the splendid steed. The slim, fiery animal
pawed the ground impatiently, and threatened every moment to break away
from his groom. Leo took the bridle and held the horse while his
brother mounted. His eyes beamed with satisfaction; he knew his
Vaillant, and he was confident which would win the victory.
Vaillant scarcely felt the strange hand on the bridle, when he began to
manifest his native obstinacy. He reared and plunged, and made the most
violent efforts to rid himself of the burden; but the rider sat firmly
in the saddle, and resisted the horse's frantic opposition so coolly
and yet so energetically, that the animal soon grew quiet. But when
Waldemar was ready to start, he refused to obey; the rider's whole
skill and energy could not move him, he positively refused to stir, and
at length became furious and decidedly dangerous. Thus far, Waldemar
had remained perfectly composed, but now his brow grew dark, his lips
compressed; his patience was exhausted. He raised his whip, and a
merciless blow fell upon the refractory animal.
This unusual severity maddened the obstinate and spoiled Vaillant; he
made a leap which caused the bystanders to scatter right and left, and
shot like an arrow across the lawn into the broad avenue leading to the
castle. There the ride became an infuriated combat between man and
beast. Vaillant seemed determined to throw his rider. Waldemar retained
his place, but it was at the risk of his life.
"End this mad conflict, Leo," said Count Morynski to his nephew.
"Vaillant will grow quiet if you approach him; persuade your brother to
dismount, or he may be killed."
Leo stood before his uncle with folded arms, and made no movement at
interference. "I did not conceal from Waldemar the danger of riding my
horse," he said, coldly. "If he purposely exasperates Vaillant, he must
take the consequences; he knows that the animal will not endure harsh
treatment."
Waldemar returned to the place whence he had started. He had forced
Vaillant into the direction he wished to take, but had not conquered
him. The horse still resisted his rider's iron will, and tried to throw
him. Nordeck showed that the passion of his boyhood, so long repressed,
had again revived; his face glowed, his eyes flashed, his teeth were
set; he used the whip and spur in so unsparing a manner that Leo was
beside himself. He had calmly contemplated his brother's danger, but he
could not endure this ill-treatment of his favorite Vaillant.
"Stop, Waldemar!" he cried, angrily; "you will ruin my horse; you have
proved that you can force Vaillant to carry you, now give him up to
me."
"I shall first teach him obedience," said Waldemar, in a voice
that betrayed the wildest excitement. He paid no heed to Leo's
protests--their only result was the harsher treatment of the horse in a
second course around the lawn. On the third round, Vaillant ceased his
opposition, kept straight on in the road, and, at a single pressure of
the bit, halted before the castle, but in a state of entire exhaustion.
Nordeck dismounted; the gentlemen thronged around him and complimented
him, although somewhat reluctantly, upon his horsemanship. Leo had not
a word to say. He patted his trembling, panting Vaillant in sullen
silence, and his ill-humor was not at all improved when he saw that his
favorite's glossy, brown coat bore blood-stains here and there from the
merciless use of Waldemar's spurs.
"An unparalleled test of endurance!" said Count Morynski, gravely;
"Vaillant will not soon forget this ride."
Waldemar had regained his self-control; but his flushed face and the
swollen blue vein on his temple still bore evidence of his inward
perturbation, as he replied,--
"It was my duty to prove that I in some measure deserved the Countess
Morynski's flattering testimony, that I could ride _nearly_ as well as
my brother."
Wanda stood near Leo, her face wearing an expression which indicated
that she too had suffered a defeat which must be avenged. Her dark eyes
flashed ominously.
"I regret that my thoughtless remark has subjected poor Vaillant to
this cruel treatment," she answered, struggling for breath. "The noble
animal is accustomed only to kindness."
"Neither am I accustomed to such opposition," sharply retorted
Waldemar. "It is not my fault that Vaillant will submit only to whip
and spur,--for submit he must."
Leo forestalled the angry reply already upon Wanda's lips, by ordering
his groom in a loud voice to take Vaillant to the stable, to care for
him in the kindest manner, and to bring him another horse. Seeing his
nephew's excitement and resentment, Count Morynski took him aside and
implored him to control his anger. "Do you wish to have a quarrel with
your brother, here in presence of all these guests?" he asked.
"I don't care if I do," hotly replied the young prince, in a low sullen
tone. "Has he not declared before them all that I cannot manage his
Norman? Has he not ridden my Vaillant nearly to death, and all for a
paltry bit of braggadocio?"
