Among the dwellers on the Berkow estates there was probably only one
person who viewed the strife, which had so violently broken out between
master and men, in any but its most alarming aspect. This person was
Herr Wilberg. In that official's foolish young head there lurked so
much vague exaggerated romance that he could not help thinking it all
highly interesting. His fancy was taken by this situation so fraught
with peril, by the knowledge that the low ferment of discontent
reigning all around might at any moment explode and bring about a
catastrophe.
The admiration he had felt for Hartmann had been promptly transferred
to the new proprietor, when the latter had placed himself at the head
of affairs, grasping the helm with a vigour which no one expected from
so weak and effeminate a hand. But in Arthur's strenuous efforts to
make himself thoroughly at home in the new field of labour and to stem
the torrent of dangers and losses pouring in upon him on all sides, the
superior officials alone were called on to aid by their sympathy and
support. The younger members of the establishment enjoyed an
involuntary leisure in consequence of the general lull, and Herr
Wilberg employed his idle hours in plunging deep into his so-called
passion for his liege lady, and by doing his very best to feel as
unhappy in it as possible.
To tell the truth, this last was somewhat difficult, for he was, in
reality, quite in his element and extremely proud of this hopeless
attachment. His idea was that love, to be poetical, must of necessity
be unfortunate, and a happy affection would have been really
embarrassing to him. This adoration from afar suited him perfectly, and
he found ample opportunity of indulging in it, for he now seldom or
ever saw the object of his idolatry.
Since the day on which he had accompanied Eugenie through the park, he
had only spoken to her once. Accidentally meeting him one day, she had
tried to learn from him something more definite about the strike then
just breaking out. Strict orders had, however, been issued by Herr
Berkow to the effect that his wife was in no way to be alarmed, and
Wilberg obeyed them so far as to avoid all reference to the actually
existing state of affairs; on the other hand, he could not resist
giving a faithful description of the scene which had taken place in the
committee-room between her husband and Hartmann.
Coming from his lips, the whole history naturally took a dramatic
colour, and Arthur, in his suddenly awakened energy, rose to such a
pitch of heroism, it was really incomprehensible how such a story could
have entirely failed in its effect.
Eugenie had listened, it is true, with evident and eager attention, but
she was pale and unusually still while listening; and, when he came to
the end, the narrator waited in vain for a word of remark from her
lips. She thanked and then dismissed him with cool politeness, and the
young man left her, feeling rather surprised and a good deal hurt at
such a want of sympathy on her part.
So she too had no perception of the poetical, or perhaps the situation
had appeared less imposing to her, from the fact that her husband had
been the hero of the hour. Another would very likely have triumphed in
this thought, but Wilberg's romantic fancies generally distinguished
themselves by the complete reversal of all natural sentiments.
He felt injured that his recital had produced no greater effect. When
in Eugenie's company, he was apt to feel something of that glacier-like
atmosphere which, according to the chief-engineer, constantly
surrounded her. She was so high, so distant, so unapproachable, and
never more so than when she condescended to some act of kindness.
In presence of such condescension, no choice was left a man but either
to bow down in absolute adoration, or for ever to bear about with him
the sense of utter insignificance and nothingness. As the latter
alternative could not possibly suit Herr Wilberg, he was fain to choose
the former.
Buried in such thoughts as these, he had strolled on in the direction
of the Manager's house; it being his habit to look neither to the right
nor to the left, he came, as he stepped on to the bridge, into violent
collision with a lady who was crossing from the other side. Startled at
the sudden shock, she gave a little cry and sprang for safety to one
side. Wilberg looked up now, and stammered an excuse.
"I beg your pardon, Fraeulein Melanie, I did not see you. I was so taken
up with my thoughts, I paid no heed to where I was going."
Fraeulein Melanie was the daughter of the chief-engineer, at whose house
the young clerk occasionally visited; but his ideas had confessedly
taken so high a flight that he had bestowed but small notice on the
girl of sixteen who, with the exception of a graceful figure, a sweet
young face, and a pair of roguish eyes, had nothing in the least
romantic to recommend her.
