He came to a standstill at the gate-house. As he was about to pull the
bell, a din of singing voices fell on his ear, interrupted by guttural
laughter and applause, which elicited a new and more confused outburst
of song. The noise seemed to proceed from the bailiff's house, which
was the dwelling of Uncle Kutowski as well as of the two bailiffs.
Presumably the stream of light, which till now had been concealed from
his eyes by the gate-post, came from the same quarter.
"They manage to have a rollicking good time of it without me at
Halewitz, evidently," he said to himself, frowning, and was going to
climb over the wall near the wicket gate, when he remembered in time
the broken bottle-glass stuck in the cement of the bastions for the
reception of thieves and tramps.
There was nothing to be done but to slink round in the shadow of the
park wall to the little secret garden door which once had been
contrived for him by Uncle Kutowski, so that his excursions by night
should not come to his father's ears. Of course it was an understood
thing that in so zealously rendering this service. Uncle Kutowski also
acted in his own interest, for he too had had good reasons for keeping
his nocturnal adventures private and unbeknown to the master of the
house.
Leo paced slowly along the dry moat which skirted the park, and over
which the hundred-year-old limes of Halewitz cast the shade of their
dark masses of foliage, till he came to the spot which he supposed was
only known to himself and to his uncle. But, to his vexation and
amazement, he saw that the little door was standing wide open, and,
worse still, the wilderness of brambles and gooseberry bushes which, on
the inner side, had almost buried the approach to the exit, had been
uprooted and levelled and replaced by a convenient gravel path that
seemed to invite alluringly any evil-disposed person to the privy door.
"Thus do our old vices punish us," thought Leo; and he recalled with a
stab at his heart the period of his life when at this door, night after
night, there stood ready for him a saddled horse, which Uncle Kutowski
had procured for him, and which towards morning would be driven out to
grass, sweating and covered with foam.
"Wait a bit, you scoundrels," he muttered betwixt his teeth; "I'll show
you which is the right path."
There were still lights illuminating the windows of the castle that
faced the flower-parterre. A broad stone terrace ran nearly the whole
length of the rambling building, and old vines which never bore fruit
draped the balustrade. In the middle of the terrace a flight of
dilapidated steps, flanked by two pock-marked nymphs in sandstone, led
down to the garden. The glass doors of the garden salon were open, and
the hanging lamp with its three sconces lighted the table, from which
supper had been cleared away, and sent a warm red glow across the
terrace as far as the venerable heads of the nymphs, whose fragile
profiles it touched with gold.
Leo walked as softly as the crunching gravel and his own vigorous
footsteps would allow, towards the light. He avoided the wooden
kiosque, the white plaster pillars of which, seen from the opposite
side, gave a finish to the perspective of the landscape, and rounding
the fish-pond, from whose slimy depths rose a soft gurgling, he banged
his head against the obelisk. It was a stupid erection of brickwork and
mortar, with a bronze tablet let into the middle, recording for
posterity the heroic deeds of Standard-bearer Fritz von Sellenthin at
the battle of Hohenfriedberg.
"A pity the storms have not demolished this bric-a-brac," thought Leo,
as he rubbed the lump on his forehead with a pained smile.
At this moment there appeared framed in the brightly illuminated
doorway two girlish figures with their arms round each other. They
moved forward with a lazy rocking motion, and the gold rays of the lamp
flashed on their heads and outlined the shadows cast by the two slender
young forms with a narrow line of light.
They had flung on _negligee_ attire with the ingenuous freedom of a
pair of young virgins who feel secure in there being no man in the
house, and presented themselves in dressing-jackets and with flowing
tresses. One was nearly a head taller than the other, and a reddish
gleam shot from the loosened plaits which floated over her head and
shoulders. By daylight she would probably be a brunette. The shorter
girl displayed unmistakably the famous Sellenthin gold in her blond
locks.