"But consider! You proposed the test, and he at first declined to
accept it."
"He wanted to display his superiority in mere physical force. As if any
one ever disputed that point which is his one great merit! I tell you,
uncle, that my patience will never bear the like of this again, even
were he tenfold master of Villica."
"Do show some discretion," said the count. "You and Wanda subordinate
everything to your personal feelings. Nothing delights my daughter more
than to exasperate Waldemar."
"Wanda can openly show her dislike," muttered Leo. "But I--There he
stands by his Norman, as if they both were peace and tranquillity
incarnate; but just let any one interfere with them."
The new horse was brought, and the hunting-party rode away. It was
fortunate that the chase kept the brothers apart, for Leo's anger might
have broken out into open hostility. Both brothers entered eagerly into
the sport, and their quarrel was for the time forgotten.
Waldemar was wrong in despising those large, fashionable
hunting-parties which were carried out in a style of princely
magnificence at Villica. All the foresters and their assistants
were required to appear in gala dress, the entire forest was in
commotion, and swarmed with woodsmen and game-beaters, while the large,
elegant, and exciting hunting-party sweeping past, formed an imposing
pageant. The gentlemen, mostly distinguished by splendid figures, and
wearing rich hunting-costumes, were mounted on spirited and gayly
caparisoned horses, while the ladies at their side, in their beautiful
riding-dresses and waving plumes, were equally well mounted, and the
servants brought up the rear. The sounding of horns, the yelping of
dogs, the shouts of the game-beaters, all combined to form a spectacle
full of life and animation, which became even more lively and excited
when the fleeing game and the whizzing shots awaking echoes through the
forest, announced that the sport had actually begun.
The weather was everything that could be desired; it was a cool and
hazy, but yet a fine November day. The Villica hunting-grounds boasted
a matchless stock of deer, and excellent arrangements for securing a
large booty had been made. The hunt was the more animated from the
lateness of the hour; amends must be made for the morning's delay, and
the autumn afternoon was already drawing to a close.
A few thousand yards distant from the forester's place, which to-day
served as a rendezvous, lay a wooded meadow, lonely and almost lost in
the midst of the foliage. During the summer season it was concealed
from view by thick underbrush and stately trees, but now it was in full
sight, the trees and bushes being nearly dismantled of their foliage.
In the centre of the clearing there was a body of water, a small,
transparent lake such as the forest often conceals in its depths. In
summer, waving swamp-grasses and dreamy water-lilies threw a peculiar
charm about the place which was now sombre and colorless, its withered
leaves and faded turf being in unison with the autumnal aspect of the
surrounding landscape.
Under one of these stately, wide-branching trees the Countess Morynski
stood alone. Her seclusion was voluntary; she could not have been left
behind by the hunting-party, which was distinctly heard at a short
distance, and the forest-keeper's house where she had left her horse
was also near. She leaned against the tree and gazed intently into the
water, but her thoughts were evidently far away. Her beautiful eyes had
a lowering glance, and the deep frown that furrowed her fair brow
showed that she was under the influence of some angry emotion. The
noisy hunting party drew nearer and then turned suddenly toward the
river which flowed at some distance, very remote from the place Wanda
had chosen as her retreat. The wild, confused sounds died away in the
distance, only the far-off report of a rifle was heard at intervals,
and soon death-like silence reigned.
As Wanda stood there seemingly lost in thought, the sound of a footstep
and a rustling of branches startled her. Somewhat vexed at the
disturbance, she looked around to discover its cause; the bushes
parted, and Waldemar Nordeck appeared before her.
His surprise fully equalled her own. This unexpected meeting seemed as
unpleasant to him as to her; but retreat was impossible, recognition
had been mutual. Waldemar bowed stiffly, and said,--
"I was not aware, Countess Morynski, that you had left the chase; I did
not suppose that so indefatigable a huntress would give up the pursuit
until the last moment."
"And you too are an ardent hunter. Why did you leave the party so
soon?" asked Wanda.
"I have had enough of it," returned Waldemar, shrugging his shoulders.
"Such a crowd and tumult spoil all my pleasure. I prefer to hunt
alone."
Wanda also had grown weary of the rush and noise, and had come here in
quest of silence and solitude, but she would not confess it. "Do you
come from the rendezvous?" she asked.
"No; but I have sent my horse there. The day's sport is nearly over;
the hunting-party will pass here on its return, and I propose to await
it."
