"Do oblige me by leaving off those everlasting lamentations of yours,
Doctor. I tell you, there is no changing the boy. I have tried often
enough, and I have had six tutors, one after the other, to help me. We
could none of us do anything with him; you can't do anything either, so
just let him go his own way."
This speech, delivered in the most vigorous tones, was addressed by
Herr Witold, Squire of Altenhof, to the gentleman intrusted with his
ward's education. The room in which the two were seated was situated at
the end of the house of which it formed a corner. Its windows were
thrown open on account of the heat, and its whole appearance seemed to
indicate that the dwellers therein held such things as elegance and
comfort to be quite superfluous, if not absolutely harmful,
indulgences. The plain and, for the most part, antiquated furniture was
scattered here and there, without the least regard for tasteful, or
even for commodious, arrangement--pushed right and left to serve the
convenience of the moment. On the walls hung guns, sporting tackle, and
antlers in indiscriminate confusion. Wherever room for a nail had been
found, there that nail had been driven in, and the article on hand at
the time hung thereon, without the smallest consideration for the
figure it made in the place allotted to it. The bureau was loaded with
piles of house and farm accounts, together with tobacco pipes, spurs,
and half a dozen riding-whips. The newspaper lay on the carpet; for
carpet there was, in name at least, though its absence would have
proved a better ornament to the room, since it bore but too evident
traces of serving the great setter as his daily couch. Not a thing was
in the place to which it rightly belonged; but rather there where it
had last been made use of, and where it remained ready for any future
occasion. One single object in the room testified, and that in a truly
appalling manner, to the owner's artistic tastes, namely, a brilliant
hunting-piece of most intense and vivid colouring, which hung in the
place of honour over the sofa.
The Squire sat in his armchair by the window, lost in the dense clouds
of smoke which issued from his meerschaum. A man of about sixty years,
he looked relatively young, in spite of his white hair, and was
evidently in the full enjoyment of health and strength. He was of an
important presence, his height and bulk being alike considerable. There
was, perhaps, not overmuch intelligence in the ruddy face; but, on the
other hand, it wore an unmistakable air of good humour. His dress, made
up partly of indoor raiment and partly of hunting gear, was decidedly
negligent; and his whole massive person, with its powerful, deep-toned
voice, formed the strongest contrast to the lank figure of the tutor,
now standing before him.
The Doctor might be thirty or thereabouts. He was of middle height, but
his stooping attitude made him appear short of stature. His face was
not exactly unhandsome, but it wore too evident a look of sickliness,
and of the depression bred of a painful position in life, to prove
attractive. His complexion was pale and unhealthy, his brow deeply
lined, and his eyes had that abstracted, uncertain expression peculiar
to those who seldom, if ever, bring their thoughts altogether to bear
on the realities around them. His black attire was ordered with
scrupulous care; and there was an air of anxious timidity about the
man's whole being, betraying itself in his voice, as he replied in a
low tone--
"You know, Herr Witold, that I never apply to you, save in an extreme
case. This time I must call upon you to use your authority. I am at my
wits' end."
"What has Waldemar been doing now?" asked the master of the house,
impatiently. "I know he is unmanageable as well as you do, but I can't
help you in the matter. The boy got far beyond my control long ago. He
will obey no one now, not even me. He runs away from your books, and
prefers to be off with his gun, does he? Tut! I was no better at his
age. They could never ram all their learned stuff into my head. He has
no manners, has not he? Well, he does not want them. We live here among
ourselves, and when we do have a neighbourly meeting now and again, we
don't make much ceremony about it. You know that well enough, Doctor.
You always take to your heels, and escape from our shooting parties and
drinking bouts."
"But, only think," objected the tutor, "if Waldemar with his rough wild
ways were, later in life, to be thrown into another sphere; if he were
to marry ..."
"Marry!" exclaimed Witold, absolutely hurt by such a supposition. "He
will never do such a thing. What should he marry for? I have remained a
bachelor all my life, and find myself uncommonly comfortable; and poor
Nordeck would have done better to keep single. No, thank God, there is
no fear of our Waldemar! Why, he runs off at the sight of a petticoat,
and he is right."
So saying, Waldemar's guardian leaned back in his chair with an air of
much contentment. The Doctor drew a step nearer.
"But to return to the point from which we set out," said he,
hesitatingly. "You yourself admit that my pupil will no longer be
guided by me. It must therefore be high time to send him to the
University."
Herr Witold sprang up from his seat so suddenly that the tutor beat a
hasty retreat.
