The baron's estate lay in a corner of the Rosmin circle. Behind the
forest, to the north, was the German village of Neudorf, and farther
off, to the east, that of Kunau.
Both these spots were separated by a wide expanse of sand and heath from
any Polish proprietors, Herr von Tarow being the nearest. To the west
and south of the estate the country was inhabited by a mixed population;
but the Germans there were strong, rich freeholders and large farmers
having settled among the Slavonic race. Beyond Kunau and Neudorf, to the
north, there was a Polish district peopled by small freeholders, for the
most part in very reduced circumstances, and over head and ears in debt.
"It is on that side that our greatest danger lies," said the baron to
Anton on the morning after the memorable market-day. "The villagers are
our natural outposts. If you can induce the people to establish a
systematic watch, let it be on the north; we will then try to maintain a
regular communication with them. Do not forget the beacons and places of
rendezvous. As you are already on such friendly terms with the rustics,
you will be able to manage that part of the business best. Meanwhile, I
shall drive, accompanied by young Sturm, to the next circle, and try to
come to the same understanding with the landed gentry there."
Accordingly, Anton rode off to Neudorf. There he found that fresh evil
tidings had arrived in the night; some German villages had been
surprised by armed bands, the houses searched for arms, and many young
people dragged away. No one was working in the fields at Neudorf. The
men sat in the bar of the public house, or stood about without any
purpose, every hour expecting an attack.
Anton's horse was immediately surrounded by a dense crowd, and in a few
minutes the bailiff had gathered the whole population together. Anton
proceeded to state what might be done to guard the village against the
danger of a sudden surprise; for instance, he advised the calling out of
a regular peasant militia, sentinels on the road along the border,
patrols, a rallying-place in the village, and other precautions which
the baron had pointed out. "In this way," said he, "you will be able to
procure our help in a short time, to defend yourselves against a weak
foe, or to summon the military to your aid against a strong. In this way
you will save your wives and children, your household goods, and,
perhaps, your cattle from plunder and ill treatment. It will be no small
labor, indeed, to keep watch thus night and day, but your village is a
large one. Perhaps these measures will soon be enjoined by the
government, but it is safer for all not to wait for that."
His pressing representations and the authority of the intelligent
bailiff brought the community to a unanimous resolve. The young men of
the village took up the matter eagerly, many professing themselves ready
to buy a gun; and the women began to pack up their most valuable effects
in chests and bundles.
From Neudorf, Anton went on to Kunau, where similar regulations were
made; and finally it was arranged that the young men of both villages
should come every Sunday afternoon to the baron's estate to be drilled.
When Anton returned to the castle, the existing means of defense on the
estate itself had to be taken into consideration. A martial fever
prevailed in the German colony: all were affected by it, even the most
peaceful: the shepherd and his dog Crambo, who had, by night patrols,
sentinels, and other disturbances, been worked up to such a state of
excitement that he took to flying at the legs of all strangers--an act
he had often rebuked in his young associate. All thoughts turned on
weapons of warfare and means of defense. Alas! the mood of mind was all
that could be desired, but the forces were very small. To make up for
that, the staff was a distinguished one. First of all, there was the
baron--an invalid, it is true, but great in theory; then Karl and the
forester, as respective leaders of the cavalry and infantry; while Anton
was not to be despised in the commissariat and fortification department.
The baron now left his room each day to hold a council of war. He
superintended the drill, heard reports from surrounding districts, and
sent off messengers to the German circles. A remnant of military ardor
lit up his face. He good-humoredly rallied the baroness about her fears,
spoke words of encouragement to his German tenantry, and threatened to
have all the evil-disposed in the village locked up at once, and kept on
bread and water. It was touching to all to see how the blind man stood
erect, musket in hand, to show certain niceties of manipulation to the
forester, and then bent his ear down to ascertain whether the latter had
thoroughly acquired them. Even Anton put on something of a martial
panoply. He stuck a cockade in his cap; his voice assumed a tone of
military severity, and ever since the Rosmin day he took to wearing an
immense pair of water-proof boots, and his step fell heavy on the stair.
He would have laughed at himself if any one had asked for what purpose
he gave this particular outward expression to his state of mind; but no
one did ask. It seemed natural and congruous to all, and especially to
Karl, who never himself appeared but in such remnants of his dress
uniform as he had carefully preserved, and who curled his mustache, and
sang military songs all day long. As the greatest danger was to be
apprehended from the lawless in their own village, he summoned all the
men who had once served, and, with the aid of the forester, who was
respected as a magician, made an impressive speech, addressed them as
comrades, drew his sword, and cried, "We military men will keep order
among the boors here." Then ordering a few quarts of brandy, he sang
wild martial songs in chorus with them, gave them new cockades, and
constituted them a species of militia. Thus, for a time at least, he
gained a hold over the better part of the population, and heard through
them of any conspiracy that was carried on in the tavern.