As he said this, he set down his fowling-piece and the cock he had
shot.
Wanda frowned. What business had he to be waiting here in the place she
had chosen as her own retreat? Her first impulse was to leave; but was
it not his duty to withdraw? She resolved to remain, even at the cost
of being forced to tolerate the presence of this detestable man.
He did not manifest the slightest intention of leaving; he stood near
her with folded arms, gazing upon the surrounding scene. The sun had
been all day hidden behind a dense veil of clouds, but now a golden
radiance broke through the fog, lighting up the western horizon and
shimmering through the tree-tops. Ere long misty shadows, the
harbingers of approaching night, began to rise from the meadows. The
forest with its half dismantled trees and the withered leaves strewing
the ground, lent the scene a bleak, autumnal aspect. There was no trace
of that fresh, invigorating breath which pulsates through the woods in
spring and summer; no token of that potent, life-giving power which at
those seasons throbs through the veins and arteries of nature. Waning
existence, slow, irresistible decay, were impressed upon all around.
Wanda's eyes rested as if in gloomy meditation upon the face of her
companion; she seemed anxious to decipher his hidden thoughts. Although
his face was half averted, he must have been conscious of her gaze, for
he turned abruptly, and said indifferently,--
"There is something really comfortless in an autumnal landscape at an
hour like this."
"And yet it has its own melancholy, poetic charm," returned Wanda; "do
you not think so?"
"I?" he said, coldly; "I have had very little to do with poetry; you
know that, Countess Morynski."
"And yet there are moments when the most prosaic natures must feel its
spell."
"That may be, and to romantic natures such moments very often come. One
like me must get through the world as best he can without romance or
poetry. Such an existence, although not enviable, is at least
endurable."
"How calmly you say this. And yet endurance was never your
distinguishing virtue."
"Would you expect me to remain my whole life long a passionate,
impetuous boy? Do you not think me capable of outgrowing juvenile
follies?"
Wanda bit her lips; he had already proved the contrary.
"I certainly do," she said. "Indeed, I think you capable of a great
deal more than you think proper to admit."
Waldemar scanned the young lady's face very closely. "Then you differ
from all others in Villica; it is the general belief here that my
abilities are of no high order."
"Because you choose to have them think so. I perhaps have deeper
insight than the others."
"You flatter me," returned Waldemar, ironically; "but although you mean
this kindly, it is cruel in you to deprive me of the only merit I
possess in the eyes of my mother and brother--that of being harmless
and insignificant."
"If my aunt could only hear the tone in which you say this, she would
change her mind," returned Wanda, irritated by his sarcasm. "At
present, I am alone in my opinion."
"And will remain so," added Waldemar. "It is conceded that I am an
expert hunter, and after to-day's test, I may, perhaps, have the credit
of being a skilful rider--but that is all."
"Are you really hunting, Herr Nordeck, when you roam about all day with
your rifle and game-bag?"
"What else can I be doing?"
"I do not know, but I imagine that you are making a very thorough
inspection of Villica. There is not a village, a forester's hut, or a
farmhouse far or near upon your estates, that you have not visited. In
all these places, as well as in your mother's salon, where you appear
seldom and play a very indifferent part, you are constantly in search
of information. You seem to take no notice of your mother's guests, but
there is not a single one of them who has not been submitted to your
scrutiny, upon whom you have not passed judgment. Not a word or glance
escapes you."
She hurled all this at him blow after blow, with a precision and a
determination which were well calculated to embarrass him, and for a
moment he could not reply. He stood there with knit brows and
compressed lips, evidently struggling to keep down his anger. But it
was not so easy to disconcert Waldemar Nordeck. When he looked up at
Wanda, a frown still rested upon his forehead, but his voice was
sarcastic rather than angry.
"Your ladyship really embarrasses me. It seems that from the first day
of my sojourn here I have been the object of your minute and almost
exclusive observation. This is an honor which I really do not deserve."
Wanda was furious. Her cheeks glowed with rage as she met the glance of
the audacious man who had dared to parry her blow with her own weapons.
"I do not deny this minute observation; but you yourself will admit,
Herr Nordeck, that I have not made it from the slightest personal
interest in you."
His lips curled in a bitter smile. "You are perfectly right; I had no
idea that you could take the slightest personal interest in me; the
indifference is perhaps mutual."
"But you will at least allow that I have been frank with you: it only
remains for you to admit or deny the truth of my conclusions."
"But what if I choose to do neither?"