She was far from his poetical standard, and the young lady, for her
part, had up to this time troubled herself very little about the
fair-haired Herr Wilberg; she had even thought him rather tiresome. But
now he evidently considered it his duty to make reparation for his
involuntary rudeness by addressing to her some polite speeches.
"You are coming back from a walk, Fraeulein Melanie? Have you been far?"
"Oh no, not far. Papa has forbidden me to take long walks, and he does
not much like my coming out alone. Tell me, Herr Wilberg, is all this
about our miners really so dangerous?"
"Dangerous? How do you mean?" said Wilberg diplomatically.
"Well, I don't know, but papa is so grave sometimes, it makes me feel
quite nervous and frightened. He has talked too of sending mamma and me
into town on a visit."
The young man's face assumed an expression of deep melancholy.
"The times are full of grave earnest," he said, "of terrible earnest! I
cannot blame your father for wishing to place his wife and child in
safety. We must stand and fight to the last man!"
"To the last man?" cried the girl, horrified. "Good Heavens, my poor
papa!"
"Well, I only meant that in a figurative sense," said Wilberg
soothingly. "There is no question of personal danger; and even if it
should come to that, your father's years and his duties as head of a
family would exclude him from all perilous service. In that case, we
young ones should step into the breach."
"Would you?" asked Melanie, looking at him rather distrustfully.
"Certainly, Fraeulein Melanie, I should be the very first."
With a view to giving greater emphasis to this declaration, Herr
Wilberg was about to lay his hand solemnly on his breast, when all at
once, he jumped back and hurried as fast as possible over to the other
side, Melanie following him with equal speed. Close behind them stood
Hartmann's gigantic form. He had come over the bridge unnoticed, and
smiled now a contemptuous little smile as he saw the evident emotion of
the young people.
"You need not be afraid, Herr Wilberg," said he quietly. "I am not
going to hurt you."
The young clerk seemed to feel the absurdity of his sudden retreat, and
to perceive also that, as the companion and protector of a young lady,
he was bound to adopt a different line of conduct. He summoned up all
his courage and, placing himself before the no less intimidated
Melanie, answered with some show of firmness,
"I hardly suppose, Hartmann, that you mean to attack us in the open
street."
"That is what you gentlemen seem to expect," said Ulric derisively.
"You run away, all of you directly I show myself, just as if I were a
highwayman. Herr Berkow does not, he is the only one," the miner went
on speaking with a growl now as he uttered the hated name. "He holds
his ground, no matter if I have the whole gang at my back."
"Herr Berkow and her ladyship are just the only two who do not suspect"
... began Wilberg imprudently.
"Who do not suspect what?" asked Ulric, turning a dark look on him.
Whether the young official were exasperated by the derision with which
he and his colleagues had been treated, or whether he considered it
necessary to play the hero for Melanie's benefit, is uncertain; suffice
it to say that he yielded to one of those fits of passion which not
seldom carry timid natures into extremes.
"We do not run away from you, Hartmann, because you are stirring up the
people to rebellion and making it impossible to come to an
understanding with them. It is not on that account we get out of your
way, but because,"--here he lowered his voice so that the girl could
not overhear his words--"because the ropes broke that day when you went
below with Herr Berkow--if you must know the reason why every one
avoids you."
They were very thoughtless, very rash words, particularly to be spoken
by a man like Wilberg, but he little dreamed of the effect they would
produce. Ulric started, uttered a half-suppressed cry of rage which was
full of menace, then grew ashy pale, and letting fall his clenched
fist, caught convulsively at the iron railings of the bridge. He stood
there with heaving breast and teeth tightly ground together, gazing
down at the two before him in speechless fury.
This proved too hard a trial for the young folks' courage. Neither knew
which ran away first, dragging the other with him or her; but they both
made off with all possible speed, and only slackened their pace when
they had put several houses between them and the object of their fear,
and convinced themselves that they were not followed.
"For Heaven's sake, what did it mean, Herr Wilberg?" asked Melanie
anxiously. "What did you say to that dreadful creature Hartmann, that
made him start like that? How rash of you to provoke him!"
The young man smiled, though his lips were still colourless. It was the
first time in his life he had ever been accused of rashness, and he was
conscious that the reproach was merited. Now only did he clearly see
the full measure of the risk he had run.