For a moment it seemed as if they were going to descend into the
garden, and Leo quickly took refuge in the shadow of the terrace wall,
where he would be hidden from view by the vine espalier. But they
stayed up above after all, seating themselves on the balustrade, and
swinging their feet so that when they touched the ground a shower of
dust, sand, and little stones fell on his head. The two girls gazed
down into the garden, and looking up he could see the dainty shining
oval of their faces bent towards him. He felt a little nervous at his
post of observation. It was innocent schoolgirl chatter that he
overheard, intermingled with kisses and giggles.
In one of the voices, which sounded low and muffled, there was a
caressing note like the cooing of a dove. The other was a rich, full
alto, which seemed to well forth from the depths of the speaker's
chest; this fulness of tone was accentuated by the hard _r_, slightly
reminiscent of the stable. With some difficulty he recalled his little
sister in the first voice, and concluded that the other belonged to
Johanna's step-daughter, the rich little heiress whom his mother had
kept bewitched in the ancient castle for his especial benefit.
They talked of clothes, girl friends, and books; of getting up early,
of milking and poultry-feeding; and finally they began to talk about
himself. The letter from Buenos Ayres, which must have arrived that
morning, was evidently in their minds. Johanna's step-daughter revealed
to her little companion energetic plans, which convinced him that mamma
had already begun her angling for the goldfish.
"Do you know what I shall do, Mouse?" said she. "I shall write to my
guardian, the old judge, and ask him for the money necessary to fit out
an expedition. Then I shall go with it to South America, and look for
him, and paint Halewitz in such glowing colours that he'll get homesick
and come back to Europe. And directly we reach Halewitz, I shall say,
'Now my mission is ended. Good-bye.'"
"In your place," suggested Elly, "I should marry him."
"I shall never marry," replied Hertha. "I am an orphan, and shall go
into a convent."
Leo closed his eyes with an amused smile. This charming nonsense was
music to him. Meanwhile, the drunken merriment in the bailiff's house
grew louder. At the sound of it, Hertha spoke her mind with a will.
"It is a shame that an end cannot be put to such mismanagement. The
master roams about the world, and his estates are going to ruin."
"Do you think it really is so bad as that?" asked Elly, anxiously.
"It is so bad that it couldn't be worse. Look at Ulrich Kletzingk's
face when he rides over here. But he can do nothing. It was not he who
was given full authority, but beautiful Uncle Kutowski. If I could, I
would hound that fellow out of the place with a horse-whip."
"Spoken like a thorough good chap," thought Leo. "I'll have her for my
wife, and then they'll find there'll be the devil to pay." Yet, at the
same moment, anxiety on account of his neglected property weighed
heavily upon his soul. The chorus of a drinking-song struck up
opposite, the refrain ending in a cadence of hiccoughs. Leo's fists
itched, but he controlled himself, for he did not wish to spoil the
humour of the situation.
"I am afraid that _he_ is there too," Elly whispered hesitatingly.
Leo was all attention.
"Of course he is there," Hertha laughed, with a ring of scorn in her
voice; "he is certain to be wherever there is anything low going on."
"Don't always wound my feelings," Elly complained. "You know how gone I
am on him."
"Hum! so the little one has begun already," thought Leo, and resolved
to speak to her seriously, for falling in love was a Sellenthin family
weakness.
"You may be gone on him as much as you like," replied Hertha, "but he
should be open and above board, and not sneak over here behind people's
backs when he comes to see Uncle Kutowski. That is scarcely fitting
behaviour on the part of one we honour with our admiration."
"But what else is he to do?" asked Elly, in a troubled voice. "If mamma
saw him she would tell Ulrich that he was hanging about. And the last
time he only came through the park to serenade me. And that song, 'The
Smiling Stars,' he composed especially for me. He told me so. And what
he said about the serenade was, 'I was a little elated by wine,
gracious Fraeulein, otherwise I should certainly not have had the
courage.' He always speaks so modestly and politely. He is quite out of
the common."
