THE CONFLICT BETWEEN LOVE AND DUTY.
Radowicz, embracing a tract of land only one tenth as large as Villica,
could in no respect compare with that magnificent estate. It had no
splendid castle, no extensive forests, no grand and noble park. It was
situated only a few miles from L----, in the midst of an open country,
and possessed little to distinguish it from the small estates of the
neighboring gentry.
Wanda had lived alone upon the estate since her father's departure.
Under other circumstances, she would have remained at Villica with her
aunt, but now it seemed proper and natural that the daughter of Count
Morynski should avoid the castle whose master maintained so hostile an
attitude toward her people. The stay of the princess there excited much
comment. The aunt made her niece frequent visits and was now her guest.
She had arrived upon the evening of Wanda's return, and as yet knew
nothing of her meeting with Waldemar. Upon the morning of the second
day of her visit, the two ladies sat in Wanda's apartments. They had
just received letters which evidently brought them gloomy tidings, for
both looked grave and anxious.
"Again repulsed!" said the princess, with suppressed emotion; "they had
advanced to the very heart of the country, and now they have been
driven back to the border. There has been nothing decisive, no
noteworthy result. We may almost despair of ultimate success."
"My father also writes in a very despondent tone," said Wanda. "He is
vexed and discouraged at this eternal conflict with so many opposing
elements. All seek to command, none are willing to obey; dissension
among the leaders is constantly on the increase. Where will all this
end?"
"Your father looks upon the dark side, as he is wont to do," said the
princess, reassuringly. "The order and discipline of a well-drilled
army cannot be expected from a body of volunteers who at the first call
rush to arms. All this will come in time."
Wanda shook her head doubtingly. "The fighting has gone on for
three months," she said, "and we have atoned with three defeats
for every slight success. I now for the first time understand my
father's depression when he left us; it was not merely the grief of
separation,--he went away cheered by no hope of victory."
"Bronislaw has always taken life too seriously," replied the princess.
"I hope much from Leo's constant presence and influence over his uncle.
He has all the elasticity and enthusiasm of youth; he regards every
doubt of our ultimate success as treason. It would be well if he could
infuse into others his unshaken confidence in victory. We all have need
of it."
She re-read her son's letter. "In any event, Leo is happy," she said;
"his uncle has at last yielded to his entreaties, and intrusted him
with an independent command. He is stationed with his troops only a few
miles from the boundary,--and yet his mother and his betrothed bride
may not see him for a single moment."
"For heaven's sake, do not put such thoughts into Leo's head!"
interposed Wanda. "In his present frame of mind he might commit the
maddest folly in order to obtain an interview."
"Never fear for him!" replied the mother, confidently. "He has positive
orders not to leave his post, and he will obey. But what does he write
to you? His letter to me is brief and hasty, yours seems longer."
"It contains very little," replied Wanda, with apparent displeasure;
"very little of importance to us who must remain here inactive and in
suspense. Leo prefers to write me about his love; he finds time in the
midst of a bloody conflict to torment himself and me with his
jealousy."
"That is a strange reproach from the lips of an affianced bride!"
returned the princess, sharply. "Any other girl would be proud and
happy to be the centre of her lover's thoughts at a time like this."
"Leo is engaged in a life-and-death struggle. I demand deeds from him,
not vows of constancy."
The mother's brow grew dark. "Now that my son has at last the
opportunity, deeds will not be wanting. Do you think coldness and
taciturnity are essential to the performance of great deeds?"
Wanda rose and walked to the window. She knew the purport of her aunt's
words, but she could not and would not expose herself to the gaze of
those penetrating eyes which rested pitilessly upon her face as if they
would discover the most secret emotions of her heart. In her dealings
with her niece, the princess acted upon the discovery she had made in
Waldemar. She had alluded to it but once; she considered repetitions
useless and dangerous, and yet the conviction that she was subjected to
constant surveillance, that her every word and look was carefully noted
and inwardly commented upon, robbed Wanda of all freedom in intercourse
with her aunt.
"We are likely to have fighting near the boundary in a few days,"
resumed the princess. "Villica might be of great advantage to us,--but
what is it now?"
Wanda turned and fixed her dark eyes upon her aunt. "I know the
necessity that detains you in Villica," she said; "but _I_ could not
submit to it. I would make any sacrifice rather than live day after day
in determined opposition, as you and Waldemar live."
"We two are the only ones who could endure such a life," returned the
princess, with bitter irony. "I confess, Wanda, that your judgment of
Waldemar was correct; the conflict with him is more obstinate than I
had anticipated. Instead of wearying him, I am myself on the point of
yielding; he is more than a match for me."