When the whole force of the estate was mustered before the castle walls,
the men stared in amazement at each other. They had all been
metamorphosed by the last few days. The agent looked like a wild man
from some outlandish swamp, where he daily stood up to the hips in
water. Those from the new farm resembled forms of a vanished era. The
forester, with his close-cut hair, long beard, and weather-beaten coat,
looked an old mercenary of Wallenstein's army, who had been asleep in
the forest depths for two hundred years, and now reappeared on the
stage, violence and cruelty being again in the ascendant. The shepherd
marched next to him, resembling a pious Hussite, with the broad brim of
his round hat hanging low on his shoulders, a stout leathern girdle
round his loins, and in his hand a long crook, to which he had fastened
a bright steel point. His phlegmatic face and thoughtful eyes made him
as strong a contrast as possible to the forester. All in all, the armed
force of the estate did not amount to more than twenty men;
consequently, it was very difficult to maintain any regular system of
watching, either in the castle or the village. Each individual, it was
plain, would have to make the greatest efforts, but none of them
complained.
The next step was to see to the securing of the castle--to protect it
from any nocturnal assault in the rear. Anton had a strong wooden fence
run up from one wing to another. Thus a tolerably large court-yard was
inclosed, and an open shed was roughly built on to the walls, to shelter
fugitives and horses, if need were. The windows of the lower story were
also strongly boarded; and as all the entrances were on this side of the
house, strangers were allowed as little ingress as possible. The well
that supplied the castle lay outside the fence, between the farm-yard
and the castle: on which account, a large water-butt was made and filled
each morning.
Next came tidings from Rosmin. The locksmith appeared, after being
repeatedly sent for, to strengthen bolts and bars. He brought with him
military greetings from the militia, and the fact that a company of
infantry had entered the town. "But there are but few of them," said he,
"and we militiamen have severe duty."
"And what have you done with your prisoners?" inquired Anton.
The locksmith scratched his ear and twitched his cap as he answered in a
crestfallen tone: "So you have not yet heard? The very first night came
a message from the enemy to the effect that if we did not give up the
nobleman at once, they would march upon us with their whole force and
set fire to our barns. I opposed the measure, and so did our captain;
but every one who had a barn raised an outcry, and the end of it was
that the town had to come to terms with Von Tarow. He gave his word that
he and his would undertake nothing further against us, and then we took
him over the bridge and let him go."
"So he is free, false man that he is!" cried Anton, in indignation.
"Yes, indeed," said the locksmith; "he is on his estate again, and has a
number of young gentlemen about him. They ride with their cockades over
the fields just as they did before. Tarowski is a cunning man, who can
open every castle door with a stroke of a pen, and get on with every
one. There's no reaching him."
Of course, farming suffered from these warlike preparations. Anton
insisted, indeed, upon what was absolutely necessary being done, but he
felt that a time was come when anxiety about individual profit and loss
vanished before graver terrors. The rumors, which grew daily more
threatening, kept him, and those around him, in ever-increasing
excitement; and at last they fell into a habitual state of feverish
suspense, in which the future was looked forward to with reckless
indifference, and the discomforts of the present endured as matter of
course.
But more strongly than on any of the men around did this general fever
seize upon Lenore. Since the day that she had waited for the absent
Anton, she had seemed to begin a new life. Her mother mourned and
despaired, but the daughter's young heart beat high against the storm,
and the excitement was to her a wild enjoyment, to which she gave
herself up, heart and soul. She was out of doors the whole day long,
whatever the weather, and at the tavern door as often as the worst
drunkard in the village, for each day the landlord and his wife had
something new to tell her. Ever since Karl had mounted his hussar coat,
she treated him with the familiarity of a comrade, and when he held a
consultation with the forester, her fair head was put together with
theirs. The three spent many an hour in council of war in Karl's room or
in the farm-yard, the men listening with reverence to her courageous
suggestions, and requesting her opinion as to whether Ignatz, Gottlieb,
or Blasius from the village deserved to be trusted with a gun. It was in
vain that the baroness remonstrated with her martial daughter; in vain
that Anton tried to check her ardor; for, the greater his own, the more
the mood displeased him in the young lady. Again, she struck him as too
vehement and bold; nor did he disguise his views. Upon that she subsided
a little, and tried to conceal her warlike tendencies from him, but they
did not really abate. She would have dearly liked to go with him to
Neudorf and Kunau, to play at soldiers there, but Anton, once made so
happy by her company, protested so strongly against the step that the
young lady had to turn back at the end of the village.
However, on the day when the first drill of the men belonging to the
estate was to take place, Lenore came out with a soldier's cap and a
light sword, took her pony out of the stable, and said to Anton, "I
shall exercise with you."
"Pray do nothing of the kind," replied he.
"Indeed I will," replied Lenore, saucily. "You want men, and I can do as
good service as if I were one."
