The worst of it all was, that the crops were ripe for harvest, but
could not be cut, because there were not enough hands for the labour.
Uncle Kutowski, whom Leo wanted to call to account for this, was
nowhere to be found. He had not been seen since early morning, when he
had driven off in his one-horse chaise. Leo learnt how matters stood
from Schumann, who was officiously obliging in giving information.
The old man, it would seem, was in the habit of levying fines, which
added not a little to his salary, so that the foreign reapers who let
themselves out on hire in gangs, long before the beginning of the
harvest, had been so exasperated by deductions made on their wages,
that last pay-day they had packed their bundles and decamped in the
night.
The home farm-labourers who were available were not capable of the
work, and so it had been at a standstill for eight days. Half the crops
were likely to be ruined in consequence, but the old steward felt no
qualms on that score, and did not let the prospect of a spoilt harvest
weigh on his mind.
This alone was enough to give Leo an insight into what sort of hands
the management of his property had fallen for the last four years. He
would have liked to horse-whip his uncle and send him packing without
further parley, but, unfortunately, those who have been accomplices in
our past sins, have to be gently dealt with, lest they betray secrets.
He recognized the fact, in wrath and shame, that he had put himself, to
a great extent, at the mercy of the old reprobate. Nevertheless, bold
and resolute action might yet set him free.
He gave orders at the gatehouse that Herr Kutowski was to be sent to
him so soon as he should show his face in the yard again. Then he shut
himself up in his study.
Here, everything was the same as of old. In the embrasure of the
window, there stood an ancestral bequest, in the shape of a huge
escritoire, finely carved, with inlaid mother-of-pearl drawers, where
many secrets lay hid. The walls were decorated with groups of pistols,
sporting weapons and coats-of-arms, surrounded artistically with
antlers, tusks, and bullet-ridden discs--trophies of boyish
sportsmanship which once he had regarded with reverence, but which now
hardly won a smile from him. Many an idle hour had he lounged away at
one time of his life, on the old couch by the door, with its slippery,
shabby leather covering, and dreamed of forbidden things. Over there
were photographs of his nearest and dearest ones. Mamma, with a lace
tippet over her long-waisted bodice, papa with epaulets and a general's
whiskers. Pastor Brenckenberg, before he had grown puffy and bloated,
when he had lived in the house as tutor, and ruled him with the cane.
Then there was Johanna before she did up her hair, with white worsted
stockings gleaming beneath her short skirts; Ulrich, as an upper
third-form boy, round-backed as a fiddle-bow, with long hair and
pigeon-breast. By him--strange coincidence--Felicitas, in budding
maidenhood, with masses of curly hair and a languishing smile.
The picture dated from the days when, as distant cousin, she had come
to stay at Halewitz, and when he had fallen head over ears in love with
her. Ulrich had followed his example, and Johanna had been annoyed. He
grasped his brow. Was it all a dream? A shudder ran through him. He who
had once believed himself to be master of his fate, saw himself tossed
like a cork on the waves, and now in sport cast up on the shore.
Breathing hard, he set to work on the accounts. Hours went by. He sat
bowed over the ledgers adding up, and for the first time in his life he
added up right. It was worse than he feared. Shock followed shock, but
none was pleasant.
And in the midst of his reckoning a sudden burning blush of shame
flooded his face. He read, "Sent to Monte Carlo 10,000 marks." And a
few lines further on: "To Monte Carlo 141,500 marks."
How could he reproach others when he himself had been a mere common
gambler? Was it not natural, that every man should try to grab his
share out of the universal bankruptcy? But he felt that in this
memorandum it was not so much his wretched property, as his friend's
honour and peace of mind that was most at stake. It was for this he was
determined to fight the old scoundrel. For a moment he let his eye
linger on the opposite wall where the arms hung, and then he started on
the figures again. The affair seemed to grow ever more and more
complicated. It was almost inconceivable that, with expenditure always
on the increase, and ever shrinking profits, a balance could be
maintained. "The sequestrator must have been at home here for a long
time," he muttered.
Altogether the actual accounts were in apple-pie order. Who could
wonder? Everywhere amongst the uncle's hen-scratchings, Ulrich's
beautiful clear signature proved how religiously his friend had
performed his weekly duties as auditor. Only on the left-hand margin
was entered here and there a certain mysterious sum of money,
unendorsed, and specified among the receipts as "Interest called in by
Herr Baron von Kletzingk." It ran each time to several thousand marks,
and the total would have been a fortune.