"He is your own son," replied Wanda; "you always forget that."
The princess, with an air of deep dejection, rested her head on her
hand. "He takes pains that I shall not forget it," she said; "he daily
proves to me what these four years of absence have made him. I should
never have thought it possible that this incredible strength of
character could result from a youth so wild and uncontrollable. He has
learned to subdue himself, and he subdues all around him. The employes
on the estate are all devoted to me, and yet when he opposes my orders
I can no longer enforce them, he overawes all at Villica; there is
authority in his glance, his will is more imperious than even mine. I
only wish that Nordeck had given me this boy! I would have trained him
for our cause, and perhaps he would have become something more than
master of Villica. He now belongs body and soul to his father's people,
and he will not renounce them for the highest prizes our side can
offer. I deeply feel the misfortune of never having been allowed to be
a mother to my eldest child. Both of us are atoning for this
injustice."
There was a tone of remorseful self-accusation in these words; the
princess had never before spoken in this manner of her eldest son. The
tenderer emotions of her nature had hitherto been called forth only by
her younger child, her Leo. She made a violent effort to overcome this
unusual emotion, and rising abruptly, she said in a cold, hard voice,--
"It is immaterial; we are enemies and shall remain so. We must endure
strife and enmity, as we endure other unavoidable evils."
A servant entered with tidings that the head steward of Villica had
arrived, and urgently requested an interview with his mistress. The
princess was startled. "Something must have happened," she said; "show
him in immediately."
The next moment Paul entered. He had been the valet of the late Prince
Zulieski, and had followed his master's family into banishment; he was
now head servant at the castle. The old man appeared hurried and
excited, but he did not neglect the usual tokens of respect as he
approached his mistress, who said impatiently,--
"Waive all formalities, Paul. What news do you bring? What has happened
in Villica?"
"Nothing in Villica, my lady, but at the border-forester's place--"
"Well?"
"There has been another skirmish, and the forester has placed all
manner of obstacles in the way of the military authorities. He finally
insulted the patrols, thereby provoking an open attack."
"Will the indiscretion of these subordinates eternally thwart our
plans?" cried the princess, angrily. "Just now, when everything depends
upon attention being diverted from that forester's place, our men
literally court observation. I have ordered this Osiecki to conduct
peaceably, and to restrain his servants. I will dispatch a messenger to
renew that command."
"Unfortunately, Herr Nordeck has anticipated us," said Paul,
hesitatingly. "He has ordered the forester to leave the house with all
his servants, and to report at Villica. A German overseer is to be
stationed at the boundary until a substitute can be found."
"And what has the forester done?" asked the princess.
"He has refused to obey; he sent back word to the young landlord that
you had placed him there, and that whoever wished to drive him away
might attempt it."
"And what has my son resolved upon?" asked the princess, her face white
with terror.
"He has declared that he will himself ride over there this afternoon."
"_Alone_?" asked Wanda, who had been an attentive listener to the whole
conversation.
"He always rides alone," said Paul.
The princess had seemed lost in revery. "Paul," she said, rousing
herself, "have the horses harnessed immediately; you will accompany me
to Villica. If anything happens, I must be there."
Paul left to execute the order. The door had scarcely closed behind
him, when Wanda was at her aunt's side.
"Did you hear, aunt, that Waldemar intends to go to the
border-forester's place?" she asked.
"Yes, child, I heard; what of it?"
"Do you believe the forester will submit?"
"No, he dares not. His district is the most important of all for us; it
is doubly important now in view of impending events. We must have a
reliable man in charge there. The fools, to jeopardize the post just at
this crisis!"
"We have lost it!" exclaimed Wanda, excitedly. "Waldemar will enforce
obedience."
"He will not do so in this case," replied the princess. "The forester
will yield only to superior force, and Waldemar will not resort to
violence. Have we not just heard that he is going over alone?"
"You certainly will not permit it. Are you not going to Villica to warn
him--to keep him back?"
The princess gazed at her niece in surprise. "What are you thinking of,
Wanda?" she said. "A warning from me would betray everything to
Waldemar, and he would at once perceive that the men obey me and not
him. He would then absolutely insist upon the overseer's removal, which
may yet be prevented,--and it shall be, cost what it may."
"Do you believe that your son will tolerate open disobedience? He has
not done so as yet, I do not believe that he ever will. This overseer
is a desperate man capable of anything, and I do not believe that his
subordinates are any better."
"Waldemar knows his character," returned the princess, "and will be
careful how he irritates him. He has perfect self-control, and will
always maintain that attitude toward his subordinates."