"But, dear young lady, it is so singular!"
"It is indifferent to me whether people think it singular or not. I am
strong; I can go through a good deal; I shall not be tired."
"But before the servants," remonstrated Anton. "You are letting yourself
down before the servants and the country people."
"That is my own concern," replied Lenore, doggedly; "do not oppose me; I
am determined, and that is enough."
Anton shrugged his shoulders, and was obliged to acquiesce. Lenore rode
next to Karl, and went through all the exercises as well as a lady's
saddle allowed; but Anton, who was one of the infantry, looked over from
his post at the bright face with dissatisfaction. She had never pleased
him so little. Yet, as she sprang forward with the rest, wheeled her
horse round, waved her sword, her bright hair floating in the wind, her
eyes beaming with courage, she was enchantingly beautiful. But what
would have charmed him in mere play seemed unfeminine now that this
drilling had become a matter of life and death; and as soon as it was
over, and Lenore came up to him with glowing cheeks, waiting that he
should address her, he was silent, and she had to laugh and say to him,
"You look so morose, sir; do you know that the expression is very
unbecoming?"
"I am not pleased at your being so willful," replied Anton. Lenore
turned away without a word, gave her horse to a servant, and walked back
in dudgeon to the castle.
Since that time she took no share in the drilling, indeed, but she was
always present when the men assembled, and looked on longingly from a
little distance; and when Anton was away, she would ride off in secret
with Karl to the other villages, or walk alone through woods and fields,
armed with a pocket pistol, and delighted if she could stop and
cross-question any wayfarer.
Anton remonstrated with her on that subject too.
"The district is disturbed," he said. "How easily some rascal or other
might do you an injury! If not a stranger, it might be some one from our
own village."
"I am not afraid," Lenore would reply, "and the men of our village will
do me no harm." And, in fact, she knew how to manage them better than
Anton or any one else. She alone was always reverentially saluted, even
by the rudest among them; and whenever her tall figure was seen in the
village street, the men bowed down to the ground, and the women ran to
the windows and looked admiringly after her. And she had the pleasure,
too, of hearing them tell her so in Anton's hearing. One Sunday evening,
Karl, the forester, and the shepherd sat watching in the farm-yard while
the peasants were assembled drinking in the tavern, Sunday being the
most dangerous day for those in the castle. Karl had furnished a room
for military purposes in the late bailiff's house. Thither Lenore
herself now carried a bottle of rum and some lemons, that the sentinels
might brew themselves some punch. The shepherd and the forester grinned
from ear to ear at the attention. Karl placed a chair for the young
lady, the forester began to tell a tale of terror from the neighboring
district, and in a few minutes Lenore was sitting with them, exchanging
views on the course of events. Just as the punch was ready, and she
poured it into two glasses and a mug, in came Anton. She did not exactly
want him just then, but, however, he found no fault, and merely turned
and beckoned to a stranger to come in. A slender youth in a blue coat,
with bright woolen epaulettes, a soldier's cap in his hand, and wide
linen trowsers pushed into his boots, proudly entered the room. As soon
as he saw the lady, he was at her knees, and then he stood before her
with downcast eyes, cap in hand. Karl went up to him: "Now then,
Blasius, what news from the tavern?"
"Oh, nothing," replied the youth, in the melodious cadence with which
the Pole speaks broken German. "Peasant sits, and drinks, and is merry."
"Are there strangers there? Has any one come from Tarow?"
"No one," said Blasius. "No one is there; but the host's niece is come
to him, Rebecca, the Jewish maiden." Meanwhile he looked steadfastly at
Lenore, as though it were to her that he had to deliver his report.
Lenore stepped to the table, poured out a glass of punch, and gave it to
the youth, who received it with delight, quaffed it, set down the glass,
and bent again at the lady's knee with a grace that a prince might have
envied.
"You need never fear," cried he. "No one in the village will harm you;
if any one offended you, we would kill him at once."
Lenore blushed and said, looking at Anton the while, "You know I have no
fear, at all events of you;" and Karl dismissed the messenger with
orders to return in an hour. As he left the room, Lenore said to Anton,
"How graceful his bearing is!"
"He was in the Guards," replied Anton, "and is not the worst lad in the
village; but I pray you not to rely too much upon the chivalry of the
worthy Blasius and his friends. I was uneasy about you again all the
afternoon, and sent your maid to meet you on the Rosmin road; for a
traveling apprentice came running to the castle, frightened out of his
senses, saying that he had been detained by an armed lady, and obliged
to produce his passport. According to his story, the lady had a
monstrous dog, as large as a cow, with her, and he complained that her
aspect was awful. The poor man was positively beside himself."
"He was a craven," said Lenore, contemptuously. "As soon as he saw me
with the pony he ran off, scared by his own bad conscience. Then I
called after him, and threatened him with my pocket pistol."