"When did I ever lend money on interest?" cried Leo, striking his
forehead on which started great beads of anxious sweat.
And the further he proceeded the oftener, with uncanny regularity, did
the sum stare him in the face. It invariably occurred at a convenient
juncture to cover some heavy outlay, or to help meet a long-standing
bill. It presided over the columns as a _deux ex machina_, a blessing
and friend in need.
The one person who could have thrown light on the bewildering problem
was Uncle Kutowski, who still made himself scarce.
"If he owns up," Leo concluded, "I will let him off lightly. If not, it
will be life or death."
Towards five o'clock, the old gentleman's one-horse trap drew up at the
bailiff's house. He was lying back in a corner, tight as a drum,
sucking the end of his burnt-out cigar.
Old Christian, who on Leo's behalf had been on the look-out for him,
helped him to alight, and informed him that the master wished to speak
to him at once.
Herr Kutowski poured out a volley of abuse which echoed over the
courtyard.
"What has the youngster taken into his head? Am I his shoe-black, that
he should order me about like this? He had better be careful. I'll
teach him who I am, and what I know."
Christian, greatly scandalized to avert a further outbreak, hurried off
to tell his master of the steward's arrival. Fortunately no one had
been near to overhear his disrespectful words.
Uncle Kutowski swaggered with jingling spurs into his apartments, to
indulge in a well-earned siesta. He surveyed himself in the cracked
shaving mirror, which satisfied the small demands of his vanity, and
had a long conversation with himself, from which it might have been
gathered that he wished to be regarded as the lawful possessor of
Halewitz.
Then he cleared off the remains of a ham-bone, which lay on the table
with some blacking, a dirty pack of French cards, a cocoa-tin filled
with tobacco, and a pig's bladder; he kicked a couple of empty
beer-bottles off the sofa, which creaked at every touch like a hungry
crow, and was just going to fling himself full-length on the horsehair
cushions when the door opened and Leo walked into the room.
"It's the custom for people to knock before they come in here, my boy,"
the old man screamed in greeting. "Remember that in future."
Leo made no response, but calmly turned the key in the lock and then
put it in his pocket.
"Now, uncle," said he, "we will have a talk."
There was a certain friendly decision in his manner, which did not
impress the old man pleasantly. Still he was going to show that he had
not drunk himself into a courageous frame of mind for nothing.
"Quite right, my dear boy," he said, leaning back with a lofty air.
"You have come to apologise to your old uncle, which is only what I
should have expected of you, considering how we are related to one
another."
"I wish to remind you, my dear uncle," said Leo, "that, at the present
moment, you are still in my service."
"Eh, what! Service!" sneered the old man. "I spit at your service."
And he spat.
"I am not asking you why, on my first day at home, you have taken the
first opportunity of getting drunk, because I think I pretty well
understand your temperament. I ask you only, whether you would rather
sleep it off first, or whether you feel in a position to answer my
questions straight away."
"What do you mean by in a position?" the old fellow snarled. "I am in a
position to answer anything--that is to say, if I choose."
"Very well, then," said Leo; "in that case I am here as your master,
and I must request you to stand before me."
"What! What! I stand?"
"Get up!" said Leo, and lifting the sofa in the air, he shook the old
man off it, as if he were shaking a cat out of a feather-bed. Then he
gave the worm-eaten piece of furniture a mighty kick, and with a
grinding sound it fell to pieces.
The old man reeled against the table and gave Leo the crafty, savage
look of a wild boar at bay.
"I'll remember this of you," he growled,
"I quite see," Leo went on, "that it is useless to try and get you to
render me an account of my financial affairs, ... and that is not what
I have come about. It is true that you have succeeded in playing the
deuce with a large amount of my property, and the rest I shall have to
put in order myself, to the best of my ability. Schumann and the
accountant will explain the details to me. This much I have already
ascertained, that if I thought it necessary, I should have abundance of
material with which to put police-inspector Schuster on your track."
"Better and better," the old man said with a laugh of scorn, and began
to toy with the pig's bladder.
"But don't think for a moment," Leo continued, "that I intend to do
anything of the kind. Not that the relationship between us counts for
anything. You could not very well bring more disgrace on my house than
you have done during the last four years. Neither would the
recollection of our old friendship deter me. I have had to pay dearly
enough for it. No, I have another reason for coming here."