"Then my opinion will be confirmed, and I shall earnestly endeavor to
convince my aunt that her son is more dangerous than she supposes."
Waldemar's voice had a tone of cutting irony as he replied,--
"You may have very excellent judgment, Countess Morynski, but you are
not a diplomatist; if you were, you would be more guarded in your
expressions. _Dangerous?_ That is a significant word."
The young girl gave an involuntary start. "I merely repeated your own
expression," she said, regaining her self-control.
"Ah! I began to think that something was going on in Villica, the
success of which might be endangered by my presence."
Wanda made no reply. She began to see how indiscreet she had been. Her
adversary had parried every thrust, returned every blow, and entrapped
her in her own words. He had also possessed the advantage of remaining
cool and collected, while she had lost her temper. She saw that she
must attempt to rescue herself from the net which her own indiscretion
had woven around her.
"Will you desist from this mockery?" she said, fixing her large,
defiant eyes full upon his face. "I know that it is directed solely
against me. You at last force me to allude to a subject which I recall
very much against my will. I once wronged, perhaps insulted you,
and you have never forgotten it. I was entirely to blame--I confess
it--will you forgive me?"
The apology was made in a tone which expressed all the pride of a woman
who realizes that it is no humiliation to ask forgiveness of the man
with whom she has trifled. Its effect was entirely different from what
she had expected.
Waldemar approached a step nearer, and his eyes rested with a
penetrating glance upon her face. "Indeed," he said, slowly, and
strongly emphasizing every word,--"indeed, I was not aware that Villica
was of so much consequence to your party."
"Do you believe--" Wanda began.
"I believe that one day I shall have to pay dear for being master of
these estates," interrupted he. "Four years ago the main point was to
induce me to open Villica to my mother and her interests; now the main
point is to retain it in her interests at any price; but they forget
that I am no longer an inexperienced boy. You yourself have opened my
eyes, countess, and I shall keep them open even at the risk of
incurring your resentment."
Wanda turned deathly pale; her right hand clenched involuntarily the
folds of her velvet riding-dress.
"Enough!" she said, making a powerful effort to regain her
self-control, "I see that you spurn all reconciliation, and try to
offend me so as to render an understanding impossible. Well and good! I
accept the proffered enmity."
"You mistake!" rejoined Waldemar, calmly. "I do not proffer you enmity:
that would be very ungallant toward--"
"Toward whom?" exclaimed Wanda, with flashing eyes, as he hesitated.
"Toward my brother's affianced bride."
Wanda's whole frame was convulsed. Strange as it may appear, that word
stabbed her to the heart. Her eyes involuntarily sought the ground.
"I have hitherto neglected to offer you my congratulations," continued
Waldemar; "will you accept them to-day?"
She bowed her thanks in silence. She herself did not know what sealed
her lips, but she could not answer at this moment. For the first time
the betrothal had been alluded to between them, and the mere mention of
it seemed sufficient, for even Waldemar did not add a syllable to his
congratulations.
The golden lustre of the western sky had long since faded into a pale,
sombre gray; the light evening wind rustled the underbrush and swayed
gently the tree-tops now half dismantled of their foliage, which hung
in mottled shreds from the branches, or had fallen, leaf by leaf,
strewing the forest-floor and the unruffled surface of the lake. Other
withered, dying leaves, swayed to and fro by the breeze, seemed sighing
a low wail for all that life and beauty which had known its brief hour
of bloom and brightness, and was now passing to its grave. Ever
deepening shadows wrapt the forest; vapory clouds from the damp
meadows, growing denser as they rose, ere long hung in threatening
masses above the water. Now, floating in mid-air, appeared a ghostly
apparition, stretching out its humid, nebulous arms to these two
beings standing on the edge of the lake, as if it would draw them to
itself,--anon it dissolved into thousands of phantom forms and
pictures, each succeeding the other in endless variation.
No sound was heard save the low, sad, monotone of the winds and the
gentle dropping of the leaves; but through the ever-changing mists
above the water appeared a sort of _fata morgana_, the picture of a
forest knoll with primeval beeches, and of a heaving sea stretching out
to the horizon's verge, the whole illuminated by the golden light of a
summer sunset. The sun sank slowly beneath the waters, and amid a flood
of radiance rose again the old wonder-city of tradition,--that city
which has been the theme of so many a story, the inspiration of so many
a song. Fairy-land again opened to mortal gaze, and from the depths was
heard a musical chime, the chime of the bells of Vineta, the sunken
city beneath the wave.