In this manner the dwellers on the baron's estate daily awaited the
outbreak of the insurrection on their own oasis. Meanwhile it spread
like a conflagration over the whole province. Wherever the Poles were
thickly congregated, the flames leaped up fiercely. On the borders, they
flared unsteadily here and there, like fire in green wood. In many
places they seemed quenched for a long time, then suddenly broke out
again.
One Sunday afternoon there was to be a great drill of the united forces.
The men of Neudorf and Kunau came with their flags--the foot-soldiers
first, the mounted behind--the small band of cavalry from the castle
riding to meet them, led by Karl, together with some men on foot, at
whose head marched the forester, the generalissimo of all the troops.
Even Anton was under his command. When Lenore saw them set out, she
ordered her pony to be saddled.
"I will look on," said she to Anton.
"But only look on, dear lady!" said the latter, imploringly.
"Don't tutor me," cried Lenore.
The drilling-ground was at the edge of the wood. The forester had
contrived, through ancient recollections, and after manifold
consultations with the baron, to bring his men into good order; and Karl
led his squadron with an ardor that might well make amends for lack of
skill. For a long time they had marched, countermarched, performed
various evolutions, and fired at a mark. The mock artillery echoed
cheerfully through the forest. Lenore had looked on from a distance, but
at last she could not resist the pleasure of taking part in the cavalry
exercise, and, trotting on to their head, she whispered to Karl, "Just
for a minute or two."
"What if Mr. Wohlfart see you?" whispered Karl, in reply.
"He will not see," was Lenore's laughing answer, as she took her place
in the ranks.
The youths looked in amazement at the slender figure which trotted at
their side. Owing to the admiration she excited, many performed their
parts ill, and Karl had much fault to find.
"The young lady does it best," cried a Neudorf man during a pause, and
all took off their hats and cheered her loudly.
Lenore bowed low, and made her pony curvet gayly. But her amusement was
soon interrupted, for up came Anton. "It is really too bad," whispered
he, angry in good earnest. "You expose yourself to familiar
observations, which are not ill meant, but which would still offend you.
This is no place for the display of your horsemanship."
"You grudge me every pleasure," replied Lenore, much aggrieved, and rode
away.
When she found herself alone, she let her pony prance and caracole under
a great pear-tree, and inwardly chafed against Anton. "How rudely he
spoke to me!" thought she. "My father is right; he is very prosaic. When
I saw him first, I was on this pony too, but then I pleased him better;
we were both children then, but his manner was more respectful than
now." The thought flashed across her mind how bright, fair, and pleasant
her life was then, and how bitter now; and while she dreamed over the
contrast, she let the pony cut caper after caper.
"Not bad, but a little more of the curb, Fräulein Lenore," cried a
sonorous voice near her. Lenore looked round in amazement. A tall
slight figure leaned against the tree, arms crossed, and a satirical
smile playing over the fine features. The stranger advanced and took off
his hat. "Hard work for the old gentleman," said he, pointing to the
pony. "I hope you remember me."
Lenore looked at him as at an apparition, and at last, in her confusion,
slipped down from her saddle. A vision out of the past had risen
palpably before her; the cool smile, the aristocratic figure, the easy
self-possession of this man, belonged to the old days she had just been
thinking of.
"Herr von Fink!" she cried, in some embarrassment. "How delighted
Wohlfart will be to see you again!"
"I have already been contemplating him from afar," replied Fink, "and
did I not know by certain infallible tokens that he it is whom I behold
wading in uniform through the sand, I should not have believed it
possible."
"Come to him at once," cried Lenore. "Your arrival is the greatest
pleasure that he could have."
Accordingly, Fink went with her to the place where the men were engaged
in shooting at a mark. Fink stepped behind Anton, and laid his hand on
his shoulder. "Good-day, Anton," said he.
Turning round in amazement, Anton threw himself on his friend's breast.
There was a rapid interchange of hasty questions and short answers.
"Where do you come from, welcome wanderer?" cried Anton, at length.
"From over there," replied Fink, pointing to the horizon. "I have only
been a few weeks in the country. The last letter I got from you was
dated last autumn. Thanks to it, I knew pretty well where to look for
you. In the prevailing confusion, I consider it a remarkable piece of
luck to have found you. There's Master Karl, too," cried he, as Karl
sprang forward with a shout of delight. "Now we have half the firm
assembled, and we might begin offhand to play at counting-house work;
but you seem to have a different way of amusing yourselves here." Then
turning to Lenore, he continued, "I have already presented myself to the
baron, and heard from your lady mother where to find the martial young
spirits. And now I have to implore your intercession. I have some
acquaintance with this man, and would willingly spend a few days with
him, but I am well aware how inconsiderate it would be to tax your
hospitable home at a time like this with the reception of a stranger.
But yet, for his sake--he is a good fellow, on the whole--allow me to
remain long enough clearly to understand the <i>façon</i> of the prodigious
boots which the boy has drawn over his knees."