"Just wait, you out-of-the-common young man," Leo said to himself;
"you shan't escape."
At this point a dear familiar voice sent forth an affectionate warning
to the children--"Come in, or you'll catch cold." It was the voice in
which, as long as he could remember, his vagabond spirit had ever found
rest and steadfastness.
He bounded up and clasped the espalier with both hands. A sudden
impulse seized him to rush out of his hiding-place and hug the dear old
mother to his breast. But again he controlled himself. Before he
returned to his own he must first surprise the curious company at the
bailiff's house, and take them red-handed in their crimes.
The shimmering light which had made the chipped heads of the nymphs
glow vanished. The terrace steps were lost in darkness, and the wooden
outer door creaked on its hinges. Then all was still. The coast was
clear for Leo.
He opened the wicket-gate which connected the park with the courtyard,
and went by a familiar path in the direction from which the noises,
becoming more and more tipsy and indistinct, echoed over the sleeping
square of yard. Not a single dog barked, all apparently being too well
accustomed to the manners of this particular household.
The windows of the bailiff's room were open. In the lamplight clouds of
tobacco-smoke could be seen issuing through the chinks of the venetian
blinds. Leo leaned against the window-ledge so that he could look in on
the topers at his ease.
The company lounged comfortably at the long green table, which was
usually loaded with official papers concerning police-regulations,
rents, and rates. Master Kutowski presided. With his bristly head
cropped nearly bald, his long waving beard abundantly powdered with
snuff, and shading from silvery white to yellowish-green, with his
light glassy, moist little eyes, his red-lumpy and wart-covered nose,
he presented a perfect picture of the convivial, sturdy, boon
companion, yet one who, if brought to book, might pose easily as a
sober worthy rather than a consummate rascal. He had pushed his
Hungarian fez at a rakish angle over his left ear, and held a
silver-set meerschaum between his black teeth. Leo recognized it. It
bore the inscription, "In thanks for faithful friendship, from Leo
Sellenthin, _stud-agri_."
On either side of him two guests had taken their places who were not
resident on the Halewitz estates; on the left, an old animal-painter
who for years had hung about the neighbourhood in summer, sponging on
the hospitality of the bailiffs. He was nick-named "Cow-Augustus." On
the right was a youth whom Leo seemed to know, but could not put a name
to. His good-looking, smooth, but somewhat sallow face, cut about with
diagonal scars like a rink with the marks of skaters, stood out with a
cool, rather assumed air of distinction from the row of flushed,
sunburnt, rustic countenances, from which type even the painter's, with
its full stubbly beard, scarcely differed. The youth was apparently at
the moment the only person sober at the table, and undoubtedly he was
the only one who had cultivated the art of beer-drinking seriously and
artistically, as if it had been his calling in life.
Next came, right and left, the two bailiffs of Halewitz, a couple of
stewards from the neighbouring estates of Wengern and Kantzendorf,
and four raw, rosy-cheeked lads, to all appearances pupils of the
land-agent; lastly, at the bottom of the table was the lanky brewer,
who superintended the pouring out of the drink. Thus the whole of the
official staff to whom Leo's property had been entrusted for the last
four years were assembled here in a jovial carousal. He propped his
chin in his hands, feeling the grim humour of the situation, and
awaited events, as the cat watches at a mouse-hole.
The young gentleman with the gashed face, who was addressed as "Herr
Kandidat," and seemed to enjoy in a high degree the respect of the
party, was loudly called upon to give them a solo. He affected to
refuse at first.
"Have compassion on your own ears, gentlemen," he said mincingly, in
the exaggerated lisping accent cultivated by our student contingent. He
pronounced _a_ like _ae_, _ei_ like _ai_, and his _r_'s like gurgling
_g_'s. Then he began to sing--
"Oh, smile down, ye smiling stars,
And let it be night around me ..."