"So it seems," scoffed his uncle.
"Look, here, old man; since we met last night it seems to me that you
have been trying to intimate by various hints that you hold me in the
hollow of your hand, that you have only to open your mouth to bring me
to utter ruin, and I don't know what besides. Well, you are mistaken,
dear uncle. You think, probably, that you have still the foolish,
dissolute youth to deal with, who was once weak enough to let you lead
him into all sorts of disreputable scrapes. You haven't the slightest
idea who it is stands before you now. Do you know, uncle, what a
desperado is? It is a man who has learnt the greatest wisdom in life;
which is, that there's nothing in the world he need lose, so long
as he doesn't use feeble means to get it, but instead stakes life and
death on what he wants,--even if the thing be nothing bigger than a
trouser-button. Such a desperado, I have come back to you, my dear
uncle, and if you don't stop your damned grinning at once, I'll strike
you down like a dog."
He raised his clenched fist, which for a few seconds waved like a
swinging axe over the old man's stubby head. His last sneer choked in
his throat, and he took a step backwards and crouched in terror against
the wall. Then, with a laugh, Leo stuck his hand in his pocket.
"That's a sample for you, uncle," he said. "People shall do what I will
have them do, or go to the devil. And now listen again. When I decided
to come home, I knew perfectly well what a kettle of fish I should
find. And then I looked at my pistols (I have a splendid pair of
pistols, uncle dear, but I haven't got them here, because, just at
present, I don't need them to take aim at you), and I said to myself,
these beggars have helped me out of many a tight corner, where life and
death were the stakes, why should I let them rust in old Europe, when
the same will be for the most part nothing but a trouser-button. You
are a trouser-button, uncle, nothing more or less. Don't be
offended.... All I insist on is that you hold your tongue! I will have
that cursed intrigue (you know which!) buried for ever and ever. Should
it come to light, should I hear the slightest indication that you have
breathed a word of what you know, then I shall take out one of my
beautiful pistols and blow you into the skies. Do you believe me?"
"Don't joke," stuttered the old man, and squinted towards the door.
"You needn't be frightened, my dear little uncle," Leo laughed. "I told
you that I hadn't got them with me. They are not necessary yet; this is
only a preliminary warning. When I want you I shall find you, no matter
where you may be. I should take a heathenish joy in hunting you down.
We learn that sort of sport on the other side, uncle. Do you believe
me?"
The old steward cringed further backwards, and clinging to the
window-ledge, struggled to speak.
"How can you treat me like this?" he burst forth in half-strangled
utterance. "I would go through fire and water for you. I would have cut
off my right hand for you, and you shake your fist at me and threaten
me with pistol-shots, and all the rest of it."
"Only for a certain emergency, you know," Leo interposed.
"Such suspicion!" went on the old man; "such want of confidence! I have
kept as silent as the grave. I would rather have bitten my tongue out
than said anything.... I have been plagued and racked by conscience all
these years, and this is my reward!--this is my reward!"
In utter helplessness he began to cry like a baby. Leo waited till his
grief had subsided, and then gave his commands.
By that evening he was to have left the castle, and the neighbourhood
by the next morning. In case he should cherish ill-feeling and in
consideration of his being a relation, a month's salary should be paid
him at some place over the frontier--it was not certain where--probably
either at Warsaw or Wilna, so that he might lead a decent life.
The old man said, "Thank you," humbly, and grovelled.
"When shall the carriage be ready, uncle?" asked Leo, opening the door.
Uncle Kutowski said that he had only to pack and to bid the ladies
farewell, but if he might be allowed he should like to take a little
nap before his departure.
"Sleep away, then, old sinner," said Leo, clapping him on the shoulder;
and as his uncle seemed unable to move from the spot, either from
emotion or fright, he took him by the arm and led him with gentle care
to his bed, where he covered him up with his cloak which hung near on
the wall. Then he went his way whistling "Paloma."
Before he sat down to his writing-table again, he ordered Christian to
bring up a bottle of the oldest wine in honour of the day, and as he
poured out the first glass and held it toward the youthful likeness of
his friend, he said between his clenched teeth--
"Long live brute-force, little girl. It has saved both you and I
to-day, from a catastrophe."
The same evening the arrival of the carriage from Uhlenfelde was
announced.
He had not expected a visit from his friend so soon, and a thrill of
joy and at the same time of alarm ran through him.