"Did not I think something of the sort was coming! I have, heard
nothing else from you for the last month. What should Waldemar go to
the University for? To have his head stuffed with learning by the
professors? I should think you have taken good care to do that for him
by this time. All that an honest country gentleman needs to know, he
knows. He is as great an authority about the land and the farm business
as my inspector. He keeps the people in their place far more
effectually than I can, and there is not a better man in the saddle or
in the field. He is a splendid young fellow!"
The tutor did not appear to share this enthusiastic view of his pupil's
merits. He hardly ventured to express so much in words, but summoned up
all his evidently slender stock of courage for the timid reply.
"But, sir, the heir of Wilicza requires, after all, something more than
the qualifications which go to make a good inspector or land-steward.
Some higher culture, some academical study, appear to me extremely
desirable."
"They don't appear desirable to me at all," retorted Herr Witold.
"Isn't it enough that, by-and-by, I shall have to let the boy, who is
the very apple of my eye, go from me, just because his property lies in
that cursed land of Polacks? Must I part from him now to send him to
the University against his will? I'll do nothing of the sort, I tell
you, nothing of the sort. He shall stay here until he goes to Wilicza."
With this, he puffed so savagely at his pipe that for several minutes
his face disappeared behind the clouds of smoke. The tutor sighed, and
was silent. His quiet resignation touched the tyrannical Squire.
"Don't trouble your mind any more about the University, Doctor," said
he, in quite a changed tone; "you will never persuade Waldemar to
consent to the plan as long as you live. And for yourself, too, it is
better that you should stay at Altenhof. Here you are just in the midst
of your tumuli and your Runic stones, or whatever you call the rubbish
you are after all day long. I can't understand, for my own part, what
you can see so remarkable in the old heathen lumber; but the heart of
man must take delight in something, and I am right glad you can find
any pleasure to satisfy you, for you have often a hard time of it with
Waldemar--and with me into the bargain."
The Doctor, much confused, made a deprecatory gesture. "Oh, Herr
Witold!"
"Don't put yourself out," said the other, good-naturedly. "I know that
in your secret soul you look upon our life here as a godless business,
and that you would have run away from us long ago, if it had not been
for the heathen rubbish you have grown so fond of, and which you can't
bring yourself to part from. Well, I am not such a bad fellow after
all, you know, though I do fly out in a passion occasionally; and as
you are always pottering about among the pagans, you must be just in
your element here with us. I have heard say that people in those days
had no manners at all. They used to fight and murder each other out of
pure friendship."
The historical information displayed by Herr Witold appeared to the
Doctor to have a dangerous tendency. Possibly he feared some practical
illustration of it on his own person, for he backed by almost
imperceptible degrees behind the sofa.
"Excuse me, the old Teutons ..."
"Were not cut out after your pattern, Doctor," cried the Squire with a
shout of laughter, for the man[oe]uvre had not escaped him. "I know
that much, at all events. I think, of us all, Waldemar comes the
nearest to them, so I can't make out what fault you can find with him."
"But, Herr Witold, in the nineteenth century ..." The Doctor got no
further in his dissertation, for at that moment the crack of a shot was
heard--of a shot fired close to the open window. A bullet whistled
through the room, and the great stag's antlers, which hung over the
bureau, fell down with a crash.
The Squire jumped up from his seat. "Waldemar! What does this mean? Is
the boy taking to shoot into the very rooms? Wait a moment; I'll put a
stop to that work!"
He would have hurried out, but was stopped at the entrance by a young
man, who pushed, or rather flung, open the door, letting it fall to on
its hinges again with a bang. He wore a shooting suit, and carried in
his hand the gun which had caused the late report, while at his side
stalked a great pointer. Without any sort of greeting, or of excuse for
this violent mode of making his appearance, he went up to Witold,
placed himself right before him, and asked triumphantly--
"Now, which of us was right, you or I?"
The Squire was really angry. "Is that the way to behave, shooting over
people's heads?" he cried, testily. "One is not sure of one's life with
you now. Do you want to put the Doctor and me out of the world?"
Waldemar shrugged his shoulders. "Where was the harm? I wanted to win
my wager. You declared yesterday I should not hit that nail, where the
twelve-year-old hung, from outside. There's my ball, up there."
He pointed to the wall. Witold followed the direction.
"It really is!" said he, full of admiration, and altogether appeased.
"Doctor, just look--but what is the matter with you?"
"Doctor Fabian has got another of his nervous attacks, no doubt," said
Waldemar ironically, laying aside his gun, but making no attempt to
succour his teacher, who had sunk back on the sofa, half fainting with
the fright, and was still trembling from head to foot. The good-natured
Witold raised him up, and encouraged him to the best of his ability.
"Come, come, who would think of fainting because a little powder went
off! Why, it is not worth speaking of. We had laid the wager, that is
quite true; but how was I to know the young madcap would set to work in
such a senseless fashion? Instead of calling us out, that we might look
on quietly, he makes no more ado, but takes his aim straight over our
heads. Are you better now? Ah, that's right, thank God!"