Lenore replied in the same strain: "My father will look upon your visit
as a great pleasure; a kind friend is doubly valuable at a time like
this. I go at once to desire a servant to place all Mr. Wohlfart's boots
in your apartment, that you may be able to study their <i>façon</i> at your
leisure." She bowed, and went off in the direction of the castle,
leading her pony by the bridle.
Fink looked after her and cried, "By Jove! she is become a beauty; her
bearing is faultless--nay, she even knows how to walk. I have no longer
a shadow of doubt as to her having plenty of sense." Then, putting his
arm into Anton's, he led him off to the shade of the wild pear-tree, and
then, shaking him heartily by the hand, exclaimed, "I say again, well
met, my trusty friend. Understand that I have not yet got over my
astonishment. If any one had told me that I should find you painted red
and black like a wild Indian, a battle-axe in your hand, and a fringe of
scalp-locks round your loins, I should naturally have declared him mad.
But you--born, as it would seem, to tread in the footsteps of your
forefathers--to find you on this desolate heath, with thoughts of murder
in your breast, and, as I live, without a neckcloth! If we two are
changed, you, at all events, are not the least so. Perhaps, however, you
are pleased with your change."
"You know how I came here?" replied Anton.
"I should think so," said Fink. "I have not forgotten the
dancing-lessons."
Anton's brow grew clouded.
"Forgive me," continued Fink, laughing, "and allow something to an old
friend."
"You are mistaken," replied Anton, earnestly, "if you believe that any
thing of passion has brought me here. I have become connected with the
baron's family through a series of accidents." Fink smiled. "I confess
that these would not have affected me had I not been susceptible of
certain influences. But I may venture to say that I am accidentally in
my present responsible situation. At a time when the baron was very
painfully circumstanced, I was fixed upon by his family as one who at
all events had the will to be of use to them. They expressed a wish to
engage my services for a time. When I accepted their proposal, I did so
after an inward conflict that I have no right to disclose to you."
"All that is very good," replied Fink; "but when the merchant buys a gun
and a sword, he must at least know why he makes those purchases; and
therefore forgive me the point-blank question, What do you mean to do
here?"
"To remain as long as I feel myself essential, and then to look out a
place in a merchant's office," said Anton.
"At our old principal's?" asked Fink, hastily.
"There or elsewhere."
"The deuce!" cried Fink. "That does not seem a very direct course, nor
an open confession either; but one must not ask too much from you in the
first hour of meeting. I will be more unreserved and candid to you. I
have worked myself free over there; and thank you for your letter, and
the advice your wisdom gave. I did as you suggested, made use of the
newspapers to explode my Western Land Association. Of course, I flew
with it into the air. I bought half a dozen pens with a thousand
dollars, and had the New York gazettes and others continually filled
with the most appalling reports of the good for nothingness of the
company. I had myself and my partners cursed in every possible key. This
made a sensation. Brother Jonathan's attention was caught; all our
rivals fell upon us at once. I had the pleasure of seeing myself and my
associates portrayed in a dozen newspapers as bloodthirsty swindlers and
scoundrels--all for my good money too. It was a wild game. In a month
the Western Land Company was so down that no dog would have taken a
crust of bread from it. Then came my co-directors and offered to buy me
out, that they might be rid of me. You may fancy how glad I was. For the
rest, I bought my freedom dear, and have left the reputation behind me
of being the devil himself. Never mind, I am free at all events. And now
I have sought you out for two reasons; first, to see and chat with you;
next, seriously to discuss my future life; and I may as well say at once
that I wish you to share it. I have missed you sadly every day. I do not
know what I find in you, for, in point of fact, you are but a dry
fellow, and more contradictious than often suits me. But, in spite of
all, I felt a certain longing for you all the time I was away. I have
come to an understanding with my father, not without hot discussion and
subsequent coolness. And now I repeat my former offer--come with me.
Over the waters to England, across the seas, any where and every where.
We will together ponder and decide upon what to undertake. We are both
free now, and the world is open to us."
Anton threw his arm round his friend's neck. "My dear Fritz," cried he,
"we will suppose that I have expressed all that your noble proposal
causes me to feel. But you see, for the present, I have duties here."
"According to your own most official statement, I presume that they will
not last forever," rejoined Fink.
"That is true; but still we are not on equal terms. See," said Anton,
stretching out his hand, "barren as this landscape is, and disagreeable
the majority of its inhabitants, yet I look upon them with different
eyes to yours. You are much more a citizen of the world than I, and
would feel no great interest in the life of the state of which this
plain and your friend are component parts, however small."
"No, indeed," said Fink, looking in amazement at Anton. "I have no great
interest in it, and all that I now see and hear makes the state, a
fragment of which you so complacently style yourself, appear to me any
thing but respectable."
"I, however, am of a different opinion," broke in Anton. "No one who is
not compelled to do so should leave this country at the present time."