"Offended pride!" he gasped. "The duty of protecting you, Fraeulein! You
see he dared not attack us after all."
"No, we got away in time," returned Melanie naively, "and it was a good
thing we did, for our lives would have been in danger if we had
stayed."
"It was only on your account I ran," said Wilberg, feeling a little
hurt. "I should have held my ground if I had been alone, even at the
risk of my life."
"That would have been very sad though," remarked the girl. "You who
write such beautiful poetry!"
Wilberg blushed with agreeable surprise.
"Do you know my poems? I did not think in your house ... Your father
has rather a prejudice against my lyrical tendency."
"Papa was talking to the Director about it a little while ago," said
Melanie, and then suddenly came to a full stop. She could not tell the
poet that her father had read aloud to his colleagues those verses,
which to her sixteen-year-old imagination had seemed so touching,
adding many a biting jest and malicious comment as he read, and finally
throwing down the paper with the words:
"And the fellow can spend his time now on such rubbish as that!"
At the moment she had thought it rather cruel and unjust to the young
man. He no longer seemed tiresome to her, now that she knew he had been
crossed in love, as clearly as appeared from his verses. That explained
and excused all the peculiarities of his behaviour. She hastened to
assure him that, for her part, she thought his verses lovely, and in
shy but fervent sympathy, tried to console him somewhat for his
supposed misfortune.
Herr Wilberg suffered himself to be comforted. He found it
indescribably refreshing to meet at last with a being who could
understand him, and still more refreshing to feel himself
compassionated by the said being. It was quite a misfortune that they
had by this time reached the chief-engineer's house, and that the
master of it, in his august person, stood at the window, watching them
with surprised and rather critical looks. Wilberg had no wish to expose
himself to his superior's jokes, which, he knew, would be inevitable,
should it occur to Melanie to relate their meeting with Hartmann and
their common flight. He took leave of the young lady therefore, and
Fraeulein Melanie ran up the steps, racking her brains to try and find
out who the object of this interesting and unfortunate attachment could
be.
Old Manager Hartmann sat at home in his cottage, leaning his head on
his hand; not far from him, at the window, stood Lawrence and Martha.
As Ulric suddenly opened the door, the three broke off their
conversation so abruptly, that the new-comer might easily have guessed
they had been talking of him. He did not notice it, however, but closed
the door, flung his hat on the table and threw himself without a word
of greeting into the great arm-chair by the fireside.
"Good day," said the Manager, turning slowly round to him. "Don't you
think it worth your while now to say a civil word when you come in? I
should have thought you might have kept that up, at least."
"Don't worry me, father," exclaimed his son impatiently, throwing back
his head and pressing his hand to his forehead.
The Manager shrugged his shoulders and turned away. Martha left her
place by the window and sat down by her uncle, taking up the work she
had laid aside while talking with Lawrence. For some minutes there was
an oppressive silence in the room, then the younger man went up to his
friend.
"Deputy Wilms has been here to speak to you, Ulric. He will come back
in an hour. He has been making the round of all the neighbouring
works."
Ulric passed his hand over his brow, as though to chase away some
tormenting dream.
"Well, and how goes it?" he asked, but in a listless mechanical way; he
seemed hardly to know what the other was speaking of.
"They are going to join us. Our example appears to have given them
courage, for the game is beginning everywhere now. The forges will
strike first, and the other works will follow suit, unless all they ask
is granted to them at once. That is out of the question, so in a week
all the miners and works in the district will be empty."
"At last!" Ulric started up, as though electrified; all his dreamy
listlessness and lack of interest had vanished. The man had regained
his old elasticity. "At last!" he repeated, heaving a deep sigh of
relief. "It was time; they have left us alone long enough!"
"Because we began alone in the first instance."
"May be so, but we could not wait. Things were not on the same footing
here as on the other works. Each day's labour brought the Berkows a
step forward and took us a step back. Has Wilms gone over to the
villages? He ought to let the others know at once, it will raise their
spirits."
"Not before they want it," said the Manager quietly. "Their courage
seems to be on the wane. For the last fortnight not a stroke of the
hammer has been heard. You are waiting and waiting, fancying that you
will be asked to come back, or that, at least, some attempt at a
bargain will be made up yonder, and yet they make no sign. The
officials avoid you, and the master does not look as if he meant to
give way an inch. I tell you, Ulric, it is high time you should find
assistance somewhere."