Doctor Fabian had risen, and was striving to master his emotion; but as
yet he could not quite succeed.
"You might have shot us, Waldemar," said he, with pale and trembling
lips.
"No, Doctor, I might not," answered Waldemar, in a tone the reverse of
reverential. "You and my uncle were standing to the right, and I aimed
over there to the left, at least five paces off. You know I never
miss."
"No matter, you will let it alone in future," declared Witold, with an
attempt at asserting his authority as guardian. "The deuce himself may
be playing tricks with the balls, and then there will be an accident.
Once for all, I forbid you to shoot anywhere near the house."
The young man crossed his arms defiantly. "You can forbid me, uncle, as
much as you like, but I shan't obey. I shall shoot if I choose."
He stood confronting his guardian, the very incarnation of rebellious
wilfulness. Waldemar Nordeck's whole appearance was of the true
Germanic type; no single feature of his bore evidence to the fact that
his mother had come of another race. His tall, almost gigantic, figure
towered several inches above even Witold's portly form; but his frame
lacked symmetry, every line in it was sharp and angular. His light hair
seemed in its overabundance to be quite a troublesome load on his head,
for it fell low down over his brow, whence it was tossed back every now
and then with an impatient gesture. His blue eyes had a sombre and, in
moments of excitement like the present, almost a fierce expression. His
face was decidedly plain. Here, too, the lines were sharp and unformed;
all the boy's softer contours had vanished, and were not as yet
replaced by the set features of the man. In the case of this young man,
the transition stage was so marked as to be almost repulsive; and the
uncouthness of his manners, his complete disdain of all polite forms,
did not tend to diminish the unfavourable impression created by his
appearance.
Herr Witold was evidently one of those men whose person and bearing
seem to argue an energy of which, in reality, they possess not a
particle. Instead of meeting his ward's defiant rudeness with steady
resolution, the guardian thought proper to give way.
"I told you so, Doctor; the boy won't mind me any longer," said he,
with an equanimity which showed that this was the usual outcome of such
differences, and that, whenever it should please the young gentleman to
be in earnest, the uncle would be found powerless as the tutor.
Waldemar took no further notice of either of them. He threw himself at
full length on the sofa, without the least regard to the fact that his
boots, completely soaked by a journey through the marshes, were coming
in contact with the cushions; while the pointer, who had also been in
the water, followed his master's example, and, with equal recklessness,
settled himself down comfortably on the carpet.
A rather awkward pause ensued. The Squire, grumbling to himself, tried
to light his pipe, which had gone out in the interval. Dr. Fabian had
taken refuge by the window, and, gazing out, cast a look towards heaven
which said more plainly than any words that, truly, he did consider the
way of life here to be 'a godless sort of business.'
The Squire had meanwhile been hunting for his tobacco pouch, which
was at last happily discovered on the bureau, under the spurs and
riding-whips. As he drew it out, an unopened envelope fell close by his
hand. He took it up.
"I had nearly forgotten that. Waldemar, there is a letter for you."
"For me?" asked Waldemar, indifferently, and yet with that touch of
surprise called up by an event of rare occurrence.
"Yes. There's a coronet on the seal, and a coat of arms with all sorts
of heraldic beasts. From the Princess Baratowska, I presume. It is a
long time since we have been honoured with her Highness's gracious
autograph."
Young Nordeck broke open the letter, and glanced through it. It seemed
to contain but a few lines; nevertheless, a heavy cloud gathered on the
reader's brow.
"Well, what is it?" asked Witold. "Are the conspirators still hatching
their plots in Paris? I did not look at the postmark."
"The Princess and her son are out yonder at C----," reported Waldemar.
He seemed purposely to avoid the names of mother and brother. "She
wishes to see me. I shall ride over to-morrow morning."
"You will do nothing of the kind," said the Squire. "Your princely
relatives have not troubled themselves about you for years, and they
need not begin now. We want nothing of them. Stay where you are."
"Uncle, I have had enough of being ordered about and forbidden to do
this and that!" Waldemar broke out, with such sudden vehemence that the
Squire stared at him open-mouthed. "Am I a schoolboy that I need ask
your leave at every step? Have not I the right, at one and twenty,
to decide whether I will see my mother or not? I _have_ decided, and
to-morrow morning I shall ride over to C----."
"Well, don't put yourself in a passion, and be so bearish," said
Witold, more astonished than angry at this outburst of fury, which was
quite inexplicable to him. "Go where you like, so far as I am
concerned; but I'll have nothing to do with the Polish lot--that I tell
you."