The fairy vision had not kept its word to these two who had seen it
that day upon the beech-holm. They had parted in estrangement and
hostility, they met again upon the same footing. The youth had become a
man who was passing through life unloving and solitary; the young girl
had become a woman blessed with beauty, love, and fortune: but they had
never again found what that one hour at the beech-holm had brought
them, never until this autumnal evening, when the old vision reappeared
before their eyes. And now, as they stood there together, the
intervening years vanished, hatred, strife and bitterness were at an
end, and nothing remained in their hearts save a deep, inexpressible
yearning for a happiness they might never know, a happiness whose first
premonitions had come to them with that vision of Vineta--that mirage
at sunset.
Waldemar was first to speak. "The atmospheric effects in this North-sea
region are very wonderful," he said. "This mirage, this _fata morgana_
which is so often seen here, has given rise to one of the most
beautiful of our North-German legends. So clearly defined are the
outlines of the city which seemingly rises from the waters, that we
cannot wonder at the old traditionary belief in Vineta, a city like the
island of Atalantis sunken beneath the waves, and remaining in its
pristine splendor at the ocean's depths; but unlike its prototype, our
submerged city often revisits the upper air, and appears beautiful as
of old to mortal eyes."
"We have seen it twice," said Wanda, "and both times I have fancied I
heard the chiming of its bells."
"The reflection of city roofs and spires was real, the sounds were
purely imaginary."
"I never heard the legend of Vineta until you told it to me four years
ago," observed Wanda. "Since then I find that it has been a favorite
theme of our poets."
"Yes, I am aware of that. During these years of study and travel I too
have learned something of poetry, and I have in mind several little
ballads founded upon this legend."
"Will you not recite one of them?" asked Wanda, eagerly.
"O, no! I never recite poetry, and I only recall a stanza here and
there."
"But, please, repeat what you know," pleaded Wanda, in her most
irresistible tone.
"There was a time when your wish was my law, but now--"
"Now I no longer command; I beg and entreat."
"I may yield to your entreaties if you will first recite one of your
favorite poems to me," replied Waldemar.
"I know a ballad upon Vineta by Finelius. I will repeat a few stanzas."
And Wanda recited, with fine expression and deep feeling, these lines
from a well-known ballad:
"On Easter-morn, when the jubilant bells
Ring out 'Our Lord is risen!'
They call forth an echo loud and long
From church-spires which the waves imprison.
"Then she rises slow from the ocean's breast,
Awed to rest are the waves around her,
As Vineta, the ancient, proud, and great,
Breaks the spell that long has bound her.
"She comes forth the Queen of the Northern Sea,
Fair as in her olden seeming;
Her church-spires cleaving the upper sky,
Her roofs in the sunlight gleaming.
* * * * *
"But all is silent. No host, no guest,
No priest in her holy places;
Her ships lie anchored with drooping sails,
In her streets are no living faces!"
"Thank you; the lines are very beautiful," said Waldemar. "Now, when we
read these poet fancies, we may know that they are not all fancy, for
have not we too seen the enchanted, enchanting old Wonder-city? I can
repeat no poem to you, but these lines of Wilhelm Mueller haunt my
memory to-day:
"From the sea's deep, deep abysses,
Evening bells chime sweet and low,
Of that olden city telling,
Lost and sunken long ago.
"From the heart's deep, deep abysses
Sounds come like those bells of even,
Telling of the loves it cherished
In the days when earth was heaven."
Wanda blushed painfully and was silent. Waldemar passed his hand over
his forehead as if to dispel these romantic fancies. "Perhaps we had
better return to the rendezvous and await our party," he said, hastily.
"Twilight is falling, and there is something very oppressive in this
heavy atmosphere."
Wanda eagerly assented. She too longed to end the interview, to break
away from the spell that was enthralling her. Just as he had shouldered
his rifle and they were on the point of going, Waldemar paused
suddenly.
"My suspicions have offended you deeply," he said, "and perhaps they
were unjust; but tell me, candidly, was the half-apology you deigned to
make really addressed to Waldemar Nordeck? Was it not made rather to
the master of Villica, with whom a reconciliation is desirable, so that
he may tolerate, or at least overlook what is taking place on his
estates?"
"Do you really know--" began Wanda, in surprise.