"Nonsense, father," cried the young man. "We have hardly been off work
a fortnight, and I told them beforehand, they might make up their minds
to be idle a couple of months, if we meant to conquer, and conquer we
must."
The old man shook his head.
"A couple of months! You and I and Lawrence, may hold out that long,
but not those who have a wife and children to keep."
"They must," said Ulric coldly. "I did think, certainly, we should have
managed it faster and with less trouble. I was mistaken in that. But,
if they are determined up yonder to drive us to an extremity, we will
let them have a thorough good taste of what it means."
"Or they us," put in Lawrence. "If the master really"----
Ulric gave an angry stamp with his foot.
"'The master,' always 'the master!' Can't you find another name for
this Berkow? You used not to call him so, but ever since he has told
you to your faces that he is, and will be, the first person here, you
have not an opinion of your own about it. I tell you, if we go through
with the thing, we shall be masters, he will only have the name then,
and we shall have the power. He knows it very well; that is why he
resists so strongly, and that is why we must persevere until he grants
us all we ask. We must go on at any cost."
"Try it," said the Manager briefly. "See if you can turn the world
topsy-turvy all by yourself. I have given up talking about it this long
while."
Lawrence took his cap from the window-sill, and prepared to go.
"You must know best, if we are likely to succeed or not. You are our
leader."
Ulric's face grew dark.
"Yes, I am, but I thought it would have been easier to keep you in
hand. You make the work hard enough for me."
The young miner exclaimed indignantly,
"We! you can hardly complain of us. Every word you say is obeyed
instantly."
"Obeyed!" And Ulric turned a dark and searching gaze upon his friend.
"Yes, obedience is not wanting, and it is not that I am complaining of.
But we are not as we used to be. Even you and I, Karl, are not as we
used to be together. You are all of you so distant now, so cold and
shy; it seems to me often as if you were all afraid of me, and--and
that's all."
"No, no, Ulric!" Lawrence resented the reproach vehemently, it almost
appeared as if the other had hit the right mark. "We have perfect trust
in you, and you alone. No matter what you may have done, you did it for
us, not for yourself. We know that, all of us, we none of us forget
that."
"No matter what you may have done, you did it for us!" The words
sounded harmless enough and may have contained no hidden meaning, but
Ulric seemed to detect one in them, for he looked hard at the speaker.
Lawrence avoided his gaze, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground.
"I must go," he said hastily. "I will send Wilms over to you. You will
stay here, so that he will be sure to find you?"
Ulric made no answer. The flow of emotion of the last few minutes had
subsided, and his face was pale again as at his entrance. He nodded
affirmatively, and turned to the window.
The young miner took leave of the Manager and left the room, Martha
rose and went out with him. During the whole of the foregoing
conversation she had spoken no word, but had observed the two men
attentively. She stayed rather long outside, but that could excite no
wonder. Her uncle and cousin knew well enough that a newly-engaged pair
have much to whisper to one another, and they seemed, indeed, to
trouble themselves not at all about it.
The father and son remained alone together, and the silence now
intervening was even more painful than that which had ensued on Ulric's
entrance. He stood at the window now, leaning his forehead against the
panes, and staring out without seeing anything before him.
The Manager still sat at the table resting his head on his hands; his
sorrowful, care-worn face plainly showed the ravages which the last few
weeks had made. The lines graven on it by old age were furrowed more
deeply now, and his eye had grown dim. All the old animation and
pugnacious vigour, with which he had been wont formerly to administer
many a sermon to his son, had vanished; he sat there, quiet and
depressed, making no attempt to renew the conversation.
At last the silence became intolerable to Ulric. He turned round
hastily.
"And you say nothing to the news which Wilms has brought us? Is it
really all the same to you whether we succeed, or whether we are
beaten?"
The old man raised his head slowly.
"It is not all the same to me, but I can't take delight in your threats
and your violence. Best wait and see who is most hurt by them, the
gentlemen or ourselves. You do not care much about that, you have got
your own way. It is for you to command now throughout the works. Every
one appeals to you, every one bows down before you, obeys your
slightest word. That was what you wanted from the first, what the whole
business was set on foot for."