"What do I hear?" cried Fink, in amazement.
"Look you," continued Anton; "in one wild hour I discovered how my heart
clung to this country. Since then, I know why I am here. For the time
being, all law and order is dissolved; I carry arms in self-defense, and
so do hundreds like me in the midst of a foreign race. Whatever may have
led me individually here, I stand here now as one of the conquerors who,
in the behalf of free labor and civilization, have usurped the dominion
of the country from a weaker race. There is an old warfare between us
and the Slavonic tribes; and we feel with pride that culture, industry,
and credit are on our side. Whatever the Polish proprietors around us
may now be--and there are many rich and intelligent men among
them--every dollar that they can spend, they have made, directly or
indirectly, by German intelligence. Their wild flocks are improved by
our breeds; we erect the machinery that fills their spirit-casks; the
acceptance their promissory notes and lands have hitherto obtained rests
upon German credit and German confidence. The very arms they use against
us are made in our factories or sold by our firms. It is not by a
cunning policy, but peacefully through our own industry, that we have
won our real empire over this country, and, therefore, he who stands
here as one of the conquering nation, plays a coward's part if he
forsakes his post at the present time."
"You take a very high tone on foreign ground," replied Fink; "and your
own soil is trembling under your feet."
"Who has joined this province to Germany?" asked Anton, with
outstretched hand.
"The princes of your race, I admit," said Fink.
"And who has conquered the great district in which I was born?" inquired
Anton, farther.
"One who was a man indeed."
"It was a bold agriculturist," cried Anton; "he and others of his race.
By force or cunning, by treaty or invasion, in one way or other, they
got possession of the land at a time when, in the rest of Germany,
almost every thing was effete and dead. They managed their land like
bold men and good farmers, as they were. They have combined decayed or
dispersed races into a state; they have made their home the central
point for millions, and, out of the raw material of countless
insignificant sovereignties, have created a living power."
"All that has been," said Fink; "that was the work of a past
generation."
"They labored for themselves, indeed, while creating us," agreed Anton,
"but now we have come into being, and a new German nation has arisen.
Now we demand of them that they acknowledge our young life. It will be
difficult to them to do this, just because they are accustomed to
consider their collective lands as the domain of their sword. Who can
say when the conflict between us and them will be ended? Perhaps we may
long have to curse the ugly apparitions it will evoke. But, end as it
will, I am convinced, as I am of the light of day, that the state which
they have constructed will not fall back again into its original chaos.
If you had lived much among the lower classes, as I have done of late
years, you would believe me. We are still poor as a nation--our strength
is still small; but every year we are working our way upward, every year
our intelligence, well-being, and fellow-feeling increases. At this
moment we here, on the border, feel like brothers. Those in the interior
may quarrel, but we are one, and our cause is pure."
"Well done," said Fink, nodding approval; "that was spoken like a
thorough German. The wintrier the time, the greener the hope. From all
this, Master Wohlfart, I perceive that you have no inclination at
present to go with me."
"I can not," answered Anton, with emotion; "do not be angry with me
because of it."
"Hear me," laughed Fink; "we have changed parts since our separation.
When I left you a few years ago, I was like the wild ass in the desert,
who scents a far-off fountain. I hoped to emerge out my prosy life with
you into green pastures, and all I found was a nasty swamp. And now I
come back to you wearied out, and find you playing a bold game with
fate. You have more life about you than you had. I can't say that of
myself. Perhaps the reason may be that you have had a home; I never had.
However, we have had enough of wisdom; come and instruct me in your mode
of warfare. Let me have a look at your squatters, and show me, if you
can, a square foot of ground on this charming property in which one does
not sink up to one's knees in sand."
Meanwhile preparations were going on at the castle for the stranger. The
baron made one servant ascertain that there was a sufficiency of red and
white wine in the cellar, and scolded another for not having had the
broken harness repaired. The baroness ordered a dress to be taken out
which she had not worn since her arrival; and Lenore thought with secret
anxiety about the haughty aristocrat, who had struck her as so imposing
at the time of the dancing-lessons, and whose image had often risen
before her since then.
Below stairs the excitement was no less, for, excepting a few passing
callers on business, this was the first visitor. The faithful cook
determined to venture upon an artistic dish, but in this wretched
country the materials were not to be had. She thought of killing a few
fowls out of the farm-yard; but that measure was violently opposed by
Suska, a little Pole, Lenore's confidential maid, who wept over the
determined character of the cook, and threatened to call the young lady,
till the former came to her senses, and sent off a barefooted boy to the
forester's in all haste to ask for something out of the common way. A
sudden onslaught was made upon spiders and dust; and a room got ready
near Anton's, into which Lenore's little sofa, her mother's arm-chair,
and carpet, were carried, to keep up the family dignity.