"Enough to remove your apprehension that you were indiscreet a few
moments ago. Did you truly think me so short-sighted as not to observe
what is town-talk in L----, that Villica is the focus of party schemes
of which my mother is the heart and soul? You may safely confess to me
what the whole neighborhood already knows. I knew it before I came
here."
Wanda was silent. She tried to read from his features if he really
meant what he said, but they were a sealed book to her.
"That, however, is not the point," he resumed; "I asked an answer to my
question. Was that magnanimous apology of yours a voluntary one, or was
it only a commission you were bound to execute? Do not be angry; I ask
merely for information, and you must pardon me, Wanda, if I question an
act of friendliness coming from you."
Wanda would certainly have taken these words as a fresh insult and
answered them accordingly, if Waldemar's mode of saying them had not
disarmed her against her will. His attitude had changed, the icy,
hostile manner had vanished; his voice also had another tone; it was
softer and deeper, and the young girl trembled as he called her Wanda
for the first time in years.
"If my aunt has made me an unwilling instrument of her plans, you must
settle with her and not with me," she said, in a low tone, and there
was no sting in her words. "I suspected nothing, I was only a child
following every momentary whim; but, now,"--she raised her head
proudly,--"now I am responsible for my conduct, and I make confession
to you of my own free will. You are right; the apology was not to
Waldemar Nordeck. Since our meeting, after long years of absence, he
has given me no cause to seek or to desire a reconciliation. I wanted
to force the master of Villica to open his closed visor. That is no
longer necessary. I have just learned from you what I had hitherto only
suspected, that in you we have a bitter, merciless enemy, who will use
his power at the decisive moment, even if he must tread underfoot all
ties of family and of nature."
"And to whom should these ties bind me?" asked Waldemar, excitedly. "To
my mother? You know our mutual relations, and that she is now less than
ever inclined to forgive me for being the heir of the Nordeck wealth in
place of her younger son. To Leo? Possibly there may be a feeling of
brotherly love between us, but I do not believe it will survive when
our ways cross--at least not on his side."
"Leo would gladly have met you as a brother if you had not made it
impossible for him," returned Wanda. "You were always inaccessible even
to him, but there have been moments when he might have approached you
fraternally. He is too proud to seek to break through the icy reserve
you maintain toward him and all around you. Any manifestation of
affection from him or from your mother would be shattered against a
hardness that cares nothing for them, or perhaps for any one in the
wide world."
She stopped suddenly as her eyes met Waldemar's searching gaze. "Your
judgment is correct, although merciless," he said, gravely. "Have you
ever asked yourself what made me hard? There was a time when I was not
so--at least not toward you,--when a word or a glance of yours ruled
me, when I patiently submitted to your every whim. Wanda, you could
then have made much, perhaps everything of me. You did not wish to do
so. My handsome, chivalrous brother was your favorite. This was but
natural, I cannot blame you. I was not at all suited to you then. But
that was the turning-point of my existence, and a man like myself, who
is resolved not to allow his life to be blighted by disappointment,
will become hard and suspicious. I now consider it very fortunate that
my youthful passion was spurned and derided. If it had been otherwise,
my mother would have insisted upon our repeating the drama which was
played here twenty-five years ago, when a Nordeck led home a young
countess for his bride. You perhaps, with your sixteen years, might
have yielded to the will of your family, and have married a fortune,
while I should have shared my father's fate. We have both escaped such
a calamity, and that foolish past is now buried and forgotten. I only
wished to remind you that you have no right to upbraid me with
hardness, or to complain when this hardness is manifested toward you
and yours. Shall I now accompany you to the rendezvous?"
Wanda complied in silence. Although she had at first been irritated and
combative, the turn taken by the conversation had finally wrested the
weapons from her hands. To-day they again parted as enemies, but both
felt that from this hour the conflict between them was of another
character, although perhaps none the less bitter.
The whole landscape was wrapped in twilight shadows that grew deeper
every moment, and misty vapors rose from field and forest. White
clouds, a now shapeless, dissolving mass, still hovered over the lake.
The vision that had risen above the waters had sunk beneath their
depths, but it would never be forgotten by this strong, earnest,
reticent man and this dreamy young girl, who walked so silently side by
side.
Here in the desolate autumnal forest, at the ghostly twilight hour, the
breath of that old ocean fable of the distant North again floated
around them, and whispered anew its ancient prophecy:--"Whoever has
once seen Vineta and listened to the chiming of its bells, must be
consumed by regret and longing until the fairy vision again appears to
bring him peace, or until the old phantom-city draws him downward into
its ocean depths."