Waldemar wrapped himself in sullen silence. He took his gun, whistled
to his dog, and left the room. His guardian looked after him, and shook
his head. All at once a thought seemed to strike him. He took up the
letter, which Waldemar had carelessly left lying on the table, and read
it through. Now it was Herr Witold's turn to knit his brow and frown
more and more ominously, until at last the storm broke.
"I thought so!" he cried, thumping with his fist on the table. "It is
just like my fine madam. In six lines she stirs the boy up to rebel
against me. That is the reason he turned so cantankerous all in a
minute. Listen to this delightful letter, Doctor: 'My son,--Years have
passed, during which you have given no sign of life.'--As if she had
given us any!--'I only know through strangers that you are living at
Altenhof with your guardian. I am staying at C---- just now, and
should rejoice to see you here, and to have an opportunity of
introducing your brother to you. I know not, indeed,'--listen, Doctor,
this is where she pricks him,--'I know not, indeed, whether you will be
free to pay me this visit. I hear that, notwithstanding you have
attained your majority, you are still quite subject to your guardian's
will.'--Doctor, you are witness of how the boy tramples on us both day
after day!--'Of your readiness to come I make no doubt; but I do not
feel so sure that Herr Witold will grant his permission. I have
therefore preferred to address myself directly to you, that I may see
whether you possess sufficient strength of character to comply with
this, the first wish your mother has ever expressed to you, or whether
you _dare_ not accede even to this request of hers.'--The '_dare_' is
underlined. --'If I am right in the former supposition, I shall expect
to see you shortly. Your brother joins me in love.--Your mother.'"
Herr Witold was so exasperated that he dashed the letter to the ground.
"There's a thing for a man to read! Cleverly managed of the lady
mother, that! She knows as well as I do what a pig-headed fellow
Waldemar is, and if she had studied him for years she could not have
hit on his weak side better. The mere thought of restraint being placed
on him makes him mad. I may move heaven and earth now to keep him; he
will go just to show me he can have his own way. What do you say to the
business?"
Doctor Fabian seemed sufficiently initiated in the family affairs to
look upon the approaching meeting with alarm equal to the Squire's,
though proceeding from a far different cause.
"Dear me! dear me!" he said, anxiously. "If Waldemar goes over to
C---- and behaves in his usual rough, unmannerly fashion, if the
Princess sees him so, what will she think of him?"
"Think he has taken after his father, and not after her," was the
Squire's emphatic reply. "That is just how she ought to see Waldemar;
then it will be made evident to her that he will be no docile
instrument to serve her intrigues--for that there are intrigues on foot
again, I'd wager my head. Either the princely purse is empty--I fancy
it never was too full--or there is some neat little State conspiracy
concocting again, and Wilicza lies handy for it, being so close to the
frontier."
"But, Herr Witold," remonstrated the Doctor, "why try to widen the
unhappy breach in the family, now that the mother gives proof of a
conciliatory spirit? Would it not be better to make peace at last?"
"You don't understand, Doctor," said Witold, with a bitterness quite
unusual to him. "There is no peace to be made with that woman, unless
one surrenders one's own will, and consents to be ruled entirely by
her; it was because poor Nordeck would not do so that she led him the
life of hell at home. Now, I won't exonerate him altogether. He had
some nasty faults, and could make things hard for a woman; but all the
troubles came of his taking this Morynska for a wife. Another girl
might have led him, might perhaps have changed some things in him; but,
for such a task, a little heart would have been needed, and of that
article Madam Hedwiga never had much to show. Well, the 'degradation,'
as they call it, of her first marriage has been made good by the
second. It was only a pity that the Princess Baratowska, with her son
and spouse, could not take up her residence at Wilicza. She could never
get over that; but luckily the will drew the bolt there, and we have
taken care to bring up Waldemar in such a way that he is not likely to
undo its work by any act of folly."
"We!" exclaimed the Doctor, much shocked. "Herr Witold, I have given my
lessons conscientiously, according to my instructions. I have
unfortunately never been able to influence my pupil's mind and
character, or ..." he hesitated.
"Or he would have been different from what he is," added Witold,
laughing. "The youngster suits me as he is, in spite of his wild ways.
If you like it better, _I_ have brought him up. If the result does not
fit in with the Baratowskis' plots and plans, I shall be right glad;
and if my education and their Parisian breeding get fairly by the ears
to-morrow, I shall be still better pleased. Then we shall be quits, at
least, for that spiteful letter yonder."
With these words the Squire left the room. The Doctor stooped to pick
up the letter, which still lay on the floor. He took it up, folded it
carefully together, and said, with a profound sigh--
"And one day people will say, 'It was a Dr. Fabian who brought up the
young heir.' Oh, just Heaven!"