Fink, little guessing the disturbance his arrival occasioned, sauntered
over the fields with Anton in a more cheerful mood than he had known for
long. He spoke of his experiences, of the refinements in money-making,
and the giant growth of the New World; and Anton heard with delight a
deep abhorrence of the iniquities in which he had been involved break
out in the midst of his jokes.
"Life is on an immense scale over there, it is true," said he, "but it
was in its whirl that I first learned to appreciate the blessings of the
fatherland."
While thus talking, they returned to the castle to change their dress.
Anton had merely time to glance in amazement at the arrangements of
Fink's bed-room before they were summoned to the baroness. Now that the
anxieties about domestic arrangements were over, and the lamps shed
their mild radiance through the room, the family felt themselves
cheerfully excited by the visit of this man of fashion. Once more, as of
yore, there was the easy tone of light surface-talk, the delicate
attention which gives to each the sense of contributing to another's
enjoyment, the old forms, perhaps the old subjects of conversation. And
Fink solved the problem ever offered by a new circle to a guest with the
readiness which the rogue had always at his command when he chose. He
gave to each and all the impression that he thoroughly enjoyed their
society. He treated the baron with respectful familiarity, the baroness
with deference, Lenore with straightforward openness. He seemed to take
pleasure in addressing her, and soon overcame her embarrassment. The
family felt that he was one of themselves; there was a freemasonry
between them. Even Anton wondered how it came about that Fink, the
newly-arrived guest, appeared the old friend of the house, and he the
stranger; and again something of the reverence arose within him which,
as a youth, he had always felt for the elegant, distinguished, and
exclusive. But this was a mere shadow passing over his better judgment.
When Fink rose to retire, the baron declared with genuine cordiality how
gladly he would have him remain their guest; and when he was gone, the
baroness remarked how well the English style of dress became him, and
what a distinguished-looking man he was. Lenore made no remark upon him,
but she was more talkative than she had been for a long time past. She
accompanied her mother to her bed-room, sat down by the bedside of the
weary one, and began merrily to chat away, not, indeed, about their
guest, but about many subjects of former interest, till her mother
kissed her brow, and said, "That will do, my child; go to bed, and do
not dream."
Fink stretched himself comfortably on the sofa. "This Lenore is a
glorious woman," cried he, in ecstasy; "simple, open--none of the silly
enthusiasm of your German girls about her. Sit an hour with me, as of
old, Anton Wohlfart, baronial rent-receiver in a Slavonic Sahara! I say,
you are in such a romantic position, that my hair still bristles with
amazement. You have often stood by me in my scrapes of former days as my
rational guardian angel; now you are yourself in the midst of madness;
and, as I at present enjoy the advantage of being in my right mind, my
conscience forbids me to leave you in such confusion."
"Fritz, dear friend!" cried Anton, joyfully.
"Well, then," said Fink, "you see that I wish to remain with you for a
while. Now I want you to consider how this is to be done. You can easily
manage it with the ladies; but the baron?"
"You have heard," replied Anton, "that he esteems it a fortunate chance
which brings a knight like you to this lonely castle; only"--he looked
doubtfully around the room--"you must learn to put up with many things."
"Hmm--I understand," said Fink; "you are become economical."
"Just so," said Anton. "If I could fill sacks with the yellow sand of
the forest, and sell it as wheat, I should have to sell many and many
sacks before I could put even a small capital into our purse."
"Where you have pushed yourself in as purse-bearer, I could well suppose
the purse an empty one," said Fink, dryly.
"Yes," replied Anton, "my strong-box is an old dressing-case, and, I
assure you, it could hold more than it does. I often feel an
unconquerable envy of Mr. Purzel and his chalk in the counting-house.
Could I but once have the good fortune to behold a row of gray linen
bags! As to bank-notes and a portfolio of stocks, I dare not even think
of them."
Fink whistled a march. "Poor lad," said he. "Yet there is a large estate
and a regular farm-establishment, which must either bring in or take
out. What do you live upon, then?"
"That is one of the mysteries of the ladies, which I hardly dare to
disclose. Our horses munch diamonds."
Fink shrugged his shoulders. "But is it possible that Rothsattel can
have come to this?"
Anton then sketched, with some reserve, the baron's circumstances,
speaking enthusiastically, at the same time, of the noble resignation
of the baroness, and the healthy energy of Lenore.
"I see," said Fink, "that things are still worse than I supposed. How is
it possible that you can carry on such a farm? The birds of the air are
rich compared to you."
"As things are," continued Anton, "we may contrive to struggle on till
quieter times--till the judicial sale of the family estate. The
creditors will not press now, and lawyers are almost without work. The
baron can not manage this estate without a large capital, but neither
can he give it up at present without forfeiting the little that its sale
may hereafter bring; and, besides, the family have no other roof over
their heads. All my endeavors, during the last week, to persuade them to
leave this province, have been in vain. They are desperately resolved to
await their fate here. The baron's pride objects to a return to his
former neighborhood, and the ladies will not leave him."