"They hate him," said Wanda, with quivering lips. "One ball has already
missed him, the second may fulfil its mission better."
The princess was startled. "Who told you this?" she asked.
"I learned it from some one at Villica."
"It is a myth," said the princess, disdainfully, "and was probably
invented by that cowardly Doctor Fabian, who no doubt has taken a
random shot in the forest for a murderous attack upon his beloved
pupil. He is constantly anxious for Waldemar's safety; but the master
of Villica is my son, and that shields him from all danger."
"When the murderous passions of these men are once aroused, this
circumstance will not protect him," exclaimed Wanda, in evident alarm
and excitement. "You ordered the overseer to keep quiet, and you see in
what manner he has obeyed you."
"Would it not be better for you to save your extreme solicitude for
your own friends?" asked the princess cuttingly. "You seem to forget
that Leo is hourly exposed to mortal danger."
"Knowing this, if it lay in our power to protect him, we should hasten
to his rescue," broke out the young girl passionately. "And, besides,
wherever Leo is, he is at the head of his own followers, while Waldemar
confronts alone those savage, unrestrained bands of men whose hatred
toward him you yourself have provoked, and who will not scruple to turn
their hostility against their own master, if he exasperates them."
"And they will do perfectly right in that case. But he knows the
danger, and he will not exasperate them. If he resorts to violent
measures--let the consequences fall upon his own head."
Wanda trembled at the glance which accompanied these words. "Does a
_mother_ say this?" she asked.
"They are the words of a deeply offended mother whose son has driven
her to the last extremity; in the present posture of affairs, there can
be no peace between Waldemar and me. Wherever I set my foot, I find him
in my way; whatever I attempt, he confronts and opposes me. How many of
our plans he has already thwarted! How much we have been forced to
sacrifice just for his sake! He has carried his opposition so far that
we stand in the relation of mortal enemies. Yes, he stands alone--let
him endure alone what the enmity he has provoked brings upon him."
Her voice had an icy tone; it bore no longer a trace of the maternal
feeling, of that tenderness which had thrilled it a moment before; it
expressed the real feeling of the Princess Zulieski, who never forgave
nor forgot an injury, and against whom no greater offence was ever
committed than to deprive her of authority. This was Waldemar's
offence, and his mother could not forgive it.
She was about leaving the room to make preparations for departure, when
her glance fell upon Wanda, who stood gazing at her, motionless and
speechless, but with such a look of determination in her face that the
princess paused, and said,--
"I would like to impress one thing upon you before I go: If I do not
warn Waldemar, no one else should dare warn him; it would be _treason_
to our cause. Why do you shudder at that word? What would you call it
if any one of our party revealed our secrets by a spoken or a written
word to the master of Villica? It would thwart our plans and cost us
the loss of the forester's place. Wanda, the Morynskis have never
had cause to regret taking the women of their house into their
confidence--a traitoress has never been found among them."
"_Aunt Maryna!_" cried Wanda in such a tone of horror that the princess
withdrew the hand she had laid heavily on her niece's arm.
"I only wished you to know what is at stake here," she said. "You do
not want to be ashamed to look your father in the face when he returns;
as to the manner in which you will settle with Leo for the mortal
terror concerning his brother which now tortures you, that is your
affair, not mine. If I had known that this blow threatened Leo, I
should have opposed his fatal love for you instead of fostering it. Now
it is too late for him and for you. This present hour has proved to
me--"
The sentence was cut short by Paul's announcement that the carriage was
at the door. At parting, Wanda silently placed her ice-cold hand in her
aunt's, and the latter seemed content with the unspoken promise.
Wanda fled to her own room: she was finally alone with herself, alone
with her apprehension of danger to Waldemar, of which his mother had no
fear. Love alone could foreshadow such peril, and the princess did not
love her eldest son. If she had known that Waldemar's life was in
danger, she would not have uttered a word to save him, for this word
might have jeopardized the interests of her party.
Wanda seated herself at her writing-desk. A brief warning, a few
written lines, sent to Villica, might save Waldemar; he need not know
whence they came. If he went to the forester's place, he would go
accompanied by others, and no one would venture to attack him. He
would, thus sustained, easily enforce obedience; he could have the
forester arrested, and the forest-house guarded by soldiers. Then
Waldemar would have peace.
But what would be the result to her own party? This forester's place
was now used for the same purpose which Villica Castle had so long
served; a portion of the weapons which had been removed from Villica
were concealed there, it was the focus of the insurrection, the point
whence all messengers went and to which they came. It was of the utmost
importance that the present forester should remain, as firm reliance
could be placed upon his loyalty and his silence. His removal would be
the loss of this central point of operations; he knew that fact as well
as his mistress, and he resolved to remain at all hazards.