"Father!" cried the young man.
"Let be--let be," said the Manager, interrupting him. "You will not
confess it to me, and perhaps not to yourself, but it is so. You took
them all along with you, and me with the rest, for of what use to hold
back alone? Take care where you lead us. The responsibility is yours."
"Did I begin the thing alone?" broke out Ulric vehemently. "Was it not
decided unanimously that there must be a change, and have we not given
our word to stand together until the change is made?"
"In case your demands were not granted--yes. But everything has been
granted, or as good as everything, for what has been refused has really
nothing to do with the demands of our people. You were the one to bring
in all that, Ulric, and it is you alone who hold them to it. If it were
not for you, they would have been at work long ago, and we should have
peace and quiet on the works again."
Ulric threw back his head defiantly.
"Well, yes, I did start it, and I take no shame to myself that I can
see farther, and provide for the future, better than the rest. If it
will satisfy them that the old poverty should be made a little more
bearable, and their miserable lives a little safer in the mines, it
will not satisfy me, or any man of spirit among us. We ask for much,
that is true, we ask for nearly everything, and if Berkow were the
millionaire the world takes him for, he would never dream of giving
himself into our hands. But he is that no longer, and his whole weal or
woe depends upon whether these hands of ours are busy for him now or
not. You don't know the state of things up there in the bureaus, and
the reports which are read at the meetings, father, but I do, and I
tell you, struggle against it as he may, he will have to yield when he
is attacked on all sides at once."
"And I tell you he will not!" declared the Manager. "He will close the
works first. I know Arthur well; he was like that as a child, quite
different from you. You stormed at everything, and were always for
using force, if your work, or your play-fellows, or even your garden
hedge, did not please you. He never set about anything willingly, and
sometimes it would be a long time before he made up his mind to it;
but, when once he began, he would never leave off until he had mastered
the thing, whatever it might be. He is roused now, and he means to show
you the stuff he is made of. He holds the reins, and no one will be
able to drag them out of his hands; there is something of your own
obstinacy in him. Think of what I say, when some day he makes you feel
it."
Ulric stood gloomy and silent. He did not contradict in his usual
vehement way, but the fact that contradiction was impossible stirred up
a feeling of wrathful resentment within him. Perhaps he had already
felt something of his adversary's mettle.
"And however the thing may turn out," continued his father, "do you
suppose that you can stay on here as Deputy, that they will suffer you
to remain on the works, after what has happened?"
The young man laughed scornfully.
"No, certainly not, if it depends upon the gentlemen up yonder. They
will never take me into favour again, that is very sure. But there will
be no question of favour. We shall dictate our terms to them, and the
first condition made by all the men unanimously will be that I am to
remain."
"Are you so certain of that?
"Father, don't insult my mates," exclaimed Ulric. "They would never
desert me."
"Not if the first condition up yonder is that you should go? The master
will insist on that, depend upon it."
"Never; he will never obtain that from them. They know all of them that
I have not done it for my own sake. I was not badly off, I have no need
to starve, I can earn my bread anywhere. It was their misery I wanted
to lessen. Don't talk to me, of it, father. They give me trouble enough
often, but when things come to be serious, I shall pull through; there
is not one of them who will desert me then. Wherever I lead they will
follow, and where I stand they will stand by me, yes, that they will,
to the very death!"
"They would have some time ago, they won't now." The old man had risen,
and only as he turned to the broad daylight could it be fully seen how
careworn his features were, and how bowed the figure which, but lately,
had been so strong and vigorous.
"You said to Lawrence yourself that things are not as they used to be,"
he went on in a very low voice, "and you know well the day and hour
when the change came about. I hardly need tell you so now, Ulric, but
that day cost me the bit of peace and rest I had hoped for in my old
age. It is all over with that now, for ever!"
"Father!" cried the young man again. The Manager stopped him with a
hasty gesture. "Let it be as it is. I know nothing of what happened, I
will know nothing of it, for, if I had to listen to the story in so
many words, then all would be up with me indeed. The mere thought is
enough; it alone has almost driven me out of my senses."