Could he have guessed that some one stood listening at the window who
hailed the first line of his song with a whistle of recognition, he
would have chosen another. Nevertheless, he did not sing badly. In the
deep notes his voice sounded soft and flexible, in the high it had the
brilliant falsetto note which girls are apt to rave about. His
delivery, with its sentimental diminuendoes and coquettish staccatoes,
was reminiscent of the music-hall style, on which it was doubtless
modelled. At any rate, it found an appreciative public now. A storm of
enthusiastic applause broke forth when he had finished.
"Long live the singer. Vivat hurrah!" bawled Uncle Kutowski.
But the hero thus honoured thought fit to cavil. "One generally says
'health to the singer' in such cases," he said, stiffening into frigid
dignity.
The old man suggested that it didn't matter as long as one was sociable
and friendly--that was the chief thing; and the painter, who for some
while had been gazing into his glass in a profound reverie, suddenly
uttered a deep groan, which resounded terrifically down the table.
This ejaculation of misery caused a fresh outburst of merriment. The
revellers began to exceed all bounds; only the student with the slashed
face smiled with meditative deliberation. He drank a special toast to
the health of the despairing painter, and made him a bow fit for a
prince.
"Silence, gentlemen," commanded Uncle, knocking on the side of his
plate with his pipe. "Now I am going to make you a speech."
All at once forgetting his dignity, the Candidate yelled forth, "Long
live all jolly good fellows."
"In the midst of our rejoicing," continued Uncle Kutowski, "we will not
omit to think with gratitude of our noble host, to whom we are indebted
for this and other enjoyable evenings."
"Hear, hear!" chortled the Candidate. He hiccoughed, and then became
stonily immovable again.
"My dear nephew Leo, who well knows what a treasure he possesses
in his grateful old uncle, honest old Uncle Kutowski, who would rather
drink nothing but water, and never go out with a girl, than not do
his duty to the death.... Now then, you may howl, if you like, you
colour-dauber."
Instead of the painter, the Candidate set up a howl, in which the whole
company joined.
"This Leo," the old man went on, "knowing that in comparison with his
old uncle's genius for management, his would be nowhere, shook the dust
of the place from his feet, and has now been wandering about the world
for years, in order, it would appear, not to disturb our pleasant
little gatherings with the annoyance of his presence. The capital young
man cannot be praised sufficiently for so much tender consideration.
Let us, therefore, drink to my aristocratic nephew, Leo von Sellenthin
... Long may he live and----"
"Good evening, my friends," Leo said, opening the door, and thinking
that he could not possibly have had a better cue than this for his
entry on to the stage.
There was a terrible silence. The brewer, who was a tall old Bavarian,
crossed himself; the bailiffs ducked their heads, as if they expected
blows. The Candidate stood with his hand glued to his budding
moustache; and Uncle Kutowski--the honest old uncle--stared at his
nephew with a face as white as chalk, a blue tip to his nose, and the
tankard of beer still held in his upraised hand in an attitude of
involuntary welcome.
It happened that a diversion was made at this moment by the
beer-barrel, to which the brewer had been clinging as to a rock of
refuge, tumbling off its stand and rolling with a violent crashing
noise under Leo's feet.
He kicked it aside, and let his glance pass contemptuously from one
face to the other.
The student with the scarred countenance was the first to collect
himself. He rose deliberately, and with a persuasive eloquence, which
doubtless he had had opportunities of practising as university orator,
he began--
"Really, you have come home just at the propitious moment, Herr von
Sellenthin--just when your friends and confidential servants are
festively met together to do honour to their absent squire, to-day
being the anniversary of--of----" He hummed and hawed, trying to
improvise speedily something that would give the day an important
significance, which he probably would have accomplished had not Leo
saved him the trouble.
"With whom have I the pleasure of speaking?" he asked, towering to his
full height over the wretched youth.
"Kurt Brenckenberg--Guestphaliae Normanneaeque," he answered, beginning
to swell visibly.