The visitor clasped his hand with the old genial pressure, which
dispelled at once the anxious presentiment of a moment before. But the
pale face wore an excited expression, and the sunset glow which came
through the windows was reflected in the feverish glitter of his tired
eyes.
"You are not well," said Leo, who read on the familiar features the
story of recent mental excitement.
That Felicitas had something to do with it, and his own homecoming, it
was not difficult to guess.
"Let me sit down quietly for a few minutes," Ulrich said, pressing his
hand against his left side. "I shall be better soon."
He refused Leo's offers of refreshment, and with short hard gasps
breathed in the perfumed evening air which was wafted into the room
from the garden. When Leo saw him leaning back in his old accustomed
place in the corner of the sofa, his heart bounded. How often they had
sat together there, making youthful plans, while the grasshoppers
chirruped outside, and the solemn quavering strains of a concertina
sounded from the stables!
They had often touched on the subject of marriage, and had agreed that
their wives must be two bosom friends, or, better still, two sisters,
so that their old hearts' intimacy should not be sacrificed.
Nothing seemed changed outwardly to-night. The grasshoppers chirruped;
the concertina began timidly, as if uncertain whether it might dare,
now the master had come home. And yet everything was different.
"Still I have got _him_!" Leo's soul cried aloud. "And I will not let
him slip through my fingers."
"You have seen how things are now with your own eyes," Ulrich said,
sitting up, "I am afraid there's not much to congratulate you upon."
"I have found nothing but gross negligence," Leo assented.
"If I may venture to advise you, I should get rid of the old man,
despite considerations of kinship and friendship. At all events, he
isn't much use to you."
"I have kicked him out already," said Leo.
"So much the better," Ulrich remarked. "One of his worst feats was last
Saturday, when his chicanery drove away the Lithuanian reapers."
"I am quite at sea in that matter," Leo declared. "Unless a miracle
happens, the fine harvest will go to the dogs."
"Not quite a miracle is required to save it," replied Ulrich, with his
dear old smile, which always seemed to bring comfort and help. "A few
days ago I applied to Captain von Quetner in Muensterberg. I begged aid
from him. He believed he could meet the emergency, and to-morrow before
sunrise twenty-five men, Uhlans, will be brought over here on my
waggons."
A wave of gladness swept over Leo. From this moment things would look
up. He seized Ulrich's hand in dumb gratitude. But the latter bit his
lips, and withdrew from him gently.
"I didn't come to tell you this," he said. "I could have written about
that, but there are things to be discussed that cannot be committed to
paper. I am sorry to say your prophecy has proved true. It must be all
over between you and me. A woman has separated us. My marriage has
demanded the sacrifice of our friendship."
Leo stared at him, unable to speak.
"Don't misunderstand me," Ulrich went on, struggling painfully with his
words, "I needn't assure you that I love you to-day as much as I ever
did. I fear that this separation may be my death-blow. Nevertheless, it
must be."
"Because your--your wife desires it?" asked Leo, in growing bitterness.
"Don't call me weak, and abuse me for being a slave to a woman," Ulrich
answered. "I have never in all my life been tied to apron-strings, and
hope I never shall. But I am in the habit of listening to what my
conscience dictates. And that insists on my doing my duty by the woman
who bears my name and whose child I have made my own."
Leo was eager to know how she had taken the news, but was ashamed to
try and glean the information from his friend by crooked questionings;
however, as it proved, there was no need, for Ulrich on his own accord
told him all he wanted to know.
"I did not think," he said, "that Felicitas, who lives and forgets so
rapidly, would have been so deeply moved at your return. I must say
that without taking credit to myself. God knows there is no reason why
I should. I believed that she had completely got over her grief for the
loss of Rhaden. She scarcely ever mentions his name, and even forgets
the anniversary of his death. And for two years, I have, as tactfully
as I could, endeavoured to impress on her your innocence in that
unfortunate accident, ... for as an accident pure and simple I have
always regarded the fatal duel. It seems that it has all been in vain.
The first thing that happened yesterday was that she went into
hysterics. I was afraid she was going to be seriously ill. The whole
night she sat on the boy's bed, murmuring over him. I got her away
early this morning almost by force, for the poor boy, too, was deprived
of his night's rest. You will believe me, dear Leo, when I say that all
this makes me bound to admit that she has right on her side."