Ulric's eyes flashed angrily again, as when his friend had made that
allusion a short time before.
"And if I were to tell you, father, that the ropes gave way, if I were
to tell you that my hand had never been near them"----
"Tell me nothing rather," broke in the old man bitterly. "I should not
believe you, and the others would not believe you either. You were
always savage and prone to use violence. You would have felled your
best friend to the ground in your wrath. Try it, go among your mates
and say to them: 'It was nothing but an accident.' There is not one of
them who will believe you!"
"Not one?" repeated Ulric, hoarsely. "And you doubt me too, father?"
The Manager fixed his dimmed eyes on his son.
"Can you look me in the face and declare that you were in no way to
blame for the accident, in no way? that you"----he did not finish the
question, for Ulric had not been able to bear his gaze. The eyes, which
a minute before had flashed with anger, now sought the ground, a sharp
quiver passed over him, he turned away and--was silent.
A great stillness fell upon the room. Nothing was heard but the old
man's heavy breathing. His hand trembled, as he passed it across his
brow, and his voice trembled still more, when at last he spoke in a low
tone.
"Your hand was not near? Whether it were your hand precisely, or
however it may have come about, they are all of opinion, thank God,
that inquiries are useless, and that nothing can be proved, at all
events in a court of justice. Settle it with yourself, Ulric, as to
what befell down below, but don't bully your mates any more. You were
quite right. They have been afraid of you since then, and nothing else.
See how long you can manage them with fear alone."
So saying he went out. Ulric made a rapid movement as though about to
rush after him, but stopped suddenly, striking his forehead with his
clenched fist, while a sound like a suppressed groan escaped his
breast.
Ten minutes may have passed before the door was again opened and Martha
came in. Her uncle was gone, and Ulric lay back in the arm-chair, his
head buried in his hands. That did not appear to surprise her much; she
cast one glance at him, then went up to the table and began to put
together her work. Ulric had raised himself as she approached. He stood
up now slowly and went over to her. In general, he paid but little heed
to the girl's doings, and would still less trouble to speak to her of
what concerned herself. But now he did both these things.
Perhaps a moment had come when even his reserved unbending nature
longed for a word, for a token of sympathy, at a time when all fled
from him, all avoided him.
"So you and Lawrence have made it up?" he began. "I have not spoken to
you about it yet, Martha, I have had so many other things in my head of
late. Are you engaged?"
"Yes," was the short and not very encouraging answer.
"And when is the wedding to be?"
"There is time enough for that."
Ulric looked down at the girl, who with quick-coming breath and
trembling fingers was busying herself with her work, without even
raising her eyes to him. A sort of reproachful feeling rose up in his
mind towards her.
"You have done right, Martha," he said, in a low voice. "Karl is a good
fellow, and very fond of you, fonder, perhaps, than .... than others
might have been. Yet you sent him away again without an answer after
our last talk. When did you promise to marry him?"
"Yesterday three weeks."
"Yesterday three weeks! Why, that was the day after the accident. So it
was then you promised?"
"Yes, it was then. I could not do it before. It was only on that day I
felt as if I ever could be his wife."
"Martha!"
The man's voice swelled half in anger, half in pain. He would have laid
his hand on her arm, but she started back involuntarily. He let his
hand fall and moved away.
"You too?" he said hoarsely. "Well, yes, I might have known it."
"Oh, Ulric!" exclaimed the girl in wild despairing accents, "what have
you done to yourself, to us all!"
He was still standing opposite her. His hand shook as it rested on the
table, but his face had grown stern and hard again.
"Whatever harm I may have done myself, I shall take the consequences of
it without troubling any one else. As for you all, why, there is not
one of you that will even listen to me. But I tell you now, once and
for good," here his voice grew hard and menacing, "I have had enough of
your endless hinting and tormenting. I won't bear it any longer.
Believe what you will and whom you will, it shall be just the same to
me in future. What I have begun, I shall go through with, in spite of
every one; and if there is really to be an end of all confidence, I
shall, at least, know how to enforce obedience."
So saying he went out. Martha made no attempt to detain him, and she
would certainly have tried in vain. He crashed to the door of the room
behind him, making the little house shake in its foundations. Next
minute he had left the cottage.