Nordeck himself came but seldom to this remote house in the forest; his
idea in going there now was to enforce obedience by his personal
authority. He had often been called to such duties of late, and he
probably did not regard the present affair as one of any great
importance. If his authority should meet with opposition at the
forester's place, if he should discover that a systematic resistance
had been organized against him, he would act with his wonted energy,
and deprive his mother of her last foothold. Discovery could no longer
be prevented if he were told that danger threatened him from that
quarter.
All this was terribly clear to Wanda's mind, and Waldemar's danger was
just as clearly revealed to her. She was firmly convinced that the ball
which had recently imperilled his life had come from the forester's
rifle; that the man whose bitter hatred had culminated in an attempt at
assassination, would not hesitate to slay his master should opportunity
offer. Knowing this, must she allow Waldemar to rush unwarned perhaps
into the very jaws of death? But before that terrible word _Treason_
her resolution faltered; hitherto she had been her father's confidant,
he relied implicitly upon his daughter, and would have scorned the
thought that she could divulge a word of the secrets he had committed
to her, in order to rescue an enemy. She herself had treated Leo with
contempt when in a fit of jealousy he had hesitated to do his duty. The
same duty that had forced him from her side to deadly conflict, now
bade her do the most difficult of all things: remain silent and
inactive, a witness of an impending danger she could avert with a
single stroke of the pen--a single word from her lips.
All these thoughts surged in wild commotion through Wanda's breast, and
almost overwhelmed her. In vain she sought to silence the voice of
her heart, and let reason alone decide this conflict between love and
duty; in vain she looked about her for some means of rescue compatible
with her own loyalty and honor,--that inevitable and terrible
"_either_--_or_" still confronted her. If she had not already
understood her own heart, this hour would have revealed it to her. For
months she had known that Leo was exposed to danger, and she had been
anxious for him as for a dear relative, with a brave composure and a
silent heroism. Now Waldemar was in peril, and her composure and
heroism were at an end; they vanished before the mortal agony that
convulsed her whole being at thought of the danger of the man she
loved.
There is a point where even the most violent and anguished suffering
yields to stupefaction, at least for a time, because the capacity to
suffer is completely exhausted. For more than an hour Wanda had been
alone in her chamber, torn by conflicting emotions; her face bore
traces of the agony she had endured; she had reached that place where
she could no longer dispute or question, where she could not even
think. She sank helplessly upon a chair, leaned back her head, and
closed her eyes.
The old dream-picture reappeared--that vision once conjured up by the
sun's golden beams and the ocean vapors, and which had thrown its magic
spell around two youthful hearts as yet ignorant of its deep
significance. Since that autumnal evening at the forest-lake it had
often appeared before their eyes, and all their strength of will had
not availed to exorcise its haunting presence. It had accompanied them
on that lonely drive through the wintry forest, it had hovered around
them as they sped over those broad fields of snow, it had taken shape
and hue from the mists rising in the zenith, it had floated on the
lowering clouds away at the horizon's verge; no desolate waste, no icy
atmosphere hindered its appearance. And now it suddenly rose again in
its olden beauty and splendor, as if evoked by supernatural powers.
Wanda had not invoked this vision. She had placed distance and
estrangement between herself and the man she wished to hate because he
was not the friend of her people; she had sought a way of escape from
an infatuation which she was resolved to conquer, in the fierce strife
that had broken out between two hostile nations. This desperate
conflict with herself had been unavailing, it had ended only in defeat.
She was under the influence of no dream, no self-delusion; she knew
the nature of the spell that had first been thrown around her at the
beech-holm, that had been renewed at the forest-lake, that had deepened
and strengthened day by day.
In one thing surely the old tradition had spoken truth: the remembrance
would not vanish, the longing would not be stilled. In the midst of
strife and hatred a fairy vision rose before her, beautiful as Vineta
emerging from its ocean-depths,--the vision of a love truer and deeper
than any other earth could offer, of a happiness that might have been
hers if kindlier fates had smiled upon her life, and in fancy she heard
a chiming as of bridal bells from the old city towers sunken beneath
the wave.
Wanda rose slowly. The conflict between love and duty which had raged
so long in her breast was over; the last ten minutes had decided it.
The pen upon her writing-desk remained untouched, the words of warning
were not written. She leaned for support against the desk; her hand
trembled, but her face bore the serenity of an unalterable purpose.
"I will go to the forester's," she said, "and if the worst happens, I
will interpose. His mother coldly and indifferently allows him to rush
into the midst of danger. I will rescue him!"