Leo was silent. If he had spoken it would have been hypocrisy, and he
could not bring himself to that.
"When she had become calmer," Ulrich went on, "I told her of our
conversation, and of the fears you had entertained about the
continuance of our intercourse. I wanted to prove to her by that, how
much you had considered the condition of her feelings. But the effect
was quite contrary from what I had expected. Especially what you said
about the child seemed to excite her to the last degree. Forgive me,
dear old boy, if it was a blunder to repeat it. I hoped it would help
both you and me. Why should I repeat to you all her expressions of
resentment against you? It is unnecessary to tear open old wounds. You
may believe me that I know how to distinguish between the hysterical
exaggerations to which she gave vent in her grief, and the grief
itself. But that is genuine enough, and when she says, 'How can I touch
your hand, when I know that to-day it has lain in the hand which struck
down my child's father?'--when she says that she is right, a thousand
times right. I ought to have foreseen it all, before I linked her fate
with mine. Now it is done, and, in your words, it has come to the
decision. 'You must choose between me and her.'"
Still Leo was silent. The fatal image of the woman glided before his
eyes. It seemed to melt into the gold of the evening clouds, and with
the damp mist to fill the darkening world.
How came it that she had been able to rob him of what was dearest to
him on earth? And, what was worse than anything else, she was
justified. It was only strange that she, who, as a rule, was given to
half-measures, and avoided anything like resolute action, had proved
herself, in this, almost firmer than he was. But then, of course, she
had no friend to lose....
"I thank you, old boy," Ulrich went on, "for not reproaching or
laughing at me. Not that any contradiction on your part would have been
of the least use. The facts are inexorable, and what we are doing is
the only natural course to take."
"Yes," Leo assented, staring out of the window.
If Ulrich had only guessed what truth he was speaking!
"And now there is nothing more to say, except, as it were, to make my
last bequests. When you want me, I shall come to you--at any hour of
the day or night, in good or evil fortune. I shall expect the same from
you, even though in ordinary circumstances we shall have no alternative
but to pass each other by with a silent pressure of the hand."
"It must be as you decide," said Leo; and he felt a dull aching at his
heart.
Ulrich sat rigid and upright, every muscle brought into obedience to
the power of his will. His burning eyes rested unwaveringly on his
friend's face, as if he would fain absorb him with his gaze. Not once
did his voice tremble.
"Just one word more, old boy," he said, "before we part. I have to make
an open confession to you concerning a certain matter, and to ask your
pardon. You will find in your books the constant occurrence of a sum
of money which you will not be able to explain. Interest--called in
by--then follows my name."
Leo was all attention.
"The sum comes altogether to sixty-six thousand and a few hundred
marks. You know you had no ready money. It fell to my share to save the
sinking ship. So I gave what was necessary out of my own means to set
it afloat again.... Forgive the deception, and don't thank me! No. I
won't be thanked," he repeated, as Leo stood up and seemed as if he
were going to rush and embrace him. "Anything I have is always at your
service. That, of course, is an understood thing. And now good luck and
good-bye."
He was making quickly for the door, but at the last moment he was
seized with one of those attacks which Leo with dread had seen coming
on for several minutes. He fell across the sofa, growing deadly pale.
His eyes were fixed, his pulse stood still, and he lost consciousness.
Leo had known these symptoms from earliest youth, and also knew the
remedy. As he fell, he had caught Ulrich's head in his arms, and began
massaging his scalp vigorously with his finger-tips. After a few
seconds the eyes recovered their ordinary expression, a gentle flow of
blood mounted to his temples, and he came to himself again.
"Thank you, dear old boy," he said, standing up with a sad smile. "Once
more I have lived to experience your skill in casting out the little
white mice."
And he seized his hat. Leo begged him to wait till he had quite
recovered, but Ulrich refused.
"No loitering," he said; "it will only excite us again, and prolong the
agony."
The carriage had driven round to the door. For a moment he let his
thin, delicate hand rest tremblingly in Leo's hard palm, then he
wrenched himself away.
"Remember me to your people," he said, covering himself with the
carriage-rug.
The horses started, and the carriage rolled away with subdued crunching
of wheels unto the purple evening dusk.
Leo, half blinded by his rising tears, staggered back unto his study.
"Be sensible ... no whining ... don't be an old woman," he cried,
preaching courage to himself, for it was right that this should be.
Only thus could all be made straight again.