"Then at least send them to the neighboring town, and do not expose them
to the assault of every drunken band of boors."
"I have done what I could; I am powerless in this respect," replied
Anton, gloomily.
"Then, my son, allow me to tell you that your warlike apparatus is not
very encouraging. With the dozen or two that you can collect, you will
hardly keep off an invasion of rascals. You can not even defend the
premises with that handful, to say nothing of covering the ladies'
escape. Have you no prospect of procuring any soldiers?"
"None," replied Anton.
"A thoroughly comfortable, cheerful prospect!" cried Fink. "And, in
spite of it, you have sown your fields, and the little farm works on. I
have heard from Karl how it looked when you came, and what improvements
you have made; you have managed capitally. No American, no man of any
other country, would have done the same; in a desperate case, commend me
to the German. But the ladies and your infant establishment must be
better protected. Hire twenty able-bodied men; they will guard the
house."
"You forget that we are as little able to feed twenty idle mouths as is
the owl on the tower."
"Let them work!" cried Fink; "you have here land enough to employ a
hundred hands. Have you no swamps to drain, or ditches to dig? There is
a row of wretched puddles yonder."
"That is work for another season," replied Anton, "the ground is too wet
now."
"Have a hundred acres of forest sown or planted. Does the brook hold out
in the summer?"
"I hear that it does," replied Anton.
"Then turn it to some account."
"Do not forget," said Anton, smiling, "how difficult it would be to get
good workmen with military abilities to come just now into our
ill-renowned district."
"To the devil with your objections!" cried Fink; "send Karl into a
German district, and he will hire you plenty of people."
"You have already heard that we have no money. The baron is not in a
position to carry on greater improvements, with increased expenditure."
"Let me do it, then," replied Fink; "you can repay me when you are
able."
"It is doubtful whether we should ever be able."
"Well, then, he need never know what the men cost."
"He is blind," replied Anton, with a slight tone of reproach; "and I am
in his service, and bound to lay all my accounts before him. Certainly,
he might accept a loan from you after a few scruples, for his views of
his circumstances vary with his moods. But the ladies have no such
illusions. Your presence would be an hourly humiliation to them, if they
were conscious of owing additional comforts to your means."
"And yet they have accepted the greater sacrifice that you have made for
them," said Fink, gravely.
"Perhaps they consider that my humble services entail on me no
sacrifice," replied Anton, blushing. "They are accustomed to me as the
baron's agent. But you are their guest, and their self-respect will
endeavor to conceal from you, as much as possible, the difficulties of
their position. To make your apartment habitable, they have plundered
their own; the very sofa on which you lie is from the young lady's
bed-room."
Fink looked eagerly at the sofa, and settled himself on it again. "As it
does not suit me," said he, "to travel off immediately, you will have
the goodness to point out to me some way of living here with propriety.
Tell me, offhand, something about the mortgages, and the prospects of
the estate; assume for the moment that I am to be the unfortunate
purchaser of this Paradise."
Anton made the statement required.
"That, at all events, is not so desperate," said Fink. "Now hear my
proposal; you can not go on as at present; this restricted establishment
is too undesirable for all parties, most of all for you. The property
may be fearfully devastated, but still it seems to me possible to make
something of it. Whether you are the people to do so or not, I will not
decide; though if you, Anton, are willing to devote some years of your
life to it, and to sacrifice yourself still further to the interests of
others, it is not impossible that, in more tranquil times, you may
succeed in procuring the necessary capital. Meantime I will advance--say
fifteen thousand dollars, and the baron will give me a mortgage for that
sum. This loan will not much diminish your income, and it will make it
easier for you to get over this bad year."
Anton rose and paced up and down uneasily.
"It won't do," cried he, at length; "we can not accept your generous
proposal. Look you, Fritz: a year ago, before I knew the man as well as
I do now, I was intensely anxious to lead our principal to take an
interest in the baron's affairs, and if you had made me this offer then,
I should have been delighted; but now I should consider it unjust to you
and to the ladies to accept your proposal."
"Shall the sofa out of Lenore's bed-room be defiled by the tobacco-ashes
of your guests? I do it now; later it will be done by the Polish
scythe-bearers."
"We must go through with it," replied Anton, mournfully.
"Headstrong boy!" cried Fink; "you shall not get rid of me thus. And now
off with you, stiff-necked Tony!"
After this conversation, Fink did not allude further to his projected
loan, but he had several confidential conversations in the course of the
following day with Karl, and when evening came, he said to the baron,
"May I request you to lend me your horse to-morrow? He is an old
acquaintance of mine. I should like to ride over your property. Do not
be angry with me, dear lady, if I fail to make my appearance at dinner."
"He is rich; he is come here to buy," said the baron to himself. "This
Wohlfart has told his friend that there is a bargain to be made in this
quarter. The speculation is beginning; I must be cautious."